Little lights had been blinking on the dashboard above his head for hours on end and he couldn’t ignore them, no matter how hard he tried. The only brief relief of annoyance he had discovered was staring at the clouds. Miles and miles of clouds. Clouds and blue sky. Basically what he was forced to look at every day from the ground up in the big box of sand that was named Afghanistan.The light on the horizon was coloring a violent shade of crimson when the plane actually started to decent. Normally Thomas would be still asleep, to jerk upwards startled when the plane was actually landing and then realising he was already in the States. I have missed this sunrise so many times apparently, what a waste. It didn’t feel like a waste though. Truth be told he hadn’t slept in ages, and watching sunrises and being thankful for them didn’t cut it anymore. His insomnia hadn’t gone unnoticed in his squad either. First everyone was just convinced he was sad because his appliance for special leave had been denied, but after a week or two one was supposed to be over that. It wasn’t over after a week or two, it only got worse. In fact it had gotten so bad that Thomas wasn’t allowed to operate any explosives for the time being due to the fact of his hands being so shaky and the quality of his eyes being way below moderate. In the end, they had send him on leave way earlier than they had been intending to do, right now he was useless anyway.
Thomas hadn’t delayed for a second. The first thing he did was book a flight, he texted Milo on the way to the airport. While the wheels of the landing gear finally bumped onto the ground he realised he hadn’t even told his parents yet that he was in America. And not in Afghanistan. All of that could wait though, it wasn’t important. As he grabbed his standard army backpack from the conveyor belt near the exit he had to keep himself from sprinting. That would only draw attention and he didn’t want his entire bag searched. That would take time and time was something he didn’t have. He needed to see Milo and he needed to see him now. Seconds before the doors to the arrival hall slid open he hesitated. What if he doesn’t show up? You let him down mate. Big time. He swallowed audibly and people bumped into him while walking passed him towards the exit. Milo had every reason in the world to hate him right now. To not be here and just let him choke in the middle of an airport hall. It would only be fair.
You can stand here and wonder all day, but to give up now, just a few feet away from him, would be infinitely more foolish.
So he took a deep breath and crossed into the hallway through the sliding doors, eyes searching the crowds for a head of red hair and a ridiculously huge fur coat.
March 2010 - The Reunion
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Milo Hayes
- Posts: 25
- Joined: 21-01-2019 04:52
05:43
Red blurry numbers blazed at him through the darkness like an angry eye. Fumbling in the black, he felt around the bed for something that he could use to block it out. Finding the corner of something soft, he lobbed it over the clock. Too slowly did his brain register the weight of the object, until he heard a horrid clatter of the clock, and lamp, and whatever else had been residing on the nightstand, crash to the floor. Ah. That had been a pillow, not a shirt.
The purpose was served, at least. No more irritant. He slipped back into the black for a brief relief from existing.
16:15
The sudden eruption of sound jolted him from the blank canvas of sleep, his phone vibrating violently on a hard surface. Slapping blindly around his night stand, he found it suspiciously empty.
Oh. Right.
Turning his attention to the floor, Milo found the new offender of disrupting his sleep, scowling at the screen as it blinded him. Call from: Melinda Oates. Immediately he went from irritated to slightly nauseated. Melinda had been checking in on him regularly, ever since Anthony had died, a former colleague and friend of his. His worst instinct was that she simply felt it a duty to his father’s memory, to make sure Milo was still alive and eating, but somewhere in his heart he did know that she actually cared. But Milo was big on resentment right now, and just wanted to be left alone.
On the second call, he finally answered.
“Hi Milo. Have you eaten today?” She’d transitioned from her overly sympathetic tone used a month ago, to one more casual and familiar. She had learned quickly how Milo reacted to straight up efforts to comfort him when he didn’t want to be comforted.
“...No.”
“Do. And I guess you haven’t left yet either? Don’t forget you have to pick up your beau soon!”
The slight sing song to her voice made him mad. Or it made him want to be mad, but he didn’t have the energy. It was better than sympathy though, and at least at some point in history he’d enjoyed being teased by her.
“...I’m on it.”
“Ok! Call me if you need anything. And eat-!”
Milo ended the call, blinking blearily as the time displayed on the screen again.
Holy shit. Nothing like a twelve hour depression nap?
18:05
He’d told Thomas not to come, but Thomas had ignored that advice. It wasn’t that he was angry at Thomas for not coming immediately after the incident; sure, it would have been nice to have him there, but Milo knew better than to think that had ever been a realistic possibility. He’d fought with Thomas years ago about his deployment, he was over that fight. But he still had a lot he was dealing with. Things he didn’t know how to deal with… while other people were present. He was scared, terrified that Thomas would think he was crazy.
But he wasn’t about to leave Thomas stranded, alone in a foreign country. What small amount of sanity and strength he had left, he had used to drag himself the few miles to the airport. Well, drive himself. Now Milo stood standing in the crowd, full of eager, joyful faces waiting for their loved ones. He felt uncomfortable, exposed, and anxious as he was forced to be outside the safety of his home and keeping an eye on his surroundings, and all the weirdness that came with that now. On top of that, he was maintaining a static level of annoyance with everyone else’s happiness.
So there he was when Thomas stepped out past the doors, a head of wild red hair, hardly complimented by a plain wool coat and scarf in grey and black. It was cute, sure, but nothing about him had the usual sass and vibrancy. His expression was far too empty, hollow. The redhead looked positively exhausted, while blue eyes darted about in uncertainty. He hadn’t been feeling the ridiculous fur collared coat that usually made him feel fabulous, like a gorgeous diva. He hadn’t been feeling anything really, but he’d made it on time at least.
That changed when he caught Thomas stepping through the doors, recognizing him instantly. Abruptly, the muddled haze of vague annoyance and discomfort lifted, instead overcome by an immediate flood of profound relief, joy, and a renewed sadness all at once. He was almost surprised with how happy he felt, seeing Thomas again, but really he shouldn’t be. Unfortunately it was paired with that inescapable sorrow; Thomas was here for a particular reason, after all, and not a holiday. He’d remember to be grateful, eventually.
“T-Thomas…” Was all Milo managed, not nearly as loudly as he’d intended to get his attention, before his voice cracked. He reached for him, arms stretching out in need.
Red blurry numbers blazed at him through the darkness like an angry eye. Fumbling in the black, he felt around the bed for something that he could use to block it out. Finding the corner of something soft, he lobbed it over the clock. Too slowly did his brain register the weight of the object, until he heard a horrid clatter of the clock, and lamp, and whatever else had been residing on the nightstand, crash to the floor. Ah. That had been a pillow, not a shirt.
The purpose was served, at least. No more irritant. He slipped back into the black for a brief relief from existing.
16:15
The sudden eruption of sound jolted him from the blank canvas of sleep, his phone vibrating violently on a hard surface. Slapping blindly around his night stand, he found it suspiciously empty.
Oh. Right.
Turning his attention to the floor, Milo found the new offender of disrupting his sleep, scowling at the screen as it blinded him. Call from: Melinda Oates. Immediately he went from irritated to slightly nauseated. Melinda had been checking in on him regularly, ever since Anthony had died, a former colleague and friend of his. His worst instinct was that she simply felt it a duty to his father’s memory, to make sure Milo was still alive and eating, but somewhere in his heart he did know that she actually cared. But Milo was big on resentment right now, and just wanted to be left alone.
On the second call, he finally answered.
