i straight slept in this bitch titty

*** Miles Reed rests himself against the wall as he arrives, settling there for a moment of rest. Eyes drifting across the floorboards for a long-awaited moment of peace. Eventually, finding it within him to draw the key from within his pocket, to push it open- Albeit, at a considerably more quiet, and gentle rate. Peering his beaten and bruised head within the apartment, ensuring the woman that lies within is still asleep, before stepping inside himself. Promptly, locking it shut. Moving across towards the bed, to drop down onto beside her. A hand rested across her shoulder within her seemingly deep slumber, just overtop the pile of bedsheets beside her. Bundled up by hand, it seems. He watches the door vigilantly, almost waiting for something to happen, almost. Yet, remains undisturbed for the time being by the woman caught amidst her dreams.

*** Mara van den Burg seems to stir, ever-slightly. She shuffles about her right, stopped by the seemingly bloodied figure sat close, eyeing towards the door akin to a hound. Her eyes flicker, and the dim, darkened figure of a emblazened, war-toen Miles reflects back at her, eyes unsealed from sleep as they widen, ever-slightly. Thinking the sight's a fabrication of the mind, her eyes are slowly rubbed by an adjacent, cold hands; slowly bringing her back to reality. Her voice drops considerably, and her expression and subsequent body-language seems to tighten, tensing against the juxtraposed condition of him and her.
Mara van den Burg whispers "// war torn."
Mara van den Burg whispers "...Miles..? Wha-"

* Miles Reed turns his head about towards her for a moment; His once more clean blonde hair replaced for what can only be considered a more gritty, dirty tinge, only adding to the overall grimy apperance. To which he drags his hand across the landscape of her, and the mound of blankets found to be beside her to rest his hand by her cheek. Shaking his head, with a faint, quiet whispers "..It's alright, Hon'. Just.. Keep it down, a little." Hand rested, with his attention redirected to the door. A mess of what he once was, with mortar and a streak of blood across his face; To put it short, he looks a real mess. No doubt, a confusing situation for the woman. Coupling the sudden nature of the mans ill-get-up, and her only having just woken up.

* Mara van den Burg continues to sliently stare, panic creeping about her worn down, yet juxtaposed expression; dampening eyes staring brilliantly into his as she refers herself to silence, hands wrapping about his being as a form of faux support, a meek attempt at braving the storm and seeming metaphorical yet metaphysical gates of hell the lone, blonde-haired figure'd been through. The duo remain in seeming silence, save for the constant slamming of doors, commotion and offshore gunfire present about the ever-bloody, busying city streets.

* Miles Reed's breath shakes ever-slightly as she rounds-about to his side, certainly a comforting feeling after the events unfolded just moments before, presumably. Yet, his left arm tightens slightly at the touched, coupled with his own grit of the teeth. "F-Fuck.. Careful with the left arm-- I just.. I cracked it, I guess." A soft sigh passed from his cracked, dry lips - Similarly to his other features, coated in a layer of black dust. Attention flicking back to her, with a sorrowful expression. A simple "..I'm sorry." Emitted from him, slinking his right arm - Seemingly in a more healthy state than the other - About her shoulder to draw in. Adding, only to the continued flurry of standalone, confusing statements "..Just-.. Stay in the apartment with me, alright..? We can't go out for a little while. Just.. While things cool off."

* Mara van den Burg continues to refer to silence, save for the odd sniffle emitted from her rapidly deteriorating expression, her grasp seeming to tighten about his side. She manages a mumbled, half stuttered "...W-Wha- Who- Who did..-", before falling victim to her own, frail demeanour and unexpected disposition, crumbling akin to a building as she seems to collapse about his side, softly sobbing about his arm for a continued moment, pertained only by the shared state of the battered, once idealistic duo. Her breath bates, and she attempts to console herself into solidarity, falling short as she slowly slides herself about the back of him, remaining about his 'good side', instead. She lulls into his shoulder forcefully, now - fearing not for the presumably broken arm as her the unyielding torrent of salted-water expulged and exsanguinated from her tired, illicit eyelids are seemingly quenched by the grimy, blood-stained and subsequently covered right-shoulder of the battered, torn jacket. Her clenches subside, if but-
*' -for a moment, as blood ever-slowly circulates about her paling hands, tearful and damp eyes flashing towards his as various emotions battle for control of her expression; the only result being a pitiful look of, ironically enough - pity.

