The nose-stinging scent of chilies and savory meats floated from down the block. Cosmo was going to buy an horchata and a lengua taco. Scratch that. The lengua burrito grande. It was the only tongue-action he was going to be getting for the rest of forever, so he may as well go all out.
After that, he could go to the deli grandpa used to own and buy a bottle of vodka and a paper bag full of Rotfront candies. Then he’d drive to the church at the end of Cherry Lane, lay down in the dirt, and die.
People would be sad about it, briefly. But they’d get over it. His death would be exactly what everyone knew he’d been in life – Duchamp’s snow shovel. A bizarre novelty that caught people’s attention for a short time, until they grew bored and moved on to something else.
Greasy smoke roiled from the top of the taco truck on the corner, and string lights hanging from patio umbrellas twinkled like gaudy spiderwebs.
A strange intuition suddenly overcame him: he was going to glance over at the decorative brickwork surrounding the flowers, and Micah would be sitting there, waiting for him.
Cosmo turned his head. His stomach dropped. The only thing sitting on the bricks was an empty beer bottle. It was justsubconscious hope that his sweet, cozy man who only dreamed of holding hands would be here waiting. Cosmo could message him and beg for forgiveness. Admit how scared he was. And when Micah insisted Zedd wouldn’t drive him away, Cosmo could choose to believe it.
The itch of fear in his chest over the thought of Zedd hiding in his closet while he had “phone sex” with Micah had dulled to a background irritation. He’d checked the closets, under the bed, and behind the shower curtain, and no one had been there. The doors had been locked, the windows closed. Zedd must have seen him and Micah together earlier in the day, and just so happened to send that text at a creepily coincidental moment. Or maybe he didn’t know about Micah and was only jealous that Cosmo might be with anybody at all.
But a week after the text message, there’d been a letter with no return address in his mailbox. He should have thrown it away without opening it because the single sentence wouldn’t leave his mind, and he didn’t know if it was a note of romance from Micah or a threat of violence from Zedd.
He could message Micah and ask. No matter the answer, it would give them an excuse to talk.
After pulling out his phone, he opened his Flashbulb messages and stared at Micah’s last line from two weeks previous:
His heart panged. He typed,
A hand gripped his arm, and he gasped, staring into Micah’s face. His mind reeled, the ground tilting beneath him. His heart pounded against his ribs, and he forced himself to take a breath.
“Did my pain conjure you?” Cosmo whispered.
Micah nodded without hesitation, which was not what Cosmo was expecting. Goosebumps prickled on his skin. Cosmo had never had a premonition before, and it would besoromantic to believe his ache for Micah was pronounced enough for Micah to sense it and come find him. But with Micah’s hair more disheveled than normal, the lack of color in his cheeks, and the way his hand trembled on his arm, his vibe was giving Cosmo second-hand panic.
“I know you don’t want to see me, but things have gotten extra weird.” Micah’s voice wobbled. “I want to tell you aboutit, but let’s go somewhere else? Can I buy a lady an ice cream at the Dairy Queen down the block?”
“What kind of weird? Dangerous weird?”
Micah raked back his hair, his gaze darting over Cosmo’s shoulder to the patio and taco truck beyond. “I can’t let you get hurt.”
“Okay.” How desperate would he sound if he admitted he wanted to throw himself into Micah’s strong arms? That he needed Micah to sweep him away from whatever danger was lurking, whether it was twisted spacetime or just his ex-boyfriend. Burrow into his chest and tell Micah to never let go. “Answer me something first, please. Did you send me a letter that said,‘There’s room for two in your grave’?”
The whites of Micah’s eyes flashed, and his grip on Cosmo’s arm tightened. “No. Christ. Let’s get out of here.” His gaze was still glued to a spot behind Cosmo, and Cosmo was afraid to turn around for fear Zedd was standing right behind them.
But when he looked back, he only saw strangers sitting at the tables and benches, eating tacos and scrolling through their phones. And was that– “Royce?”
Micah grunted and started to tug him away. “C’mon. Before he sees you.”
“Wait a minute.” He thought of Micah asking how friendly of a friend Royce was, and if he made Cosmodothings. “I thought you were saying I’m in danger because of Zedd. Are you here because of Royce? You’re trying to rescue me from my boss?”
“I don’t have specifics about what’s going to happen because you wouldn’t say–”
“Iwouldn’t say? What is it you want me to say? I’ve already told you that Royce is my friend. He’s never done anything untoward, and he’s been a barrier against Zedd.” A hot coal lodged in Cosmo’s chest. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all. “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Micah.”
Micah wiped his hands down his face. “I’m not jealous. But I–”
“I have enough of that with Zedd. All anyone thinks I am is a plaything to be tugged back and forth.”
“You don’t understand. I’ve heard things about Royce. That he wants sexual favors in exchange for portfolio consideration, but that’s–”
“Why is it always Royce that people have a problem with?” He’d always been there when Cosmo needed him as support and a mentor, which was worlds better than his own father had been. “Someone started a rumor that I like having cigarettes put out on my chest. You want to check to see if it’s true?” Cosmo unbuttoned his shirt. “It must be, right? Because someone said it!”
“No! Stop that.”
Baring his chest, Cosmo stared at Micah, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. “Do you see any burn marks? Better look for yourself because my word isn’t any good.”
