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A Brief Editorial

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Cecil shifts in his chair and immediately regrets it.

He's said things on the radio before that he ought not say, things that were very personal, even things about his and Carlos's relationship, but the litany that's going through his head-

Dear listeners, allow me a brief editorial: I had anal sex with Carlos last night and it was magical. I don't know if you've ever had anal sex-

is far beyond the pale. That doesn't mean he can stop thinking it, worrying that he's going to say it at any moment, tell all of Night Vale what he doesn't want them to know.

Why did he do it, why did he let Carlos do it to him- okay, Cecil has made a commitment to honesty as a broadcaster, and that extends to all things, as fully as he is allowed by station management and the city council. He did it because he wanted it, every second of it, even if it was uncomfortable and sort of a strange feeling at first. He wanted Carlos curled behind him, holding him like he'd never think of letting go, kissing Cecil's neck as he pushed in slowly. Cecil wanted to know what it felt like, being that close to someone, so close that they were literally inside of you, unable to get any closer. It was an amazing feeling, something unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and he came with Carlos clutching him to his chest, keeping him safe and secure.

But now he's been sitting in this chair for three- pardon my Insensitive French- three fucking hours, with only minimal breaks. He's so sore, his thighs and his back and, overwhelmingly, his ass. Every time he shifts or moves or breathes wrong he can feel it, and despite how much of a good idea it sounded at the time, despite how much he's going to do it all over again after he's not sore anymore, he feels deeply embarrassed. He's so ashamed that he doesn't know what to do, ashamed of having proved how much he wanted it, given in and done a filthy thing only because he desired it so badly. He can't even explain why it's so humiliating, but every time he feels that twinge again, it feels worse.

During the afternoon traffic report, while Cecil is reporting on a spill of invisible bee larvae on Route 800, he sees the door to the studio open.

There, of course, is Carlos.

Cecil does not hesitate. He does not stutter. He definitely does not say what he's thinking. "Oh," he says into the microphone, when the traffic is complete, "we have a guest in the studio. Perfect local scientist Carlos has come to our little radio station. Hello, Carlos." He waves through the glass of the recording booth, and Carlos waves back. "Unfortunately, listeners, you'll have to stay in suspense as to why he's gracing us with his presence, because it's time for the weather."

Cecil switches off the mic and starts the weather. He sits back in his chair, taking a brief look at the timer; the weather is long today, almost five minutes. He motions Carlos into the booth with him. "Carlos," he says, and despite all the anxiety that he's been feeling all day, it's impossible to be anxious in front of beautiful, soothing Carlos.

At least, that's what he thought, until he caught sight of interns Matt and Amanda through the glass, looking at him and Carlos and tittering amongst themselves. Cecil barely has time to notice, however, before Carlos is putting his hand on Cecil's jaw, tipping it up to kiss him. "Ignore them," Carlos says.

"I didn't expect to see you here unless something had gone horribly wrong," Cecil says. "You know, the usual."

"No unearthly shrieks of terror or impossible earthquakes today," Carlos says. Cecil doesn't often see him relaxed: what if the interns know why he's relaxed, they've probably made all kinds of assumptions, what if they tell people? Cecil isn't ashamed of Carlos, how could he possibly ever be, but-

"I just came to bring you some Pinkberry," Carlos says, cutting off Cecil's freakout.

"How thoughtful of you," Cecil says, a little startled, taking the cup that Carlos offers him. He takes a sip of the shake, finding it to be mango pineapple and not one of the more 'creative' flavors that the staff has taken to concocting. "My favorite kind."

"I hoped so," Carlos says. He takes a look at his cell phone, the only kind of clock he trusts, though he still has his doubts as to its veracity. "I have to go. I'll see you tonight."

"Of course," Cecil says. "See you soon."

Carlos smiles one of his thousand-watt smiles, displaying his beautiful, perfect teeth, before leaving the recording booth. Cecil turns back, waiting for the weather to end before he turns the mic back on.

"Dear listeners," he says, ready to pour out his heart, "allow me a brief editorial. If you're looking for frozen yogurt in Night Vale, there is no better stop than the Pinkberry. Sure, it has burst into mysterious green flames more than once, only to come out unscathed, but for the faint of heart, they now offer online ordering and curbside service. This has not been a paid advertisement, merely a statement of love. And now, the community calendar."