MILO
now they're standing in the door
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
His laughter is light and gentle at the realization that this little spider had grown quite large in the span of a season, but he’s eager to hold the arachnid, flattening his palm so that it might find it appealing in answer. And it does, skittering over to his hand quite quickly where he moves to cup it with the other hand as well, giving it a small space to burrow into while he peers at it from above – the grin on his face nothing short of boyishly charmed.
“I think sh’does too, yeah.” Milo responds swiftly, casting a bright grin Aurelia’s direction, before he’s turning to lean back against the counter and let his eyes linger on the spider that makes a home in his hands. “’n I’m makin’ lunch. Sandwiches. Thought y’might be hungry when ya got back.” He explains, lifting his head to look back at his fellow smuggler as she laughs.
Her hand rises to his cheek, her thumb swiping away the mayo he’d accidentally gotten there. “Think we should get ‘er a cool place t’hang out for a bit, yeah? The sandwiches are almost done, jus’ gotta stick ‘em together.” He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek, something soft and gentle and full of love and adoration, before he’s sweeping through the kitchen to find anything that might prove to be cold within the sweltering heat of Torchline.
“I think sh’does too, yeah.” Milo responds swiftly, casting a bright grin Aurelia’s direction, before he’s turning to lean back against the counter and let his eyes linger on the spider that makes a home in his hands. “’n I’m makin’ lunch. Sandwiches. Thought y’might be hungry when ya got back.” He explains, lifting his head to look back at his fellow smuggler as she laughs.
Her hand rises to his cheek, her thumb swiping away the mayo he’d accidentally gotten there. “Think we should get ‘er a cool place t’hang out for a bit, yeah? The sandwiches are almost done, jus’ gotta stick ‘em together.” He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek, something soft and gentle and full of love and adoration, before he’s sweeping through the kitchen to find anything that might prove to be cold within the sweltering heat of Torchline.
that's what everybody wants an' some more
singing "you may be the death of me"
singing "you may be the death of me"
