Chapter Text
Miles doesn’t do any Spider-man stuff for the entire weekend. Because it’s the first way Peter would try to catch him unguarded, other than spamming his phone with texts and calls.
Miles knows it’s a matter of time before Peter steps it up.
And he’s proven right—once he gets home from school on the Monday after he spilt his heart out to Peter. (He makes sure he doesn’t take the normal route back, winding through alleyways and using his invisibility now and then. He knows it's overkill, but he’s learned it’s better to be too careful.)
He knows it’s Peter the moment he knocks on his apartment door because no one else raps the door like a drum like Peter does.
His mother, standing in the kitchen, shoots him a look. Miles, who’s sitting in the living room, only bolts up to his feet. He can’t bring himself to move, only able to fade into nothing right when his mother opens the door.
“Ms. Morales! Great to see you.” Peter sounds… okay. But then mom opens the door wider and—oh.
Peter does not look okay. He looks like he hasn’t slept, the circles under his eyes dark, blinking blearily at his mother. He’s a little pale, hands twitchy like he’s on his eighth coffee of the day.
“Is Miles home?”
His mom purses her, pulls on a polite smile and says, “Miles is doing okay. He’s not here, though.”
Miles feels vulnerable, standing in the living space in the open like this. But it doesn’t matter, Peter can’t even see him.
“Oh,” Peter says, dejected. He tilts his head, frowning a bit, brows furrowed, looks up and—
Peter looks right at him.
Miles’ feet are stuck, unable to pull his gaze away either.
How’s that possible? Peter can’t even see him.
Then, Miles feels a warm shiver run down his back, heavy and insistent. His eyes are glued on Peter, who shudders at the exact same moment and the realization hits Miles, knows what Peter meant.
Their spidey-senses are practically pinging off each other. Peter knows he’s here.
“Are you cold? I’ve got hot chocolate on the stove.”
“Ah,” Peter says, half breathless, hand coming up to rub the nape of his neck, right at the spot where Miles is feeling the warmest tingle swarm, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing. “I’m okay, Ms. Morales. Thanks for offering, though. We can do a raincheck.”
His mother grins at him, but Peter doesn’t stop glancing towards the living room, as if he can really see Miles there. Peter grins back, but it holds a tinge of wry hurt that Miles can’t quite interpret.
Peter says his goodbyes, but not before one last look at exactly where Miles is standing.
He pops back to visibility once his mother locks the door. His mom turns around, arms crossed and face stern. “Mijo, why are you avoiding Peter? The boy looks like a kicked puppy.”
“Ma!”
Miles cracks on the fifth day, knowing he can’t shirk his responsibilities as Spider-man any longer. It also seems like Peter had passed out from exhaustion, because by the fourth day, he stopped swinging through the city streets.
Besides, Miles was getting more restless not being able to do a single thing. So, he decides to risk facing Peter and go out as Spider-man.
The first day, thankfully, is free of any brunet geniuses. He saved a cat out of a tree and returned someone’s robbed laptop. Overall, he’d call it a good day.
He starts to go out as Spider-man more regularly, having had enough of being a coward—hiding from Peter and his own feelings.
He’s Spider-man, damn it. He should be able to handle this.
At the week mark after the Incident (Ganke started calling it that, and it caught on because Miles doesn’t want to call it The worst mistake Miles has ever made), Peter calls Ganke, at the worst possible time.
Miles is swinging through Harlem, away from Peter’s side of the city, getting updates from Ganke when all of a sudden, his friend stops mid-sentence.
“Uh, incoming call. On my phone.”
“From who?” Miles asks, running along the edge of a building.
“Peter Parker.”
Miles trips over his own shoes, falling right off the building. He catches himself with a web and a quick flip, landing none-too-gently on a brick wall.
“What?”
“Yeah,” Ganke says, a little too uncertain.
“Are you going to answer?” Miles asks, voice high-pitched. Ganke sighs, “I don’t know. I think I should. I mean he did go by your house a few days ago. He’s getting desperate at this point; he just doesn’t want to ambush you.”
Miles sighs too, knowing exactly what Ganke is talking about. He knows that Peter doesn’t want to spook him, but his attempts at being subtle aren’t subtle.
“Answer it.”
“Okay, I’ll hang up on you—”
“No!” Miles rushes in, “Uh. Keep the line open. I’ll just mute myself.”
“Secret three-way call, huh? Smart,” Ganke comments. “Okay, I’m answering now.”
Miles taps his earpiece, muting his side of the line just as Ganke’s speaker pops to life.
“Ganke! Hey!” Miles’ heart skips a ridiculous, childish, awful beat.
“Hey, Pete. What’s up? Need anything?”
“Straight to the chase, huh?” Peter says, nervously, “I like it.”
“I know you’re calling about Miles, so, spill.”
Miles snorts. God, he loves Ganke.
“Ah, right, well,” Peter huffs, and Miles recognizes the strain in his voice. He’s out Spider-manning.
“I just wanted to check in, see how my little protégé’s doing. I know he’s avoiding me and all, but is there anything that Miles wants to tell me? Any messages?”
Ganke pauses, and Miles knows he’s considering telling Peter what Miles told him—which was, essentially, everything.
Miles doesn’t like that implication, but he doesn’t want to blow his cover by warning Ganke.
“I think Miles needs a little more time,” Ganke says eventually. Peter sighs, or heaves, Miles can’t really tell because he’s basically panting over the line.
“He’s not ready to face you. He needs to get his thoughts in order, you know?”
“Yeah,” There it is again, that dejected tone, the same when Peter visited Miles’ apartment. “I understand. Is he, at least, okay?”
Ganke pauses.
“Ganke?”
“He’s managing.” Miles rolls his eyes so hard. Ganke isn’t wrong but damn, couldn’t he make it sound a little better?
“Right. That’s what he says when he’s not okay too,” Peter says, a little low, chuckling humorlessly.
“Yup, that’s Miles for us,” Ganke agrees.
“Come on, Ganke,” Miles hisses under his breath.
