The Outsider

"What happened to your arm? Have things really gotten that bad without me? Can you not fucking cope without me for a few weeks?" He instead questioned, his eyes locked on the injury with an unimpressed (and unsurprised) frown. Deep down, the sight of the injury obviously caused some guilt in him, and he wanted nothing more than to apologise for his actions over the last few weeks. However, he was only willing to do that if he got an apology in return, and he highly doubted that would ever be the case, so instead of maturity, he decided to frown petulantly and stay stood where he was.

"I'm fine-- are you an expert on me and my kind, Maxwell? Maybe this is normal. I'm almost 20. Maybe this is normal for us," he proposed with ease once Georgia left to get something from the kitchen to calm her nerves, which at least enabled him to speak freely without revealing the truth to her. "Maybe we go through this-- I wouldn't know, they didn't really want me sticking around. I don't want to go with you, I... I'm staying here. I'm not... sick again, this is fine."
 
"So you're going to stain Georgia's apartment with your blood - which is totally normal for a human - and see what happens? If you want to be with Georgia you need to act human and you aren't really doing too well at that facade, Milo," he reminded, waving his good arm to the stains of blood scattered about while blatantly ignoring the call out in return. "Why are you so opposed to coming back? Do you really hate me that much that you're willing to risk getting caught? I'm no doctor but I know my mother and father kept notebooks on you, so I think that's the closest to getting you better so you can run off into the sunset with Georgia or whatever."

Of course Maxwell was jealous, though he wasn't going to show. To spend two weeks in an intimate setting with Milo would be a dream and he was desperate to blush about it but the situation was too serious to get flustered over. He needed to keep calm and stand his ground if he wanted to really convince the alien to listen to him, after all. "Just come back for a day. I'm not asking much,"
 
"She isn't the smartest, but I think she's aware something's not normal about me, Maxwell. Look at me, do I look like your average human right now? If she still thinks I am, she's an idiot. I like her, but it's pointless pretending I'm normal at the moment," he pointed out, casting a glance at himself in the mirror. To his surprise, Georgia didn't really seem to question his humanity (or lack thereof), seemingly believing he was just sick. He didn't want her to find out what he was, so if moving back home prevented that for a little while longer, it was a move he had to take.

"...I don't hate you, you're just too... possessive, Maxwell. You think you know what's best for me and I hate that," he sighed eventually, covering the blanket around himself a little more once the familiar coldness hit him again, despite the hot weather the city had recently been experiencing. "If I come home, for a few days, I want to be able to be myself. Out of the whole human facade thing. It's fucking painful, Max. You don't get how painful it is, forcing myself to, you know, keep looking like this when it really isn't natural for me-- can I walk around normally, or is that gonna scare you?"
 
"I won't be scared, but don't expect to be able to just stroll into the street like that," he replied simply. While he couldn't quite relate, he was sympathetic enough to understand how degrading it was to be forced into something you're not to the point of it becoming normal. He never wanted to be as prim and focused on school as he was, he wanted to be able to interact more and have fun. Growing up with both the pressure of his parents and the pressure of having to help raise Milo definitely made a difference on how he approached things.

"You can't see Georgia. I know how much you love her and all that but I can't have her seeing you and telling someone. It's just... not safe. I know it makes your blood boil at the thought of being locked up in my horrible house again but it's... for the best," he insisted, his stern facade fading a tad as he adjusted his sling. "Can you walk? I can ask Georgia to drive us back home."
 
The feeling of being told what to do only brought him back to his childhood. He knew that Maxwell was just trying to do what he thought was best for him, like his parents had done, but it never really sat well with Milo. Even if he agreed with Maxwell, he wanted to dictate his own terms, rather than be told how things were going to be. However, he wasn't exactly in a position to argue, so miserably shrugged and headed for the door without calling back to Georgia. She would only try to stop him, after all, and while he had worked hard to get to her apartment, he also new leaving for home was for the best.

"I can drive, it's technically my car," he began casually, a small smirk appearing at the new information. "I can drive, you know. I learnt how to in, like, a week. Got myself a neat car-- don't ask how I managed to buy it, alright? I didn't do anything illegal-- but it's my car, so I'll drive us back. I'm capable of driving, I'm not that sick."
 
"That's impressive," he admitted. He wasn't one to hold back praises - why would he? When Milo did well with the homework he would bring home he would eagerly compliment the alien on his intelligence. This was no different, though he did hold a bit of jealousy over the fact that he would probably never drive himself because of his eye.

