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uas-fics · 6 years ago

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Title: Capturing Bigfoot's Heart With A Macrame Net

Summary: Tweek saw Bigfoot last weekend! This weekend he is going to catch him and prove he’s not crazy. It was all going well, too, until Tweek gets himself stuck in his own trap. He’s sure he’s doomed — until help arrives in the most unexpected way: Bigfoot himself.

Rating: T

Ships: Creek

Others: For @creekcrew‘s Creek-Week 2019, enemies to lovers.

Y'all can blame Griffin McElroy for this.

Read one Ao3 ---

Tweek opened his arms and dropped his haul on the counter. Fishing line, rope, a swiss army knife, bug spray, bear repellant, everything he would need on his one and only trip to an outdoor supply store. The cashier looked up with a bored expression. She yawned.

"Going camping?" She asked. Her tone indicated her query came more from obligation to her job than actual curiosity.

"Hunting," Tweek corrected as she scanned the swiss army knife.

The woman frowned. She turned and craned her head to look at a sheet of paper tacked up to a corkboard behind her.

"Nothing is in season. It's spring. That's illegal." The woman set down the rope without scanning it. "Come back in November when the season starts."

"No, it's fine. I checked with my friend. He's a conservation officer. It's totally legal to hunt the animal I'm after any time of year." He stole a quick glance at her name tag. "Really, Trisha, it's fine! I'm not really 'hunting,' either. More...capturing. It's for science!"

Trisha cocked at an eyebrow at him but picked the rope back up. "What animal are you even talking about?"

Tweek grinned. "Bigfoot."

Trisha dropped the rope with a start. "Excuse me? Bigfoot?"

"Bigfoot. The Sasquatch. The hairy man of the forest. I saw it last weekend." Tweek tried to keep his nerves in check. Everyone else called him crazy when he told them about his bigfoot encounter. Trisha didn't know him, so maybe if he spoke professionally and calmly, she would think he was sane.

"And you're going to catch him," her voice sounded dubious, but she didn't accuse him of making it up, "with a rope?"

"Yeah. I'm setting a trap this weekend where I saw it," Tweek told her. "Near the lake, on the north side. I think leaving some beef jerky out will attract it, since I saw it take a package when it ran off."

Trisha hummed. "And how do you know you didn't just see a bear? Bears go out in the woods sometimes."

"I know what a black bear looks like, and they don't walk on their back legs."

"That wasn't the kind of bear I meant." Trisha chuckled at the frown across Tweek's face. "I'm kidding. It's ok, by the way. My brother is gay, so I can make those jokes."

Tweek opened his mouth, then shut it with a shake of the head. "No, it's really...I saw bigfoot, not a hairy man or an actual bear. I really did, and I'm going to catch it to prove it."

Setting the last of the items in a bag, she hit a key on the cash register. The total popped up on the digital display.

"If you do catch bigfoot, will you hurt him?"

Tweek handed her his card as he spoke. "I don't want to. Even just having a hair sample or clear photo is enough."

Trisha thought about that as she ran his credit card. While the receipt printed, she handed his bags over to him.

Their fingers touched as he took the plastic handles. She met his eyes.

"If you do see bigfoot, be careful." Her tone was dead serious and her eyes demanding. "He might be more dangerous than a normal bear."

Tweek swallowed and took a step back. He nearly tripped but awkwardly right himself. She never took her hard stare off of him.

"Y-yeah. I will. T-thank you?" Tweek stammered before making a beeline for the door.

"And you're sure," Tweek looped the rope around itself, "it's totally legal?"

From the other side of the phone, Stan sighed. "For the love of God, Tweek. Yes. You can 'hunt' bigfoot in our state without a permit. We're Colorado, not Washington. That said, if you bring a firearm into my forest and shoot something that isn't Bigfoot, I have the United State's Forestry Services on my side and will come and skin you alive."

"I don't even own a gun!" Tweek countered. "I'm taking a swiss army knife and a can of bear mace."

"With how noisy you normally are, any bear would go running." Stan laughed. "If Bigfoot was real, you're not going to catch it with beef jerky and a macrame net."

"Will too..." Tweek muttered under his breath, pulling the knot tighter.

"What did you say?" Stan shuffled on the other end. The humming of a microwave filled the background.

"Nothing..." Tweek held up his net and winced. He'd messed up some knots and the diamonds were uneven. Sighing, he began to pull at the rope. "You know, I don't get why you don't believe in Bigfoot. You're in the spookiest parts of the forest all day. You have to know there are things out there!"

"I know there are weird things out there. Demons and ghosts exist, but Bigfoot doesn't. Neither does Nessie or aliens or the Mothman." The clinking of a plate against the counter could be heard. "Those are made up."

"But ghosts and demons aren't?" Tweek rolled his eyes.

"I've seen ghosts and met a demon."

"And I've seen bigfoot!"

"Not the same."

The microwave beeped three times before Stan opened the door. With a chant of 'hot, hot, hot, hot! Hot bean burrito!' Stan dropped something onto his plate.

He sighed. "Look, Tweek, just don't bother getting your hopes up about actually proving Bigfoot is real. People have been trying for a lot longer than you with a lot of better equipment. If they can't catch it, then you can't either."

"I can catch him this weekend and I will!" Tweek tossed the net aside, too frustrated to continue. It landed over the top of his dwarf lime tree, knocking petals and dead leaves to the decorative macrame pot cozy.

"If you go this weekend, you'll have even less of a chance. It's going to rain hard on Saturday morning," Stan mentioned around a full mouth of his dinner. "If it's like a deer, it'll hunker down until the rain stops, and you won't be able to track it."

Tweek paused in hauling himself off the floor.

"So you think I should start looking on Friday instead?"

"I don't think you should look at all."

"Fuck you, Stan." Tweek reached for the phone as he stood straight.

"Talk to you later, Tweek."

Tweek dropped his phone back onto the coffee table. He looked over at his net draped across the lime tree and pursed his lips. What if Stan and everyone else was right? Maybe Tweek wasted his time planning to catch Bigfoot.

"No! I saw him. I'm going to get him!" Tweek shook his head and walked over to pick up his net and bring it to the table.

---

Tweek wrung his hands together in his apron as his dad wiped the counter and his mom went over the day's receipts. He took a breath.

"I need tomorrow off. I'll work on Sunday," He blurted out before he could talk himself out of it. His parents looked up from their respective tasks.

"Why do you need tomorrow off?" His dad threw the towel over his shoulder.

Tweek chewed his lip. He couldn't tell his parents he was going Bigfoot hunting. They wouldn't let him off for something like that. There was only one thing they would be totally ok with him taking the day off.

"I have a date," he lied. "I'm meeting him for a walk in the forest, and I figured going in the morning would be best so we could picnic before it got too hot. Late fall heat is the worst, right?"

His mom perked up. "A date? Do you have a date? That's wonderful, sweetie! What's his name? Where did you meet him?"

"I, uh, I don't know?" Tweek looked down at his feet. "Stan set me up with him? It's a blind date. He, that is my date, works in the forestry service, too. He's more comfortable there in town, but works nights in the forest house to watch for...wildfires? Yeah. He watches for wildfires."

