A/N:
:(
For Craig, the next week passes by in a blur, each day indiscernible from the rest. He wakes up from a restless sleep, usually around one o'clock in the afternoon. He lays in bed for at least another half hour after that, staring up at the plain white ceiling, until somehow he finds enough strength to drag his body up off the mattress. The first couple of days, he would blindly grab some clothes out of his dresser and shuffle down the hall to the showers to make somewhat of an effort to get himself looking at least halfway presentable. But by the third day, even doing that much had started to seem like an impossible task, and so he had just stopped altogether.
He's worn the same old red and black Red Racer t-shirt and ripped to shit jeans to work for the last however many days, he hasn't washed his hair in God knows how long, and he doesn't even remember the last time he's eaten anything. The thought of food, like most things, no longer appeals to him. He feels hollow, empty, like someone has reached inside him and ripped away everything that makes him Craig Tucker, and he has no idea who he is anymore.
Apart from the fact that he is someone Tweek never wants to see again, that is.
After eight hours of a half-hearted attempt at inventory at the bookstore, Craig locks up, most nights not even bothering to shut off the lights inside. He then makes the slow walk back to his dorm, barely even shivering in the freezing cold despite the fact that he's once again left his hoodie in his room and it's reached the point of December in Colorado where the snow is constantly falling. He gets inside, flops back-first onto his mattress, and resumes staring at the ceiling until he falls back into the darkness of sleep. Back into the one place where he can pretend everything is all right.
On this particular day, Craig is sitting in the usual chair at the register, the container of colorful, but completely useless, dinosaur erasers strewn over the counter in front of him. He's holding his inventory clipboard loosely in his left hand, but he's not even making an effort to count the little rubber prehistoric reptiles. He's got his right elbow resting on the counter and his head in his hand, his fingers listlessly twisting around pieces of his gross, greasy hair.
Not that it matters if it's greasy. It doesn't matter at all what Craig looks like. It doesn't matter that if he looked in a mirror right now, he would see that he's already noticeably skinnier from not eating. It doesn't even matter that the circles under his eyes are so dark it looks like he's gotten punched in the face multiple times. The only thing that matters is that nothing matters.
Maybe he'd been too quick to judge those Goth kids back in high school. Maybe they weren't just pretentious, idiotic assholes like he'd always assumed they were. Maybe they had all just had their hearts broken too.
Just below the counter, there's a little shelf, and that's where Craig's phone is currently sitting. There's a charging cable next to it, but the phone itself isn't plugged in. It's been dead for days, and Craig hasn't had the mental strength to charge it and be faced with what he's sure is going to be a record-breaking number of messages from Clyde. He knows that they're all just going to be different variations of, "Craig, dude, are you okay?" and he just hasn't been capable of answering that question.
Because he's not okay. Not even close.
"I can't. I'm sorry."
The clipboard slips out of his hand and lands on the floor with a thud, but Craig doesn't hear it hit the carpet. He's already hunching forward, burying his face in his arms on the counter. All those days of numbness, of feeling absolutely nothing, have finally caught up with him; all of a sudden, he's feeling everything, and as he starts sobbing his heart out, he wonders for just a second if this is how Clyde feels all the time.
That thought is soon shoved right out of his brain, though, and then all Craig can see in his mind is Tweek.
Tweek, staring at Craig with the horrified, heartbroken expression of someone who has just been betrayed – and that is exactly what Craig had done: betray him, and his trust. God, why hadn't he just punched Stan in the fucking face when he'd had the chance? He'd just gotten the best sleep of his life and Stan had been fucking drunk off his ass before noon, Craig absolutely could have taken him if he'd tried. So why hadn't he tried? He's never going to forgive himself for letting what had happened happen. Not for the rest of his life.
The devastated Tweek in Craig's mind slowly begins to morph into a different version of the blonde, this one from twelve hours before Craig had fucked everything up. This Tweek is happy, his green eyes sparkling brilliantly in that incredible fucking way they do, where they look more like actual emeralds than eyes, and he's smiling at Craig like he's someone special. Because he used to be someone special. But not anymore.
Craig's heart wrenches with pain and he lets out a very unCraiglike sound. It's something halfway between a wail and a howl that would have sounded much more natural coming from a dying animal, or Clyde on a bad day. Definitely nothing that anyone, Craig included, would ever have expected to leave his mouth.
Tweek's image shimmers for a moment, and a strangled sob gets stuck in Craig's throat when his brain shows him Tweek in the black leather Speed Demon outfit, standing on the tiny wannabe stage of the smallitorium. Small auditorium. Whatever. Craig squeezes his eyes shut tightly, but the tears still come, leaking out in waves and dripping off his arms to make little puddles on the countertop. He would give anything to go back to that moment.
