Milo is the cause of world food shortages. (buganda) wrote in mnhttnprjct, @ 2010-06-23 04:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, lillian poole, milo zhang-barbashov |
WHO: Milo and Lillian
WHAT: Talking.
WHERE: Milo's apartment, District 4
WHEN: June 22, 2029, evening
STATUS: Completed log
RATING: Ehhh PG-13 for language at most.
It wasn't unusual for Milo to be in the kitchen of his apartment. In fact, one might say that it was unusual for him not to be in the kitchen of his apartment every so often, as he had to fill the bottomless pit where his stomach was supposed to be. Tonight, however, his reasons for being in the kitchen were somewhat unusual. He was standing in front of the refrigerator, chewing on an apple, looking at the calendar that was hanging on it. He could see the label on the previous Sunday saying "Father's Day" and was still wondering whether he should mention how he had forgot to his dad. What's more, the fact that Father's Day -- not a day that was ever overly important to him, really, but a day that was supposed to be dedicated to family had come and gone without notice just increased the feelings of loneliness that tended to hit him hard in the summer. School, at least, kept him preoccupied, but without it, he felt listless, and living on his own in the place that was so far from what he really considered home seemed more acute. Lillian's presence helped some, but he had a weird tenuous feeling that she wouldn't be sticking around. The unmentioned question of whether or not she should officially move in made Milo uneasy. He was sure that she would think that things were moving too fast, and on one hand, he couldn't blame her. But on the other, it wasn't even a desire to get terribly serious right now but a desperate need for company that made him want to bring up the topic again. He looked at the calendar. He wondered if she'd paid for another month's rent, then tossed the rest of his apple in the trash, not really feeling hungry. She walked into the apartment without even knocking, using the key he had given her a long time ago. It had been odd at first, and as she turned the key in the doorway it struck her as how weird she still felt about it. His place was practically all hers. And he had even offered, weakly, and in a way Lillian hadn't felt sure about, to let it be her place. She felt tired from her shift at the coffee shop. It didn't pay as well as her other job, the hours weren't as reliable, and Lillian always felt spent after dealing with lots of irate customers who were furious about the ways their syntheccinos were made -- too much ice or not enough whipped cream -- and she really missed being able to do play'doh with the kids at school. "Hey, Milo," she said, dropping her apron and purse at the edge of the kitchen counter. She saw him staring at the fridge. "Thinking about what to order tonight?" Milo turned and looked at Lillian for a moment, then looked back at the fridge. There were, of course, an unreasonable number of take out menus hanging on it as well, but he wasn't really interested in the idea of eating at the moment. He had, after all, just thrown away half of a perfectly good apple, something that he never would have done in Uganda -- you just did't waste food there. Or order out all of the time, though Milo honestly didn't feel like cooking, mostly because he wasn't very good at it. After some contemplation of his eating habits, he answered, "No, I'm not hungry." "Not hungry?" She pulled her hair out of the hair tie, moving to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, opening it carefully to not hit him. She leaned against the counter as she untwisted the cap and took a drink, studying him carefully. "Do you have a fever?" A short, awkward laugh escaped from the side of Milo's mouth, and he shifted slightly, feeling uncomfortable. "No," he told her. "I feel fine." He did, physically, but emotionally, he didn't feel well, in a way he didn't have the self-awareness or articulateness to describe to Lillian even if he wanted to, which he didn't. Being open about his feelings was something that Milo had never been good at. At first glance, he tended to seem like an open book, but he honestly wasn't open about the way that he really felt about the things that mattered. He hoped that Lillian wasn't going to try and wrestle it out of him. She took another drink of her water, eyeing him even more carefully now. "Okay," she said, but she didn't look as though she believed him or trusted him. "So... why the long face?" She set the bottle on the counter and walked over to him, putting a hand on his hip. "I don't have a long face," he countered quickly. "You're the one who seems tired. How was work?" Deflection seemed like a better tactic in this instance than going back and forth about whether or not he was feeling all right. He reached up a hand and smoothed out the crinkle in her hair from having been worn up all day. "You smell like coffee." "I'm all right," she said, being quick to recognize a deflection when she saw one. She grabbed her water and headed toward the couch. She flopped down, watching him. "I smell like synetheticco," she said. "Sugar, fake coffee, and old milk." "So, what were you thinking about?" she said. Milo followed her onto the couch, kicking off his shoes and then sitting down next to her and throwing his legs over the other arm of the sofa. Somewhat awkwardly, he wrapped and arm around her shoulder. She did smell like coffee, or, at least, something like what he remembered coffee smelling like -- it had been years since he'd smelled the real thing. "I've just been thinking about different stuff. I feel bad because I missed Father's Day." The unspoken implication was, of course, that he missed his father, but he didn't say it aloud. At least his father was still alive. "Ohh," she said. She chewed on the inside of her lip. "Yeah. Father's day." She hadn't celebrated it since the bomb. "I'm sure your father understands. It's not like they celebrate it on the same day in Africa. So he might not have remembered anyway." She ran a hand lazily through his hair. "I don't think you need to feel bad about it." But she would have, if she had forgotten to do something for her father. But she never had. Now she just tried to forget the day existed. With a sigh, Milo laid his head down in Lillian's lap, staring up at the ceiling and still feeling somewhat uncomfortable. He knew that he had brought up a sensitive topic. The two of them had never spoken about the parents they had both lost to the bomb. He had no desire to talk about his mom, and he figured that, if and when she wanted to talk about her dad, she would. He tried to change the topic, though the other one on his mind was equally uncomfortable. "The end of the month is coming up. Do you..." He paused slightly, not sure of how to put this. "Need help on your rent?" She knew he was trying to change the topic again. She didn't usually let him get away with it, but Lillian didn't want to talk about father's day. She didn't want to think about