"I would ask for you to drive me around in the future but I'm sure you don't want to see me after this," he noted as he struggled with the seatbelt with one hand. "It would be a lot more helpful than the bus or walking, but whatever. Let's just get home quick."
 
"I do want to see you, you're still my best friend-- I just got fed up of the protectiveness. I want to have my own life, you know? I'm capable of caring for myself," he declared easily as he climbed into the driver's seat, grimacing the moment he realised the whole situation sort of contradicted that. Clearly he couldn't care for himself if he had to return home at Maxwell's demand, ultimately to be cared for by him like he had been as a child. None of this screamed independence, and he wasn't stubborn enough to pretend it did.

"...You need looking after as much as I do, you look dreadful," he pointed out with a glance over his shoulder, frowning to himself at the sight of various bruises. "...I shouldn't have left, not for this long, I... sorry."
 
"I'm fine, I'm not the one coughing up blood," he easily defended before pursing his lips tightly . "I've been... fine. I've gotten my studies done and I'm still alive and that's what matters, so I'm... fine. Can we stop talking aabput me, though? You can get mad at me or make fun of me all you want when we get home and you're feeling better."

With that, Maxwell faced the window with a slowly growing frown. The whole thing was stressful, naturally, and he was just so tired. Not physically but emotionally. This only added to that weariness though he didn't admit it, naturally. He eventually did glance back over. "I'll make you that soup mother always made when you were sick."
 
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Whether it was from general stubbornness, or because he was just too sick to reply, Milo fell quiet for the remainder of the journey, his prime focus being on getting home without crashing the car. With the urge to throw up every few seconds, and the heaviness in his eyelids, crashing was a distinct possibility, so when he arrived back at the house unscathed, he didn't stop a triumphant smile from appearing on his face.

"I don't want soup, I never liked your mother's soup. I ate it because she said it would help. I thought that it was a medicine sort of thing. It didn't taste great. I could do with some toast, though-- with chocolate spread, yeah?" He mumbled, wasting no time in collapsing onto the couch in the living room and kicking his shoes off, while still wrapped up in the blanket he had taken from Georgia's apartment. Nor did he waste any time in letting the human facade slip. Maxwell had said he was fine with it, after all, so spending anymore time in a form that physically caused him pain wasn't entirely wise.

"...Oh, and some Pepsi too, I'm fucking thirsty. Georgia doesn't buy soda, you know?" He grumbled throatily, groaning under his breath at how uncomfortable he suddenly was. The couch was generally comfortable, but not when he was now bordering on nine foot tall. Finding a comfortable position in that instance was nearly impossible. Eventually, he gave up even trying and trailed out after Maxwell into the kitchen, perching on a chair in order to avoid crouching to avoid the ceiling whilst tapping his clawed fingers against the table. "...You sure you're not scared? I'd be scared if I was some puny little human, dude."
 
Watching the transformation silently, he chose to head to the kitchen for the requested toast. Popping the slices into the toaster, he made note to buy some more. The pros of Milo being gone was the fact that the cost of food went down drastically, plus he could choose what he wanted and what he wanted alone. The cons were the fact that he rarely ate, especially healthy foods, which didn't help much with his overall health. He wouldn't mention it, though, especially when he knew he probably looked pathetic as is.

"Well, sure. Like, it's a bit startling and I haven't seen you like this since we were little so it's a bit... different, but I'm not scared. I know you enough that I know you won't go berserk and try to kill me or anything," he admitted quietly before moving to quickly shut the kitchen blinds, then the dining room ones. "I'm the last person on this planet that won't want to ship you off to the CIA or whatever, I hope you realize that."
 
"You think I'm capable of killing someone? Cheers, Max. Maybe I am, you wouldn't know that, would you? Have you heard from Ricky recently? Maybe I lost my temper and bashed his brains out. I'm not human, right? So I'm bound to kill someone," he muttered under his breath, evidently pissed off with the remark, choosing to be offended because, simply put, he found it incredibly offensive. Sure, he was the first to admit he had a few anger issues -beating Ricky up served as an example- but he wouldn't kill someone. At least, he was sure he wouldn't, however easy it could be for him.

