Chapter Text
70 clicks in a 50 zone, weaving impatiently between cars on the highway, slamming a hand on the horn repeatedly while shouting profanities and beating red lights like it is his given birth right - it is just another day on the road to Craig Tucker. It’s Monday morning - the start of another work week and the sober reminder that he is a slave to his pay cheque. Craig took another long drag of his cigarette that he held loosely between his fingertips before carelessly flicking his indicator on to turn right. There is no such thing as slowing on the approach in Craig’s mind, his well rehearsed excuse being that applying his failing brakes that squeal like a banshee make it more trouble than it is worth. Next pay cheque - he always tells himself -but that window of opportunity slips him by every single week.
Craig did the bare minimum before taking the turn -a quick shoulder check and a half-glance in the mirror sufficed as he let his calloused palm slide on the steering wheel to veer the car right.
BEEEEEEEP!
A maroon station wagon came screeching to a halt to avoid the collision.
“I went first you fucking moron!”, Craig roared out. His signature middle finger extended out the window as he let the tires of his work van rumble over worn asphalt covered in ice pellets - never mind the suspension, it’s fucked anyway! The driver of the maroon vehicle seemed to be shouting at him, but Craig took no notice - it’s not my fault that this world is filled with brainless fuckwits!
Craig shoved his cigarette between his lips and took two hands to the wheel to scan the parking lot for a spot. Fucking nothing. Zero capacity. Out of luck. Is there a loading zone I can use or something?! Craig grumbled angrily to himself as he let his navy Chevvy van bounce wildly over pot holes - the high school car park hasn’t changed one bit. It’s blatantly obvious that his old school is still in shambles, barely maintained and full of privileged teenagers who never learned how to park a car properly.
And here’s a fucking classic example right now! Craig thought furiously as the very last vacant parking spot in the car park came into view beside a beat up green hatchback. Is this person fucking blind?! There are two lines - you park between them and you’re done! Apparently the driver of this Honda Civic didn’t wear their glasses today because they’re parked on an angle and far up against the line.
“Fucking magic!”, Craig's curse dripped with sarcasm as he took another drag. He reversed abruptly and spun the wheel to squeeze into the park, allowing his tires to climb the curb onto the traffic island so that the right side of his car sat on top of it.
His van now on an angle, Craig huffed out of frustration and cut the ignition. He then stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray in the centre console. The smokey haze inside the car lingered but the chill of the cold morning hit Craig immediately once the heating cut out. He reluctantly shifted in his freezing cold seat and pried the door of his van open with his stiff fingertips.
Craig jumped out and let his work boots hit the ground before narrowing his eyes at the green hatchback. The paint is peeling from sun damage and the underlying panels are rusted. The back window is covered in decor stickers - Craig shook his head at the sight of various whimsical illustrations and slogans that slapped him in the face. It’s offensive to his retinas and an absolute waste of his time taking them in, but ‘Music Is Magic’ with a picture of a black cat in a witches hat piqued his interest - what the fuck - why is there a picture of a witchy cat?! His eyes trailed beside it to observe the ‘Friends’ Central Perk logo and above that to view the giant picture of a coffee cup with italics that read ‘Fueled by Coffee and Anxiety’. To the left of this is a row of giant glittery rainbow music notes with green block lettering above it that reads ‘Life is a song, Love is the music’.
Craig’s eyes fell to two stickers that are stuck to the bumper. Italic white writing on a black rectangular background reads ‘Don’t mind the scratches, the driver likes it rough’ right next to a decal of the gay pride flag with - you guessed it - more italic writing, this time reading ‘Let’s get one thing straight, because I’m not’. Craig felt triggered - why the fuck do people insist on plastering the ‘gay pride’ sticker all over their vehicles to parade it around?! - he’s gay, but you don’t see him promoting it out on the road!
A lot of mixed messages here…Craig thought with a huff.
The driver’s mirror now caught Craig’s eye - it’s covered in trinkets. There’s a plushie of a parrot, a dream catcher, a sun catcher shaped like a coffee cup and a crocheted sunflower.
What a fucking shit show! How does this person see out of the fucking windscreen?! At least it explains their terrible park!
Craig decided he’s wasted enough time detesting the driver of the green hatch back. He passed one last judgement that this person is an absolute scatterbrain and the definition of organised chaos before mobilizing to the back of his van and unceremoniously sliding the back open to reveal his mobile workshop. He rubbed his frozen hands together and blew hot air onto them as he scanned the contents for a brief moment.
Here it is - evidence that Craig is a hypocrite with very poor organisational skills - he couldn’t organize a root in a brothel. There’s his empty, unzipped linesman bag underneath countless connectors, coils of wire, boxes of screws and clips and bundles of conduit. Did he bother labeling any of them over the weekend? No, of course not! But it matters not - in class Craig fashion, he waves away this personality flaw and tells himself that he knows his shit so it doesn’t matter. He now cursed his lazy ass for not packing his bag in his warm garage this morning and hastily shoved all the contents into it before zipping it up. He then hoisted himself into the back of the van and started rifling through drawers with his calloused hands to shove tools into his caddy. It’s a squeeze for a 6 foot 6 man, but he has his own system back here.