* Miles Reed turns his eyes back around to her, in a similar fashion welled up with tears. Driven over the edge by the absolute tirade of emotions that had overcome him, in such a short time. His lover, tearful upon his shoulder - And to her lack of knowledge, the loss of his best friend. Lips tighten, hands become clammy, and he struggles for an out-let for an elongated moment with his eyes glazed against the dirty floor. Much akin to himself. Eventually rounding his arm - Once more, around Mara's neck, drawing her into his grubby, disheveled appearance. An immediate cold could be felt, from the nature of the battered clothing, yet soon fading into a more warm exchange as bodyheat makes its exchange. Yet, his left arm remains by his side. "..I'm sorry I keep doing this-- I don't.. I don't /mean/ to, Grace, really- I just.." Speech, falling short. A fumbled explanation which he soon gives up on. Allowing his actions to speak as he instead draws the woman in only closer, his head rested down upon her shoulder in some-
*' form of reassurance, and comfort, that the two would indeed be alright.

* Mara van den Burg seems to remain still, drawn into the exchange with no middling converse brewing of fluttering free, her lips metaphorically sewn shut as her eyes continue to well, collecting water as she shares an emblazoned, desolate stare with the blank, motar and dust coated wall, nearby. Her head inadvertently lulls into his chest, the duo remaining in solemn, lost-as-ever silence; save for the sparse, barely audible breaths expulged from her, and the lofted, curt-filled breathing emitting from him. Yet, within this silence, a new formation brews about her already troubled conscience and internal dialect - blood. Her fearful eyes scatter towards his apparel; lips parting if but for a second as she fails to process speech - some questions perhaps shoved to the side for later or forgotten, entirely. Still - she makes an attempt. "...M-Miles..- Wh- Why are you c-covered in..- blood-", the end seemingly cut short akin to an abrupt, pained ending - her metaphorically buffering, for now -- unintentionally offering him a-
*' -chance for rebate.
Mara van den Burg whispers "// *or fluttering free, ."

* Miles Reed pierces the momentarily dead air with a sharp cough. His shaky, unsteady posture rested against her only further as he mulls over everything in his head. Most importantly; How to present the absurd scenario without inducing any-further panic in the clearly, rather on-edge woman. Truly, he finds himself stumped, with that piercing cough hanging amongst empty air. Lips hung open as he moves to speak, fruitlessly. He holds her ever-closer, forcing speech through the rusted gears of his thoughts. "..I just-.. I don't know how to, really.. Get this /through/." Gentle, soft sigh passing the two as he musters the correct words- Interjecting himself finally "..He came-- But, I mean.. I-It's dealt with, Grace." Shaky voice apparent as he directs his attention from the door, back onto her "..You don't need to worry about it.. We can move on; Soon.. Soon." In some vague, incomplete explanation - But, perhaps enough to get through to her. A hard time explaining such an odd scenario, clearly. But his grimy, dirt-
*' ridden face only nears hers, in continued support with an added "..Don't get all.. All crazy on me, alright..? Parano-- Nah, nah.. Just.. Stay with me, right? We're together - We're safe."

* Mara van den Burg seems to curl her continued expression staring blankly towards the wall, her eyes closing; for fear of never waking up from this seemingly never-ending nightmare. Yet, she doesn't fall through the blackness of her mind, jolting about the comfortable, warm bedding next to a perfectly healthy, both in terms of mind and state - Miles, no. She remains about the plaster-coated room, locked within a heartful embrace between the duo in a errant, pointless attempt to quell either's emotional barrages, Miles' self-imposed and nesscary evils not exactly spilled out or revealed to her, exactly. Yet, somehow - she seems to slot all the uncertainty, all the pain; away - eyes flashing towards the doorway alongside his. They continue to remain in silence.

* Miles Reed sighs out of relief, at the lack of out-cry from the woman, just a small victory on the grand-scheme of things. The true story, unbeknownst to her, and he seems content keeping it that way. Whether for fear of himself recollecting the heinous, horrific memories, or for passing them onto his lover. Similarly, remaining locked in her grasp, as she is in his. Little more to be said between the unstable atmosphere, emotional out-cry on the horizon at a wrong word, and so.. He says little. Nothing, even, in fear of saying the wrong thing. Taking comfort in his lovers embrace from the former apprehension that clouded his mind. Another quiet "I'm sorry." Whispered towards her. "..We're safe, Grace. I promise; Nothing's gonna come through this door besides me'n you, right..?" Seeming to fix to more of a concern at the womans silence "..Right?- You- You're with me..?"

