Date and Dancing with Milo

A/N: This is part of the baron tier commissions.

“Whatcha doin’?”

My lavender eyes clicked across the room, reflecting in one of the many broken mirrors that were scattered across the floor. A few bronze vases fell down around me, falling like gold coins in a treasure trove of jewels and gathered relics from multiple expanses of time. I hissed as one of my horns got tangled in a low-lying string of flags, tattered from the wind. When I turned to bat it away, I nearly tripped over a bust of a raven, looking at me with a bemused glint to their eyes.

Milo laughed a little, hopping through the open edge of the wall that served as a window. His feet were planted on the floor, the rug shifting beneath him. He raised a brow at me, trying to keep his amusement to a minimum as he watched me struggle with the cord that somehow continued to knot itself around me in some mimicry of binding.

“Need help, darlin’?”

I stopped with a huff. “Think you can reach?” While Milo was not that much shorter than me, I teased him about his height relentlessly. It was because he was so skinny. He always looked far smaller than what he was. And while he could keep up with me while eating, he had the metabolism of a jittery hamster. At least, that’s what Malcolm and I suspected.

“I’m more afraid of breaking my ankle as I walk across the room,” he told me. Things were littered around the floor before accumulated into piles that reached and somehow curved across the ceiling. It was the best way I could describe everything. Things. Some of them had meaning. Others had meaning for a friend I hoped would come back. But in the end, I was sure that was how Milo saw everything. As just things. To me, they were so much more.

“You’ll be fine,” I told him. I reached up, trying to wack away the flags. I couldn’t figure out how it had gotten so bad. I had of course added to it all over the last few months but there was more here than even I could contribute. Part of me wondered if Caliban had somehow continued to add to it. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

Milo made his way across the room, hand reaching out to trail softly down my arm. I shivered, standing still as he stood on his tiptoes, unwrapping the cord from my bent head. “This is why we can’t leave you alone.”

“Ha ha,” I told him dryly.

With my hand in Milo’s, I walked away from the pile I had been digging in. I was supposed to be meeting Milo down in the Renaissance district. There was a festival happening down there. One of rebirth and renewal for the land. Milo and I thought it would be fun to go and participate. To dance around the fire and beneath the stars. To contribute to the world that we were secretly in charge of. And then I had caught sight of something shiny up above, and it was all over. Mainly because it wasn’t one of my ‘shinies’ so I needed to know who else was here.

“Isn’t this that one guy's place?”

I had forgotten that Milo had never met Caliban. It was a call back to a time when Milo had started to pull back. Hiding from me, from the world, from the fears that he had.  

“Caliban’s,” I said. “It was his. Or still is. Someone’s been here.”

Milo was looking around, taking in the belongings of a stranger. His eyes dragged on something buried, however, and gingerly, he stepped forward, pushing aside a few beaded scarves. An old pair of boots were yanked from the bottom of the pile.

He held them up, dangling by the laces. “Either this guy had the same size shoe as you or you’ve been here more than once.”

I bit my lip, feeling a bit of heat rise to my face. They were the boots Milo had given to me when we first met. A pair he had bought me because I had nothing of my own.  I hadn’t worn them for a spell, but I hadn’t the heart to get rid of them either. Because they were given to me without thought. Milo had shoved them in my arms because he saw a need and wanted to meet it. And to me, that was quintessential Milo.

“I come here from time to time,” I confessed. “It brings me comfort.”

He looked at me curiously. “Because of the things or the man that had the things?”

“Both.”

He nodded, wrapping his arms around my waist.  His head was buried between my shoulder blades as he breathed with me, and I felt myself push back against him, seeking out the feel of his touch. “You’re a hoarder,” he mumbled into my shirt.

It wasn’t a taunt. More of a teasing observation. “Probably.”

“Bet you this stuff is all from you. You’ve just forgotten what you’ve gathered.”

“I forget nothing of what I’ve gathered,” I told him, slightly offended. Then again, this place wasn’t really mine to begin with. And while I normally would have felt uncomfortable with someone rooting around my things, I didn’t this time. As if the very items themselves were trying to sing to me that it was all okay.

“Still want to go dancing?”

“Has the festival started?”

“Mmm,” he hummed. Milo had this way about him in the last year or so. Once he was given permission, he had his hands on me as much as he could. Falling into me in a way that wrapped me up in him and only him. It grounded me, keeping me safe. It was one of the things with being the Night Market. I felt a void in this world, like I was flying apart. When Milo had figured that out, he held me as tight as he could.

