Chapter 5
Author’s Note:
I wanted Milo to play with color theory because it’s something I’ve never been able to grasp. All I’ve ever known is that when I wear green on top and brown on bottom, I look like a tree, and black and navy blue look dangerously similar when getting dressed in the dark.
Rowan
Somehow, although he would never be able to explain it, Rowan almost missed spotting Milo in the coffee shop because he and his hawk were so intently looking out for someone wearing red.
When Milo appeared in front of him in head-to-toe neon green, Rowan’s hawk let out a very undignified-sounding shriek that came out as a sort of “meep” of surprise from Rowan’s lips.
“Hi!” Milo said, doing that adorable—wait, adorable?—finger wave again. “I decided red was a little loud, so I went with green instead. It goes better with your hair anyway.”
Rowan was pretty sure he’d heard both Raina and Ruben say dark green went well with their fiery hair, but neon green seemed like it was an entirely different thing. He didn’t dare say that, though, for fear of whatever ridiculously cute tangent Milo would go on.
Rowan sucked his cheek in between his teeth, and his hawk shook out his feathers, clearly quite pleased with himself for infiltrating Rowan’s thoughts. Milo wasn’t adorable or cute. They were—
Walking backward towards the counter, all the while gesturing for Rowan to follow. They seemed completely oblivious to the several shifters who had to dodge out of the way to avoid getting smacked by their fluorescent green backpack or stepped on by their splatter-painted cowboy boots.
“You wore that outfit to work?” Rowan asked, catching up with Milo before they took down every patron in the cafe.
“Oh, no, of course not. I had the vest on over a black button-down and black slacks, but I think the look is really completed by the green wrap skirt, don’t you?”
Rowan had purposefully been avoiding looking at the strip of pale skin visible between the top of their boots and the hem of their skirt, but he looked now and bit even harder on the inside of his cheek.
He didn’t really have a type when it came to dating or hooking up.
He’d been with shifters of all primary and secondary genders, in a multitude of shapes and sizes.
The only consistent thing about the shifters he was interested in was that they all grew tired of him and eventually wanted nothing to do with him.
As they got in line to order, Rowan grudgingly admitted that Milo was very cute but that, more likely than not, they would follow the same trend as all his past lovers.
“I was thinking we could get every flavor of muffin they have and then maybe take the muffins to the park, and if none of those strike our fancy, they sell muffins at the little pavilion in the center of the park, too,” Milo said, looking up at Rowan with wide, sparkling gray eyes.
Rowan wasn’t sure if there were flecks of green in them, or if they were just reflecting the brim of Milo’s green and pink plaid fedora.
“Uhm…sure.”
Milo’s smile dimmed. “Or we could just get whatever you want and find a table here.”
The back of Rowan’s head prickled as feathers threatened to form below his hair.
When he was a kid and someone would try to touch him, his hawk would often force a shift so he could fly out of reach.
It had been over two decades since his last forced shift, but he could feel his hawk rising to the surface.
“I… No, that…actually sounds really nice,” Rowan hurried to say. “I’ve been stuck indoors all week, and I bet my hawk would love some fresh air.”
Milo’s face lit up like they were a kid at the start of Winterfest. “You’re a hawk shifter? That’s so cool, what kind of hawk are you? There are lots of different kinds, right? You’re so tall, I bet you have huge wings! Are there red hawks?”
Rowan’s hawk puffed up his chest and fluffed out his wings. Rowan barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. What was happening? His hawk was always so well-behaved. What was it about this chaotic—
Oh, shit. He’d already forgotten.
“Sorry, Milo, I forgot to ask, is they/them okay for you today?”
Milo’s steps faltered, and their gray eyes went distant, like condensation obscuring a mirror. Rowan’s long strides carried him up to the counter, but the barista was filling a to-go mug with coffee and held up one finger to ask them to wait.
Milo blinked once, and then again more forcefully, before hurrying forward to the counter.
“You know, I’ve been giving it some thought, and I’m not entirely sure pronouns get at how I’m feeling about my gender,” Milo said, their hands balling in the fabric of their skirt.
“Anabelle and I used to cycle through them, along with words like ‘handsome,’ ‘pretty,’ ‘dapper,’ and ‘glamorous,’ and some days we’d find a word or phrase that made me feel—” Milo dropped their skirt, lifted their arms in the air and did a small twirl.
