"Hey Tweek? Do you think your parents coming tomorrow night?" Token asked from the kitchen.

Tweek checked the time on his phone. Five more minutes to process and then it was time to hop into the shower.

"Please, like my parents even remember I exist. Remember, they were pretty fucking neglectful. Not in the 'forgetting to feed my kid' or 'not bringing my child to the doctor' way, but in the never really fully acknowledging me as a person way. Pretty sure as soon as I moved out and they didn't have to see me every day, they thought that they'd spent the past eighteen years raising a child named Tweak Bros Coffee. Honestly, we're all happier this way."

He adjusted the towel around his neck. It had been a while since he had last dyed his hair, and he needed it to be fresh for tomorrow's event. He had decided to go with an electric green, leaving the color off of one small portion of his natural blond as a sort of highlight. He figured if it ended up looking like shit, he could just dye the whole thing later.

"That seriously sucks, dude. Fuck your parents," Token replied. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "My folks said they'd be there, but I'm not sure if I want them to come."

"Why?" Tweek asked, peeking his head out of the bathroom.

"Think about it. This is our last show at our home base, so to say. It's gonna get pretty wild. On top of that, it's doubling as our album release party. People are going to be wasted and you know there will be a whole lot of titties hanging out."

"Maybe even a few dicks, hehe," Kenny interjected. He poked his head into the bathroom to grab his hairbrush. "I'm going to have such a good time." His smile went from ear to ear. "I've even prepared for this momentous occasion."

"Let me guess. Condoms and lube?" Tweek said, rolling his eyes.

"You know me so well, babe," Kenny grinned, leaning in to plant a kiss on Tweek's cheek.

Tweek playfully pushed him away. "Get the fuck out of here, man!" he laughed.

"I'm just getting ready to practice safe sex, my friend. And don't act all high and mighty with me. Like you don't plan on getting laid tomorrow."

A small smile appeared on Tweek's face. "Maybe. If the right person comes along."

"So someone with a pulse," said Token.

"Fuck you! I'm not some random slut like Kenny!"

Tweek's cheeks grew red. Whether this was from anger, embarrassment, or a combination of both was unknown.

"All of Colorado knows I'm slutty, but we're talking about your sluttiness," Kenny replied.

"Are you guys talking about how much of a slut Tweek is?" Clyde chimed as he came out of his room.

By now, Tweek's ears were bright red. "Fuck all of you!" he screeched, disappearing back into the bathroom.

"That's our point exactly!" Kenny grinned.

Tweek slammed the door shut, drowning out the raucous laughter of his friends.

Craig stood at his bed, going over everything he had laid out to be packed. He wasn't sure how many clothes he should bring. Enough for one week, he figured, although he had no idea when or where he'd be able to do laundry. That was something that had not been covered when Cartman had gone over the logistics of the trip. Craig figured he'd be able to sneak off to a laundromat for a few hours at least once a week. Right? It's not like he had to be with these guys at every waking moment. He was there to get to know them, to interview them, not to babysit them.

Once he was certain that he had everything ready to go, he opened the luggage set that his roommate, Stan, had bought him. It was a combination congratulations and good luck gift after Craig had told him about the opportunity he was being given. Craig had tried to refuse it, as it was pretty good luggage and he didn't like people spending a lot of money on him, but Stan had insisted.

"So are you heading out tonight or in the morning?"

Craig looked over his shoulder to see Stan standing in the doorway.

"Hey. Tomorrow morning. By the way, thanks again for the luggage. You didn't need to, but it was really helpful," he said.

"Of course I had to!" said Stan.

He entered the room and stood next to Craig, watching as he folded his clothes and placed them neatly inside the largest suitcase.

"This is a really big fucking deal, and you'll want to make a good first impression with these rich band guys. If you walked up with those ratty ass old duffel bags you were going to use, they'd probably have eaten you alive."

