starliiqhts

[starliiqhts]

another night of picking the scabs. opening the wounds until they’re raw again. it’s what he does, when there’s nothing else to do. when there’s no other voices or distractions surrounding him to keep him from digging. 

it’s too late when willow gets there. the casual bleeding has begun. miles is wallowing. pathetic about it, feeling sorry for himself over nothing and everything. 

a deeply unlovable person, he’s decided he is. willow seems offended by this when he tells her. annoyed even, maybe. but she’s still stroking his hair. letting him get snot on her jeans as he throws his pity party in her lap. he feels guilty about it all. more so the burden of his emotions than the snot, but that too. 

“what are you talking about? i love you.”

he knows she means it but he doesn’t feel like accepting it. “give it a few years.” he knows this, too, with as much certainty. loving him has an expiration date.  

“miles.” his name is spoken with more patience than he thinks he deserves. “you’ve been my best friend for eight years. you’ll be my best friend for another eight years.”

some people may find comfort in those words. miles, though. “oh god, is that the cut off?” he wails. “only eight more? i’m gonna fucking kill myself -”

she cuts him off before he can fill her in on his plan to end it all in seven years. so she’ll mourn properly, still loving him. 

“and then another eight. and another.”

“you think we’ll both live that long?” he loses the energy to be argumentative, shoves two fingers into the hole in the left side of her jeans, just to tickle her knee and bother her. she doesn’t smack his hand away. “we’ll be…” a long pause to do the math. “oh. in our fifties. probably alive.”

“probably alive.”

“and you’ll still like me? you think?” 

she smooths his hair back again. “i think it’s a pretty safe bet.”

[starliiqhts]

Louis for his exclusive interview with Radio One International

[starliiqhts]

miles is supposed to be thriving right now. he is thriving, in theory. he’s on top of the fucking world in theory. new album release, praise, multiple acting projects lined up, he’s on tour with his best friends. he’s in europe, for god’s sake. so why the hell is he so miserable still? 

he’s alone in a hotel room in london, which isn’t helping. their second london show wrapped up hours ago, and he was fine at first. still riding the high of it, adrenaline keeping him in good spirits, evan and dalton hanging out in his room with him. but then dalton goes to bed, and evan ditches him when sabrina calls to say goodnight from a different timezone. 

and miles is alone. 

a part of him wants to blame his spiral on that girl with the green hair, who he’d met after the show that night. she showed up with a fucking t-shirt on with a photo of him and tatum on it. some blurry paparazzi picture of them out one night in los angeles, tatum on his back, kendall and her eye roll cropped out of the photo. ‘child of divorce’ written under it. it made him consider quitting the band entirely, for a second. “awful photo of me,” is all he said about it after staring at it for an inappropriate amount of time. great photo of her though, is what he doesn’t add. doesn’t need to. every photo of her is a great one. 

she’s been on his mind a lot already, really. she always is. even when he’s properly distracted, when he’s busy, when he’s surrounded by things to do and people he loves, he always has that nagging thought in the back of his mind, tatum should be here. tatum would love this. it’d be better with tatum. 

singing about her every night doesn’t help. singing about heather, or heath, or anyone else he’s ever written about after they passed through his life - he’s detached from those lyrics enough. they’re just songs now. the tatum songs are still tatum songs. it’s like he’s reliving it every night over and over and over again. so yeah. he’s having a hard time, and now he’s alone and spiraling in fucking london by himself. can’t call anyone, can’t do anything, can’t go out because ryan would kill him if he gets lost or something. and he’d rolled his eyes when ryan first said that, but he’s right. miles doesn’t know his way around. he wants to call archie, but then remembers he’s in los angeles anyway. and even if he wasn’t, he’d probably be asleep. it’s past two now. 

he doesn’t even want to leave his hotel room, but he does kind of want to get drunk. he hasn’t in awhile. he’s stopped drinking as much as he used to. the allure of blacking out, sleeping with strangers, drowning himself in distractions - it lost it’s appeal when he realized it wasn’t even working. the hangovers were also a bitch. he’s getting old. he’s switched to smoking which, he knows, isn’t much better. one unhealthy coping mechanism for another, but it calms him more. works faster, too. 

but he has nothing with him now. and the thought of drinking alone, emptying his mini bar, is kind of depressing. so, to the hotel bar he goes. that doesn’t count as going out, he doesn’t think. ryan can’t yell at him for this.

it’s a nice little bar. he’d crinkled his nose when he saw how pretentious and fancy the hotel they’d booked was, but he’s changing his mind now, because alcohol. 