“Who was that?”
Miles jolts. Lead forms in his stomach when he sees that he didn’t mute the call.
“Uh, just my—my cat,” Ganke hurries.
“Was that Miles? Miles? Hey, buddy—”
“Okay, that’s it,” Ganke says, cutting the line to Peter.
It’s dead silence for a moment.
“That went well.”
“I’m ‘managing’? Really, Ganke?”
“What did you expect, Mr. ‘I was too distracted by my crush to realize I didn’t mute my call’.”
It’s week two of avoiding Peter. Really, at this point, he’s not sure who should get the medal for being more stubborn. Peter still hasn’t let up on texting and calling him, even calling Ganke a couple more times before realizing he won’t reach Miles that way.
His mentor is stuck to only texting a phone that’s turned off most of the time, calling a line that doesn’t pick up.
Miles has gotten used to the guilt, but the shame and embarrassment help drown it out too. Whenever he thinks of talking to Peter, to apologize and fix their friendship, he returns back to that night in Peter’s apartment, when he shed his own skin and told Peter what was exactly the predicament he found himself tangled in.
The whole mess has gotten bad enough that even the podcasts have picked up on it. Danika Hart talks about the lack of Spider-men team-ups, while JJJ brings up his relief that the two menaces are easier to deal with alone rather than being stuck at the hip together.
All in all, Miles is now fully aware there is no way they can go back to what they had before. Things just don’t work out that way.
If Peter would forgive him, and he would, Miles isn’t sure if he can live with the knowledge the Peter knows. It would be unsettling and uncomfortable and weird, especially if Peter would try to brush it under the rug.
So, yeah, a soft no on the rekindling of their friendship. At least for now, especially with all the ghosting that Miles has been doing.
It’s just unfortunate that ignoring Peter doesn’t mean he’s able to ignore the problem completely.
Miles still take unnecessary hits, still too distracted by everything to really push himself to dodge perfectly, to move quicker than his mind can catch up. His instincts aren’t much help either, also affected by what’s clouding his mind, so his performance as Spider-man suffers too. It’s clear in how many more bruises show up on his skin.
Miles knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the old, abandoned construction site. He followed an anonymous tip from the app, telling him there were some shifty groups hanging around. Somehow, the worst things always happen in places like these.
And he was right when a group of ten or so Raft escapees come out of hiding, flanking Miles.
His stomach twists when he feels the familiar shake of the ground. He didn’t know what happened to Rhino after he and Phin fought him together. He’d assumed that the authorities took him in after that, but then again, he didn’t hear any news of Rhino getting captured.
Guess this is what happens when he gets a little too careless.
“Hello again, little Spider.”
Miles’ smile under the mask turns sardonic, the fear tickling his throat. “What’s up, bro. Long time no see.”
Rhino’s armor is still damaged—a suit that was clearly poorly repaired and cobbled together at the last minute. Miles wouldn’t have any problem taking him down.
If only he wasn’t having performance issues too, in his own way.
Miles tries to hold out on his own, doing his best in trying to subdue everyone and avoid getting his bruises becoming… bruisier.
He must have said something rude, probably something about gooses, if he goes by Rhino’s sudden burst of anger, because he shakes Miles’ off his back, which the teenager definitely did not expect. Miles flies several feet, skids across the ground, hands slipping as he tries to slow himself down with his sticky fingers.
He knows he’s screwed the moment he feels the ground’s tremors. Rhino sprinting in his direction, fast and heavy. Miles knows he can take the hits, hard shoves of Rhinos’ metal fists or an awful tackle, but he just doesn’t like it, especially when his whole body is already throbbing. With the speed and the weight, Miles will likely pass out from the hits. He just hopes he will wake up fast enough to stop Rhino from crushing his head between his fists.
He waits with bated breath, tensing his body for the impact, body shaking along with the beat of Rhino’s steps.
Five, four, three, two—
A loud, determined yell makes Miles perk up, and he opens his eyes quickly enough to see a red blur—Peter—swing right before Rhino, his hand grabbing into the suit’s horn and yanking him away from Miles’ direction.
With Peter here, Miles knows that Rhino is unmatched, and he can’t help but whoop in excited triumph, ignoring the niggling worry that will haunt him later when things will inevitably get serious.
But he quietens when he realizes just how quickly Peter will take Rhino down because—
Peter is ruthless.
Miles is stunned, truly, irrevocably stunned. Peter is so fast, so strong, fists zipping at incredible speeds that even Miles’ enhanced vision, he can’t count how many punches he’s raining down on the suited man. It’s almost scary, how quick, how brutal, Peter can be—is.
He’s swinging, twisting in the air with webs and flipping with inhuman elegance. He doesn’t even use any of his tech, taking down Rhino with sheer brute force.
Vicious, powerful, fierce, aggressive—Miles can go on, because watching Peter is a treat; a reminder of who exactly Spider-man is: a superhero who’s taken down every villain he has come across.
The fight is over as soon as it started, Rhino not having expected such an attack. Rhino collapses to the ground, sending the building tremoring under his weight. Peter is perched atop the armor, head swivelling to look at the other escapees, lenses narrowed and sharp. The inmates get the message quickly, their guns clattering to the ground.
The moment Peter’s gaze lands on him, the lenses widen, Peter’s focus no longer laser-sharp, but he doesn’t lose that tension, still thrumming with violent energy, when he stands up and strides across the empty space towards Miles.
Miles’ heart is racing, and he’s unsure why. He’s unsure if it’s because of the inevitable uncomfortable conversation, the fact Peter just absolutely destroyed Rhino and looked hot while doing it, the fact that Peter is sort of looking like murder at the moment, or if it’s a mixture of all three.
Miles gets to his feet, tripping backwards the closer Peter comes. Miles’s eyes widen under his suit when Peter doesn’t stop approaching him.
“Okay, P—Spider-man, uh, I’ll be going—” Miles turns around, ready to break into a sprint and swing away.
