Chapter 19 #2
A door creaked, and he looked back. Micah peeked out, his mouth pulled in a hard line.
Cosmo’s stomach clenched. He hurried back up the walk, then stopped before the door.
Micah stood on the carpet inside, dressed in a pair of heather gray sweatpants and a crisp white tee, which molded to the contours of his chest and the soft slope of his stomach.
His wet hair stuck to his forehead, and he held the doorframe in a grip so hard Cosmo expected him to rip off the molding.
Micah’s throat flexed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“But I am. I failed again. I don’t understand why this is so hard.”
Cosmo fished for something to say that wouldn’t be printed on a trite motivational poster. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You asked me to, but I–”
“It was a bad idea all around. Not your fault.”
Gravel scraped beneath Cosmo’s shoes as he shuffled his feet. “When you first started drawing portraits, were you good at it?”
“God, no. All my faces lacked depth because I didn’t know how to shade right, and I couldn’t draw curly hair to save my life.”
“Those first attempts were failures, but you didn’t give up, obviously.
My hair looks fantastic in all of the portraits you’ve done of me.
There’s always ‘the gap,’ right? That space between our skill and our taste that we have to cross in order to get better.
You can see when something falls short, but you don’t yet have the skill to know how to fix it. ”
Micah’s cheeks inflated, and he blew out a breath. “I’m not sure you can apply art theories to my trauma.”
“I can, and I am.” Cosmo stared at the silver strip of metal dividing them. “This threshold isn’t a force field, the balcony beyond part of a separate world. It isn’t a portal that only opens when the planets of your mind align.”
Micah scoffed. “That’s exactly what it is.”
“It’s not. It’s something that needs practice, and with practice comes failure. You just try again, when you’re ready.”
Standing firmly on the carpet, Micah took Cosmo’s hands and stared down at their feet. Cosmo inched forward, ever so slightly, until the caps of his shoes were on top of the threshold.
Micah squeezed his fingers. “Stop. Don’t.”
Cosmo backed away, then sat beside the door. Micah stepped out and closed it, then slid down next to him.
“During my short-lived time with a therapist, she told me I needed to practice prolonged exposure therapy, gradually reintroducing things into my life that I’d been avoiding,” Micah said.
“When I saw your handwriting on the mirror, for a split second it made my heart flutter, until the knowledge kicked in that you aren’t a ghost. This wasn’t very gradual, I guess, and I’m sorry I asked you to come do it. ”
“I got to see your absolutely fantastic ass, so it was worth it.”
Micah chuckled. “Good thing you’re a ghost and not a werewolf, huh? Can’t have you transforming at the sight of my full moon. You’d get hair all over my new couch, and the cat already has that job covered. Where were you hiding? In the closet?”
“Darling, I came out of there way back in kindergarten when I wore a tiara to school and declared myself a princess. And then later on the principal called my mother in for a talk because I was kissing both the girls and the boys.”
Wet hair fell into Micah’s eyes as he tilted his head back.
“I knew I was a boy when I was a kid, even though I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain it.
My parents understood better than I did why I hacked off all my hair and got upset when relatives gave me dolls or dresses for my birthday.
We read books, had a lot of conversations, but unfortunately, we lived in a state where transition for minors was criminalized.
So I was forced to go through a puberty I didn’t want. ”
“God. I’m so sorry.” Cosmo was realizing more and more that certain things he was uncomfortable with were really indicators of gender dysphoria, but he didn’t have any desire for medical transition.
He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have to endure a forced puberty with the wrong hormones.
Micah waved a hand, but his face didn’t have as much casual dismissal as the gesture.
“It’s one of those things that I don’t think about often because it only gets me worked up.
We moved when I was seventeen, and I was able to physically transition.
But my romantic attraction took me a lot longer to figure out than my identity, and being ace had a lot to do with it.
In junior high, my brother – Everett – stole a porno mag from our dad.
When he started showing me the pictures, he realized I didn’t look very excited, and he asked me if I even liked girls.
I insisted I did. I had a crush on a girl in art class.
But I admitted to Everett that I had the same butterflies in my stomach for a boy in biology.
At the time, it didn’t occur to either of us that I could be bi or pan, so – very logically – he asked me what I thought about when I jacked off, because surely that would clear it up. I said, ‘video games.’”
Cosmo laughed. A chilly wind gusted across the balcony. He scrubbed at his arms and tucked his hands into his armpits.
