Milo
NO AMOUNT OF adjusting myself in the rearview mirror was going to calm my nerves.
I combed my fingers through my hair again and smoothed my long-sleeved crew neck I was wearing for the thousandth time since leaving the apartment.
I’d spent too much time at home, rotting around the apartment in sweatpants and a hoodie.
The simple combination of jeans and a tight shirt made me want to peel off my skin.
I should have left earlier. Or maybe I should have cancelled and told Jasper I wasn’t ready for such a big social outing. Staying at home and partying with my own crowd was one thing, but going out to a public place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces? Nightmare fuel.
“That fucking asshole,” I grumbled, yanking the driver’s side handle and pushing the door open with my foot. Jasper had gone straight to the restaurant after class, inadvertently making my anxiety worse. He should have known better than to let me show up alone.
I tried to steel myself for the inevitable awkwardness of searching a room full of people for faces I recognized, flashes of hot and cold pulsing through my veins with every step.
The parking lot was nearly full, and the warm glow of fairy lights and candles was visible through the windows.
If it weren’t for the overlapping voices spilling out as I opened the door, the ambiance might have been comforting when I stepped inside.
The restaurant was small and intimate, with tables packed tightly together and a bar along the farthest wall.
A colourful mural covered the dining side, likely done by local Indigenous artists, which was fitting for a place that served authentic Indigenous cuisine.
I’d never been here before, which meant I’d already memorized the menu and scrolled through photos of the interior online.
Jasper’s laughter cut through the noise-soup, and my anxiety dipped as I followed the sound.
I found him sitting at the bar beside a guy I didn’t recognize, immersed in conversation.
On the other side of him, our mutual friend Allison nursed a glass of wine.
Across from the bar, Blane was easily identifiable: round glasses, a bumblebee nose ring, and long dark hair.
His tanned skin practically glowed under the soft lighting, and being in the same space as the two other fragments of my soul for the first time in ages reminded me of what an idiot I’d been.
Every time I tried to disappear, I was also trying to leave them behind.
Blane had claimed a table, filled with a combination of strangers and a select few I recognized.
I gravitated towards Jasper first, cursing the way I curled in on myself in situations I didn’t control.
Moments like these always made me miss being younger and less self-aware.
Life was so much easier back when I wasn’t painfully aware of everyone else in the room, worried about what they might think or say.
I hovered behind Jasper, fingers lifting toward his sleeve before I caught myself—the urge to grab him and use him as my anchor felt childish and humiliating.
I talked myself out of it and shuffled over, begrudgingly sitting next to Allison.
I leaned past her dark hair to peer at my brother, who merely glanced over mid-conversation, jerking his head in acknowledgment of my presence.
“They’re waiting for another table to finish up so they can push it together with the rest of our group,” Allison informed me, turning to face me and blocking the view of my brother.
“Oh. Okay.” A muscle ticked in my jaw.
It wasn’t her fault I was on edge. I actually liked Allison. She was funny, and we got along well enough. I even had a little crush on her at one point, when we were teenagers and shared a guitar class before I dropped out of high school.
I stared down at the drink menu, not registering any of the words, no matter how many times my eyes scanned over them.
I was too busy tracking the easy rhythm unfolding between Jasper and the stranger beside him.
Allison had no trouble jumping into the conversation, while I busied myself with inspecting the fork in front of me.
I wasn’t sulking because I hadn’t gotten to sit next to my brother, honestly. It was just a really fancy fork, gold-plated, with intricate designs.
At least twenty minutes passed before the table we were waiting on freed up—minutes I spent stewing in jealous silence.
Jasper and Allison had both made several attempts to include me in the conversation, but my responses were clipped and uncooperative.
I shot to my feet the second the tables were pushed together, failing miserably to rein in my eagerness.
I got to the tables first, dragged out a chair, and dropped into it with urgency.
“If you don’t sit next to me, I’m gonna stab you with a fucking fork,” I blurted, gaze flicking pointedly between Jasper and the empty chair next to me.
“Really?” He arched a brow, glancing at the waitress as she set out menus. “You’re going to threaten me in public?”
“Uh, yeah?” I countered, leaning back in the chair to assert dominance.
I knew it wasn’t working because in reality, I was pouting, my brows drawn together and lifted in a way I imagine resembled a kicked puppy more than anything else.
Awareness prickled at the back of my neck, but when I glanced at the rest of the table, it was clear the exchange went unnoticed as they chatted away.
“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and pulled out the chair next to me.
The tension in my shoulders dissipated as he sat. I shot him a smug grin that declared my victory. The corner of his mouth twitched, and I thought it might turn into a smile, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. His face smoothed into neutrality as he picked up the menu.
