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Milo didn’t want to hear anything— he just wanted a glass of water. But the muffled breaths and the soft whispers were too loud to be ignored. Especially since they came from his parents’ room.
It was about 3 in the morning so it made no sense for them to be awake. In fact Milo himself was supposed to be asleep, he had school the next morning.
The little boy knew he should’ve gone back to bed and ignored the sounds but he just couldn’t— the curiosity would not let him sleep anyway.
So slowly, as quietly as he could, he walked to his parents’ room. The sounds were a bit louder, except there was no talking anymore.
The sheets rattled, not softly, like someone was rushing to get them away as soon as possible. More heavy breaths were filling the air and Milo couldn’t help but worry. What was happening in there?
He cracked the door open, just enough so his eyes could observe the room without anyone noticing. It took a few seconds for the child to get used to the dark but then he saw something that he would probably never forget— his parents on the bed, breathing heavily, Neil’s eyes completely blank.
Realisation hit Milo like a train; his dad had a nightmare.
He knew both of his parents had frequent nightmares but had never seen them immediately after one. Usually, they were the ones to comfort him after one. Neil would look at him with soft eyes and reassure him, telling him he’s at home, he’s Milo Josten-Minyard, he has a family.
His old man would watch behind them, near the door like preventing anyone from coming inside. It helped Milo a lot— even if they lived alone.
And that would be it, sometimes they would get up and watch a movie, other times Neil would sleep with him. He never slept with his old man though, even the nights where he would crawl in their bed Andrew would be far away. He didn’t know why but didn’t care either. Neil was always there.
Except this time it wasn’t his dad on that big bed. Something was different, he was there physically but something was off. His eyes were blank, completely blank like a dead corpse— like his mother’s when he opened the bathroom door— the boy took a deep breath.
This wasn’t the same, this was his dad having a nightmare, not dying on a cold bathroom floor because he didn’t want him.
Andrew was right next to him, a hand placed on the back of Neil’s neck. His face was bored like usual but something else made his eyes shine. A hint of worry hidden in those hazel eyes.
Then his voice filled the space, deep and soft like talking to a scared animal.
”You are Neil Josten-Minyard.” He started, just like Neil did when he was comforting Milo, “You’re home and safe. Nathan is dead, your mother is dead, Nathaniel is dead, you’re free and playing exy for living.”
The 9 year old’s eyes widened at the words his old man had said. He knew his dads had bad relationships with their parents but he never knew Neil’s mom was dead. And why was he using it like a way to reassure Neil? And who even were Nathan and Nathaniel—
“You’re married to me, our son Milo is sleeping in his room, we adopted him four years ago.” Our son… the boy’s heart melted at the words. Andrew was calling him their son— Milo couldn’t help but feel a smile forcing its way to his face.
Neil’s shoulders fell down like a huge weight had fallen off his chest and his eyes shone again. Only his breathing was still heavy. He had trouble slowing it down.
Then he looked up at his husband and asked a silent question Milo could only watch. He never understood how his parents could communicate without sounds and it frustrated him that he could never understand.
Andrew only nodded and brought Neil closer to him, they hugged. Neil in his husband's strong arms, eyes closed, his body on the older man's lap. Finally relaxing after what seemed like an eternity.
Milo watched with wonder, watched how carefully Andrew placed his dad in his lap, how softly his hands are settled on Neil’s waist and auburn curls. He watched his dad fall asleep with Andrew never letting go, like Neil would dissolve if he did.
He rarely saw his parents like this— soft and loving, like it was only them against the entire world. It made him question so many things he never did before. Like his dad’s scars and the way Andrew would never sleep with him.
Then his thoughts trailed back to the scene he had just witnessed. The way Neil’s eyes looked so blank— how he— how he wasn’t his dad. For a split of seconds the child didn’t recognise the man he admired so much.
It scared him more than what he’d like to admit.
For a second, just a tiny little one, he saw his mother on that scarred face.
He hated it— oh how he hated it. Neil was comfort, love, care, everything she failed to be. Yet his brain had the audacity to compare them. Both were runners he knew, yet one stayed and it wasn’t her.
”Milo,” he heard a deep voice call him, “go sleep.” It wasn’t a command or a warning like he usually got from his old man. It was just a tired ‘we’ll talk later’ hidden behind a bored tone.
The child nodded, taking one last glance at his dad’s sleeping form before marching upstairs to his room. That image would forever be carved in his memory, but not like his mother’s corpse. This one would be cherished and loved, proving eidetic memory wasn’t that bad after all.
He crawled in his bed in silence thinking one last time of his old man. Seeing one last time his eyes when he was holding Neil. With his apathetic mask still on, but a hint of worry and anger showing love.
He did care after all…but Milo knew that already. He always did.