potassiumboron

~I'm drinking coffee on a trampoline~
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3pm - 1am (GMT / BST)
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  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Nonbinary
  4. Transgender
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Monsters, supernatural, fantasy, romance, criminality, slice-of-life (modern or set in past, usually with some twists)
A shadowy figure lurks in the woods of Without Name.jpg

When Milo's parents first sent him away from their planet in the desperate attempt to save his life, they only hoped that that wherever he landed, he would be welcomed in by a non-judgemental and loving person, who would care for him rather than bring him harm. It was an incredible risk to send him off the way they did, but it had been a risk worth taking, and despite the chances of it not paying off, it miraculously did. Instead of being taken to the police and hauled up inside a facility for experimentation for the rest of his days, Milo, by sheer luck, landed in the garden of Maxwell's parents, and was taken in to be loved and cared for by them until their deaths several months ago.

Having been a sickly child until then, Milo hadn't really had any desire to head out into the world. He was told that there were dangers outside he couldn't handle; people who would take him away and cut him open. Inside, they said, was where he was guaranteed safety - and why did he need new friends when he had Maxwell? For years, this argument was sufficient. He had no desire to head out and, instead, actively avoided even venturing into the garden in fear that something dangerous lurked out there amongst the bushes. Maxwell was also all he needed. He had grown to adore the boy within a mere few days of his arrival as a child, and that idolisation had only continued well into their teenage years. It wasn't easy being his friend when he had to watch him head off to school without him, and socialise with other people, but times between them had never been as difficult as they were right now.

Milo wasn't used to being without Maxwell, but only recently had he started to actively dislike Maxwell's ventures out into the world. He had to be locked up in the house while the human headed out to parties for hours on end, arriving home drunk and not uttering a word of where he had been. Milo used to enjoy hearing the tales of the world outside his home, but Maxwell's silence on the matters in recent times had the undesired effect of making Milo curious; and he wanted to settle that curiosity by heading out alongside the boy he considered his best friend. He no longer wanted to be left out; he wanted instead to be with Maxwell and enjoy the things he enjoyed. He hadn't even been able to attend the funeral of the people he considered to be like parents to him. In his maturity, no longer sick or ill, he felt he could defend himself if danger did strike, so the fact Maxwell continued to refuse him the chance to head out was slowly but surely angering him.

As usual, Milo had spent every second of the weekend stuck in the house, and was sat on the couch watching TV for a large portion of that. It was becoming much more frequent to be alone doing this, with Maxwell either busy with studies or out at parties, and it was the latter that usually left Milo angry. It was the reality of that weekend, too, leaving the alien glaring furiously at his friend when spotting him enter the home early in the morning. It wasn't rare to see him stagger in hungover like this, and while a large part of him wanted to sympathise and care for him, like Milo had been cared for his whole life, another part of him just wanted to watch him suffer in punishment for heading out without him - again.

"...Did you have a good time?" He asked slowly, his head tilted as he watched the boy try to walk without tripping - and it was that factor that did make Milo stand up, ready to catch him if he did. The accident when Maxwell was a boy had scarred Milo emotionally. He vividly remembered the sight of blood and the sound of Maxwell's screams, so no matter how much he disliked him at the moment, he wouldn't sit back and watch him risk injuring himself like that again. He was now in a position to be able to look after Maxwell, being much fitter and stronger than him in recent months, so he did want to repay him for the years of nurturing and care Maxwell had given him. "...You should drink some water and sleep. You look dreadful. You smell like... beer, I don't like that."
 
Another weekend, another party. This had been his life since stepping onto his college campus, it seemed, and it didn’t take a genius to tell that it had taken a toll on him. Pressing his head against a wall to help both his balance and his hangover, he only began to move when he felt Milo help him. He would never admit to how thankful he was recently now that Milo had suddenly recovered after what he thought was chronic illness out of embarrassment for having to admit he needed it. He was an adult now, after all, and he shouldn’t have to rely on someone else to help him to bed. That being said, he made no sign of refusing nonetheless.