“No.” An iron grip circles around his wrist—not tight, just firm. Miles’ instincts don’t react too well to that, and he tries to pull away.
Peter only does the most logical thing and throws Miles over his shoulder like a goddamn caveman, leaping out of the big empty windowpane, swinging away from the construction site.
“Hey! C’mon, man!” Miles yells over the wind, trying to lean and catch Peter’s eyes, but the snow flying onto his mask and lenses make it harder to see.
“Pete! C’mon, let me go. Dude, this is embarrassing.”
“No!” Peter yells back, and Miles can’t help but roll his eyes hard. To his own ears, they both sound like petulant children. Wonder where I learned that from, Miles thinks dryly.
“We’re talking. You and me. Right now. You’re not running away, Miles, because to be honest, I’m so tired and I’m a little angry and I’m done waiting, I’m done chasing after you, done playing this game.”
Miles huffs, grunting when Peter’s shoulder digs into a bruise.
“This is crazy, Pete! You said you’d wait when I was ready.”
“At this rate, you weren’t ever going to be.” Miles’ mouth shuts. Peter is right. If Miles got his way, there would never be a conversation resolving everything between them. Peter bounces him in his grip, “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Miles’ silence is a resounding answer, and Peter can only say under his breath, exasperated, “Miles.”
He knows he shouldn’t try to escape because Peter is at the end of his rope right now, but Miles can’t do this. He really can’t.
He lifts his right and shoots off a web blindly, feels it connect to a wall and pulls, twisting his body in Peter’s hold. For a split moment, he’s free—Peter’s warm hand no longer a firm pressure against his side.
But then, Peter spins mid-air, grabs onto Miles’ other wrist and yanks him free in a swift motion.
Woah, he is strong.
Peter doesn’t even heave a breath when he throws Miles up into the air, catching him against his chest and uses his web to jerk the both of them towards a rooftop, away from prying eyes.
They land on the side of a water tank—and by land, he means that Peter sticks on it, with Miles held against his chest. He’s stuck between Peter and the wall of the water tank, Peter’s arms bracketing Miles’ shoulders, knees astride Miles’ thighs.
Miles is sticking to the water tank too, his feet planted on the wall under Peter, his sticky fingertips just brushing Peter’s knees, elbows resting against the metal wall.
It’s terribly intimate—because they’re facing each other too, panting the same air. Miles is trapped, and he knows there’s no way he can escape this.
“Talk,” Peter says, hoarse, low and still—still so goddamn soft, as if he didn’t just absolutely ruin Rhino’s armor like it was cardboard.
“No,” Miles grits out impulsively. Peter doesn’t react, his lenses only narrowing at him.
“Miles,” he says again, exasperated.
“Peter.”
“Goddamnit, Miles. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t like this any more than you do. Please—please, just talk to me,” Peter’s voice cracks, desperate and distraught.
Miles can hardly think straight. Peter is so close, and he’s so warm, running hot from the batshit insane fight not even two minutes ago. Even with the snow and the frigid January air, Miles still feels like he’s standing at the edge of a fireplace.
Warm. Inviting. Everything that’s Peter.
“I missed you,” Miles mumbles, impulsively again. Peter’s lenses shutter, like he’s blinking rapidly under the mask. It’s kind of funny. But also, not. Because he just said he missed Peter. Really, he’s, like, half sure he has a concussion at this point.
Miles feels exhausted all of a sudden, and the injuries make themselves known.
He groans, knocking his head back onto the water tank, the metal denting under it.
“What hurts?” Peter asks, warm breath ghosting over Miles’ face.
“Everything,” Miles admits. He closes his eyes under the mask and lets himself feel.
The cracks in his chest reappear—splintering and gaping wide, the weight on his shoulders getting heavier and heavier until Miles can’t shoulder any more, the lump in his throat getting sharper to the point tears prick his eyes.
It’s too hot, too closed up, too much everything—and Miles sucks in a breath, one hand shooting up to fumble for his mask, whipping it off his face.
The freezing air nips at his nose and ears instantly, but it’s good for his flushed face, good for the hot tears on his cheeks. Not good for suddenly facing Peter, mask-less and open and vulnerable.
His stomach twists and his heart tumbles to his feet when Peter doesn’t waste a moment to take his mask off too and—oh shit
Yeah, Miles regrets taking his mask off. Because every sense of his is filled to the brim of Peter. The feel of his breath over his face, the scent of detergent and singed cloth and cheap cologne, the sight of Peter’s own flushed face—cheeks, nose and tips of his ears a bright pink that’s disgustingly adorable and Miles doesn’t really know what to do—the sound of his shuddering breath and the near-silent, “Miles.”
Miles cracks, a sob welling up in his throat. Why is he crying? God, why is he being so weird? His shoulders shake and he can’t take more of Peter’s open, earnest, warm face. He dips his head forward, resting his forehead against Peter’s collarbone.
Peter tenses up for a brief moment, but a gentle hand rests on the nape of his neck. Peter doesn’t touch flesh, hand safe on the spandex of Miles’ suit. Safe. Warm. Protective.
“Pete,” he murmurs. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing, only a part of his brain dimly aware that one hand unsticks from the metal wall to wrap around Peter’s waist—not pulling, not tightening, just sitting there.
“Bud,” Peter chokes out, the muscles under Miles’ hand twitching before Peter—
Peter leans into his chaste touch, the thumb on Miles’ neck now stroking a steady rhythm.
You see, Miles understands why Peter is doing this. The man is too kind for his own good, always has been. It is why Miles has always felt like trash, knowing he’s pushing the man to his limits despite knowing he shouldn’t.
Because Miles has more to lose, doesn’t he? If he went ahead with the proceedings, he’d lose one of his best friends, his mentor, the person he—he loves and admires. And after he lost Phin, Miles doesn’t know where to go. He can’t bring himself to lie to Peter, not after he did that to Phin. Instead, he can run, he can hide, and hope Peter doesn’t give chase.