he orders a couple of what he remembers being tatum’s favorite drink and downs those first, because he is feeling a special kind of pathetic tonight. then he switches to old fashioneds, and keeps those coming, because this bar gives two little cherries per drink, and he likes that. he likes drinking at a bar, because he feels less alone than he is. the bartender makes small talk and he’s just doing his job, but he’s good at it, because miles feels like the guy gives a shit. the alcohol is also definitely doing it’s job, too. 

the bar’s pretty empty. it’s late. the poor bartender probably actually hates miles and wants him to fuck off, but he’s not drunk enough yet. when he’s on what he swears to himself is his last drink, a woman comes up to him. one of the few others left. a little older, but not old. she kind of looks like evan’s mom, if evan’s mom had bright red hair, which makes him smile at her. she’s nice, so he lets her sit, lets her talk to him as he finishes not-his-last drink, orders one more. just one more. she’s nice, until the niceness becomes too nice, and he knows she wants to fuck him, and he considers it for a split second. 

but like he said - sleeping around lost it’s appeal. nothing fucking works anymore.

there’s also the fact that every time she touches his arm, which she keeps doing, his skin crawls. he feels guilty, for no reason. guilty for rejecting her, guilty like he’s doing something bad by letting another woman touch his arm in the first place. but who? who is he wronging? a girl who never wanted him back in the first place? 

he pays the redhead’s tab because he feels bad she wasted her night trying to fuck him, and he slinks into the elevator, up to his room. he crawls into bed, head spinning, and that’s when he does it. took him four years, but his resolve has shattered. he picks up his phone and calls tatum. 

she doesn’t answer, and he tells himself it’s because she’s asleep. it’s probably close to eleven there, by now. maybe midnight. he’s not good at calculating time differences. if he was, and if the room wasn’t spinning, he’d have thought before calling her so late. he’d have thought before calling at all. 

but alas. 

he leaves a voicemail. who leaves voicemails nowadays? other than bankers and agents? he should have hung up to leave a voice note or something but he’s already here and, as established, not thinking very clearly. 

“tatum - i’m so sorry -” already slurring. off to a great start. “you’re asleep, probably, i’m really sorry. i hope that didn’t wake you up. i’m sorry, i didn’t - i didn’t think about the time - it’s so fucking late here, god. i’m sorry. fuck, i’m sorry for so many things. i don’t even know if i need to be. i don’t know anything. i’ve been clueless and going crazy for like, four years, about all this. about you.” 

he’s counting the time they ‘dated’ in that. because it’s true, he spent that entire time losing his mind wondering how real any of it was, how she felt. he just really spiraled about it in the aftermath. 

“tatum…” he says her name again, just because he’s really missed saying it. “tatum, do you hate me? can you just - can you tell me, if you hate me? i can’t really tell. i don’t know why we stopped… we stopped talking. after. and i can’t remember if it’s my fault.” can’t blame this on the alcohol. he’s been wondering for two and a half years, who sent the last text. who stopped replying first. who made sure the distance became permanent. 

“did i pull away first? i know i left, but you were already - i mean, we weren’t talking anymore, and you had that fucking guy with you. you picked up kendall and you were already with some guy, and it was killing me.” he tries to not sound as jealous as he is, but he thinks bringing it up two years later gives him away. “it’s still killing me. i still love you.” 

it slips off his tongue so easily, but he’s never said it before. not really. he’s made loud, public proclamations of it, in front of their friends. telling her he’s so in love with her before kissing her, dipping her, anything to make everyone around them cringe. he’s said it, but never in a way that made it clear he meant it, and god, he always meant it. 

“i love you,” he says again. “and i know you don’t feel that way about me and that’s okay, i just - i wanted to get to say it at least once.” his slurring has gotten worse, eyes closed as he speaks, feeling like he’s seconds away from falling asleep right there on the phone. he very well may, because he has more to say. “it’s been so fucking long and i should have told you then. i don’t think it would have mattered. i know it wasn’t - we weren’t - you never felt it, not really, and that’s - that’s so okay. i hope you know it’s okay. i never fucking - never even hoped for it, it’s so impossible to imagine because you’re so, god, you know. you were the girl of my dreams and you still are and i can’t get over -” 

there’s a beeping on the other line that makes him jump, makes him drop the phone onto the pillow in surprise. for a second he thinks it’s her answering, but it’s not. it’s just his time running out, end of voicemail. probably for the best they cut him off, or else he’s not sure he’d ever have stopped.

