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It felt like Milo could feel the storm of stress building inside him, calling home in the centre of his chest, where it was battered and bruised the most. It raged in his eyes, cruel and taunting, as it tired every jagged edge of him, and exhausted the molten insides.
And it didn't help that he had schoolwork to complete, but nowhere to do it.
College was a lot physically. Milo was probably taking on more than he could chew in that aspect—he was rushing from task to task on a tight schedule of classes, extracurricular events, and managing doing schoolwork in his own time too.
There was a lot on his plate, but college was also a lot mentally. The stress of it all, combined with the looming expectations from his parents, always shadowing his every thought, meant that college was engraved into his brain all day long, to the point that some days it was all he could think about. Milo always wondered whether it was actually his parents' doing in their words that was making college so challenging, but he also supposed that could be a tad unfair on them.
Now, though, it was late afternoon, and Milo's legs were aching from walking, and all he wanted to do was sit down somewhere and do his work.
Well, preferably not the working part, but he supposed that went hand-in-hand with finding somewhere to stay.
His apartment was unfortunately not an option for him—he never got any proper work done there, with too many distractions for him. Usually, Milo would go to the local library, but right now, that seemed like miles away, and he was too tired to be bothered walking all the way over to it.
He was off campus now, his legs carrying him through Orlando before he could really try and prevent it, and before Milo knew it, he was taking himself down painfully familiar lanes. With a spark of realisation, Milo realised where he was, and he came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes panning around, and latching onto the tiny café he recognised from a few days ago. Smiths was its name.
Flashes of wild, untamed green spurred back and forth in his vision as Milo stood there waveringly, getting in the way of other civilians, though he didn't give them much thought.
"Fuck it," he whispered lowly, mentally slapping himself as he looked both ways down the street, and jogged across the road, so that he was stood almost right in front of the café.