That sounded so stupid. No way they would believe that! Why didn't he just call in sick tomorrow morning! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid--

"Well, of course, you can take the day off, son." His dad beamed. "You need to get a boyfriend. Be easier to continue the family name if you have a husband to adopt with you."

"Or use a surrogate," his mom added.

All the blood in his body rushed to his face. His family might have been supportive of Tweek being gay, but they still expected him to give them a grandchild and keep the Tweak name alive. Tweek didn't even know if he wanted kids, but he didn't get a choice. Why they didn't have another child instead of dumping the entire responsibility of it on him?

"It's easier to raise a child with another person, too. Right, dear?" His dad winked at his mom, who waved her hand in pleasant dismissal at him.

"I know, Dad," Tweek replied flatly. One day he would have to tell him this whole area of conversation made him uncomfortable, but not right then.

"You know, the 'Tweak' name was almost lost, son. When we came to America from Europe--"

"Great-great-great Grandpa Peter changed our name to 'Week' so we wouldn't be associated with the 'Tweaks' from the old country, but grandpa Tweek changed it back," Tweek recited the family story that he had heard a thousand times before.

Great-great-something-th Grandma Tweak was murdered back in Europe, and the family left that town, traveling around a generation until they caught a boat for the United States. The first Tweaks over changed the family name, until Grandpa Tweek got into a fight over with Great Grandma Lily because he didn't want to follow in the family tradition of pharisaical work, so he changed the name back to 'Tweak' and even changed his first name to another spelling of it and opened a coffee shop.

Then, years later, Richard Tweak had a son that he named after his father and fifteen years after that the family coffee shop was bought out by a Starbucks.

Despite his less than interested reply, his dad still started into the family lore for the umpteenth time. He finished with a tangent about how Grandpa Tweek's brave move proved how the Tweaks both valued traditional values and modern ones and that was why they made the best coffee.

"So, I'll take tomorrow off and work on Sunday?" Tweek cut in.

His mom nodded. "You may."

Tweek nodded back then made a beeline to the storeroom. The moment he shut the door, he slumped down and let out a sigh of relief.

---

It was Friday morning, and Craig was tired but amused. He sat amongst the thick foliage of a tree, hairy legs pulled to his equally hairy chest as that weirdo ran around the forest floor with a net.

The weirdo would set the net down in one place, start to pile leaves over it, only to stop and shake his head before pulling the net from the leaf litter and taking it to another spot and repeating the process.

Thus far Craig counted the weirdo moving his net from place to place five different times before finally nodding to himself and taking more rope from his pack.

Craig came to the conclusion he was setting up traps, but he didn't know for what--until he watched the weirdo dig around his bag and produce a king-sized package of beef jerky.

That weirdo came marching around the woods last weekend, loudly talking to himself about nature being healthy so long as a bear didn't eat him alive. He blocked the quick way home, so Craig waited while the weirdo sat down, crossed his legs, and played some sort of guided meditation on his phone.

Once the weirdo finished he stood up to take something from his backpack, only to dump everything out. Craig watched with great amusement as the weirdo scrambled to pick it all up before heading back towards the trail.

What happened next, Craig refused to take the blame for. His mom sent him with a bunch of "healthy" foods this month under the excuse that she worried about his sodium, so the moment the scent of beef jerky — teriyaki beef jerky, at that — came to his nose, he couldn't stop himself from hurrying over to pick up the fallen snack. Dried and canned fruit and vegetables could never hold a candle to jerky.

He had just started chewing when someone gasped behind him. He spun around in time to see the weirdo's blond chestnut-like hair poke out from behind a tree. Holding tight to the jerky, Craig took off and luckily the weirdo didn't follow.

With a snort, Craig shook his head at the weirdo as he set the jerky in the middle of the trap. Realizing he didn't open it, the weirdo tiptoed closer to the middle of the net. In a blur of yellow and greens, one of his traps sprung and the weirdo found himself swinging from his ankle in a snare trap.

His hands waved around wildly as he tried to stop himself from swaying back and forth. The weirdo groped towards his ankle in a desperate attempt to free himself. Craig snorted a laugh into his paw.

Wow, this guy was a real winner! Gets stuck in his own snare. That what he gets for thinking Craig could be so easily captured.

Seeing as his entertainment current dangled like a wild animal a foot off the ground, Craig saw no point in staying around any longer. He climbed out of the tree and lowered himself to the ground. Taking his long coat from a nearby tree branch, he pulled it on, shoved his paws in his sweatpants pockets and walked towards home. He readjusted his hat, pulling the brim to shield his face.

One weirdo trying to find him was more than enough. At least he was lucky this weirdo was incompetent. He really thought a rope and a net could catch someone like Craig? Craig was nearly six-and-a-half feet tall — a trait surprisingly thanks to his red-haired giant of a father and not his mother's cursed genetics.

If he was swept up in a trap, he could just use his stupidly long arms to escape, if the trap could even get him off the ground.

The weirdo sobbed loudly, his voice carrying through the trees.

"It's not fair!" He wailed. "I just-I just wanted to prove I'm not crazy! Now I'm going to die and everyone will think I'm just making it all up again. I'm so stupid...stupid and going to die..." His cries trailed off into softer mumble that Craig couldn't hear until the weirdo blurted out, "Who will water my plants and take care of my parrot?! They'll all die too! I'm a terrible plant and pet parent..."

Craig stopped. He squirmed, tapping his fingers against his sweatpants.

"Don't do it, Craig. Don't fucking do it," he muttered to himself, even as he turned around and stalked towards the weirdo stuck hanging in the air.

---

Tweek tried to blink the tears away but failed. It was all too much. If he didn't catch bigfoot today, he could have handled that disappointment. If he at any other time sprung a snare trap on himself, he could have handled the embarrassment. But both of those feelings at the same time? Not a chance.

He sniffled, defeated and alone. No one would come out this far into the woods. He was going to starve or be eaten alive by bears like some flesh pinata! Worse yet, his plants will wilt without him there. Ok, the golden pathos by the window in the self-watering pot might be ok for a while, but his lime tree, lucky bamboo, peace lily? They were going to suffer and wither away!

And his parrot, Kiwi, what about Kiwi? He was going to be lonely without Tweek to talk to, then he'd run out of birdseed in a day or two and water not long after that. The plants could die in silence, but Kiwi would go out with a racket. Maybe his noises would bring the neighbors to call the landlord and he would help save Kiwi and the plants.

Oh, who was he kidding? The landlord didn't do anything. That's why the rent was so cheap.

Tears rolled from the corner of his eyes down his forehead to his hairline. Sniffing up the mucus in his nose, Tweek swung himself up. He reached for the rope but couldn't bend forward enough.

He couldn't reach the rope and his knife fell out of his pocket on the net trap, so what escape did he have?

His lip quivered. How was this fair? All of Tweek's life was an uphill battle: His parents using him as a free labor since he could walk, school kids teasing him for being different in ways he couldn't ever help, being the only gay kid in a little hick town, believing in thoughts and ideas that no one else around did.

His parents wondered where on Earth his anxiety disorders could have come from, but Tweek knew it was all that pressure constantly crushing him under its massive weight of grief and doubt and worthlessness.

