Chapter 24
Milo
Okay, it was actually pretty hard to sleep through a symphony.
Go figure.
But there was something in the air that had calmed Milo as soon as they’d walked into the concert hall, making that manic but tired part of him take a chill pill and settle down to its usual level of frenzy.
“The power of classical music,” Ethel said sagely.
Milo didn’t know if he agreed, but he nodded along. Truthfully, he thought it was because his hoard was enjoying it so much. They were aflutter with excitement, discussing this and that fact about this and that composer or instrument.
Milo couldn’t help but feel happy when surrounded by a happy and thriving hoard. According to the book he’d half read one line of, this was common.
See, Rowan? I listened!
Thinking of him only made Milo feel like he was about to spiral again, or text something dumb, or worse, stage a break-in to his apartment so he would be forced to come home early by a police call…
Ahem.
Ray would probably disapprove.
He put Rowan out of his mind and tried to concentrate on the warm, earthy scent and feeling in the air as the show went on.
The music hall was old and fancy, the seats upholstered in red velvet, the fixings carved and golden in the usual style of these establishments.
Their seats were toward the front, near the stage on the left of the composers stand, and they’d been let in through the accessibility doors.
“Martha must be tearing her hair out right now,” Ethel had said with barely concealed glee as she read over her program booklet while they waited for the show to start. Occasionally the sounds of someone tuning an instrument behind the curtain could be heard.
Milo had rolled his eyes and nudged her. “Bingo brings out the worst in you.”
She’d rolled her booklet up and thwapped him on the nose with it. “Mind how you speak to your elders.”
Milo was left to grumble and sink lower in his seat while Ray laughed at him from his other side. Because of course Ray was invited when they had a spare ticket!
Once the show started, there was no more talking. Milo had to admit it was pretty good, the stylish elegance not Milo’s usual wheelhouse but bringing a sense of awe for those who had mastered their craft.
It was about three or four songs in that he spotted a recognizable figure.
He did a double take. Blinked. Then rubbed his eyes with both fists.
Rowan?!
“Shhh!” Ethel hushed him and he felt Ray’s gaze move to the side of his face in question.
Milo flushed. He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. He shut his mouth and leaned forward, trying not to huff down the back of the guy in front’s shirt. He squinted.
Rowan didn’t have short hair.
Unless he’d cut it.
But that was illegal in all countries around the globe because Milo said so. So how dare he?!
No, no…this person seemed smaller than Rowan. And the scales weren’t exactly the same on his forearms. And his chest was woefully flat and not voluptuously perfect in every—
Milo yanked his brain back to earth in a clatter of instruments.
It had to be Rowan’s brother, or cousin. Or scary lookalike. But weren’t all the Rangecrofts in the family business? No, no! Rowan had mentioned his older brother was a concert pianist, hadn’t he? Milo hadn’t made that up.
He couldn’t trust his sleep-deprived brain.
“Do you think that person looks like Rowan?” he hissed into Ray’s ear.
Ray cringed from the velocity of his spittle but looked around before landing on the redhead at the piano.
“You sure he’s on a business trip and not moonlighting as his alter ego?” Ray murmured out of the side of his mouth.
“That can’t be him. Look at his chest! Rowan would never.”
“Have a perfectly normal chest with too many buttons rakishly undone?” Ray asked.
“Yes! He is well-endowed and buttoned up!”
“Then why are you freaking out?”
“Shhhhh!” Ethel said again, glaring at them.
They sat back in their seats, thoroughly chastised.
Milo’s legs bounced. And his fingers tapped. And he stared.
The intermission came around and only the close of the curtain broke Milo’s gawking in the redhead’s direction. He felt woozy as the lights came up.
“Bathroom break,” Ethel said.
Milo nodded along absently, stretching his neck to see if there was a gap in the curtain.
“Bladders are not going to hold,” Ethel said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Milo jumped into action, leading his trail of old ducklings to the nearest accessibility toilet with Ray bringing up the rear. He got them in a line and jigged on the spot.
“Do you need to go too?” Ethel asked. “I can wrangle these lot with Ray’s help.”
Milo never would have dreamed of saying yes, but something about that redhead had him agreeing before his brain could catch up.
Ray gave him a weird look as he walked off toward the backstage area and the usher standing there, looking polite but bored.
“Hi. Uh, this is probably a weird question,” he said. “But the redhead—”
The usher rolled his eyes. “Third door on the left. Make it quick.”
Milo’s brain stuttered. “Huh?”
“I told him I wasn’t doing this for him anymore. He’s going to get me fired,” the guy complained, urging him through the curtained door. “Don’t let anyone see you. You probably know the drill.”
He, in fact, did not know the drill.
But soon he was on the other side of the velvet curtain with a low-lit hallway stretching in front of him and no way back.
And that smell and feeling was heavier back here. Almost addictive. A familiar but a poor imitation of what he craved. Smoke and embers.
Where had he smelled this before?
He followed that smell and feeling toward the door the man had directed him to, hovering his knuckles over before shrugging and knocking.
What was the worst that could happen?
“Took you long enough. We only have ten minutes,” a smooth, silky voice rumbled as the door opened and a shirtless Rowan lookalike stood framed in it.
Red eyes ran over him head to toe, before the lookalike crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Not who I was expecting, but I’m not complaining. I like a blond.”
