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located in USA, IL, Chicago, a part of A Kind of Demotic, one of the many universes on RPG.

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And I knew that somewhere in the deep, dark, recesses of my mind; I wanted to say no. If maybe Milo wasn’t Milo, and perhaps he was someone like the people staring at the scene he was making; I might’ve answered without hesitation. If I didn’t think like such a dick; I could’ve stood up for Milo, just like I’m thinking about right now. It’s an idea, just fumbling its way through my head, wanting to sputter out my lips. But I’m somewhat of a coward, and I just wanted that coffee. I wanted Milo to stop making a scene. I wanted Nevada to stop--for just one moment--playing tricks on me. Don’t go to leave, then come back. Don’t do that.

But that’s just Nevada, just as Milo is just Milo. I can’t do something I know nothing about, so I just shake my head. No. Now I’m nodding. I don’t know how to answer that, because even though--

‘His name is Milo. And yeah, he’s mine.’

--Wanted to cough its way up from out of my throat, it wouldn‘t budge. You’ll probably find more spine in jellyfish, but you won’t find these sort of thoughts anywhere. I’m a one of a kind, and those beautiful people just intensified. I’m pretty sure the world just intensified. Especially that color forcing its way through my peripheral vision. There was just too much of it.

“Milo.” I replied bluntly; avoiding the question, “His name is Milo.”

I didn’t look over. I didn’t turn to watch Milo hit that guy, and I sure as hell didn’t stop him. Should I have? Maybe. Did I? No. I just kept watching Nevada for a little longer. He’d disappear any second, I was sure. I’ll blink, and he’ll vanish. Nothing but his shoes will be left, and I’ll have no distractions left. It’s funny how I find Nevada the most interesting guy in the world one day, and then the next the scariest shit I’ve ever seen. He’s like Milo. Actually, I take that back. They’re nothing alike.

I guess I could talk about Nevada all day. I could watch those beautiful people behind him all day. Or come up with a way on how to get my phone back from home without Dad catching me. Truth is; I could come up with a million excuses as to why I shouldn’t go get Milo, but only one was telling me why I should, and its rattling its way down my throat.

I murmured a, ‘sorry,’ then approached Milo. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what was going on.

“Milo,” I spoke to him carefully, like a wounded animal, “Let’s go, okay?”

I reached for his elbow.

“Milo?”