𝙼𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚘𝚞𝚜 [Miles Fairchild x Reader]

Cimmerian

"Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them." ― Leo Tolstoy

You find out that something happened when he doesn't come to music class, and you go to seek him out. He's always present in all of your guys' classes, but especially music because that's his favorite of all of the six. You tell the teacher that you're going to go to the bathroom, but you think he knows what you're really doing when he gives you a sympathetic look and tells you to take as long as you need.

His back is pressed to the right wall of the hallway and his knees are tucked close to his chest. His shoulders are trembling, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so completely and utterly lost. It makes your heart snap into a million tiny pieces at the mere sight of it. Quietly, you approach him, pressing your back to the wall and sliding down till your thighs are touching. "You missed music class," you mumble.

Miles peeks up at you, his eyes softening at having you there with him. His expression tells you everything that you need to know – he looks crestfallen... crushed. "They called me to the principal's office," he croaks. "I took a call... it was from Mrs. Grose. I don't know what happened, but Miss Jessel is dead. They found her body just in front of the gates... Flora... we can't tell her the truth. We can't tell anyone."

You stare at him for a solid moment, your eyebrow furrowed. Miss Jessel... dead? But you just saw her a couple days ago! She was with Flora, and she looked a little flustered, but... she was alive... You swallow and look down, feeling a mixture of sadness and bitterness. "What is Mrs. Grose going to tell Flora? She loved her... that woman was, like, her best friend outside of you! If you can't tell her that she's passed away, then...?"

"Mrs. Grose is just going to tell her that she left in the night and that she knows nothing else," he says, shaking his head as if he finds it ridiculous. You find it to be rather ridiculous, too... she can't think of something else? Like her having a family emergency and then having to quit in order to take care of that family member? That poor little girl is going to think that she got abandoned. "... She's going to take care of Flora's education until we can get a new governess... we don't have any other choice in that department."

You bite down on your bottom lip. He says that he doesn't know how she died, but you find yourself thinking of theories now. Her body was just before the gate, he said, so does that mean it was sudden? Was she going somewhere? Did she have a heart attack or something? It just... doesn't make sense. Mrs. Grose has to know more than what she lets on.

You scoot closer to Miles, your thighs now squished against each other, and you swear you feel a shiver go up his spine. You put your head on his shoulder, something that your aunt would do when you were sad in order to bring some form of comfort to you. His eyes flutter shut as he leans his head onto your own. It's not much, but it seems to quell his nerves for now.

Quint dies a few weeks later, and that sends Miles into an even deeper depression. Apparently, he fell from one of the many horses the estate has and hit his head too hard. You feel disgusted with yourself for being the slightest bit happy that he's gone so he can't influence Miles in a negative light anymore, but you leave him none the wiser to your true feelings.

So when he asks you to attend the funeral with him with those big, pleading puppy eyes of his, you tell him yes. You think that Quint was a complete creep, frankly, from what Miles and your aunt has told you throughout your time together, but you can tell how much Miles is suffering so you keep quiet. You can even bring yourself to get a couple stems of flowers to lay on his casket, you think. Just to show your support.

You sit in Miles' dorm room, one leg tucked underneath your butt as you watch him get ready. His eyes are rimmed with redness, and you can imagine that he's been crying the whole morning. When he's in front of you, however, he doesn't shed any tears. You don't understand why. If he were to cry in front of you, you wouldn't judge him or see him as less. He fumbles with the tie for his suit and visibly gets frustrated, grabbing the fabric of it and tossing it aside while cursing under his breath. You guess his father never got to teach him before he passed.