31 - Petals Invisible

Thank you for 50k, I can't express how grateful I am.

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I mumble out a grunt when the sun catches my closed eyes, squint as it warms the skin of my exposed arms. The end of spring has brought enough warmth for us to switch the covers for a simple sheet. Grass has replaced mud and when Milo isn't around, I sleep in enough for the sun to wake me. I raise a hand to block the sun out, push both arms under the pillow as I turn to stretch them out.

Face nested into the pillow I almost fall back asleep, but one of my calf tenses with discomfort, so I stretch them out too. I groan again as I do, feeling more sluggish than usual. I turn again for a full stretch, blink at the sun and Milo. He's sat on the bed, covers still on his lower half as if he just woke up too. But he's book in hand and with his glasses on. Cute.

His hair is as disheveled as usual, cheek still dented with pillow marks but I catch the slightest hint of red on his cheek, the twitch of finger as he turns the page. So I turn back, awkwardly facing the rays, too soon. I put the pillow under my head to catch a few more minutes, a bit more rest. I hear Milo laugh under his breath, feel the mattress move under his weight.

« Come on. » His low voice brings a jerk out of my body but I press the pillow on my head harder. I hear the book slam closed, feel the dip on the bed closer to me and Milo reaches under my creased t-shirt with a warm hand. Shivers run along my spine has his hand comes up between my shoulder blades.

It has the opposite effect, warmth lulling me further into sleep as his hand draws soothing circles. My body relaxes, hands lax over the pillow and legs still stretched out dragging bellow. I unconsciously hum at the heat, at the comfort. I groan numbly when I think he speaks but I'm gone again until I feel his breath on my neck.

« Wake you or I'll kiss you. » His breathy voice ignites a shiver that runs from my ears to my feet and I jerk awake. I throw the pillow between us as I rise and feel his laugh under it, see his bare shoulders shake and his stomach flex with each inhale. I rub my heated cheeks as I sit, his hand still following my skin, supporting the small of my back. Idiot.

« I'm up. »

-

I wipe the fogged up mirror with my towel, hand in hair to untangle little knots. It's grown a bit, just enough to tickle my ears, to get into my eyes with the wrong breeze. It doesn't look that dark, even wet, when I've gotten my usual tan back. I quickly put shorts on, open the small window to get some cool air in. It's nice to be able to take long showers when the water never gets cold.

I'm still brushing my teeth when Milo pushes the open fully open. A cold gust licks up the back of my calves, up my back and I shiver with discomfort. I groan and shrug it away, I don't think he knows what it's like to be cold. I frown at his reflection in the mirror but his eyes are on my back and my eyes settle on his jaw.

I brush more aggressively, head down to face the sink. I spit once, run water along the toothbrush for more roughness and I jump when I find Milo already by my side. He reaches for his razor with lax fingers. I'm tempted to pick up a fight at his silent approach but toothpaste runs down my chin to end up with a splat on my torso.

I swear, pushing Milo aside to rinse my mouth and reach to wipe at the cold, nasty feeling on my skin. I've gotten my muscles back, mostly thanks to our morning runs now that the weather is more lenient. I hear the sound of metal clashing against the sink and I look back up, towel still scrubbing at the bits of now dried toothpaste on my neck.

Milo stands immobile, arm blindly reaching for his fallen razor, eyes darting between my stomach and chest, tracing the patches of red I've grazed on my skin with the aggressive scrubbing. His lips are parted, breath shallow and when his fingers finally clasp around his grey razor his body twitches. I don't fuel his teenager fantasies, ignore the way my own spine reacts to his reddened cheeks, the tightness of my stomach.

I turn to throw the towel in the laundry pile, force my legs to move one after the other when they shake just barely so. The water runs in the sink again and still hear the barely there strangled groan as I sit on the bed. I don't feel the cold breeze anymore. My running shoes are already on the floor, fresh pair of socks laying on top, so I put them on.

I almost trip on the way to the wardrobe. I think of the soft twitch of his eyes, the way Milo scrunches his nose like a child caught doing something bad. I think of how he rolls his shoulders back as I tie my shoelaces, of the blush reaching even his eyes with lapping heat. I try to think of winter and snow to settle my nerves but spring has bloomed more than I can take.

I stare at the open door when I put a shirt on, even manage to fit my arms into a jacket, bring up the metal zipper with more force than I intend as Milo exists the bathroom. The red is gone, eyes back to their usual blank stare. But I don't miss how he grips the edge of the wooden frame with an inhale. How he has to bend forward just the slightest bit to avoid hitting this head.

Milo looks away when I have to push my face in the jacket, when I forget words. I move to the door as he puts his shoes on, strong fingers wrapping around the laces. He throws on a shirt quickly and soon enough he's by my side, pushing the door open. I'm still not composed enough to tell him his shirt is inside out when I struggle to push my legs to follow him in the hallway.

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I look away when he throws me a glare as he takes it off to put it back on, lips together to silence a laugh. When I look to see he has it on the right side, he's jogged up to my pace, shoulder colliding with mine just enough to have my feet stagger, just enough to know it was intentional. He rushes past to put a couple feet between us but slows his pace and soon enough the gravel under us screeches together.

I glare at the back of his head with a huff. Childish. I reach out to poke the side of his ribs, smiling before I even feel the cotton shirt and his hot skin underneath. Milo doesn't react, not in the way that I intended anyway. He grabs my stretched arm by the wrist, forcing me slow down with him. I can't see his face, blinded by the sun I squint, sweat gathering on my forehead.

Suddenly it feels like I did something wrong, something grave and I stutter out an apology, at least I think I do. I don't have time to get stressed because Milo pushes me backwards until my back hit the hard bark of a tree and we're shaded by the leaves. I watch his face, skin still painted by dots of sunlight as he pushes my wrist above our heads, pushes it against the tree high enough that I have to push on my toes.

Milo doesn't seem angry, not a bit annoyed even with his nose scrunched up. Not when a dark blush has taken over his face, not when I see his mouth work on the inside of his cheeks. Now I'm nervous for another reason. I should be scared, should complain, but I follow the spots of sunlight on his face as they move with the wind.

I feel like it should be graver, it should be tantalizing, like fears made flesh. But all I feel is my own eyes heavy with something new, my stomach warm, enough for me to realize my own desire. Because Milo still has our arms stretched up above us and watch his muscles work, arm painted with sun petals, so I look down. It feels like I'm witnessing something shouldn't, like I'm prying.

I freeze when I feel the heat of his breath against my cheek, bring my head up to watch as I'm being devoured. His blush is gone somehow, Milo is calm, soft huff of air tickling my lashes enough to make me blink. I close my eyes when his face comes down, to breathing when I feel the heat of his lips only a whisk away from my lips. I jump when his lips find the corner of my eye.

Milo presses his lips there and I can only open my other eye, close to his sharp jaw and thick neck. He pulls back, pulls our arms down gently. I'm too stunned to speak, lip quivering with both need and surprise. I roll my shoulder, unused to the stretch and Milo's hands glides against my cheek, settles there to wipe invisible tears under my eye. His touch is soft despite his calloused fingers.

I still can't gather my thoughts, mouth muttering incoherent words in a strained voice and Milo laughs. His hand pinches my cheek before he takes it away and his body leaves mine. Milo's back into the sun and I bring a hand to pull and hold my shirt to occupy my hands. I'm caught in his world again. Maybe Milo's not the void after all, not when I feel like I can't escape his pull.

I turn to head back.

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