One Shots

Blaze Fanfiction Pt. II (Miskey - PG-13)

A/N: BLAZE FANFICTION PART TWOOO. Took me forever to write this but hey it's finally done! Credits to SuperheroesAndSprite for the characters/setting/plot etc. these characters belong to her story BLAZE ofc. If you haven't yet read that story you're missing out on so much, I swear to god. Anyhow, enjoy :)

             The Comfort of Your Name (Running Through My Veins)

Miles walked, not a single destination in mind. He just walked in his drunken haze, the bitterness of whiskey sliding down his throat. He smirked to himself, shook his head. Bit his lip. Fucking Whiskey. Fuck.

His feet dragged up the snow that was bunching up on the front of his shoes now, soaking through them right down to his socks...but Miles couldn't feel a thing. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back as he continued slumping through the slush beneath and above and around his feet. And It's so cold is what Miles would have been thinking, if he'd been thinking at all.

There was a moment when the wind picked up and Mi shivered, bringing his jacket in closer around him as he questioned why he wasn't wearing something warmer, but that soon faded away as the lip of the bottle hit his and the golden liquid poured into his mouth, across his tongue and Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey. Fuck.

And there he was, standing in front of Whiskey's house. He staggered backwards, steadied himself, took another swig and closed his eyes. Fuck. His legs were tired. He was tired. So he stumbled to Whiskey's porch step and there he sat, bottle grasped between numb fingers clinging on for dear life. Jesus. Fuck. He wasn't supposed to feel this way.

It's that day, it kept sneaking its way into his dreams. Into his every waking thought. He remembered the feel of Whiskey's shoulders tensing beneath his fingers, remembered the feel of Whiskey's skin as he ran his thumb along his neck. The chills weren't caused by the outside air this time, no.

Mi took a deep breath, tried to rearrange his mind so that he could focus on rolling a cigarette. He needed it. The smoke, it was there in the air that day, it was there and he needed it. Needed to relive it but fuck. No. What he needed to fucking do was stop. Stop thinking about it, focusing on it. Trying to picture it constantly because he didn't want to lose the memory and it was fading. So fast. Just fading before him.

As he raised the bottle to his lips, there was a creak from behind him. He paused, waiting to hear his voice and it came only a moment later with a soft, "Miles?" the bottle found a place between Mi's feet. "It's like two in the morning, what are you doing?" Whiskey's voice grew louder as he approached the steps.

Once there, he sat himself down beside Miles, a heavy blanket of concern enveloping the two of them. Something Mi only ever felt when he had Whiskey there beside him or, at the very least, running through his veins.

Mi didn't answer. His head was a dizzy mess and the drink wasn't solely to blame. He felt desperately for the pouch of tobacco tucked vulnerably inside his jacket pocket.

Five ripped rizzla's later, he'd managed to roll a relatively smokeable cig. He lit it, trying not to give into that damn urge; the urge to just fall into Whiskey. Fall against his side, close his eyes and just forget for a while. Breathe him in just the same as nicotine.

But he couldn't do that, so he fell against the banister on his right and kept his eyes open. They jumped, unable to fixate on any one thing.

"I can't keep doing this to myself," Mi whispered. Whiskey didn't ask what he meant, but he was listening. He would always be listening. "Can't keep drinkin' y- this...fuckin'," he raised the bottle of whiskey to his knees and waved it around a bit. "Can't keep drinkin' this fuckin' shit." Then he took another sip. "But I can't leave it alone."