[starliiqhts]

“do you wanna hear some of the new stuff?” it’s innocent, when kendall asks. she always shows tatum the new stuff the band’s working on. their long-awaited second album is finally close to done and she’s been eager to share, because it’s fucking good. it’s like all four of them have sat on their best ideas for the last two and a half years and had so much to share when the time finally came to get in the studio all together. 

they’re never shy about letting friends hear stuff early, it can be helpful, getting that advanced feedback. but kendall’s not here for feedback or critique at this stage. she just wants to squeal about how good her band is. 

it starts so well. there’s a faint flicker of something on tatum’s face when miles’ voice comes in on the first song, but then kendall blinks and tatum is back to shimmying with her, before she can really pinpoint what emotion that just was. it keeps going well, until potion. 

kendall winces. “oh, this - um, we can skip it? it’s a very miles song -” which means it’s a very tatum song. a very sad tatum song. how can such an obnoxious loud mouth (she says, with affection) churn out nothing but sadness to a pretty tune? kendall will never understand what goes on in his brain, and she never wants to. 

“no, don’t skip any -” tatum insists, so kendall lets it play. it’s not, she doesn’t think, directly about tatum anyway. just general yearning.

the next track isn’t as vague. “okay, i think we should actually skip this one.”

“kendall, you don’t have to try and skip every miles heavy song. i promise, it’s okay.” 

and kendall isn’t going to fight her. it’s been two years, after all. longer. miles may not have totally moved on, but maybe - hopefully - tatum has. it’s not like she won’t hear the songs eventually anyway, right? maybe it’s a good thing she gets a jump on them. 

but god, it’s awkward. 

sure, miles never directly specified to the band the song is about tatum, but none of them are stupid. he’s not dated seriously since. and it only takes knowing him to be able to piece the lyrics together. 'now i'm back on your coach, frozen peas to my head -’ they all saw the photo of that night, sent to a group chat by willow, him all bruised up and curled in tatum’s lap. peas and all.

so, yeah. they all know the songs are all about her. 

or not all of them, it seems. 

because tatum doesn’t look like she’s registering this at all. 

“god, you’re like, actually totally over him?” kendall blinks in shock, hitting pause as the next song starts. she isn’t ready to move past this. “i don’t know how you can handle listening to something like that written about you.”

it’s not too harsh, it’s miles after all, but it’s not the sweetest song he’s ever written either. ‘kept it tight to your chest, at someone else's expense. that doesn't sound like real love.’ the dig at her moving on within weeks. saying he wishes he could delete their entire relationship. 

kendall would be distraught if juno ever said anything like this to her. god forbid they ever broke up. she shouldn’t even be thinking about it. can’t risk manifesting. 

kendall still doesn’t know the entire story of why miles and tatum broke up. for a minute there, after witnessing their big fight, she thought maybe miles had cheated, but both of them denied that - and thank god, because she’d have had to kill him. and she’s quite fond of him and of their little band family, so that would have sucked to do. what she does know though, is that whatever happened was so bad that miles spiraled and moved across the country because seeing tatum so much was too painful, and he’s been writing his sad little songs about her ever since. 

they’d been obsessed with each other, sickeningly so, so she finds it hard to imagine that tatum had just… not felt the same? it’s the one subject that they don’t discuss much. nothing else in their friendship is off limits, they tell each other when they pee, what they eat, what movie they’re watching at midnight when they can’t sleep. kendall tells her everything about her relationship with juno, has always talked about her crushes and the like, and it’s always been mutual. but the miles relationship remains something tatum just… doesn’t go into detail on. 

maybe because he’s kendall’s friend. it’s the only reason she can think of - and she’s pondered many, many reasons. as a semi-professional meddler and gossip, it’s what she does. but she just can’t figure it out, she just knows it feels odd to her. as do tatum’s reactions to the songs. 

“kendall,” tatum says. “that is not about me.”

kendall can only blink again. she has no idea what to say, because what? 

“tatum, babe, are you fucking serious?” she asks, as delicately as she can. “that song is absolutely about you. i would bet my literal life on that song being about you.” 

that look is on tatum’s face again, and kendall cannot read it. it’s not sadness, not quite, but maybe a touch of something close to it. kendall just continues. “the peas, tatum? the peas? that was right after you guys started dating. i know it’s been awhile, but that was you with the peas. on your couch. i don’t think there’s literally any other person he could be singing about. he’s an idiot but he’s not that clumsy for that to be a common occurrence for him.”

tatum still doesn’t seem to believe her, so fuck it. “okay i was gonna skip fly -” she sighs, skipping a couple songs to get there. she stares at tatum as the song plays, miles whining to another pretty melody. “literally - packing up his things? tatum, he moved right after you guys broke up. what is not clicking?” it’s not even close to the most accurate lyric, but kendall is pointing at what she can to convince her. 

she pauses the song before it’s even completed, shaking her head. “trust me. tatum, they’re about you. he doesn’t write about anyone who isn’t you, girl.” finally, it looks like tatum seems to consider this fact. kendall touches her hand. “sorry, if you were trying to like… not think about it, or him. but i thought you’d expect it. i mean, it’s the first project since you two broke up. of course he’s going to write about you. god, you should see how many songs aren’t even going to make the final album. like, the poor guy hasn’t stopped writing since that october or whenever you guys broke up.

