And my mind has fucked me over more times than any man could ever know.

—Laura Marling, New Romantic

Tweek's point of view:

Craig's hair smelt like vanilla. I was trying not to smell it—I didn't want to be creepy—but the more he laid on top of me, the more his scent permeated. If anything, it was smelling me. There was an undertone of cinnamon and cigarettes, but he wasn't wearing much clothing for it to cling to, so his aroma kind of diminished.

He didn't need to wear anything, though. If he left to grab something to cover up with, I might just burn it. This was by far the best day of my life and nobody seemed to understand that Craig Tucker, my lifelong crush, was sleeping on me in his boxer-briefs. I was something significant to him, even if I was just a pillow. We were essentially cuddling on his couch in his apartment next to his best friend and his girlfriend.

If—shit. If I went into my imagination really deep, I could pretend that this was an alternate universe. One where things were so much simpler and Craig hadn't disappeared from my life for four years. That he had always been here with me the entire time and we existed. The we that I constantly wished for so desperately. A we that was—God, I was so fucking stupid. Pretending like we were in a relationship wasn't so much embarrassing as it was disappointing.

So I stopped thinking about all of that because it wasn't doing me any good. Dr. Norris told me that I was doing well when it came to displacing circular thoughts, the ones that you could contemplate forever and end up nowhere. I guessed he was right. A little after Craig had told me to relax, I quit thinking with my head and focused on my hands. Without a brain, things were so much easier to cope with.

I was watching the clock now, trying to will the hands to rotate counterclockwise as the evening reached well into seven p.m. "Tonight" was coming on much too fast, though Kenny hadn't specified an exact departure time. Craig had fallen asleep, his weight paralyzed on top of me. It was intriguing how sudden the difference was between him when he was awake and then unconscious. His weight had instantly gone limp and I could feel it against my chest, comfortably so.

My fingers had dulled to a secure rubbing, practically suctioned to the smooth pale skin beneath them. Scratching wouldn't have been on my list of Craig's weaknesses if I'd had one. When Clyde's girlfriend had suggested it, I'd eagerly taken advantage of thoroughly investigating its ability—I just hoped no one had noticed. He'd promptly passed out afterwards. The other two occupying the couch were lost to themselves. They looked so sweet huddled so close together, Clyde occasionally snoring under his breath. It must've been a regular occurrence, this catnapping or whatever was going on. I tried not to snuggle too close to Craig, afraid someone would see the similarities between the actual couple and, well—us. Except it was so god damn hard when the noirette was being such a sweetheart.

And he was nearly naked. All I could think was: Don't fucking cave. It was just genuine torture to know that while I was all the way in South Park, Craig was all the way in Lakewood. Running around his apartment in his drawers. And now he was in my lap, fast asleep. And the only other two people around were just as incoherent. Stop—stop it. They were right in front of me where I could make sure they didn't see, not that I was going to grope him or anything. I'd just touch his back, maybe let my hand drift a little, that was all. Honestly.

Sweet Jesus, just stop it, you stupid idiot. I bit my lip and settled for holding Craig against my chest, one hand root deep in his thick hair, the other across his shoulders. My heart was thrashing inside of my ribcage in both fondness and loss. God, Craig. You have no idea what you do to me. What I wanted him to do to me. What I wanted to do to him.

This guy was my worst circular thought and it hurt enough just thinking about him in general terms that I didn't even want to consider what it meant to go beyond "wanted" and "to do". I beat myself up enough when it came to my other issues, I wasn't going to subject myself to this too. There was a hollow ache in my chest and Craig's head was resting just above the void.

I wanted to tell him that he was a bastard for doing this to me—this incomprehensible, beautiful thing—but I liked him too much. If I ever told him anything, it wouldn't be that. He already knew the majority of my life, anyways. I hadn't been expecting that questionnaire earlier, but I'd felt important whether he was asking just to be polite or out of curiosity. Everything about me was strictly confidential. The friends I had now were going to be the ones I kept forever because I didn't trust anyone else with information labeled Tweek. I'd trusted Craig with six years of my life, though. There was absolutely no reason why I would lie to him, why he shouldn't know.

The door opened and for the quickest of seconds, I panicked. I'm not sure who I thought was going to walk through the door, maybe a burglar, maybe Kenny with an assortment of men and women. But it ended up being Token and I calmed instantly. I was blushing, feeling as though I had just gotten caught vandalizing Craig's body—in my head of course. Token just smiled and cooed at what I absolutely refused to believe was the four of us. Nope, he was only sprinkling his little noises all over Clyde and his girl.

"You're uh—back late... I think." Unless he took some type of night class, which wouldn't be a surprise. Token looked like he'd be a nighttime-achiever. He could be any kind of achiever and I'd believe every single one of them.

"Yeah. Photography project," he explained shortly, excusing himself to go put his stuff away. I thought it was so cool that he did photography. The other night he'd shared some of his photographs with Kenny and I. It was interesting, remembering some of the amateur snapshots from our high school photography club compared to his tasteful angles and ability to capture existence, living and inanimate.

