milo stone

"Kisses for everyone," they promised, completely sincere. "Literally anything for the people who saved me from that one really scary look that Reenie gets when she's mad."

Picturing it now — dead eyes, creepy little smile — sent a shiver down Birdie's spine.

Their wide smile faltered just the slightest bit at the question, but they grabbed their coffee cup and took a quick sip in a feeble attempt to cover it up.

"Oh, you know. It was cool. But — and don't tell anyone this," they leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "— being a rockstar? Kinda overrated."

He took a sip of the coffee Birdie had brought, hoping that if Andie had made it, that they hadn't spit in it in the process. "Overrated?" He parroted back, regarding their stance on touring. "Don't let any of your fans hear that, Birds," his words were teasing; he wasn't sure if said fans would care so much to hear Birdie say that. "Still glad you're back here with us, though, champ."

At the word of the party, Milo's heart sunk thinking he was about to get chastised for the little shindig they had had while the managers were gone. The lump in his throat was soon replaced with a light laugh when he realized Birdie just wanted gossip. "Well, the alleged basement party," he pointed out, neither confirming nor denying until he started rambling out,

"People got drunk, there was a cake for that Shane guy, you met him yet? Nobody got seriously injured which I think is like, a usual plus. But yeah, nothing too crazy. I ran into Mila—," Jesus Christ, man, can't you go two seconds without mentioning her? "Oh, and Frankie—," her, too!

"I wasn't the nuisance this time, if that's what you're hinting at."

Noa ruffles Milo's hair - has to reach up to do so. He's got a big head alright, but the rest of him is big too. Proportionate. Most would say handsome. Is Noa still going to tease him about it? Yeah.

At Milo's concern, Noa retracts his touch. With a single question, the reality of what awaits him backstage comes barrelling back; the lighter tilt his face had taken is gone again, jaw flexing as he tries not to clench too hard.

"I'm fine," he lies. "Tired as fuck. Do a shot with me, help me fix that." Noa motions to the bartender without waiting for an answer, signals her with a clear motion and then pushes one over when they appear a few seconds later. "You can't say no. I'm the talent tonight."

He caught the way Noa's hand dropped, but Milo didn't make any mention of it. That was a habit of his. Show enough concern for a person, but never point out their little quirks. He wouldn't have liked it if someone called him out every time he had a tonal shift, either. But, drinking? He could take that on easily. Something words couldn't do, alcohol would. Maybe don't create a habit out of that one, Milo.

"Wow, you're pulling out the talent card? That's an abuse of power, Sweet," Milo pointed out, still reaching for the shot glass regardless. "If I end up doing something crazy tonight, I want it on record that I was coerced." With that, he knocked the glass back, letting the burn hit.

Then, he leaned an elbow against the bar, angling himself toward Noa as if to say he wasn't going anywhere else anytime soon. "That put hair on your chest and wake you up? Or... take it off? I don't know, I'm never good with those sayings."

"Yes, blackmail," she confirms, and smiles when he acknowledges the fact she has and always will get what she wants when it comes to him. It isn't as though it's an unbalanced dynamic; Merritt does a lot for her brother, and always will. That's the unspoken agreement that comes with being cut out of your mother at the same time. They're in it for life; they have each other's best interests in mind. Could Merritt stand to be a little less bossy about getting what she wants? Maybe. But that's not her style.

Merritt definitely did not bring a fork. She starts rifling through her bag - no, not wet wipes, no, not her bag of patchouli, no, not the half squished pack of Malboro Reds - until she finds a package of chopsticks that she hands over.

"Here. Best I can do for you. Sorry. Anyway," Merritt takes a deep breath, preparing to defend herself when what she says inevitably comes out rudely. "I need you to get a grip, Milo. Like, in the most loving way. Your life sucks bad right now, I get that, like, the universe has set you up for failure and you're reaping the negative side effects, and like it's totally normal and okay for you to be sad and upset and lost and whatever, but like. I need you to get a grip, right?"