The now slightly wrinkled fabric of their skirt flared out around their thighs.
“Sort of like this. Happy and giddy and—”
“Euphoric?” the barista asked as she slid the to-go mug across the counter to their left.
“That’s how my partner feels, too. They use they/them pronouns because it feels the most neutral, but the things that bring them gender euphoria are more to do with being perceived as very specific genders in specific moments. ”
“Are they genderqueer?” Milo asked, leaning forward against the side of the counter.
The barista inclined her head. “They do use that term, but recently they’ve also started saying they’re gender nonconforming.”
Milo mouthed the words gender nonconforming a few times.
“That’s… I’m going to give that some thought.
I think for now—” Milo turned to look up at Rowan.
“I think I like using they/them pronouns with you, but more than that, I really appreciate you asking. It’s given me the chance to actually stop and think about my gender in ways I haven’t in a long time.
Like today, I’m feeling quite femme, and this skirt is giving me all the happy euphoric bubbles in my chest. But tomorrow or even later today, it might not. ”
“I’m happy to keep asking,” Rowan said.
Milo’s smile was somehow brighter than their outfit. They had perfectly straight teeth that were on the larger size but didn’t seem disproportionate to their mouth. Their face was actually quite symmetrical, and when their eyes lit up the way they were now, they were downright beautiful.
Rowan couldn’t think of the last time he’d so openly stared at another person. He mostly went about his life trying to avoid being noticed, but it seemed like he and his hawk didn’t mind being noticed by Milo.
The gray in their eyes shifted again, almost like rays of sun shining through storm clouds.
Milo had such an obvious light inside them that shone through with every laugh and grin.
No wonder his hawk had him leaning in, as if they could somehow bask in Milo’s light without having to face the fact that there was no way someone as wild and bright as Milo would ever want anything from Rowan.
Not that…Rowan wanted anything from Milo, either. His life was fine the way it was. This was merely a casual hangout with a stranger-turned-potential-friend, and that was all it ever could be.
“Would you both like your usual coffees?” the barista asked, pulling their attention away from each other and to her all-too-knowing grin. “Or is something more exciting in order since it’s a Friday night?”
Rowan straightened his shoulders, pulling himself up to his full height and out of the lean he’d been doing towards Milo.
“Could we get one of every muffin you have, and—” Rowan glanced down at the seasonal menu and picked two of the wildest-sounding drinks, hoping that would be exciting enough for Milo.
“A hot blueberry pancake latte and raspberry iced coffee with strawberry cold foam.”
Milo was staring at Rowan like he’d hung the moon and then come back to add the stars—as Raina liked to say.
“And anything else for you, Milo?” the barista asked, her bright red nails tapping away on the touch screen.
“Maybe something salty to go with all that sweet? But on purpose this time,” Milo said, a smirk pulling at their lips.
Their elbow came out just like it had in the movie theater, but this time they quickly pulled it back on their own.
“How does a cheddar bay croissant sound?” the barista asked.
“Splendid!” Milo said, whipping their backpack around off their back.
They turned away from Rowan, sparing him of the knapsack’s wrath—except they went a little too far in the other direction and nearly upended a display of granola bars.
“Shit, sorry, just…let me find…”
Milo opened their bag and began pulling things out, including yet another apple, a laptop only half inside its protective case, and a crumpled-up newspaper.
Rowan slowly reached for his back pocket to pull out his wallet. “How about I get this one since—”
“Ta-da!” Milo said, brandishing a zebra-print wallet with a green tassel hanging from it. “My treat, since buying out half the pastry case was my idea. You can get the next one.”
Rowan’s mind caught and held on “next one,” so he didn’t put up much of a fight; he simply thanked Milo and the barista.
“And thank you so much for the insight on your partner! Seriously, that’s…really interesting. I’m going to give it some more thought,” Milo said, before shoving everything back into their backpack and zipping it up.
They walked to the other end of the counter to wait for their drinks. Milo noticeably left several inches of space between them, whereas they had been practically standing on top of Ray the last time they were here.
Rowan kept that thought to himself while they accepted their multiple bags of pastries and two drinks. He continued holding his tongue as they left the cafe until they reached the park, and he couldn’t contain it anymore.