It would. Micah left soft kisses on Cosmo’s temple, fishing for that sense of “almost seen.” If it could help him predict future events onthistimeline, that would be something. Though he came up empty, Cosmo entering his apartment had to work, because Micah was determined not to spend all of his futures alone.
17
EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE
Cosmo - Snagged Thread
It was clear this sweatshirt wasn’t Cosmo’s.
He stood in front of the mirror and pulled the collar up to his nose. After three days, the scent was starting to wear off. It wasn’t perfumed with the sexy notes of jasmine and amber of that cemetery cologne, but smelled like fresh linen and Micah’s skin. Cosmo inhaled deeply.
It was slightly too big. The neckline gaped, sleeves swallowing Cosmo’s wrists. He rolled up the cuffs, but that made the ill-fit even more obvious. And it was so slouchy and casual. It didn’t go with anything in Cosmo’s closet. This powder blue number pulled from a department store athletics section. Micah had probably owned it for years. Oil paint in various hues crusted the cotton, and there was a small hole in one cuff that Cosmo needed to stop touching or he’d worry his thumb through it.
His hair was behaving today, his eyeliner was perfect, and the dusky pink lipstick picked up the cool tones in his skin. He’d found a pair of earrings in the back of the jewelry box that he’d forgotten about, and that pimple that had been on his forehead was finally gone. He looked chic and beautiful – and the sweatshirt ruined his entire aesthetic.
With a grin, he opened the camera on his phone. Pouting his lips, he turned his head until he found the angle that most perfectly showed off his jawline. Wait, no. The sweatshirtwasn’t enough. He needed a shot where the purple hickey on his throat was also visible.
He arched his neck and gave the camera a smoldering gaze, then snapped a dozen photos. They all looked so good.
Instinctively, he hit theSharebutton, and nearly tapped Flashbulb before realizing what he was doing. But what was he so afraid of? Zedd might have scared away his past loves, but Micah had already proved he wasn’t going anywhere. Cosmo was happy, and he wanted the world to know.
After selecting three photos, he added filters and loaded them onto Flashbulb.
Comments popped up immediately.
Whaaaaa. So pretty! Looks like someone had fun.
Omg. Who???
I want to be that sweatshirt.
Damn, baby. Are you trading outerwear for hard smooches? Because I have a leather jacket that would look great on you.
Normally these sorts of comments gave him a boost, but a needle of irritation pierced through the enjoyment. He replied:Tempting offer, but I’m only stealing one man’s clothing right now. And maybe if he’s verrrrrry nice, I’ll give his sweatshirt back.
Leaning back against the door, he pressed the phone to his chest and sighed. It vibrated, and the notifications bar filled with more comments.
Slut.
Whore.
Zedd was nothing but good to you.
I hope you fall down the stairs and break your neck.
Cosmo made a noise in his throat. He’d expected this, but not so quickly. What asshole was stalking his Flashbulb? He squinted at the profile picture. It was from one of Snake Milk’s concerts; green light burned through smoke machine fog as Zedd wailed into the microphone. The drummer held his sticks aloft in the background, and the bassist looked like he was about to trip over a power cord. Zedd had been blocked for a long time, but this account was set to private. It could be any one of the band members.
Screw it. He had more pictures on his phone – ones from the afternoon spent watchingHellraiserwith Micah, and he was going to upload all of them.
Micah - Snagged Thread
Thank you for submitting your portfolio to Wegmann’s Gallery. While your art is beautiful, it isn’t the right fit for our current collection, so we’re going to pass.
Micah thumped his head against the desk. He was going to have to take on more commissions of barns so he didn’t completely max out his credit card. Either that or cave and tell prospective clients that yes, he could draw their kid from a photo for fifty bucks, and yes, he promised that it wouldn’t look at all “disturbing” the way some of his portraits did.
A knock came at the door, and he startled. Speaking of. That landscape painting hadn’t worked to summon Beelzebub, but Micah still knew what Hell felt like. It was finally finished and dry enough to the touch to let the client take it home. He would get his second chunk of the commission money and never have to squint at tiny blades of grass again.
He’d told the client that he could bring it to her, but she’d insisted Micah’s place was on the way.