“I’m... sorry,” he murmured with a growing frown. “I just - I got carried away, I... I guess. God - I feel like shit, I... I’m sorry - I think I’m going to throw up,” He babbled out nervously as he hurried as best as he could to the toilet, shamefully vomiting all the poison from his gut from that night.

He didn’t even like the taste of beer. It was too sour and it smelled terrible, not to mention the fact that it made him lose what little physical control he had over his body. There was clear evidence, too, if the parties beginning to affect him. For starters, when he first came home drunk, he was happy and talkative, babbling on about nonsense until he passed out on the couch. Over time, that happy-go-lucky drunken state was replaced by what was in front of Milo; an incredibly apologetic, often teary-eyed Maxwell. Running a hand through his hair to push it from his face, he pushed off the toilet and flushed it , his breathing heavy. It was sickening how common the sight had become but, in a fucked up way, it was at least a way to deal with his loss. It was far from healthy, obviously, but Maxwell had never been known for his outstanding health. Once back to his feet, he stumbled to immediately hold back into Milo to help him be lead to bed.

“... they want me to go out again tomorrow,” he admitted in a murmur once in the bed, his eye closed tight to combat the bright light. “I can’t... keep doing this, Milo. I just - I’ll... stay home, work on my studies here, okay? I just...” he continued to babble, though grew quiet when he knew what he said didn’t matter.
 
Given his clear lack of experience with the world outside his home, Milo really didn't understand why Maxwell was heading out with these people and attending the parties. He clearly didn't like to do it, given how frequent his returns home ended in him violently throwing up and moaning about how ill he felt. Milo didn't understand social pressure, or the desire to fit in with a crowd. He never had to worry about anything like that because, simply put, he hadn't met any humans bar Maxwell and his parents. Thus, to him, it felt like Maxwell was doing everything in his power to avoid being home. In his head, if he hated going out to parties, he just shouldn't go, and the fact he did go each time only led him to believe that he was doing it to avoid being around Milo.

If that was the case, as he had come to believe, he could only question why Maxwell didn't want to be around him, and each time he did question it, he came to one conclusion - Maxwell was uncomfortable with him being an alien. It was strange to conclude that after they had spent over a decade around one another, raised in the same environment without tension and always with love and acceptance, but it was the only reason he had. Either that, or Maxwell was just unhappy that Milo had suddenly grown up over the last few months, and that, like him being an alien, was out of his control.

"...I don't know who you're kidding. You'll go out with them again, and you'll come home being sick again. You never learn from your mistakes. Is it because you dislike me, Maxwell? Do you hate me? Do I scare you now I'm not sick anymore?" He questioned with a frown, staring down at the human curiously. "I don't understand, if that's the case. I... I'm healthy and I'm strong and I can look after you like you've looked after me. I don't alternate to any other form but this one, so you can't be scared of my other appearance-- I don't use it. I... I just don't understand why you leave me alone so much. I get lonely. I don't want to be here alone-- I want to come out with you. I could come out tomorrow and meet your friends and try beer and... and be normal. It's what your parents wanted; for me to be normal."
 
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“N-No, you... you can’t,” he quickly responded, his eye opening quickly as he took in Milo. He may have been hungover but that didn’t mean Maxwell would back down on the one strict rule that stuck with him after his parents’ passing. “You’ll get hurt, Milo, I know that. People... people can be cruel to the things they don’t understand and I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want to lose you, you know?” He explained, only to grow uncomfortable when he felt a tear spring to his eye.

“It’s hard to explain, okay?” He began warily as he rubbed his neck. If he were to be honest and explain all the things that had happened, he knew that Milo would only yell at him for being an idiot and try to bring justice - or at least, he hoped that would be the case. “Sometimes, to get ahead in life, you need to do things you don’t want to do. We... We can’t live off of the inheritance forever, you know? If I’m going to get a good job to pay for us, I need to get popular. That means... doing stupid stuff with people I don’t particularly like,” he explained weakly, though locked his eye on Milo and his poor clothing choice.

