Double-post this week because tonight I'm going to the midnight premiere of Prometheus! I'm more excited about this than I was about prom and my graduation :'D I've been getting ready for it this entire week. I watched Alien, Aliens, Alien 3, Alien Resurrection, Alien vs. Predator, not AVP2 because that movie fucking sucked, as well as two DVDs full of extra material about the Alien movies, behind the scenes, how the movies were made, the construction of Alien, and I am just so excited you guys. Everyone always likes Predator but, hot damn, Alien is my kind of monster.

Anyone who says you can't see a thought simply doesn't know art.

—Wynetka Ann Reynolds

I didn't even let him put clothes on. Just took him out into the living room where I could open up certain windows to get a particular amount of natural light and position the two of them in a way that dimmed or created shadows, highlighted sections of his face like the apples of his cheeks, his crystalline irises, the hollow of his throat and the bridge of his collarbones. At some angles more than others pale strands of his messy hair would intensify, appearing almost golden. All of these things I had to take into consideration and I refused to settle for anything less than what I felt was right.

And I knew exactly when it would be right, but I had to keep maneuvering him around at minute intervals until it happened. With my fingers poised on his chin, I tilted and turned his head in slightly fractured movements. Just a single slant was enough to create an entirely new landscape of light. There was a moment in there where his eyes practically liquified and the light caught on a few of his irregular dusty blonde lashes. His skin rippled with a soft glitter and his previously wet lips shimmered enticingly, begging me to leave him right there because this was it. This was the light that I wanted him in.

The smile on my face was proud because Tweek was capable of being such an immaculate model. A pink explosion erupted on his cheeks, absorbing the light and brightening exuberantly. I told him to stay put, wary of taking my eyes off him, and walked around to my makeshift station. I've had this leftover canvas from a few projects back and decided that now would be as good a time as any to use it. Honestly, I think it was just as excited about this as I was; I could feel it in the first stroke of my brush against its surface.

And that one swipe was all it took to send me on a creative onslaught.

My fingers grew speckled with paint from numerous containers, tubes, and cups rather quickly. They were scattered around in an organized mess, neutral tones and a splash of red. Mixing colors was an intricate technique and the expression on my face grew determined as I took shades of white and turned them into skin. Yellow became hair and shadows evolved in their rightful places, some just beneath his eyes. This was concocting base shades and adding onto those colors with a splash of cream or peach or the softest gray.

This was realistic and it needed to be accurate. This rainbow of splotches where the only vibrant colors that existed were pink and green and they were quickly piling up on my palette that wasn't so much a palette as it was a slab or tray. I'd gotten a remarkable start and wouldn't find any ease in stopping.

As Tweek's expression came together and the glinting emotion in his eyes began to unfold, I was elated to realize that he was showing me something else. These eyes with their swooping shape that my hand could trace so easily were different from before. He was conveying a subdued happiness, this content relaxation. It tugged at me, asking so sweetly for me to promise to withdraw it from him and place it into this paint of mine.

For a second I caught myself staring, merely admiring, the entirety of Tweek's face. I could clearly see how fragile and innocent he was in that moment, but my intuition picked up on this crazy edge he had as well, and I mean literally crazy because that's what was inside of him. Something mental.

"What?" He asked, just as fragile and innocent and crazed as I'd depicted. "What is it?"

My brush slid across the roundness of his cheeks. I smirked at the light smear of pink now marring the canvas. "It's nothing," I told him, blending the perimeter of his blush into the pale color of his skin until the stain became natural.

We lapsed into a second silence after that. One where I occasionally wiped at my forehead to rid my face of ticklish hairs and smeared paint across my face as an end result. Tweek would giggle this tinkling sound beneath his breath and try to resist smiling so as not to ruin his portrait. The more I did this without thinking—a tickle was a tickle and I couldn't paint comfortably with one on my person—the more his eyes reflected a strong sense of fondness.

Yeah, I was cute. I knew. But this look of his I liked more than anything, and had to play around with his eyes a bit to replicate the exact formula of light harvesting inside of them. I hummed, pleased by my interpretation and positive that it was correct. My unconscious act had certainly charmed the endearment right out of him.

"Are gay guys always this easy to woo?" I teased, peeking around the canvas to watch him sputter. He couldn't seem to formulate a response. "I was just giving you a hard time."

He glared to show me that he didn't appreciate my jibe, effectively casting a new halo of light that engulfed him in a completely different way from how I'd set him up. Little shit was lucky I'd finished, otherwise I would've been pissed. "You're cute," he lied.

"You're cute too." I quirked my brows for emphasis. His jaw dropped a hair and his brow-line rose. I started laughing, and when he asked me what for, I replied, "Oh, nothing. You're just being cute again."

Tweek was unamused.

"No?" I continued just for the hell of it. "Okay, then."

