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“Raargh!” A scream shouts from someone’s phone and it feels like it’s being transmitted directly into your brain it’s so close. Music is playing. There is the sound of someone snorting what you can only assume is coke a few seats back from you. The flashback light in your hands feels smooth and cold to the touch, calming your mind as everyone riding this hellish bus begins to rock it back and forth, and the bus just happens to be trying to cross a bridge!
“Uuugh…” Brian, who is sitting next to you, groans tiredly, reaching up to rub his eye without it falling out of his socket.
The bus finishes crossing the bridge and you let your deathly grip loosen a little on your backpack. The sketchbook on your lap starts to slide away, so you grab it before it can topple to the floor and dump all your sketches across the ridged walkway.
There are certain things that should never be unleashed upon the world, and your sketches of Milo are one of them. You’ve already drawn them fifteen times just on this one bus ride, trying to capture their slim jaw, the smug smile, the silver hair and shifting eyes. They are so beautiful, they deserve to live rent-free in the Museé de Louvre as a piece of art.
You know this is your first chance to make a good impression with them, so when the conversation shifts to everyone’s favorite campside activity, you say taking long, quiet walks through the forest, admiring the world’s majesty.
A few monsters look at you like they’re sorry this is how you discover that they’ve eradicated entire species of animals, but Milo claps their hands and grins.
“Oh, you too? Isn’t it so nice to feel the breeze on your skin?” they ask.
A part of your soul begins to melt under their steady fuchsia gaze.
“Fuck yeah! And then you grab it and try to strangle it—” Damien LaVey stands up, his large, red hands clasped together as though strangling air that very moment.
You frown, though of course everyone overlooks the expression, as the bus jostles him back into his seat.
Things had not ended well with asking Damien out to prom, and you learned very important life lessons about yourself, namely that although you are an immortal creature, you are still the embodiment of fear itself, and, quite frankly, 99.99% of the shit Damien did scared you, so it clearly was not going to work out.
But hey, that’s all behind you now. And Damien has the attention span of a fruit fly, so it’s probably behind him, too.
The rest of the bus ride goes off without a hitch. Milo mentions that you should hang out with them sometime during camp and take that walk through the forest, so hey! You’re already making progress!
— ✧ —
The first night in a new place is always the hardest. You’re a little cold as you lay on the plastic separating your back from the hard soil beneath you, your yellow blanket pulled up to your chin. You’re exhausted after a long day of orientation at the campsite, fucking around with Camp Rival Camp, among other shenanigans.
When it had finally come time to set up your tent, your noodle arms had barely been able to punch a stake into the ground. Good thing Brian had been there to help you while Amira and Vicky cheered him on. The four of you are cozier than peas in a pod, though not as mushy.
And it’s only by coincidence that each of you has chosen to pursue a different love interest this time around, which is very good, because you’d rather not have to compete with any of them seeing as it would inevitably lead to a fistfight that you’re not quite sure you’d win. Especially because fortune favors the BOLD, and the walkthrough you read says CHARM and CREATIVITY should be the main tools in your arsenal for capturing Milo’s heart.
You grip your blanket, fingers trembling. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? Just put together a few macaroni art pieces, hop around the coliseum in your potato sack, and on your downtime maybe write some poems and read up on your William Butler Yeats. What? You don’t know who that is? Maybe you’re not the hero for this job.
Anyway, you should rest before one of the Lovecraftian horrors sleeping in a nearby tent overhears your thoughts and decides you’d be better worn as their sleeping bag instead of fretting endlessly about an attractive as fuck enby reaper who’s too good for you.
— ✧ —
The next morning, the first thing you want to do is visit Scout HQ so you can hone your rope-tying skills (because you never know when those might come in handy) when Vicky grabs you and you flinch.
"Hey Oz, we should go into the forest!" she says.
Now, you're no strangers to forests. You've had your fair share of interactions with them, but you're not that big on them. In fact, they scare the shit out of you. You know about the Hoia-Baciu forest in Romania, where there’s a huge-ass circle of nothing. Almost like it’s a gateway to Hell. Not to mention England's haunted Wychwood Forest or Aokigahara, aka Japan’s “suicide forest,” and—
"I think I'm good," you tell Vicky, but she won't take "no" for an answer.
"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer," Vicky says.
You are nothing if not submissive and breedable, so you give in to her smile and follow her into the forest. It was nice knowing you while it lasted.
The thing about this forest is that it doesn’t emanate any fucked energies at all. You hear birdsong and water babbling over a brook. It smells earthy, with a hint of petrichor. You feel a gentle breeze on your bare arms. (Not to be confused with bear arms, which are also probably lurking around somewhere and are 15% less sexy.)
