Chapter 5 #2
Apparently, Milo had also been ruminating because, as Rowan said, “Could I ask—” Milo blurted out, “So, what kind of hawk are you?”
Rowan’s hawk jumped from foot to foot excitedly, and the back of Rowan’s head prickled. “I’m a red-tailed hawk. Although we do have a decent wingspan, my alpha ma is an albatross. That’s why me and my siblings are all really tall, despite three of the four of us being hawk shifters.”
Milo yanked their phone out of the side pocket of their backpack and pulled up a picture of a red-tailed hawk. “Oh my gods, I can totally see it! I bet your hawk is absolutely gorgeous, like you and your hair.”
This time, Rowan found himself shifting from foot to foot, but since he was walking, he managed to trip himself.
The coffee and pastries would have gone flying if not for Milo’s hand shooting out and grabbing the cuff of Rowan’s sleeve. Milo curled their fingers in such a way that no part of them was touching any part of Rowan.
He and his hawk froze, and they came to a standstill in the middle of the pathway.
A jogger huffed as he dodged around them, and a biker whizzed by in the other direction, calling “On your left!” after she was well past them.
“Why do you do that?” Rowan asked, the question coming out harsher than he meant. “I mean…how did you know that I…”
Milo’s lip twitched, as if trying to smile but failing. “I saw you flinch away at the movie theater, and then you looked like you’d rather crawl over the counter than shake Ray’s hand, and I know from experience that Ray has very nice hands.”
From anyone else, the comment would have sounded weird or even suggestive, but it was said with such Milo earnestness that Rowan didn’t even blink.
“My aunt Anabelle was touch averse,” Milo added, releasing Rowan’s sleeve to clutch at their backpack strap. “When I was growing up, I would hold onto her sleeve when we were out in public or when crossing the street, and she would grab mine when I tried to wander away or got too distracted.”
Milo gazed past Rowan’s shoulder, their mouth set in a soft frown that looked wrong on their face.
Rowan wanted to kiss it away, even though more than half the time he hated kissing.
Sometimes the person he was kissing wore strong perfume or tasted of their last meal, making Rowan far too aware that his lips were touching another person.
Milo smelled lovely, though. Like an apple orchard filled with flowers. It made his hawk want to fly through that orchard, grazing the flowers with the tips of his wings and burying his claws in the soft earth.
Rowan tipped his head towards the lawn, ignoring his hawk’s absurd imagination, and waited for Milo’s nod before leading them towards what looked like a lush patch of grass.
“Oh, good spot!” Milo said, eagerly sprawling out on the grass, one hand in the air to keep their coffee and pastry bag safe.
Rowan set down his own cafe treats and carefully took Milo’s from their hand and set them down as well. He was tempted to sit on the other side of the food from Milo, but the grass there wasn’t as plush-looking, so he took a chance and sat down with only a few inches to spare between them.
His hawk began bobbing his head and shook out his tail feathers.
“We actually used to do this a lot,” Milo said. At Rowan’s confused look, they gestured between the two of them. “Me and Anabelle? We would sit just like this, close enough to touch, but not quite.”
That frown was back, and Rowan didn’t know what to do about it.
Growing up, Ruben had always been the one to cheer him up, not the other way around.
On lonely nights when their parents had been gone for days verging on weeks, Ruben would make up fantastical stories or tell ridiculous jokes.
Rowan would just embarrass himself if he tried that now.
Sparing them both, Milo let out a soft huff through their nose. “Anabelle never wanted to have kids. I knew her as the fun great-aunt who would bring me toys and games and then would happily hand me back to my parents.”
Rowan studied the small wrinkles that formed around Milo’s mouth when they frowned, and he found himself reaching for the bag of muffins. Wordlessly, he pulled out the first one and handed it to Milo.
Milo sat up, bringing their shoulder within an inch of Rowan’s, and surprisingly, his hawk didn’t screech at Rowan to pull away.
“After my parents died, she really rose to the occasion,” Milo said before breaking off a small piece of chocolate chip muffin.
