Archive of Our Own

1

“Ah, crap.” The splash of hot coffee over his hand is a horrible and rude wake-up call.

Ugh. Miles grimaces as he shakes off the split coffee. Damn, what a waste.

He blames Peter for having a shoddy coffee pot. The thing is ancient and its handle is hanging on by a loose screw. What’s the point of being a genius if you don’t repair your own stuff? 

He’s wiping the evidence of his mishap with paper towels when Peter’s bedroom door creaks. There’s the light patter of feet that gets him to shoot a glance at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s way too early for Peter’s standards, not that this is Miles’ usual working hours either.

(It’s been harder adjusting to being Spider-man with the way Peter's been letting go of the reins recently, delegating more of the responsibility onto Miles’ shoulders. Yet, strangely enough, they have never spent more time together than they do nowadays.

It’s like Peter thinks he needs extra supervision after everything that happened with Phin and Roxxon, even though it’s been nearly a year since that happened.

They don’t talk about it. Or at least, not as much as they probably should, even with Peter’s not-so-secret mother-henning. And that suits Miles just fine. He already goes to therapy, not including the counseling sessions at F.E.A.S.T. where he actually gets to be honest about his secret identity. Miles doesn’t need Peter to throw in his two cents, even when he feels like he needs it sometimes.

Miles is Spider-man now. Not a trainee or a stand-in, but the Spider-man. He should be handling his own problems by himself.)

Miles pulls his mug to his lips. A Spider-man-themed one with his suit colors on it that Peter made for him since he thought it was “—total bullshit no one’s made merch of the new Spider-man yet.” It’s probably his favorite mug ever.

He leans against the counter, watching a shirtless Peter amble through the chaotic clutter that’s known as his apartment, shuffling into the living area. Miles frowns deeply, his eyes drawn to the nasty black-purple bruise over the circle of his right shoulder. Peter dislocated it last night when a truck driving the city’s speed limit rammed into him. 

He's wearing plaid pajamas. Miles has only ever seen him wear grey sweatpants.

“Coffee,” Miles mutters, averting his eyes. Peter doesn’t even acknowledge him, simply pulls a mug out of the shelf out of muscle memory, eyes still half-closed. Miles grabs the coffee pot from its station.

“G’mornin’,” Peter mumbles from right behind him, and when Miles turns back around to pour some into his cup, Peter leans down and presses his lips onto Miles’ forehead.

What.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles, grabbing the coffee pot from Miles’s grip to pour it himself.

What.

Miles is left there, blinking, staring wide-eyed at Peter.

What the f—

“Wait,” Peter halts, brows furrowing, half-broken coffee pot poised right over his mug. His eyes crack a little wider, blinking blearily, and they start to flicker from his half-empty cup to Miles.

He’s frowning, the gears turning a little too slow. Not that Miles is fairing any better, because he’s pretty sure he’s wearing a constipated face.

“I thought…” Peter mumbles under his breath and then—Miles sees it.

Hazel eyes snap open and land on Miles. “Oh sh—Miles, I’m—I’m so sorry, that was totally not on purpose—I was just—”

Miles grimaces. “That was—weird.”

Peter recoils, shuts his mouth with a click, a similar look of agony on his face. “Yes. Agreed. A dumb, careless mistake on my part. Can we just, like, ignore what happened in the last two minutes? Cause that would be great.”

Miles cocks a brow, failing to ignore the extreme heat radiating from his face. It’s distracting but he manages to keep his composure. 

“I’m more focused on the fact you did that in the first place.”

Peter’s grimace doesn’t let up. He rubs the back of his head and his grimace deepens when he pulls on his dislocated shoulder. 

“Old habits die hard. My brain’s still half-dead and I thought you were MJ. You two are like the exact same height so it just—happened.”

The corner of Miles’ lips twists. He lightly punches Peter’s uninjured shoulder and holds back the snarky comment that there is literally zero other common traits he and MJ share. 

“Should have asked me out first.” 

He brings his coffee mug to his lips, carefully looking anywhere but at Peter who doesn’t say a thing in response. Not that there is anything to say. But it’s cool. They joke like that all the time. It’s cool. It is.

Miles knows how he looks right now, but he really, really hopes that Peter can’t see it otherwise—

“Hold on.”

Oh no, no, no—

“Wait, hold on. Are you… Are you blushing?”

“Man, shut up,” Miles tries his best, bringing his cup up higher, eyes trained onto the bottom of his mug.

“No, no, wait, this is great—oh dude, I haven’t seen you that red before, that’s so cute.”

Miles webs a spoon to his hand and promptly throws it at Peter’s head—who only dodges perfectly (damn it, spidey-sense) and continues to laugh, like an idiot. Pete’s an idiot.

“You’re a weirdo, Pete.”

“You’re just embarrassed. C’mon, what are bros without a little spicy bromance?”

“I will throw a fork at you, Pete, don’t think I won’t.”

2

Miles doesn’t see it coming the second time either.

They’re swinging away from the crime scene. They stopped a run-of-the-mill but hella shady weapons deal, one that Miles didn’t come out unscathed. 

He had his back open to the group’s heavy hitter. Dude was built like a linebacker, and Miles’ spidey-sense only had a second to blare like a siren before a crowbar came cracking over his skull.

It hurt, for sure—even Peter heard the impact and he had his hands full with two other crooks—but Miles regained footing quicker than the guy could pull his arm back for another hit.

They webbed everyone up and swung away, traveled for a couple of blocks before Peter said, “Hang on, let’s take five. That hit you took was awful, kiddo.”

Miles didn’t even want to argue. His head was throbbing, and the last thing he needed was to get a concussion just because he didn’t stop for five minutes. Sometimes, all the Spider-healing needs is a little breather to get going.

They sat on top of one of the taller buildings in Hell’s Kitchen, and Miles wasted no time pulling off his mask to feel for any bad bumps.

Now, he’s nursing a horrible bruise on his head. Even Peter can’t hold back a sympathetic hiss, tutting under his mask. 

“Hmm. Looks really bad, it’s even swelling. It’s definitely at least a bruise.”

“Wow. Thanks, Dr. Spider-man. Never woulda figured that out myself.”

“It might be a hairline fracture,” Peter continues, barely acknowledging Miles’ words.

Miles sighs, tapping gently over the sensitive area, only to wince when he pokes at the hot spot. Usually, this type of injury would be cause for great concern for regular people—no one can shrug off getting clocked in the head with a crowbar. But he and Peter are far from regular people. To them, this is the equivalent of a tiny scrape.

Which is why Peter finds it so hilarious (read the heavy sarcasm) that he had to step into Miles’ space, grasp his cheeks, and peck him right at the edge of the injury—light, wildly careful, through the mask. He pulls away, already laughing. 

Miles stands there like an idiot, shell-shocked and heating up. 

“Got a bad boo-boo for Dr. Spider-man?” Peter only laughs harder when Miles swats his hands away with a glare. The man only crosses an arm over his chest and props his other elbow to rest his chin on his fist, observing Miles.

“Someone’s getting a little red.”

Miles huffs and puts his mask back on to hide his blush. “Yeah, Pete. From anger. You wanna see if I can throw you off this building right now?”

Peter reaches out once again. Miles flinches, but Peter only grabs ahold of his mask and tugs it away. 

“There you are.” Peter’s mask squints at him. He’s smiling underneath. Miles can imagine the sunbeam that it is. “The mask will only the bruise worse. Also, thought we were bros. Bros don’t attempt to murder each other.”

Miles, still needing a moment to process what the hell just happened, crosses his arms over his chest, puffing up. “I will if you keep this up, Pete.”

“What? The teasing or the kisses?” Peter peers at him, tilting his head.

“Both,” Miles lies through gritted teeth.

There’s only one thing that’s really bothering Miles about this whole situation; it’s not the weird kisses, it’s his own stupid reactions to them.

“I’m not going to live this down, aren’t I?” Miles mumbles glumly, arms dropping back to his sides.