When he came back out, Clyde was wiggling off of the couch, loudly announcing, "She's all yours, bro!" Token chuckled, clapping his friend's shoulder before helping the tired brunette to his feet. He said something about how he could've just laid down in his room, but Clyde cut him off with, "Naw, man! It's cool. You're a busybody, always working and shit, and now it's time to settle down with my busybody." He turned around to wink at his girlfriend.

She gave Clyde an air-kiss before holding her arms out to Token. "Or," she suggested, "we could put Craig over here and free up Tweek. Looks like he makes a pretty good replacement bosom." It was her turn to wink, although I didn't give her a kiss in return. I clammed up and blushed worse than I already was, diverting my eyes elsewhere, anywhere, everywhere, only to have them settle down on Craig's long legs.

He'd shuffled around a few times and his most recent placement was flat on his stomach. His limbs were gangly with a noticeable curve that accentuated their length, almost bowlegged in a way. They were remarkably attractive. Legs inevitably led to the butt, and unfortunately for me, Craig had the cutest one I've ever seen. It was just there, and it was small, and it was incredibly becoming on him. Sweet Jesus, somebody needed to stop this man from being the most tempting piece of God knows what.

"I couldn't do that to him. He looks so comfortable." Token chuckled, settling down against the brunette girl in much the same position Clyde had been in. After a closer look in my general direction, making me jitter nervously, he asked, "Is he asleep?"

"Fast asleep," I informed the three, quite proudly to my surprise. Caught off guard by my own haughtiness, I immediately simmered down. Three cheeky grins were sent my way, thoroughly embarrassing me.

"Craig's a heavy sleeper. You might be stuck here for the night," Clyde said, stumbling off toward the kitchen. "Let me know when he starts snuggling. I want to get in on that shit."

I called after him, "Sn-snuggling?"

"Oh yeah," he jeered. "He likes to get real comfortable after a while. And by that point he's all warm and cuddly so I like when he spoons me."

"That was a pretty homosexual thing to say, Clyde." And then Token looked at me. "No offense."

My heartbeat stunted. Did Craig tell him? It wasn't like it mattered—everyone already knew. There was just this irrational fear inside of me, a residue of sorts after I freaked while coming out to my parents. "How did you know?"

Clyde's girlfriend answered for him. "You're not asking that out of genuine curiosity, are you?"

A smile, twinged negatively by a hint of sadness, washed out my features. I dropped my head against the side of the couch, rolling my eyes when the girl offered me a quiet awh. My sexuality wasn't the problem. Actually, it was—but not for the reason they thought, although I'd let them continue to think as they were. The real problem was that because I was gay, I wouldn't be able to have Craig.

I'd have a better chance with him if I were straight. That's how successful my chances were. And yet I knew that—Jesus, did I know everything about it. But here Craig was, tempting the fucking shit out of me. I could honestly admit that if we were completely alone, if I knew that no one was in the apartment and nobody would be home for a long time, I would touch him. Everywhere. While he was asleep. And if he woke up, I'd run.

God, his skin was getting really warm. I then noticed with internal horror that my hand had begun to subconsciously trace the line of his shoulders. It was by no means a sexual touch, just a mindless one for comfort. I had told myself my fingers wouldn't wander, though. I couldn't remove them, either. My hand was literally stuck to his body.

But his shoulders felt so nice. They were lean and wide, his subtle muscle compatible against my fingertips. Heat was dousing my body beneath him. My chest, my stomach—fuck, my thighs. He was like a soothing furnace set at just the right temperature. "Uh, Clyde? I think he's about ready to cuddle."

"Hmm?" The brunette popped his head out of the kitchen. I had to crane my neck around to see him. "Is he warming up?" I nodded vigorously, receiving a series of thick cracks that just about made me cry. I could've snapped my neck just then. Swearing, Clyde came out of the kitchen shoveling cereal into his mouth. He dropped the bowl onto the table, ignoring it in exchange for Craig.

His sporadic, hurried movements were making me anxious. "Should I m-move?" Please don't make me move. Please don't make me do that, Clyde. I don't want to have to tell you no. He shook his head and waved my question away.

"He'll wake up. I'm just going to..." He trailed off, explaining with his body instead. Crawling onto the couch, he crouched onto his stomach and sidled closer by the push of his elbows. When he reached Craig, he half heaved himself on top of his friend and pressed his cheek flush against the noirette's back with a refreshed, "Awhh yeah."

"You guys are so weird," Token laughed, turning his head the other way so he didn't have to look at his two best friends. I didn't blame him. I felt like I was about to partake in a ménage à trois—not that I'd mind that.

"Dude," Clyde murmured. "You haven't felt how hot his skin is, so you're not a part of this conversation." And then he took things way too far. "I want to have sex with him just so I can see how much warmth he gives off. Or I want to be there when he does have sex just so I can touch him. And then I'll leave."

I've never been so uncomfortable in my life. That was, until Craig suddenly spoke up.

How long has he been conscious?

My hands instantly stilled, one frozen above his shoulder blade, the other lost in his tresses. "I do get hot. Like, I have an irregular amount of body heat when I have sex. Same goes for when I masturbate."