You bring your arms up to your chest and proceed with caution. Even this forest’s green embrace is an untrustworthy one. The compass in your pocket weighs heavily on your soul, as does your phone. If anything were to happen, at least you have these two important things with you.
"If you find any black onyx, be sure to let me know," Vicky says as she reaches for one of the logs laying on the ground and lifts it up. A few beetles and a centipede crawl out from underneath it, and you feel a jolt course through you. Yeah, no thanks, don't like that.
"Why?" You mutter, inching along next to your unafraid friend.
"Because Joy needs it as a material component for an enchantment she's doing," Vicky says.
Look. You know Dungeons and Dragons and that sounds like Dungeons and Dragons to you. And since this is fanfiction we can say the actual name instead of fearing copyright infringement.
Anyway, you know there's only one spell that requires a component like that, and it is absolutely necromancy shit. “Create Undead” is a spell cast at night that resurrects three corpses into ghouls for 24 hours and requires black onyx as a material component, although maybe it’s best to keep that all to yourself lest you unleash a whole ‘nother conversation about what Joy could possibly be using that spell for, and why you know that spell exists in the first place.
You two are journeying through the forest, making good pace, when you hear a bush rustling nearby.
It does not sound like a bunny rabbit. In fact, it sounds like a starving bear ripping through the foliage!
But you’re on a well-populated trail with Vicky’s Gryffindor-looking ass, so there’s really nothing to worry about, right?
The noises amplify the more you crawl your way through the forest, until you reach what must be the bush where the noise is coming from. A brown mass shoots out of it and you scream at the roar shouted in your face.
“Oz, calm down! It’s just Scott,” Vicky says.
You squint through your eyes and see that it is, indeed, Scott. He’s just as hairy as usual, with a wide grin on his face and muscular arms akimbo.
"Oh, thank God you guys found me! I came in here chasing a bunny rabbit and I've been lost for five days!" he shouts.
"Oh no," Vicky says. "That's terrible! Well, with my trusty map—" She reaches for her pocket and pulls it out, "—We can get out of here!"
You examine the map in her hand, seeking relief in the fact that she has had the foresight to bring it with her. However, when she opens it up, you see that it isn't a map to the way out at all! It's a diagram of an old Blockbuster video!
You frown, trying to steady your breath. There’s no black onyx, and there is no longer a trail. Dear gods, how are you going to get out of this one?
"Nobody panic," Vicky says. "I've trained in monster scouts for fourteen years. Follow me, and we can get out of this together!"
While following Vicky around, you learn some tracking skills. You're not sure when you'll ever have use for them, but you know it has given you +2 SMARTS.
You three are finally near the exit of the forest and you can breathe easy when you hear a growling behind you. You jump straight through your skin again, and you reach to cling onto Vicky, your arms wrapping around her neck and shoulders.
"Eep!" You shout, eyes darting to the noise only to find that it's Scott rubbing his stomach with a starving zest. Vicky laughs next to him, looking at you and pointing a finger.
"Man, you sure are a scaredy-cat!" She says.
Your grip loosens on Vic—
Wait, if Vicky's there, then...
Your eyes turn onto the humanoid figure whose neck you are half strangling.
Milo looks even more attractive up close. You see the stardust in their fuchsia eyes, the faint accent of lashes and soft, gray lips that say: "Aw, you ruined my selfie!"
You drop your arms and move away immediately, though the scent of Milo sticks to you like honey on a hot summer day. And they do smell sweet, with a kick of something else. Something inviting, like a moth to a flame…
"Suh-sorry," you say, wiping your hands down on your jeans.
They felt cool. Like, really cool. Which makes sense, considering they're a reaper and everything, and it adds another reason why they’re the perfect pick as a summertime crush: being a free AC.
"Hey Milo," Vicky says. "What are you doing out here?"
Milo brushes a lock of their silver hair away from their face. "Taking selfies, of course! Forest cover really lends itself to some nice dramatic lighting shots."
"That's cool, bro!"
"Actually Scott, could I ask a favor of you?" Milo asks.
“What is it, bro?”
“Would you be hurt if I asked you to stop calling me ‘bro’?”
Scott says he calls everyone that, but Milo responds evenly, with words that resonate especially with you, a fellow enby: "Well, let's just say that I find gender to be a prison, and I've already broken free of my cage. But anytime someone else genders me, it sort of feels like I'm back in that cage."
Listening to them talk to Scott about gendered terms and the freedom of escaping that cage is a little overwhelming for you, and it must show in your eyes because Vicky reaches for your shoulder and taps you.
"We should probably get out of this forest," she says.
