More and more of Milo’s power is slipping through their fingers with every passing hour. No longer do they possess the knowledge of the earth itself, no longer can they bend their shape to their will, and this body -this awful body- is in pain. It requires sustenance. But first, they need to find Thomas. Time is ticking. 

The staff members of the Palazzo Cordusio look inquisitive, if not mildly peeved, when a shabby 24-year-old -who leaves grimy footprints all over the luxurious marble floors- storms into the lobby. Milo knows they are making quite a scene so they slow their step and quietly approach the front desk before they fire their questions at the first employee who will listen. 

“Good morning, may I ask a question?” Milo politely asks. “Is Mr Colombo presently staying at the hotel?” They truly have no time for pleasantries but the woman at the front desk looks as though she has just seen Milo deliberately take a stroll through a fresh pile of dogshit. 

“No ma’am, Mr Colombo checked out this morning,” she counters. 

Milo cringes at the assumption of their gender. However, they are infinitely more annoyed to discover she is withholding information. They detect that a game is afoot, and they are excluded from participating. 

“I’m not a paparazza nor paparazzo if that is what you are thinking!” They bite back. 

“I do not think you are.” Her tone is ice-cold, but she is telling the truth. Genuine paparazzi would never dress so inappropriately to a high-class establishment. “Even so, I cannot tell you more, for our esteemed guests’ information is highly private. Is there anything else I can help you with, ma’am?” 

The misgendering feels like a kick to the stomach and Milo has to take a deep breath to keep their cool. This is only their first day being human; who knows if their ‘punishment’ could still be revoked? Milo does not want to risk Michael coming down from heaven to personally kick them down into the lower levels of hell. 

“Yes, can I make use of your toilet please?” They manage a small but seething smile and are rewarded with a disinterested gesture towards the back of the lobby. 

Milo storms into the male bathroom to spite the woman at the front desk. They relieve themselves in one of the stalls. When they come back out, they hold their head under the tap to drown their parched throat, taking a moment to cool down beneath the steady stream of water. 

Milo has always liked water. It is a curious fascination that goes back to the first decades of their employment. Perhaps their fondness for it is rooted in their fondness for humans; water is one of the few things all life on earth depends on after all. 

The shocking coldness of the water helps them organize their thoughts. They will find Thomas eventually. What else would be the point of their Alluno matching them in the first place? It is a comforting thought. But where to look next? 

When they cross the lobby for the second time, curly hair still dripping wet, they are stopped by one of the staff members. She is a young woman in her 30s, Milo imagines (to their great alarm, their powers of total recollection are slipping away faster than sand through an hourglass), and she is holding a small note. 

“My apologies, I overheard you talking to my colleague,” she starts. “She should not have dismissed you. Is your name ‘Just Milo’ by any chance?” The poor lady looks rather confused. 

A delicate smile spreads across their lips when the meaning of the message becomes clear to Milo. They are pleased to find Thomas is as fond of the memory of their first meeting as they are. “Yes, indeed, that is me,” they respond. “I’m afraid Mr Colombo did not catch my name in full yesterday.” 

“Well, in that case… He left a note for you.” She hands the note to Milo without much ceremony and takes a short bow. “Have a pleasant stay in Milan.” 

Milo only unfolds the piece of paper when they are far away from the disapproving glares of the woman behind the front desk. It is a cream-coloured note, branded with the hotel’s logo. The script is an elegant cursive but its message is concise. 

‘Dearest Milo, our time together was brief but brilliant and I wish to extend it if I can... Will you let me tempt you to tea or coffee?’ 

Milo’s eyes absorb the message before their brain can. Their heart starts thumping so loud it feels like it might jump out of their chest. Beneath the message are instructions, a place and a time; Giacomo Caffè at the Pallazo Reale. 11.00. 

The clock of the Duomo chimes in the far distance and Milo stands at attention. 9…10…11… times it chimes. As the last notes ring out, the panic settles in. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Careless for their safety, eliciting the ill wishes of tourists and Italians alike, they start a mad dash towards the café, as fast as their human feet will carry them. 

Sprinting into the courtyard of the Palazzo Reale -situated to the side of the Duomo- is like stepping into a different time entirely. Milo wishes they were wearing a long, dramatic gown, so they could sweep the steps a million might have crossed. Thousands of star-crossed lovers searching for their beloved may have passed through these doors…  But Milo’s powers of transformation have long abandoned them.

