icy nights

@"Zeronos"

Milo was still thinking about Marina Bellamy, anger and hatred clear and sharp in her eyes.

Nilesy had been nagging him for hours to tell him all about what had happened, from the right in the action point of view, as most of what he'd heard had come from muddled sources, but Milo refused. He'd feel dirty talking about what had happened, he realized. He felt like he'd witnessed something intimate and terrible, even though it had only lasted for a few electric moments.

He wasn't a stranger to such things, except, well. It all usually ended with more blood.

He wondered if she really had ended up crying- and if so, she still looked as outwardly pretty, or if there were big, ugly tears and a scrunched up face.

Oh. He… needed fresh air.

Milo left his dorm room without saying anything, and for the most part, was able to get out of the building without being delayed too much by people wanting to receive his attention. He just kept telling them he needed a break, needed to be alone and with the cold biting at his skin, and the heaviness in his tone seemed to convince them.

The chill was nice, did well to ground his all too unpleasant urges. His coat was light, and only for show. He avoided the more populated areas, although it really wasn't that active out in the dark, icy nights anyway. He'd been experimenting with such things since he'd gotten here, and knew the right paths and times to be properly private with yourself. He was good with these things. He'd always had to be.

He breathed. It never made the bad thoughts go away, but it was something.

Bitterness. If there was anything more familiar than intimate and terrible, than boiling anger and violence, it was bitterness. Milo offered Marina no defiant smiles this time around, simply a level stare and a slow of his steps.

He didn't ask her if she'd cried, but he kept thinking about it, and even though it was dark, he could see red around her eyes. Red was always the brightest color.

"I could ask you the same thing, Marina," Milo replied. "I'm just taking a walk, that's all." His voice was sober, though his yellow eyes still held lingering signs of danger.

He was of very mixed feelings on this girl, but he doubted she was the same. Her own emotions were infectious. What were they doing?

He stopped completely. Watched her. Anger and bitterness, ugly tears, pretty face, broken heart. Half of the things she said to him seemed like a double edged sword, and that was, all of it was...

He made the faintest of agitated noises, and his fingers just barely twitched.

Milo's mouth twisted, almost a crooked smile, then just a frown. It was true that she was making him uncomfortable, but it was also for all the wrong reasons. She was bold, but still probably more delicate than she meant to be, and he wasn't supposed to hurt people like her.

It was like a joke that wasn't truly funny, her trying to get him to snap or give her back that anger she felt, and one a part of him was amused by anyway. Because he had a shitty sense of humor to go along with the rest of the inappropriateness.

"Maybe," he answered, softening again. "What do you want from me right now, Marina?" What do you want from anything, he wondered, so morbidly interested as well as saddened.

Okay. They were doing this, then. Just the two of them. Why not, seeing she'd been on his mind anyway. Maybe working through their issues would mean he'd stop thinking about hot tears and ugly, pretty lives.

And then she… Milo made a small sound of amusement. Well. Once again, cute.

He nodded along, humming. "Sure there are, that's expected enough. And you fit into your little role perfectly, who could dare disturb that? No, no, of course not. That would be terribly distasteful." Still, the way she was explaining all this, it was both entertaining and once again, surreal.

"Thanks. I'm afraid I'm much too big of a guy for that jab to make much sense, though. Safe and accurate bet is thrift stores, go with that next time. Could always say I have 'garbage aesthetics', too, that's popular. The rats are cleaner than a lot of the people you spend time with- and that insult's far too overused anyway."

Milo paused. His eyebrows went up. "Marina. Do I detect a little outrage for the sake of 'my kind'? Sympathetic to the idea of them trying and failing?"

"I can't change anything, you say. So why are you even bothering to speak to me like this?"

He really didn't want to fight her. But Milo didn't take anything without pushing back a little. He wouldn't go overboard on the attack here, but if she went after him, he'd at least match things enough not to be fucking trampled on. He wasn't a victim. Never again.

Milo just kept staring. "I don't think it's a joke. I just don't fucking care, really. About the drama, the childish hierarchy, any of it. And apparently, it is that easy."

He saw it. The anger, intensity that meant something bad was about to happen, the bad, violent urges he often recognized from looking in the mirror as well as from his victims. Just the anticipation made the taste of blood linger in his mouth. He should leave, not engage this, he didn't know anything about Marina past schoolyard bully-

"Are you jealous?"

Ah. Couldn't help himself, apparently. Had to push it.

Marina's eyes were bright and red, rather lovely, more so than the blue was to him. He'd certainly had more than enough warning for all of this, so when she plowed into him, far more strength than he imagined most expected from the prissy little blond girl, well. He let it happen. Braced himself for it, but let it happen, taking them both down to crash in the snow, soft and cold.

"…Marina, I'm sure you more than want this right now. I'm not innocent either. But we'll both probably regret it," Milo said, somber tone returning, a special kind of certainty behind the words. "Don't."

"I'm sorry."