But he should have known better. He and Peter are too alike sometimes, and Miles doesn’t remember a time he faltered in his chase for the Tinkerer—determined to bring Phin back and fix things.
He knows he shouldn’t love Peter like this because it just isn’t and shouldn’t be logical. Peter has been his friend the whole time, his brother, his partner in fighting crime. So why did everything have to change? Why did Miles have to suddenly switch his perspective and fall for a person he can’t ever have?
Bright green-brown eyes, beaming, peeking over behind a huge plume of cotton candy.
Exuberant grin, hands clapping when Miles shoots the target dead-center.
Teary eyes and stifled voice, vehemently denying he’s crying, hiding behind the bag of popcorn they snuck into the theatre.
“I know you won’t hear this until the whole fight is over, so I hope everything turns out oka—holy—oh my god, Miles!”
“Hey, hey, no, no, no, none of that. I wanna talk—let’s talk, okay? I want to hear from you. You’re not bothering me at all.”
“Please don’t hang up.”
“I know this is going to sound really selfish of me right now, but I really wished you had called me to come back.”
“I know you’re around here. I can feel you.”
“Okay, I trust you.”
When Miles puts it that way… He’s surprised he didn’t realize his feelings sooner.
He’s not sure when it started, whether the first feelings of hero worship simply melded into his own fondness for the dorky scientist. If it began from their shared feelings of grief and pain, losing important figures in their lives not too soon after each other. If it sparked the moment Peter flipped onto the ceiling with him, giving a secret out so freely and easily like that—especially after all the betrayals he’s gone through.
It doesn’t matter at this point, because Peter knows and Miles can’t take back what he said, no matter how much he wants to.
“I’m so, so sorry, Peter,” Miles chokes out. He feels Peter shake his head. “Shh, it’s okay.”
I’m sorry.
It’s okay.
He says it again anyway, like a prayer he can’t quite get out of his head. He’s silenced when Peter slides his hands further up his neck, higher still, until his fingers touch flesh, higher until he’s brushing over Miles’ jaw, reaching his chin, and gently nudging Miles’ head up. With his eyes still closed, Miles feels Peter slide his hand onto the back of his head, pulling and bringing them closer until their foreheads are pressed together—incredibly intimate and incredibly painful.
“It’s okay, Miles.”
He tightens his hold on Peter, who only pulls him closer in until Miles’ hands aren’t sticking on the wall, taking Miles’ weight like it’s nothing.
“Talk to me,” Peter quietly says. Not a command, not a request, just a simple, gentle reminder that Peter is still left in the dark.
Miles doesn’t pull away, but it’s a close thing. His eyes open and he’s a little startled to see Peter already staring at him.
“I can’t,” Miles says simply. Peter searches his eyes.
Because I’m scared, Pete. I’m scared that one day, when I really need you, you won’t be there. And it’s worse because I think I’m in love with you.
Both of Miles arms wind around the man, who presses himself closer to the wall until he’s flushed against Miles.
“Anything hurts? Gotten worse?” Peter asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Miles only hums. “It’s not so bad.”
Peter huffs, and Miles can feel the vibrations of the laugh rattling his brain.
“Now I know it’s real bad.”
They stuck like that for a moment or two, the seconds stretching out like taffy, thick and viscous—Miles loses track of time. It doesn’t help that sleep is tugging him under, the lull of Peter’s breathing and warmth bringing him closer to unconsciousness than any noise machine could ever.
Miles knows they can’t stay like this forever, so he pulls away first, opening his eyes. Peter is flushed, pinker than before, snowflakes in his light brown hair and over his dark eyelashes. Deep hazel eyes blink open and Miles’ breath is stolen right out of his lungs.
“My apartment?” Peter says quietly.
Miles nods, not trusting his voice at the moment.
Peter waits until Miles puts on his mask to slide on his own. Miles is about to pull away from the embrace to swing back to his apartment, but Peter only squeezes the back of Miles’ neck gently—a delightful shiver running down his spine in the worst way—and mutters in Miles’ ear, “Hold on tight.”
The heat in Peter’s apartment is on. He must have been at home when he heard about Miles going toe-to-toe with Rhino, because the television is still on too, right on the news channel.
Peter doesn’t let Miles down until he’s in front of the sofa, gently laying him down, going back to close the window he crawled through.
Miles sits up, feeling his stomach form lead. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened at that water tank, but he’s not going to make any assumptions that everything with Peter is fixed right up. He’s cautious when Peter takes his mask off and stares wordlessly at Miles, expression unreadable.
“Take off your suit. I’ll get the ice.”
Peter moves towards the fridge, still in his own Spider-suit. Miles doesn’t want to get up, partly because he doesn’t want a rerun of what happened the last time he was here, and also every part of him aches.
He takes his mask off and tugs on the neck of his suit, pulling it away from his shoulders and rolling it down to his waist. Peter doesn’t have the same horrified look from before, but it’s pinched. He sits on the coffee table, between Miles’ legs.
“You can lay down if it’s more comfortable.” Peter has the large medkit by his side, a large bag of ice in his hand.
Miles lays down, not saying a single word, and Peter starts to rummage through the medkit. He pulls out the alcohol wipes, likely for the swallow grazes from being dragged across grounds.
Peter starts work on the prominent open wounds, terribly gentle in a way that makes Miles’ head spin because not half an hour ago, he saw him take down Rhino like it was nothing. Now, he’s careful, methodical. The contrast is addicting.
“I’m not going to pry. Not going to ask anything but this one thing. And I want you to be truthful.”
Miles swallows hard, staring at Peter, who only meets his eyes when he delivers the gut-punch of a question.
“Did you mean it?”
Miles’ fists clench. He can feel his power take away his fingers first.
Miles doesn’t know how much longer he has with Peter. He doesn’t know if the man will want him around any longer, if he’ll want to see Miles the moment he knows the extent of Miles’ feelings. Because it should be weird to him. To fully realize that his friend, his student, is practically in love with him, especially when there was no evidence beforehand pointing to that conclusion.
