Milo/Mal/MC

“Eventually, we are going to have to have a normal date.” 

Malcolm’s fingers walked up and down my spine as I spoke. They paused occasionally, rubbing at small blemishes or a particular knob against my back. My shirt was rucked up high to allow his hands to wander.  “This is normal,” he said.

Shifting, I turned to look at him. We both lay on our belly’s, a fishing pole propped up somewhere near our feet. We were sated from a good meal and a long hike, during which Milo mainly kept swearing we were going to be attacked by bears.

“It started off normal,” I told Malcolm. “And then it got weird.”

There was a loud whoop from within the water, proving my point. Milo had predictably gotten bored of fishing about five seconds after we started and had searched out things to do. This inevitably led to him taking off both his socks, tying them together, and then fastening them around his head like a sweatband of some sort. It wasn’t long before he got a stick and then began “foraging” through the woods. Occasionally, Malcolm and I had heard him talking to himself. Narrating his own personal documentary as he rummaged through the brush, looking for berries and squirrels.

Looking out at the river now, we spotted him at the top of a waterfall. He had disappeared about an hour ago, missing lunch, and had instead presumably climbed to the top of the ridge. He lost his shirt and pants somewhere along the way and stood there in all his freckled glory, in only his underwear.  The socks were still tied around his head.

“What?” Malcolm flattened his palm against my back, the warmth of it seeping through my skin. “This isn’t normal for you?”

Milo was now waving his stick in the air, singing something at the top of his lungs and sending birds scattering from the tree tops.

Rolling closer to Malcolm, I tucked myself against him, idly wondering how long it was going to be until Milo jumped. “Has he been drinking?”

“Not a lick,” Mal responded, wrapping himself around me. “Drunk Milo is lazy.”

I sighed. “So he’s doing it again.”

“Hopefully he’s just bored. Fishing isn’t something he enjoys. Or, you know, being outdoors in general.”

It was refreshing, if we really thought about it. When was the last time any of us had the luxury to be bored? To allow ourselves such frivolity as fishing and a picnic. The broadleaf banana leaves hung above us, offering a dappled canopy from the open night sky. The river ran on perfect pitch as it rushed over the smooth stones that made up its bed. And even the shore was soft. A bed of lush moss offering the perfect place to lay in the humid evening heat.

“Hey,” Mal whispered. “Can I run an idea by you?’

Turning in his arms, I looked up at him, my nose brushing against his. I couldn’t help but lean forward, pressing my lips against his own for a single moment. “Do it quick before mountain man comes back.”

Sitting up, Malcolm reached for his pack.  He kept one arm around me, practically pulling me into his lap. “I wanted to show you something.” He took his sketch book from the bag he had slung over his shoulder our journey here, placing it into my own lap and gesturing for me to open it.

With our heads ducked together, I slowly cracked the spine, the smell of charcoal faintly wafting towards me. Upon each page, small sketches were revealed. Nothing I hadn’t seen before. Drawings of hands, a few small sketches of animals and plants. But as I progressed, Malcolm’s work began to change. Suddenly, there were pictures of me. Ones of me laughing. Others of me sleeping. One of me standing on my tiptoes as I reached for the stars. And above me, was a miasma of gray swirling sky. A monochromatic world that somehow looked alive the longer I stared at it.

“Malcolm,” I breathed, not knowing what else to say.

“There’s an art show coming up. I wanted to maybe feature this one. But, seeing as it's based on you in more ways than one, I wanted to ask permission first.”

I wanted to touch the paper. Run my fingers over it and feel the lines of it. It looked so real. Like home.

“Of course you can,” I told him. 

The smile that broke across his face was wide and genuine. None of the half smirks I usually got or the dark and sultry stares. This was one of pure joy. Leaning forward, he kissed me. Cupping the side of my jaw, he pulled me forward, cradling me against him with such endearing gratitude.

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“I will be coming to the show,” I told him.  You can’t keep me from it this time.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He moved in closer then, tipping my face to the side and angling me in such a way that he could gain control. Slowly, he began pressing against me, his tongue tracing a line against my lips as he began kissing me in earnest. His hands began to wander.

A splash sounded before we could get too far, causing both of us to break away. Our heads pressed against each other and Malcolm’s laugh was far more irritated by the interruption than one of wry amusement.

“He’s here,” Malcolm sang.

I snorted in laughter before pulling away.

Out of the depths of the river, Milo emerged. Drops of crystalline water dripped down his chest, highlighting each line of muscle.  He was shaking his head like a dog, sending water flying everywhere. I couldn’t help but notice how he stood just out of reach so that if the water droplets did hit us, Malcolm couldn’t grab him in retaliation.

“Did you have fun?” I asked him.

His grin was wide, his amber eyes dancing with joy. “I am a survival expert,” he proclaimed. “No individual can beat my skills. I saw a mountain and I conquered. I slew the beast of the woods with my bare hands. And I built a log cabin using the tools that nature provided for me. I am victorious.”

Malcolm simply stared at him, not amused.  “You’re starving, aren’t you.”

“Gods yes.” Milo stumbled forward, flopping onto the moss bed with us and grabbing at his plate of food. Malcolm stood, walking away from the wet lump, while I stared at Milo in astonishment for somehow consuming an entire fish filet in two bites. “Did he show you?” Milo’s eyes were darting towards the sketchbook.

“You’ve seen them?”