“... hey, how about I go and get you more new clothes?” He suggested in hopes to change the subject with a soft slur. He wanted to seem all good and fine but Maxwell wasn’t the best actor on short notice. “Just... please, trust me? You aren’t missing out on anything fun. We can spend the rest of the day watching TV if you want to, too. I just... need a nap first.”
 
Milo really wasn't expecting the other to change his mind. After almost 13 years of living among the family, the farthest Milo had been allowed to venture was down the path in the back garden - he hardly anticipated Maxwell having a dramatic change of opinion and welcoming the idea of letting Milo explore further than the grounds of the large house. Nevertheless, it still stung that he had failed to convince him. He understood the hesitation when he was a child, and he completely understood the fact he hadn't been well enough to even leave the basement, let alone the house itself - but what exactly was the reservation for now? He was fit, healthy and mature enough to stay safe and enjoy himself without risking exposure. He wasn't immature, childish or stupid, and the rejection did feel like a lack of faith. It also reiterated for him that Maxwell just didn't want him around at these parties, and that rejection had the undesired effect of making him decide there and then that he would attend one. If he had to sneak out and follow behind him to achieve that, so be it.

"...My clothes are fine. I like them," he began slowly, pulling at the thick sweater with a tired smile. Having relied heavily on everyone to buy clothes for him, he didn't really have a style of his own. He wore whatever he was given, and it always tended to be some soft elasticated jeans and a sweater of some sort. He wasn't complaining because, simply, he didn't know any different.

"I don't understand, Maxwell. Why be around people you dislike? It's confusing to me," he shrugged, shaking his head in exasperation. He had heard Maxwell claim to dislike these people countless of times, which made his decision to go out with them every weekend all the more confusing to the alien. "...There's so much I don't understand and you refuse to let me learn for myself-- you're single-handedly limiting my chance of growth and education and... and normality. I want to fit in, Maxwell. It's like a... prison here sometimes. I haven't done anything wrong, I shouldn't be punished like this-- but fine. You said no, I accept that. I have no choice but to accept it."
 
“Look, can you just stop nagging me about it for one second?” He pleaded with his hands pressed to his face. Life was stressful enough as is without the constant reminder that he was essentially keeping Milo prisoner. Pressing his knuckles to his forehead, he let out a deep sigh.

“God, I just - I told you. Society is gross and confusing a-and I just... I want to respect my parents, don’t you understand that?” He whispered. “I can’t just let you leave, you wouldn’t know what to do. You would end up exposing yourself somehow and you’d be taken away from me. I can’t have you getting hurt.” He sternly insisted despite his wavering voice.
 
The stern, snappy remark wasn't anything new. He hadn't heard it much from Maxwell, admittedly, but it was a common occurrence when his parents had been alive. Milo had been raised as their child in many ways, treated in almost the same was Maxwell himself was treated and cared for, but the couple had been strict. Much like how they pressured Maxwell into sports, they had always taken to shouting at Milo when he raised his curiosity in the world outside the house. It was never abusive, and it never really affected him that much, but he still held onto how upset he was after his natural sense of adventure was shut down, while Maxwell got to head out whenever he desired. It never felt fair, and the fact he was still being imprisoned in the home even after their deaths was a source of annoyance. The only positive he felt after their deaths was the possibility that he could actually have a life and start to live like a real normal person. Instead, Maxwell seemed to just pick up where they left off and Milo hated it.

