“We did, didn’t we?” That was going just swimmingly. “I was in a rather dark mood at the time. I walked into the studio to get the last of my belongings, and when I saw a bed – with a person inside – in my otherwise empty apartment, I thought a new tenant was moving in already.” At the time, Cosmo had felt so lonely that he hadn’t cared who the person was. Maybe they’d wake up and be company for a while. “When I realized it was you, well. I was still scared, I guess, but not enough to leave.”
“Why were you writing messages to me on the mirror? ‘Everything will be okay.’ ‘You look fabulous.’”
Cosmo laughed. “Those were for me. I used to write little uplifting things to myself all the time. And when you started replying, I thought it was my ex.”
A line formed between Micah’s brows. “Oh.”
The bistro sign glowed ahead, but Micah slowed and looked like he’d had a change of heart. Cosmo pressed his thumb into the thorn of a rose. He’d thought Cosmo had been flirting with him with those messages. And now he was disappointed. Aw.
The fact that Micah had believed Cosmo was a ghost and was still into it was the exact brand of weird Cosmo could get behind. And he was good-looking company Zedd hadn’t yet scared away.
Plus, he simply had to have an explanation for what had happened in the studio – if therewasan explanation.
Cosmo quickened his pace. “I’m starving. Are you vegan? Allergic to fish? Gluten-free?”
“God, no. I ate two muffins for breakfast.”
“Then you must have the lobster toast. It’s incredible.” He dug his cigarettes out of his pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”
“No. Go ahead.”
He poked a cigarette in his mouth, but fumbled the lighter. It clattered across the sidewalk. Micah retrieved it, but instead of handing it back, he flicked it on, cupped a hand around the flame, and held it toward Cosmo’s cigarette. Oh, Micah was a doll.
“Thank you.” Cosmo took a drag. “You don’t smoke?”
“No.”
“Good on you. Nasty habit. I only allow myself two a day. What is your drug of choice?”
“I don’t think I have one.”
“Everyone has one. Whether it’s coke or sex or working out.”
“There’s the torture dungeon, but it’s more of a closet. You know how small the studio is.”
Smoke rolled from Cosmo’s mouth as he laughed. Avoiding the answer. Intriguing.
They passed a secondhand clothing shop, a record store, and an ebike rental kiosk. Soft jazz floated down the sidewalk as they approached the bistro. Micah opened the door and ushered Cosmo inside. It had been a while since he’d been here – hopefully they didn’t have a dress code. Micah probably had some crisp button-downs and slacks hiding in his torture dungeon, but his harried I’m-busy-being-artsy look was cute.
Globe lights hung over tables of dark, glossy wood, and the scent of French onion soup drifted. Cosmo tucked the rose bouquet under his arm and checked his hair in the glass of the wine case. Merlot sounded fantastic.
Micah leaned toward him. “You look great.”
It was a reassurance, an insistence of the truth, not a flirt with an unspoken part two:You look great, and I’m dying to ravish you.
Micah stared at his reflection – unless it was the wine selection he was frowning at – then brushed hair from his brow and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
They were ushered to a table, and once they both had wine before them and an appetizer of fromage fort on the way, Cosmo turned his thoughts to their peculiar situation.
They swapped details: Micah had heard Cosmo’s music, and Cosmo had heard Micah on the phone, but it fluctuated, sometimes only faint and at other times incredibly clear. Both of them dissolved into some kind of otherworldly mist. The marker Micah had been writing with had remained in Cosmo’s possession, and Micah had a shower curtain ring and a tube of Cosmo’s lipstick.
“Oh!” Micah pulled out his phone and slid over in the booth until he was next to Cosmo. He hit play on a video and held it out. “Desperate” thumped from the speaker, and Cosmo’s disembodied handwriting formed on the bathroom mirror. After the video played through, Cosmo started it again. God, he looked young and in denial, and he’d lost that sweater again.
The waitress set the fromage fort, crudités, and crackers on the table. Micah spread melted cheese on a seeded cracker and took a bite. “What do you think?”
“I can see how you thought those messages were addressed to you. And this is a different perspective than mine, but merely reinforces what we already know. I don’t see anything here that might give us a clue to what’s going on. What doyouthink?”
He popped the rest of the cracker in his mouth. “That the canned cheese I have at home has little bacon bits in it, and this doesn’t.”
