Chapter Text
Craig Tucker let out a deep sigh as he hit the breaks in his car, taking a moment to rest his head on his carseat. After a while, he opened his glove compartment, retrieving a bag of weed, a grinder and a rolling kit. He placed them all on his lap and got to work on rolling a joint, humming along to the lyrics of One Last Breath by Creed as it played on his car stereo. Another unsuccessful house hunt. There's no way they're calling me back, he thought to himself as he licked the adhesive on the paper and curled it up.
He sniffed, placing the roach end between his lips, flicking a lighter with his other hand. "What now, Craig?" He murmured to himself, lighting the joint. He inhaled a deep drag, letting it fester in his lungs as he stared out at the shitty apartment building that he called home. It was roach infested, mouldy, and moments away from crumbling to the floor, and he was desperate to leave. He brought his knees up to his chest as he exhaled a cloud of smoke into the car, letting it fill the interior with grey smoke as he thought about the places he had applied for since moving to Denver, Colorado a few months ago.
Most of them were apartment complexes as equally shitty as his current one, for even higher the cost. The rest of the places were townhouses and larger apartments with tenants searching for a roommate, but every place he applied for seemed to reject him immediately. As much as it pissed him off, he understood why. He worked a shitty job as a line-cook at a restaurant, which paid him in cash every other night. His income was not consistent, and he spent most of his cash on weed anyway. He finished his joint, ashing the roach in one of the cup holders when his phone lit up with a message from his best friend, Tolkien Black.
- [Hey dude, how did the house opening go?]
Craig lifted his phone to his face, hastily tapping in a response.
- [Shit. They basically laughed in my face when I told them my income]
His phone immediately buzzed with a response.
- [Sorry to hear. Wanna drown your sorrows tonight? We're throwing a housewarming for my new roommate]
- [Fuck it. Why not.]
- [Great :) Come by anytime after 8 unless you want to help us set up?? (please??)]
- [No chance. Cya at 8]
He shoved his phone in his pocket and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the marijuana relax his stressed mind before he returned to his apartment. He stared out at the tiny brick building, dreading the freezing cold shower in the tiny, moulding bathroom that awaited for him. He checked the time on his car. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon. He had four hours to kill. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since breakfast that morning, having been driving across what felt like the entirety of Denver since nine in the morning. He opened his phone, looking at the places around him that were still open. He zoomed in on the nearby cafe that had just opened up down the road. It was still open for another half hour.
He turned off his car, shoving the keys in his pocket as he exited the vehicle. He shivered against the frosty winter air, pulling a beanie from his jacket pocket and pulling it on his head. He walked five minutes to the cafe, staring at the interior. It was a small, humble looking cafe that was well decorated on the inside, with cartoon drawings of people enjoying coffee drawn with liquid chalk, in an attempt to make the shitty neighbourhood that surrounded it look a little more put together.
He opened the door, taking a deep inhale of the air scented with warm coffee and freshly baked pastries. He looked around at the cafe, admiring all the vintage furniture and old couches that lined the interior, enjoying the cozy, homely feeling of the place. Hell, if he could sleep on one of these couches instead of on his old, lumpy mattress, that would be ideal. Maybe he could beg the store owner to let him sleep there overnight.
Craig approached a bored looking cashier with bright pink hair and a nose ring, ordering a large black coffee and a cinnamon scroll. He pulled a crumpled note out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the cashier, who stared at him with a judgemental look on her face. He ignored her, turning to sit on a leather armchair in the corner of the cafe. He sat down, cracking his knuckles as he continued to look around at the store. It had a kind of... familiar feeling to it that he couldn't place a finger on.
He noticed a painting hung up on a nearby wall and stared at it for a moment. It was a landscape painting of a town in Colorado, surrounded by snowy hills. It was pained at night, with bright, beautiful stars shining above the tiny town. He squinted his eyes as he tried to read the little label underneath it, but ultimately gave up, staring down at his phone instead as he opened the instagram app.
