Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The storm outside is insistent and strong, pelting the windows of Miles’ room. It’s unusual weather for New York but Miles has gotten used to unusual occurrences. Earbuds in his ears as he rests in bed, he gets a call from HQ that he isn’t expecting.

“Heeeyyyy! Miles!”

“Lyla?” Miles questions, her tiny form appearing right above him. 

“Yup. It’s me,” Lyla says, emphasizing the ‘p’ sound. “Whatcha doing?”

“Uh… Lying in bed. Listening to music,” he responds. “Is something wrong?”

“Well… kinda. Nothing to do with the Spiderverse itself,” Lyla says, twirling around his room. “You see, Miggy’s been MIA for the past few days. It’s not really a big deal but Jess can’t handle the stress of his job, her job, and her baby all by herself.”

“Oh shit. What’s wrong?” Miles asks. “Does she need a babysitter? It’s been a while but I think after Mayday I can help with anyone.”

“Gwen’s got her covered. I’m here for a different person. You remember when Miggy told you about how he got his powers? Well, he's got one of those killer migraines that won't go away. He’s been holed up in his apartment for days.”

“Ouch. So you want me to pitch in? Take over part of his job? I’m not really good with the administrative side of things,” Miles says. “I can pick up a few missions if you like.”

“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” Lyla says. “I was more hoping you could go and check up on him.”

“Me, check up on him?” 

“Yeah. He’s been refusing all help from his friends. Threw a hairdryer at Ben’s head as he escaped out the front door,” Lyla says. “You’re the last person I haven’t tried yet.”

Miles chuckles nervously. “Uhh… So what makes you think I’m going to be successful?”

Lyla smirks. “You have more influence over him than you think.” 

“Okaaay. That really doesn't explain anything," 

“Think about it this way; the last time Miggy willingly embraced someone was his daughter,” Lyla says, taking her glasses off to wipe the lens. “Until you started coming back from Nueva York. I’ve never seen him so affectionate with anyone in a long time.”

“And that will translate to me not getting a hairdryer to the face how?” Miles raises an eyebrow.

Lyla groans. “How can men be so absolutely blind sometimes?”

“Lyla?”

“Please, Miles. Just try for me, okay?”

Miles sits up, setting his sketchbook to the side. “I mean, I’ll try. But I don’t even know where he lives.”

Lyla smirks. “Except you do. Remember when he asked for your watch?”

“Yeah. He said he programmed a…” Miles freezes as the gears start turning in his brain. 

“… place that you could go to if you ever felt overwhelmed,” Lyla finishes. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah,” Miles says, mouth suddenly dry, heart stuttering. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll go. Will you let him know that I’m on my way?”

“Can do!” Lyla chirped. “Good luck!”

“Yeah,” Miles murmurs. “I’m going to need it.”

He sends a text message and leaves a note for his parents on the counter, telling them that he would be gone for the next few hours helping a friend and that he would be back as soon as he could get back.

Miles arrives just outside of Miguel’s apartment in the middle of the night. He lets the door scan his retinas, door clicking open shortly afterwards. As quietly as he can, he steps in, shutting the door softly behind him.

There are no lights on, blackout curtains covering any windows facing the outside, making it nearly pitch black. Still, he can tell that it’s a typical apartment he would expect out of a futuristic version of New York, though it is more spacious than most, likely to accommodate Miguel’s larger than life height. Sparsely decorated and barren of personal effects, he quietly maneuvers into the living area, setting his stuff on a nearby table. 

It doesn’t take him long to locate Miguel, even with the lack of light. He’s sprawled out on the couch, a face mask over his eyes.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me. Lyla should have warned you I was coming?”

“I’m going to reprogram her when I get back to Command…” Miguel grumbles. 

“Hey. No need to do that,” Miles says, keeping the volume of his voice low but present. “Is there anything I can do for you? She said your head has been bothering you for a few days.”

“Leave.”

“Ouch.” Miles says, keeping his voice as nonchalant as possible, a sting of rejection piercing his heart. “Harsh. But-“

“Damn. That’s not what I… I’m sorry,” Miguel sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t gotten much sleep lately. You can stay.”

“But do you want me to?”

“… If it’s not too much trouble,” 

“Yes or no, Miggy,” 

“Yes,” Miguel groans. “And where did you hear that name?

“Lyla said it when she said to come.”

“Of course. Please… don’t use that name when we’re not alone.”

“Aye aye,” Miles says. “What can I do to help?”

“Some water and pain killers would be nice,” Miguel says. “There’s some in the cabinet right next to the stove.”

Miles nods, rushing into the kitchen to retrieve the required supplies before returning to Miguel. The man takes the medication quickly before sighing, the red of his suit illuminating the pained expression on his face.

“Are you cold? Do you need a blanket or…?” Miles asks. 

“No, no. I’m fine,” Miguel replies.

Miles smiles. “If you’re sure, I can leave and let you rest. Maybe check on you in a few hours?”

“Ah…” Miguel says, voice sounding strangely fragile.

“Or I could stay,” Miles shrugs. “Up to you.”

“Do as you like,” Miguel murmurs. Miles huffs a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Alright. You mind if I sit next to you? I’ll stay quiet, I promise,” Miles asks. 

“Please,” Miguel says, shuffling to the side. Miles takes a seat next to him, placing a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. Miguel hunches over, rubbing his temples lightly with his hands. He looks… small. Weak. Vulnerable. A total juxtaposition to how he normally carries himself.

“Miggy?”

“Hurts,” Miguel says. 

“Does it normally last days?”

“Sometimes. My lack of a spider sense makes all my senses much stronger and I can’t shut them off,”  

“What helps? Other than silence and darkness?”

“Laying down. But I can’t get comfortable,” Miguel says. "My room is too cold and this ratty thing was a hand me down from my mother."

Miles hums to himself before he gets an idea. He positions himself against the side of the couch, opening his arms. “C’mon.”

“Hmm?” Miguel asks. 

“Lay across me? I’ve been told that I’m more comfortable than a couch,” Miles suggests, raising an eyebrow. “Just a suggestion.” 

Miguel stares, contemplating his words, before moving to drape his body over his own, head nestled just below his collarbone. One arm circles around his lower back, the other sliding off to the side and around his back, allowing Miles to rest his head in the palm of Miguel’s hand. Miguel is big, in size and in personality. He knows this rather intimately. But it’s different when he has all of Miguel’s body mass pinning him down. Like a living weighted blanket. Miles runs his hands soothingly down Miguel’s back, nails lightly scratching against the soft fabric of his suit. 

Miles exhales, arms tightening around him. He smiles, leaning his head back against the cushions. Cuddling on Miguel O’Hara’s couch certainly isn’t on his 2023 bingo card but he isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. A lot of the things that happened during the year were unexpected, to say the least. Gaining two mentors who cared for him and trained him as if he was one of their own was a nice surprise. Getting the courage to confront the society and the people who had wronged him is something he never thought possible as he sobbed in his dad’s arms all those years ago. His entire relationship with Miguel is an enigma. Strangers to Enemies to Reluctant Acquaintances to… whatever this is. 

Whatever the rooftop share sessions are. The nights spent together cooking or eating in restaurants are. It’s an undefined feeling, strong and nebulous and chaotic, like himself. He’s never experienced anything like it before. Not for his friends. Not for his family.

Only Miguel.

“Why’d you stop?” Miguel asks. 

