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wickedmilo · 3 years ago

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THREE, MIRROR | MILO & BEA

PLACE: A coffee shop near the university campus TIMING: 10:37 PM SUMMARY: Bea notices Milo being the worst vampire in the world, and makes a begrudging effort to help him. WRITING PARTNER: @beatrice-blaze CONTENT WARNINGS: Very brief mentions of substance abuse, mentions of emotional abuse

Milo’s mind was still reeling. From finally running into his killer, from being forced to accept the fact that he had allowed the man to escape Dani’s stake, from being given the chance to explore the space where he had lost his life, and really see it for the first time since waking up as a vampire. It was an awful lot to process, which was why he was feeling slightly idiotic, and simultaneously slightly desperate, as he waited in line to order a coffee. Of all the places he could be drowning his sorrows, searching for an answer at the bottom of the bottle, a coffee shop was probably the last place anybody would expect him to be. Maybe that was a part of why it felt so comforting; the unpredictability, the spontaneity of the decision. Also, he supposed, the mundanity. He was waiting in line alongside late night students, people working on screenplays, or trying to complete assignments that were dangerously overdue. He could hear scribbling notes, hear the tapping of keys, even the subtle whir of laptop machinery if he allowed himself to focus. But he wasn’t here for other people, he was here for himself. For the familiar scent of coffee. For the feeling of wrapping his hands around a hot paper cup. He could only assume that was what everybody sought when they visited a café after dark.

He couldn’t count the amount of times he had stumbled into this particular shop with a bad hangover, or even still drunk. It had been a saving grace first thing in the morning. And it was proving to be a saving grace now. At least here he felt vaguely human, at least here he could pretend everything that had happened to him over the course of the past few months had been some awful fever dream he had finally woken up from. Something he could move past, and forget. Something he could wash away with the right combination of syrup, coffee, and oat milk. When he reached the front of the line, he placed his order, asking for far more syrup than he usually would in the hope of granting the beverage a stronger taste. A few more minutes of waiting, of forcing any unwanted thoughts to the very back of his mind, and he picked up his cup, making his way over to the wall lined with mirrors.

It was a staple of any coffee shop trying to appear sophisticated. And he was so used to the décor that he didn’t stop to consider whether his favourite spot could still safely be his favourite spot. Pulling out the chair closest to the wall, he dropped down onto it, leaning back against the cool surface of the glass as he began to tap his fingers against the drink in his hands. It was a nervous habit, one he never could seem to shake. Taking a careful sip of his coffee, a quiet sigh managed to escape him at the dull, one-note taste. If only it would taste as strongly as it smelled. It didn’t seem fair that one sense had been heightened while he had essentially lost another entirely. Maybe if he mixed it with some blood? Could he do that? Would that work? So lost in his own thoughts, it took him far too long to realise he was being watched. Catching the eye of a stranger, when they didn’t look away he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Apparently he wasn’t even allowed to wallow without being interrupted.

Bea had gotten used to sleeping when it was light out in New York. The habit had still lingered after her return, her night owl tendencies too much of a hassle to break at this point. It helped to sleep in the light, to wake up gasping and be able to see everything in her room. There was no fear that the Hunter stood in the corner of her room in the light. The ocean could not flood her room. She could see that Adam’s dead eyes weren’t staring at her, crawling to her and telling her he needed to come back. The day rid her of her nightmares far faster than the night did. There were no corners to hide in. She was safe awake at night and safe asleep in the light.

Usually after a show, Bea would find herself at the Stacked Deck, martini in hand as she gambled. She was trying not to drink on bad days, on the days where memories tore at her. Partaking in another vice, that seemed safe. Her mouth was dry as she stared into the steaming coffee in front of her. This wasn’t usually her first pick of a café, but it was the closest she had been to when her walk started to turn into wandering, aimless. These moods, they hit like waves, battering her over and over again, small moments of reprieve falsely claiming the storm was finally over. It exhausted her, cement added to her bones, trapping in the cold, dragging her down further into the sea. Water slipped into her lungs, coughing it up, inviting more in, but there was no release of consciousness, no, she was forced to live it all, feeling herself drown, over and over again.

