it was strange, after everything that had happened most people would assume that miles’ first instinct would be to toss out his camera and never even go near journalism or danger again but here he was, walking the trails and enjoying the semi-decent weather with his camera still held out in front of him. it wasn’t for a story, though he was sure the footage would make good b-roll if he ever needed it. if anything the camera seemed to serve as a shield and he would bet money that if he ever decided to see a psychologist they would tell him that he used his camera as a way to distance himself from the real world. like if he didn’t fully acknowledge everything than nothing bad could happen. which also wasn’t completely true because if he let himself think about it, he could feel the walrider and if he wasn’t careful and he lost control than the thing would cause chaos. so really, there was no shield miles could possibly use. he had to face life and his camera and his job and the dangers that came with it made it all more bearable. at least that gave him something else to think about from time to time.
when he comes across the stranger on the path, miles can’t help but be taken off guard with the reaction he gets. his first assumption is that the other has seen his scars and is afraid - it’s happened before- but then the words register and suddenly he’s narrowing his eyes and maybe this person isn’t a stranger after all. there’s something vaguely familiar about him and the itching just underneath his skin makes it seem like the walrider knows this person somehow ( or maybe it just wants out, miles really doesn’t know ).
“alright, i’m going to need you to take a deep breath.” he’s still trying to figure out who this person is and the rambling certainly isn’t helping. “i’d love to accept the apology but it would mean so much more if i knew what your name was.” usually, he’d probably try and go for a reassuring pat on the arm but he has a feeling that the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated in this situation.
waylon was timid, but he had always been honest. it’s what had landed him in the mess at mount massive to begin with really. now, however, he feels sick with the truth, especially when he realizes he was correct: miles doesn’t know who he is, nor should he have any reason to. waylon could walk away, stammer out another apology about mistaking miles for someone else, and be done with it.
he could, but he wouldn’t. of course he wouldn’t. how fucked would that be?? the very notion brings a weak laugh from between chapped lips. god, he must seem ridiculous right now. he just -- he doesn’t know what to say. nothing he can say is going to change what miles had surely gone through in that hellhole.
besides, no matter how willing waylon is to push past his panic and bare his truth, he still finds himself clamming up when miles pushes for his name. his tongue feels like lead; when he opens his mouth to speak this time, his words are slow and stunted, forced -- nothing like his rambling from earlier.
‘ my name -- it’s waylon. ’ his breathing is labored, despite miles’ earlier prompting, and waylon twists and tugs at his wedding band to try and ground himself. it works, but only as a means of resignation, ‘ waylon park. the email about murkoff....about mount massive. it was me. i sent it. ’ and then, because it seems as if the filter between his brain and mouth is all but severed now, he finds himself adding, ‘ i took your jeep. ’
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