The silence that followed Elias's hasty retreat under the covers was thick and suffocating. Milo lay awake for what felt like an eternity, listening to the rapid, muffled breathing from the other side of the bed. He was still shaking from the aftershocks of his climax, and the profound, mortifying awkwardness of the situation. Eventually, exhaustion won, and he drifted off into a restless sleep.
He woke to the smell of coffee.
Sunlight, a pale, anemic glow after the relentless rain, was streaming through his bedroom window. The space beside him was empty. The bed sheets were rumpled, but cool. Milo sat up, a bolt of panic shooting through him. Had Elias just… left?
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sight of his own stained pajama bottoms a fresh wave of mortification. He pulled them down and quickly threw on a clean pair of joggers and a t-shirt before heading to the kitchen.
And there he was.
Elias stood by the coffee maker, a mug held in both of his hands. He was still wearing Milo's too-big sweats and T-shirt. His long, dark hair was no longer damp, but fell in soft, clean waves around his shoulders, highlighting the subtle curve of his obsidian horns. The wolf-like ears, now fully dry and fluffy, twitched slightly as Milo entered the room, betraying an awareness of his presence that Elias's rigid posture tried to deny.
Milo's heart thumped a nervous rhythm. The air was charged, but not with infernal heat this time. It was a cold, awkward tension.
"You're... still here," Milo said, the words feeling utterly stupid as they left his mouth.
Elias's gaze, which had been fixed on the swirling liquid in his mug, flickered up to Milo's face. The dark grass-green eyes held none of their usual disdain. Instead, they were wary, a little guarded, and there was a definite, faint blush on his cheeks that matched the color Milo's own face was probably turning.
"The rain has stopped," Elias said, his deep voice still a low rumble, but without the sharp edge. "I was... preparing to depart."
"Right. Okay. Yeah. No rush," Milo stammered, pulling out a chair at the kitchen island. He pointed to the coffee maker. "You, uh... you know how to work that thing?"
"It is a simple mechanism," Elias replied, his gaze dropping back to the coffee. "It heats water and passes it through ground beans." The observation was clinical, but it sounded less condescending and more like a simple statement of fact.
Milo managed a small, nervous laugh. "Yeah. Simple. I guess." He pulled out another mug, pouring himself a cup. The silence that followed was a thick, palpable thing.
Milo finally took a long sip of his coffee, trying to think of something to say that wasn't, "So, about last night, you know, the unconscious spooning and the hands and the… yeah." He cleared his throat.
"I made you some," Elias said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. He slid a second, untouched mug of coffee towards Milo, pushing it gently across the polished counter-top.
Milo's hand froze mid-air. He looked at the mug, then at Elias, who was now intently staring at a spot just over Milo's left shoulder, as if the wall was suddenly fascinating. It was a small, simple gesture, but it was so profoundly unexpected, so jarringly kind, that it knocked all the air out of Milo's chest.
"Oh," Milo said, his voice softer than he'd intended. "Thanks. You... didn't have to."
Elias said nothing, just took a small sip of his own coffee, his gaze still averted.
Milo took the mug Elias had poured for him, the warmth of the ceramic a comforting anchor in the awkward silence.
He took a sip.
It was perfect.
He risked a glance at Elias. The half-dragon was still tense, his shoulders pulled taut, but the cold hostility was gone. In its place was a profound, quiet embarrassment that seemed to have completely disarmed his usual arrogance. Milo, for the first time, saw a flicker of the shy, vulnerable person the unconscious Elias seemed to be.
"Look," Milo started, keeping his voice gentle. "About… last night. You were… you were hurt. You were healing. People… people do weird things when they're not fully conscious." He tried to offer an out, a lie to make it all less mortifying.
Elias's gaze finally snapped to him, and in those dark grass-green eyes, Milo saw something flicker—a brief flash of something sharp and knowing. Elias didn't believe the lie, didn't want to take the easy out.
"It was... inappropriate," Elias stated, his voice low, his embarrassment a tangible thing. His wolf-ears flattened slightly, a clear sign of his distress.
Milo swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, it was. But... it was also... fine. You know? No harm done."
The two teens held each other's gaze across the counter in the morning light of their Westkilo, Calin City apartment.
The tense, awkward silence was still there, but now, for the first time, it was filled with the promise of something else...
It wasn't hostility or disdain. It was a quiet, uneasy truce. And in the subtle, shared flush of their faces, there was a glimmer of understanding.