Miles didn't have depression. Or anxiety, for that matter. Don't give him that look! He knows what your thinking.
It's the same thing his psychiatrist thinks. He still doesn't know the difference between a psychiatrist and a therapist, or a psychologist. Is it the same thing? It's like that one running gag in Bojack Horseman, about managers and agents being different, where Princess Caroline-
"You're drifting again." Dr. Hart stare burns into him. Eyes like chips of flint. Scary woman. Very scary.
Her name was a stupid doctor name - Kevin Hart's gonna sue for stealing his name.. or some shit. He's still thinking of some better joke for her, okay?
Work in progress.
The room looked like someone had sucked all the joy from it. Weren't these places meant to be inviting? Welcoming? Comforting?
The wall was a dark green, the floor a black carpet and red chairs placed next to each other. And, of course, the classic red therapy couch to lay on. Miles sat on it, refusing to allow himself to be comfortable.
Dr. Hart has the same idea, sat stiffly and stoically. Does she ever smile?
The colour scheme makes the room look darker than it is, Miles feels like there's been a power outage and neither of them are addressing it. No one addresses the turned off lights either.
"How?" Miles shoots back - He doesn't 'drift', he just gets distracted. His mind is just a little foggy, lately. You get it, don't you? That feeling?
It's not depression.
Why is he here? Still?
Legs nearly folded over, pencil skirt pulled a modest length, Dr. Hart was the picture of professionalism. It made Miles feels like he was in some sort of meeting, not a session. It made him feel on edge. He's half-expecting someone to come in and tell him he's fired.
He half-expects that at his actual job, anyway. This lurking feeling that he was hired by mistake.
His attitude goes ignored by Dr. Hart, she merely adjusts her glasses. He hates how better she acts, how higher-than-thou she is. She isn't better than Miles.
"I think..." She starts, slowly, gauging Miles reaction. "That you'd benefit from 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨-"
Miles knew where this was going and he's quick to interrupt, "No-" He shakes his head. "No medication." He wasn't becoming one of those zombie-people drugged up on Zoloft or Prozac or...
"Why are you so opposed to this?" Is her calm response. She never lost her temper, no matter how many times Miles was short with her.
Sometimes, he's a prick to get a reaction.
She never gives him one.
"I can do this myself." He assures, bouncing his knee. He could.
He has too.
"I'd feel better if you tried." Is the only reply. She writes out not one, not three, but two prescriptions.
He doesn't bother looking at them, but he gives a polite smile, hands a bit trembly on his lap.
"So, uhm. I have a coupon."
______________________
It was Gwens birthday gift. The coupon thing? Because that shit is expensive anyway.
He felt shitty, because her last birthday he forgot and painted her a portrait last second - Of her and her cat. And the other cat.
He didn't forget this year, though.
Honestly, his present should just be showing up to her birthday party because he really doesn't want to go. All the people - drunk people - and shit music and.. ugh.
But Gwens his best friend and he loves her and its her birthday. So he's sucking it up with a smile and a present.
If youve ever been on the New York subway, you know it somehow always stinks of piss. As the train rolls up, the stench just hits Miles, and he can't help but wonder...
Is it multiple people keeping up the stink, or just one man running all around the different subway stations and pissing all over them. Or maybe its dog.
Whos he fooling? Its most definitely human(s).
Stepping onto the train, he slings his backpack to sit on the front and not his back. Its a bit paranoid, but subways aren't known for the lack of theft. Or piss.
Is he gonna smell like piss when he gets there? Or what if he already smells bad and no ones told him?
He does a quick glance about, seat to the left and right, trying to gauge if there's a barrier between him and other people. A barrier of 'this guy stinks.'
He can't smell himself. But what's that phrase? If you can smell it a bit, others can smell it a lot?
If he can't smell it at all, they must smell it a bit. Right..?
He keeps cologne in this bag for this type of thought-train. No pun intended.
Cause he's on a train..?
Maybe a small pun intended.
Miles did this thing for 'Urban Photography' final in highschool. All the themes were so boring, so Miles photographed different graffiti covering all the different trains in New York.
Some of it was his own, and to this day, he still sees some work from his teen years. It's like a ghost, waving at him.
A hand stretching out from the past.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶?
𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦?
There's too many versions of Miles lingering in this city. Too much history.
He tries not to think about it.
_____________________
Miles often overestimates how hard to knock on doors, and hurts his fist.
Gwens apartment was one big DIY project. She's always been crafty, to be fair, and calling out repair people when things break is fucking expensive.
Her flat reflected her personality, all covered walls and posters. Her wall decore didn't really fit a theme, she just.. kinda rammed a load of shit together.
