Chapter 14
Milo
“You can’t just barge into someone’s place near midnight, you absolute lunatic,” Ray said on the phone as Milo marched his butt to the bus station.
He had spent hours stewing in his misery, anger and nerves when they got home from the restaurant before deciding to just say fuck it and go figure it out. Right from the source.
“Yes, I can,” Milo said. “Literally on my way now.”
“Okay, yes, you physically can, but you shouldn’t,” Ray said, sounding stressed. “He already thinks you’re unstable.”
“I’m unstable????” Milo screeched into his phone, drawing attention from a stern-looking man waiting for the bus and making a face at him as if to say “what are you looking at?” “He torched my cake!”
“That’s fair. But still, maybe wait until tomorrow. Approach it with a cool head and a fresh outlook.”
“I work tomorrow. And I need to sleep and I won’t be able to sleep until I find out what the fuck his problem is and…other stuff.”
“What other stuff?” Ray asked.
Milo refused to say. He did not need a lecture. “Bus is here,” he said instead. “Gotta go!”
He ignored Ray’s questions and cut the call before hopping on the bus and forcing himself to keep stewing all the way across town so he didn’t lose steam.
Ray was right that time made things mellow out, and Milo absolutely did not want to be mellow. This was not the time for mellow. No. He needed Rowan to experience the full scope of his fury and he would damn well make sure he did.
He marched off the bus, down the street, and into Rowan’s apartment building feeling like a movie villain heading into the final battle.
He jabbed the elevator button like it had personally offended him and stomped his way down the carpeted hallway like he could imprint his footsteps into the crappy beige pattern.
He knocked.
Oh, did he knock.
Loud and sharp and determined. And PISSED. He was pissed.
He heard footsteps coming toward the door. He heard the lock click. The door opened and then Rowan was there.
In his pajamas. His hair was soft around his face, wavy and bright red.
Messy like he’d been running hands through it.
He had a stretched-out, short-sleeved shirt on and low-slung plaid pants, and he looked like someone who couldn’t take the strength of Milo’s fury at the moment, so maybe he could just…
NO!
He had not fumed all the way over to be defeated by fluffy hair and pajamas.
“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.
Rowan scowled at him, crossing his arms over his chest. Bulging. HUGE! Those arms had veins and scales running all over them, and they looked really nice. Just right to bite into. Again.
“Which part?” Rowan bit back, and whoa, what was that tone?
Milo startled, because this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He was the angry one. He was the one who should be demanding answers. He hadn’t done anything wrong and here Rowan was, glaring at him as if he had.
“You set my cake on fire,” Milo said, loud enough for everyone else living in Rowan’s building could hear. Good. They should hear it because he’d ruined dessert. A punishable crime if he’d ever seen one. “In front of people. In front of MY people. What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rowan said sharply, redness bleeding into his face.
“Well, you literally have no choice. I came, paid for the bus fare, got all riled up to hash it out with you, so…explain.”
“No,” Rowan said. “I will not be explaining anything. You can just go back home.”
“Absolutely not.” Milo took a step closer to the door, balking when Rowan pulled it toward himself, cutting Milo off from entering.
He took the movement in, something sour curdling in his stomach. His vision blanked and bile rose in his throat.
“Is she here?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“What?” Rowan asked. “Who?”
“The waitress,” Milo said. As if it made all the sense in the world. “The one from the restaurant.”
“Why the fuck would I have a waitress from the restaurant in my apartment in the middle of the night?”
“You tell me! She seemed like she’d come if you’d just winked at her.”
“I don’t wink,” Rowan said.
“Whatever! Asked her, then. She seemed very eager.”
“She was doing her job.”
“Stuffing her boobs in your face is her job?” Milo asked.
“She didn’t stuff her boobs in my face.”
“She brought you wine!”
“Yes.” Rowan nodded. “She is a waitress.”
“She kept coming back to your table,” Milo argued. About what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.
“Again,” Rowan said, “a waitress.”