* Mara van den Burg seems to drag her slow, drowned glance free of the doorway; etching it back towards his intrepid, pained and subsequently bloodied expression; eyes staring akin to a scope as he speaks. Ever slowly, she passes a metaphorically mumbled, soft nod - head barely moving within the seeming embrace as she echoes out a muted "...I- I'm..- I'm h-here, 'h-hon. O..- Okay..?-", voice still shaken akin to a cocktail yet not barreling sideways down a hill, relative to before.

* Miles Reed crumples at the womans shaky, slow tone. Eyes welling only further at the seemingly, unsatisfying response to turn away, and towards the door. Hiding his own expressions of upset, and sadness more-so than any ill-thoughts toward her. Pressed lips, and a screwed expression directing themselves to the ruined door. Blurting out, "..I'm sorry." In  a soft sob, past a stretch of saliva that extends itself between each of his dry lips, in his sorrow.

* Mara van den Burg casts a muted, yet understanding sigh, ruffling her grasp about him for a brief; abbreviated amount of time - her unlocking herself from the seeming embrace as to lay her hands about his shoulder, staring towards his face. Her messy, uncoordinated hair concides with his, and for the brief, solitary amount of moments the duo share staring deep into eachother - there's an inkling of bliss, almost; faux in nature perhaps as the mood sours back to it's normal precedent, seemingly. She blinks a few times, mumbling out a muted, yet non-stuttered "...C'mere." as she leans in, lips seemingly meeting his as a means to control his unyielding, concilatory disposition.

* Miles Reed falls into her, as she did him to interlock for an elongated moment. Previous tension alleviated for the most-part, spare for his still reddened, sore eyes which stick out like a sore thumb on the otherwise dry land-scape of his facial features. Her feasible plan seemingly having worked, as he drops his head down atop her shoulder once more; His once self-given role as the stalwart defender of the apartment seemingly, folding in on itself. Relying more on her, than she had done for him throughout the encounter, seemingly. Simple, quiet sniffles as he rests himself against her. But another, continued, repetitive "I'm sorry." In a noticably less quaky voice. A slow incline back from the previously fragile, fluctuating mental state of Miles.

* Mara van den Burg offers a muted, withdrawn shake of the head - the metaphorical tension floating about the room ever-slowly returning to the ground, akin to a feather returning from an endless, bobbing and arced freefall. She seems to fall ever-slowly back towards the ruined, ripped and barely palpatable matress, bringing him alongside him akin to a puppy-needing constant attention, his head lopsided about her chest as the duo remain still, for a moment - laden about the bed as she slowy feels a hand for a offshore blanket drawn to the side, slowly draping it over him as a priority, yet - catching herself, too. She seems to inadventently stroke at his locks, presumibly as a means to quell his seemingly interminable panic.

* Miles Reed silently joins her beneath the once bundled bedsheets, arms wrapped tightly about her through an innate, desperate need to protect what's closest to him, and, really, his own emotional crutch. A few moments of rest before he finds himself twitching oddly; A fear still live within himself, sharply turning back towards the door. A fear of him coming back, presumably. But, with a glance passed down towards her, he befalls her once more. An odd, unshakeable fear about him, it seems, yet it seems to calm when laid out. The two interlocked like many-a-time before, in their usual zig-zag. Silently shutting his eyes, atop her chest. Once more, he finds himself consoled to sleep, like the few times before. Nature making its way between the two, so it seems, with each of them having their use as an emotional crutch for the other. But, Miles drifts to sleep in her arms, with little different than an occasional, twitchy glance to the door, quickened breath, and of course; His rather ruined, dusty get-up. A wordless-
*' 'I love you', from the nights unfortunate circumstances.

* Mara van den Burg seems to ever-softly rock Miles as he rapidly loses consciousness, despite the continued pain and anguish flowing through his mind, akin to the River Wyre. Yet, as he falls - she speaks for him, mumbling a soft; deadpan-yet-genuine "...I love you.", the quip heard before he falls asleep - temporary smile appearing about his visage, if but for a fleeting moment. He falls asleep atop her; arms loosely wrapped about her out of continued tuition and reliance, her placing a soft peck about his scatched, worn cheeky - holding him close as she seemingly seems to mumble her native tongue about herself, eyes flashing longingly towards the illicit, now-resting figure.
Mara van den Burg whispers in German, "...I'm never leaving, 'hon. Rest easy...-", voice seemingly dropped as he drops consciousness completely, her slowly following alongside him as she levers herself downwards; eyes setting themselves closed with an accidental quip of Dutch, rather than English. "Goodnight, 'hon.".