One Shots

Blaze Fanfiction Part IIII (Miskey - PG-13)

A/N: SURPRISE. I haven't written in yeaaars. But this came to me a couple days ago and I just had to write it. This is the final one shot I'll do on Miskey so I hope it's okay! Of course credits to Lia who is the author that created Blaze and these wonderful characters. Lia if you read this, I MISS YOU!! On a side note, please don't expect regular updates as I'm still very busy, but I am trying to get back into writing, as I miss it a lot. And I miss you all a lot, too!

One Last Time

      Forgetting someone wasn't an easy task, and Whiskey couldn't say he'd truly forgotten Miles at all but he'd like to and he'd tell people that, no, he hasn't seen Miles for a while and that, "I hope he's doing well." But what he really meant was: Please tell me something, tell me anything, tell me how he looks; how he sounds; how he smells...just tell me something. Anything.

      Cause it had been a few months since Miles had stopped showing up on Whiskey's porch and he couldn't help but search for him as he occasionally walked the streets at three in the morning, passing beneath street lamp after street lamp, hoping to just catch a glimpse.

      And after months of spending his nights watching out his window, for that shadow on his porch, he eventually gave in to his tired eyes and let his head fall to his pillow every night like it used to. He'd dream of waking up and seeing his friend laying beside him but each time he opened his eyes with the morning sun, he'd see nothing but an empty space.

      He wondered how it was that he could go from seeing someone every day, to not seeing them at all and it was late one night, as he was sitting in his chair at his desk trying so hard to focus on his school work that he realised; he only ever saw Miles when Miles wanted to be seen.

      As the months without him stretched on, the thought of seeing Miles became less and less overpowering, and more a subtle background noise that eventually faded until he could hear nothing but occasional echoes of his old friend's voice, and the memories of his fingers on his skin, god, he could no longer recall.

      It all seemed so long ago, so distant. He never really let go, but he learned to live without him. He kept himself going through school and always wondered why he never passed Miles in the corridors, or saw him in class. it was like he'd completely vanished. He wondered if he'd moved away, or simply not moved at all.

      He couldn't lie, he'd thought about knocking on Miles' door, or throwing a rock up at his window but he also knew that this was his decision. He'd caused this, and it wouldn't be fair to go running back. Not to Miles, and most certainly not to himself.

      Because being with Miles hurt, but he wasn't sure if being without him hurt even more. He couldn't remember the pain since it'd been so long. He couldn't compare his current pain and he just wanted that one last time with him.

      He'd tell himself it was for perspective. To help him remember how hurtful Miles could be, how much shit he put him through but really he knew that he wanted that one last time whether it gave him perspective or not.

      Because the pain didn't matter anymore. Anything had to be better than this crippling loneliness that Whiskey had been feeling ever since he turned his back on his friend that night as he sat there on his porch, a bottle in hand.

      And maybe in different circumstances, Whiskey would have found his current situation quite amusing. Perhaps twenty years down the line he would look back on this and smile fondly, at the parallels between Miles and himself.

      At the fact that there he sat, on the last concrete step of Miles' porch. If he dared to look at his watch, he'd see it ticking one minute past three and realise that the only thing missing from this parallel is a half empty bottle of Whiskey.