"Greg?"
He looked up to see the pink haired cashier holding up his coffee and his scroll in a brown paper bag. "Er... Did you say Craig?" He asked, slowly standing up.
"Greg? Black coffee and scroll?"
He sighed, nodding as he stood up and took his order from her hands. "Thanks," he muttered, bringing the cup of coffee to his lips. The flavour was surprisingly delicious; so much so that he was taken aback enough to stare at his cup. It was sweet, but not so much that it was overpowering, with a little bitterness as well. It wasn't total dogshit like the other cafes in the area, that was for sure. He sipped it again as he walked over to the painting he was looking at earlier.
South Park, Colorado. 2008.
He couldn't help but smile. It was a painting of his hometown. How on earth did it end up in cafe all the way in Denver? It wasn't like South Park was known for much, besides being the hometown of the estranged president Herbert Garrison. He stared at the painting, a smile playing a this lips. It was dated fifteen years ago, to back when he was only nine years old. He had many fond memories of being a kid in South Park. He decided to take a picture, sending it to Tolkien.
- [Check it out.]
Craig sipped at his coffee as he waited for Tolkien to respond, looking closer at the tiny little buildings of the town. He could recognise a few of the stores in the main town. The library, the City Wok, the movie theatre... Even the Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse. The smile on his face widened. He spent a lot of time in that cafe when he was in Elementary school, hanging out with his best friend and... fake boyfriend, Tweek Tweak, who was a frantic, anxiety-fuelled kid. His parents were the owners of the coffee shop, and he would spend his Saturday mornings, after Red Racer of course, helping Tweek and his parents with the store.
His friendship with Tweek was probably the last time he ever felt pure happiness. The pair were completely inseparable - partly due to the fact that they were forced together thanks to the town's obsession with being the first 'progressive' town with a young gay couple. But through their fake relationship, a sweet friendship was born. They would talk about everything and do virtually everything together. Craig would spend most of his time talking Tweek out of his paranoia, and Tweek would return the favour by painstakingly building little racing tracks for his guinea pigs.
The friendship/relationship lasted for four more years, until the very end of middle school, ending in a painstaking separation when Tweek's father, Richard, had hit the jackpot by selling his coffee beans to a popular coffee chain in Colorado. He sold the store and upped and left South Park with Tweek and his mother to Denver, to open a series of chain stores to sell his product. The day Tweek moved, Craig was so heartbroken he couldn't eat for three whole days. He had lost his best friend in the whole world that day when he was forced to move with his parents. They kept in touch by writing letters and gaming online together, but like all long distance relationships, they eventually moved apart and continued on with their lives. Craig remained good friends with Tolkien and Clyde Donovan up until the end of high school, and made many other friends along the way, but still... There was always a hole in his heart that remained unfilled. A hole that was reserved for his best friend...
"Tweek!"
Craig's ears pricked up at the name spoken aloud in the cafe. Did he... Did he hear that right? No... He must have imagined it.
"You're here! Finally! What the hell took you so long?! Ah shit, let me help you carry those,"
Craig turned around, his eyes landing on the pink haired cashier girl, who was walking over towards the other entry point of the cafe. He furrowed his eyebrow as he sipped his coffee, watching the girl walk up to another person, who was holding a giant box piled with all sorts of miscellaneous items piled up high enough to cover their head. "Thanks, Molly," the voice said with a laugh, "I really can't hold these for much longer." Craig watched as Molly, the pink haired girl, grabbed a chunk of the pile from the other person.
A soft, fluffy head of blonde hair appeared, attached to a short, scrawny looking guy with a hoop through his right ear. He was wearing a large red bomber jacket opened to reveal washed out jeans and a long green apron. He had large, tired looking brown eyes and a nervous looking smile.
Craig almost dropped his coffee in surprise, his eyes widening at the sight of Tweek Tweak standing in front of him.