Chapter Text
Senior year was supposed to feel different. Craig had heard that from teachers, his parents, counselors and every movie he'd ever been forced to sit through. But somehow, it felt exactly the same. The same hallways, the same classes, the same people. Nothing about it felt like the grand finale everyone kept promising. Meanwhile, everyone else seemed to be having a completely different experience.
Clyde was talking about college applications, Jimmy had somehow joined three clubs at once, Tolkien was already planning trips for after graduation. Everyone seemed determined to squeeze every last minute out of their final year of high school. Craig mostly felt like he was watching it happen from a distance while everyone kept acting like this year was supposed to be the best year of his life. It had been three weeks, and so far, it was just school.
Not that he minded. At least, that's what he told himself whenever Clyde started talking about college visits or when Jimmy somehow found another seemingly fun thing to add to his schedule. Craig was perfectly content keeping his head down until graduation, or at least he had been until he had made the mistake of choosing an arts credit. The course catalog had described Art Portfolio Development as an introduction to building a creative portfolio, with opportunities to explore photography, drawing, painting, and digital media. It sounded easy enough to him.
What Craig hadn't expected was the class to apparently be filled with people who actually cared. The closer he got to the art wing, the more obvious it became. Students carrying massive canvases, people with clothes stained in paint, conversations about galleries or whatever that he had never heard of before. He adjusted the strap of his backpack on one shoulder as he followed a painted sign toward the back of the building. Maybe he had misunderstood what kind of class this was.
The thought only grew stronger when he arrived at the classroom. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows lining one wall, spilling across paint-stained tables and shelves overflowing with supplies. Half the students were already seated despite the bell not having rung yet. Most of them looked busy, which only made Craig feel more unprepared for whatever was about to happen. A girl was sketching in a notebook, a guy was flipping through thick papers of what seemed to be photographs, another student was arranging tubes by color, and a certain blond was mixing paints.
Craig froze. The profile was familiar. Blond hair pulled back from his face, paint smeared across his fingers, head bent over a palette. Then recognition settled in.
Tweek.
Of course Tweek was here. Thinking about it for more than a second, Craig wasn't sure why he was surprised. If anyone from their grade had ended up in a class like this, it would've been Tweek. He'd always been making things. Not paintings, as far as Craig remembered. Mostly little doodles in worksheets, notebooks and cartoon coffee cups. Mostly random scribbles that somehow ended up looking intentional. But he also crafted stuff back in the day, in the dimness of his room, he used to put this and that together and be proud of it. Now he was standing at one of the worktables, carefully mixing several shades of paint onto a palette.
It's not as if Craig had never seen him. It was inevitable as South Park was small. There was only one middle school and only one high school. Avoiding someone was nearly impossible. He'd seen Tweek in the halls, in the cafeteria, across classrooms. They had existed in each other's orbit for years without ever really colliding. The strange part wasn't that Tweek was here, it was that Craig couldn't remember the last time they'd actually spoken, not properly, anyway. The years had kept going, they never really interacted unless they absolutely had to.
They also had a few classes together during the previous years, like math, chemistry and biology. But the difference was that those classes were mandatory, and this definitely wasn't. Craig willingly chose this class, however he didn't have much of a choice anymore.
As if sensing he was being watched, Tweek glanced up. Their eyes met for a split second before Craig immediately looked away, a completely normal reaction. He went to take a seat a few desks away. Obviously not directly next to the blond, that would have been weird. Not on the other side of the room too, that would've been weird too. Three desks apart felt normal, or he hoped so. Craig dropped his backpack beside the chair and sat down, his eyes drifting to take one more look at the guy. Tweek had already looked away. Good, that made things easier for the both of them.
For a few moments, Craig watched him work. His attention seemed entirely focused on the palette in front of him as he mixed different colors together with careful, deliberate movements. He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. Tweek had probably chosen this class on purpose. For a second he wondered if he'd taken it last year too. Then he caught himself, why was he even thinking about that? It wasn't like it even mattered, they hadn't spoken properly in years. Craig looked away, he didn't care. The thought lingered for a few seconds anyway.
