Out of Character (True Colors 2)

“Yup. Don’t need any distractions,” I agreed. I had a possibility of a job in NYC after graduation, and maybe that was part of why I’d been so desperate to find a Prince Neptune. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about leaving April and Kellan and everyone else here. Felt weird to be down to mere months. But at least I could make sure they were good months, and maybe eventually I’d sort myself out.

April’s laugh cut through my tumbling thoughts. “I’d take a distraction about now. Especially if it looked like—”

“You’re only fifteen. Maybe you spending time with Jasper’s crowd isn’t a good idea,” Mom grumbled, which only made April groan.

“It’ll be fine,” I said before an argument could break out. “He’ll probably only be Neptune the one time anyway.”

Buzz. My pocket vibrated again. Heck. Maybe not even the one time if he was messaging to bail. Mom had a strict no-phones-at-the-table rule, so it wasn’t until after I helped clear and wash the dishes that I got a chance to look at my messages. I leaned against the washer in the mudroom as I scrolled my phone.

Several from Kellan, of course. He wanted to show me his latest design for upgrades to his mage outfit. Unlike some of us, Kellan cosplayed as multiple characters depending on his mood and the event. And each costume needed approval from the rest of us. I added my thumbs-up and scrolled on. Arthur wanted to confirm my work schedule for the weekend, but none of those messages made my pulse thrum like seeing Milo’s name.

Hey. Did you find the costume?

You’re hoping I didn’t. Don’t lie. I laughed as I typed. Yup. Checked the sandals. Size twelve. Think that will work?

His reply came while I was still packing up. Yeah. That’s my size too. And uh…I’ve been wondering what goes under the toga?

My answering chuckle was loud enough to make Mom glance my way from where she was putting away leftovers in the kitchen. Oops. No distractions. No involvement. Seriousness only. Except somehow my fingers didn’t get the message.

You worried it’s like a kilt? ROFL. And TBH, Ronnie and I weren’t tight like that. Never looked.

That wasn’t entirely true. I’d never hooked up with Ronnie, but I knew perfectly well that he wore something under the toga. I didn’t want to examine too closely why I was having fun with Milo. And of course my pulse leaped with the next response. Okay. I’m gonna bring some shorts or something, unless that’s against cosplay rules?

There’s no rules. And sure, I’m not asking you to go bare-assed. Wear what you want under it.

But as soon as I typed that, my brain was filled with images of Milo in various stages of undress, a parade of all the possible underwear options. He probably wore boring mono-colored cotton boxers like all the jocks seemed to favor, but my brain enjoyed the mental fashion show waiting for his reply way too much.

Good. I have some white compression shorts. I’m probably overthinking this, right?

Yup. I’d been right. Jock gear. But there was something almost…vulnerable in his reply. Like he was worried about something more than ending up commando under a toga. I added a frazzled-looking emoji with steam coming out of its brain. Quite possibly. You’re nervous?

I don’t get nervous. Just don’t like public humiliation.

Well, okay then. Nice to know how he saw cosplay. My fingers hammered out my retort even as my back tensed with a thousand unwanted memories. Except when you’re handing it out.

I kind of expected that would end the exchange, and indeed there was a long pause, but the bubbles kept showing like he was typing. However, no message came, and I gave my mom a hug and headed out to my car. Still little bubbles, as if he was typing and erasing. And damn it, I was curious enough to wait a few more minutes while the car warmed up. Finally, the phone buzzed.

I’m sorry. You got a raw deal in school for sure. I was a shit. We all were. And I know it means dick now, but I’d do it differently if I could.

My chest did a weird flip as my hand tightened on my phone. He’d said sorry the day before, but I hadn’t believed him. And honestly, I didn’t entirely now either. He was likely only regretting that he needed my help and that I hadn’t forgiven him easily. But at least he was owning that he was an ass back then—him and his lousy friends.

Even now, I could remember his jock buddies and their stupid jokes and the way Milo had always stood there, mouth a tight line, eyes grim, shoulders stiff like he was next on the chopping block. Except he never was. He’d been a golden boy for the popular crowd, and I refused to let my brain process the idea of him doing things differently. Because what if we’d never argued? What if we’d stayed friends? What if he’d stood up for me? Too many what-ifs for my head to hold, that was for sure. And I just wasn’t ready for a world where Milo might have genuinely changed. Even if his apology felt good, believing in it—or him—would be beyond foolish.