"Well, well, well! Tweek! How goes it?" He saunters in, like he expects me to ignore the harsh bags under his eyes and his ruffled hair. And probably the black eye and bloody nose.

I stand in shock for a few seconds, and I just stare at him as he goes up to the counter like he owns the place (ironically enough) and leans on the counter shooting me a some what pained glance.

"Clyde?" I stupidly mutter, "W-What are you doing h-here?" I lean my mop against the wall and walk slowly and awkwardly behind the counter. Clyde doesn't notice or doesn't care (or both) and smiles at getting a response.

"Oh y'know, I wanted to buy some shoes," he says not laughing, but smiling at me, waiting to see if I laugh.

I didn't.

"O-Oh... uh... ha," I scratch at my wrist behind the counter where he can't see me do so. This is so weird and tense.

I should break the silence and make a joke or small talk or- "What happened to y-your face?"

...

Or I could say that.

Clyde's smile falters just for a second before he laughs. He snorts a little as he does so and it almost makes me smile.

"What?" He asks, smile still very bright, "Am I not pretty enough for you anymore? Oh woe is me-"

"C-Clyde," I interrupt, "D-Do you want a coffee and some help with-" I point at the blood slowly beginning to drip down his lip (again it seems) "...that?"

He smiles, "That would be great, actually."