“Hi Milo. Have you eaten today?” She’d transitioned from her overly sympathetic tone used a month ago, to one more casual and familiar. She had learned quickly how Milo reacted to straight up efforts to comfort him when he didn’t want to be comforted.
“...No.”
“Do. And I guess you haven’t left yet either? Don’t forget you have to pick up your beau soon!”
The slight sing song to her voice made him mad. Or it made him want to be mad, but he didn’t have the energy. It was better than sympathy though, and at least at some point in history he’d enjoyed being teased by her.
“...I’m on it.”
“Ok! Call me if you need anything. And eat-!”
Milo ended the call, blinking blearily as the time displayed on the screen again.
Holy shit. Nothing like a twelve hour depression nap?
18:05
He’d told Thomas not to come, but Thomas had ignored that advice. It wasn’t that he was angry at Thomas for not coming immediately after the incident; sure, it would have been nice to have him there, but Milo knew better than to think that had ever been a realistic possibility. He’d fought with Thomas years ago about his deployment, he was over that fight. But he still had a lot he was dealing with. Things he didn’t know how to deal with… while other people were present. He was scared, terrified that Thomas would think he was crazy.
But he wasn’t about to leave Thomas stranded, alone in a foreign country. What small amount of sanity and strength he had left, he had used to drag himself the few miles to the airport. Well, drive himself. Now Milo stood standing in the crowd, full of eager, joyful faces waiting for their loved ones. He felt uncomfortable, exposed, and anxious as he was forced to be outside the safety of his home and keeping an eye on his surroundings, and all the weirdness that came with that now. On top of that, he was maintaining a static level of annoyance with everyone else’s happiness.
So there he was when Thomas stepped out past the doors, a head of wild red hair, hardly complimented by a plain wool coat and scarf in grey and black. It was cute, sure, but nothing about him had the usual sass and vibrancy. His expression was far too empty, hollow. The redhead looked positively exhausted, while blue eyes darted about in uncertainty. He hadn’t been feeling the ridiculous fur collared coat that usually made him feel fabulous, like a gorgeous diva. He hadn’t been feeling anything really, but he’d made it on time at least.
That changed when he caught Thomas stepping through the doors, recognizing him instantly. Abruptly, the muddled haze of vague annoyance and discomfort lifted, instead overcome by an immediate flood of profound relief, joy, and a renewed sadness all at once. He was almost surprised with how happy he felt, seeing Thomas again, but really he shouldn’t be. Unfortunately it was paired with that inescapable sorrow; Thomas was here for a particular reason, after all, and not a holiday. He’d remember to be grateful, eventually.
“T-Thomas…” Was all Milo managed, not nearly as loudly as he’d intended to get his attention, before his voice cracked. He reached for him, arms stretching out in need.
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Thomas Parker
- Posts: 48
- Joined: 28-12-2018 15:01
It took him way too long to find him. His eyes were scanning the crowd methodically over and over again but sleep deprivation and a tiny sliver of panic made him less susceptible than he normally was. Why are there so many people here? Leave goddam..
“T-Thomas…”
It was the softest sound that drifted over the elated constant racket that hung in the hall of happy people finding one another. Within seconds he had pinpointed Milo’s location and hugged him to his chest tightly, not noticing the dull grey coat or the darkness in his face at first. He just noticed him. The way he stood there in the crowd like a lost soul, completely alone while surrounded by masses of people. As he buried his nose in the red mop of hair he noticed the immediate smell of sleep, sweat and sadness. It crushed him. Milo always smelled like fresh sheets, excitement and some expensive cologne Thomas could never remember the name of.
“I am so sorry.”
He didn’t even specify what he was sorry for because had lost count of all the things he regretted and felt like he should apologize for. That he hadn’t been there for the funeral, that he hadn’t been there when Milo needed him, that he had enlisted all those years ago instead of just going to university and getting a degree, a house and a dog with the love of his life, that he still hadn’t told his parents about them as if he was ashamed of this beautiful human being, that he hadn’t tried harder to come home. Because Milo was home. Even if he was in Massachusetts. The mousy boy who had grown into a man that was taller than he was. But now he looked so excessively small. As if he had shrunk into the miserable 13-year old that had been sitting on his bed, crying because his aunt and uncle had been unreasonably strict again, but without the excessive crying and with more emptiness.
“Let’s go, did you eat?”
Carefully he pried the car keys from Milo’s pocket and guided him towards the exit. Glass sliding doors between them and the freedom of America. The only place where they were allowed to be themselves and had been so happy for two whole months. He knew people here judged them too, he felt the stares the moment he had hugged Milo and kissed his head and he felt the stares in their backs as they left.
As they crossed the parking lot he held up the car key and clicked the open button, hoping to find the car by the tell-tale flicker of the headlights while guiding Milo through the endless rows of vehicles. They all looked exactly the same to him and he couldn’t for the life of him remember which one was actually Anthony’s, or Milo’s now probably. He didn’t know. He should know things like that. He should know how stuff like that works so he could help him, to make sure he wouldn’t have to deal with stuff like that. But now there were already three months passed since the accident and none of that was necessary anymore. Everything had been arranged without him there.
When finally a car responded to Thomas’ insistent clicking he realised why he hadn’t recognised it from miles away. It was a different car.
Of course it’s a different car you idiot..
Carefully he put his backpack in the trunk and Milo in the passenger's’ seat. For a second he hesitated and wanted to buckle him in as well but he knew he’d probably overdid it a bit so he let it slide. Wordlessly he drove away from the parking lot and realised he hadn’t been sleeping for hours. Days possibly. And still he felt like he was the safer choice behind the wheel right now. He had no idea why he was so upset but it felt like Milo had fallen apart and the only reason he was still sitting in the seat in one piece was because he was held together by his physical form. As if the skin around his bones was trying very hard to keep him from breaking into a million pieces, but the rest of his body and his soul had already given up on that.
“T-Thomas…”
It was the softest sound that drifted over the elated constant racket that hung in the hall of happy people finding one another. Within seconds he had pinpointed Milo’s location and hugged him to his chest tightly, not noticing the dull grey coat or the darkness in his face at first. He just noticed him. The way he stood there in the crowd like a lost soul, completely alone while surrounded by masses of people. As he buried his nose in the red mop of hair he noticed the immediate smell of sleep, sweat and sadness. It crushed him. Milo always smelled like fresh sheets, excitement and some expensive cologne Thomas could never remember the name of.
“I am so sorry.”
He didn’t even specify what he was sorry for because had lost count of all the things he regretted and felt like he should apologize for. That he hadn’t been there for the funeral, that he hadn’t been there when Milo needed him, that he had enlisted all those years ago instead of just going to university and getting a degree, a house and a dog with the love of his life, that he still hadn’t told his parents about them as if he was ashamed of this beautiful human being, that he hadn’t tried harder to come home. Because Milo was home. Even if he was in Massachusetts. The mousy boy who had grown into a man that was taller than he was. But now he looked so excessively small. As if he had shrunk into the miserable 13-year old that had been sitting on his bed, crying because his aunt and uncle had been unreasonably strict again, but without the excessive crying and with more emptiness.
“Let’s go, did you eat?”
Carefully he pried the car keys from Milo’s pocket and guided him towards the exit. Glass sliding doors between them and the freedom of America. The only place where they were allowed to be themselves and had been so happy for two whole months. He knew people here judged them too, he felt the stares the moment he had hugged Milo and kissed his head and he felt the stares in their backs as they left.
