Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A scream rang out into the sky like fireworks. It was a scream no one should ever have to hear. The sound of someone's world crashing, the sound of their heart breaking into two, the sound of a piece of them dying.

Miles exhausted his vocal cords. He felt a tsunami of motions hitting him in the face but he couldn’t feel anything at all. Ears ringing, the last thing he remembered before his eyes were covered by Gwens white gloved fingers was the sight of his dad’s cracked open skull stained on concrete and rubble.

“He’s moving,” Miles shifted in what seemed to be his room's bed.

“Don’t wake him yet,” He heard someone else hiss sharply. The two voices sounded gurgly as if his eardrums were filled with water. He shifted again, uncomfortably.

Miles slowly pushed himself up using his arms. He was so fatigued he nearly slid back down but persisted and two figures came up beside him to support him.

“Miles, Miles!” Gwen never had a way with manners even now. Her voice was loud and unruly but in it was woven worriedness and relief. She bent down to help Miles get into a more comfortable position on the bed. The other figure, who he could now see was Parker, moved the blankets around to make the process easier.

“Miles, we were so worried,” Parker whispered and his voice sounded like he was on the verge of crying. He went in to hug Miles and stroked his back. Miles felt repulsed at the hug but his face remained blank, unmoving.

“How’s my mom,” Miles' voice came out like nails on a chalkboard and he winced as he rubbed his sore throat. Parker pulled away and he and Gwen shared a look as if they were hiding something.

“Miguel isn’t breathing down your necks and my cannon event happened like how all of you wanted so there’s no reason to hide stuff from me like you guys have been doing all this time anymore.” Miles' words came out like venom and the two flinched as if they had been slapped, guilt sprouting on their faces. Gwen bent down again to look at miles and she grabbed his hand which shook roughly every time he breathed.

“Listen, Miles, I’m really so sorry. I didn’t want to–”Miles slapped her hand away and shifted his head as if he was listening to something vile. Gwen bit her mouth hard as tears came running down like rain and she ran out the room with thick sobs.

“She’s serious, Miles. We didn’t have a choice. We would’ve told you.”

“How long? How long would you wait to tell me? Until he was dead? Well, you got what you wanted! He’s dead! My dad is dead. He’s gone Parker,” Miles shook his head as he looked at Parker with hurt.

“If you aren’t gonna tell me about my Mom then fuck off.” He spat and pointed a shaking finger at Parker then turned to face the wall once again. He only turned his head back around when Parker groaned and closed the door behind him.

His window was open, even now, and a cold chill came in with it. He wanted to move the blankets around him tighter but he couldn’t lift a finger. His whole world was spinning with thoughts and regrets and the sound of his own soul crushing when he saw his dad.

Another voice appeared and he groaned at the thought of another rushed apology, “Lil harsh, innit. This spiderman stuff I mean.”

That deep accent that only one Spiderman could have. Miles turned his body slowly to stare at Hobie who moved the blankets around Miles then went to close the window as if reading his mind.

Miles held back a sob and ran his fingers through his coarse hair then down his face, “Yeah.”

Hobie came back and sat on Miles' desk chair. He passed him glances then said, “I’m okay to be in here, yeah?” When Miles replied a gruff yes his shoulders relaxed. He himself was confused even now how he wasn’t sent out the door like the other two had been.

“I want to apologize too. For not telling you the full truth I mean,” Hobie began to say and he pat Miles back.

“Nah man. You helped me out. I wouldn’t even be here right now if not for you,” Miles forced a smile and made the palm motion Hobie had done prior to him.

Hobie glanced as if he wanted to say more but bit held back, “‘S all good mate.” And he pushed his long lanky legs on the ground as he rocketed to one corner of the room then the next.

“You alright? I mean, don’t deep it too much; this whole situation.” Hobie said when the silence got suffocating and Miles looked through him as if he wasn’t there.

“Is my Mom okay,” Miles answered with another question and Hobie looked away quickly before clicking his tongue. He pushed himself off the chair and stumbled as he sat on the edge of Miles’ bed.

“It’s almost like she already knew you—or we were spiderman, because when we came in she wasn’t fazed. Or more like she knew but she was too worried about you and your dad to care. She legged it then, when we told her and she ran to the crime scene, she still isn’t back.”

Miles let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding in and let the tension fade from his face.

“Did you... are you only helping me because of your ideals or because you see something in me that the others don’t?” Silence filled the room again. Though, this time it was less suffocating, the tense air between the two of them dissipated.

“Miles, love, is that even a question? When I looked at you I could tell you were different from the other lot of them. I don’t care what Miguel says, you are Spiderman and you aren’t a bloody mistake.” Hobie cursed under his tongue when he had realized he let the pet name slip from his mouth and Miles' ears burnt.

As his head processed and broke down the sentences his eyes began to water and with a shuddery whimper sniffled through tears. Hobie wasn’t one to comfort but came closer and held his hand out for Miles to take stiffly. Miles took it and gripped as if his world was crumbling and Hobie was the last person left he could trust. Which in a way, was right.

“Hobie, I don’t know what to do anymore. How can I be Spiderman when I can’t even save my family,” Miles asked into the quietness of the room and his voice shook with vulnerability.

Miles' door opened again as Hobie began to ready a response revealing Gwen. Her eyes were red and puffy and she held her gloved hands nervously looking down at the floor. When she noticed Hobie her eyes lit up as if maybe there was still a chance she could apologize.

“If you had told me earlier my dad would still be here,” Miles said matter of factly wasting no time and his voice shed the vulnerability it had moments earlier with Hobie.

Miles continued, “No amount of apologies or gifts will fix what happened. He’s gone!” His voice came out thick with tears and he broke the grasp he had on Hobie’s hand to throw both of them up in rage.

“Gwen, I trusted you. For the past year I’ve thought of you as the only person who could understand me, my only friend. I’d put my life on the line for you. But this…?”

Gwen put her head further down in shame and defeat, guilt racking her brain and Hobie went quiet as it wasn’t his place to intervene.

“Miles,” She began desperately, her mouth opening and closing as she paused to run after the fleeting words in her head. She was terrified that they wouldn’t come out and she’d be left looking a fool.

“I’ll carry this guilt forever, Miles. I was selfish, I wanted to stay with my family I found within the Spider-verse. I didn’t want to be left alone. But I should’ve known that even if I left them I’d still always have you.” She stuttered and continued through tears.

“You can hate me, curse me, never forgive me, but please Miles, don’t leave me. I care for you too much! I tried to have you and a family, but now I know that I can’t be that greedy!”

The way her voice raised in desperation made Miles heartache. His head was spinning again and he attempted to stand out of the bed only to stumble back down in nausea.

“Woah mate, no getting up for you yet,” Hobie gently pushed him back onto the bed.

“I– I need time to think Gwen. Both of you get out please,” Gwen nodded quickly but repeatedly turned around hoping he would change his mind and Hobie rubbed his calloused fingers onto Miles hand in comfort before also exiting the room.

By himself the silence was much more scary. His thoughts sounded ten times louder and a pounding headache began to thrum at the back of his head. When he couldn’t think straight he drew. So he reached under his bed grabbing a familiar sketchbook and fished for a mechanical pencil.

The texture of the sketchbook slid against his fingertips comfortably and for the first time in a while he felt order in his life; something that wouldn’t change. He opened to a blank page and zoned out letting his fingers take control.

He filled the page with sketches of his dad. His dad hugging him, his dad staring out of the page as if he was still there, his dad pulling a smile that stretched ear to ear. Miles would never be able to see one of those smiles again. One of those smiles that were contagious and made him burst out laughing.

He slammed the sketchbook on the floor then kicked it under his bed and rubbed his temples as his ears began to ring.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but the blinding day light faded to night and it was another reminder of how the world would keep going despite the loss of his dad. With a hiss he forced himself up and began pacing across the floor of his room, pausing when he got a look at the collectable figurine Gwen had ripped out of its packaging oblivious. The sides of his mouth twitched at the memory.

He racked his brain rolling through Gwens apology and he rubbed frustration out of his tense forehead. Yes, she had withheld the truth from him but she had a good reason and even though he wouldn’t do the same he could see where she was coming from. Plus, from how it looked she didn’t know the situation would escalate so much.

Miles was a very forgiving person.

But he was so afraid to forgive her. The pain he’d felt when he found out she betrayed him was worse than being slammed against concrete or falling from buildings stories high. Because he could always trust her, and that day she broke it.

He fell back to the ground deep in thought when his Mom walked through his door with hushed whispers of “Lo siento mucho”’s and her motherly hugs that always worked like magic. He wasn’t sure how long the two sat on the hardwood floor crying into each other's embrace. All he knew is he felt a little lighter after.

Hours merged together like glue and Miles wasn’t aware of the last time water or food had entered his mouth. But, his appetite was long gone, replaced by the guilt and grief of losing his father. Glued to the same spot on his bed he’d be unmoving for hours of the day thinking about what he could’ve done or said to save his father. At the end of the day it all came down to it being his fault. If he had never been bitten his dad wouldn't have died. If he was never born his uncle and dad would still be alive.

The thoughts ran through his head like venom and over the hours they multiplied; weighing him down and making his head ache. Or, maybe it was because he was severely dehydrated. At the thought he licked his dry, cracked lips and went back to picking at a spot on his skin he had since he was left to himself.

His mom came in of course from time to time to check on him and ask how he was. But, after his and her crying session he hadn’t said a word. As if he wasn’t even there anymore he’d stare right through her.

“None of this would’ve happened,” Scratch.

“You don’t belong here,” Scratch.

“You never did,” Scratch.

He wasn’t aware of the skin on his arm beginning to crack; red slowly surfacing in small red dots because of his picking that he sensed another spider in his room.

“I can sense you,” Miles let go of his arm as he called out to his quiet room. His back was turned to where he knew someone sat upside down on his ceiling wall. He couldn’t bother to turn as he didn’t sense malice or danger from them and continued to stare holes in the wall from his bed.

“Mate, you seriously need to eat. I can go get you something if that’d fancy you,” Hobie unstuck himself from the ceiling and landed on his feet. His boots were loud against the ground and Miles turned around to face him.

Miles snapped through closed teeth, “And you seriously need to leave me alone. I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine!”

“Love, you look knackered. Your complexion needs color and some sleep, food, and a laugh or two will bring it back.” The pet name had Miles' internal system-thingy going insane and he felt more emotion than he had in awhile but he was quick to gather himself together.

Hobie walked towards Miles' bedframe and leaned his tall figure against it. If it was anyone else he’d be pointing towards the door but through the whole ordeal as some spiders lost Miles' trust, Hobie gained it instead.

“I’m not hungry, and I don’t need to sleep. I’ve slept great these past–” Miles looked downwards and stuttered, he had lost track of his hours, his days, he didn’t know how much time had passed and he knew the second he slipped up Hobie wouldn’t take no for an answer. Though, his lie was half true because when he wasn’t hating himself to the ground rotting in his bed he was asleep.

“I’d argue different. You don’t look exactly ace, you look as if you hadn’t ate since me and Pav washed you up in the loo–”

“YOU DID WHAT!?”

“Whoops,” Hobie said and looked away almost as if he was ashamed. But he was an anarchist, they didn’t know what shame meant!

“How else do you think you got from your suit to those clothes? You were covered head to toe in scratches and wounds. You looked rough. Don’t worry, we had our eyes closed the whole time so we didn’t see you starkers and Parker came in to help you get changed,” Hobie grinned as he looked down in amusement at Miles' expression.

His shocked expression grew wider as Hobie continued to assure him they hadn’t seen his “naughty bits” at least three times before Miles let out an embarrassed whine and stuffed his face into his pillow.

“Fuck…God, strike me down NOW,” he yelled into his pillow and the embarrassment continued to grow on his face. He could feel his whole body growing hot and while he wouldn’t care if Pav washed him up and Peter helped clothe him, Hobie was an entirely different story.

“I’m glad I can see more expression on your face than the last three days, but you really still need to eat,” Hobie whispered in a softer voice, completely glossing over the fact that Miles was still collecting himself.

“Three days? It felt like eternity,” Miles answered gruffly and Hobie clicked his tongue in agreement.

“It’s felt like eternity watching you waste away in your bed, I won’t let that go on for any longer though. Thought I was about to join you in that bed with how down in the dumps you were,” Hobie snickered and yanked Miles' blanket off of him.

“Miles, you have to get up. And as fucking cliche as this is gonna bloody sound— it’s because you’re Spiderman. I ne– the world needs you. And I know you can get up because no matter how many times we fall we’ll always get up,” The way Hobie said it was if he had read off a script, it didn’t sound like him. Nonetheless it made Miles bust out in a fit of bubbly laughter.

“My god, who put you up to that dude,” Miles slid his hand over his stomach as he continued to laugh.

Hobie groaned loudly, “Wow, you’re full of beans now.” And Miles noticed that when Hobie was flustered his British accent was stronger so he struggled to depict what he was saying.

“Gwens and Pav. We stayed up all night making it but I knew it wouldn’t sound right coming from me. That motivational bs is not my cup of tea.”

“Still, it means a lot to me,” Miles jabbed Hobie’s side playfully with his foot and sat up straight. As his laughter died down they both sat in silence for what seemed to last forever before Hobie broke it.

“Come on, I’m sure theres something to eat in your kitchen,” Hobie stretched out a hand to Miles but he hesitated, biting his lip.

Miles felt as if he didn’t deserve to eat. He was a murderer because of the fact he was Spiderman. Murderers didn’t deserve to eat. However, as if Hobie was reading his mind he grabbed Miles’ hand and yanked him right out of the bed with ease.

“Warn me atleast–,” but the look of mischief on Hobie’s was enough to tell that he found Miles’ reaction funny.

“Miles, I won’t leave until I see you’ve put some grub in your mouth, yeah? No saying no, I meant it.”

“But–”

“But a sock in it,” Hobie took Miles hand and led them from his room to the kitchen. All of the physical touch was making his head go fuzzy and Hobie’s slender fingers were slipping into his hand so easily he felt like puzzle pieces had just clicked.

“Miles? Miles,” Hobie had long broken their fingers apart and now he was waving a hand in Miles face. His expression was the same but from his tone he could sense worriedness in it.

“Oh,” Miles nodded towards Hobie to signify that he was listening and sat on a stool, too drained to stand any longer. Despite his super human abilities Miles was still human, and the toll of not eating for days had caught up to him the second he was on his feet. A throbbing headache resurfaced and the pain was so extreme he dryheaved.

“Woah mate, you okay,” Hobie asked as he looked through the refrigerator. He sifted through foil-covered tupperware for any type of edible food but all of it seemed to be days old, at least three. When he came up with nothing he sighed at the idea of cooking as he certainly wasn’t a chef and focused instead on finding something to eat in the cabinets that would be light on Miles' stomach.

When he found a can of soup he stabbed the can top off with a knife and emptied all of it into a bowl then popped it in the microwave.

He then walked back to where Miles was sitting and leaned against the counter to face him in the eyes, his face unreadable.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” Miles questioned slowly and a light smile quirked at the edges of his lips.

“Like what,” Hobie asked and moved his face closer. From there he could see the scrunches of stress on Miles’ face and his beautiful eyelashes. His eyes still had sparkles of hope in them as if the sparkles had been plucked from the night sky. He was so handsome, Hobie whispered in his head and he wanted to kiss him.

Miles followed Hobie’s eyes which scaled his whole face, “Dude, seriously, are you like, sizing me up?” He joked and halted when he heard sounds of the soup popping and bubbling in the microwave.

“Hobie! The soup,” Miles pointed to the microwave and that bubbly laughter came again. It was like music to Hobies ears.

“Bloody hell,” He cursed as he pinched the burning hot bowl with 2 fingers and nearly dropped it on the counter. The soup was nearly overcooked, well he wasn’t a chef.

Miles watched as Hobie blew on a spoonful of and slid the spoon close to his mouth. Confused, he cocked his head to the side and squinted his eyes.

“Come on mate, I haven’t got all day,” Hobie nudged the spoon closer and Miles’ face felt the same temperature as the warm soup that he swallowed in spoonfuls. Miles pushed back tears as the guilt got to him every time a new spoonful of soup appeared. But, he remembered that Hobie was right there to support him and he would keep Miles safe.

Is that what you think?

What about when he leaves?

Murderers don’t deserve to live.

The three venomous sentences looped in Miles' head as he chewed through bits of thinly sliced chicken and swallowed the thick warming soup. He managed to push them to the back of his head and focused on the boy in front of him who hummed what seemed to be a punk song. He was too tired to lift a finger so he didn’t mind that he was being fed.

As his stomach was filled and the headache dulled Mile’s found himself falling asleep to the sound of Hobie’s humming.

When Miles awoke he didn’t feel Hobie’s body heat next to him like he did when he spoon-fed him, all he felt was the familiar coldness of his room and his bed which he had overgrown years ago.

It’s better like this, it’s what I deserve. But the loneliness was suffocating and it was eating Miles from the inside out. With a groan he flipped on his side when a bright looking sticky note caught his eye. It hung from the window which Miles would always leave from, diving below and hoisting himself into the sky with his webs.

He stood and walked towards the bright note, taking in the elaborate lines and doodles and dots on it. The font of the handwriting was hard to read but he managed to decrypt what was written on it. “Something came up, I’ll b back in a day or 2 - Hobie Brown,” And Miles let out a deep disappointed sigh.

He sat down on his bed and stared at the note. At the rushed strokes and how the letters kept changing fonts throughout the note. He thought it was cool– Hobie’s whole “thing” was.

He grabbed his sketchbook from under his bed and flipped to begin a new page behind the sketches of his dad, a pang running through his head as he stared at the sketches drawn in desperation and sadness. Even now he felt the same but he was so exhausted that another breakdown like that would knock him out and he was tired of fading in and out of consciousness.
On the new page he filled it with colors and ever-changing patterns just how Hobie had with his note. Then, in the middle he drew Hobie himself. He wouldn’t let anyone see his sketchbook because it was like a diary where he drew himself and thoughts onto pages. And drawing Hobie meant something– he just couldn’t figure out what.

The activity allowed him distraction from his thoughts of self-loathing and guilt but soon enough he knew he’d have to face them, he couldn’t run forever.

“¿Miles? ¿Estás en tu cuarto,” He heard shuffling outside of his room and his Mom walked in. He had realized how she looked so gone, so detached, and so tired. She looked worn as she squeezed herself onto Miles’ small bed and criss-crossed her legs to face him. Before she spoke she put a comforting hand onto his own and rubbed circles on it.

“The– the funeral is in 2 days,” She choked on her words like they were resisting and Miles’ world shattered again. The pit he had just managed to claw himself up from became an even deeper one and dragged him right down. He tuned the rest of her words out and thought about how he didn’t deserve the soft spoken words and apologies his mom kept repeating; he was a murderer after all.

After a quick nod from him she stood by the door frame for a few minutes staring at her boy as if she understood every trouble he was going through and then left, keeping the door cracked in case he needed her to come fast. With a deep sigh he rubbed his temples and breathed greedy gulps of air as if they were the last he’d ever get.

He needed a change of scenery before he went insane. As he slipped his original suit on– not the one that was “bleeding from his armpits,” for a second he was back to himself 1 year and 4 months ago. Miles who was confident and clumsy.

With a quick glance back to his room he jumped from his window feeling the familiar feeling of air whipping through his thick hair and the feeling of his gut falling before he used his web shooters to glide through the sky.

Miles whacked and kicked robbers and thugs, but it didn’t feel the same. It felt like he was doing it for a distraction, like he was doing it to redeem himself. In a way he was, and as he tied another robber up for the night in his sticky webs he felt a wave of dizziness course throughout his body.

Finding a high-up building he sat and took a deep breath for the first time in hours and Gwen came rushing back to his memory. He thought he was ready to talk to her. To accept her apology but he had no way to reach her.

“What if I never see them again,” He asked the shadows of the night and he knew no one would answer so he slid his head back against the hard concrete of the building thinking of all possible answers and questions he’d say when he saw Gwen.

The way back home was quiet because Mile’s didn’t shout his usual excited screams of glee as he glided through Brooklyn or stopped to talk to people– he was disconnected and the joy of being Spiderman was gone. When he slid through his window he took off his suit and put on pajamas. He was cautious and quiet so as to not wake his mom who, if he was lucky, was sleeping.

He unlocked his phone for the first time in days and went through texts of peoples condolences and, his mom reassuring him that she’d be home soon sent days prior, and a single text from Ganke composed of pictures of Miles’ late work. He ignored the rumbling feeling in his stomach and laid down on his bed quickly falling asleep due to him being worn out.

Chapter Text

The next two days felt like eternity, they’d drag on and through it Miles felt as if his ears were stuffed with cotton balls. The only things that kept him from rotting in his bed was the thought of Hobie praising him and his Mom who needed help with arranging things for the funeral. The air in the house was shifted. It was somber and depressing which only made Miles feel worse.

His mom’s usual jokes and laughter had died out when his father did and what remained was a woman who only finished tasks or would help Miles when he asked. Miles wanted to help her, but he couldn’t even help himself.

He’d stare out the window every time he was in his room awaiting Hobie’s arrival and as time passed so did his hope in Hobie ever showing up. On the second day since Hobie had disappeared Miles bitterly closed and locked the window before he got ready for his dads funeral.

The morning was cold and puddles were littered across Brooklyn's streets. People huddled together under umbrellas and Miles felt bitter knowing he’d never be able to do that again with his dad. When Miles and his mom arrived at the funeral home there were only a few people– relatives it seemed. It had made sense because they came hours early to prepare.

Miles carried a notepad with him, his mom told him to write an eulogy days before but all he had managed to write was “Goodbye.” He inhaled and sat on a chair that he knew would leave his back aching when he got up.

While his Mom and relatives scurried around he stared into the middle of the funeral home where his dads casket was. Sunflowers among other flowers he couldn’t name were arranged in beautiful sprays that surrounded the casket but it would remain closed throughout the whole service.

He knew why. He knew because the flash, the memory of his dads head bashed in would stir his gut every time he closed his eyes to sleep or even blink. He’d remember the feeling of his stomach dropping as if he was on a rollercoaster and the sinking feeling of dread. The nauseating putrid smell of fresh blood and having to recognize his dads face by looking at his body, his skin tone, and the familiar cop suit.

Miles turned his attention back to the notepad and with shaky fingers aligned the pencil to paper.

The ceremony was long and lengthy. Miles was amazed at how many people had shown up. Him and his Mom sat front and center where everyone who walked up to the casket could say their final goodbyes and Miles would ignore the looks of pity and sorrow he’d get. His mom would hurridley accept them and speak to everyone who came up.

Miles felt ashamed, he didn’t deserve the pity or apologies because he was the reason his dad was dead. And when it was his turn for his speech he felt the taste of blood on his tongue because he had been biting inside of his mouth.