“We’ll bring out some complimentary glasses of wine as an apology for the wait on seating,” the waitress announced over the chatter before ducking back to the bar and leaving us all to mingle.
“Happy birthday, Blane.” I leaned over the table, flashing him an awkward smile.
“Thanks, bro, I’m glad you made it,” Blane answered warmly, traces of concern etched into his smile.
I was grateful for the cover a crowded dinner provided.
It wasn’t the time or place to talk about my suicide attempt.
If we were somewhere else, he might smother me to death like Oliver had done after I got back from the hospital.
His broad frame shook with laughter as the table buzzed with light-hearted conversation, biceps straining against a dress shirt covered in little cartoon cats.
We didn’t look anything alike, aside from our shared love of piercings, but the sibling energy was unmistakable whenever the three of us were in a room.
“These are my brothers, Milo and Jasper,” Blane said once everyone was settled, one hand reaching up to absently play with his colourful beaded earrings.
He went on to introduce the unfamiliar faces in our group, names that I would inevitably forget by the time dinner was over—all except one. The one Jasper had been talking to when I walked in, and whom I swiftly and silently declared my loathing for.
“This is Anthony.”
“Hi.” I forced a smile, seething internally.
“Nice to meet you.” Anthony grinned, relaxed in a way that made me hate him even more for no reason at all.
I couldn’t help but feel threatened when my brothers introduced me to new people. It meant that our lives were drifting apart, that adulthood was pulling us in different directions. It made my stomach churn.
I didn’t want things to change. I needed us to stay inseparable, the way we’d always been.
“Can you guess which one of us is the oldest?” Blane asked the table.
“You know, I can’t actually remember which one of you is the oldest,” Allison admitted sheepishly.
The unfamiliar faces with names that didn’t stick began debating among themselves.
“I’m gonna guess you’re the oldest, Blane,” a brunette with glasses said, the man next to her in agreement.
Blane beamed with pleasure, knowing that he was indeed the oldest out of the three of us. He nodded, pointing his wine glass in my and Jasper’s direction. “And the youngest?”
“Yeah, which one of us is the youngest?” Jasper’s voice had a teasing lilt, like the choice was obvious.
“Maybe Milo?”
“Seriously?” I muttered, indignation hot on my cheeks. “I’m older.”
“Only in numbers,” Jasper popped off, thoroughly pleased with himself.
I had a love-hate relationship with the constant teasing. I wanted to smack him upside the head, but even so, warmth pooled in my stomach, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as the dinner conversation went on.
“Salmon?” Jasper suggested, leaning in and tapping his index finger on the laminated menu I’d been staring at.
It was the safest option. The unique options like bison cheek and raw elk sounded interesting, but I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to try something outside of my comfort zone.
“You think I won’t try something new?” I grumbled, refusing to look at him.
“You mean I know you won’t?” he said mildly, turning his attention to his menu.
“I totally will. I try new things all the time.”
“Go on, then,” he taunted, without even looking my way. “Let’s see it.”
He didn’t have to. The smugness was dripping out of his pores and bleeding through that stupid fucking sweater vest he had on, permeating the air in a way that made me choke. Would it be considered causing a scene if I reached out and strangled him with his tie?
“I’m sorry,” Allison cut in from beside Anthony, grinning. “Do you two need a room?”
Laughter erupted around the table.
My throat turned dry, the tingling sensation of heat creeping up my neck as the memory of the house party tormented me once more. I felt Jasper’s attention shift fully onto me, all too interested in my reaction to the playful teasing. I risked a glance, catching his raised brows and parted lips.
No one knew. I hadn’t told anyone. I hadn’t even talked to him about it. All I needed to do was act normal. Say something witty. Anything.
Nothing came out.
“Alright, on the house as promised,” the server interrupted us before I could speak, emerging at the end of the table with a tray of bottled wine and glasses. “A Pinot Noir. Light, fruit-forward. It pairs well with the game on the menu.”
She talked through the unique dishes they had on rotation, but I hardly heard any of it over the pounding of my heart. I watched quietly as she distributed the glasses around the table and began pouring. Before I knew it, she was back at our end of the table, notepad in hand.
“Is everyone ready to order?”
The table agreed unanimously.
“I’ll get the seared scallops,” Jasper started, his gaze drifting over to me.
Fuck.
He nudged my leg with his beneath the table, draping one arm lazily behind his chair and gesturing for me to get on with it. I stepped on his foot in retaliation, and he didn’t even flinch, responding with little more than an expectant blink.
I was going to kill him.
“I’ll get the salmon.”