Micah’s mouth parted. He’d heard all the typical praise for his art, but no one had ever called iteidolicorcoercive.“Thank you. Truly. You work in one of the best galleries here, and to think that about my portraits when you must see so much fantastic art on a daily basis…”
“It is fantastic, but I don’t choose the exhibits, and they don’t often move me in an emotional way. Your art does.”
“Wow. I’m flattered.”
Cosmo sat and revealed the drawing he held. It was one of himself, showcasing his long lashes and exposed shoulder. “Can I buy this from you?”
“Definitely not. It’s yours to keep.”
Streetlight pooled in Cosmo’s eyes, turning them into chips of agate. His teeth pressed into his bottom lip, and he rubbed his knee against Micah’s. “I don’t live that far away. Do you want to come back to my place? I have more wine.”
Shit. Blood throbbed in Micah’s temples in time with the pain in his hand, and it was suddenly very warm beneath the blanket. In the past, he’d tried to orchestrate first dates that had no hope of ending in sex so that he could broach the topic of his sexuality later.
“I’m ace.”
A fine line appeared between Cosmo’s brows. “Ah, that makes sense. So… Youareattracted to me, but not sexually.”
“Yeah. I’ve had sex with partners in the past, but I have to fall for someone with my heart before I ever can with my body.”
Cosmo’s expression fell. The blanket slid off his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I see.”
“You’re disappointed.” They often were, so it wasn’t surprising, but that didn’t take away the sharp sting of it.
“You’re lovely and attractive – when you aren’t destroying balcony railings – and I’m of a mind that trans/trans relationships and sex are better than any others. In my experience, anyway, there’s been more mutual understanding. More consideration of the other person’s identity and body, their comfort and pleasure, no matter whether their parts are the same as yours or not.”
“So why am I getting the sense that sex is all you want? Are you aromantic? Or I’m just too old for you.”
“No. It’s neither of those. What I am is cursed.” His mouth wavered. “My loves–”
Something clattered inside the studio. Micah startled, and Cosmo snatched his arm. Micah stared back at him then pushed up and stopped at the doorway. “It has to be you, right? Past-you?”
“I never went back to the studio again after seeing you in the bed,” Cosmo replied.
As much as Micah wanted to point to a glitch in the simulation as the cause of all of this weirdness, the laziest explanation wasn’t necessarily the right one. He instead considered what Cosmo had said about time travel. Three years ago, Cosmo had moved out and…
“Is itmemoving in?” The front room was undisturbed, and he strained for moving shadows. “I never saw myself when moving here, so that means if I go inside, I’m not going to see myself now. Right? Unless by choosing to go inside, I alter the past, and I’ll suddenly have an old memory of seeing a ghost who looks like me.”
“You seem like you’re dealing with a lot of ghosts as it is. I’ll go see.” Cosmo walked inside, then leaned into the hall. “Do you hear that creaking?”
It was faint, old wood groaning. “A chair? Or a cabinet opening?”
“It sounds like loose floorboards. You have tile in the kitchen and hall, but I had wood when I lived here. It always seemed so noisy when I got up to pee at night.”
“Then it can’t be me.” When he’d moved in, the tile with its mosaic sun patterns had immediately impressed him. “Maybe you should get out of there.”
Either Cosmo didn’t hear, or he ignored Micah, his footsteps receding. “Oh, you have a shower door. It’s so chic. They made a lot of renovations after I left.”
A voice drifted, so soft it could have been the whisper of the wind. It could have been anyone – someone who walked inside to survey the apartment after Cosmo moved out; a homeless man who’d made his way inside; or maybe the timeline was reversing and it was the tenant before Cosmo. No matter who it was, alarm bells rang through Micah’s mind. He curled his toes in his shoes. “Cosmo, come back out here.”
Glass popped and shattered. Cosmo shrieked. Micah lunged inside, imagining an intruder smashing a lamp against Cosmo’s face. He ripped the knife free from under the drafting table, then ran into the hall. Curved shards of glass glittered on the tile, and Cosmo covered his head with his arms. Micah rushed over the glass, grabbed his sleeve, and pulled him through the studio and out the door.
After slamming it behind him, he forced Cosmo’s arms down. His eyes were wide, and bits of glass hung in his hair. A thin red cut ran along one of his high cheekbones. Micah plucked out shards and flung them away. “Are you hurt?”
“They were lightbulbs. They exploded in midair.” Cosmo looked down at himself, then brushed a bit of glass from his shirt. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Micah’s hand cramped around the knife handle. What intruder would be carrying lightbulbs?
“It’s past-Ximena.” Cosmo tried to peer through the window, but the curtains were drawn. “I heard her say, ‘Ay dios mío!’ after the lightbulbs shattered. Probably trying to fix things up before you moved in, but I don’t know what would have made the bulbs break before they hit the ground. Maybe there was a… A box or a ladder I couldn’t see because it was still back in the past. This is fascinating, Micah.”
