flashback
{ Prepping for Royalty (read: dad) / before the trip }
The house had never been this clean.
Not even when Milo first moved in. It smelled aggressively lemon scented, the kind of manufactured citrus that screamed I’m doing fine in a way that only people not doing fine ever did. Milo stood barefoot on the cool marble tiles, one hand running through the mess of hair that hadn’t seen a comb in two days, surveying the living room. ”Right… That’s better,“ he said aloud, to no one in particular. as if saying it enough would make it true. As if polishing the floors erased the last three months. The bottles were gone… well, most of them. A vintage scotch had exploded against the sink mid cleanup and he’d stood over it for a full beat, staring at the liquid like it had insulted his ancestors. The glass nicked his knuckle and he didn’t even flinch.
”Get rid of it all,“ he said to the cleaner, voice sharp, distracted, like he was giving stage direction instead of simple guides. ” Anything that even looks like a drink. If it fizzes or ferments, I don’t want to see it. Throw it out, smash it, burn it - don’t care. Bring it back home to the kids- or… not kids,“ he ducked under the breakfast bar, lifted a half empty bottle of mezcal from behind the fruit bowl. ” Why is this still here?“ The crew nodded. No one argued. Milo gave orders the way he worked - decisively, theatrically, like he already knew the outcome… Even when he didn’t. Especially then.
He turned to one of the runners, wiped his hands on his sweatpants and paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts.
” And… uh. Can you grab something normal from the store? Like… I don’t know. Juice? People drink juice, right? Not the green kind but something that says ‘stable adult’ but not like… a dad. Wait, no, something a dad would drink but like a cool dad. Is that apple?“ She stared at him. He pointed at her like that meant anything. ”I’ll take that as ‘I get it’, great.“
By the time his dad’s car pulled up to the drive, Milo had cycled through four outfits and considered cancelling twice… Not really, but for some reason this was more stressful than he anticipated. The sound of the gate clicking shut had Milo up on his feet before he could talk himself out of it. He crossed the foyer in two strides, adjusted the collar of his shirt at the last second and opened the door just as his father was raising his hand to knock. They both froze for a breath and then Milo broke into a grin, one that reached all the way up to his eyes but maybe not deep enough into his chest.
”You look as if the Queen herself was about to arrive.“ His father spoke up first, returning the smile but gave his son a look like he was already onto him. It was the kind of look you only earn by raising someone, by knowing their tells, their posturing, the way they overcompensate when something actually matters. Milo shrugged like it was no big deal, though his eyes were tracking his father’s reactions. ”Thought I’d pretend to be an adult for a few days. It’s the new thing… organized living, emotional repression, Vitamin D. Very L.A.“ Cillian snorted softly, patting Milo’s shoulder in passing. ”Place looks good. You look good.“ Milo gave a one sided smirk. ”Yeah, well… Looks are deceptive.“ He gestured toward the living room. ”Sit. Relax. There’s tea or… imported juice.“ Next thing Milo said under his breath as he sat down. ”From a bottle that definitely didn’t used to hold gin.“
As they settled, Milo kept stealing glances at his dad, small things like watching him take in the space, how his hands rested easily on the armrests, how the lines around his eyes looked a little deeper. He looked older, softer somehow. Still magnetic in that understated, fatherly way. Still everything Milo had spent years trying not to need too much from. ”So,“ Milo cleared his throat. ”Been working on something.“ He grabbed the binder with the script pages inside, already halfway out of his seat. He was already prepared. ” It’s the show Parallel Lives, you remember that one… We’re finishing it… Or trying to. Cameron’s back on board…Kind of. Long story- Anyway, I’ve been editing the last few scenes, reworking the arc. I actually think it’s some of the best writing I’ve done, honest. Do you want to-“ Cilian reached forward, touched the binder, but didn’t take it.
”I’ll read it later. You know I will.“ ”No, but.. Just look at this, I’ve been thinking of-“ ”Milo-“ ”Just this one-“
There was that voice again - calm, grounded, impossible to argue with unless you wanted to feel like a kid trying to out reason their teacher. ”But I just got here, Milo. And look there’s not a cloud in the sky. In Ireland, that’s cause for a parade.“ Milo blinked. ”So… you want to go outside?“
”I want to go to the beach,“ Cillian said smiling. ” Not talk about going. Not in a metaphor. I want to physically walk toward the ocean and have sand in my shoes and the sun in my face. You can show me all the tragic romance and unresolved sexual tension after.“ Milo groaned, ”You sound like me.“ ”Or maybe you sound like me.“
That earned a laugh… A real one. Milo leaned back in his seat, rubbing the side of his face. ” Alright, fine. Beach first. But you have to read it later. It’s driving me mad. I can’t tell if it’s brilliant or unbearable.“ Cillian stood, clapped Milo on the back on his way toward the door. ”I’m sure it’s both, just like you.“ He said with a playful wink.
Milo didn’t flinch when she tried to end their conversation and go back to the script. Didn’t move much at all, really. His arm remained lazily slung across the back of the airport chair, the other elbow resting on the armrest as his thumb rhythmically tapped the side of his jaw. He let the silence settle between them for a moment. That casual, infuriating silence.
”Well,“ he breathed out, not moving a muscle. ”I’ll sleep better knowing you’ll be taking notes.“ He shifted, finally. Not toward her but just enough to glance at her out of the corner of his eye, letting a slow smile drag across his mouth. Not smug. Not quite. But satisfied in that Milo McCoy way. ”I didn’t say I got it all right,“ he added. ”Only said I made changes. Needed changes… You’ll see.“ There was a pause, brief but present. Even if she so clearly showed she was ready to move on from this conversation and get back to what she was doing before he so nicely interrupted her, Milo still didn’t move. His fingers just stopped tapping.
”But don’t worry,“ Milo said, gaze drifting back to the terminal ahead. ”I wouldn’t dream of writing Mirabel into a corner, it’s not that extreme.“ Or maybe it was. And maybe he doesn’t have to dream about it because, in a way, he’d already done it. ”But yeah,“ he added, finally straightening up. ”Hospital forever’s a bit bleak, don’t you think? Even for Callum.“ A beat. Then, like the line had only just landed for him, he shot her a sidelong glance. ”Didn’t think you’d want him completely dead. Bit dramatic.“ There was a lightness to his tone, but it wasn’t the same careless kind from months ago. It was gentler… but pulled back at the edges, as if the joke was there just to fill space, not make things worse.
Milo stood then, finally.
He started to walk, making it about four steps before spinning back around halfway, eyes flicking toward the side table. ”Forgot this,“ he said quickly, pointing at the glass which sat there. ”Didn’t want you thinking I left in a rush or anything,“ he added with a grin on his face.
