𝙼𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚘𝚞𝚜 [Miles Fairchild x Reader]

On the Rocks

"A competent and self-confident person is incapable of jealousy in anything. Jealousy is invariably a symptom of neurotic insecurity." – Robert A. Heinlein.

Fresh was a beautiful movie that made you and Amy cry like a baby several times. The subject matter hit a little close to home since it centers around drugs, albeit on the dealing side of things. It's not like they could have known, though, since you've never divulged in your past too much. You wouldn't say that you're ashamed of where you come from, but it's not something you will readily tell people either way.

You bid your friends goodbye when you come to your dorm room, feeling light emotionally and very heavy, filled with popcorn and a cherry Slurpee. You shut the door behind you with a happy sigh, ridding yourself of your uniform in favor of some comfy pajamas, and crawl into your bed. You switch the TV on, deciding that you'll watch The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air as you drift off into dreamland.

He waited till he knew for a fact that you were in REM sleep. Such a stage is the deepest stage of sleep, and someone could do practically anything in your presence and you would not stir. Realistically, he could have came out in the third stage, but he wanted to be sure that you wouldn't wake... so he waited. And waited. And waited.

Your face was illuminated by the TV, the lights flickering here and there. He approaches you, careful not to stomp or to make the floorboards creak. He gazes at you, covered up with your blankets and looking so serene. He doesn't understand why he feels such a pull to you, nor why it's only you that gives him some semblance of joy since his parents have passed, but he doesn't want this feeling to end.

He reaches out, brushing his knuckles against your soft cheek. His heart flutters at the feeling of his skin on yours. He thinks he could get addicted to this, even if it's just from one touch. You're beautiful to him, impossibly so. The way your eyes light up when you know an answer to something in class, or how you laugh at whatever dumb jokes the class clown would spew. Even your voice makes him feel some sort of way – sweet and musical. He wants to hear everything, wants to see everything.

He feels an ugly feeling swarming in his stomach when you smile in other people's direction, though. It makes him angry to think that your attention could be on anyone except for him. He understands. You're a social creature, someone that people want in their circle. But those people don't deserve you. Never once in his life has he ever had to work for anything – he's a thoroughbred, as Mrs. Grose calls him, but for you, he will work. He'll make you his when the time comes.

For now, he just appreciates how he has the ability to watch you in this state and how he can caress your face, wiping away the impurities that Caleb and Amy left on you with their mere presences. He's going to have to resist the urge to sneer at them the next time he sees them... but he knows that you care for them, so he will have to make do.

He peeks around your room curiously. After all, if he's in here, he should do some snooping, shouldn't he? Maybe he could find out some more stuff than what you let on to everyone else. He finds some magazine clippings of Kurt Cobain taped to your walls with particular care, as well as some other grunge bands such as Alice in Chains and Soundgarden. He wouldn't expect you to like such a genre, considering the fact that you portray yourself to be bubbly and sociable when grunge is known for its angst-filled lyrics, but it only makes him more interested in you.

He peeks at you once more, making sure that you're definitely asleep, and does some more investigation. He finds the fact that you have a Tamagotchi perched upon your desk oddly cute, especially when he imagines you tending to your little virtual pet so diligently. He trails to your nightstand and opens it slowly, his hands seeking out a journal that sits there. He takes it, examining the cover. He opens it and looks at the first page, a triumphant smile coming upon his face when he realizes what this book is: your diary.