▸ @redemptionmade ⟶ ❛ i’m begging for you to take my hand - from tolkien to tweek hahaha ❜ ╱ ( evermore , accepting . )
Tweek rubs his hands up his arms, cold and exposed without his usual heavy coat. He told himself that he would only be without it for a second, that it was fine to leave it where it was. He would only be outside long enough to get rid of Tolkien, then he would go back. Johnny, the guy whose lap Tweek had his legs hooked over, said, ‘I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend,’ and Tweek told him, ‘I don’t.’ He had to get Tolkien outside, or else, shit would get real weird real fast, and he doesn’t need that right now.
He glares up at Tolkien with wild, bloodshot eyes, his lips twitching into varying degrees of a snarl. Deep down, he knows this whole mess isn’t good for him, and he wishes he could quit it, but he still resents when other people point it out. For much of his life, people have been deciding what’s best for him and often being fucking wrong about it.
Tweek’s hand darts out to swat Tolkien’s away before he draws it back into himself, shivering in the Colorado chill. “You sh-shouldn’t fucking be here,” he snaps and laughs derisively. “This side of t-town—rrh—crews guys like you right the hell up.” The few rich bastards South Park’s economy have allowed to exist—the Broflovskis, the Marshes, the Blacks—generally know better than to enter crack den territory. They blow right through the stop signs here, and they carry their bags in front of them and close to their chests.
“How’d you find me?” Tweek taps his heel on the sidewalk impatiently, anxious to get back to the others. “Why’d you find me?”