Merritt sets her hand on his shoulder, her eyes serious. "Come out with me and Frankie this weekend. Okay? It's not a question. Like, you're coming. And you're going to have fun. You're a bachelor now! You're free! That relationship was not good for you; what's the point in acting like it's the end of the world?"

"I know, I know," he agreed, bunching himself up to rest against the headboard. "About all of it, I do. I'm not trying to act like it's the end of the world, Mer," he explained. Words were never Milo's best friend, especially when it came to explaining his feelings. "It was my world. Or at least a fraction of it."

He stabbed the cheesecake again, fisting out a much smaller piece but still taking a bite of it. "You should be a therapist. Emotional blackmail and all," he added as he decided his fight with the chopsticks was done and just dove his face into the cheesecake. He could take bigger bites that way!

He brought his mouth away from the dessert. "Fine," he sighed, shoulders sagging. There was no point in arguing with Merritt because it would be him playing a losing game. He nudged the container toward her with the chopsticks. "Here. If I'm being emotionally extorted by my own flesh and blood, the least you can do is have some with me."

"I can drop it," he said, even taking half a step back from the counter to show that he was not the enemy. "I'm very good at dropping things. Ask literally anyone. So, you get silence and I get..." he trailed off, his eyes marking up to the menu and deciding that anything that ended in the word latte would make Andie rip their hair out.

"Anything without spit in it?"

The smile on his face sat a little longer than intended, stunned like a mouse as he tried to recalibrate himself to what she said. "So, we're skipping small talk today. Awesome." Unfortunately for the two of them, he wasn't about to let her have that win. Even if it did make him want to run into the break room and refuse to come out for thirty minutes. "You know, I actually sweat a lot at night so it's not that cold."

He pushed himself off the counter and stepped aside to give her space around their work station. "Didn't realize joking was such an occupational hazard around you," he pointed out, trying to keep the conversation on anything but Ana's sharp words.

"Just figured if we were gonna be stuck sharing oxygen for the next few hours, we could at least agree not to actively aim for the jugular," he said, pointing to his own neck. "Or maybe you could just go ahead and put me out of my misery?"

He tilted his head back against the wall, encroaching in on her space. "Yeah, well. Popularity's a flimsy concept when society collapses," he added. Not to mention she had already pointed out how calorically dense he must be. "Unless, maybe, you think I could become president of our new basement society? I think I'd make a rockin' dictator. But if the dictators were like, cool."

but as he continues speaking, her head snaps back forward, blue irises reappearing just as quickly. "hey, there was no threatening. i just said you might as well toss me out of one if you're going to keep up with the lame nicknames. not to toot my own horn, but i think i'm worthy of something a little more flattering. and you are a jerk. sometimes." still, her words carry a hint of affection.

"do we need to get merritt in here to back me up?"

his directness isn't what frankie is expecting, but then again, why wouldn't he ask about it? the two have been friends for long enough. nothing should be off limits between them. she focuses too long on the movement of his fingers as they work on the joint, then she straightens up and says, "yeah, i'll try some," surprising herself with the answer. smoking suddenly seems like the best way to handle whatever conversation is about to happen. it doesn't occur to her that the answer might not be a substance her body isn't used to.

The joint he made sure wasn't pretty, but it would certainly get the job done. He fished a lighter out from one of his pockets and sparked it, shielding the flame with his palm in case any chill decided to come through the window. When it finally caught, he took the first drag, and then passed it off to Frankie. "And, please don't let Merritt get involved." Lord know he didn't need a tag team situation.

There was a little pang in his chest when she said she didn't want to bug him about it. "You've never been a bug to me. You know that, right?" It was rhetorical, but the statement still stood. Frankie may have been a bug and a thorn in everyone's side, but not his.

"Maybe I needed space," he admitted, quietly, his hip jutting out to rest against the wall. "But I didn't need radio silence. You're kinda hardwired into my life, Franks." Someone should tell this guy the phone works both ways.