“Nope!” Peter says, reveling in Miles’ misery way too much. “Not for the next two weeks, at the least.”

“Great,” Miles mutters, rolling his eyes, but his lips betray what he’s really feeling, a smile breaking free despite it all. It widens when he watches amusement shake through Peter’s shoulders.

3

“Man, this is just not working.”

“C’mon, Miles, just one more try. You got this.”

“It’s just not working, Pete. I’m never gonna get it.” Miles sighs, ragged and worn out, frustrated by both Peter’s and his own stubborn will. 

He’s been trying to dodge the holograms’ aims for the past half hour without using his camouflage—which won’t be such a problem if the holograms aren’t flipped to their highest difficulty setting.

“Trust your gut, Miles. Dodging is an art. A muscle you’ve got to work out every now and then.”

Miles groans. The only reason why Miles is doing this in the first place is because of Peter and his dumb elder brother protective instinct. 

During one of their Spidey-excursions, Miles wasn’t able to dodge in time. A bullet ended up grazing his shoulder. The wound wasn’t too serious, but it had bled a lot. They had to double-up on gauze just so Ma wouldn’t be able to tell.

It freaked Peter out. Freaked him out a lot. Enough to start training Miles again on dodging right away (enhanced healing truly is one of the greatest wonders). The horror on Peter’s face isn’t something he can quite forget, and neither is the palpable relief that flooded his expression when they finally got the wound to close. 

(Miles tries not to think about why he was distracted in the first place in the first place. Spidey suits really don’t leave anything to the imagination—)

“Focus, Miles.”

Miles jerks his head. “I’m focusing.”

Peter is perched against a wall, just beyond the holographic boundary, not worried about being pelted by paintballs since the holograms’ were only programmed to target Miles. 

“You’re getting careless, Miles.”

“So what? I’ve got my invisibility.”

Peter shakes his head. ”You’re also becoming too reliant on your powers. What if the guys you go up against have infrared sensors? Or if your powers suddenly stop working?” Peter’s mask moves around, his jaw working like he doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind. “I won’t always be around to watch your back, you know?”

Miles resists the urge to deny that idea completely. They’re a team. Their jobs are to always watch each other’s backs. “I know. You’ve got to be rescued sometimes too. Good thing there are two Spider-men.”

Apparently, Peter’s not in a joking mood because the eyes of his mask narrow. “That’s not what I meant, and you know that.”

Miles shrugs and faces his targets, forcibly easing the tension by pretending it doesn’t exist. That it’s not sitting between them, thick and heavy. He knows what Peter means: If I’m down or worse, dead, I can’t protect you.

Miles gets it. He does. He may be young and more vulnerable in the field than Peter is, but it’s not like he’s completely helpless. As weird and uneasy as it feels without Peter by his side guiding him, Miles isn’t a damsel in distress or worse, a child to be protected.

Really, that part is just—yikes. Miles doesn’t want to get into it.

A loud automated buzz, one that signifies the start of another round. Miles tries not to sigh. Yeah, he gets where Peter is coming from, but really? Does Miles really have to go through this again?

Miles shakes his head. Right now, he’s got some hologram asses to kick.

This round goes better than the last, and Miles is feeling hopeful that this might be it, even though his muscles are sore and his lungs burn. With every successful punch he throws, every hologram coming his way that ends up shattering into pixels and stuttering robotic voices, Miles can’t help but feel a sense of fulfillment.

A chill goes down his spine, and he turns quickly, hooking his leg over the hologram’s shoulder to take it down, webbing its weapon to the floor for good measure.

He tries not to think of the stare trained on him, tries not to feel self-conscious; Peter is watching like a hawk. His stare is practically burning, but Miles somehow manages to put all of his focus into taking down the rest of his foes, doing his best not to rely on his powers as much.

It’s hard, though, when his stomach is flipping all over the place, his heart not so far behind.

Dodging is hard, even with the spidey-sense, especially in tight spaces like this. But Miles makes do. 

By the time he’s panting horribly, knuckles throbbing and head spinning from how many turns he’s had to make, praying it would just end already, the buzzer breaks through the air.

Miles nearly drops to his knees, groaning. “Oh, man, that was rough. You sure that was two minutes? I swear, it was way longer than the last round.”

“Miles! You were amazing! You were incredible! You are just unstoppable—” Two large hands grab his shoulders, and he feels Peter’s mouth press against the top of his head, still masked. “You’re an absolute force to be reckoned with. At this rate, you’ll be fighting without using your powers in no time.”

Miles laughs, wincing when he pulls a sore muscle wrong. “Yeah, uh, Pete, no dice. No way I’m not gonna use my powers. ‘Cause then what am I supposed to do if my powers become another muscle to work out if I don’t use them?”

Miles can’t ever quite get used to how Peter showers him with praise—gushing about both the little and big things he accomplishes. But he can’t stop himself from basking in it either, relishing in Peter’s praise like it’s his favorite sweet treat. It’s addictive.

Peter laughs, breathless, and slings an arm over his shoulders, yapping on about their incredible duo. But Miles is still too focused on the heat over his head, where Peter had pressed into him, touched him.

It’s weird—It’s weird, it’s weird, alright? His heart shouldn’t be going several miles per hour, shouldn’t be beating like he’s leaping from a skyscraper, falling too fast. His skin shouldn’t tingle and burn with every tiny brush of Peter’s lips. It’s just weird.

Okay. Maybe. This is getting a little out of hand. 

At least Peter isn’t teasing him about his blushing now.

4

He feels ill when he wakes up. He and Mom visited his grave earlier this morning. Once he’d gotten home, he took a nap immediately.

When he woke up, though, Miles is locked onto the bed, encased in ice, paralyzed in a way he hasn’t been before.

He barely manages to take his phone off the bedside table, scrolling through his contact list with unseeing eyes. He hesitates when he sees Peter’s name and wonders if he should bother the guy with something like this.

But Peter is probably the only person who really understands, who has been through and felt everything that Miles is feeling right now.

Peter is swinging through the city when he picks up.

“What’s up, Miles? How’s your day off going?”

Miles screws his eyes shut.

Right. He didn’t tell Peter the reason why he’d taken the day off. He’d asked Pete when they were having dinner the other night—a new Greek place tucked in between the border of Harlem and Madison. 

He didn’t want to bring the mood down by bringing up the real reason why he can’t be Spider-man at the moment. 

He doesn’t feel like Spider-man anyway. Not today.

“Pete.”

His tongue is stuck in his mouth, heavy. Every part of his body feels heavy. Brain going through the motions, automatic, cold; the thought of moving is a weight of dread in his gut.

Miles feels as though he’s wading through mud.

“D’you ever wonder how different everything would be, if one thing had changed?”

“That’s a loaded question to ask on a Tuesday afternoon,” Peter chuckles, and there’s a crackle over the line, like a heavy breath. “Sometimes. A little. I guess when I actually do have time to think about it, yeah.”

“Oh,” Miles says dimly, eyes unseeing.

“Why’d you ask?”

“’S nothing. Was just thinking.”

There’s always something, a motive or a reason, that gets their fists up and swinging through the boroughs of New York. There are also certain quotas, like required checkboxes before one can become Spider-man.

Get bitten by a radioactive spider, think of using your powers for selfish reasons, keep your new freakish abilities a secret, hurt several loved ones in the process, et cetera, etcetera. Boxes that both he and Peter fill to the T.

It’s why he and Peter work so well, both in and out of the masks.

But sometimes that has the unfortunate side effect of Peter seeing a little more than Miles wants him to see.

Peter huffs over the phone, the whistling winds gone. He must have made a pit stop.

“Miles,” he says, and he sounds… unsure. Concerned. Miles knows the jig is up. “What’s wrong?”

He should make an excuse, say that he’s just feeling a little under the weather, he’s distracted because of homework, his ma is mad at him—just something, anything to get Peter off his back. But it’s difficult when the weight over his chest, suffocating and unmoving, stops Miles from pushing a single word past his lips to reassure Peter or save himself. 

