Harlow Gold | calum hood

Chapter Three

I am awoken by the sound of light knocking at my door, though I'd actually been lying between sleep and consciousness for the better part of an hour. I groaned as I got in my morning stretch, my shoulders popping as I did. I sat up as I called for Milo to enter (because who else would it be?), checking the time on my phone to see it's only just half past ten.

"Hey, just wanted to let you know I'm headed to school. Gotta," Milo waved his hands around in a general motion, "Sort out my shit over there. Wanna join? I'll give you time to change and..." He sniffed the air and grimaced. "Shower."

"Ha. Ha," I said, grabbing my glasses from my side table so I can actually see his face, and not just a blurry blob in the shape of him. He's wearing his "uniform" today—black jeans, high top converse, and a graphic tee I'm pretty sure he stole from me a few years back. "I wrote a song for our album, so you should thank the smell."

Milo nodded, serious, and looked at the air around the room. "Thank you, mix of weed, sweat, and pure, unadulterated despair. You have done us all a great honor."

"Oh fuck off," I said as I laughed for the first time in hours, throwing a stuffed animal at him as something warm settled in my chest. He caught the rabbit easily, giving her fur a quick pet before tossing her back. "I'm not ready to deal with school yet, but I'll shower and air out the room while you're gone, okay?"

"Sure," Milo said, easy. He put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and rocked on his toes. "We have that meeting at 2 with the label people, too. So, I don't know, shave or something."

"Milo!" I laughed, shaking my head at him. "Please tell me why I need to shave to go to a meeting?"

"I don't know! Girls are into shaving when there's an important event, right?"

"When that important event is sex, sure. For a meeting? They'll be lucky if I put on pants."

"Harlow—and I cannot dress this enough—please put on pants," His face was serious except for the slight twitch in his right eyebrow. I'd known him long enough to recognize his Serious Face from his Faux-Serious Face, so I grabbed my pillow and threw it at his head, smacking him square on the face.

"Oh my god, get out of my room before I hit you again."

Milo laughed as he threw the pillow back, re-shaping his floppy brown hair into its usual mass of curls on his head. "Okay, fine. But one last question: what's the song called?"

"Oh!" I grabbed my notebook and opened to the page of scribbled lyrics, sitting up to hand it to him. "It's called I Spend Too Much Time In My Room."

"Fitting," Milo mumbled as he scanned the lyrics, nodding as he read them. It was always anxiety-inducing whenever someone got a peek at a song before it was completely done, but Milo was always kind and managed to make me feel better about even the worst of songs (and there have been some bad ones). "We needed another sad song," he says as he passes it back, smiling.

"Well, when inspiration strikes..."

"The writer writes," He finished with a roll of his eyes. "I'll see you at two, Otis. Remember to shave!"

"Bye, Milo!" I sing-song, my laugh following his retreating frame as he leaves the room, my ears listening for the locking of our front door before I flopped back down. I stared up at the ceiling, starfished out, for the next few minutes, mourning the loss of the sleep I had originally planned on doing.

With a sigh I grabbed my towel from its place on the back of my chair and went to shower, making sure I scrubbed every inch of my body and hair to rid me of all the grime and sweat stuck to me, Milo's words a gentle reminder that today was important for us.