“Actually, Oz, are you up now for that stroll I mentioned earlier?” Milo asks.
“Yes,” The desperate horny half of you blurts out before you can stop yourself.
Milo smiles. “Wonderful! Let’s go then.”
You wave once as a farewell to Vicky and Scott before returning to the lush brush with Milo at your side.
Initially, they type away at their phone and take a few pics of the local flora. You couldn't care less about that though, not when they're the most eye-catching thing around.
"Ah, going on this trip is so good for my image," Milo says. "My followers are loving the summertime vibes."
"Cool," you say. "What do you usually post about?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. A few thousand selfies and pics of the pinot grigio I had for dinner last night, peppered sometimes with collabs with other influencers," they say. "I take it you don't follow me on the socials?"
You do, but only recently, since you're more of a lurker and have very niche interests. Most of your Twitter and Tumblr feed are consumed by posts about Naruto, anime figurines, cosplays, and other nerdy shit. I'm not as nerdy as you, so I don't know how deep the list stretches. But I do know that you tried to find Milo on Tumblr to no avail, which means of the two of you, only you willingly subject yourself to that dumpster fire daily.
"I started following you recently," you admit. "Your posts are really nice."
You will never be hungering for a stunning picture of Milo's face ever again.
"Aw, you're just saying that," Milo says, fanning themself while under your praise.
"I mean it though," you say. "And I, um, really admire you for how you spoke to Scott just now. I'm nonbinary too, and sometimes people assume I'm male, which can make me also feel a little caged."
"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry to hear that," Milo says. "I've definitely been there.”
You really love how they gaze at you with their gentle expression.
“Are he/him pronouns still okay?” they ask.
“Yeah, that’s absolutely fine,” you say. “Thanks for asking. They/them is good too, especially if you’re also referencing my phobias…”
“Oh, are those the cute little friends on your shoulders?”
“Yes,” you say, and Milo reaches out to pat one, whose spindly arms raise to meet their hand and hug it.
The moment is very wholesome. It might just be your imagination, but something tells you the phobias are just as enraptured by Milo’s flawless side shave and half-lidded eyes as you are.
The rest of the hike concludes without incident. You can feel your bond with Milo growing stronger through your shared interests. It’s easy to make a connection when they’re so approachable, and perhaps you solve a problem or two of theirs while out there and return to camp with a wide smile on your face.
— ✧ —
As the days wear on, you work on building up your CHARM and CHARISMA. And it shows. You know more about abstract poets and which cheeses pair best with which wines, things you never thought you’d give a shit about before meeting Milo.
Sure, there’s a few bumps along the way, like one horny Minotaur, a serial killer named Jerry, and a bunch of other random NPCs with increasingly complex problems that require even more complex solutions.
So, hanging out in a hammock with bae is a nice breather from the trials of everyday camp life.
...That's before Milo’s phone starts popping off, and you glance away from your screen to see the shock on their face.
Now. This moment is going to be super important.
Milo tells you that you're their next gig and that they're going to reap your fucking soul.
There's a few things extremely disconcerting about that statement.
For starters, you have never died before. Didn't think I had to point that one out, but what makes you a special snowflake is that you've been alive for only God knows how long.
Despite your perceived immortality status, your instinct is to take Milo's word at face value, so you start freaking the fuck out. You're in a hammock, so it starts to sway, and Milo has to put their hands on the side of your arms to calm you.
They tell you how they're going to make this “last week of your life the best week of your life,” and their charisma stat is so high that you forget all about being scared and worried in favor of figuring out how you can take advantage of this to spend more time with them. (And potentially bone them at the end, ofc!)
Who can blame you? This is Milo freaking Belladonna we're talking about. And if you're going to die, you might as well go out toting one last good orgasm under your belt.
So, you let them string you along. You provide some ideas for your party, then you and Milo execute an extremely erotic death tango.
You ride on the high of your convo with Milo well into the drunken evening hours, until it's time to lay your head to rest. (But not, like, "dead" rest. I literally mean sleeping.)
You listen to your breath in your ears and the dull tingle of alcohol in your system. Whatever joy you’d experienced before has been dulled by the dead of night and the inescapable dread for the future.
Remember how you freaked out? That must have been kind of embarrassing, huh? Especially considering you’re immortal!
Milo had said, “Sorry to burst your bubble, but death was going to find you eventually, too,” and you, with your crippling case of social anxiety, were not in the proper mental state to correct them. After all, who in their right mind would want to tell their No. 1 summer crush that they’re wrong about a thing they’ve been doing for centuries?
