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When the bell drops, leave your front door open?
>Are you kidding?! Front door open? On NYE?
Dude… Superhero.
>Fair.
>Why?
>Sam?
>Ass.
Miles let his phone thunk to his bed as he sent the last text. Really, today was like most other days, with the exception of the fact that most other days he hadn’t had a crying baby sister to dote over, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t with his peers, nor his boyfriend, because he was adamantly going to spend Billie’s first New Year with her. He’d even begged to borrow Ganke’s Instax camera to take photos of the event.
Still, it did kind of weigh on him that Sam was all the way in Arizona with his own family. Of course he understood it, he was doing the same thing, but he was fairly sure that wanting someone to be with you was just as valid as supporting the distance between each other. So; yeah, he’d sulk, but they had a date planned for the first, and that was more than enough.
The thought of the day that would soon come was enough to make Miles grin to himself, cheeks warming. Things were new, but they were amazing . His and Sam’s conversations hadn’t so much changed as they had opened up, blooming with mutual adoration rather than closeted secets. It was refreshing and bright, a splash of colour. Miles was back in his mask and Sam was back whenever Miles sent him a text -- thank god his helmet could relay messages from earth to space and in reverse.
They weren’t Champions -- at the moment--, but they were together.
That was what mattered.
With a laugh, he ran his hands through his hair, noting that he probably needed a clip, before heading downstairs to where his parents had the television playing the lead up to the count-down -- at its lowest possible volume -- and where his little sister was bobbing up and down in a play set.
Miles crouched down, dropping into his automatic squat to fuss over her.
“Y’know, I got no idea how other people don’t work out what you do sometimes, kid,” Jefferson remarked, in reference to Miles’ stance, which earned an eye roll -- and that earned a swift, “don’t roll your eyes at me, boy,” from the older man.
“Sorry, Dad. You know how it is. This is home, and it’s how I am,” Miles explained, gently lifting Billie from her seat and holding her against his chest while he swivelled at the waist, back and forth. “I ain’t gonna pretend to be someone else when I’m around family.”
“Fair’s fair,” Jefferson huffed, “just try to keep the splits for crime and gymnastics class.”
“I don’t take gymnastics class,” Miles complained, one of his hands resting on his little sister’s head as he looked at his father with a huff.
“ Mijo! ”
“Yes ma-- ah! Oh no,” Miles stumbled over his words, worried that he was too loud for the infant wrapped up in his arms, eyes shutting closed quickly to avoid the ear-shattering screech he was sure would come -- but it didn’t. Oh thank god .
“Yeah, you’re the best baby. Kinda even less poopy than Laussa,” he marvelled, pressing a kiss to her curls before he turned his attention to what his mother had wanted, gently passing over his baby sister to his father.
Meandering into the kitchen, he was eager to help with food for the night, even if it somewhat felt like a normal night. It was New Years, but the most important day of the year had been the day that his sister was born, followed, perhaps, by Miles’ first kiss with Sam Alexander. New Years was another night. Especially when the loud boom of fireworks scared the infant in the mix.
Together, the family chattered about what their resolutions would be, with Billie switching laps at any given time -- and eventually being gently put into her crib until her next bawl of hunger -- until the ball dropped for the new year.
“What are you two wishing for?” Miles asked, as the screen displayed the swaths of people who had amassed in Times Square for New Years (Yeah, he was absolutely wearing his suit under his clothes, just in case).
“If I tell ya, it won’t happen,” Jefferson pointed out, elbowing Miles in the side.
“Maybe for a son who would help more with cooking instead of babysitting--”
“Hey! I spend the time I get with her, ‘cause she’s the best,” Miles grumbled, but he leaned into his mother’s side in adoration, and received a noisy kiss to his cheek for his affection. He pretended to swat it away, but he not-so-secretly adored it.