One final transformation later, and then imaginary Tweek is glaring daggers at Craig, his eyes blazing with indignant anger and his hand on his hip. It had been right here, just like this, dinosaur erasers and all, when Craig had first met him, and been stunned to silence at his appearance. Even though he'd been pissed as hell, or possibly even because of it, Craig had already thought Tweek was perfect. And then, by some miracle, he'd gotten the chance to actually get to know him a little bit, and found out that he was right. Tweek was every bit as perfect as he'd thought, if not even more, and Craig had fallen even further and harder than he'd ever dreamed possible.
He'd never believed in soulmates before, no matter how many times Clyde had tried to convince him. He'd shown Craig countless websites, magazine articles, and even a couple of stories from some of his mom's old Betty Crocker cookbooks; all of which spouted the same idea that there is one special person out there for everyone in the world and that when you find them, that's when you'll realize that you've been missing them all your life. Craig had always figured it was just another way to get people to pay for stupid "personality test" scams or so they could give their disgusting recipe for marshmallow jellybean chocolate fudge brownie cake a cutesy story to go along with it in case the cake itself didn't offer enough cavities.
But now… Now Craig is starting to think that there's something to the whole soulmate thing. It's just too bad that he's lost his, forever.
It isn't long before his sobs begin to slow, the loud, anguished wails diminishing into a combination of low whimpers and sniffles. There are still tears trickling down his cheeks, but it's all silent crying now, and he barely even has enough energy stored in his body for that. Craig lifts his head off his arms, not even cringing when a stringy line of snot comes with him. He wipes his nose with the hem of his t-shirt and pushes his hair back with both hands. I'm sorry, Tweek, he thinks as his eyes land on a bright green pterodactyl eraser that's lying on its side on the counter. I'm so sorry.
Craig's gaze drops down below the counter, to his phone. For a moment he just stares at it, knowing that there's no way turning it on is going to make him feel better. The only reason he finally reaches down with trembling hands and plugs the charger into it is because he had just been thinking about Clyde, and it has just now crossed his mind that if he leaves those messages unanswered for much longer, Clyde's going to show up in person. He might even already be back at the dorm right now for all Craig knows, and that would be even worse.
His phone lights up with the empty battery icon, and Craig watches the blinking green lightning bolt flash in the middle of the screen for a few minutes. He sniffles again, the hollow feeling inside him seeming to have grown even worse now that he's just suffered through an emotional waterfall. His stomach growls, but even that sound is weak. It's like every part of Craig's body has just given up entirely.
When the charge on his phone hits 2%, Craig pushes the button to turn it on. Sure enough, once it's loaded onto the home screen, the messages start coming in, and there are a ton of them, so many that if Craig hadn't turned his ringer off for the first time ever a week ago, each notification would sound like a record skipping: "Red– Red– Red– Red– Red–..."
He picks up his phone and looks down at the mess of notification bubbles littered across the screen. Seventeen emails, thirteen phone calls, and ninety-six text messages. Craig sighs, already exhausted, but taps on the emails first. Unsurprisingly, they're all mostly spam emails from places he'd signed up to just for the initial 10% discount and then never unsubscribed from. At least those ones are easy to deal with.
Next, he checks the missed calls. One from Tricia, one from an unknown number that's probably just as spammy as the emails, two from Kenny, and nine from Clyde. The only one of those that's mildly surprising is Tricia. Craig hasn't heard from her or his parents in months, not since they had moved to Ohio, and to be honest, he hadn't been expecting to hear from any of his family ever again. They'd all been content to leave him here alone, not that he cared. Craig was used to being alone, after all.
His grip on his phone tightens a little, unconsciously, as Craig hovers his thumb over the messages app. He's not going to have a message from Tweek. He knows that, in every fragment of his broken heart. But it's still soul-crushing to see it for himself, when he clicks on the icon to see only three message strings with new messages: Clyde, Kenny, and, strangely enough, Tricia again. Craig can't help clicking on Tricia's message first, curiosity temporarily overriding the misery he feels.
Merry Christmas Eve, asshole. Why don't you ever answer your phone?
Craig's eyes flick up to the top corner of his screen to check the date, and there it is, in plain blocky default cell phone font: December 24. He blinks down at the screen. Oh. He hadn't realized it was so close to Christmas.
He backs out of the conversation without answering Tricia and taps on Kenny's instead, the thought of reading all of Clyde's messages far too daunting still. There's only a few from Kenny, and Craig has to read them over multiple times, and even then he's still not sure how they make him feel.
Hey, Tucker. Look, can you answer Clyde soon? He's seriously worried about you.