(He can’t admit it—not aloud at least, because he knows he shouldn’t—but he wants—

He wants Peter to do a little bit of the saving today.)

His own silence is an answer enough for Peter, who asks, worried, “Why did you take the day off, Miles?”

He tries one last time to reach for a lie, an excuse to give Peter. But nothing comes forward. Peter deserves better than that.

Peter’s gentle this time. “What’s the real reason?”

Miles braces for it. Dad.

“It’s his anniversary today.” 

The sharp inhale in his ears makes his eyes close. He doesn’t know why he told Peter. Really, he doesn’t.

“That’s today?” Peter asks quietly. Miles’ mouth is dry. 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed about his voice cracking.

“Are you… How are you doing?” 

Miles shuts his eyes. Focuses on the sound of Peter’s gentle breathing.

“We went to his grave this morning,” Miles mumbles, turning over in his bed to look out the window. It’s dark and cloudy outside. It was raining in the morning too. It felt like a rerun of a show he’s seen before. 

“Most of the time, it’s like I can’t—I can’t see anything but what happened that day. On others, all I remember are the times I felt proud of him. Of being his son. Of the good days—and the bad ones. That he protected the city like I do now. Then sometimes, I just—”

Miles’ fingers twist in his sheets, finding it difficult to speak. “I just want him back.”

He can almost imagine Peter’s face right underneath the mask. That concerned dip in his brow, the flat line of his lips, the rapid blinking of his hazel eyes as he tries to process, tries to figure out the way to approach this.

MJ once told him about how awkward Peter was. Back in high school. An awkward nerd too cute for his own good was what she said, all fond and nostalgic. Peter never fully grew out of that, apparently. Social situations are something that Peter can’t quite get a perfect handle on as he does with being Spider-man or with biochemistry.

But Peter thinks he’d be damned if he didn’t try, all his attempts nothing if not so carefully earnest.

“Miles.” The softness in his tone makes Miles ache. And Miles—he’s just tired. Today. So, so tired that he doesn’t even fight the words that push past his lips.

“I just don’t want to be alone.”

There’s a beat. Peter didn’t expect that.

But Miles finds that he can’t quite hold his tongue around Peter. It’s become a dangerous reoccurrence nowadays.

“Can I—Is it okay if—” 

Peter is fumbling, unsure of the boundaries, and Miles can’t even find it within himself to stifle the desperation that’s closing in on him.

“Please,” Miles breathes. 

It’s not normal, it’s so not like him to act like this, vulnerable and open and splayed for someone to look into him. But then again, today isn’t like any other day. It’s a day where normalcy’s a distant dream left for tomorrow, non-existent in the Morales household.

He felt cold just walking through the apartment this morning. Getting ready for the visit was the worst part—the black two-year-old suit that fit better, the black tie that his mom tied for him, the anticipation.

Over the phone, there’s the whipping sound of the wind. Not even a breath after he’d uttered his answer and Peter’s voice crackles over the line, “Do you—Do I need to get anything for you? Anything at all?”

Miles shakes his head, throat hurting so much from the relief and the weight.

 “No, Pete,” he says, low, voice cracking. Just you.

“Listen, Miles, I gotta cut the call, okay? Bud? I promise I won’t take long to get there. Just hold on for me, will you, Miles?”

Miles can only hum, unable to find his voice. 

“I’ll see you in a couple of minutes, okay? Just wait.”

Peter keeps his promise. He’s knocking on Miles’ window before the five-minute mark hits. Miles rolls over in his bed, staring at the red mask and white lenses. Peter’s suit is a little shiny and wet. It must have started raining again. 

He doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, but whatever it is, it makes Peter’s shoulders droop. Peter opens the window, slinking in silently.

Miles doesn’t want to move—or rather, he can’t. Heavy, heavy chains are tight over his arms, legs, head, and chest, tight and unyielding. 

Tears prick his eyes, a pathetic whimper breaking past his lips. 

“Oh, Miles.” Peter sighs, and it’s sad, almost sounding hurt to Miles’ ears. Miles’ heart twists, lips are trembling.

“Peter,” he chokes out, halfway to a sob, but he holds it together, tries his best to. Peter whips his mask off, and he’s making that face, that kicked puppy look that makes something in Miles’ chest twinge. He looks so sad. His hair is a damp mess and he looks so out of place standing here in Miles’ bedroom, but Miles is just so grateful he’s here.

At the sound of his own name, it’s as if Peter took a blow to the chest, his face falling as he approaches Miles’ bed. His gloved hand finds Miles’ and holds it tight.

“I’ll get a chair.”

Miles shakes his head. Peter tightens his grip.

“Do you want me to lie next to you?” Peter murmurs, eyes flickering over Miles’ face. A tiny part of Miles tells him that this is all new, this is strange, and breaking so many boundaries that they’ve both put up. But he’s in pain, and everything is just so heavy and he’s so tired. He just wants Peter.

Peter is stepping closer the second Miles nods. It seems a little strange, to see Spider-man climb onto his bed. Not quite an unfamiliar image, though.

“Miles,” Peter breathes softly, propped up against the headboard, half-turned towards Miles. “Is this okay? I’m getting rainwater all over your bed.”

Miles doesn’t say anything, only tugs Peter to get him to lie down and rest his head on the pillows too.

Peter gives in easily under his touch. Miles didn’t even have to use his super strength.

It’s a little awkward to be staring point-blank at Peter’s face in the dark like this. But it’s comforting, in a strange way. 

It’s already a little less heavy.

“Pete,” Miles says quietly. He didn’t expect his voice to sound so… needy. God, he’s pathetic. 

But Peter inhales sharply, hazel eyes becoming so soft it makes Miles’ head spin.

“Hey. Hi, Miles,” he says, tentative, and his hand—gloved and still a little damp—lays on the side of Miles’ head. There’s the slightest pressure, and Peter curves forward. This time, Miles sees it coming. 

And he does nothing to stop it.

Peter’s lips, uncovered and soft, chapped and warm, press against his forehead, insistent. Ever-present. 

He feels the words more than he hears them. “I’ve got you, Miles.”

5

It seems like it was forever ago he was just telling Peter over the phone to enjoy his day off this morning.

Heat sears through his suit, it’s getting hard to breathe, and Miles has lost count of the people he managed to evacuate in time. 

There’s not a lot of time left.

He wonders if Peter is watching the news. He hopes not. Peter needs this day off. His job interview’s today. Like an actual, real, adult job.

(After what he did for Miles, it’s only fair that Miles should be able to cover both of their shifts for a favor.)

But things went out of hand so quickly. Man, it was so fast; the flames spread through the block, swallowing everything whole. 

He knew it was bad-bad the moment he swung in. The walls were crumbling to ash and there was more fire than there was any ground to walk on. The structural foundations in this building are absolutely deplorable.

Miles was able to catch the rubble just in time, straining with the weight as three kids huddled under him. 

“Go, go, go! There’s help just outside,” Miles grits, his knees buckling under him, arms already shaking.

They’re absolutely terrified, Miles can see it in their eyes—their faces smeared in soot, shiny tear tracks on their cheeks—but they nod anyway. Smart kids. “You got this, guys,” he says, trying to go for light-heartedness, but it’s taking a toll.

He can’t hold it up any longer.

Miles just can’t fail at being Spider-man, he can’t.

The kids, not any older than six or seven, make a dash for the open hallway that Miles had cleared earlier. 

One of the kids turns back, and she screams at Miles to move, but he can’t, he has to hold everything otherwise these kids will get trapped too. He can’t shield all of them.

Another one of the kids, the oldest one, grabs her hand and drags her out, crying all the while. Miles can breathe the second they leave the door.

And he lets go.

He knows not much time has passed when his eyes open. Smoke is still in the air, and the heat is unbearable even with his protectant suit. He’s curled up on the ground, in a tight space that the rubble couldn’t get to. The pillars held up well, just as he expected.

