Chapter 12 #2
Cosmo topped off his own. His past self was still friends with her.
They were still going to parties and drinking milkshakes and painting each other’s toenails in the living room of her apartment.
It didn’t bring him much consolation, because her absence now still actively hurt.
And it meant that some version of Cosmo was still crying over Zedd.
Some version of him was still breaking up with Déjà.
Some version of Micah was still being beaten within an inch of his life.
Crows chattered in the trees, the sigh of the wind cutting through the lull in their conversation.
Micah picked at his sandwich, then brushed off his hands. “Want to hear a secret?”
“You know what to say to a boy. Do tell.”
“I dial random numbers and make the person on the other end describe themselves to me. That’s how I’ve done most of the portraits on my wall.”
Cosmo gasped. “Micah! How peculiar.”
A flush crawled up his neck, and he chuckled. “I don’t know why, but I thought you might like knowing that.”
“I do!” Cosmo imagined answering an unknown number and Micah’s breathy voice coming through the line.
Requesting that Cosmo talk about his body in detail so he could turn him into a piece of his gorgeous, coercive art.
He shifted and pressed his thighs together.
Leggings were definitely not the best choice today. “I want you to draw me this way.”
Micah’s blush deepened, now the color of his shirt. “‘Draw me like one of your French telemarketers.’”
“Will you? Call me this evening and say to me whatever it is you say to them.”
Micah’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “I’d love to.”
His right pupil was a small black point in the light of the afternoon sun. The other was an event horizon, swallowing the amber of his iris. Cosmo was in danger of being pulled in, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be rescued.
He slid his hand over Micah’s knee, and Micah pulled in an audible breath.
His gaze hung on Cosmo, and he raked his teeth across his bottom lip.
From someone else, these would be clear signs of desire.
Micah was romantically attracted to Cosmo, but he had no idea if that meant Micah was interested in kissing.
If he wasn’t, Cosmo would look foolish, but he couldn’t resist leaning forward and tilting his chin in invitation, letting his eyelids fall as he parted his mouth.
His phone let out a shrill jingle.
Micah sat back, and a crow launched from a tree. Damn it.
He thumbed down the ringer without looking at the caller. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to see who it is?” Micah asked.
“I know it isn’t you, and you’re the only person I want a phone call from at the moment.” But thinking about that too hard right now in these leggings was going to turn the date inappropriate really quickly.
Cosmo stood and picked up the lilies. “I’m getting a bit of a cramp. Do you want to walk with me and place these on the graves?”
“Yeah.”
They strolled past chipped and discolored headstones with motifs of skulls, angels, and crosses.
Cosmo set a lily before a drunkenly-leaning marker.
Micah stopped at a stone that had broken off its mounting and cracked in half.
Weeds sprouted through the division, and chunks of sandstone littered the surrounding area.
“That’s a shame.” Micah draped a lily across the broken marker.
Cosmo’s phone jingled again. He sighed and pulled it from his pocket, intent to turn off the ringer. A text from Royce sat in the notification bar.
Identical Dog and Night Gallery sometimes collaborated on events, but Cosmo didn’t help with prep unless it required moving artwork or setting up installations, and that was always done days ahead of time.
Dahlia was the registrar. Cosmo had been passed up for that position – again – so why was Royce falling back on him to help?
Micah walked ahead, setting flowers on graves. Cosmo sighed and dialed Royce.
Royce answered immediately and said, “This is going to be a shitshow if you don’t get down here.”
Cosmo scoffed. What had crawled up Royce’s ass all of the sudden? “Excuse me, but it’s my day off and I’m on a – an outing with a friend.”
“Too bad. This is Night Gallery’s biggest charity event of the year, and if it doesn’t go well, it will reflect badly on all of us.”
“I’m just the art handler, and I don’t care for your tone. Where’s Dahlia?”
“She may as well be an exhibit for all she’s doing to help. And the registrar of Night Gallery went to the hospital with appendicitis.” Royce’s voice took on a pleading edge. “You’re fantastic, and you always go above and beyond your job.”
“Maybe you should have made me registrar in the first place.”
“If it were only up to me, you know I would in a heartbeat. Hina will be there tonight. She enjoys your sculptural work, and I’ve told her how great a job you do, but she’s never seen you actively working. Coming to help in a pinch is sure to show her that you’re better for the position.”