“AHH - FUCK!”, a circuit finder crashed from a top drawer and bounced off his head.
He rubbed the sore spot covered by his chullo and muttered a few more profanities before relaxing his knees and sliding out of the van, pulling his bag and caddy with him.
SMASH!
“FOR FUCKS SAKE!”, Craig bellowed as a container of cable clips fell onto the ground and spewed its contents across the ground. He spent a few minutes cursing and salvaging what he could before sliding his ladder out and supporting it with his non-dominant hand. He finally heaved a heavy sigh and slammed the barn door on the van shut.
What a fucking ordeal!
His cold amber eyes glared up at his old stomping ground. It’s incredible how things come full circle. Eight years ago feels like a lifetime ago. The last time that he walked these grounds he swore he would never be back. He recalls vividly that everyone and everything was on the receiving end of his middle fingers on his very last day - not unlike most of his usual days at school. He despised it. He hated the teachers. He didn’t give a fuck about anybody except the friends he could count on one hand that he barely tolerated.
But here he is. Sure - working for himself as a sole trading qualified Electrician gives him the freedom to pick and choose his jobs in an ideal world, but real life is harsh and well paid work is getting harder to come by. He was offered a week’s worth of work here to replace light fixtures, upgrade the heating and install new power points in the classrooms and the alternative was having no income for the week.
Craig is stubborn. He decided to struggle and make one trip inside, despite the fact that his fiberglass ladder requires two hands to safely carry it. But workplace health and safety be damned - he's his own boss! He shoved the centre of his folded up ladder under his left arm and grabbed the handle while throwing his bag over his right shoulder and gripped his caddy in his right hand. He now grumbled as he made his way towards the front entrance while dragging his ladder roughly on the ground trailing behind him.
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Craig was right in one - the school has not changed one tiny bit. It’s the same dull grey floors with scratches and scuff marks. It still lacks ventilation and smells like cheap acrylic floor wax. The grey walls are still marked up and peeling, but there are obvious signs that there have been countless paint jobs to cover over graffiti. Craig suppressed a laugh when his eyes fell on the drinking fountain by the door - it still has a dent in the metal basin from the day he slammed Eric Cartman into it and copped a week long suspension.
Craig threw his shit down and threw the students passing by menacing looks for daring to look at him curiously. He then approached the counter where a young woman with long, curly blonde hair sat on a red swivel chair by a computer with her black heels on the desk and a phone receiver to her ear in deep conversation.
“-oh, it was RIDICULOUS! He just grovelled -he’s such a cry baby!”, the chirpy woman informed her caller as she used her free hand to play with her long locks, “What did he expect?! He KNOWS that he isn’t allowed to buy any more Letterman jackets, but here he goes filling up the wardrobe again because it is a three for one sale?! Sussing out sales on fashion is MY job! Oh-”, the woman’s big brown eyes now locked onto Craig and her ruby red lips formed a radiant smile, “-Babe, I gotta go - still on for girl’s drinks on Thursday? Yep! You bet I’m wearing the Gucci dress - yeah - bye bye - mwah!”.
The woman slammed the phone down and leaned back on the chair to rake her eyes over Craig. Wasted effort lady, I don’t bat for your team! Craig’s used to it. His personality is abrasive and off-putting but he is told incessantly he is easy on the eye. His physique of having toned biceps, broad shoulders and long legs are just some of his appealing masculine features. His raven black hair, liquid amber eyes, straight nose and sharp jaw makes his face handsome - which is usually something to feel smug about, but Craig finds it nothing more than annoying. It shits him to tears when lonely old ladies hire him for jobs and do nothing but pester him by offering him biscuits and tea all day while they gawk at him when he is trying to work. Then there are situations like this one...
The receptionist who now shot up from her chair and offered her dainty hand with long, crimson nails across the counter is not the first drooling young floozy that he has met introducing himself to a new job site. This ‘Bebe’ - or so it says on her crooked name badge across her chest (which is sucked in with a bright red dress that is at least two sizes too small for her) - now looked at Craig with a dreamy expression, “Well, hello there handsome!”, she greeted in a confident, flirty tone, “I trust by the way you’ve treated our entrance-way as a workshop that you are our electrician we are expecting?!”.
Craig merely nodded once and scowled.
Bebe’s eyes raked hungrily over Craig once more, “Oh goody! Well - you’ve come to the right place! Uhh-”, she squinted at his yellow and navy high-vis top to read the stitched name on the breast pocket - thank Craig’s mother for that little added feature - “-Craig? Ooh, what a strong name…”, Bebe giggled and quickly made her away around the other side of the counter, “Bell’s about to go-”, and at that moment, the familiar loud ring of the bell echoed through the room, “-Spoke too soon! Now, you’ll be starting in the Music room! It’s just down the hall-”.
“-Why?”, Craig enquired. He doesn’t fucking care - a room is a room, but he wonders if there was any thought process to the prioritization or whether it’s just the closest room to the front of the school. He doesn’t fucking know where the music room is - his time here was spent doing mandatory subjects, manual workshop and playing football - and that is even if he bothered to attend at all.
Bebe looked sheepish, “Oh! I didn’t ask! I just say what the Principal tells me to! But each of the classrooms has the lights and heater units in it ready for you - that was a real hassle you know, why can’t you bring your own?!”.
