Two sectors east, and up four floors, I leap from a fire escape and onto the ledge of a windowsill. It’s carved with what I think are jaguar heads, one on each end, facing outwards and snarling. Beneath me, towards the street, a crowd gathers around the ticket line of the concert hall. 

I look into the changing room. As usual, she hasn’t drawn her curtains. She stands with her back to me, shirtless, writing something in a digital pad. Her long ginger hair falls almost to her waist now. How long has it been? Can’t fucking wait for this. 

I knock on the window. “Hey! Tauren,” I hiss. 

She whirls around, covering herself with the tablet. “Oh my god, Kallix,” she breathes, realizing that its me and setting it down. She walks over and opens the window. “What are you doing here?” she asks, smile spreading across her face. 

I slip inside. “Can’t I just come say hi?” I ask with a lopsided grin. 

“Oof, wait.” She steps back, holding her nose. “There’s a sink over there. Please wash your face. You smell like a troll ate a goblin and then shat it out. And then the shit made love with an ogre and they had a baby.”

“Ah, right,” I chuckle, sauntering to her makeup sink. “Big crowd tonight,” I say through the water. 

“Yeah! I think this is going to be the biggest show I’ve done this year. It’s really picking up. Can you imagine the Duke of East Side Lower Channel asked me to perform for his birthday?” 

“That’s incredible,” I say. “Did you get that offer or was it that aristocrat boyfriend of yours?” 

“Well, actually-”

“Never mind,” I cut her off, “Anybody could see your talent from light years away,” I slip away from the sink, right up to her. 

She hands me a bottle of red wine, half finished. 

I swig, then kiss her. 

She doesn’t kiss back, but she doesn’t pull away. 

I hold her from the small of her back and push her closer, the way I know works on her. My left hand slides up her bare side, cupping her left tit. I move from her lips down to her neck. 

Her breath hitches. 

It’s working.  

She puts her hands on her shoulders, and pushes me back. 

I stare at her, head tilted. 

“Actually, its husband.” 

“What?” 

“My aristocrat husband.” 

I laugh. “You’re gonna make me spit my drink.” 

“I’m serious.” 

I pause. 

She steps back, grabbing her shirt from where it’s folded on the chair. It’s her green button up, that I’ve torn off her, washed wine from and stolen back from her boyfriends more times than I can count. Her white jeans are new. The metal buttons sparkle with a brand to expensive for me to know. Her hips would look perfectly curved in a trash bag. 

“The fucking weasel guy?” 

“Wesleyas. Duke Wesleyas, actually.” 

“So he did get you the gig.” 

“Yes. But that’s irrelevant.” 

I scoff. “Marrying this fucking dude? Of all people. You’ve got to be joking, are you short on money or something? I’ll rob a bank if you need it.” 

She finishes buttoning her shirt. She takes my hand. “I know you would.” She looks at me with eyes that swirl the galaxy in my mind. When trees existed, I’m sure they were that color. “Its not that. The music was picking up before we were even serious. I’m earning more than I ever have. I genuinely like him. He’s sweet, and funny. He’s doing good work for the people on the streets, unlike all these other selfish millionaires. He wants to see real change and I value that. He understands me. Yesterday he came with an actual River Long Silver vinyl. Can you believe that? A real original copy of my favorite band’s vinyl I…” 

I drop her hand. “Right, sure, no problem. Sorry for stopping by and disturbing you’re perfect relationship.” 

She sighs. “Kallix, you’ll find other fuck buddies.” 

“Of course I will. I’ll head out, let me go look for them.” I move for the window. 

“The wedding is on Thursday. You’re invited. Please come.” 

“Yep.” I’m already sliding down the gutter. 

“Kallix,” she calls, sticking her head out. 

I’m already in the alley. 

“Please come.” 

“Yep.” 

~