"Heh," Craig said softly. "I don't know if some rocker dudes are going to give a shit what my luggage looks like, but I appreciate the sentiment." He glanced over his shoulder at Stan once more. "By the way, can you take care of Floof while I'm gone? I left instructions for her care on the fridge."

"Of course, dude. I'm pretty sure you'd murder me as slowly and painfully as possible if I allowed anything to happen to your guinea pig princess."

Craig nodded slowly, humming to himself while he double checked the number of sock pairs he was bringing. Stan stood quietly to the side, watching him, shifting weight from foot to foot. Craig could feel the anxiety coming off of him and it pissed him off.

"Dude, whatever it is you want to say, just fucking say it already. I'm getting contact anxiety from you standing there," he said.

"Umm...so...you're going to be gone for awhile, right,? And I've only been dating Kyle for a few weeks, but…" Stan mumbled.

"You wanna know if he can sleep over while I'm gone. Is that it?"

Craig turned to face Stan directly. He was staring at his feet, blushing, his eyes open wide and excited.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes."

"I know we've only been together a few weeks, but he seems like the real deal. I think…" Stan hesitated, wondering if he should say his thought out loud. "I think I might be in love with him, Craig."

Craig sighed and closed his suitcase. It was a bit overstuffed, so he leaned his weight down onto it so he could zip it up with ease.

"It's not love. You're just feeling new relationship energy. It's not realistically possible to love someone in that short a time."

Stan was silent. Craig was afraid to look over at him. This wasn't the first time that Craig had criticized Stan for falling in love too quickly with people who weren't right for him. Back then, however, Craig had been in a long term relationship and was the so-called expert. He braced himself, just waiting for Stan to say something snide about Thomas, or about how Craig hasn't even hooked up with anyone since then, so what does he know about love or new relationships?

"Damn, remind me to never tell you shit," Stan finally answered with a chuckle.

Craig let out a sigh of relief. He felt as though he'd dodged a bullet. Stan probably held back, for his sake, since he was about to leave for two months.

"Look," Craig said, giving in. "I'm fine with him sleeping over while I'm away. Just...no sex in my room, okay? I really don't want to come home to a bed full of DNA that isn't mine."

"Scout's honor," Stan said, holding up his index and middle fingers together. "And thanks, dude."

"Welcome," Craig muttered.

Once Stan left, Craig pulled out his phone and opened up that photo of Thomas. Ten minutes later, while he was cleaning up from yet another shameful masturbation session, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was a conventionally attractive guy. He could easily find someone to fuck, if he wanted. Yet the inability to let go of his longest and most recent relationship was holding him back. He rubbed his hands over his face before slamming them down on the bathroom sink, startling Floof in her pen. He had decided.

By the end of the summer, he was going to finally let go of Thomas.

This whole trip didn't feel real to Craig until he was finally up in the air. Not while packing. Not while on the way to the airport. Not even while boarding the plane. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that Cartman was going to jump out behind something and shout "gotcha!" But that didn't happen, and the likelihood that Cartman would buy his own ticket to Denver just to prank Craig on the plane or at his hotel was pretty slim.

This was real. The clouds underneath the plan outside his window were proof of that. So was the flash drive with Humble Folx's soon-to-be released album on it. Craig had received it once the plans for him to travel with the band had been finalized. It had been in his possession for a while now, but he hadn't listened to it yet. He had wanted to wait until he was on the plane to Denver. Craig knew himself well, and he knew that he was just enough of a self-sabotager to go back on the offer if he thought the band sucked. Most people would just deal with music they didn't like for two months for the career boost, but Craig would rather continue to tread water than be forced to listen to crap for two months.

He opened his Surface Pro and inserted the flash drive. He popped his earbuds in, let his chair recline back the two inches given in coach, and hit play.

Humble Folx was...okay. From one listen all the way through, they didn't sound like anything special. They weren't bad. Not at all. They were solid, but Craig wasn't blown away. He felt like he had heard this before, but better. After a second listen from beginning to end, his feelings were unchanged.