“Oh,” Miles says. “Sorry.”

Miguel huffs a laugh. “It’s alright. Would you mind rubbing my temples? Gently?”

“I can,” Miles says, carefully tangling his hands in Miguel’s hair. It’s softer than he expects, tickling the pads of his fingers. He removes the mask from the man's temple, setting it gently to the side, before digging lightly into Miguel's forehead with his thumbs. He suppresses a snort at the tiny twitch of Miguel's lips against his skin.

“What’s with the look?”

“Huh? Can you see me…?”

“I have night vision, yes.” Miguel chuckles, red eyes twinkling with mirth in the darkness of the room.

“Whoa… You never mentioned that before!” Miles says, grinning. “That’s so cool!”

“Until it gives you headaches every damn day,” Miguel murmurs underneath his breath.

“Still cool,” Miles says, doubling down on his movements. The sensations of the soft locks against his fingers are soothing, nerves tingling pleasantly. Miguel sighs beneath him, the last bit of tension escaping his body. Miles wishes he could see the man better. To see how he looked without the stress of maintaining the Spiderverse on his shoulders. To see if he looked anything like that photo on his ID or in the videos he had of him and Gabriella.

With his other hand, he lightly traces along the stress lines of his face, around his cheekbones, up towards his forehead, and down the bridge of his nose, again and again. Miguel had shouldered so much responsibility for so long, alone. And he still kept moving along, kept putting one foot in front of the other. While his ability to ask for help left much to be desired, Miles couldn’t help but feel in awe of the man. If they had traded places, if Miguel was the anomaly that shifted the entire understanding of the multiverse and Miles was Spiderman 2099, he would have crumbled long before Miguel did.

Miles hadn’t thought much about his role in Nueva York. He has spent much of his time with Miguel or his friends, occasionally helping out in the kitchen or with small, menial tasks. He hadn’t accepted any missions, hadn’t fought in the Pit, hadn't worked in medical or admin. He hadn’t done much of anything, really. Now that he's healing from what happened, Miles finds himself wanting to help out wherever he can. 

To help Miguel directly so that he can take and break and rest. Whatever that looked like, even if it meant dealing with mind numbing paperwork.  

Miles snorts, shaking his head. If only his Mami could hear his thoughts…  He rests his hand on top of Miguel’s head, curls still wrapped around his fingers. His eyes close on their own accord, Miguel’s breathing a steady, comforting rhythm encompassing his entire body.

He can't remember the last time he got to sit back and relax like this. No homework hanging over his head, no Spiderman responsibilities… Miles lets his head relax against Miguel’s palm, drifting off, boneless and content. 

Miles awakens later to Lyla hovering above him, a pained expression on her face. The lights are on but dim, allowing him to see without it triggering another migraine for Miguel.

“Lyla?”

“I don’t want to wake him,” Lyla says quietly. “But something happened last night and he needs to be made aware of it.”

“Ah. Give me a moment,” Miles says, glancing down. It’s quite a sight. Miguel’s face is completely lax, devoid of all the stress he usually carries around. The man is snoring softly, mouth parted open slightly, a wet spot on his suit from his drool. If it were anyone else, Miles would kick them off him but he finds that he doesn’t mind if it’s Miguel. 

“When was the last time he got sleep like this?”

Lyla stares at him quietly, as if she was considering whether or not she would share the information. “It’s been a long time.”

“I see,” Miles says, taking one last look at Miguel who is peacefully slumbering. He really doesn't want to disturb him but Lyla would not suggest waking him up without reason. He wishes he could snapshot it to draw later, filling yet another sketchbook full of the man. Gently, he rubs at Miguel’s shoulders, nudging the man awake as softly as he can. The man is slow to wake up, nose twitching in annoyance, eyelids fluttering slightly. 

“Morning, old man,” Miles says quietly, tracing a path down his forehead to his cheek to his chin and back up again. Miguel mumbles something incoherently in Spanish, batting his hand away, talons retracted and with only enough force to stop his movements. Miles laughs. “I know you’re grumpy but you do need to get up. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm..?” Miguel hums, the arms around his lower back letting go as the man props himself up. “Miles…?”

“We both fell asleep last night,” Miles says, cheeks flushing at the sight of Miguel’s messy hair. “I wanted to let you sleep but Lyla said she had something urgent to speak with you about.” 

“Ah,” Miguel whispers. “Lyla?”

"That group is on the move again," Lyla says. "Jess caught them trying to sneak into your lab again."

"That group?" Miles echoes.

“Ah. Right,” Miguel says, a tense purse of his lips that indicated something was troubling him. “After you saved the multiverse, most of the Spiders stood against me and my previous ideology and rightfully so. But there was a group that still followed the idea of canon events. They are... extreme. It was… my biggest wake up call. I have done my best to expel them from the society but there are some that remain in the shadows.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“Very. And they’re after you, Miles,” Miguel says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get them all. I’m trying.”

“I have no doubt that you are. And I appreciate everything you’ve done,” Miles says. “What type of dangerous are we talking about?”

“Secret weapons, plots to destroy HQ, Assassination attempts,” Lyla responds. “Anything goes so long as you get hurt.”

“Because I’m the anomaly.” Miles says.

“Yes. They had comforted themselves with the idea that all the tragedy they were facing was destined to happen and that there was nothing they could do,” Lyla says.

“Which I disproved,” Miles says. “So they’re angry at me because they blame themselves.”

“Precisely,” Miguel says, sighing. 

“Thank you,” Miles says.

“For?”

“Protecting me. In your own way. Even when I didn’t know what you were doing for me until now,” Miles says.  

“It’s my job to protect everyone here,” Miguel murmurs, shoulder slumping. “Please, be careful Miles. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Miles says, placing a soft kiss on Miguel’s forehead. “But thank you for caring.”

Miguel stares at him, frozen. It takes Miles a few moments to realize why. “Oh shit- Sorry! It’s a habit-“

“You kiss all of your friends on the head like that?”

Miles feels something in his chest drop. “Friends. Right.” 

“Anyhow, you should probably get home soon. Your parents are likely worried about you right now.” 

“Nah. I already let them know I might not have been home last night,” Miles says. “I can stay a little while longer. Wanna cook breakfast together?”

Despite the weight of their conversation, they fall into a familiar rhythm, trading jabs and gossip as they prepare the food. Miles leaves with a full belly and a grin that spans ear to ear, strangely energized in a way that he hasn’t experienced in years. His parents comment on it when he gets home.

“You said you went and helped a friend yet you seem so happy,” Jeff comments, amused. 

“They’re a really good friend,” Miles responds.

“Friend”, Rio says, making air quotes with her hand. “When are you bringing her home, m’hijo?”

Miles splutters. “It’s not like that, Mami. He’s just a friend.”

“He?” Jeff asks, raising an eyebrow. Miles gulps, laughing nervously. 

“Seriously, just a friend. Promise.”

“You sure? You know you can tell us anything, m’hijo. We’re always here to support you,”

Miles smiles softly. “I know, Mami. Dad.”

Life marches forward. He stops a few bad guys here, talks with his guidance counselor about the possibility of doing a double major even though it’s late to be considering such a switch there, and focuses on enjoying what’s left of his senior year. Miles isn’t sure if he picks up on the tension solely because he’s aware of the threat to his life or because the activity of the group Miguel mentioned increased. But he can feel a definite tone shift when he arrives a few weeks after his impromptu sleepover. 