Craig huffed, “Your Principal said he could save a few bucks sourcing them himself - I don’t give a shit, he pays me by the hour to do the work so…”. Craig now bent down and grabbed his bag and caddy before struggling to pick up his ladder.
“Gee - do you need help?! You can make two trips-”.
“-Wastes too much time, just show me where I am going”, Craig said shortly before straightening up and giving Bebe an impatient look.
Give me another fucking cigarette because my patience is already wearing thin! Craig needed nicotine about ten minutes ago. Being back in this place sucks, his job sucks and his whole fucking life just sucks.
Craig followed Bebe down the hallways past the last straggling students. They turned down a hallway to the right to find over twenty students lined up outside a blue door to the right. Most of the students looked bored and apathetic, but a couple were trying to look through the frosted glass and appeared at least slightly curious as to the whereabouts of their teacher.
“Oh dear - well this is a situation…”, Bebe muttered to Craig as they slowed to a stop in front of the crowded doorway, “I don’t think he called in sick today…maybe…no, I definitely checked - I think?!”.
Craig rolled his eyes. Fucking perfect, “Can’t I just start somewhere else?!”.
Bebe pulled out a set of keys from her coat pocket and frowned at the class, “Where’s Mr. Tweak?!”.
“Haven’t seen him!”, a short blonde girl at the front responded, He-”.
“-AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! LATE! LATE! OH, SWEET JESUS!”.
The group turned to face the source of the panicked shouting - but Craig didn’t bother. Clearly it’s the music teacher who has no regard for other people’s time and will hopefully get the sack for his lack of punctuality.
Rushed footsteps are skidding on lino and raspy pants and gasps are drawing closer. Craig didn’t bother to look up until he saw a flash of blonde and silver out of the corner of his eye, just as a dinted metal green thermos bounced onto the floor and hit Craig’s left boot. Black coffee spilled out of the spout and gushed onto the floor.
“NO! NOOO! OH - I’M SO SORRY!”, a screechy pathetic apology coming from a highly annoying, super disorganized and - Craig now let his eyes register the new arrival - very interesting looking blonde who just skidded to a halt beside him.
Craig let go of his fiberglass ladder to pick up the thermos - the sacrifice is surely worth it, despite the fact the ladder has now crashed hard to the ground and narrowly avoided two students standing in the way. Craig’s large fingers grasped the thermos and gazed at the silver writing on the side of it.
Tweek...
Craig now looked up to examine its owner.
Craig has never seen anyone like this very interesting blonde before in his entire life. The word eccentric comes to mind immediately - there is a lot going on at first glance and the longer Craig stares, the more questions that come to his mind.
The man is very youthful, which makes him question whether he could actually be a qualified teacher - he barely looks 20. He’s short and petite, the top of his head barely reaches Craig’s chest. His hair is long, thick and wild, it’s sticking out in all directions in waves that cascade down past his shoulders to his mid back. It’s multi-toned, Craig can see honeyed golden tones mixed with silvery blonde that catches the sunlight. He’s pale and dainty with barely there freckles that make his face appear delicate. But the most noteworthy feature of his face is his eyes - they’re like giant, almost unnaturally green orbs - or perhaps they just look like that because they are blown open because their owner is in an absolute frenzy of panic. He has a small button nose and rosebud lips which are quivering in fear.
Mr. Tweak’s entire vibe screams ‘shell-shocked cat’. He’s twitching and trembling with restless energy or anxiety - or perhaps both and so much more. Craig wonders if he has a medical condition - watching him shake incessantly is making Craig uncomfortable, but everyone else around him seems supremely unconcerned.
The clothing is - there’s no other word for it - different. A well-fitted, dull silver button-up is clinging to his dainty arms and slender body and is patterned with black and white piano keys and musical notes. He has his ear pierced - his cascading locks are shoved behind his right ear to reveal three pierced holes - the first is a silver chain threaded through and dangling, the charm at the end of it is a musical note. The second hole has a black hoop through it, and the final outer piercing is a small ceramic coffee cup. He has several silver ringed fingers - Craig was quick to notice that he is not wearing a ring on his wedding finger. His pants are white-washed denim with rips at the knees and tight with a brown leather rope belt sitting low on his hips. He wore green combat boots with silver metal laces.
The overall effect is very eye-catching, interesting and busy. It’s too much but also not enough at the same time. Craig can’t help but look at Mr. Tweak’s earrings and wonder whether he would sport space-themed earrings with dangling planets or astronauts. Craig is scanning Mr. Tweak’s small frame and pondering what Mr. Tweak would look like wearing his favourite colour navy - perhaps he is cold - wouldn’t he be cold right now?! How is he not freezing?! That shirt looks paper thin - Craig is now imagining him with Craig's favourite navy NASA hoodie on and that long blonde hair flowing out from the hood atop of his head…
Craig’s first impression? Mr. Tweak is a hot mess. A chaotic whirlwind of wonder. A mystery wrapped in a riddle. Anxiety on steroids.
Craig’s eyes met Mr. Tweak’s as students rushed around to pick up Craig’s fallen ladder. Craig wordlessly handed the spilled thermos to Mr. Tweak, who accepted with twitching fingers.
