They say if you look into someone's eyes, you can read their soul. I've never been one for romantic novels, or their way of thinking. That's Quinn's job.

Normally, I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a utility knife than fantasize about looking deep into someone else's, and seeing where we'll be in ten or twenty years. But then, I don't normally have homoerotic dreams about my best friend.

The dream started off as mind numbingly normal as any other. Jane and I were talking. Topics varied, from Upchuck to Quinn to Tom... the idiocy that is the human race in general.

I was lying on the bed, flipping through an old magazine, while Jane was painting something obscene, as per usual. I think it's in her genes; she has to do things like that.

Then came the weird part. While she was lost in her own masterpiece, I snuck up behind her, wrapping my arms around her as she painted. It felt so normal, the way things were meant to be. An instant later, she turned her head, kissing me and smearing me with brilliant red paint.

"Not your color..." she mumbled.

"I have a color? Is it puke green?"

"No..." she said with a raised eyebrow. "It's just not red," she said with a wink, licking the smeared paint off my cheek, only to smear me with a strange turquoise color.

"Let me guess... lead based paints and an elaborate suicide plot?"

"Naw... edible body paints and a horny teenager."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Let's see what I can do about that," I said, slipping off her paint caked clothes.

I sat straight up in my bed, instantly awake and breathing heavily. "How exactly does this kind of crap always manage to find it's way to me?" I wondered aloud.

"I dunno... could you at least be quiet about it, like a good mental patient?" came a voice I instantly recognized. It was Jane.

I looked around. "Oh... oh my God..." I managed to squeak out. I was in Jane's room, lying half naked in her bed beside her. Covered in paint, of course. Today must be a Thursday.