Milo #3
Rowan’s voice trailed off, but he continued brushing Milo. Their pony didn’t mind the silence. They could hear his heart beating steadily, and every few strokes of the brush, he would let his thumb trail down their neck.
Milo wanted to know what he was going to say, but there was very little they could do, so they just waited, listening to the leaves rustling overhead.
“I don’t think I’ve held or been held like that in a long time.
And it actually wasn’t even me who decided to hold you.
My hawk knew you were in pain, and he wanted me to fix it, touch stuff be damned.
” Rowan chuckled and ran the back of his index finger down Milo’s neck to their shoulder.
“I think we were both so focused on being there for you and making sure you know that you’re not alone that it felt like the natural thing to do.
No second-guessing or worrying. Just…you. And me.”
Rowan bent forward and retrieved one of Milo’s apples.
He held it in his hand, as if weighing it, before holding it out for Milo’s pony.
With the utmost care and caution, their pony pulled their lips back and crunched into the part of the apple farthest from Rowan’s hand.
The sweet, juicy flavor exploded on their tongue, and they stomped a foot in pleasure.
Rowan smiled at them, wide and unrestrained. It took a little creative maneuvering on both their parts, but he managed to feed Milo’s pony the whole apple without touching their mouth.
“You know, I guess it actually isn’t just you and me anymore, is it? Or…it doesn’t have to be,” Rowan murmured, pressing his hand against the side of Milo’s cheek again. “We have Ethel, my moms, my sisters…and Ruben and Ray.”
Milo, not their pony, blinked their large eyelashes at him, in a way they hoped communicated across species.
He was absolutely right. They didn’t have to be alone.
They had an entire family, something Milo would have killed for growing up.
Rowan just had to get past whatever was going on with Ruben.
“I’m really excited for you to meet them,” Rowan said, and Milo took that to mean their blinking telegraph had worked.
“And I’m excited for them to meet Ray, too.
He seems so sweet, and if anyone was going to work with Ruben, it would be him.
I guess I’m just going to have to get through a probably uncomfortable conversation or two with Ruben, but…
for you, baby, it’s worth it. I want you to be able to lean on my family if you want to because I just know they’re going to love you. ”
Milo blinked again, and for a moment, they stared into each other's eyes, and Milo swore they could read his thoughts.
Love. Family. Belonging. Home. More love.
“Oh, and of course I know you have Ethel, and I want to meet her, too.”
Without so much as a snort of warning, Milo’s pony shoved Milo forward, and once again they found themself lying naked in the grass, but this time they were staring up at their fated mate.
Rowan’s mouth opened, probably in surprise, but Milo beat him to it.
“How does Wednesday sound?”
Rowan shut his mouth with an audible click, and a wild bird shrieked somewhere in the distance.
With the sun behind him, turning his wild, ginger curls into a halo of gold, Rowan nodded.
“Well, you are definitely ginger, but—Milo, what were those other words? Gargantuan, glamorous, and gay?” Ethel asked, squinting up at Rowan from her seat at the card table.
“Gentle gorgeous ginger giant,” Milo mumbled. “I’m actually not even sure if he’s gay?”
Rowan inclined his head, his cheeks almost as red as his hair. “I’m bi, actually.”
“I suspect a lot of us might be, at least a little bit,” Ethel said, waving her hand at the two seats in front of her.
“I’m actually quite gay,” Milo said, but they paused halfway into their seat. “Although…I guess, if I’m genderqueer, that means I’m not actually attracted to the same sex? I’m just attracted to—”
“Gorgeous bisexual gingers, yes, we know,” Ethel said, shuffling the cards in her hand like she was some sort of card shark, not an elderly woman about to deal out a friendly game of gin rummy.
“Maybe you’re omni? That’s how Riley identifies,” Rowan said, accepting his hand of cards from Ethel. “Or, I guess to be specific, she’s omniromantic and asexual.”
“Ah, just like our Anabelle,” Ethel said, gesturing with her gnarled hand for Milo to take the cards in front of them.
“Anabelle was omniromantic?” Milo asked, making no move to accept the cards.
They had hoped that in coming here for the anniversary of Anabelle’s death, they could finally talk about her, but Ethel had been posted up at a card table waiting for them, which didn’t seem very conducive to deep conversations.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what that is,” Ethel said, “but she was asexual. Or at least, that’s what she told me when I suggested we go for a roll in the hay.”
Was this it? The opportunity Milo had been waiting for?
Milo’s gaze caught on the bent corner of one of the cards in front of them.
If they weren’t mistaken, that was one of the card counting tricks Ethel often used to win on poker night.
Anabelle had always chided her for her shenanigans but never failed to join her in enjoying her winnings.
One time, she’d won a huge, novelty Toblerone bar and ended up sharing it with the entire retirement home, but she specifically saved one of the triangles for Anabelle and Milo.
It had been practically the size of Milo’s head, and they’d chipped away at it for weeks until the chocolate turned white and the nougat inside went soggy.