Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Winter
The apartment was quiet for once. No cultists trying to kill us, no reality breaches to seal, no bureaucrats filing reports in triplicate.
Just the gentle hum of the air conditioning and Frank's random bubbling.
I found myself in the strange position of having actual downtime while the rest of the others were out investigating residual cultist traces from last night's lighthouse incident.
Horrace had insisted on going with them.
I took advantage of the rare solitude to check on Milo.
He'd been hit hardest by yesterday's events, his necromantic energy nearly drained completely when he'd helped free Horrace.
The Bureau's healers had done what they could, but magical exhaustion wasn't something that could be fixed with a spell or potion.
It needed rest, time, and careful recovery.
I found him sprawled on the couch under a blanket, pale but awake, watching an old musical on the television. One of his tiny skeletons was curled up at his feet, occasionally tapping its bony fingers in time with the dance numbers. The sight made me smile despite everything.
"Hey," my voice was soft, not wanting to startle him. "How are you feeling?"
Milo turned his head, his face lighting up when he saw me. Even exhausted, he radiated that unique sunshine energy that made him so special. "Better! Still feel like I've been run over by a necromantic steamroller, but at least I can keep my eyes open now."
I sat on the edge of the couch, reaching up to touch the charm necklace he'd made me. I hadn't taken it off since he'd given it to me. "You scared me yesterday."
"Sorry about that," he winced. "Not my finest moment, getting ambushed by cultists. Jeffrey is still traumatized." He gestured to the skeleton at his feet, who gave a little shudder for dramatic effect.
"You were incredibly brave," I corrected him. "You held off that containment sphere long enough for Horrace to escape. Without you, we might have lost him and your skeletons."
Milo blushed, the color a welcome sight in his too-pale face. "Where is our tentacled friend, anyway?"
"He went with the others. I think he wants revenge." I ran my fingers through Milo's wild curls, pushing them back from his forehead. "You both need rest, though."
He leaned into my touch like a cat seeking affection. "I'm fine, really. Just a little magically depleted. Nothing a few musicals and some quality cuddle time won't fix."
I laughed softly. "Is that your professional medical opinion?"
"Absolutely. I have a PhD in Cuddle Therapy from the University of Making Stuff Up." His grin was infectious, though I could see the lingering exhaustion in his eyes.
I watched the screen for a moment, recognizing the old movie as "Singin' in the Rain." On screen, Gene Kelly splashed through puddles with joyful abandon, making dance look as natural as breathing.
"I used to watch these with my mom," Milo eyes were on the screen with a soft whisper. "Before the foster system. It's one of the few clear memories I have of her."
My heart squeezed. Milo rarely talked about his life before becoming a necromancer. "She had good taste."
"She did," he smiled, a touch of sadness in it. "She'd dance around our apartment, singing along. Said that no matter how bad things got, there was always music."
I took his hand, squeezing gently. His fingers were cool in mine, another sign of his depleted energy. "She sounds wonderful."
"She was," he nodded, then seemed to shake off the melancholy. "Anyway, enough about my tragic backstory. How are you doing? That spiral mark still bothering you?"
I touched my side where the Harbinger mark pulsed beneath my shirt. "It's settled down since we disrupted their ritual. Still there, but not actively trying to siphon my energy anymore."
"That's something, at least." Milo shifted on the couch, making room beside him. "Want to join me for some classic Hollywood escapism? I promise not to fall asleep on you. Probably."
I hesitated only a moment before sliding onto the couch beside him. After everything we'd been through, the simple comfort of sitting close to someone who cared about me was irresistible. Milo immediately snuggled against my side, his head finding my shoulder as if it belonged there.
We watched in comfortable silence for a while, the musical numbers providing a colorful distraction from the darker realities of our lives. I found myself relaxing for the first time in days, the constant tension in my shoulders easing slightly.
"Hey, want to see something cool?" Milo jerked suddenly, sitting up a little straighter.
"Always," I smiled, curious.
He held out his hand, palm up, and concentrated. Tiny motes of necromantic energy began to gather above his skin, purple-blue and softly glowing. As I watched, fascinated, the motes took shape, forming delicate, translucent butterflies that fluttered above his palm.
