When Cade woke, he lay still for several seconds, trying to understand why the bedroom seemed so quiet. Then his hand slipped across the other half of the bed and met a cooling sheet. Vincent had already left. A piece of paper folded in half lay on the nightstand. The brief note explained that he’d needed to leave early and hadn’t wanted to wake Cade. There was no signature. Cade smiled to himself. After a night when he’d said Vincent’s name so many times, a signature really did seem unnecessary.

He sat up, pleasantly heavy-limbed after a nearly sleepless night, and read the note again. Last night’s Vincent had been unexpectedly uninhibited, nothing like the man who, until recently, had preferred to express desire by moving someone’s hand rather than saying what he wanted out loud. Cade remembered that unfamiliar laugh against his lips, and how easily Vincent had adjusted to the pace Cade set in their new positions. Even now, the memory sent heat through him. None of it was troubling, until Cade started thinking back to the entire evening rather than just what happened in bed.

The black hoodie came to mind first. Then the way Vincent hadn’t remembered Rita’s name and had hesitated by the apartment door, as if seeing the hallway for the first time. Vincent had been there so many times that once he’d even moved a vase away from the edge of a table and endured a full week of accusations about a hostile takeover of Cade’s territory. Cade frowned, then promptly got angry with himself. A person could wear unusual clothes or forget a client’s name. Becoming an official couple didn’t turn Vincent into a museum exhibit with an unchanging list of habits.

His phone had charged overnight and showed several work messages. Among them was a typically brief text from Vincent asking if Cade wanted lunch near his office. No hearts. Not a single hint about last night. It was so perfectly him that Cade couldn’t help smiling. He replied yes, then typed a much naughtier message and deleted it. If Vincent was really embarrassed about switching roles and letting Cade fuck him last night, Cade intended to enjoy watching him squirm in person.

He arrived at the studio later than usual. Maya was already bent over a cost estimate and immediately announced that equipment rental prices had gone up. Cade tried to pay attention, but ten minutes later he realized he’d been staring at the same line without understanding a word. Maya followed his gaze to his phone’s blank screen and asked whether he was having marital problems on day eight of the relationship.

“No problems,” Cade replied, flipping over a sheet of paper much too quickly. “Someone just decided to surprise me with a few new talents.”

Maya raised her eyebrows, but Cade didn’t give her a chance to ask. He steered the conversation back to the budget. A few hours of actual work helped. They found a way to cut some of the rented screens, and Maya showed him a new test submission from the candidate who might be joining the project. Cade praised the use of lighting and told her to invite the applicant for a final interview. He didn’t even check the name on the file. He was already late for lunch.

Vincent was sitting at their usual table by the window. He wore a pale shirt and impeccably tailored Italian trousers, his phone resting beside him. His familiar composure reassured Cade at once, for reasons he couldn’t explain. Yesterday’s hoodie now seemed like a funny little experiment by a man bored with his own reflection. Cade sat opposite him and, instead of saying hello, asked if he’d survived a night like that.

Vincent looked up from the menu. “So far.”

Cade giggled under his breath and picked up his own menu.

He let the waiter take their order, still waiting for at least a hint of awkwardness. But Vincent talked about his morning meeting as calmly as if nothing unusual had happened between last night and today’s lunch. Cade initially assumed he was putting on a brave face. That was funny in itself.

Once the waiter left, Cade leaned across the table with a wicked smile.

“So, handsome, can you sit down all right? Should I take responsibility?”

Vincent stopped reaching for his glass.

“What?”

Cade nearly burst out laughing. “After a workout like that, it’s only polite to ask how you’re feeling.”

Vincent stared at him for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the remark, then rubbed his right shoulder.

“How do you even know I went to the gym today?”

Cade blinked. “Today?”

“This morning. Pulled something in my shoulder. If you’ve suddenly decided to keep tabs on my workouts, you could just ask.”

Cade smiled, though less confidently now. He’d been talking about last night. Vincent was clearly talking about this morning and didn’t understand what was supposed to be funny.

Leaning back in his chair, Cade made himself smile wider. Maybe Vincent had simply found an extraordinarily clumsy way to avoid discussing what they’d done. Cade was about to tease him again when the waiter brought their coffee. Vincent tasted his black coffee and immediately grimaced. Someone at the counter had added sugar by mistake.

Cade looked at the cup a moment too long. How had he overlooked such a tiny detail? Yesterday Vincent had happily drunk sweetened coffee and even said that a bitter taste could ruin an evening.

“Something wrong?”

Cade said he’d been a lot more tolerant of sugar yesterday. Vincent gave him another genuinely puzzled look and reminded him that he hated sweet coffee. Cade knew that perfectly well.

The first unpleasant chill crept through Cade, though he still refused to let it become real suspicion. He changed the subject to work, mentioning that Rita had sent more photographs of the foyer. Vincent immediately asked whether she was the woman from Orbit who’d promised him tickets after the reopening.