It reminds him a little of how Nueva York was shortly after they returned from defeating the Spot, distrustful expressions everywhere he looked. He makes an effort to not be alone, tagging along with Hobie, Gwen, Pav, or Miguel where he could. It works, for a time.

Of course, it’s the moment he lets his guard down when it happens. Miles expects himself to be the one who is confronted, given the information that Miguel had shared over their conversations. He’s the anomaly, he’s the one responsible for everything they knew and thought to be true being overturned. And if it wasn’t himself, it would be his friends. Or his family in his own universe.

Turns out, he’s dead wrong on all accounts.

“Shit, what’s going on now?” A tall man in the traditional spider costume says. 

“Huh?” Miles asks.

“Check your goober,” he says. Miles frowns, pulling up the menu. He freezes, seeing the grainy image of Miguel fighting off several other spiderman at once, suit glitching out in some places.

“That’s in Sector 4. Why is no one helping him?” Miles clutches his fist.

“Because… of the disaster that happened when we chased you down. It caused a lot of unnecessary injury and chaos so unless you get an official order to help-”

“Oh fuck that shit,” Miles says, making a mental note to confront Miguel on the rule later, before taking off towards Sector Four. Blood rushes in his ears, vision blurry, a chant of mustprotectmustprotectmustprotect screaming in time with his heartbeat. He barely registers the ping of his friend’s spidey senses against his own, eyes laser focused on his prize.

Needless to say, no one is expecting him to land foot first into the first spiderman’s belly, knocking the breath out of the man as he extends his arms out, catching two other Spidermen with his venom powers. It takes willpower to hold himself back but he manages, the shock knocking them to the floor.

“What the hell is going on?” Miles shouts, fingers twitching and eyes wide.

“Miles. I could have handled it-”

“ Shut up .” Miles points to the remaining attacker, who is staring at him in shock. “What the hell is your deal, man? Friendly fire isn’t cool!”

“There’s nothing to see here. We were just having a friendly… chat.”

“Last time I checked a chat didn’t involve fists,” Miles says, breathing in deeply. 

Peter shrugs. “A friendly brawl, then.”

“Over what?”

“A… heated topic, is all,” the Spiderman says, eyes flashing dangerously. Nausea forms at the pit of his stomach, senses screaming at him that something was wrong. 

“And you had to have it here? I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules,” Miles says. He nearly jumps when Miguel approaches him from behind, hands resting on his shoulders. 

“And a brawl would imply I was consenting,” Miguel says dryly. 

“You hit back so I assumed you were okay with it.”

The audacity. “Man, do you even hear yourself? What is your problem?”

“My problem? It’s standing right in front of me,”

Miles’ eyes narrow, pieces clicking together. “Oh? Are you a part of that super special fanclub of mine? I can give you my autograph if you like!”

The Spiderman winks. “Only if you sign it in your blood.”

"No thanks. Blood quills are so last year," Miles says. "I'm pretty sure 'talking about your problems in a healthy way and not throwing fists' is the current trend."

"Not all of us can be from the future," the spiderman says. "Pardon me for being behind the times."

“Peter, Miles, that’s enough,” Miguel groans, talons digging into his skin. 

 “On the contrary, I don’t believe it’s enough,” Peter says. “What’s the real reason you’re defending him, eh? He destroys half your city, most of this building, and is the origin of every canon disruption date. You're rich but that much damage had to do some damage to your savings. You should want him dead and yet here you are, defending him. Letting him defend you. Why?”

"Because it's the right thing to do."

"Bullshit. We both know that's a lie."

"I'm not, though," Miguel says. "Why do you believe it is?"

"It can't be the only thing. We all saw what happened three years ago, Miguel. How you chased a child down, ripping into him with your claws. Throwing him into a train. nearly crushing his shoulder's with your hands. Guarding his childhood home for two days so you could make sure the canon event was fulfilled. You don't rule by logic; you rule by your emotions."

"So one minute I'm the anomaly that messed everything up and the next I'm an innocent child? Wow-"

"Fine. You want the truth? Because I love him." Miguel states calmly, as if he were reciting what the temperature was outside. The fire bubbling in Miles' stomach immediately loses fuel, all the oxygen in his lungs leaving him.

Peter stares, totally caught off guard. “I’m sorry?”

“I love him,” Miguel repeats. "If you had asked me three years ago if I would ever say those words, I would have told you that you'd lost your goddamn mind. But... He's grown on me. He’s stubborn. Impulsive. Quick to anger. Yet he's kind. Trustworthy. Dependable."

"Miguel…?" Miles murmurs quietly, voice unusually thin and scratchy.

"I would not be who I am today without him. He taught me that the status quo isn't the only answer. He taught me that the past cannot define you unless you allow it to. He taught me… hope." Miguel's voice falls to a whisper. "I never thought I'd feel that again. Not after losing Gabby."

Miguel swallows the lump in his throat. "He annoyed the hell out of me at first, especially when all he did was hide away from me, eyes soulless and dead. But when he joined me outside as we watched my home, I saw a little glimpse of the childish wonder I helped destroy, all those years ago. I wanted to give that back to him, at first because of my guilt. In that time, I came to look forward to his company, to his jokes, the conversations we had. It was no longer about atoning for what I had done; I just wanted to know him. What he liked. What interested him."

Miguel’s grips tighten further, blood trickling down his shoulder as his skin is broken. "I was an angry, bitter old man too blinded by my own grief when we first met and I will never stop apologizing for everything I put him through. He deserved so much better than how any single individual here treated him. He had a shit mentor and even shittier friends. All because of my actions."

"I can't speak for him. But every time I struggle with this job, everytime I feel like I can't take it anymore, I remember our conversations and how it made me feel. About how strong Miles has been this entire time, spitting the face of fate and those who blindly follow it. About how I don't want to let those feelings go ."

Miguel’s eyes flash. "He belongs here, as he so clearly demonstrated. If he wishes to stay. He is Spiderman, bitten by a radioactive spider who uses his powers to make the world a better place. And you best remember that before you meet the business end of his fist, like I did."

Miles is barely holding back the tears, stomach churning with affection and warmth. He's waited years to hear Miguel acknowledge the things he did to him. To hear it privately is one thing. To hear it declared publicly, without hesitation and with a softness that Miguel only reserved for their rooftop conversations?

And the confession… he can't say he saw it coming but yet he's also not surprised. 

Love isn't like the movies portrayed; stumbling over words with shy confessions, butterflies in his stomach, flowers in hand. Heart beating out of his chest as they clumsily smash their faces together. Cheesy music at fancy restaurants with food too rich for any one person to consume.

Love is something softer to him. It's the anticipation of their meetings after a harsh day at school. It's the calmness he felt as they cuddled on the couch, muscles relaxed in a way he's never experienced before. The adrenaline crash after a mission, where you lock eyes with someone with the dawning realization that you barely escaped death together. The soft music playing in the background as they stumble around each other in the communal kitchen.

It's the small bundle of feelings that had settled somewhere deep in his gut, growing stronger and deeper every moment he spent with Miguel. Influencing the inflection of his voice. Guiding his hands that dance upon Miguel's skin. Urging him to sink his fingers into the flesh of Miguel's back and never let go .

Briefly, he wonders how obvious he's been to other people while he's been lost in Miguel's world the moment he stepped foot into Nueva York.