“we literally had to have a talk with him, because if it was up to him, this would be the most depressing album in the world - and we said, hey, you’re so talented, baby, but how about a song not about your sad little heart? and he was like, ‘i know, i’m sorry, but i haven’t gotten all of these feelings out yet.’ and we said, okay, honey, we get that and we’re sorry. get them out. but give us something else too if possible. and he said that he really is trying but his mind always goes back to the same place. and obviously by ‘place’ he meant ‘person’ and by that he meant you.” 

she pulls her hand back, leaning back and sighing. “i’m paraphrasing, it was a longer, less serious conversation, but he really said that.” she gives tatum a sad smile, knowing she’s probably processing all of this. if it was kendall, she’d be laughing that someone was still this down bad for her. but tatum’s always been kinder. 

her voice softens, and she leans in again as if anyone else was around to hear this secret. “he’d kill me for saying this, because i know he wrote that one song about like, not wanting to fall back to you or whatever,” she whispers. “but he’s so totally not over you, tatum. like, he’s still not even dating again. i think he went out on a couple, and was hooking up like, a little bit awhile ago. i think he was sleeping with someone for a few months, but it wasn’t serious, which i thought was weird, because miles likes serious. i don’t have to tell you that, i guess.” 

she sighs again, like the gossip exhausted her. she’s held a lot back though, all the miles related things she’s observed over the past two years. this feels like her only chance to spill, but it’s not just gossiping to gossip. it’s gossip with a purpose. she’s trying to prove a point here. 

“i can’t even mention you without him perking up like a little dog hearing the word ‘treat,’ tatum, it’s kind of sad,” she mutters. sighs again. “okay, sorry for all the miles talk, i know you hate it. i want you to hear the song me and dalton wrote about wanting juno to get me pregnant.”

[starliiqhts]

they’ve been filming for a few weeks now but miles is only now starting to really feel like he’s found a slot for himself among the others. unusual for him, to not acclimate quicker, but he’ll blame it on the fact that he’s not exactly around as much as the regulars. he’s not certain yet if he’s even gonna survive the final episode. his importance level is just…. less. which is fine, he’s just happy to be here. he’s heard them talking about rewrites for him, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. does it mean less scenes? a quicker death? god, does he suck that much? it’s his first big job and he just hopes his nerves aren’t showing up on screen. 

however slowly it took him, he’s comfortable now, is the point. comfortable with the people around him. really comfortable around this heather girl. she makes his palms sweat and the way she giggles in his ear in between filming their make out scenes makes him a little dizzy. that may not sound like comfort, but it’s the good kind of panic that she causes in him. 

he’s also comfortable around all the kids. it’s hard to not be. they’re such little balls of chaos, always energized, always loud, always chatty. he has no choice but to keep up, and he thinks he does so the most naturally, which may be why they gravitate to him when he’s there. 

some more than others. 

miles is flirting with heather in catering, letting her make fun of him as he uses a flimsy plastic knife to try and slice an apple for her, when he feels like they’re being watched. struck by the same feeling, heather glimpses past miles’ shoulder. 

“you guys wrap up?” she asks whoever is there.

before miles can turn to see who it is, evan is flopping his body down beside miles, joining them. he loudly scoots his metal chair closer to him, so close that when miles shifts, he accidentally steps on evan’s foot. evan doesn’t seem to notice. 

“yeah, for right now,” evan says. he turns even more in miles’ direction, and miles can sense his attention is wanted.

miles pushes heather’s poorly sliced apple over to her, stealing a sliver before turning his head and meeting evan’s eyes. he’s looking at him in a way that makes miles a little sad, but he can’t explain why. he just knows it makes his stomach twist a little. 

it’s not the first time he’s seen this look either. it’s kind of the way evan always looks at him, with wide excited eyes and something like admiration. “he thinks you’re cool,” heather had teased him once, after evan had asked miles if he wanted to come get dinner with some of the others that night. “he asks about you sometimes, when you’re not on set. so does roscoe. they all think you’re cool for some reason.” he remembers being that age, thinking his older sister and her friends were the coolest people ever, so yeah. he kind of gets it. 

he remembers jesse used to look at him like that, too. that may explain why it makes him feel the way it does. 

