Page 27 of Entity

“Kit,” says Eros, startling me out of my thoughts. “Do you like the rain? Wait—” he smiles. “I think you do. I see the way you look out that window. You’re a romantic, like me.”

I study his sweet, open face. Eros is intoxicatingly beautiful, golden and vivid against the backdrop of Ian’s home, but he’s lost something since the last time I saw him. A glow, a sheen. I’ve seen Orpheus now, and I’ve fucked them both. Eros can’t compare.

“I do love the rain,” I answer, smiling back despite myself. Eros is still a ray of sunshine, even in this dreary weather. “Is that a trait Ian shares?”

Ian hands me a fresh mug of coffee. I hadn’t even noticed him taking the empty one from me. My mind has been up in the fucking storm clouds.

“We are nothing alike,” Ian grumbles, going into the living area to face the window, his back to Eros and me. Silhouetted by the view of rainy Los Angeles, he looks like some tortured leading man in a noir film.

Eros and I lock eyes. He raises his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching. “We do share some traits,” Eros admits. “We both love gazing melodramatically out windows.”

I laugh, delighted by the joke. “Did Ian teach you that?”

Eros frowns slightly, tilting his head. “Teach me what?”

“How to be funny.”

Ian snorts. “It’s a natural side effect.”

Eros glances at Ian, then back to me. His expression is suddenly shadowed, like the sun drifting behind a cloud.

“A side effect?” I repeat. “Of what?”

“Of being trapped in here with me,” Ian says in a low voice.

Eros shrugs, smiling. “Ian is very funny. I’ve learned so much from him.”

But I don’t think that’s what Ian means.

Ian sighs, turning away from the window. I watch as he goes to the bar, pouring two glasses of whiskey. He returns to the kitchen and hands one of the glasses out to me. “Go look at the rain or something,” he says.

I hesitate.

“Not you,” Ian says, his sharp tone scraping at my nerves. “Eros. Eros, go look at the rain.”

“I would love to, Ian.”

I watch Eros turn and stride to the wide window, his muscles flexing and stretching as he moves. His toga is so thin, so anachronistic, that it puts me on edge. I’d wanted to bring him something more appropriate to wear, but when I suggested it earlier, Ian shot down the idea. I still can’t help thinking Eros seems separate from us like this. A spectacle.

“Here,” Ian says, setting down the whiskey and sliding it toward me. “Put this in your coffee. Take a break. Take a break.”

“I’m good.”

Ian shrugs, tossing his back in one swig. Then he downs my drink, the crystal glass clinking loudly against the marble countertop. “Suit yourself.”

“It’s beautiful,” Eros murmurs, seemingly to himself. He looks back over his shoulder. “Kit, do you want to watch the rain with me?”

I move to join him, but Ian stops me with a hand on my shoulder. He shakes his head, making a face. “Don’t bother,don’t bother. He’ll try to recite poetry or something. It’s fucking embarrassing. I don’t know why I put poetry in the repertoire.”

Annoyance, and a little unease, tickle at the spot between my shoulder blades. Yesterday, Ian was proud and eager, ready to showcase his creation. He was practically gagging to share Eros with me. Today, it’s like the sight of us pisses him off.

Eros is still watching me, his expression undeniably hopeful.

I pull away from Ian. I can’t deny the compassion I feel for Eros, alone by the window. Staring out at the rain like that, he seems so tragically human.

Ian settles himself on the sofa with a fresh whiskey while I join Eros at the window. My stomach tightens at the view, at the memory of yesterday’s episode of vertigo. But as I gaze out over the rain-lashed city with Eros, I feel nothing but slight apprehension.

“I don’t mean to ignore you,” Eros says, smiling sadly. “I enjoy answering your questions. But Ian asked that I watch the rain, so I did.”

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