"I love you too," Miles says, voice cracking, surprising himself on how easy it was to say. "A little warning next time, yeah? Gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"You've given me my fair share already," Miguel says, smiling. "It's only right."

"Can… can I have a hug? Please?" Miles asks, turning around to stare up at the man. Miguel opens his arms, grasping him tightly around his waist. He's not even sure why he's crying or when he even started but the embrace feels warm and cozy and safe that he can't bring himself to care too much. Miguel's rhythmic breaths and the soothing prick of his talons against his scalp help calm him, heart rate calming as his awareness of the outside world slowly drains away.

At last, he feels the last of his broken heart mend together, a peace he hasn't felt in years settling in his bones. A peace he's never felt anywhere outside of his parent's arms. A peace he never thought he'd ever feel in Spider Society.

"Making me cry in front of everyone like this," he whispers jokingly. "You outta apologize for that."

Miguel smiles, eyes equally as wet. "I won't apologize. Not for this."

A sharp, loud laughter catches his attention, voice caustic and full of venom. "Oh… Oh this is great. They’re in love . God you’re both so stupid.”

Miles snaps , turning around. "Would you shut your goddamn mouth for five seconds? We're kinda having a moment here!" He stalks forward. “You don’t know anything about me! None of you do!”

“You’re not supposed to exist-“

Miguel pushes forward, likely in an attempt to place himself between Peter and him. He doesn’t allow him to, keeping Miguel’s hand back. “According to who? And even if I wasn’t, I think I’ve proved myself several times over.”

“You have nothing on most of us here. You haven’t seen the shit we have. Don’t speak as if you have any real experience,” Peter says. “And you. I have nothing left to say to you.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow. “Then why are you addressing me?”

“You know what? We’re getting nowhere with this,” Miles interrupts. “You wanna fight so bad? Then let’s fight. Meet me in the Pit in an hour. Standard rules, standard time. If I win, you admit in front of everyone that you’re wrong and you apologize.”

“And if you lose?”

“I never return to Nueva York,” 

Miles technically had a residential space in Nueva York, located in one of the three residential areas, one of the many privileges afforded to those who spent a fair amount of time outside their home universe. He never uses it as a place to stay, always going back home after missions or visiting one of his friends. However, he had used the space for experiments with technology.

And more importantly, it housed the new suit he had just completed. He slips off his old suit, resting it on his pillows before slipping the new one on. It fits perfectly, hugging his frame in a way that preserves aerodynamic efficiency without restricting his flexibility.

“Hoodie or no hoodie?” He asks himself. “Hoodie it is.”

He gathers the various gadgets that he and his mentors had worked on, fastening them on a tool belt underneath the loose cloth. Miles is banking on this Peter not knowing what exactly he’s been training with. While he hesitates to use explosives on real people, it could come in handy if he needs a distraction or to destroy webs. 

“Miles…?” 

“Hey,” Miles responds, turning to face Miguel. “How do I look?”

Miguel pauses, throat bobbing as he swallows. “… Dashing.”

“Oh,” Miles chuckles, grinning from ear to ear. “I see what they meant now.”

“Hmm?”

“Eyes up here, Miggy,” Miles teases, waving his hand in front of the man’s face when he doesn’t move. “You like how it looks on me, don’t you? I had wondered why Miles-Senior and Pete were giving me odd looks when I tried it on for the first time.”

He isn’t one hundred percent sure but Miles thinks he sees the slightest hint of a flush on Miguel’s cheeks. “It looks… much better in person.”

“Uh huh.” 

“Miles, please…”

“Honesty, Miguel. Were you or were you not staring at my ass?”

“…”

“I still have twenty minutes. I can wait here while you gather the courage-“

“Yes, I was! It’s very… tight,” Miguel grumbles under his breath. 

“And…”

“And…?”

“Please, Miles. My self control is only so strong,” Miguel says, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Will you tell me after, then?”

“Demonstrare cuánto me afecta, es lo que haré.”

Miles laughs. “I thought so. And umm… about what you said earlier. You meant it, right?”

“Of course,” Miguel says, face softening. “I did not intend for you to find out so… publicly."

"It's all good," Miles grins. "I really want to talk about it and what it means for us but…"

"... You need to prepare yourself," Miguel finishes. 

Miles nods, grabbing Miguel's hand, pressing a light kiss on the knuckles. "I meant what I said, too, for the record."

“I know,” Miguel says. “You are more obvious than you think.”

“Not anymore obvious than you,” Miles huffs. “Hey, can you hand me that bag over there? The purple one?”

Miguel tosses it to him, staring. “What’s your plan?”

“I don’t know,” Miles says, before realizing how that sounded. “Let me say that again; It’s my plan to end the fight as soon as possible. But I’m not exactly sure what I’m facing so I’m not going to think too far in advance.”

“Miles…”

“Unless you have information I don’t?”

Miguel sighs. “Unfortunately, I do not. Peter 3377 is not one of the leaders we’ve been keeping an eye on so who knows what he might have.”

“Were the leaders getting into anything particularly bad? Any weapons I haven’t encountered yet?”

“If 77014 already familiarized you with the Underground’s weapons, then it shouldn’t be anything more extreme than that. Regardless, prepare for anything.”

"I'll be careful. I promise," Miles says. "And after I win, you'll get to peel me out of my suit and we can talk then, okay?"

Miguel's eyes flash. "You won't be leaving my bed if I get to peel you out of the suit."

"If you can even keep up, old man," he says, grinning. “C’mon. My friends are going to be breaking down the door any minute now if we don’t get moving.”

“Right,” Miguel says. 

“I’ll be fine, okay?” Miles says. “I promise.”

“Just… don’t be afraid to ask for help, if you need to,” 

Miles smirks. “You have my full permission to go full beast mode if he tries to pull anything, alright?”

“Beast mode?” Miguel echoes.

“Yeah. Cause you’re really intense when you’re in the middle of combat,” Miles says, closing the door behind them. “It’s not scary when it’s not directed at me. And yes, I know you’re still sorry. Yes, I still forgive you.”

Miguel puts his hands up in surrender. “I wasn't going to say anything.”  

“You don't have to. I can read you like a book now,” Miles grins, turning to face Miguel, walking backwards. “Didn’t spend all that time getting wind burn for nothing.”

“You might want to watch where you’re-”

"Miles!" 

"Hey- whoa!" Miles wheezes, all the air stripped from his lungs as he's wrapped in a group bear hug from all directions. "Need air! Guys!"

"Sorry! We were just worried," Pav says. "That guy is an asshole. And what’s with the new suit?"

"I know," Miles says, ignoring Hobie’s wolf whistle. "You like? I'm going to use it to kick his ass into next century."

"With our help?" Hobie asks, a knowing tilt to his voice.

"Actually… unless he brings someone else into the ring or tries to pull something, I'd like to try this alone," Miles says. "I know you all are here to support me and that you have my back. But this issue goes far beyond, like, jealousy or envy. He hates me and underestimates me and I'm going to prove it to him that I belong here."

“Miles.” Gwen warns.

"That, and I'd like to try some of the new tricks that my mentors have taught me," Miles grins "This suit is a culmination of everything they taught me in addition to my own tricks. I haven't actually been able to use it outside of the like… one stupid fraction of The Underground that we took down in five minutes."

"And you're sure?" Hobie asks.