"...Point taken," he shrugged, his eyes focusing on the garden beyond Maxwell's window instead. The fact the boy didn't even trust him enough to go outside without exposing his real form wasn't upsetting; it was downright insulting. However, he shut up and didn't let on how offended he was. He had already made the plan in his mind to leave the house when Maxwell went to a party next, and until then, he was settled on not causing anymore trouble for the other. The less he brought it up, the more likely he could sneak out after the other without Maxwell suspecting it.

"You need a shower. You smell of beer and I told you I don't like it. It reminds me of your father when he was drunk and I never liked that because I was always scared he'd hurt himself. I'd rather you cleaned up before you went to sleep," he said slowly, his voice monotonous and matter-of-fact, though he did manage to fake a smile to alleviate some of the coldness. He was quite blunt anyway. He might have been raised by humans for the majority of his life, but he still had an awkwardness when speaking their language. It wasn't present all the time, but there were definitely moments where he struggled to get words out because they never felt right coming from him. "...Why can't I try beer, at least? Your father drank beer all the time in the house. Why can't I try one? I don't need to go to a party. I could just have a beer here. It'd make me feel more... normal, Max."
 
“You’re right,” he admitted with a groan before forcing himself up. Once laying down, he realized just how sore he was. He wasn’t sure why, and he didn’t want to know, but that just meant the consequences were particularly hard. Glancing over at Milo warily, he exhaled before offering his own smile.

He wasn’t heartless. He knew and understood Milo’s curiosity and need to explore and felt the guilt of it all, but the guilt of his parents death outweighed it. Taking his time to wander to the downstairs bathroom, he was thankful for his moment of stability as to not solely rely on Milo.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he admitted. “I could snatch some cans from the next party and we could just drink together. The thing is, it’s gonna be hard for me to get some. We’re only 18, Milo, and I can’t afford getting arrested. You’ll owe me big time,” he lightly teased as he tugged off his shirt, tossing it to the side. “I... I want you to know I care about you, Milo. I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m just... trying to do what is right.”
 
"...I understand that. I'm fine staying here with you. If it's safer for me, why would I put myself in danger by leaving? As long as you're here, I'll be alright. I don't think I could ever cope without you," the alien nodded. Lying wasn't something that came naturally to him, or his species for that matter, but he had gradually learned what it was and how to do it effectively. He'd learned a lot from simply observing the family he was brought up around, witnessing everything from little white lies to serious ones that had caused arguments. As a child, he hadn't quite understood why they lied rather than just tell the truth, but he definitely understood the benefits of lying now. Lying in this instance would help him evade suspicion, and allow him to get what he wanted most. He was hardly asking to travel the world; he just wanted to go to a college party and explore Chicago a little. If lying to Maxwell was what got him that, he was willing to lie through his teeth.

"I'm fine here. It's not too bad. I have TV and games and... I'm not sick anymore, so we can hang out a lot without me sleeping and resting," he reminded, taking a seat on the edge of the bath. He had taken baths with Maxwell when they were children, so it never really bothered him to see the human naked. Even in his maturity, he didn't find anything sexual in it yet. He had tried kissing, but when that failed, he assumed that it was only for certain people, like the ones on TV. It was a particularly innocent thought, but when he was effectively imprisoned in his home, the lack of understanding about romance and sex was understandable.

"I need a bath. We could share like we used to?" He suggested easily, already tugging his socks off in preparation. "The bath's big, it'll fit us both easily-- I miss sharing baths with you. I don't know why your mother stopped bathing us together, it was my favourite part of the evening when we had a bath and then had some milky tea before bed..."
 
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Freezing at the suggestion, Maxwell’s cheeks immediately grew rosy at the thought. They hadn’t shared a bath since Maxwell turned thirteen, when he was considered ‘too old’ to do that with Milo. He didn’t quite understand himself at first until he hit puberty and, over time, gain the crush he had for the other. To share a bath now, while would be pleasant, would also be incredibly embarrassing if the alien found out his feelings. He was relying heavily on Milo’s naivety to have him not notice.