And now, just as the cherry on top of the world's worst sundae, his attempt to prove himself and get a confidence boost backed fired and let him hanging from a tree.

Tweek didn't even mean to set off the snare trap. He was being careful to step around it so he could open the jerky. This was what he got for trying to be clever, he supposed glumly.

"Hey, need some help?"

Tweek spun himself around best he could see a person standing near a tree in a long overcoat and wide-brimmed hat that shadowed his face.

"I-uh-" Tweek hiccupped a sob. "Yes. Please, get me down."

The person nodded. "How?"

"Cut-urk-cut the rope. There is a knife there near the beef jerky." He added as the person walked towards the jerky, "be careful. It's a net--"

The net trap sprung, sending the knife flying up over the person's head. Unlike Tweek, the person didn't get pulled into the air. The net tangled around his legs and the person fell forward. His weight kept the trap from fully closing around him, but it did ensnare his limbs.

Swearing the person flailed around. He attempted to keep himself from falling by planting his massive foot down through the net until he pulled his body back, leaving his coat left with the beef jerky bag in the trap. His hat flew off, exposing a hairy face with a pig snot with tusks.

With the net around his leg, he twisted and went down. He threw his hands forward to break his fall.

"FUCK!" He shouted, holding his hand to his chest.

Tweek's mouth gaped. "You-you're--Bigfoot?!"

Bigfoot glared at him. "No shit, dipwad! Fuck, dammit..." He clenched his hand before holding it out. A long gash opened across his large, bear-like paw.

"Jeez!" Tweek flailed. "You're hurt! You're bleeding! Let me down! I have a first aid kit! Ohmigod! What if you get an infection? They'll cut your hand off and it'll be all my fault! Please, please, let me down!"

Bigfoot paused and stared at him, his strange face wearing an unreadable expression. Slowly, he reached for the bloody knife then stood. He took a step and winced, but didn't speak. While holding the bleeding paw to his chest, he went to the rope and sliced through it.

The ground hit Tweek's cheek, hard and cold. He yelped, falling over himself. After blinking the stars from his eyes, he scrambled on hands and knees towards his bag. Throwing protein bars, rope, fishing wire, and a flare to the ground, Tweek pulled the first aid kit from the bottom of the pack.

Bigfoot slumped to his knees next to Tweek.

"That is a whole ass first aid kit," Bigfoot commented.

"What, do you think I'd go into the woods with just a box of bandaids?" Tweek opened the kit.

As Tweek pulled the rubber gloves over his hands, Bigfoot shrugged, "I thought it would be one of the pocket ones."

Tweek unscrewed the top to the antibiotic cream and held out his hand for Bigfoot to offer up his wound. He squeezed the cream along the gash. He probably should clean it first, but he didn’t have any water he hadn’t already drunk out of and didn’t think Gatorade would be the best way to clean a wound.

"I would never come so unprepared." Tweek set the cream down to take up the gauze. "What if I fell and broke my ankle?"

Bigfoot scoffed, "Yeah, well, I think I hurt mine in the rope."

Tweek gasped, pulling the gauze tightly. "What?!"

Bigfoot yelped, jerking his paw back as Tweek dumped the first aid kit onto the forest floor.

"Ah no! shit!" He swore. "The ice pack! There should be an ice pack thing in here? Where is it? Did I forget to take it out of the freezer from last time?"

As he frantically researched the first aid's kits contents, Bigfoot began to snort, then burst out laughing.

"Fuck. You came to catch me and put me in a zoo or kill me or some shit, and now you're freaking out over me being hurt? The hell kind of guy are you?"

Tweek frowned. "I never wanted to put you in a zoo or kill you. All I wanted was to prove you're real, but you got hurt because of me. What else am I supposed to do?"

"Run away screaming like everyone else in the world?"

This time, it was Tweek who laughed. "I'm told I'm not like everyone else. It's why I'm out here in the first place — to prove to everyone else you are real and I'm not crazy."

Bigfoot raised his eye ridges up in surprise at Tweek's earnest words. He hummed and looked down at his wounded paw. Finally, he took a breath.

"If you can help me get home, I have an ice pack there."

Tweek flinched, nearly dropping the container of cotton balls. He turned his gaze over to Bigfoot. "Would that make it up to you?"

Bigfoot nodded. "It would."

Quickly, Tweek threw the medical supplies into the kit. He had to crunch a box to shut it but didn't mind. He scrambled to shove everything back into his pack before picking the net up in his arms. After holding it for a moment, he shook his head and set it over a tree branch like drying clothes over a line.

With a little guidance from Bigfoot, Tweek hauled him to his feet. Tweek's legs bowed under the weight, but he took a breath and powered on carrying Bigfoot through the forest.

---

"My name is Craig." Craig told the weirdo after the weirdo erroneously referred to him as 'Mr. Bigfoot.'

"That's a very...normal name?" The weirdo gently shouldered Craig around a log that they couldn't step over. "I mean! I didn't expect bigfoot--a bigfoot--to...urk...um..."

Craig eyed weirdo for the millionth time. He liked him. Most people Craig knew weren't earnest and didn't admit when they'd messed up. Most people Craig knew would have run screaming or killed him. The weirdo blew his expectations out of the water.

"I'm not really bigfoot bigfoot, you know." Craig watched his expression carefully as he went on. "I'm cursed, actually."

"Cursed?" He frowned. "It's not contagious, is it? I work at a cafe. I don't want to wear a whole body hair net."

Craig snorted before realizing the weirdo wasn't joking.

"No, of course not," he said and the weirdo sighed in relief.

"So, why? What caused it? Wait, err, am I allowed to ask that? Is that rude?"

"A little," Craig admitted, "but I started the topic, after all. Turn here. My home is at the next bend. I'll tell you all about my stupid family curse when I've down a few aspirins."

---

"No one expects a monster to live in a cozy cabin!" his dad used to say, but only when Mom wasn't around since she would glare at him for calling their son 'a monster.' Looking at Tweek's awed expression, though, Craig had to agree with his dad’s assessment.

As Craig threw a couple of aspirin in his mouth, he watched the weirdo sink down into the ancient floral couch to take in the one-room cabin. Craig sucked a pouch of Capri Sun to down the pills while the weirdo crossed his ankles, picking up the lacy doily on the coffee table.

"My grandma decorated it," He answered the unasked inquiry about the frilly decor. "Grandad use to use the place when the curse happened to him. She wanted to give it a 'homey touch.'"

Finishing off the juice pouch, Craig attempted to overhand toss it into the trash can near the stove but missed.

He went to stand and flinched, having forgotten about his ankle. The weirdo jumped to his feet to put the pouch in the trash before stooping down to readjust the ice pack across Craig's ankle.

"Um, thanks?"

"No, this is all my fault. I should help however I can," he told him without standing up. He perched on his toes, looking at the swollen, hairy ankle and giant foot.

"The curse," he started, "you said it was a family curse?"

Craig nodded. "Yeah, my great, great, great, great, great grandfather pissed off a witch and she cursed him."

"A witch?" The weirdo rested his wrists on his knees. "How?"

"He had her burned her at the stake."

"What?!" The weirdo fell backward. "He killed her!?"