He felt most disappointed with the band's first single, a cover of Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain". He had caught it once or twice on a grocery store's radio station, but he had never actually had a close listen. Going over it now, it was a solid enough cover. They didn't butcher the song...but they also didn't give it any new life. When a band covers a song, they should leave a piece of themselves with it. Make it unique. Make it their own. Humble Folx's version of "The Chain" sounded like the same song, just louder, a little heavier, and without female vocals.

Craig wasn't hired to review music, but in his opinion, this band was a flash in the pan, and honestly, kinda boring. Craig only liked boring in his personal life. Not in his music. He groaned and thumped his head against the airplane window. Two months of this shit. He would have to keep reminding himself that it was all for the interview.

The plane landed safely, and Craig was shocked that he didn't have to wait until the end of time for his luggage to show up on the baggage carousel. He arrived at his hotel surprisingly early, and hardly took any time to get settled. He checked his phone. 7:02 PM. He was feeling a bit tired, as it would be just after nine back at home, but he felt it was too early to turn in for the night. After flipping through every channel in the hotel's cable package, Craig decided to go out for once.

He found a place to eat dinner, and immediately started to miss the food of New York City. Not that he was able to eat out very often. When he did, it wasn't particularly fancy, either. Still, he was unsure if what he was putting in his mouth right now could legally be called pizza.

When he was finished, he took a walk around the blocks surrounding his hotel. Denver seemed to be nice enough, from what he could see. It was definitely quieter than back home. One would think that would be something that Craig would have liked, but in all honesty, he missed the noise. The noise was familiar and comforting. The quieter atmosphere here only reminded him that he wasn't at home.

Craig turned a corner and almost walked into a street light. He stopped quickly, avoiding collision, and found himself face to face with a crudely drawn poster.

Humble Folx final show

before they go on tour!

9 PM at The Hideout

Tickets at the door

How convenient. He certainly knew what he was doing tonight. Craig tore the flyer down off the pole and stuffed it into his pocket. What was the harm of watching the band perform before he officially met them?

"How many people are out there, Jimmy?" Clyde asked.

Ever since their first performance, Clyde had asked one of his bandmates how many people were in the audience. His hands balled into fists under his chin, his eyes wide with wonder. His right leg was bouncing with pent-up energy. He looked like a little boy wanting to know how many presents were under the tree at Christmas.

"Uhh...I c-can't really count all of th-them," said Jimmy, peeking out from the stage entrance. "Mayb-b-be...two hundred?"

"Oh shit, that's a lot! I'm so nervous!" Clyde's fists trembled under his chin, but his excited, expressive eyes told a different story.

"You're such a dork, man. You do realize that starting this weekend, we'll be performing in front of thousands, not hundreds," Kenny chimed in. He twirled his drumsticks between his fingers, warming them up for the show.

"Hey, are you guys ready?" The owner of the club popped in, startling Clyde.

"Yeah, just about," Kenny nodded.

The owner looked around the small green room. "Where's Tweek?"

"He's outside getting one last smoke in," replied Token. When the owner gave him an impatient look, Token put down his bass and stood up. "I'll go get him. We'll be on in five, okay?"

Token opened up the door to the alley behind the club. Tweek was leaning against the dirty brick wall, smoking billowing up above his head.

"We're on, dude," said Token.

"Yeah…be there in a minute," Tweek replied through an exhale of smoke.

All of Tweek's anxieties tended to amplify the hour before he went on stage. Performing on stage was what he lived for, yet he still ended up having serious stage fright. It wasn't uncommon for Token to be the one to find him and coax him toward the stage.

"Did you take your meds this morning?"

Tweek gave Token a look that said are you fucking kidding me? He held up what he'd been smoking so that Token could have a better look. It was a joint, and not his usually cigarette.

"Yup," Tweek answered.

