Milo
Author’s Note:
My grandmother still has a radio just like Anabelle’s that plays NPR at full volume every morning.
“Turning it over to sports, the big game is tonight, and several roads on the south side of the city will be closed to traffic. Make sure to check before you go, folks.”
“Let’s check in with Pete, who will go over exactly what roads will be closed tonight.”
Milo pushed themself up off the floor and made a mental note to tell Ray about the road closures. While Milo was the designated driver tonight, as was the usual case when they went to the club, Ray was in charge of navigation and parking.
“Thanks, Chuck! For those of you making your way into the city tonight, you can expect—”
Milo shut off the radio and turned in a wide circle, cracking the top half of their back as they did so. Like a diver getting into position, Milo threw their hands in the air and then bent in half, eliciting several more cracks from the bottom of their spine.
From this vantage point, it was depressingly obvious why they’d set their alarm so early.
Their place was a mess and very much not suited for hosting.
Within arm’s reach, there were at least four days’ worth of clothes, along with a playbill from the musical they’d gone to see with Rowan the previous weekend and several crumpled up café receipts.
They’d begun getting coffee on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and while their bank account wasn’t appreciating the additional day, their pony was.
They whinnied happily at the mere thought of Rowan in all his suited-up glory.
Milo squatted down, using their arms like a snowplow to push everything on the floor towards their overflowing closet. They kept shoving until they managed to amass a pile almost the same size as their pony.
If they weren’t on a strict timeline, they would probably shift just to check, but as it was, they only had an hour until they had to meet Ray downstairs to head into the office.
So, instead of that fun little science experiment, they yanked their laundry basket out from under all the clothes that were supposed to be inside it and began shoveling things in.
They managed to rescue all the papers, including the unused napkin they’d pilfered from the diner and thought they’d lost, before cramming the laundry basket into their closet and shutting the door.
As they passed by their desk, they dumped all the papers into a fishbowl they kept for this very purpose.
They weren’t nearly creative enough to make something like a scrapbook or memory box, but they liked to hang onto little things like these.
Sadly, they hadn’t thought to do this until after Anabelle died, so the only things they had left from her were a few old receipts and take-out menus she’d crammed in her glove box.
Speaking of which, they needed to take their inherited car back to the shop, because while they’d managed to reattach the glovebox, they’d done too good a job, and now it wouldn’t open.
They texted Ray, “Road closures and glovebox,” hoping one of them would remember, and turned on their favorite cleaning playlist. The next hour was a blur of paper towels, belted-out showtunes, and their dustpan, which had somehow developed a crack down the middle.
With one minute to spare, they arrived in the lobby of their building and found Ray scowling down at his phone.
“Ready for a fun-filled singles event at the club?” Milo asked, and Ray glanced up, a furrow in his brow. “After an egregiously boring day at work, of course.”
Ray huffed a soft laugh and pocketed his phone. “I was looking at the road closures. It shouldn’t affect us too much, but it may affect parking. I found three different parking lots to try, but two of them have horrible reviews, and the third is only slightly better.”
Milo threw an arm around Ray’s shoulders and led him out of the building. “Slightly better it is, then.”
The workday was, in fact, egregiously boring, even with all the texting Milo did under their desk with Rowan. Of course, they’d rather be doing something else with Rowan under the desk, but—
Milo groaned and thunked their head down on their desk for the third time that day. Their pony nickered happily, not a care in the world that they were slowly infiltrating Milo’s poor brain with some very inappropriate thoughts.
Rowan was their friend. Their very handsome, nice-smelling, kind, gentle, sweet, wonderful friend that they absolutely, under no circumstances, ever wanted to risk losing all for some mild horniness.
Their pony huffed and pawed at the ground.
Okay, maybe more than just mild horniness, but still. Even if Rowan didn’t have an aversion to some forms of touch, they would need to have many, many more conversations about touch, affection, intimacy, sex, dating…
The moral of the story was that Milo had no business fantasizing about Rowan right now. If Milo wanted to have sex, there was a club full of shifters tonight who would probably be more than willing to meet that need.
Or they could finally talk to Rowan about all this. Tomorrow would be perfect for it, with the sunny weather and hours of uninterrupted time at Milo’s now mostly clean apartment.