He walked onto the stage and he could see the eyes of hundreds. Some with tears and others blank with boredom as if they were forced to come. He stared past all the scrutinizing eyes and attempted to control his unstable breathing.

“My dad was so bright,” He started and he could already feel the tears springing. Because, why did he have to say goodbye? Why did he have to die? He took another deep breath and refocused his gaze to an empty seat at the back of the funeral home.

“He led me through the toughest parts of my life. He introduced me to R&B and we would spend summer days sneaking ice cups behind Mama's back. He always knew how to make me laugh and without him a part of me is dead,” And Miles took a brief look at his notepad to get the next words ready.

“I know he’s gone, but with every breath or step I take I feel him pushing me on,” and it felt like the closer Miles got to the end of his eulogy the father he’d be from ever seeing his dad again.

“He formed me into the boy I am today and the man I’ll be in a few years through his memories and touches and encouragement. He was the one father I had, he is irreplaceable and I will always remember him for the amazing dad he was. He was a dad but he was a husband, a friend, a colleague, or a neighbor. He influenced everyone here today, even if it was in the smallest way because he was pure hearted.”

“He always had the best in mind for me even when I swore I knew what was good for me and he wasn’t afraid to sacrifice himself for me. That along with other things is what I knew made him so great,” Miles glanced at the casket finally. He had been ignoring it the whole service because a pang would shoot through his heart knowing his dad was just beneath the opening of the casket.

“So Dad, I know you can hear me. I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done to bring me up to this point. And yes, I still know I’m grounded for 2 months.”

He heard a sniffled laughter from below the stage coming from his Mom but he also saw the tears in her eyes. He knew she was just as scared as he was to say goodbye so when he exited the stage and tuned out the claps he walked to her and gave her a tight hug hoping that would form all of his unspoken words of encouragement.

As much as he wanted to listen to his mom’s eulogy the only thing he could hear was the sounds of his own heart beating and his head screaming at him.

The ceremony ended and people began to disperse in groups or hang around to talk to Miles’ mom. He sat in the back where he was much more comfortable not being at the center of attention anymore.

His nerves came crashing back at him and he felt a strong force of whiplash that forced him back to reality. Lurching forward he felt the need for fresh air and began to book it out the door of the funeral home.

He sat on the steps, breathing in slowly and out so he wouldn’t throw up the small breakfast he’d eaten that morning. Without warning the sight of his dad came back and he bent his neck to a bush where he emptied his stomach.

Throwing up had become something common to Miles. He’d never get desensitized and it felt as if he was reliving the moment the second his vision faltered. But the feeling of him retching and the bitter taste of vomit was enough for him to gag again before fingers gripped tightly onto his shoulder.

“Miles? Man, are you okay?”

But it was too late and he felt his vision blank once then twice before fainting.

Miles was awoken to a hand pressing to his forehead and a look of concern from his mom. They had made it to what seemed to be the graveyard. She reached out a hand and pulled him out of the car seat.

“Ganke came to the funeral, he saw you faint and managed to catch you before you fell. I… If you feel unwell and want to stay in the car you can Miles, but I have to go,” She handed him a water bottle and his chest panged again from the missing emotion in his moms voice.

“Drink this. I’m pretty sure you fainted because you haven’t been eating enough…so Miles, when we get home you need to eat, okay?” She rubbed her soft hands against his and looked back before walking away towards the grave.

He leaned against the car as he watched more people arrive at the graveyard. Some carried somber expressions and flowers and it made him wonder how he looked right now. He had felt numb practically the whole ceremony, only tearing up when he spoke his eulogy.

He decided to follow after his mom to the burial site and kept his head hung low the whole time, only glancing up when his name was called on by his mom because he knew if he looked at the casket a dam would come flooding open and he’d break down in front of everyone.

The seat he sat in felt hard and uncomfortable, he wanted to get up and run away because he didn’t want to believe this would be the last time he’d ever be close to his dads body.

The grave began to slowly lower and with Miles’ eyes burning holes into the ground he threw a handful of dirt, his mom following after. He was hugged by people he knew and ones he had hurriedly got the names of and it left his head spinning. He recognized the feelings of panic and guilt ripping his insides apart and he needed to leave before he started to break down.

“Miles? Where are you going!”

He ignored the yells of his concerned mom and instead bolted from the graveyard. He had become familiar with the streets and stores of Brooklyn so it was fairly easy to find out where to go even in his panicked state. His dorm room was closer to his house so he made that his destination. He ignored the rain that caused his stuffy suit to stick uncomfortably to his skin and the alarmed looks of people as he pushed past crowds and hastened his pace when he saw the dorm window in sight.

He would just slide into the window like usual but there were too many people around so he took the stairs instead. He could feel his heart thrumming but he was sure it wasn’t because of him running and from the fact that he was about to break down. He slammed the dorm door shut and let out a shuddery sigh. Then, he grasped at his suit tie that was suffocating him.

Raggedy gasps of air left his mouth that sped up and even with the tie off he felt as if someone was choking him. Like Miguel had a week ago and that made his whole body shutter as his attempt to crawl to his bed failed. He put his back onto the cold wall and slid his head between his knees rocking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to calm his erratic breathing down.

He was going to die. His hands felt clammy and the hold on his neck tightened and oh my god he couldn’t breathe. He felt a hand touch his arm and he screamed with panic because he was being chased again– he was being chased by hundreds of spidermen and they all wanted him dead.

“DON’T TOUCH ME,” he screamed and his voice sounded alienated to him because it was filled with so much terror. He backed up into a corner and took another gulp of air that left him gasping harder. He scratched his arms in an attempt to ground himself hoping that the pain would snap him back up but it only made his vision go blurry with black spots.

He felt someone hold onto him and he thrashed in their embrace, screaming and kicking because he was terrified. His face was wet with tears and there was snot smeared right under his nose but he didn’t care, he needed to escape.

He clawed at the person because he still couldn’t make out who they were, only that they must be trying to kill him and he didn’t want to die. Then he heard them whispering encouraging sentences into his ear and he tried to focus on that.

“Love I need you to breathe for me,” The voice sounded like it was underwater but as they repeated the sentence it got clearer and slowly Miles followed the instruction.

“Good, now again,” The person repeated slower this time telling Miles could make out their sentences and they kept the same vice grip on him. It made him feel safe, like they would protect him from anything and he shuttered through another unstable breath. They rubbed circles onto his back and with the familiar feeling of cold metal studs pressing against the fabric on Miles’ back he recognized who it was.

He was sure Hobie’s vest was dirty with his own snot and tears but he was so exhausted that all he could do was continue to breathe in and out and stay in Hobie’s tight hold on him.

“Hob–,” He slurred and Hobie nodded as if he understood what Miles wanted to say. He slowly broke apart from Miles keeping their hands locked to tell him that he was still there and waited for Miles to compose himself.

Miles felt guilty. He had ran from his mom because he didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him but he had ended up in the same situation with someone who he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of a lot more. He could see the small scratches littered on Hobie’s skin from his outburst and regret filled his head because he had harmed one of the people who always did nothing but help him.

He broke his from Hobie and turned his head away in shame, “Why did you come? The day is almost over so there's no point.” He wanted to slam his head into the wall at how dejected his voice sounded and kept his head turned away because he was sure no matter what expression Hobie was wearing he’d break down again.

“Miles, look at me,” Hobie’s voice sounded hurt and Miles turned his head to face Hobie.

“I didn’t know it was this bad, why didn’t you tell me,” He asked, his voice gentle like he was scared if he was too loud Miles would sprint away.

“You left in a hurry. How was I supposed to? I don’t have any way to message you, I can’t just show up and then leave like you do,” And Miles instantly burned with regret because he knew Hobie must’ve had a good reason for leaving when he did.

“I’m sorry– forget I said that. I just… I missed you? And I wanted to see you so bad and I waited but you never showed up,” his vision was going foggy with unshed tears. He felt so helpless because for the past week he felt agitated. Anything and everything would set him off and he’d end up crying. It was like his dads death blew a hole in him and every minor inconvenience made his body want to shut down.

He felt Hobie’s arms around him and the distant smell of cigarettes, his guitar, and cologne. Like communicating with their bodies Miles snuggled into the touch and let out a deep sigh he didn’t know he was holding in.

“I’m not gonna tell you a porky pie. I missed you a lot too but I couldn’t–”

“Why? You guys, you guys always say that. But if you missed me, why didn’t you come?”

“It’s complicated. Miguel was making a fuss saying he wanted to see you, and I told him you were in no condition to see his ass.”

“Why would he want to talk to me…I thought it was over, I thought he was done with me,” Miles' voice shook with bottled up horror he had been suppressing at the older man's name. When his name resurfaced it slapped Miles in the face and he knew he couldn’t avoid the looming fear forever.

“He is Miles, I won’t let him hurt you ever again, yeah?” Hobie squeezed Miles to which he replied by nodding and at the same time the door opened.

“Uh, am I interrupting,” He looked up and saw Ganke peeking through the opened door. His face burned, noticing the way he and Hobie must’ve looked. Shoving Hobies long arms off of him he stood up and shouted “No!” which came out a few octaves higher than usual. He gave Ganke a fistbump and quickly introduced his friends to each other.

“Dude, you’re collecting spider-people like pokemon,” Ganke bent down to turn on his gaming system and Miles let out a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. Hobie scoffed saying he didn’t believe in “Pokemon” and Ganke looked bewildered saying that was criminal.

“Don’t be so serious I was only taking the piss,” Hobie squinted at Ganke when he had started to go on a rant about Pokemon characters.

“Oh yeah man…you good? Earlier when you barfed and fainted I was worried. Thought I’d have to call an ambulance.”

Miles nodded quickly knowing he’d be questioned by Hobie later on why he had thrown up but he decided to gear the conversation to another topic. Hobie stood towards the door watching Miles and Ganke converse and it made Miles confused on why he had an expression akin to jealousy on his face.

Miles got a look in the mirror for the first time since the morning when he had been getting ready for the funeral. Embarrassed, he excused himself to the restroom down the hall. He texted his Mom that he’d be home around dinnertime and was sorry for running away. When he made it to the restroom he paused as he had noticed Hobie following close behind him.

“You look sick…when was the last time you ate something?”

Miles opened the door to the restroom and ignored Hobie’s question. He splashed his face with water and wiped his wet face against his arm. It cleared the tear residue and snot but seeing that there were still boogers on his nose he blew it and turned around to face Hobie who was still in the doorway.

“Oh my gosh Hobie, you clearly don’t belong here. You need to go back to the dorm before someone sees you,” Miles whispered and he took Hobie’s hand leading them back to the dorm.

“I don’t believe in the school system, they’re using it to cover up the fact that they’re brainwashing people.”

“Oh yadda yadda,” Miles said and when they came back into the dorm Ganke was too absorbed in his game to acknowledge them.

“Got your suit? Let’s get out of here,” Miles suggested and he went into the small closet to change into his. Adjusting his web shooters he exited and was surprised to see Ganking tapping on Hobie’s spiked that laid on top of his mask.

“Where did your hair disappear too…?”

“Ion even know mate.”

Miles and Hobie left through the window diving down then pulling themselves up using their webs. Usually the actions, the mannerisms, everything that being Spiderman was had became nothing more to a chore to Miles. But when he and Hobie went through them saving people and catching criminals it felt so right. His mind felt at peace for the first time since Hobie had left 2 days ago and he felt like he could breathe.

The afternoon turned to dark and he and Hobie sat on the top of a tall building that gave them a view of the whole town. Miles kicked his legs back and forth deep in his own thoughts and Hobie thought he’d implode on himself if he didn’t get to see Miles laugh again.

“I was gonna sack off but it’s bothering me too much…Miles you can talk to me you know?”

“And how–” a watch landed in Miles' lap and he wanted to scream out. So he did.

“NO WAY! How’d you get this dude!” He fist bumped Hobie with a large grin and Hobie shrugged as if it was nothing.

“I made it myself,” He glanced at his own then back at Miles.

“So you weren’t kidding when you told me to make my own. God Hobie, you’re a genius,” he praised and slapped the watch on his wrist. Hobie hid his own smile behind his hand.

“So who are you gonna pay a visit to first?”

“Gw–” Miles stopped himself remembering how he had yelled at her and kicked her out of his room. It hurt even more realizing that she hadn’t even tried to get in touch with him afterwards. Hobie slapped Miles’ back to comfort him. He hung his head low and took Hobie’s words of encouragement earlier to heart knowing that he could open up to him.

“So I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’ll forgive Gwen,” saying it took a lot of courage and Hobie stared at him the whole time telling him with his eyes that he was listening.

“She hurt me…she betrayed me…but she also tried to shield me and save me,” he continued and looked down to the watch that screamed Hobie had made it with its patterns and the way it was messily put together. It made him feel euphoric knowing that he would always have a piece of him on his wrist.

“Gwen is a good friend. Even when she was skint she tried to help me out because she felt bad for staying at my place. And when you kicked us out instead of throwing a pity party she got down to thinking of ways to win you back over,” Hobie mentioned with fondness. Miles felt envious at the way he spoke with fondness but it was quickly ignored when Hobie continued to speak.

“It’s not my place but Miles just gave her a chance, yeah?” Miles was absolutely whipped and he nodded with neck-breaking speed at Hobies request. He let out a laugh saying Miles looked funny and he jokingly punched him.

He felt the feelings of dread in the back of his head screaming at him for being able to laugh and joke around when he’d just buried his dad but he drowned them out with Hobie’s beautiful face and beautiful locs and beautiful–

“Did we have visitors?”

The portal was easy to recognize. The shadows of the building they sat on was lighted by the bright colors and Hobie and Miles stood.

“Looks like they couldn’t wait any longer.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Miles felt when he rushed out of the portal was hope. He saw no disturbance, no screaming, no chaos, so he knew his dad must’ve been safe and sound. But he and the other spider-people still ran with caution. He led them through zips of streets and short turns to reach his house fast.

But that hope began to crush; shattering like glass. He let out his first curse when he didn’t see his dad at his usual patrol spot in his cop car, then another when he wasn’t at a fast food place he always went to when he’d work overtime.

The fear was grasping at his chest, suffocating him but he didn’t care. He had to keep moving.

Then… then he saw him. His dad was running towards a girl who was looking up at the sky amazed. His dad had a look of horror in his eyes and he screamed at the girl to get out of the way. She stayed trained in place because terror had a tight grip on her body. It shook her down to her spine and she stared at the pieces of cement and brick falling down onto her.

Miles, who was confused on why his dad was running towards the girl, turned his attention to her and followed her eyes that seemed to be screaming at the sky.

It was too late when he noticed.

Time seemed to slow down and his body felt as if it was stuck in thick molasses. His body shuttered and even as his senses kicked him in the gut to move the thought of losing his father caused him to let out an animalistic screech. He ran towards the two and pulled his mask off, pleading for his dad to back away— that it was too late.

But his dad couldn’t hear him, he couldn’t hear Miles’ hollers that rang through the buildings of Brooklyn. The only thing he could hear was the girls erratic breathing.

Miles knew he was shameful. He was Spiderman— but he was giving up on the girl. It felt so wrong, so he continued to sprint across the street praying that he’d make it in time.

Everytime Miles blinked a new frame appeared in his vision like he was in a horror movie. He saw the first bits of debris fall and hoped that none would hit the two, then he saw a big chunk of rubble that screeched and began to freefall.

His dad wasn’t spiderman, he couldn’t react to the debris like the superhero did. So he whispered comforting words to the girl and shielded her body.

Miles ran. Somewhere in him he knew it was too late. That he couldn’t save them, and that they’d die because of him. But he still sprinted and he was finally close. He felt the first tears slide off of his face and the feeling of his heart slamming in and out of his chest.

The sounds of bodies being crushed under concrete was sickening. So much so that Miles gagged and his vision went black. He went into shock, he had failed again. He felt Gwen’s fingertips cover his eyes but it was too late.

He’d seen the blood stained debris that crushed his dad’s head. The final panicked screams of his dad and the girl who couldn’t accept their deaths. And that was the last thing Miles remembered, but it wasn’t the last thing he’d do.

He clawed at the rubble till his fingertips went raw and bloody. But he didn’t care, because just maybe he could still save his dad. His arms were spasming with the pain but he persisted, lifting piece after piece of heavy rubble.

He turned his head back and locked eyes with the spidermen silently staring at him. “Why aren’t you guys helping!?” He screamed hysterically and went back to clawing at the steel beams and bricks which seemed never ending.

He felt his fingertips go numb and he began to bawl. Big wet tears dropped from his eyelids leaving him no time to blink them away and he felt Gwen’s hands on his shoulders.

“Miles…we have to leave.” Her voice sounded wounded as if it was her dad and he let out a grunt telling her to back off if she wasn’t going to help.

“The cops are going to come so–”

“And what about MY dad, he’s a cop too! He’s not dead, I can get him then I just have to take him and the girl to the hospital. Go on without me!” There was an urgency in his voice that Gwen and the others said that he wouldn’t stop destroying his hands until he had ‘saved’ his father.

He cried in pain when 2 of his fingernails snapped clean off of his fingers, but he couldn’t stop now. He was so close to lifting all of the debris that had covered the two that he didn’t notice the three people yelling at him.

“Miles, stop!”

“You’re hurting yourself, Miles.”

Then he felt those cool, calculating eyes that landed on him as Hobie had squatted down to stare at Miles. He wrapped his fingers around Mile’s arm and pried it away from the rubble. Miles watched as his hand healed. The skin around the cuts and gashes growing back as if it had never been cut on jagged pieces of steel and cement. It made him feel bitter because he didn’t deserve the power.

“My dad.” He sobbed and dropped his other hand. The pain was nauseating, exploding in small bursts of aching that protested at him for banging them up. Miles was splitting in half, losing himself every second longer his dad laid there under the rubble.

“They’re here, we gotta bounce.” Miles could barely pick out who had said that but the sentence coursed like venom through his veins and he bit down on his bottom lip. Hobie dragged him away with the help of Gwens’ webs from the soon-to-be crime scene. He could swear every step he took away from the rubble he heard the blood curdling shout from the little girl.

He would never be the same.

“Looks like they couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Who?” Miles asked and his question was quickly answered when he heard the clinking of bangles moving back and forth. When he stood up his vision shook. Head spinning, he took a deep breath to gather himself. Coming to the conclusion that his migraine was sprouting from the lack of food he had been putting in his system, he discarded the thought and stretched his back like a feline.

Hobie’s eyes were trained on him. His gaze was filled with that un-shaking confidence and that heretic spark in it. He smirked when Miles’ eyes met his own. The hold he had on Miles was dizzying, and Miles struggled to think as the smirk made his head go fuzzy.

“Sleep over time!” Miles turned his head to the sing-song voice. A small grin appeared on his face when his and Pav’s eyes crossed each other. Pav's energy was pure and giddy, it was contagious.

“New guy!” He put his hand up for a high-five which Miles followed along with. The clap was loud signifying the quick friendship the two had procured due to Pav's outgoing energy.

Even under the mask Miles could tell how Pav’s smile lit up as he noticed Hobie and tackled him into a bear hug. It made his heart twinge in an unexplainable way but he swallowed his saliva hard and the feeling faded.

“So, what sleep over?” He asked and waited a few seconds, staring down at his feet as Hobie and Pav play fought with each other. He coughed awkwardly feeling out of place and slipped his mask back on taking that as his que to leave. He watched the two interact with each other and it made him feel envious. He knew he had no right to feel jealous, but a sharp pain in his heart told him otherwise.

Pav dodged a fist and laughed, asking “Where you going buddy?” Miles stopped and pulled his mask back off when he saw another portal appear, revealing Gwen in the flesh. A timid grin flourished on her face when she saw Miles and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Miles…” She looked at him with regret and he could tell there were so many things she wanted to say. He had no patience though, tilting his head to the side as if waiting to hear the rest of her sentence.

“Well this is nice,” Hobie grabbed a chuckling Pav by the waist and hoisted him onto his shoulder. He flashed a smile over to Miles and held a thumb out like he was encouraging him. “But, me ‘n Pav will chill at your house, yeah? Laters!” He swung off before Miles could utter a word and from his shoulder he saw Pav throw up another thumbs up.

Those scheming devils.

While he knew they meant well, thrusting him into talking with Gwen ticked him off rather than made him appreciate them. He held back the urge to dive off the building like his other two friends had just done and paused, waiting for her to speak.

“I don’t blame you for the way you’ve treated me, I deserve all of it.”

“Well yeah.”

“And I understand how alone you were. I was your friend but I wasn’t there for you when it mattered. But Miles, when I say I’d do anything to go back and fix it, I mean it.” Miles felt his eyes watering. He’d later blame it on the harsh wind welcoming rain but both him and Gwen knew it was because the words hit home.

“I pushed you away, said I should’ve never come to your universe, but Miles…I never regretted it one bit. When we were swinging through your place, it was the most fun I’d had in so long. You make me so happy. And I know I’ll never get a friend as–”

Her sentence was cut short, broken by the tight grasp Miles had on her. No words were spoken, but she could tell what his answer was. She hugged him back and noticed his shaky shoulders, hearing the silent sniffles as he cried into her shoulder. The embrace was uncomfortable due to Miles being slick with sweat, but neither cared.

“I’m sorry for saying those things, I didn’t mean it Gwen.” His voice quivered and she nodded.

“Well, except the trust part. Still gone…” He broke the hug and choked out a laugh which she reciprocated.

“I know. Trust is something I’ll earn back slowly.” She grinned like a fire was lit under her eyes in determination and Miles laughed at her expression. He wiped the tears from his face.
The apology was more anti-climatic than he thought. But with how things were going the last couple of days he was grateful he wouldn’t have to burst out in anger again at her. He was tired of himself and his emotions that couldn’t pick a side.

He looked at Gwen who was staring off into the sky, a satisfied look on her face. Then the thought of Hobie and Pav making themself at home in his house, where his Mom was probably asleep in, rushed through his head. “Oh no.” He murmured while sliding his mask back on and Gwen cocked her head curiously.

“You okay?” She asked and pulled her mask down sensing Miles’ panic.

“If my mom finds out, I literally don’t know what will happen. We can’t let those two get found by her.” She nodded in agreement and Miles called out a “last one there secretly likes peter parked car”

He plunged off the tall building and attached his webs to a nearby building, hoisting himself up before he swooped to the next. He heard a loud “Come on!” somewhere behind him but rather than anger it held playfulness in its tone. The wind against his body felt nice against his body. It allowed him to relish in the peacefulness before he’d have to go back to thinking about how long he could go without feeling guilty or how many criminals he’d have to defeat before the thoughts of harming himself flooded back into his head.

