Milo
I WAS DRAPED over the couch like a Victorian widow, buried beneath bags of chips and candy. My shameful state was illuminated only by the glow of a romcom on the television that I’d stopped paying attention to within five minutes of turning it on.
This was the longest week of my life. I wanted to party, get hammered, maybe even finally get the nerve to do something casual and fuck someone, no strings attached.
If I couldn’t self-destruct the usual way with Jasper’s monitoring and that silent judging thing he did with his face, I needed some other outlet before I went insane.
I tried to be quiet. Really, I did. The first hour passed without issue, but as the evening dragged on, I thought I might spontaneously combust. I was ready to set my brother’s laptop on fire just for something to happen.
“If I don’t see people soon, I’m going to die,” I announced.
Jasper eyed me with scrutiny from behind his laptop, surrounded by a small library of textbooks on each side of the armchair.
In the reflection of his glasses, I could see the screen and the outline of an open document with way too many words.
It made me glad I’d dropped out of school and pursued photography, because I’d rather walk into traffic than write that many words.
“If I tell you that you can invite Oliver over, will you leave me the hell alone?” Jasper sighed.
“Probably not.” I plucked a stray sour peach candy off my chest and popped it into my mouth.
“You promised you’d be quiet if I sat out here instead of in my room,” he said sharply. “Call your little bitch boy over.”
Rude.
Still, I pulled out my phone and shot Oliver a text.
The living room had turned into a cardboard war zone with Jasper’s moving boxes, the vast majority of which were books. The more of his things we brought over, the more at ease I felt. It was proof that he was staying, at least until my lease was up. Then we’d move back to Mom’s.
Secretly, I wanted to convince him to renew the lease here instead.
The whole situation reminded me of when I first moved in with him after my birth mom passed away, when every night felt like having a sleepover with your best friend.
Only this time, without Mom and Blane, it was just the two of us, in our own little pocket of the universe.
It wasn’t long before Oliver texted back, agreeing to come over. I grinned and stuffed a handful of potato chips into my mouth, one of the few foods my stomach didn’t protest.
“What are you looking at?” I frowned, catching Jasper still watching me.
“Your face. Isn’t that obvious?” he snarked.
“What about my face?” I squinted at him suspiciously, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater.
“You’re eating more today. It’s good.” He gave me a sharp nod and immediately looked back at his laptop, jaw clenching like he regretted the compliment the second it left his mouth.
Heat rose to my cheeks, my eyes suddenly stinging.
It was overkill to get emotional over a stupid little observation like that, but I couldn’t help it.
Compliments always felt wrong—like my body didn’t know where to put them—especially when they came from him.
My first instinct was to ruin the moment before it could turn into something heavier, more vulnerable.
“It’s just junk food,” I muttered, crumpling the bag and tossing it on the coffee table.
Awesome. Nailed it.
Dumbass.
Jasper shook his head and rolled his eyes as I sat up noisily, all of my snacks falling off my chest and scattering across the couch and floor.
I escaped to the balcony and lit a cigarette, letting the autumn air shock me back into emotional regulation.
I was still sensitive, my nerves raw from heartbreak.
It was fucking humiliating to be near tears over being told that I was eating more.
I took a drag and scrolled through my phone until a text popped up at the top from Oliver letting me know he was on his way. Finally, I was going to have company that wasn’t monitoring my vitals or keeping count of how many cigarettes I smoked.
Jasper had stocked the fridge with electrolyte drinks and meal replacements after my third hospital run, taking his role as nurse and simultaneous pain in my ass all too seriously. Physically, I was beginning to stabilize. Mentally? No sign of improvement.
I liked our new arrangement. Sometimes, he came into my room and played with my hair until I fell asleep, and other times, he’d put up with me crawling into his bed, never once complaining about me taking up all the space or snoring.
I worried I was doing too much, but as long as he didn’t push me away, I’d take whatever I could get.
At this point, I didn’t miss Sofia specifically.
I missed how it felt to have someone to hold, knowing that I was everything to them.
The connection I craved was one that consumed, where someone was incapable of living without me.
Without it, I couldn’t find purpose.
My brother needed me in his own way, which was why he insisted I rely on him, but the things I needed pushed the boundaries of what was considered appropriate for our relationship.
