𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

Chapter Nine

It's Tuesday morning and the sun isn't up yet.

Despite the contempt snores of everyone else in South Park, one particular blonde is already up and stretching. He hadn't slept a wink, but regardless of that, his muscles cramped under the rigid position he held throughout.

Now Tweek didn't enjoy taking showers right after getting out of bed. … But then again, he plain out didn't like showers.

From a young age, he was teasingly told by his parents that washing up with scented soaps and sponges would reduce the chance of gnomes tracking him down by the smelliness of his underwear. He eventually got the gist of it at age fourteen. Obviously, he was no longer as vulnerable or gullible, yet old habits die hard. He still bathed every day, each time in the morning (where it'd leave him at his cleanest for the entire duration of the day) no matter how much he disliked the timing.

Sure, it definitely stirred people awake, but the water was always freezing cold in the morning. And being a boy who rarely slept longer than three to five hours, Tweek always got up in the crack of dawn when the water pipes were frozen the most solid.

He steps out from the shower, his nose dripping and his lips quivering. "F-fuck…" After wringing his hair dry almost to the extent that it hurt, he awkwardly slid over to the sink, his tiled bathroom floor now a giant puddle. He fingers his eye bags, sighing at the dark color that would permanently stain his face unto death. He makes his way down and turned on the TV with a towel draped over his hair as he waited the rest of the morning to come flooding in.

His parents are down, the dining table set with porcelain dishes and crystal glasses when he wakes up. He awkwardly slouches over with his damp hair and takes a seat opposite his father. There are sounds of fizzing bacon on a fry pan as well as the "Ding!" of the toaster as the bread pops up.

After a quiet ten minutes fly by, he manages to murmur a shy: "Hey… Uh, Mom?" Tweek fiddles around with his fork, twirling the bacon in circles. After placing one slice of the oily pork strip into his mouth, he sips on his Café Frappe for refreshment.

"Yes, Tweek?" His mother answers; his father's head is also turned his way in curiosity. His father was seated across from him, sipping a black Americano whilst reading a newspaper; his mother washed the greased up frying pan.

"… I was wondering… Ngh, b-but is it normal to feel jealous when a friend's dating a girl?" He doesn't make any eye contact, continuing to twiddle the bacon strips on the plate. His eggs, one sunny-side-up and the other fully cooked, remain untouched by his utensils.

His mother giggles as his father answers instead, "You know, I don't know if I've told you this already, but your mother was a very attractive, young woman when I met her."

"Oh, Richard ~" His mother coos, flapping her hand back and forth as she dismissed it.

Tweek narrows his eyes as his cheeks hollow out. You DID tell me this already. … Multiple times.

His father chuckles heartily, "All the young men were after her. But – she only had eyes for me."

"Oh-ho-ho…" She giggles as she wipes her hands into her apron and sits down. "It's true, you know."

"She was a beauty and you know what?"

Tweek grumbles, "What?"

"She still is." They lightly peck each other on the lips with a lovesick smile.

The twitchy blonde is yet to be amused. Sadly enough, he had grown impervious to his parents' daily reminiscing about past romance. "… Okay? A-and then what?"