#cleohalliwell02

Walking was a fucking chore, as Miles stumbled towards a particular destination in mind. He had been overreacting about the breaking rib, but it didn’t hurt any less to breathe. He definitely looked like a mess and then some, and the looks he was getting from the people passing by only confirmed that it wasn’t just what he wasn’t feeling on the inside. But he couldn’t go home. Miles didn’t want to go home, because going home would mean going for round two with Jason, and for his Ma’s sake, he wouldn’t start another fight. For the kids’ sakes too. He wasn’t a hardass, Miles wasn’t; he loved his family, and that’s why he hated Jason so much. 

He was at Cleo’s front door, hoping she would be home. And not ask questions. Oh why are you all bruised up? What can I say, sweetcheeks, I’m a fighter not a lover. Okay, maybe one question he was willing to answer. But why at Cleo’s front door? Simply because, after everything that had transpired in the days after their...dalliance, the man couldn’t help but feel like a kinship to the blonde, finding her company comforting, and the only one he needed right then. 

Knocking, he tried to keep it casual, play off the bruises like a bad boy’s ruse and tried not to wince in pain as he leaned against the wall. “Hey girl, did you call for some bad boys with a side of your boyfriend?” Just because he was injured, didn’t mean Miles still didn’t want to flirt.

Lourdes: Cleo wtf

Lourdes: you were supposed to cover for me!

Valentine’s Day wasn’t usually Miles’s kind of holiday. He was usually opposed to celebrating, whether it be Christmas or his birthday, and Valentine’s Day wasn’t getting any different treatment just because. Like any other day, he was working at Iris and Eve, but he got to clock out before the evening rush, which meant that he would be at home, just....fucking around, he guessed. After all, like every year, he had a plan like clockwork; change into his oldest sweats and tank top, kick back with a pint of ice cream that he lifted from Reina’s stash and just pretend to be a movie critic with the romcoms that played on TV all night long. By the end of the night, he might have even mixed the ice cream with some alcohol, before passing out and walking up on his couch with a backache like no other, and a hangover well deserved for being such a Grinch over a holiday of love. 

But Miles had nothing to feel guilty about; he didn’t have anyone to ask out, after making the decision to back off with his infatuation with Naomi. Their kinship was very dear to his heart, and he still loved her like family. But there was an old adage about moving on, and that’s what he was going to do. At least he had shot his friends a text, saying that they were welcome to come for a watch party and receiving nothing in return. He decided to get on with it early, mixing some vodka into the praline and caramel gelato he found, unopened in the freezer and assuming it for himself, while he stuck his legs up on the coffee table, channel already playing Love, Actually. “Pfft, old school.” A movie Miles had criticized every Valentine’s Day, simply because it took place during Christmas and the logic of it all didn’t make sense. 

But then there was a knock at his door, and a half tipsy Miles slowly shuffled towards it, and opened it to reveal his unflattering self. “Oh hey there! Unless you’re here for Reina, in which case, she’s not in my room. Have you tried her room? If you’re here for the watch party, you should have brought your own vodka and ice cream, because I’m not sharing.”