He heard a loud whoop from behind him, though closer, and the noise was enough for him to up his pace. Gwen was heavy on his trail so he decided to take a short-cut only a Spiderman who had been patrolling the area for a while would know.

He could see his house in sight when webs were shot at him, sticking him to a run-down gas station he had seen that way even as a little kid. Shocked, he let out a dramatic gasp when Gwen landed by his window. She stood straight up on the side of the building thanks to her spider-powers, and he was sure if she didn’t have the mask on a proud sneer would be on her face.

He managed to free himself from the webs when Gwen had already dove into the open window. He followed behind her trying to recreate her graceful movements, but fell on his ass instead.

He heard the start of a snicker in front of him and ran across the room. He slapped his hand over Pav’s mouth afraid his mom would– or worse, was already awoke.

“Relax bruv, she’s not here!” The thick british accent melted Miles’ anxiety like magic and he dropped his shoulders. The memory of her a day ago saying she’d be going back to work the night of the funeral popped up in his head and it got rid of his thoughts of fear.

“Okay, first of all. No shoes on my bed!” He straightened his back and pointed towards Gwen who nervously laughed and moved on her legs to dangle off the bed instead.

“Second of all, no flipping through my books!” He jammed his finger in Pavs direction, who sneaked glances at the stacks of artbooks on Miles’ desk. When told off, he dropped his head defeatedly and sat on the bed by Gwen.

“Third of all—“

“I don’t listen to rules, mate.” He stuck his tongue out and Miles’ eyes glanced at his full lips. He watched as Hobie ran his tongue over his mouth ring and Miles’ face went hot when he noticed the other teen had been following his gaze with an amused expression.

“Now, I don’t mind if you have a butchers, but at least ask first.”

Miles cleared his throat loudly, hoping it’d dispel the butterflies that had begun to flutter in his stomach. He sat on the floor and crossed his legs. The room fell into a comfortable silence and his mind began to wonder.

It was a lot more peaceful— and he hoped they didn’t mind the small mess that had begun to accumulate in Miles’ room.

His friends allowed him to be distracted from the depressing atmosphere of his home. The quietness that was unusual to him. At this time, his dad would just be getting home. Shrugging off his uncomfortable cop suit and blaring a tv show he’d crack laughs at till midnight.

But now he was gone. And after he was, the house went silent. As if holding its breath before something bad happened.

It unnerved him, because the worst had happened. He’d lost his dad, Miguel had won.

His face dropped as he ventured more into his brain. He realized that when they left, he’d be alone again.

He could message them with the watch Hobie had gifted him, but what good would it be if the anxiety of them not replying made him never initiate conversations in the first place?

Before he knew it he had begun to shake. He gripped onto a discarded figurine that lay on the floor so hard his knuckles went white and his fingers went numb. The sight of blood left him unphased and he continued to hold it despite his spider-senses screaming danger.

“Miles? Miles! God.” He made out Gwen’s voice. She wrestled the figurine from his hand and Pav stretched his neck over Gwen’s back to see what was going on.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m going to go wash my hand off.” He stood, ignoring the looks he got and threw all three of them a smile which bent itself into a frown because his face decided not to listen to him.

He closed his room door behind him and didn’t ignore one of them saying “It’s worse than I thought,” in hushed whispers.

He walked into the restroom and shut the door behind him letting a deep sigh out. He held his hand up to the light and saw his hand slowly healing, leaving behind fresh blood. He ran the cold water on his palm then dried it.

He hadn’t gotten a good look in the mirror for awhile. Miles had avoided it, he knew he looked bad but to see it meant he had to accept it. But who’d want to accept sunken eyes and his body which was growing thinner by the day. His hair was dry and moisturized, breaking off in small snippets when he touched it.

He snapped his head away from the mirror because he was sure if he had another look he’d barf. He had turned into an ugly monster. But he was deserving of it, having the blood of his dad on his hands.

He rocked on his feet back and forth waiting for the voices in his room to die down. When they did he opened the restroom door and walked back. He opened the door and was met with all three pairs of eyes trained on him.

“What’re y'all staring at?” He questioned and sat down at his desk, watching as eyes fluttered away in different directions as if they weren’t on him at all.

They were huddled in a circle of three, whispering in hushed voices and Miles felt a pang of sadness hit him because he was being left out.

He popped his headphones on and bobbed his head to a familiar song when cold hands grabbed onto his shoulders. He let out a high-pitched screech and cursed his spider-senses for not working.

Pav laughed and slapped Miles’ back with such force he thought he was trying to dislocate his neck from his spine. “We’ve decided, let’s watch a movie!”

“Ah…what type?” He gulped when Pav rubbed his hands together.

“You guys know I’m not into…you know…”

“Into what?” Hobie asked with forced cluelessness. Miles wanted to rip his hair out but he cleared his throat instead.

“Don’t make me say it.” He saw that the three of them were getting a kick out of him and he rolled his eyes.

“We’re watching A Nightmare on Elm Street!” Pav declared.

Oh no.

The movie seemed to last for 5 hours rather than one and a half. He spent the majority of it having his head burrowed into his arms. But the screams of terrors and sound effects were enough to have him terrified.

He was nudged in the middle of the group. Even with Pav's reassurances saying, “The perfect Pavitr will protect you! ” And Hobie’s nonchalant glimpse that spoke for itself he was sure if he saw another—or heard another scream, he was going to pass out.

Hobies thumb, which rubbed circles onto Miles’ clenched fist was the only thing that kept him from doing so. The grazes made his head go fuzzy and he didn’t mind the horror movie anymore, because he was on cloud nine.

When it ended he had a goofy grin on his face and Pav and Gwen spoke to eachother with their eyes.

Gwen squinted her eyes and stretched. She stood up and grabbed one of the pillows from Miles’ bed.

They had decided to sleep on the floor because the bed was not big enough for 4 growing teenagers. Miles had used all of the spare blankets in his closet to make the floor as comfortable as possible but it had done little when he also got up to stretch. His body ached from the hardness of the floor but none of his friends were complaining so he wouldn’t either.

“Okay, you guys are NOT sleeping in those suits.” He laughed and looked down at his own. The suits were made out of material that was pleasant, making it easy to forget you were in it. He walked to his closet and started digging through bins to find clothes for them.

He managed to find oversized tees and shorts that fit Gwen and Pav but with Hobie’s height and lanky body all his clothes fit too tight on him.

“There are…other clothes.”

“You don’t have to, Love.” Miles furrowed his eyebrows in thought, then stood from the mess of clothes he had managed to surround himself in.

“Come on. Let’s go to my par— ma’s room.” He took Hobie by the hand and dragged him to his Moms room, the closer he got the heavier his legs grew.

Miles held his breath when he opened the door to the room, expecting to see a mess or his Mom in the room. But, the room was abnormally clean instead. He left Hobie at the door, sprinting across the room to where the closet was.

The room was filled with so many memories, and when the smell of his dad’s cologne hit him from the clothes he nearly broke down right there. Through watery eyes he managed to find a shirt and shorts that wouldn’t slide off of Hobie’s body. He released a quivering huff and closed the closet, away from the scent that caused him to crumble.

He needed to get himself together before his friends noticed.

The walk back to the room was quiet, and Miles saw Hobie open his mouth as if he wanted to say something. When they parted so Hobie could go change into the clothes Miles bit his lip because he could feel himself cracking.

He opened the door to Pav and Gwen knocked out, a mess of limbs on the floor. He snuggled in next to them and took slow breaths because he could sense tears coming.

When Hobie came back in he shut the lights off and placed his body next to Miles. The body heat allowed him a distraction, focusing on the sound of his heartbeat speeding up instead. He was so beautiful, long eyelashes and metal jutting from his face and ears. Miles wanted to reach out and touch a piercing but restrained himself.

“Gonna get the z’s now. Night, pretty.” Hobie mumbled in a husky voice thick with sleep that left Miles blinking rapidly.

It was closer to one than midnight and Miles could feel tiredness heavy on his eyes. His day had been chaotic. From the funeral to a random ambushed sleepover.

He bit down on his lip hard when he smelt the familiar scent of his dad. But now, it was mixed with Hobie’s scent so he tried to focus on that instead.

But he couldn’t. Because it felt like his dad was right beside him. He felt a knot form in his throat as it got hard to breathe and he ran for the door.

The living room was quiet and his sniffles sounded bass boosted no matter how hard he tried to muffle them. Miles shoved his head against the cold cushions of the couch and sobbed into them. The cries wracked his body leaving it trembling like a leaf.

He remembered the time his dad promised he could get matching colognes when he grew his first chest hair. The words were exchanged with innocent giggles and a promise that he’d be the first one to see so they could go buy it.

He would never get that matching cologne, at least not from his dad.

He wanted to laugh at the fact that he was crying over something as unimportant as cologne. But it was his dads, the same one he smelt daily when he’d swoop in to give him a tight hug or pass by him when he was Spiderman and his dad was a cop.

He shoved his face deeper into the cushion and let out a hurt moan, his voice cracking as it went hoarse. His body writhed on the couch, pain erupting from his chest. It came out in the form of croaky wails and hot tears.

He cursed his ability to heal fast. Because it could heal physical wounds, but not the ones he needed to be healed. The ones inside of him, that made him suffer like he was now.

He didn’t notice the blanket that was placed around him, or the smell of chai being made in the kitchen accompanied by calming humming. But he did notice the earphones that were set with care onto his ears, playing his favorite song. He looked up, and even though the living room was still dark he could make out the outline of those gorgeous wicks.

He wiped at his face like a mad man and looked down embarrassed.

“You don’t have to suffer alone…” The voice was distant because of the blaring of his headphones. He turned his head to see Gwen who held out a napkin. He took it and blew into it before being bombarded by both hers and Hobie’s touch.

Hobie went for his head, hugging his neck and whispering sweet words to him, and Gwen grabbed at his hands. She played with them and when Pav came with the tea they dispersed. They sat on the floor in a circle rather than the touch, and Gwen readjusted the blanket on Miles’ back.

Miles slid the headphones down to rest on his neck. “You guys—“ His sentence was cut short with another sob that racked his body but his friends continued to listen, remaining silent.

“Why? I don’t— I don’t deserve any of this.” His voice wavered with fragility like it was about to break into two. A wrong answer and it would.

“What do you mean? You’re our friend, of course you deserve this!” He heard Pav’s signature grin through his voice and slowly blew on the tea.

“No I—“ His voice cracked as he paused and he didn’t ignore the look on Hobie’s face as if on the inside, he could feel Miles’ pain.

He breathed in slowly through his nose. “Murderers don’t deserve anything.” And he felt the room go dead silent at his words. It’s okay, he knew this would happen. That they’d up and leave when he admitted it.

“Miles Morales, you are not a murderer.” Gwen’s voice came out scratchy and it sounded like she was saying it more to assure herself more than she was to him.

“Yes I am! If— If I hadn’t failed the first time…if I had never been bit— then. Then…he wouldn’t have to die. It’s all my fault!” Miles was spiraling now, his words jumbling together like they were falling down a long staircase.

“What do you mean failed?”

Shit, Miles wanted to say at least. He talked too much.

Chapter Text

CLINK!

Miles’ mouth twitched and the hot mug of tea hit the wood ground.

The mug shattered. He felt the pain of tea, searing its burn into the skin of his feet. He felt the sharp edges of shattered glass that ripped small cuts into his skin. But at the same time, he felt absolutely nothing.

His throat ached, wanting to push out an excuse, say it was a slip of the tongue, or laugh it off. But it wasn’t. He knew this day was going to come. Where he’d slip up and the facade he had tried so hard to build came crashing down. It had already been done once, he knew how unstable the foundation his lies stood on. So, it would only be a while before the whole thing came crumbling down.

“What do you mean failed?” Five words were all it took to ruin him. That week spent trying to gather his heart back together? Gone. Those sickeningly-sweet praises from everyone who was trying to reach out to him, to help him? He didn’t deserve them.

His veneer was cracked like the pieces of glass that lay against his feet, digging into his skin. They would see that he was nothing but a coward.

He looked down and stared at his feet, the brown skin blushed angry red where skin met tea, and the cuts were trickling out blood. He heard the concerned yells of his friends.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there. But then his thoughts came rushing back to his body. He kept his head down, the bursts of pain had managed to ground him. When he looked up, Gwen’s eyebrows were furrowed in distress. She was turning the house upside down for the first aid kit. Hobie was trying to coax Miles away from the shards of glass, and Pav had just returned with a trash can and broom.

Hobie had given up on trying to get Miles to walk away from the shards and instead walked to the side of him and yanked him to the side where the glass wasn’t. Then, he picked him up then sat him on the couch in one swift movement.

“Wha–”

“Don’t move Miles.” Hobie’s tone was sharp, leaving no room for discussion. Miles stared at him through lidded eyes. He wondered if when they found out, they would still treat him like this.

Miles held his breath.

The sharp razor glinted against the light he had held it up to to make sure it was clean. Doing this had become a regular occurrence. Bad days ended with nights spent twisting in bed, trying to get into a comfortable enough position to sleep.

He angled the blade and then slid it across his skin. He felt his eyes flutter close at the pain but before he had a second to breathe he went in for another cut, chasing the adrenaline it brought. Blood began to pop up like dots, then pooled down his leg like rain.

He exhaled.

Miles had passed out. Rather from the shock, the pain, or crying the whole day. The first thing he felt was the bandages wrapped tightly around his feet, then how sore his eyes felt.

“We can’t leave him alone, I’m worried!”

“But what if what he wants is space…?”

“Both of you hush, hmm? It’s his choice.”

Spider-men would always be Spider-men, and as much as they tried to hush their voices, Miles could hear them as loud as day. His attempt at pushing himself up with the couch cushions failed. He stumbled to the floor in defeat and before his arms could collide with it Hobie was at his side. Miles could barely tell what he was thinking, this time included.

“How long was I knocked out for?” He knew it must’ve not been long considering it was still dark outside and the three of them were still wearing the borrowed clothes from Miles.

“About 20 minutes. You… good, mate?” Hobie knew the answer before it left Miles' lips. He slid his left arm to Mile’s back and hooked it under his right arm. He wrapped his other arm around Miles’ torso and pulled him up, then sat him back on the couch.

“You guys can try to be slick and hide, but I can see you.” Gwen and Pav walked from behind the wall that spilled into the living room, dividing the kitchen from the living room. Pav had a hop in his step despite the depressing atmosphere. He nudged himself by Miles’ left side while Gwen stood in the corner. She knew she wasn’t in any place to try and comfort Miles; she had probably been a part of the reason he broke.

Miles sighed against the warm buzz of Pav’s skin, and then again when Hobie sat by his right side.

He looked down again at his bandaged feet. “I’m not ready to tell you guys.” He felt the boys on both of his sides stiffen. “But please, don’t leave me– If I lose you guys I–”

“Hey, why would we ever leave you?” Pav had hooked their arms together and he stared right at Miles. He said it with ease like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Why wouldn’t you, I’m horrible! I can’t go a day without crying, I feel like I’m going to die, I can’t even open up to you guys–”

“Mate, you just lost someone. All of us have… we understand how hard it is.” Pav and Gwen nodded their heads in agreement and before Miles could blink she had traveled across the room. Gwen wasn’t a hugger, but she pulled him in and smothered him. The hug was tight and suffocating, but it felt like she was squishing every part of Miles that had come undone back together.

Miles couldn’t see the look of jealousy on Hobie’s face, even if he did he’d think he was hallucinating. But, Pav saw, and he made a mental note, making sure he’d tease Hobie about it later.

“Miles, without you I wouldn’t be here. I won’t leave you…and I don’t care how long it takes. When you’re ready, you can tell us.” Her grip tightened again and he tapped his hands on her back, trying to get her to loosen her grip.

“Okay– can’t breathe.” He struggled to wheeze out. When she let go she rubbed her neck embarrassingly while apologizing. Pav laughed and Miles’ felt lighter, like he could trust them with anything.

“Love.” Hobie leaned in by Miles’ ear, and he whispered in a hushed voice. “When you aren’t feeling alright, you can tell me okay? ‘S okay to hurt, but don’t hold it in.” Miles’ ears flushed when Hobie pulled back. The only thing Miles could focus on was how close Hobie was. The words had gone in one ear and out the other. He nodded along though, not sure what he was agreeing to. Pav watched, and with amused eyes tried to hold back a giggle.

“Sorry, I can’t stay for breakfast!” Gwen was sliding her shoes back on–probably stolen and wrapped Miles in another tight hug. “Relax, it’s not like this is the last time I’ll see you, you’re free to come over anytime.” She grinned and smacked his back.

“Your clothes are on your desk, text you later Miles.” Gwen messed with her watch, then walked through the portal. The house was much quieter. After the whole tea situation, they decided to stay up the rest of the night in case Miles’ Mom got off of her overnight shift early. Pav had to leave, then Gwen because she liked eating breakfast with her dad.

Miles knew Hobie wasn’t a morning person, and after Pav had left he dozed off on Miles’ bed. He walked to the foot of the bed and watched as Hobie’s chest rose then fell. He looked so much calmer asleep than he had awoken. No stress or overbearing look of responsibility on his face, just a teenager. A very handsome teenager.

Hobie’s feet were propped on the edge of the bed because he was too tall to fit all of his legs inside of it, so Miles moved them to the side and sat on the end of the bed. He scanned his face looking at the metal piercings, a small scar close to his hairline that he’d probably gotten from being nicked by a stray cat, and the pitch black satin bonnet. He soaked it in every small detail his eyes could feast on. Then, he considered drawing Hobie.

He felt a chill run up his back when Hobie’s mouth twitched once, twice, then curled into a smirk. Miles’ eyes were only focused on his full lips that’d somehow kept their moisture and color throughout the night.

“Take a picture love, you Americans sure like doing that.” Hobie snapped his eyes open. His voice was deep from sleep, and his accent was so strong Miles struggled to pick out what he was saying. He threw his arms into the air and stretched his back. Miles tried not to let his eyes flutter down to Hobie’s stomach which was now exposed from his shirt riding up. He stared at his abs muscles that flexed and the stomach piercing that shined when Hobie laid his hands back on his sides.

“You– you were awake!?” Miles’ face burned with shame, he flicked his eyes away from Hobie hurriedly and hoped he hadn’t noticed. He slapped his hands over his face whispering apologies while Hobie watched, holding back laughter.

“‘S alright man, ‘s cute.” Miles' insides were giggling like a schoolgirl at the word cute. Hobie wrapped his fingers around Miles’ wrist and pried his hands from his face. Miles could see how his eyes were still puffy with sleep– my god he was so close. He felt his body heat, the feeling of his calloused fingers rubbing against his wrists, and the growing thought to kiss his sharp cheekbones. He instead stuttered like an idiot.

“I was just… coming to wake you up? Yeah!” He hopped up from the bed and missed the look of disappointment on Hobie’s face.

“Wake me up? Do you do that by staring at someone? Usually, you say, ‘Wake your arse up,’ then go about your morning.” Hobie rebutted, that same cocky smirk on his face. When Miles could do nothing but stammer in defeat Hobie pulled him back onto the bed where he had laid back down. He wrapped his arms around Miles’ sides tight.

“What are y—“ Miles squeaked, his voice cracked, and suddenly he could feel every touch more like it was enhanced.

“Shush, five more minutes.” Hobie breathed by his ear. No matter if it was intentional or not Miles’ felt his soul disconnect from his body.

He was in heaven. He was sure he was burning up. Hell, maybe even sweating, but he didn’t care. Hobie was cuddling him.

He could die happy.

As promised, when five minutes had passed Hobie’s eyes opened. He saw how Miles was stiff in his hold, shoulders scrunched in on his head like they’d fall off if he relaxed him. He laughed and slid his arms off Miles’ waist.

“Relax mate, your shoulders are gonna get sore like that.” Miles rocketed up from the bed again when Hobie let go of his sides.

“Well, who’s fault is that?”

“Er, yours. You’ve never cuddled before?” When the room remained silent Hobie threw his head back in laughter.

“Seriously, so adorable love.”

“I’m a 15-year-old boy! I’m not adorable!” Miles threw his hands into the air, humiliation painted on his face. He waited till Hobie’s taunts and laughter died down to speak again.

“Mhm, yeah. Wait… don’t tell me I was the first to hold your hands too.” Miles' eyes widened and he turned to the door, preparing himself to slam the door.

“Wait— hah! Miles ‘m sorry.” He giggled and pushed himself off of the bed, chasing after Miles.

“I wouldn’t care if you had kissed a thousand women.”

“Don’t compare me to yourself.” Hobie slapped a hand to his chest. He gasped dramatically loud.

Before he could defend himself he was cut off. “Are you staying…?” Miles’ voice was quieter, timid. Hobie felt guilty, but he had business today.

“No can do, Love. I’ll swoop back in the afternoon though.” And seriously, when did he start calling Miles love?

“Oh…okay.” Miles sounded dejected but perked up when Hobie mentioned the afternoon. Seriously, Miles didn’t know what he was doing to him.

“‘M gonna go use the loo to get changed, then I’ll be out your hair.” Hobie grinned. Miles felt his stomach drop. He didn’t know how long it’d be before his Mom was home, and he was scared of being home alone with his thoughts. But he was scared to tell Hobie, so he nodded.

While Hobie went to go change he sat on the couch and bit on his fingernails. It was a bad habit of his but had always managed to help him get his thoughts in order.

“I’ll talk to you later, love.” Hobie was through the portal before Miles could utter a goodbye. It left a bad taste in his mouth. His heart panged as he watched the portal dissipate.

He pulled out his phone and searched “Is it normal for your friend to cuddle you and call you love?”

Hobie was ticked. It definitely wasn’t because he had to leave Miles’ house in a house. Definitely…maybe half of why. The other half was because of Miguel.

Seeing Miles so vulnerable and fragile was not on Hobie’s bucket list when he and Pav planned the ambush sleepover. Then, when they convinced Gwen to come along so she could apologize.

He was sure it would’ve been a normal sleepover or a little better had Miles never met Miguel. He ruined a part of Miles, tainted him with a traumatic fear you could only get when someone was out for your blood.

Hobie cursed and shoved his hands into his plaid pockets. He hated being here, at “Spider-man HQ”. It baffled him how hundreds of spider-men chose to follow a man who started a chase on a teenager who knew no better than to save his dad.

He walked through the halls. It was uncharacteristically quiet. He didn’t see a piece of trash, a spider, or anything. He thought it was better that way though. He felt the rage bubbling in his chest the closer he got to Miguel’s office and dug his fingers into the insides of his palms.

“Miguel.” Hobie’s voice was thick with pure disgust when he threw the doors open. Even if no other Spiders were at HQ he knew Miguel would. This was his second home, no matter how much he tried to call it a workplace.

“Ay, dios mio! Who is it now— Brown?”