Token rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, asshole. You're other meds. The ones that will affect all of us if you suddenly stop taking them."

"What, are you the fucking mom character in the story of my life? Christ, Token." Tweek took one last large drag to finish off his joint. "Yes. I took them. You know I've been taking them responsibly for over a year."

"And you know I've been asking you every damn day for over a year. It's our routine."

Tweek snickered and smirked. "That it is. Just like you being the one to convince me to head to the stage. Every time. Goddammit, why does my brain have to actively work against itself?"

"If I had gone to college, maybe I could have found a way to permanently cure mental illness."

"Yeah, fuck you for not using that huge ass brain of yours and slumming it with the rest of us all these years," Tweek laughed.

"Well, we're not slumming it anymore, are we?"

Tweek smiled. "Nope. Alright let's do this."

Craig took a small sip of his martini. He wasn't quite sure why he had ordered it. He wasn't really a fan of martinis, but it just felt right at the time. The club had a two drink minimum, so he was cornered into drinking, but thankfully the prices weren't as steep as back home. The martini made him feel fancy when everything around him made him feel anything but. The Hideout was an older, grimy sort of music club. He was a bit surprised that a band about to go on a brand new tour with a fresh coat of polish would be performing in this sort of venue. He didn't bother overthinking it. He swirled the alcohol around in his glass, waiting for the show to begin.

The lights dimmed in the large room to the vocal delight of the crowd gathered around the small stage. After a moment, a single acoustic guitar began to play the opening bars of "The Chain". That caused Craig's ears to perk up. That hadn't actually been a part of their studio version. A small spotlight slowly faded in on the guitarist sitting on a stool. The bass drum then came in, quietly. They played together for about a minute, then stopped. The lights went out. Silence. The crowd went crazy. The small spotlight then focused in on the lead singer. He cupped the microphone lovingly in his hand and began to sing the opening lines of the song, a cappella.

Craig adjusted in his seat. The vocals were so haunting here. Nothing like on the album. Fuck, why hadn't they done this with the studio recorded version? It was so beautiful. His voice was soft, almost fragile sounding. When he reached the chorus, the full stage lights came on and the rest of the band joined in, with the guitarist having switched from acoustic to electric. The crowd went wild once more.

When the song reached the instrumental solos, the bassist was given plenty of time to improvise on top of the iconic bass line before the guitarist came in with his own jam session. In the meantime, the singer ran around on the stage, overflowing with energy. How could this be the guy who was supposedly a recluse? This guy? The one who is thrashing around the stage? The one who just jumped down into the crowd to dance with the fans? The one who's singing the outro while still in the audience and holding the mic up for fans to sing along? There must be some mistake.

Craig ordered another martini, feeling like he might need it if the show continued like this. The band performed a couple more songs from the album. They sounded closer to the studio versions, but the energy was much different. This was definitely a band that needed to be seen live. Craig wondered why they weren't able to channel this energy in the studio. He took out his phone and opened up a note-taking app so that he could jot down that question to ask them later.

"Hey Hideout, how are you feeling tonight?" said the vocalist, finally addressing the crowd.

"We love you, Tweek!" a rabid fan shouted from the floor.

"I love you, too. Why don't you come see me after the show," he winked and laughed. "You know…" he continued, running a hand through his messy green hair, "...with all of the love I'm feeling in here tonight...it's making me a little hot. What about you guys?"

The crowd whooped in response.

"When it gets this hot, I think that means it's time for a little ditty that you all know and love. This next one we had to call "Metaphor" on the album because the label wouldn't let us use the original. But you guys know its true name."

The bassist started playing the opening riff and the crowd roared.

"Let me hear it, now!" Tweek yelled, pointing the mic at the audience.

"'This Song is About Fucking!'" they yelled in unison.

Craig nearly did a spit take. He had heard the song on the album, but was not aware of its original name.

"That's right," he grinned.