"Yeah," Miles nods. "Like I told Miguel, if he or anyone else tries to pull anything, feel free to join. No questions asked."

“I don’t like this but I know I can’t stop you,” Gwen says. “You want us to accompany you there?”

“Please,” Miles says. “I’m not even sure where I’m supposed to go, exactly.”

"Of course," Hobie says, hunching over, jacket shifting from his usual palette to an off grey one.

“I can lead,” Miguel says. “It’s just a free fall down from here.”

“Aye aye,” Miles salutes, falling behind. “I can’t believe he did that! What did he think was going to happen?”

“For you to rush in head first and do something stupid,” Miguel replies. "Which, for the record, I tried to stop you from doing."

“True true. But he handled that better than last time, eh?” Pav says. 

“By declaring that he’ll leave Nueva York if he loses a duel?”

“I’m not losing,” Miles says. “Not after everything I’ve fought for.”

“And are we just going to ignore those confessions?” Gwen asks, elbowing him. 

“Ignore? No. Put off the conversation so I can enter this fight with a clear head? Yes.” Miles says, eyes scanning the area. There were a decent amount of Spider people around but they had cleared a path for them to walk, staying out of their way. His friends hover around him, keeping an eye on anyone who might try anything.

“Be careful as you go down. Last thing you need is to get a broken rib,” Miguel says as they approach.

“Head for the giant bullseye?” Miles asks. 

“Yes,” Miguel says.  

“Umm… Excuse us…”

Miles turns, a small group of Spider people headed by Web Slinger approaching cautiously. They look at him, torn between wanting to say something and letting him deal with it himself.

"You know … you don't really have to go through with it," one fidgets. 

"You are not alone in this. We made the mistake of standing back when you first visited," another says. "You've done enough for us."

"We can take care of 'em," Web Slinger says, Willow exhaling loudly. 

"I appreciate it. But this is something I want to do for myself," Miles says. "Got some new tricks up my sleeve."

"Literally or…?" One asks. 

Miles winks. "I dunno. You'll just have to watch and find out,"

He leaps off after Miguel, following the trailing glow of his cape. The wind rushing by his face helps calm his racing heart, awareness of his surroundings fading as his mind focuses on his task. He lands on the purple and green platform just after Miguel, his friends not too far behind him. Even from outside, Miles can tell that the stands are packed with spectators, more so than usual. Miles blocks them out, going in the competitor entrance. Miguel and his friends trail behind him, waiving off anyone that tries to get too close.

“Break a leg,” Gwen says, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

"What Gwendy said, Peter pan," Hobie says, winking.

“We’ll be cheering for you!” Pav says.

“Mucha suerte, cariño,” Miguel says.

“Gracias, tío,” Miles replies. 

“Oh so Miguel gets the thank you. I see how it is,” Pav teases, crossing his arms. 

“Aww. You know I appreciate y’all,” Miles says, elbowing Pav. “If you all could do me a favor and keep an eye on the crowd while I do this, I’d appreciate it.”

“Why the crowd?”

“Miguel says that he’s a part of a larger group,” Miles says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they try to start something.”

“Larger group?” Hobie questions.

“The same one who hijacked the mission you took in 35956,” Miguel replies, sighing. “They are what remain of the faction that fully believe in the canon events.”

“Ah,” 

“If you’re ready, Mr. Morales?”

Miles groans. “Please, just Miles. Mr. Morales is my father.”

“This way,” the usher says. He waves goodbye to his friends and Miguel, stepping into the arena. The audience is huge, wall to wall full of spectators, just like he thought. Miles expects to be nervous, the announcer reviewing the rules for the audience as if they hadn’t already heard them a million times. He should be, if Miguel is telling the truth about this group’s capabilities. 

But he’s not. Surprisingly, he’s still. The roar of the crowd is nothing but background noise as he hyper focuses on the rogue Spiderman in front of him. His eyes narrow, taking in every detail of his opponent; the way he stands, the rhythm of his breaths, the unnatural glow to his eyes, sharp and pointed. 

Peter moves first, darting forward with unnatural speed. He waits until the last possible second, pulling himself into the air, webs sticking to the ceiling of the arena. His feet find ground on the support beams, standing upside down as he watches Peter to see what he does next.

Miles knew something was off about Peter but he didn’t quite expect a bubbling mass of yellow to engulf Peter’s body. 

Awesome. 

“Shouldn’t you disclose the use of a symbiote before the battle starts? Seems kinda unfair, man,” he quips, shooting a tether line across the center of the arena.

“Nothing is unfair when you lack the ability to pay attention,” Peter says, voice distorted in a creepy way. He’s never heard a symbiote speak before and he honestly could have gone without.

“I see, I see,” Miles says, creeping along the line as quietly as he could, Suspension matrix sliding into his palm. “So… do you have a name?”

His spidey sense warns him of the impending lunge before he sees it. If he had blinked, he would have missed the instantaneous shift in the symbiotes body. Standing serenely one second, claws extended and maw open wide the next. He exchanges the matrix for a Concussive blast (seriously, he’s going to have to talk to Peter 77014 about these names because they are not it), sending it flying straight into the symbiotes open jaw. 

It’s somewhat effective, eroding some of the symbiote’s form but not stopping his advance completely. He leaps back to the beams, sending Holo-drones to the tether while he rethinks his initial plan.

“For someone renown for bringing Miguel O’Hara to his knees, you fail to demonstrate that same vigor with us,” it says.

“Eh. I just wanted to try out some new things,” Miles responds, webbing higher and higher with the symbiote still hot on his trail. “You still haven’t told me your name, by the way. Would love to know who I’m fighting.”

“You may call me Nameless,” it says, teeth clacking together.

“Lovely. Just like your hair, by the way,” Miles comments, throwing three Holo-Drones into the arena. “Gonzalo has long hair like that. Braided, too.”

Nameless opens its mouth to speak, only to get cut off by the taunting screeches of the drones. The momentary distraction allows him to free fall down, setting mines all around as he descends. He watches, waiting for the moment the symbiote lands in the center of the blast radii before detonating all of them. Nameless screams, a bellowing sound filling the arena as shrapnel from the drones embed themselves into its flesh, electrically charged with his Venom powers. The effects differed from enemy to enemy; sometimes resulting in paralysis, whether from the agony of the injury or the electricity. If it slowed the symbiote down, he’d be happy.

He throws as many web bombs and impact webs as he can, hoping a combination of everything would give him a moment to reevaluate. If he had known he was facing a symbiote, he would have brought more explosives. The arena didn’t contain anything that was flammable so unless he wanted to start a fire the old fashion way, that option was out.

A symbiote’s other weakness would be loud sounds. There is plenty of metal lying around but it would be a matter of getting the angle right to create the correct frequencies. 

“Oh spidey~” Nameless taunts, landing on the tether, long hair somehow getting even longer. “You have some nice tricks but they won’t last forever.”

He is out of time. He would just have to wing it. Taking a deep breath, he hears the voices of his friends and mentors guiding him.

Thread the needle.

Miles slips in between the small spaces of Nameless’s limbs, arms tucked towards his chest. Blindly, he tosses one of the Holo-Drones behind him, landing into a run along the side of the arena. 

And ring the bell.

He places a remote mine on top of the symbiotes head, allowing his forward momentum to carry him away before he donates the explosive. It tears through its body, exposing the human underneath. Miles takes the opportunity to use some of his natural electric webs, watching grimly as the duo loud screams of pain fill the arena, dulling out the sound of the spectators around him.