“I snooped,” he said with a shrug. “There was a time his sketchbooks were filled with indecent pictures of me, you know.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm agreed. “And then I realized that wasn’t art.” He dropped a blanket around Milo’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around him and capturing him in a layer of warmth. “You’re freezing,” he chided, plastering himself against Milo’s back to help warm him. He planted a small kiss against the man's cheek.

“Good thing we have the log cabin to take you too and get you all warmed up,” I teased Milo.

He shook his head. “It burned down. Tragic accident really. Couldn’t be helped.” 

I piled two more fish filets onto Milo’s plate. Then, I turned to the small stone pit I had built earlier. Leaning down, I whispered to the land, pulling the heat from the core of the realm to create a small spark. Within moments, we had a blazing fire.

“That’s still unfairly cool,” Milo muttered under his breath.  I laughed a little at the awe in his voice. I had caught him more than once spying on me while I experimented with my abilities. Milo’s curious nature was boundless when it came to me.

“So I was thinking we would sleep out here tonight,” I told the two of them. Malcolm was wrestling the sock sweatband from Milo’s head, pushing Milo’s curls to stand at odd angles.  “It’s warm enough and we have nowhere to really be.”

Malcolm, still holding onto Milo and now rubbing his hands up and down his arms, looked excited over the prospect. “I’ll catch some more fish for breakfast since the bottomless pit here is going to eat everything. I packed the two of you kafe, too, just in case.” He winked at me. Sometimes I felt like him and I shared the same thoughts. Enmeshed together in such a way that we didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

“I’ll go get some firewood for us,” MIlo volunteered. As he made to jump up, however, Malcolm held him firmly.

“We don’t need firewood,” I told Milo. “I can get enough heat from beneath the ground to sustain us. Plus, it’s not that cold.”

“Then some more moss. Make a more comfortable bed.”

Again, he tried to wiggle away and again, Malcolm tightened his grip.

An odd thing had taken place since the three of us started our journey together. One that I had not expected from Milo. He did not know how to exist in a relationship. Let alone exist in a relationship with more than one person. Milo was used to flings. Picking up men and women at bars and bringing them home for a night of fun.. Sometimes they wouldn't even make it home and would conduct their tryst in the shadows of the alleys. Sometimes he would see them again. Most of the time he would wish them well and go about his day. Even when he and Malcolm were together, he treated Mal like a prolonged fling. And the moment it got complicated between them, he picked a fight so Malcolm would tell him to leave.  They were all fights repeated from his usual arsenal. He didn’t want to be tied down. That he loved many and for someone to peg him as a one guy kind of man, was unjust. Unfair. That he had needs Malcolm couldn’t always fulfill

And then, one day, I decided to walk the cobbled streets instead of being a voyeur to the fights that I could see breeding such resentment. Born from pure fear.

Somewhere along the way, Milo fell in love. Maybe he had loved Malcolm before but had been good at compartmentalizing it. Or maybe he just realized that Malcolm would put up with his bullshit. That his self esteem was low enough to accept Milo back over and over again. The second I stepped into the picture, Milo had to change, however. Not because I demanded it and not because Malcolm had grown into his own. But because he genuinely wanted to be with us. But despite this, old habits die hard and the past had lashed too many scars against his skin. Even now, when Milo was in a situation where it was just the three of us, he looked for every excuse to go off on his own.

I scooted closer to him, the light of the fire dancing across his face and reflecting in his eyes. Slowly, I reached up and cupped his cheek.

“How can someone so brave be so afraid of being loved?” I asked him.

He stiffened and I could see his mind racing.  Both Malcolm and I stayed quiet, letting the fire crackle behind us and the river play its song. When Milo finally relaxed, he pushed his cheek against my hand and closed his eyes.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing it again.”

From behind him, Malcolm loosened his hold, but pushed Milo a little forward so he was perfectly sandwiched between him and I. “Button, you had the afternoon. No one is asking you to stay by our side all day. But now it is time for us, okay? Do you need a reminder?” 

Milo nodded slowly, lashes sweeping across his cheek as he refused to open his eyes.

I took his hand in mine. “Love does not have to look like everyone else's,” I told him. “It does not need to resemble any one thing. You are loved, Milo Next. We want you here. And we want to be yours for as long as you’ll have us.”

Opening his eyes he rolled them at me. “Of course I’m going to have you two forever.”

Malcolm pinched him a little, causing Milo to yelp. “Then stop being weird and stay here with us so we can love you.”

Occasionally, Milo just needed a reminder. He needed to be held and his body needed to remember that he was somewhere safe. That angry hands were not going to be turned towards him if he did something wrong. And that forgiveness could always be found. And while he didn’t understand why or how, Malcolm and I had made it our own personal mission to do that for him. To at least let our lost boy know that he was loved.

As the fire continued to dance around us, I pulled Milo from Malcolm’s arms, the two of us lying down next to each other. Milo took the edge of the blanket and folded it over me as well.

“You two want kafe?” Mal asked, already digging in the bag.

“Yes please,” I said.

Malcolm peered at him. “You gonna cook it right.”

With a put out sigh, Malcolm leaned forward, stealing a kiss from Milo. He breathed in deeply, pouring every inch of himself into the man in my arms. As Malcolm pulled away, he flicked Milo on the elbow. “Shut up,” he told him.

Milo chuckled before burying himself against me again, wrapping his entire body around me.

One day he would understand. As I lay in his arms I knew without a doubt that one day, he would forgive himself. One day he would realize that not everything was his fault. But until then, Malcolm and I would hold him up. And whether Milo realized it or not, he held us up just as strong.