“T-thanks!”, and in a split second Mr Tweak’s eyes had left Craig’s to look at Bebe, “I - sorry Bebe - late late LATTEEEE - latte? It was a latte before it spilled on the floor…”, Mr. Tweak frowned as his eyes fell on the spill. He jumped suddenly and let his free hand fly to his pocket. Out came a set of keys, which curiously had more key chains on it than keys. Craig observed there was a Lego key chain with several colourful bricks on it, a metal one shaped like a piano, a silver dog tag that is engraved ‘music is my melody’, a round black ceramic key chain that is clearly a mini record and a round resin key chain with what appears to be a photo of a blue parrot in it.
The puzzle pieces came together in Craig’s mind, much like the piano keys are purposefully running like elegant ribbons on Mr Tweak’s shirt - he is now certain he has located the owner of the beat-up Honda Civic in the parking lot, but mysteriously he doesn’t have the energy to be incensed about it.
Mr. Tweak now let his trembling dainty fingers run over keys while humming “do dooo, do-do dooo”, to himself.
Craig turned to grab his ladder off the students with a quiet thanks before cocking an eyebrow in Mr Tweak’s general direction. What the fuck?! But at the same time he can’t tear his eyes off the man. The long pianist fingers finally fell onto a rusty golden key and proceeded to fail to jam it into the lock repeatedly.
“Got - RRR - come on you stupid thing!”, Mr. Tweak’s teeth were bared as he jiggled the keys again and kept roughly shoving at the lock with repeated failure.
“Mr. Tweak - slow down!”, Bebe rushed forward and assisted with allowing the lock to meet key. A few sniggers behind Mr. Tweak in the line made Craig’s blood boil - he’s fucking trying, leave him alone!
“Just- Bluebonnet would be hungry - what kind of teacher am I Bebe?! Gee whiz - all over a God damn coffee - which is now on the God damn floor!”.
“Let’s worry about that later…”, Bebe now cooed in a hushed voice. The reassurance seems genuine yet so familiar, and Craig wonders if this is far from out of the ordinary for the twitchy music teacher.
“B-but-”.
“Relax! You know Kenny starts his cleaning rounds at 7:30 and he adores Bluebonnet! He’s probably asleep on his perch with a full tummy-”.
“-Ngh!”, Mr. Tweak twitched involuntarily and took a long sip from his thermos as Bebe flung the door open at last.
The sniggers grew in pitch and frequency. Craig snapped his neck to the group of students and narrowed his eyes.
“PUT A SOCK IN IT!”, did that just come out of Craig’s mouth?! Did Craig just stick his nose in it? Absol-fucking-lutely he did - he’s well versed in blinking first. A short fuse combined with giving zero fucks is a combustible energy and often gets him into trouble.
A stunned silence fell over the crowd - yeah, that’s right - but Mr Tweak's eyes are round like saucers. He waved his hand repeatedly to gesture for his students to file inside, “Inside - that’s the way - we’ve lost precious time - my fault, all my fault - let’s keep calm now - TAKE YOUR DESIGNATED POSITIONS - NO BRADLEY - DON’T POKE HIM, HE’S ASLEEP!”, Mr. Tweak went from zero to one hundred in a split second - his eyes snapped to gaze inside the class room and he suddenly seemed waspish.
What the fuck?! Who is this trembling mess of a man?! What makes him tick - and why the fuck can’t I look away?!
Bebe now turned around and started playing with her hair again - eyes locked and loaded on Craig like he’s her next meal. He gave her a stony expression as she let her fingers lightly touch his chest shamelessly, “Ok! Well now that that’s sorted, I better get back. Now, if you need directions later to uhh, find any local cuisine for lunch or to find the bathroom - just come and ask me!”, and with that she winked at him flirtatiously and turned her heel to strut away while intentionally making a show of swinging her hips.
Craig rolled his eyes and grunted as Mr. Tweak turned around to look at him. His right eye twitched as he met Craig’s stare, “I - I’m sorry! I don’t know why you are here?! Who are you?! You’re - fixing - fixing what though?!.
Craig nodded and took an extra long pause before responding - he doesn’t want to spook this guy with his towering temper, “Uhh - electrical. You know - sparky stuff? I was told to start here? I’m replacing the lights”.
Mr. Tweak blinked at him. Another involuntary twitch made him stutter, “W-where are the lights?”.
Craig frowned, “I was told they would be here?”.
Mr. Tweak jumped suddenly. A look of dawned comprehension washed over his face, “Oh! The boxes! Umm - sure! Just - come in!”.
Craig assessed the situation. Mr. Tweak is standing right in his way - uhh - fucking move?! But Craig couldn’t verbalize it. Craig couldn’t bring himself to shoot any sort of insult or snappy retort at Mr. Tweak, who right now resembles a frightened animal. Craig was quickly reminded of his pet guinea pig Stripe - small, twitchy and cute. Cute?! Fuck, i really need that smoke pronto…
“Uhh - after you?”, Craig finally said.
Mr. Tweak blinked again. A misunderstanding. A stubbornness of both parties to be courteous to the other. A stand-off. Craig’s not sure what to call it, but he’s getting frustrated at Mr. Tweak's vacant stare and his apparent inability to listen.