He already indulged me more than he probably should.
The line where I became too much had to exist somewhere, and soon enough, I’d find it. I always did.
When Oliver arrived, a six-pack of coolers in each hand, Jasper gave him a stiff nod, the bare minimum acknowledgment before disappearing into his room to finish his work.
“Are you going to stay the night?” I asked, hopeful.
“Hell yeah. We can play games all night,” Oliver said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Cool.” I smiled back awkwardly, trying not to look like I was dying from social deprivation. “I’m gonna whoop your ass.”
And I did—at least at fighting games. Oliver crushed me at FPS games, but 2D fighters were my domain.
We played for hours. Crushed cans and half-eaten junk food littered the table, and the weight that lived in my chest felt a little lighter.
When Jasper finished his work, he came out and joined us, lingering behind the couch with his arms crossed.
He responded to Oliver’s attempts at conversation with one-word answers, which Oliver took in stride.
Eventually, we migrated to the balcony, where I smoked a cigarette while Jasper begrudgingly shared a joint with Oliver.
“So, are you feeling better?” Oliver asked, dragging me into a headlock.
Why was everyone always manhandling me?
“A little,” I said, glancing at Jasper. He didn’t say anything, the ember of his joint highlighting his face with harsh lines in the dark.
“Good. Jasper here is all business, so you need me to bring the fun.” Oliver laughed, drunkenly rubbing his cheek into my hair as I tried to claw my way out of the death trap that was his biceps.
Jasper stubbed his joint out, darkness shrouding his features.
“Fun? You’re trying to kill me,” I wheezed, finally breaking free.
“With love,” Oliver chimed, resting an elbow on the railing.
By eleven, I was half asleep on the couch, pleasantly buzzed and clinging to the warmth of being surrounded by people who cared about me. I didn’t want to go to sleep and lose this to recurring nightmares and chronic emptiness.
“Milo.” Jasper crouched in front of me, brushing stray curls out of my face and sending a ripple of awareness through my skin. “You should go to bed.”
“We’ll still be here when you wake up,” Oliver added.
Traitor.
I curled into Oliver’s side on the couch and waved Jasper off.
“Get up.” Jasper’s voice hardened.
Why was he such a downer? It was always do this, do that. Don’t smoke an entire carton of cigarettes in five hours, or don’t drink yourself into oblivion. He was so mean.
“You can’t make me.”
Apparently, he could.
He ducked under my arm, wrapped a hand around my waist and hoisted me over his shoulder. I kicked and whined as he carried me away, the world spinning and booze protesting in my stomach.
“Oliver, you fuck, you just gonna sit there?” I shouted, grabbing at the walls.
Oliver only laughed nervously, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to intervene without getting murdered.
I was a hostage, goddammit.
Inside my bedroom, Jasper dumped me unceremoniously onto the mattress with a grunt. I flipped him off with what little dignity I had left and rolled toward the wall. Unfortunately, I wasn’t nearly as good at giving people the cold shoulder as he was.
“You’re the worst,” I grumbled.
“Uh-huh.”
“Where are you going?” I whipped back as soon as I heard him walking away, propping myself up on my hands and watching his form disappear through the doorway with blurry vision.
After a beat, he circled back and leaned against the doorframe. “I’ll be ten feet away. In the next room.”
“Don’t go.” My voice cracked.
“Why?”
“You know why. Don’t be a dick.”
He waited.
“Please,” I asked so quietly, I wasn’t sure he heard me.
He hummed. “I still don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Kiss my ass.” I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head and flopping back.
He didn’t leave.
The mattress dipped as he sat beside me, tugging the blanket down to my chest. The look on his face mirrored the one he’d worn in the hospital—raw, terrified, angry. I didn’t do anything wrong this time, so why was he looking at me like that?
“Why do you always play games with me?” he asked, nudging me onto my side and rubbing my back in slow, steady strokes. “If you want something, say it.”
My eyes fluttered closed, and I melted into his touch. He made it sound so simple, as though asking for what I wanted didn’t carry the risk of being the final straw that ruined everything.
“What if you say no?” I murmured, my face half-buried into the pillow.
“No, to you needing me?” His nails dragged lightly down my spine, making me shiver. “Highly unlikely.”