"Yeah. He was a trained doctor. Apparently, she was offering free medical care so people weren't going to him, and he accused her of being a witch. So he was, technically, right. Before the set the fire, she cursed him." Craig took a breath then soberly quoted, "'Be a beast upon the outside that is on the inside, a month a season, foul man and his sons and sons and sons until repentance is spoken and a kiss be given from my line to yours.'"

"What does that mean?" The weirdo asked. "I'm confused."

"It means once a month every season, every man born on my mom's side of the family has to look like this." He held out his paws, glaring at them. "The only way to break the curse is to tell the witch’s descendants that we're sorry for what our ancestor did then hope one of them forgive us enough to want to kiss one of us."

The weirdo righted himself, sitting cross-legged. "Do they not forgive your family?"

Craig slumped down, crossing his arms. "We can't even find them. They moved after the witch died but before the first month of the curse. My grandad tried to track them down but..." He shook his head.

"But?"

"But he lost them when they left for America." Craig leaned his head back and shut his eyes. How many times had he heard Grandpa complain about that? More than a thousand times, probably.

'We were so close! How could they just disappear?' He'd say. Grandpa search for that family until the day he died. Craig never bothered. He wanted the curse gone, but he wasn't going to waste his time as a normal human grasping at straws to find this mysterious family line that might not even exist anymore.

The weirdo leaned forward. "Are you sorry? For what your grandfather did?"

"I can say with one hundred percent honesty that I am sorry that my grandfather got a woman killed because she was a better doctor than he was. We kept some of his journals and the guy was a dick." Craig scoffed. "He would lie to people about what they were sick with so they would keep coming back. He deserved this curse. I don't."

The weirdo hummed and looked at Craig's ankle again.

"It's a clever curse," The weirdo mused under his breath. "You can't fully live as bigfoot but you can't fully live as a person either."

"Yeah, it sucks. I can't keep a job or a boyfriend or an active social life," Craig ticked off on his fingers, "and I hate it." When he noticed the weirdo frowning at him, he added, "But at least I have a nice place to crash during the months I'm cursed. Mom always sends a bunch of supplies."

At the reminder of Mom's all fruit and veggies supplies, Craig reached out for the pack of jerky. They lapsed into silence as Craig ate. The weirdo wore a contemplative look, his eyes rolling around to take in the cabin as he thought.

When the silence grew too awkward, Craig asked, "So, did you believe in 'bigfoot' before you say me last week or did you always believe?"

The weirdo jumped from his thoughts. "Oh! Of course. All my friends said I am crazy for believing in Bigfoot and aliens and ghosts. But I was right about one of them, so maybe the rest are real too."

"Well, of course, aliens are real. You'd have to be really dumb to think we're the only planet with sentient life in the universe." Craig tossed another piece of jerky into his mouth. "Ghosts are probably real too. There is too much evidence of them to be completely fake."

"Thank you!" The weirdo threw his hands up. "That's what I keep telling people! What about Nessie? Do you believe in the Loch Ness Monster? What about Mothman?"

---

Craig tilted his Capri Sun as he spoke. "Clearly the Fresno Nightcrawlers are aliens."

Tweek scooted a little closer on the couch towards him, his knees nearly touching Craig's side. If it bothers Craig, he didn't make a protest for Tweek to move back. That was fine with Tweek. He really liked Craig, bigfoot cursed monster or not. Once he accepted Craig's weird appearance, he found Craig to be one of the best conversations he'd had with a long time.

"They have to be. No animal could walk like that," Tweek agreed. "The weird way they walk is probably because of Earth's gravity. I think their home planet must have higher gravity."

"What do you think they came here for? To study us?" Craig reached into a bag of banana chips. He held out the handful to Tweek. His fingertips brushed the gauze across his paw. Instead of picking up the chips, he slowly dragged his fingers off the gauze onto Craig's leathery pad, lingering against the warm skin, before he took the chips from Craig's paw.

Craig closed his paw around the rest before dropping it to his lap. The tips of his furless bear ears burned red. Tweek smiled softly. That was adorable.

"I think they're here just to check us out. Earth is a very interesting place," Tweek threw a chip in his mouth, "don't you think?"

Craig nodded. "Yeah. Really interesting. Just like you..." He furrowed his brows a moment. "I don't know your name. I never asked."

"You didn't?" Tweek scrunched up his face in thought. "You didn't."

"I guess I have to ask now." Craig flashed a smile, showing off his tusks and teeth. "What's your name?"

Tweek took a chance and moved close enough that his knees touched Craig's side before leaning until he was close enough to be completely in Craig's personal space. Craig's smile wavered into an embarrassed expression for a second before it returned more pleased than before.

"My name is Tweek." Tweek introduced himself in a low voice.

The smile fell and he started shaking his head. "'Tweek'?"

His face flushed with embarrassment, Tweek scooted back until there was a couch cushion between them.

"Yeah, um, it's a dumb name. I was, eer, named after my grandpa. His name was Tweek, or it was when I was born, or ugh! His name was Tyler Week, then he changed it to Tweek Tweak, since 'Tweak' was our name back in the old country--I mean, before the family came to the US, from Europe--because," Tweek realized then he was rambling, but couldn't stop himself now, "he didn't want to be a pharmacist, which is what the family had been for generations. Grandpa Tweek wanted to be a coffee shop owner."

Tweek covered his mouth to keep him from talking any more when he noticed the wide-eyed look on Craig's face.

"'Tweak'..." Craig repeated slowly. "It can't...no. That's impossible." He shook himself.

"Sorry," He muttered, "I, uh, I know 'Tweek' is a weird name, but it is my real name. I swear. I'll get out my driver's license."

"Where in Europe did your family come from?"

"Huh?"

"Where in Europe did you family come from? What country? Or do you know why they left?"

Tweek tilted his head. "Um, I think it was...um, Belarus? Ukraine? Somewhere in Northern Europe. Once my great something-th grandparents came here, they tried to distance themselves from the 'Tweaks' in Europe, so they didn't talk much about it, or that's what I was told."

Craig looked at Tweek like he just solved the biggest secret of the universe. He beamed and grabbed Tweek's hands in his own.

"You can break the curse!"

"I can what?!" Tweek nearly choked on his tongue. "What are you talking about?"

"The witch's family? Their name was 'Tweak'!" He squeezed his hands.

"But-but-but I can't do magic. I'm not a--" The word caught in his throat. This couldn't be possible. If Tweek's family was the same in Craig's story, then his murdered grandmother was burned at the stake for being a witch.

"Maybe it got diluted? Your family stopped marrying other witches after one of them was burned. Tweak isn't a common name. My family couldn't find them after they left Europe. Yours changed their name when they left. You don't think that's a coincidence?" Craig looked into Tweek's eyes.

"A lot of families changed their names, and, um," Tweek floundered. "You really think I might be able to lift your curse?"

Craig nodded. "Yes. If you accept my apology and kiss me, it should break it. I can live normally." He paused then added, "And not to brag, but I am told I am very handsome. You're missing out on seeing my good face, just saying."

Despite himself, Tweek snorted a laugh. With a breath, he pulled his hand from his paws and dropped his palms on Craig's arms.

"Ok, if my 'magic' was diluted, I don't know if it'll work, but we can try," Tweek offered.

