Chapter Text
When Miles first met Waylon they were best buddies, growing up in the same washed-up town, the same old type house, the same f-ed up school along with the same friends. Miles was happy that he was able to have such a close friend to experience life with, for him and Waylon were meant to be together, at least... that's what Miles had told himself. He was sure that him and the Korean boy would both get their marks at the exact same time with the exact same shape, signifying their love to be one and the same.
It was 8th grade when Waylon first got his mark, a perfect little spool of thread with a needle, not much that Miles would identify with himself though. He tried to rationalize how that symbol could possibly represent him within Waylon's life. This was what he told himself up until Waylon's twenty-first birthday, where he met the tailor. The man was easily 6'5" all broad shoulders and intense eyes that seemed to stare into your soul. His clothing looked as if he stepped right out of a magazine from the 50's, he reaked of vintage and old. His bowtie that perfectly matched with his vest, that perfectly matched with his slacks, that perfectly matched with that stupid undercut that laid atop his head. Eddie Gluskin seemed to just embody how a gentleman should look and act. They went to Gluskin's Bridal for the Korean to get a suit for his cousin's wedding, a foolish thing to waste money on for someone he barely knew in Miles' opinion. When Waylon opened the door and made direct eye contact with the man, Miles knew instantly that his friend was smitten. The pure awe in his eyes was sickening, especially for a man that seemed to be in his mid thirties. The amount of times Eddie called Waylon "darling" was enough for Miles to buy a whole yacht, and how they practically eyeball f-ed the entire time was cringe worthy. All was fine up until the very end, when the purchase was made and Waylon reached his hand out to shake the tailor's hand. Sparks flew, eyes widened, marks gained colour and Miles' heart died. He saw how the spool on Waylon's wrist gained a brilliant purple hue, giving the mark a lively feeling to it. The two soulmates seemed so releaved, so excited for the fact that they had just found out about their other half, their perfect match.
Miles didn't talk to Waylon much after that moment. Not only had that solidified that Miles would never be perfect for Waylon, it crushed his chance to ever be with the boy. He burried himself in work, trying hard to forget the fact that he would never be with the one he truely loved. It just wasn't fare, Miles has been there for years, helping and holding him... for the past twenty-one years Miles has been there! Never Eddie! He was never even a THING! He hated how this was life, this was real and he couldn't do anything about it. The brunette sighed heavily to himself as he sat in his office chair, dark rings under his eyes from the plethora of sleepless nights. He slowly got up and looked himself in the mirror, trying to figure out how gross he must look to everyone when he spotted something on his neck. It was his mark! Sure, there were many cases where someone did not present a mark till their late teens early twenties, but for his mark to suddenly come in after he had his heart broken was complete bs! He was suposed to be the one holding Waylon! The one to support and marry and love and kiss him! HIM! Not Eddie Gluskin! Fresh tears pooled in Miles' eyes, slowly cascading down his cheeks into a new sob. He didn't want this mark that tied him to a stranger, he wanted Waylon for himself and for no one else. He wanted a family with the blonde, a perfect fantasy family. Miles slid down the wall in front of his hallway mirror, curled himself up into a ball and cried, letting all the anger and sorrow out that kept him trapped within. He heard sounds of thunder, perfectly capturing what he himself was feeling as a storm slowly rolled in. The jounalist got up after a bit and went to his jeep, started the engine and drove himself to Waylon's house. That's where he rung the doorbell like a mad man, trying hard to get the attention of the blonde. The moment Waylon answered Miles threw himself onto the Asian, pulling him into a deep kiss that was more biting than genuine kissing. He put his hands around him and pulled him close, hands relishing in the feeling of Waylon's fingers through his hair. The feeling of hands shoving him away was what got him to snap back to where he was, staring at a confused and slightly red Waylon park.
"I-I... Waylon I..." Miles didn't know how to explain himself at all, he just drove to his taken friend's house and KISSED the poor fellow for God's sake!
"MIles... You haven't talked to me in months. Now suddenly you come here and put your hands and mouth on me like you own me... Why?" Waylon was worried for his friend, it wasn't like Miles to be so rash about anything, especially these types of things.
Miles' mouth gaped open like a fish, seemingly lost for what to say. He thought of telling Waylon everything, the love, the lust, the envy. All of it... till the front door opened wider to reveal a half naked Eddie, who looked as if he was annoyed with Waylon being outside for so long. Lightning hit a few miles out and thunder followed shortly after, rain slowly starting to fall, progressing into a downpour quickly. The brunette had had it, he couldn't do this, he can't sit here and torture himself with someone who clearly didn't want him anymore. Waylon moved on, why can't you? Miles felt a tear fall from his lower lash, swiftly mixing with the rain before he turned around and drove home, half the time not even trying to be a deccent civilian and breaking about four or five laws. He went into his room and sat down, closed the blinds and pulled out a note to write. The journalist somehow happened to scribble out a half-a note before heading to the bathroom to finish the job. If I can't have him... then what is there left to keep me here? Miles undressed and sat in his bathtub, turning the faucet to hot and letting the clear water fill up the basin, surrounding him in a steaming sauna-esque hug. Some people may call him out for acting extreme to this situation, but to him he was really, truely hurt from this experience. He loved Waylon with all his heart and the fact that he couldn't love him hurt, it hurt more that never being adopted, he hurt more than the silver pain across his wrist. He looked down at the junction of his shoulder where his mark lay, the tiny little pig sat still, monochrome and sad, almost knowing that it would never gain life or colour. Miles layed there as the blood slowly flowed out, dyeing the water a rusty orange, then to a brilliant crimson. He would gain his colours here, alone, away from Waylon, away from any sort of happy ending. Alone.