You probably don't want to hear this but I thought you should know. Bridon and I got Stan to agree to go to rehab, so he won't be bothering you anymore.
Tucker, come on, you and I both know Clyde can't handle this silence. Give him a break, dude.
Craig knows he should probably feel some sense of relief at the news about Stan going to rehab, but he doesn't. He doesn't feel anything one way or the other about it. Rehab isn't going to turn back the clock. Rehab isn't going to undo all of the things that Stan had done to him. That he'd let Stan do to him. Rehab isn't going to fix what's happening right now. What Craig does feel, when he reads Kenny's messages for the fourth time in a row, is guilt. Because Kenny's right. Clyde's probably been killing himself with worry.
With a sigh, Craig goes to Clyde's messages, and starts scrolling. Most of them, as is tradition for Clyde, are just emojis: crying emojis, worry face emojis, heart emojis, emojis that Craig can't even decipher. But there are some that are made up of actual words.
I'm sorry, Craig, how are you doing?
Hey, dude, just checking in, it's been a few days.
Hey, please say something, I'm worried.
Craig?
Do you want me to try talking to Tweek again? Maybe he just needed some time.
I won't do anything unless you want me to though.
Dude, can you please call me?
I hope you're okay.
When he hits the last message in the conversation, Craig debates with himself for a second on what to send back, because he knows he has to say something. He's been a shitty friend for a really long time, and he doesn't deserve a friend like Clyde, but if he loses him too just because he hadn't been able to get himself together long enough to send one fucking text, Craig doesn't think he'll make it to next week.
He finally settles on just sending a thumbs-up emoji. It's only been about fifteen seconds since he sent it when the phone lights up, a photo of Clyde's face filling the screen. Goddammit. Knowing he can't ignore this call, Craig reluctantly hits the green button to answer and lifts the phone to his ear.
"Yeah?" He winces at the sound of his own voice. Even he can hear that he sounds terrible.
"Craig!" Clyde's practically screaming. "Oh my God, are you okay?! I was just about to come over!"
"I'm alive," Craig says, leaning on the counter again, too weak to hold his body upright.
"But are you okay?!" Clyde asks again. "Where are you?"
Craig again ignores the first question. "Work." Never mind the fact that he hasn't actually counted anything in over an hour.
"Dude, you shouldn't be working! It's Christmas Eve!" There's a rustling sound as Clyde covers the microphone and then a second later he comes back with, "Hey, so…" There's an uncharacteristic layer of seriousness underneath his normal tone. "Kenny and I are having some people over tonight to hang out and watch some Christmas movies. You should come."
Craig wants to ask if one of those people is Tweek, and if Clyde is trying to make one last attempt at playing matchmaker, because that sounds exactly like something Clyde would do; but he can't get up the courage to ask the question. "No, thanks," he says instead. "I'm not… I can't."
"Yeah," Clyde says, sounding disappointed but not all that surprised. "I understand. I'm just glad you're alive, dude." He sniffles on the other end of the line, at the exact time that Craig does the same thing himself. "Are you okay if Kenny and I come by tomorrow to give you your presents from us, though?"
"You both got me a present?" Craig has become accustomed to Clyde's insistence on getting him gifts for every occasion, but this is the first time Kenny has ever been part of it. He sighs softly to himself, not looking forward to having to go out last-minute shopping after work tonight to get them gifts in return. It's his own fault for not keeping track of time, though. At least they're not exactly hard to shop for; he can just get them gift cards to fast food places.
"Yeah, of course," Clyde says, like it's obvious. "We're friends, dude. It's what we do. So is tomorrow okay?"
"Sure."
"Okay. I'll let you go, then, but…" Clyde sighs, before proving once again that he's the best friend in the world and that he knows Craig almost better than Craig knows himself. "I know things suck, right now, dude, but…can you at least promise me you'll eat something?"
"...Yeah," Craig says, and he really means it, because even though his brain is telling him he feels zero percent hungry, his stomach is once more disputing that claim. "I promise."
After he disconnects the call, Craig looks down at the clipboard on the floor, and then back to the dinosaur erasers on the counter. There's no way he's going to get any more of this done tonight. Thank God there's still a week and a half of winter break left. He can come back tomorrow after Clyde and Kenny leave and hopefully do more than count one shelf of notebooks and cry.
He locks up the bookstore and heads out of the building, back towards his dorm's parking lot. He doesn't even bother going back to his room to shower or change before he hops into his car. All he's going to do is drive over to the nearest Taco Bell and get gift cards, after all.
But when he hits the first red light, and his stomach rumbles again, a thought suddenly occurs to him, and Craig finds himself typing something into his phone's GPS. He's only got 8% battery life, but that's okay, because according to Google Maps, Sorriso is only a twelve-minute drive away.