He had a point. And Royce had always been there for Cosmo when it counted.
He couldn’t imagine the harassment he’d have to deal with from Zedd if Royce wasn’t there.
Heaven’s sake, he’d kicked Zedd into a grave for Cosmo, then pulled him back to the party and hovered over him for the rest of the evening to make sure he was okay.
Guilt plunged into his stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole. When do you need me there?”
“Yesterday. See you soon.”
Shit. Cosmo scrubbed at his face. Micah stopped before him, and Cosmo said, “I’m truly sorry, but I’m going to have to cut our date short. I’m needed for a work event.”
“You’re not breaking it off because your ex called and threatened you, right?”
“No. Thank god.” At least nothing Zedd had done had been that blatant. “I’m apparently the only dependable one at our gallery and not currently at risk for a ruptured appendix. I was very much enjoying our date, but I owe it to the director to be there.”
Micah’s expression fell. He shifted and rubbed his eyebrow, looking like he was fighting to keep words back. He finally cleared his throat and said, “Maybe we can get together again in the future? Or was this a one-off? I’m not sure I’ve had sufficient time to woo you.”
“I wouldn’t worry about failing at that.
But just to be certain… Don’t forget to call me, hm?
Tonight, if you’re still up. Or tomorrow.
Don’t text me ahead of time or leave a message.
I want it to be the same as when you call strangers.
” And the thought of that faux-mystery call was going to sustain Cosmo through whatever cleaning and set up he was ordered to do today.
They packed in haste and headed back to the car.
Micah drove Cosmo home, and when they pulled into the complex’s parking lot, Cosmo thought about their almost-kiss, and how romantic it would have been sitting on the blanket in the sun, surrounded by mossy headstones.
But the moment had passed, and trying to give Micah a kiss goodbye in his idling car with all their picnic supplies between them would be a poor substitution.
Micah squeezed Cosmo’s hand. “I hope the event goes well. Don’t work too hard.”
“Thank you. It was a lovely date.” He climbed out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk. A lovely date, but it would be a very long day.
Water beat down on Cosmo’s bruised arms, and heat soaked into his sore muscles.
He sagged under the stream, tempted to lean against the shower tile and fall asleep.
Moving those solid wood tables by himself had been a mistake, but Dahlia really was useless, and next to nothing had been set up.
Night Gallery’s registrar had been busy avoiding sepsis, but what in the world had everyone else been doing for the past week?
It shouldn’t have come down to Cosmo. But Royce had heaped gratitude on him, bought him dinner, and Hina called him an invaluable asset to Lemon Disco’s art community.
The praise and attention didn’t do anything for his fatigue, but it felt nice.
He shut off the water and toweled dry. It seemed so much later than eight-thirty.
He pulled on a pair of briefs, then flopped into bed and scrolled through Flashbulb, met with dozens of comments from randos telling him how hot he was.
It used to be an ego boost, something fun he looked forward to every time he posted a picture, but it had gotten stale long ago and he thought about deleting his account at least once a week.
It was tempting to wipe it clean and post only his art, but it didn’t garner a fraction of the love his selfies did.
Royce had tagged him in several photos from the charity event, the two of them standing in front of a wall of paintings.
Cosmo stood stoically for one picture, his smile pleasant and somewhat fake.
In the other, he hung off Royce’s arm, head tilted and lips pursed for the camera.
Royce had captioned it: Leave it to @cosmicirony to outshine the exhibits.
The night wouldn’t have been possible without him.
Aw! Royce was so sweet when he wasn’t stressed out. Cosmo replied with:
The phone rang, and “MICAH” flashed on the screen.
Cosmo’s heart throbbed. He brought the phone to his ear, trying to imagine a stranger on the other end. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Who is this?”
Micah’s husky voice came out both sincere and needy. “I’m an artist. I don’t know you, but I know you’re beautiful.”
Oh my. It was a wonder he got anyone to talk to him at all without thinking he was a pervert. Or maybe they did, and they were into it. They weren’t the only ones.
Cosmo leaned back in bed and coiled a lock of damp hair around his finger. “How do you know I’m beautiful?”
“Because all bodies are. I’d like to draw your portrait over the phone. Will you talk to me?”