It works, it does! Organised, but messy.
Bit paradoxical, like Gwen.
The door swings open, revealing a very frazzled Gwen. She's throwing her arms around him in a second, with an excited squeal.
Miles doesn't have time to blink before he's being tugged inside, the door shutting behind him.
He gets the chance to take a proper look, and She's not even ready for her own party yet. Make up half done, her hairs curled at the end, wearing joggers and a crop top.
"Happy birthday," He gives her a grin, because it's classically Gwen to not be ready. To he fair, Miles came a little earlier.
He doesn't like walking into a party while everyone's already there. Too awkward.
"Ah! Don't, I'm getting old." She jokes, gesturing for Miles jacket. He surrends it as she ushers him further inside, the first one to show up.
"24 ain't exactly old.." Miles points out as he's bought to the kitchen. He sets his gift down and props himself up against the counter.
"Yeah, and I hang out with 22 year olds.." She huffs.
"You're sulking."
"Am not!"
"Mhm..."
She's pulling random bottles out her cabinet and placing them on the table. No mixers are yet to appear.
Miles birthday isn't for a few months yet, he got stuck with a December birthday. Arguably the worst month for a birthday.
"Soo.. How are you?" Gwen asks, but she keeps her head down. She pulls two shot glasses out from... her arse or something, Miles can't see properly. Guess he's doing shots. "You okay?"
Her tone is prying, a bit sheepish. He ignores the question and motions to her gift, pushing it forward.
She eyes up him up, and he points to it with his lips.
"How are you?" She asks, again.
"Good. Open your gift." He insists, with another nod to it. She just keeps staring, before finally glancing to her gift.
She finally notes the Christmas wrapping paper and smiles. It's a bit dorky.
Her childlike excitement takes over, her eyes practically sparkling as she tears it open, subtly sliding a shot over to Miles while she does.
"Oh- Mills! You didn't." She gushes, pulling it from the box.
Her Polaroid camera broke a while ago, and she couldn't be arsed getting a new one. So Miles did. He dropped a lot of money on that thing, she better like it.
She leans over the counter to gives Miles a brief hug, nearly spilling the shot glass. When she pulls away, she gives his face another hard look. Her hand stays on his arm, near the crux of his elbow.
"I love it. Thank you," Her voice drips with earnest, and Miles nearly cringes. He was never good with mushy shit like that.
He just laughs, "Yeah, yeah. No problem."
She squeezes his arm before pushing the shot glass again.
They clink glasses, before Miles brings it to his lips,
"Cheers!"
____________________
Who actually likes parties? You? Anyone?
Miles has a theory. Everyone hates them, and just pretends to like them because that's what they think they should like.
Or maybe people are just fun. Like the drinking and seeing friends and music, but..
Not for Miles. Not at the minute.
He's spending the current minute shimmying Gwens window open, so he could escape out onto the fire escape.
He's so sure she isn't even aware it's there. The window slides open, and he finds himself stepping out, one leg at a time.
Suddenly, he's 16 and sneaking out through his own window. The air, cold and smelling of autumn, hits his face.
It bleeds with nostalgia.
But nostalgia can be a deadly thing.
He told you earlier, didn't he? About those ghosts that linger about the city? All different versions of him. All still waving, lost in the past.
He pulls out a cigarette.
He's meant to be quitting.
Promise.
Lighting it, he finally allows himself to take a moment. To breathe.
Bringing it to his lips, he sits down on the rusty fire escape. The view is just bricks, the building next to this one. He wishes he were on the roof, wishes to see the skyline.
He loves Brooklyn, but no one can beat Manhattens cityscape. It's so beautiful, especially if your looking across from the bronx. Across the water, shining and sparkling, that glamorous place.
Brooklyn is his home. But, fuck, Manhatten is pretty.
Smoke lifts into the air, a blue hue tinging it for a breath, before it disappears into the wind.
His mamì would be pissed if she knew.
Like he ain't grown.
The window slides open, but Miles doesn't acknowledge it. He was here first, he isn't going inside first.
Miles takes a quick glance - Holy fuck, he's tall.
It takes a hot minute for him to shimmy through the window, and stand to full height. It wasn't ungraceful, he had his legs under him in no time.
Miles has never met a real life punk before. He stares for maybe a second too long, before he gives one of those awkward nods of acknowledgement.
His social battery isn't sufficiently charged enough for this interaction. He's already pulling his phone out, scrolling on his lockscreen.
The Punk speaks first, a simple, "Y'alright?" As he leans back against the wall, eyeing up Miles smoke.
His voice is so fucking deep.
