Milo - One bed (Patreon)

It had been a long road. Getting to the point where I would even go to Milo’s house was an act that had not been easy to bring myself to.  But here I was, following hastily described directions, with a bottle of ghost wine in my hand. Because this was a new start.  This was the beginning of us trying.

Milo had left the distillery and risen up in the world. He now lived on a quiet and secluded little street with eclectic houses that lined each side of the road.  He had boasted about his new place like it was the best thing he had accomplished in life. Which, given how his old place was, I couldn’t actually fault him for.  The distillery had been falling apart. It had a smell in it that bordered on toxicity, and rats, real rats, had lived beneath the loose tiles that littered the floor. Which was odd, given that there were no tiles within the distillery at all.

Turning down the road, I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. There were flowers in cedar whisky barrels and pillars that had been erected so the candles could have a place somewhere other than the road. The cobblestones themselves were well maintained. There were several trees which was an oddity in most parts of the Night Market. And, each house looked well maintained.

A door was flung open not far from me where Milo came bounding out of the two story house and into the road. He skidded to a stop, his hair falling all about his face. He looked nervous, his feet shuffling back and forth as he gave me an aborted wave.

“Hey. Hi. You’re here. Are you early? You’re not early.” He gave a nervous laugh, running his fingers through his unruly hair.

I came to a stop in front of him, raising a brow and feeling my lips twitch.  “I can walk around the block one more time if you need a few minutes to tidy up,” I told him.

“No,” he quickly responded. “No. Shit. Sorry. I’m just… you’re the first person I’m having over. I’m excited.”

“So you’ve said.” Several times, in fact. Over and over again since he had gotten it.

“You’re going to love it,” he assured me. “There’s a functioning bathroom in this one. No more back alley pee’s at night.”

“You know, now that I think about it, that alone should have been a deal breaker in our relationship.”

“I know, right?” he laughed. “What were you thinking?” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, his embrace tense, like he wasn’t sure if this was allowed. When I didn’t shove him away, he pulled me a little closer, taking the wine from me.  “Okay, so, hear me out.  When you walk in, you are going to be in shock. You are going to fall to your knees with the cleanliness of it all. You may even weep.”

“Over your home?”

“You are going to wonder how something so beautiful can even exist in this world of yours.” He grinned at me, his eyes crinkling at the corner. “Okay, that’s probably talking it up too much. But, it’s nice, darlin’. Like damn nice. And you know it has to be because I can’t lie.”

I had to give him that.

We walked up the three unbroken steps to his front door. It was a deep wood shot through with plum. A surprising choice for Milo but I had been learning how much he loved color.  “That’s pretty,” I said, trying to show my excitement.

“I did it,” he rocked back and forth on his heels. “I didn’t hang the door or paint it or put varnish on it. But I shined it up.”

I squeezed his hand. He gave off the vibe of a little boy who was far too excited to show off his accomplishments.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I nodded. I was ready. Ready to see this apartment. Ready to begin healing. Ready to see where Milo and I went with our life.

When the door opened, I gasped.  The downstairs was beautiful. Decorated with warm colored wood floors, deep blue walls, and gorgeous art pieces that were tastefully displayed. The room was bright and clean and full of love and warmth.

“Oh, Milo,” I said. “I am actually shocked. I wanted to believe you but I am intimately aware of your previous home.”

“Oh, this isn’t mine,” he said.

I turned to him. “What?”

“Yeah. This isn’t mine. This place is rented out for photoshoots. I don’t know who owns it. I live upstairs.” He covered my eyes as he hobbled me up the stairs, his thighs brushing the backs of mine as we took the steps one by one.  “Alright,” he said, lips brushing against my ear. “Here is the real piece de resistance””

He uncovered my eyes and let all the glory of his home fall before me.

His very plain home.

The walls were white brick and chipped. The floors were stained. And there was no furniture in the room other than some haphazard floor pillows and a large table piled with keys and some old take out boxes. But there was junk.  There were bits of paraphernalia everywhere I looked. Old baskets. Broken lights.  An old sofa that looked like it was dismantled.

“I got you these,” Milo said, bounding over to the ‘kitchen’. He came back with yellow flowers that I was pretty sure were the weeds that grew on Hazel’s back fence. They were in an old coffee tin.

“I…” had no idea what to say.

“I thought the tin was a nice touch,” he said excitedly. “It’s kind of like this upcycled thing that Hazel was talking about. And I left the coffee grounds in there so the flowers could smell like it”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” I said, lips rolling in my mouth as I took it all in.

“Oh, and look.” He grabbed my hand, dragging me towards what I thought might be the living room. There were several crates stacked up where books were tossed in.  Not even displayed nicely. Or stacked. But thrown in. “I’ve taken up reading again!” he told me. “I found this book seller down the road. She sells novels she stole off this old blanket. Her stock changes every week. I’m pretty sure she’s been in here and taken some of the books that I’ve bought from her,” he laughed.

I stood in the middle of the room, looking around. It was clean. I would give him that. It was actually clean. But it was still Milo messy. Reminiscent of a hoarder in small corners that were revealing themselves as I continued to look around.