It’s still not enough, however, the symbiote’s mass reforming over Peter. In the back of his mind, he hopes that a lack of a JJJ in his universe also means he doesn't have a symbiote encounter of any sort because it's already super frustrating and the fight has barely started.

Use your palm.

His venom tears through the face of the symbiote, a bloody scream tearing through its body. Miles jumps back before it could blindly swipe at him, body bubbling across the surface of the human beneath it in a kaleidoscope of color.

Wait. If he wasn’t mistaken….

Was the symbiote glitching?

Watch the hands.

Blood spills down to his hands from where the symbiote’s claws catch his arm. He feels nothing, focused on a singular support beam that is taking a beating. It's in an opportune spot to fall at just the right angle but he needs to wear down the joint where it's attached to the ceiling without his slimey friend from noticing his plans. He shoots a few remote mines across the entire ceiling, running along it as Nameless comes up behind him. The blasts do nothing to Nameless but they do weaken the metal keeping the beam attached. It would only take a few more explosions before it would fall.

"Someone needs to work on his timing," Nameless taunts.

"Haha. Give me a break," Miles huffs. If that plan ends up not working, it's not the end of the world either. The symbiote Peter possessed did not belong to Earth-928. Thus, whatever composed its body wished to return to its home universe, resulting in a glitch. Miles knows from personal experience that glitching weakens a person’s fighting abilities but also their defenses. 

What if he stalled it, waiting for the glitching to become too much for either fighter?

But how long would it take? Miles had no idea how long they had been here and if the glitching just started now… Unless he couldn't see it happening because the symbiote's mass was located in Peter's body?

Aim true. 

Using the momentum of his swing, he sends a piece of shrapnel straight through the symbiotes eye.

“Heh. Such an action would affect a human,” Nameless says. “But not I.”

Miles watches as the scaffolding for a support beam slowly starts slipping. Now to keep the Symbiote in place. “Good thing I wasn’t intending to hurt your vision. I wasn’t born yesterday. In fact, by this universe's standards, I’m an old man.”

“Cheeky,” Nameless remarks, throwing projectiles at him. “I bet you think you’re hilarious.”

“I am. I once face planted into a trash can and almost caused Peter from 77014 to die from asphyxiation,” Miles says, effortlessly dodging, sending a few back at the symbiote. “Not my proudest moment but still. Pretty funny in retrospect.”

“Only you would find such an event funny.”

“What’s not to love about making a stupid mistake every once in a while?” Miles leads the creature in circles, spidey sense firing so quickly that it’s gradually giving him a headache. It nicks him a few times on the ankles but he keeps moving, waiting until the symbiote is in just the right place before firing more electric webs. While it’s distracted, he fires more webs at the support beam, yanking it down. It doesn’t hit center mass like he wished it would but it does impale the symbiote through the shoulder and likely Peter underneath.

Their screams of pain are jarring but he can’t give up now. Not until Peter and the symbiote yield.   

Trust your gut.

“What the?” Miles asks, noticing several more masses slither towards the entrance to the arena. “That’s no fair! It’s supposed to be one on one!”

“Symbiotes do not count as people, here,” Peter repeats, absorbing the masses into his body. Miles watches in horror as Peter grows larger and larger, spider sense screaming at him as he watches. 

“That’s so not fucking fair,” He’s heard of such creatures before, in some of his many talks with Miguel. But to see one face to face is something completely different. The danger radiating from the creature is unlike anything he’s ever felt before, even when he was up against the Spot. 

Ask for help.

It’s too much. Miles has no experience dealing with symbiotes and he knows that they are nearly impossible to deal with on their own, much less five at once with a compatible host. He glances up at Hobie, giving him a nod. In less than a second, his friends descend upon the Pit, breaking through the protective glass meant to keep spectators out. They came prepared, too, bombs and mines in hand.

They're not the only ones. Ben Reilly comes from the back, Jess, Noir, and Peni forming a protective bubble around the symbiote. 

And Miguel… he's just as terrifying as he was three years ago, red eyes gleaming with the promise of death, fangs dripping venom, talons fully extended. But he's not scared. Not for himself, at least.

Because never again will he ever feel the pain of Miguel's talons or fangs. Not without asking for it, at least. 

It's over almost instantaneously. Miguel, Jess, and Ben were intimately familiar with each other's fighting styles and his friends frequently went on official (and unofficial) missions together. The mass of symbiotes obviously expected the brute force they gained from working together would allow them to overpower Miles, even without a cohesive fighting style, but they failed to consider if he would have backup of his own.

Miles runs alongside Miguel, weaving in and out of obstacles. The man tackles the quivering mass to the ground, biting into its flesh, temporarily paralyzing it. Nameless thrashes and screams as Miguel pulls the symbiotes mass around his body, giving Miles the perfect opportunity to release one of the most powerful venom blasts he’s ever unleashed. An earth shattering boom emits from the contact, his eardrums ringing as the creature screams, the symbiotes' mixed body mass retreating into Peter's body away from him as best as they could.

“This match is void on account of foul play,” the announcer says. “Miles Morales 1610 is victorious!”

“You can’t! That’s against the- Hmph!”

“You can shut your trap, now,” Hobie says, guitar poised to whack Nameless’ head (heads?) if they so much as twitched the wrong way. “No one likes a sore loser.”

“Or a cheater,” Pav says. “Being Spider-Man is so easy until you try to change the rules. Then it becomes very, very hard.”

Miles startles as strong arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him backwards into a warm, solid mass. It’s then that he notices just how far away the symbiote is, his feet instinctively leading him away from the threat. His body is generating a scary amount of electricity, the ions composing Miguel’s suit breaking apart like they did on the train.

“Shh, Miles,” Miguel whispers, gripping him tighter. “It’s alright, mi amor. I have you.”

“Miguel…” Miles says, heart fluttering in his chest, the reality of the situation setting in. If his friends hadn’t been ready to move right when they did… “I can’t stop it.”

“Breathe for me,” Miguel says, rocking them gently back and forth. “Focus on the sound of my voice.”

“It’s hard,” Miles says, tears building at the ends of his eyes. Still, he forces himself to, breathing in through his mouth and exhaling slowly through his nose. He does his best to match Miguel’s rhythm, grounding himself on the slight prick of talons against the skin of his shoulders. 

“I know it is, aranito. You did so well,” Miguel kisses the back of his neck lightly. “You have improved so much.”

“P-Peter and Miles… They’ve helped a lot,”

"Yes. And look how far you have come. I am very proud of you," Miguel says. "Don't listen to anything they say. You belong here."

“Hey! We need backup here!” Gwen shouts. Miles hunches over, knuckles pale as the symbiote mass shrugs out of its restraints. Before it could stand up to full height, a clawed fist rams itself into Nameless’ head.

“Stay down,” Gonzalo growls, wrapping the symbiote in the same eerie, purple rope he had once been restrained with. 

“Wait… you’re…?”

“Miles Morales. From Earth-42. But you can call me the Prowler,” Gonzalo says, flexing his right hand. Miles watches as Nameless’ eyes fixate on the gauntlets.

“Oh shit…” 

“There’s two of them??”

“Is that really him? The one who was supposed to be bit?"

“But how is he here?? Only those with Spider DNA can enter Nueva York...”

