Work Text:
1.
Knock, knock, knock!
Peter’s head raised from where he sat hunched over his desk, neck craning to look up at the clock on the opposite wall. His posture was (admittedly) worse than a humpback whale, but that was to be expected when laser-focusing on lesson planning.
As Brooklyn Visions Academy’s newest faculty member, the beginning of the school year meant that Peter was trying his best to plan the semester in an attempt to alleviate the workload he was sure to have as he began assigning work and refining his rusty teaching methods, given how long it had been since he last taught.
In all honesty, his decision to return to education had been almost completely spontaneous.
“You need something to do during the day,” Felicia had announced one night over dinner, eyes bright with that determined creativity she never seemed to run out of.
“I do stuff during the day,” Peter said drily, “Webs, spandex? They call me Spider-Man on tv? You might’ve heard of me.”
“ Har-har ,” she said, flicking a spoonful of mashed potatoes at him from across their dining room table, “I meant a hobby or a job or something.”
“I thought you liked having a live-in sugar baby,” he snarked, flicking his own food right back at her, “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“I mean it,” she stressed, “You can’t live as Spider-Man twenty-four-seven. It’s not healthy. Your aunt is worried. MJ is worried. Johnny’s worried. I’m worried. For once in your life can’t you be okay with someone else taking out the bad guys while you do something else? New York has a concerning number of costumed crime fighters that are more than capable of handling themselves. You don’t have to be involved in every fight. You know that.”
And thus, his job hunt began.
It was a little difficult at first, considering it had been years since he worked a full-time job that he wasn’t planning on ditching during the day and because people didn’t tend to hire you when you had a big, gaping hole in your resume, but after numerous failed applications and interviews, he’d finally gotten a job. He moved his old teaching supplies out of storage, set up his classroom, introduced himself to his students on the first day of school, and altogether was pretty proud of himself.
He stood slowly, making his way toward the knocking and leaping backward as his spider-sense itched at the back of his mind, just in time to avoid getting hit by the door as it swung inwards.
“What’s good, Pete?”
Had he mentioned that the person who told him about the aforementioned job was Miles?
“My old physics teacher retired at the end of the school year,” Miles had told him on a summer afternoon, as they sat together above the New York skyline, “Why don’t you try there? The spot’s open.”
So Peter had applied and by some fantastic force of nature had been accepted, which led him to where he stood now.
“Miles,” Peter blinked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?”
“Nope,” Miles responded cheerily, sliding into Peter’s chair and tapping his fingers on his desk, “I had my schedule changed. I’ve got B-Lunch now.”
“Uh-huh… and one can assume that has nothing to do with you wanting to come in here and put your grimy little hands all over my things?” he asked.
“Wh- ‘Grimy little? ’ We’re friends!” Miles exclaimed, “I’m not allowed to come see my friend? That’s messed up, man.”
Peter sighed, pinching his brows with one hand, “I can’t be your friend while you’re in school, Miles.”
“You don’t think we’re friends?”
“Stop being purposely obtuse,” Peter frowned, pulling his chair out to tip it over and evict Miles from his seat.
“You’re no fun,” Miles huffed, standing from where he had been deposited on the tile floor. He made his way toward the students’ desks instead, sliding into the chair closest to Peter’s desk with practiced ease,
“How do you like the job so far?”
Peter shrugged, returning halfheartedly to his work, “The students are nice. The faculty’s…”
“A pain in the ass?” Miles suggested.
“ A little uptight ,” Peter glared at him.
“Oh, so you fit right in then? That’s nice,” Miles grinned.
“You know I can kick you out, right?”
“If you do, can I use your microwave first? Cause I kind of already spent all my money on boxes of cup ramen assuming that you’d say yes,” Miles informed him, slinging his backpack around and pulling out his uncooked lunch.
“You…” Peter sighed again, dropping his head in defeat, “Yes, fine. Whatever.”
“Sick, thanks,” Miles said, ripping open the cup and filling it with the stick-covered monstrosity he called a water bottle. If he looked a little closer, Peter could pick out a Ms. Marvel sticker and the Fantastic Four logo, too. And-
And a cartoon Spider-Man sticker. Hilarious, Morales. Really.
One minute of microwaving later and Miles was stirring his noodles with a plastic fork and striding out the door once more,
“Thanks, Pete!”
“Not your friend, Miles!” Peter called after him, though he was certain he was wilfully ignored.
Whatever. As soon as Miles ran out of ramen to make he’d just start locking the door.
2.
