Ethan was going to turn into a junkie at this rate. It's been two days, but he could still taste Ashley on his tongue. It's not an unpleasant taste, far from it. It was hauntingly delicious, but Ethan doesn't want to let himself dwell on it though.

You need more than one taste to get addicted, and that's never going to happen again.

He's never going to see Ashley again, and he's not a hundred percent sure he wants to. The only reminder Ethan had of his existence was the earring he left behind and the tiny nick on his throat.

Is it strange that he was kind of into that?

Better not dwell on it.

Ethan rolled the jagged rose gold earring across the vanity table as the makeup artist beat his face into submission with a powder brush, covering up the mole under his left eye and doing up his right eye with thick black mascara and golden eyeshadow. Afterward, she sprinted away and another person took over, ruffled his hair, and doused him in spray-on mousse. Then he was practically pushed out of his chair and onto the set as someone quickly took his place.

Thankful for the distraction, Ethan followed the photographer's instructions, perching backward and impractically on a motorcycle in a quartered street in Brooklyn. He was surrounded by chaotically set-up camera equipment. Hopefully, work would keep him out of his head long enough to forget the taste.

"Head up, hands in your pocket. Good, good, give me a pout and..." Marc stepped back and snapped a few more photos of Ethan. "...done."

Marc was a living embodiment of every tired Brooklyn hipster stereotype: geometric tribal tattoo, stupid fedora, handlebar mustache, square glasses, suspenders, and the Coup de grâce, a $900 Che Guevara t-shirt.

Several hours later, after contouring himself in a bunch of awkward poses and unnaturally tilting his head, he clocked out for the day. Since he was already in Brooklyn, he decided to putter around instead of heading back to his empty, half-unpacked apartment.

Elysium was in Brooklyn. Wasn't it?

Ethan had an earring to return.

...

In the morning, Elysium lowered the music and brought out the tables and silverware, turning into a little restaurant. The atmosphere was quiet and cozy, candlelit, and smelled delicious. Ethan hadn't eaten actual food in years. Maybe he'd treat himself to lunch for once.

He started to approach the host podium but stopped in his tracks. The host was glaringly bright, straining his eyes. The light came from a golden halo above their head. Even the idea of stepping closer made Ethan's skin crawl. A patron stepped forward and asked her a question, and she responded. Her voice was grating like out-of-time wind chimes or bad choir music. Ethan's never been irritated to the bone this way; it was shocking how sudden and out of nowhere the annoyance was.

Unfortunately for him, there was no going deeper into the store without talking to her, so Ethan steeled himself, took a deep breath, and approached.

Before he could say anything, she frowned, squinting at him, before her face twisted into a sneer of disgust. "What do you want?"

Ethan was taken aback. He was planning on, at least, trying to be polite because she hadn't done anything, but it appears the irritation was mutual.

She quickly recovered, likely hearing how abrasive she sounded. "Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me," She managed to force out through gritted teeth behind a faux rictus customer service grin. "Do you have a reservation?"

"No." She winced the moment he spoke, hands gripping so hard onto the podium that the wood splintered. "Do you have a lost and found?"

"Go to the cafe and ask for Alex. They'll take the item," She answered, seemingly as glad to have Ethan out of her hair as Ethan was to be.

Ethan dropped off the ring leaving a description of Ashley. He turned around, wanting to leave this awkward place. But as he approached the door, the person who'd been on his mind burst through the door swinging a to-go bag of BBQ.