“In the flesh. We can catch up never, we need to talk.” Miguel stood on his platform, back still turned to Hobie. Fuck, he didn’t have time for this.

He pulled something out of the wall and slammed it onto the ground hard. He didn’t care what it was, Miguel needed to listen.

The platform began its descent. It seemed to go slower than it had ever done, and it pissed off Hobie more than he already was before. He clicked his tongue when it met the ground and walked over to Miguel in big strides.

“Do you know what you did? You— Miles isn’t okay! You ruined him!” Hobie hollered at Miguel’s back. His head was going blank with rage. He couldn’t think straight.

“You fix this. You better figure out something or else I’ll smash your head in.” Hobie gripped the guitar on his back with his hand. “I’ve done it to another leader who had his head shoved up his arse too far. ‘M not scared to do it again.” He spat at Miguel and left a trail of curses behind him as he walked out of the office.

Miguel ran a hand through his hair. The sigh that left his mouth spoke more than words would’ve.

Miles had a goofy grin on his face. He angled his pencil and added another stroke to his sketchbook page. The only thing he could think about was the fleeting touches and words Hobie had left behind.

“Miles, focus! What happened next!” Gwen's voice buzzed from the watch that lay next to his sketchbook on his desk. He snapped back to it and continued to tell her what had happened when she left. Her voice was filled with curiousness like she was watching a drama play out.

“Dude. He’s for sure in love with you!” Her hologram settings were off, but if they were turned on he was sure she’d be laughing at him.

“Nah. And even if he somehow was…I don’t think I’m ready for it you know.” He shaded in a part of his sketch and pulled out markers.

“Mhm, I get it.” She went silent, working on her sheet music. They stayed like that for a while before he heard her bounce up. “God, I finally finished. Sheet music is the worst.”

“Ooh, when can I hear it?” He buzzed excitedly and stopped coloring to hear her reply.

“Tomorrow afternoon good with you? I know you go back to school and stuff, don’t push yourself.”

“Mmm, ‘course Gwen. See you then.” They said their goodbyes, and he concentrated on finishing the sketch.

Miles was feeling better, not good, but okay enough to force himself to leave the room and see what his Mom had made for lunch.

When he walked into the living room she was asleep on the couch, still in her nurse scrubs. He decided not to bother her and made his way to the kitchen. When nothing was sitting in foil or on the stove he was relieved rather than annoyed because it meant she spent longer sleeping rather than cooking food that he couldn’t stomach.

He grabbed an apple and placed a discarded blanket on his Mom before hurrying back to his room.

Miles had always had a strong relationship with food. Even more when his metabolism rocketed through the roof after becoming Spider-Man, then his growth spurt.

But Miles couldn’t help but stare sourly at the apple. Before he could even finish chewing a bite of it he felt stomach acid rushing up his throat. He dashed to the restroom and carefully closed the door behind himself with urgency.

Anytime he attempted to eat he’d be reminded of his Dad’s death. This time was no exception. He hunched himself over the toilet and emptied his insides into the toilet bowl.

The foul taste of vomit coated his tongue. He retched again and grabbed onto the sides of the toilet, feeling himself go ill with dizziness.

Miles sat on his knees for a few moments, shutting his eyes closed to push the intense vertigo away. He flushed the toilet and pushed himself off his knees using the sink counter and wobbled over to the front of the mirror.

Vomit dribbled on the side of his chin. He ran the sink water and doused his whole face. He needed to get it together— he was Spider-Man for god's sake.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” His voice was raw from the stomach acid. He had people who cared, but they couldn’t be there for him 24/7. He had to help himself first, but it seemed hopeless.

His healing factor was what had kept his body running despite only putting the soup Hobie had fed him in his system days ago. But it wasn’t all-powerful, he could feel the tiredness setting in. It ached his bones and made it hard to keep his eyes open. Did he look this bad yesterday?

He was pathetic. Guilt washed over him. He had shared laughs with his friends and giggled with Gwen over Hobie, but these depressing thoughts were what he needed, what he deserved.

He snuggled back into his bed, throwing the bitten apple onto his floor. He couldn’t even glance at it, food made him sick.

Chapter Text

The night Miles left his house the bus ride to his dorm ended in regret. He had dozed off and had a nightmare, and even when he had fully woken up the terror was left behind making him paranoid.

He’d called Hobie over in a moment of vulnerability, too scared to be alone. Ganke wasn’t in the dorm room, leaving a note that said he’d be at the library all night to study for an upcoming final so he knew his roommate wouldn’t care.

When he arrived he just tucked Miles in like it was something natural. Miles complied, his body tired and worn.

“Do you want me to read you a bedtime story?” Hobie teased at Miles’ side. Miles shoved him playfully and burrowed his head into his sheets.

“Just…stay for now.” Miles twisted on his side and brought the blankets up to his eyes. He’d sneak glances at Hobie then close his eyes swiftly. If Hobie had noticed, he’d say something, but he had dozed off.

Miles was roused by a hand that dug deep into his side, shaking the sleep from him. “‘M up.” He slurred almost incoherently and stretched his back.

“K man, text me if you need anything. I’m gone.” Ganke hopped from the stairs on the bunk bed and then slipped his backpack on. The door behind him closed with a click and Miles felt the sleep heavy on his bones, he considered skipping. He was intelligent– he probably could miss another few days before it showed up on his report card, but he decided against it.

He rubbed the crust from his eyes and stepped down the steps. His body felt unusually sluggish, he struggled to slip on his uniform. He opened his phone to a text from his Mom telling him to have a good day and if he needed to be picked up to tell her. But even if he did, he knew he wouldn’t text her. She had enough to worry about, he couldn’t burden her.

He set down his empty backpack on the floor and placed his textbooks inside of it. When he picked it up it weighed down his shoulders, he could feel the soreness already working its way into his body.

The hallways of the school were packed, bodies slamming and pushing against each other like sardines. More than once, Miles thought about running out of the school, he was already so overwhelmed and the day hadn’t even started.

“Ah, Miles! You’re back.” Miles’ first-period teacher gleefully whistled as they started to check off names for attendance. He forced a grin and ducked his head down.

“Today we have no content to go over, so you can spend this time studying.” The class instantly sturred, breaking into groups. Miles was always left alone— being a “hair puller” and “nerd” wasn’t a good look. The room fell into quietness, hushed whispers, and muffled laughter. Miles pulled out his sketchbook and mechanical pencil.

During the first few months of school not having friends came with the crippling thoughts of insecurity. He doubted himself– he’d spend nights being comforted by Ganke or hushing his sobs into his pillows. After Gwen and the others left, he was abandoned, left alone with the hunger of having people who truly understood him and went through similar things like him.

He turned to harming himself. It became the one thing in his life that he had control over. He couldn’t control the laughter directed at him, or lunches spent tucked into the edge of long lunch tables, but he could control how deep he slit.

Miles grated his pencil roughly against the paper. He outlined the shape of a bitten apple and then added texture to it. In a big font to the side of the page, he wrote “CONFLICT” and slid his sketchbook inside his backpack. He didn’t hear the bell ring until someone tapped his shoulder telling him it was time to go. He quickly thanked them and shuffled to his next class.

Lunch rolled around and he felt a knot of queasiness take root in his stomach. He checked his pocket when he felt it buzz and checked his messages.

Ganke: ur fav at lunch ran out, I saved u some tho!!(￣▽￣)

Miles: no thanks, im gonna skip in the art room.

Ganke: whats wrong man? u never skip lunch

Miles: nothing

Ganke: i’m otw.

Miles shoved his phone into his pocket and turned a corner sharply to the art room. There were multiple on the campus but only one was used for classes. The others were discarded because students would rather spend their time studying than finger painting.

He shut the door behind him and slid his back against the cold wall. Lately, Miles always felt lightheaded, but it intensified when he wasn’t distracted. He slid his head in between his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He could feel his head splitting in half. The pain was nauseating, and he knew if he could just eat the uncomfortable headache would pass over him, but there was something addictive about feeling so ill.

It made him feel like his suffering was real– like it wasn’t all in his head. When he ran too fast or swung himself too roughly the pang that ripped his heart was similar to the ones he felt when he wanted to die. The symptoms of not eating fueled him on. Like, maybe if he grew sick enough he’d finally feel a little better about being too late to save his dad. He deserved it. Black dots painted his vision and he blinked them away, shutting his eyes tight since it always helped numb the throbbing in his skull.

“Miles– Miles!” Ganke had come in but he couldn’t sense him. These past few days his spider senses had been betraying him. He hummed and scooched over to make room for Ganke when he sat down. When he freed his head from in between his knees he smelled the scent of fried chicken doused in savory sauce and his stomach lurched to a halt.

“Brought you lunch, figured you might be hungry.” Oh no, he felt a sickening amount of dread crawl up his throat and his mind went into overdrive searching for excuses. “Nah man, not hungry.” He tilted his head away to ignore the strong doubtful look on Ganke’s face.

“I haven’t seen you eat since you came back yesterday, dude. Is everything okay?” He choked out a laugh and tapped Ganke on the back.

“Yeah, just— give it to me, I’ll eat it later.” He grabbed the box from Ganke and sat it near his foot.

They sat in silence, Miles fidgeted every few minutes and would look at Ganke as if he wanted to say something, but he’d pause and go back to drawing.

Miles was having so much trouble keeping himself together. He had grown used to being laughed at when he walked into a classroom, but that was before his father died. The teases had died down, but it seemed like when he came back to school they started back up. It seemed like people would get close to him just to bring up something about their dads. They knew.

“Let’s go to the dorm.” Ganke seemed to be reading the trouble off of Miles’ face and when he hopped on his feet a combination of gratefulness and woozy feeling in his body caused him to break down. He muffled his sniffles against his shoulder and walked behind Ganke.

The walk to the dorm seemed to stretch on forever. Maybe it was the anxiety from being caught skipping his last four classes or the absence of food in his body, but it caused him to sway and bump into the wall multiple times.

At some point Ganke was at his side, probably saying something to him but the only things he could focus on were walking straight and not vomiting on the shoes Ganke had swiped from him again. His friend had been hitting the gym, so he easily carried the extra weight Miles had added from leaning against him for support.

When Ganke opened the door to the dorm Miles collapsed a few feet away from the door. Ganke was by his side, asking if Miles was okay and if he needed something.

“Nah, just…I need to catch my breath.” Miles felt his heart pounding out of his chest. He grabbed at it and leaned his head back to take deep gulps of air. He blinked his tilting vision and black spots away. Then, he pushed himself with his legs till his back was pressing to the wall. He could get up and sit at his desk, but the fatigue was starting to weigh heavy on him.

Ganke took a cold water bottle out of their mini-fridge they had managed to grab before it was trashed and threw it into Miles’ lap.

“So…you’re gonna tell me why you’re out of breath from a 6-minute walk? You usually run to the dorms after school.” In between Miles’ heavy pants, he couldn’t think of an excuse so he remained silent. The stillness cemented Ganke’s suspicion and he laid himself next to Miles, using his legs as pillows.

“You know, you can tell me whatever’s bugging you.” Miles choked on a dry laugh, he had been hearing that sentence a lot recently.

“Mm. Just, tired.” His words were choppy, paused in between for another huff of air. Ganke’s face was always funny— especially when he was worried and Miles laughed.

He felt his friend nod against his legs and his backpack was starting to become uncomfortable, digging itself into his shoulder blades.

He heard platform boots slamming the floor, that raucous laughter, and the faint blend of cigarettes and cologne. The excited buzz in his heart was enough to tell him, Hobie had arrived.

“Man like Miles!” Hobie always had the worst timing. Miles felt the urge to kick Ganke’s head off of his legs but it stayed there, and when Hobie caught the horribly-hidden distress on Miles’ face his face fell.

“What’s got you knackered, eh? ‘S like you’re a skeleton.” Hobie took the time to untie his platforms and place them by the window. Miles grunted, too tired to give a smart reply, and leaned his head back against the wall. He wrapped his arms around his torso, cold air spilling in from the cracked window. The hairs on his arms stood up, just like he felt: anxious.

“Was gonna wait for you, but looks like I don’t need to.” Hobie continued, giving Ganke a venomous stare. Like he was telling him to ‘back off’ and he sunk down against the wall by Miles. Miles felt cold metal studs and spikes press against his back through his uniform and knew that Hobie had wrapped an arm around him.

It was comforting. He could feel his erratic heart calming down just by being by Hobie. The touch was making his face heat up, and it spread to his limbs all the way down to his toes. His heart was fluttering like love-sick butterflies.

He didn’t see the look of possessiveness that passed over Hobie’s eyes so he was confused when Ganke lifted his head from his legs. He cocked his head toward Ganke’s direction and squinted his eyes. The light caused a pounding ache in the back of his skull. He closed his eyes as quickly as he had opened them.

“Gonna go back to class, hope you feel better dude.” Miles nodded his head. It felt as if his brain had been knocked clean out and he muffled a hiss of pain. When Ganke closed the door behind him Hobie’s face immediately furrowed into distress.

“Love, why are you so pale.” Miles just ignored his question, lying his head back down against the wall. The pounding was growing again, like someone slammed a hammer into his head, then again and again.

“Answer me.” Hobie’s voice was firm, devoid of its usual playfulness. Miles felt anxiety creeping up the back of his neck. He didn’t have anything to hide— not yet. But it sure felt like it.

“Hobie, ‘m fine I promise.” He groaned and rubbed his aching eyes.

“You’re not. And once I figure out why ‘m not letting you off the hook.” He felt his body stiffen, the words and his quivery laugh gave him away. His palms began to sweat so he rubbed them against his uniform pants.

The room stilled for a few minutes, Hobie kept his gaze directed towards Miles but Miles ignored it, instead, he fidgeted with his backpack strap. He began to think of ways to gear the conversation in a different direction and hummed in his throat.

“Let’s go for a swing.” He bit the inside of his mouth realizing his body was too fatigued to even move. But, the habit of going patrolling when one of his friends came had slipped through that fact and came bumbling out of his mouth to cover for himself.

“‘Course if you can get up, yeah?” There was a bit of bitterness in Hobie’s voice, but it was outweighed by the majority that was hurt. He felt upset that Miles didn’t trust him enough to open up to him. And when Miles had avoided his questions a sting stabbed at his heart.

Miles prayed to whoever was out in that sky snickering at his twisted story to let him stand and to let him swing through the city with Hobie. To yell playful insults at each other over the blaring of pissed taxi drivers and the buzz of busy streets.

His prayer was answered, but it came with the price of the white flash that blinded his eyesight. It was hot and hard— headache stabbing holes into the back of his head. He felt his stomach lurch again and he had to take a sudden breath to push acid down.

Hobie watched from the floor, remaining silent. He wasn’t a liar so he kept his promise and hopped up after Miles.

“Gonna go to the restroom first, then we can go.”

“I’ll wait over ‘ere while you go to the loo.” He mumbled and began to tinker with a suddenly interesting-looking figure. The tension felt high and crawled up his neck in a similar way his anxiety had so Miles bolted out of the room, clutching his wrist.

When he walked in the lights were taunting his headache with flashes of bright light. The closer he inched towards the toilet stall the more the urge to stick his fingers down his throat and vomit increased.

The fluorescent lights seemed to make the toilet glisten, beckoning him closer. But he knew he couldn’t give in, he could barely keep himself standing straight up. He wanted to stick himself onto the ceiling and smash every single lightbulb out because the flickering was starting to speed up, his headache pulsing the same tempo as the bulbs. He did his business fast, regret hanging heavy on his shoulders. He should’ve just changed in the room.

When he came back Hobie was leaning against the wall, tying his laces to his platform shoes back up. Miles eyed him with amusement when he was focused on something, no matter if it was fighting a villain or something as minuscule as tying his shoes he’d stick his tongue out in concentration.

“You good?” Hobie pulled his mask over his head and leaned his lower body out of the window. Miles wanted to scream at how he could always read the lines and wrinkles on his face, telling when he was in distress. Instead, he grinned and thrusted a thumbs-up. Hobie pushed his hands against the sides of the wall and plummeted out of the window. Miles sluggishly changed into his suit, following behind Hobie.

The boy was running on sheer willpower. He felt like he was on a sick roller coaster. The exhilaration he usually experienced turned sour, and he felt panic rising in his throat. He could barely control his body, his moves were unsteady and jittery, and more than once he almost crashed into buildings or cars.

Hobie attached his web to a building and propelled himself forward. He’d glance behind him every few seconds, noticing how Miles was struggling to keep up when usually he was the one in the front leading the chase.

“Mate, you okay?” Miles was grateful that his mask was covering his face because if it wasn’t he was sure he’d be found out in seconds flat.

“Yup! Just—“ He was cut off by the sound of shrieks and gunshots escaping from the bank stories below them. Before another scream could erupt from the building he released his webs plunging to the bank below. Alarm shot to his fingertips when his body froze midair. The fatigue had caught up to him, leaving him limp. He was as powerless as he had been over a year ago when he first got bitten.

His spider senses began to scream, throwing adrenaline into his veins. He willed his body to make a web or prepare to stunt his fall but the closing ground proved he wouldn’t be able to.

He saw Hobie outstretch his hand, the eyes on his mask bulging the size of saucers. Miles thought for a second that maybe, he didn’t deserve to take the hand.

So he didn’t.

He knew he wouldn’t die— he was Spiderman. But for some reason, the thought of being saved was sickening, because he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

His body erupted in clusters of pain when his backside hit the side of the bank, sending him tumbling against the hard, cold concrete.

“Miles!” His head was spinning, vision toppling over itself. The air in his lungs was knocked clean out of him, leaving him wheezing for oxygen. He couldn’t feel anything but the swelling throbs traveling up his body and he curled in on himself. He screeched, clusters of pain embedding themselves into his skin.

He felt a thick, cool liquid inch its way down his forehead like water did when he’d had an especially long wash day and got too lazy to clean out all of the conditioner. When he noticed that it was blood, he became aware of how much was seeping from the top of his forehead.

“C’mon Miles!” He heard Hobie’s voice deep with urgency and the loud claps. Every time Hobie’s palms met Miles could feel his brain hurling around. The claps sounded like gunshots, each one piercing his head. He felt his right leg spasm and then go numb. Ignoring it, he bit his tongue then forced himself up on his legs shot pain straight up his back.

Hobie supported him, hooking Miles’ arm around his neck. Miles forced his heavying eyelids open. He couldn’t make out anything Hobie was saying over the sound of his ringing ears.

“Hobie… I can’t feel my leg.”

The adrenaline wore off and Miles fainted. His body went limp leaving Hobie to panic. He didn’t know how serious Miles’ injuries were so he avoided picking him up and instead kept him on the brick wall.

“Bloody hell!” Hobie clicked his tongue. He hadn’t even had a chance to blink before Miles was dropping towards concrete, terror etched hard into his eyes. He could worry about why Miles hadn’t tried to catch his hand later, he needed to get him somewhere safe and fast. Having his own diy dimensional watch was especially helpful. He turned it on and went to his messages.

Hobie: Miles passed out. wdid

Gwen: wdid???

Hobie: GWNE WHAT DO I DO

Pavitr: theres only one place we can take him that wont expose his identity…＿|￣|○Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑)

Gwen: God. I really don’t want to see his face.

Hobie: Me neither, we’ll ignore him and under any circumstances

Hobie: Do

Hobie: NOT

Hobie: let Miles see him.

Hobie: im taking him, meet me there in 2 minutes.

Hobie turned his attention towards the slack boy. He wanted to kick himself when he thought of how beautiful Miles looked, even when a worrying amount of blood was running down his head. He gently placed Miles in his arms, being careful not to move his head or legs as he didn't know which one had been injured.

Hobie was fuming. Irritated that he’d allowed Miles to get hurt when he was right there beside him. He felt guilt stuffing his heart with regret. Hobie set the watch to Spiderman HQ. Clad in a heavy blanket of bubbling agitation, he stepped into the portal.

Like paint, time seemed to blend leaving Miles stuck in a trance he couldn’t pull him from. Everything had built up, leaving him torpid. Whatever he was laying on was so comfortable he felt the long he laid on it the more he sunk into it. His limbs were like jello, he couldn’t move them or any other part of his body.

Then, a barrage of pain crept from somewhere deep in his sleep, leaving him silently writhing in pain. Fully awoken, he grabbed at his calf, and a light sheen of sweat began to bead on his forehead.

“Miles!” His eyes were still closed, he was afraid to open them to blinding lights. His head felt at peace for the first time that day— or night. He could think, unconstricted by the heavy weight of the migraine that had been terrorizing him.

“Miles! Can you hear me?” The voice was murky, Miles wanted them to be quiet because the pain in his leg was unbearable, and if he could focus on it it’d disappear.

He felt a soft hand press against his burning forehead. Hands decorated with calluses, not like the ones Hobie had. There were fewer, and he knew that they must’ve been from Gwen with her drumming. The hand shook, brushing against a bandage on Miles’ hairline.

“Gwen.” Miles’ voice was nothing more than a gruff whisper. He knew how bad he sounded, so when Gwen chuckled he didn’t blame her. He felt her arms wrap around his neck and he leaned into the comforting touch. Gwen broke the hug and pulled a piece of string out of his hair.

He heard a door open then the sounds of bare feet saunter against the floor. “You can open your eyes, you know. It’s dark in here!” That singsong voice that belonged to Pavitr relaxed Miles’ high-strung nerves, and he slowly popped his eyes open that were glued together with sleep.

The throbbing in his leg was still there, but now that he’d woken up fully it dulled. He yawned and stretched his aching back which had been the result of it harshly smacking a wall.

“What’s the damage?” Gwen froze, not used to how direct he was being but went on, listing out how he had injured himself. He chalked it up to a fractured leg and minor head concussion. He could deal with it. He bit on the soft insides of his mouth, head swelling with questions. “How long was I out?”

“Since yesterday! Luckily though, I make the perfect actor!” Pav exclaimed, a smug smile on his face.

“That he does. He convinced your Mom you wouldn’t be back until today because…Pav, what’d you tell her again?”

“Nevermind that, where’s Hobie! Gotta thank him for helping me out.” Miles grinned, face going hot at the name in his mouth.

His grin dropped when Gwen and Pav passed apprehensive looks to each other. He felt his lip slightly quiver, afraid of what had happened.

“Did he get hurt? Where is he—“

“We…can’t tell you.” Pav huffed out the sentence as if he was biting his words back and Gwen nodded in agreement, albeit hesitantly. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. Miles was sure if they were in her dimension the walls and floor of the room would go a deep blue, matching his hurt.

“What?” He scoffed and attempted to push himself out of the bed. When it didn’t work he scooted himself back into the pillows. He could barely see their faces, the guilt on them. Anger welled in his chest, he didn’t know what he had done to make Hobie mad. But, if they told him where he was he could apologize.