As they crossed the parking lot he held up the car key and clicked the open button, hoping to find the car by the tell-tale flicker of the headlights while guiding Milo through the endless rows of vehicles. They all looked exactly the same to him and he couldn’t for the life of him remember which one was actually Anthony’s, or Milo’s now probably. He didn’t know. He should know things like that. He should know how stuff like that works so he could help him, to make sure he wouldn’t have to deal with stuff like that. But now there were already three months passed since the accident and none of that was necessary anymore. Everything had been arranged without him there.
When finally a car responded to Thomas’ insistent clicking he realised why he hadn’t recognised it from miles away. It was a different car.
Of course it’s a different car you idiot..
Carefully he put his backpack in the trunk and Milo in the passenger's’ seat. For a second he hesitated and wanted to buckle him in as well but he knew he’d probably overdid it a bit so he let it slide. Wordlessly he drove away from the parking lot and realised he hadn’t been sleeping for hours. Days possibly. And still he felt like he was the safer choice behind the wheel right now. He had no idea why he was so upset but it felt like Milo had fallen apart and the only reason he was still sitting in the seat in one piece was because he was held together by his physical form. As if the skin around his bones was trying very hard to keep him from breaking into a million pieces, but the rest of his body and his soul had already given up on that.
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Milo Hayes
- Posts: 25
- Joined: 21-01-2019 04:52
Milo made a sound in response, nothing particularly coherent. Instead, he kept his face buried in Thomas’s shoulder, like a stopper, for fear if he pulled back he might just lose it entirely. He was still far from being over depression, but he’d thought he’d managed to move into a state of numbness. Somehow, seeing Thomas just brought everything back to the surface. Everything had been so perfect, just a few months ago… Him, Thomas, Anthony, one little happy family. He had never felt so safe, so valued, respected and wanted. Like he could be himself, without apology, and wherever he wanted to end up, Anthony was going to help him get there. And Thomas, love of his life, could be there at his side without either of them pretending. At least he still had Thomas, but now that happy fantasy of a perfect future was gone. Just… gone. He didn’t know how to move forward.
It was perhaps all intensified by the memory of profound loneliness when it had all gone down. Being completely alone as the police questioned him for what sparse details he could remember or give while being distraught. Standing at the funeral surrounded by people that had known Anthony, some for a lifetime, and yet to Milo were mostly strangers still. There had been no one for him to lean on, no shoulder to cry on. Melinda had taken it upon herself to keep him alive, but he still didn’t feel the closeness to be embracing her. All that said, he hadn’t been angry at Thomas for that loneliness. He’d been angry at God, the universe, whatever powers of fate it was he now perceived that had also allowed this to happen.
Now it felt like so many times in the past, being consoled by Thomas when things finally spilled over from some incident or other, but so much worse. He’d never truly been happy, growing up in Tynemouth. He hadn’t even known how happy he could be, until living with Anthony. And now he couldn’t stop playing that thought over and over again in his head. What could have been.
He’d tried to fight at first when Thomas lifted the car keys from his jacket.
“I got it…” He protested while furiously wiping at his face with his free hand, the other trying to find the keys in Thomas’s. Ultimately he lost that struggle quite quickly however. “Are you s-sure? When did you last sleep…”
He tried to focus on logical thinking, distract himself from all the horrid cyclic laments. Somehow they’d made it outside, instinctively he’d just followed Thomas’s lead even though it should have been Milo doing the leading. But he’d taken a hold of Thomas’s hand and wasn’t letting go for anything, so at least they’d be together whether or not they got where they needed to be. It didn’t even occur to him to mention that of course it was a different car; it didn’t even occur to him that Thomas was having trouble finding it. Everything was such a blur again.
Even though he still felt vaguely uncomfortable and guilty letting Thomas drive, he wasn’t really in great shape either. At least it wasn’t a long drive to Anthony’s house, twenty minutes at most if they hit every red light.
“Um… there’s some kind of… casserole at home. Melinda made it. I don’t know if… you remember her? I think she brought over a pie… on Thanksgiving. She thinks you’re cute,” He was doing that thing, where he started talking on autopilot, but it was better than not saying anything. His voice still had that fragile quality to it, from too much emotional strain. Milo hadn’t answered whether or not he’d eaten either, but he was sure Thomas probably needed real food too.
The house still looked the same from the outside, save for perhaps the landscaping not looking as tidy nor lush as before. A triple level building in a typical New England style, Milo had always felt it was a ridiculous amount of space, especially for one person. But it had been Anthony’s pride, full of books, art, and momentos; he’d had managed to make it feel perfectly lived in even before Milo had shown up. And now it was a ridiculous amount of space for one person again.
Milo seemed vaguely anxious from the moment he stepped out of the car, but made a beeline back to Thomas instead of the door, fitting himself into the other man’s arms again.
“Thank you for coming back…” He hadn’t said it before, and he should have. He should have said it the moment Thomas had messaged him that he was coming, rather than telling him not to come in some weak attempt at pretense that everything was fine.
Inside was… different than before. Just like how all the spark and color had seemed to have been drained from Milo, the house no longer felt like the warm inviting space it had over the holidays when Thomas had been there. All the curtains were kept drawn, creating a cave like atmosphere. Bookshelves and their contents were dusty upon a second glance. It was actually a lot emptier than before, with many of Anthony’s things having been donated to his university or other designated organizations, and yet it still managed to feel cluttered. And not in Anthony’s ‘I’m just going to start another 1000 piece puzzle over here’ sort of way. More in a ‘whoever is living here is incapable of adulting’ sort of way. Clothing haphazardly discarded on furniture, shoes in the middle of the floor, pizza boxes left out. It was no longer a quirky professor’s home, instead a hermit’s depression den.
But there were some odd additions too. The threshold of the entryway had a thick layer of some sort of white powder across it, but maybe that was some form of pest control. There were actually a lot of books out on the tables, and not dusty from neglect. All seemed to be themed on old myths, mysticism and the like. Favourite topics of Milo’s, to be sure, though he didn’t really seem in a state where he was likely to be pursuing his passions.
“I’m sorry it’s such a mess…”
It was perhaps all intensified by the memory of profound loneliness when it had all gone down. Being completely alone as the police questioned him for what sparse details he could remember or give while being distraught. Standing at the funeral surrounded by people that had known Anthony, some for a lifetime, and yet to Milo were mostly strangers still. There had been no one for him to lean on, no shoulder to cry on. Melinda had taken it upon herself to keep him alive, but he still didn’t feel the closeness to be embracing her. All that said, he hadn’t been angry at Thomas for that loneliness. He’d been angry at God, the universe, whatever powers of fate it was he now perceived that had also allowed this to happen.
Now it felt like so many times in the past, being consoled by Thomas when things finally spilled over from some incident or other, but so much worse. He’d never truly been happy, growing up in Tynemouth. He hadn’t even known how happy he could be, until living with Anthony. And now he couldn’t stop playing that thought over and over again in his head. What could have been.
He’d tried to fight at first when Thomas lifted the car keys from his jacket.
