Fluffy Creek Oneshots

Cardboard Boxes

[A/N: this one is kinda angsty :P always fluffy and sappy tho!! ;) **listen to pocket full of dreams for immersive experience**]

I bolt out of the room, dashing out the front door not bothering to close it.
Tricia yells something after me, but I don't catch it over my breath as I race down the street.
I had to get there. Had to tell him.
I careen around a corner, slipping on an icy patch and nearly sliding into traffic, scraping my hand on the rough sidewalk as I skid out.
"Fuck." I huff under my breath, gritting my teeth at the stinging salt embedded in my palm. I wipe it roughly against my jeans, not pausing to check the injury, as I sprint towards the coffee shop.

"Not here?" I pant breathlessly, as the kind-eyed woman behind the cash register explains that her son had asked for the day off, a bemused expression gracing her delicate features. I hastily thank her, sprinting out of the shop.
I race the whole way to a quaint little house, banging on the door as politely as my desperate frenzy allows. There's no answer.
2 minutes.
I try the door.
Locked.
5 minutes.
I run around the back, checking that door as well, before deciding to climb to Tweek's window.
I can't help but think of the comparison between what I'm doing now, and that one scene from Romeo and Juliet, as I scale the drainpipe next to Tweek's window. The ridiculous thought causes my face to catch fire, making me want to just drop to my death right here and now.

I fidget nervously, wringing my fingers together and taking a few deep, calming breaths, before gathering the courage to ring the bell.
A red-headed girl opens it, wearing the signature Tucker-family bored scowl, before her eyes widen in surprise, sparkling the way Craig's do when he smiles.
"Tweek! I thought you were leaving today?" I gulp nervously.
"T-tomorrow, I just wanted to... Uhm. I-is Craig home?" I stutter awkwardly. She frowns slightly, then rolls her eyes.
"Nope. He hauled ass out of here like... 10 minutes ago. Left his phone too, the r-tard." She sighs, turning away from the door and walking into the living room, where Netflix was paused.
"If you want, you can wait for his dumb ass to come back. Prolly won't be long till he realizes he doesn't have his phone."
I fidget in the doorway, unsure if the awkwardness of already being in his house when he gets back, and then telling him what I want to say, might actually kill me. She cranes her head over the back of the sofa, scowling at me.
"Come in or not, but close the fuckin door, my parents are gonna shit." She warns sternly. I stumble over my own feet as I scramble into the Tucker's house, firmly shutting the door behind me.
My nerves are calmed slightly by the warm, homey atmosphere inside, and I slip out of my wet boots, meekly making my way over to stand beside the couch Tricia's lounging on, munching popcorn and watching a show.
She eyes me sideways.
"Are you gonna sit," She says. I slip myself quietly on the other end of the couch fixing my eyes on the TV. The awkward level is already way too high..
She's watching a confusing show about a bunch of different people that keep... teleporting?
It's extremely dramatic and hard to follow, so I stop paying attention and tune it out, focusing instead on figuring out what the fuck I'm gonna say when Craig comes home, and finds me hanging out on the couch with his sister.

His room is dark.
Empty. Occupied by ominous boxes, that must contain the precious, carefully cared for possessions, once displayed lovingly throughout the room.
Once vibrant and full of life, my memories, as much as his own, all packed away, tucked into the dark corners of obscurity, in bland cardboard box coffins.
My fingers tremble. I can't tell if it's because of the cold air and strain of holding my body weight on his window ledge, or because of my overwhelming urge to scream...
I tear my gaze away from the heart-wrenching boxes containing the better portion of my childhood memories, leaping from the second-floor window onto the frozen ground below, and as I begin running frantically, checking all of the places he could be, all of the places we had shared, the tears begin to fall.
They sting my cheeks as they freeze, whipped by the frigid wind biting into my skin. I grit my teeth, fighting back my overflowing emotions, that, as usual, surface too late.
Only this time, it really is too late. No more second chances, no more try agains. I've wasted each and every one of them. I dig my nails into my palms, hating myself, pushing harder, running faster until I taste blood in my throat.