They both knew what came next. “Tea?” Milo offered. Because he was weak. Weak for this creature in the car next to him, who was just as tense as he was. Did they dread this next part as much as he did? Was their chest clamped tight like his? Were they as reluctant to peel their fingers away from the gearshift as he was? “Tea sounds good,” they whispered. I hate this. I want to keep you. Don’t go.