But your little phobias don’t lie. You are a “powerful, ancient entity older than time.” You weren’t born — you have just always been. Therefore, you have never aged a day in your life, nor have you ever suffered an injury you couldn’t recover from.
You fold your hands over your chest and stare into the darkness. Maybe something’s changed and you are mortal now. But you don’t feel any different than you’ve ever been. Which is to say, still perfectly healthy aside from the weight of depression and anxiety that bears down on you at any given moment.
Would it be better or worse if the whole reaping thing actually worked? Should you tell Milo that you think there might have been a mix-up or would you rather go through with dying? Considering, again, your case of social anxiety, confrontation is a big No.
But if you actually survive this attempted reaping, that would be hella awkward. And you’d have to explain to Milo why you didn’t say something sooner.
Either way you see it, there’s no doubt that it would be extremely uncomfortable having to say, “I’m immortal” if you don’t legit die.
…And you kind of sort of don’t want to die. Because you’ve lived a long life and it’d be a shame to see it end now, despite all the wonderful poetry Milo has spouted about life and death and the meaningless of being afraid of it.
Oh Milo… no matter the cause (or solution) to this awful situation, you still have to be thankful as heck that they’re choosing to be by your side in your last moments. You could not have wished for a better excuse to spend time with them.
— ✧ —
As the days go on, you find innumerable ways to hang out with Milo. One time you’re their intern on a reaping gig, another you’re helping them concoct the perfect salsa dancing outfit for Joy. You nap beachside with them but you also fight undead armies and meet alternate universe versions of yourself.
It’s a lot. You’re starting to feel like a soccer mom with seven kids and no time for yourself who is increasingly considering replacing your morning glass of water with vodka. So, one day you break it to Milo that you’d rather take a day to yourself. They understand, of course, and go on their own while you consider which stat might need a good boosting today.
— ✧ —
Ahh, pole vaulting. No one’s favorite pastime. You brave the colosseum hoping to pick up any leftover CHARM someone else might have dropped on the ground when Vicky calls over to you, “Hey Oz! Want to be the referee for a game of Master Vaulterz™️? It’s just like normal pole vaulting but with more screaming!”
You approach to see Amira, Vickey, and Dahlia crowded around a mat placed in the center of the room. From afar it looks like a normal pole-vaulting setup (spoilers: it is), with the pole being raised to its highest possible level. Dahlia and Amira stand with long poles in their hands.
“Dahlia says she can pole vault higher than me, but I’m gonna show her! You and Vicky stand there and be the judges,” Amira gestures to the sidelines, where you join Vicky as a judge.
Things start off rocky, with Amira holding the pole backwards and falling off her ass not once, not twice, but ten times before she even manages to get into the air. Dahlia loves gloating, so she lets this stretch on for an hour. Meanwhile, the blue-skinned demon is creating all new tricks with each successful vault over the pole. With each jump she is revolutionizing the sport, and soon enough things become Milo times more fun when they show up to capture each moment.
“Yeah, work that pole, Dahlia!” Milo shouts, snapping another photo as Dahlia gracefully sails through the air.
Amira clutches her pole in a deathly grip. “What’s the scoreboard look like?”
“Dahlia 100, Amira 0,” Vicky reads off.
“What?! I demand a recount!” Amira yells.
“It’s the same as before,” Vicky groans. “C’mooon, let’s go stab some perverted tree trunks or something!” She lifts her hands together in a pleading gesture.
“Give me one more chance!” Amira growls and prepares her pole.
Amira backs up then runs, screaming, toward the mat. She readies her pole, jerking it underneath her in the last second. This backfires massively, as the pole bounces out of her hands and launches itself toward you. You don’t really realize this as much as you feel it, right in your guts, as the force pushes your back onto the floor.
Everything briefly goes black as you faint.
You regain consciousness when Amira yanks the pole out of your chest, slinging it over her shoulder.
“Whew! It’s a good thing you’re the embodiment of fear itself and therefore immortal, huh?” she asks.
Though you don’t technically need to breathe, you are panting pretty heavily (and not in the sexy way) when you realize you are spread out on the cold coliseum floor. You sit up, right hand already at your side, feeling where your shirt has been torn open, revealing your smooth stomach, totally unpunctured by the deadly piece of plastic.
Everyone stares down at you, probably expecting you to wave it off or make some sort of big deal out of this, when your glance lands on Milo and their squinted, indigo eyes. They glare for a second, take a photo ‘cuz it’ll last longer, then stalk off toward some other, not-you-related shenanigan.
“Oz?” Vicky asks when it takes you a second too long to answer everyone else’s stares. You’re honestly surprised everyone cares this much, considering literal hundreds died this morning during the usual dome competitions.