They feel the symbolic weight of turning their back on the cathedral. It is the end of an era- the end of a universe as it disappears into a black hole. Devoured by the looming entrance of the grand palazzo, slipping into the shadow of the church, they cannot possibly turn back now. 

The bustle of the early morning (as mornings start later in the heart of Italy) forms an appropriate backdrop to the buzzing anxiety of Milo’s heart as they slow their step. They stride into the caffé. Perspiration coats the back of their neck. The tall mirror behind the bar disorients them for a moment, the boozes and bottles on the shelves reminding them of the night before. 

Their eyes scan the clientele in hopes of finding a familiar face. A pair of gossiping grey ladies chat it up in the back and a tired waiter polishes glasses with an idle eye; it is too early for many Italians to be out and about. 

Their attention is drawn to the rustle of the morning paper as a tall man seated near the window carefully folds it closed. He stands up, mournful gaze lost in the view of the empty courtyard as he takes a last sip of his almost empty cup. 

“Thomas!” Milo’s half-moon smile is bright enough to compete with the sun when they recognize their fated lover. 

Thomas’s eyes widen in surprise and the empty cup in his hand dangerously tips forward. Milo jumps in, holding his hand before the cup can slip and fall. “Let’s not repeat what happened yesterday, shall we?” They smile. Laughing with Thomas -or teasing him- comes naturally to them. 

After bringing the cup to safety by placing it on the table to his right, Thomas stands speechless. He gently cups Milo’s head in his hands with a gentleness that suggests he believes Milo might dissipate into thin air if he holds onto them too tight. Then determination seeps through in his stance. He leans forward, kissing them with a fierceness that words will not do justice to.

The chatter from the ladies in the back rises, scandalized as they are by this indecent public display of affection, but Milo and Thomas are briefly lost in their own world. They have found each other once more and neither will let go of the other ever again. 

Thomas is the first to break the kiss. He rests his forehead against Milo’s, nose briefly flirting with the soft skin of Milo’s cheek. He whispers: “You came… I couldn’t find anything about you. Not your name, not your band, not your- nothing. I thought I’d lost you forever.” 

His voice is quivering and he wavers on his feet. It reveals a vulnerable side to him that Milo has not seen before. They delight in the discovery, finding satisfaction in the realisation that they will now have time -an entire lifetime- to discover everything about Thomas, to shape him and be shaped in turn. 

Their gaze turns soft. They put their hands on his arms, gently squeezing the material of his suit. “Of course I did,” Milo responds with a wonderful tenderness. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to-” they hesitate, then, thinking of their Alluno, continue warmly: “meet up with a longtime friend.” 

Thomas shakes his head vigorously. “No, No… Don’t apologize. It’s a wonder you’re here, a goddamn miracle! I had no right to assume you might stick around.” His calloused hands slide off their face, leaving Milo’s skin tingling with his touch. 

Milo shakes their head in turn. “Of course I did!” Milo laughs, the sparkle of the sun stuck in their eyes. They wish Thomas would touch them again, would trace the contour of their body like he had yesterday. “You felt it too, right? I think we’re meant to be together and I’m all too ready to find out in what way we should.” 

At those words, the last tension in Thomas’ body dissipates. He seems ready to deflate entirely. He pulls his face through his hands and groans: “Oh Milo… ‘in what way we should’?! God, can’t you see I’m head over heels for you? Don’t think I’ll settle for less than a relationship with you. What are you doing to me? Don’t ever pull a Houdini like that again…” 

“We’ll see about that.” Milo laughs again. They doubt they’ll ever stop laughing now that they’ve met Thomas. They pull up a chair and Thomas gratefully slumps down. “Let me get you another coffee. You look like you need it. Then I’ll tell you everything,” they say after gently patting his shoulder. 

Milo orders two lattes at the bar and sit down at the table facing Thomas. They savour the mildly bitter taste of the coffee when it hits the tip of their tongue. It is freeing to realise they will not have to rein in their human tendencies any longer. 

