eros :: [clifford]

δεκαπέντε; fifteen

"It's cold as balls out here."

"I know," Mila nods with a laugh as they take seats upon the snow-covered bench. "I love it."

"You love it?" 

She nods, breath visible. "I do."

"You're weird."

"And you're just figuring that out?"

"Nope," Michael says, biting into his cookie. At least it's still a bit warm in his icy hands. "I've known since high school."

Mila laughs, staring up at the small specks of snow floating like pieces of dreams in the night. "I feel like exactly the same person," she turns to him. "Mila: the girl who's always working."

Michael frowns. "Why do you do that, by the way."

She breaks off a piece of her cookie. "What?"

"Overwork yourself," he says, adding, "Overachiever."

"I..." Mila shakes her head. "Remember my sisters?"

"Of course."

Her voice is quiet. "It's hard being the middle child of two straight-A, athletic superstars, y'know?"

"Not really."

"Well, be lucky you're an only child," she turns away. "You don't have any standard to live up to...No one to measure yourself against..."

"..."

"..."

"...Mila--"

"It's not that cold," she interjects, no longer wanting to discuss herself. 

"Not the point," he says. "You need to get out more."

She groans. "Can we not talk about me?"

"Too late. We already are."

"I'm leaving, then."

"Fuck that," Michael exclaims, tugging her back down upon the bench. "You got me out here. We could be sitting inside, so do what I say."

"You're just from Australia."

"You're from L.A."

"Totally different."

"Is not."

"It totally is."

He scowls. "Don't change the subject."

"...Damn."

Michael grins, sliding closer to her. "You should hang out with me more," he says, "if you wanna, y'know, not be so stressed and angry and weird all the time..."

"Angry? Weird? Was that a shitty, off-handed way of asking me--"

"Out?" Michael lifts his pierced brow. 

She smirks."Yeah."

He shrugs. "Maybe."

She laughs. 

He smiles. 

"Okay," she nods, breath visible. "Maybe sometime after the--"

"Event? Tomorrow?" 

She nods. 

"Okay."

She sighs. "Good."

"Yeah," Michael nods, and he finishes his cookie, clapping his hands together. "Now, let's get the fuck outta here."

"Why?" She pouts. "Cold?"

"Very," and he offers her a hand. 

She takes it.

He laces their fingers together. 

"Fuck. My hands are numb," he says. 

"You're such a big baby."

"We've already established that I'm not from this shit hole."

"New York City? A shit hole?"

He chuckles. "S'what I said, isn't it?"

"Well. That's new."

"I know," he winks. "With me around, I open your eyes to new things, new places, new points of view..."

"Shut the hell up," Mila groans as he chuckles beside her. "You're not even funny."

Michael stares at her lips and her wide brown eyes and her snow-covered skin. 

He nudges her. "Why do you laugh at my jokes, then?"

She shrugs. "I have nothing better to do."

___