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Waylon jolts awake, panting and drenched in his own sweat. He can still feel the cold, filthy floor against his bare feet, the echo of a buzzsaw bouncing around the walls of his skull. He runs a shaking hand over his face, trying to calm himself.
He quietly slips out of bed, slinking towards the kitchen. He passes the boys room, poking his head in. Both of them were sound asleep, Leo’s comforter spilled on the floor. He smiles before closing the door once again softly behind him, continuing his trek to the kitchen. He turns the corner and sees Miles leaning against the counter, a black mist dancing between his remaining fingers. Nanites .
“Couldn’t sleep?” Waylon jokes. Miles whips his head towards Waylon, his glowing, white irises piercing the dark. He must’ve startled him, evident by the black that swarms him now. It recedes a bit when Miles recognizes that it’s Waylon.
He slumps against the countertop. “Ha ha.”
Waylon slips past him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard next to the fridge. He fills it up at the sink.
“I feel bad for not using the set up Lisa painstakingly put together for me.”
Waylon rolls his eyes with a smile, pulling the glass from under the stream. “She threw a sheet over the couch and gave you one of my pillows. I think she’ll be ok.”
Miles watches Waylon carefully as he settles next to him, leaning back against the counter. Miles flicks at a crumb on the granite as Waylon sips his water. They sit in silence, the constant buzz of the Walrider surrounds them, slowly drowning out the hum of the fridge and the wind outside, making the house creak. It was peaceful in a weird way; familiar.
“What’s got you up?” Miles asks, turning his head to look at Waylon.
He shrugs, bringing the glass to his lips again, “Nightmares. Not Gluskin this time though.” Miles nods.
Waylon’s brows furrow, and he lowers the glass from his face without drinking from it, “Do you dream? I mean, when you do sleep, do you dream or is it more of a comatose state?”
“Sometimes. But they’re never my own.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re not really dreams” He uses air quotes around ‘dreams’, “they’re more like memories, remnants from the variants at Massive.”
Waylon nods before throwing back the rest of the water in his glass. He puts the glass onto the counter and leans his hip against the edge of it. He watches Miles closely, the Walrider has been more agitated lately; and Waylon can tell it’s started affecting Miles. Neither of them know what’s causing it, but it’s more at the forefront of Waylon’s brain than Miles’.
Maybe it’s stress, or maybe it’s from the sheer effort of keeping the Walrider contained. Too much of that kind of strain can make Miles run hot, never a good thing when he’s a literal walking corpse. His skin is usually cold to the touch, and sharing a bed with him requires additional blankets.
Waylon presses the back of his hand to Miles’ forehead, Miles’ eyes shifting to him. “You’re still warm.”
Miles hums, and Waylon brings his hand down to his cheek. Miles leans into it, eyes closed. Waylon smiles, turning his hand to cup the other man’s cheek, thumb dragging across his cheek bone.
“How are you holding up?”
He shrugs again, eyes downcast. He was getting antsy, Waylon can tell. He grabs the back of Miles’s neck, bringing him down and putting his face to the crook of his own neck. Miles wraps his arms around Waylon’s torso, deflating. He’s put himself through so much these last couple days, from keeping the Walrider in and bearing the stress of being practically in plain sight for Murkoff. Waylon runs his hands through Miles’s hair, trying to knead the tension away.
Waylon doesn’t say anything, just rests his cheek against the side of his head, pillowed by his hair. “I know this hasn’t been easy on you, and I appreciate it.”
He maneuvers Miles’s face into his hands, making him look at him again. It was weird, how he’s come to love the sight of the darkness where white should be. He leans forward, intent to kiss him, but Miles leans back. His mouth was quirked downwards. Waylon furrows his brows.
“What’s the matter?”
“Are you sure about…she’s just upstairs.”
Waylon gives him a soft smile, “I’ve talked to her about it before, and trust me when I say I wouldn’t do anything like this without her permission. It’s better if we create as much distance between us as possible, it’s safer.” Waylon is dragging his thumb across his cheekbones as he talks, eyes focused on Miles’s chest.
Miles ducks his head to capture Waylon’s lips with his own. Waylon smiles as he brings his head up, kissing Miles back. His hands move from Miles’s cheeks to his hair, gripping tight. Miles settles his hands on Waylon’s hips, tugging him closer.
Miles then kisses the corners of his mouth, then his jawline, peppering him with cold kisses. Waylon shudders. He moves to his neck, Waylon just holding onto him, hands flexing in the mess of brown waves. Miles starts to laugh.
“What?” Waylon asks, his voice breathy.
“You’re a necrophiliac.” He snorts into Waylon’s neck.
Waylon scoffs, pulling on Miles’s hair, forcing him up. “Shut up.”
Miles chuckles some more, he takes one of Waylon’s hands from his hair, kissing his knuckles.
“You still have a heartbeat.”
“A stimulated one. That doesn’t count.”
Miles presses a kiss to Waylon’s lips once more, and pulls away when Waylon tries to deepen it “You need to go to bed.”
Waylon hums, “I’d rather stay up with you.”
Miles smiles, “As much as I would love that I don’t think now-“
He stops when he hears the creak of a floorboard upstairs. He looks up, sensing where they were. Waylon looks at him strangely. “What is it?”
“Someone’s awake.”
Waylon deflates slightly, lips pursed. “It’s three in the morning, who-“ he pauses as footsteps on the stairs make themselves known. Both men turn to see Lisa. She walks the last steps slowly, hesitant.
“Did I interrupt something?”
Waylon smiles, “No, no. Why are you up?”
She shrugs, “Needed to stretch my legs, get some water.” She walks to the cupboard next to the fridge, like Waylon had. The silence that stretched between the three was semi awkward, the sink the only sound.
“I assume I won’t see you tomorrow,” She turns off the sink, “So I might as well say goodbye now.” She says, turning.
Waylon sighs, “Yeah.”
She steps forward and kisses him on the cheek before hugging him. He holds her tight against his body, trying to get everything he can out of the contact.
“This will probably be the last time we’ll see you, right?”
He squeezes her tighter, “Probably.”
She pulls back, smiling sadly at him. He returns it, Miles ducking his head.
“Make sure you wake the boys before you go okay?” She says, stepping back.
“Planning on it.”
She heads back towards the stairs, and as she passes Miles she puts a hand on his shoulder, startling him. “Take care of him.”
Miles doesn’t say anything, but in his mind he vows that he will. They watch her go, and Miles could hear Waylon exhale.