Chapter 9: The Lonely Lamp
The doors of Circuit didn't so much close as spit them out. One second the bass was rattling their ribs, the next the sidewalk hit them with the sudden, almost offensive quiet of the city at four in the morning. The air was crisp and cold, a sharp contrast to the sweat-slick heat of the club.
Nell stretched her arms overhead, cracking her neck. "Alright. I'm calling it. This old lady needs sleep."
"You're twenty-six," Kyle said.
"Exactly. Old." She pulled out her phone, already scrolling for a ride. "You two get home safe. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Kyle snorted. "That leaves basically everything."
"Then don't do anything I wouldn't find hilarious." She pointed a finger at Roha, her expression only half-joking. "You. Good time. Keep having it." Her car pulled up to the curb, and she slid in without a goodbye, just a wave through the window as it rolled away.
Kyle watched the taillights disappear, then turned to Roha with a grin that could have powered the streetlights. "Alright. Walk of victory. Let's go."
They walked, the three of them, Joaquin on Kyle's left and Roha on his right. The streets were empty, the only sound their footsteps and the distant hum of a highway. Kyle was still wired, buzzing with the kind of energy that only came from a good night. He talked with his hands, reliving every moment.
"The wormhole room," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I didn't even know that was a thing. I thought it was just a tunnel with lights. I didn't expect to feel like I was falling through space."
"Right?" Joaquin laughed, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk. "The first time I went through it, I almost lost my drink. Some guy caught my elbow. Saved the whole night."
"The DJ was insane too," Kyle added. "That remix around two a.m.? I don't even know what song it was. I just know I was dancing."
"It was that Florence and the Machine bootleg," Joaquin said. "The one that goes triple time on the drop. That's a classic."
Roha listened, taking it in. Their energy didn't flag. They traded stories like currency, each one topping the last. The strobes, the crowd, the way the floor lit up gold when the bass hit a certain frequency.
Joaquin shook his head, still chuckling. "Man, I swear. The music always sounds better in gay clubs for some reason."
"It's true!" Kyle said, nodding emphatically. "It's a scientific fact. The acoustics are just better. Or the energy is. Or both."
"It's the speakers," Joaquin said. "They actually tune them right. Most places just crank the bass and hope."
Roha turned the words over. Gay clubs. The distinction settled into place with a click. The men who had approached him. The way Kyle's hand had found his waist without hesitation. The easy, unguarded physicality of everyone on that dance floor.
Circuit was a gay club. Kyle took him to a gay club. And he'd danced with him, had looked at him with those bright blue eyes, had said his face looked good when it smiled.
He said nothing. He just kept walking, the thought settling warm and complicated in his chest.
The apartment building rose ahead of them, a familiar brick facade with the lights on in a few scattered windows. Joaquin slowed as they reached the door, yawning so wide his jaw cracked.
"Alright, I'm dead." He clapped Kyle on the shoulder, then gave Roha a small, friendly fist bump. "Good night, boys. See you never, because I'm sleeping until noon."
He disappeared inside. The door clicked shut. And then it was just the two of them, Kyle and Roha, standing on the sidewalk under the flickering streetlamp.
Kyle scuffed his shoe against the concrete. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but loaded. Something sat in it, waiting to be picked up.
"So," Kyle said. "You have a good time?"
Roha considered the question. The lights, the music, the way Kyle's hand had slid into his without hesitation. The realization that he'd just spent the night surrounded by people who wanted nothing from him at all.
"Yeah," he said. "I did."
The silence between them stretched a little too long. Kyle shuffled his feet, shoving his hands deeper into his jean pockets. He looked at Roha, then at the door, then back at Roha. The words sat at the back of his throat, ready to ask if Roha wanted to crash at his place again. The night was still young by Kyle's standards. They could stay up talking, laughing about the wormhole room. Maybe he'd order a pizza. It would be easy.
But then he stopped himself. The way Roha had looked at him on that dance floor. The way the space between them had felt charged. If he invited him up and nothing happened, it would be weird. If he invited him up and something happened, it would also be weird. Kyle wasn't sure which outcome he was more scared of.
"Alright," Kyle said, forcing a brightness he didn't fully feel. "I'm gonna crash. Big day of doing nothing tomorrow."
Roha nodded. "Goodnight, Kyle."
"Night." Kyle paused, one hand on the door. "Hey. I'm really glad you came out tonight."
Kyle held Roha's gaze for just a second too long, like there was something else he wanted to say. Then he shook his head, almost to himself, and pushed the door open. The lobby lights spilled out onto the sidewalk, warm and ordinary.
"Get home safe," Kyle said.
He slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him, and the street went quiet.
Roha stood alone on the sidewalk. The flickering streetlamp buzzed overhead, casting his shadow long and crooked against the brick. He could still feel the warmth of the dance floor, the press of Kyle's hand, the sound of Joaquin's laugh. It lingered in his chest like an echo.
And then it faded.
The silence settled around him, heavy and unfamiliar. Three thousand years of solitude, and it had never felt like this. That was the poison of friendship, he realized. It had taught him what belonging felt like, only to leave him standing outside the door.
He pulled out his phone. The screen glowed in the dark, and the contacts stared back at him. Kyle. Joaquin. Nell. Three names. That was his entire world now.