“I got it…” He protested while furiously wiping at his face with his free hand, the other trying to find the keys in Thomas’s. Ultimately he lost that struggle quite quickly however. “Are you s-sure? When did you last sleep…”
He tried to focus on logical thinking, distract himself from all the horrid cyclic laments. Somehow they’d made it outside, instinctively he’d just followed Thomas’s lead even though it should have been Milo doing the leading. But he’d taken a hold of Thomas’s hand and wasn’t letting go for anything, so at least they’d be together whether or not they got where they needed to be. It didn’t even occur to him to mention that of course it was a different car; it didn’t even occur to him that Thomas was having trouble finding it. Everything was such a blur again.
Even though he still felt vaguely uncomfortable and guilty letting Thomas drive, he wasn’t really in great shape either. At least it wasn’t a long drive to Anthony’s house, twenty minutes at most if they hit every red light.
“Um… there’s some kind of… casserole at home. Melinda made it. I don’t know if… you remember her? I think she brought over a pie… on Thanksgiving. She thinks you’re cute,” He was doing that thing, where he started talking on autopilot, but it was better than not saying anything. His voice still had that fragile quality to it, from too much emotional strain. Milo hadn’t answered whether or not he’d eaten either, but he was sure Thomas probably needed real food too.
The house still looked the same from the outside, save for perhaps the landscaping not looking as tidy nor lush as before. A triple level building in a typical New England style, Milo had always felt it was a ridiculous amount of space, especially for one person. But it had been Anthony’s pride, full of books, art, and momentos; he’d had managed to make it feel perfectly lived in even before Milo had shown up. And now it was a ridiculous amount of space for one person again.
Milo seemed vaguely anxious from the moment he stepped out of the car, but made a beeline back to Thomas instead of the door, fitting himself into the other man’s arms again.
“Thank you for coming back…” He hadn’t said it before, and he should have. He should have said it the moment Thomas had messaged him that he was coming, rather than telling him not to come in some weak attempt at pretense that everything was fine.
Inside was… different than before. Just like how all the spark and color had seemed to have been drained from Milo, the house no longer felt like the warm inviting space it had over the holidays when Thomas had been there. All the curtains were kept drawn, creating a cave like atmosphere. Bookshelves and their contents were dusty upon a second glance. It was actually a lot emptier than before, with many of Anthony’s things having been donated to his university or other designated organizations, and yet it still managed to feel cluttered. And not in Anthony’s ‘I’m just going to start another 1000 piece puzzle over here’ sort of way. More in a ‘whoever is living here is incapable of adulting’ sort of way. Clothing haphazardly discarded on furniture, shoes in the middle of the floor, pizza boxes left out. It was no longer a quirky professor’s home, instead a hermit’s depression den.
But there were some odd additions too. The threshold of the entryway had a thick layer of some sort of white powder across it, but maybe that was some form of pest control. There were actually a lot of books out on the tables, and not dusty from neglect. All seemed to be themed on old myths, mysticism and the like. Favourite topics of Milo’s, to be sure, though he didn’t really seem in a state where he was likely to be pursuing his passions.
“I’m sorry it’s such a mess…”
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Thomas Parker
- Posts: 48
- Joined: 28-12-2018 15:01
Thankfully he did remember the way to Anthony’s house as if it was imprinted in his brain. He hadn’t been in Massachusetts very often, in fact he had been there only once, but the ride back to the airport was imprinted in his brain like his parents’ phone number. It was the only place in the world where he and Milo had experienced being ‘normal’. Anthony had welcomed Thomas into his house as if his sons’ choice of partner was the most obvious choice in the world. It hadn’t once occurred to him that other people would consider it strange, which was perhaps the advantage of having a father who was also a teacher in a very open minded community.
Milo was softly chatting away about casseroles, the way he used to do when he was just filling the silence with all the words he could find in his head. All the important information needed to be found by digging in between the sentences. He said there was food, not that he had actually ate it. And he said it was made for him by Melinda, not made by him. So he didn’t cook for himself. After three months in morning he still didn’t cook for himself. He didn’t dare to think how Milo had been taking care of himself these last weeks, badgered to death by Melinda. Which would probably only make it worse, because the harder you tried to make Milo do something the harder he would try to do anything but that one thing you really want him to do.
The steady stream of words continued until Thomas pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Milo shot out of it in a second, as if he couldn’t wait to get home. As Thomas was walking towards the trunk to get his bag though Milo pressed himself into his arms tightly. It surprised him and he dropped the bag in an instant. “I’ll always come back” he mumbled back into Milo’s shoulder. He would always try to come back. There was nothing else that mattered that much. He would however never get used to the fact that he had become taller than he was now and that his head was at chest level instead of towering over the other man.
Carefully he untangled himself slightly, to free one arm for his backpack and to fumble with the keys to find the correct one for the front door. In between guiding Milo towards the front door and carrying the heavy bag lopsided across his shoulder he didn’t notice the state the front yard was in. He took a quick glance at the white line on the threshold, wondering briefly why on earth it was there but too tired, hungry and emotional to ask what washing detergent was doing on the front step. He carefully stepped over it, not wanting to slip.
Oh man.. it’s bad.
The house was a mess. It looked, felt and smelled like sadness. Without even hesitating he janked open the curtains and opened a window to let in some much needed oxygen. As he turned on the light the nature and level of neglect was blatantly obvious.
“Oh Milo. Mate. This is…. Man.”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Wordlessly he put the man in a chair and dumped his bag on an immediately collapsing stack of empty pizza boxes and newspapers. The coffee table was covered in books, whereas the shelves were half empty. While he made his way towards the kitchen he grabbed half a dozen of pieces of clothing from the floor and threw them on the stairs so he’d remember to put them in the laundry basket later.
The kitchen was probably worse than the living room though. Every single plate and cup in the entire household had been used and left by the sink to not be washed by anyone. Not even the dishwasher, which was made for that purpose.
Or until Melinda dares to set foot inside again and spends the rest of her afternoon cleaning probably.
Without hesitation Thomas grabbed Anthony’s kitchen apron, turned on the oven for the casserole and took an overflowing bag of trash outside. This wouldn’t do. Living like this wasn’t living. The first load of china was in the dishwasher before the oven even indicated it was hot enough and he banged the glass tray of food on the rack. As he returned to the living room he sat down next to Milo, looking at the ground as he soft but sternly asked “what the hell is going on here Milo. This is more than grief. This is dying.” He quickly regretted saying it this firm but he meant it.
Milo was softly chatting away about casseroles, the way he used to do when he was just filling the silence with all the words he could find in his head. All the important information needed to be found by digging in between the sentences. He said there was food, not that he had actually ate it. And he said it was made for him by Melinda, not made by him. So he didn’t cook for himself. After three months in morning he still didn’t cook for himself. He didn’t dare to think how Milo had been taking care of himself these last weeks, badgered to death by Melinda. Which would probably only make it worse, because the harder you tried to make Milo do something the harder he would try to do anything but that one thing you really want him to do.
The steady stream of words continued until Thomas pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Milo shot out of it in a second, as if he couldn’t wait to get home. As Thomas was walking towards the trunk to get his bag though Milo pressed himself into his arms tightly. It surprised him and he dropped the bag in an instant. “I’ll always come back” he mumbled back into Milo’s shoulder. He would always try to come back. There was nothing else that mattered that much. He would however never get used to the fact that he had become taller than he was now and that his head was at chest level instead of towering over the other man.
Carefully he untangled himself slightly, to free one arm for his backpack and to fumble with the keys to find the correct one for the front door. In between guiding Milo towards the front door and carrying the heavy bag lopsided across his shoulder he didn’t notice the state the front yard was in. He took a quick glance at the white line on the threshold, wondering briefly why on earth it was there but too tired, hungry and emotional to ask what washing detergent was doing on the front step. He carefully stepped over it, not wanting to slip.
