Milo
THERE WAS A special place in hell for people like me.
People who dry-humped their brother’s leg until they came.
A normal person would be disgusted with themselves, but I wasn’t normal.
Instead, I was elated, buzzing from finally getting the attention I desperately craved, no matter the level of depravity that it took to get it.
It hadn’t been romantic. There hadn’t been any kissing, or soft touches, or whispered confessions—only the sting of teeth, relentless teasing, and the burn of adrenaline. Still, it consumed me. After catching him fucking Oliver, it felt like reclaiming what was mine.
That was fucked up.
But he was mine. He was my blood brother, my best friend. The only person I believed when he said he’d never leave, and the only one who could look at the worst parts of me and not run for the hills. I was deranged enough to let the whole thing go if it meant that his attention was only on me.
I’d never liked sharing. Not lovers, not friends, not even family. I knew that people weren’t possessions, but whether I liked it or not, jealousy always pricked at my insides whenever someone else stole some of their time.
With Jasper, that feeling stretched to dark places I never knew existed inside me.
I wanted to pretend it never happened, but if something was on my mind, it killed me to keep it inside. The issue, however, was that this wasn’t the kind of thing I could bring up over breakfast without absolutely humiliating myself.
Hey, Jasper. How do you feel about last night on a scale of one to ten? Was it good?
I think the fuck not.
I settled on internalizing my thoughts, listening to him as he moved around the kitchen.
The rich aroma of coffee drifted through the apartment, the staple of our unofficial routine.
It reminded me of when we were younger, back when we caught each other in the hallway on the way to grab a snack or down our respective medications for our broken minds. The Pill Bar, we’d called it.
It was just another day for one of us, and that person sure as hell wasn’t me.
Jasper was acting like nothing had happened while my brain attempted Olympic-level mental gymnastics, trying not to shatter into a million pieces.
He was getting ready for work, and the opportunity to ask him about last night was slipping away with every passing second.
Every time I opened my mouth, my resolve died on my tongue.
“You okay?” Jasper asked, peeking out from the kitchen.
“Yeah, just hungover.”
“I bet.” He smirked, voice low and teasing.
A jolt of heat surged through me, unwanted and impossible to ignore. My cock twitched traitorously in my pants, followed by a healthy dose of shame. Was that look on his face really about my drinking habits? Or was it the other thing?
He approached with two mugs, his glasses sliding down his nose a fraction as he leaned over, loose strands of sleep-tousled hair falling over the frames. My stomach twisted in anticipation, though I wasn’t sure what for.
When I reached for the slightly more creamer-heavy mug, the brief contact between our fingers left my heart lodged somewhere in my throat.
I was fucking losing it.
“Was the party what you needed to feel better?” Jasper continued like I wasn’t falling apart at the seams, settling in the armchair instead of beside me on the couch.
Annoyance swelled in my chest. It was equal parts because of the distance between us and the audacity he had to ask such a question.
Obviously, it sucked. My plans for retribution were completely derailed the moment he took me into the bedroom.
Did it count as masturbating if he helped me get there?
More importantly, what could I call it to make it less humiliating?
“No,” I said hesitantly, crossing my legs and leaning back.
“What, you’re telling me that getting wasted and acting stupid didn’t cure your depression?” He mock-gasped.
Prick.
“Oh, shut up.”
Maybe that’s all it was to him. I was being an idiot, and he was stopping me from being an even bigger idiot.
Nothing more than another fire for him to put out.
Meanwhile, I was coming undone, obsessing over how it felt being intimate in a way we’d never been before.
It happened so easily, and an extremely loud part of me wanted to pick apart the meaning behind it until there was nothing left.
The onslaught of nerves churned violently in my stomach as I stared into my coffee, searching for answers to the questions I couldn’t bring myself to voice. I wasn’t going to let myself ruin everything—so I shoved it down and pretended I could be normal, too.
“I work tonight. You going to be alright by yourself?” Jasper shifted gears, and though his tone was casual, the subtext was anything but. He was waiting for the inevitable relapse—something that could do more damage than smoking and drinking ever could.
“I’ll be fine.” I shrugged, sipping my coffee and looking out the window.
Of course I’d be fine. I wouldn’t be thinking about hurting myself, not when I was too busy imagining what it might be like to swallow my brother’s cock, or having unhinged and intrusive thoughts about the various ways he could fuck me into the furniture.
Maybe I needed an exorcism.
