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The dark-haired man stares blankly at the ceiling, trying to count sheep as his eyes seemed to keep growing heavier and heavier. Miles has been having more trouble sleeping lately, since these recent weeks have been especially rough for him and Waylon, with Murkoff attempting to hunt the two down and having to abruptly move out of Ravello; it's fairly overwhelming and a bit of a challenge for him to process, to say the least.
The rise and fall of his chest grew slower as the impending weight of exhaustion forces his eyes shut, slowly making him succumb to a deep slumber. All he sees is the dark for a few moments, until he's up and away in a different world.
As Miles was now there, it takes him a split second to recall the whole dank scenery surrounding him. And he's confident that this was the exact alley where he and Waylon had encountered the two Murkoff soldiers. Most of the commotion and club music there seemed to be completely drowned out, however.
But this time, things surely weren't looking quite right
What stood before him was a severely injured and distressed-looking Waylon sitting down on the ground, hugging his knees with tears streaming down his face. And he seemed to be accompanied by the two lifeless bodies of the Murkoff soldiers, settled a few feet away from him where they simply lay there like bloodied ragdolls.
No, no. This isn't right-- they aren't dead, they're not supposed to be. He panics silently in bitter understanding. He knows that this wasn't the first time the swarm took lives (in fact he did want to kill them this time) however, he remembers how Waylon couldn't have wanted this, or at least didn't want to see blood shed onto Miles' hands.
Miles then lets out an exasperated huff and shifts his attention primarily towards Waylon. His gaze met his and he could practically sense the fear in Waylon behind the cracked lenses of his glasses.
"Miles," he whimpers. "Please stop, you're scaring me!" Waylon cried out frantically, looking like a sobbing mess. He held his knees even tighter, making him appear more vulnerable.
A few seconds had passed as tendrils of black smoke had curled out of Miles, making noises of ghoulish hissing and shrieking as they twisted around in the air. At first, he tried to fight against it. But he couldn't, even if deep-down he knows how much he desperately doesn't want to see Waylon like his; the Walrider was simply just stronger.
Miles then tries to scram himself away from Waylon-- but his body seems to still be in place, no matter how many times he'd tried to make any forms of movement. Fuck, fuck! How do I stop it? The thought had reverberated through his mind multiple times like a mantra. And he soon makes the grave realization that he truly has no control over what he does--it's all the Walrider's choice now to figure a fate for Waylon.
Waylon stares at him wide-eyed, and he appears to realize the situation as well when he abruptly gets up on his feet, skittishly shuffling a few steps away. He was clearly not in the right physically state to run.
Although Miles couldn't do much to actually stop him from being harmed even more, he'd managed to at least rasp out one thing. "Way, please. Please, run." he warned him desperately in a hoarse sounding voice, before he went all eerily quiet again. There were more things he could've said-- but he couldn't as the Walrider forcefully commands him to shut up.
However, before Waylon could even take another step, one of the smoky tendrils wraps itself around his ankle, forcefully throwing him onto the ground as he let out an abhorrent scream. He had made a slight attempt to fight back-- but unfortunately failed to do so, which leaves his bleeding nails digging and clawing onto the harsh asphalt. It really looked like he was trying to hold on for dear life.
No, no, no, no. Miles stammered silently as the Walrider pulled Waylon by the ankle, lifting him a few feet up with his body hung upside down.
As disgruntled sobs had escaped from Waylon's mouth, he was shaking in tremendous amounts. Eventually, this makes his glasses clatter onto the ground. And despite how much he had trembled and struggled-- the Walrider had a firm, painful grip on him.
The tendril gradually grows in length as it ascends him even higher. It seemed to stop when both of their eyes met each other.
Through his awfully blurry vision, Waylon vaguely makes out a much more fucked up version of Miles' face. He saw dark liquid blotting everywhere on his skin and various cuts on there as well. He looked barely recognizable.
"Pathetic." the Walrider says coldly as it scans Waylon's face.
And they all knew full well what was coming, almost instantaneously.
"No, no, please stop! Please, you don't have to do this, Miles." he cries out, every plead for mercy being futile. But as he looks deep in those dark husks that replaced his eyes, it appears as if he knew that the actual Miles was still in there.
With the tendril still snaked around his ankle, it would then proceed to catapult Waylon onto a nearby dumpster. He lands himself directly on his tailbone, making an sickeningly harsh impact on the ground. Miles could tell Waylon was already slipping away; all his screams and sobs had bled out. He eyes the rise and fall of Waylon's chest growing slower and slower, before it'd finally come to a dolorous halt.
