Begin Again

I feel a pinch of guilt when I put off meeting Milo at Bagelopolis. A few hours ago I wanted him to just tell me he was leaving, so I could make myself face the facts. Now that I am walking away in the haze of Shay and Valeria’s happiness, I want to stay wrapped in it like a cocoon. I want to exist for just a little while longer in a world where we’re all still here not just until the end of the semester, but for years to come.

I try to tell myself it’ll be easier. Milo’s not interested in a relationship. With him gone, it’ll be that much easier to get over him. No constant reminders of the way he always smells like freshly brewed coffee or the way I can sometimes turn that smirk of his into a genuine smile or how my calves are always tingling after we hang out from standing on my tiptoes.

It’s like Shay said with Valeria; they’d still be friends, and it would be more than enough. But enough is a little easier to swallow when it isn’t staring you in the face every day.

With that, I force myself to put on my headphones and sit on a bench on the outskirts of campus that borders the main road. Milo’s voice floods my ears the same way it has a hundred times, and I lean back like the sound is some kind of balm, letting the familiarity of it wash over me.

“Good morning, Knights. Spent the weekend offline, what did I miss?”

If I’m not mistaken, I can hear Shay’s faint snort in the background.

“Really, though. The nice thing about having my identity revealed to you lot is that none of you have any idea who I am anyway. So no point in making it weird. I’m still the Knight, and you’re still—well, if the state of the quad after that dance party is any indication, probably hungover. So if it’s all well and good, I’ll keep giving you campus news and warning you off the dining hall’s most recent monstrosities, and you’ll keep ignoring me by eating the chili dogs anyway. Balance has been restored.”

It’s quick, wry, and perfectly executed. Milo really is a pro. He transitions into the daily news without another word about what happened, and I let myself get lulled into the familiar rhythm of events and club announcements. That is, until Milo stops halfway through signing off.

“Oh. We have a caller.” A beat. “We have several callers. Uh . . . I mean, it’s six thirty on a Wednesday morning, why not punish ourselves? Caller one, you’re live.”

I instantly recognize the caller’s voice as none other than Harriet from our floor. “I just wanted to say—I fucking love the Squire. She’s the only reason my roommate got her head out of her ass and asked out her now boyfriend. We’re all very proud.”

Milo lets out a laugh, something he very rarely does on air. “Yeah. She’s got that effect on people.”

“She does. Whoever that asshole was on the recording with her—well, I for one am Team Squire. And I know I’m not the only one.”

Milo lets out a hum of acknowledgment. “Gotta be honest, she’s not here today. But knowing her, she’ll listen to this later. So noted.” And after a second: “And well—we’re also Team Squire. So thanks.”

I tighten my grip on my phone as the words pool in my chest, warm and known.

“Eh. I’d say ‘thank you’ back, but I wouldn’t want to say it too loud and break quiet hours,” says Harriet, a clear if not loving dig at Milo’s tenure as the RA.

Milo lets out yet another short laugh before saying, “Well, looks like we’ve got more calls to get through. Hit me, caller number two.”

It’s more of the same—people calling in to say they love the Squire. People calling in with rare gems I never usually get: updates on where they are now, after they’ve asked for my advice. The caller who had the boundary issues with their boss. An emailer who was struggling to get independence from her parents even though they were a junior. Another caller who had issues with their roommate. All people who are better off now than they were before, and willing to go to bat for me because of it.

Their defense of me means a lot, but their updates mean much more. Only with people in my immediate circle have I been able to see the effect of my words. Understanding the full reach of them fills me to the brim, like the happiness of it could tip over my heart.

One of the callers is more candid than the others. “I’ve always been too scared to call in or even email,” she says. “But I-I’ve seen her help friends of mine. And I listen to her on every Friday broadcast. I’m usually a total cynic, so—she’s basically the whole reason I believe in love again.”

There’s a pause so long that I hear my mom’s warning about dead air in my ears. But the air isn’t dead. It’s impossibly full. I understand that when Milo finally finds his voice again.

“Yeah,” he says. “For what it’s worth—me too.”

The words knock the wind out of me. No, not just the words, but the sincerity of them. I know Milo’s voice too well to doubt it.

“So is she coming back or what?” the caller asks.

“God, I hope so,” says Milo. “Can you imagine if I were the one giving advice on this show? Campus would be up in flames by the end of the week.”

There’s a brief pause where the caller laughs and Milo waits them out, clearly assuming she has more to say. When she doesn’t, he speaks up again, his voice low but clear.