A hand gripped the back of her seat and Bea jolted with the motion, magic rushing to her fingertips as she looked for an enemy. It was some college kid, punchdrunk from hours spent in front of a laptop. Her heart hammered in her chest, her pulse screaming that she was alive, they were safe. Find five things you can identify in the room. That’s what her therapist had said, right? She couldn’t remember, but she began to count. “One, coffee,” She forced her eyes around the room. “Two, table. Three, mirror.” Mirror… She could see the mirror clearly, could see herself from across the room, all too sophisticated looking for the wild look in her eyes to fit, but not the man in front of it. He was a vampire, he had to be. She had stood in front of a mirror enough with Kian to know. His eyebrows went up and now she was too. A tide pulled her to him, pushed her to do what always made her feel safe and take care of someone else. “You’re in front of a mirror,” She said, her voice stronger than she expected.

Milo hadn’t been expecting the woman to approach him, and he stared at her as she closed the distance between them both. It took far too long for her words to fully register, but when they did he felt an irrational surge of annoyance. “What?” He snapped. Why should she care where he was? What business did she have trying to tell him something he already knew? The mirror had always been there, it didn’t exactly feel like an important piece of information. But as quickly as his irritability had risen to the surface, it was replaced by a sudden realisation. Oh shit, he was sitting in front of a mirror. A jolt of panic shot through him without warning, uncomfortable, and disorienting. Had he really just announced to the entire coffee shop that he wasn’t human? As if hoping to prove he hadn’t been quite so moronic, he glanced behind himself to be met with the reflection of the woman, the shop, and absolutely nothing else. “Fuck- shit-” He muttered, scrambling to his feet, backing away until he was standing beside a window. No longer within reach of the mirrored wall, he still felt nervous, and unsteady. Only when he took a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure did he fully understand what this stranger had done for him. But why? What had compelled her to care?

Offering her a hesitant smile, still battling the anxiety clawing at his chest, he did what he could to calm down. Part of him understood there was a possibility this wasn’t the end. The person standing by his abandoned table could be a slayer who had decided to toy with him, or somebody who loathed vampires and was hoping to laugh at his lack of intelligence. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He would deal with that later, for now he needed to focus on the present. “I-uh… thanks.” He muttered, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. It was important to look unassuming, he knew that. Lest he be seen as a threat. But the sheepish demeanour came naturally to him, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “It’s easy to forget sometimes… I just…” Glancing back down at his coffee, still sitting on the table where he had left it, he let out a quiet huff of frustration. “Hey- I don’t suppose you could pass that to me?” He asked. She was only going to say yes or no, he didn’t see the harm in pushing his luck. “That drink is… it’s me trying to stay sane. Apparently it isn’t working…” He added, gesturing vaguely to the mirror.

Irritation rose swiftly in her chest as the man snapped at her. For a moment, Bea considered turning around and letting him suffer the consequences of his actions. The memory of her sister cradling Adam’s body swam to meet her anger, tempering her. This vampire was not Adam, but just like with Eddie, she had the urge to force him to take care of himself. Death had been a friend when she was the one reaching out to it. She understood who truly held the power now. No matter what she could do, there would be people who she lost. Death might be something she could circumvent herself, but that did not mean she would not witness the ramifications of it. She could still try to make others safer from it, even if after it took them, they refused to come back to her.

Dull brown eyes watched as the vampire scrambled back from the mirror. “It shouldn’t be,” Bea said with reproach. She didn’t want this man to hurt, but she did not like him. She still remembered the taste of Kian’s disappearance in her mouth. She still felt the sting of rejection. The understanding of his goals with her, had come later in life. She had even truly realized that he had been using her until she spoke to her friends about their relationship. Abuse seemed like a terribly harsh word for it, but she could not think of something softer that described it correctly. Her lips pressed and for a moment she thought of saying no. She passed it to him wordlessly, eyeing him with suspicion. “Are you always so careless?”

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t forget to eat sometimes, or put on lotion before you go out into the sun.” Milo countered. Self care, and self preservation consisted of so many little things, things that were difficult to remember when you were busy, or tired, or your life was getting complicated. Surely anybody could understand that. Pointedly ignoring the tone the woman had chosen to take, he was surprised when she handed him his coffee. It wouldn’t take a genius to see she was annoyed, maybe she too had come to the coffee shop for some kind of escape, and he was ruining it for her by being an all too present reminder of the supernatural. Focusing on her scent, on the sound of her heartbeat, she clearly wasn’t a werewolf, vampire, or zombie. So what was she? A spellcaster? A human who knew too much? “Thanks…” He said quietly, his demeanour softening. She didn’t owe him anything, and she had given him his coffee in spite of that fact.

