8 - Milo
Milo
I EXPECTED TO wake up alone. I’d only just begun adjusting to my new reality, bracing myself for the inevitable sinking feeling that came with looking around my bedroom, which had once been full of things. Her things.
But that weight never came.
I blinked the blurriness from my eyes and burrowed deeper into the sheets.
Somehow, I hadn’t slept like shit for once, and my demons hadn’t come for me in the night.
My gaze landed on Jasper’s sleeping form in the exact spot he’d been last night, and fearful that I might wake him with any sudden movement, all I could do was stare.
He was slumped against the side of my bed, head resting in the crook of his arm, only inches from my face. He hadn’t bothered to take off his glasses, the frames resting crooked on his nose. His lips parted on a deep inhale, and my heart missed a beat.
It reminded me of nights back home, where he often lingered in my space, like he didn’t have his own room upstairs. He’d hang out with me in my makeshift bedroom in the basement until he accidentally fell asleep, but I knew the truth. Back then, being apart was unfathomable.
I knew now that I’d fucked up leaving. It’d been stupid to move out on a whim, leaving him behind.
In this moment, with him sound asleep next to my bed, it was like we were back at home again, and I missed it more than anything.
I wanted to take it all back and return to the days when we’d hang out every day, go to school together, and come right back to each other.
The days when we were still the center of each other’s orbit.
Slowly, I reached out and peeled the glasses from his face. To my surprise, he didn’t stir. I set them down on my nightstand and froze again, watching him shift once before settling.
I wanted to stare a little longer. I knew I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but it still felt like I was committing a crime.
My attention traced the slope of his nose, down to the thin layer of stubble along his jaw, and finally landed on his lips.
They were a little thinner than mine, and the longer I looked, the tighter my chest drew.
The only real similarity we had was the fact that we both had piercings, only his were arranged in a stack of three gold hoops on one ear, and another on his brow.
I knew it made sense. We weren’t real brothers, so we were never going to look like siblings.
My stomach soured over the reminder.
“Is there a staring contest going on that I didn’t know about?” Jasper’s voice was rough with sleep, one eyebrow lifting as he lazily opened his eyes. I didn’t move away.
“Yeah,” I said. “And you’re losing.”
“It’s cheating if you started before I was even awake.” He yawned, looking disgruntled as he straightened with an audible crack. Guilt washed over me for making him sleep on the floor.
“Skill issue,” I argued, heat creeping up my neck as I sat up.
“Uh-huh.” He grinned sleepily, rose to his feet and stretched. “Alright, let’s figure out how this is gonna work.”
“What?”
“Moving in.”
Oh.
He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and pushed them onto his face, then rubbed his chin in thought.
I struggled with the idea of him voluntarily dropping everything for me, when what I really hoped for was a fight, a smidgen of resistance.
Even a scolding about how he was right and I shouldn’t have jumped the gun in a new relationship by moving out would have been enough.
That would have been normal. It would have been earned.
I hated that I got what I wanted so easily, because the resistance made me feel something real.
Loved.
“You don’t have to do it right away.” I scrambled to my feet to follow him out of the room.
“You want me to.” Jasper didn’t so much as glance at me, heading straight to the kitchen and rifling through the drawers.
“I’ll be fine for a little while if you need time,” I grumbled.
He ignored me, tugging a measuring tape from a drawer and brushing past me with purposeful strides. I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as I watched him from the hallway. He stood in the doorway, making small contemplative sounds as he assessed the space. Every murmur set me further on edge.
God, I really wanted it to work.
The only things I kept in there were soft-box lights and rolled-up photography backdrops, and without Sofia, those could easily be moved into my nearly bare bedroom closet.
Seeing my equipment and thinking about the handful of SD cards I still hadn’t opened brought on a familiar ache. I still needed to scrub away the evidence of her—the boudoir shots, the candid photos, the intimate ones from when we fucked. The finality of it made my throat close.
Sunlight bled through the balcony door as I paced between the kitchenette and the hallway, sick with nerves. If he took any longer, I was going to throw up again. He still had time to back out. To decide that the space was too small. To leave me all alone again.
“Well,” Jasper started, giving the door frame a pat. “Believe it or not, we could definitely fit a single mattress in there. That’s pretty much the only thing that would fit, but you know.” He shrugged.
“Is that good enough?” I asked, terrified to let myself feel relief until I knew it was really happening. “I mean, you don’t need everything, right? Some stuff can stay at Mom’s. When my lease is up in the spring, I’ll come back home with you.”
Realization dawned on me. I hadn’t even asked if I could. Was I allowed to go home? Did they realize how much easier it was without me around? I wasn’t family by blood. They didn’t owe me anything, in the end.
He glared at me. “Whatever you need. I told you that already.”
“Okay.” I swallowed my instinct to fight help. “And the stuff in there, I can move it into my bedroom closet.”
