Blueprints of the Prowler’s gauntlets are strewn across the floor, along with his nunchucks and his bed’s comforter.

Quivering heaves drag in and out of Miles. Tears dribble down his cheeks, dampening your nape. After his dad died, he vowed to never cry again, to be strong. It’s just so exhausting.

Sitting in your lap, his long leg sprawl along the floor behind you, his nails dig into your back.

When Miles woke up, he practically had a flashback, seeing his dad get shot right in front of him in his cheap, homemade Prowler costume.