Thank God for physics.

He’s able to army crawl and squeeze his way through the rubble, recoiling away from the flames when the heat gets too intense. The entrance is blocked, completely caved in when Miles let go of the roof. So, he twists in the opposite direction and crawls over and under the large pieces of debris, hoping the path leads to the back door.

Thankfully, it does. Miles kicks it down, lungs burning from how much smoke he’s inhaled. He’d tried his best to hold his breath but he doubts it even made a difference. 

He stumbles out into the alleyway.

He sucks in the desperately needed air, sprawled on the floor on his hands and knees as he heaves his lungs out. He pulls his mask off, hoping for it to help even the tiniest bit.

Oh damn. Smoke inhalation is no joke.

“Miles!”

Miles jerks his head up, and it’s—

—it’s Peter, running towards him.

Miles barely made it to his feet when Peter snags him right into his arms, grip tight and iron-clad, stealing Miles’ breath.

“Miles, goddamnit. I thought you had—” 

he sucks in a ragged gasp, palm firm on the back of Miles’ head.

“Never do that again, okay?” Peter is shaking. He’s trembling, but he doesn’t let go of Miles, keeping the both of them steady. 

Miles is standing on his tip-toes because Peter practically picked him off the ground. His ribs hurt and his lungs still kind of burn, but it’s okay because Peter is here—Peter is—

“Wait, what are you doing here, Pete? I thought it’s your day off?” Miles asks, inching his head back to stare at Peter. He doesn’t mention the slight redness in those hazel eyes, only focuses on the fact Peter’s business outfit still looks pristine, like Peter…

Peter ran out in the middle of his job interview. He doesn’t even have his web-shooter wristbands on.

Miles squints at him. “Did you… Did you ditch your interview, man?”

Peter blinks, redness creeping up his neck.

Miles groans. “Pete—”

“I was worried, okay?” Peter says, eyes wide. The frown on his lips is the kicker, looking way too upset for anything to be okay. God, those hazel puppy eyes are a lethal weapon. “I saw the news but I didn’t have enough time to get my suit and web-shooters which was reckless of me, I know, I should’ve known that something would happen—”

Miles places a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Hey. Don’t do that, man. There was no way you could’ve known. We don’t plan for this kinda thing. I mean, I don’t even know how you got here in time.”

“The interview’s just a few blocks away. And I—” There’s a flash of what looks to be pain, something akin to horror, over Peter’s face. “I could see the apartment building.”

Oh. Yeah. The apartment building. The apartment building that collapsed while Miles was in it.

Miles grimaces. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sorry. It’s my bad.”

“Your bad?” Peter scoffs, shaking his head, as he pulls Miles in, enveloping him in another hug.

Miles doesn’t get to react when a familiar pair of lips press against his hairline, now a comfort more than an inside joke.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s just—I just worry, kiddo. That’s all.”

Miles pulls away again, creating space he wishes they don’t need. His hands slide from Peter’s shoulder, down his quivering arms, and to his clammy hands.

Peter’s pulse jumps under his thumbs. Must be the adrenaline. 

“I don’t want you to,” Miles murmurs. There are more important things that Peter should be worrying about, like his job interview or his apartment hunting. Miles shouldn’t be anywhere close to the top of Peter’s list of worries. The dude has his own adult life, his own world that doesn’t revolve around being Spider-man.

“I can and I will. You’re my friend, Miles,” Peter says. His eyes are so light when they’re this close—the green coming out more. 

“And friends got each other’s backs, you know? Like makin’ sure they enjoy their day off,” Miles reminds him, nudging his chest gently.

Peter cringes. “Yeah, about that… The interview might be already over.”

“Pete.” Miles shakes his head with a sigh.

(When did they become so familiar that Peter’s allowing him to nag? To talk over him like he’s got a right? Like they’re equals. It should be laughable that Miles is even considering it, but… 

Peter doesn’t seem to mind it one bit…

Or maybe it’s just Peter being Peter. Too nice to say anything.)

“I know. But don’t worry. I’ve got a plan B.” Peter takes the black mask from his grasp and slides it over Miles’ face, gentler than he has any right to be. “I’ll tell you over pizza.”

“Leo’s?”

“Like it’d be anywhere else.” The quirk in the corner of Peter’s lips forces Miles’ heart to do a double-take.

Miles steps away from him, the too-handsome superhero who worries over Miles like some frenzied mother-hen, and tosses him one of his web-shooters. 

“Cool,” Miles says, even if everything is anything but, “Let me cover the pizza this time. You’ve paid for pizza for the last two rounds.”

Peter shrugs. “Gotta feed a growing boy.” 

Miles shoves at his shoulder and falls into step with Peter. Always by each other’s side. A silent reserved space for the other. 

The two of them shoot out identical webs and sling themselves up into the air.

So. 

Peter and MJ are talking again.

Miles can tell. Peter’s smiling a little more often now, lost in his thoughts—lips twitching, eyes vacant, a lofty expression on his face. 

Miles is happy for him. He really is. Peter deserves something good in his life. He needs more people too, and if he has someone who he can count on all the time, who can catch him when he falls, Miles should be—is happy for him for having that.

He just thought—

He thought

It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Peter is happy and Miles is happy too. Peter has always been like a ray of optimistic sunshine, that’s just who Peter is. A walking bundle of unlimited, unbridled kindness. But nowadays, it seems like that ‘ray of sunshine’ setting has been turned up to the highest degree. Miles can’t get enough of it. It’s captivating.

(He finds everything about Peter so. Always has, ever since he guided Miles onto his own path, protecting him along the way. But it doesn’t matter. It’s just a bunch of dumb thoughts he’ll take to his grave.)

If there’s anything about Peter acting like an overexcited puppy has taught him, is that he and MJ are made for each other. It’s clear. They fit perfectly too. MJ is unyielding where Peter is soft, Peter is invulnerable where MJ is susceptible to threats, and Peter’s paranoid caution to MJ’s reckless curiosity. They just make sense.

What doesn’t make sense is what Miles feels when Peter leaves the room. Empty and a little cold. Like everything gets a little more dim.

It doesn’t matter. What Miles feels about this doesn’t matter. Peter deserves to be happy and Miles just isn’t someone who can give him that.

Who would want a little kid playing pretend, after all?

+1

He doesn’t go straight home. He spent the morning swinging around with Spider-man (the cat), fighting robbers, and stopping crime. It was their lucky day. The jewelry thief broke into a car to make a quick getaway. Two crimes for the price of one criminal. 

It’s late now, after he dropped off Spider-man (the cat). Later than mom would usually let him out for Spider-man business, but it’s winter break and his mom is busy setting up the annual winter bash, meaning she spends more time in the office than anywhere else. No one’s missing him now. 

Which is good. He’s not good company at the moment anyway.

It started snowing on the way back home. And the sight of it had him changing course instantly, swinging to the tallest building in the borough.

Something about snow makes his stomach drop. As he stands at the top of a skyscraper in the biting cold, higher than anyone can touch him, surrounded by white flakes—he’s reminded of crazy technology, purple and bright; of betrayal and last-minute apologies and instant forgiveness; of power that’s yellow and painful; and the sacrifice that left a sweeping wave of grief.

It’s only been a year, maybe even a little less, since it all happened. This time last year, a few days before Christmas, Phin sauntered back into his life, and in less than a week, everything slipped through his fingers.

So, maybe Christmas is a little tainted for him, but Miles can’t complain. He’s standing here when Phin isn’t.

I miss you, Phin.

He hugs his knees closer to his chest, watching the puffs of white waft away.

He entertains the idea sometimes. Of whether or not he should tell Peter about all these… confusing feelings. Just like the time he told Pete about his new freaky abilities. 

He imagines putting himself on display, letting his mentor see him for what he truly is, and he is terrified. 

Miles won’t be just Miles in Peter’s eyes anymore. He’ll also be the clingy kid who desperately wants the attention, the affection, of a very dear friend who’s seven years his senior.

