"The energy around you is different," Sage announced.
Juniper looked up from the floor cushion he was emotionally decomposing on.
Around him, The Sanctuary had gathered for their weekly Alignment Circle inside the apartment's converted dining room, which now contained:
- seventeen candles
- two hanging plants dying in solidarity
- a Himalayan salt lamp the size of a toddler
- Courage the emotional support lemur wearing a tiny knitted vest
Someone had burned cinnamon incense. Someone else had cried already.
Juniper tugged his oversized sweater sleeves over his hands defensively.
"My energy is always different."
"No," River said gravely from beneath a crocheted blanket. "This feels sexually apocalyptic."
Juniper froze.
Unfortunately, everyone in The Sanctuary noticed immediately.
Ten people gasped in psychic synchronization.
"Oh my God," Nova whispered. "You met someone."
"It was spiritually insignificant."
"You're sitting differently," Sage countered.
"How do you sit spiritually?"
"More tense. Your aura looks expensive."
Juniper hated that they were correct.
He stared dramatically at the ceiling.
"Fine," he muttered. "I accidentally assaulted a billionaire with lavender matcha."
The room erupted.
Courage screeched.
"WHO?" someone yelled from the kitchen.
Juniper made the sign of the evil eye automatically.
"Reggie Vale."
Dead silence.
Then immediately:
"Absolutely not."
"That man is an Aries."
"Juniper, no."
"His birth chart is literally online."
"He has the emotional profile of a missile strike."
Juniper pointed accusingly around the room.
"THANK you."
Sage leaned forward seriously.
"You cannot let an Aries billionaire destabilize your nervous system. That's how yachts happen."
"Why would a yacht happen to me?"
"That's exactly what someone says before becoming yacht-adjacent."
Juniper hated how deeply that affected him.
Because annoyingly—
he had thought about Reggie Vale all day.
Not intentionally.
But:
- the voice
- the staring
- the weird intensity
- the way he read Juniper's sketch like it mattered
It had lodged somewhere uncomfortable inside him.
Which was ridiculous.
Reggie Vale probably forgot he existed thirty seconds later.
"Anyway," Juniper announced, standing abruptly. "It's irrelevant because I'm never seeing him again."
At that exact moment, his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
The entire room leaned forward like vultures sensing carrion.
Juniper opened it.
A text.
You left your sketchbook.
Silence.
Another text appeared immediately after.
Also your astrology opinions about me are inaccurate.
Juniper stopped breathing.
"What," River whispered.
Juniper showed them the screen.
The Sanctuary collectively screamed.
Three hours later, Juniper stood outside a converted warehouse in Tribeca wondering if death would finally take him.
The invitation had arrived through one of Sage's situationships:
an underground luxury launch party for some pretentious tech-art collaboration no normal person understood.
Translation:
rich people drinking cocktails near projections.
Juniper adjusted the mesh top beneath his oversized faux-fur coat and checked his reflection in a darkened window.
The outfit was intentional chaos:
- layered necklaces
- silver rings
- dramatic eyeliner
- vintage boots held together spiritually rather than structurally
Behind him, Sage grabbed his shoulders urgently.
"Remember," Sage warned, "if Reggie Vale appears tonight, you must protect your peace."
"You're acting like he's Voldemort."
"He's worse. He's venture capital."
Juniper snorted.
Then the warehouse doors opened.
Music slammed into them instantly.
Dim lighting.
Champagne towers.
Models standing motionless for unclear artistic reasons.
People dressed like they had unresolved issues with wealth.
Juniper relaxed immediately.
"Oh," he breathed. "These are my people."
"No," Sage corrected. "These are rich people pretending to be your people."
Fair.
Juniper floated through the crowd effortlessly anyway, accepting champagne from strangers and compliments like oxygen.
That was the thing about him:
people always wanted him near them.
Not because he was the loudest.
Or the hottest.
Or the most talented.
Juniper simply made life feel more alive when he entered a room.
Which was why Reggie Vale noticed him instantly from across the party.
Juniper didn't see him at first.
But he felt it.
That strange sensation from the sidewalk again.
Like being singled out by gravity itself.
His smile faded slowly.
Across the warehouse, Reggie stood near the bar in an all-black suit that probably cost more than Juniper's yearly income.
People orbited him carefully.
Respectfully.
Fearfully.
But Reggie wasn't paying attention to any of them.
Only Juniper.
And the terrifying part was:
he looked genuinely relieved to see him.
Juniper's stomach flipped violently.
"Oh no," Sage whispered beside him.
"What?"
"He's looking at you like a man about to make horrible decisions."
Juniper swallowed.
Reggie started walking toward them.
The crowd shifted instinctively around him.
Not dramatically.
Not intentionally.
Just naturally.
Like expensive sharks parting water.
Juniper suddenly became hyperaware of:
- his chipped nail polish
- the fake fur coat
- the fact that one boot squeaked slightly
Reggie stopped directly in front of him.
Up close, he somehow looked even more unfairly composed.
His gaze moved over Juniper once slowly.
Not sexual exactly.
Worse.
Interested.
"You came," Reggie said.
Juniper blinked.
"You say that like this is our divorce hearing."
One corner of Reggie's mouth twitched.
Sage immediately inserted himself between them protectively.
"You're an Aries."
Reggie looked genuinely caught off guard.
"...What?"
"You're not energetically compatible with him."
Juniper closed his eyes briefly.
"Oh my God."
But Reggie was still staring at Juniper.
Completely ignoring everyone else now.
"Is this your boyfriend?"
Sage looked offended.
"No. I'm his moon-partner until November."
Reggie went perfectly still.
Juniper watched the exact moment his billionaire brain failed to process that sentence.
And for some deeply concerning reason—
That was the hottest thing Juniper had ever seen.