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He, in fact, did not know the drill.

But soon he was on the other side of the velvet curtain with a low-lit hallway stretching in front of him and no way back.

And that smell and feeling was heavier back here. Almost addictive. A familiar but a poor imitation of what he craved. Smoke and embers.

Where had he smelled this before?

He followed that smell and feeling toward the door the man had directed him to, hovering his knuckles over before shrugging and knocking.

What was the worst that could happen?

“Took you long enough. We only have ten minutes,” a smooth, silky voice rumbled as the door opened and a shirtless Rowan lookalike stood framed in it.

Red eyes ran over him head to toe, before the lookalike crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Not who I was expecting, but I’m not complaining. I like a blond.”

“The titties are too small,” Milo found himself saying as he walked in, barging past this cheap knockoff and catching a whiff of his scent. Decent. Slightly comforting. But nowhere near enough.

“Excuse me?” the man said.

Milo pointed at his chest. “Those are too small. And the hair looks better long. But he’s gone now.”

“What are you talking about?” the man asked, clearly annoyed with him. And the annoyance didn’t feel fun like it usually did.

Rowan did it better.

The exasperation that didn’t feel insulting. The scolding that didn’t feel condescending. Milo missed him.

“Do you know Rowan?” Milo asked, looking up into the eyes that were similar enough to get the tide of restless energy inside him to subside somewhat, but not enough to make it completely go away.

They weren’t properly red. The lashes weren’t short and stubby. The constellations on the bridge of his nose were there, but it felt like someone had turned his telescope to a different patch of sky and they looked all wrong. It wasn’t Milo’s favorite patch of sky. It was pretty, just not right.

“Rowan Rangecroft?” the man asked, and Milo nodded. “He’s my younger brother.”

He wasn’t imagining things.

“Are you Ruben?” he asked to confirm.

“I am.”

Milo gave another nod, biting his lip before the suffocating need for something he literally couldn’t name burst out of him. “Do you think you can tell me there’s something wrong with me?” He asked plaintively. “But, like…in a nice way.”

Ruben’s confusion was palpable. “You want me to insult you…”

“In a nice way, yes.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” Ruben said in a “here you go, weirdo” way.

“No, that wasn’t right. You gotta, like…mean it kindly.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Ruben said again, with more feeling this time, like he really meant it.

Still Milo shook his head. “No, that wasn’t it either.” He ran a hand over his face. “It has to be gentle and like you’re somewhat entertained by it, y’know?”

“I really don’t.”

“Well can you just try?” he asked, and Ruben frowned again before he took a deep breath and forced a smile to his face. That face that looked too much like Rowan’s to be so starkly different. It all felt off.

“There is something very wrong with you,” Ruben tried again.