Locking the door was not working, much to Peter’s utter disappointment.
“Hey, Pete!” Miles chirped as he bounded into the room.
Peter looked away from the whiteboard he was cleaning, leveling Miles with a flat stare,
“You can’t just pick the lock and bust in here whenever you want, you know that right?”
“Uncle Aaron says lockpicking is a vital skill even if you’re not a criminal,” Miles said matter-of-factly, not even turning toward Peter as he placed the day's tv-meal into the microwave, “Plus Felicia says you need to stop being such a boring old man all the time.”
“I resent that,” Peter answered, “And I don’t like that you and Felicia are talking about me behind my back. You’re not allowed to team up on me.”
Miles just rolled his eyes, watching his food intently as it spun around and around.
“And can’t you just venom blast that or something?” Peter continued, “That’s basically concentrated electricity and/or radiation, right?”
“I want to heat my food, not explode it into oblivion,” Miles scoffed, pulling the plastic plate out and sitting at the same desk he always did, “And can’t you learn to appreciate my presence? I’m a gift, man.”
“Yeah, well, this is the seventh time this month you’ve ‘gifted me with your presence,’ ” Peter stated.
“So?” Miles said through a bite of microwave meal brownie, “What’s wrong with that?
“Chew with your mouth closed,” Peter scolded him automatically before continuing, “It’s the second week of the month. You’ve officially spent more time in my classroom than in the cafeteria this month. Not to mention all the times you come in here when you should be in class.”
“Class is boring,” Miles responded defensively, “And you have a free period so it’s not like I’m messing with your students’ class time.”
“Not the point.”
“Definitely the point.”
“You need to go to class,” Peter said firmly.
“ You ditched class all the time after you got your powers,” Miles argued, “You’re being a hypocrite.”
“Who told you that?” Peter spluttered.
“MJ,” Miles shrugged, poking cautiously at the soggy corn in the corner of the container.
“Okay, well you’re officially banned from talking to MJ,” Peter announced, “But that’s beside the point. I did skip out on class. That turned into skipping work and that turned into skipping important life events. I missed so many opportunities because my priorities were out of wack, which is exactly why I’m telling you not to do what I did. Don’t your friends wonder why you haven’t been sitting with them at lunch?”
At that, Miles seemed to deflate a little, clearly feeling a bit guilty about ditching his friends to sit in Peter’s classroom,
“I guess you’re right, yeah…”
“Of course I’m right,” Peter said, “I’m right all the time.”
“Okay, well I definitely didn’t say that.”
“Out.”
“Sure,” Miles laughed, pulling his backpack over one shoulder and grabbing his unfinished food with his other hand, “See you later, Pete.”
“Still not your friend in school, Morales!”
3.
“Miles.”
“Peter.”
“When I said you needed to spend more time with your friends, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Neither Miles nor his roommates said anything, just stared at him as he stood in front of them with his arms crossed disapprovingly.
“...Hi, Mr. Parker,” Ganke said sheepishly, breaking the silence and giving a small wave. Judge gave an awkward smile before sending Peter a wave of his own.
Peter sighed, running his hand down his face before turning from them and waving his hand lazily over his shoulder,
“Hello, Ganke. Hello, Judge.”
Miles moved with confident familiarity as he tossed his backpack down and searched inside for whatever it was he planned on having for lunch today. Ganke and Judge had the manners to look at least a little embarrassed about barging in uninvited, but Peter just motioned vaguely at the desks and chairs to let them know they could sit where they liked. He found his way to his own desk, letting his head fall and meet the cool surface with a sharp exhale.
“You gonna tell me what you’re all doing in here?” Peter asked.
“Our usual table is being used for the club fair,” Judge said apologetically, “Miles said we could just come here instead.”
“And isn’t it nice here?” Miles asked, “A big empty classroom all to ourselves.”
“Yes,” Peter grumbled, fighting to keep his eye from twitching, “All to your selves.”
“Hey, you know–”
Bang!
Peter’s head shot up, eyes darting to the microwave as it sparked and fizzled out. Miles balked at it, hand still raised to punch in the cooking time. He looked to Peter, then the microwave, then Peter again before raising his hands placatingly,
“That wasn’t me.”
“I think it was me, sorry,” a voice called from the doorway, the sound of sharp heels following close behind as Felicia walked into the room. Peter could see a neon pink visitor’s sticker sticking out from under the lapel of her trenchcoat, one hand in her pocket and the other holding a plastic bag.