“Why? What did I do? Tell him I’m sorry. Actually, no. Just tell me where he is I’ll go—“ Gwen cut him off with light taps against the bed frame, reeling his attention in.

Miles was sure if the conversation had been different, if they were just leisurely talking about things teenagers talked about he would’ve marveled at her beauty. Because the light from the lamp sat at the side of the bed illuminated her face, casting a beautiful shadow. Her blonde hair seemed to glow, the light bouncing off of it.

The words she spoke shattered his last bit of hope.

“Why didn’t you grab his hand?”

“What?”

He was shocked stiff, his mouth hanging open. So Hobie knew that Miles chose not to grab his hand even when he could. He gripped the blankets that sat over his legs tightly and turned his head away.

“What do you mean?” Miles had a habit of looking away when he lied. The bitterness that would burn in his throat was akin to the beer he had once sneaked in an attempt to fit in with delinquents. Disgusting, bitter, and it left a horrible taste in his mouth.

He shook, he was overwhelmed. A clock sat high on the wall, ticking, and every second it did he’d see Pav’s looming shadow grow bigger, getting closer to Miles. He reached out a hand to comfort Miles, a culpable expression on his face.

Miles slapped his hand away.

“Tell Hobie I said fuck off. He’s an asshole. I hate him.” He was being petty and throwing a fit but his feelings were hurt so bad he didn’t care. He ignored how their faces twisted up like he was dumb and couldn’t tell or grasp why Hobie didn’t want to see him.

“Just…go.” He punctuated his words hard leaving no room for them to argue.

Pav exited first, seemingly hurt by the way Miles had quickly slapped his hand away. Gwen hung around for a few seconds more. She swung back and forth on her heels, juggling words in her mouth.

“Miles, we’re really s—“

“You’re really sorry. Of course, you are, Gwen. But if I have to hear that one more time, especially from you, I’m going to go crazy.” He snarled and sharply turned his head to the wall, laying his whole body away from the door signaling that he was done talking to her. He heard her shoes rock a few more times against the floor then she reluctantly closed the door with a click.

He wouldn’t cry, not again. Not because Hobie wanted to leave him when he needed him most. He was noticing a pattern of the people he loved most getting close to him and then abandoning him.

Maybe he deserved it.

A knock on the door roused him out of his self-deprecating thoughts. A part of him was thankful that it'd stopped him from spiraling, the other was not.

“Kid!” That soothing voice was all Miles needed to hear before he whipped his head around.

“Peter?”

“I leave you alone for a little, and you end up all banged up like this.” Miles' stress melted away, the argument they had in the past brushed aside. Right now he just needed someone to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. Bonus points since he saw Peter as a father figure.

Peter was crushing him in a bear hug before he could ask for one and Miles shuddered in it. It squeezed all of his anxiety out of him and he could breathe again.

When they separated they caught up with each other. Like puzzle pieces they clicked, and as if the wedge was never thrown between them Miles was able to laugh like before. He knew that he should wrap the conversation up soon since he knew no matter what Pavitr had told her, she would be worried nonetheless. But Peter’s aura pulled him in. The relaxation he felt massaging its way into his tense nerves was addictive.

“Where’s Mayday? You two are like a package deal.”

“Oh! She’s with Miguel. Let me tell you, that man turns into a pure saint around her.” Miles watched as Peter’s eyes went soft.

He must’ve been going crazy. Maybe he had hit his head harder than he thought.

“Mayday…and Miguel? You– you let her be by him? After what he did to me?” He was repulsed. To think he could just forgive Peter was out of the question. The way he mentioned Miguel so casually made his blood boil. Miles realized he couldn’t trust any of these spider-men. He should’ve just trusted his instincts and distanced himself from them.

“Get away from me, man!” His eyesight was crowded, distorted with unshed tears. Betrayal always hurts more than a physical kick. He could feel his heart caving in. He shoved Peter away from his bed, although it wasn’t very far because he was still weak.

It was his fault for letting Peter back in before he had even apologized, he didn’t even know if he felt guilty for what happened to Miles.

“Everything– always goes wrong for me. I can’t have anything, anyone!” His body was betraying his thoughts, fat tears sliding down his face. Before he could wipe them away he screamed in frustration.

“Miles, calm down!”

“You don’t get to tell me anything! Just go die, I don’t care anymore!” Miles roared from his throat. He was heartbroken, spewing things he didn’t mean. He tapped at his watch and opened a portal to his room. He shrugged Peter’s hand off of him and forced his feet off the bed.

“I don’t want to see you again, Peter.” He watched as Peter’s face puckered up, looking as if he had chewed into something sour. The portal reflected off of his brown eyes, watery with tears. But Miles didn’t care about it anymore because his feet were already running through the portal, fleeing from the chaos.

It had been five days since Miles practically blew up at everyone who could understand to an extent what he had been through.

The first day was hellishly slow, hours felt like days, and his head was driving him insane. His stomach had gone silent, the urge to eat decaying just like his will to live. He was a husk of who he used to be, wandering around like a lost ghost. His mom knew something was off when he sounded lifeless on the phone, the bounce and joy sucked out of his voice. Ganke knew from the way Miles would come from the campus and collapse on his bed, not moving until the morning.

The second, Miles finally ate a can of soup. It was ironic because it was the same type Hobie had spoon-fed him. The tender memory should’ve made his heart ache, but he shoved it down just like he did with the soup. He couldn’t taste the base or seasonings, only the fact that even though it was soft on his stomach the calories scared him.

By the fourth his body ached with every move, every harsh jerk on his body felt as if he was being split into two. He’d avoid visiting his mom because when he did she’d stare at him and then burst into tears, murmuring apologies and rants in Spanish. When he visited it was the only time he’d eat, most of it ending up chewed up and spat out in a slickly hidden paper napkin under the dining room table.

The nightmares became severely recurrent. Miles could no longer count on his fingers how many times he’d wake up at midnight screaming out his uncles, dads, or friends' names. They’d always end with them walking off, leaving him alone. The lack of sleep was apparent on his face, with heavy eyebags accompanied by the dread of looking in the mirror.

His hair started to thin, falling out in small clumps and his stomach was hard and bloated.

But to him, it was better than having to look at their faces. Those looks of hurt or being betrayed again were so much worse than what he was putting himself through.

By the fifth, Miles broke completely.

Chapter Text

Miles was growing fond of the nightmares. They were terrifying— scary, but they provided him with the only company he yearned for. 

Hobie Brown.

When he dreamt, even if the good lasted for seconds he was allowed to feel Hobie. His fingers adorned with cold, steel rings wrap around his waist, pins and patches scratch against his thin muscle shirt, off key punk music hummed with tenderness into his ears. 

He missed that cocky ass smile, that guitar that seemed to sing in the air when he swung, or even the faint smell of smoke on Hobie. It was addicting; he was obsessed. 

He missed their waltz, dancing around each other, scared to say too much or too little. Passing teases and small jokes. 

He missed the time they cuddled, Hobie’s breath developing his body like a heavy blanket. Those long fingers that had a life of their own, always finding themselves in his coils. 

Miles should despise Hobie. He ran into his life then disappeared— it was ridiculous really. Every brush against his knuckles or murmured word left his heart thumping like a drug. He could never hate him, because he was obsessed. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could go with him. It was ridiculous and he knew he was crazy. He knew Hobie wouldn’t ever caress him how he wanted or whisper corny sweet things in his ears. 

Then, Hobie’s comforting heat was gone like a fleeting memory, leaving Miles to thrash around his bed alone. 

The fifth day started like the prior four. Miles woke up with his clothes sticking to his body, heavy with sweat. He could feel his heart pounding the speed of his unsteady breaths. 

The fan was loud and creaky because when Miles was home, it was on. He focused on it, each time it’d make a rotation he’d hold his breath. When they were steady he flipped on his back and stared at the ceiling. 

He dreaded going outside of his room or dorm. It meant he had to flash forced smiles that would never meet his eyes or force food down his throat that tasted bland. It’d end up in a toilet or tucked behind an abandoned building, knees raw from kneeling and face flushed red. Coughs that’d wrack his body like they were abusing him from the inside accompanied by the trepidation that’d hit him right before his latest snack was hurled out. 

“…up.” Miles’ ears had a habit of doing that lately. Only working when they chose to, leaving him in deadening silence. He didn’t hate it, it was better than hearing what he didn’t want to. 

“…get up!” Cold air cloaked his body, the blanket that laid on top of him snatched. He shivered and turned around to grab for it. 

“Baby, you want it back? Get out of that bed.” Miles narrowed his eyes with spite. Like gasoline to matchsticks he’d clicked his tongue before he had a chance to control his agitation. Rio placed her hands on her hips like she was challenging him, staring right back. 

“Don’t look at me like that. How long are you going to stay in your bed Miles?” 

“‘M tired, I’m finna take another nap.” Miles reached for the plush blanket, averting his eyes when his mom screwed her face up. 

“Siempre cansado.” She bites, running her tongue over her mouth. “You’re always tired!” She reiterates. “ You have one minute or I’ll take that as a yes for me to look through those suspicious sketchbooks.” 

“No—“ Miles’ sentence was snapped in half with scissors when his mom dashed for his desk, eyes lit with determination because she’d been looking for an excuse to snoop. Her hand was already shaped to the form of the largest one. 

His body betrayed him, flimsy limbs and spinning eyesight forced him to the ground the second she commenced her festival of embarrass-your-son day. She glanced back for a second, Miles’ flat groan of pain auto-piolting her into Mom mode. 

Rio was at his side before he could tell which eye was left or right, placing one of her hands on his torso and the other on his back. Miles’ jaw stuttered, an unsettling alarm blared in his head signaling danger. His mom’s hands were on his torso, then his sides. He slapped her hands away and stabilized himself on fatigue ridden legs. 

“Mijo, you’re a walking skeleton! Te lo digo por tu bien, you need to eat dinner.” 

“I’m not hungry.” His face grew pensive. He was being prodded and picked apart with tweezers, his moms scorching eyes looking him up and down. She shook her head in disbelievement and clicked her tongue. 

“Mientras vivas en esta casa, se hace lo que yo digo.” Her words dug into his sensitive skin, shutting him up.

“Miles.” Rio rubbed her index and thumb finger together, snapping them in front of Miles’ face. His eyes were cold and distant, he didn’t answer. 

“Miles!” She slightly raised her voice and snapped her fingers again, the friction she pressed her fingers with was enough to start a fire. She swished the ladle in the pot one more time then scooped a spoonful of stew, the thick liquid steaming from the heat of the stove. She nudged the spoon in front of her son's face, the heat taking him from his blank. 

“No thanks, mami.” He fired automatically and  steadied himself on the stool. Then, planted his feet on the ground as if he was getting ready to bolt from the kitchen. Rio, sensing that, slid her hand onto his shoulder. 

“Mijo, you need to eat.” She massaged her fingers into his tense shoulder, relaxing his worn muscles and he sighed. The touch is what he would’ve wanted a week ago, but now it just felt as if he was being mocked. The world constantly pushed teases at him— that the touch he yearned for would never come again. 

He kicked his feet from under the stool, her hand sliding off of his shoulder when he stood above her. He couldn’t look her in the eyes, couldn’t look at her trembling hands and her face that screamed she wanted to help him. 

“What do you mean, Ma? You saw me eat an hour ago.” His throat bobbed. Rio watched him, sunken eyes and skin gone dull, the life sucked out of it. Her hand snaked back to his chin, thumb digging into the space where it ended and his neck began. 

“Miles, don’t lie to me.” Rio whispered pointedly, her eyes hard like they are ticking timebombs. 

The stew was bubbling, the bottom overcooked and hard. He smelt chunks of thick beef and carrots, harsh spices, and love start to burn at the bottom of the pot. 

“I— I’m not lying! I swear Mami!” He held his hands up, the hairs on his arms standing with them as if he was reliving the moment when he was chased by hundreds of spiders blindly following the order of Miguel. She wasn’t a threat; she’s just his mom, but his senses protested. He took a step back and she mirrored him. She looked more menacing than any villain ever had. She dropped her thumb from his face, face haggard with worry. 

“Ganke told me everything.” 

What? 

He froze in shock, face pale as if he’d seen the worst terror in his dreams pop right out. 

“He told me how— how you just lay in bed all day. How you—“ She paused, choking on her salty tears that rolled her face like raindrops Miles would watch on his dad’s car window when it was raining. He’d place bets on which one would make it down the fastest. 

Time seemed to slow down.

His hands went clammy with sweat. 

“He’s lying.” 

“Miles, don’t give me that crap! You aren’t okay!” Rio grabbed him by his shoulders, holding him in place. Miles could see her heavy eyebags. How death left its mark on her too. 

“Yes I am!” He screamed back, throat hoarse with fear. What his mom always said was resolute, going against her words felt illegal. Her eyes went wide and her eyebrows crinkled like cheap paper. 

“Miles. Go look in the mirror, baby your hair is falling out! Where are you, your mind is gone baby! Just— let me help you!” Rio drops her head onto his stomach, braid rubbing against his knee. She could feel his ribs straining against the fabric of his shirt. The scent of beef and vegetables were heavy on her, leaving him nauseated. He shoved her off of him, he couldn’t breathe. 

“I don’t need help. Just leave me alone!”

“If you tell me exactly what you ate an hour ago, I’ll leave you alone.” Her eyes squinched as if she already knew she’d won. He took his time, running his head through his brain fog to try and remember what he chewed and spit out when she wasn’t looking. 

When Miles didn’t respond, face screwed in terror, Rio took it upon herself to place her hands on his back. He shivered like a baby deer in headlights. The heater on full blast wasn’t enough to combat his cold dread. If he focused enough, he could hear it faintly crackling from years of abuse and not enough love. 

She squeezed him tight, gently, because she didn’t want him to run. When his shoulders relaxed and he gave a squeeze back she nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck. 

Some “man of the house” he was. 

She was doing it instead, working long strenuous shifts at the hospital to support the two of them without his dad’s pay. Like reading his thoughts, Rio hummed his troubles away like she’d do when he had a tough day in grade school, then tried to run her fingers through his hair. 

“Ay mijo, what is this?” Her hand got caught in a knot of his hair and mumbled ashamed apologies. Her brows twisted in sympathy and she wiggled her fingers from his hair. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of. That’s why I’m here.” 

“Ow!“ 

Another knot was forced apart, Miles could hear the strands of hair snap in two. Rio dug her fingernails into his corkscrewed coils, against his scalp. The conditioner lathered and coated his hair in bubbles. 

The conditioner was like a rude reminder. The lemon smell reminded him of a perfume Gwen had grown close to, sticking to her clothes like glue. 

“Don’t be a drama queen.” She flicked his hands away and continued to gently claw her nails through his hair and scalp, scraping away built up dirt. 

She shoved his neck further into the sink to reach a patch of bubbles. The water dribbled down to his eyelashes so he closed them. Conditioner and eyes weren’t a good mix. 

“Why couldn’t you stop growing when you turned 10.” 

“Why are you washing my hair like ‘m 10!” He bit back, straining his neck and back to fit under the faucet. His hands were pressed against the edge of the sink to support the rest of his shaking body.

“Don’t give me attitude.”  She aimed the faucet at his neck and he whined dramatically. 

“Done!” She sang in a voice a bit too excited for Miles’ mood. He wrapped a soft cotton shirt around his head then got to work rubbing most of the moisture out of his hair. 

“Don’t take out too much, your hair’s gonna go back to being dry again.” Rio disappeared inside of her room and came back with a basket of hair products. She sat on the touch and motioned for him to sit in between her knees. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but sitting there felt nice, like she could protect him from all the struggles of the world. It wasn’t “like”, he knew she could with her pointed glares and sass meter that could reach the top of the Empire State Building. 

Miles was embarrassingly tender headed. 

Rio raked the sharp edge of the rat tooth comb through his hair then parted it, scalp screaming sorely. She hushed him, slapping the back of the comb against his neck. 

“You know, I used to do this with your dad before.” Her voice was tight like she was testing the water for the subject. Miles’ shoulders tensed and she took that as a sign to choose something else to talk about. 

The two of them remained silent, each trying to find words to say. 

Miles was the first to break the uncomfortable tension. He lifted his head to meet her eyes and his wet hair dripped against her thigh. “Why’d you stop?” 

Her lips quivered into a small smile and she hummed to her own song, rubbing oil heated by her hands into a patch of hair. 

“Well, that handsome devil became a policeman and it became too much of a hassle to care for it how we did so…” She paused to curl the end of the twist with her fingers. “Snip snip.” 

She rubbed cream onto the parted lines then grabbed the portioned hair, separating it into two then twisting it. 

“I miss him so much.” Miles muttered, feeling his mom’s wandering hands falter. 

“Me too baby.” 

“This used to be y’alls thing…it feels wrong.” His voice shook— talking about his dad was perilous for anyone who knew him. It was like a sensitive scab that would never heal no matter how much you doused it in ointment. 

“Miles, your dad fantasized about the day when you and him could match, but we were always busy with work.” She stopped herself and Miles already knew what was on being blocked on the tip of her tongue.

 There was a sourly bitter taste in his mouth. He could tell her now. That he was Spiderman. That he’d been keeping it a secret, and his dad only found out in his last seconds. That Miles was the reason he wasn’t here anymore. 

Instead, he rolled one of the bottles of home-made rosemary oil in his hands and remained quiet. 

“Put on some music.” Rio moved her fingers towards a new row of twists and Miles complied, pulling his phone out. The song he turned on was slow and old, the singer pouring their heartache into the song. 

“None of this sad stuff!” She snatched his phone from his hands and the product on her palms made his phone slippery. She typed for a bit and turned on another song, tapping and humming to the beat. 

“Mami.” He pleaded, reaching for the phone but she lifted it away from him. She put her other hand on his neck and pushed it until his head was facing forward. 

After Rio finished Miles thanked her and showered her in hugs. Isolation had caused him to push her away. He could tell with her hesitation and held back words that she was still wary by him, scared he’d do it again. 

She had to leave for her night time shift but promised that they could do this every two weeks. The promise made him happy because it was something he could look forward to: the incense burning in the background, her gentle fingers working through his hair, and nice smelling creams and oils being rubbed into his hair. 

He gave her a peck on both of her cheeks. With promises that he’d eat dinner and clean his “dirty emo room” he chuckled a goodbye and locked the door behind her. 

He rolled a twist through his fingers, the damp fluffy hair had him thinking how many times his mom had done this before he was alive, and how many after. 

The house was so much more quiet without her there. There were still traces. Her strawberry-melon scented incense burning, a mess of hair products scattered on the floor, and food set out for Miles to eat but he walked right past it all to his bedroom. 

It was a mess. Clothes were strewn like confetti, crumbled papers littering the floor, and a foul odor of rotting food. He knew it had gotten bad, but not this bad. He wanted to make his mom worry less so he got to work cleaning. 

He folded up and hung up clothes, putting the suspicious smelling ones in his laundry basket. Then he got to work on throwing away all the papers. He didn’t bother looking through them because he was too scared to see what he’d find. 

The papers seemed to form a trail to a corner of his room, he followed with one hand holding the quickly-filling trashbag. 

It seemed like Miles couldn’t have a good few days to himself. The universe always pushed him and tormented him. His hands had wrapped around a shoe box before he could tell them to stop, head operating on auto-pilot. 

No. No, don’t. His hands mocked him, dancing against the lid of the shoebox. He held his breath. 

Miles didn’t even know why he had chosen to hold onto the shoebox. It was from the darkest time of his life: a year ago. Sure, it was tucked into the corner of his room but he knew he kept it there for “just in case.” 

Sharp razors that glided against skin like butter, gauges that would bleed through, staining his sheets, bandaids the color of his skin meant to do nothing but pretend like the ugly gashes in his skin weren’t there. Like they weren’t real. 

His spidey-senses were foreboding, pleading for him to drop the box or to throw it. 

His hand inched up his shorts pants leg and he grazed against the smooth scars permanently carved into his thigh.  

Then he blacked out; and the razor pressed to the soft flesh of his thigh. 

No no no. 

The razor sunk down. That tingling pain was nothing compared to being slammed into concrete or steel, punched and smacked, but it was ten times more excruciating. Slow purposeful swipes made Miles moan in pain. The white wounds dotted red then rained down his leg staining his shorts. And he knew blood would be a hassle to clean up.

“You’re an anomaly.” It was true. If he’d just gone through with his first attempt he wouldn’t be here. He would’ve never been bit, never had to go through this struggle and prolong his cursed existence for so long. Peter would still be alive, perfectly thriving as the true Spider-man. 

“Why aren’t you guys helping!?” He knew then that they weren’t helping because his dad was gone and unsalvageable. They didn’t want Miles to see his mutilated corpse. 

He laughed at how pathetic he was, sitting in his own pool of blood. It wasn’t heroic like other times because he wasn’t defending innocent people or saving the city— he was harming himself. 

The wounds began to heal as soon as they were created. The light cuts weren’t a match for his superhuman healing factor. Like yeast to water, hatred bubbled in his core. He couldn’t even leave a mark of his suffering.

He bit down on his mouth then swiped harder, muffling a pained scream into his free hand. It was deeper and thicker so he was satisfied that the wound would at least stick around for a day or two. He repeated the motions until his head spun from the carrying amount of blood he was losing. 

Miles was never big on bandaging up his mess but decided to because of the large cuts. He leaned against his drawer and got to work cleaning the blood off of the swollen, warm cuts and wiping all of the blood off of his leg. 

In moments like these he realized how alone he was. He had his mom but she wouldn’t be here forever. He had ganke too, but once they split for college they would drift apart. There was no one left, not his dad or his uncle. No one would be there to comfort “him”. The Miles that didn’t want to live, the one who was flawed and hurt himself and threw up the things fueling his body. He wondered how much longer it’d take before someone noticed. 

He limped over to his bed, taking his time because every step was a hassle. His leg felt heavy and light at the same time and he was lightheaded. 

The tight, suffocating bandages and stuffy feeling room weren’t a good match. He turned in the small bed multiple times, forcing himself into a position where the pressure wasn’t on his thigh.

The bed was cold. A reminder that Hobie squeezed into his side was gone— he had ruined it. Like everything else, and everyone else he managed to screw up. His eyes sagged and he yawned.  

Sleep stole him. That night he wished it hadn’t. 

Chapter Text

Gwen’s world was a canvas. Bombarded with strokes of vibrant, unique humans and pigmented views that screamed viral insta posts. Hobie usually stared at cars bustling and people pushing, all going to one place or another but he was too sour to. With a huff, he walked through the portal toward Gwen’s apartment door.

It was cold. Cold here and in his world and in Miles’. The only escape he had was from Pavitr’s world which was always teeming with heavy sunrays and packed bodies but he hadn’t spoken to them in days. He huffed again and a cloud appeared where he did.

“Gwendy.” He knocked and then shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He waited half a minute and began to rock back and forth on his boots.