Craig planted his paws on either side of Tweek.

"I apologize for my ancestor and what he did against your family," Craig apologized, leaning in closer to Tweek.

Tweek moved his head to the side, muttering, "I forgive you for what happened." His eyes flicked up once more to Craig's monstrous face. Nerves twisted his gut. He wanted to be the right person. He wanted to be the Tweak with the magic kiss to fix Craig.

Before he could psyche himself out of it, Tweek kissed Craig. His lips were chapped and oddly cold, but the massive paws lifted to his sides were warm enough to make up for it.

As Tweek squeezed Craig's arm and leaned in deeper, the door to the cabin swung open.

"Hey, Craig, some guy is coming to hunt you this weekend. Being the best little sister I am, I...see you already met him." the shop clerk from the outdoor store froze with one foot in the air.

They gasped and pulled back from each other. Tweek could feel the tips of his ears burning while Craig gently pressed the bear-like claws of his paw protectively into Tweek's side.

"Trisha!" Craig snapped. "Haven't you heard of knocking! Damnit!"

"How was I supposed to know you were going to seduce a man who literally bought a knife to gut you with from me!" Trisha stomped her foot.

"I wasn't going to gut him!" Tweek tried to interject, but Craig and Trisha ignored him.

"You still need to knock. I could have naked."

"I've seen it all before. Are you that desperate for company! Mom told you to bring your pet with you."

"A, I don't want Stripe to see me like this. It would scare him. B," Craig gestured to Tweek. "His name is Tweak, like the witch? There was a reason for this kiss, you butt-sniffing brat."

At this Trisha paused to give Tweek a critical eye the moved her gaze to Craig.

"Doesn't look like it worked," she commented dryly. Craig glanced down at himself and winced.

"Sorry," Tweek apologized, slipping his hand from his arm.

Tweek didn't know how many more Tweaks there were in the world, but whoever the right Tweak was, they were a lucky bastard, Tweek decided, wishing Trisha hadn't shown up. He really wanted to kiss Craig again or keep kissing him as the case may be.

"It's fine. I shouldn't have been so sure about it." Craig raised a shoulder. "Thanks for helping anyway." Tweek felt Craig's soft gaze on his face, but he couldn't look him in the eyes.

Trisha looked between then. She rolled her eyes, shouldering off her backpack.

"So, I brought some Sonic," Trisha took out a paper bag, "but only two orders, so, like, you have to share, because I am not giving up my tater tots."

As she dropped the Sonic bag on the table, Tweek started to stand up. He didn't look at Craig's face. He couldn't stand the disappointment he would see if he did.

"I should get home, actually. I--"

"It's going to storm. You'd either not make it to your car," Trish commented idly as she took out a foil-wrapped burger, "or you'd be driving in heavy rain on shitty roads. You might as well stay the night."

Craig grabbed his wrist. "You should. Safety and stuff."

Tweek squirmed, unsure, before accepting the invitation and sitting back down with his side nearly touching Craig's.

---

The smell of cinnamon and apples filled the cabin. Craig poked his nose out of the sleeping bag.

"You actually know how to make this off the top of your head?"

"Before Starbucks bought out my family's cafe, I baked muffins every day."

Oh, that's right. The cute weirdo Tweek stayed the night sleeping on the couch. Craig snuggled back down deeper into his sleeping bag than he already was, enjoying the warmth and listening to the conversation near the stove.

As Trisha mocked her brother for not knowing how to make pancakes--that was a lie--Craig wondered if he could get away with taking her wallet and switching all her cards around without her noticing.

He needed to get brotherly revenge for both mocking his expert pancake skills as well as taking the cot. Tweek was the guest. He should sleep on the cot, not her. If not for the crochet blanket hidden under the couch, one of them would have had to sleep without any covering.

Craig nearly offered to let Tweek share his sleeping bag but stopped himself before he could make the night awkward. He didn't think asking Tweek to sleep next to him, in and of itself, would make anything weird. He had a hunch Tweek like him as much as he liked Tweek. With Trisha there, however? He shelved the idea.

After a couple of seconds of debating Craig decided against messing with Trisha. He'd get her back in the future when the possibility of backfire and making himself look like a loser in front of Tweek wasn't there.

With a sigh, Craig wriggled out of his sleeping bag. He stood, careful not to put too much wait on his ankle, and looked towards the stove.

Tweek and Trisha wore matching grimaces with a muffin in each hand.

"These taste, ah..." Trisha stuck her tongue out.

"You can say 'bad.'" Tweek dropped the muffin in his hand to the stovetop. "I think I messed up with the powdered buttermilk--or maybe it was expired. Hand me it."

Trisha reached into the cabinet over the sink. As she handed the powdered buttermilk to Tweek, Craig commented, "It's probably just bad. All the powder milk tastes disgusting."

Trisha's jaw dropped. Tweek's hand fell limply to his side while his face went the color of a tomato. The powdered buttermilk fell to the floor. It bounced once then rolled towards Craig. He raised his foot to stop it and nearly fell over himself.

The massive hairy foot he had lived with for four months every year of his life, and should have lived with for another two weeks, had shrunk and shed back down to its normal size. Heart pounding in his ears, Craig held out his arms then felt his face.

No thick layer of wiry hair. No bear claws. No pig snout. Just normal, human, features.

"Oh...oh my..." Craig blinked hard. "I'm..."

"You're an eight! Shit dude!" Tweek blurted out. "You said you were handsome, I didn't know you were this good? Why didn't you warn me better?"

"An eight?" Trisha scoffed. "He's a six and a half at best."

Craig opened his mouth to make a smart remark at his sister but stopped when the first tear rolled down his cheek. He blinked again before giving up and running over. He pulled both Tweek and Trisha into a warm bear hug.

Trisha fake gagged, "Blech. Gross. PDA from my brother." but patted his arm with a smile anyway.

Tweek kept quiet, but his eyes never left Craig's face. Everything from the collar of his shirt up glowed with a blush.

Craig squeezed them then took a step back. "Ok, sorry, had to, um, had to get that out of my system." He wiped his cheeks on his wrist, his completely human wrist.

"So--" Tweek's voice cracked. "So does this mean I am magic?"

"I guess so." Craig ran a hand through his hair, enjoying how soft it was compared to the stiff wiry bristles he used to have. Feeling slightly more composed he added, "maybe it was the magic of love at first sight."

He winked, Trisha rolled her eyes, and Tweek laughed.

Tweek leaned against the stove, his hand brushing the muffin he dropped. He looked at it then back up at Craig and Trisha.

"Even if I helped, I still did try to catch you yesterday, Craig. I haven't really made up for that, but do you think taking both of you out for breakfast is a good start?"

Craig didn't even have time to speak because Trisha threw her hands up and shouted, "Yes! Oh, thank God! I thought I'd be stuck here eating dried fruit sandwiches all weekend."

"Well, the sister as spoken." Craig raised a shoulder then reached out and took Tweek's hand. "Let's go."

Tweek beamed at him and squeezed his hand as Trisha went to gather her thinks.

“You know that I lied to my parents so I could get the day off yesterday,” Tweek commented.

“Oh? What did you say?”