“So you’re saying there’s nobody in there.” Milo pointed to the door.
“Just me,” Rowan said.
“Prove it!”
Rowan scowled, taking a breath before stepping away and opening the door wider, letting Milo storm inside.
He threw his jacket next to the hook by the door, toed off his shoes and kicked them in two different directions, then slung his tote bag over a bar stool before stomping into the living room.
An empty living room. Dimly lit. Warm. With plants arranged in a neat circle around a comfy armchair with an open book on it.
He paused.
“What the…”
“Nobody’s here,” Rowan said tensely. “You can go now.”
“Oh no.” Milo shook his head. “No, no, no. Whatever ritual I just interrupted will have to be explained to me in great detail, because what the fuck?”
“It’s nothing.” Rowan ran a hand through his hair and looked away.
“It sure don’t look like nothing to me,” Milo said. “It looks like your plants grew consciousness and arranged a group meeting with you.”
“It’s not a group meeting.”
“I see you’re not refuting the consciousness part.” Milo eyed the plants as if one of them would jump him and strangle him with vines.
“They’re plants, Milo,” Rowan said.
“I am aware. But plants, generally speaking, don’t form unions so what is this?”
“It’s nothing!” Rowan’s ears grew red and the scales on his arms extended farther, covering more of his skin than they had before.
“Are you being held hostage by foliage?” Milo asked.
“No,” Rowan mumbled, shuffling his feet. Bare feet. Fuck, he looked so cuddly.
“Come oooon,” Milo said. “You know you want to tell me!”
“You’ll laugh at me,” Rowan said and Milo felt something melt inside him.
“No,” he said, voice quieter. “I won’t.”
Rowan stared at him for a moment before he walked over and sat in the armchair, picking the discarded book up. He ran his fingers over the spine and looked around at the plants before sighing and leaning his head back against the chair. He looked at Milo through half-open eyes.
“They’re my hoard,” he said finally. “My plants are my hoard. They grow better and healthier when you talk to them. There’s research on it. I don’t spend a lot of time at home and I don’t really have the time to speak to each one individually to make them thrive, so I…”
He held the book up in the air to wave it around, and Milo sank down onto the sofa, realization hitting him like a brick.
“You read to them,” he said.
Rowan nodded. “A few times a week. They seem to like it.”
“You collect plants,” Milo said. “And you read to them.”
“Yes.” His voice was soft.
“And the waitress…”
“Isn’t here,” Rowan said. “I don’t even remember what she looked like!”
Milo broke.
He sprang up and crossed the distance between them in three long steps, throwing himself into Rowan’s lap. Had he planned on doing that?
No.
Did it feel right?
Absolutely.
He carded his fingers through Rowan’s soft hair and used the leverage to pull his face up until they were looking at each other, Rowan’s wide eyes meeting his.
He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, all rational thought evaporating from his head because Rowan was warm and solid underneath him. He smelled like dirt and greenery and life, and Milo wanted it all for himself.
Their breath mingled, and Milo’s heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his throat.
“Wait,” Rowan said, a second before their lips brushed.
“Huh?” Milo asked dumbly.
“I’m just checking…”
“I don’t have any STDs. Wait, can dragons get STDs? That’s probably important to know, right?”
“No. I mean, yes, we can, and that’s good to know. Me neither.” He shook his head. “We’re getting off track.”
“I live off track.” Milo grinned.
He thought he saw something like soft amusement sparkle in those ruby red eyes. “I just wanted to check about that guy at your table. That’s your best friend, right?”
Milo frowned. “Ray?”
Rowan pursed his lips. “He’s not?”
“He is. But why are you asking?” Milo asked, bewildered, because what the fuck?
“He kept touching you,” Rowan mumbled. “And he got you cake…”
“Wait…is that why you set it on fire?” Milo asked as the clouds parted and the light of understanding shone down. “Were you jealous?”
“I wasn’t—”
“You absolute idiot,” Milo said. Then he launched himself forward, closing the distance between them.
Notes:
SQUEAAAAALL