“Hey, sorry didn’t hear you.” Gwen yanked her headphones off as she let Hobie inside. The house was glum, just like her. Everything was painted in a deep blue hue like a deep ocean pit, like how he felt when Miles said he hated him. But at least he could escape from the freezing weather outside. Her shoulders were slouched and heavy eyebags sat on her face.

“This a pity party, innit.” Without Pavitr around the two of them were hushed, too occupied with their own regrets and thoughts to speak. Gwen laughed dryly and made herself comfortable on her couch. Hobie unlaced his boots by the door and scooched in next to her.

“So…Where’s Pav?” He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and laid his head on Gwen’s lap.

“Dunno. Which is weird since he basically forced us here.” Her face was wrinkled with stress, he raised two fingers and flicked where all the tension in her face was. “Ow!”

“Calm. What’s got you so stressed?”

“What’s got you so stressed?” She cracked with tease in her voice, flicking him back in the same spot on his forehead. When he didn’t answer her smile peeking over the gloom went slack and she threw her head back against the couch cushion.

“Bro, I’m gonna get as depressed as you guys with this bad energy!” Pavitr stepped through the portal with a large piece of paper rolled up in the space between his arms. Clothed in casual loose sweats and a muscle tee he looked back and forth between the two of them.

“Whoops…I didn’t know we were wearing our suits.”

“Pav, what exactly is this ‘meeting’ for?” Pavitr lit up, snatching the roll from under his arms. He beckoned them over to where he had made himself comfortable on the living room floor.

Gwen rolled her eyes muttering there was a couch for a reason and sat by him on the floor but Hobie stayed put on the couch. Pavitr didn’t seem to mind much as he continued to speak.

“We’re launching a plan!”

“For…?” Gwen tilted her head but Hobie already knew where this was going.

“Nope, ‘m out. I ain’t gonna do some silly plan.” Hobie was readying his watch to get him out of there. He had a feeling that he shouldn’t come in the first place, there was no point.

“Wait!” There was desperation in Pavitr’s voice. It pulled Hobie in even though he didn’t want to— Pav had that type of power.

He took the rubber band off and unrolled the paper, bracelets singing harshly as they clinked against each other. He sat the paper on the coffee table and Gwen scooted over on her knees.

“What in the bloody hell—“

“Plan Get Miles freaking Morales back!” Pavitr spouted proudly. He launched himself passionately into a speech about how he’d come up with the plan and Gwen half listened along. Hobie didn’t, though.

“Pav… this ain’t no game. We can’t get ‘m back if he doesn’t want us to.” Gwen’s world was a mood ring, and the walls violently crashed gray. Gwen slowly nodded her head in agreement, avoiding the crestfallen eyes that bounced back and forth between them.

“No. You can’t, but I will!” He fidgeted with a strand of his hair he prided himself on then lunged for the paper. He’d spent hours mulling and strategizing, using bright colors for every point to bring their attention in. He was smart but they didn’t trust him or his plan. He bitterly rolled up the paper and shot a look at them both.

He couldn’t believe their audacity to talk when they hadn’t done anything but wallow in self-pity about what they could’ve done when they should just do it now.

“Wait Pav—“

“I’m tired of being the all giggles and happiness friend here, you guys…! You guys need to grow up and stop running from your problems. Miles needs us— needs you guys especially!” He rolled a harsh red rubber band back into the poster and then stood from his knee position.

“I’ll be there for Miles, I don’t care how much he tries to push me away!” His voice sounded all wrong. They were so used to hearing the upturned lift in his voice overflowing with cheesy hopefulness.

“Text me on your watches when you decide to think of Miles over yourself, I’m out of here.”

He slammed Gwen’s door behind him like he wanted it to bust off its hinges.

Somehow the coldness from outside had seeped into Hobie’s heart, overpowering the strong pang of regret.

“‘N I’m saying you a snitch.”

“Dude, what else did you want me to do? Let you do what you want till you’re dead?” Ganke scoffed, took a deep inhale from his joint, then leaned back on his gaming chair to let the air outside the window take the heavy odor of marijuana.

“I’m not going to die dios mio! You stay doing too much, man.” Miles squinted his eyes at Ganke defensively, his marked-up textbook forgotten in the debate about Ganke ratting to his Mom about him.

Miles hooked the tips of his toes against the metal rim of the top bunk and let his body fall upside down, hands flapping back and forth in front of Ganke’s face. He closed his eyes and let the rich smell of weed soak in his lungs.

Even with his banging headache and the position he was in that would definitely do nothing to alleviate his aching body, he still felt strangely cheerful.

Miles pointed at Ganke’s gym bag and then at him, puppy eyes pleading silently. “Let me go to the gym with you—“

“Hell no, this is your third time today asking.” Ganke jumped up when his phone went off. He tapped away at it and then glanced at Miles.

“You’re acting like a little kid.” He whined.

“Yadah yadah, get dressed.” Ganke huffed a bullet of hot smoke out of the window then yanked it up all the way letting cold air in. Out of habit, Miles tugged the pull switch to the fan on high so the room aired out faster. Ganke reached under his bed for his ashtray, grinding the joint against it until it went out.

“For what?” Miles used his legs to pull his whole body back up onto the top bunk. He slid down the ladder and eyed the pair of sneakers Ganke thought he’d snatched from Miles months ago.

“To eat…” Ganke’s voice sizzled to a whisper when his eyes landed on the sneakers. He cocked an eyebrow like he was sizing Miles up and he reciprocated it. Miles’ hand shot out in an instant, a web shooter somehow magically manifesting itself on his arm. Gankle lunged for them but Miles’ webs made it first. He pulled his arm back and the shoes were in his hand.

Ganke groaned in defeat then turned the dorm upside down for his own shoes. “Seriously dude, get yo own.” Miles slid the Jordans on his feet, cursing the fact that he and Ganke shared shoe sizes.

“Your fault for not growing a few more sizes during puberty.” Ganke tied the laces on his shoes.

“Why are we going out to eat? Cafeteria still open, y'know.” Miles put his arms through his hoodie and fixed the wild twists that decided not to lay in place.

“Because I know you aren’t going to eat that crap, c’mon.” Ganke strode out the door before Miles could argue he hesitantly locked the dorm door and followed along.

The walk out of the dorms was quiet. Miles was busy panicking in his head thinking of excuses he could use to not eat or slip away from Ganke. They turned left and made it outside, the cold air snatching him out of his head.

“Fuck, it’s cold.” Ganke jammed his fists into his jacket and Miles did the same. Miles knew this place like the back of his hand but the twists and turns Ganke was making confused him. The sun was already setting so he knew they’d have trouble weaving back to the dorm when they came back from wherever they were going.

“Where exactly are we going…?”

“Here.” Ganke’s voice was loose and airy like it got when he smoked. All the tension from gaming and stress from pressure to keep his grades up would melt out of his body. Miles favored this version of Ganke more.

He looked left to where he pointed, his index finger red and shaky from the freezing temperature. The building was small and tucked off to the side where you’d have to pass by multiple times before noticing or searching the place up online. There was a small hum of music buzzing from somewhere inside and the aroma of straight black coffee was carried outside.

“Seriously? This is nice, but you know I don’t really like coffee.” Miles rubbed the twist hanging below his ear which had become a habit in the few days he had them.

“C’mon dude, just wait till you get inside.”

Miles followed him inside. The first thing he noticed was the cozy, warm atmosphere. Soft piano notes chased after each other in a soft tone and he glimpsed at a platter of freshly baked cookies set out on a counter.

Then, he felt something rub against the fabric laying on his ankles and he shot up.

“Cat cafe…?” The cat rubbed itself against Miles’ leg again and he felt them purr. “Oh my god, wait.” Ganke bent one knee and held his arms for the cat to climb into.

“Hello, what can I get you two today!” A chirpy voice emerged from behind the front counter. An elderly woman with a pure smile like an angel rounded the counter and came around to meet them. Her dark complexion that contrasted with her white hair reminded him of his abuela on his Mom’s side.

“Hey, Ms. Cleo. Window table for two please.” The two of them seemed to know each other because they made small talk on the way to the table. Miles remained silent, scanning his surroundings. There was a plethora of cat decorations and small lamps that made up most of the lighting. He saw a few cats laying around, tails high with intrigue, but none were friendly like the one in Ganke’s arms.

The chairs that sat next to the window were soft. With the relaxing music and purring Miles thought that this would be a great place for a nap.

“What drinks can I start you guys off with?” She pulled out a small notepad. The cat in Ganke’s arms meowed like they wanted to order too.

“Same as usual for me. Miles?” Miles’ eyes bounced up from the small menu. He struggled to decide what he wanted and Ganke picked up on it.

“Just get him a black coffee.”

“This me and twin.” Miles held “Meow Morales” as Ms.Cleo had called him up to his head and Ganke took a photo of the two on his phone.

“It’s crazy how you guys are matching… wait— Jordans make shoes for cats?”

Miles shrugged and loosened his hold on M.M., letting him get back to strolling across the cafe. He meowed and then disappeared from view. Miles curled his fingers around the handle of his mug. The coffee was bitter, burning his throat as it raced down to his stomach but it heated the lingering coldness out of his insides and fingers.

He saw Ganke stare at his plate of untouched fruits and a sandwich. Ganke huffed, “Why aren’t you eating your food?”

“Just…er—“

“Don’t ‘just not hungry’ me, I rarely see you put food into your mouth anymore, eat,” Ganke said resolutely and pushed the plate towards Miles more. He could tell that he cares and just wants him to eat but an itch of irritation formed inside of him.

Miles focused on controlling his breathing. He ordered another mug of coffee, then another. By the time he was on his fourth cup, the fruit portion of the meal was only halfway gone and the sandwich was still untouched. Caffeine buzzed through his body the same way an energy drink did and his leg bounced up and down.

“Yeah, no more caffeine for you.” Ganke talked as if he was rolling his eyes with his words and pulled the mug away from Miles. All the liquid tricked his body into thinking it was full so he pushed the meal towards Ganke who had finished his meal at least 15 minutes ago.

“I’m full man, you can have it.” He groaned and dramatically patted his stomach. Ganke scrutinized him with doubt for a few seconds fighting between his munchies or letting Miles get off the hook— his craving for food won and he dug into the sandwich.

“So,” He paused to lick a stray drop of mayo from the corner of his mouth. “What happened to Hobie?”

Miles swallowed hard like there was a piece of foam stuck in his throat. His mouth went dry so he grabbed the cold water bottle Ms.Cleo had sat for him.

“Err…I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.” Miles’ voice cracked embarrassingly hard so he drowned down the shame with a hard chug of water that went down the wrong way.

“What did he do to you.” Miles had never seen more than three of Ganke’s emotions. Happy, stressed, and neutral. But, he could tell that Ganke was worried, his eyebrows pressed where wrinkles started on his forehead.

“Cálmate, Ganke. It was actually my fault.” His eyes darted to the empty mugs surrounding him. He found himself tugging at the twist again like a lifeline.

“I—I told him…well, Gwen. You know Gwen right.”

“Yeah? That girl you used to talk about for hours. Her ‘water-color’ eyes—“ Ganke halted his teasing because he could tell how open and vulnerable Miles was being.

“Well yeah uh, I told her to tell him that I hate him.” He didn’t mean to, but the last words come out like drenched denim, heavy and marked with regret.

“And then— and then I fucking ruined everything. I just kicked her and Pav out like an idiot. I mean, who does that! They were just trying to help me.” Miles hears himself tripping and falling over his words.

Ganke arms fell to his sides, the sandwich sat back onto the plate with haste. He closed his eyes to gather words and the silence gnawed at Miles annoyingly.

“You didn’t make a mistake. You have your reasons and if they can’t understand that or if they don’t come back that means they weren’t true friends.” The words were blunt and snapped at Miles’ stomach like they bit but they were true.

“Let’s get back fast, ‘m freezing.” Miles pulled his mittens that Ms.Cleo sent him and Ganke out of the store with over his fingers. The soft material trapped the heat in and he sighed loud in relief because it was one less body part that had to freeze to death. His teeth clacked against each other as he followed Ganke back to their dorm.

It took them longer to make it back than get there because the darkness made it hard to navigate the alleyways and dark streets.

When they got to a point where he could walk back with his eyes closed he walked beside Ganke, cracking jokes and small talk to distract the two of them.

“I hate being Spiderman— all I do is crush cans all day. It’s soda pressing!”

“Man, I wish there was a way to block you in real life.” Ganke clicked his tongue and stepped up the stairs.

“Nah man, you love me.” He didn’t see a familiar figure trembling in the cold and that flawless hair that he wishes he was born with until it was too late. He stopped dead in his tracks and Ganke sensing his alarm, paused too.

“Miles!” Pav ran over to him and tackled him in a hug. He seemed to be acting first and thinking later because his strong frame crashed against Miles’ and he nearly fell down the stairs.

“Whoops, just really excited to see you!” Pav smiled shamelessly and helped Miles up.

“Ganke, me and him are going to go talk real quick. You can go to the dorm first.”

He waited until Ganke walked into the building to talk. “What are you doing here?” It was supposed to be blunt but it came out like he was wounded. He was going through too much and to add his friends that he’d pushed away back into the mix would make it worse.

“I came because I was so worried about you!” Miles was sure if he could see Pav’s face it’d be stretched into a big, sappy grin. He tsk’ed and dragged Pav into the building by his arm because the cold was turning into a human popsicle.

“Btw, love the hair! Still can’t compete with mine though!” Pav swung his arm around Miles’ neck like they had made up but Miles was quick to duck out of it.

“C’mon, let’s go to my dorm room.”

“Sit.” Miles pushed Ganke’s gaming chair over to the corner next to the door and Pav listened. He pressed the tips of his nails into his palms to calm himself down.

“Nice dorm you got here!” Pav chirped while Miles shrugged off his hot, heavy layers of jackets.

“Yeah uh, Ganke you can stay if you want. That’s fine, right Pav?”

Miles felt as defenseless under Pav’s gaze as he did 6 days ago at the Spiderman HQ hospital. Even with the hoodies off he could feel sweat forming in small beads on his forehead. He tugged at his shirt neckline and crisscrossed his legs on Ganke’s bed, facing Pav.

“Nah Imma go finish my joint.” Miles nodded and waved him off.

“What? ‘S normal here. Not legal but…anyways” He shrugged to Pav’s confused expression. He signaled with his hands for Pav to continue what they were talking about earlier.

“I had a whole plan for all of us to come and apologize to you…me, Gwen, and Hobie.” Miles' shoulders went tense at the mention of the other's names but he nodded because Pav had paused to let Miles process the sentence.

“Obviously…they didn’t agree or they’d be here. But, since last week I’ve been thinking about what I could do differently. I shouldn’t have left when you asked us to. I’m sorry, Miles!” It was ridiculously funny how Pav could switch from emotion to emotion, his face that emerged in regret bursting into tears in an instant.

“Oh my god dude, why are you crying.” Miles laughed then stopped himself because he should be fuming at all three of them— but Pav made that challenging to do. He cracked a bashful grin at his friend.

“Lets…go for a swing?”

It was impossible not to burst out in laughter around Pav. He had an air to him that relaxed all the muscles and bones in someone's body, putting them at ease. Miles attached his web to a tall building and pushed his legs off the previous one. He felt his body fall towards the streets and then get yanked up by the strong webs.

He screamed out in joy and twisted and turned mid-air. Pavitr swung somewhere behind him, yelling out excitedly every once in a while. He didn’t know where they were going, he would let his future self figure it out.

After a few more minutes he found a secluded area and swung down towards it.

“Selfie time!” Pav crashed on top of him, pulled off both of their masks, then pulled out his phone to snap a picture. Miles didn’t have time to react before Pav was already pulling his phone back into wherever he had pulled it out from.

“Gotta show Gayatri that I have friends other than her!” His grin was gushy with love at the mention of his girlfriend. Miles rolled off of his back and straightened his back. He was thankful that he decided not to leave his dorm without his favorite puffer jacket— Spiderman suit be damned, he was not about to freeze his ass off.

“I haven’t been ‘Spiderman’ for nearly a week.” It felt good to confess in the darkness called nighttime. Only Pavitr and the stars could hear what he’d say. Pav nodded as he understood.

“Your city will be okay without you for a few weeks since y’know, The Spot’s gone!” Pav had a way of saying the right things to Miles. He grinned and bumped his shoulder against Pavs.

“Man, I should’ve brought my sketchbook. This view is really prett—“ Pav dug a sketchbook and pencil out of his jacket and slapped it on the ground.

“Okay Pav, that’s a little scary. Where did you pull that from.”

“It’s what I used to plan how to make up with you!” He opened the book to the first place where small, neat handwriting in Hindi swayed across the white crisp pages. He flipped to a blank one and handed it and the pencil to Miles.

“You wanna talk?” The lead glided onto the paper in chopped lines and shapes, shading, and textures.

“About what?” Miles paused to hold the paper up to the stars.

“Anything!” Miles stared at Pavitr for a few moments, imprinting the delves in his face and the smile lines and creases in his eyes. Then he turned back to the page and continued to draw.

“Last night, I screamed Miguel’s name in my sleep. I was terrified— my mama had to find out like that.” He laughed at his own ruin.

“She said, ‘When I see him it’s over!’ and I started laughing because, she’d mop the floor with him.” He held the page up again, stars illuminating it like natural flashlights.

“I missed all of you guys so much.”

“I missed you a lot too, Miles!”

Their voices hushed to occasional jokes and Pavitr shoving his phone into Miles’ face to turn into a fangirly puddle over a picture of his girlfriend.

Miles stretched his hand which had begun to cramp. “Done!” He handed the drawing over to Pav and coiled his twist around his finger when the silence stretched on for what seemed like infinity.

Half of the page was pulled into a thick, long line of black lead. There were small white stars erased into the black sky. The darkness seemed to part in the middle of the page where the focus of the sketch was. Miles had drawn Pavitr perfectly. His eyes wide and they were shaded like they had fragments of the stars on top of the page in them. His toothy smile was an identical copy to the one wide on his face.

“‘S just a sketch so…” Before he could finish his sentence of ashamed excuses Pav clasped him in a tight hug. Unlike the one from earlier which felt forced, this one felt comfortable; brimming with affection and warmth.

“I knew you could draw but this is amazing! I’m never losing this, ever.”

“I can make you something better y’know.” But Pavitr’s eyes twinkled and he shook his head from side to side.

“No, I want this one!”

Chapter Text

The funny thing about grieving is that you’re never truly healed. Sure, you can joke about that person's passing or look at pictures of them without breaking down, but if they appeared in front of you, what would you do?

You’re never healed; not until you die and someone else takes the curse of grief.

The same night, Earth-65

Gwen’s messily done bun unraveled in the strong ripples of wind. A few pieces got stuck to her sweaty forehead and she angled her mouth then blew them away with a huff. Her music wasn’t loud enough; even with it blaring in her ears she couldn’t hear it.

She sat upside down on top of an abnormally tall building, looking above her at the star-riddled abyss. They twinkled like diamonds and more than once she thought about stringing a web out to the sky to pluck one for Miles. She wiped a fat tear because of course she did. Instead of going to apologize she spent her days drowning in guilt.

It couldn’t be that hard to go see him, it shouldn’t. But she was afraid of what he’d day— of how he’d turn his back on her. Even if they hadn’t seen each other in basically a week, they were still friends. But, if she went to go see him she was terrified that status would change.

Ex-best friend.

Backstabber.

Coward.

Gwen knew at one point that Miles was in love with her. The timid glances and puffs of his chest when she grazed by him were enough for her to know. But it felt great to be loved and wanted even if she had to lead him on, and it made the guilt she held now even worse.

She wasn’t loved by her classmates, they’d call her slurs and sneer behind her back that they'd had a look at what was between her legs. She wasn’t loved by her Dad either, not anymore. He tried, but he was still terrified of her; Spiderwoman. His hesitancy to talk to her and decreasing amount of hearts to hearts told her everything. Even the girl who swooped down to save the day every time someone screamed for her wasn’t loved.

Despite the look of love disappearing from his eyes after she betrayed him, the craving for his acceptance didn’t. She needed it. He was pure and she wasn’t, so maybe, just maybe if he approved of her she would be less as twisted as she thought.

She was a selfish monster and she knew it was only time before all of them found out. She knew that when she was outed as a snake no one would be there for her.

Gwen huffed and unstuck her shoes from the steel roof, letting her body fall. It moved on instinct, webs carrying her to safety. A part of her wished they didn’t.

“I need to smash my drums.” Her hands tugged her hood over her hair.

Gwen absentmindedly forked the broccoli on her plate around in circles. Her brain was gone— where? She didn’t know. The noises of metal scraping against glass irked her dad.

“Gwen, are you okay?” He only asked because he was annoyed with the sounds. Her eyelashes fluttered closed and then snapped up, breaking out of her trance. Her fork went slack, fingers shaking.

“Yah— sorry, just—“ A stem of broccoli was lodged in between the gap of her teeth. If the situation wasn’t so tense her Dad would tease her about it. Instead, his hand traveled the short distance across the table and squeezed hers.

“Are they bullying you again? You can tell me an—“

“Haah! Last time you said that it ended with a gun pointed at me.”

“I’m sorry, Gwen. But right now we need to talk about how you’re feeling. You barely talk to me, you for sure don’t sleep. I’m worried.” She slammed her hands on the table like drumsticks were filling in the empty spaces.

“Dad, just stop!” Her nose scrunched up as if it’d be able to stop the tears that were already streaming down her face. Fucking crybaby.

“Take a deep breath, you’re— Gwen— come on.” George ran to her side, hands hovering over her quivering body because he didn’t know how to deal with someone hyperventilating. He was a cop, not a therapist, and from the short dinner conversation they had it’d become very evident.

“I need to go. Dad, I need to go, I need to go.” His head nodded before he could think about it. She was Spiderwomen, he could trust her.

Gwen pushed his looming body away from hers and barreled towards her room. Her fingers moved out of habit, finding the buttons and dials she needed on her watch, then she was gone.

The warmth from her apartment was stripped away from her when she slammed against the door of Hobie’s flat. She didn’t know if he was there, much less in the mood to see her, but she couldn’t think straight enough to care.

“Hobs!” Her knuckles tapped against his door once, then again. Right as she was about to punch Mumbattan into the watch the front door flew open.

“In, now.” Hobie yanked her inside of his flat and locked the janky locks that she was half certainly sure were broken. His voice had a sharp edge to it, one that he got when he managed to finally doze and was roused before he could get enough to keep him fueled until he found his next catnap.

The place was pitch dark except for a pitiful burning candle sitting on the dining room table. It was undoubtedly the reason why the flat smelt like caramel instead of smoke and incense.