Miles shivers, sniffs. His throat hurts.

Okay, maybe he’s a little dramatic, a little hormonal because he’s a teenager and he’s way too stressed to be thinking straight every moment. And yes, maybe he’s cried a little. Just a bit. A lot.

Peter would nag at him for invalidating his own feelings, but Miles doesn’t have a choice. He can’t examine and pick apart all these overbearing feelings. 

(The same ones that make him feel bigger than his body, fuller than his chest can keep in, ready to burst and ruin things between them.)

What if Miles breaks if he tries? Miles would rather ignore it all than let it drown him completely. Because what Peter makes him feel is impossible to express in words. Words are too simple to explain what sits in his chest. But if they could, those words would cross so many boundaries with Peter it’s not even funny. Peter would be horrified to hear them from his bro.

Keeping his distance, from both his feelings and Peter, is the better choice. He’s young. He’s got time to figure… everything out. 

They’re great as friends, as partners. They make an amazing team. Miles wouldn’t be able to do half of the things he does without Peter by his side guiding him, encouraging him, picking up where Miles slacks. And Miles doesn’t want to lose that. 

Besides, he and Peter aren’t compatible like that, outside of the suits. Peter needs someone stable, someone he’ll be able to count on in his adult and Spider-man life. And Miles and only be one of those things. 

Peter needs a partner who knows what they’re doing. And Miles isn’t that. 

Miles doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, he messes up a lot—and they’re big messes too, he still cringes when he thinks of Rhino’s rampage exactly a year ago—he’s impulsive, he’s stubborn, and he has a whole mountain of baggage that he probably needs to talk to someone about. A whole slew of abandonment issues, deep insecurities, a slight guilt complex because of the superhero thing—yeah. Miles can’t see why Peter would want someone like him. He doesn’t want to add onto Peter’s trouble—

“Ugh.” Miles presses his face into his palms. “Why am I even thinkin’ about this? Pete’s got a girlfriend.”

And unlike Miles, MJ doesn’t have that kind of baggage. That’s why they’re good together.

Peter is… Peter is—he’s incredible. 

Peter has saved countless lives, even without the mask on. He helps everyone without asking anything in return because Peter knows the importance of kindness and second chances, of learning from your mistakes and trying to be better. Peter extends an olive branch to everyone, even to those who don’t deserve it. 

And Miles knows, knows so deep in his bones that it aches, that he’s one of those people. He almost got Peter killed with his carelessness. He made decisions, selfish ones, that ultimately pushed Phin to sacrifice herself. He lied to his mother, lied to Phin, lied to Peter—and what does Miles get in the end? 

Peter’s never-ending trust and kindness.

(Yet that kindness is what pushes Miles to try to be better, a little bit every day; why it’s easier to don the mask, to go out and fight the fight, to help people who turn away from an open hand. Peter being by his side—as corny as it is, Peter is his inspiration, one of the people in his life who he wants to protect, to help, someone he’d drop everything for so he’d be able to cover Peter’s back.)

Anyways—that’s why Miles doesn’t—

whatever he does could never merit the way Peter treats him. And putting all of his insecurities aside, Peter would never want anything to do with a teenager. Why would he? 

Teenagers are emotional and confused and too much of a handful. Teenagers run at the first chance, too terrified to bear the consequences and fix the problems themselves, letting the adults handle it.

Peter needs someone stable. His own age. Who can understand this superhero life without adding onto his.

Miles is just—a kid. That’s all. 

A kid playing pretend.

What am I doing?

This was stupid. This should be considered self-torture. 

He should stop staring. But it’s Peter, wearing a godawful Christmas sweater, holding a barely touched glass of champagne, nodding and laughing at something his colleague said.

This is stalking, isn’t it?

Miles should leave. This is so—this is so, so creepy on so many levels. He must’ve been too in his own head, too tangled in his own thoughts to think for a second, he wasn’t even aware he was swinging towards Peter’s hotel until he’d been standing on the building across, until he’d greedily taken in every part of Peter.

God, Morales. You are so pathetic. Miles groans, throwing his head into his hands.

“What’s wrong with me?” he yells, high-pitched and muffled. “This is—can Peter file a restraining order on me? Would he? I mean I wouldn’t blame the dude, but you know, Pete’s just super chill so maybe—okay, okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s just leave. No one’s gotta know.”

Miles shakes his nerves off, cringing so horribly at himself he might as well just—

Incoming call…

Pete

Don’t answer it. Don’t do it, Miles.

But he’s watching Peter stand there in his stupid sweater, phone to his ear, looking hopeful.

Oh, man. I’m gonna regret this.

“Miles!”

At his voice, warmth floods his chest. It damn nearly drowns him.

“Hey, Pete!” Oh jeez, he prays Peter can’t hear the guilt in his voice.

“How are you? How was patrol?” Peter asks, and Miles—Miles can’t help but stare through the windows again.

“The usual. I stopped a twofer. She was stealing jewelry but get this—she broke into a car for a getaway. Plus, Spider-man the cat was a big help too, the perfect back massager,” Miles says, unable to rip his gaze away. Peter is smiling, the grin stretching wider over his lips the longer Miles talks. “I don’t know, man, but your position as Spider-man’s sidekick seems to be in the air right now.”

Peter laughs, throws his head back, eyes closed. Miles can’t stop staring. 

“So, uh.” Miles’ throat is strangely dry. “What’re you doin’? How’s the office party?”

Peter weaves through the crowds, nodding to a passing colleague. For a couple of seconds, Miles loses him from his sight, and he shifts around on the rooftop to catch that familiar head of brown hair. 

Peter reappears, off to the opposite side of the room, where the crowds are thin and he’s closer to the window. Miles can even see the expression he’s wearing right now. And Miles recognizes that look. Pursed lips, blinking eyes—thinking. 

Thinking of a lie.

“I’m doing great! The party’s a total blast. It’s a shame I can’t get drunk. Robbie pulled out all the stops, paid for the good alcohol,” Peter says, champagne glass curled to his chest, leaning back against the wall, eyes trained on the floor of the hotel conference room. He looks… tired.

“I thought you don’t like drinking,” Miles says casually, watching Peter’s brows tick up and the corners of his lips turn upward again. Peter stares at the glass in his hand.

“No,” Peter says quietly, a little amused. He places the glass down on the empty table beside him, hand slipping into his pocket—he’s wearing slacks, fancy for Pete. “You’re right. I don’t.”

Something strange happens. A shadow passes over Peter’s face, face scrunching. He opens up his mouth to say something, only to wince and clamp his lips together. 

“Pete?”

His friend blinks, and that odd shadow goes away.

“How are your lungs? Your cough?” Peter asks.

Miles shrugs. “So much black mucus came out of me, I almost freaked out. And it was just, super gross, by the way.”

“Yeah.” Peter chuckles. “Warned you about that, didn’t I? I’ve had my fair share of fire rescues. The aftermath isn’t quite as grand as superhero-ing seems to make it out to be, huh?”

Miles snorts. “I think the shine of being Spider-man was gone by the time I cracked my first rib.”

Peter winces, but there’s a smile on his face, a touch nostalgic. “The first swinging lesson, right?”

“Yup. Didn’t help that you just stood there too. If I didn’t know any better, you were happy I was nearly sent to the hospital for my broken ribs.”

“The first cracked rib is a learning point! Very essential. It’s Spider-man 101.”

“Right. So is quip training?”

“Hey, don’t you dare lie to my face like that. You loved quip training.”

“That’s only because I loved hearing you completely roast everybody. I kinda get why you’ve got so many—” Miles clears his throat, smile on his lips, “—people on your friends’ list.”

“Ah, to be considered a friend by the one and only Scorpion. Truly an honor. He’s my best friend, did you know that?” 

Miles snorts. Peter looks a little more relaxed like this. A grin on his face, his eyes a little glassy, unfocused. But there’s still a weight to his movements, shoulders slanted—lazy, tired.

