#it's the equal application of fluff and angst and smut your honor

[thegreatobsesso]

snippet from part III (safe house era <3!)

I jump around so wildly with this WIP and it's always interesting to me to see which part I end up sticking to on a daily basis. I had this one sitting around for a long time and yesterday my brain zeroed in and edited to a place I feel happy posting!

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Milo

The Old Country Feed Store is wedged between a barber shop and a bar and if the name evokes a certain image, it looks even more retro than that. It’s the closest grocery store to the safe house, clocking in at forty-five minutes doing the speed limit, and it oozes that sort of nostalgic charm that can go from quaint to scary at the drop of a hat.

(“You present like you came out of the womb with a cock already in your mouth,” Octavius duly informs him, fussing with his outfit before starting the journey. “And I love that about you, but we need to masc you up.”

“Like you’re the poster child of male heterosexuality!”

“I dress consistently and impeccably masculine.”

“You dress well, darling, and in a place like this that translates to gay. You should trust me on this one, I know small towns.”)

So now Milo’s in a nondescript hoodie and a brown jacket whose lining has seen better days, and Octavius is dressed down, which for him means a ruddy crimson sweater without a button-down under it and trousers that have a centimeter of extra give. He still looks like he’s stepped off the pages of a menswear catalog, but it’s fractionally more subtle than usual.

He puts the car into park and pockets the keys. “It’s cute,” he says, determined to be optimistic in the face of all that weathered wood and rust. “We can do this. Got your list?”

In the passenger seat, Octavius bursts into tears.

Everything that happens around Milo is surreal these days, so it takes him a second to react. “Oh, sweetheart,” he manages once he processes what’s happening, twisting himself sideways in the cramped vehicle to pull him into a badly angled hug. “Hey hey hey, it’s alright, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” he sobs into Milo’s coat.

“Do what, love?”

“This. All of this. I can’t… I miss my life, I don’t want this, I just, I-”

Oh, Milo’s an idiot. He rubs Octavius’s back and curses himself for feeling blindsided.

“I’m sorry,” he says gently. Octavius cries like it causes him physical pain, muscles all taut and locked, and Milo reminds himself they’re not in a partially constructed building in the cold dead of night with a discarded gun that’s still warm. Only days ago, really, but Octavius’s hair is shorter now and Milo’s heart is stronger, and this is nothing. This is simple. “You’re okay, let it out. Just try and take a deep breath for me. You’re alright.”

Octavius pulls away first, jerky and uncoordinated. “Fuck,” he croaks, staring into his clawed fists. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Milo claims one of his hands and smooths it out. “Permission to be a therapist?”

He pulls a face at that and wipes furiously at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “Granted.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Okay, so, consider: you’re a man of routine and structure whose entire world just collapsed around him. Your life is on a totally different course. You were betrayed by someone you trusted - that’s me - and now your life’s in danger and you’re stuck in an unfamiliar place where absolutely nothing’s like what you’re used to. It’s okay if all this has you feeling a little scared and a little overwhelmed. I’d be more worried about you if it didn’t.”

He grunts and sniffles, but he doesn’t pull his hand away and he hasn’t tried to hide his tears even a little. It’s terrible to see him in pain, of course, but this is also really healthy and good. It’s normal.

“You’re alright,” Milo reassures him again with a kiss to the forehead. “I know it’s a lot, but I’m right here with you. You don’t have to go through any of it alone, you got it?”

“Yes,” he says simply, and shakes his head and clears his throat. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be fine.”

“Well, I am, at least for now. I’m not built for prolonged hysterics. Let’s just… get the food sorted.”

“Sweetheart, really, if you wanna wait in the car that’s totally okay.”

“And leave it to you?” he scoffs weakly. “I’d be stuck with those rancid microwaved pizza bits of yours and die of malnutrition.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. “We’ve been over this, the pizza bits are a snack, not a staple.”

“They’re garbage.”

“They’ve got pepperoni, that’s protein. Cheese: dairy. Tomato sauce: vegetable.”

“I’m suffering and you’re doing everything in your power to antagonize me.”

He grins. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, popping the door open. “And tomatoes are a fruit.”

“I knew you weren’t gonna let that slide.”

Milo follows him into the shop feeling particularly warm inside despite the dry, frigid air.

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✨ WIP intro

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