“I mean it, though. We’re all better off with her around. I’m glad everyone else seems to agree.” Milo takes in a heavy breath. “Alright, that’s enough calls for a lifetime, go bother someone else. And have a good day, I guess. Or as good of a day as we can have with the looming threat of chili dogs over our heads.”

The podcast recording of the show ends and I still haven’t moved a single muscle, Milo’s words pressed into me like ink on a page.

For what it’s worth—me too.

I stand up from the bench, the phone nearly falling out of my shaking hands. Milo wouldn’t say something like that without meaning it; he never does. He wanted me to hear it. He wanted me to know.

My feet are carrying me to the intersection dividing campus from the main road before I even know where I’m going or what I’m going to do. I’ve spent too much of my life overthinking things, but this—this is somehow both the easiest and scariest thing I will ever do.

The outside of Bagelopolis is quiet, the inside just the same. Cozy and fragrant and inviting. I expect Milo to be in the back, but there he is, standing at the register for once, his brow furrowed over an inventory slip. His blue apron is pulled taut across his body and his flannel sleeves are rolled up, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms. His hair is a mess of dark curls, overgrown and moving in tandem with every minute shake of his head, and his cheeks are flushed from the post-lunch rush.

I’ve always known that he’s beautiful. But it’s when he looks up and sees me standing there that my heart presses against my chest, because he is so much more than that. He is the steady pulse of something known, something understood—not a person to build your world around, but a person to build one with.

“Hey, you,” says Milo, his eyes lighting up. He jerks a thumb toward the back. “I’m about to go on break. Want some tea, or—oh.”

I make it to the register, sucking in a breath to buoy myself. Then I grab the coffee cup he keeps at the register, the one I know from experience will be full of piping-hot Eternal Darkness. I close my eyes, abandon my last shred of self-preservation, and chug.

I nearly sputter it right back out when I reach the dregs.

Milo’s expression oscillates between quizzical and concerned. “Why do I feel like I just watched a crime against nature?”

“How,” I wheeze.

Milo pries the coffee cup from my hands. “More like why?”

I clear my throat, regretting coffee beans for ever being born. “I needed liquid courage,” I manage to choke out. “I have something to tell you.”

“Uh . . .”

Sean comes up from behind and pats Milo on the shoulder. “Go take your break before she starts swinging from the light fixtures.”

Milo leads the way to the back exit, checking over his shoulder like he’s worried the caffeine exposure might combust me. And maybe it will. I can feel my heart beating like there are ten of them all over my body, a heat coursing through my veins that might just turn into an inferno. He holds the door open for me and we blink our way into the bright sunshine of the back parking lot.

I take a deep breath. I did not plan to do this in front of a loaded dumpster. I didn’t plan to do this at all. But if I’ve learned anything this semester, it’s that sometimes you have to chuck the plans out the window.

“Here is the thing,” I say.

Milo watches me so intently that if there’s a world beyond his gaze, I can’t see it. I should be afraid, maybe. But it’s hard to be afraid of anything, looking into those eyes and knowing that I have nothing to lose; that the feelings we have for each other are strong enough that they can take any form. Whether we walk away from this friends or step into something else entirely, we still have each other for life.

So I let the words pour out of me—words I’ve said plenty of times before, but words that have an entirely new meaning now that I’m saying them to him.

“I love you.”

The words feel like hurtling myself off a cliff without knowing where I’ll land. I want to crush my eyes shut, want to brace myself for whatever comes next, but I can’t. Not when Milo’s are still steady on mine, so instantly soft, so instantly deep.

“Andie, I—”

“And maybe you don’t feel the same way, and that’s okay, too. I—I just wanted you to know,” I say quickly, the anxiety catching up to me faster than I anticipated. “I needed you to know. Because either way, I want us to be part of each other’s lives. And California might be far, but there are always school breaks, and we could FaceTime, and—”

“Andie,” Milo tries again, a hint of a smile on his face.

But I’m not finished. “It wouldn’t be perfect, but it’s like your dad said, right? Anything worth doing starts with a—”

And then Milo’s firm hands are cupping my jaw, bringing my face up toward him as he leans down to meet me, catching my mouth and the last of my words with his. I lean into his touch, into the gentle warmth of the kiss, dizzy with the everything of him.

The burn I felt before, the ache—it was just the beginning of a rising tide, one that is swelling in me now, moving me on its own command. I’ve never kissed like this before; never been kissed like this before. With this sudden, frantic urgency, with the beautiful desperation of two people so overwhelmed that it borders on senseless, standing on the edge of the possibility of it all. This kiss, and all the ones that will come after. This moment, and the infinity beyond it.