He can't start bugging right now over a guy, who he can't even see properly, just cause he's got a deep voice.
He nods, the red-light end waggling as he pulls the thing from his mouth to exhale.
"Fellow smoker?" The guy asked, very rhetorically. He doesn't give Miles a second to nod, before he carries one, "Mind if I bum one?"
He's feeling burnt out from this conversation already. Wordlessly, he pulls out the pack and kinda.. shoves it near him rather than pulling one out. The awkward action has his hand sweating.
Apparently, it's not that weird, because the guy just pulls out one. He points to the one facing up, "Flip a lucky, right?"
Miles gives a polite huff a laugh with a nod.
He doesn't have to pull out his lighter, because the dudes already got one.
"Thanks," He nods. Has he noticed Miles hasn't said a word yet? Is he being rude? Arrogant? He hasn't even properly looked up yet.
Fatigued bitch-face should seriously be recognised more. If he looked up, the poor guy would assume he hated him.
He tosses his cigarette onto the floor, crushing it beneath his shoe.
His hand trembles a bit, his social anxiety already claiming him victim. Does he smell bad? Is he being too quiet? Is he coming across as rude, passive aggressive?
He remains quiet still.
The dude clears his throat - even that sounds deep - mouth opening yet again, smoke pushing out with every word. "So, you known Gwen long or?-"
Miles is moving past him, opening the window to escape the interaction. Miles had this problem a lot, of needing to go calm down in a quiet room, but having this air about him that he's rudely storming off instead of.. just being a mess.
"Fuck you, then."
He picks his head up, hands stilling in their movements. When he looks at the guy, finally granted a proper look by the light in the hallway, and - Oh god.
Piercings. So many piercings. And big lips. And more piercings.
He's smiling at Miles - And it finally clicks that he was.. joking? Maybe?
"Sorry." Miles says that word a lot. Apologises for taking up air. But, he was being rude.
His mamì raised him better.
"I'm more social after a drink," He tries to joke, even though its not a joke, and it made him sound like an alcie.
"Sure, man." The guy nods in understanding, his hair moves with his head. Miles hasn't really seen wicks before, but they look clean and looked after. The whole guy just looks.. clean. Put together.
Bit ironic for a punk, they're meant to be clashing in every aspect.
The guy pulls off both.
"Catch you after you've had a drink then?"
Oh. He's not flirting, is he?
No, he's British.
Why does that matter? It doesn't, but Miles is blaming the friendliness on that. Who ever knew British people to be friendly?
Miles smiles, and nods.
____________________
After a drink, Miles found another punk. This one had a proper mohawk, but it made making out with him awkward, because he can't really touch his head too much.
Whys Miles making out with a stranger?
Cause he hasn't had sex in 6 months and wanted the intimacy. But, he's hiding behind the flimsy excuse of being drunk.
Lips move against his, a hand cradles the back of his head. The guy was an okay kisser, but one thing that irked Miles..
Miles liked having the bottom lip. But apparently, so did this guy. So Miles is stuck with top lip and a bit of stubble.
Whatever. Miles bottom lip is his best lip out of the two anyway. He doesn't know when or why he decided that, or why he even decided to pick a 'best lip.'
He was always a victim to those stupid tiktok analysing beauty trends that are slowly killing everyone. Was he deer pretty or fox pretty? Deer, apparently.
He needs to focus.
The guys lips are wet, his hands constantly moving. Miles suddenly remembers why he hasn't had sex in 6 months.
It makes him feel like an object.
Having someone grope and paw at him - It's a strange feeling. On one hand, he feels used. On the other, it was a bit of an ego boost. Knowing someone wants his body, to kiss his lips-
He doesn't like the feeling that much.
Once those hands get a little too adventurous, Miles smiles into the kiss, before breaking it.
Be polite. Act drunker than you are. Politely leave.
The guys staring at him, like he needs more. He's considerably more sober than Miles.
He looks like he physically needs more.
One more kiss.
One more touch.
Just to satisfy him.
The night moves like a blurr and eventually Miles is off mohawk man - Not before some less than subtle groping.
Miles didn't say anything, and more importantly, he didn't say no.
He's nursing a half drunk bottle of the worlds shittest beer. The smell creeps up from the cup and burns his nose. The brand used to be really good, but it got bought out and become shit within like a week.
He still drinks it. His therapist would say that means something - That he can't let go off the past, or accept change. Maybe it means he's longing for a simple time.
Or maybe, Miles would argue, a shitty beer is simply a shitty beer.
He drinks it anyway, because he can either be sad at a party, or be sad and drunk at a party. Which is the better option?
Miles never really liked being out of control of his body. For some reason, it keeps happening.