But maybe it’s a good thing. Peter won’t want to stay, so Miles might as well go all in. There is no way out but through. Besides, Peter is hurting the longer Miles put everything under lock and key. And Miles doesn’t like that, doesn’t like that he’s making Peter feel horrible. He hates it. There is no other way out of this.
Peter won't want him after, and maybe that's good. Because Peter will stop hurting. Besides, it's okay. Miles is the one who'll get hurt in the end, not Peter.
Just like Peter, Miles is at the end of his rope too.
He forces himself to relax, fingers phasing back. There’s no danger. Not here. Not when he’s with Peter.
“Yeah,” Miles croaks, before nodding, “Still do.”
Peter’s brows twitch, and the expressiveness comes swooping right back. That stoic mask not lasting long. His mouth gapes, his eyes crinkling at the corners a little.
But he doesn’t say a word, only shuts his mouth with a click, nods and goes right back to cleaning Miles’ wounds.
“When did you figure it out?”
“You said you weren’t going to pry.”
“Right, sorry,” Peter says bashfully, eyes trained on Miles’ chest. He rummages through the kit to pick out colorful band-aids.
Miles picks at the thread poking at the edge of the sofa cushion, eyes glued on it.
“The phone call.”
“Hmm? What phone call?” Peter asks absentmindedly, sticking the band-aids carefully onto Miles’ skin. Then, he stops and looks up.
“Ah, that phone call.” Peter purses his lips, staring at Miles curiously. “No wonder you were so weird after that.”
Miles laughs a little bitterly, “Yeah. Guess I wasn’t subtle enough.”
Peter eyes him. “You definitely weren’t subtle. But I definitely didn’t expect it to be about that.”
Miles smiles, the grin stretched awkwardly across his lips. “If it helps you feel any better, neither did I.”
Miles holds Peter’s gaze. A bit of that fear had shed away a bit, now that everything has come to light. Miles doesn’t really have anything to hide anymore.
All of a sudden, Peter blinks, eyes darting away with a look that’s difficult to parse.
He’s silent when he goes back to cleaning a graze, which is so unlike Peter that it leaves Miles a little unsettled. He nudges Peter with his fist, “S’okay. You can ask me. I’ll answer where I can.”
Peter looks up at him. “You sure?”
Miles nods, lips twitching. “Yeah, of course.”
Peter holds his gaze. “How much do you—?”
Miles’ face closes in on that, and Peter curses under his breath, “Hey, no I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked the hard questions first. I’ll ask something else. Okay, uh, did you tell Ganke?”
Miles nods, lips tightly zipped. He doesn’t know if he’ll cry again if he opens his mouth.
Peter pats his knee, eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” Miles says, forgiving the man immediately. Peter wouldn’t ever mean true harm.
“It’s still not okay. I wanted to get a reaction from you, see where the limit was. I’m sorry, Miles.”
The teenager shrugs. “I’m sorry too.”
Peter furrows his brows. “For what?”
“For making you feel… bad whenever you’re around me.”
At Peter’s curious head tilt, he elaborates, “I don’t know, man. It felt like you changed after you came back from Symkaria too. And it’s my fault. You talk to me like you’re treading on eggshells. I haven’t been making it easy for you either, Pete.”
Understanding dawns on his face. Peter smiles, shaking his head. “It’s not ‘cause of the phone call. It was ‘cause of me.”
Peter huffs a laugh, eyes darting away to fixate on a point over Miles’ shoulder. “I was afraid you didn’t want to talk to me afterwards. Thought I’d broken a boundary somewhere, and I was too stubborn to ask what was wrong. Simply assumed you didn’t want me around anymore.”
Miles stares at him, stunned, before cracking up. “That’s stupid. What a pair we make.”
Peter grins. “You got that right, bud.”
The following silence is easier, less tense and heavy. Peter is laying a muscle balm over the blooms of purple and blue, gloved fingers light and gentle. Even then, Miles winces.
Peter’s hands still. “You okay?”
“Y-Yeah, just—just a little sensitive, s’all. Haven’t treated any of the bruises in a while.” Peter nods, going slower this time.
Which Miles immediately hates because suddenly the slow drags of Peter’s fingers are hot against his skin, a blazing trail left wherever he touched despite the spandex.
This is how I die. This is it, boys.
“You ever, uh—” Peter’s fingers twitch, the movement making Miles tense up too, and Miles watches with a morbid sort of fascination at Peter’s earnest reaction—eyes going widening a fraction, cheeks suddenly flushing, staring down at Miles.
“Pete?”
“Uh, yeah. You ever had this for, um, anyone else?” Peter asks, starting his ministrations again. He's not looking at Miles’ eyes.
It’s Miles’ turn to blush. “No,” he admits softly, restless.
“At least not this… intense,” he mutters, feeling lame and too young. Peter nods in understanding. “It’s confusing, right? Like you’re not sure if it’s legitimate or if it’s being a teenager that’s dialing all the feelings up to eleven.”
Miles nods in agreement, “Yeah. Took me a while to get it all figured out.”
Peter hums, pressing his palm down gently on the area of Miles’ cracked rib. The teen flinches, hisses under his breath.
“Sorry,” Peter mumbles. “I don’t think it’s broken, so you’re in the clear.”
“Woo, no punctured lungs,” Miles jokes, and Peter swipes a hand over the other side of his torso, which immediately wipes the smile off of Miles. The teenager has to lean his head back, hiding the expression on his heated face.
“So, what do you think? You think you got everything figured out?” Peter asks, tossing the tube of muscle balm back into his med kit, passing the ice to Miles’ hands.
Miles brushes his fingers against Peter’s, placing the ice over his side, right where Rhino had shoved his fist into, a hit that threw him through drywall.
“I think things have found their place. More or less. I just need to know where a few things stand,” Miles says quietly but no less serious. He meets Peter’s gaze unflinchingly.
“Well? How’s that going?”
“It’s still in the air,” Miles mumbles, blinking down at Peter’s hands, “Some signs are confusing. Just worried I won’t have the chance to clarify them.”