Then the bell finally rang, a few students who had been walking around took their seats, and a moment later the teacher entered the room with a bright smile and an even brighter greeting. Craig had seen this teacher a few times in the hallways and during morning announcements, but he had never really known her before. She seemed nice enough, the kind of person who smiled at everyone. She had long brown hair tied into a messy bun on top of her head, and paint stains were all over her cardigan. She was exactly the sort of person Craig would've expected to teach an art class.
"Good morning, everyone!"
A few students echoed the greeting back. The teacher set a stack of folders on her desk before writing her name on the whiteboard. Craig promptly forgot it. She turned back to the class and took a gaze around.
"Welcome to Art Portfolio Development."
Several students nodded. Clearly they already knew what they had signed up for, while Craig was beginning to suspect he didn't.
"This class is designed for students interested in pursuing art after high school, whether that's through college, competitions, scholarships, internships, or independent work."
Craig sat up a little straighter.
"This year, you'll be building a portfolio that reflects both your technical abilities and your personal artistic voice."
That sounded actually important. Unfortunately, Craig had no idea what it meant. He looked around, nobody seemed confused. The girl who was sketching before apparently already started taking notes for whatever reason. Tweek hadn't looked up once. The teacher waited for the room to settle before speaking again.
"This class is a little different from the other art electives offered at this school."
That sounded ominous.
"Throughout the year, you'll be building and refining a portfolio of your work. By spring semester, each of you should have a collection of pieces that represents your growth as an artist."
Several students nodded. Most of them looked excited. Craig was starting to wonder if he'd somehow entered the wrong classroom.
"We'll be discussing college applications, competitions, scholarships, gallery submissions—"
Definitely the wrong classroom. The teacher continued talking, but Craig found himself looking around the room instead. Nobody else seemed surprised or concerned. Everyone appeared to know exactly what they had signed up for. Everyone except him. He was starting to think he made a huge mistake.
"We aren't going to do anything massive during our first period," the teacher said as she began passing out sheets of paper. "I'd like to keep things simple today. I'll be handing out a short questionnaire so I can get a better idea of who all of you are as artists and what you're hoping to get out of this class."
She smiled.
"I see quite a few familiar faces, but there are plenty of new ones too. Consider this my way of getting to know everyone."
For a split second, Craig found himself wondering if Tweek was one of the familiar faces. He lazily looked around until his paper was handed to him. He straightened his posture as he read the first question.
What medium do you primarily work in?
Good question.
List the artists that inspire you, if there are any.
Absolutely not.
What do you expect from this class?
What are your goals after graduation?
Have you taken any art classes before?
What inspires you?
Craig stared at the page, then he flipped it over. There wasn't anything on the back. Unfortunate. Around him, pencils were already moving across paper. Apparently everyone else had answers. Craig settled for writing his name at the top of the page. Well, it was a start. A terrible start, but a start nonetheless. After another moment of staring at the questions, he scribbled photography beside the first one. That was technically true. Or at least it was going to be, hopefully.
He took another moment to look around to see if anyone was stuck like he was, then his eyes drifted toward Tweek. He seemed to be halfway done with his paper. Wow, he really was into all this. Craig squinted his eyes to take a peek at what the blond had written down, but it wasn't at all possible given the distance between them. Maybe sitting three desks away wasn't that good of an idea as he thought it was.
He glanced down at his own paper, internally battling with the questions. List three artists that inspire you. Craig couldn't even name two. He wrote none beside it, hoping that not looking up to any artists was considered normal in the art world. The next question wasn't much better. What do you expect from this class? To pass. He doubted that was the answer they were looking for, so after a moment, he settled on writing down learn photography. Simple and honest enough.
The question below it asked about his plans after graduation. Craig stared at it for a little longer. Nobody seemed to be thinking for as long as he was. Someone near the front had already finished and was absentmindedly doodling. Craig still wasn't sure what he was doing next week, let alone after graduation. Eventually, he wrote undecided. It looked pathetic sitting there by itself, but it's not as if he had anything better to write. The last question, what inspires you? For a brief moment, his mind wandered to a messy-haired blond, but he immediately shoved the thought aside. That definitely wasn't an answer. Besides, how was he even supposed to answer a question like this? Did people actually know what inspired them? Was there a moment where inspiration simply appeared and introduced itself? If there was, Craig had apparently missed it. After another minute of staring at the page, he settled for writing not sure.
