Post Chapter Five - Milo

A/N This one may feel as if it does not have an ending. But that is because it is going to lead directly into chapter six when it comes out.

Milo had gotten good at faking sleep.  There was a rhythm to his breathing that he had to master years ago. A way in which he relaxed his body.  It was something he picked up as a child when Feebus had tried to demand that he stay home at night for his own safety. He’d fake sleep when Feebus did his rounds and then he’d sneak out through the upper window.

Tonight, he did it to try and get out of a conversation.

Which made him feel like shit in the end.

There was something Milo was coming to understand about himself. He was terrible at speaking.  A weird kind of revelation to come to given who he actually was but when it came to trying to speak about anything of importance, he failed.

Opening his eyes, he looked around the now dim room. The kitchen was now clean, the gramophone had stopped, and Milo was alone.  Sitting up, he scrubbed a hand across his face, letting out a shaky breath. Why was he even here? The last place he should have been was inside Malcolm’s apartment, talking to… talking to Malcolm’s lamplight. Malcolm’s. 

“Fuck.”

He placed his head in his hands. 

It was stupid, really. This idea that Lamplight belonged to anyone. Or that Malcolm had won some age old contest where he got the love story and Milo got shut out in the cold. It was so ridiculous to look at it in any sort of way that Milo himself should have just laughed about it all. But in the dead of night? Well, who had ever thought clearly in the dead of night.

Standing, he went into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. Malcolm didn’t touch alcohol usually so he doubted he would find much. Rummaging through the cabinets would be a momentary distraction that he couldn’t pass up. But, when he touched one of the cabinets, he felt something rip at the inside of his chest. It peeled away layers of muscle and skin, leaving him standing there, flayed and raw.  Initially, he tried to fight the waves of confusion and pain but now, he let it wash over him before pushing his own magic back into the cracks.

Then there was nothing.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” Another gate had tried to open. Another bit of the world trying to rip off this band aid that was holding it together. Every day Milo felt the pull become stronger. The power he funneled into trying to keep everything shut was a molten weight against him. But he couldn’t let the world open back up again.  He… he couldn’t.

Leaning forward, he rested his head on the counter.

Could he?

Was there a reason he was keeping the world shut off because the world was actually dying? Was this what was fixing the Night Market? That’s what he had been told. But the other things he had been told turned out to be a pawn in another person's game.  He hadn’t even looked into the claims. He had just gone along with it. Accepting it all at face value.

No. No, that wasn’t true either. He could feel it. He could feel the way the Market screamed each time a gate opened. They were in agony. But they kept sacrificing themselves for the greater good. To help those who had nowhere else to go.  No one could go through that much pain and survive. And near the end, the frequencies in which the gates were opening, didn’t allow for much of a chance to heal.

He could sacrifice himself, however. Turns out, that might be somewhat of an option. He just needed to do it slowly. Take bits of himself to patch up the doors and give them time to close. It would kill him in the end and someone else would become the Gatekeeper but if it was Mal then maybe….

He banged his head on the counter.

He needed to get out of here. Run. Just get away from the people that made him want to care. He wasn’t supposed to fucking care.  He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to care…

“Milo?”

He startled, turning around at the voice. Lamplight. The Market. The individual he loved more than he thought he was capable of.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

They shook their head. “No. I was getting up to get some water. Were you…” Going to run. They woke up because they felt him about to run. It was a little known thing between Market and Gatekeeper. Intention was normally shared.

“Yeah,” he admitted. Because what was the point in trying to lie. Distracting from the truth had gotten him here.

“Why?”

Milo swallowed. “Because I’m scared.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t said with particular surprise. Just a weak kind of understanding. But then– “Do me a favor. Just don’t.”

“Don't’ be scared?” he laughed.

“Don’t leave.”

Milo didn’t think he could do that. In the history of things, he was never one to be able to keep his promises.  Like father, like son, he’d say.

But looking at them in the dim of the room, seeing the black fathomless eyes where the lanterns should be, he wanted to be better.

Turning, he walked back to the sofa, sitting down.  It was the same one that had been in this apartment from the day Malcolm moved in. Milo might have even helped move it.  

“Listen,” he didn’t turn around at the sound of their voice. Part of him wondered if they were really even here. “I know that you are trying to be honest. No tricks. No work arounds. I know you are trying. I want you to know that I see that.”

He nodded, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand. Why did everything hurt?

“And I want you to know that I appreciate it. After everything that has happened, I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. Because you killed me, Milo. You took advantage of me. You used me. And then you killed me.”

Every muscle in his back stiffened as he felt them coming closer. They were so close now, pressed to the back of the couch and breathing down his neck. 

“Do you think being honest, putting in the minimal amount of effort you are, is going to save you though? Make me love you again?”

“No,” he whispered.

“No,” the voice mocked. “You’re having a constant pity party, Milo. Oh, poor Gatekeeper. Had to kill someone and now they don’t love me back. Pathetic. You’re pathetic.  And when I am able to rip open a gate in this world, you’re going to need to skin yourself alive to make me whole again. That’s what you deserve.  That’s the effort you can give me.  Not this meaningless thing where you only tell me one word truths.”

“I’m sorry,” Milo gasped, feeling the pain pierce his chest again. “I’m sorry.” Hands wrapped around him from behind, long talons reaching into his chest and pulling until the bones underneath snapped. Until his heart was exposed.

“Aw,” the taunting voice said. “Look at you. A black and shriveled heart. Just like dad.  He’d be so proud of his boy.”

The scream that ripped through Milo was one of a childs. That of the little boy with the broken hand that hid in the rain from the monsters. He was tiny and freckled again. Scared and confused. The only thing he had ever been able to do was scream.

But as long as he was screaming, he was still alive.