I was exhausted come Monday morning. Tweek might be able exist being awake week upon week in a state of coffee induced hyperawakeness, but I needed sleep. There were only so many hours I could stand there watching him attempt to poach eggs before I felt myself beginning to loose it. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to murder myself, murder him, murder the fucking cookery teacher, or murder every single chicken that had ever existed in the history of the entire fucking world, but hey, I wanted to murder something. I hated eggs, I hated eggs with a passion. If I never saw another egg in my entire fucking life it'd be too soon. Fucking awful pointless things.

It was so repetitive it was almost hypnotic. He could crack the eggs now, jerky, hard, hesitant, but he could crack them, his eyes shut, muttering shit about "his happy place" under his breath. But he could do it. Like a terrified, quivering bird, he could do it. It was the poaching shit that was problematic. This stupid pan, full of gently simmering liquid, more vinegar then water, absolutely foul. Again and again he'd pour in the egg. Some of them would actually work, he'd gently, shakily, jerkily tip one in, and it'd congeal up, cook, he'd wait four minutes, then scoop it out. He'd poached it. He'd actually done it.

The majority of them would fall apart, separate, congeal up, cook into these messy, little eggy-strips, like tiny little fractions of omelette, or scrambled eggs that had been cooked way, way too long. The yolks would break, the whites just disintegrate. It'd be a mess, a ruined, depressing mess. Tweek seemed to alternate between muttering about his happy place, his head low, his eyes pretty much closed, to freaking out about the pressure, gripping me, my arms, my chest, his eyes wide, blown, circled in darkness, aching, aching darkness. Vulnerable, terrified. Wonderful, beautiful. And there was nothing I could do, nothing except make cup after cup of coffee, reassure him again and again, pet him, his cheek, his tacky, sticky mess of a hair, his arms, his back. Pet him, reassure him, and chain-smoke. Cigarette after cigarette, on the pack porch, standing in the ever lightening darkness, watching dawn break, watching the sun rise from the wrong side, my arms crossed across my chest as I listened to the bangs and yelps echoing from his partially open kitchen door.

Before I knew it, we were out of time. I was checking my watch, pulling him away, away from the stove, away from the eggs, the vinegar, the pan and spoons and fish-slice, the practice, the reassurance. His home. Pulling him towards school, still wearing the clothes we'd been wearing all fucking day, all fucking night, clothes that smelled like vinegar and desperation, coffee and cigarettes, and still, underneath the soap, the shower, the time, a little bit like sex.

It was like a dream, trying to take in the lessons, trying to listen to what people were saying. Paying attention to the shit Clyde was spouting, or whatever tedious point Token was making, it was like trying to think though a coma. One lesson, then the second. Words, numbers, gossip, whatever. It went straight over me. I was too busy checking the time, gripping Tweek's hand, out of sight, under the desk. Reassuring him, telling him we'd be fine. Lying to him. Then before I knew it, he was walking down the corridor, heading towards the cookery room, and I was walking in the opposite direction, with no idea about anything really.

We had religious studies. Well, the ones of us who'd wanted to take an easy option had religious studies. Everyone else had business class, or woodwork, or sewing, or economics, or art, or whatever. I didn't know. Today, for some reason, she never decided to explain why to us, the teacher had projected an image of the Ecstasy of St. Theresa against the wall. We were supposed to be learning about the reformation or whatever, something to do with Catholics. She'd given us a worksheet to do, but none of us seemed particularly keen on doing it. Hell, she didn't seem particularly keen on us doing it. She didn't care what we were doing, just so long as whatever it was we were doing, we were relatively quiet about it. She was too busy reading some shitty Mills and Boon novel, too busy chewing aimlessly on the end of a pencil to actually bother teaching us anything.

I exhaled, tapping my pen against my unfilled sheet of paper, staring up at the clock. I was waiting, waiting for when it would be time. When it would be time for Tweek to attempt to poach the egg. I'd told him to wait. I'd told him I'd be there. I'd always be there.

Across the desk, Stan frowned, tilting his head, staring up at the projection, the distorted, blown up image. His sheet was half-full, scrappy, one word answers. He bit his lip. "That angel thing, the one with the arrow, it sort of looks a bit like Kyle, don't you think?"

Next to me, Kenny narrowed his eyes, scoffing, clutching his arms across his chest. He was in a foul mood today. It was a rare occurrence, but I really couldn't be bothered to ask why. Not with Tweek out there, clutching an egg. Waiting.

"Oh, God, you two are so fucking gay!"

"Hey! Kenny it does!"

Kenny frowned, glaring up at the image. He hadn't even attempted his worksheet either. He'd spent the lesson moodily brooding out a window. "No I doesn't! The nose is all wrong. I'm pretty sure Kyle would kill his own mother for a nose like that. Fuck, I'm pretty sure Kyle would kill you for a nose like that!"

Bebe frowned, glancing up from her sheet. She'd been steadily working though it, neat little answer after neat little answer. "I thought that was supposed to be a girl…"

Stan rolled his eyes. "What? Dude, look at the fucking nipple! It's a man."

"Yeah, but look at the hips. Those are womanly hips."

Kenny snorted. "No, I think he's just fat,

Stan deadpanned a frown. "It's the cloth."

"I don't think it is."

"Bernini's depiction of the messenger of God is not fat!

I frowned, crossing my hands across my chest, mirroring Kenny's pose. I was trying to ignore their conversations, block out the pointless, menial chatter. It'd been going on all day, and I had a headache, a mixture of the exhaustion, the physical tiredness, and the worry, the worry about Tweek, the worry about the fucking eggs. The worry about what was going to happen. The worry about everything.