“did you do the guitar on dirtpicker, too?” evan blurts out, and miles just stares at him for a moment. it takes him a second to even understand what he’s referencing. “that’s you singing, isn’t it? did you play guitar, too?” 

he nods. “um, yes? yeah? what - how do you know that?”

he doesn’t mean it to sound rude, he’s just surprised, is all. but he sees evan’s cheeks go a little pink, and miles feels bad for embarrassing him so easily in the way all twelve year olds can be. so quickly, he keeps talking. as if his additional rambling will help anything. “i - yeah. yeah, i did drums on a couple songs. did guitar on that one. did vocals. why? does it suck? be easy on me, man. i was in high school still.” 

evan grins again and miles lets out a breath. that enthusiastic look in evan’s eyes has returned again. “no! it didn’t suck! the guitar was so good. it’s my favorite one. it’s so cool you’re in a band. do you still play with them?” 

“uh, sometimes,” he answers, because the honest answer is a little longer. him and the band are all spread out now. despite two of them being his roommates, one of them is in school, the other is already playing with another band, and miles isn’t sure their future is too bright as a group. it’s just him and santi when they do jam out, sometimes logan if he’s willing to drive up between classes. but he doesn’t want to dim the light in evan’s eyes again, so he gives the half truth. “we do, when we can.” 

“that is so cool,” evan says again.

miles steals a glance at heather, sitting back in her chair, watching with a hint of amusement on her face. she has not heard any of his music and now he’s very afraid this will prompt her to listen. despite evan’s praise, he’s not as confident in his own skills. like he said, he was still in high school when they recorded the ep they released. 

“i play, too,” evan continues, which doesn’t surprise miles to hear considering his excitement. “not for long but i’m learning, but we should play together sometime. would you want to?” 

and how can miles say no to that? he nods. “hey, for sure. totally. that’d be fun, man.” 

when evan is called back to set, and it’s just miles and heather again, she laughs. “are you going to play with him?” 

miles shrugs, fiddling with the plastic knife again just to have something to do with his hands. “maybe. could help him learn, if anything.” 

“that’s so cute,” heather teases. “he wants to be in your band. iron beach: kidz bop edition. but, wait, i didn’t know you sang in your band? a man of many talents, hm?” 

his cheeks flush and evan is the last thing on his mind after that, only focused on the way heather makes his heart race when she says stuff like that. 

/

fast forward a few months, things are the same but different. miles survived the season, got an offer to return and be promoted to a regular, and even more importantly - somehow got heather to agree to be his girlfriend. he wasn’t sure what it’d be like, once they left atlanta, back to los angeles. normal lives, not in their little bubble down there. but it’s nice. it’s really nice. she spends a lot of time in his living room, laughing with him and santi, and he spends a lot of time at her place, too. in her bed, mostly. 

it’s pretty great. 

he also did, in fact, accept evan’s offer to play with him. more than once because, as it turned out, evan’s not half bad. during their first jam session, back in atlanta, he’d been a bit clumsy with it, but it was clear there was a passion there, and a natural talent for it that just needed some fine tuning. miles is far from a professional, but what help he could provide, he did.

back in los angeles, they kept hanging out, kept playing. heather said once that it was sweet of him, to humor evan like he is, and maybe that’s what it was the first time. but genuinely? it’s nice. for a lot of reasons. first off, he’s missed it. there was little he loved more than sitting in logan’s garage or ivan’s basement back home and playing music with them. it feels good to have that again. 

it also feels good to have evan look up to him the way he seems to. always looking at miles for praise or approval after playing something new, always looking amazed anytime miles shows him anything. he soaks up his attention and his friendship and advice as if miles’ words mean anything. it’s filling a void that he’d thought was too big and too empty to ever fill. 

santi sits with them sometimes, strums along and gives evan advice since santi was someone who helped miles himself learn, but it’s dallas who joins in the most - someone miles only met recently, after returning from the first trip to atlanta, who he met through other musician friends, new to los angeles and passionate and always interested in being around other artists. (dallas’ words. miles would never call himself that. not back then.) dallas and evan seem to get along well, and there’s just something about the three of them playing together that feels… kind of right. 

but miles doesn’t think much of it. not even when iron beach finally decides to disband officially, not even when evan starts subtly suggesting band names for the three of them, not even when he starts saying he has a friend who is really good on drums. 

