A/N: We're quarantined for the Coronavirus, here in Milan, so here you go, extra chapter this week.
Thank you for all the reviews on the last. There seem to be some mixed feelings, but I always appreciate your feedback.
Enjoy :)
[7. TUESDAY]
…
He wakes up in a cold sweat, a sense of dread filling him as he realises it's Tuesday, and that means he has to submit this stupid assignment that he completely forgot about. He jumps out of bed (aka the pull-out mattress on Winston's floor) and makes a run for the kitchen, to get some coffee going.
He's halfway through his first cup when Winston shuffles through the doorway, sleepy eyes and the most ridiculous bed-hair he's ever seen. He makes a beeline for the coffee pot and pours himself a generous amount in the mug Miles's handing him. He takes a long sip, and then another. He finally puts the cup down, and takes a good look at Miles.
"You alright, man? You're shaking."
He is, indeed.
"Yeah, I… I just had a really weird nightmare, that's all."
Winston pauses for just a moment. "Wanna talk about it?"
Miles doesn't answer straight away. Flashes of the images that crowded his head last night are resurfacing relentlessly, and nothing he can do seems to manage to push them down.
"I don't know, Chewy, it's just… kind of sick, to think about it."
Winston's looking at him with a funny expression on his face. Miles knows Winston's not going to be weirded out by anything he might tell him — they're way past that — but the thing is, this crazy ass dream is not even the point, disturbing as it was, and Miles knows exactly what's behind it.
"It's just what happened with Frankie last night, you know?" he finally opens up, a mere whisper in the quiet of the kitchen at this early hour. "I mean, seeing her like that, so… vulnerable? The fact that after everything that happened she still gave in and called him, I think…" he measures his words, carefully, "I think it affected me way more than I thought. I'm not exactly sure why, just… it really messed me up."
"You're just worried about her, that's normal," Winston says, sympathetic. Miles sighs deeply, meeting his best friend's eyes with a brief nod.
"I have this paper to write by tonight. By 7 p.m., in fact, considering the different timezone. It seems stupid to worry about something so trivial right now, but I had completely forgotten about it, and I have zero clue what to write about, and I really don't need the stress of failing Creative Writing on top of everything-"
"Whoah, wait a second, who says you're failing? Gee, Miles, there's like eleven hours left till then, I'm sure you can put something together. Just breathe, man, yeah?"
He takes the advice, calms down a little. Chewy's right, he was working himself up to a frenzy.
Winston pats a hand on his shoulder. "Better?"
"Yeah, thanks. You're right. I just need to find somewhere quiet to spend the rest of the day powering through."
"Or," Winston says, "You could take my student ID and use the library. Just a thought."
"...you'd really do that?"
Winston looks at him with the utmost exasperation on his face. Come to think of it, this is hardly the biggest favour he's ever done to him.
"Just take it. Call me when you're on your way back, okay?"
…
Banting's central library is possibly one of the coolest places he's ever stepped foot into. Miles finds himself a comfortable spot and gets ready to spend the day with this creative writing piece. He has some half-written notes he took weeks ago while planning this assignment, but they're all over the place and way too ambitious for the time he has left, so Miles just discards them completely and starts back from scratch.
He ends up writing a twisted story about a little girl who is cursed with the presence of an evil, monstrous Shadow that follows her around, looming over her. The Shadow messes with her head, isolating her from her surroundings and forcing her into all sorts of dangers that inevitably end up harming her. The girl is strong, though, and resilient, and perseveres in devising complex plans to escape from the Shadow's looming presence. However, each time she manages to resurface a little, she keeps being pulled back into the darkness. Until one day, exhausted from a lifetime of struggles, she simply gives up trying.
He feels a bit sick when he's done. He submits the assignment without proofreading it, because he knows if he waits one more second he'll delete the whole thing. Now he just hopes they won't send an army of psychiatrists looking for him.
…
That evening, after Frankie's asleep and Hunter's off to the showers, Miles climbs the stairs to the terrace once more and takes a seat against the bannister while lighting up a cigarette. The acrid taste of the smoke in the back of his throat immediately calms him down, even before the nicotine starts flowing in his system, and Miles inhales deeply a few times. He can feel his body relaxing, relieved from the tension accumulated over the course of the day, and his mind clearing, the raging thoughts dissipating into a cloud of smoke. The hours spent frantically obsessing over his morbid story sure didn't help his mental state in any way.
"I thought you were up here!"
Hunter appears from the emergency door, quickly spotting him in his corner, and Miles silently motions for him to join him on the floor.
"You okay? You seemed off, tonight," asks Hunter.
Miles exhales deliberately slowly, tapping the ashes from the tip of the cigarette.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he responds, "I'm just a bit stuck in my head today. It happens, sometimes."
Hunter nods somberly. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Miles going through the rest of his cigarette, Hunter simply sitting next to him, his gaze lost in the stars above their heads. It's a clear night, and it's a bit chilly. Hunter's not wearing his coat, just a simple black hoodie, and Miles sneaks a look towards him wondering if he's cold, but Hunter seems fine. There are no lights on this terrace, and the burning cigarette in Miles's fingers stands out, red and sizzling each time he inhales. It's quiet, peaceful.
"I'm sorry I had to bail on you guys, today," he says, although he knows he doesn't have to explain himself. "Did you manage to go to your class?"
"Nah, I- Frankie wanted me to but, you know." Hunter makes a face, looking eloquently at him.
"You didn't trust to leave her alone," Miles finishes for him.
"Yeah. She hated that."
"I bet." Miles pulls the cigarette to his lips once more, the motion flowing without him even thinking about it. "Did you guys talk?"
"A little," says Hunter. "She's not going to contact him again, I don't think."
There's a heavy moment, right there. Miles drops his gaze to the ground, fiddling with the dying stub between his fingers. "She's a bit emotional right now," he whispers.
Hunter scoffs. "Yeah, no kidding." It's not harsh, just the way Hunter is. Hell, Miles knows Hunter would give an arm and a leg for their sister. He's just worried for her.
"How are you coping with all this?" he asks, cautious.
Hunter just shrugs, then looks at him. Miles grimaces.
"Yeah, me too."
He takes one last deep drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it on the concrete floor while the hot air burns through his lungs. All is silent for a moment. Miles exhales, slowly, faint spirals of smoke circling towards the starred sky above.
"How did you know she was calling him?" Miles then asks. It's something that's been bugging him at the back of his mind since last night.
Hunter looks at him in confusion, so Miles clarifies, "Yesterday. You saw the door open and you knew she was talking to Max, that's why you ran. How did you know?"
Hunter seems to shrink on himself, a puzzled expression on his face. "I just… knew! Didn't you?"
Miles thinks about it for a second. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't even notice it was your shower caddy, propping the door open," he finally says, and it's true. He followed Hunter as an instinct, but he didn't fully realise what was happening until he saw Frankie standing in front of him, here on this same terrace. He's been wondering since how on earth Hunter knew, how he was so sure of what was happening.
Hunter has an almost comical frown on, cutting a wrinkle just between his eyebrows, and Miles is suddenly flooded with a sense of immense affection for his little brother. He shoves playfully at his side, a grin on his face.
"Maybe you two really have twin-telepathy or some shit. Always knew you were freaks!"
Hunter smiles back at him, a childish dimple appearing in the middle of his cheek, his bright blue eyes flashing with a mixture of annoyance and relief.
"...jackass!"
