due to the rather abrupt move, milo hasn’t seen logan in a few days. rarely does he ever tell her he’s stopping by. like with most of his friends, he just appears on a whim. he knows where the spare key is. it’s really easy for the actor to make himself at home just about anywhere he goes. milo helps himself to the cookies he found in the cupboard and makes a cup of coffee, before settling onto the couch. he figured he’d wait around awhile for logan to show up.
he hadn’t been sat there for long when he head the door open, and a rustling from the kitchen. footsteps clack closer to the living room. finally, he can say everything he has to. “you won’t believe the week i had, lo–” milo halts mid-sentence. that’s obviously.. not logan. the other seemed almost.. freightened. milo couldn’t imagine why. messy man bun and crisp, white linen clothing, he appears about as non-threatening as they come. his brows furrow, watching the other in this weird, awkward silence. either he’s the worst intruder on the planet, or logan has a very weird friend. for a moment, milo doesn’t know what to say back. in his long stint of irrelevance in the public eye, milo hasn’t met anyone so in awe of him in quite some time. “i’m.. milo, yeah… it’s me. do i– do i know you?” he starts, an awkward chuckle escaping him. maybe the blonde is just kidding, he assumes. no one’s actually been that happy to see him in years. “i get mistaken for john stamos sometimes. i’m not the guy in full house.. if, that’s what you’re thinking?”
in most cases, niko’s been more or less able to handle himself with a semblance of dignity when he’s met celebrities; also, it’s been happening more and more often lately, which of course dulls that sense of surreality. he wonders if eventually there’s a point where nobody can leave you a little breathless anymore, and fervently hopes that isn’t so. he likes the adrenaline rush and butterflies that comes with being excited to meet someone. and maybe it’s been quite some time since his obsessive crush on milo had faded--like so many of niko’s teenage passions--it doesn’t make seeing him in person, unexpectedly--any less exhilarating. not that he’d actually thought this person was a doppelgänger, but it makes niko’s stomach swoop all over again to hear him say it right out loud. “that’s not what i was thinking, no,” niko replies, half-laughing out of sheer disbelief. “i guess i could see john stamos? but no. and no, you don’t know me. clearly you know logan, though.” realizing suddenly he’s still standing in the middle of the living room, he goes to another couch and curls himself into the corner against the armrest, glass of orange juice balanced precariously on his bent knees and held there with hands that are engulfed in the overlong sleeves of his sweater. “i’m surprised sh--” he starts, but cuts himself off with a raised eyebrow. “actually i’m not surprised she didn’t tell me she knows you. she’s my cousin,” he clarifies, “so, like, she saw me go through puberty, which was headlined by my obsession with victorious.” his cheeks grow warm again but he merely rolls his eyes and laughs. the fact his obsession was focused mostly on milo seemed to go unsaid. “i’m niko, by the way. did i say logan’s my cousin? her mom’s my--” again, he cuts himself off, this time because he’s beginning to ramble, and takes a sip of the orange juice to help with his suddenly dry mouth. “so, like, how do you know logan?”
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