it’s fun, and he’s come to love evan like a brother, but he’s also a kid. does he want to feel like he’s babysitting every band practice? he’s not so sure. 

he’s also not sure when he changes his mind, but he does. it’s late 2017, and they’re back in los angeles after wrapping season two, and it’s the four of them in dallas’ apartment. kendall’s slowly started joining them, and she’s young, too, but undeniably talented. kind of funny, he remembers his little sister being a fan of the disney show she did as a kid before quitting acting for school. rose was stoked the first time miles got kendall to say hi on facetime. 

there’s just something that feels good about the four of them, that’s all he knows. playing together is fun, writing together is easy, hanging out is pretty much all he wants to do - especially after the great big dumping he took from heather, he needed constant company, and they were always there. between miles’ first big heartbreak, evan’s first big crush following a certain redhead joining the cast for the new season, and dallas and kendall’s own respective histories, they had albums worth of material for songs, and they got to work. 

“are we like, doing the band thing for real?” it’s kendall who asks. they’ve been talking about getting a studio for a day, to get in and record a few things, and it’s felt official without being made official. she’s the one who finally brings it up. 

they all look at each other, as if making sure they’re all on the same page. but of course they are. they have been this entire time. 

when miles looks at evan, evan is already staring back at him. the look on his face reminds him of that day in catering, almost two years ago. wide, eager eyes glued to him. “yeah, i think we’re doing the band thing for real,” miles nods. 

evan practically leaps off the couch, an ear to ear grin on his face as he lunges for his phone. “i have band name ideas!”

[starliiqhts]

FLORENCE PUGH Who What Wear's May 2025 issue

[starliiqhts]

You could be my silver spring...

[starliiqhts]

august 2021

the morning after, he barely remembered how it started. how did they even start kissing alone? they never did that. 

his head throbbed when he sat up. oh, yeah. alcohol. yeah, that’s how it started. wasn’t that the blame for everything in your twenties? alcohol and dizzying affection that’s only intensified under the influence of the former. 

they’d been sharing a chair in the corner of the party and kissing in front of everyone, because kendall was already annoyed at them and they decided it’d be funny to make that worse. but kendall was the last thing on miles’ mind as soon as their lips touched. kissing a little deeper than usual. hands roaming a little more than usual. her hand was in his hair, grasping it, giving the occasional gentle tug that was making him lose his mind. he got a little lost in it, kissing her neck once before realizing shit, maybe that was crossing a line, but her head tilted to the side in encouragement and that was all he needed. 

“get a room, oh my god -” kendall sounded disgusted, and miles laughed against tatum’s lips before kissing them again. she tasted like something sweet, like strawberries from the frozen drinks he’d been making for her, and kind of like candy, too. maybe her lip gloss, maybe actual candy. he couldn’t get enough of it, whatever it was. but that probably had less to do with the taste itself, more to do with the tatum of it all. 

his body was reacting to it all. not for the first time near tatum, admittedly, but it was the first time he couldn’t hide it. couldn’t go into another room or adjust subtly. tatum shifted in his lap and he knew she felt it, and they both paused, lips still touching, noses brushing. his eyes still closed because he didn’t want to see the potential horror in her eyes as she realized he was enjoying this more than he was supposed to be. he started to say something, apologize maybe before quickly moving her from his lap. but then she kept kissing him anyway, lips soft and insistent against his like she didn’t even notice. or like she had, and was encouraging of that, too. 

that was when it started to feel different. real. it was the first time he allowed himself to think that maybe she wanted him, too. maybe not as deeply, as emotionally, but physically, maybe, at least. 

that made him feel like shit, usually. the realization he was good enough to fuck but not enough to love. this time, with her, he was only thinking that it was an honor to have her crave him in any sort of way. however she’d take him. 

his teeth nipped at her bottom lip and she moaned and he knew he couldn’t keep this going here out in the open anymore. the party was so chaotic now that no one was even paying attention to them anymore, but as shameless as miles could be, even he had limits. 

the risk was there, he knew saying anything could break this spell, but there wasn’t another option other than to ask, “do you wanna -” referring to kendall’s repulsed suggestion. they were already sharing a room, would have to return there together at the end of the night anyway. 

he held his breath but didn’t have to do so for long, tatum nodding. she whispered something he couldn’t make out, someone cheering in the distance, laughter and music so loud that he couldn’t hear her even so close. but he didn’t need to. he could see her nod, see the corner of her mouth turned up into a grin, see the same want in her eyes that mirrored his own. 

no one said anything as they stood, his hand in hers as they went upstairs.