Oh man.. it’s bad.
The house was a mess. It looked, felt and smelled like sadness. Without even hesitating he janked open the curtains and opened a window to let in some much needed oxygen. As he turned on the light the nature and level of neglect was blatantly obvious.
“Oh Milo. Mate. This is…. Man.”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Wordlessly he put the man in a chair and dumped his bag on an immediately collapsing stack of empty pizza boxes and newspapers. The coffee table was covered in books, whereas the shelves were half empty. While he made his way towards the kitchen he grabbed half a dozen of pieces of clothing from the floor and threw them on the stairs so he’d remember to put them in the laundry basket later.
The kitchen was probably worse than the living room though. Every single plate and cup in the entire household had been used and left by the sink to not be washed by anyone. Not even the dishwasher, which was made for that purpose.
Or until Melinda dares to set foot inside again and spends the rest of her afternoon cleaning probably.
Without hesitation Thomas grabbed Anthony’s kitchen apron, turned on the oven for the casserole and took an overflowing bag of trash outside. This wouldn’t do. Living like this wasn’t living. The first load of china was in the dishwasher before the oven even indicated it was hot enough and he banged the glass tray of food on the rack. As he returned to the living room he sat down next to Milo, looking at the ground as he soft but sternly asked “what the hell is going on here Milo. This is more than grief. This is dying.” He quickly regretted saying it this firm but he meant it.
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Milo Hayes
- Posts: 25
- Joined: 21-01-2019 04:52
Milo narrowed his eyes as the curtains were jerked open, allowing what little sun light was left hanging in the sky to pour around his den. Chilly as it was outside, the fresh air was surely needed, too. This room hadn’t seen either in a while. Immediately he began to feel a bit ashamed, as much as it could fit in between the other emotions. He’d had time to clean, even with Thomas’s surprise leave, but no matter what he’d done he couldn’t build the motivation.Time just seemed to slip by so quickly when half of it was spent just… well, asleep.
Thomas’s words caused him to turn away quickly, not meeting the other man’s gaze as he was guided to sit down. It should be Thomas sitting. Relaxing after an arduous flight. It should be Milo in the kitchen, making sure Thomas was fed, comfortable, appreciated. Thomas’s bag crashed to the floor with the pile of pizza boxes, and Milo covered his face with his hands, feeling even more miserable, because he knew it only got worse from here with Thomas heading to the kitchen.
Milo was on his feet again however as Thomas took the trash out, hurriedly clearing the tables and putting books away into the empty spaces on the bookshelves. Pizza boxes were moved and restacked by the front door, where he could easily take them out to the recycling later. He’d wanted to get into the kitchen next, and stop Thomas from doing all the work, but it was too late. Well, it’d been too late for a while.
When Thomas returned, he embarrassedly sat down again, amidst what meager improvements he’d managed last minute. Not enough. The words struck him, but he didn’t respond immediately. How could he possibly explain?
“Y-You don’t understand, Thomas… You’ve always had your dad there, always had a family backing you up, that didn’t hate you. This was the first time I actually felt like I belonged somewhere… like I had a chance at having that too,” It wasn’t an accusatory tone, but it was an earnest one. None of it was a lie; even if there were some additional elements to his insanity that he didn’t really want to have to tell Thomas, everything he felt about Anthony was the original source, making everything worse.
“I just… d-don’t know what to do with myself. Nothing feels worth… the effort. I feel like I’m... losing my mind sometimes.” He couldn’t tell him the full truth, he just couldn’t.
Thomas’s words caused him to turn away quickly, not meeting the other man’s gaze as he was guided to sit down. It should be Thomas sitting. Relaxing after an arduous flight. It should be Milo in the kitchen, making sure Thomas was fed, comfortable, appreciated. Thomas’s bag crashed to the floor with the pile of pizza boxes, and Milo covered his face with his hands, feeling even more miserable, because he knew it only got worse from here with Thomas heading to the kitchen.
Milo was on his feet again however as Thomas took the trash out, hurriedly clearing the tables and putting books away into the empty spaces on the bookshelves. Pizza boxes were moved and restacked by the front door, where he could easily take them out to the recycling later. He’d wanted to get into the kitchen next, and stop Thomas from doing all the work, but it was too late. Well, it’d been too late for a while.
When Thomas returned, he embarrassedly sat down again, amidst what meager improvements he’d managed last minute. Not enough. The words struck him, but he didn’t respond immediately. How could he possibly explain?
“Y-You don’t understand, Thomas… You’ve always had your dad there, always had a family backing you up, that didn’t hate you. This was the first time I actually felt like I belonged somewhere… like I had a chance at having that too,” It wasn’t an accusatory tone, but it was an earnest one. None of it was a lie; even if there were some additional elements to his insanity that he didn’t really want to have to tell Thomas, everything he felt about Anthony was the original source, making everything worse.
“I just… d-don’t know what to do with myself. Nothing feels worth… the effort. I feel like I’m... losing my mind sometimes.” He couldn’t tell him the full truth, he just couldn’t.
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Thomas Parker
- Posts: 48
- Joined: 28-12-2018 15:01
Staying silent Thomas mulled over a response. Ofcourse Milo was right, he didn’t know. He had no idea what it felt like to lose your father, especially in such an incredibly traumatic way. And the way he had been taught to cope with grief wouldn’t resonate with the other man. His parents always said he should take comfort in the fact that God was taken care of the departed now and that they would be fine. In the army their counsellors always told them, when another colleague had been blown to pieces by an unstable landmine, that the best way to get over it was just to continue working. Just keep on moving. Don’t stand still and for God's’ sake don’t look back. Don’t overthink. And if there was something Milo had ample time to do than it had been to overthink everything. To play it over and over in his head and obsess over it. To get swallowed by grief. It was so strange to realise that although Thomas had buried seven close colleagues now, he had always done exactly what the counsellors said and still functioned, but he knew instinctively that it wouldn’t work that way for Milo. Especially if he suggested this approach and mentioned it was something he learned at work. Milo despised the way they ‘force you to continue living like nothing has changed’. Thomas had always found that a strange way to approach the situation; things had changed, sure, but he couldn’t just fall apart and lie in bed for a week. There was work that needed to be done. And God forbid he would start to wonder when he was the one being carried into the tent in a black body bag.
To buy himself time he just hugged Milo to his side, pressing consoling kisses on his head and hoping it wasn’t too obvious he didn’t know how to respond. After careful consideration he said: “You are right. I don’t know how this feels and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.” He let out a quick sigh. “And it is normal you don’t know what to do. You should’ve been surrounded by people who support you in this process, and you only have Melinda. Sometimes. And you don’t even know her that well. I presume.” That was a lot of words in one sentence for him and he surprised himself with it.
“I’ll be here the coming two months. We’ll fix this.”
And if we don’t I’ll leave the army and stay. You can’t be on your own like this.
The oven beeped and he shot upright. Beeping noises had been a trigger for him ever since his first deployment. The amount of beeps, the time in between the beeps, the particular noise the beep made, it all could indicate something exploding. Everytime he had been off duty since it had taken him a couple of days to relax under an unfamiliar amount of beepings and buzzings. To shrug it off he immediately walked towards the kitchen and put some casserole on the two plates he had cleaned by hand. He had to resist the urge to pile a lot on Milo’s plate to get him to eat more. It was better to give him a manageable amount, the chances of him actually finishing it would be bigger.
