Work Text:
A flurry of papers and trash, anger spills out and things that are not meant to be on the floor end up on the floor.
Including Miles.
He finds himself on the floor quite a lot lately.
A stinging on his face that doesn’t go away because there are no tears that accompany it. Starfish position. Sometimes fetal.
He opens and closes his left fist, lightly pounding on the floor. He counts the cracks on the ceiling, the same four that have been there since he started this ritual.
The hardwood offers the discomfort he deserves.
When the anger is no longer separate from sadness, and his thoughts overtake him, Miles finds himself standing up and walking towards his dresser.
He knows where his body is taking him,
his hand grips the knob on the bottom drawer and pulls it open more gently than intended.
Dark blue fabric and the white index card.
Ganke’s Beanie and His Note;
Hey man! You seemed upset, thought this might help. Go ahead and keep it this time. Love you. - G
The ink is smudged in the same spot it was four months ago. Miles runs his hand over the fabric of the beanie. It’s soft. His smell still lingers.
He catches himself in the moment of weakness, snatching his hand back and slamming the drawer closed. Stinging. He sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. He hears himself scream until his voice is hoarse and his knuckles are white. Stinging. This time there might’ve been tears.
Numb legs stand up and return to the bottom drawer of the dresser. A numb hand returns to the comfort of a fabric. A numb mind returns to the memory of a long gone time.
He lets himself take the note and the beanie out of the drawer. His window is open. His window is open and it’s dark and it’s time for him to remove himself.
A beanie is tossed from a window, there is still stinging and there is still hardwood floors. A note is thrown in the trash, there are still numb limbs and there are still four cracks on the ceiling.