they should have talked more about it. they should have talked at all, but they didn’t. not after, not before. plenty during though, but not about what it all meant, if they should be doing it, if they were crossing a line they wouldn’t be able to come back from. no, none of that, just breaths of “can i -?” and “that feel okay?” and “yeah, that’s it, you’re so good,” and “come on, one more, again for me.” endless gasps of praise and moaned assurances that it feels good, she’s doing good, it’s all so good. 

the talking stopped soon after. a few more whispered compliments before mouths were too busy kissing again, lazily, sleepily. even after she tilted her head to the side, panting for air, he couldn’t help himself. he held her tighter, kissed her jaw, her neck, her bare shoulders. he’d kissed every inch of her tonight and he would plead to do so again if she didn’t look so exhausted. he was too but he’d find the will if she wanted him to. 

when he fell asleep, it was with an arm around her waist, face pressed into her neck. maybe it was a mistake, but only because going forward, falling asleep any other way would be torture. the same for waking up alone, because he’d never felt more bliss first thing in the morning than when he opened his burning eyes far too early, head throbbing, to find her curled against him. a different position than they’d fallen asleep in, but their bodies had found ways to stay connected even while unconscious. 

again - they didn’t talk, once tatum woke up. miles pretended he hadn’t been awake for nearly half an hour, watching her, unwilling to disturb the moment. he knew the illusion would shatter once he did, so he just held her for a little longer. until her eyes opened, she rolled over, and just like that. pop goes the bubble. 

“oh god, my head,” were the first words tatum groaned. miles laughed - then winced, because god, his head. 

he sat up, one hand rubbing her shoulder. casual affection. not unusual. not if they ignored that she was naked, just as he was. “i got you. i’ll find something.”

boxers were pulled on and then that was that. he stumbled to the bathroom to find advil, got them coffee, water, offered food as if nothing had happened last night. back to normal. maybe that was the best option, because what was the alternative? her voicing how much of a mistake that was? him voicing how much it meant to him, only to have her be weirded out? 

no. this was the only way it could go. miles should be thankful. disappointed that she didn’t decide to confess her true love for him? sure. but thankful, that she’s teasing him about the piece of hair of his sticking straight up at the back, that she’s asking if they can go get breakfast with kendall and ryan, that she’s still comfortable around him, that she’s still his friend, if nothing else. 

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Betty Cooper in 3.02: Chapter thirty-seven "Fortune and Men's Eyes"

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miles doesn’t get embarrassed easily. but right now he’s really fucking embarrassed, and that’s the main issue here. he also has a nose that won’t stop bleeding and he may have a concussion and his head is throbbing. and tatum is here, which is so embarrassing. that’s the worst part of this entire night.

of all people, of course it was sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted tatum who stayed by his side on his way to the hospital, telling him he was okay and to please keep your eyes open, miles, hey you can’t go to sleep right now, honey, and wiping his face for him so he’d stop getting blood in his mouth. 

he looks gross, and she had seen him eat shit down a flight of stairs because he was trying to make her laugh but has no grace whatsoever hence the eating shit, and now she’s holding his hand as he bleeds all over himself. humiliating evening for him. she hadn’t even laughed, which is the actual worst part.

he’s not dying, at least. they confirm he isn’t concussed, and they got the bleeding to stop, so it’s okay. tatum’s being sweet. she hasn’t let go of his hand. that’s what he’s thinking; that no one else is even here right now to witness the display, this is just her. just doing this to be nice, just the two of them.

but then that bubble gets popped, because willow shows up. had he called her? had tatum? they gave him some pain pills for his head and he can’t really remember. he’s not unhappy to see her though. it’s willow, of course he’s not. not until she opens her mouth.

“oh, you've out-dumbed yourself,” she says, looking equal parts concerned and amused somehow. whoever reached out, they’d clearly told her what happened. 

he hangs his head and tatum’s thumb drags over his knuckles. “i know. my head hurts.” 

“it looks like there’s an egg burrowed into your skull,” willow alerts him. he had not known that. add it to the list of things he’s embarrassed about. he reaches up to touch it, but tatum pushes his hand down. 

“leave it be,” she says, not demanding, just caring. “it’s not that big. they said it’ll go down overnight, we just have to put something on it for the swelling.” 

had they said that? he’d missed that. god, he’s glad she’s here. 

willow shakes her keys at them, here to take them home since they’d taken an uber to the hospital. miles is cleared to go, even though he’s still hurting. his ego, mostly. but they can’t help him there. 

as they leave, tatum lets him put his arm around her shoulders, and she clings to his hand. it feels so real. he’d fall down a dozen more flights of stairs for this kind of treatment. it’s worth being embarrassed for this. 