He let out a sigh before he handed his paper back to the teacher. Sitting down once again, he really started to regret his choice of coming here. This wasn't at all what he imagined.
After the last few students finished their papers, the teacher put them in a binder as she started speaking.
"Now, I know all of you specialize in different things, but since we are keeping our first class simple, I want each of you to grab a camera from the shelf in the back and take five photos around the room that tell me something about this space."
Suddenly, chatter filled the room as everyone pushed back their chairs and headed for the cameras.
Craig followed after them. A few moments later, he found himself standing in the middle of the classroom with a camera in his hands and absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be doing. Tell me something about this space. What did that even mean? The room was a room. There were tables, paint, windows and people. As far as Craig was concerned, that was all the information available. Everyone else seemed to be doing fine. Some students had already started taking pictures. One girl crouched beside a shelf to photograph a row of paint bottles. Another was aiming her camera toward the sunlight spilling through the windows.
Craig stared at his own camera. Then at the room. Then back at the camera. Nothing was telling him anything. He looked around the room, but nothing was jumping out at him. He pointed his camera at a table and took a picture. The table looked exactly like a table. He deleted it. After a moment, he wandered toward the back of the room again. Paintings covered the walls. Old projects sat on shelves. Jars were full of brushes and pencils were scattered around nearly every surface. Most of it looked like clutter.
Then something caught his attention. One of the tables near the windows was covered in dried paint. Blue layered over yellow, red layered over blue. Tiny cracks spread through some of the thicker patches. It looked less like a table and more like something that had been dug out of the ground. Craig raised the camera and pressed the button. He glanced down at the screen, the picture wasn't terrible, but it still meant nothing much to him.
His gaze swept across the room. He saw a wet brush, left on the windowsill to be dried out. He walked closer to it and made a horrible attempt at trying a different angle, but if it worked it worked. Then he took pictures of a jar and a set of broken crayons. Random, simple things that caught his eye.
"Five minutes left!" The teacher announced from her seat.
As he was running out of ideas, he saw a paint-covered hand reach across one of the canvases on the wall, and the camera clicked before Craig really thought about it. He lowered the camera. Tweek. Craig rolled his eyes, and for a moment he thought about deleting the photo. Instead, he looked down at the screen. The hand was smeared with blue and yellow paint, the sunlight caught along his fingers, and the canvas blurred softly in the background. It seemed like the most interesting picture he had taken so far.
Annoying. Craig shoved the camera back up and moved on. He went back to his desk. He saw students still taking pictures and comparing shots with one another. A few seemed genuinely excited about what they had captured. Craig wasn't. He slid into his chair and flipped through the photos on the camera screen. Paint. A brush. Broken crayons. A jar. Tweek's hand. None of it seemed particularly impressive. Still, he didn't delete any of them. It's not as if he had any better ideas.
"Alright, everyone," She called once most of the students had returned to their seats. "Take a look through your photos and pick your favorite one."
A few students immediately started scrolling. Craig looked down at the camera. There wasn't exactly much competition. The paint-covered table, the brush, the crayons, the jar and Tweek's hand. He paused. Then quickly selected the picture of the paint-covered table. That seemed safer.
The teacher went ahead to inspect everyone's pictures one by one, asking why they picked that picture.
"I liked the contrast."
"The lighting reminded me of this one other painting."
"The colors don't clash."
Craig sat wondering why he chose the paint-covered table. What was he even going to say? He liked it? That sounded nothing like the other students, he would stand out. Then he looked at his camera again, scrolling through the five photos. The answer was obvious. Unfortunately. His thumb hovered over the picture for a moment, then he selected it. It wasn't because it was Tweek. It was because the lighting was better, and the colors looked better, and the composition looked better. It had absolutely nothing to do with Tweek. His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"I, uh... I don't know. I liked the light, I guess." Tweek's shoulders tensed as he twitched. It wasn't the kind of twitch he used to have in elementary, it's been long since he worked on those. Back then, it seemed like his entire body had been powered by panic. Now it was much smaller and more controlled.