“Miles.” The way he says it, soft and unguarded, sends a shiver rolling down his spine. Miles’ sense whispers in his ears. “You in the area?”

Miles swallows, watches as Peter’s hand comes out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck. A habit of Peter’s when he’s flustered and blushing.

“Uh I—I think so,” Miles says dimly. There’s something about Peter’s tone too. 

“Why don’t you stop by?” Peter asks, unassuming, “We got pizza. Have you eaten dinner?”

“No,” Miles says quietly, then watches as Peter makes his way back through the crowds. He heads straight for the large tables cluttered with food. There’s a couple of stragglers hanging around the table and Peter—

Miles puts a hand over his mouth, laughing softly as Peter shoos the rest of his colleagues away from the pizza, grabbing an unopened box from the pile. 

“Is, uhhh…” Peter peeks under the box. “a meat lover’s okay with you?”

“Anything works for me, Pete,” Miles says, biting his lip to stop the big dumb smile from breaking his face. The things this man makes him feel are downright ridiculous. 

“Alright. I’ll see you when I see you?” Peter says, a little hopeful. He walks through the throngs of coworkers, not stopping for any chit-chat as he heads straight for the elevator. Miles watches until he’s out of view once more.

“Miles?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course, Pete. Don’t have to wait long. Oh—uh, it seems I can see the hotel from here.” Miles steps off the ledge, letting gravity take him.

“Wait.” There’s the quiet beep of an elevator button. “Were you swinging this whole time?”

“Uh, sort of.” He shoots out a web, propelling him toward the hotel.

“Usually, I would lecture you about multitasking while swinging, but it’s almost Christmas, figured I shouldn’t give a lecture in the spirit of the holidays.”

Miles rolls his eyes under the mask. “And let’s not forget that you answer all of my calls while you’re swinging. No one likes a hypocrite, Pete.”

“And no one likes a buzzkill, especially during the holidays. I’m supposed to be a mentor, remember? The role model? Gotta keep up the image that I know exactly what I’m doing at all times.”

Miles cracks up. “Is the amazing Spider-man finally admitting that there’s some truth to JJJ’s slander?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, kid. You know they always say to never meet your heroes.”

“Nah, man, I don’t think there’s anything anyone else can say that can change the way I see you.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah! You’re Peter. And Peter’s pretty friggin’ great.”

A laugh rings over the line.

Miles’ chest prickles. Just a mentor. Yeah.

“So, um, where’s your hotel room?”

“East wing, twenty-third floor. Third to last. There should be a balcony, I think.”

Miles swings over to the other side of the building, crawling up to Peter’s room, and sticking above the balcony. He’s wondering if he’s got the wrong room when he hears the door open and close.

There’s the soft rustle of someone walking towards the balcony.

“Miles?” That’s his cue to web himself upside down, coming face to face with Peter—who grins the instant he sees him, pizza box in hand.

“Got my pizza?”

“Piping hot and—well, maybe not piping hot. It’s been sitting there for a while. It’s lukewarm at best. The best kind of pizza. Yum,” Peter says and flicks open the top. The smell of grease, cheese, and meat attacks his senses.

“You’re an angel, Pete,” he says as he drops to sit on the railing, taking the box out of Pete’s hands. 

Peter only shrugs, grins a toothless smile, a little bashful. He leans against the railing, staring so openly at Miles that he’s got no choice but to look back.

“Thanks, man,” Miles says, rolling up his mask to take a bite. Oh man, pizza after patrol is really something that can’t ever be replaced.

“Awful sweater, by the way,” Miles tries to say, his words muffled by his pizza-filled mouth. Peter blinks slowly, as if the words are taking their sweet time registering. Only after Miles gestures to Peter’s chest with a raised brow does he snap out of it.

Peter looks down and laughs. “Right. Forgot I had this little baby on.”

“I don’t know what’s worse. That pun or the fact you’re wearing it in the first place,” Miles says, tilting his head at the ‘Fleece Navidad’ along with the cute image of a sheep wearing a Christmas hat wrapped in Christmas lights. 

“I think there’s some class in having a punny Christmas sweater,” Peter shrugs, pulling at the hem of his sweater to stretch it out. 

“Did it win?”

“Sadly, no. It went to someone who had Spider-man the cat on it.”

“Damn, they have merch of Spider-man already? That’s awesome!”

Peter scoffs, pouting a little. “That cat hates me. I swear, Miles, it’s a conspiracy. Cats love me. Why does my namesake try to claw my eyes out every time I’m two feet within his perimeter?”

Miles shrugs, starting on his third slice. “You weren’t the Spider-man who saved his life, so maybe that’s it.”

“I sense some favoritism going on,” Peter mumbles, plucking one of the slices from Miles’ box.

“I plead the Fifth,” Miles pipes up around his mouthful and Peter swats at him with a shake of his head.

“That only works if you’re asked a question, genius.”

“Whatever you say, Spider-lawyer.”

“Ugh.” Peter grimaces after he takes a bite. “Lukewarm pizza—how are you eating this?”

“Pizza is pizza,” Miles says with a grin, then he leans over the space between them and takes a bite out of the pizza in Peter’s hand.

“Heathen,” Peter mumbles, eyes trained on the pizza, trying to pull his slice away from the teenager’s mouth.

“You’re just hatin’,” Miles says, then reaches out, grabs ahold of Peter’s wrist to keep the pizza still, and continues to chew. Peter rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away or even let go of the slice, simply lets Miles eat out of his hands like—

Realizing too far late that what he’s doing is crazy inappropriate, Miles grimaces and pulls away. Stupid, stupid Miles. 

“Anyway!” Miles says way too loudly, wiping his mouth, and tossing the box off to the small outdoor table in the corner. “How have your holidays been? Haven’t heard from you in a while, man. What’s up?”

Peter goes still at that, his chewing coming to a stop. His eyes dart away, his hands twitch at his sides, his throat bobs. 

Miles straightens at attention, pizza turning into lead in his stomach.

The door clicks open. “Hey, Pete—oh, hey, Miles.” 

MJ’s standing in the doorway, key card to Peter’s room in hand. “Didn’t know you were here. Would have brought something for you. We’ve got lots of food downstairs.”

Right.

Peter and MJ are talking again.

And Miles is happy for them.

“Uh, it’s okay, MJ, thanks. I got pizza for Miles already.”

It feels wrong to be standing in this room now, in between the two of them. All too abruptly, Miles feels every one of the eighteen years of his short life. Miles knows all about their epic love story, from middle-school friends to college sweethearts, spanning the past decade.

He’s an intruder here, a kid. It doesn’t matter he’s in—

It doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it, because it’s irrelevant here. 

MJ glances between the two of them. 

“Robbie told me to tell you he’s still waiting for the pictures. He needs them by Thursday.”

Peter nods, a smile fixed on his face. Miles shifts uneasily. MJ shoots them one last grin before turning back and closing the door, likely returning to the party, giving them back their privacy. 

But Miles can’t help but feel he’s outstayed his welcome anyway.

He rolls the mask back down to his neck, getting up on the railing into a crouch. “Alright, Pete. I’ll talk to you tomorrow—”

“Wait, what? Hold on, we’re not done. You haven’t even finished your pizza yet,” Peter says, gesturing to the more than half-finished pizza. The thought of staying any longer twists his stomach. 

“Honestly, man, that cold pizza kinda made me lose my appetite.”

“Oh. Well, uh,” Peter halts. He’s fidgeting again. He’s making that serious face too, the one he was wearing before MJ came. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

Miles cocks a brow.

“Something important.”

Shit.

A pit forms in his stomach.

Peter stares widely at him, expectant and hopeful. After a moment of total silence, Miles settles back onto the railing. 

Peter sighs and his shoulders droop, relief written all over his face.

“There’s been something on my mind lately, uh…” Peter starts. He crosses his arms, frowns, uncrosses his arms, then leans against the railing. He looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know how to, uh, say this, because it’s just a little weird. I mean it’s new but I’m still not sure if it’s in a good or a bad way.”