As they enjoy each other’s company, Milo spins a white lie to explain why Thomas was unable to find them online. “D’you remember my ex, Casper? The one I told you about yesterday?” They start. They take another sip of their drink when it takes Thomas a second to recall the story. 

“Is that the ex who threatened you when you broke things off?” He answers with hesitation. “The one that had to be kicked out of your band?” 

Milo nods with a grim expression. “Yes, that’s the one. A court order didn’t stop him from harassing me online so I was advised to wipe my existence from the internet. But if you want to stay in contact I’ll give you my number.” Thomas does not doubt their lie for a second. Except, it’s not a lie anymore, is it? This is their life now, their very own difficult, wonderful, complex human life. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Thomas answers, reaching across the table to grab a hold of Milo’s hand. “I understand the impact that a social media presence can have on your life. Maybe I understand it better than most.” He reassuringly rubs their hand with his thumb. “I’ll give you the number of my workphone so you can reach me any time.” 

“Let me take you around the Navigli district,” Thomas offers when they finish their coffee. “I would love to spend some time with you before your friends arrive or my work calls me back.” 

“Do you have to go back to work after today?” Milo pouts. They swallow their disappointment with the remainder of their coffee. 

“Yes, and I’m just as disappointed as you are.” Thomas smiles to show his appreciation. “In all honesty, I should have gone back to work already. I’ve been ignoring calls and emails demanding an explanation for my absence all day. But spending my day chasing after you is the best decision I’ve made in a long time.”

“Although I ended up doing most of the chasing,” Milo interjects. 

“Alright, if that’s the story you want to tell your friends, I won’t stop you. But my version of events has a hot-shot millionaire chasing after you and that might sound more impressive,” Thomas teases them. “Besides, I would not want you to miss out on spending time with your friends. We’ll keep in touch, I’ll make sure of that.” He winks. Then he offers his arm to Milo who gratefully takes it. 

They spend the day together and with every step, every quip and gesture, Milo feels themselves settle more into their skin. The inherent existential exhaustion of existing in a mortal body drifts to the background and is replaced with the joys of being alive and of being in love. They feel themselves align with who they ought to be. 

Milo is still breathtakingly beautiful in their symmetry and simplicity, their form a single line drawn on an empty canvas, but there are more imperfections to be found now- more flaws in their personality and appearance. Some might even say these rough human edges make Milo all the more beautiful. 

They end the night in a street in the Navigli neighbourhood that is filled with bars and laughter. The hazy lights of nighttime activity drowsily reflect on the dark canal that cuts through the district. 

All day their conversation had been interrupted by excited tourists who recognized Thomas from his various projects and appearances. Every time it happened, it upset Milo on Thomas’ behalf but Thomas had reassured them that these instances of unwanted attention were a sacrifice he was willing to make if it meant he could secure Milo’s attention. Now, however, in the anonymity of night, they can breathe in each other’s silence. Longing glances are traded back and forth. 

“What happens now?” Milo finally ponders, their gaze lost somewhere between Thomas’ lips and eyes. 

“Well, I suppose we’ll see,” Thomas responds with a dreamy sigh. “I might steal you away from your friends for a couple of evenings as we fill our days in Italy. Then, when we fly back home, I might visit you on the weekends when I’m in LA. But, I don’t know, I-” He leans against the railing of the canal and looks down into its dark depth. “I can’t make you any promises, Milo. We are very different people and we both have significant trauma from our past relationships.” Milo's stomach drops.

But when Thomas continues the look of endearment in his eyes soothes the worst of Milo’s fears. “I don’t mean it like that… What we have is very fresh, very new, and I don’t want to jinx it. We’ll both live our lives and I hope you get to be in mine for a very long time.” 

“And I hope you get to be in mine,” Milo answers lovingly. They melt under the comfort that radiates from Thomas’ body as they lean into him. Then they look up. After a moment that spans an eternity, they tentatively press their lips against Thomas’ once more

Even after Milo breaks the kiss, they continue to stand there -hand in hand- for a long time. Milo stares at the hustle and bustle on the streets, listens to the warm laughter and clinking of crystal glasses, and feels the warmth of Thomas’ body against their own. Oh, what a wonderful life. Tomorrow, they will know nothing about their former life as a matchmaker but Milo no longer fears the change. They have no desire to chase after the heavens. They are with the people they love. 

They are finally home.