The teacher smiled. "Is that it?"
His face flushed as he shifted in his seat, fingers tapping against the side of the camera. "It just, uh, makes the room feel different, I think." He glanced down at the picture. "Like, when you're actually sitting here, you don't really notice it. But, um, in the picture, it's the first thing you look at." He shrugged. "Well, I don't really know. I thought it was interesting."
She nodded. "That's a good observation. I love the way you used sunlight to make the colors more distinct."
Then she walked toward the next student. Craig looked down at his own camera. The picture of Tweek's hand was still selected. When you're actually sitting here, you don't really notice it. His eyes drifted across the photo. The sunlight, the paint, the blurred canvas in the background. A few minutes ago it had just looked like a hand. Now there was much more to it he could see.
"Craig?"
He looked up. The teacher was standing in front of his desk. Right, it was his turn. He cleared his throat as he showed her the screen of the camera. She seemed to study it for a few moments, which only made him more nervous. Finally, she looked away from the camera and at Craig.
"Can you tell us why you picked this one?"
Craig hesitated. Because it was the best one. Because the others were worse. Because it wasn't supposed to be this one. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just thought it looked different."
To his surprise, she smiled. "That's a perfectly good reason."
He blinked. It didn't sound like a good reason. The teacher pointed toward the screen
"You noticed something that most people would have probably walked past."
He glanced back at the photo. Tweek's paint-covered hand stretched across the frame, sunlight caught on the yellow and blue paint. Craig still wasn't entirely sure what she meant.
"Photography starts with paying attention," she continued. "The technical stuff comes later."
Before he could think of a response, she had already moved on to the next student. All Craig could think about the photo was that it was interesting, and that was it.
The rest of the period passed quickly. A few more students shared their photos and explanations. Most of them sounded far more confident than Craig felt. Eventually, the teacher clapped her hands together.
"Good job, everyone. That's enough for today."
Relieved shuffling filled the room.
"For your first homework assignment, I want you to bring me at least two samples of the medium you feel most confident working in. Your samples should represent your feelings when you are making art. Feel free to use the school's equipment within school grounds."
Several students immediately started writing it down.
"They don't have to be perfect," she continued. "Just pay attention to the world and your inner self."
Craig resisted the urge to sigh. That sounded suspiciously similar to the thing he'd just spent half an hour failing to do.
"Have a good day, everyone. I'll see you on Wednesday."
Chairs scraped against the floor as students began packing up. Craig shoved the camera back onto the shelf and slung his backpack over one shoulder. His eyes drifted across the room. Tweek was still there. He was once again mixing paints, for whatever reason. He wondered what he was going to do with it. For a second he considered saying something to him. He wasn't sure what he would even say, it was just a thought. So he left, heading to his next class instead.
The next few classes were ordinary and boring, the same stuff he had been taking since his first year. In math, he spent twenty minutes staring at equations that seemed determined to arrange themselves into new shapes every time he looked away. In biology, the teacher spent half the period talking about animal cells while Craig unsuccessfully attempted to care.
Before he knew it, the final bell before lunch rang. Students immediately flooded into the hallways. Craig joined the crowd, making his way toward the cafeteria. He grabbed a tray from the stack and got in the line, taking a gander around the crowded place. He spotted Wendy and Bebe standing by his and his friends' usual table, seemingly telling Clyde something important, or most likely lecturing him about whatever he did this week. By the time Craig got his food and made his way over, the girls had already returned to their own table. Craig sat next to Tolkien.
"How was your art thing?" Clyde asked.
Craig shrugged. "Fine. Except the fact that everyone knows what they're doing but me."
"What exactly was it again?"
"Art Portfolio Development."
Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "That sounds serious. I didn't know you were into- you were into art."
"I'm really not." Craig said.
"Then why'd you take it?" Clyde asked.