He's practically merging with the couch by the time Gwen plonks down next to him, throwing her legs over his leg and sitting impossibly close.
He doesn't bother reminding her about personal space, and how she's invading it, as she leans closer. "I gotta tell you somethinggg," She drawls, whispering like a secret.
"Yeah?"
She leans closer still, eyes wide and.. so fucking blue. He feels the need to apologise for looking into them without permission.
"I love you," She proclaims, the slurr in her voice removing some of the meaning.
"I love you too," He replies back, easily. The smile on his lips is mainly amusement, not moved by the proclamation.
"No, no!" She protests and shakes her head, "I love you. I know you don't believe that sometimes-"
"Gwen," He interrupts, almost a warning. He can't stand this mushy shit. He knew, he didn't need to be told.
He knew.
"No, let me finish." She insists, arm finding its way over Miles shoulder. She was always so touchy.
Miles thinks of the mohawk guy.
"I know-" She starts again, pausing as her body sways, "I know you're not happy. And I need you to know I'm here for you-"
"Gwen, I'm fine." He lowers his voice to a hushed whisper, the idea of accidentally causing a scene makes his face feel hot. The look on her face tells him she doesn't believe him.
He sweetens his face, softens his tone. "Trust me, babe. I'm fine." He promises, hand finding her shoulder to squeeze it.
She leans in closer, eyes analysing. Unsaid words linger in her mind, not quite reaching her tongue. All the things she could say, Ask, plead. She settles for simple repetition.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Then, she's vanishing like smoke on the wind.
And Miles can be alone.
Sometimes, he thinks that's what he wants, but other times, he isn't sure.
Now is one of those times. Where loneliness creeps in, despite being in a room full of people. He people watches a lot, sees the connection, the love. He resents it as much as he wants it. Jealously, maybe.
Feeling alone in a room of people isn't a unique experience. It's just crushing.
Before Miles can dwell too long on the feeling, someone is sitting down near him. He recognises that punk.
Not mohawk punk.
"You had a drink then, yeah?"
His voice is so deep, and smooth.
"Hi. Yeah." Miles is definitely less anxious, but social interactions with new people always had him a bit rigid.
Except when he's kissing them.
"Yeah? Feeling friendly now?" He's teasing, clearly, judging by the smile on his lips.
Miles doesn't know this guy; or his intentions. Why was he speaking to him?
Miles realises he doesn't know a lot of people here. He never really took the time to meet Gwens friends.
He wasn't always a good friend to her.
"Yeah, yeah. Definitely." He nods, trying to smile as politely as he can. He wasn't gonna walk off again, is what he meant.
There's another pause in the conversation. Mainly because Miles isn't adding anything too it.
"Soo.." The guy looks around the room, like a conversation topic would magically appear within the room. "Saw you getting friendly with that guy before. You and him..?"
"Oh, no." Miles shakes his head, "Uhm, yeah. I'm drunk at a party, so why not?"
He doesn't have a real reason for kissing that guy. He was just.. Did he even really want too? It's weird, that he didn't consider that. He just did it.
"Yeah, why not?" The guy echoes back, a small smile on his lips. He's been there, done that. Maybe not with same motivate. Not feed by the same bad feelings. "You single then?"
"We playing 20 questions or something?" Miles attempts a joke, "Yeah, I'm single."
He was gonna leave it at that but.. He feels bad for this guy. He was clearly gunning for a conversation, and Miles wasn't giving him anything to work with. So, he continues. "God, I'm on those stupid dating apps, and I swear its just a barrel of the worst people to exist."
"I mean, yeah. There's gotta be a reason theyre single, right?" The guy nods, seemingly agreeing.
"I don't figure out the reason till we're on the date." Miles complains, because that's his second best talent. "I went out with this one girl," It was a guy, but Miles lies. Why did he lie? "Anyway, she was really into like, all this military shit -- She didn’t even serve, by the way, cause I asked -- and it was like.. super dark."
The guy nods along to the story, offering a laugh here and there. "Yeah? Whats wrong the military?"
".. A lot?"
"The date then - It not work out?"
"Uhm, as well as they usually do, you know?" He kinda shrugs - The guy turned out to be a total dick. "I'm so close to deleting my dating profile. I dont even really want a relationship, anyway."
He can't read the look on the guys face as he says that, but he asks another question. Clap if youre suprised. "So, why keep it?"
"I get super paranoid, you know? About deleting it, then literally 3 seconds later, my perfect match joins." He shrugs again, trying to excuse his behaviour. Is that weird?
"I get that." The guy nods, "You believe in relationships, then?"
What does that even mean?
