Chapter Eighteen #2
Miles was sitting on the floor, back against his bed, legs stretched out, quietly scrolling on his phone.
Like he belonged there. Like this was normal.
For a second, I stood frozen—watching him. Watching the way he kept glancing toward the bathroom like he was waiting for me to fall apart again. Like he cared.
I should’ve gone to my own bed. Stayed far away. Kept the wall high and firm and cold.
But...I didn’t.
My body moved before my mind caught up. Slowly, hesitantly, I padded across the room and sat down beside him. Close enough to feel the warmth of his arm. Not touching. Not speaking. Just...there.
What the hell am I doing?
I stared straight ahead, heart ticking fast in my chest like I’d broken some secret rule. But Miles said nothing. He just gave this small, soft smile out of the corner of his mouth and went back to his phone. Like this was the most normal thing in the world.
And somehow...for the first time all day...I could breathe.
Just a little.
The silence stretched between us, soft and strangely safe.
I picked at the edge of the robe’s sleeve, dragging the loose thread between my fingers, staring at the carpet like it held some secret answer.
I could’ve stayed quiet. Should’ve, probably. But something twisted in my chest, tight and sharp, and the words fell out before I could stop them.
“Thanks.”
Miles glanced at me. “For what?”
I gulped. My throat felt tight, like it didn’t want to let it out. “For earlier.” My voice was low, rough. “For...catching me. You didn’t have to.”
Miles gave a soft snort. “What was I supposed to do? Let you face-plant on the floor?”
I almost smiled. Almost.
“No,” I muttered. “But you could’ve. Most people would’ve just let someone else deal with it.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, nudging my leg gently with his knee, “I’m not most people.”
I glanced sideways at him. His easy little smile was there. Not mocking. Not gloating. Just...there. Like this really wasn’t a big deal for him. Like I wasn’t some broken thing too much to handle.
“You’re weird, you know that?” I said quietly.
“Been told,” he said, grinning. “Mostly by my mom.”
That almost made me huff a laugh. Almost.
A beat of silence. Then Miles said softly, “You ever gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”
I stiffened. My heart jumped.
“Not tonight,” I muttered, eyes on the floor. “Maybe...not ever.”
He didn’t push. Just nodded slowly, like he’d expected that. Like he knew I wouldn’t spill.
“Okay. No rush.”
I stared at him. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Nice.”
He grinned wider. “Why are you like this? Grumpy as hell.”
I actually smiled. A real one. Small. But real.
We fell quiet again. The room felt dim and warm.
Miles leaned his head back against the bed, sighing softly like he could finally breathe.
“When I was a kid,” he said quietly, “my family used to pile on the couch and watch movies until we passed out. Popcorn everywhere. Blankets all tangled. No one cared. It was messy and loud and perfect.”
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
“Bet you didn’t get that, huh?” he said gently. Not mocking. Just...sad.
I shook my head. “No. Not like that.”
He turned, resting his cheek on his shoulder to look at me. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
I flinched. My walls tried to shoot back up. My heart panicked.
But I didn’t move.
“I’ve always done it alone.”
Miles didn’t argue. Didn’t push. Just nodded.
“Well,” he murmured. “Maybe you don’t have to anymore.”
The silence stretched again, but this time it felt...lighter. Like sitting under heavy blankets in the dark, but not suffocating.
Miles leaned his head back against the bed, letting out a soft breath like he could stay there forever. I could almost hear his thoughts humming under the quiet.
“So...” he said after a long pause. “What’s your favorite movie?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Movie. You know. Things on screens. I figured you’d have at least one.”
I sighed. “I don’t watch movies.”
His head turned toward me, eyebrow raised. “Seriously?”
I shrugged. “No time.”
Miles clicked his tongue. “That’s depressing.”
I snorted. “Welcome to my life.”
He gave me a side look. “No favorite book, then?”
I hesitated.
“The Little Prince.”
Miles perked up, surprised. “Really?”
I shifted, feeling suddenly exposed. “Read it when I was a kid. Stuck with me.”
“That’s...weirdly perfect for you.”
I scowled. “How’s that?”
He grinned. “Because he’s lonely as hell too.”
That earned a ghost of a smile from me. He caught it but said nothing, thank God.
The quiet filled in again.
“You said you didn’t have any siblings right?” he asked softly.
I nodded. “Yeah, only child.”
“Figures.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause you scream ‘raised alone, fended for yourself.’”
That made my chest tighten weirdly. He wasn’t wrong.
He lit up like I’d handed him gold. “My two sisters are both older. I’m the baby.”
I snorted. “Explains so much.”
“Hey.” He bumped my arm gently. “I turned out fine.”
“Says you.”
He laughed low in his throat. “They used to torture me. Braiding my hair, dressing me in their old dance costumes... God, I have blackmail photos you’d never believe.”
I smirked before I could help it. A real one. Warm.
His smile faltered when he noticed. Like he didn’t want to break the moment.
Another pause. He broke it again.
“Favorite color?”
I groaned. “You’re serious?”
“Yup. I’m dragging the real you out, Vale.”
I sighed. “Gray.”
“Of course it is.” He grinned. “Mine’s yellow.”
“Obviously.”
The quiet settled again. I felt him glance at me but I didn’t meet it.
“You always this tense?” he asked.
I stiffened. “Why do you care?”