“... yeah, sure,” he nodded after a moment of deep thinking. It was risky, especially when he wanted to keep his feelings on the down low, but he also wasn’t opposed to being selfish. While attempting to be calm, he simply smiled as he started up the bath.
 
"And we could have some tea after this like your Mom used to make for us. I miss her, a lot. I can't even remember my parents. I have those dreams, but they're blurry and... I guess I'm saying that you were lucky to get 18 years with your parents, even if it ended soon. Your parents didn't send you off and abandon you on an alien planet, Maxwell," he began as he tugged his comfortable clothes off with ease. Much like he had no issue seeing Maxwell naked, he didn't see the fuss with showing himself off either. He didn't even understand why he needed to wear clothes when he didn't leave the house, but Maxwell's parents had quickly rectified that thought as a child. Nevertheless, he was still confused as to why it was such a huge deal, but that stemmed (again) from his lack of understanding about sexual attraction.

"You know, there are probably hundreds of planets with life out there, and I happened to land here on yours, in your garden. Maybe I'm the lucky one," he grinned, sinking into the water. Despite the grand size of the bath, he opted to hold his knees to his chest to give the other as much room as possible. He was aware that he had grown a lot over the last few months, and while there was plenty of room, he had grown conscious of his size. He had once been shorter than Maxwell, as recently as three months ago. To shoot up so quickly hadn't gone unnoticed by him, especially when he contrasted his height against the human's.

"...Your parents did a good job, I think. Raising me, I mean. You did too. I... I never thank you enough, Max. You're amazing."
 
Once in the tub, he, too, tugged his legs close - albeit to bashfully hide as much as possible. He didn’t have a bad body and he had plenty of girls swoon and say he was handsome, but he often simply accepted the comment while also denying it. Now, to be contrast with Milo who was easily a 10 while he was a solid 7, it only made him more bashful. Resting his head on his knee, he shrugged as a frown grew on his lips. It wasn’t until he saw Milo’s smile did he match it.

“I... I know it sounds bad but I guess I’m glad your parents sent you off. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met you, right?” He reminded before reaching for the soap set on the ledge. “I mean, you’re without a doubt my best friend, Milo. I... I guess it’s lame to say but I don’t know what I’d do without you. God - I’m sorry, that was cheesy, huh?”

Sniffling, he decided to focus on cleaning himself up a tad (especially after smelling as badly of beer as the alien insinuated). He only needed to smell his armpit to snort in disgust.

“I didn’t do anything, mom and dad raised you. I just was sort of slog for the ride,” he teased before handing the soap over. “I mean, I don’t think I could ever have raised two children. I imagine how annoying I must have been, getting hurt and whatnot. At least you were there when they got mad at me.”
 
"You were at least their flesh and blood-- and human. You were human. Can you imagine how stressed they must have been raising me those first few months? I can't have been easy to handle, Maxwell. I couldn't speak any human language, I didn't know how to adopt a human form, I was frail and sick and human medicine doesn't work on me-- it must have been terrible for them. I'm surprised they didn't just hand me off to those law people-- the police, right? I'm surprised they didn't just hand me over to the police or to scientists or whatever," the other grinned, finding it more amusing than terrifying. As a child, that prospect had genuinely terrified him. It had been a huge mistake to tune in to the horror channel to discover a movie depicting curious scientists experimenting on an alien. Understandably, it had been a fear of his after that event, until gradually learning that Maxwell's parents loved him and would never bring him harm. Now, he could laugh about it because he a) trusted Maxwell with his life and b) knew how to control himself enough to never let anyone discover what he was.

Of course, he was unaware that there could be times where discovery was out of his hands. He could hurt himself and bleed, and people would realise his blood wasn't red. A simple x-ray would prove that he wasn't human, too; his biological makeup proved that. He had three hearts, for example, and that wasn't something that could change with his form. Like most things, he didn't know this.

