The second Craig had laid his eyes on his best friend, his life
was completely over. He just didn't know it yet.
While he found the mere concept of soul mates unsettling,
the prospect of meeting his own was inevitable. When he
was born, he didn't have a countdown on his wrist. Nobody
at birth did. It was only when a child went through the last
stages of puberty that it began to darken, and then tick
downwards to the very second in which he would meet the
asshole that would apparently tolerate him for the rest of
their life. (However, it wasn't he himself that he was worried
about. What if his soul mate was annoying? What if they
couldn't stop talking? There were many issues to face, when
considering that just anybody could take up that role. Craig
believes, sincerely, that the deity in charge of this fucked-up
sort of fate had really screwed up when creating the system.
Really.)
What scared him even more was the fact that it could be but
anybody. It could be his neighbor, it could be somebody he
frequented school with. Hell, what if it never showed up at all?
That fear began to prove itself to be true when he came to
school in ninth grade and everybody had a countdown on their
wrist besides him. It had sent panic throughout the noirette,
because his suspicions were proven true. (Of course, he was
selfishly glad that Clyde's still seemed to have a long way to
go. It wouldn't be Bebe, then, and that was what caused them
to break up for good. Good riddance.)
After eleventh grade, Craig had vacationed to Yellowstone
throughout the last half of his summertime with his family.
Everything was okay, it was going fine; the only thing that
was inconvenient was the fact that he couldn't spend the
days playing the new Assassin's Creed with Clyde, Tweek and
Token. Oh, well. He was coming home a week before school
was meant to start, so they could make up for lost time then.
All of that changed when he woke up only to find a dark, tattooed
countdown on his wrist the morning they left. It had sent him into
a state of panic as large as the one he'd thrown when he realized
he hadn't gotten one. Craig, ever so cynical, had gotten used to
the idea that there would never be anyone for him. After all, it was
more convenient -- and it saved himself from vulnerability and the
fear of heartbreak.
The most terrifying prospect of it was the fact that it looked like
it was about to meet it's end.
So when he crawled his way under the fence separating he and
Clyde's house to meet with him before they took off for Tweek's
place, he had naturally hidden the mark on his wrist with his
sleeve. The second he woke up, he had refused to look at it. So
little did he know that it was minutes away from going off.
Once he's under the fence and in the other boy's yard, he
goes through the back door and barges into Clyde's room.
But his ever-so-stoic expression flickers to shock for the
slightest of a second when he feels his wrist burning.
Immediately, the noirette rips it up and notices that it's
hit 00:00:00.
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