As he was digging in the drawer that once had held ample amounts of cutlery he noticed his hands had changed color. They had been sunburnt, yes, but because of the sleep deprivation they had also looked matt, and lackluster. As if he had been ill for a very long period of time. He felt a lot better too, as if just being near Milo was enough to make him a little bit more energetic, and his head a little bit clearer and less continuously achy. As if someone had turned off the static. He had noticed it too the last time he had visited, he had been exhausted and his dreams had been horrid but as soon as he had touched the ground in Massachusetts and had set foot inside this house he felt better.
Armed with the last two forks and one knife he could find and two glasses of stale coke he went back into the living room.
“Let’s just eat on the couch today,” because the dining table is hidden somewhere under stuff “and when I clean up the rest of the kitchen you take a head start to the bedroom and make sure it is sort of livable. Or sleepable.”
To buy himself time he just hugged Milo to his side, pressing consoling kisses on his head and hoping it wasn’t too obvious he didn’t know how to respond. After careful consideration he said: “You are right. I don’t know how this feels and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.” He let out a quick sigh. “And it is normal you don’t know what to do. You should’ve been surrounded by people who support you in this process, and you only have Melinda. Sometimes. And you don’t even know her that well. I presume.” That was a lot of words in one sentence for him and he surprised himself with it.
“I’ll be here the coming two months. We’ll fix this.”
And if we don’t I’ll leave the army and stay. You can’t be on your own like this.
The oven beeped and he shot upright. Beeping noises had been a trigger for him ever since his first deployment. The amount of beeps, the time in between the beeps, the particular noise the beep made, it all could indicate something exploding. Everytime he had been off duty since it had taken him a couple of days to relax under an unfamiliar amount of beepings and buzzings. To shrug it off he immediately walked towards the kitchen and put some casserole on the two plates he had cleaned by hand. He had to resist the urge to pile a lot on Milo’s plate to get him to eat more. It was better to give him a manageable amount, the chances of him actually finishing it would be bigger.
As he was digging in the drawer that once had held ample amounts of cutlery he noticed his hands had changed color. They had been sunburnt, yes, but because of the sleep deprivation they had also looked matt, and lackluster. As if he had been ill for a very long period of time. He felt a lot better too, as if just being near Milo was enough to make him a little bit more energetic, and his head a little bit clearer and less continuously achy. As if someone had turned off the static. He had noticed it too the last time he had visited, he had been exhausted and his dreams had been horrid but as soon as he had touched the ground in Massachusetts and had set foot inside this house he felt better.
Armed with the last two forks and one knife he could find and two glasses of stale coke he went back into the living room.
“Let’s just eat on the couch today,” because the dining table is hidden somewhere under stuff “and when I clean up the rest of the kitchen you take a head start to the bedroom and make sure it is sort of livable. Or sleepable.”
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Milo Hayes
- Posts: 25
- Joined: 21-01-2019 04:52
Milo never heard Thomas talk about what happened to his comrades, overseas. He tried to let Thomas’s visits be a vacation… but he also really didn’t want to know, in an entirely selfish way. He wasn’t sure he could bare to know how dangerous it was. Thomas might be doing his best not to think about when it might be his turn to be carried off in a body bag, but that was something Milo fretted and obsessed over plenty as well. While his own suffering now was true, it probably wouldn’t occur to him until later how selfish he’d been, in never offering Thomas a space or opportunity to reflect either, nor giving him the patience or sympathy in return even when Thomas spoke of his own losses.
There was something immensely comforting in simply being held. It was something he’d been missing out on horribly, especially during the first days after losing Anthony, and the funeral itself. Everyone had so much to say, condolences, advice. He was so tired of hearing suggestions and platitudes, that had grown simply to sound like excuses made so that other people could pat themselves on the back, like they’d done their duty to Anthony, the bare minimum at that, and as if their ‘chin up’ statements actually had any merit or effect.
Milo eased a touch, allowing himself to indulge in the comfort of Thomas’s presence for a bit, soaking up his warmth and affection. He’d missed it so terribly.
It was always strange to hear Thomas speak so many words at once, but it was also comforting. There was no pretense that he ‘knew what you’re going through’ or insistence that Milo should simply buck up and move on already. Simply an acknowledgement that it was okay to be lost, ok to be broken. He was normal. That was a powerful sentiment, and one he was grateful for, even if some part of him felt guilty. Because it wasn’t true. He wasn’t normal, and he’d never just… lied to Thomas before.
It’s just… omitting some of the truth, right? Is that really as bad?
It’d be worse if I told him everything. He’d think I’ve completely lost it.
“Y… Yeah. Not that well… I didn’t get to know his… friends, as well as I should have… Just, stupid…” Milo managed to mumble, wiping furiously at his leaking eyes once again and sniffing softly as he tried to hold it together.
“Two months…” He echoed softly. It filled him with a sense of muted relief and joy, rightfully so. But only partially. The other half was still stricken with nausea inducing anxiety. He had to somehow pretend to just be a normal person for two months. At least Melinda was never around long enough to catch onto anything abnormal around him, readily blaming his idiosyncrasies on grief and being… well, Milo. But Thomas knew him well enough to know which quirks were just Milo being Milo, and which were definitely a step too far outside of the normal bounds.
‘We’ll fix this.’
Thomas sounded so matter of fact though, Milo wanted to believe him. It was an attractive fantasy, nonetheless. Maybe they would.
Somehow he’d ended up with a plate and a glass, and Milo managed to offer Thomas a weak weary smile that was both apologetic, but also sincerely grateful. At least he still had this. He still had Thomas. The only real constant he’d ever been able to rely on. Maybe that’s just how it was supposed to be. Maybe he’d reached too high, dreaming of having the perfect little family life, a college education, maybe a career. But he wouldn’t complain, if he could always just have Thomas there. It could just be the two of them, if Thomas wasn’t overseas in the middle of a war all the time; a quiet life, but together. That could be enough. He could be happy with that. He just had to not fuck this part up.
“Okay,” It was a soft, submissive answer, but one of gratitude from Milo. He generally didn’t take well to being ordered or instructed by people, especially when already emotional for whatever reason, and though Thomas was usually an exception to these rules anyway, Milo was grateful regardless that Thomas seemed to forgive him for the time being and was still trying to help.
“I am sorry… I didn’t fix any of this before you got here. I’ll get the bedroom ready, after this,” He half echoed, half vowed, managing to sound a bit sheepish, which was at least an improvement over hollow.
Perhaps as a show of gratitude or attempt at proof that he’d do better, Milo did eat most of the food that had been offered to him. Though he still didn’t have a regular appetite, he could tell that he needed the fuel. Maybe he wouldn’t piss it all away just wallowing in feelings, now that Thomas was here. Shame seemed to be a good motivator to combat depression, but it seemed Thomas was the only one who’s opinion mattered to him anymore, and didn’t just make him react with anger and irrationality. He still didn’t know entirely how to move forward with this new life, nor how to reconcile the oddities he was now aware of with just being a normal boyfriend to Thomas, but at least seeing Thomas made him want to continue, at all.
There was something immensely comforting in simply being held. It was something he’d been missing out on horribly, especially during the first days after losing Anthony, and the funeral itself. Everyone had so much to say, condolences, advice. He was so tired of hearing suggestions and platitudes, that had grown simply to sound like excuses made so that other people could pat themselves on the back, like they’d done their duty to Anthony, the bare minimum at that, and as if their ‘chin up’ statements actually had any merit or effect.
