Moritz's POV
One month I've been in New York. One month of getting used to Mark's little habits, on month of Maureen's flamboyancy, one month of friendly insults towards someone named Benny, whom I had never met. One month of Mimi's blue tights.
That night, I claimed sickness, even creating retching noises until their worried words drifted away from the door. When I regained my composure and left the bathroom fifteen minutes later, Mimi had gone. Mark was waiting for me, sitting on a couch in the large open room. He watched me, slowly. Asked if I was alright. I assured him I was, but he peered at me from behind his glasses, and my skin crawled as I wondered if he could know. But then he asked me a question with an almost parental concern: Had I been tested? Was it possible I was sick, like Angel and Collins, like Roger and Mimi? No, I had said. It wasn't possible. He'd dismissed it after that and let me be.
I've managed to contain the overpowering stirrings since that night. Even when I caught sight of Mimi's tights as she chasayed off to 'work'. I learned quickly that she's no ballerina, but a feline with the power to comb the night.
But she's faithful to Roger, as far as I can tell. She doesn't wonder with the men that pour into her club. She seems contented sitting curled up to Roger, or simply listening as he strums his guitar quietly. Often, he'll play a soft melody, something he's obviously written for her. Sometimes he sings. Mostly it's just the tune, but it always enchants her. As her name fades off the guitars strings, it's met with the whisper of "Again, Roger. Please."
It's at those times I know she'll never be more than a fantasy, dancing out of my reach.
I got a job working at the Life Café, a place with overpowering colours and life, where my new friends spend far too much of their time (or so they say), a place where I can experience New York without having to face it.
Though he claims I needn't worry about it, I feel better about handing over a portion of my pay check to Mark every week.
"It's fine, Moritz," he'd said to me. "We don't pay rent or anything. We're on better terms with Benny now."
"Food?" I'd suggested, but he just shook his head. "Look Mark. You didn't know a thing about me, but you pulled me off the street. You act like it's no big deal, like you're used to taking care of idiot runaways, but you guys fucking saved me. I just want to find a way to say thanks."
He let me chip in after that.
And now, at 9PM on Christmas Eve, I finish up with the last of my thank yous and haul them out the pine branch I'd picked up outside. The branch is wrapped in a glittering scarf of Mimi's. I smile.