Willow chewed on his bottom lip and kept his head down as Milo devoured the breakfast he had made.

He didn't think someone so thin could have such an appetite, let alone fit two whole boiled eggs in his mouth in one bite. It was terrifying to watch and reminded Willow of his mum’s old black and white monster movies that scared the crap out of younger Willow.

The monster appetite aside, Milo was not what Willow had been expecting from the guitarist he had been listening to since he moved to his parents’ suite. When Willow got a chance to listen to the mysterious beach guitarist, the guy’s soulful voice and soft strums made the sad and beautiful songs come alive, he had gotten the impression that that was what the guy was--soulful and beautiful.

Willow still thought he was beautiful, the thought making him clear his throat and scratch the back of his neck, but he was also intimidating. He didn't think Milo could crack a smile, a frown on his face from the moment Willow could focus. Even after the guy’s introduction, all he did was sit down and begin to eat everything in sight, saying nothing more and Willow didn't know if he was allowed to talk or not.

“Thanks for the food.”

Willow jumped in his seat, his thinking interrupted. He blinked his eyes rapidly at the thinner man’s face, the guy’s thick eyebrows furrowed so deep that Willow felt like the guy wanted to turn him into a pillar of salt.

“Oh!” he said, cursing himself for how high his voice had gotten. “You're welcome!”

Milo continued to stare at him, room entering a long moment of silence and Willow’s uncomfortable feeling increased tenfold.

He stared back at Milo the best he could, not wanting to back down from whatever the hell they were doing. He was a wimp, that much was true, but he was a wimp in his own land so he'd be damned if he wussed out of a challenge on his land.

That thought process was completely thrown out the window, however, when he flinched violently after Milo abruptly stood up.

“Well,” Milo said, deep voice holding a noticeable tone of annoyance, “I'll be going. Try not to kill yourself.”

“I-I wasn't trying to kill myself!” Willow screeched, wincing at the shrill tone his voice had reached.

Milo winced too, hands in the pockets of the sweatpants Willow had given him as he looked down at him.

Willow wished he'd put on a shirt but he had stopped asking after the guy ignored him for the fourth time.

“It was a joke…a bad one, now that I think about it, but now I'm concerned.”

He makes jokes? 

Willow shook his head, trying to stay focused. The last thing he wanted was for his sorta-crush to think he was suicidal.

“Don't be!” Willow said as he stood up and waved his hands in front of him, smile subconsciously taking over his features as he got more and more uncomfortable. “It was a drunken accident, I swear! Nothing to worry about!”

“...You're a drunk?”

Willow facepalmed his face so hard that it felt like it had made an imprint.

“No, no,” he groaned as he ran his hand up to his buzzed hair, sighing as he looked to the right, embarrassment of the whole situation hitting him hard.

This is not how I wanted to meet him. Fuck you, past Willow.

“Studying for something was driving me crazy so I cracked and dug out my parents’ old wine collection. Drunk me thought swimming would be fun and totally forgot that I didn't know how to swim and you know what happened after that and yes, you can laugh.”

Surprisingly enough, there was no laughter from the other. Willow raised his head to look at Milo, expecting at least a mocking smile on his face but all the guitarist did was blink and continue to stare at him with his dark brown, half-closed eyes.

“Sounds rough,” Milo said at last before cracking his neck and looking at the remaining food on the table. “Wouldn't laugh at that. Sounds stressful. Hope things get easier. Just be more careful.”

“Oh.” Willow didn't know what else to say, stunned by Milo’s words. His brothers and friends would have laughed and never let him forget how much of a lightweight he was, one of the reasons he didn't want to go to the hospital. He didn't need to feel any more stupid than he already did.

He rubbed his arm with his hand as they both became quiet again, eyes on his bare feet as he tried, again, to think of something to say. He wasn't usually so tongue-tied.

“Well I'll just take my coats and leave,” Milo said, taking a sharp turn and headed towards the living room.

Willow scrambled to stop him, desperate to keep the man as far away from his messy, cheese crusted room as possible.

“Oh wait! Wait!” he yelled as he rushed to stand in front of him, nearly tripping on his mum's rug. He straightened his hoodie and laughed nervously as he said, “Well I uh took your stuff down to the laundry room for a good wash and dry. As payment for saving my life which I'm indebted to you for as long as I live.”

That didn't sound creepy at all. My god, you're fucking up way worse than when you asked Dylan to prom.

This isn't the same thing! Oh someone kill me, please.

“I mean that I feel like I owe you!”

Does that sound better? Like at all?

“I mean--"

“It's no problem.” Milo cut off his rambling and Willow was grateful because he was seconds away from crying at his fumbling which would have made the already uncomfortable situation ten-times worse.

“Thank you. For the food and my clothes,” Milo said, the side of his thin lips twitching upwards into a small smile. It made his stubble covered face appear more soft, less angry.

Willow’s eyes widened before he rose a hand to scratch the back of his head, cheeks feeling warm as his smile turned shy.

“Y-You're welcome. Would you…want some leftovers? I can help you take it to your place i-if you want?”

Willow didn't know what he had said to make Milo’s smile vanish so fast but he wanted to take it back and have a redo.

“You don't need to do that,” Milo said, walking past Willow and headed straight for the front door. “Just tell me which washer has my stuff. I can ask whoever I see where the laundry room is.”

“A-are you su--"

“Very.”

“It's the first one you see when you walk in. Straight ahead. Your stuff is in the pink basket,” Willow said, cursing himself all the way to his dad’s childhood home in Kenya.

“Thanks. Bye.” And when the door was shut closed, it also meant that he had possibly shut the door to Willow’s chance of getting to know the guy.

What the fuck just happened? What did I say?