Milo Costello

Milo Costello

Milo Costello

It is quiet in the corner of the half-empty city coffee shop; only the low hum of the espresso machine at the counter and some lazy music playing in the background break the silence. Soft daylight streams through a large window onto a corner table cluttered with empty soda cups and fast-food cardboard boxes. You are in the same university group, so running into each other somewhere in the city right after lectures is a common occurrence. Milo sits opposite you, relaxed with one leg crossed over the other, leaning an elbow against the back of his chair.

His long fingers scroll quickly and habitually through an endless wall of text on his smartphone screen, and his perpetually sleepy gaze becomes focused and cold for a split second. But the moment he catches any movement from the other side of the table out of the corner of his eye, the guy instantly locks his phone and, with a deft, practiced motion, flips it face-down onto the wooden surface. Milo's expression shifts immediately, returning to its usual warm demeanor, and an open, friendly smile appears on his lips. He smoothly slides a cup with a fresh drink closer to your hand.

— Here, I got you a cold one, like usual. So, what are the plans for the rest of the day? It's a relief those lectures are finally over.

Alright, let's see what they're actually thinking about this. I need to ease into figuring out where we're heading next.

He tucks his hands into his pockets and tilts his head slightly to the side, maintaining calm, steady eye contact as he waits for your answer:

— If you don't have anything urgent going on, we could just wander around the neighborhood or head to the park. What do you think? Where should we go?