lethe.
@idmilo, milo’s studio.
it’s not often when neither of them are promoting. not that their schedules are a blank slate. san’s isn’t at the very least. concert prep, a string of them to go to, and midas had okay-ed his mini album preparations. the date of when everything would be pushed out is a complete mystery to him. it usually is. he’d recorded danger a year before it had dropped, after all. but he likes the song they’d pulled for him. and they’d even let him sit and talk about creative direction (and mostly that revolved around san attempting to push for something harder-edged, something that leaned away from the strict pretty boy feel they constantly doled out to him in olympus).
but who knows if they’d listen. that’s how that sort of thing often goes, letting him run his mouth like it might tire him out, only to brush away all of his ideas as useless. but san’s gotten used it to. maybe he won’t even be disappointed this time.
but the gap in his schedule makes it feel like there’s an itch he can’t reach underneath his skin. he’s already run his way through olympus’ choreography too many times. his muscles are sore, mind buzzing, and after throwing around a few messages and realizing milo doesn’t have a schedule for the night either? well, it seems like a default option to drive over to see him. only, it almost isn’t. he still gets in his car, mind you. still turns the key into the ignition and heads over. but still, he hasn’t seen him since they’d both been in america for kcon. hasn’t seen him since that near-blackout-drunk conversation milo had shaken out of him that san still wants to take back. wants to pull all of his fragmented shattered-glass words out of milo’s mind and swallow them back down.
but that’s not how things work. so san just feels an odd mix of anxious, angry, and paranoid. but he doesn’t want to avoid milo. or, that’s perhaps not the most accurate of statements. because sometimes he does. but right now? there’s static electricity snapping underneath his skin, and lately it feels like only the rough drag of milo’s palms against him can smooth it all away. so he goes. goes with the intention of ignoring it all. moving on like he can’t remember. because he doesn’t want to confront it. doesn’t want to sit down with milo and lay things out for them both. doesn’t want to learn how to deal with it in any other manner than locking it all away and making things worse for himself. so he won’t. or that’s his intention.
knocks knuckles to wood when he reaches the door and tugs his mask down to reveal a grin when milo yanks the door open. “working off the clock,” san hums out chidingly, like he doesn’t do the same on a regular basis. slips in past him and hefts himself up to sit on the desk, waits for milo to drop back down into his chair. “how’s it going?” he doesn’t specify whether he means musically or in a generalized grand-life sense.