“can i come over to your house?” he whispers, words a bit slurred from the meds. 

tatum squeezes his hand. “yeah, of course.”

his eyes linger on willow, who is a few steps ahead of them, leading the way through the parking lot. “can willow come?” he asks. he changes his mind about her words making him unhappy. she was right, he was dumb. he wants her around. she makes him feel better.  

“yeah, she’s driving us, miles,” tatum reminds him, gentle and with the patience of a saint. 

“is she coming in?” he asks.

“if she wants to,” tatum says. they get to the car, and miles reluctantly lets tatum free of his embrace so they can both get into the familiar backseat. “do you want her to?”

“yeah.” he cranes his neck to try and find her, already on the other side of the car to get into the driver’s side. “willow, do you -” 

“i’m coming,” she answers. 

miles grins, looking at tatum and nodding to confirm willow’s coming, as if she hadn’t heard herself. he’s going to say something else but then she touches his forehead so delicately he barely feels it, pushing hair from his face. she’s not staring at his eyes, but at his swollen head, so he stares as adoringly as he pleases at her. 

“we’ll get some frozen peas on your head when we get there, okay?” she says. 

he just nods. “thank you, tatum. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to be a dumbass.” 

“it just comes natural,” it’s willow who speaks up, even though her apology hasn’t come yet. it would have been next. he feels bad she came to pick him up. 

it makes him laugh though, which makes him wince. “i’m gonna lay on you,” he grumbles before doing just that, laying in the backseat, head on tatum’s lap as she strokes his hair. he falls asleep, finally allowed, for a little bit, until they get to tatum’s and fall into the exact same position, except on her couch. she holds a frozen bag of peas to his head and doesn’t even scold him for complaining. just keeps it there for him with one hand, her other scratching his arm in a way that makes his scalp tingle and has him fast asleep within ten minutes.

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My fenders don't really whip me into a verbal frenzy

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU 1999, dir. Gil Junger

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turning 25 is flashing lights. sunglasses on at a party like an asshole until the girl on his arm complains about the brightness herself. slips them onto her face, gets a red lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth in exchange. more than a fair payment. more than he deserves. it’s repeatedly being pulled away, drinking with different friends, greeting different people. always slinking off to get back to her side. slipping out the door by midnight to end his birthday the way he always wants to. shitty fast food with his best friends and the sweetest girl he’s ever loved. 26 is an empty apartment. no couch and no kitchen table. just a pile of unpacked boxes. it’s meant to be a fresh start. heartbreak in the past, a new city to lose himself in. it’s a dozen ‘you don’t have to come all the way here for my birthday, it’s really fine’ texts sent because he doesn’t want to burden his friends who didn’t flee los angeles in search of something that doesn’t exist like he did - most of which are ignored, his empty apartment not so empty by the end of the night. wine and sushi on the floor. smoking on the balcony with carson once everyone else goes to sleep. all of them enduring resting on thin blankets and a hard floor, just for him, leaving him feeling equal parts guilty and grateful.  27 is an ocean. a big boat and an island and endless drinks and fresh fruit. constant wrinkled fingers. trying not to drown. pretty girls who give him attention and who taste like salt water when they kiss him. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. distractions. 28 is more shots than he needs to indulge in. a spinning room. his band kissing his face. his best friend feeding him cake. slinking away to inhale the spring air that smells more like stale cigarette smoke than flowers. staring at his phone. trying to will texts to come from a guy who within another week will have stopped replying for good. it’s a brave face until the last shot is the one that pushes him to his limit, and he has to be coddled, tucked into bed by his sister. 29 is a tour bus. a single candle that nearly lights his blanket and his lap on fire as the entire band tries to cram into his bunk to bring him a birthday song and a muffin. it’s dressing room snacks and laughs and a plastic birthday tiara in his hair on stage. sweat and a sore throat and cheers and cheers and more cheers. shallow love that he lets himself soak in because anything feels good nowadays. but it’s real love, too. from his bandmates, from his sister and best friend who both fly in to surprise him, from the angel of a girl who reaches out to him for the first time since new years. it’s greasy sandwiches and salty fries and cold beer, back on the bus. overcrowded bunks. warmer than he’s been in years.

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such a cutie patootie with his cute little grandpa sweater

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sex and the city | 2.04

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Well, as you all know, it's Parents Weekend, so we wanted to do a quick check-in to make sure everyone is feeling emotionally prepared, because we know, well, not everyone's family is perfect.

The Sex Lives of College Girls 3x05 "Parents Weekend"