As the countdown began, Miles had his mouth open for popcorn that his mother was tossing into his mouth before he quickly clipped his teeth together. “Sorry! I gotta open the door. Y’all mind?” he asked, staggering to his feet, “I’ll just -- ah! Cr-crud!” he didn’t even wait for any answer, instead bolting to his feet and upstairs to his sister’s room, almost falling over himself as he tumbled back down to their living room so that he could throw a blanket over Billie.
Opening the door, he was a little careful, but he was hoping for the best.
He returned to the couch where the announcer was, somehow, even more animated and obnoxious than they had been before, and grinned up when a glass was pressed into his hand.
“You’re eighteen now; this is a mimosa, and it’s all you’ll have Only tonight,” Rio warned with a pointed incline of her head, passing his father a cola, while she drank straight orange juice.
Together, the family cheersed as they watched the countdown to the new year.
The breeze blowing in was cold, but not cold enough to cool the warmth in Miles’ cheeks. He clinked glasses with his family, cheering when the ball dropped, and had barely sipped his mimosa before everything went topsy-turvy.
Am I drunk? Nope -- only sip of sparkling and orange juice in.
Instead, Miles found himself half-way up the stairs with lips pressed against his own and metal digging into his cheeks somewhat uncomfortably.
“Idiot!” Miles laughed, reaching up, shoving the helmet off Sam’s face and grabbing his cheek with his free hand to draw him in for another kiss. “What’re you doing here? Thought you’d be with your family?” he questioned, thought he wasn’t complaining, even as the suit wrapped around Sam dissipated into his casual wear, and there was a step digging into his back.
“Sure was, but, y’know, what’s the point in hyperspace travel when I can’t kiss you for New Years?” Sam teased, grinning down at Miles.
A quick flip left Sam breathless, but it wasn’t anywhere near anything that was as dirty as his teen-brain was thinking, because there was the sound of a gun loading coming from the halway, and Miles was upright and twisted at the waist with his hands outstretched.
“Dad! It’s cool! It’s just Sam -- he’s fine. It’s just. Y’know,” Miles looked as though he wanted to bury himself underneath the staircase. He huffed and carefully got to his feet, reaching for Sam’s hand to help him up, now that the threat was diminished.
“He’s just… Dropping by. New Years k-- uh. Greeting,” Miles looked like he wanted to die and, honestly, if Sam didn’t feel the same, he would have laughed. Instead, he just ducked his head down.
Clearing his throat, the Nova picked up his helmet, “sorry, Mister and Missus Morales, I wanted to -- um. New Years Eve kiss…” Excellent; eloquent. Sam could just throw himself into the Hudson right now and he’d probably feel less like a fool.
“It’s Mister Davis.”
“Sorry! Sorry, Mister Davis, Sir, I just--”
“Don’t you have your own family to get back to?”
“Well... “ Sam’s throat bobbed as he stared from his ‘vantage’ of the stairs, “I -- Miles is… Part of my family. I just--”
Jefferson was the ever-image of imposing as he moved up the stairs, and even Miles squirmed to the left of the stairwell to avoid his heavy feet. Sam was rooted in place, mortified and looking like he would rather be in space than in Jefferson’s warpath. When the man reached out, he cringed momentarily, before one of the man’s large, warm hands fell onto his shoulder.
“Huh?” Sam opened an eye, looking up at his boyfriend’s father.
“Anyone who loves my son enough to consider him family, drafty or not, is welcome here. But I happen to know you’ve got your own people to get back to,” Jefferson was grinning, squeezing Sam’s shoulder and then letting go.
“You two’ve had your midnight kiss; go get home. Oh, and make sure your mother has our number,” he informed strictly, but not without a grin. “I’ll give you boys a minute.”
Miles laughed a little nervously as his father departed, cheeks rose with colour, “Sorry, Sam. But, uh,” he leaned forward, their lips brushing once more in a devastatingly sweet kiss, “thank you for coming. I kinda forgot how fast you are. I just -- didn’t expect you here and,” he brought up his hands to cup the Nova’s cheek, the next kiss more firm, “thank you, and happy New Year.”