Then, he nodded towards the joint he passed over. "Go easy." Last thing he needed was Frankie greening out on him.

After soundcheck, Noa prefers to sit in his dressing room and shoot the shit with Juli for as long as possible before going on. It's calming to be there together, to ride the waves of sitting in silence and exchanging bitter commentary the way they've done as long as they've known each other. Right now, the last thing Noa can do is be alone with Julien; he doesn't want to be alone with any of his band, preferring to score free drinks from the bar before the doors officially open and his chance at getting mildly numb is gone.

Granted, he couldn't help it that he could see over the heads of well, almost everyone. "It's a burden. Seriously, a real life curse," he pointed out, finally letting his gaze wash over Noa. "You good or am I just the lucky winner to get picked on tonight?" Not that he wasn't used to Noa's harsh words.

they giggle, burying their face a little into their scarf again. "you don't have to be an expert, maybe just helping me stand? it's been ages since i've done skating." she'll either fall flat on her face or they'll succeed in staying upright. "have you skated at all, milo?" they ask, grin wide on her face.

He toed towards the edge of the rink, peering out to the ice. It looked... manageable. "I mean, yeah, I've definitely skated." And he left it at that instead of indulging them with the fact that the last time was when he was 12 and he definitely ate it multiple times during.

"But hey," he nudged her a little with his shoulder. "I fall, I fall. You fall? I'll at least fall with you. Kinda like a human crash pad," he offered. "Just promise me one thing? If I eat shit out there," and he anticipated that, "You laugh after you help me up."

"Oh, thank fuck!"

Birdie had walked in with their eyes half-closed and shoulders tense, bracing themself for the chaos they were sure they would find in the store after a month-long absence. On the record, they would say that they always had complete and total confidence that Milo would hold the fort while they were gone.

Off the record? They'd plead the fifth.

But the place hadn't burned down in their absence, the racks were in order, the floors not collecting dust.

"Milo, I could kiss you," they said, rounding the counter and placing two cups of coffee down before they made good on that hypothetical and got up onto the one-step stool they kept there to place a loud mwah against Milo's cheek.

He glanced around the store at their unspoken inspection, assuming there was no way he was getting such treatment if not for the current state of the store. "But, you better be gearing up some kisses for Devon and Ana, too. They were a big help." Which meant that Devon was and Ana just did her usual thing of doing whatever. But still, the place was still standing.

He instinctively reached for the cup of coffee nearest to him. "So, how was it being gone? Hope you didn't miss us plebs too bad."

it's cold. she shivers slightly and buries her face deeper into her scarf. should they be preparing for tonight? probably yes. but is she? no. they wanted to be outdoors, having some fun before tonight. besides, they had more than enough time to prepare. it's still early, so she can get any last jitters out with the free ice skating. they borrowed a pair of skates from their older sister, and they're hanging by their laces by their side.

spotting someone familiar in the crowd near the hot chocolate booth, they grin. she's bounding up to them ( still too much energy that needs to be released ), smile spread across their face. "hey!" she's exclaiming, moving to take their arm in one of hers. "you're here to help me skate, yeah?" they ask the person, grinning at them.

Fuck.

On paper, Milo probably looked like someone who could ice skate or at least keep himself upright. Key word; on paper. He would never put graceful gazelle on his resume, that's for sure. But, Pippa looked so excited and there was that unfortunate nagging pressing into the make of his head saying not to be a dick. "I mean... define help."

Still, he wasn't inching away from them or telling them no. If anything, he knew he'd go out there and probably bust his ass, but he'd try his best to keep Pippa from doing the same. In fact, he started moving towards the rink, much to his own chagrin. "Because I'm not no Michelle Kwan."

when: thursday, 9:21 AM

who: open !