She liked it here better than his canal boat, though she wouldn’t admit it. The harsh waves that’d rock the shaky foundation throughout the night made her seasick.

Still, no matter his “home” it’d be her safe place. Her heartbeat began to fall to a normal pace, her eyes rested, and she could focus on her thoughts again.

Hobie plopped down onto his couch with a drawn-out sigh. The moonlight that peeked in from a crack in his window danced across his features: rebellious eyes and wicks that’d grab attention like moths to a flame. He was like a warlock and she was his victim— bewitching her with love. It was just a silly crush, long faded, now she just sought his friendship and support.

His head tilted to the side, eyes asking her, “What are you waiting for?” So she tiptoed over to the couch and collapsed on his lap.

The couch was nothing special… to a normal person. But to her, and probably him, it was a crafted heaven. Knitted blankets the two of them had spent hours frustrated into the morning knitting and pillows made from stolen stuffing and patchwork fabrics.

“Gwendy, your eyes are all swollen.”

“Thought you weren’t ‘no scoobydoo’…or something.” Their eyes met and even with his sleep-riddled eyes, she saw them roll, though tenderly.

“Wha’ of it? I don’t believe in consistency. Or letting my drummer suffer alone.” Gwen’s heart soared— because she knew if she didn’t have anyone else Hobie would be there for her. Her head rocked slightly every time his leg would bounce.

“Going soft on me now?” She joked and flipped on her stomach, pulling her phone out. When she powered it on, a multitude of messages from her Dad flashed on the screen but she'd have to wait till she got home to answer; she was in another universe.

“Says you.” He strained his neck to peep at her phone. She swatted his face away and looked at her favorite photos. A picture of her and Miles beaming at the camera, nothing but serene wide smiles on her face. She scrolled to the next. A picture of her, Pavitr, and Hobie making silly faces at the camera. She couldn’t bring herself to scroll again because it was sensitive…Peter.

“Hobie, I’m going tomorrow.” His leg stopped rocking to whatever beat he’d set in his head. She felt him go tense like how he did before concerts. Then it started up again like it’d never stopped. She noticed, though.

Silence. A pang of ringing in her ears. Silence again.

“You heard me?” She turned back on her back to face him, dropping her phone back into the pocket of a cardigan she’d stolen from Pav. His face was pulled tight into a taut smile.

“Yea’, Gwendy. Will you be okay though? Didn’ he lose the plot last time?” His voice trembled just the slightest and she saw his adam apple bob.

She nodded, running her tongue through the slot of her gap, a habit she’d developed from her obsession with it when she was little. “Mhm…but it was called for if I’m being honest. You just dipped, he was freaking out, we couldn’t tell him why…you know.”

“Oh, issit my fault? Thas mad.” His voice sounded indifferently as the colors that radiated off of him, and she knew how his heart must’ve sunk.

“No! It’s no one’s fault.” She dived in to say. The dampened mood in his place was enough for her to know how guilty he must’ve felt about the whole situation.

“Nah, ‘s brill.” Hobie shrugged her off of him and straightened his legs to stretch his back; shame tore into her like a wild animal.

“Hobie, really.” Her heart was crashing into pavement. She was fucking up something else— someone else. She needed to say something to change how Hobie was feeling, but she could only sputter in silence.

“Mate, really.” His back was still turned from her face. She wondered how he looked then. If his face was still neutral or if he was biting the inside of his cheek in frustration. His words did nothing to alleviate the throbbing in her heart but she sucked it up and accepted it anyways.

The remainder of the night was spent in stifling silence. Gwen had crashed on the couch after the argument(?) and Hobie retreated to his room with forced “sorry’s” and “you can crash in my room next time”. She wasn’t upset or pissed. He had a lot running through his head and she knew that. She just wished they could talk about it together like they always did. When the sun made its arrival she was off without a word like she was never there.

“So you’re telling me…he just forgave you flat out. No questions about why you didn’t tell him why Hobie disappeared or nothing?” Gwen propped her legs up against Pavitr’s wall and reached for another chip.

“Yup! Told you guys not to sweat it!” He flashed a blinding smile at her then grabbed for another chip himself.

“Pav…it’s not that easy. You don’t know everything I did to him.” She rested her hands on her stomach and looked away from him. Instead of firing one of his upbeat responses he popped up from the floor and walked towards his desk.

She heard him rustle in the drawers for a little then he was back on the floor with a paper in his hands. “Look!” His smile alone was contagious, proud like he was boasting of an award he’d received.

She couldn’t say a thing; she knew. The controlled lines and determination to express a message in the drawing, the light that flashed stars in the soft look of Pav’s eyes, the art that spoke for pure admiration. Miles had put his pencil to paper and created that. It was beautiful, even if the page was monochrome, only black and white, he didn’t need colors to express what he was trying to say.

“Miles drew this for me! He appreciated my company, but I know how thrilled he’d be if you showed up! Just go for it, Gwen!”

Hope budded in her brain. Maybe she was wrong, maybe he’d forgive her?

He chewed on his chip then turned his back to her to lay the drawing on his bed.“But bro, be careful. ‘Cause like, when I showed up he was ready to bolt!”

“Did you er…warn him? Heads up?”

“Uh…hahaha—“

“Pav!” Gwen kicked her foot out at him and he dodged, stumbling forward. It was comical how he bumped his hip against his nightstand and then bounced around in pain.

“Not cool dude!” Gwen’s uncontrolled laughter escaped out her throat like small bursts of glee. She slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a snort and Pav shot a pointed glare at her that spoke for him.

She would never be able to figure out his charm. Maybe it was a magician’s trick? It must’ve been with how free she felt when she laughed.

“So uh, how’d it go with Hobie?” He toed over while rubbing his sore side, taking in how her continuous stream of laughter went dry.

“I don’t know… he just refused to look at me for the rest of the night. Didn’t even see me off.” Pavitr squeezed her shoulder and knocked his bare knees against hers.

“Well Gwen, just give Daddy Long Legs some time to himself!” She giggled at the ridiculous nickname, nervousness gliding out of her body like the ridiculous twirls and maneuvers she could do. She reached back into the chip bag, face screwing up.

She rolled her eyes and huffed, “Ugh, we’re out, again.”

Miles would be lying if he said he felt great. Because he didn’t, he felt horrible. The hunger in his stomach? He could ignore that, easily. But the migraine that’d hijacked his brain? Excruciatingly painful.

The bus ride to his house was chaotic. Bodies pressed to every side of him, packed together like a cup of water with too much ice. Growing up in Brooklyn, he’d grown used to the suffocating feeling of someone nearing one step away from kneeing you in the face, but today it felt especially overwhelming. When he made it home all he could think about was venting his frustrations through his sketchbook, but he had to study.

He kneaded his fingers into his temples, hoping that it would be some type of relief from the headache. It wasn’t— the only relief would be to eat and to sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

He yawned, wiping wetness away from his vision, and focused on his notes. He couldn’t read them, couldn’t pick apart the words, but he knew they were important for something. Somewhere. Someone…where did these notes even come from?

Even if he tried to remember, the fog that’d set over him was enough to drown it out. He didn’t want to remember anyways. If he did, it’d eventually come to him. But the thoughts of “when I’d actually put solid food in my mouth” and “when do I get this bag of vomit under my bed out of my room,” would too.

Miles stretched his back and stared at the swimming letters. Maybe he should take a nap. A nap would be nice— serene silence until the image of Hobie appeared in the dream. He groaned, leaned into the cushion of the chair, then rocketed from the chair as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Gwen?” Maybe he was hallucinating. He wiped at his eyes once, then twice.

“Hey…let’s uh, talk?”

“You’re lucky my Ma is out right now.” Miles shivered into a thick blanket, the coldness of the living room invading his bones like sworn enemies. He rubbed his palms together and Gwen looked at him with a concerned look. He felt lucky that the tiredness slurred his speech slightly and slowed his words, it gave him more time to think about how he’d respond to whatever she wanted to tell him.

The space between them was a comfortable amount. Enough for him to send her out or enough for her to pull her into a hug— he’d be the judge of that. Gwen’s skin had a habit of going red when the pressure was shifted to her. Even with the sun making its descent he could see the tint burn her ears and fill in blotchily on her cheeks.

“I fucked up, like really bad. I know it wasn’t that bad at first…but then I flaked out and I— I didn’t show up for you even though you needed me and I’m so sorry because I’m supposed to be your friend! I’m supposed to—“

“What’s that?” Miles’ finger poked out of his blanket to point out a wrapped box she’d brought with her. Her eyes shot wide, then she pushed it towards him. Miles was a nut for shoes. He knew even before he picked the box up, shook it, and slid his fingers across it that they were sneakers.

“No way…” His brain stalled right then and there, leaving his hands to wonder. The lid to the box was off in record time, holding the shoes up to the light. They were beautiful. Yeah, Jordans, but the ones you’d never find in his world. He ran his fingers across the laces. The design was sleek and polished, like someone had painted every little detail on themselves.

“They were crazy expensive…I’m in debt to my Dad for two years now. But, it’s so worth it.” Her smile spread ear to ear, she knew she had him hooked. His fingers wrapped around a white envelope and he eyed her with suspicion.

“Listen, Miles, I don’t want to hurt you. But I keep doing it and—“ She pressed her thumb and pointer finger to the bridge of her nose to gather her thoughts.

“Like I said last time I apologized, and I will earn back your trust. I’m done running… I’m done being scared of hurting you or someone else.” The valiant look of determination told him all he needed to know. He nodded and she tackled him into a bone-crushing hug. He seriously needed to teach Spider-Men how to hug.

“Honestly… I got new shoes out of this so I ain’t even mad anymore.” Even with his head suffering he laughed, giddy with joy.

“So uh, what’s in this envelope?” He put the shoebox down on the couch and flipped the envelope over.

“Don’t look at that until I leave!” Gwen shoved a wrapped pie into his hands and snatched the envelope. “It’ll save both of us a lot of embarrassment.” She chuckled awarkadly and distanced herself from Miles.

“Me and my Dad made that. Seriously, he makes killer apple pies.” She rambled and Miles nodded— the cloud of guilt already looming over him. Hopefully, she wouldn’t ask him to try the pie right now.

“Gwen I’ve been trying to ignore it but please get your shoes off my couch.”

After a few promises and begging, Gwen was able to crash at Miles’. She argued that it was because it was too late for her to go back to her dimension and she didn’t want to wake her dad up but Miles had a feeling it was because she wanted to make up for all the lost time with him.

He spent the rest of the afternoon teaching her how to draw decent stick figures— she couldn’t even draw a straight line.

“How does yours look so much better than mine?”

“How does yours look so bad, even Mayday could draw better than this.” His insult was met with a sharp pinch that squeezed tighter until he apologized. He squeezed himself impossibly further into his thick blanket, even with the heater cracking away he was shivering.

“Miles, why are you grinding your teeth together?”

“Just a lil cold.”

She put her pencil down to ask him, “Have you seen Hobie yet?”

“No.” The color drained from his face at the mention of him and he focused his eyes down at his drawing.

“Instead of waiting, why don’t you go see him?” Gwen must’ve been going mad with a capital m. He choked out a dry laugh and shook his head.

“What? He didn’t even show up at the hospital, why would he want to see me?”

“Oh boy, both of you are so clueless it hurts.” She shook her head and stuck her tongue out in concentration— a habit Miles was sure she’d stolen from Hobie after being his friend so long.

“Clueless? What’s there to be clueless about.”

Chapter Text

Miles stared at his phone blankly. The video that played lit the dark room around him up because the blinds were closed airtight, leaving no room for the morning sun to make its arrival.

“Someone get that cat—“ Miles’ voice was cut off when a web hit the phone, dropping it on the ground. The next few seconds were muffled squeals and then the phone was back in someone's hands. 

“Oh my god, aim better.” 

“C’mere kitty!” Gwen coaxed from behind the phone, a handful of cat treats in her palm. The camera view lowered when she kneeled towards a Siamese kitten who was backed defensively in the corner of Miles’ kitchen. 

“Ow!” The kitten dug its claws into Gwen’s arm and didn’t let go. Pavitr came up behind her and thrusted his wrist out, web wrapping around the kitty. 

“Got her!” He bent over, supporting his upper body with his palms to his knees and slowed his heavy breathing. 

“Let’s name her Kilometer.” And the video ended. 

The joy of watching the video shot yesterday faded off when his phone screen went black. He threw it somewhere into a pile of laundry he hadn’t managed to get to for weeks, deciding he didn’t need to sulk over it anymore. 

Kilometers had been gifted to him by Gwen yesterday, her final grand gift in hopes of winning his forgiving nature back over. The kitten was rowdy and loud like Pavitr— which was why they’d called him over to help catch her. 

She’d taken a liking to his Mom, glued to her leg the second she laid her eyes on her. 

Miles’ patience had run dry and he’d come to the conclusion that Hobie Brown was shit. He was there, burning his place into Miles’ heart. His tender touches and sly words with that insufferably hot accent that dug into Miles like he was butter and it was a knife. Then he was gone, disappearing without a sign— and the warmth that’d burn into Miles before scorched him at the touch, every reminder of Hobie burning worse than the last. 

He’d cried more times than he could count. 

“Miles, time to go!” It became more common for Miles to go to school then walk back home. He knew that his mom needed the company before her long, draining shifts at the hospital. It was the least he could do since he couldn’t get a job and she had to shoulder all the bills of the house and his school alone. 

“Coming, Mami!” He weaved his arms through the sleeves of his jacket and grabbed his backpack. He stared at his watch, mixed fonts and harsh patches of colors that screamed punk . He decided it could sit on his desk longer and collect dust. 

“Do you want some chorizo and eggs?” He practically jogged into the living room, grabbing his homework assignments and textbooks. He tied his laces to his shoes and walked over to his Mom who was by the door. 

“Nah, I’m good! Have a nice day Mami!” He pressed a quick kiss on her cheek and was out the door before she could argue that he needed to eat breakfast.  

The walk to school was fine— for the first five minutes. The music blasting in his ears was enough to put a hop in his step, for him to hum to the chorus and the bass line which he always preferred. It’d be fine, then his legs would go pin straight and a paralyzing rush of nausea would knock him off his feet. The morning rush was enough to mask his embarrassing moment, people all rushing to one place or another, not sparing a dizzy teenager one glance they could spare. 

He took a few grounding breaths then continued his walk to school.

“And ‘m just saying, she needs to hop off.” Miles bent over to adjust the footing of his paint easel, then carefully laid a blank white canvas on it. Ganke hummed somewhere behind him and took another bite of his protein bar. 

“Nah man, it just seems like that but she was the only teacher who cared about you when you vanished from school for a while.” Miles held a charcoal pencil up to his face, eyeing how sharp the tip of it was, then lowered it to sharpen it more with his blade. 

“Mhm, sure. Because a teacher who cares assigns me ten pages of homework.” Miles wiped his charcoaled hands against his dirtied apron. After they were clean, only small smudges of black left, he picked up his sketchbook and looked for a drawing good enough to paint onto the canvas. 

“School’s out, campus is gonna be closed soon, y’know.”

“I know dude, but if I get in trouble you’re getting in trouble with me.”

“Okay, man.” Ganke tugged his beanie down his head further and focused his attention back on his Nintendo, jazz music emitting from it loudly. If people inspired artists to draw, music was his. The pencil gilded against the canvas smooth like the romantic saxophone glissando and drums continuous beat like the harsh shades he rubbed into the canvas with his blender. He hummed along to the intimate song, barely focusing on what he was even creating. 

His arms fell into a habit. Draw, rub, blend, wipe against his apron, repeat. 

“Janitor’s here, we gotta go dude.” He cursed under his breath. There was a light coat of dust present on every stool, window, and easel in the art room, why’d the janitor decided today was a great day to finally clean it was beyond him. He webbed his art tools back into his bag and nodded towards Ganke. He didn’t offer the canvas a second glance, so he didn’t see when Ganke snapped a picture of it. 

He pulled his mask over his head and propped the window open. “You ain’t scared of heights right?” 

“Maybe just a little.” He saw his friend nervously swallow. 

“Eh, you’ll be okay.” He grabbed Ganke’s arm and pulled him towards his back, lacing him tightly on it with his webs. He kneeled on the ledge of the window, feeling Ganke’s trembling body on his back. 

“You’re not gonna die!” 

“It feels like it.” 

“3, 2—“ 

“W—wait— AHHHH! ” Miles pushed off the ledge of the window before he finished his count, deciding it was a wonderful choice on his part because the dorky high-pitched scream that left Ganke’s mouth was priceless. 

He waited right until they were about to make contact with the pavement to sling his web towards one of the schools’ buildings roof, then one closer to their dorm. When they made it he undid the webs tying him and Ganke together and chuckled.

“Not cool, man.” 

“You would’ve started crying if I finished the countdown.” Miles laughed again and waved his ticked friend off. 

The second Ganke was out of view he collapsed on a bench, lightheadedness swaying his vision from side to side. A notification from his jacket pocket gave him something to focus on other than his nausea. 

Mami: dónde estás

Miles: coming!

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, inhaling cold air that scraped at his lungs. He groaned as he pushed himself up, fatigue heavy on his joints. He popped his headphones on that’d been playing music from his playlist and tuned in to the tune. 

I said you, you took me all around

Miles drummed his fingers to the background instruments, avoiding a person with a seemingly bitter vendetta against strangers, crashing into his shoulder. He did nothing to defend himself and continued the walk home, rubbing a piece of stray fabric from his backpack against his fingers. 

Then treat me like a dog

He was grateful that he’d decided to keep his mask on because the song that was playing stabbed him somewhere in his heart leaving a pained looking expression on his face. They weren’t one hundred percent true, but the situation with Hobie felt like it. 

Treated like he was special— like he was different. Like he’d gained someone's attention who was cool, who had different views from everyone else and was independent. Then was gone , like he’d abandoned him. He skimmed through the rest of the lyrics like he was hand-picking which ones would make his heart wrench the worst, torturing himself. 

I will never not love you

His head buzzed; the music halted. 

“ Dad? ” 

Miles felt his heart race like someone was prodding and poking at it, sickly jerking his lungs into his back where he could only beg for another breath to push his legs further. He saw him , he wasn’t crazy. 

He raced after him, turning into a street then a dead end then an alleyway. He was getting further from home— toasty sheets fresh from the dryer, his mother’s comforting singing, the fleeting solace blades brought, and his sketchbook, but he was getting closer to the man who’d brought him into the world. 

The sun was dipping earlier than it’d risen, making him squint in the darkness because he could hear the loud steps of his dad and him huffing from the distance. 

“Dad— stop running!” Miles tripped over his foot and hit the ground hard , knocking the air from his body. He soaked the pain in like an addicted smoker, letting the gravel dig into his skinned knees and the sharp stabs jab into his palms. Then, he pushed himself up and continued the pursuit. He wouldn’t lose him, not again. 

A tight ball of nerves knotted in his stomach, brimming with anxiety and adrenaline. He chased it like it was a cure, like it’d make his legs sprint impossibly faster. 

Pound, pound, pound . 

His heart pounded at the same tempo he pushed his legs off the ground with, but the realization that he would never reach his Dad was setting in. 

“Don’t go yet.” He sobbed, even though wetness wasn’t teasing his eyes he could feel the phantom feeling of it. He turned to another backstreet but it was too late. The sound of footsteps had receded to silence, his dad was gone. 

Miles threaded his fingers together then held them up to his mouth, heating them up with puffs of air. 

He was never there to begin with. 

“I texted you like, ten times, where were you papi!?” Rio held the door open for Miles, her lip poked out signaling she was in a sour mood. His shoulder slumped as he walked in and he let the warm air defrost his frozen limbs. 

She groans, realization finding its way to her mouth. “Ay, that Spiderman stuff huh. We’ll have a talk about that on my off day.” 

“Sorry.” Miles’ voice was deep and bone dry, like someone’d soaked all the bounce and personality out of it. He unzipped his jacket with nimble fingers and popped his feet from his sneakers. 

“You okay mijo?” Rio clicked her tongue when he didn’t make a hurried excuse for his absence and scurried back into the kitchen. 

“Well, dinners ready, help yourself!  Gotta get over to the hospital.” Rio walked back over to the door and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek. She grabbed her keys, out the door before he could mumble a half-hearted goodbye. 

The stretched silence in the house that held its breath was no ones but his fault, chasing a hallucination that didn’t exist. He pushed past the kitchen towards his room where he could blast the quietness with far too loud music on his record player.  

A knotted ball of nerves was coming undone, despair and shame in its wake. He gasped heavily as if someone threw ice down his shirt, stuffing his head into his pillow to muffle a shuddery exhale. 

He loathed that feeling— of feeling so full he felt empty. He couldn’t feel anything but at the same time, he was suffering so bad every voice inside his head screamed like alarms were blaring. His body went slack because he knew what to do, so he let his limbs trained by muscle memory take over. 

Miles grabbed his kitten who’d curled up in a pile of clothes by the scruff and placed her outside of his room. He walked back over and dropped to the ground, digging under his bed until he felt the smooth surface of a shoebox. He pulled it towards himself and opened the lid, yanking his hands away fast like it was scorching hot. 

His spider-senses attempted to coax his body away from the box, screaming danger and it wasn’t worth it, but he was too far gone to listen. He tugged his pants down until they were up against his knees tightly, then he pressed the sharp razor against his thigh. His breath hitched in his throat; wound white then beaded red. 

Miles screamed in horror, the image of his dad’s body still tattooed into his eyes fresh. He leaned over his bed, twists pressing against his forehead uncomfortably with sweat. He retched heavy, arms shaking like twigs. 

Then it hit him, Hobie hadn’t been in his nightmare.  

He’d always been the one constant in the dreams, the only reason why Miles would be compliant with his body and close his eyes. But he wasn’t in it— not tonight. He shoved his blanket all the way off of himself and grabbed his watch that he’d stared daggers in before he let sleep take him. 

He wasn’t even sure if he could muster words, but he pressed Gwen’s call icon anyways. He heard cars moving outside, the watch ring a few times, and a growing thump in his heart that raced faster every second the watch rang. 

“Miles…?” Gwen’s voice was thick with sleep and confusion. He heard her rustle around for a few seconds then her holograph came to life. She tightened the watch around her wrist and looked at him through it. Then, her face scrunched up as she scanned him up and down, taking in his state. 

“I’m coming.” Her holograph snapped back into the compact watch, leaving Miles in the darkness again. A portal materialized by his closet, pieces of his room floating like they were a part of a magician's trick. Gwen stepped through wearing an oversized shirt Miles was sure she’d snagged from Hobie and baggy sweats. 

“Miles? Can I come closer?” There was a layer of caution in her voice, not wanting to alarm him. The window shutters allowed just enough moonlight to seep in that she could see the outline of his kinky coils and weak body. He nodded, slow and unsure, holding his breath every step she took towards his bed. 