her dad and how much she missed him, or how angry she was that he had died. But his change of topic was still awkward, and Lillian was unsure for a moment how to respond. "I can make it..." She said. Barely. Dipping into the savings money she knew she wasn't supposed to be touching. "But thanks." Milo wiggled his foot, uneasily. It was strange, being uneasy with Lillian. Since they had first met, their friendship, and then their relationship, had been easy. He didn't have to think about it much or worry about discomfort. But then, he knew that this was a situation that called for some unease. "Have you thought about what I said before?" "Me moving in with you?" The question was finally breached, and while she was glad to have finally been able to speak it, she still felt a little nervous with the words being out there. Since he was bringing it up, she had a degree of confidence that he asked because it was something he wanted. But she wasn't sure. "Yeah. That." Milo realized that this wasn't the best position to be having this conversation in and sat up. Was this a Serious Relationship Conversation? He hated those. He hated setting up perameters and discussing feelings and all of the shit that came with it. "I don't think that... well, I think you should." She was already tense with the subject having been broached, and his unease and the way he spoke only served to confuse her. "Oh," she said, having taken him to mean that he didn't think she should. "Yeah," she said, feeling a bit frustrated and upset. Milo didn't understand what he'd said wrong, and edged away from her. He pulled his knees up against his chest and hugged them there. It was a childish thing to do, but at the moment, he felt childish. It didn't matter that he'd been living on his own for three years. It didn't matter that he had responsibilities and things to do. He just felt embarrassed. "What's wrong?" "I was just a little confused," she said, giving him a smile. "It's all right. I guess you just think it's too, well, I mean, I can't blame you." She shook her head. "Nothing's wrong, it's fine, Milo." Honestly, he didn't believe her, and he turned towards her with an expression that quite clearly said so. "You think that it's too serious, don't you," he said flatly. He hadn't really processed what she had said. He just folded his arms over each other more tightly. "It's not about the seriousness. Not now. I mean." She was quiet for a moment. "Look, Milo-- You don't want me to move in. That's fine. But I don't think you should have kept bringing it up." "I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't want you to!" Milo shot back, sounding defensive. "You practically live here already and I've never complained, have I? I like you here. I don't know why you'd think anything else." This conversation was upsetting, like he had anticipated it would be, and he was feeling cornered and stupid and frustrated and the feeling of being alone was more acute than ever. She gave him a confused look. "Then why did you just tell me that you don't think I should move in here?" She sighed, crossing her legs and giving a longing look at the kitchen. If only he had just been hungry. She wished they were arguing about take out instead of something that could potentially ruin their relationship. "I didn't say that. I was trying to decide what to say and changed my mind halfway through." God, why were girls so stupid? And confusing? And why did they never just understand what he meant to say. He covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was just tired of this conversation and of having no idea where she actually stood. "So what did you mean to say, then?" She started out sounding defensive, but her tone lightened as she got to the end. Did that mean he did want her there? She wanted to move in, but she didn't want to admit it if he didn't want her there. Milo sighed. "I was going to say that I don't think there's a lot of point to you worrying about rent on an apartment you almost never go to when I think that both of us seem happy both being here." Wasn't that obvious? He didn't want to have to point out that she had money issues, particularly because he had all of the money he'd gotten from his mother and his father's money to support him. It felt rude. She chewed on the inside of her cheek again. She wanted him to say that he wanted her there. It would make it easier. "Yeah," she said slowly. "It's true. I'm hardly ever there." She paused. "I'm happier here." Returning his arm to around her shoulders, he squeezed her closer, and then leaned his head against hers. "I like you being here. I don't like you not being here. To me, it seems pretty simple." He paused, almost wanting to say more, but decided against it. "So," she said, giving him a smile. "I guess that's it, then." She didn't really think it would be that simple. There was a chance that moving in might break whatever spell had kept them so happy together, or so calm. She wondered if he might start to resent her when she was there all the time. She knew she could always move in with the Kims if things got very bad, and then find another place. A part of Lillian worried that they were making some sort of mistake, jinxing themselves somehow by letting things progress so quickly. "I'll have to let my landlord know." For his part, Milo wasn't prone to overthinking relationships. He tended to follow his instincts, and his instincts told him that Lillian moving in would be fine. That he hadn't asked his last girlfriend to move in with him after more than a year of dating didn't strike him. On impulse, he added, "I'm glad. Because I do love you, you know." She stared at him, surprised. "I love you too," she said. It was something she had said to him when he had been asleep. And Lillian suddenly relaxed, forgetting all her worries and her fears and her over-thinking. Sure, they might be making a mistake. But she was happy, and she gave into her impulsive nature and leaned forward and kissed him, hard, glad that this was not ruining things, suddenly certain that it wouldn't--couldn't-- ruin what they had. Milo pulled away, gently touching her hair -- it was a tick he couldn't get rid of, the impulse to reach out and touch girls' hair -- and flushing slightly. He grinned. Sure, maybe they were being stupid. And Milo wasn't a person with a lot of faith in relationships. He wasn't about to tell Lillian he was certain that they were eventually doomed to failure, a cynical view that was the product of having parents who were split up. He'd gotten enough flack for that in the past and he knew better, frankly. Despite that, he felt much better at the moment, bolstered by the promise of more company and returned affection. "Thanks," he finally said. She leaned against him, smiling and relaxing against his body. So, home. This would be home. And she was so glad to know she finally had something to hold onto. She hadn't felt so safe, so welcomed, or so comfortable and right since her mother had died. "I'm so glad you were setting fire to that building..." she said. |