“Blane wants to go out for dinner for his birthday tomorrow.” He changed the subject, scrolling through his phone. “You gonna come?”
Jesus Christ.
How could I forget?
Jasper’s mom had taken Blane in a few years after me, even though we didn’t have the space.
We’d made it work, just a handful of dysfunctional kids and a mother with a heart the size of the sun.
Blane had moved out before me and seemed to find some purpose in life through hobbies like travelling, biking, and taking in stray cats—five of them, to be exact.
Part of me thought maybe if I had that many cats, I’d feel like living too.
Probably not. It was impossible enough to take care of myself, let alone someone else.
I tried not to let seeing my brothers thrive make me feel even worse, but it was hard when it seemed like I was the only one who couldn’t keep it together. I wanted to be more than a waste of space. I wanted to be worthy.
Guilt pooled in my gut. I’d never been good at remembering birthdays, but I’d also never been so absorbed with my own bullshit that I forgot Blane’s birthday.
“Milo.”
“Yeah,” I rasped, the word so thick in my throat that it almost didn’t come out. “I’ll go, for sure.”
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.
“No,” I said quietly.
“Okay.”
Silence followed, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. The low-pressure check-ins when my mind slipped away from me made me feel seen. My coffee was already lukewarm, but it felt like a heated blanket had settled over me.
Just as easily as he could make me feel like I was losing my mind, Jasper could quiet the chaos in me. It was just another reminder of how I couldn’t fuck this up any more than I already had by acting crazy. He was too important to lose.
“Do you need anything?” I blurted.
“Uh, what?” Jasper’s face scrunched up.
Context, Milo.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Like… stuff?”
“No?” he said slowly.
I frowned, my leg bouncing impatiently. The moment of peace had been fleeting, already slipping away from me as the next anxious thought crept in. I set my mug on the coffee table and sighed in frustration. It shouldn’t have been so fucking hard to make coherent sentences.
“You don’t need to do anything for me,” he said, phone forgotten.
Even with his reassurance, I still wanted, no, needed to do something for him. It was the only way to make myself feel like I deserved to have him in my life. If I couldn’t be useful, why would he stick around? Certainly not for my award-winning personality.
“Please?” I gripped my knees to still their tell-tale nervous bouncing.
“I’ll think of something, alright? Will that make you happy?”
I nodded hesitantly.
Jasper stood up from the armchair, peering at my half-finished mug before taking his own empty one to the kitchen. The soft clinking of dinnerware in the sink was like an alarm clock, reminding me that I’d be alone again soon.
What he’d done with Oliver had already begun to feel like a distant memory, my brain too well-practiced at blocking things out, already in damage control mode. I needed to fix things, to smooth things out until he forgot all about the way I lost my mind and nearly beat my best friend to death.
Anything to keep Jasper from abandoning me.
“I’m going to take a shower and then head out.” He ran his fingers through his hair, taking one assessing glance around the living room.
“I’ll be good, I promise.” I rose to my feet, too anxious to sit still any longer.
“No drinking an entire bottle of alcohol to yourself while I’m gone.” He pointed at me in accusation. “And no dating apps. Cut that shit out.”
“I don’t know, that sounds like a lot of expectations,” I said sarcastically. “What do you want me to do, stare at the ceiling all night?”
“You said you want to do something for me, right? Why don’t you unpack some of my boxes?” he suggested, gesturing to the corner of the living room that had piles of boxes stacked at least four feet high.
“Fine.” I groaned, throwing my hands up. “I guess I can handle that.”
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he promised, the familiar crease of his brows smoothing out into something softer.
He moved closer, and I flinched as he reached out and gave my head a routine pat, his fingers then running through my hair and giving it that same old signature ruffle. The once-harmless touch made my heart race and my skin burn.
Something was different. Something had changed.
“Cut it out.” I panicked and swatted at his forearm.
His hand dropped instantly, and the sudden absence of heat left me aching. I didn’t mean to reject him, but the way my brain fired off signals in every direction at once scared the shit out of me.
“If you need anything,” he started and then paused, his jaw clenched tight.
“Oh my God, I know,” I whined.
I was mad that he’d listened and respected my space.
I wanted him to push, to insist, to force his affections upon me until I couldn’t refuse.
It was the only way to be certain that he wasn’t going anywhere, and anything less left room for doubt.
I knew the very way I tried to keep people close simultaneously pushed them away, but I didn’t know how to be different.
I didn’t know how to change.