Milo eased a touch, allowing himself to indulge in the comfort of Thomas’s presence for a bit, soaking up his warmth and affection. He’d missed it so terribly.
It was always strange to hear Thomas speak so many words at once, but it was also comforting. There was no pretense that he ‘knew what you’re going through’ or insistence that Milo should simply buck up and move on already. Simply an acknowledgement that it was okay to be lost, ok to be broken. He was normal. That was a powerful sentiment, and one he was grateful for, even if some part of him felt guilty. Because it wasn’t true. He wasn’t normal, and he’d never just… lied to Thomas before.
It’s just… omitting some of the truth, right? Is that really as bad?
It’d be worse if I told him everything. He’d think I’ve completely lost it.
“Y… Yeah. Not that well… I didn’t get to know his… friends, as well as I should have… Just, stupid…” Milo managed to mumble, wiping furiously at his leaking eyes once again and sniffing softly as he tried to hold it together.
“Two months…” He echoed softly. It filled him with a sense of muted relief and joy, rightfully so. But only partially. The other half was still stricken with nausea inducing anxiety. He had to somehow pretend to just be a normal person for two months. At least Melinda was never around long enough to catch onto anything abnormal around him, readily blaming his idiosyncrasies on grief and being… well, Milo. But Thomas knew him well enough to know which quirks were just Milo being Milo, and which were definitely a step too far outside of the normal bounds.
‘We’ll fix this.’
Thomas sounded so matter of fact though, Milo wanted to believe him. It was an attractive fantasy, nonetheless. Maybe they would.
Somehow he’d ended up with a plate and a glass, and Milo managed to offer Thomas a weak weary smile that was both apologetic, but also sincerely grateful. At least he still had this. He still had Thomas. The only real constant he’d ever been able to rely on. Maybe that’s just how it was supposed to be. Maybe he’d reached too high, dreaming of having the perfect little family life, a college education, maybe a career. But he wouldn’t complain, if he could always just have Thomas there. It could just be the two of them, if Thomas wasn’t overseas in the middle of a war all the time; a quiet life, but together. That could be enough. He could be happy with that. He just had to not fuck this part up.
“Okay,” It was a soft, submissive answer, but one of gratitude from Milo. He generally didn’t take well to being ordered or instructed by people, especially when already emotional for whatever reason, and though Thomas was usually an exception to these rules anyway, Milo was grateful regardless that Thomas seemed to forgive him for the time being and was still trying to help.
“I am sorry… I didn’t fix any of this before you got here. I’ll get the bedroom ready, after this,” He half echoed, half vowed, managing to sound a bit sheepish, which was at least an improvement over hollow.
Perhaps as a show of gratitude or attempt at proof that he’d do better, Milo did eat most of the food that had been offered to him. Though he still didn’t have a regular appetite, he could tell that he needed the fuel. Maybe he wouldn’t piss it all away just wallowing in feelings, now that Thomas was here. Shame seemed to be a good motivator to combat depression, but it seemed Thomas was the only one who’s opinion mattered to him anymore, and didn’t just make him react with anger and irrationality. He still didn’t know entirely how to move forward with this new life, nor how to reconcile the oddities he was now aware of with just being a normal boyfriend to Thomas, but at least seeing Thomas made him want to continue, at all.
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Thomas Parker
- Posts: 48
- Joined: 28-12-2018 15:01
Thomas had to bite his own tongue when Milo softly agreed. What? No fight? No discussion? No nothing? It shouldn’t surprise him seeing the state Milo was in but it somehow still did. And it hurt. It hurt to see him hurting like this and still he felt inexplicably elated. Quickly he decided it must be because he was back in the civil world and sleep deprived, so his mind must be playing tricks on him.
“You don’t need to apologise Milo.” Nobody needed to apologise for being human. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You just start and I will be there before you can say Gears of War 2.” He didn’t know where he had found the ability to crack a joke like that in the current situation and he tried to just ignore what he said. For a few minutes they dwelled in an uncomfortable silence that Milo didn’t even seemed to notice and Thomas realised how much of the talking normally fell upon the shoulders of the other man. No wonder he sometimes repeated himself or said silly things, he wouldn’t know how to fill the silence he carried with him as well. He never had to.
It was a miracle though that Milo actually ate the food. The casserole was tasty, probably the best thing Thomas had eaten in months, but he hadn’t expected Milo to touch any of it. He always struggled with eating when he was feeling down, so he sort of expected this to be a new level of malnourishment. But he bravely munched his way through most of what was on his plate and within a reasonable amount of time as well. The food wasn’t even cold yet. The leftovers were gratefully devoured by Thomas while he was walking back to the kitchen, still wearing the ridiculous apron that only Anthony could wear as if it had been the coolest army sweater alive but on Thomas it just looked silly. He didn’t notice though.
When he returned for the glasses he shooed Milo upstairs with a precautionary garbage bag and some encouraging words. Making him do stuff would probably at least distract him. It was weird that he knew stuff about this. That he thought he knew how to deal with this kind of behaviour. But these were common things that were discussed with their mental health instructors while being in the field and he was glad he could pass the wisdom on to Milo, hoping it would help him. He wasn’t a soldier, but he was a human and at least some of the techniques would work. Even on a stubborn rebellious mule like Milo. He checked the time quickly and decided he’d see how long he could keep him on a strict 23:00 lights-off, 08:00 lights-on regime.
While musing about his strategy he quite rapidly cleared the kitchen of clutter and decided to give Milo some extra time in the bedroom by scrubbing all the surfaces. As he was polishing the front door of the oven, which was covered in some tomato coloured stains, he noticed he was humming. He never hummed. Ever. Thomas couldn’t even remember if he had ever sang, except when he was required in church and at school. But here he was, on his knees in front of a dirty oven in Massachusetts with probably no shot at an actual vacation and he was humming. In fact, he couldn’t remember if he had felt so good in years, which was weird considering how bad Milo felt. Quickly he shrugged off the glee and scrubbed off the remains of the substance on the kitchen counter before he dutifully locked the front door, turned off the lights and checked the clock. 21:30. That was just about enough time to face whatever was going on in that bedroom, take a shower and go to sleep. Perfect. Hauling his backpack over his shoulder he climbed the stairs and called Milo’s name on the way up to make sure he wandered into the correct bedtime, not completely sure whether Milo had stayed in his old room or whether he had taken up Anthony’s as his own.
“You don’t need to apologise Milo.” Nobody needed to apologise for being human. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You just start and I will be there before you can say Gears of War 2.” He didn’t know where he had found the ability to crack a joke like that in the current situation and he tried to just ignore what he said. For a few minutes they dwelled in an uncomfortable silence that Milo didn’t even seemed to notice and Thomas realised how much of the talking normally fell upon the shoulders of the other man. No wonder he sometimes repeated himself or said silly things, he wouldn’t know how to fill the silence he carried with him as well. He never had to.
It was a miracle though that Milo actually ate the food. The casserole was tasty, probably the best thing Thomas had eaten in months, but he hadn’t expected Milo to touch any of it. He always struggled with eating when he was feeling down, so he sort of expected this to be a new level of malnourishment. But he bravely munched his way through most of what was on his plate and within a reasonable amount of time as well. The food wasn’t even cold yet. The leftovers were gratefully devoured by Thomas while he was walking back to the kitchen, still wearing the ridiculous apron that only Anthony could wear as if it had been the coolest army sweater alive but on Thomas it just looked silly. He didn’t notice though.