But nevertheless, Stan was wrong. That angel was definitely fat, and it really didn't look a thing like Kyle. I blinked at the projection, gesturing pathetically towards it. "Except no, he's sort of fat, yeah. Those are defiantly some child bearing hips."

Kenny smirked across the desk, blinking up at Stan. "I'm going to tell Kyle that. I'm going to tell him you compared him to a fat Catholic idol that may or may not be a woman. He'll be thrilled."

Stan exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go to hell, Kenny. I just said it looked like a bit like him."

"He's going to be pissed at you!"

"Oh, shut up Kenny! No he won't!"

I checked the clock again. It was about to roll over onto the half-hour. It was about to be time. I put my hand up, whistling for attention. The teacher called on me, lowering her book so she could glare over the cover. I called her a bitch. She told me to leave the classroom. So I did.

Tweek's room was on the other side of the school. I stalked there, my hands in my pockets, refusing to make eye contact with anyone I passed. Refusing to acknowledge anyone. All of the staff just thought I'd been sent to the counselor again or something, they didn't even bother to ask. All of the other students were just too scared, too desperate to keep their eyes low, their gaze averted. Too desperate to act like they didn't see me, to hope I didn't see them. I looked too angry to engage. Enrage.

Tweek was standing there, nervously fidgeting with his egg, murmuring to himself. His own little station, his little pan, already on the cooker, already simmering away. Probably already reeking of vinegar. His little eggs, his tacky school apron, his beat-up and abused equipment. He was waiting for me. Muttering to himself, fretting. The pressure, the whatever. He was just waiting for me.

I walked up to the door, carefully checking that his teacher had her back turned, that she couldn't see me, before putting two fingers on the glass, attempting to smile at him, attempting to encourage him. Tweek just looked at me for a while, a few seconds, a minute, I didn't know, before nodding, gripping his egg, bringing it down hard and fast on the side of the glass, just like I'd told him too.

And I stood there, behind a sheet of cheap glass, behind a chipping wooden door, I stood there and watched Tweek Tweak poach an egg. All the while Tweak Tweek kept his eyes glued to mine, kept his gaze fixed on me, he moved his hands, he broke his egg, he murmured something, something silent, something about his happy place or whatever. Something about India. And he poached it. Tweek Tweek poached an egg.

And no, it wasn't perfect. It was far, far from perfect. It'd been poured in too fast, it looked a bit floppy, it looked like a slimy fried egg. A slimy fried egg that, as I later learnt, had absolutely reeked of vinegar. Mrs. Cregg made her round, she started at it, she narrowed her eyes at it, she poked it, she cut it open, she crossed her shapeless arms and refused to taste it. But that didn't matter, because the yolk was in tact and still viscous, the white was all solidified, it was cooked. Absolutely disgusting, but cooked. Tweek Tweak had poached an egg.

She made some sweeping, aloof gesture, and Tweek smiled. Then she left him, she walked away, walked to a different station, she attempted to stop Power's mayonnaise from splitting, barking orders at her, telling her to whisk harder, gesturing to her, flapping her arms about like some ugly, bald rooster. Dim and pointless, just a glorified housewife.

But fuck that, because Tweek was smiling. Smiling at the door, smiling at me. Yeah, he was quivering like a leaf, shaking, terrified. He was running his hands through his hair, murmuring about the pressure, but it didn't matter, because he'd done it. He'd poached his egg. He'd poached his fucking egg.

I slid down the wall, covering my face with my hands, grinning through my fingertips. Grinning like an idiot. I was exhausted, I could barely keep myself awake, the world around me seemed muted and pointless, spinning, burry colours, echoing sounds. This was fucked up, this was so, so fucked up, everything about this, about us, me, him, this town, my life, the universe. He shouldn't be able to poach an egg, I shouldn't be allowed to fuck him. Yet he did, and I did, and there was really nothing anyone could do to stop us. It was over now, all said and done. He was going to pass, progress into our final year. And I was going to fuck him, keep on fucking him, just like I'd fucked him on the cheap Harbucks furniture, just like I'd fuck him there again, and again, and again. I'd fuck him 'till that sofa broke. He was mine; I really had no intention of ever, ever letting him go.

I was laughing now, my shoulders shaking, breathy, nearly silent. I was happy, relieved, and still exhausted. Still, so, so exhausted. Yes, we'll probably make the worst couple ever. He's pure dysfunction inside and out, twitching, tweeks, coffee, I'm, well, I'm fucking insane or whatever. Yes, one day, someday, one of us is going to get hurt. Someday I probably will end up breaking him. Someday he'll break me. Someday all of this will be over, all of this ended, in the past, history. Someday all of us will be dead, someday the world will burn. Someday, it'll have all been for nothing, pointless, stupid. Memories and regent, the bitter taste of coffee, the pleasure, the ash and dregs. One day that taste that'll seem worse then pineapple condoms and cherry lube. One day it'll break my heart.

But for now, none of that matters, because I love him. And for the time being, he loves me. And nothing matters, because we go together, we go together… We go together like coffee and cigarettes.

And voila, it's finished! My first Creek story. I hope you enjoyed it, hope you liked the ending! Tweek poached his egg, Craig got his man, everything went better as expected, hope it didn't let you down! Anyhoo, thank you thank you too all those who stuck with it, and read it 'till the end, and thank you thank you too all those who favourited, is lovely so thank you. A super duper awesome love love thank you thank you for reviewing, for leaving the lovely reviews. I swear, they keep me driven and determined, so thank you soso muches for taking the time to leave one, is absolute awsomesauces and you're absolute awesomesauces. Loves loves loves xxx

I'm not sure when I'll be back, or with what. But hey, that's part of the fun in life!