Chapter Text
Craig likes waking up, you know.
Even though he wants to stay in bed more then anything after a long bender of playing games, he knows that hanging out here will piss the day away, specifically his Saturday. He glances over to his phone, pressing the power butten to wake up the dark screen, and, as per usual, a bunch of text messages from his friends and lover. He decides to ignore it for the moment to fully wake up. Sometimes newly awakened Craig places more of the, "bitch," in his punk ass bitch personality.
He rises from his comfy bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning in his usual dead pan tone. Even years later, at 20 years old, and he can't bother with a higher inflection. The air was cold but not still, the window open slightly from last night, his thin blue curtains rustling and letting sun hit his eyes. He immediately pulls on his black hoodie hanging precariously on one of the bed postes beside him, and goes over to his dresser to put on sweat pants over his boxers. Good enough effort, just because he wanted to be awake doesn't mean he was going to dress like he wanted to.
After that he grabs his brush from stop his dresser, and begins to brush his hair in the mirror, hung higher up for his 6'2 ass.
As combs his slight mullet, eyes half lidded, he notices a shadow in the window, which sat directly behind his mirror across the room. Sitting where it was not previously, a small sillouette resembled the shape of a small man sat, staring at him from behind his blue curtains. He continued to brush his hair calmly, facial expression neutral despite his now racing heart, and slowly began inching for the bat he kept besides his dresser. If it was one of his friends, he'd apologize later, and if it was like, anyone else... Well fuck them.
When he was finally within reach, he grabbed the handle, twisted his body around and threw the bat at the offending peeping tom. The bat spun in the air like a frisbee. Craig hit his target, but instead of the sound of metal hitting flesh, a sound of broken glass filled the air, the sillouette breaking into peices, many following the bat out the 2nd floor window onto the ground below... Where a distent sound of more glass being broken rang out.
"What the fuck..." He mutters, before walking over to the window, (careful to avoid broken peices of whatver that was,) and looked outside to his neighborhood.
What he saw made him sigh hard under his breath, "God fucking damn it."
From every ceiling, to every yard, to even on top of cars mailboxes, sidewalks, and overhangs, he sees hundreds of fucking lawn gnomes, rosey, pocilen cheeks and pointed hats in a variety of colors speckling the landscape.
In that moment, his phone rang, and judging from the ringtone, he was in for a hell day.
Probably should have stayed in bed after all.