Based on a headcanon I came up with.
After the asylum, when both had escaped, they just drove. They went where the road took them: father and farther away from that shit place.
Ever since the incident, Waylon has been extremely paranoid. On nights when he and Miles found a nice little motel, he would check the lock of their room once, twice, a third time. Maybe even a fourth time if he wasn't positive that they were somewhat safe in the small room they occupied from the outside world.
Miles always reassured him that they were as safe as could be and if anyone meaning harm stepped towards him, he would take care of them. Waylon only nodded his head and buried himself underneath the covers.
In the days where they would just sit on the king sized bed watching tv or sat at a small table reading through the newspaper or whatever they could get their hands on, Waylon had to be touching Miles in some way or another, be it a simple touch of their legs or full on holding hands. You would think after what Eddie had tried to do to him, he wouldn't tolerate any touching of any kind, but that wasn't the case. He needed the touch of someone he knew would protect him from evil, and Miles was his protector.
In public, Waylon was always weary of the people around him. Usually, he would stay in the car(with all the doors locked of course) and wait for Miles to come back. Sometimes, Miles would insist that he come with him just to get some fresh air, to walk around and stretch and Waylon would comply.
...
"Miles... You know I don't like to come inside with you..." I said, looking up from my fingers at the man besides me in the driver's seat. He was leaning against the middle console, his head sitting on his hand. He pursed his lips and lifted his head, taking my hand with the one his was just leaning on. A small blush covered my face and I looked at my lap once again.
"C'mon, Way. You haven't left the car or room in weeks... It's just to get some food, and then we'll go back to the room and watch all those romcoms that are on today until we pass out. I promise." I had looked up at him while he talked, watching as he gave me a small smile after. I took a moment to think before sighing, letting go of his hand to unbuckle my seatbelt.
He clapped his hands and opened his door. I opened my door and slid out, wincing in pain when all my weight landed on my injured leg, the searing pain spreading to my lower back where it rested until it throbbed to nothing. It still hurt, but now it was just a dull pulse coursing through my lower leg. I suppose it isn't too great of an injury ever since I learned of the injuries Miles sustained while at MMA. He was shot many times trying to escape the asylum by the very people who came to help, accompanied by a broken leg and nose with the ring and pointer fingers severed from his hand and he was completely covered from head to toe in gashes and bruises. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he looked like a guy from a horror movie. Miles told me the only way he was still alive was because of the Walrider who took him inside of his body, using him as a sort of host. I didn't question him anymore on the subject.
Miles rounded the Jeep and stood in front of me, watching me as I shut the door. Once I did, I looked up at him, staring at him until he cracked a half smile and turned towards the little cafe we were at. I limped after him, wincing as the pain once against slithered up my leg, my eyes focused on the ground in front of me. I nearly bumped into him when he stopped to open the door for me, which made my face grow hot in embarrassment.
"Miles... I don't know..." I said, looking around the full cafe when we walked in. He brushed his hand against mine and whispered "it's OK," into my ear. He lead me to the counter and looked up at the menu above the counter, his stance going slack as he leaned against the granite countertop. When the young woman behind it saw him, she instantly started flirting with him and a pang of jealousy ran through my chest. He, of course, just went along with it, flirting back with her as, from what I assumed, he would normally do, but his eyes showed obvious disinterest. I knew he didn't mean what he said, but I couldn't help but feel jealous.