Miles just nods, sits there patiently, knowing better than to interrupt Peter. Sometimes, it works in his favor to let Peter throw out his thoughts, no matter how jumbled they are.

Peter looks nervous, a little anxious. And even though Peter always has that ‘deer caught in the headlights’ kind of look, there’s something different about this. Peter seems… self-conscious almost, and not in his usual Peter-I’m-too-humble way.

“I’ve been thinking,” Peter says, repeating himself. “I think I should take a break from being Spider-man.”

That.

That was not at all what Miles was expecting. Not that he expected anything, but still… what?

“What?” Miles whips his mask off. “Why?”

Instead of answering instantly, Peter glances down and crosses his arms over his chest once again. Almost hugging himself, curling into his own lean stature. 

“Miles, it’s no secret that you and I have been a great team,” Peter says in a tone that Miles can’t parse, not yet, “We just work really well… together.”

“Right.”

“And you’ve been doing an incredible job looking after the city.”

“Pete, what’re you—”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t wanna hear it. I mean it, Miles. You’re amazing. You know that, right?” Peter breaks their shared gaze.“But,” Peter says, slowly, “to be honest, Miles? I really, really need a break from being Spider-man. And I think you’re ready to look after New York. Officially.”

Miles jerks back, feeling like he’d been slapped. “What—”

“You’re ready to be the big man. And take over the mantle.”

This—this doesn’t make sense. Why would Peter suddenly drop everything onto Miles’ shoulders? He’s not ready. “Pete. No, this is—man, this is a lot, I’m—”

“You’re ready, Miles—”

“I’m scared, Pete,” Miles confesses, shaking his head, “I just—I can’t do the things that you do.”

Not without you.

Peter grins, but for some reason, it’s sad. “That’s what you said right before socking Spider-man in the face the first time, remember? And guess what, you’re swinging through the city and taking down people thrice your size now.”

 “That’s not the point, Pete.” Miles brushes it off. “I can’t do this.”

Please don’t do this.

“Yes, Miles, yes, you can,” Peter insists, nodding, like it’s the only right thing in the world. And Miles really, really wants to argue, wants to prove him wrong, wants to shove it into his face that this will all be a mistake he’ll regret sooner or later.

“What happened to being a team?” Miles gets to his feet. “We were just talking about that. W-We work well together, don’t we? Why would you wanna break that up?”

 “Listen, Miles.” Peter looks away. “You-You’re…” Peter shakes his head, a determined glint in his eyes that only scares Miles even more. “Don’t say anything about how you’re not ready. You are, Miles. You’re more than ready, you’re—you’re handling everything better than I was at your age—better than I am now and that’s great. That’s so awesome, kiddo.”

Miles’ hands are shaking. He’s still kiddo when Peter is dropping the fate of an entire city onto his shoulders.

“And just you wait, in a couple of years, you’ll be far ahead of me in the Spider-man game. And you don’t need a grizzly, tired, old Spider-man looking over your shoulder every minute.”

Peter’s words are relentless. They send Miles’ head spinning.

“You won’t need me around. I’ll just be suffocating you.”

Miles tries to catch a grip, because Peter is on a roll, words spilling out faster than Miles can collect any of his thoughts to string a sentence. “Pete, you won’t be. Never. Don’t talk like you’re—you’re holding me back or something. And stop changing the subject.”

“I’m not.”

“Pete, this is crazy,” Miles hisses, glaring at Peter, “It’s crazy. Why would you give up being Spider-man? Up to me?”

“I’m not giving up being Spider-man. Not completely. I just need some time off. A year. Probably.”

“A year?” 

That’s too long.

“Give or take. I’ll be helping around, obviously. For bigger things.” Peter clears his throat, not looking him in the eye, pulling further away. “But you, Miles, you’ve got everything covered and that’s great. I—I’m so proud of you, buddy.”

“Pete. This… This isn’t right. You’re Spider-man!” Most days, Miles struggles to shake off the feeling of being a copycat, second-rate, a fraud. To feel like he deserves what he has. To feel like he’s worked hard enough to earn the spot by Peter’s side.

He swallows hard. ”That has always been your thing, Pete. You made Spider-man and now you’re just giving it up?”

Miles knows he can’t overstep any boundaries. Because of what they are, friends, partners, bros, Miles can’t help but feel as if there’s an unseen rule he can’t break. He’s afraid to ask, to prod deeper about Peter’s life when he knows he shouldn’t. 

He’s already sharing the Spider-man name. Miles refuses to overstay his welcome with Peter.

But he knows that he’ll regret so much later if he doesn’t ask. Because there’s something off, and it is Miles’ problem to fix it. 

“What the hell’s wrong, man?” he pushes out, and it sounds as childish and overbearing to his ears as he’d feared. But he forges on through the embarrassment. “This isn’t like you. It’s freaking me out.”

He utters his name again, and Peter winces. Miles reaches out, placing a hand over Peter’s in a gesture he hopes helps. Peter’s hand is cold, and trembling a bit.

“Pete.” Miles steps closer; he tries to catch the other man’s gaze. This is all wrong. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong? It can’t just be about—”

Miles purses his lips. It’s weird how Peter talks about Miles like he’s something to be revered, like Peter himself is old news, like some relic Miles will get tired of eventually. Because that shouldn’t matter. Peter loves being Spider-man and Miles shouldn’t let this affect that.

“It’s not just about holding me back, is it?” Miles says eventually. He’s apparently right on the money, because Peter huffs out, face pinching.

Miles swallows past the lump in his throat. “Is it about MJ?”

Peter frowns, tilts his head. “What? What about MJ?”

“I mean. I know you guys are talking again. Are you taking a break for her?”

“What? I—” Peter pushes off the railing, inadvertently inching closer to Miles. Miles can smell his shampoo from here. “What? No, MJ and I aren’t—no, we’re not talking again. I mean, we are, but just as friends. We’re not, like—”

“But you and MJ are pretty much perfect for each other, right? She’s your one?” Miles asks, the world spinning again.

Peter shakes his head, laughs a little. He wears that expression like Miles said something so wrong it’s funny. “No—oh, god, no. We’re not—okay, let’s just make one thing clear. Whatever MJ and I had, that’s all over. We agreed to put everything behind us. Finito. Because there’s just a lot of history and baggage—and not the good kind either. So many things happened. The timing too, it was awful. Neither of us had what the other wanted. Surprise, surprise, right? So—”

Peter shrugs, and only then does Miles realize he’s still touching Peter. He pulls away, hand clenching at his side.

“We just decided to end it.”

“That means…” Miles starts, “You and MJ aren’t—aren’t together anymore? Like, really, really done?”

“Oh yeah. Like really, really, really done this time.” Peter chuckles, but it’s too dry. There’s something else going on. 

Miles frowns. That doesn’t make sense. God, nothing has made sense since this conversation started.

“What’s the problem, then?” He asks, nervous about the answer.

“I need to turn my life around. Because I’m—I’m a mess, Miles,” Peter says it like it’s a sin like it’s something he’s ashamed of. “I can’t find a steady job; I’m barely living from paycheck to paycheck. Most nights, I can’t even go to sleep because of—” 

Peter breathes in, slowly. “A lot of things.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his messy strands sticking up. Miles can’t take his eyes off them.

“I’m getting sloppy. There are so many things on my plate, and I can’t—” Peter stops again, words jittery and a touch manic. Miles has never seen him like this. “You deserve someone better to look after you. I’m a mess and you—you’re doing an amazing job, you got that? You’re perfect, Miles, and I’m not but that’s not something you should be worrying about.”

“Pete…”

“I’m just—” Peter pulls away completely, his hands coming up to rub at his face. When they drop, every wall in Peter comes crumbling down. “I’m so exhausted.”

Miles gapes at him. Peter tugs at his sweater sleeve, lips in a self-deprecating slant.

“And I’m not happy. Haven’t been for a while.” Hazel eyes fix on him. “I’m sorry,” Peter mutters, and Miles feels himself shake his head. “That you’re picking up the slack of a washed-up Spider-man.” 