“You blew up my lunch, Felicia,” Miles informed her sadly, tapping the glass window of the microwave with one finger, “I’m going to starve and die.”
“You can have some of Peter’s lunch,” she responded breezily, depositing the bag on the desk, “Since he didn’t have time to make his own this morning. Maybe that’ll teach him to set his alarms.”
“I don’t want to share my lunch with him,” Peter mumbled as Felicia tilted his head up with one hand to kiss him, “He’s rude and he never laughs at my jokes.”
“Because you’re not funny,” Miles and Felicia said in tandem.
Peter glowered at them both, pulling the bag toward him to inspect the takeout containers. Thankfully, Felicia did seem to order a bit more food than Peter would’ve made himself, had he woken up on time.
“Bye, Miles,” Felicia smiled before turning back around, “Pull yourself together, Peter. Dinner with Aunt May at eight, don’t forget.”
With that, she turned and made her way out into the hallways again, leaving Peter behind to scoff and mutter under his breath at his desk while Miles tried (and failed) to stifle his laughter. The mess in the microwave was forgotten as Miles stood to rummage through the bag in search of something he’d like.
“You know the physics teacher’s girlfriend? And you call her by her first name?” Judge asked with slight disbelief.
“We’re friends,” Miles explained cheerfully as he snatched one of the boxes from Peter’s unsuspecting hands.
“No, you are not. ”
4.
“Peace at last,” Peter sighed, kicking his feet up at the edge of his desk.
Student-free days, despite the long morning meetings, usually left Peter’s entire afternoon open to plan, grade, and enjoy the sight of a clean and empty classroom. Pair that with the fact he’d had a fairly successful patrol as Spider-Man the night prior and the gentle sound of rain outside, and he was feeling pretty damn good.
Until the window pulled itself open.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he groaned, watching as the window slid closed once more and dirty, wet footprints appeared on his previously spotless floor.
“Hi, Pete.” Miles grinned, materializing across from him. He wore regular clothes, but in his hands was his suit, bunched up and clearly soaking wet. It dripped onto the desk for a moment before Miles held it back a little, though his grip tightened ever so slightly and sent a fresh cascade of droplets onto the ground.
“You know you don’t have class today right?” Peter asked, dropping his legs to sit properly in his chair, “And even if you did, I’m not one of your teachers.”
“I know,” Miles said, looking down at his suit and then back at Peter before holding it out once more, “I need you to fix this for me.”
“You need me to–” Peter sighed, pushing the wet suit back at Miles and wiping his now wet hands on his pants, “You’ve been fixing your own suits since forever, Miles. You know how to sew.”
“Your stitching is tighter than mine,” he shrugged, holding it out again, “It’s not like you’re busy right now.”
“Well, maybe if you practiced more yours would be, too,” Peter retorted, pushing it back once more, “And how do you know I’m not busy right now? I could totally be busy right now.”
“You’re not. I watched you for ten minutes before I came in here.”
“That’s creepy.”
“Your face is creepy.”
“You can’t say mean things to me and then expect me to do things for you,” Peter admonished, “That’s not how this works.”
At that, Miles seemed to give up on their game of hot potato, instead electing to toss the ball of wet fabric directly into Peter’s face. It landed with a wet smack before sliding down and into his lap.
“Kamala and Gwen say hi, by the way,” Miles said, pausing for a moment, “And other Gwen, too. I think we know too many Gwen’s.”
Peter didn’t respond, just unrolled the suit and lifted it to get a better look at the wide, jagged hole in the right shoulder,
“How’d you do this?”
“Evil robots again. Didn’t break the skin though,” Miles said, digging through Peter’s cabinets, “Do you really need nine Newton’s cradles?”
“It’s good to have extras on hand,” Peter answered, “All the bots are gone?”
“Yup. The Champions save the city again. The people are safe and sound, minimum destruction, blah, blah, blah. You’re welcome , New York,” he said, closing the cabinet doors
“Good. That’s good,” Peter nodded, kicking open the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieving his sewing kit, “You ready for finals week?”
At that, Miles sighed dramatically, laying across the front row of students’ desks and folding his hands over his stomach, “Can we talk about literally anything else?”
“You came to school on the one day you don’t have school. It’s only natural to assume you’d want to talk about your classes,” Peter hummed, threading the needle with careful precision.
“You know what I think? I think finals week is inhumane and mentally taxing,” Miles declared, throwing his arms up into the air.
“I teach physics, not psychology. If you want someone to pick your brain about your exams the counselor's office is down the hall.”