Peter’s brows twitch, blinking openly at Miles.
"What am I going to do with you?" Peter says softly, and Miles flinches.
A vibration shakes down his leg, and Peter pulls away, eyes roaming all over the room.
Miles pulls his phone out, and he deflates.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just—”
Miles doesn’t have to go anywhere; his mom having seen the news. She knows he’s probably safe in Spider-man’s lair or something, told him that he can stay the night if he’d like. The only problem is that Miles doesn’t want to. He'd wanted an excuse to escape.
This conversation with Peter has only confirmed one thing—this thing he has for Pete will not simply go away. It's clear to Miles now. And if he wants to minimise the damage, try to fix whatever they have left, Miles has to leave before he does something stupid.
His head is like a pendulum, lost and swinging between wanting to stay next to Peter and tell him every little thought in his head—in spite of his own feelings, in spite of the fact their friendship is only crashing and burning at the moment—and wanting to leave and fix whatever they have left because Miles also hates the fact Peter won't be in his life but Peter knows and Miles still doesn't know what to do.
Everything points to him losing Peter either way.
Miles reaches for his mask as he gets to his feet, putting his phone away. “I’m going home.”
“What?” Peter rushes to his feet too, stumbling after Miles who’s already half-way to the window. “Hey, no, don’t, you’re still injured and you’re clearly not okay, just crash here and—”
“No, Pete.” Miles turns around. He’s struck by how easily Peter towers over him.
“I can’t stay. I really can’t. This isn’t—” Miles frowns, the words like glass in his mouth. “I can’t go back to the way things were and pretend, bro. It’s just not—me. I really can’t do that.”
He looks up and—oh. Peter is—Pete’s heartbroken. There’s no way around it. The look injects venom right into Miles’ veins.
“Miles, bud, please—”
“We can be friends, even still be partners in fighting crime again,” Miles tries to smile, but it probably ended up looking like a grimace. He has to do this, if he wants to salvage their friendship as best he can. “But not now, and not for a while. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. Maybe try to get over you? Try to forget what happened? Either way, I need more time.”
Peter is shaking his head frantically and to Miles’ horror, there are tears springing to his friend’s eyes. It looks wrong on someone who always exudes sunshine and kindness.
“It’s just how it is, man,” Miles softens his tone, as much as he can, like Peter always does for him.
Peter extends a hand, but it freezes mid-air before dropping back to his side. The older man looks to the side, swallowing hard. “Does this mean I can’t see you as Peter, either?”
Miles shakes his head. “We can work as Spider-men together, I promise. But anything more than business, it won’t take, Pete. I’m sorry.”
“I—” Peter chokes, hands clenching and unclenching. Powerful, unchecked strength.
Peter’s hurt, he’s crying and it’s Miles’ fault. This is why he can’t be around Peter. “I understand.”
Miles nods, slips on his mask, turns around.
“Actually—no.”
Miles stops in his tracks.
“I can’t imagine you being alone out there again, Miles. After what happened with Roxxon and what nearly happened today—I can’t handle the thought I can’t be there for you.”
Miles feels like someone just tore a hole right through his chest and read out every secret held tightly to his heart.
“With Roxxon, I couldn’t—I wasn’t there for you and I’m so, so sorry for that, I am.” Peter takes in a shaky breath, and with a tone that brooked no argument, “And I don’t want to make the same mistake again, I won’t—”
“So, what are you gonna do, huh, Pete?” Miles turns back around, yanks off his mask again, tone challenging. Peter steps back quick, eyes wide. “Are you going to swing over my shoulder again? Pretend as if everything’s that happened never happened? You can’t do anything. So, what, Pete? What are you going to do?”
Peter’s flushed, ready to yell something back. But something in his expression flickers. Miles swears he can see the moment that Peter switches gears, because suddenly he’s broadening his shoulders, straightening out his back—the stance he takes right before a fight.
“What, Pete? You gonna punch me?”
“No,” Peter says, jaw clenched.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Miles’ heart stops.
“What?”
When Miles saw Peter fight Rhino, he knew the man was fast. But he’s never realized just how much. And god, the man is fast. Miles didn’t have time to react.
His hands are gentle when they hold Miles’ face, leaning into his space and enveloping every sense. The man pauses for a second, and it’s the second of hesitation that Miles needs to realize that holy shit this is happening—
He’s not sure who leaned in to close the distance first, it could be him, could be Peter, could be both of them, but it doesn’t matter because they’re kissing and oh god—
It’s warm, determined, soft, and so like Peter that Miles doesn’t stop himself from melting right into it.
Any inhibitions that Peter was holding back are gone right that second, one hand still cradling the side of Miles’ face, the other winding around his waist tenderly.
Then Peter pulls back, eyes wide and alarmed and filled with concern, “You—You’re okay with this, right? I—I’m not forcing you or anything because that was stupidly impulsive, and I didn’t think before—”
“No, you dork,” Miles says, still gaping because his mind needs a moment. He’s pretty sure he’s blue-screening because he doesn’t say anything for a while, his brain absolutely broken.
This has got to be a dream or something. No way.
Peter’s expression tightens, getting more concerned and Miles breaks into a smile because it’s Peter, the geeky weirdo who he loves. “I’m totally okay with it.”
Miles’ heart ticks up in speed when he sees the slow grin grow on Peter’s face. Miles glances away bashfully, “Besides, did you, like, forget I’m completely in love with you?”
“Consent is always key, Miles—didyou—didyoujustsayyou’re in love withme?” Peter’s voice rises in pitch, eyes so wide, mouth agape.
Miles feels his cheeks go hot.
“I just thought it was just—I don’t know! Just extreme infatuation.” Peter licks his lips. “I didn’t know you—you felt like that. In that way, I mean.”
Miles pulls back, furrows his brows. “Extreme infatuation. What does that got to do with anything? I thought you knew I was basically head over heels over you.”