When he returned for the glasses he shooed Milo upstairs with a precautionary garbage bag and some encouraging words. Making him do stuff would probably at least distract him. It was weird that he knew stuff about this. That he thought he knew how to deal with this kind of behaviour. But these were common things that were discussed with their mental health instructors while being in the field and he was glad he could pass the wisdom on to Milo, hoping it would help him. He wasn’t a soldier, but he was a human and at least some of the techniques would work. Even on a stubborn rebellious mule like Milo. He checked the time quickly and decided he’d see how long he could keep him on a strict 23:00 lights-off, 08:00 lights-on regime.
While musing about his strategy he quite rapidly cleared the kitchen of clutter and decided to give Milo some extra time in the bedroom by scrubbing all the surfaces. As he was polishing the front door of the oven, which was covered in some tomato coloured stains, he noticed he was humming. He never hummed. Ever. Thomas couldn’t even remember if he had ever sang, except when he was required in church and at school. But here he was, on his knees in front of a dirty oven in Massachusetts with probably no shot at an actual vacation and he was humming. In fact, he couldn’t remember if he had felt so good in years, which was weird considering how bad Milo felt. Quickly he shrugged off the glee and scrubbed off the remains of the substance on the kitchen counter before he dutifully locked the front door, turned off the lights and checked the clock. 21:30. That was just about enough time to face whatever was going on in that bedroom, take a shower and go to sleep. Perfect. Hauling his backpack over his shoulder he climbed the stairs and called Milo’s name on the way up to make sure he wandered into the correct bedtime, not completely sure whether Milo had stayed in his old room or whether he had taken up Anthony’s as his own.
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Milo Hayes
- Posts: 25
- Joined: 21-01-2019 04:52
The attempt at a joke did actually earn the hint of a smile, especially for it’s play on nostalgia. His eyes did start to turn glossy again with unbidden moisture, but it wasn’t simply because he was missing Anthony miserably like always. Despite everything, he felt a little spark of light in the darkness; he was overcome with such relief and gratitude for Thomas’s steady presence. Thomas was always his rock, and finally he had something to hold onto again to save him from the chaotic currents trying to sweep him away the last few months.
Though the meal they shared was more quiet than usual, Milo leaned against Thomas in a quiet way of saying ‘thank you’, and maybe just a little to satisfy a selfish need for contact as well. Thomas always made him feel better, no matter how stubbornly he might want to cling to his moods at times. Things were far from perfect just from Thomas visiting, but it definitely gave him relief, and made him realize just how much he’d been missing Thomas as well. He’d been so focused on the loss of Anthony, he hadn’t realized just how much he needed Thomas there regardless of the need for comfort.
Thomas wasn’t permitted to leave the couch without a quick stolen kiss. If things had been different, Milo would have probably teased him for how cute he looked in an apron. Instead however, Milo allowed himself to be shooed and fled upstairs with the offered garbage bag and gentle encouragement. He was happy for the second chance to tidy things up before Thomas got to see the chaos. While he’d probably never admit it out loud or without feigned protest, Thomas’s regimented schedule and mindset would probably be a great boon for him. He had no discipline for himself, but Thomas knew how to keep a schedule and move forward.
Milo became a whirlwind upstairs, feeling more active than he had been in weeks. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he left the bedroom in a less than tolerable state before Thomas finished. The various depression piles of laundry on the floor were swept up into one, and then dumped again in another room, which made a world of difference already. It was still a problem to deal with later, but at least it meant there was actually a walking path through his own room now! Old sheets were ripped off the bed and new sheets stretched on in rapid form. As much rubbish as he could easily gather was raked and scooped straight into the trash bag, and the night stands hastily swept of dust. He managed to open a window to air out the stale air for at least a little while before Thomas arrived. What minimal extra time he had was used to hastily wipe down the surfaces in the bathroom, and bring it to at least acceptable levels.
“Yeah- ..come on up,” He urged softly in permission, standing by his own old room. It would have to be good enough. The door to Anthony’s bedroom was closed, along with very faint traces of white powder just beneath it as well, though that was likely were hidden in the current lighting. There
“Thanks… for tackling the kitchen. Should be able to sleep now,” Milo moved a little hastily to close the window again, and draw the curtains, giving them privacy. The faint hint of something sweet and woodsy hung in the air around Milo’s room, probably from incense or something similar. Maybe a previous attempt to cover that smell of stale sadness without having to un-cave his room by actually opening the window and curtains. To his credit, despite still being quite cluttered and probably dusty, the room was certainly sleepable. Even just having the floor clear and fresh sheets made it feel like an entirely new room to Milo, and at least gave him a small sense of having accomplished literally anything on his own power. And a little encouragement.
Though the meal they shared was more quiet than usual, Milo leaned against Thomas in a quiet way of saying ‘thank you’, and maybe just a little to satisfy a selfish need for contact as well. Thomas always made him feel better, no matter how stubbornly he might want to cling to his moods at times. Things were far from perfect just from Thomas visiting, but it definitely gave him relief, and made him realize just how much he’d been missing Thomas as well. He’d been so focused on the loss of Anthony, he hadn’t realized just how much he needed Thomas there regardless of the need for comfort.
Thomas wasn’t permitted to leave the couch without a quick stolen kiss. If things had been different, Milo would have probably teased him for how cute he looked in an apron. Instead however, Milo allowed himself to be shooed and fled upstairs with the offered garbage bag and gentle encouragement. He was happy for the second chance to tidy things up before Thomas got to see the chaos. While he’d probably never admit it out loud or without feigned protest, Thomas’s regimented schedule and mindset would probably be a great boon for him. He had no discipline for himself, but Thomas knew how to keep a schedule and move forward.
Milo became a whirlwind upstairs, feeling more active than he had been in weeks. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he left the bedroom in a less than tolerable state before Thomas finished. The various depression piles of laundry on the floor were swept up into one, and then dumped again in another room, which made a world of difference already. It was still a problem to deal with later, but at least it meant there was actually a walking path through his own room now! Old sheets were ripped off the bed and new sheets stretched on in rapid form. As much rubbish as he could easily gather was raked and scooped straight into the trash bag, and the night stands hastily swept of dust. He managed to open a window to air out the stale air for at least a little while before Thomas arrived. What minimal extra time he had was used to hastily wipe down the surfaces in the bathroom, and bring it to at least acceptable levels.
“Yeah- ..come on up,” He urged softly in permission, standing by his own old room. It would have to be good enough. The door to Anthony’s bedroom was closed, along with very faint traces of white powder just beneath it as well, though that was likely were hidden in the current lighting. There
“Thanks… for tackling the kitchen. Should be able to sleep now,” Milo moved a little hastily to close the window again, and draw the curtains, giving them privacy. The faint hint of something sweet and woodsy hung in the air around Milo’s room, probably from incense or something similar. Maybe a previous attempt to cover that smell of stale sadness without having to un-cave his room by actually opening the window and curtains. To his credit, despite still being quite cluttered and probably dusty, the room was certainly sleepable. Even just having the floor clear and fresh sheets made it feel like an entirely new room to Milo, and at least gave him a small sense of having accomplished literally anything on his own power. And a little encouragement.