“That’s cold, man.”
“Call your congressman about it.”
Miles rolled his eyes, bringing his hands back down, “What are you doing for winter break?”
“The same thing I always do for winter break,” Peter said, head down and expression focused as he pulled the needle and thread in and out of the fabric, “Freeze, punch people, and get annoying holiday music stuck in my head.”
“Lame.”
“Well, what are you doing then, O’ Wise one?” Peter asked.
Miles hesitated, dragging his gaze up to the ceiling instead, “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“Exactly.”
With a snip of his safety scissors, Peter completed his task. He flipped the arm of the suit right-side-out once more to inspect his work before tossing it over Miles,
“You’re welcome for that. I look like I lost a fight with Hydro-Man.”
“That’s an improvement,” Miles stated, making his way back to the window to make his escape, “Seriously. That outfit is atrocious. Corduroy pants? You look like someone’s sad grandpa.”
Peter snatched a piece of scratch paper off the corner of his desk, balling it up and flinging it at Miles’ shit-eating grin as he continued,
“Hey, you know what? I know a good designer. He could even help someone as fashionably challenged as you, I bet. You want his number?”
“What I want is for you to get out.”
“Mhmm. Whatever you say, Pete,” he nodded before fading out as he camouflaged, “See you Monday.”
“You will not see me Monday, because you’re not going to bust into my classroom, because we aren’t friends!”
+1
“Yo, Pete!” Miles called as he pushed the door of the classroom open. Instead of being met with the usual protest and tired sighs, he instead found himself met with silence and darkness, the only light coming from the frosted windows on the other side of the freezing room. Of course, the first snow of the season fell on the last day of the semester.
“Uh, Pete? Anyone home?”
“Hey, Miles!” Peter’s voice echoed from down the hall.
“Sorry,” he said as he jogged closer, two to-go cups in hand, “Cold slowed me down.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Miles said, looking Peter up and down.
His face and ears were both red from the crisp winter air, and flakes of snow in his hair were beginning to melt down his forehead. The shoulders of his coat were damp, too, and if Miles had to guess he’d say he walked more than a few blocks away.
“Are you coming in or not?” Peter asked, shoving a cup into Mile’s hand and stepping inside the room. He left the lights off but adjusted the thermostat to kick the heater on before finally peeling his jacket off and sliding into his chair.
“What’s this?”
“Hot cocoa,” Peter said as if it were self-explanatory, “And not that gross over-done, way too rich stuff from Starbucks.”
“You and Starbucks, man,” Miles sighed exasperatedly, putting his backpack down and sitting in his usual seat, “You really are a Coffee Bean loyalist till the day you die, huh?”
“Damn right,” he huffed, “And this might not be Coffee Bean level good, but being better than Starbucks? Not hard.”
“Not too much on Starbucks, Pete. I like the frappes.”
“You don’t actually think that, Miles. It’s just the over-sugary syrups and persistent marketing pavloving you into thinking you enjoy it.”
“Sure,” he laughed, “Not that I don’t appreciate a free drink but what gives?”
Peter sucked his teeth, drumming his fingers the way he usually did when he was thinking too hard, “Well… I was thinking–”
“That’s never good.”
“I was thinking, ” he powered on with a scowl, “That since you’d be in here anyways–”
“Like I usually am.”
“Yes, like you usually are,” he agreed, rolling his eyes, “And since I have it on good authority from this week’s teacher’s lounge gossip that you passed all your finals with flying colors, I figured a reward was in order.”
“Oh,” Miles mumbled, studying the cup with a small smile, “Thanks, Pete.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Peter cautioned, “I think I’ve finally figured out how to get you out of here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup,” he said proudly, pulling a stack of papers off of his desk and walking them over to Miles before putting them down with a thud, “The pop quizzes I gave last week need to be graded. Answer keys are on that first page. Dock points if they don’t show their work, and take whatever you don’t finish home over break, thanks.”
“ Homework? ” Miles gaped, “You’re giving me homework because I want to sit in your classroom?”
“I did tell you that I’m not your friend in school.”
“You’re a dick.”
“Cursing at teachers? Consider stacking chairs your next assignment,” Peter tutted, “Kids these days, absolutely no respect for their elders.”
Miles laughed, “Okay, okay, I get it. I promise to ease up on the visitations.”
“Good, that’s what I like to hear,” Peter smiled, sitting back down and putting his feet up. They sat like that for a moment, both turning their heads to watch the snow fall outside before Miles turned back to him,
“I can still use your microwave, right?”