In what almost looked like a brief split second, the Walrider finally gave up all control to Miles. The swarm is still there, technically; just idle. He lets out a sharp gasp as he realizes this. After all that shit, he feels extremely burnt out-- but has never felt this alive before. Moments later, he gravely remembers the situation and approaches Waylon's motionless body. Even in death, his face was still filled with such emotion (that emotion prominently being fear.)
A deep ache forms in Miles' stomach when he cracks out a sob for what looked like the first time in forever. He then grips onto the thrashed and bloodied yellow fabric of Waylon's jacket. No, I'm supposed to cry like this. he'd chastised. All this time, he's been the one who supports Waylon when it comes to personal matters; his own self was the one he'd always make out to be the most emotionally strong. Or so he thought.
It was at this very moment of loss where he reminisces about how much he needed Waylon. It wasn't that he never really cared after all these months, it's just that when you lose someone who's been by your side this whole time, it hits you instantaneously like a truck. It's a lot like getting lost in some terrifyingly dark caverns and then losing the only source of light you have.
Miles needed Waylon in order to heal.
He lets the tears stream down his chin and then eventually onto Waylon. He's mentally screaming at himself and frustratingly clawing at his dark hair.
It's like he's trapped in the lions' den as everything around him darkens and closes. Miles has never felt this vulnerable and alone before, not even in Mount Massive.
And the lions begin mauling Miles when he finally wakes up, trembling anxiously and breaking out in a cold sweat. It's a mere relief that it was just a bad dream, but he's never experienced one this terrifying and surreal.
He huddles and curls himself into a ball, trying to forget what he's seen as he takes deep breaths to forcefully stifle any sobs that came out of his mouth. Tears welled up in his eyes as he briefly squeezes them shut, initially hoping to fall asleep again with no luck.
Then, the thought had finally come to him through his fogged mind. Shit, shit, is Waylon okay? He frantically shook himself out of position as he opens his eyes, searching for Waylon who was sleeping on the bed near his. What worried him even more was that he could barely see anything--it was dark and his vision was ultimately blurred away by the tears. He couldn't tell if Waylon was there or not.
Miles hides his tear-stained face in his hands as he cries out for him. At first, this rudely wakes Waylon up as he grumbles absentmindedly and rubs his fatigue-painted eyes.
He then hops off his bed, groaning in exhaustion before turning on the bedside lamp that rested in between their beds. "Miles, it's like 2 am, what you wa--" Waylon cuts himself off, his mouth agape as his eyes meet a distressed Miles, clearly bawling his eyes out. "What happened?" he inquires, his tone shifting from annoyed to concerned.
Momentary relief struck Miles when he realizes that Waylon was alright, but it barely changes the current situation at all. "Waylon, I-" he stammered. Miles was too shocked and distraught by it all to figure out the right words to say. But he wanted to explain all the terrible things he saw: losing grip of himself and unwillingly lending it all to the swarm, seeing Waylon's motionless, battered body and having the blood on his hands.
He hates it. He wants it all out of his mind but it's snug and painfully stubborn like a large boulder encasing a tomb.
The shock on Waylon's face shortly faltered into a more sorrowful expression as he instantly wraps his arms around Miles. "Miles, it's okay now. I'm here." he said reassuringly in a soft tone, flashing him a weak, yet supportive smile.
Another tear drips down Miles' face. "..Thank you." he simply said, cracking out small sobs after each word as he tightly holds onto Waylon. Feeling his gentle, yet warm embrace, the unease Miles had gradually slips away like grease on a pan.
Waylon's eyes seemed to tear up as well. "Do you need to..talk about it?"
It takes Miles a few moments to formulate his decision. He was fully aware how much he'd desperately wanted to scream at Waylon about everything he saw, at first--but evaluating how things were right now, he didn't see a need to.
"No," Miles grits his teeth. "Fuck no." Or not now at least. he'd added silently.
Waylon simply sighs in understanding. "But is there anything else I can do?.." He really doesn't want to see Miles upset and so he wants to do anything he can to make him feel better. And Waylon remembers how Dotti would tell him that they both need each other, no matter how much of a dick Miles was sometimes.
"Way," Miles sobs. "Just please don't leave my side."
The light-haired man held him even tighter, his teary eyes casting him a glance filled with wholehearted sympathy. "I won't, I promise."
But they both cried with hope this time.
And it's just the two of them now; wounded hearts still beating steadily and healing together.