“I mean, I just assumed.” Peter blinks slowly at him, then, almost cautiously, “Especially when you said that this is your first time—”
“I’ve had crushes and I’ve dated before, Pete. I just said I haven’t felt this way for… basically anyone before.”
Peter blinks even more. “Oh.”
Miles tilts his head, staring at Peter, and slowly grins. “Did you think it was just a crush?”
Peter nods, lips twitching. “Yeah. Thought it was just a hero worship thing, and I was worried that you’d—well, that you’d want to stop being friends just for that.”
Miles shakes his head, “It was a little bit like that at first, a long time ago. But whatever hero worship I had was already gone by the time you kept not-so-subtly telling me to leave you alone.”
Peter groans, pressing his forehead against Miles’. “You’re not going to let that go, will you?”
“Nope. Forever seared into my head. Felt completely embarrassed. Can’t believe I was stood up countless times.”
“You were cute. But a little annoying. Reminded me too much of myself.”
“What does it say about us that we’re kissing?”
“Self-absorbed, maybe?”
“For sure,” Miles agrees, then says, “But we’re not kissing now, are we? We should, like, I don’t know, keep up with the status quo and all that.”
Peter laughs, and it’s genuine. Bright, beaming and warm—just, all Peter.
“Sure, anything you want.”
Miles leans in a bit, but Peter abruptly says, “Wait.”
His soft voice, breath gentle against his own lips, is a horrible distraction. His hand traces Miles’ chin, thumb running over his skin in a move that could make Miles cry if he wasn’t already rubbed raw.
“I love you.”
Miles jolts, leaning back, eyes wide.
Oh, man.
Peter has a tiny grin on his face, a little smug, a lot affectionate. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”
“When did you figure it out?”
Peter chuckles, the hand on Miles’ waist stroking up and down, comforting and distracting.
“I think it was between the fifth and sixth cup of coffee, running on basically no sleep and sheer indomitable will—”
“—I think you mean you were just too stubborn—"
“—I was convicted I could catch you in the city just by sheer coincidence. Even ran the probability of seeing you around.”
Peter softens, the humor replaced by something more vulnerable. “It didn’t really hit me until I went to your apartment. When I realized that, if I didn’t try to fix things, I would spend the rest of our relationship like that: looking right at you, but unable to see you—invisible and just—out of my grasp.”
“So, you did see me. I thought I was just imagining it.”
Peter smiles, a sweet close-lipped thing that makes Miles feel self-conscious—but in a good way, in a way that makes Miles wonder what exactly he did to deserve to be looked at like that by Peter.
“Yeah. I guess even my spidey-sense recognized you.”
That self-conscious feeling only intensifies.
Miles can hear the click of Peter’s throat when he swallows dryly. “I guess it also helped when I thought back to how helpless I felt back in Symkaria. Knowing I can’t just reach across the screen to catch you out of the sky.”
Miles surges forward, bringing him into a tight hug, dangerously close to crying again.
“You were scared. I could hear it in the voicemails,” Miles says quietly, uncertain.
Peter sighs, melting in relief right into Miles’ strong embrace. “Yeah. I was. So, so scared. Kinda felt like I was going out of my mind. It was awful.”
“I wanted to call you,” Miles confesses, everything wanting to pour out urgently. Peter tightens his hold. “They were a few times that I wished—that I wanted you to swing in, save my ass and get me out of my messes like some sort of prince charming.”
Miles laughs, a little bitter. But Peter shakes his head, and says, “What’s so wrong with that?”
“I’m—I’m Spider-man. I shouldn’t rely on others.”
“And how about the people who rely on you? They can’t do that either?”
Miles sighs, “That’s not the same. I’ve got powers. Those people don’t.”
“But you’re human, Miles. You aren’t susceptible to get hurt. I mean look at your bruises now.” Peter pulls back to meet his eyes. “Is this what MJ kept complaining about? The stubbornness? I can see why.”
Miles frowns. He’s about to bite his tongue, but decides to ignore the skittish part of himself and says, “Speaking of MJ—”
“We broke things off while we were in Symkaria,” Peter reassures him and a grin stretches across his lips, “Seem like MJ got a little familiar with the princess herself.”
Miles’ eyes widen. “Terrifying combo they make, but I’m happy for her. Besides, we knew things weren’t the same long before that trip. We just wanted a legitimate reason. MJ founds hers.”
Peter pulls him closer. “And now I’ve found mine.”
“Is this how cheesy you’ll be all the time?”
Peter pinches Miles’ side who cracks up, leaning in to kiss the young genius, laughter still shaking his frame.
Miles frown a bit when he pulls away, thoughtful. “There’s one thing I’m worried about.”
“What’s that?”
“If you’re going to be my boyfriend, does that mean you’ll be my mentor-boyfriend? Boyfriend-mentor? Wait, that makes you sound more like a dating coach. Are you gonna stop training me how to be Spider-man?”
Peter relaxes. “I was telling the truth when I said I wasn’t going to be looking over your shoulder anymore. I don’t mind training you more, especially with all the nitty-gritty stuff. But—you’ve grown, Miles, you’ve come so far, faster than I could have ever imagined.”
The way he says it makes the pride bloom in Miles’ chest, happy to warrant such words from the Spider-man. He kisses Miles, and it’s amazing. What’s not amazing is how quick Peter is with his kisses, pulling away once again.
“You’re doing so much better than I ever did at your age.” Peter presses his forehead against Miles’, gaze still locked. “You’re incredible—you’re amazing, Miles.”
“Have you looked at yourself?” Miles says, still not sure where to put that kind of praise.
Peter’s eyes twinkle, though his brows furrow. “You’re deflecting. That’s okay. We’ll work on that.”
Peter places a kiss on Miles’ lips, soft and warm. Miles has lost count of the times they’ve kissed already. “We’ve got all the time in the world. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Miles’ heart is leaping out of his chest, eyes fixated on Peter. Brown half-lidded eyes, unyielding and hopeful, lips red and stretched in a lazy, pleased grin.
Miles can’t ever get sick of looking at him.