I fall into him, his back pressed against the brick wall of the store, his hands still bracing me like I am something too precious to let go. The rhythm of the kiss softens, slow and exploratory. We both taste like coffee and sweetness and something that is just us, something that makes me feel bolder than I’ve ever been.

When we pull apart, his eyes are a brighter green than I’ve ever seen them; like spring leaves, like evergreen peaks, like new beginnings.

“Hey, new kid,” he says, pressing his forehead against mine.

I’m not even sure who answers, because I don’t have a single wit left. “Yeah?”

Milo’s hands press into the small of my back, and something in me pools warm and low, feeling the words in every inch of me before he says them out loud. “I love you, too.”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

For once, I’m all out of words. I just tilt my face toward his and kiss him again. It’s sweet and chaste, the kind of kiss that leaves me feeling more exposed than the first one, the kind that defines what we are to each other more than words ever could.

“Also,” he says lowly, “I’m not leaving.”

The words feel too much like I’m dreaming to let them sink in. “You’re not?”

Milo laughs, and there’s something different about it. Something unselfconscious, the kind of happiness that belongs in a childhood that we’re stealing back right now.

He cups one of my cheeks with his hand, watching my face. “That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.”

He’s expecting me to smile, but I shake my head into his palm. “Not—not because of . . .” I lean into his touch, trying to make him understand. “Milo, the last thing I’d ever want is to hold you back.”

“Same to you,” says Milo easily, using his hand to my brush my hair out of my face. We pull apart just enough that his arms are still around my neck and my hands are still on his hips. “But this is Cleo’s fault, not yours. She pulled out my application file, too. Showed me my essay. How I wrote about the town that raised me. How going to college at Blue Ridge wasn’t just an opportunity to learn, but to take what I learned to give it back to this place.”

I smile warmly, thinking of the Flynn legacy and how deeply ingrained it is not just in this town, but in one another. The kind of closeness that isn’t just bound by blood, but by love.

“The truth is, every time I thought about California, it didn’t feel real to me,” Milo admits. “But this is my home. I don’t want to go somewhere new—I want to make this place something new. I want to do what your mom did, and be a voice for this community.” He lowers his voice, adding, “And I want . . . to spend more time with my family. With my friends.”

The words seem to have their own warmth, spreading from the tips of his fingers into every part of my body.

“So you’re staying.” I lean back so I can smack lightly at the zipper to his jacket. “You scared me. You said it was your last shift.”

Milo’s eyes widen, only just realizing what I must have thought he meant by that.

“Shit. That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. After you said my name on the broadcast—well, it turns out the local radio station had been trying to scout me for an internship. Paid.” He lifts up a hand to tweak my chin and I feel this thrill run up my spine, thinking of all the quiet little gestures like this I’ll get to have with him now. “I start next week.”

I didn’t think I could get even giddier than I already was, but the smile on my face is threatening to burst. “Milo. Congratulations,” I say, leaning into him again. “You’re going to knock their socks off.”

“We’ll see about that,” says Milo. “But between the internship and starting the broadcast program here, it does mean my schedule’s going to take a hit.”

“Oh.” The broadcast program. I’d almost forgotten. “They’re really okay with you being the Knight?”

“Oh, not at all,” says Milo, the pride clear in his tone. “But they’re letting it slide. I think the fancy local internship probably helped.”

The relief rushes like a wave, one that finally settles the fear that’s burned in me ever since I found out I’d put his secret on blast. I’m about to ask him for details, but he’s already grinning at me, poised to give them.

“But the fact of the matter is, I can’t do both. Which means . . . we need a new Knight.” His eyes gleam. “Someone who knows the ins and outs of the show. Someone who can do it justice. Someone a little bit nosy, someone short, someone who makes lengthy PowerPoint presentations about their friends’ major life decisions for fun—”

“Okay, okay,” I say, laughing. “I get the message loud and clear.”

Milo’s smile softens. “So you’ll do it?”

This time I don’t hesitate. I don’t feel the weight of it anymore—not my mom’s legacy. Not the expectations of Connor and his parents. Not the years I spent trying to fit, the years I worried I wasn’t enough, the years I felt like I had to prove myself to other people. Now it’s only a matter of what I have to prove to myself.

“Yeah,” I say firmly. “I’ll do it.”

Milo leans down to kiss me again. I marvel at how easily my body can respond to something it barely understands the edges of yet. How easily it can trust something that feels both certain and wild, something that was never part of the plan.

How suddenly the world can feel wider than it’s ever been, and I’ve never felt more ready to meet it.