MILO
His hands roam across her skin, familiarizing himself with the similarities and the differences, focusing on the closeness to her and the freckles that line her face that have shifted their constellation-like patterns into something new. Her eyes are still bright, still the same, a similar dark hue to her hair as well. But her cheeks are rounder, her nose more of a button, and her face a bit more of a heart shape. It’ll take him some getting used to, but he has what feels like the rest of forever to figure it out and get to know this new face like the back of his hand once again.
He utters his words and her hand comes up to tangle through the back of his hair, Milo leaning into the press to his forehead, almost hard enough that it hurts but he doesn’t care. She tells him she’s getting used to it too and he can only imagine how strange it must be to look in a mirror or the reflection of a puddle and to not find the face she’s known for however long.
It suddenly occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know how old she is, not that it matters. But it’s an idle thought that comes and passes, especially when she leans forward, her soft lips hovering over his chest, her voice a soft murmur that has him willing to do whatever it takes to keep her mind off of the recent events. And it seems she has one idea that he’s more than happy to oblige to.
Her mouth finds his skin, marks left behind along the flush from the sun and the heat of the water and Milo’s hands grow more possessive over her hips, pulling her closer, nuzzling his cheek to the top of her head before his hands roam to the small of her back, running his blunt fingernails along her spine in an idle stroke. “I don’ think that’s gonna be much’ve a problem.” He murmurs to her, a crooked smile forming on his face that remains, even as his hand rises to her jaw, to lift her head so that he can press a harder, more passionate kiss to her lips.
He utters his words and her hand comes up to tangle through the back of his hair, Milo leaning into the press to his forehead, almost hard enough that it hurts but he doesn’t care. She tells him she’s getting used to it too and he can only imagine how strange it must be to look in a mirror or the reflection of a puddle and to not find the face she’s known for however long.
It suddenly occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know how old she is, not that it matters. But it’s an idle thought that comes and passes, especially when she leans forward, her soft lips hovering over his chest, her voice a soft murmur that has him willing to do whatever it takes to keep her mind off of the recent events. And it seems she has one idea that he’s more than happy to oblige to.
Her mouth finds his skin, marks left behind along the flush from the sun and the heat of the water and Milo’s hands grow more possessive over her hips, pulling her closer, nuzzling his cheek to the top of her head before his hands roam to the small of her back, running his blunt fingernails along her spine in an idle stroke. “I don’ think that’s gonna be much’ve a problem.” He murmurs to her, a crooked smile forming on his face that remains, even as his hand rises to her jaw, to lift her head so that he can press a harder, more passionate kiss to her lips.
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
