You definitely want to encourage Equius, among other verbs. This stupid gift exchange is just forcing your hand, when you wanted more time to get to know him, figure out who he is when he's not being completely suborned by your worst successful project to date. You don't know enough of his buttons yet to be sure you're pushing the right ones.

Honestly you don't give two shits what the kid looks like. Your audience will go for it even if you get someone who got beaten half to death with the troll ugly stick. The picture loads. You're going to make so much alien fetish money you're going to have to hire somebody to build a swimming pool on the roof, just so you can fill it with sleazy intergalactic flesh trade dollars and roll around in it like an asshole.

"You aren't denying the guilt part," she says happily. You shrug. This was the way you really liked her, alert and predatory, delighted with life and always a little weird. "You could find anybody guilty of something." "That," Terezi declares, "is one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me."

You were right about him being passive—well, receptive. Reactive. He doesn't start things, though he's always willing to stop what he's doing for a makeout session, and he puts himself in your orbit more than he needs to. You think that's his way of asking if you're in the mood. It's hard to admit it even to yourself, but you're grateful he's content to take it this slow.