“I’m fine, haha,” you laugh nervously as you try to stand, Vicky helping you to your feet.
“Beat that, Dahlia! I bet you can’t stab Oz better than me!”
“Oh, you wanna bet?” Dahlia runs toward you, holding her pole like she is about to go spearfishing.
You hold your hands up. “Actually, I’ve reached my stabbing quota for today!”
Dahlia disappointedly lowers her spear and walks off with Amira to gossip about who they could stab with their repurposed murder weapons.
You turn to Vicky, grabbing the sides of her arms and looking at her, your eyes wide. “Oh shit! I didn’t die!”
“Umm… no, you’re immortal, remember?” she asks.
“Yeah, but Milo— Milo didn’t know that! They were supposed to reap my soul later this week!”
Vicky suppresses a laugh. “So much for that plan, right?”
“I can forget about my ‘getting boned plan,’ too,” you moan.
You and Vicky crouch in the corner of the dome and for a while mourn that you aren’t dead, Vicky rubbing your back before you are almost impaled again by Camp Rival Camp and you two decide to take it outside.
— ✧ —
That night, you sit in your tent contemplating for maybe too long whether to brave the dark to go to the loo before deciding you can’t really hold it in all night and give in, stepping out of your tent and peeking around into the darkness. While it’s fortunate for Scott that it’s a new moon, it makes navigating your way to the bathroom pretty fucking hard, though eventually you manage to reach your final destination, using your fellow campers’ lit-up tents to guide you.
When you finally step out, you creep back past the same tents as before, trying not to think too much about how many crunches you’re making with your feet and whether you are the only one walking out here right now. You really hope—
“Ahhh!” a scream jerks you to full alert, straightening your back. You suddenly really miss your flashback light, but it’s back in your tent while you are most certainly about to be ruthlessly murdered by Jerry.
Another sound quickly accompanies the other, however: moaning. And lots of it. Maybe too much. It only takes one quick glance toward Damien’s tent to confirm your suspicions, which is that he and Amira are totally fucking, the flame on the top of Amira's head giving away too much, painting the tent’s tarp with an erotic silhouette.
You bow your head and begin to speedwalk off, your usually cool face heating with pent-up horniness and shock that you even saw that just now!
You get a good distance away — you’re probably right in front of your tent at this point! — when you forcibly bump into something and it grabs you by the arms. It’s your turn to let out a blood curdling scream, sure that you’re about to be stabbed 69 times in the chest, and close your eyes when a voice calls out to you.
“Oz?”
Is that… Milo? You stop screaming, hesitating before you open your eyes. Milo is standing in front of you, the heart on their chest casting a rosy glow on their face. Seeing Milo in the flesh gives you +10 HORNINESS, though this is a super bad time, considering you two def aren’t on speaking terms right now!
“Oh, uh, hi,” you stammer. A phobia on your shoulder reaches out to Milo with its little, lustful arms and you cover it with a hand.
“Whew, it’s just you. You came out of nowhere! I was just about to text you when a black mass started screaming at me.”
Hm. Now that you think about it, it would be difficult for anyone to see you coming, considering you are as dark as Vantablack, though not as corporately controversial. Oh, and you’re shirtless.
“Why are you shirtless?”
“Because it’s so… hot out tonight,” you explain. Which is only getting truer by the second.
“…Riiight. About that text…” Milo’s phone blinks to life, making them look more like a skeleton than a death reaper when the ghostly white lights up their face. “My followers loved my tweet about your deception, and it made me realize we should monopolize on this opportunity and start some internet beef!”
What? You were really hoping they’d say something more substantial, though is this really all that surprising?
“You’re not… mad that I didn’t tell you about me being… you know…” You trail off, rubbing the back of your neck.
“Oh no, darling, I thought it was cute when you pretended to be dead after Amira accidentally impaled you through the chest, though it was obviously a façade the second she yanked the pole out.”
“No, I mean— I’m sorry that’s how you found out that I’m immortal.”
“That’s okay,” Milo turns the phone over in their hand, considering their next words carefully, something you have never witnessed someone do at camp. “Part of why I told you I was going to reap your soul was… because I thought it would be a good opportunity for us to bond and spend time together, but perhaps I didn’t need an excuse, and should have been more upfront and honest about my feelings without letting my insecurities stop me from being vulnerable with another person.”
You gape at Milo’s speech, flattered by how insightful and sincere they’re being with you. And you totally felt that way, too! This must be their way of accepting your apology and showing that they understand your reasoning behind not revealing your immortality status.
“Can I kiss you?” you blurt out.
Milo taps their phone against their chin as they smirk. “I don’t know, can you?”