"Jesus, this really is 20 questions." Miles quips, and the guy is grinning at him again, all teeth and sharp eyes.
Miles resists the urge to gulp under that stare.
"Can be."
They got 10 questions in before the conversation dissolved into a side topic, as conversations often do.
Miles finds it surprisingly easy for once. Not the usual boss style fight scenes he deals with, each word a dialogue option to perfectly please whoever he's talking too.
People pleasers, and all that.
He's learned that Punk is a tattoo artist, is in a band, favourites colour is black - but Miles could've guessed that - he has 23 piercings, too many tattoos to count, he has a cat, and 'doesn't believe' in a long list things. Seriously, half the answers Miles got were 'I don't believe in [....]'
But, they conversation carries away from the game.
He's nodding to the beer in Miles hand, neglected and alone. "Thought I was the only one who liked that shit." Punk comments, trying to find common ground.
It's shaky ground, at best.
"Used to be better," Miles murmurs, staring at the bottle. "I wanna sue whoever it was that bought them out."
Miles doesn't think he's said anything particularly funny, but punk guy still laughs.
"Yeah, right on, mate." He shakes his head - This guy is expressive. He tosses a hand over the back of the couch, body turning more to Miles. "I swear, if you buy a company out, theres gotta be a rule or summat so you gotta change the name to the parent company."
Miles hums, "Yeah, I know. But they'd probably find a way around it." He was very quick to give up on things.
"Yeah, fairs. Probably rename themselves after their most popular brand, actually."
Miles nods his agreement, "Totally." He tilts his head back, never one to be great at eye contact,
The guy continues, clearly trying to further the conversation. Miles doesn't understand why, really. "Either way, fucked up my beer."
Miles hums, again. He's running out of emotes to do at this point. "Yeah, I know. I wanna like, time travel back and buy 20 cases."
Yeah. That adds to the conversation. Miles mentally gives himself a pat on the back, before reminding himself most people don't find social interactions this hard, and not to reward himself for, at best, thinking of a mediocre reply.
At best.
"You old enough to buy 20 cases?"
The question catches him off guard, and also confuses him.
"What?"
"You old enough to be drinking?"
"If your an undercover cop, you're pretty shit." Miles comments, "Yeah, why?"
Punk guy rolls his eyes, giving Miles an unamused stare. "I'm tryna ask how old you are."
"Oh." Miles feels a bit silly. Before he can ask why, again, he just answers. "Uhm. Twenty-two."
Punk guys face morphs into .. something. "That's fucking young, mate. You mates with Gwen?"
Miles must've not been informed of the age limits to friendships - Can't be friends if your 15 months younger.
He fixes the guy with an incredulous look of his own. "I'm 23 in a few months,"
"Ohh.. Okay. Yeah, makes sense." He nods, "God, am I old?"
Why does everyone and their nan feel old tonight?
"How old are you?" Miles asks, simply because he was prompted. He didn't really care, in all honesty.
"Twenty-five."
Miles can't read his tone, but before he can answer, the guys asking another question.
"You like older men?" He's teasing again, a joking smile across his face. "You like men, period?"
Before Miles can stop himself, he points out, "You're laying it on a bit thick."
Shit.
That was meant to be an inside thought.
The guy puts his hands up, shoulders shaking with a laugh. "Oh-kay, message received." He drops his hands, "We can start off as friends, yeah?"
Miles glances at the clock, it's getting late. He should go soon. "Yeah, maybe." He pauses, and..
He pats his leg, standing up.
God, he's such a pussy. He just wants out this conversation.
He wants connection, he wants to make new friends. But..
Not right now. Later is a better time for him.
God, he's disappointing.
"Sorry, I-" He pauses, trying to word himself correctly. "This already isn't the answer you were hoping for," He prefaces, not bothering looking at the guys face. Like always, he points his finger to his mental health. "As much as I'd like too, I'm not in a place to be.." He trails off, "I wouldn't be a good enough friend. I'm sorry."
He's still not looking at the guy. It feels horrible turning down friendship but.. it's a complicated thing.
"Well," The guy nods, in understanding. Its a better reaction than Miles could've hoped for. "I think you should take my number. For when your in a better place." He gestures for Miles phone. "Or if you need someone to talk too."
"I wouldn't want to bother you. Its fine, honestly," He promises, because he was okay.
He'd be okay.
The guy stares at him, and Miles sees why he and Gwen are friends. They have the same analytical stare.
Miles offers him an olive branch.
"I'm Miles, by the way."
"Hobie." The guy nods, "I'd feel better if you took my number, mate, I'll be honest."
He remembers what his psychiatrist said.
"Yeah. Sure, man."