"Ghost butterflies," his face lighting up with childlike delight. "One of the first necromantic tricks I learned. They're not actually ghosts, more like energy given temporary form."
The butterflies danced through the air between us, their wings leaving trails of sparkling light. One landed on my nose, its touch like the whisper of a cool breeze, before taking flight again.
I laughed, genuinely delighted. "Milo, they're beautiful."
"I used to make them when I was scared," he admitted, watching the butterflies with a fond expression. "In the foster homes, or when the other kids at the Academy would pick on the weird kid. They reminded me that beautiful things can come from dark places."
The butterflies began to fade, their energy dissipating back into the air. Milo sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions, clearly tired from even this small display of magic.
"You shouldn't be using your energy," I scolded gently. "You need to rest."
"Worth it to see you smile," he shrugged. "Besides, it was just a little magic. No raising the dead or anything."
I studied his face, noting the shadows under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. "Are you scared, Milo? Really?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard.
His usual sunny expression faltered, revealing something more vulnerable beneath.
"Only of not being useful enough to keep you safe.
Everyone else has these amazing powers or skills.
Rook's a werewolf, Zane's been hunting demons for centuries, Fenric knows everything about everything...
and I'm just the guy who talks to skeletons. "
My heart broke a little at his words. I reached out, cupping his face in my hands. "You already do keep me safe. Every single day."
His eyes widened slightly, surprise and hope warring in their depths. "I do?"
"Of course you do. Your necromancy saved Horrace. Your quick thinking has gotten us out of countless situations. But more than that, you keep me sane, Milo. You remind me to laugh, to find joy even when everything is falling apart."
He leaned into my touch, his eyes never leaving mine. "Winter..."
I didn't let him finish. Instead, I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips to his in a slow, deliberate kiss. Unlike our first desperate kiss after the Void Eater, this one was gentle, an affirmation rather than a reaction to danger.
Milo responded immediately, his hands coming up to tangle in my hair as he kissed me back with surprising intensity. He tasted like mint and something sweet, maybe apple, his lips soft against mine. The kiss deepened naturally, both of us seeking more connection, more closeness.
When we finally broke apart, Milo's eyes were wide, his breathing uneven. "Wow. That was even better than the first time."
I smiled, resting my forehead against his. "Practice makes perfect."
He laughed softly, then his expression grew more serious. "Winter, I... I should tell you something before this goes any further."
"What is it?" I pulled back slightly to see his face better.
"I've never... I mean, I haven't..." he fumbled, cheeks flushing. "Kissing is about as far as I've gone. With anyone."
Understanding dawned. "I know. "
He blushed, looking both embarrassed and determined. "I know it's probably weird at my age, but between the foster homes and then the Academy and then the Bureau, there just wasn't ever the right person or the right time and…"
I silenced his rambling with another soft kiss. "It's not weird, Milo. And it doesn't change anything."
"It doesn't?" The hope in his voice made my heart ache.
"Not unless you want it to," I assured him, stroking his cheek. "We can go as slow as you need. Or stop right here. Whatever feels right to you."
Milo captured my hand, turning it to press a kiss to my palm. "I don't want to stop," he admitted. "I just... I don't want to disappoint you. I know you've been with Zane, and probably, maybe, Rook, and they're so experienced and confident and…"
"Hey," I cut him off gently. "This isn't a competition. And I'm not looking for perfection, Milo. I'm looking for you. Just you, exactly as you are."
His eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of hesitation or pity. Finding none, he took a deep breath. "I want this. I want you. If you want me too."
In answer, I kissed him again, pouring all my feelings into it. Milo responded eagerly, his initial nervousness giving way to genuine passion. His hands explored tentatively, moving from my hair to my shoulders, then cautiously lower, as if seeking permission with each touch.
I shifted on the couch, guiding him to lie back as I moved over him. "Is this okay?" I hovered above him. My bad knee took a backseat to this.
"More than okay," he nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "Much more than okay."
The blanket had fallen to the floor, and the skeleton at Milo's feet had discreetly turned to face the wall, giving us privacy in its own strange way. I smiled at the gesture before turning my attention fully back to Milo.