"You did scare me when you were young. I was worried you'd kill yourself," he mumbled, gesturing to the other's eyepatch with a frown. "...That night was awful. I'd never seen blood until that day, you know? Human blood, at least. It was horrifying. I don't think you should drink alcohol. It makes you more likely to hurt yourself by tripping and if you die, I'll be here alone for the rest of my life, Max."
 
“I’m not going to die, don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffed, waving him off casually. “Trust me, I don’t really want to drink it anyway, Milo. If you’re so insistent on trying it, I’ll let you, though. It tastes like piss, it’s fucking gross - plus it smells gross,” he commented with a smirk. “Does it make me seem tough? I... I get picked on at school because I’m not the most obvious athlete, I guess,” he admitted.

It was rare for Maxwell to talk about college - and school in general. The only time he did was to, naturally, discuss the positive things. Maybe it was because he was sad, or drunk, or a bit of both but the fact that he was willing to admit that he was being bullied was a bit of a breakthrough.

“It’s fine - yeah. I’ll get you a can and you’ll never want to drink it again, I garuntee it,” he declared with a chuckle before cautiously removing his eyepatch to wash his face. Milo was the only person he dared to expose his wound to and he still was shy about it, as was evident in his attempts to hide it a bit. It was a constant memory of both his neurological conditions j and his sheer stupidity.
 
Despite the agreement that he could try alcohol, the words behind it really didn't sit well with the alien. To him, it showed the complete misunderstanding from Maxwell of Milo's feelings. He wanted to fit in. It didn't matter if the beer was disgusting; he wanted to be more normal and his idea of normality consisted solely of what Maxwell was doing. Considering the frequency of his partying had grown, as had the consumption of beer, it made sense that Milo thought that was what most kids their age did and, inevitably, he wanted to be a part of that, even if it was inside his house, rather than at a college party. Seeing Maxwell not quite grasp that point was more evidence that he just didn't get it, and spurred Milo on to take things into his own hands, rather than blindly follow orders.

"...I don't believe that they don't like you. You're amazing. You must have lots of friends if you go to these parties," he pointed out naively, paying little notice to the other's wound. As a child, it had scared him, admittedly, but that fear over time faded. It wasn't as gruesome as he thought it was as a child, and if anything, it was a reminder that Milo needed to look out for him more. Now he was in a position to do that, he wanted to honour his own promise whenever he could - and it was just more justification for him heading outside. He could look after Maxwell a hell of a lot more if he could visit the places he went to outside of the house, right?
 
“I think it’s just this one guy. Everyone knows him and seems to like him a lot, and he just so happens to like me, too. I have to admit, he’s really nice to me. I don’t know why, but it’s probably because he thinks I’m cute - I’ve heard him throw that word around a lot, you know?” He explained with a small blush. While he never flat-out denied his sexuality, he made a point to never confirm it either in fear of getting in trouble with his parents for some reason. That fearful ideology only continued into adulthood. He didn’t remember much of the night he made out with one guy in particular, nor did he remember a group of girls seeing and finding out, and it was probably for the better.

“Yeah, and when he doesn’t start the party, he always invites me. I just find it rude to say no, you know? Like... he’s going out of his way to invite me, that’s crazy,” he continued to babble in his drunken state before burping, groaning at the taste of vomit trying to come up again. Exhaling, he smiled nonetheless at the thought of the boy. While he had his heart set on Milo, it didn’t mean he couldn’t have a small crush on the boy too, right? “His name is Ricky, he’s goong to school on a football scholarship.”
 
Milo found it mad that Maxwell was being invited places he really didn't even want to turn up to, and yet he desperately wanted to go and experience it, but was prevented from doing so. It wasn't fair, and again, the lack of understanding was obvious. But he also knew, deep down, that his naivety posed similar irritation for Maxwell. He didn't know a lot about the outside world, so he had no doubt that his naive perception might be a tad grating when he hardly knew anything about it.