“That I had a date in the forest.” He scooted a little closer to Craig’s side. “So, I was wondering, would you mind pretending that I came to meet you?”

Craig grinned, unable to help himself. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“If you want to go on one with me.”

Before Craig could answer with an enthusiastic agreement, Trisha threw open the door. The scent of rain and wet leaves filled the cabin with a cool breeze.

“You two can get all goo-goo eyed and stuff later. It’s a long hike back to the car, and I’m doing it on half a bite of bad muffin. You have ten minutes to get clean clothes on or you’re walking all the way to town.” She spun around and started off into the crispy morning.

Craig rolled his eyes and offered an apologetic smile at Tweek. Tweek hesitantly dropped Craig’s hand and took a step towards the door.

“I’ll wait outside with your sister.”

Craig gripped his hand, already missing the warmth of Tweek’s in his grasp, but nodded.

“I’ll be quick and grab some granola bars on the way out. We can eat them on the way to the car. While we discuss this date of ours.”

---

AN: Not gonna lie. I really had to stop myself from just continuing writing the last scene becuase of all the fluff. x3

#south park #creek week #sp creek #Craig Tucker #tweek tweak #trisha tucker #one-shot #fanfiction #bigfoot au #I can not believe I actually used that tag'

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brimay · 7 years ago

Note

“He favoured the taste of oranges, but maybe coffee when he’s tasting it off her tongue, early in the morning in her kitchen, could be his new favourite taste.” ... just an idea for that cute starter sentence you posted! You could so make it work, and if u do please post the fic!!

Thank you so much for the inspiration, Nonnie! Here it is *_*

Description: Bellamy really didn’t mean to sleep with his best friend, but sometimes things change although you haven’t planned it. Sometimes, that change will lead to something better.

Title: A change of taste

As a child, he favored the taste of oranges. He vividly remembers the crackling sound of Starburst wrapper and sharing the flavors with his best friend: Lemon and strawberry for her, cherry and orange for him. Back then they would turn pillow forts into pirate ships, so they could explore the entire world from her living room floor. They would trade the items of their lunch boxes although it wasn’t allowed, because she always had a tiny cookie in hers, and his mom made the best peanut butter sandwiches in Chicago.

Now, he’s almost nineteen years old, stirring coffee in her kitchen as the sunlight pours through the open window, and the memories blur at the back of his mind. Clarke Griffin, the golden-haired goddess with eyes of the sea and inked flowers blooming at her wrist. His best friend, for crying out loud!

Bellamy really shouldn’t have slept with her….

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret a thing.

“Hi,” her voice sounds unusually shy behind him, and when he turns around to face her, he is met by the sight of Clarke, her cheeks tinted a subtle pink, the waves of her hair damp from after the shower.

Scratching the back of his neck, Bellamy’s grin turns crooked, but he feels the heat rise to his own face as well, so he rushes, “I made you coffee… Uh— just how you like it, I—“

He trails off when he notices that she’s wearing his t-shirt from last night. Fuck, it looks so much better on her, the worn material of it barely covering her panties. Having noticed him staring, Clarke bites down on her lower lip, chuckling as she walks towards him. “Thanks.”

She has to stand on her tiptoes to kiss his freckled cheek, and for a moment Bellamy’s hand touches her back, pulling her a little closer. Then she does something that has been a part of their friendship for twelve years, playing with his hair. More than anything, he tries to revive the picture of her as a little girl in his mind, but it’s bizarre. Clarke used to chase footballs with him before soccer practice and draw doodles on his skin with sharpie… Yesterday, she moaned his name, pulled at his hair and rolled her hips against his.

It’s impossible to forget.

Staring at him, she sips at her coffee, knowing him well enough to understand the reason for his silence. “How’s your back?” She asks all of a sudden as a tiny smirk curls her lips upward. At first, it only causes him to blink, but her confidence soon wears off on him.

“A little scratched-up… You left your mark, Princess.”

She shrugs at that. “I’m an artist. It’s what I do.”

For a minute, they simply smile at each other in silence, sipping at their mugs of preferred caffeine. (His black, hers with a bit of whole milk…) Then she decides to boost his ego. “You’re really good at it, you know? Sex.”

But there’s something about the compliment that causes worry to spark in his veins. As always, he knows what’s wrong without having to ask, which is why he sighs, putting down the cup to take her hands in his. “Clarke, I’ve only had sex with two people. You’re one of them.”

Embarrassed, she assures him that he didn’t have to tell her that, because she’s nowhere near entitled to know about his sexual history. Them sleeping together was spontaneous; a flare of mutual impulsion and curiousity, but it has confused everything nonetheless. Smiling down at her, Bellamy locks his arm around her waist. He gazes at her, overwhelmed by her beauty at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning, her hair messy but her eyes alive.

She’s everything that he has ever wanted…

“Can I kiss you?”

At his question, her lips form the sweetest smile, which is contradictory to how she punches his shoulder afterwards. Out of habit, he pretends that it hurts to amuse her. “Of course you can kiss me, you dork.”

When he does, she laughs against his mouth for a moment before leaning into it and responding by nibbling a little at his lower lip. She tastes vaguely of coffee beans as the scent of lavender soap from her skin encompasses him; it turns his mind into one big marshmallow cloud, all fussiness.

Yes, as a kid he favored the taste of oranges, but nothing can surpass this: Clarke pressed against him, her hand resting on his chest while their lips move together — It’s still careful, gentle, and no one would be able to guess that they kissed countless times yesterday night. Pulling back, Bellamy asks, “Your mom will return from her graveyard shift soon. What are we going to tell her?”

She rolls her eyes at that, musing, “You sleep over all the time, Bell. She won’t suspect a thing.”

Technically, though, Abby Griffin has been suspicious for a year now, ever since her daughter started to wear his clothes and jump out of her window at night to meet him. They’d always been inseparable, those two, but as the years flew by, they only grew closer. Close enough that the line between friendship and romance blurs when she kisses his cheek and he presses his lips to the crown of her hair. Frankly, Abby had asked her daughter if she was having sex with him no more than a week ago, to which she’d insisted that she was not. Oh, the irony.

Clarke takes one look at the rosy pink tint that has graced his brown skin, then says, “You’re still flustered about the whole thing, aren’t you?” Of course, she is too, but it’s comforting to know that they’re in the same boat. After all, it’s not every day that you have sex with your best friend.

“Yeah. It all happened so quickly…”

“Well, I started it. I’m sorry if I threw you off.”

At that, Bellamy’s brow furrows. He doesn’t care who started it, and even if he did, he’s not sure that it was her. They’d both been slightly intoxicated by the city lights and mesmerizing street music when they walked through her front door last night — and sure, she’d pulled him into the living room to do a spontaneous striptease, but she hadn’t gotten to reveal more than her bra before Bellamy had kissed her.

They were so happy. So inexplicably happy…

“You didn’t,” he insists, letting his warm hands slip beneath the fabric of her t-shirt (yes, it’s her t-shirt now. It has Clarke written all over it) to feel her skin, and he looks at her with soft eyes as her lips part at the sensation. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His voice cracks a little while he says it, unable to bear the weight of the emotions in those words. He’s called her ‘beautiful’ before, like when he went to pick her up for prom, but this time it’s different, because he’s seen her in a way that he never thought he would, on a bed beneath him wearing nothing but a smile.

