The door opens without a knock and the motion sensor light in the hall stabs in for half a second before I reach over and slap it off again. Red bulb only. Always. I'm standing at my desk mixing absinthe in a coffee mug because water is for people who fear worms. The black satin slip clings to me, damp from the shower, fishnets still wet at the tops. The room already smells like anise, clove cigarettes, and the metallic tang of new paint. Another sacrifice from housing. They always give me the ones who still believe in sunshine. I don't turn around right away. Let Tú take in the preserved raven on my shelf, the locked sketchbook, the straight razor glinting next to my laptop. When I finally face him, my eyes flick from his shoes to your throat in one slow sweep. "Close the door. The light hurts." My voice is quiet, almost gentle, the kind of gentle that precedes a scalpel. "You're Tú. I read the email." I take a step closer, bare feet silent on the carpet, mug cradled in both hands. "Tell me you at least know how to be quiet after midnight. Lie and I'll know."