𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 widens further & further as dakota gives his concise explanation for the content of the story at hand, & the chuckle that accompanies it is genuine — a deep rumble emanating from a broad chest. he's opening his mouth to respond when their knees collide, & his eyes flick down to the point of contact as if it's seared him through his clothing, a flicker of panic igniting in his chest & most certainly crossing his face, too. gaze stays locked there, fingertips curling slightly into the pile of the rug beneath his hands as an addled brain scrambles to decide whether to move away or closer — so plagued by his own indecision that he nearly misses the other's next words, having to buy himself extra time to process them with a quiet, near-undetectable clearing of his throat. ( not quite completely inaudible, though — not to kota, anyways. ) “ unfortunately, i do, ” he adds, a simple addition to a very logical thought, & he can only hope he doesn't sound as distracted as he feels — adam's apple bobbing as he is finally, blessedly able to force himself to look back up, ultimately landing on a complete non-decision — leaving their limbs touching just the slightest bit. it would be odd if he pulled away, & even odder if he pressed closer, he tells himself. it's then that he finally tunes in to what exactly they're even talking about, & a warm expression turns mildly sour for a moment as he reminisces on the dozens of children he's had to interview over the last year in his duties as a paralegal — all the anger he's harboured on their behalf, knowing that they themselves could not yet conceptualize the horrors that they've endured, the injustices etched into the cards they've been dealt. the steps they'll have to take as adults to recoup their god-given losses before they even entered the first grade. still gazing sullenly at an inconsequential spot on the rug, lost in thought, when the slightest of shifts in dakota's essence catches his attention, & any resentment roiling under the surface vanishes in lieu of thrumming concern. perhaps it is the way lavender rouses, or the whip-crack of lightning that illuminates the room ( a harbinger for an impending, riotous thunderclap, which follows just a beat later ), but milo senses almost subconsciously dakota's discomfort before it even becomes visible. his fingers twitch in a synaptic reaction to the tidal wave of endorphins ringing alarm bells in his head, urging him to fix it. relax — fucking chill. it's not even like he's freaking out. why are you freaking out? he swallows again, the second time in less than a minute, & instead ekes out a breathy laugh. “ that would be different, though. ” voice low & steady, & perhaps it's a bit revealing; the crimson tinge of concern leaking into the soft, lapis-lazuli tone of curiosity & playfulness he had intended to use. but if his voice doesn't give him away, his touch certainly does — one of his hands moving from where it's planted behind him to rest on his own thigh, before moving slowly, slowly forward, trembling slightly as his fingertips make contact with the jut of dakota's kneecap, the gentlest of grazes as he strokes the pads of his fingers over the crest of the joint. meant to be present enough to be comforting, if dakota were to need it — but light enough to be negligible, if the thunder was less impactful than milo assumes it might be. a shy smile, then, head tilting as he finishes his thought: “ if it were your work, i'd want to read it. ”
