Maybe it was rushed. Maybe he should’ve negotiated. Maybe he shouldn’t have exploded. On the train, this was exactly what he thought. He wasn’t worried about booking a hotel or calling a friend to plead for a place to stay. No, despite the goodbye, his body, on autopilot, led him to London. As the scenery passed him by, random bursts of red, buses or photo booths, which didn’t match the grey of streets and buildings, and he felt an emptiness inside, he realized this wasn’t his home.
“Want anything to drink, Moo?” Liam asked. He moved closer to Milo on the sofa, effectively distracting the younger man from his memories.
“I…” Milo was caught off guard by the sudden question. He didn’t know how to phrase what he wanted. How could he leave the house when he couldn’t even choose a stupid drink?
“You’re over-thinking again. I’m gonna get you some wine for relaxation.” Liam spun on his heel and bounced away towards the kitchen.