David let go of Gabriel and climbed the circular staircase to the waiting technicians. Beneath the pounding beats of the DJ, the neurosurgeon leaned over David with his light drill, bored open the pathways to his pain, and filled them with electronic spackle, and Gabriel wondered if he should’ve gone, too. Earlier, he’d remained limp when David took him in his mouth. Maybe the surgeon could patch that memory? And what about the other memories? Like his anger over David’s constant patching, or the terror of their dwindling savings, or how almost every night David was going to another event, spending more money, claiming networking was good for them. Just last week, to cut back on costs, they’d stopped buying air tanks. Could the surgeons patch those memories? And if they did, would his body respond as it once had when David held him?

“Good to go!” the nanotech yelled, bouncing to the beat of the music, and David rose from his chair and sauntered down the staircase. When he saw Gabriel, he threw his arms around his neck. Gone were David’s memories of the fight they’d had before the party, gone the cold tone from his voice; there was just his body pressed against Gabriel’s as they danced and danced and danced.

Back outside, the party was a glowing pulse far above, everything submerged in fog as they walked. The lights of apartment windows looked like portholes on passing submarines. A single red light bled through the exhaust of Beijing’s endless traffic, and in his post-patched joy, David said it was the eye of some great beast watching over them as they made their way home. The traffic reminded Gabriel of a sliding-gem puzzle with its single missing square, the drivers waiting for a piece to move so they might finally advance. Inside one of the cars was a young man—his hands falling from the wheel, his wife sleeping beside him, their two children looking pale as they suffocated within the fish tank of the automobile. The light changed and an enormous bus began a wide turn, making it a couple feet before blocking the intersection and sending a refrain of honks into the night. David danced past the bus, and where two cars were bumper-to-bumper he put his hands against the trunk of one and the hood of the other and jumped over them. Gabriel climbed over clumsily, waving in apology to the driver who was honking at him, at David, at the bus, at the world.