It doesn’t occur to you that maybe Milo is asking the question rhetorically and is expecting you to have no mouth. You’re only excited and still super horny, so you lean in and give them a smooch on the lips.
You hear Milo gasp and you pull back to see the shock on their face. They immediately regain their cool, eyes half-lidded and lips drawn in a long smirk.
“Well, you’re just full of surprises, huh?” they ask.
You’re the first to admit you’re not the most forthcoming when it comes to sharing information about yourself. But just like Milo said, sometimes your insecurities hold you back from being vulnerable with others. It’s a habit you’re trying to break from, but it can be difficult when you’re not sure how others are going to react to your confessions — and you certainly don’t want the wrong information getting into the wrong hands, especially among this group.
“I’d gladly share more if you stick around for a while,” you suggest, allowing a smile to creep across your face, though it’s unlikely that Milo sees it.
“Mmm…” Milo hums in consideration. They once again tap their phone against their chin when it begins to go off and they tuck it into a pocket. "Tell you what. Meet me near the lake tomorrow and we'll talk then.”
"Okay," you say with a determined gleam in your eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow morning!"
“Good night, Oz,” Milo whispers, accentuated with a wink they have no right making look so sexy, before they turn on their heel and saunter off.
— ✧ —
Several hours later, you wake with a slight hangover and anxiety up the fucking wazoo. First thing you do after brushing your teeth is take your meds, then you trudge down to the water.
Milo isn't there yet, so you sit on the wooden dock and draw your knees up to your chest.
Everything's going to be fine. Just take a few deep breaths...
"Good morning! I hope I didn’t leave you waiting," Milo says.
You turn your head and greet them with a shy wave. They're dressed as always in their best, sloppily half-tucked-in maroon shirt revealing the curve of their muscles. They sit down next to you, legs dangling over the edge.
"I really want to apologize for what happened the other day," you start. "I know I should have told you sooner that I thought you'd made a mistake, seeing as I'm immortal and everything, but I didn't want to pass up an opportunity to hang out with you, and..."
Their patient, fuchsia gaze hits a little too hard. You clam up, sweaty palms rubbing circles against your thighs.
"...Oh, you already mentioned that last night though, that you felt the same way," you say. A nervous laugh bubbles out of your throat.
You take a breath as Milo asks, "Can I touch you?"
Fuck yeah! "Oh- okay," you say.
They touch the edge of your shoulder and smile. The hand coasts across your T-shirt clad back, and you take another slow breath as they start talking.
"Darling, I don't blame you at all for exploiting an opportunity to spend time with me. Heck, I would do the same thing! But I can tell that you're worried you've struck a chord with me, and I want you to know that I really did mean what I said last night. I accept your apology, and I'd love to spend more time with you."
"Really?" You blurt out. Your cheeks heat. "That's great! I want to, too!" You pause, frowning. "But are you... sure I won't die, though? Maybe I still can. I'm not sure."
Milo shakes their head. "No, you’ll be fine. I discovered it’s a different Oz. It’s a common name, you know.”
You’ve never encountered another Oz in your life, except for the fictional wizard. But you’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.
“Thank you for spending time with me these past few days,” you say. “I always have so much fun when we’re together.”
“I do, too,” Milo says. “And I think I have an idea of how we could have more fun…”
If that means what you think it means, then you have definitely just scored big.
“Do tell,” you mutter.
You place your hand on the planks between you both and lean in. Milo closes the gap, with one of their hands reaching for the back of your head.
Milo’s fingers curl into the closely shaved hair on your scalp as they lean in to kiss you. Their eyes close, and you briefly stare at the skull-like portrait of their face. You briefly wonder if it’s makeup but know they’ve always looked so unabashedly attractive. Each time you see them is like a renewed kick to the gut.
You shut your eyes too, before Milo catches you staring. You feel their tongue nudging against the seam of your shut lips and you open your mouth, easily transitioning into a deeper make-out session.
Your fingers itch to touch Milo, but you wouldn’t even know where to start! Good thing they’re skilled in making first moves, apparently. The hand not cupping the back of your head reaches for yours and brings it to the heart plastered on their chest. It’s warm, and you feel the heartbeat under your palm.
Hands roam from Milo’s chest around to their sides and farther down to their waist, gathering soft skin under your fingertips. You feel it giving in slightly, like molded clay.
You flinch lightly when Milo’s hand sneaks up underneath your shirt, giving your body the same treatment as their tongue brushes across your lower lip. You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips, encouraging their hands to go a little lower. Maybe a little swivel of your hips will get the message across…
“What do we have here?”
The deep voice behind your shoulder is enough to have you breaking away from Milo and nearly falling off the dock altogether in a matter of seconds. You whip your head around, and there’s Coach with his hands on his hips and a smirk.