Hugging the cup to his chest, he watched her, unsure how they were supposed to move forward in such an unusual circumstance. But then she spoke again, and a laugh managed to escape him. He pushed his hair back away from his face, relief at only being caught out by one person was beginning to wash over him. Lowering his inhibitions, and making him all the more grateful for the stranger’s begrudging intervention. “Not always.” He insisted, feeling the need to defend his intelligence. “Sometimes…” Mirrors weren’t always an issue, and when they were he had proven relatively competent when it came to avoiding them. But he had an awful lot on his mind. He didn’t want to dwell on his many mistakes. He wanted to pretend, to enjoy the little bubble of safety the coffee shop felt like it was providing. “Look, it’s been a really fucked up week, okay? I just… I needed a break.”

Bea’s expression soured even further at the man’s reply, “Those things aren’t the same and you know it. I’m not going to have someone attempt to kill me if they notice I didn’t eat.” She didn’t know why she cared, maybe she didn’t actually but wanted the distraction, but whatever caused her to come over here kept her here, even with her mounting irritation. Hadn’t her therapist said something about this? She couldn’t remember it, not with her pulse roaring in her ears, but she knew that Miranda wasn’t going to be happy with her for butting into something again. She’d probably say that taking care of other people to ignore her own self care was a form of escapism or some shit. Bea wasn’t really all that willing to work on breaking out of that habit just yet, it’s what made her useful to the people around her.

It was always a fucked up week in White Crest. There was always another building disaster. There was always something that ruined someone’s life. It was just how the town was. She bit her tongue and said nothing. Taking a moment, she looked away from the man, back to the mirror. She stared back at herself and her eyes lingered on the scar circling her neck. Wicked’s Rest always took something from the people who lived here, it was just how it went. She looked back to the man, “Find a place that doesn’t have mirrors to take a break then. Or one day a hunter will find you sitting in front of a mirror and they will try to kill you. They’ll make sure you stay dead too.” She certainly didn’t hate hunters, especially knowing the ones she did and how they were driven to make the world a better place, but she didn’t want to be a bystander to someone’s death.

Milo was half expecting to win over the woman’s sympathy, convince her in some way to feel for him rather than see him as an idiot. The fact that his words only managed to irritate her further only managed to irritate him further too. Maybe she had a point, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “Whatever, I’m only saying it’s easy to forget the important shit. Especially when your life is a mess. So, bite me.” Taking a sip of his coffee, out of habit more so than in an attempt to calm down, he found the hot drink did manage to soothe him a little. It reminded him of why he was here. The desperation, and longing for an escape. He wouldn’t be able to find one while he was being yelled at by a stranger, that much was undeniable. Though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to escape this interaction. This woman had genuinely helped him, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. No matter how determined she seemed to ruin his night.

Watching as she turned away from him, he saw her stare at her own reflection, but couldn’t follow her gaze without stepping closer, something he absolutely wasn’t willing to do. She would only berate him again, and he didn’t want to encourage her. “I used to come here a lot while I was studying.” He countered, glaring at her even as she ignored him. “Forgive me for wanting something familiar.” If he had chosen almost anywhere else in the cafe he might have been able to avoid the mirrors, but he hadn’t been thinking, too lost in his own pain. As far as he was concerned that was understandable, more than valid given the circumstance. Though his company would probably argue otherwise. “No shit,” he shot back. “I’ve met one or two, I-” He broke off before he could insist he knew what he was doing. How could he say that after such a ridiculous mistake? “I’m fine.” He answered instead. “Okay? I don’t need your help, or- whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I decline that offer,” Bea sneered back. Maybe on another night she would have been kinder, gentle in her correction. The combination of bad night and an unshaken dislike for vampires was a potent one. She wouldn’t apologize for it, not when she felt she was justly annoyed. She took a deep breath in, Miranda’s voice ringing in her head. She had to keep her cool, they were still in public and she had a reputation to uphold. She kept her eyes off the mirror now, unwilling to see how her face had shifted as anger took over. She was better than this. She knew she was better than this. It was just that this vampire was in front of her and she could barely stand the proximity. The grief of her past had never truly been dealt with, pushed aside instead in favor of continuing on. That was the way of the Vurals, wasn’t it?