Anabelle would have recommended that option, for sure, but given that she had left Milo with only two—now three—people in their life, they were hesitant to risk messing that up for some more than mild horniness and some definitely no longer just platonic feelings.
Milo’s pony gnashed their teeth, as if they had a bit in their mouth. Not that their pony had ever had a bit in their mouth before; they were just being DRAMATIC!
“Ugh,” Milo groaned, right as Ray walked into their cubicle.
“Is this a bad time?” Ray asked
Milo pushed up and out of their seat. “It’s never a bad time for you, sweet pea, and definitely never a bad time to get out of here.”
“Rough day?” Ray asked, handing Milo their cheetah print overcoat.
“Just…a lot going on in my head,” Milo said, grabbing their pink backpack, which sadly only somewhat matched their majenta blazer and pumps. They hadn’t had much time to get dressed this morning, so they were working with what they had.
“Well, we have two hours to grab food and get ready. I’m all ears if you wanna talk.”
Milo smacked a kiss on Ray’s forehead, leaving behind a smudge of pink lip gloss. Ray sighed indulgently and waited a very flattering three seconds before wiping it away.
Despite Ray’s kind offer, Milo didn’t actually want to talk about Rowan. Aside from Ray and Ethel’s teasing, Milo hadn’t talked about their 4G—precisely because he wasn’t actually theirs.
Even if it was becoming painfully clear that was what they and their pony wanted.
None of that mattered right now, though.
Between visiting Ethel and going on pseudo-dates with Rowan, they hadn’t done anything fun with Ray in weeks.
They still cuddled on one of their couches almost every evening, but tonight was going to be about just the two of them, going out and having fun together…
along with the hundreds of other singles at the club.
“Oh my gods, you have to wear that. It’s actually so cute!” Ray gushed as Milo held up a mesh crop top from the 80s. “If you pair it with some booty shorts, you’ll look so hot.”
“I’m going to ignore the fact you sound surprised,” Milo said, peeling off the polo they’d worn to work. “I’m not sure about the booty shorts, though.”
“Aww, come on, when you bought these, there wasn’t a matching pair of bright red mesh shorts?”
There actually had been, and Milo had bought them, which meant they were here…
somewhere. They didn’t want to destroy their closet trying to find them, though.
If tonight was anything like all the other nights they went to the club, they’d be out quite late, and Milo wouldn’t have time to clean again before meeting Rowan for strawberries in the morning.
“Will jean shorts do?” Milo asked, pulling out a pair of shorts with pink and yellow flowers embroidered across the front.
“You know, I actually think they will,” Ray said, grabbing Milo’s makeup case on the way into the bathroom.
They’d done a cursory clean that morning, which meant everything was crammed tightly into the tiny armoire under the sink.
Thankfully, they kept most of their makeup and the makeup they used on Ray in the hardshell traveling case they’d gotten at a flea market with Anabelle.
It was a hideous puke green color, but it did the job.
“Are you thinking a smoky eye? Maybe a bold lip to go with your shirt?” Milo asked, taking in Ray’s outfit, a tight neon pink t-shirt over skinny black jeans with holes ripped down the front.
“I am entirely in your hands,” Ray said, plopping down on the toilet and spreading their legs for Milo to step in between. “Except I’m definitely kissing someone tonight, so maybe nothing too wild on my lips.”
Milo sighed internally but dutifully set to work.
It wasn’t that Milo wanted Ray to stay single forever. Truly, they wanted nothing more than for Ray to find his person and settle down. They just didn’t think his person was likely to be at the club tonight. Or any other night.
Although, Rowan had said he went clubbing from time to time, and he was definitely the kind of person someone would bring home to their parents.
Not that Ray would be doing that. Or Milo, obviously. So maybe that was a moot point.
“-hy are -ou -aking -at -ace?” Ray asked, attempting not to move his lips while Milo painted a stain on them.
“I’m not making a face,” Milo said, schooling whatever expression they—or more likely, their pony—was making. The only person or creature on the planet that worried more about Ray than Milo was their pony.
“Are -oo.”
“Bless you,” Milo said.
Ray huffed through his nose.
“You have everything you need?” Milo said, ignoring their best friend. “WWPDP?”
Whistle, wallet, pepper spray, a drink cover, and a charged phone.