“I’m not going to tell you again,” he scolded, following me over to the coffee machine and hooking an arm around the back of my neck while he grabbed a mug. “When I say whatever you need, I mean it.”
“I need too much.” I shrugged his hand off and stepped back. “You see what happens when I’m selfish.”
Jasper scoffed. “I think the girls you pick just suck.”
“I don’t think it’s them.” I shrank inward.
Life would be a lot easier if that were true, but it wasn’t. Even so, Jasper never admitted I was the problem. It didn’t matter how terrible anything I did or said was; it didn’t seem like there were any limits for him. But there had to be.
I just hadn’t found them yet.
My nicotine addiction called, and I slipped onto the balcony, watching him from outside. He poured himself a mug, then a second one for me. My lips curled as I watched him pour a ridiculous amount of creamer into it, the same way I used to drink it when we were younger.
“I use less now, you know.” I poked my head in through the sliding door.
“Since when?” He stared at me as if I’d insulted him.
“I dunno. A while.” I tilted my head, exhaling a large plume of smoke outside. “Like half the amount you put in.”
“Well then, what the hell am I supposed to do with this shit?” he deadpanned.
Jasper never liked the way I took my coffee.
He dumped it into the sink with an offended shake of his head, then stepped onto the balcony and offered me his mug.
“I didn’t brew a whole pot.” I frowned. “I would’ve just drunk it.”
“I’ll make another.” He shoved the mug into my hands, like inconveniencing himself for me was second nature.
Be more selfish, Milo.
I bit my cheek and took the freshly brewed coffee, stewing in my thoughts. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. We hadn’t lived together for a while, and I had only gotten worse. How long would it take him to realize I was beyond helping?
Age and experience had done nothing to make me more independent. I was terrible at making appointments, had no idea how to cook, and barely had a grip on filing my own taxes. The more life went on, the more codependent I seemed to become. I was getting worse, not better.
I leaned over the railing to look at the not-so-scenic view of a parking lot.
It wasn’t a luxurious apartment. Truthfully, it was in a shitty neighbourhood.
The upside was the entertainment: couples screaming at each other, the occasional car break-in, and even the odd streaker.
Sometimes, if my parties got wild enough, the streaker was one of my own drunk friends out on a dare.
My mind drifted again, swallowed by a low, bee-like buzzing. I looked down through the fog creeping into my vision, the only indication I was still holding the mug being the warmth seeping into my hands.
“I’ll grab the single mattress from Mom’s place before work.” Jasper’s voice registered as close, cutting through my haze. “That way I’ll have something to sleep on when I get back late tonight.”
I nodded absently. “Sounds good.”
His hand settled on my shoulder, anchoring me to the concrete beneath my feet and reminding me that I was standing, not drifting away. In his other hand, he held another freshly brewed coffee.
I’d spaced out again.
“Why don’t you come help me?” he suggested. “Mom probably wants to see that you’re alive.”
“No, no. Too much crying and hugging.” I shuddered at the thought of another post-attempt reunion.
“I shouldn’t have phrased it as a question.” His grip on my shoulder tightened. “Quit flirting with the railing and get inside. You’re coming whether you like it or not.”
He was worried I might do something stupid while he was gone, and that knowledge made my heart swell.
Jasper wasn’t affectionate in obvious ways, so I learned to read it through sarcasm and rough edges.
All the playful bullying and sharp words were like a secret language, and only I knew what they meant.
I like having you around.
His face was tight with genuine concern, and I wanted to be reckless to feel more of that care disguised as cruelty. The rush it gave me was unmatched, and I’d risk everything just to taste it.
“Oh, come on. From this high?” I set my mug down on the small glass table nestled between two balcony chairs and leaned farther over the railing, staring at the grass three floors below. The blood rushed to my head. “I’d only break a few bones.”
“Quit acting like a child.” Jasper yanked me back by my shirt, hard enough that his coffee splashed onto his hand. He didn’t react to the pain—only me.
“I’m not a child,” I grumbled, trying to pull free. “And actually, I’m older than you.”
“Then act like it,” he growled, dragging me inside. The balcony door slammed behind us, glass rattling.
“What’s your problem? I joke about offing myself all the time.” I tugged at my shirt, nearly losing my footing as he let go.
“Except you did do something this time, and I almost lost you.” Jasper’s chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. “So listen to me for once and come with me.”
“You’re being dramatic,” I said, unable to resist pushing his buttons. “Have a sense of humour.”
“I’m being dramatic?” He tightened his grip on the mug still in his hand. “Says the one who just tried to kill himself over some whore.”
The jab should have been offensive, but it wasn’t. All I heard was that she wasn’t good enough for me, and he thought I deserved better.
I grinned and shrugged.
“That’s what I thought,” he groused.
From the outside, I knew it looked fucked up. But if you bothered to read between the lines, it was obvious what this was.
Love.
We just had a fucked-up way of showing it.