He lies awake, the clock beside his bed reads 3am. A blanket is strewn halfway across him, but one leg stubbornly sticks out the side, in truth, the blanket is probably too small for him, but he can't really be bothered. With a nearly inaudible sigh, he throws the blanket to one side and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He blinks blearily a few times, his contacts fucked up from having his eyes closed too long. He slept for maybe an hour. He padded quietly to the bathroom, flicking the light on and regarding himself in the mirror. Messy as hell blond hair, sticking out at all angles, ice blue eyes - courtesy of his contacts, a dark green button up, fully buttoned to the button below the neck, sleeves down covering half his hands, hands which were crisscrossed with bandages from numerous tiny cuts and cracks in his hands; his black pajama bottoms just barely touched the tops of his feet, but they had decent sized pockets so he wore them almost always around the house and occasionally to school. He zoned out looking in the mirror, his thoughts convincing him there was another him on the side of the mirror, one that needed to get out, he only had to become one with the mirror, to do that he just had to force his way into the mirror, by hitting it as hard as he could, he would transcend through the glass and into the other world.

He used the bathroom and washed his hands before returning to his bedroom. The clock read 4am. He heard them before he saw them, the underpants gnomes.

He spoke calmly, but his words carried force and with his glowing ice blue eyes, the gnomes fled in fear.

Smirking, the blond reclined on his bed, his legs still over the edge. He gazed up at the ceiling, it was quiet, for once, even his mind seemed quiet. At least, for a little while...

It was like he was floating in darkness, no light, save for the glow of the red numbers on his alarm clock. It seemed far away however, and nothing seemed real. Everything was hazy, the shadows seemed to whisper to him.

You'reworthlessyouknow. Noonecaresaboutyou. Theyonlytolerateyourtwitchyexistence. Everyonewishesyouweredead. GiveinalreadyTweekyboy. Allyouneedisthatblackbladeyoucarryeverywhere. Justaquicksliceisallitwilltake. Noonewouldmissyou. Notevenyourparents. Theydon'tcareaboutyouTweekyboy. Theonlyonethatcaresaboutyou,isme. I'myourbestfriendTweeky. Youronlyfriend. Listen...listen...listen...

Tweek clutched his head, shaking, his breath coming in gasps. It was standing there, across the room, it's eyes were white, it was staring directly at him. It seemed to grow larger and larger, it filled the room, this wispy, shadowy thing. He scrambled across his bed, nearly falling onto the floor in his haste. He got on the floor, on his knees, digging in his messenger bag. His hands were shaking, hell his whole body shook, but he finally found it, his tattoo gun. He calmed slightly when he touched it, cradling it like one would a baby, or something equally precious. He moved on auto-pilot from then on, finding all his supplies, ink, needles, the disposable shaving razors, the disinfectant he used to clean whatever part of his arm he was going to tattoo, latex gloves, rubber bands, and his lovely paper towels. Most of the tremors were gone by now, his mind icey. He twitched, but that was just his normal twitching. He unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it onto his bed. Carefully, he disinfected his arm, shaved the part he was going to tattoo, just incase, and disinfected it again. Carefully, painstakingly slowly, he began drawing the figure that still stood across the room.

The tattoo wound up only being about six inches long and about two to three wide, wispy and shadowy, black, gray, and white. Above it, in black, scrawled "listen". He disinfected his arm one last time, gently patting it dry. He got up slowly, his legs having fallen asleep as he sat there. He methodically put everything away and threw away the contaminated items in a special trash bag that he always took out immediately after anything was put in it. He glanced at the time, seven am. He grimaced before finding his good jeans and a new dark green button up, along with the other essentials. His parents were already at the shop, so he walked across the hall without fear of being seen. He took a quick shower, careful to wash his fresh tattoo, before dressing for school. He returned to his room fully dressed and buttoned. Luckily his shirt was large enough that the material barely irritated his new ink. He stuffed his wallet, keys, phone, and knife into his pockets before grabbing his favorite thermos and going downstairs. He sadly made some instant coffee and left the house, careful to lock up. He glanced at the time as he walked down the street, if he walked quickly, he would make the bus.

Sitting on the warm-ish bus, he sipped from his thermos, barely listening to the conversations all around him. Most of it was uninteresting nonsense so he dug in his bag for his iPod and headphones. With it on shuffle, he stuck it back in his pocket and closed his eyes. By the time they reached the school, Tweek was completely calm, still twitching of course, but calm. He kept his earbuds in as he walked to his locker, no one wanted to talk to him so it wasn't like he would miss much.

He was gazing into the abyss of his locker when someone bumped into him, startling him. He noticeably twitched, turning to see who it was.

It was Kyle Broflovski, he was saying something but Tweek was too unfocused to read his lips so he took out an earbud.

"Hm?"

"I'm so sorry dude! I didn't mean to run into you." Kyle was talking fast and not looking into his eyes, he seemed almost nervous.

"GAHH! It's okay." Tweek twitched again, his calm momentarily disturbed.

Kyle looked relieved, "Great! I'll uh, I'll see you in English!" Then he darted off to rejoin his friends.

Tweek watched him go, joining Stan, Kenny, and Cartman. His eyes lingered on the four friends for a minute, but he returned his attention to his locker. He finished there and went to his first class, Algebra II. Terrible thing, math. The teacher was helpful though, so the class wasn't too bad. He sat in the back of the class, no one talked to him in there, it was a mix of under and upperclassmen. He drank his coffee and did the day's assignment. His calm returning as the monotony of the school day set in.