all my pictures of you - milex

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Miles poured a shot of tequila into the tiny glass, before leaning against the counter of his kitchen. Police sirens wailed outside, but they were almost inaudible with Miles' playlist hooked up to the speakers in his home.

The man downed the shot, gently placing the glass onto the wooden counter. The bitter taste was now normal. His back was aching and he was furiously sweating, although the music was calming down quickly.

Miles had become what he would describe as lonely. The 'he' being the most important aspect of his life. He'd never realised that aspect had been so significant until a few days ago.

He thought he could live without him. He thought he could move on, like any normal friend would. When friends argue, they move on, right?

No. Alex wasn't just a friend. He was so much more.

Miles tried to grab onto his hair, as if to rip it out, but then he remembered he didn't have any. Furious, he kicked the counter with his bare foot. Howling in pain, Miles hopped over to the speaker and unplugged it like he hated it. The Liverpudlian man stomped into his bedroom, slamming the door. He needed some sort of comfort immediately at this point.

A grotesque feeling sat in the pit of the man's stomach. Usually, he would not willingly trigger any memories. But he craved some sort of memory now. Some sort of nostalgia.

Popping the CD player on at the wall, after calming himself down, Miles rummaged through his CD collection under his bed. He pulled out a large cardboard box, written on in black marker, in bold letters.

WAS ALEX'S, NOW MINE

Miles pulled out a worn yet familiar looking CD, Be Here Now by Oasis. He carefully removed it from its cover, examining the faint scratch marks. Miles refused to read the inside of the case — he knew what it said already, reading it thousands of times.

He slid it into the player, and waited for the tracks to start playing. Once on, he skipped ahead to track 8. Don't Go Away.

Miles collapsed backwards on the bed, the sun setting in on him. The glare from the window wasn't blinding, but enough to force the man to shut his eyes. He sat back up, looking back down at the box that was in front of the bed. Rummaging further through the box, he stumbled across a photo book he had no idea was there. He'd seen it before, most definitely, but there was no way he'd ever looked through it.

The leather bound book was dusty, covering Miles' fingertips with the grey fluff. Blowing the dust off, Miles found scratches upon the book, probably from the CD cases. He knew Alex never let a CD loose from its case.

Flipping to the very first page, a tiny snap echoed from the spine of the book. In the familiar block letters with a thin fineliner, a message was scrawled into the paper.

Dearest Miles,
Never forget me. I won't ask you to think of me when I'm not around but at least acknowledge I once lived in your arms and in your heart. A cosy, tiny space for my body to crawl inside when I'm alone, I call it home. Your soul, a warm comfort for many. But a chunk of it will always be mine, no matter what you say. I don't intend on giving it back. Ask nicely and I may.
Never stop being kind and lovely. Your happiness radiates on to others. I wouldn't have you any other way.
Yours,
Al ♡

Miles snapped the book shut.
Don't do it. You're just going to hurt yourself again. You're just going to be sad again. Alex wouldn't want that.

But part of him said otherwise. He was already in an obsessive mood for the past, so why not?

Miles exhaled, before his fingers massaged the cover of the book.