They popped it in their mouth, and their frown smoothed out into a soft smile.
“It was hard at first, because I was so little and didn’t really understand not only what had happened to my parents, but also all the ways it would change my life forever.
Eventually, we figured things out, and part of that involved setting clear boundaries around touch. ”
Rowan pulled out a blueberry muffin and took a large bite, saving himself from having to respond.
“I was a pretty cuddly kid, and I mean, I still am,” Milo said, plucking off a chocolate chip and tossing it into their mouth. “And she knew that, so she found ways we could be close to each other that worked for both of us.
“Sometimes we would touch ankles if we were both wearing boots. If she was wearing a thick enough sweater, or if I was, we could touch arms or shoulders,” Milo continued, gazing sidelong at Rowan, their arms tucked against their side and their legs planted firmly on the ground.
“It might not sound like much, but to me, it was everything. "
Rowan reached for the iced latte and slotted one of the two straws into it. He took a slow sip, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat.
It was probably just the muffin, which was a little dry.
The way Milo described his relationship with his aunt was pretty much how it had been for Rowan and his parents.
When thunderstorms got too close to the house or he would fall and skin his knee, he would seek out their closeness without directly seeking their touch.
Sometimes pressure felt nice, and while he’d never touched ankles, he and his omega mom would often press their elbows together.
One night, after the kind of storm that often had Rowan, Raina, and even Riley cowering in their parents' bedroom, Raina had pressed her pajama-clad knee against Rowan’s, and his alpha ma had laid a hand on Rowan’s chest, through the thick duvet comforter.
Usually, with that many bodies in one bed, Rowan would be hyper aware of where everyone’s limbs were, and whose toes were coming dangerously close to touching his, but that night, he had been able to sink into the plush mattress.
It was like being in a bubble, protected from the storm outside but also from the spiraling thoughts that kept him from connecting with his family the way they seemed to so effortlessly connect with each other.
The next morning, Ruben had come in, having slept through the storm like he always did, and attempted to cannonball on top of them.
His omega mom had been forced to intercept him to protect Rowan, and he’d gone back to feeling how he often did: like a problem and an outsider.
But for that one night, he’d felt a little like he felt right now.
Safe.
“Anyways, that’s probably far enough down memory lane,” Milo said, as if they could somehow read Rowan’s thoughts. “Don’t want to get lost in the fog.”
Before Rowan could ask what that meant, Milo reached for the hot drink, and their knees fell open.
Somehow, without even looking, their knee stopped right before hitting Rowan.
Any chance he’d ever had of finding his words was lost in that tiny space between them, so he offered up his muffin instead.
Milo took one last bite of their muffin before handing it to Rowan, and they managed to trade muffins without their fingers brushing.
“Thank you,” Rowan said, and Milo nodded at the muffin, as if that was what Rowan had meant.
They ate in silence, Rowan carefully avoiding the parts that had touched Milo’s mouth. Milo seemed to have no such qualms, biting directly into the part of the muffin Rowan had eaten from.
“Gods, it feels nice to just sit in the grass,” Milo said, before taking a large drag from the hot coffee.
“It really is nice. Although it might seem counterintuitive for a bird, my hawk and I really like walking and sitting in the grass. It feels…grounding.”
Milo took another sip of the coffee, making a happy-sounding noise in the back of their throat before popping the lid off with their thumb. They offered Rowan the now semi-open cup, and Rowan accepted it, handing over the iced drink in return.
“I don’t know if it’s grounding for me and my pony,” Milo said, placing the remainder of their muffin on the ground and rummaging through the bag.
They pulled out the second straw, shoved it in the drink, and then took out what Rowan thought might be a raspberry muffin.
“Right now, my pony is cantering around in excited, very not-grounded circles.”
Milo rolled their head on their neck as if to demonstrate the circles, and Rowan’s hawk imitated the motion with his head. There was something oddly familiar about the movement, and it took Rowan several sips of the hot coffee to figure out what it was.