“Please - you first”, Craig tried again.
Mr. Tweak jumped violently, “R-Right!”, the thermos met his lips again before he scurried into the room.
What the…what?!
The classroom resembled mayhem - the students are loud, disrespectful and causing a real ruckus. They at least seem to have moved to a large cupboard on the right side of the room and retrieved cases that Craig assumed contained musical instruments. Mr. Tweak was standing at the front of the room watching them with a somewhat determined expression. One hand was drumming fingers rhythmically on the desk while the other held the thermos up to his mouth and appeared to be gulping his precious elixir of life with gusto.
Craig scanned the roof and found the man hole right beside the teacher’s desk. He then let his eyes fall on a stack of cardboard boxes over in the opposite corner and breathed a sigh of relief - clearly that’s everything he needs to do the work. His eyes then caught several coloured posters that littered the walls. The first was of Mozart quoting ‘The music is not in the notes, but in the silence in between”. The next featured Eminem ‘Music is like magic, there’s a certain feelin’ you get’. Johnny Cash in a poster with his quote ‘Life and love go on, let the music play’. There were several paintings - one that caught Craig’s eye was a blonde man playing the piano who looks suspiciously like a younger Mr. Tweak - is it?
SQUAWK! SQUAWK!
Craig nearly dropped his ladder at the sight of a large, blue parrot sitting on a tall, freestanding wooden perch to the other side of Mr. Tweak’s desk. A wire rack sat on the wall beside it with a water and seed dish attached to it. This must be Bluebonnet…Craig wandered quietly. It’s a pretty bird - Craig is impressed by the size of it. He’s also fascinated that it lives here at the school - he has no recollection of teachers keeping pets when he roamed these halls, not even a harmless goldfish. Why doesn’t it go home with Mr. Tweak? Why does it stay here at night? Does it even belong to the vivacious blonde? So many questions…
Sudden shouting brought Craig out of his reverie.
“NGH! THAT’S ENOUGH TIME! GRAB YOUR INSTRUMENTS AND FIND YOUR SPOTS! COME ON - THIRTY SECONDS!”, Mr. Tweak pointed dramatically at the clock above his head.
SQUAWK! THIRTY SECONDS! SQUAWK!
“Ngh - thanks Bluebonnet…”, Mr. Tweak muttered sideways to the bird - who was gazing at the class in an almost superior, judgmental way.
Unenthusiastic murmuring and shuffling of feet ensued as Mr. Tweak watched his students take places behind music stands. There are three rows, and Craig noticed desks and chairs stacked against the windows on the other side of the room. He started to wonder again, but Mr. Tweak answered his question immediately.
“MONDAYS ARE MUSIC - COME ON, WE SHOULD BE EXCITED! NO PENS AND PAPER - ALL PRACTICAL!”, Mr. Tweak called out.
Remarkable… Craig thought as he stared at Mr. Tweak.
The twitching remains, but it is no longer a consistent tremor or presenting as wildly dramatic jerky movements - it is more of an overall restless energy. Mr. Tweak seems to now have a firm grip on his emotional state. His voice is finding its confidence and he seems somewhat comfortable in his own skin. Mr. Tweak now closed his eyes for a few moments and Craig observed him take a couple of deep breaths - is he fucking meditating during all of this commotion?!
The class were all standing behind their individual music stands now and ruffling through sheet music. The talking died down and one by one they fell silent to watch Mr. Tweak intently.
Eyes finally snapped open and calm, alluring eyes now gazed unblinkingly at the class. Craig couldn’t tear his eyes away. Now that the sunlight is hitting Mr. Tweak, his eyes appear more teal in colour. Aqua blue is pooling with liquid green lagoons - captivating, stunning - are they real?! Maybe he wears coloured contacts…
“Okay!”, Mr. Tweak placed his thermos down and now had his hands by his sides, “Sorry for the rough start this morning! Now - as I mentioned Friday, we are done with ‘Stars and Stripes Forever’ - forever - thank God!”, he sighed in relief and now flashed his class a nervous smile, which revealed straight white teeth, “S-so now we move on! Unfortunately we have to stick to a somewhat strict curriculum…”, he frowned, “But I took your song suggestions seriously! Ngh! Uh - we’re doing Viva La Vida!”.
Chatter broke out immediately, “Ok! Simmer down…I will talk it through! As much as I love your enthusiasm, the Funeral March is far too somber a-and while I did love the video sent to me of ‘The Joker and The Thief’ performed as an orchestra - I simply couldn’t find the sheet music in time!”, the class all groaned, but Mr. Tweak raised his hands in an attempt to restore order, “Rrr! but - we can do it next time! Give me time to track it down!”.
Mr. Tweak’s eyes now snapped to Craig.
“Can I help you?! I thought you would just uhh - do your thing?! D-do you need something?!”, Craig felt taken aback - is Mr. Tweak annoyed at him?!
The class all turned to look at Craig. “Uhh - no”, Craig decided, “Just - I need that man hole above your head there”.
Mr. Tweak shrugged dramatically and furrowed his brows, “So?! A-as long as you don’t disrupt my class then there won’t be any problem!”.