Familiarity. Bea could understand that. She found that in the Stacked Deck and Coffee Plus after her death. A place to feel normal just for a moment. It was the most human thing a person could want. “Be more mindful about where you sit here then,” She conceded, her throat tight at the grim reminder that he was struggling with his own demons. A sharp smile took over her face, “You don’t need my help now, after I helped you.” That was the way of it though, wasn’t it? She never wanted help after she proved she needed it. She could, in a way, sympathize with that. “Look, I don’t like vampires, but I wasn’t going to let you get caught like that. I’m not in the business of watching someone make a fatal mistake, even if I don’t like them. That’s all I’m doing.”

“You’re excused.” Milo countered, unable to think of a witty comeback. He was torn between gratitude and frustration. The fact that this woman had done something genuinely good for him, and then turned on him almost the moment he was safe, was pathetically causing his head to spin. Was it really too much to ask for a quiet night? He didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with such inconsistency. He had been polite, he had thanked her, and he had been met with a less than positive attitude. It didn’t feel fair. Raising his eyebrows as a few beats of silence passed between them, he watched the stranger as she turned away from her reflection. She was a difficult person to read, which only served to make the interaction feel more irritating, and unnecessary. “I don’t know whether it counts if you stick around to insult the person you helped.” He pointed out, although he knew she could argue against his statement. Regardless of whether she was being kind to him, she had stopped him from potentially becoming a target. Nothing she said now was going to change that. He and Deirdre hadn’t exactly parted as friends, but that didn’t erase the medical attention he had offered her.

Letting out a huff of breath, unsurprised to hear she didn’t like vampires, he appreciated the reason for her behaviour. Even if said reason was bullshit. “I’m sorry, it’s not my fault you’re Team Jacob. I’m not about to fucking fall at your feet because you did me a solid in spite of what I am.” He awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest, careful not to drop his coffee cup. His confidence was rapidly fading as he realised he didn’t always like vampires either. When he met them for the first time, he felt nervous, and scared. It was a product of his history with them. It was only after getting to know them that he became comfortable in their company, maybe this was something they both had in common. “Okay, shit. I get it…” He muttered begrudgingly. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he chewed on his bottom lip, steeling himself to be honest with her. “You think I like vampires?” He asked. “I was fucking killed by one… but that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like you already know who I am. We’re still people. There’s still good and bad.”

“Asking someone if they’re always careless isn’t an insult. My attitude towards you isn’t an insult just because it’s not immediately positive.” Bea could feel the heat in her blood, felt herself simmering under the surface. The world was unfair, so why did she have to be fair to everyone she met? She was kind when she didn’t have to, better than other people had been to her. It shouldn’t fall on her shoulders to carry on with optimism and generosity at all times. Shouldn’t she get to be as bad sometimes? You’re spiralling, she thought grimly. Miranda had told her she did that, where all of her thoughts started to go too fast to logically go through them. She wanted to go home, but what waited for her there. Felix was in New York, Nell at their parents’ house, Luce at the cabin. The house was empty and it was too late to call anyone over to fill in the gaps that ghosts had left.

Bea’s eyes narrowed, “When you spend three years of your life getting used as a convenient blood bag, I’ll listen to your opinion on how I should feel around vampires.” The relationship she had held with Kian was complicated, but she had grown to realize that their love had been toxic. She had begun to understand that they had only lasted so long because he hadn’t felt motivated to find someone else only a year or so ago. Her throat tightened, she had assumed that he was like Kian, someone who had chosen this life. She had never forgotten with zombies that many of them didn’t pick this. It was harder with vampires. It was hard to look at him now, the stripped truth of what was in front of them almost too much to bear. She nodded, such a small movement that it could have been lost with a blink. An apology stuck on her tongue, thick, hard to move. She could type apologies, but speaking them, that was a very different story. “You’re right,” She conceded. “I let my bias get the better of me.”

“It wasn’t what you said, it was the way that you said it.” Milo pointed out, although he strongly suspected the woman might already know. He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering to continue with this argument, but walking away felt too much like admitting defeat, like agreeing with her. “It is when you’re generalising.” He added, figuring it definitely counted as an insult if her mood was in relation to his vampirism. It wasn’t the first time what he was had managed to make somebody uncomfortable, and it didn’t seem to get any easier. But at least she was making it easy to be annoyed, at least she was making it easy to not feel guilty. Bex had been different, she had been soft, and regretful in a way that made him self-conscious, that made him want to apologise for being himself. His current company had an edge, one that as far as he was concerned, gave him permission to be less than content.