"I don't know. Maybe you would ship me off, how do I know? You think I could kill someone. Maybe you're a back-stabbing piece of shit," he commented absently, his eyes rolling. It was a comment that simply served to piss him off, deciding that Maxwell hardly deserved him being nice after the murder comment. "...I'm not going to hurt anyone, that was a dumb thing to say. DO you want me to go into town and massacre everyone, like in a sci-fi movie? Would that be cool for you?"
 
"Don't be so dramatic, anyone is capable of murder," he countered with a scoff as he tended to the roast, properly spreading it with the aforementioned chocolate. Sliding the roast over on a plate, he moved carefully to the fridge to pour himself just some basic juice to keep it less awkward. Taking a seat opposite the other, he took in Milo's full form quietly.

"If I was a back-stabbing piece of shit I would have called them the minute you decided to leave. I'm not that petty, you should know that. I want you to be happy, even if the fact that you're happy with Georgia drives me fucking mad. I... don't care what you do anymore, because you clearly want to cut me out of your life. Like I said, I'll get you better and you can run off into the sunset with Georgia. I've already been looking online and campus for a possible roommate so I don't have a repeat of recent," he explained as he shor a glance to his slinger arm. "I wish you'd stay, though. I don't want to sound cheesy but it... gets lonely here, without you. The house is too quiet, to be honest."
 
"I told you that I didn't want to leave, but you basically forced me out when you insisted on going everywhere with me. I like being with you; I love it, really, but it's not-- god, it's not normal for you to go on my dates with me, Max. I wanted some freedom. If you guarantee that, I'd move back in instantly. Georgia's cool and all, but... I don't think it'll work out. She's kinda annoying," he admitted as he leaned back against the chair, cracking his shoulders with a satisfied groan. The positive of having switched to his normal form was the fact he didn't feel quite as sick, which made him believe the illness was a result of neglecting himself for too long. Moving back in with Maxwell would give him the freedom of being himself, at least, and that in turn would prevent him falling ill. The wisest decision was coming home, even if he didn't want to deal with any over-protectiveness from his friend again.

"...Hey, I want to move back here. Especially when you can't cope without me. Face it, I need you, but you need me to stick around too. You're kind of a wreck without me-- and I'm not so stupid to pretend I don't need you too; I do," he admitted, leaning down a little to rest his arms on the table, offering a quiet smile. "I could get you a boyfriend; I made a lot of friends. Don't pretend you're not gay, it's totally up to you whether you want to, like, act on your sexuality, but you don't have to hide it from me, yeah? I've kinda known for years now-- and your parents are dead. They can't criticise you."
 
Growing silent, Maxwell's eyes locked immediately on the toaster intently with pursed lips. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn't stop his cheeks from growing beetroot in embarrassment. If there was one thing that made Maxwell nervous or uncomfortable, it was his sexuality.

"I don't need a... a boyfriend, I'm fine," he whispered quietly as he absently rapped his free fingers on the table. "I'm fine. That isn't important, you know? Like, I've stopped going to parties and I don't really intend on going to any more of them, it isn't my scene I guess. It's cool - I'm cool, I-I... fuck. I don't know what I'm doing, Milo," he confessed before quickly covering his face to hide his tears.

"I don't want to hang out with anyone anymore, I'm so tired," he explained quietly. "Just... everything is so tiring. I don't want to wake up for school but I don't want to stay home a-and... and I've been feeling sick lately. I've been trying to just work on my studies but it's hard to focus on anything these days, it... " he explained slowly, though paused, pursing his lips. "Sorry, I'm just - I'm glad you're back. I only followed you around on your dates and stuff because I was petty for what you did with Ricky but I didn't expect you to leave, I guess."
 
Milo had always known the other was vulnerable - it was impossible not to notice that as they grew up, however naive he knew he was on certain topics. However, never before had he seen Maxwell be this fragile, and whilst guilt obviously set in, worry for his friend hit him harder than anything else. He could be stubborn and continue to drag his unhappiness with Maxwell along, but there was very little else the human could do about his actions other than apologise, which he had done already. Besides, it wasn't as important as Maxwell's state at the moment anyway.

"...I'm not going anywhere," he promised whilst seamlessly changing back to the human facade, deciding that was perhaps more comforting than his real form was at the moment. He had no doubt that Maxwell didn't care what he looked like, but it was probably true that he preferred to be comforted by Milo when he had a human expression on his face. It also helped that he could reach for the other's good hand without his fingers being sharp and clawed. "You're a wreck, Max. I don't wanna be rude, but this isn't good, yeah? I... what do you want to do? We can do whatever you want tonight. Fuck my health, I'll be alright. It's... painful being like this, but I'm cool with it. I've done this for years, I can handle another night. We could go watch a movie in the cinema, head out for a cute little meal-- I dunno. Whatever you want to do, we'll do."
 