“Do you want to see the bedroom?”

“Sure,” I said, still trying to stay positive. It was a step up. It was a far cry from the distillery.  I could walk across the floors without my feet sticking.  But, when he opened the door, I couldn’t contain it.  There was no way I could keep quiet about this one, very specific thing.

“That’s the same bed.”

In the middle of the room was the mattress. The beaten down and stained mattress from before. No bedframe. A nest of blankets that were moth ridden. It wasn’t even straight. It was laid at an angle where dirty laundry was peeking out from beneath it.

“It’s not,” he said quickly.

“No. That's the same bed,” I told him.

“No. It’s not at all.”

“Milo, yes it is.” I pointed accusatory at the bed as I walked over to it, jumping up and down on the mattress. “The springs are popping out and breaking through my shoe.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” he protested. There were a few crates by his bedside. They were absolutely from the distillery and were laden with half burnt white wax candles. “I think this place has class,” Milo was saying from the bedroom door.

“It doesn’t have vermin, I’ll give you that.”

“Vermin is just another word for friend.”

“No. Companion is another word for friend. Vermin is another word for rat. And I’m glad they’re not here. I’m–”

I spoke far too soon. Because the squeak that sounded from what I was assuming was the bathroom was loud and echoing, as if to try and let me know that they were, in fact, still here. And they had grown in size.

I placed a hand over my face, trying to calm my voice down. Because Milo was excited. He was genuinely happy about this and had wanted to show me. But this was, well, it was something.

“You don’t like it?”

My hand dropped. He was standing across from me, one arm wrapped around himself while he bit the thumbnail of his right hand.  I felt my shoulders drop. My face soften.

“I like it,” I said.  “It’s different than I feel like you’ve told me but I do think it's an improvement. And I’m proud that you’ve done it.”

“Yeah?” he grinned.

“Yeah.” Walking towards him, I wrapped my arms around him.  “But you need to admit that that's the same bed.”

“It’s not,” he laughed.  “Not technically.”

“Uh huh. How’d you get around that lie?”

He grinned, placing his lips against my temple. “I restuffed it.”

“Not well.”

Grabbing me around the waist, he pulled me down onto the bed, breaking my fall. “Stay with me tonight?”

“In this bed?”

“Let’s make new memories in this bed.” He rolled until I was on my side, my thigh up and over his. “New, good memories.”

“I don't’ know. The previous ones were pretty nice.” That was one thing that I never could shake. Milo and I had always had fun together. Minus the entire ball situation and the months following that.

“Yeah they were.” His lips brushed mine, soft and sweet and full of apologies.  There was a weight that was taken from him now.  One that I had never seen off his shoulders. It was like discovering him all over again.

But through this discovery, he was still Milo. It was seen through the minor touches throughout the room.  His bedside a clear example of that.

“Milo.” His lips were brushing against mine still, his eyes hooded.

“Hm?”

“Are those the candles from the streets?” I asked, eyeing the candles at his bedside.

“Yeah.”

I smacked his arm. “Milo, those are to guide people home. Go buy a normal candle. Don’t take it off the street.”

“There are tons of them on the street! Why can’t I take a few?”

“They are life saving candles.”

“Good. I nearly tripped and fell the other night. The candle did its job and saved my life.”

Taking him by the chin, I narrowed my eyes. “New bed. New candles.”

“Then sexy time?” he asked.

“We’ll see.”

When I flopped back down on the bed, I felt laughter bubble in my throat. Because leave it to Milo to talk up a very mediocre place with the same condemned bed and candles he stole from the alley.  I kind of loved him for it.

“Stay with me?” he asked, curling me close to him.  “Tell me all the things that you want to see in this place.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want to see in this place. It matters that you like it.”

He brushed the hair from my eyes. “I would like a trash can as long as it had something warm to drink and a pillow to lay my head on.”

“A trash can?” I asked in disbelief.

“I’m a simple man, darlin’. There’s not much I can say to that.”

I shook my head. “You have fallen in love with a construct of a cosmic god in which you walk upon. There is nothing simple about that.”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes mapping out the lines across my face. “That’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.  Nothin’ hard about loving you.  I’ve not questioned that once.”

I melted against him. My immediate response was that he was lying. Telling me a line. But, I could see it. In his eyes. The way he held me. The desperate way he clung. Milo couldn’t lie.  He could hide from himself and from me, but in this moment, he was peeling everything away and quietly handing me the truth, hopeful that I would smash it upon the ground.

Leaning forward, I sighed against his lips, holding him close to me. “I’ll stay,” I told him. “You owe me breakfast in the morning, though. And I don’t want you cooking.”

“I wouldn’t wish that horror on either of us,” he murmured.  We giggled like children as we rolled around in the bed, trying to get comfortable. Situating the blankets up and over our shoulders. And in the end, when we laid there, staring up at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but relax.  This was how it was supposed to be. This was peace.

Then one of the candles flew across the room and hit a rat with a loud squeak.

“See?” Milo said. “Life saving candles. I need them.”

I buried my face in his shoulder and listened to the rat scurry back towards the bathroom.