“no.” by rights, andie shouldn’t be at work at all today, with the bags under their eyes as evident as the wrinkles on their clothes. there had been no time to do laundry after getting home from tour in the small hours of the morning. they were gracious enough to open, but no one in their right mind could expect them to work. “no,” they repeated again, looking up from their book with some alarm as the other person began to approach. “no coffee today. go home.” the pounding in their head was not compatible with the noise of the espresso machine.

he dared to step another inch closer into the place. If he wasn't able to get coffee then surely he had another thirty minutes to kill to bug the other. "Rough return?" He ventured,. "Looks like you fought the tour bus and the tour bus won," Milo sang out in the tune of The Clash's I Fought The Law, drumming his hands against the counter in beat.

"Please," she scoffs, throwing Milo a look full of nothing other than skepticism. Her mouth is curled into a closed smirk, and her eyebrows are furrowed with one arched up toward him. "We're "all just pretending we know what we're doing. No one has it figured out."

It's not something she'd ever admit so openly because steadfast and assured is how Devon likes to carry herself, but if it's anyone outside of Dario she would say it to, it would be Milo.

The 'stuck with me' comment earns him less of a smirk, and something more sincere, up until Dev is prompted to scoff.

"Yeah? You think I'm going to do all the stuff you don't want to do? What if I want to make your job harder just to entertain myself?"

She wouldn't, because thriving in chaos is not something Devon Hayes has ever been able to do. Routine, structure, etc. make her dependable enough, which she is certain Milo knows, being as close of friends as they are outside of working alongside her to see her work ethic.

Her head tilts slightly with her eyes surveying the entirety of the basement floor again, and she lowers her voice, "Are you doing alright?"

"Yeah," he said it a little too fast, his voice a little higher than usual. He cleared his throat, taking the chance to look back at Devon. "I mean, yeah-ish. I'm sure I'll make it."

Divorced by thirty definitely had a certain ring to it; maybe if he was someone like Ana, it'd be considered chic, but to him, it just made him feel like a total and utter loser. And he hadn't felt like that like...

Ever.

"And if you do try to make my job harder, I'll just pass the baton to you," he snorted, knocking his shoulder into hers. "Bet that'll make Ana's head spin." If he was an asshole, it probably would have brought a smile to his face — the idea of Ana getting passed for a managerial position not once, but twice.

"You're not gonna make me talk about the impending D word or work all night, are you?" He asked, tapping a hand behind her back as encouragement. "Come on, we gotta liven up!"

❝ first and last. ❞ surely if he says it enough times it'll turn out to be true. no offense to the people of colossal—they've all been great—but one birthday spent here is bad enough. the thought of multiple makes him feel like he might break out in hives. ❝ gotta give you back your space after all. ❞

what milo says next has shane raising a brow, curiosity piqued. in truth, he was all too happy to give the cake away to the first person that wanted it. the whole competition aspect was really just a distraction ( and if he happens to be entertained by watching a bunch of drunk strangers try to impress him, so what ? it's already been established he's not that great of a person ).

there's no fun in telling milo any of this, so instead he plays along, swinging a hand up to grip the back of milo's shoulder and pull him into a more conspiratorial huddle. ❝ hmm, kinda sounds like your talent might just be gambling. i don't see why that wouldn't be a valid entry, assuming you can rise to the challenge that is. you have something in mind ? i'll warn you, i already drank easy under the table earlier. ❞ meaning : the wager's gotta be something good.

"Gotta be honest, though, not much to wager," a pause. "Kind of between... assets." With that, Milo clicked his tongue. He tried not to dwell on it much and honestly, he didn't want to be the party pooper to bring up Mila every second. Shane and him were newly roomies and he didn't want to bore the guy to death with his maudlin life. Milo wasn't trying to be the reason Shane skipped town.

"But!" He exclaimed. "I do have favors, and I have this really impressive ability to not ask follow up questions," he said, tapping the side of his —big, as Frankie put it — nose. "Which are all very valuable currencies in Colossal. So, I'm thinking you give me the first slice and in return?"

He released Shane from his own grip. "I owe you one. You get to figure that one out, though. If you like, need someone to do your share of dishes or something." Or not get pissed that you slept with his wife.