They stand there for a while, soaking in each other's presence. Miles can only hear Peter's heartbeat, strong and steady, consistent. It almost makes the migraine go away from how drowsy he already feels.
"Your head must be hurting really bad, huh?"
"Yeah," Miles huffs, melting against Peter, who only catches him, supporting his weight without a sweat. "A lot."
How Peter knows me so well, I don't know. Love it, though. He's like a crazy mind-reader.
"Come on," Peter breathes against Miles' neck, but before Miles can pull away, Peter bends down, slinks his arm behind Miles knees and—
"Oh," Miles murmurs dumbly, snug against Peter's chest, inches away from his face, held gently and protectively.
"I was gonna limp back to the couch, but this is good too."
"Who says you're sleeping on the couch?" Peter says, rolling his eyes. Miles is staring silently.
"You're amazing."
Peter laughs softly. "Okay, now I'm doubly sure you're out of it."
"I mean it, Pete. I meant what I said when we were first met and still do. You are amazing, and spectacular."
Peter's grin twists, "Yeah. I mean I am Spider-man—"
"No. Not Spider-man. Peter Parker. That guy," Miles says, holding his gaze steadfast. Peter falters then, eyes fixated on him, lips parting just a bit, standing still right in front of his bedroom door.
"I love Peter Parker as much as I admire Spider-man, and vice versa or whatever. They're the same person. I don't know why you forget that sometimes."
Peter softens, something fond in his eyes as he shrugs as gently he can with MIles in his arms. Miles... likes that look on his face. It makes him feel warm. It makes him feel loved—loved, that's it.
That's the look in Peter's eyes whenever Miles couldn't understand, couldn't deciper the emotion in his eyes. Love. Huh. Weird.
Miles frowns, feeling an irrational spark of frustration. "So many things I want to say, to tell you. But I'm tired and I can't really think."
Peter's warmth comes in waves in his soft laugh and in the even softer kiss placed on MIles' hairline.
"Just go to sleep, Miles."
Miles feels soft sheets and a pillow that smells of Peter—of his cologne and cheap shampoo—under his head. Peter turns, and Miles hand shoots out before he even thinks.
Peter's face is blurry, but Miles can still see the grin on his face, blinding and loving. "I'm not going anywhere. Just moving over to the other side of the bed."
Miles nods into the pillow, eye lids half closed. He's glad Peter wasn't going to sleep on the couch or something. He didn't want to argue with the guy. Great minds think alike.
He feels the bed dip beside him, and he reaches out blindly, fingers quickly slipping in between gloved hands too. Peter didn't even change out of his suit.
It makes Miles grin.
"What's up?" Peter whispers.
"Nothin'. 'M just happy, man," Miles mumbles. Peter shifts closer on the bed but keep their hands the only shared contact. Miles doesn't like that.
WIthout even thinking, he slides his other hand over Peter's waist and pulls Peter closer, using his very useful superstrength until he's flushed against Peter's chest. He nuzzles into Peter's neck. God, he smells so good.
"Yeah, you are," Peter says, low, a little strained.
"Relax. Just wanna touch you. Like you around," Miles says, half gone, throwing a leg over Peter's hips.
Peter's heartbeat isn't the last thing he hears.
It's Peter's voice, warm and fond and affectionate, "I'm not going anywhere, Miles. Not until you say so."
Forever then.
For some reason, he feels Peter grin before darkness completely overtakes him, enveloped by love and safety. He's never felt more at home.
“Do straws make it easier?”
Miles shrugs from his position, the cup of cold strawberry lemonade carefully held in his upside-down hand. “Kind of. Less risk of the drink going to my nose.”
Peter snorts. “It’s still such a shame I didn’t get my phone out fast enough. Eh, not that it matters, I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of you shooting milk out of your nose out of my memory.”
Miles rolls his eyes. “As if you weren’t the one who made me laugh. I still blame you for that.”
Peter only shrugs, and his mask is stretched in a way that tells Miles he’s grinning like mad underneath it.
He passes the second half of the drink off to Peter, who rolls his mask up to his nose. But instead of sipping the drink like Miles expected, Peter turns to him, leans in and kisses Miles deeply—who’s still very much upside down.
It’s—It’s a weird angle but surprisingly not horrible. Definitely still better than the kiss they shared when Peter was still covered in rubble dust. Miles almost died from how much dust he inhaled.
“Strawberry lemonade,” Peter says thoughtfully when he pulls away. “Not a bad choice. Little too tart for my tastes, though.”
“That’s a first,” Miles comments, talking about the kiss.
Peter grins, watching Miles flip back to earth, and he kisses him right this time. “Doesn’t sound like a complaint.”
“It’s not,” Miles breathes against Peter’s lips. Peter’s hand comes up and pulls down the mask for Miles, rolling it down to his neck, a tender action that always makes Miles’ heart squeeze like a stress ball. He places one last kiss on Miles’ forehead before treating himself to strawberry lemonade.
“Do you think about how we could have done things wrong?”
“What do you mean?” Peter asks, peering over to Miles, who sighs and looks at the street below him.
“I sometimes think about how close we were to not getting together. How easily we would have missed something this amazing.”
Peter’s silent, like he always is when he’s considering an answer seriously. Miles has gotten to know Peter much better over the last few months, has gotten much closer to the man, gotten more intimate in ways that truly matter. And Miles could almost have lost it all.
“We can’t do anything to the past, especially when things have turned out our way. We can only be a little more grateful, and—” Peter grins a bit, “take a leap of faith, sometimes—hope for the best.”
“Yeah,” Miles agrees.
The sirens come right on schedule. Peter turns to Miles, “Good luck kiss?”
Miles tilts his head, moving his head up and down like he’s considering.
“Only if you reach there first.” Before Peter can blink, Miles has leapt off the edge of the building, his voice loud as he whoops in triumph.
“Oh, c’mon!”
“Keep up, old man!” Miles yells over his shoulder, already two blocks away.
Peter chuckles, rolling his mask down, and gets to his feet.
“God, I love him.”