Fuck, he’d do anything for her — Anything, which he’s already proven on several occasions. For instance, he punched Thomas Finlay in the face for calling her ‘a cheap whore’ after she turned him down, and stayed up with her for three nights in a row to quiz her on a history exam because she needed his help.

They kiss again, deeper and longer this time, only breaking apart to gasp for air. Her coffee is definitely turning cold on the kitchen counter, but she couldn’t care less. Amidst all of the confusion at the sudden change in their relationship, Bellamy can’t deny how good and right this feels; how good and right it felt to be inside her last night, even though thinking about it still makes him blush.

“… You wanna go on a date?” He asks carefully, and the question has her beaming at him.

“Yes! Where?”

“The tree house.”

Obviously. She should’ve known. That place is perfect, deeply engraved in their hearts, since it’s where their adventures together began. In Aurora Blake’s backyard… It’s amazing how many hours they’ve spent up there, playing until they lost track of time. She’d draw cool dragons on his skin one day, and the next they would be aliens stuck in space, looking for a way down to Earth.

They bring sandwiches, some with Nutella and the rest with peanut butter. Then sit up there in their old hiding spot, baffled by how much smaller it seems now. “We’ve changed. This place hasn’t,” Bellamy remarks, wiping some Nutella off the corner of her mouth using his thumb.

“It’s still full of memories, though,” she sighs, looking around at the crayon drawings that brighten the wooden walls.

Bellamy takes her hand at that, wordlessly reminding her that they’ll make new memories before she becomes sad. Yes, things have indeed changed. They’ve grown up, that’s a part of the inevitable passage of time, but they still love each other.

(The first time he confessed his love to her was when he was seven years old. She said it back a year later…)

Turning her head towards him, Clarke leans forward to rest her forehead against his. Then she captures his lips with her own in a chaste kiss. A thousand butterflies flutter their wings in his heart when she murmurs, “You’re still my best friend, but I… I want you to be my boyfriend, too.”

“I think that’s perfect.”

It really, really is… The perfect change.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #nonnie #lovely people

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saltbaes · 7 years ago

Text

Overview: After getting kicked out of MIT, Raven’s best friend (Clarke) offers her a place to stay and a job at her boyfriend’s (Bellamy) bar “Arkadia.” While there she reunites with a former frenemy from highschool, John Murphy. Modern AU: Takes place in present day. Clarke’s in Med school. Bellamy owns the bar. Murphy bar-tends, along with Jasper and Monty. Pairings: (Main) Murphy x Raven, mentions of Bellarke Characters: (The 100) John Murphy, Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake, Finn Collins, Zeke Shaw, Jasper Jordan, Monty Green Rating: M (adult language + situations) Previous Chapter: 1 Chapter: Two

You can also read it on AO3

Inspired by the song Oasis by Jasmine Thompson.

Raven was under the impression that her first shift at Arkadia would be an easy one. It was a Sunday and she spent the majority of her afternoon being taught how to make the simplest of drinks, something she was quick to pick up on with the lack of customers they got. However, as the day dragged on and the sun set it was evident to her that she had vastly underestimated just how busy it would be.

By the time eight o'clock rolls around the bar is pretty much hundreds of conversations being told in obnoxiously loud voices, all of them competing with the music that seemed to be dominating the atmosphere. Raven never had to deal with loud, eardrum popping sounds when she was at MIT. In fact, in order to concentrate on anything, she needed remote silence. She wasn't one of those people who could have the TV on in the background when she did work, she needed the room to be quiet in order to focus. So, trying to remember dozens of variations of drinks while being talked at by an abundance of different people at the same time was a bit overwhelming to say the least.

On her side the crowd consists of young students from different universities, most of which already seem extremely tipsy before they even order their first drink. At the other end of the bar, where Murphy is, there seems to be an array of older people. Men in suits and women in blazers, some sporting salt and pepper hair while the others are showing signs of premature balding.

Bellamy made a point to explain to her why he was making her deal with the college students instead of the seemingly much calmer grown-ups on Murphy's end. Evidently there isn't much a bunch of coeds won't drink. If she were to mess up any drinks, which she has, the chances of them noticing or giving her a hard time about it were slim. However, the regulars at the end of the bar would definitely notice and he didn’t want her first shift to involve being berated by some yuppie in a pant suit who just wants to nurse his whiskey and stare at the sorority girls he can't pull.

As she filled several cups of beer she watched Murphy graciously move around his station, making drinks so quickly and with so much ease she was almost in awe of him. It was obvious he had years of experience and knew what he was doing, but the swiftness he possessed and the complete awareness of what was going on around him was actually impressive. So impressive that she accidently overfills the customers glasses, spilling beer all over the counter and floor.

"Shit." She mumbles under her breath as she tries to get the situation under control as quickly as possible. Much to her dismay she draws attention to herself, prompting Monty to step in and help.

Raven glances up just as Murphy notices he's lost two bartenders to the spill on the ground. She can see him shake his head ever so slightly as he briskly walks over to where they were. "You." He directs his words at Monty as he pulls a mop bucket out of the closet behind them. "Go help Jasper on the right side."

Monty does as he's told and the spill is cleaned in a matter of seconds. Before Raven can even blink Murphy's outstretching his arm to help her to her feet. "Try to keep up, Reyes."

She nods as he pulls her to her feet, trying not to beat herself up about what just happened. It was her first day, she knew she'd make mistakes but making mistakes that John Murphy had to correct felt like a new low.

As she tended to the guests she couldn’t help but to pay attention to the different ways Murphy interacted with each person ordering. He came off as aloof and one track minded when dealing with the male patrons but his demeanor changed completely when it was a girl on the other side of the counter.

She watched as a red head leaned on the bar, her long waves lying over one shoulder of her sequined top. The girl lolled her head to one side, pursing her red lips into a smirk whenever Murphy so much as smiled in her direction. His eyes dropped only momentarily to her barely there neckline as he made her drink while the girl twiddled her hair in a seemingly absent-minded way.

Raven began to curl her lip in disgust as she watched him shamelessly flirt with her but as the girl plucked a twenty-dollar bill from her cleavage and slid it across the counter to him before walking away, realization hit her. It wasn't until she saw him move on to the next female at the counter and repeat what he had done previously that he confirmed her suspicion. He wasn't flirting to be a creep, he was using the situation to his advantage. He was being smart.

In the five minutes that he had been on her side of the bar he had already made almost $60 in tips, meanwhile she'd been there all night and had a lousy $9 to show for it. She knew if she wanted to make the most out of a shitty situation she had to acclimate or better yet, she had to take a page from Murphy's book.

She takes care of another patron before quickly slipping into the back. She undoes her ponytail, allowing her long chestnut locks to frame her face before yanking off her long sleeve shirt, leaving her in just a low-cut camisole.

---

Murphy pretends to not notice Raven slip away. They were just starting to get the crowd under control and he didn’t have the time to babysit her. If she wanted to bail or couldn’t handle it, he'd understand but he wasn't about to let her come in between him and his money. He was there to work, not to play hide and seek with the new bartender.