"I thought it was going to be an easy arts credit." he sighed.
Tolkien laughed. "So you accidentally signed up for a class full of actual artists?"
"Apparently."
"That's rough."
Craig stabbed at his food. "It gets worse."
"How?"
"We had to answer questions about our artistic inspirations or something. They literally asked me to name some artists."
A moment of silence followed.
"Did you have any?" Clyde asked.
"What do you think?"
"That's incredible."
"I know."
"Maybe you'll end up liking it." Tolkien said.
"Not a chance. So far it seems like it's gonna be total torture."
"You've been in the class for one day" Clyde pointed out.
"So?"
"That's not enough time to decide."
"It is when they start asking me questions about inspirations and colors."
Jimmy laughed.
"Well, that's literally an art class."
"Yeah, I figured that out too late."
"That's kinda on you."
Craig hated that they had a point. The rest of the lunch passed by with Jimmy telling jokes and Clyde complaining about many things at once. They were already out of the cafeteria before the ball rang, walking toward their classes. Craig waved them goodbye as he entered the chemistry classroom. It was definitely not one of his favorite classes, and unfortunately, neither were the two that followed.
During the last period, he started actually thinking about the assignment the art teacher gave them. Two samples of the medium you feel most confident working in. Well, Craig was absolutely confident in none. He definitely didn't know how to draw, he didn't think he had picked up a camera before today, and he obviously had never touched clay before. He wasn't even sure what else his options were. The assignment sat in the back of his mind for the rest of the period. Every now and then he'd remember it, think about it for a few seconds, and come to the exact same conclusion. He had nothing. Even when the final bell rang, he still hadn't figured anything out.
Students immediately began filing out of the classroom. Craig packed his bag and followed them into the hallway. For a while, he walked toward the exit. Then he slowed. The art room probably still had cameras. A few minutes later, he found himself turning around.
The hallways were noticeably quieter on the way back. Most students had already left for the day. Some lockers were slammed somewhere in the distance, but otherwise the school felt strangely empty. Craig passed a few teachers carrying stacks of papers and a janitor pushing a cart down one of the hallways. The building felt completely different from that morning when he reached the art wing, the smell of paint was more distinct this time. The sunlight had shifted, stretching long rectangles of gold across the floor. The classroom door was still open.
He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The room wasn't empty. The teacher was sat at her desk with a stack of papers beside her, organizing something. Near the windows, one student was working on a large canvas while another sat at a computer with headphones on. And there was Tweek, occupying the same table as before, surrounded by paints, brushes, papers and sketchbooks. If anything, it looked like he had gotten more supplies since first period.
The teacher looked up from her desk.
"Craig?"
"Uh." Great start. "I wanted to use one of the cameras."
Her expression brightened immediately. "Of course."
For some reason, that reaction was more embarrassing than if she'd said no, but he couldn't grasp as to why. As he turned around to grab a camera, he saw Tweek already staring at him with questioning eyes. Craig averted his gaze and walked toward the shelves in the back. He took a camera from the shelf and turned it on. The room felt a lot different with only a handful of people in it. It was so much quieter. Usually, Craig didn't mind silence. But when it was the silence of a few people in the same room, it somehow bothered him in a way he didn't understand.
Every sound seemed louder. The scratch of a pencil, the clink of a paintbrush against a jar, the faint hum of the computer. Craig wandered toward the windows thinking that at least this time he had a reason for being here. He lifted the camera and pointed it toward the rows of paint tubes lining one of the shelves. He pressed the button. The picture wasn't terrible, but he couldn't say he quite liked it. He adjusted the angle and took another. He wasn't really satisfied with that one either.
