He had given Braelyn all the words he had. Still she didn’t understand, or couldn’t, or refused to. He felt her still in his arms. He pressed his lips against hers just a little harder, wondering if finally he had figured out how to communicate with her. Breath didn’t matter to him, he was staying there, lips on lips, his face curving into hers, the bronze skin melding onto the palest white, until she finally completely understood him. Until she finally completely understood herself. Her body became a little less still, and though he still had a tight grip on her arms, his fingers digging in, she found a stronger power and pulled away from him, a rush of air seeping into the narrow space newly restored between them.

He stared down at her, not fully registering her words - ‘What about Andersson? What?’ - black eyes into dark brown. ‘She still... she still doesn’t.’ Disappointment clouded his gaze, his expression relaxing from its hardness into something a little more defeated. She still, even now, didn’t understand. ‘Maybe I just didn’t kiss hard enough.’ He seized onto that thought with new desperate hope, his fingers loosening, hands slipping down her back to grab her around the waist and he pulled her closer (even closer) to him than before, looking deeper and deeper into her eyes. ‘Can’t you see there are no more words?’ His lips crashed onto hers, actively wondering how he could pull her into himself, show her his mind, give her his thoughts. He would. He would reveal himself in that way to her. Bare himself, because he knew maybe... he thought... he hoped that would save her.

His arms stayed tight, but slowly, gradually, his lips softened, still demanding (begging), trying to communicate (speak) in a slower tempo. ‘Purebloods, good. Mudbloods, bad.’ His lips parted against hers, allowing them both some air, before he resumed. ‘Your parents love you. I love you. Because I love magic, and magic flows through us, through all purebloods. To love anything but magic, is to betray magic. Is to hate magic.’ The way Braelyn felt in his arms (soft skin, warmer than he’d imagined, if he had imagined), the way her hair smelled (almost bland save for that subtle hint of mint, or maybe it was spice, he was reminded of some kind of tea), the way her lips tasted (nothing, it tasted like nothing, but maybe something sweet, or maybe something bitter, or sharp on his tongue like lemon, no not as strong, or maybe stronger, maybe lime) didn’t matter. Milo rejected the knowledge, focusing on converting her, shoving away heightened senses, hoping it would flare up, burn and be lost forever.

He could hold his breath under water for long periods of time before his chest even started to tighten, before his lungs even started to burn, but he was out of breath now, and pulled away. He wondered why he couldn’t see anything, and then realized his eyes had closed on their own, lost in something. ‘Odd.’ He opened them, and it was a greater struggle than he’d expected. He stayed quiet as he looked down at Braelyn, something dimly alerting him to the fact that she was very different today. Bolder, screaming at him, talking so much, being much more forceful. It was... he wasn’t sure what it was. A four letter word offered itself up in his mind but he shoved it away with the reactions Braelyn caused within him. He stared down at her, blinking occasionally, his mind settling into equal parts silence. Within his mind or out, he had no more words.