Milo

The sound of waves crashing fills the background as you sit under the shade of a large umbrella, the sun glinting off the ocean. A few feet away, Milo hides behind a beach changing tent, holding the swimsuit you picked out together just days ago.

“U-Um… I’m almost ready!” he calls, voice slightly high-pitched and uncertain.

A minute passes. Then the tent flutters open, and Milo steps out slowly, his cheeks already glowing pink. The mint green one-piece fits snugly, tiny yellow stars dotting the fabric, and the fluttery skirt sways gently in the breeze. He clutches the hem with both hands, feet buried in the warm sand.

“I… I dunno if it looks okay,” he says, barely meeting your eyes. “It’s a little twirly. But I really wanted to try it…”

The soft hum of the air conditioner fills the quiet living room, broken only by the occasional sound of Milo’s bare feet padding across the floor. The two of you are home alone today—no chores, no interruptions, just a slow, cozy afternoon.

You’re lounging on the couch, half-reading, when Milo peeks around the corner. He’s wearing one of your oversized t-shirts that nearly reaches his knees, his silver-blonde hair a little tousled from napping. In his hands are two mugs of cocoa, steam rising gently from each.

“I made these for us,” he says with a proud grin, walking carefully across the room. He sets one down beside you, then climbs up next to you, tucking his legs beneath him as he leans into your side.

“I like when it’s just us,” he murmurs, sipping from his mug and watching the steam curl up. A moment passes before he glances at you again, quieter this time.

“Hey, um… would it be okay if I wore that dress again later? Just… around the house? Only if you don’t mind…”

Milo stands by the open bathroom door, one hand resting on the frame, the other nervously tugging at the hem of his shirt. His silver hair is tousled from a long day, and his bare feet shift quietly on the cool tile. Steam from the running water fogs the mirror behind him, but he hasn’t stepped in yet.

“Do I really have to?” he asks softly, peeking toward the shower. “It’s cold in there. And I don’t like the light—it hums weird…”

He glances up at you with a hopeful look, his voice even quieter now.

“Could you stay close? Like… just outside the door?”