Fully prepared to defend himself, he found his expression shifting once again when he registered what he was being told. There were so many details to her story that would change the context of it. Had she given blood willingly? Was it being taken by someone she knew? Was she being held captive? Or manipulated into sharing? But as quickly as his mind began to run through the possibilities, he was reminded of her obvious trauma. How it had happened wasn’t relevant. It didn’t matter. What mattered was how upset she clearly was, how deeply affected by the past. She had damage, same as him. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said quietly, a frown creasing his brow. He had been used as a blood bag once, and it had cost him his life. He tried and failed to imagine how he might feel if he had been used for three years, if he was still alive, and vulnerable to another attack. He still felt vulnerable, though he knew nobody was going to drink his blood now. She couldn’t say the same. “Yeah, you kind of did… but it’s whatever.” He unfolded his arms, trying to assure her without letting her think she might have won. “That shit stays with you, I know it does…”

Irritation continued to mount, but now it was focused inward. Bea did not lose control. She presented herself as a measured person, her actions had meaning. There was hard to find meaning with the pressure building between her ears. She had fallen from her path without realizing it, twigs broken from her blind tumble. Left behind her an ugly, broken mistake. Her jaw locked, unwilling to deny the truth of his words, unwilling to apologize or put herself in a worse position. She felt young again. At least there was no threat that she would break all the windows in the café, even as far she had fallen, she had more control than she did at nineteen.

“It’s not,” She finally said. She had let him speak, let him apologize for what happened to her. She knew he deserved to be heard after she spoke to him as she had. “It’s not appropriate or kind of me to treat you the way I did.” The way, she knew, certain witches had in the past. The way her zombie friends had. “It’s not alright or whatever. I was wrong,” The words throttled her, the alarms in her brain begging her to shut up. She never enjoyed admitting she was wrong, it made her feel dizzy, out of control. But she was already there tonight, she was already spiralling, might as well dive in to fix something she had made. “I’m sorry too, for the little that it’s worth, that it happened to you. That you were killed.” She knew the feeling, the wrongness that came after that. She didn’t know how being changed into something else felt however. “White Crest isn’t kind. Just try to be careful and maybe it’ll avoid pressing its misery on you again,” She finished softly, weakly.

Milo listened to the apology, taking a moment to really register the woman’s choice of words. He recognised the fact that she was trying, in the same way he understood how difficult it was to take responsibility for a mistake. He appreciated it more than he could say, so he offered her a hesitant smile, hoping to show her he was no longer offended, or upset. He was too tired to cling to so many negative emotions, too desperate to forget, if only for a little while. “You, uh… you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.” He teased, careful to gauge her reaction. He was attempting to lighten the mood but he knew there was a possibility of pushing her further away. He wanted to move forward, he just didn’t know how to. “Look,” he said, becoming serious again. “I know how it feels, I really do. Or part of it, at least. I also know that’s weird because I guess I’m like, one of them now. But I didn’t ask for any of this… You were used by a vampire, and I was used by a vampire. Different outcomes but it still fucking sucks...” Catching the ironic phrase the moment it left his lips he laughed quietly, unable to help himself. “I mean, figuratively but…”

Falling silent when his company warned him White Crest wasn’t kind, it made him wonder what else she had been through, how else she might have suffered at the hands of his hometown. His memory flashed suddenly back to Dani, and his killer, to the moment he had allowed the person responsible for his death to touch him. He couldn’t do anything to suppress a shudder. As it always did when he truly considered what had taken place, anxiety began to claw at his chest, and he swallowed, staring down at his coffee so that he could collect himself before looking back up again. It was a strange conversation to have, and maybe not one he was ready for given recent events. But he pressed on. “I’m Milo. I probably should have said that earlier.” A soft sigh escaping him, he pointedly ignored the pain still weighing him down, remembering distinctly why he had come to the coffee shop in the first place. “Hey, I don’t suppose you want to, uh… start over? Maybe get another coffee and find a table that isn’t in front of a mirror?” He asked. He didn’t have anything to lose, but maybe, just maybe, he could gain a friend. A friend who partially understood the way the aftermath of his attack was still affecting him.

