So Illegal (No Evil Is Seen With These Eyes)

Rating: G

Fandom: OC

Ships: LNR/Miami

Warnings: stalking

Miami is cuter when he’s not making a fuss over all this silly nonsense like “how’d you get into my flat” and “get out of here before I fucking scream” and “ if I ever see you again I’m pressing charges. ” 

She sits at the edge of his bed, leaning over him, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Inhale, pause, exhale. Pause, inhale, pause, exhale . A part of her, silently, wants to reach out and touch him, feel the kinky, tight coils of his hair between her fingers, lay against his chest and listen to the thud-thud-thud of his heartbeat. But she has learned, over many visits, what will and won’t wake the eternal object of her affection. 

He’s just lost his way, she tells herself. Miami will find himself crawling back to her in no time. Why else would he threaten to scream, hit her, but never to call 999? Truly, if she was ever an invader in his home, he’d call the police, or his bothersome watchdog of an older sister would. But neither of them ever seem to so much as think of doing that. Wouldn’t it be the easy way to get rid of her, if they hated her so much? If they thought she posed a threat?

But that’s how Miami is. He doesn’t put weight behind his words. No get the fuck out has ever really made her scared enough to leave. But still, she walks the line; while Miami is too soft to really retaliate against her in any meaningful way, Eilidh isn't, and Eilidh could tell if Miami so much as breathed wrong in his sleep.

Just a little, though, she tells herself, careful not to disturb his slumber as she tugs at the thick, fluffy wool jacket he’s snuggled up to, pulls it up to his chin to keep him warm and cozied up. She wonders to herself whose jacket it really is. She knows Eilidh Blair wore it in public in the time before Escort, when he still branded himself as a punk-rocker; and then a few months more at some public appearances as Bass Bunni, when it suited an attempt at presenting herself as a playboy. And when Miami still dated her willingly, it had never been a staple of his closet- but ever since, he’s hardly gone anywhere without it. How curious.

She smiles and brushes a hand over the jacket, nails softly scratching the wool. It’s as close as she’ll get to truly touching him until he finds his way back to her. And that’s okay; she’s perfectly content to watch him sleep.