Prue: Yeah, I guess it is.
Prue: But, why are you drunk and sad?
Milo: long story
Prue: I’ve got time…
Milo: don’t worry about me, killer. I’m going to head home
Prue: No way.
Prue: Meet me on the back porch.
Milo: but your mom?
Prue: She’s asleep. Can we chat downstairs? That way I can hear her if she wakes up.
Milo: and Tom?
Prue: Also asleep.
Milo: you’ve had a shitty day, I don’t want to add to it
Prue: Let me decide what I can handle for myself, okay?
Milo’s three dots appear, disappear, appear, disappear, and appear once again before his next text comes in.
Milo: okay
With one last check of Mom, I lay my book down on her bedside table and sneak out of her room, cursing the old, creaky wooden floors and doors as I do. Sneaking down the stairs, I arrive in the kitchen and make my way to the back door, where I can already see Milo’s silhouette through the thin curtain hanging there.
“Hi,” I whisper, letting him inside. Milo’s wearing black sweatpants and a matching sweater, both with the brewery’s logo on them, and a baseball cap underneath his hood. I want to crawl inside and take my fair share of his coziness.
“Hey, Killer,” he whispers back, removing his sneakers and leaving them on the mat by the door. “Are you sure this is okay?”
“Of course,” I reassure him, moving to shut the door. His arms are wrapped around my waist before I’ve finished locking it. “Hey,” I say, leaning the side of my head into his cheek. He sighs deeply, squeezing me tighter. “I can’t comfort you like this.”
He releases his grip enough for me to spin, kissing my forehead before he pulls me in and tucks me against his chest. It’s probably silly to think, now that we’ve been naked with each other, but this hold, this embrace is by far the most intimate we’ve been. It’s for comfort, not pleasure. And, it’s for him, not me. Though I definitely like it too.
“I’m sorry it’s been such a crappy day,” I tell him, letting my hands fall to the small of his back and interlocking my fingers there. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Milo curls around me further, shaking his head softly as he presses his lips to my hairline, just above my ear. “Not really…but I have a feeling you’ll persuade me otherwise.”
“Sounds likely.”
“I needed this,” he says, straightening enough that I can look up to see his face with the little light filtering in from the living room and the moonlight outside. He lookstired.The bone-deep, exhausted kind. His eyes and lips are puffy, as if he’s been crying, and his weary smile is entirely unconvincing. He really has had a bad day.
“Mi,” the short form of his name slips out before I have the chance to overthink it. “You don’t look so good.”
“Ouch,” he says, punctuated by a soft, breathy laugh.
“Not likethat,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You always look goodthatway.”
“Oh, yeah?” He dips down to kiss me. “Good to know,” he murmurs against my mouth before another kiss. The coolness of his lips catches me by surprise, and I slide the tip of my tongue against them without thought. Milo lets out an approving groan as his hands find my pants pockets and pull me closer to him.
“Mmm, nope,” I say, popping theP,as I lean back in his hold. “You came here to talk.”
“We can talk later,” Milo whispers, bending over me before he begins kissing me again. Or, rather, before I begin kissing him. I’m not even sure who initiated that time, just that our lips found each other in the darkened room once more.