“That’s not an answer.” I turned in his arms, looking down at him.

“Darlin’, I always want to go dancing. You just say the word and I will twirl you around the floor like a little princess.”

“I think it’s your turn to be the princess tonight,” I told him. “I wore the tiara last time.”

Milo snorted, pushing me away before twirling back and taking my hand. 

We made our way down the rickety elevator together, heading outside the building and down the road towards where the broken cobblestones became whole, and the trees grew tall. The district was lit up for the festival, flags with family crests hanging from beneath the oval lanterns. Tall tents pitched with large oak tables were arranged underneath, with the smell of food wafting enticingly out from under them.  I held Milo’s hand as we walked into the heart of the district, minstrels wandering and singing bawdy tunes. Looking at Milo out of the corner of my eye, I could see the way he was itching to dance, his feet tapping along to the different beats that he heard.

Tugging at his arm, I pulled him closer to me, watching as he grinned a little before falling into place. We began dancing in the middle of the street, our feet stomping in a call and response to each other. Milo’s eyes lit up, the minstrels gathering and calling out cheers as we fell into the rhythm they played.  A few calls sounded around us as more began to join and soon, the streets were filled with dancers, hands being exchanged as partners switched.  But whenever Milo and I met back up, I felt a small thrill go through me.

I had had many dance partners in my lifetime. I had taken the hands of enemies and lovers and had twirled across the dance floor with sure feet and an almost manic desire to see how far I could push a song. But everything with Milo and dancing had been different. From the first moment that he had held out his hand to this sliver of time we stepped through now. When I danced with Milo, I felt like I was taking my first breath. When we fell in synch with each other, I could feel his heart beat against my own. Dancing with Milo was more than a coordinated show. It was like coming home.

When we were out of breath, the two of us leaned against a tree together, watching as little kids skipped through the streets with long ribbons and older couples gently swayed as the music turned soft. Milo was pressed to me, hip bony against my own.

“You could stay here all night, couldn’t you.” Every time I saw Milo dance, I saw the best of him. Everything that he could be vs. what he thought he should be.

“I love festivals. They make me want to sleep under the stars and wake up to dance all over again.”

I tipped my head towards him. “Want to?”

He rolled, kicking my legs apart to stick his thigh between mine. Hands kneading my hips, he began swaying to the music again, face flushed and hair damp from sweat. “There are so many other things I want to do right now.” Leaning forward, his eyes dark, he pressed a kiss to my scar, lips tracing the raised skin. I hissed a little in both pleasure and pain, gripping him tight.

“One of those things better be about enjoying the food that’s here at this festival. Because as delicious as you are, the smells that are wafting around here are distracting me.”

Milo was about to protest when his own stomach growled. It was a loud roar that caught the attention of a few pixies hiding in the trees. He slumped against me as they were sent into peels of laughter that had them rolling across the twigs. “An entire roasted chicken. Mashed garlic potatoes. Greens. Buttered carrots.”

I smacked his arm. “You are not helping the situation.”

“I already sent Malcolm ahead to order. Don’t worry.” Pulling back, he laughed at the look on my face. The relief that was there. Because this man knew that more than anything, I was not going to skip a meal after dancing like that.

“You think of everything.”

“No, I just know you and food,” he grinned. “And I like to keep you happy. So, let’s get you fed so we can either go get sweaty in other situations, or you can take Mal and I upstairs to dig back through your horde.”

I stumbled along after him, our hands gripped together tight. “It’s treasure. Not a horde.”

“Okay, dragonling,” he laughed. “You do you. We’ll see how you act when Malcolm tries to clean it.”

I knew the horror that was written across my face filled Milo with a delight that I should find concerning.  The thought of Malcolm anywhere near my things felt horrifying. And suddenly I worried that Milo had a new game to play.

“Don’t you dare tell him what’s up there,” I said in a panic.

“It’s not nice to lie,” he singsonged.

“Milo Next, you ripped my chest open and slid a key inside. You owe me.”

The bark of laughter that escaped him wound around me like music.  When he looked over my shoulder there was none of the guilt that had once been there before, nor any of the sorrow that had used to haunt his eyes. Instead, there was just that bit of deviousness that rose up when he was challenged.

“We’ll see, darlin’. We’ll see.”

And honestly, I couldn’t wait to see what this game would bring.