They smelled of plastic and cologne and new shoes and fakeness and there were so many of them choking him and suffocating and he couldn't breathe and he wanted them to be gone they were so close and tumbling over one another and laughing their fake laughs around him and it was swirling and blending in his eyes and he was out to sea and couldn't swim and they were closing in closer and closer and closer and he could feel their words in his mouth and on his tongue and seeping into the minuscule cracks between his teeth and coating his tongue so he couldn't yell out and it was on his skin and covering him like a blanket meant to be comforting soothing but it wasn't and it was smothering him and he couldn't beg or plead and his feeble protests were met to deaf ears and their fakeness was oppressing him and taking any and all of his sanity and stealing it and he wanted it back and then one of them was touching him oh god and their hand was welding with his shoulder and he wanted it off and no more and then he was being sucked into that chasm within himself and he was choking on his spit and he couldn't catch a breath because this thing this person was on him and his vision was blacking at the edges and his chest was constricting and his heart's titter patter was speeding up and he was about to-
"Tweek?"
"Y-yeah?"
"You okay?"
"N-ngh, I guess."
AN: First of a series of character studies. Cliché? I hope not. Review, if so inclined.