The fact is, I know where my heart is, and it’s a lie to keep denying it.
“Joey, you made it!”
As soon as we step inside, Milo emerges from the small crowd. The worry that’s creasing my brow eases because just like every time I see him, the world is suddenly a little lighter. He’s wearing a button-up baby blue shirt with a floral blue tie, and he’s got the sleeves rolled up high again to clearly show off the bottom of my work.
Fuck, he always looks so good. He always just looks like himself. It’s weird because everyone looks like themself, or at least everyone should. But there’s this way that Milo is always Milo, and that fucking pleases me.
“Yeah, made it,” I say and pull him into a quick hug. “Sorry, I didn’t think to dress up,” I add, gesturing down to my worn jeans and my gray thermal shirt.
Milo laughs. “You look great. You always do.”
I catch a few people standing behind him and glancing at us. One of them is Milo’s best friend Matty, and I assume another is his housemate, Ayla, since I know Ayla does something with vintage dresses, and the woman with Matty is wearing what looks like a yellow prom dress from the nineties.
They all remind me of Milo, too. Kind of geeky, clearly gay and not shy about it, just totally themselves. It’s funny, but I see them all, and they look happy and friendly and just plain nice, and a huge wave of relief washes over me.
Milo’s got good people looking out for him, and I know that means he’ll be fine, no matter what.
He laughs, and the warm sound of it pulls me from my thoughts. “I think my friends want to meet you. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I rub the back of my head. “I’m here, right?”
I glance around quickly. The lights overhead are bright, and massive prints of colorful illustrations fill the walls, abstract designs and intricate scenes of cities, flush with intricate linework. I’m drawn to walk over to the work and start studying it—it looks really fucking cool—but I shake my head and focus instead.
“Hey,” I say and nod my head back to the group. “How’s it going?”
“Ayla, Matty you know, this is Alexander, Horatio, and Rafael, the artist!”
Milo points to everyone as he says their names, and they all offer friendly smiles. I wonder what he’s told them about us, but I guess that’s not really my business. I’ve made it clear that I’m not looking for a relationship, and that means I don’t get to know some things.
I grunt under my breath, unhappy with myself. When I see everyone still looking at me, though, I snap out of it. I don’t need them all thinking I’m an asshole; that wouldn’t help anything. “Hey, nice to meet you all.” I turn to Rafael, who wear a T-shirt with a similar illustration printed on it. “I haven’t had a chance to check the work out yet, but it looks fucking amazing. Congratulations.”
Rafael’s smile brightens. “Thanks! I’ve been working on it for a few years. I’m so glad to finally share it with people.”
I rub my jaw, impressed with that kind of dedication. “Cool.”
Milo’s right there, close to my side. We’re almost touching, and I want to throw my arm over his shoulder. It’s distracting, but I don’t have too much time to think about it.
“I love your work, too,” Rafael says.
“Yeah,” Ayla echoes. “Milo’s tattoo is gorgeous.”
I glance to Milo, then to the ink he’s still proudly showing off. From back when I first started tattooing some of the guys at the docks, I’ve always loved the satisfaction of seeing someone happy with the work I’ve done. On Milo, though, it’s fucking exquisite.
My mind fills with ideas for new work. He’s kind of like my muse, I realize.
“Uh, thanks,” I say. “Milo really carries it well.”
Everyone looks satisfied that I said that, which makes me a little embarrassed. Maybe Milo notices because he lays his hand on my bicep. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you the illustrations.”
We step away from the friends, and Milo’s hand stays on my bicep, then my elbow. I touch his side, too, because I can’t help myself, but we pull apart when we reach the wall of illustrations. The city drawings are filled with architectural details, and I immediately start studying how Rafael constructed the image.
“Did I save you from my friends in time?”
I chuckle. “You don’t need to save me from them.” Milo and I share a glance. Then I chuckle again. “Okay, but I did appreciate the escape.”
Milo laughs. “Yeah, I know you, Joey.”
I frown as we slowly walk, our eyes on the illustrations. “It’s not that I don’t like them. I could probably talk about illustration with Rafael all night.”