Tweek grabbed his t-shirt by the bottom hem and pulled it up over his head with both hands, tossing it at the fan who he acknowledged earlier. He then dove into the song, which was just as filthy as the original song title would imply, but not exactly explicit in its lyrics. Like the new title suggested, the lyrics were all fairly clever metaphors for sex.

Craig took a long sip of his drink and shook his head, feeling the alcohol starting to hit him. He looked back at the stage and watched as Tweek was moving around the stage while he sang. His body slinked about the stage, slender hips rolling here and there. The fans were eating it up, waving singles at him like he was a stripper. At one point, he slid his hand down his bare chest to his groin. He cupped his hand around it, then stroked his hand down his left thigh and squeezed what was supposedly his dick. A sober Craig would have scoffed at such a blatant move. It was obviously just to get a reaction from the crowd, which it did, but Craig found the sexual tactic tired and overdone. The tipsy, perpetually horny Craig who was watching the performance, however, became very turned on.

He leaned his elbow onto the bar and bit his finger as he gawked at the performance. He watched Tweek, mesmerized. He spotted a small tattoo on his right shoulder blade, but he couldn't make out what it was. Also, were those nipple piercings? Either Tweek had piercings or his nipples were particularly shiny. Craig felt a sudden desire to know what those piercings felt like, and whether Tweek had any other ones he couldn't see right now.

Craig blinked rapidly several times in succession. Woah. The alcohol was clearly getting to him. It wasn't like him to drool over random shirtless dudes. Or piercings. He wasn't even particularly attracted to piercings. Yet here he was, contemplating the sounds that this guy makes when they're played with. Fuck, he was horny.

Obviously this had been a poor decision, coming out to a club that had a drink minimum. If Craig had been sober, he would've been able to keep his base urges under control.

The song mercifully ended, freeing Craig from his hormone fueled thoughts. He felt his cheeks grow hot. Thank goodness that he didn't know anyone here, or this would've all been much more embarrassing.

It was shortly after eleven that Tweek announced that this was their final song.

"Thank you fuckers for coming out tonight and partying with us. We've got one more song for you, but don't go thinking the night's over yet. You motherfuckers have always been so supportive and you got us to where we are today. So to show our thanks, they're locking up early for the night and we have the bar till sunrise, so please stay with us for the Humble Folx album release party!"

The crowd roared in approval.

"Even you, boring guy sitting over at the bar drinking fucking dry-ass martinis all night," Tweek continued, pointing directly at Craig.

Craig looked up from his drink and locked eyes with Tweek on stage. He was smiling at him, and Craig felt a faint chill run up his spine.

"Yeah, you, dude! Even you should stay!"

Craig raised his glass in response and took a sip. Tweek continued to speak to the crowd in general for a moment before they transitioned into the final song. Craig barely paid attention to it. Instead he debated with himself about whether he should stay for just one more drink, or whether he should go back to the hotel for the night. On one hand, he could maybe get to talk to some of the band members in a candid way before everything became about promotion and their public image. On the other hand, he was scheduled to meet up with the band at 8 AM the next day. He wanted to be professional and well-rested on his first day, even if he knew the band wouldn't be. He also didn't want to risk having a raging hard on when he first introduced himself.

Craig decided to ask the bartender for a tall glass of water and to sit for a while as he waited to sober up a bit. It was the wise adult choice. Some would say the boring choice, but that was fine by him.

Craig was soon swallowed up by the mass of people who surrounded him, vying for the bartender's attention. At least half of the people in attendance ran over to get drinks as soon as Humble Folx left the stage. Craig could hear a stage crew breaking down the drum kit and clearing off the amps and other electronics, but he couldn't see them through the people. For a moment, Craig actually felt like he was drowning. He quickly drank down the remainder of his water and placed a five dollar tip under the glass.