“Make that three,’” Miles-Senior says, swinging next to the Prowler. Miles cracks a grin at the hard look on his mentor’s face. “Sorry it took me so long, mini me. Pete and I got caught up with a few anomalies who wandered in.”

“It’s alright… Thanks for being here,” he says hoarsely, leaning back into Miguel’s embrace. 

“Take him, O’Hara.” Gonzalo says. “We’ll handle it from here.”

“Go,” Jess commands when neither of them move.  

Miguel nods, effortlessly picking him up, taking him quickly through paths he isn’t familiar with. Miles can’t exactly complain; he doesn’t think he could move his feet even if he wanted to. Before he knows it, they’re back in Miguel’s apartment, his body protectively cradled by Miguel’s. He rests his head over the man's heart, focusing on its steady beat. 

“You did well,” Miguel whispers.

“It felt easy,” Miles replies. “I didn’t really think about anything.”

“You looked amazing. Your mentors have taught you well,” Miguel murmurs. “I never would have guessed that you were once that awkwardly proportioned fifteen year old that stumbled his way into command.”

“It feels like such a long time ago,” Miles says, sighing. “‘M really tired for some reason.”

Miguel snorts. “It’s to be expected, considering you haven’t had an enemy that can match your skill level like another Spider-Man can.”

“I barely felt anything, in the moment,” Miles says. “I feel sore now but it’s like all his hits just bounced off me like they were nothing.”

“You avoided most of them,” Miguel says. “Lyla recorded the entire thing, if you want to watch later.”

“Yeah,” Miles murmurs, eyes drooping. “I need to get home soon. Don't want my parents to worry.”

Miguel mumbles something intelligible. “… Miguel?”

“Stay.”

“Huh?”

“Stay,” Miguel repeats, louder. “I want you to stay.”

“Okay,” Miles agrees, shutting his eyes, too tired to put up a fight. “Someone will need to tell my parents, though.”

“I‘ll ask Hobie to, once he gets finished with 3377 and the symbiotes,” Miguel says, sending off a message on his watch. "You need a shower, though. You'll feel more comfortable."

"I don't think I can stand up much longer, man," Miles murmurs. "Draw me a bath?"

"Of course," Miguel kisses his forehead, taking him to the bathroom. Miguel sets him down by the tub, turning the water on. Miles sighs, letting the back of his head hit the cool tile, the sounds of Miguel rummaging around soothing his fried nerves. Steady hands slowly slip the hoodie off of him, throwing it to the side. He shivers as cool air rushes against his chest.

"I haven't even gotten the inner layers off of you and you're already shivering," Miguel chuckles, removing the tools belts and slipping his fingers underneath the top of his suit. 

"Shut up," he murmurs half halfheartedly, feeling the urge to wrap his arms around himself as he's left in only his pants. Miguel takes notice of his discomfort, averting his eyes as he reaches for his pants.

"I can leave you alone for this while you climb into the bath," Miguel offers, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric.

Miles flushes, shaking his head. "I'll be fine. I'm just shy."

"You? Shy?" Miguel snorts. "I find that hard to believe."

"It's true," Miles says, flushing when his boxers and pants are thrown to the side as well. The man’s heated gaze does not go unnoticed, taking in every detail of his body. "Though it's not fair if I'm the only one naked here."

"Oh? I can fix that." Miguel smirks. He watches as the suit completely dissolved, revealing his very naked body.

"You don't wear underwear???? Dude…"

Miguel shrugs. "Don't need to."

He unabashedly looks up and down the other man's body, drinking in the sight of his exposed muscles. Miguel quirks an eyebrow at him, eyes shining with affection and amusement. He smiles in return, sighing.

"Let's get a bath. Before we both get too distracted by each other."

"Agreed."

He's not sure at what point he dozes off. But the water is warm and Miguel is very gentle, washing away the dirt and grime and sweat with a reverence he's not quite expecting. Like he's treasured. Like he's appreciated. He wakes sitting down, dry, leaning against a wall, wrapped in the warmest, fluffiest towel known to man. Miguel is rummaging around in the other room. 

"Miggy?"

"Just getting things for your wounds," Miguel calls. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Miles says, groaning. “Damn. Must have gotten hit more than I thought.”

“Symbiote related wounds always tend to hurt the worst,” Miguel muses, entering the room with a first aid kit in hand.

“First hand experience?” Miles guesses. 

Miguel nods. “Unfortunately. Thankfully, you shouldn’t take too much bandaging.”

“Surprised my friends let you just take me like that,” Miles muses. “Without going to medical, I mean.”

“I told them that I would take you to medical if your injuries were serious enough,” Miguel says. “And I do not believe they are. Unless you disagree?”

“Fair enough,” Miles says, offering his arm to Miguel. “Here.”

“Hmm?”

“You take care of people. It’s how you show that you love them,” Miles says, nodding. “Go ahead. Take care of me, Miguel.”

“… You’re so precious,” Miguel murmurs, grabbing the bandages, wrapping it around the open wound. It would be fully healed in the morning but he’d rather avoid getting dirt and dust inside while it heals overnight. He sighs as Miguel scoops him into his arms, carrying him into his dark bedroom.

“Would you like anything to wear?” Miguel asks.

“Do you have anything that would even fit me?” Miles muses. 

“In terms of undergarments? No. But you can always borrow a shirt.”

“Sounds good,” Miles says, yawning. He catches the shirt that’s thrown at him only barely, slipping it over his small frame. It completely dwarfs him, falling down to his knees. If he hugged his legs in, it would fit around him and still be loose. Miles glances up, feeling Miguel’s burning gaze on him. “Clothing Kink. Got it.”

Miguel sighs. “ Miles .”

“Didn’t say that was a bad thing,” he yawns. “Go shower. I wanna cuddle.”

“Who says we were going to?”

“In case you didn’t notice, this is your bed, not mine,”

“Our bed,” Miguel corrects.

“Our bed,” Miles says, rolling his eyes. “Hurry. Or our conversation will wait until tomorrow.”

“Brat,” Miguel says fondly, disappearing into the bathroom. Miles settles into the bed as he waits, adjusting the pillows, staring as the texture of the pillow cases register in his sleep addled mind.

“Silk…” Miles muses, planting himself face first into the pillow, groaning. “That’s…. So thoughtful.”

Miles doesn’t have to wait long for Miguel to return, the man sliding into the bed next to him. He turns onto his side, meeting Miguel’s eyes. 

“Hi.” Miles says.

“Hi,” Miguel responds, amused.

“So… are we boyfriends? Lovers?” Miles asks. 

“If you want us to be,” Miguel says. 

“Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

“I am… insecure, I suppose,” Miguel admits. “I have spent a lot of my life being wanted only for my abilities, for what I could do for them and not necessarily for myself. It’s a large part of why I no longer speak with my family.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” Miles says quietly, unsure of what else he can say. 

“I know you are not like them but I have to ask… You’re sure you want this? All of this? Not just the good but also the bad. When I’m not nice, when I snap at you because I have a migraine, when I push you too far.”

“Of course,” Miles says. “I know love isn’t just fun times. Trust me, living with my parents has taught me a lot about that. But I’m in this for the long haul, you know? I’ll take care of you when that happens.” 

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you,” Miles grins, staring at Miguel until they both start giggling. “I can’t believe you just referenced a book from 2008! That’s like ancient history to you!”