Craig scowled. Sassy blonde…he’s certainly a bag of tricks…
Mr. Tweak continued to glower at him, “Well?!”.
“Uhh - is it cool if I cut the power to the lights? I have to replace them see-”.
“-Do what you need to do!”, Mr. Tweak’s voice became loud and sing-song in tone. He waved his arms in a floaty, elegant manner, almost as if he was dancing, “By all means - we have sunlight!”.
“Glad to hear it”, Craig tossed his tool caddy down and dropped the bag off of his shoulders. He then proceeded to skirt the perimeter of the classroom to reach the man hole. He noisily unfolded his ladder and scraped the legs of it outward so he could proceed to climb up.
Mr. Tweak shot Craig a disapproving look, “A-as I was saying - uhh - without further ado - turn to page 146 please! Jeremy - you’ve got the cello, you might need a chair and sit up the front…”.
Craig’s disorganization shone through again. He was halfway climbing up before he smacked his forehead and realized he needed his bag. He also needed his drill and saw. He descended the ladder again to hear Mr. Tweak addressing the class.
“French Revolution and the death of King Louis XVI! But we aren’t in a history class - so let’s talk about the song! We’ve talked about sweeping melodies, and this song allows us to fine-tune the skill of ensemble co-ordination! It’s steady and has a rhythm to drive the tempo forward - HIGH ENERGY! YOU CAN FEEL IT AS YOU PLAY!”, Mr. Tweak’s passion is showing through crystal clear - it’s a stark difference to the nervous ball of energy he saw outside not ten minutes earlier.
Craig scolded himself - uhh, get your job done you fucking idiot?! Earn that smoke break!
Craig now busied himself retrieving his tools and ripping boxes open noisily.
“DO YOU MIND?!”.
Craig continued to use box cutters to shred the boxes down and throw the contents at his feet. He assumed Mr Tweak’s sudden outburst was aimed at one of the students.
“HEY! SPARKY!”.
“Hmm?”, Craig looked up with an expression of mild curiosity on his face. Mr. Tweak is looking right at him looking thoroughly irritated.
“YOU’RE BEING *LOUD*”, Mr. Tweak fired up dramatically. He clapped his hands three times, “YOU - ARE - DISRUPTING!”.
“Sorry?!”, Craig shot out sarcastically, “I’m just unpacking!”.
“Yeah?! Well - DO - IT - QUIETER!”, a clap was placed in between each word.
A few members of the class laughed, but all twenty five students watched Craig with curious expressions, which greatly contrasted their teacher’s - Mr. Tweak still looks extremely pissed off. The eye twitch is back and his hands are trembling.
“Quieter?!”, Craig enquired, “I’m not even talking!”.
“TCH!”, Mr. Tweak stomped his foot and widened his eyes dangerously, “A DULL ROAR, IF YOU PLEASE!”.
Craig huffed - what a fucking princess - “Ok? Fine!”.
Mr. Tweak looked satisfied with Craig’s answer. He flashed a sweet smile which somehow felt like water had been dumped over Craig’s internal inferno.
“Ok - let’s warm up! Our usual percussion in three-”, Mr. Tweak’s arms are no longer shaking. He held his conductor’s baton elegantly in his right hand, “-two, one”.
A pleasant musical melody began to play as Craig decided to start preparing equipment at the back of the classroom. He kept stealing glances of Mr. Tweak, who swayed to the music and waved his baton with precision and purpose. There’s no mistakes or clumsy cases of butterfingers - Mr. Tweak seems to barely hold the baton with his pianist fingers, yet every movement is clearly leading the band to play flawlessly. No mistakes, no delays, no wrong chords - it all came together beautifully.
Craig couldn’t help but smile as he listened in. The graceful blonde swayed and was humming along with the tune just as Craig started up his right-angle drill.
vrrrRRR-zzzzzt! z-z-z-z-z-z-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t!
Something’s wrong - the music suddenly ceased to play.
Z-z-z-z-z-z-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t!
“HEY! SPARKY! HELLO?!”
Oh…that’s me apparently… Craig cut the power to the drill and gazed at a murderous looking Mr. Tweak, “Uhh - sorry-”.
“SORRY?! CAN’T YOU DO THAT SHIT OUTSIDE?!”, long blonde hair was flying and Mr. Tweak’s arms were dramatically waving in frustration again, “WE’RE PLAYING!”.
“Outside?! What- in the snow?!”, Craig retorted in annoyance, “Where it’s damp and moist ?! Are you out of your head?! Electricity and water don’t like each other!”.
“Ngh - I’m well aware!”, Mr. Tweak shot back. The class was moving their heads between Mr. Tweak and Craig like it is an intense tennis rally, “Just - A DULL ROAR!”.
“A DRILL IS QUITE LITERALLY A DULL ROAR!”, Craig retorted angrily. He narrowed his eyes at Mr. Tweak and felt his heart race while thinking to himself - Just because you’re pretty and almost ethereal, it doesn’t mean you can stop me from doing my job!
Mr. Tweak looked scandalized, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! JUST - RRR!”, he twitched violently and let his hands fly into his thick golden locks. He sighed and closed his eyes and appeared to be muttering to himself. What a lunatic!
Suddenly the bright lagoon eyes flew open. Mr. Tweak huffed, “Gah! Just - try to - k-keep it down!”.