Craig struggled to fight his way out of the crowd. Sweaty bodies of people hopped up on the adrenaline rush from a concert and who knows what else, sandwiched together in a tight space. This was what Craig hated. He always stayed in his seat at the end of concerts. He waited until the crowds had thinned out. During a concert, crowds were fun. A part of the show. After the concert was over, they were just nuisances.

He finally squeezed his way out. He gasped in the fresh air, glad to be out of the body odor zone. He scanned the room, searching for the location of the bathroom. He thought about waiting until he returned to his hotel, but the alcohol was moving through his system quickly, and there was a good chance that he'd get lost on the way back.

He saw some of the members of the band schmoozing with fans. The guitarist was holding court in the center of the room. It looked as though he would never stop talking, but those around him were hanging in his every word, letting out laughter here and there. Craig thought he saw the keyboardist over in a darkened corner with a woman in his lap, but he didn't get a good look. He did get a good look at the drummer with his face inches away from some woman's bare breasts as he signed his name on them. The huge grin on both parties faces made Craig roll his eyes.

He finally saw the sign for the bathroom on the other side of the club. He made his way toward the sign, happy to have a moment of peace once he was finally inside.

Craig made a beeline for the urinal, unzipping his pants and emptying his bladder. He let out a soft moan as he felt the relief. Somehow, the moan seemed to continue even after he closed his mouth. Craig had thought that he was alone in the bathroom, but clearly he was wrong. He quickly shook himself off and tucked himself back into his trousers.

Craig quietly moved over to the stalls. He knew he should just leave, but his liquor-soaked brain was curious as to the source of the noise. He walked down the row of stalls toward the accessible one, not finding anyone in the smaller ones. He swallowed hard and peered into the final stall.

The lead singer of the band had his back pressed against the wall, and he had what appeared to be a woman on her knees in front of him. His black skinny jeans were pushed down around his thighs. His shirt was still off, and Craig realized that the woman was wearing it. She must be the fan who Tweek said should "see see him after the show". Craig had thought it was a joke. A flirty nod to a fan, but not serious.

Tweek's eyes were shut, his lips slightly parted. His hands pressed against the wall behind him like they were searching for something to grab onto. That same soft moan rumbled from his throat. He looked quite beautiful. Angelic, almost, in his pleasure. Craig wasn't into watching straight sex acts, obviously, but he was so hard up that even this was causing his cock to stir. He so badly wanted to be in one of their positions. Either one was fine. He so craved his dick in a mouth and his mouth on a dick.

His breathing grew heavier and louder. His pulse quickened. He knew he should leave. He wasn't meant to see this. But his feet were lead and he couldn't pull himself away. His eyes were transfixed on Tweek's pelvic muscles, faintly defined and flexing ever so slightly.

Craig's gaze moved back up to Tweek's face, only for him to realize that Tweek was staring at him. Their eyes locked and Tweek's lips slowly spread into a smile. They stared awkwardly at each other for what felt like forever, before Tweek let his eyes roll back in his head, grin still planted firmly on his face.

Craig felt his stomach drop. That was enough to pull him out of this horny hypnosis. He turned on his heel and hurried out the door.

The walk back was equally uncomfortable. Craig walked as fast as he could to his hotel, surprised that he was able to find his way back without taking a wrong turn. He could feel his sensitive cock rubbing against his underwear with each step. It drove him crazy.

Back at the hotel, he took a cold shower to sober himself up and help with his growing problem. Afterward, he lied in bed, unable to sleep. He just couldn't get that image out of his head. Try as he might to think of something else, everything came back to the blowjob. Craig groaned in frustration once he was at full mast again, finally giving in. He spit in his hand and wrapped his long fingers around his dick. He thrust up into his hand, only needing a couple minutes to reach climax.

Afterward, he felt that same pang of guilt that he felt after fantasizing about Thomas. He was going to be spending two months traveling with this Tweek guy and his friends. This was not the way to start the trip. Craig fell asleep with one thought lingering in his mind.

Tomorrow morning was going to be weird.