Cade went silent with his fork halfway to his mouth. Yesterday, that very same voice had asked who Rita was. After a pause, he confirmed it was her and tried to concentrate on lunch again.

Vincent went on talking about deadlines, but Cade was barely listening. He kept remembering yesterday’s face across the table and the way the man had listened so intently as Cade explained the cinema all over again. Back then, he’d assumed his own account had been confusing. Now Vincent remembered even the promised tickets, although yesterday he’d needed to ask who Rita was at all.

Cade glanced at his shirt. “The black hoodie looked good on you, though.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “What black hoodie?”

“Your black hoodie.”

Cade waited for the inevitable flash of embarrassment. Instead, Vincent gave a little snort and reminded him he didn’t own a black hoodie. Cade suggested he ought to get one. Vincent replied that if Cade gave him one, he would ceremoniously place it in the very back of his deepest drawer, out of respect for their relationship.

Now that was Vincent. A dry remark, delivered with barely concealed pleasure in his own wit. Cade felt oddly split in two. The man sitting across from him was so familiar that doubting him seemed insane. But that very familiarity was making yesterday’s man seem more and more like a stranger in retrospect.

It was getting genuinely creepy.

He didn’t ask outright where Vincent had been last night. That would sound like an accusation, and Cade still didn’t know what he’d be accusing him of. A memory lapse felt far too serious to lay out between two plates over lunch. A practical joke made even less sense. There was always the possibility that Cade had mixed up some details because he’d been tired and drinking, although he hadn’t had much alcohol.

When they left the café, Vincent stopped him by the crossing and straightened his turned-up collar. Then he leaned down and kissed him, resting a familiar hand on the back of his head. The kiss was brief and so welcome that Cade responded automatically. Only afterward did another chill run through him. Yesterday’s kisses had been different. Not better or worse, just set to an entirely different rhythm.

Yesterday the man had seemed to ask permission with his lips, only to lose patience and come back for more, scarcely giving Cade time to breathe. Vincent always knew exactly where his hand would go and when he’d pull away. Cade had never thought he could recognize someone by the rhythm of a kiss. Discovering he could wasn’t romantic at all. It was frightening.

“You’re lost in thought again. You stopped listening to me,” Vincent observed, touching his chin. “What’s going on?”

Cade looked at him and nearly asked. The words were right there. But then he imagined telling the story of last night to someone who would look back at him with complete, sincere confusion, and he stopped.

“Probably haven’t been sleeping enough. Work.”

“Fuck, either start taking care of yourself or let me take over. I’ll take full responsibility for you.”

Vincent mentioned that he’d be at the office until almost seven tomorrow and offered to pick Cade up afterward if he got free. Cade agreed, though he’d already decided to show up at Vincent’s office early, without warning.

Back at the studio he tried to work, but his mind kept returning to Vincent and the black hoodie, then the sweet coffee, then that completely different way of kissing. None of those details proved anything on its own. Together, though, they created a feeling he couldn’t shrug off anymore.

He opened a search page and typed a question about memory loss, then closed it almost immediately. He wasn’t about to diagnose somebody over the internet because one night didn’t match his expectations. Still… what if Vincent really did have a split personality?

Maya noticed him rubbing his temples and silently set a glass of water beside him.

“Ah…”

“Spit it out, you idiot!” Maya rapped him on the top of the head with her fist. “Like we don’t have enough shit to do!”

Rubbing his head, Cade told her only that Vincent had seemed like two entirely different people yesterday and today. She asked whether they’d fought, or whether he’d been drunk the night before. Cade shook his head. Maya shrugged and suggested asking him directly, but Cade said he wanted to see Vincent after work first, without giving him time to prepare for a conversation.

He didn’t like how that sounded even to himself. It was practically stalking.

That evening Vincent sent a photograph of a disastrous dinner from the office kitchen and complained about someone who’d once again left fish in the communal fridge. Cade laughed. Every line sounded exactly like his boyfriend. Then he noticed how uncomfortable the word his suddenly felt. He sent an ordinary reply and didn’t mention his plan to visit the office tomorrow.

Later, at home, he spotted another little thing he’d once have found funny. A T-shirt was still draped over the back of a chair, where last night’s visitor had thrown it after taking it off. Vincent might leave Cade horny and stranded in the middle of a mess, but he almost always folded his own clothes without thinking, even when he was in a hurry. Cade ran his fingers over the shirt and tossed it back in irritation. If he started treating every crease as evidence, he’d go insane before he even worked out the question he needed to ask.

Before bed, he took out the note from the nightstand. He had nothing to compare the handwriting with, and the paper couldn’t tell him who’d held the pen. He set it down and switched off the light. Tomorrow he wanted to see Vincent in his ordinary surroundings and convince himself that there was a simple explanation for all of this.

But for the first time in months, Cade found he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the person he loved. He was afraid of noticing one more detail that would make the old explanation fall apart for good.