miles baines: riff-raff! street rat! (mimicks) wrote in emillion,
THE APPROACH: rhys & miles.
That, finally, made the mime’s usual frenetic energy trickle to a halt. “Ah,” he said, as the cogs turned and some of the missing pieces finally started to click together.
Silence fell between them for a moment, with nothing but the sound of the wind over the moors and a few mountain birds cawing in the distance. Miles squirmed inwardly, fishing for the right words. “Well, then,” he began, faltered, then continued, “I’m sorry for springing this all on you. And for the record, if it were a real wedding and not a sham—say if I got some poor woman pregnant and rapidly had to save face, hah,” a weak laugh, “then I’d probably be paralysed for choice between you and Thomas.”
There was more he could say, more admissions he could give—but Miles was allergic to it, they both were, and so he stopped for now. (All for one, one for all.)