He shrugged, gentle. “Because I notice things.”
I gulped, the knot in my throat tightening.
“Because you’re sunshine,” I muttered. “You have to fix everything.”
He chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t like seeing people pretend they’re okay when they’re not.”
I stared down at the floor.
And then, for the first time, I asked, “Why acting? Why not...something else? The real reason this time.”
Miles blinked. I felt him glance sideways at me.
“Because I wanted to prove I could.”
“To who?”
His smile slipped. “My dad.”
I glanced over. His eyes were distant now.
“He thought it was stupid. Said I’d fail. Waste my life. Guess I wanted to show him he was wrong.”
“Was he?” I asked softly.
Miles smiled—small and sad. “I hope so.”
I turned my gaze away. The silence stretched again, but I didn’t hate it.
“Why modeling?” he asked gently. “The real reason this time.”
I froze. My heart jumped.
“Because I had to,” I muttered. “It was this... or nothing.”
He didn’t ask more. Didn’t press. Maybe he knew.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer. I lost track.
“You ever wanna quit?” I asked, surprising myself.
Miles tilted his head. “Every other week.”
I smirked. “You’re honest.”
“Better than lying.”
I didn’t argue.
“Do you like working with me?” he asked.
I paused. The question sat heavy between us.
“You’re not the worst,” I muttered.
His grin was slow. Bright. “I’ll take that as a win.”
The quiet wrapped back around us like an old blanket.
His head tilted toward me, resting against the bed frame. His shoulder bumped mine gently.
“You’re not so bad either, Vale.”
I felt something shift in my chest. Barely there. But real.
Miles sighed. “This is nice.”
I blinked. “What is?”
“This. Talking. No cameras. No pretending. Just...us.”
I stared down at my knees. My throat tightened.
“I don’t remember the last time I had that,” I admitted, barely above a whisper.
“Sounds like your family actually likes each other,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
His head turned. He caught it. His smile dimmed, just slightly.
“Yeah,” he said. “We do.”
I hated the way my throat tightened. The way the words clawed their way up before I could shove them back down.
“My parents...kicked me out,” I said, voice flat. Barely there. “When I told them I wanted to model.”
His eyes snapped to me. Wide. But he didn’t say anything. He just...listened.
“Said it was useless. A waste of time. That I’d embarrass them.” My throat felt dry. I stared hard at the floor, at the way my fingers twisted in my lap. “Said I’d come crawling back. I haven’t.”
The air between us felt thicker. But Miles didn’t speak. He let the silence hold.
“Maybe that’s why I stay,” I muttered. “Why I keep doing this. To prove them wrong. To prove I wasn’t the waste they said I’d be.”
I swallowed hard. My eyes burned. God.
“I know that sounds pathetic—”
“No,” Miles said firmly. “It doesn’t.”
I blinked.
“It sounds like someone who’s fighting,” he added, soft but steady. “Even if you don’t know why anymore.”
I huffed quietly. Bitter. “You’re too nice, Bennett.”
He gave a small smile. “And you’re not nearly as heartless as you pretend to be, Vale.”
The quiet slipped in again, but this time it felt different. Warm. Strange.
For the first time, maybe ever...someone knew. Someone saw.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, breathing out slowly.
“I haven’t said that to anyone,” I admitted. “Not even Lena.”
Miles shifted beside me, his knee brushing mine. “Thanks for telling me.”
I glanced at him—really looked at him. His quiet eyes. The soft patience in them. The way he held it all without pushing.
No one had ever done that.
“You’re weird,” I muttered.
His grin was slow, teasing. “Takes one to know one.”
I fought back a smile.
We sat like that for a long while, side by side on the floor, quiet and strange and not pretending.
And for once, I didn’t want to run.
We sat there for what felt like hours.
Miles kept talking, quietly filling the silence with stories—his sisters, his hometown, his dog who snored like an old man. I let him. I didn’t interrupt.
Because for once, I wasn’t thinking about Victor. Or the shoots. Or the weight of everything waiting to crush me in the morning.
For once, I was just...here.
The clock on the nightstand ticked past one in the morning, but neither of us moved.
I could feel my eyelids dragging lower, the weight of the day finally crashing down. But Miles was still talking—something about setting the kitchen on fire trying to make birthday pancakes—and his voice was low and warm, so unlike the sharp commands or fake compliments I usually heard.
Safe.
My head dropped slightly before I caught myself.
God. I should get up. Move. Say something sarcastic, make an excuse.
But I didn’t.
The floor was cold. His shoulder was warm.
And without meaning to—without thinking—I leaned into it.
His voice faltered for half a second. But he didn’t move away.
Didn’t make it weird.
Didn’t say a word.
I sighed, letting the last of my strength bleed out, eyes slipping fully closed.
I don’t know how long I stayed like that.
But I felt it—felt the gentle shift as his shoulder left mine, the quiet drag of a blanket being pulled back.
Strong arms lifting me. Carefully. Like I’d break.
I should’ve protested. Should’ve snapped something sharp and defensive. But I couldn’t.
I let him carry me.
The bed was soft beneath me. Warm.
I blinked, barely aware of the gentle weight of the blanket being pulled over my chest.
There was no cold laugh. No cruel voice in my ear. Just quiet.
And Miles.
The last thing I felt was the ghost of his hand brushing my hair from my forehead.
Then darkness.