MILO
It was the same. Seems to repeat in his mind, lips shifting into a slight frown. But he’d already chosen her over all of it. So he steps toward her, enveloping her in his arms, tight and snug and Milo presses his cheek against the crown of her dark hair, uncaring of how his shirt becomes damp with her tears – his hands smoothing over her skin in soft, slow circles of comfort, the only thing he knows how to do. If there’s a bit of healing with it to continue to fix her ailments and exhaustion physically, he pretends as if he doesn’t notice.
Silence overtakes them, because Milo doesn’t know what to say to make it easier. All he can do is sit there and let her speak her mind, finding the words within his own to offer in the hopes it helps. So when she offers her honesty to him, he clings to her tighter, hands running up and down her spine as if it might help alleviate her fears. “That makes sense, ‘Relia.” He murmurs softly into her hair, lifting his head to press his lips where his cheek had just rested. “Some sorta trauma response, ‘course y’d slip.” His voice is muffled from where it’s pressed against her hair.
But then he’s pulling his head away a fraction, drawing her in tighter to his chest. “Y’ve done so good fer a while now. Yer gonna have yer slip ups. They’re gonna b’scary. But I believe in ya. I believe y’can do it.” Get back to that better part of her, even despite the mistakes. He has to. Because if he doesn’t and she spirals and she leaves what else does he have?
Nothing.
Silence overtakes them, because Milo doesn’t know what to say to make it easier. All he can do is sit there and let her speak her mind, finding the words within his own to offer in the hopes it helps. So when she offers her honesty to him, he clings to her tighter, hands running up and down her spine as if it might help alleviate her fears. “That makes sense, ‘Relia.” He murmurs softly into her hair, lifting his head to press his lips where his cheek had just rested. “Some sorta trauma response, ‘course y’d slip.” His voice is muffled from where it’s pressed against her hair.
But then he’s pulling his head away a fraction, drawing her in tighter to his chest. “Y’ve done so good fer a while now. Yer gonna have yer slip ups. They’re gonna b’scary. But I believe in ya. I believe y’can do it.” Get back to that better part of her, even despite the mistakes. He has to. Because if he doesn’t and she spirals and she leaves what else does he have?
Nothing.
as long as we don't die,
this is gonna be one hell of a story
this is gonna be one hell of a story