"No, I'm fine," he quickly reassured with a firm nod. "You're sick, you're what's important right now. I'm just a dramatic piece of shit who can't handle my emotions or whatever, you're the one who is in pain. I want you to just... stay inside, have you be in your normal form so you can get better. I'll probably just take a nap, that's been helping lately," he admitted, oblivious to the fact that, that was not a healthy coping mechanism. After all, he pretty much just did that on the weekends when he wasn't studying, so why not do it now? That being said, the more he slept the less he ate, which only affected his health in the long run... though that clearly wasn't something Maxwell cared about.

"I dunno, what do you want to do?" He quickly offered as he rubbed his eye on his sleeve quickly to stop the tears. "I'll go to the store and cook up something you want to eat, that'll probably be fun, right? I... I want you to be happy being here again, I don't want to go out and do something while you're in pain and should be resting. I could buy some cake, too, if you want. I haven't really been eating too much sweet stuff so it'll be a nice change for the both of us."
 
"Or we could order in food and have you eat something? You don't look healthy. Not that I'm the image of health right now either, but still-- We'll just pig out tonight and watch movies. That'll make me happy and you clearly need that. I'll... stay like this tonight, Max. You'd rather cuddle up to me like this, yeah?" He grinned, pressing forward a little. He wasn't going to pretend that he was perfectly happy now with Max, but he could put his irritation aside for a night or two. Maxwell clearly needed a night without tension, with just the two of them like things had always been. He wasn't so petty that he would perpetuate an argument when Max needed anything but more tension.

"...I think I'm probably more appealing to humans looking like this, anyway. I can't imagine many people would, like, look at me in my normal form and think I'm handsome," he laughed playfully, getting to his feet with his empty plate. "Besides, I feel more human than... alien at this point."
 
Offering a smile at the offer of cuddling - something he was desperate for - he was at least happy for the fact that Milo was trying to act casual. He needed that normalcy, even with him being an alien, after being alone for far too long. It felt like how it used to be, and he was desperate for that feeling again. Exhaling softly, he nodded and snatched his phone to at least start an order, assuming the other still liked the same thing as he did before. No one could change that much in two weeks, right?

"I think you should at least do what makes you comfortable for now, Milo. I don't want you getting sick all over the floor, you know? I probably couldn't clean it up in my state," he reminded with a soft snort. "Look, let's... just put everything behind us for tonight, yeah? We can pretend nothing happened and, like you said, cuddle up a bit and stuff... I need the embrace, aha."
 
"I don't feel that sick anymore. I think it was, like, a maturity thing or whatever? I grew, like, 5 inches," he grinned, having no reason to be anything other than smug over his growth spurt. It hadn't been the nicest feeling to go through a week-long sickness, especially when he still felt dodgy now, but he was perfectly happy with the effects it had... besides how sick he looked, at least.

"...I'll move back in, if you want. Like I said, Georgia's annoying me and I was thinking that I only got with her to feel normal. She's nice and all, but... I don't love her as much as I said I did, maybe. Besides, there's this really cute guy we're friends with who I have my eye on," he continued. His aim for the night was to cheer Maxwell up, so mentioning a crush wasn't wise. However, he hardly knew any better than Maxwell's own crush was a complete mystery to him.

"You'd like him-- Oh, I could set you up? Nobody cares if you're gay. Obviously I'm not pushing you, but when you're ready to date and stuff, I want to set you up. You need a relationship-- or just someone to kiss and cuddle, you know?"
 
"Yeah, well, I'm not the most conventional person to date, yeah?" He replied, his tone flat as he ordered the pizza. He wasn't particularly hungry himself but he could st least force himself to eat with Milo was around. The commentary on his appearance didn't help him much, so anything to shut him up was good.

"Like, you're handsome, at least to most people, in that form. You're conventionally attractive and you can be nice sometimes and... people want that. I'm too much work, you know? I've been hearing people talk about me on campus, saying mean things. They said them before but now it's full force and just mean. I don't imagine you've heard the rumors they've spread, right? That I've got cancer, or that I... I killed my parents, all this crazy stuff. I highly doubt one of your friends will want to date me," he protested, holding back his upset surprisingly well.
 
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