The sun warmed the brick sidewalks and pale concrete sides of the circuit court building, an imposing five-story building with columns in front of the heavily guarded entry. The sun felt nice on Cole's face, but a cutting wind whipped down the street, making the flags that towered above the small memorial garden in front of the courthouse flutter. He huddled in his jacket and hopped quickly up the steps, bedroom slippers slapping against his heels and raising eyebrows.

The two goons, who would not tell Cole their names no matter how much he pestered them on the drive over, looked far more professional and intimidating than the actual police officers manning the security check. They were all business suits, sunglasses, and chiseled jaws, moving with the surety that they were completely aware and in control of their surroundings. Cole would never be able to tell that one of their sleeves was damp if he did not already know it.

As they went through the metal detectors, the police eyeballed their whole party suspiciously. Maybe they recognized Gideon or the goons from the pictures of all the Barta affiliates that were probably posted on a wall somewhere in the precinct for dart practice. Or maybe they just thought that their party looked strange. Cole in pajamas and slippers, Gideon looking like he stepped out of a men's fashion magazine, and the two goons straight out of a mafia movie. 

Cole put the jacket in a little plastic bin to go through their scanning machine. The lady sitting behind the cave into which the conveyor belt disappeared looked at it with a sigh in her eyes.

"No phone or anything else that might set off the metal detectors?"

"No ma'am," he said.

 The thick plastic flaps lifted over his bin and slapped back down.

"What are you here for?" she asked casually.

Gideon put his coat and phone in a bin after Cole's. "We're getting married."

The lady's eyes shot to Cole, who smiled wanly at her and pulled the collar of his t-shirt back over his shoulder from where it had slipped down when he stripped off his jacket. She made no further comments. They made it through security without a hitch. Cole honestly thought that the two goons would surely set it off somehow, but apparently, they left all their illegal firearms in the car. Dang.

The halls of the courthouse were wide and echoey, made of hard shiny surfaces punctuated by bulletin boards and various offices. The walls opened up to large stairwells that shone from daylight spilling through skylights in the ceiling. Maybe because it was so echoey, everyone they passed spoke in hushed tones, leaning into one another with grave expressions. The loudest sound was women's heels clicking against the buffed floors. 

Everyone else seemed to be dressed in business clothes, aside from the cops in uniform. Despite being notorious criminals, neither Gideon nor the goons seemed to give the abundance of police officers a second thought. But Cole certainly felt out of place - as usual - in his slippers and sweatpants. Which had been his goal, but he had not realized how surreal it would make the whole experience for himself. 

He shuffled along  like a little kid because the slippers were much larger than his feet, felt kind of like one of those people wearing a mascot costume, not really like himself. None of this actually felt real. It was like one of those weird scenario dreams where he kind of knew he was dreaming, but was not sure enough to actually change the trajectory of strange evens and just had to be along for the ride.

The marriage licensing office was tiny. Chairs lined the walls around a desk which had a layer of plexiglass between them and the lady manning it. She looked less than impressed with Cole's appearance as she stuck two wads of paperwork on clipboards and passed them through the cutout in the glass. Cole picked up one of the pens and twirled it in his fingers. There was a bright purple plastic flower taped to the end. 

"You both have your IDs, correct?" The lady behind the desk asked.

Cole looked up from the pen with a sharp cackled, then slapped his hand over his mouth. Gideon gave him an wary look, which slowly morphed to match the wide-eyed disbelief he found on Cole's face. Cole took his hand away from his mouth. He could not stop grinning if someone offered to pay him a million dollars.

"Whoops," he shrugged, not sounding sorry at all. "I forgot mine. Left my wallet at work last night, you see."

When they had dragged him out of the club and into this whole mess without a coat or his phone or his bag. Gideon rolled his eyes to the ceiling, lips pressed like maybe he was trying hard not to laugh. The two goons swore, ran their hands over the tops of their heads, and glared, probably fighting off the urge to grab Cole by his hair and smash his nose into the wall. The lady behind the desk just looked tired.

"Well, honey," she reached out with both hands to take the clipboards back, "you will need that."

So, they marched back out of the courthouse. One of the security guards congratulated them, and Cole just laughed in his face. He kept cackling all the way out to the car, tripping over his too-large slippers and grabbing Gideon's arm for support. After they piled into the car, he leaned into the front seat to ask, "Is James paying you enough to deal with this bullshit?"