Mr. Tweak now sighed and looked at the class apologetically. Craig heard him mutter under his breath, “Jesus Christ I need more coffee!…”.
Craig smiled to himself. Something about this guy is absolutely fucking entertaining. Craig feels thrills from winding Mr. Tweak up - it’s energizing, it’s exciting and it’s just downright addictive- Craig wonders if this is Mr. Tweak's absolute worst, because he finds it absolutely lovely. There’s so much more to the package that is Mr. Tweak and Craig's dying to rip it open and unpack it -much like the boxes he unpacked moments earlier. He wants to lay all his tools out on the ground and connect all the pieces that make Mr. Tweak tick out in front of him before spending countless hours methodically piecing them all back together to finally innovate wires and bring it to life. What the fuck is he dealing with here?! He can’t afford to misplace one piece - he has to get it right. And luckily for Craig, this is his whole profession…
SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK!
Mr. Tweak huffed.
Craig soon disappeared up in the roof space. Calloused fingers worked skillfully with wire as he sweated in the still, hot confined space. But he kept his focus. Every wire is run with purpose - Craig doesn’t make messes and he certainly doesn’t make mistakes. Cables don’t cross or twist and connections are done neatly. He hates people who cut corners - he’s worked with enough lazy co-workers and called them out countless times for not doing the job right - that’s why he’s out working for himself now. The hours are long and it’s tougher to get work - but he’s got to build his reputation up to make a successful solo career out of it. He’s done well in the past eighteen months he’s been going it alone anyway - he has certainly fixed up some sloppy, slap-dash jobs from other electricians and received a lot of praise for his skills and expertise. How else could he have landed a gig like this one?!
Craig is usually driven mental by hearing the same song over and over again, especially when it’s something as mainstream as Coldplay. But he found he enjoyed hearing the band practice over and over again. The melody didn’t disrupt his focus - in fact - did he dare admit it helped to sharpen it?
⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧⌁⏧
Craig realized after some time that there had been a suspiciously long stretch of silence. He frowned from the corner of the roof space after connecting yet another wire and crawled over to the manhole to take a peek down into Mr. Tweak’s classroom.
No students - that was an immediate observation. Craig’s heart leapt - yes - fucking smoko time! But he noticed something else that made his heart start to thump erratically in his chest - Mr. Tweak is alone in the room and sitting at his desk pouring over papers and humming to himself. It’s an upbeat tune - Craig can’t quite place his finger on it. Blonde luscious hair is out and flowing and curls are touching the desk. A green pen is poised in Mr. Tweak’s right hand while his left is drumming delicate fingers on the desk inches from his thermos. As Craig wondered whether Mr. Tweak has managed to refill it, he witnessed him grab it suddenly and take a long sip.
“Ngh…”, Mr. Tweak sighed to himself as he placed the thermos down with trembling fingers.
Craig checked his watch - 11:30?! No wonder my stomach is rumbling! Craig is time poor - breakfast is a luxury at the best of times and he’s more of a big brunch guy.
His eyes scanned Mr. Tweak’s desk again. No sign of food? Did he eat? Probably…but then, it hasn’t been that long since class finished - he knows it rings at 11:15…
Craig dared to enquire. He cleared his throat and lowered his head through the man hole to gaze down at Mr. Tweak.
“Peek a boo!”, Craig decided to use humour to break through Mr. Tweak’s earlier ice storm.
“GAH!”.
Mr. Tweak’s arm twitched violently and his pianist fingers clumsily knocked over the thermos. And there goes his richly coloured elixir of life for the second time today, but this time it’s all over the desk and staining several sheets of paper brown. Mr. Tweak’s entire body writhed as if jolted by electricity and he screeched in shock. He now looked upwards at Craig in utter fear.
“Y-YOU - ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!”, there is no calm before the storm - it’s quite literally just crackling electricity and thunder clapping like a bass drop.
Craig’s mouth hung open in horror. He moved extremely quickly to scurry down the ladder, “OH FUCK - SORRY!”, he means it too - it was supposed to be amusing, not an absolute disaster leaving Mr. Tweak’s important papers as carnage.
Mr. Tweak had gotten to his feet and rushed to snatch at newspaper from underneath Bluebonnet’s perch, “Y-YOU CAN’T-”, but Mr. Tweak just sighed in resignation and started to madly blot the coffee up with the scrunched up newspaper, “-n-never mind! GAH! THESE ARE ASSIGNMENTS - SWEET JESUS!”, he swept the papers off the desk in a frantic motion and gazed at Craig with a panicked expression, “WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW SPARKY?!”.
Craig looked between the piles of paper on the floor and Mr. Tweak’s expression, which now looked on the verge of tears, “It - hey - don’t sweat it - they’ll air dry”, but when Mr. Tweak just narrowed his eyes skeptically at Craig, he babbled on, “I’ll help - uhh - the ink might be smudged but you can still read it - especially when I fix the lights for you!”, Craig found some confidence again and beamed at a worried looking Mr. Tweak, “Much brighter - and more energy efficient too! Better for the planet!”.
Craig wanted to smack himself - why the fuck am I talking about saving planet Earth at a time like this?!