A few minutes later, he found himself actually looking for things to photograph instead of waiting for inspiration to magically appear. He kneeled down to take a picture of an ant crawling over a paintbrush that someone had probably dropped there. The first photo came out blurry, and the second wasn't much better. By the third attempt, the ant had already wandered halfway across the handle. Craig frowned at the screen. Then he took another. And another. Eventually, he got one he didn't immediately hate. It was strange, earlier that morning, he had barely managed to find five things worth photographing. Now he'd spent nearly five minutes lying on the floor because of an ant. He decided not to think too hard about what that said about him. After all, he was only here because of the assignment. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
The camera hung loosely from his grip as he stood up. His eyes drifted around the room again. This time, he noticed things he hadn't before such as paint fingerprints along the edge of the curtains, a torn sketch taped on the side of the shelves, sunlight catching in a jar full of cloudy water. Without really thinking about it, he raised the camera. He took pictures of the same thing over and over until he was slightly satisfied with it. He was actually focused on it, until after a while someone called his name.
"Finding anything interesting, Craig?"
He nearly dropped the camera. He turned around to see the teacher smiling at him.
"You've taken more pictures now than you did during class."
"It's for the homework." He simply replied.
"Good. Keep looking."
Before he could think of a response, she had already turned her attention back to the papers on her desk. That seemed to be a recurring thing with her, she kept acting as if he belonged here. Craig wasn't entirely sure why. He lowered the camera and saw Tweek listening in. This time, although their eyes met, Craig didn't look away. Neither did Tweek. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Tweek glanced toward the camera in Craig's hands while fidgeting with the newly smeared paint on his fingers, while keeping his hands up in order not to get it on anywhere else.
"Getting the assignment done?"
Craig also looked down at the camera. "Trying to."
Tweek nodded as if that made perfect sense.
The silence that followed wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't terrible either. The both of them never had an awkward stage after their breakup, but they definitely weren't friends either. The few times they had to talk felt unwanted rather than uncomfortable. The silence was interrupted by Tweek's curious voice.
"Can I see some?"
Craig stared at him as if trying to understand the question. He walked toward his desk and sat down next to him, opening the gallery of the camera. He noticed how many pictures he had actually taken while scrolling down to find something he actually liked and was willing to show anyone. He picked one of the ant pictures and tilted the screen so the other boy could see easier.
"You took that one?"
"Yeah."
"The ant?"
"Yeah."
"I like it."
Craig looked back at the photo, genuinely confused. It was still just an ant.
"Why?"
Tweek blinked.
"What do you mean, why?"
"It's an ant."
"Yeah, but you saw something in it."
That wasn't an answer. Tweek pointed toward the screen.
"The paintbrush is huge compared to it. It makes it look like it's exploring or something."
Craig squinted at the picture. He hadn't thought about any of that while taking it. In fact, he wasn't thinking about anything at all.
"I was mostly praying it would stop walking."
That made Tweek laugh. A real laugh, not the nervous kind.
"That's fair."
Craig found himself smiling too. Then silence took over once again, as he awkwardly shifted in the seat. His eyes drifted to the blond's paper. He was painting some kind of fish or sea animal Craig couldn't really make out, the sea also didn't seem to be blue at all for some reason. "Well, uh, I'll let you work now." he stood up as Tweek nodded and returned to his painting. He took slow steps, approaching the shelves to put the camera back down.
When he turned around again, the room looked different. One of the students had already left. The other was packing up his things while the teacher was sorting papers at her desk. Outside the windows, the sunlight had turned orange. Craig checked the time.
Oh. He'd been there for almost an hour. Just taking pictures. He stood there staring at the clock for a bit, and he grabbed his backpack.
"See you Wednesday." The teacher called.
Craig lifted a hand in acknowledgment. As he headed for the door, he glanced back one last time. Tweek was still painting.
The school somehow felt even more deserted than it was during his walk to the art room. It wasn't his first time staying after school, but it was definitely his first time leaving this late. He left the building and took fast steps toward his house.
The walk home was quiet. For some reason everything was quiet today. During his walk, every now and then Craig found himself thinking about the pictures on the camera. The ant and the paint-covered table. The hand covered in blue and yellow paint. He still had no idea what he was doing. The assignment was still ridiculous. And Art Portfolio Development was probably still going to be torture. Yet, for the first time all day, he wasn't completely dreading Wednesday. He wasn't as nervous about it as he was in the morning. Maybe it could even be fun.
Craig, for some reason, frowned at the thought. Then he kept walking.