The shared glance between the two goons betrayed the fact that he was not.

They cruised through the bumper-to-bumper traffic of the busy downtown streets, steam and the sounds of horns rising around them until they reached the less crowded neighborhood where the club was located. The lot was deserted except for a few cars, including Logan's Firebird. Cole frowned at it, a familiar sense of dread settling into his gut at the sight of the car, except this time it was accompanied by a strange sense of lightness. Because he was not here for work. He was here to grab his stuff and walk right back out. 

The front doors were locked up tight, and the neon sign was dark, just like it always was this early in the day. But there was always someone inside cleaning up from the night before and getting the bar ready for the night ahead. Cole marched straight up to the front door and started banging his fist against it. If he went around back, there was a chance nobody would be around in the changing room to hear him.

"Hey!" A man came around the side of the building. Cole did not recognize him, which meant he was probably with the cleaning crew. "The club isn't open yet."

"I know." Cole hopped down the steps and went right up to the guy. "I'm one of the dancers. Left all my stuff last night, so I'm here to pick it up. You can ask Logan if you want."

The guy looked Cole up and down and made a sour face at the mention of Logan. He, and everyone else who worked here, avoided interactions with him like the plague. Based on how he micromanaged the dancers, Cole could not imagine what kind of hell he put the cleaners through. They probably never did a single thing right in his eyes.

"Come on, then." The man gestured for them to come around the building. The side door was propped open with half of a broken cinderblock so the cleaners could go in and out to smoke as they worked. When they got to the door, he let Cole through but stopped Gideon and the goons. "Just you, though."

"It's fine. I'll be right out," Cole called over his shoulder as he walked into the main room of the club.

The place looked wildly different in the daylight. There was never true daylight since there weren't any windows, but the overhead lights flooded the corners that usually remained dark during the open hours, and a strip of sunlight cut across the floor from the open door. Even though Cole could see more, or maybe because he could, the room looked a lot smaller. The stages and the chairs were vacant. No music vibrated beneath his feet. There was only the smack of his slippers across the floor and the glitter of dust motes in the air.

He had half a mind to bust into Logan's office so he could give the asshole a piece of his mind – boldness fueled by a morning of acting out - but he kind of just wanted his stuff. It was sitting right where he left it the night before, his bag unzipped on the long stretch of empty counter. That just went to show how much of a reputation he had with the other dancers, who did not dare to touch his bag even when it lay abandoned at closing. Or maybe the other boys he knew kept the ones he didn't away from it. The fact that Logan left it alone was a bit of a surprise, though.

The room was quiet enough for once that he could hear the buzzing of the fluorescent lights as he zipped up the bag and threw it over his shoulder. His name was still displayed proudly on the mirror, surrounded by Alexis's red lipstick hearts. It felt wrong to erase it without ever actually saying goodbye to anyone. He rooted in his bag for an old lipstick that had been rattling around in the bottom for months, then used it to cross out his name and, next to it, write, ttyl motherfuckers. He drew a couple of his own little hearts, capped the lipstick, slammed it on the counter, and left it behind.

There was no need to think about popping into Logan's office and telling him to eat shit on the way out because as he passed by, the door swung open, and the devil himself appeared. He looked the same as always.

"Cole," he said.

"Logan," Cole said back.

"I'm glad you are okay."

Cole snorted and brushed past him. For all Logan had known, James Barta was a cannibal who meant to kill and eat Cole last night. There was no other reason to pay as much money for a person as James had. Well, except for forcing them into marriage to humiliate his brother or whatever this spectacle was supposed to accomplish. No good reasons, really.

"Cole, wait." Logan's grubby fingers predictably wrapped around his wrist as he marched toward the light at the end of the hallway. Cole tried to shake him off, so Logan did what he normally did and smashed him into the wall to trap him.

"Fuck off," Cole hissed. "You don't own me anymore, so you don't get to touch me."

"Come on, Cole." Logan leaned in to drag his nose up Cole's cheek. "You know we were more than that. I'm sorry that I had to..."

Logan yelped when Cole shoved him off. Perhaps he never realized how strong Cole actually was because all he ever saw was Cole trying to make himself smaller, less of a threat, less of a target - wearing heels and looking fuckable. But it took a hell of a lot of strength to swing around on a pole, and Cole was a boy who grew up looking after himself, so he knew how to get out of a scrap. It was nothing to hit Logan in just the right spot to hurt and stun him, then shove him back against the opposite wall.