Okay. This is getting way out of hand. His head-shaking only gets more vigorous. “Really, I’m just screwing this up even further because I’m taking the easy route by dropping New York on your shoulders, and it’s my fault and it’s my responsibility—”

“Peter. Stop. Please just—please just stop.” How did this get all wrong? “Okay, first off. You’re not taking a break as Spider-man.”

Peter looks like he bit into a lemon. “Miles—”

“No. Ain’t no way, Pete. You really think you can drop all these excuses on me and expect me to accept them? Nah, that’s just bullshit,” Miles says, taking a half-step forward. “I’m your friend. I’ve got your back, you know that.”

Peter has to know that. He hasn’t been anything less from day one.

“And second, is there… Is there any way I can help? With the job hunting? I’ve heard that you’ve been spending a lot of time at F.E.A.S.T. Lemme take some of your management tasks. Take some weight off your shoulders, no problem. I’ve helped out at Mom’s office before, so I know a little somethin’ about managing. I think.”

And suddenly Peter is frowning, frowning so deeply, the curve in his lips so deep-set and upsetting. Miles groans. 

“And—ugh, I’ve got to be real, Pete. Seeing you so bummed out isn’t sitting right with me. It’s probably one of the worst things, like ever. It’s like watchin’ a kicked puppy. If there’s any way I can do to help you feel better, anything I could get you, and I mean it—anything you want, bro, I’d do it.” Miles tries not to think of the implication in his words, focuses on keeping his tone as neutral as possible. “We can make it happen. I got you.”

Then a long pause that unnerves him.

Pete, please say something.

Peter sucks in a shaky breath. 

Then—then he’s laughing, weak, but it sounds sad, turning into something bitter. “Miles. It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Miles says, never backing down from a challenge.

Peter pierces him with a look. “We can’t all get what we want.”

“Well, what do you want?” Miles asks, crossing his arms.

Peter shakes his head, looking downright distraught. “You see, that right there is the problem. It shouldn’t be something I want, but, God help me—Miles, I do. I really, really do.”

Miles frowns.

Peter shrugs his shoulders, as if not blaming Miles for not figuring it out yet. “I don’t deserve it.”

Miles sucks in a breath, air punched out of him. He shakes his head, vehement, desperately needing Peter to listen to this. “Yes, you do. Whatever it is, you deserve it.” Miles grabs his hand—frantic because this is all so, so wrong—tugging Peter to face him. “You deserve the world, Pete. I don’t get why you don’t see that.”

Peter stares at their joined grip, and says, amused, “What if I said I wanted a break from Spider-man?”

“I’d say you’re lying.”

“God.” Peter huffs a laugh.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Miles urges him, “Especially if I can help?”

“Because it’s complicated, Miles.”

“What isn’t? Everything’s always complicated.” Miles pulls on his hand, drawing the other man’s eyes to his. “But that means nothing if you’re acting like this. I’m not leaving till I find a way to help you.”

Peter pulls away again. Always pulling away, always putting more distance between them—Peter never does that. He always embraces everything he does, even if it’s painful and uncomfortable because that’s who Peter is. He dives headfirst before thinking. 

He has never pulled away, especially when Miles is in the equation.

The man hugs himself. And it’s such a vulnerable, softened image that it tugs painfully at Miles’ chest.

“If I tell you,” Peter whispers, low, mirroring exactly how he looks, “Will you let me take the break?”

“Pete, c’mon—”

“Will you let me take the break?” Peter asks again, firmer.

Miles drags a hand down his face, biting back a groan. “Okay. Deal. Tell me.”

Peter waits a beat. Then half-turns to face Miles, glancing at the teenager in the corner of his eyes.

“I’ve got my own personal set of defects. And this is just another one.” Peter’s tone is flat. “I’m not gonna beat around the bush here. This has been a problem. For… For a while now. And I’m a coward. I’ve been pretending it’s not a big issue, but it is. It’s gotten worse and worse and I don’t know how to fix it because the last time I’ve had to deal with something like this was—god, years ago. I’ve got so many things on my plate already, but this really just takes the cake. Because it’s wrong. There’s so much wrong with this and I’m the problem, okay? This is my problem, and it shouldn’t be yours to deal with—”

“Man, just spit it out—”

“—even though I’m in love with you.”

Miles jerks back.

Peter eyes him. And he looks so sad.

“I know that’s. That is so wrong and weird and I can only imagine how creepy it is for you. Especially since I’ve been making excuses. To be closer to you and—I’ve been pretending that the things I do are platonic but it’s not and I’m so sorry, Miles. I know I shouldn’t even be standing this close to you—”

Miles’ hand comes up to web Peter’s mouth.

“Letting you talk’s only making you feel worse,” Miles explains, shrugging at Peter’s wide-eyed expression. “Don’t take it off. Or I’ll web your hands too.”

Peter tries to take it off anyway. Miles shakes his head. A strand of web sticks to Peter’s hand, and Miles yanks, webs it to the railing, and proceeds to do the same thing to his other hand.

Miles pauses and takes a deep breath to calm down his quaking heart; it’s been a distraction, punching itself out of his chest and loud in his ears. He runs a hand over his head, attempts to make sense of it all.

“Peter. Holy crap. This isn’t—whatever I expected it, for real, wasn’t this at all. I was thinking you were gonna say something like a day off or like, free pizza every day,” Miles jokes, heart thundering. “Not this.”

If he’d been honest, a part of him expected Peter to say MJ.

Miles waves uselessly at the space between them. Peter groans under the webbing, closing his eyes in defeat.

The adrenaline running through Miles’ veins makes him sound hysterical. “This is insane. I would have never—”

Miles laughs, because he can’t, can’t help it. Peter’s bewildered expression only cracks him up more. This is all so crazy. The irony.

Not even an hour ago, he was sitting out in the freezing cold, moping about his own feelings, thinking it’s one of the worst things in the world that he’s in love with his mentor—but Peter felt the same way, he does and he thinks Miles doesn’t and—oh god, he thinks Miles doesn’t.

Miles turns to Peter. “You wanna know what’s screwed up?”

He doesn’t wait for Peter’s reaction, letting the confessions fall off of his chest. “I’ve been thinking about you like that too. In—In the same way. It’s been on my mind for… a good while. And I—I thought I was taking advantage of you ‘cause we’re close and I. And I thought I’d have this rather than nothing at all.”

Peter’s eyes are wide, a little vacant, in awe. It makes Miles want to stop, but he doesn’t. He has to say this, after everything Peter already dropped on him. Peter opened the floodgates and Miles doesn’t want to lose this chance before they close again.

“If I knew you were feeling this bad, I—” Miles sighs, shakes his head, and rushes in for a hug, encasing Peter in his arms.

Peter whimpers and breaks Miles’ heart.

Miles feels so, so relieved. He can’t even think. He doesn’t. The longer he steals heat from Peter, the quicker every single coherent thought wisps away.

He pulls back, staring at the incredible man before him, who’s furrowing his eyes, who looks a little confused but so painfully hopeful that it tears something deep in Miles.

“Pete.” His hands are shaking, anticipation and something warm suffocating him. It’s addictive. And even though his hands are trembling like crazy, his stomach’s in knots, and his brain is screamin’ at him to move faster, man, you’ve waited forever—

He takes his time to reach for Peter’s cheeks. The moment his hands cover Peter’s face, his eyes slide closed, a soft sigh escaping him.

Peter isn’t much taller than him. Just a little less than two inches. Even then, Peter leans down, yielding to Miles’ hold, and Miles feels like he’s holding something precious, something so infinitely important to him that he can’t think straight, heady with the trust and ever-present warmth.

The sound Peter makes, a low-pitched moan—satiated yet impatient for more—sends the best feeling dousing over Miles’ head, rolling over his shoulders and down his spine; his lips finally meeting Peter’s forehead, soft and careful.

“I love you.”