“So what do you study?” Milo asked at last and Willow finally breathed.
The guitarist had been quiet since he walked back into the apartment, still half-naked and long strands of unruly black hair framing his slim face.
All the guy was doing was walking around the living room, staring at pictures with his hands in his pockets, and Willow was already feeling his heart beat hard against his ribcage like it was trying to escape.
I am a fool. A stupid, idiotic fool that has a life made to be God’s sitcom, Willow thought to himself as he sat up straight on his mum’s couch, hoping he didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt. He was sweating more just sitting in the room with Milo than he had been after his morning jog.
“Oh uh,” Willow said, as articulate as always. “I study criminology. I mean it's my major, well one of them. I mean joint major with forensic science. Yeah.”
Oh, world, if you could pick a time to end, end now. Why can't I fucking talk like a normal person?
“Wow,” Milo said, turning to look at him. “Guess you're really smart then, huh?”
Willow wasn't sure if he was supposed to apologize for what he said or brace for impact. Milo’s furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw made him feel like he had done something wrong but just like before, he didn't know what.
“Oh I wouldn't say smart,” Willow said with a shaky laugh. “I mean I know stuff?”
Milo’s lip twitched upwards again before he turned back to the television stand stuck on the wall, going back to looking at his family pictures.
He didn't know what was so interesting there to make Milo stand there for so many minutes, going back and forth in front of the stand and staring at regular old photos.
“Big family,” Milo said, glancing over his shoulder at Willow with a small smile on his face.
Willow could have sworn to every deity to ever exist that his heart melted at the sight of it, clearing his throat to make sure his emotions weren't betrayed by his voice.
“Yeah,” Willow said, and that was when it hit him.
He didn't know this guy standing in his living room. For all he knew, the dude could have been a serial killer that had been watching him for as long, or if not longer, as Willow had been watching him, ignoring how creepy that made him sound.
Or maybe he had been spending way too much time reading his school books.
“Look I can go--"
“What?” Willow did not mean to sound as terrified as he did, but there was no taking that shriek back, or the fact that he shot up his seat and jumped over the coffee-table to stand in front of Milo.
Milo looked taken back, as was a normal human reaction to someone screaming and lunging at them. He had his shoulders pulled back as he stared down at Willow, eyebrows raised.
“I'm sorry!”
“Stop screaming, please.”
Willow winced and said, tone softer, “Sorry.”
Milo nodded, taking a step back. “I should be going. I'm not all that good at these.”
Willow stood up straighter and cocked his head to the side. “Good at what?”
Milo shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking over Willow’s head.
“Hanging. Might just be making you feel awkward here, kid.”
“I'm not a kid. I'm legal. I'm nineteen.” Willow admitted, at least to himself, that he did not sound like a grown-up, but he stood by his words. He was legal and Milo, of all people, needed to know that. For reasons.
“Sure thing,” Milo said with a nod.
Willow wished the dude was more expressive as he had no idea if the guy was being sarcastic or not.
“I'm just saying I'm not…the hanging type. And…Fuck!”
Willow jumped at the sudden exclamation, fists in front of him and ready for anything anyone would throw at him at that moment.
Milo pressed his hands to his face and ran it up through his hair, clicking it back as he closed his eyes and took deep breaths.
“My guitar. Fuck, I forgot my guitar,” he mumbled and began to stride towards the door, Willow had no idea what was going on but following behind him.
“H-hey! Wait up!” Willow yelled out the open door as he tried to quickly put on his jogging shoes, Milo already out of sight.
Damn, he's fast. Where is he going? Where did he leave his guitar?
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