To his surprise Raven resurfaces, taking her spot behind the bar again. He does a double take as she begins to take orders, doing his best not to stare at her exposed skin. With her hair down, she seemed like a completely different person and with her cleavage on display she quickly became the favorite amongst their male customers. Not that it was surprising... and not that he was complaining.

"Someone's a fast learner." He says, motioning to her change of appearance when she glances in his direction. A cocky grin flashes across her face and it takes everything in him not to smile in return. "And here I thought you'd be above a little sexual exploitation."

Raven rolls her eyes but her smirk remains. "You call it exploitation I call it making money."

"Touché." His eyes linger on her a little longer than he'd like to admit, before forcing himself to tear his gaze away.

His attention returns to the few guests still waiting for drinks and just as he's about to head back over to his usual spot at the opposite side of the bar he sees a familiar face walk through the door. Finn Collins. Murphy clenches his jaw as he comes closer, readying himself for what he's sure is about to be an interesting interaction.

When his eyes land on Raven, he stops in his tracks, eyebrows pulling together. Murphy can see the wheels turning in Finn's head as he contemplates whether or not to approach her.

He only ever showed up towards the end of Jasper and Monty's shift but tonight he was earlier than usual and Murphy wouldn’t be surprised if it was because one of them told him about the new bartender. Although it was obvious he wasn’t expecting to see her.

Raven has yet to notice him and as Finn begins to close in on her Murphy finds himself, literally, standing between them. "Go in the back and grab another rag, would ya."

Unfortunately for him Raven doesn't bite. "Get it yourself." She answers with a slight shove. As she maneuvers around Murphy her eyes lock with Finn and she freezes.

"Raven." Finn smiles, doing a once over of her.

Murphy watches as the brunette blinks several times, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her eyes go dark, her mouth rigid. "Finn."

"What the hell are you doing bartending?" There's a hint of humor in his voice but Raven remains cold, glaring at him.

"Jasper and Monty are over there, why don't you fuck off." Murphy chimes in, Raven holds her hand out to stop him from interfering.

"I see you've got a guard dog now." Finn smirks, provoking a snarl from Murphy.

"I see you're still an asshole." Raven retorts. "Now why don't you do us all a favor and leave."

As if on cue, Jasper calls out to Finn ending the staring contest between the exes. Once Finn walks away Raven brushes past Murphy into the backroom. He hesitates but ultimately decides to follow her.

"Reyes." He calls out, knocking on the supply closet before opening it. "Hey, you okay?"

"Just... stop." Raven says through shallow breaths. She's sitting on a pile of boxes, forearms resting on her lap while her head hangs low. "Stop being nice to me... stop trying to fight my battles for me. I can handle Finn and I don't need your help, Murphy... just leave me alone."

Murphy nods, swallowing the lump in his throat as he backs out of the room and closes the door behind him. He knew trying to get on her good side was a lost cause and yet he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to chuck it up as him just trying to be civil with his coworker (and sort of roommate) but he knew that wasn’t the entire truth.

He was trying to make amends for something that happened six years ago when they were still in high school. Even though deep down he knew if she hadn't forgiven him by now chances were she'd never forgive him.

With that in mind he returns to the bar, eager for the night to be over with.

___

Raven exhales deeply as she lifts the final stool onto the last table. She managed to make it through her first shift in one piece. She looks around at the now empty bar, a completely different atmosphere than it was a few hours prior. The only sound that could be heard was the wiping of the glasses and the broom sweeping across the cement floor.

Luckily, Finn took the hint and didn’t bother her for the rest of the night, although she could feel him burning a hole into the side of her face the entire time. Murphy, on the other hand, hadn't said a word or even glanced in her direction since she told him to leave her alone. She was expecting snarky comments or even a sarcastic remark here and there but instead he did what he was told. He left her alone.

"Any plans for tonight, Raven?" Monty asks as he pulls on his jacket.

"Oh yeah, I've got a hot date with my Netflix account." She says wryly.

Monty smiles. Jasper snorts a laugh. "You know it's hard to believe you guys weren't close in high school." Monty continues, glancing between Murphy and Raven. "You're a lot alike."

Raven narrows her eyes and Jasper decides to fill her in. "That's always Murphy's answer when we ask him if he has any plans."

Her eyes dart over to where Murphy is, surprised to see him with his back turned to the rest of them.

"What exactly happened between you two?" Jasper inquires bringing Raven's attention back to the scrawny boy. "It's obvious you hate each other but like... why? I mean, I know why I hate him, why do you?"

"Why do you hate him?" She asks, hoping to stall the conversation for a little while.

"Cause he's a snarky asshole." Jasper answers with a shrug. "Now spill it."

Raven sighs. She hated rehashing the past but something told her if she didn’t tell him he'd never shut up about it. She felt it was better to get it out in the open now than prolong it any further.

"It was sophomore year and I had spent months on end scrounging up any change I could find to go on this school field trip to NASA. I was obsessed. I wouldn’t talk about anything else... and my mom was a drunk who couldn’t be bothered to buy food let alone send me to Washington so I babysat and did homework for upperclassmen, literally anything I could to make money. Somehow, I managed to save up enough... but like an idiot, I left my money in my gym bag in the locker room and when I went back for it... it was gone."

"How'd you know it was him?" Monty asks.

"She caught me trying to put it back that following Monday." Murphy chimes in.

"But by then the trip was already over." Raven adds, meeting his gaze. "When I told my mom I lost the money she burned me with her cigarette."

"So, you've always been a piece of shit." Jasper shakes his head. "What were you even going to buy with the money?"

"Who cares?" Raven says before Murphy can answer. "What's done is done. Besides, that was a long time ago."

"Apparently you still care." Jasper laughs, hopping off the counter before grabbing his jacket. "Though I don’t blame you. I'd be pissed too."

"See you guys tomorrow." Monty calls out as he and Jasper head for the door. Raven waits until they're out of sight before locking up behind them.

The room fills with silence. It clings to them like a poisonous cloud that at any moment could choke the life from them. Raven's hesitant to meet his gaze again but when she turns back around he's walking towards the stairs, leaving her in the dark.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs he's already got his keys out attempting to let himself into his apartment. The silence stretches thinner and thinner until the temptation to fill it was too great to resist.

"Not that it matters but I was going to go see my dad." Murphy breaks the tension, his voice lower than usual. It takes Raven a second to understand what he's talking about. "He was in hospice up in Connecticut and I – I just wanted to see him one last time but my mom wouldn’t let me... So when I saw your money I..." He pauses, letting his voice trail off. "I know it's no excuse but I am sorry. It wasn't personal and I definitely didn’t think you'd get hurt because of it. But I get it... I'd hate me too."

Raven watches as he opens the door and just as he's about to close it she speaks. "Did you get to see him?"

Murphy reluctantly locks eyes with her, shaking his head ever so slightly. "He died before I even bought the ticket." A beat of silence passes before either of them speak again. "Anyway... goodnight Reyes.

"Murphy." She calls out once more. He pauses. "I don’t hate you." When he lolls his head to the side, she smiles in spite of herself. "I mean, I don’t particularly like you... but I don't hate you."

"Good to know." Murphy suppresses a chuckle as he closes the door behind him.

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