“I’m astonished you know that’s from a book,” Miguel replies, resting their foreheads together. “But… I just wanted to make sure. That you know what you’re getting into.”

Miles hums. “I don’t. I’ve never been in love before and my… desire for you is entirely unexpected since I thought I was straight until I realized that I’ve been in love with you for a while now. But there’s nothing wrong with learning along the way. When Lyla showed me to your apartment and we ended up falling asleep on the couch, I couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked when you were relaxed. I wanted so bad in that moment to always wake up like that. With you lying on my chest, snoring and drooling on me as you squeeze in just a few more minutes of sleep.”

“And now?”

“I still want that. And I wouldn’t even mind the other way around,” Miles says. "You're like…. A giant fluffy pillow."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah! Like, you have a lot of muscle and it looks like it would be really comfortable to sleep on."

“We could try that out tonight if you like?”

“Nah. I’m too comfy here,” Miles says, plastering his body against his the mans. Miguel’s arm loops around his torso. “Feels like you were molded just for me.”

“Likewise,” Miguel responds, nose resting on his forehead. “Boyfriends?”

“Boyfriends.”

“Que duermas bien, Miles.”

“Tú también, mi vida.”

It’s not an alarm clock nor the first few rays of the sun that wake Miles up the next morning. No, it’s the slow, careful drag of Miguel’s talons across the skin of his back, light enough to be present without causing him injury.

“Morning,” he says sleepily. To his surprise, Miguel does not stop his movements, a low hum the only response to his greeting. “When did you wake up?” 

“Just before you,” Miguel says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Don’t wanna move,” he mumbles.

“Nor do I,” Miguel says.  "Jess and Ben are handling yesterday's incident and have forbidden you or I from doing anything in any official capacity."

“Good,” he says. "I'll need to check in with the others and my parents soon. I'm surprised they haven't tried to break down your doors yet."

“They have. Lyla sent your friends away with pointed words about respecting our privacy,” Miguel says. “It will likely not last much longer, however.”

“Mhm…” Miles says. “They can wait a few more moments.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh. I was just thinking… You corrected me when I said ‘your bed’ last night. Are you wanting me to spend more time with you? Like say, overnight?” 

“Of course I want you to stay,” Miguel snorts. "But what would you do? While I understand why you have been hesitant to participate, there's not a lot here for you, especially when you have family and friends at home."

“About that, actually... I’ve been thinking about that recently. What do I want to do? What is my role here? I didn’t have an answer for a long while but I think I have one now. I want to help you,” Miles says. “I want to see you do what you want to do. Because I have the distinct feeling that being Spiderman is not really on your priority list.”

“Guilty as charged,” Miguel murmurs. 

“So let me. Let me help you. With whatever you need. I’ll still want to go on missions but I can do other things. Research, documenting and notating things… You name it,” Miles says. “And before you say anything, I know my limits and I have friends to help me. So do you, for that matter.”

“But-“

“No buts, Miguel.”

“Alright. But you’re getting your degree. In art, in physics, whatever you want.”

“I just said no buts.”

“ Miles .”

“Fine. I get a degree or two. Next.”

“You’re visiting your parents.”

“My mom would find a way to invent universe travel herself if I didn’t visit her and probably get Gonzalo’s mom to help her too. No need to worry about anything in that regard.”

“You, and I cannot stress this enough, take breaks when you need them. I don’t want you repeating the same mistakes I did.”

“No problemo, papi,” Miles says, grinning. “If you’re trying to make this hard for me, you’re, uh, not succeeding.”

“I’m not. Trying to make it hard,” Miguel sighs. " Just remember that you do have family and responsibilities outside of Spiderman.”

“I won’t forget,” Miles says, pulling Miguel’s head down to kiss his forehead. “Thank you for letting me help.”

Miguel gives him a shy smile, the same one he got when Miguel programmed his apartment into his watch. “We should probably get ready soon.”

“Yes,” Miles says, pushing himself out of bed, stretching. “But what about me? I still don’t have clothes my size here.”

“I may have messaged Gonzalo to get some clothes delivered for you,” Miguel murmurs. 

“And he agreed? Wow. Thanks Miggy,” Miles teases. He pinches Miguel’s side as they get dressed, yelping when the man grabs his ass in retaliation. 

“Gato,” Miles murmurs. 

“Do you mean that as a compliment or an insult?”

“Yes.”

Miguel scowls. “I’m glad you think this is funny.”

“Why would I stop when you react like that?” Miles grins. “Wow. I think this is the… Well, it’s not the first time I’m seeing you outside of your suit, isn’t it?” 

“Not quite,” Miguel says. “But you’re on the right track. It isn’t often that I am in proper, civilian clothing.”

“You gotta loosen up more, man. You’re not at work every moment of the day,”

“You say as if you don’t wear your suit underneath your school uniform,” Miguel smirks, tilting his head forward. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“Hey! We’re talking about you here, not me,” he grumbles, straightening the collar of Gonzalo’s jacket. The cheeky bastard sent him the entire outfit he accidentally put on after stumbling onto Earth 42. They meander towards the front door, not making any particular effort to rush out. He almost doesn't want to leave the safe space they have for themselves to deal with the fallout of the fight in the Pit. Or his friends plentiful teasing, which will surely make him have a permanent flush on his cheeks.

“Miles.”

“Yes?”

"No matter what happens out there, you belong here," Miguel says, glancing at him from the side. "Every lab, every exam room, every hallway, every lobby. This is yours, Miles. Just like it is everyone else's."

"I know."

"And you're not alone," Miguel continues. "You have your friends, your family, myself, that will support you."

"You deserve it too," Miles responds quietly. "You deserve this. You have come so far from the day we first met. You're not alone either. Mis amigos son tus amigos, and all that."

Miguel chuckles, a warm deep sound he hasn't heard before but can't get enough of. "I'm pretty sure that's not how that works."

“According to who?” Miles snorts, glancing at the door. “You ready for this?”.

Miguel kisses his knuckles chastely before clasping their hands together, doors opening to welcome a new day. "Yes. Let's go. Together."

Spider Society remains much the same after the incident with Peter 3377. Teams are still deployed for missions, anomalies still occasionally cause problems for the entire Spider Society, and life moves forward. Jessica Drew is co-leader of Spider society with Miguel O’Hara, allocating responsibilities among those in their trusted circle to minimize one person taking on too many responsibilities at once. Gwen Stacy is one such Spider, growing and blossoming under the tutelage of her mentor. Miles G. Morales of Earth 42 tags alongside Hobie Brown, an unlikely duo that works surprisingly well together, in more ways than one. Pavitir Prabhakar quickly grows into a mentor of his own, guiding new Spiders as their universes are discovered. Miles Morales and Peter Parker from 77014 stick mostly to their own universe, popping in intermittently to catch up and visit their protege turned friend. 

And Miles Morales 1610? Well, he still takes missions, gleefully catching whatever anomaly of the week catches his interest. He still drops by to see his friends, crashing on their couch when he eats too much food to move. He still encroaches upon Miguel’s lab, babbling about this or that as the man does his best to hide the fact that he’s following his every word with interest. He still has dinner with his parents, putting up with their teasing as he finishes his double major. 

Sometimes, however, you may be just lucky enough to catch a glimpse Miles sneaking a kiss on Miguel’s cheek as he naps in his lab, turning off the monitors and picking the man up, fireman style, to their apartment.