“The titties are too small,” Milo found himself saying as he walked in, barging past this cheap knockoff and catching a whiff of his scent. Decent. Slightly comforting. But nowhere near enough.
“Excuse me?” the man said.
Milo pointed at his chest. “Those are too small. And the hair looks better long. But he’s gone now.”
“What are you talking about?” the man asked, clearly annoyed with him. And the annoyance didn’t feel fun like it usually did.
Rowan did it better.
The exasperation that didn’t feel insulting. The scolding that didn’t feel condescending. Milo missed him.
“Do you know Rowan?” Milo asked, looking up into the eyes that were similar enough to get the tide of restless energy inside him to subside somewhat, but not enough to make it completely go away.
They weren’t properly red. The lashes weren’t short and stubby. The constellations on the bridge of his nose were there, but it felt like someone had turned his telescope to a different patch of sky and they looked all wrong. It wasn’t Milo’s favorite patch of sky. It was pretty, just not right.
“Rowan Rangecroft?” the man asked, and Milo nodded. “He’s my younger brother.”
He wasn’t imagining things.
“Are you Ruben?” he asked to confirm.
“I am.”
Milo gave another nod, biting his lip before the suffocating need for something he literally couldn’t name burst out of him. “Do you think you can tell me there’s something wrong with me?” He asked plaintively. “But, like…in a nice way.”
Ruben’s confusion was palpable. “You want me to insult you…”
“In a nice way, yes.”
“There’s something wrong with you,” Ruben said in a “here you go, weirdo” way.
“No, that wasn’t right. You gotta, like…mean it kindly.”
“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Ruben said again, with more feeling this time, like he really meant it.
Still Milo shook his head. “No, that wasn’t it either.” He ran a hand over his face. “It has to be gentle and like you’re somewhat entertained by it, y’know?”
“I really don’t.”
“Well can you just try?” he asked, and Ruben frowned again before he took a deep breath and forced a smile to his face. That face that looked too much like Rowan’s to be so starkly different. It all felt off.
“There is something very wrong with you,” Ruben tried again.
“NO!” Milo snapped. “That’s not it. You’re not even trying to do it right. He does it right.”
Ruben fell silent, looking at him with his head tilted before speaking again.
“Hey,” Ruben said, voice still relatively calm for how agitated Milo felt, “can I ask something?”
“I guess.” Milo scratched his arm, pulling his sleeve up to see silvery blue scales emerging from his skin.
“Are you the guy Rowan’s been sleeping with?” he asked, and Milo bloomed.
“He talked to you about me?” he asked, standing taller, feeling larger than life.
“He might have mentioned you.” Ruben had an annoying smirk on his face and Milo stuck his bottom lip out before striding over and poking a claw…a claw that appeared on its own…into Ruben’s face.
“That isn’t right either,” Milo said. “That’s not how he does it.”
“How does he do it?”
“He smiles.” His own voice sounded like it was coming from a distance. Like he was listening to it under water. “A nice, kind, gentle smile.”
“Right,” Ruben said. “But you came after me anyway, so…”
“Because it felt right,” Milo said. “But it isn’t.”
“I’m gonna need you to explain that.”
“He smiles at me like I matter. Like I’m worth smiling at.
He does it all the time, even if he says I’m annoying and there’s something wrong with me.
And there is, I guess. I’m…a lot, but he never makes it feel like that.
He makes it feel like I can expand and fill all the space and he still won’t squish me and it feels nice.
It feels right. But he said he had to work and he went on a business trip and I texted him but it was so dumb and I figured I could wait for him to come back, y’know?
Fill my time until then. And I came here and all of a sudden there was that feeling of right again and I thought you were him and it would all make sense again but it doesn’t and I’m not sure… I’m just not sure why.”
He sucked in a deep breath, exhausted and empty.
“I just miss him,” he said to finish it off, finally looking up at Ruben only to find him with the most indulgent smile fixed on his face. “I’m dumb.”
“Oh, honey,” Ruben said, spreading his arms, “you’re not dumb. Come here.”
And Milo went.
Into the hug that just wasn’t tight enough.
Smashed his face into the titties that just weren’t large enough.
Inhaled the scent that just wasn’t rich enough.
But if he closed his eyes real tight, and wished real hard, he could just about feel Rowan somewhere under Ruben’s skin, and the craving he’d been drowning in since Rowan left calmed. Only slightly.
“I miss him a lot,” he whispered.
“I know,” Ruben said. “I’m gonna have so many words with that moron the moment he comes back.”
“I—” Milo started, but a loud crash from outside Ruben’s door interrupted him.
“Sir—” Milo recognized the voice of the man who’d led him to Ruben. “—you can’t go in there.”
“Like hell I can’t.” That was Rowan’s voice, and Milo’s heart soared. “He’s here!” he said just as the door slammed open.
“Shit!” Ruben stepped away from Milo, but not fast enough for Rowan not to see.
“DO NOT TOUCH HIM!” Rowan roared at Ruben, hurling a neon yellow Stanley cup at his head.
“Rowan…” Ruben raised his hands, dodging the cup.
“He’s mine!” Rowan growled, and Milo’s world finally righted itself.
Notes:
Do you have pets?
Do you ever look at them and think: “Oh, you’re so dumb but I love you so much?”
It’s how we feel about these two.
Their one shared brain cell is on strike, but we love them anyway!!!