Oh fuck oh fuck ohfuck you were just about to act on your super horny thoughts when Coach of all people comes out of nowhere to cock block you! You would be pissed if you weren’t so mortified and embarrassed at the image of Coach seeing you feeling Milo up.
“Coach,” you utter. How very… articulate.
“Good morning, Coach,” Milo says. They gather their hands in their lap as they smile, calm and collected as always.
For some reason that makes you feel even more like you’ve betrayed them for shuffling away.
“What were you two young’uns doing just now?” Coach asks.
The next few sentences are erased from your memory by virtue of your horrified, scarred state. You do know, however, that Milo manages to handle the situation well enough without your fried brain, and that you have enough consciousness to crawl back over to them when Coach walks away, sated by whatever response Milo supplied.
“I’m really sorry for running away like that just now,” you say.
Milo smiles, holding out a hand. You take it without thinking twice. “You don’t need to keep apologizing, darling,” they say. “It’s adorable how shy you are.”
They reach for your cheek and lightly pinch it, then the hand opens up to rub a dimple into your skin.
Your cheeks burn. Your eyes have to be spinning circles. “I— uh—”
You can almost see the hearts in Milo’s eyes. “Aw, you’re so cute,” they coo as the hand recedes.
“I— I’m not cute, I’m the embodiment of fear itself!”
Milo grins. “Clearly.”
As much as you want to pout at them with your narrowed eyes and crossed arms, they look so pleased with themself that you only manage halfway through a huff before the façade crumbles away and you smile too.
You shut your eyes, shoving your hands against your cheeks. Milo might not be able to tell, but you are def making a duck face. You know there’s only way you want this interaction to end. It’s just a matter of hyping yourself up enough to spit the words out!
“Milo, will you, uhm…”
“What is it?” Milo asks.
“Will you watch the meteor shower with me tonight?” You ask, keeping your eyes shut. Bracing yourself for rejection.
“I thought you’d never ask!”
What does that mean?
“So you’ll do it?” you ask.
“There’s no one else I’d rather go with,” Milo says.
Imposter syndrome sure is hitting different rn. You gape as they reach for your hand again and kiss the top of it like some— some sort of gender-neutral term for a baller rich noble. You are boiling like a volcano by the time they pull away.
“Then it’s a date,” they say, accentuated with a wink.
“It’s a date,” you repeat, willing yourself to believe those words.
— ✧ —
Time really could not move more slowly right when you want it to move at its fastest. There’s less life in you than Brian, and he’s a zombie. To be fair, you want to save up some of your energy for the sexually charged meeting you will have with Milo later.
You meet up with the rest of the color crew and compare notes.
Amira’s romance route is going the best by far. She brags about how she already has this one in the bag, though you don’t need proof, as you’re pretty sure you witnessed said evidence the other night. You might be just a hint jealous that she’s already boned her love interest. For you, holding Milo’s hand still makes you feel like a virgin visiting their first strip club.
But don’t let that fool you! Choosing to compare yourself using someone else’s success as the benchmark is wholly toxic and only exacerbates insecurities and feelings of worthlessness!
Vicky is wax rhapsodic about her coveted Coven leader Joy Johnson-Johjima. That has to be a JoJo reference, right? That’s about where your knowledge about Joy starts (and ends). You can kind of see the attraction, though. After all, Vicky is a natural-born leader too, so put them together and you get a strong pair of girlbosses.
Brain chose to— oh, excuse me, Brian chose to romance Aaravi. She’s a little too angry for you, despite her interest in RPGs and video games. Better that Brian try to crack through her outer tsundere layer than you, since he’s chill while you’re… not that. There’s also Hex, who seems like they’d mesh well with Brian. You bet Hex and Brian definitely devour Doritos together.
When it’s your turn to share your progress, your dorky side starts to manifest, and you stutter through several sentences about how you and Milo are getting along great! “Tonight’s definitely going to end well,” you say, even as you wring your hands together and smile. Seriously though, don’t attract karma’s ire like that or you will get jinxed.
The sun coasts across the sky, and when it begins to dip below the horizon, you walk back to the dock and dip your legs into the lake. You’ve dressed in only swim shorts for the occasion, allowing the water to calm your nerves.
Okay. So. Your plan tonight is to… well, you’re not sure. Look at a meteor shower, you guess. That’s all you really need to have a successful summer crush, right? Well, you technically already “won” when Milo accepted your invite to watch the damn thing with you to begin with.
But it’s kind of sad to think that after tonight, they won’t be your summer crush anymore. You super enjoyed having them attached to your hip for that brief time they were going to reap your soul.