Mr. Tweak shook his head incredulously. Craig couldn’t tell which way his reaction was going to go.
He breathed out a sigh of relief when Mr. Tweak ran his hand slowly through his hair and visibly swallowed - nervous energy, but it’s not at the intensity of a full blown panic.
“Ngh! I hope you are right Sparky!”.
“Craig”.
Mr. Tweak met Craig’s gaze. His face softened and a small smile appeared on his rosy lips.
“C-Craig…”, he trailed off in a quiet voice. He hummed, “W-well, call me Tweek!”.
“Uhh…what about your first name?”, Craig feels shy - why the fuck do I feel nervous?! Maybe Mr. Tweak is oozing so much nervous energy that it is latching onto his own soul. Craig sighed -how fucking exhausting!
Craig was suddenly left wondering whether Mr. Tweak’s eye colour is real again as they stared at each other. Mr. Tweak twitched violently again,”I-it’s quite literally Tweek”, he sighed and his cheeks turned a dusted pink, “Like-”, he grabbed his now empty again thermos and gestured it to Craig, “This is my first name - b-but my last name? Is the same but spelled with a E-A”.
Craig’s eyes widened, “You’re fucking kidding me right?!”, but when Tweek’s expression fell and his face looked sad, Craig realized he’s legit. For fucks sake - I am such an insensitive wart!
Spiel eyes met Craig’s again, “N-not - GAH! Joking!”, Tweek started to drum his fingers rhythmically on the desk again and looked away suddenly, “My parents - they are interesting people - you’ve met me, w-which tells you enough! I am their crazy by-product!”.
Craig felt terrible. Could this be empathy?! Why am I feeling…things?
Craig sighed and shoved his jacket off. He now roughly started mopping up Tweek’s desk to remove all of the coffee spill. Who cares if it’s stained now - he fucked up and made a mess here, he’s determined to clean it up…
Tweek started trembling again, “Are you crazy?! That’s a nice jacket!”.
Craig shrugged and remained coy, “I have a washing machine”.
“But it’s not worth it-”.
“-Hey - just relax”, Craig now offered Tweek an encouraging smile, “Let me deal with this, then I'll buy you another coffee”.
But Tweek shook his head vigorously, “Oh - no! I can just use the instant stuff in the staff room-”.
“-That rubbish?! That stuff tastes like toilet water - uhh -not that I know what that tastes like”, Craig felt his cheeks burn - what the fuck is going on with me?! I fucking left that next cigarette too long, that’s what’s fucking going on!
But Tweek giggled and it made Craig’s heart skip a beat. Jesus fucking Christ, talk about a melody that I could really get behind!
“R-really - it’s fine!”, Tweek’s trembling hand ceased as he gazed deeply into Craig’s eyes with tinted cheeks and a nervous smile.
Craig felt speechless. Temporarily mute. He had a brain freeze. His circuits are officially fried.
He tried again, “Coffee? I insist - I’ll get you the biggest one they have! And have you eaten anything? You need lunch…”.
Tweek held his hands up and shook his head, “I’m fine! Not hungry!”, But his stomach betrayed him immediately. A loud rumble immediately filled the classroom and made Craig chuckle.
“T-that wasn’t-”.
“-Don’t lie…”, Craig teased. He could feel a stupid smile spread across his face and he wanted to hit himself in the nuts for acting like a total buffoon, “There’s a sandwich shop across the street - I can go fetch you anything you want. Or - come with me?”, he dared to suggest.
Tweek’s blush deepened, “T-that’s okay! Don’t worry about me! I-I’m fine! Papers - the papers!”.
“I told you not to stress about those…”, Craig reassured. Having zero clue how he is going to pull off salvaging the coffee soaked papers, he cast that problem aside for a moment, “Come on - I stuffed up! Time is ticking!”.
Tweek hovered. But then he let out that melodic laugh that is to die for once more and looked shyly down at his boots, “S-sure! But can I still call you Sparky?! I kind of like it!”.
Craig’s heart jolted and his stomach swooped, “Sure - call me anything you want - but can I pick a nickname for you? You must get sick of being called Tweek or Mr. Tweak 1000 times a day…”.
Tweek blinked at Craig before trembling again, “O-ok? What you got, Sparky?!”.
Craig hummed. He watched Tweek twitch and drum his pianist fingers on the desk again.
“Twitch - twitchy-”, but then Craig shook his head, “Tremor - Jitter - Jitterbug!”, he wanted to pat himself on the back for his own genius, “You’ll be Jitterbug!”.
Tweek giggled - and it is truly music to Craig’s ears. His eyes lit up and his straight teeth were on show again as he smiled brightly at Craig.
“Ngh - Jitterbug?!”, he seemed offended for a split second. Craig opened his mouth to continue his brainstorming, but then Tweek burst out into true laughter, “I love it! It - it’s a dance move - music - I uhh - jitter a lot - yes! Call me Jitterbug, Sparky!”.
The pair established eye contact again and Craig felt his heart rate accelerate - have I stepped on a live wire all of a sudden?!
Tweek now gestured to the classroom door and took a step forward, “Uhh - shall we go?”.
Craig nodded, “Let’s make haste then shall we?”.
Craig forgot all about his cigarette…