But the problem with being naive was that he didn't really have a chance to change and understand without experiencing it for himself. Thus, he would continue to show that naivety, displaying it again with his opinion on Ricky. He didn't understand that Maxwell evidently spoke gushingly about him, unable to detect that and realise his friend had a small, minor crush.

"He sounds nice. It's good that you have friends like that," he smiled, reaching across for the sponge. "...If I can't leave the house, can't you bring people here? I'd like to meet Ricky. I... I'd like to meet any of your friends. You could say I'm a cousin or something, I... I don't know. If he's really nice, why can't I meet him?"
 
“How would I explain that? ‘Oh, yeah, this is my cousin who doesn’t leave the house and has been homeschooled. He also has a furnished basement that has been installed recently.’ Like, that sounds crazy, right?” He replied quickly with a sigh before frowning. Running a hand through his hair, he began to wash said hair to get any sweat out of it. One thing he liked was having soft hair, often being praised for it.

“I’ll try my best to come up with something,” he reassured with a sigh wearily. “I mean, you’re... cute, you’ll fit in perfectly. I’ll invite them to the house after tonight, okay? They’ll probably be too drunk to question it.” He decided before stretching out his legs finally.

“I’m trying to negotiate, Milo, I... I really am,” he explained honestly. “I want you to feel normal but I can only do so much,” he explained before moving to carefully fix the alien’s hair. “I just want you to be happy b-but... I can’t go against mom and dad.”
 
"Why does that sound crazy? I think it sounds fine. I know how to lie, Maxwell. I'm sure I won't accidentally blurt out that I'm an alien, I'm not stupid. I don't even think the truth is that crazy. It isn't crazy to suggest that there are aliens out there, although I don't really like calling myself that. I'm not an alien-- you're the alien to me," he pointed out with a faint huff, mostly trying to be playful about the label. If he was honest, he was fine with calling himself that, but it did just add another layer of separation. He wasn't normal, and when he was continually referred to as an 'alien', he was never going to feel normal. It was a constant reminder that, however hard he tried, he just wasn't going to fit in.

"Your parents are dead. Why are you so worried about them? They can't tell you off. They wouldn't know if you did go back on your promise. I don't understand you sometimes. You said that when people die, they don't come back-- you told me that. I don't... understand the concern over your parents," he groaned, rubbing his head as another headache began to brew. He always got them whenever a situation confused him, so clearly, he had had plenty of headaches growing up trying to understand the world around him. This was just another situation that he couldn't get his head around.

"...Dead people can't enforce rules, right? But it doesn't matter, I told you that I'm fine staying in the house. It doesn't mean you can't bring people to me, people you trust. Your parents never said anything about that. They said I couldn't leave; they never said you couldn't bring people here. It's a loophole, isn't it? And if your friend is so nice, I want to meet him. We should have the same friends, Maxwell. I want to be around you all the time."
 
“It’s just... an honor thing, I guess,” he replied, trying his best to formulate the right words. He didn’t want to upset the other on account that not only did he care about Milo but he knew the situation would be awkward if he did. “I just - I feel like I’m the reason they’re not here, you know? Like, I know I’m not but I feel guilty. Look, I told you I’ll bring him over tonight, okay? We’ll smuggle some beer home, you can meet him and... yeah. I’ll jusr say you’re a friend going through some familial issues because it’s texhnically not a lie, right?”

Once washing the soap from his hair, Maxwell paused to nervously scan Milo’s face. The other might see it as overthinking and he was probably right but he wasn’t the one who decided that paranoia. He had been told countless of times while growing up that Milo could be taken away and chopped up every time he tried to convince Milo to go outside with him. It was psychologically ingrained and, while he knew they meant the best, it only made him worry for the boy he had grown up with.

“Maybe in the future, we... we could walk to the market together. It isn’t very far from here, but just... not yet, okay? I’m still trying to get settled into college and that’s a huge step for both of us, isn’t it?”