He had nowhere to go. No one waiting for him. The vessel in his hand was the only place to return to.
He blamed the magic. That was easier than blaming himself. Kyle's first wish had created a space inside him, something that never existed. And now it ached.
He started walking.
The streets were empty, the city hushed and still. He moved without direction, letting his feet carry him past shuttered storefronts and sleeping apartment blocks. The pull toward Kyle hummed at the edge of his awareness, a constant, low current. It wanted him to turn back. It wanted him to knock on that door and ask to stay.
He kept walking.
The alley he found was narrow and dark, tucked between a laundromat and a closed bodega. A single security light buzzed above a dumpster, casting a weak yellow pool on the cracked concrete. Roha stopped in the shadows, checking the space. No cameras. No windows facing this direction. No one around to see.
He pulled out the phone, stared at Kyle's name one last time, then placed it carefully on the ground near the wall. He uncoiled his power, letting it seep out of him like smoke, and the air shimmered. The phone dissolved, replaced by the familiar weight of the brass lamp, worn and ancient, the surface warm where it had lain against his magic for so long.
He knelt and set it in the shadow of the dumpster, tucked behind a loose cinderblock where no one would ever think to look. Then he let himself melt back into the vessel, the world folding away into darkness and stillness.
Tomorrow, he would talk to Kyle. He would lay out the remaining wishes, ask what Kyle wanted, do his best to fulfill them. That was the contract. That was the duty.
It had to be enough.
Upstairs, Kyle flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator. The night still buzzed under his skin, but it felt wrong now. Missing something.
Joaquin emerged from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, and stopped in the hallway. He looked at Kyle, then at the door, then back at Kyle.
"Dude," he said. "You didn't invite him up?"
"Dude, you didn't invite him up?"
Kyle didn't look at him. Just kept staring at the ceiling like it held the answer to a question he couldn't quite form. "I mean, I thought about it."
"Yeah, but why not, though?" Joaquin dropped onto the other end of the couch, towel still around his neck. "He literally slept in your bed last night. What's one more?"
"It's not about the bed." Kyle rubbed his face with both hands. "It's about, like. Expectations. If I invite him up and then nothing happens, it's weird. If I invite him up and something happens, it's also weird."
Joaquin stared at him. "Bro, what are you talking about? Roha's a cool dude. I mean, yeah he's a little weird, but he works for Make a Wish. You know he's a decent guy."
Kyle let out a groan, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "You're as bad as Nell. I told her I became friends with Roha last night and she immediately shipped us."
Joaquin snorted. "Nell's got good instincts. She clocked you two from the second she saw you together."
"There's nothing to clock." Kyle's voice came out muffled through his hands. "We're friends. That's it. That's the whole thing."
"Okay, but like. Is it?" Joaquin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Because I've seen you with a lot of dudes, man. You dance with them, you bring them home, you never see them again. But Roha? You danced with him, you brought him home, he wanted to hang out with you again tonight, and he still wants to go clubbing with us on Friday."
The words sat in the air between them. Kyle's hands dropped from his face. He stared at Joaquin, mouth half-open, like he'd been caught doing something he didn't know he was doing.
"I mean. He's just... easy to be around." Kyle's voice came out quieter than he meant it to. "He doesn't ask for anything. He just shows up and dances and eats my cereal and doesn't judge me for any of it. That's rare, dude."
"So why didn't you invite him up?" Joaquin asked. "Like, not even for a drink. Just to keep hanging out. Why'd you let him walk away?"
Kyle opened his mouth. Closed it. He pulled his knees up onto the couch and wrapped his arms around them, suddenly feeling very small.
"Because I don't know what I want," he admitted. "And I don't want to mess this up by wanting the wrong thing."
Joaquin was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned back, arms spread along the top of the couch, looking at Kyle with something softer than his usual grin.
"I've never once seen you look like this."
Kyle's brow furrowed. "Like what?"
"Like you're actually scared." Joaquin shrugged. "You're never scared about guys. You just go for it and figure it out later. But with him, you're actually thinking about it. That's not a bad thing."
Kyle rested his chin on his knees. "It feels like a bad thing."
"It's not. It means he matters." Joaquin nudged Kyle's foot with his own. "I like him better than the other guys, dude. He's not just some random hookup. He's your friend. And he stayed. He danced with you, he hung out with Nell, he fist-bumped me. He's in the crew now."
Kyle's chest did something weird. A warm squeeze, right behind his ribs.
"So what do I do?" Kyle asked.
"Nothing tonight." Joaquin stood, stretching. "You sleep. You stop overthinking. And tomorrow, when you're not running on empty, you text him and you ask him to hang out. Just the two of you. No club, no crowd. See where it goes."
Kyle let out a breath. "That sounds terrifying."
"Bro, it's just Roha. He turned down three dudes to keep dancing with you. I think you're good."
Joaquin padded off to his room, leaving Kyle alone on the couch. The apartment hummed around him. The refrigerator kicked on. A car passed somewhere below, its headlights sweeping across the ceiling.
Kyle pulled out his phone. He stared at Roha's name in his contacts.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
He locked the phone and set it on the coffee table. Tomorrow. He'd do it tomorrow.