That night, I don't think Tweek knew what to do with himself. He was conflicted between the couch and my bed. I actually thought it was kind of sweet how hard he tried to keep everyone up so they wouldn't disperse and ultimately leave him with a decision to make. Kenny was even, surprisingly, here for the night and definitely enjoyed the show Tweek was attempting to put on—and I mean really. He was switching the television to some channel and told everyone that they needed to watch whatever was on because it was so interesting. It was one of those medical mystery episodes to which Clyde immediately got up and left.

"Clyde gets queasy easily," Pretty Lady explained, excusing herself in tandem. "I've got work tomorrow. Sorry, Juliblonde." Somehow she'd taken to calling him that. Earlier it'd just popped out while we were eating because he'd dined with the dogs rather than us. I guessed they were better company even though they humped each other after getting too excited while he fed them scraps.

I got up off the floor for the same reason. Tomorrow was an early morning day and it was already an hour past midnight. So I left to remove my clothes, listening with the door open so that I could eavesdrop. Out in the living room, Token apologized but said he had the day off and that they could do something together. Kenny asked if he was making the couch for one or two, this sickly sweetness corrupting his tone of voice. Tweek still hadn't given an answer by the time I returned and I found him worrying his lip while fidgeting with the buttons on the remote.

Deciding to make this easy for him, I leaned against the wall and suggested: "You're only here for a limited time so come sleep with me."

"Yeah," Kenny agreed, pushing Tweek clear off the couch. He stumbled as he rose. Kenny winked at me when his back was turned. "Get in as much quality time as you can. Who knows when we'll be back."

"Get in as much fucks as you can," Tweek spat in return.

We heard "Trust me, Tweekers, I am," as we headed to my room, followed by a round of boisterous laughter. It became a hollow sound once the door shut.

"He's disgusting." I flopped onto my back, rippling with the waves of my bed, and watched Tweek's face contort in disgust. "How many people do you think he's s-slept with?"

"In his lifetime or just since he came here?" His lips lifted at my joke and he began to unbutton the cardigan he was wearing. Poor guy didn't know that I'd be doodling him taking off his clothes now. "I'd say he's up in the double digits somewhere. Can't be too sure, you know? I haven't really been around to keep count."

Tweek's fingers stunted, pausing on one of the last buttons. The expanse of his chest that showed was shadowed, and in his immobility, I thought he'd make a beautiful statue. Or a photograph. A photograph of his still form would've been quite nice. "Let's just say that I'm in the minority of South Park's population of who all hasn't been fucked by Kenny."

Rising onto my elbows, I congratulated him on this achievement. If I remembered correctly, it was hard to be straight and have no sexual relations with Kenny. To be flamboyantly gay, a virgin, and untouched by him was an unimaginable honor. Especially at twenty years. Maybe I could see a few years—three at the most—of being able to say no, but by Tweek's age it was phenomenal. That's when I began to wonder if I wasn't the only one with dysfunctional junk. "I'm sure it's been hard keeping his penis away from you."

"Are you kidding me?" He let the deeply colored article drop from his shoulders, although that was as far as it went. Precariously, he removed it from his arms and folded it before setting it gently on the floor. My lips twitched. "I have absolutely no interest in Kenny but he is persistent. It's annoying and if I didn't care about my virginity so much I'd just let him have it so he can shut the hell up."

"Why's your virginity so important to you? I know it means something to most girls, but not so much with guys. It's a gay thing, isn't it?"

That's when his face erupted, changing colors so rapidly that it was nothing like his regular blush. This was a full-out cherry explosion. "There's no—sweet jesus, there's no reason! I-I'm paranoid! Body fluids a-and shit, dude!" He quickly turned around to do something—I have no idea why he was wigging out so bad—and screamed when he nearly ran face-first into my dresser. He pivoted around on his heel again and looked rather guilty. "I-I lied—just then. That was a lie."

"It's okay." I almost couldn't keep the amused smirk off my mouth. Obviously it was something "special" he was waiting to lose his virginity to. Whatever "special" was supposed to be. I'd lost mine to Red. It hadn't worked out and ended up being a good laugh by the end of the night.

He stood there in the middle of my room for a while, shifting his weight and wringing his hands, beat up about lying to me I suppose. All he was wearing was the same pair of basketball shorts he'd had on all day and I didn't think he'd be stepping out of them. They looked comfortable enough to sleep in, so I invited him over. Hesitantly, he crawled onto my bed, imposing on its placidity and creating waves. We laid there on top of the covers for a while with the light still on. Neither of us were saying anything, but perhaps this was the quality time Kenny had been talking about.

Tweek eventually had to get up to do the things he did before bed: take his medication, brush his teeth, spit some mouthwash, drink some mouthwash—I even think he showered. He did all of this before coming back, and by then I was nearly passed out. After turning off the light, I made him roll me around to get the sheet out from under my body and was fully sated when he nestled me back into my pillows, wrapped me up, and made sure no feet were hanging out.

"Good night, Craig Tucker."