Below the message was a series of blurred photos that all warned him they might contain sensitive content. Ew. Micah knew what those were without clicking. The very last message, dated today, said,What do I have to do to get your attention?
Just a bunch of unsolicited dick pics. Even Micah got messages like that, though in his case it was usually a “lonely” woman who wanted to send him nudes – certainly for a price.
It could be Zedd, but there were so many random throwaway accounts on the internet that there was no way to know for certain. He hoped Zedd’s note really was as surface level as it seemed. The idea that Micah had scared him away for good, had protected Cosmo and kept him safe, made pride swell beneath his ribs.
He wrapped his arms around Cosmo’s waist. “Alright. I’m convinced. I cheated on our bet, though. I was already planning to go to therapy. I have an appointment set up.”
Cosmo gasped and stopped stirring the vodka sauce. “That’s wonderful! I’m so happy to hear that. I know you had issues with therapy before, but hopefully you just need to find a therapist who is the right fit for you.”
He’d been told that before – by Everett, by Mom and Dad, even by Ximena – and it made sense, of course. But what if therewasn’ta therapist out there who was the right fit for him? What if he hated all of them?
Micah didn’t need to work himself up over non-existent problems again. Especially not right now. “Yeah. I’m just going to focus on making it to this first appointment, then assess from there.”
“When is it?”
“Not as soon as I need, but it’s better than never, right?”
“Absolutely. And I’m much happier to hear you’re going to go on your own volition and not because you lost a bet. But I must confess that I cheated too.” He set down his spoon, then tapped at his phone. “I just deleted my account anyway.”
“Really? You won’t miss it?”
“I might at first, but it’s better this way. It felt like such a necessary source of validation, but all the lewd comments were getting to me, you know? I don’t need that kind of attention. I take screenshots of all of the weird messages and comments I receive in case the police need them, but I’m tired of fielding them. It will be easier without the account.”
“You’re worth so much more than the sum of comments from internet strangers. You deserve love for your inner beauty.” He brushed curls from Cosmo’s neck then kissed his throat, savoring the beat of Cosmo’s pulse against his lips.
Cosmo let out a soft moan and dug his fingers into Micah’s hair. “Dessert before dinner is not allowed.” He let Micah’s lips linger a moment longer before pulling away and pointing at a cabinet. “Be a love and pull down a couple of plates for us, will you?”
Instead of a dining table, which there wasn’t room for in the tiny studio, a high counter sat in a small nook off of the kitchen, with two stools side by side. They wouldn’t be able to eat facing each other, but if they were at Micah’s, their choices would have been the couch or the floor.
Cosmo plated the food, and Micah set silverware and napkins at the counter. They sat down, and Micah took a large bite of penne drenched in sauce. He groaned as the rich, acidic flavor filled his mouth. He should have let it cool down a bit, but it was delicious. “Oh my god. Amazing. You won’t end up with any leftovers because I’m going to wake up in the night and eat it all.”
“Good!” Cosmo’s phone vibrated. He checked it and said, “Déjà said she and Rye are talking. It’s going well.”
“That’s great to hear. I hope it works out for her.” He focused on making a dent in the heaping pile of pasta before him.
Cosmo’s bare foot suddenly slid against his ankle and beneath his pant leg. Micah swallowed thickly and stuffed a forkful of pasta in his mouth. Despite what Cosmo promised about nothing needing to be sexual between them tonight, the idea of spending the night in his bed made Micah’s stomach clench. He had no doubt Cosmo would respect his boundaries; his nerves stemmed from the idea that maybe tonight, with Cosmo, he didn’t want any.
Even if there was zero risk of Zedd showing up, Micah wanted to be as close as possible to Cosmo. He wanted to hold on and never let go.
Cosmo’s toes were still sliding beneath Micah’s pant leg. Micah pushed away his plate. “As delicious as this is, I don’t think I can eat anymore right now.”
“Am I making you flustered?” Cosmo pulled his foot away. “I’ll stop.”
“Don’t stop. But maybe we can go sit somewhere more comfortable?”
“Yes.” Cosmo stacked their dishes and hurried into the kitchen. He portioned things into containers and dumped pans in the sink.
Micah took off his shoes and sat on the bed, trying to push away the nervous ache in his stomach. At least it was for a good reason this time.
Déjà had switched the TV to a home improvement channel, and the hosts wereoohing over glittery Styrofoam pumpkins with rustic bows. Cosmo stopped beside the bed and wrinkled his nose at the TV, then handed Micah a tall glass of what was probably a screwdriver.
“I don’t know how it was when you lived there, but there haven’t ever been many trick-or-treaters since I’ve lived at the complex,” Micah said, “but this year I’m going to have to shut off all the lights and put a sign on the door asking people not to knock. Maybe I could just set a bowl of candy outside.”
“I hate that you have to worry about those things.”
“No pity. You promised.” Micah sipped his drink. “But I’d love your help again if you can come to my place tomorrow?”
Cosmo switched off the TV, then pulled a record from its sleeve and set it on the turntable. “Of course. I’m happy to.” He turned on the receiver and set the stylus on the record. Funky synth filled the room, followed by Prince’s falsetto commentary on all the gossip surrounding him. He sat back down on the bed. “You don’t mind some music, do you?”