“Good evening, Oz,” Milo says, and you whip your head around to see them standing behind you with a smile and only swim shorts and their black robe. They really make that color scheme work for them!
“Hey,” you say. You shift over, making room for them next to you. “How was your day?”
“Boring,” Milo says. They glance down at their phone as they drop to sit next to you. “I reaped the other Oz’s soul. They had a beautiful eulogy prepared, though it sounded a lot like a self-indulgent self-insert fic.”
“Huh. I always thought someone else read the eulogy after you died…”
“Usually,” Milo says. “But they couldn’t wait, so I listened. It’s the least I can do for them.”
If that fic is anything like the self-inserts you’ve written, you pity Milo. You place a consoling hand on their shoulder. “You’re too nice,” you say.
Milo smiles, warming your soul. “I would have done the same for any of my clients. Why did you think I wanted to throw a huge party for you?”
Okay, they are officially too precious for this world. “I want to be more like you,” you decide.
“But you’re perfect as you are,” Milo says. They reach up, touching the side of your face. “I’m in love with life and all of its earthly pleasures, which includes you.”
“Milo…” you utter. Words transcend how flattered you feel.
Milo leans in closer, and you lock lips. The soft kiss is chaster than it'd been that morning. They pull away, leaning back, resting their head on the deck.
You follow their gesture and lay flat on the wood. You clasp your hands over your chest and stare up at the night sky, which starts to fill with streaks of white and yellow. When was the last time you’ve seen a meteor shower? You can’t remember.
Thin fingers brush yours, and you look over to see Milo lacing your fingers with theirs.
How could this get any better? It really doesn’t. You and Milo lay under the stars together and watch the meteor shower in silence. Words wouldn’t do the moment justice anyway.
It’s not until only a few sparks of light are trailing across the sky that Milo pipes up again.
“The universe sure is amazing, huh?”
You turn your head to stare at them. You can see the reflection of the moon in their eyes. The universe is great and all, but it can’t really compare to Milo.
“Uh-huh,” you hum.
Milo looks over at you. Their eyes crinkle as their smile pushes a little into the rest of their face. Goodness, and those lashes… “That’s very profound of you,” they say.
“The universe is much better with you in it,” you say.
White teeth flash as Milo grins. They scoot closer, kissing you on the tip of your nose.
“Same for you,” they say.
Aw, how cute! Now kiss.
Unlike last time, you are the first one to make a move. You push up into a sitting position and lean over Milo, pecking them on the lips. They rest a hand against your chest and smirk, licking their lips.
If that’s not an invitation for more, you don’t know what is. You lean closer again, shifting onto your knees so you can angle your head down and lock lips together properly. Milo shifts underneath you, propping themselves up on their elbows so they’re sitting half up to meet you.
Milo’s an amazing kisser, not that that was a surprise to anyone. You feel a hand snaking underneath your swim shorts, then a palm opening up to squeeze your thigh, a sigh escaping your lips. Milo pulls a leg up and you feel it nudge against your hip. You take the hint and reach to hold it close to you. Milo’s hair tickles your forehead and you open your eyes to see Milo’s are still shut.
“Hah…” Milo sighs, as they break from the kiss. “Don’t you need to breathe?”
“Sort of,” you say.
Milo snorts.
“Hey, there’s something I want to ask you,” you say.
Milo tilts their head. “What is it?”
Yes, what could possibly be more important than fucking each other’s brains out right now?
Your cheeks burn and you shift, but Milo moves with you. Skin on skin. You’re trying to think of how to articulate any thoughts, let alone the particular sentiment you want to express.
“I was wondering if you, um, would like to…”
Oh no! You wouldn't be considering — gasp — an established relationship, would you? But that's entirely different than a summertime crush! And not as marketable for a dating sim!
“Hmm…?” Milo hums.
“Would you like to go on a date with me? Like… beyond being my summer crush?”
“I would love that,” Milo says. They reach up for your face, and you lean down, welcoming the cool touch of their hand on the side of your face. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?” you ask. Oh gee, you hope it’s feasible and not something ridiculous like finding them five goats and a rooster.
“I want you to have sex with me,” they say.
“Done,” you say.
You cram your lips together again, and this time have the guts to hike their leg up against your waist. They giggle as you shift closer, and you part for a brief second, admiring the smile on their face.
“What?” you ask.
“Oh nothing~” Milo says. “Come on then, we don’t have all night.”
— ✧ —
Well, you did it. You successfully romanced and sexed the most beautifulest reaper ever and even managed to score a date with them beyond the confines of Camp Spooky! Eternal life really does come with its advantages.