“You’re cold.” Micah thudded his head back against the door. “I hate this. I should be able to let you inside.”
“Or you could just warm me up.”
Micah reached back and opened the door. Warm air drifted out around them. He brushed back Cosmo’s hair and gave him a slow kiss. Micah smelled of clean and shampoo perfume, his cheeks freshly shaven and velvet soft.
Cosmo savored his lips and said, “You’re a fruit.”
“Hey now.”
“You taste like soft, sweet-fleshed grapes, pounded and fermented into a vintage wine. There’s just enough tartness and bite to your kisses to make me lightheaded.”
“Being fermented isn’t really my kink, but I am enjoying the metaphors.”
A faint ringing came from somewhere nearby. Cosmo pulled out his phone. Dozens of Flashbulb messages and likes filled the notification bar.
Let me eat your
Take some pics without the sweatshirt. Take some without the clothes.
Cosmo scoffed and swiped the comments away.
“Something wrong?” Micah asked.
“Just people being gross on my Flashbulb photos.”
“That seems to happen a lot. Uh, not that I’ve scrolled through all your pictures.”
“They’re just jealous I’m seeing someone new.”
“As they should be,” Micah said. “We just can’t let anyone know you’re dead, or I’ll get charged with necrophilia.”
Cosmo slid backward until his ass was on the carpet, the cold metal of the threshold leaching into his thighs. “I suppose we can keep that detail to ourselves.”
Micah eyed Cosmo’s backside inside the apartment, then scooted back himself, just a little. “You’re still wearing my sweatshirt, I see.”
“You can’t have it back.”
He grinned. “Wasn’t going to ask.”
Cosmo scooted back a little further, and Micah matched him. He glanced back at the living room they were slowly making their way into. Panic flashed in Micah’s eyes. He swallowed, his breath shallow, and said, “I can’t do any more right now.”
They were technically both inside the apartment, only their lower legs on the step beyond. Cosmo lay back on the carpet and tugged Micah down with him. “Can we stay like this for a moment?”
Micah trembled, his chest heaving. He stared at the ceiling like his gaze was the only thing holding it in place. “Okay.”
“You squeeze my hand if you need me to leave but can’t get any words out.”
Fingers twisted loosely through Cosmo’s, and Micah clamped his eyes shut. “Thank you for helping me.”
“Of course.”
“I think I’m going to need more help. It’s about the gallery event. You stuck your neck out for me and I don’t want to let you down, but I – I’m worried I won’t do my best.”
He couldn’t tell if Micah was afraid his artwork wouldn’t come out well, or if he meant he was out of practice with the networking aspect.
Before Cosmo could ask, a phone rang again.
Micah’s finger tickled his palm, and he said, “Sounds like my phone. Be right back.” He stood, then crossed through the living room and walked down the hall.
Cosmo stepped outside and leaned against the doorframe.
He could handle schmoozing potential clients at the gallery on Micah’s behalf.
It might make Micah seem more intriguing, this incredibly talented artist too intent on his figure drawing of Night Gallery’s gallerist to pause and talk to onlookers.
The ringing grew louder. A pillow slid off the couch and crashed into a stack of dishes that Cosmo was certain hadn’t been there a moment ago.
He blinked and did a double take. Micah lay on the couch, adjusting the blankets drawn up around him.
His hair was a greasy tangle, and he had several weeks of beard growth.
What in the world? “Uh, Micah?”
Cosmo meant to call this timeline’s Micah, but the doppelganger on the couch stirred and rubbed his eyes. “Hello?”
A voice drifted, and someone else materialized out of nothing and entered the room.
Another Micah? There were three of them inside the apartment now?
Wait, no. This man was so similar he could almost be a twin, but he was taller, there was a faint shot of gray at his temples, and his features and glasses were slightly different. It had to be Micah’s brother.
Everett squeezed Other Micah’s shoulder. “I’m gonna order takeout. But I’ll tell the delivery person not to knock. Have them leave it on the step and text me that it’s here.” He bent down and picked up the dishes on the floor. “Bet your landlady wants these back.”
Was this a past event? Perhaps after Micah’s assault? No, that couldn’t be since Micah hadn’t lived in this apartment back then. It had to be a future one.
Other Micah looked around the room like he hadn’t heard Everett at all. “I thought… I thought I heard him.”