A snort left Bea, an amused smile lighting her face, “Trust me, this is me not being dramatic. I’m usually far more over the top.” She knew how to make a show, knew the words to say to get crowd reaction, knew how to dress and act to get the attention in a room. Her calm was often everyone’s dramatic. She watched his face closely, knowing that these conversations were never easy to have. Personally, most people didn’t know the details of her relationship with Kian. They didn’t know her history or how she felt dirty after it was all said and done. She had never gotten close enough to another person with ties to vampires to compare notes, see how trauma was different on other faces. “I find a lot of people turn into the thing that destroyed them, your’s just couldn’t be stopped.” She had become a killer after the Hunter, had walked this world with the goal of making sure others knew she could end them if she so wished. She had picked that, this man hadn’t. “It does fucking suck, pun intended, considering what happened,” She repeated back, that small smile still on her face.

Bea considered her options. She could just walk away, this had ended amicably enough, or she could give him a shot, accept company and let herself get pulled from the hole she had placed herself in. “I’m Bea or Beatrice, either work.” She always introduced herself that way, even though she rarely went by Beatrice anymore. Her mother had loved her full name though and so Bea had never stopped. Maybe it was time to. “I know a spot here where there are no mirrors, should be pretty safe.” She had never really stopped looking for those safe spots, not after three years of it. “I’ll get us more coffee and meet you over there?” She offered, guard still up, but willing to take some time to pull it down.

Milo watched the woman, pleased to see a genuine smile light up her face as she spoke. He smiled too, unable to help himself, but it didn’t take long for the expression to fade. He tried to imagine a world where he killed people so callously, where he was willing to take a life because it was convenient, and made him feel good. He refused to let himself become that, he was never going to forget the trauma, the unrest his experience had caused him. It might actually haunt him forever. He knew he could be selfish, knew on the odd occasion he put his own wants and needs before the wants and needs of others, but never to such a scale. That wasn’t him, and it was never going to be him. “I really hope that isn’t true…” He murmured. Maybe his company was right, and becoming a vampire was enough. Maybe she wasn’t talking about the murderous tendencies that apparently came as part of the package. Humming quietly in response to the pun, he glanced back up at her and was surprised to find she was still smiling. It made him feel better somehow, the knowledge that she might actually be enjoying the conversation.

“Bea...” He echoed, committing her name to his memory. He didn’t enjoy being given a choice, not when names could carry so much weight, and be so personal. It only made sense to use the first option he had been given. A laugh escaping him at the mention of mirrors, drawing him out of his thoughts, he was struck by how ridiculous it was relying on a human to show him where he would safely be able to sit. He felt like a child, although he knew he was in no place to complain about that fact. She was helping him, and considering how their interaction had begun, that alone seemed like an outright miracle. Following her gaze to a handful of tables, he nodded before catching her eye. “Coffee sounds good.” He agreed. “With oat milk, and as much syrup as they can legally give me.”

“Sometimes hope can be enough, if you follow it with determination.” There were moments where Bea looked toward Luce and saw hope in a manner she didn’t with many other people. It was a Vural trait to never go down easily, but Luce always felt like the most hopeful somehow. She was by far the least optimistic, yet somehow when hope was introduced to a situation, the eldest sister thought of the lightning caster. She couldn’t completely explain it, but it felt right in her chest. Luce didn’t let go of hope once she found it, she held fast, a dragon with her horde. “Oat milk,” Bea nodded, heading over to the front. “I’ll convince them to give you some illegal syrup too, don’t worry.”

Milo grinned at the mention of illegal syrup before turning away from Bea, making his way over to their new table. He felt okay, he realised. Not good, and definitely not whole, but okay, and that was undeniably the best possible outcome of the evening. He had been expecting the drink to help him. Had been expecting the solitude, and the quiet sense of normalcy to ground his overwhelming emotion. When in actuality it was the company helping him settle. Bea may have been cold, and short to begin with, but he was really beginning to like her. Maybe there was something in that. He had called Evelyn, hadn’t he? To help him when he was catatonic. Didn’t he usually call Orion when he was feeling particularly miserable, or confused? Even Macleod and James on the odd occasion had helped him to organise his thoughts. It struck him suddenly that he didn’t need coffee, he didn’t need to cling to his old life, or wallow in it entirely alone. He needed to find somebody to be with, somebody who could distract him from his thoughts, and allow him a sense of freedom. He knew the clubs now, he knew the substances. But did he know anybody willing to get on his level? If he looked in the right places, he strongly suspected White Crest might finally deliver.

#c:bea #milo and bea #emotional abuse tw #drug abuse tw

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