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 theart 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?”