Miles bit at his cracked lips, dry from anxiety and the yearning to pick at them any time something got so stressful he needed a distraction. She was at the foot of his edge now, pressing the middle of her clothed knees to the mattress like she was asking for permission. He nodded again and she let her body fall completely, finding his palm and putting her own against his. 

There was something so endearing about the silent exchange that he allowed his body to relax into the touch, an eased quirk of his lips told her she was on the right path. 

“Soo…” Her eyes darted to check her watch for the time. “Why’re you up at 2:31 in the morning?” Her socked feet reclined off of the bed, kicking back and forth to give her body something to focus on. Being a Spider-Man made you like that.

“Nightmare.” Miles scratched out, finger pads busying themselves with a twist by his ear. She hummed in response and closed her eyes, already formulating ideas to calm him down. 

“I um— I wanna see Hobie. Can you take me to him?” Gwen’s eyes blew wide as if she’d seen a ghost, snapping her head towards his. 

“I was just joking… you don’t have to go actually see him y’know?” 

His eyes squinted, determination flaring from them stubbornly. That was one of his best qualities— his will to get what he wanted; his stubbornness. 

“I’ll be okay.” 

Hobie had grown accustomed to the gross sensation of sweaty bodies against his, the pungent smell of sex still heavy in the air, dread puncturing his body like knives, and a pounding headache from too much to drink, shaking him loose of all his thoughts. Mornings like this had become his routine when he didn’t want to sleep alone or had no money to buy food because of his rent. 

He groaned, untangling his long limbs from the persons beside him and rolled off the bed. He pressed his head to the cold wood floor, letting it cool the stickiness on his head. 

He squinted, the rising sun not being enough to illuminate his discarded clothes thrown across the room. Once he found all of them he dressed himself and shot the person who was still asleep a disgusted scowl. 

They’d left his body marked to the extreme, aching and throbbing all over his body. He slung his leather jacket over his shoulders and slammed their front door behind him. 

Hobie was never this pissed, despite being taken advantage of by people twice his age becoming as normal as the piercings finding themselves places on his body. But, last night, someone’d taken the only thing he held onto like an elementary crush whispered sillily between friends. 

His first kiss. 

“Atleast she had the prince’s” He joked to himself. 

It was immature— stupid. But, he’d given away his whole body, his dignity, his childhood to overthrow the government, he just wanted one thing to hold onto, to signify that he was still a child . Someone had stolen it though, almost ripped his head off his shoulders in their direction and pressed lipsticked lips to his. 

He felt dirty all over. Under his nails and inside of his teeth, between the slight wrinkles on his forehead and on his knees. He scratched at the side of his mouth where it itched the most, blood surfacing from the repeated action. 

Hobie was taught to clench his teeth rather than cry and harden his face instead of showing emotion, because showing any other emotion other than “good” was bad and it was what “the homosexuals did” and “you’re not one of those, right, Hobart?” 

He’d cut his ties with his childhood teachings long ago but like phantom pain, they would always remain— always digging their claws into his most sensitive parts that he couldn’t mask with snarky smirks and fake-it-till-you-make-it confidence. 

He clenched his teeth, shoving burning tears back down, and lit a cigarette he’d stolen from last nights fling. 

The rest of the morning was spent putting his pieces back together. Doing the things he loved,  like coming up with lyrics for his new song and putting together outfits he was sure would grab attention like free money. 

It didn’t make the feeling of dread vanish, though. Even after three scalding hot showers that would for sure reflect on his water bill, scrubbing every inch of his skin raw to the touch, and trying to forget about the ghost of lipstick rubbing onto his lips, it stuck . 

The tank top he wore did nothing to help— bitemarks and reddened patches of skin exposed for the world to see. He decided to stay in his house until all of the marks healed because he didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Especially Miles. 

Miles shouldn’t be seen with someone like him. 

He never felt ashamed before. It was what he had to do to survive, but now he felt like a whore , his cushion to fall back on gone. He couldn’t excuse himself because he hadn’t had his first kiss anymore, he was stained. 

Hobie was always one to brag that he was independent and faced adulthood with a brave face. But if this was just a taste of it, he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

“You good, you look like, really anxious.” Gwen wove jest into her voice hoping the lighthearted question would slip past Miles’ tall walls. He caught on and shook his head, forcing the edges of his mouth to go upturned. 

“How far is his place?” 

“Not far…I think. Sometimes this watch spits me out in random places, gotta search for which place he chooses to sleep in.” 

“Ahh…” Miles nodded along as if he understood, tightening the scarf around his neck. 

Gwen stopped in front of him. “Here!” And like a switch turned he felt his stomach twist into tight nots, a light sheen of sweat dotting on his face. He clenched his fists while Gwen knocked on the door. 

“Huh…he’s not answering. Go through his window, us spiders always have a habit of keeping them open.” Gwen grinned widely as if it’d been in her plan to dump him then scurry off the whole time. He looked back at her and tilted his head. 

“You aren’t going in with me?” 

“Um, no? That would be super awkward. You’ll be okay.” The firmness in her voice was off putting but comforting, so he agreed and said his goodbyes to her. 

“H—Hobie?” Miles trudged to the side of the building where Gwen had pointed him to less than a minute ago, hands shoved in his jacket pockets like his life depended on it. He peeked through the cracked window and nudged a finger inbetween it, widening it enough to slide through.

“Hobie?” He echoed again, Jordans slamming against the floor as he dropped in through the window. He looked around Hobie's room, exactly how he’d imagined it. Posters layered on top of eachother: alternative punk bands, movies, and newspaper clippings of “Spiderpunk”. A guitar stand carefully placed on a corner of his room with a guitar amp. 

But there wasn’t a tall teenager with wicks that made him stutter as if he’d been coded wrong, so he opened the room door, praying it wouldn’t creak, and moved out into the hallway. 

Miles didn’t regret letting himself into the house until he saw Hobie. His head hung like a weight was crushing into his neck. His fingers absentmindedly grazed the strings on his guitar, humming a tune Miles had introduced to him at the sleepover. It made Miles’ heart flutter because even though Hobie had said the song was too “cheesy” for him he was humming it now. 

Then his face dropped . Hobie’s eyes had never looked so lifeless because he was always brimming with determination and strong, unchanging opinions. Even the colors that radiated off of him were gloomy— dark hues of blue and gray. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here or see this. It was supposed to be a moment reserved for Hobie and Hobie alone but he had barged in like the place was his and walked in on Hobie’s vulnerableness. But he was too far in to back out. 

Hobie’s head snapped up, spider-senses buzzing annoyingly loud. He shot his wrist out towards his leather jacket and wrapped it around hid shoulders but it was too late. Miles had already taken in the bite marks and darkened patches of bruised skin. 

“Hobie, are you okay? What are those things on you?” His voice betrayed his intentions, uneasiness oozing into his horse voice. 

Hobie’s eyes had a way of captivating anyone. Long eyelashes that rested above and below flashy pupils and hyperpigmented skin on his eyelids that acted as natural smoky eyeliner. Miles locked in on them like they were Hobie’s lips, full, two toned, and moisturized. They blew wide, only for a second, but that second stretched for hours. Miles saw the horror dart around them, eyebrows creasing deep into his forehead. 

A strangled sound left Hobie’s throat like hands had wrapped around his throat and squeezed all chances of him talking out. 

Miles’ fuse was cut short, he craved answers he’d waited a week for, so he continued on anyways. 

“Why didn’t you come? Where were you?” 

Hobie dropped his guitar to his lap and brought his palms to his eyes, rubbing the shock from them. He stood and set his eyes back on Miles and the younger was sure the eye contact would burn him to smithereens. He took a step forward, refusing to let Hobie intimidate him .

“Had somethin’ to do. ‘S normal for me to disappear for some time too, got a whole thing goin’ on here, yeah?” The words scratched just above the itch of irritation Miles’ had, fueling it further. He grabbed the neckline of Hobie’s tank top, curling the fabric in his fist. 

“Don’t you dare use that as an excuse. I needed you man!” 

Hobie’s eyes narrowed, “Not enough to not grab my hand…you didn’t trust me?” 

“I couldn’t!” Miles lied— Hobie didn’t need to know. It was stupid, he wasn’t even hurt anymore. 

“You’re tellin’ me a cherry, tell me the truth .” Hobie’s eyes squinted impossibly further, reading Miles like an open book. He dropped his fist from Hobie’s tank and ran his fingers through his twists. 

“I didn’t deserve to be saved. That was my punishment.” 

“For wha’?” Hobie spoke matter-of-factly, shattering Miles’ nights spent agonizing over why he felt so guilty. 

“Can I be discarded that easily?” Miles countered, licking the dry away from his lips. 

“Careful, Morales.” Hobie’s voice was still, deep and monotone but there was a sliver of threat in it which told Miles he was so wrong. 

“Why are you distancing yourself from me, Hobie? What did I do wrong?” 

“Nothin’.” Hobie’s eyes caught Miles’ twists, focusing on how they’d bounce when Miles would shake his head. 

“Do you hate me? How much more longer would it have taken for you to come see me?!” Miles' voice was strained, trying to force normalcy onto it. The living room hushed, waiting for Hobie’s reply that never came. Miles’ fingertips pressed into the middle of his palms and he shook his head. 

“The worst thing about this is…I still don’t hate you. I— I don’t think I can. ” 

“You dunno the real me , Morales.” 

“You don’t know the real me! Look at me , look!” Miles fisted the fabric of Hobie’s tank top with both of his hands, forcing his gaze down to look at him. His eyebags and deep scowl, parted hair done into twists and fondness that covered him because even with the harsh air his body wasn’t faithful to the bubbling anger in his gut. 

Hobie shook his grip off which caused his hands to fall to his side. 

“This was all a mistake. You don’t care. ” He jammed his fingertip into Hobie’s chest, flipped his jacket hoodie on top of his head, and headed for the door. 

He didn’t look back, because he was sure if he did he’d come undone and would break. The air in Hobie’s dimension was cold and sharp, stinging like the tears that blinded him. 

When he’d arrived in his dimension he was hopeful, spilling out into his vision, lighting up the world of newspaper cutouts and vibrant flashing colors. He thought it was beautiful. 

But he was sour now, so Hobie’s world didn’t seem so striking anymore. 

Chapter Text

“Dad, I’m not going to that school! You can’t make me, I don’t want to go, I don’t belong there!” Miles slammed his fork down on the table, pushing his chair away from the table. 

“Miles, you’re going. That is final .” His Dad’s voice boomed throughout the dining room, he scoffed and looked towards his mom for help. 

“Listen… we both think it’ll be good for you. You need change, maybe something or someone will help you get better there.” 

Miles felt his heart sink to his toes, an arrow of betrayal digging itself into his body. “Mami, you think a school will magically make my depression better!? One of the things that's causing it? What, you think I’ll stop slicing up my thighs if I move away from you guys?” 

“Mijo what did you just say— slicing up what!? You didn’t tell us about that!” 

“I don’t need that place! I need both of you— I just want to make art, hoop with Uncle Aaron, why can’t you let me have this?” His voice cracked like when he’d step on broken beer bottles and discarded trash, sneaking in abandoned places to spray paint. 

“You don’t talk back to her. We just want what’s right for you! There’s so many opportunities that’ll open up for you if you go—“ 

“I don’t need them! I know what I want to do! This is my life, Dad! You had your choice when you were my age and now it’s my time!” 

“ YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! You’re too irresponsible to choose for yourself, you don’t know what you’re passing up on!” Miles flinched like he’d been slapped. Silence filled in the cracks of the thick tension, and he shuttered back, searing tears. He stood, jammed the chair back in place behind him, and turned his back to them. 

“You’re right. I don’t know anything. I’m just faking it— I’m okay.” Rio stood, prepared to run to his side, but Jeff thrust his hand out in front of her; an unmovable barrier. 

“Go to your room.” Jeff seethed as if anger was thrashing out of his throat like bile. Miles wrapped his fingers around the bottle of painkillers in his hoodie pocket, then padded off into his room. 

Jeff watched like a hawk as he slammed the door shut. 

Art was his life. It made him who he was— it made him human . It was the only thing that grounded him and the only thing that made his life worth living. 

They were trying to take it away from him, trying to take away his lifeline. And he wouldn’t let them. If it was anyone's choice, it would be his. 

He threw the textbooks he’d gotten as a gift for “making” it into the prestigious school, slamming them against his locked door in retaliation; to make his Dad angrier. 

He needed them to hate him, to think that he was a mistake, to make him out into the disappointment he was so they’d never mention him around their family again. Even Uncle Aaron. 

Then, he took the bottle of painkillers— ones he’d swiped from his Mami’s nurse bag when she wasn’t looking, and with shaky hands popped the bottle open. 

There was no note, no dramatic final speech, no apologies. 

Because he didn’t deserve to leave anything extra behind.

Death was so much scarier than he thought. And more than one time as he swallowed a few pills with copious amounts of stale water sat at his bedside for a suspicious amount of time, he thought to throw the pills up then apologize— give in to their will and throwaway art. 

He drank and swallowed till his stomach was full and he felt satisfied, then he sat against the cold wood floor and waited. 

Miles was afraid of quietness. But it was music to his ears because he was so close. One more push and he’d be gone. One more push and he wouldn’t be a burden anymore. The clock ticked, afternoon turned to night, and he didn’t move from the floor. 

“Ay man, I’m here to bust you outta here.” And Miles would be an idiot if he couldn’t tell whos voice that belonged to because it was the person he wanted to see the least; Uncle Aaron. 

He had the worst timing, always coming to Miles in his worst moments. When he wanted to be left alone and wallow in his sadness. 

His breath hitched. He didn’t know how long he had left, so he stayed quiet, eyes flaring with heat and dampness. Aaron knocked on his door, socked feet shuffling from outside. 

Flashes of heat stuck to his body persistently, sweat dripping and mixing on his forehead. 

Miles didn’t know if he was extremely lucky— or unlucky. A beam of pain shot up his spine, stomach tensing around the water, pills, and small amount of dinner he’d eaten earlier. He fell onto his side, muffling gurgled screams into the palm of his hands. His torso met the ground, biting down on his hand as another shot of pain was directed up at his stomach.

“Miles? You good in there lil’ man?” Aaron knocked again, hurried and with a tone of rising suspicion. He tried the knob and when it didn’t turn, a pang of worry budded in his stomach. 

Miles churned, clutching the baby fat on his stomach with one hand like it was the cause of the excruciating pain. His eyes were heavy and he felt bile rising from the pit of his stomach as if it was protesting against the pills. He pushed himself against the bottom of his bed, letting his head rest against the frame. 

“Miles? I’m comin’ in!” He knew Aaron was a shady person who did shady things, so lockpicking a door was nothing to him. He removed his hand from his mouth and opened it to scream. 

“ No! Don’…come in ‘mmm fin—“ His head dropped, too seemingly heavy for his shoulders to support, then he felt his throat erupt, vomit gushing out like molten rock. 

The door slammed against the inside of his room. Aaron’s feet banged against the ground like each one was a distinctive gunshot, rattling his foggy brain further. Aaron was at his side, and he was throwing up more acid that was the cause of his agony. 

“Rio, Jeff, get in here, now!” Aaron’s voice sounded panicked— afraid, and Miles would chuckle if his throat wasn’t searing but full as if cotton balls had been stuffed inside it at the same time. His chest was congested, each breath harder than the next. 

Rio came running in first, a scream clawing its way out of her gut like he was already dead. She took in the scene, the dropped pills, vomit, and her son's clammy body. Her scream hurt worse than the pain he was in. 

Jeff last, and the look of regret on his body shocked Miles’ soul like a fork to an outlet. Shame coursed through him because he was being selfish and making all of them see his pitiful sight of him. 

He tried to babble, say he was sorry and that all of this was his fault and if they gave him another few hours he would be gone, but none of them listened, too afraid to move. 

“Jeff, go get my nurse bag. Aaron, get outside the room and call 911.” Rio dropped to the floor next to Miles' shivering body, leaving no room for arguments. The two men rushed out the room like they were in a time crunch— the most precious thing in their lives on the line. 

She was shaking, calloused fingers running through his hair. Then she said something to him— but his body was screaming at him too much to hear. 

She counted down, then laid his body on his side, pulled his left out straight then bent his knee to go downward, and propped his head up with his left arm. 

“Stay lik— Why would you do— I love y—“ 

“ Don’t say anything.” Was the first thing Miles hissed to his roommate as he kicked his legs into their shared window. Anger coursed through his veins like venom. He wanted to punch something that would leave his first bruised and bloody because the pain would let him breathe. 

“You caught me.” Ganke uttered airly, his voice giving away his high. Miles huffed, squeezed past Ganke who was sitting in his gaming chair, and hurled his jacket towards the floor, shoes and sweater following. He was left in a tank top and sweats, deciding it was comfortable enough for the heat radiating inside the room. 

“Fuck! I hate him!” Miles screamed into one of Ganke’s plush pillows. He heard a jar jingle behind him and cursed again. 

“Coin.” Ganke tapped the lid of a mason, the words “Curse Jar” etched on it in violent red and yellow markers. He rolled his anger in his mouth, holding back not-very-nice words towards his roommate. 

The coin jar was created by his Dad; a punishment he dished out after he dropped by the dorm and heard a long stream of curses from the two teenagers playing a game on Ganke’s computer. Ganke winced, realizing the tender subject of his dad, and set the jar back down. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“About what , Ganke.” Miles exaggerated, muffling his words back into Ganke’s pillow. He felt the overpowering skin of annoyance shed from his skin, and it was in moments like this that he noticed how exhausting it was to be enraged for so long. 

“About how up until a few seconds ago, you were ready to snap my head off. Anger is noooot ,” Ganke paused; lost in his head. “Not a good look for you.” 

“Mhm, says the one always high off his mind.” Ganke shrugged, indifferent to the insult. Miles snuffed out a flame of the urge to cry causing an itch to form— one that wouldn’t be scratched unless he let the feelings break loose. 

“You aren’t okay, talk to me.” Ganke nudged himself over in the bed, hardly enough room for two teenagers to move their limbs or even get up. He sighed like somewhere in his consciousness he was waiting for the question. 

Miles imagined his self-control being held together with a cord, worn and tired, and at Ganke’s words, it snapped. 

“He hates me… I barged into his house and yelled at him! I didn’t even ask how he was or if he needed help or if he was hurting—“ 

“Woah dude, slow down. Hate is a strong word. Tell me in more detail.” Miles felt his nose burn, letting the first silent tears fall down his cheeks. He took a large gulp of air and continued. 

“Well, you already know he’s from a different universe. He, uhm, hasn’t been talking to me.” Miles stared holes into the patterned sheet below him like it could wipe the shame from his face and heart, like it was his fault. 

“I came and it…it was like I was talking to a brick wall. His answers were short and he was so cold , he’s never treated me like that, man.” Miles hiccuped a sob into his palm and licked at a salty tear that’d made its way to the corner of his mouth. 

Miles recounted through the buzzing in his ears and the feeling of his heart racing from the adrenaline, the marks he’d noticed on the other's body, and the heated sour tension hanging in the air. He didn’t get to ask about it, too selfish to get his answer and to satisfy his own guilt that he didn’t think to ask him. The thought of him suffering because of that made his stomach churn with shame, making him all the more guiltier. 

“And I know it must’ve been my fault, I don’t know what I did but I did something wrong and I’m always fucking up! I always ruin everything, I should just— I’m a mistake right? Everything around me gets cursed.” His words slurred together like cheap glue that couldn’t completely do the job had been smashed between them. He dug his fingernails into the sides of his arms, shuttering because he was letting a piece of himself sit out in the open, prepared to dart back in at a moment's notice. 

Ganke pried Miles’ fingernails from his arm and laid them on the younger's knees. Miles searched his eyes for disgust or hate, but they seemed to frown instead, monolids creasing in heavy concern. 

“I’m not good with feelings or anything… but I know enough to say that you aren’t a mistake.” The words hit deep because Ganke wasn’t one of many words. Short, silent, responses and operating off of mostly looks and actions. So what he said had to be true, right? He wasn’t lying to me, he’s telling the truth… right?

Miles leaned his head on his roommate's shoulder, silently crying hot tears of pungent regret. 

The comfort was great— but something told Miles that it would never be enough to change his mind. The warmth from Ganke relaxed his body, and sleep took him. 

“Miles Morales, when are you going to eat lunch?” Rio’s hands rested on her hips heavily, stance threatening like she was ready to pounce on the boy. He tightened his blanket in on his arms and turned his homework assignment to the backside, pulling out his calculator to solve a question. 

“Mami, I already told you—“

“I’m not hungry, I already ate, my stomach hurts right now. Please Miles, I’ve heard it all. Just… What do you want to eat, ahorita te lo compro?” Rio was desperate, she always chose to cook at home rather than buy takeout. “You don’t need all those extra chemicals running through your body!” She’d say before cranking the stove on high, hands full with raw ingredients.

“Spanglish?” He joked, wiggling his eyebrows with forced amusement. He went back to his homework, ignoring the burning look of helplessness in Rio’s eyes. 

“Miles, I’m serious. You look— you look sick .” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snapped, the lead from his pencil breaking in two under the force of his fingers. 

“Okay.” Her voice was schemeful, and he knew she was up to something. She walked back out of the room and within moments came back in with a small plate of tostones and placed them right on top of his worksheet of math problems. 

“Go ahead, eat!” Her smile was deep and calculating, but teetered on the edge of a frown gaping with anxiousness. His hands hovered over the plate, then he pushed it away. 

“Nah, my stomach hurts right now, later, I’ll eat later.” 

“No, you won’t! You always say that and I never see you do it! I’m scared Miles!” She pushed the plate back towards him. 

“I told you no ! There’s nothing to be scared about!” 

“I don’t care what you said little boy, you’re gonna eat something or you’re grounded!” She spat, smooth accent bumping into her words like roadblocks. He allowed irritation to take over him and threw the plate onto the ground. The look of disappointment that immediately flashed on her face was sickeningly satisfying, the emotion disturbing his insides. 

“ NO !” Miles practically seethed; his voice never sounded more similar to the man who’d birthed him. Rio’s shoulders shook with emotions, then she stormed out, slamming his door behind her. He crouched to the ground, took a jagged piece of the glass plate that’d been shattered, held it up to the skin right above his knee, and sunk the knife down. Then, he let the first gurgle of a sob rock his body. 

“So you’re telling me you two lovebirds argued?” Pavitr fumbled with the bangles on his wrists as he spoke, slowly so Hobie would understand. 

“Yes— yes, mate! I mucked up Pav. He thinks I don’ care ‘bout him…he doesn’t know !” Hobie dug his fingers in the base of his wicks, groaning in frustration and suffocating sorrow. 

“Shh, it’s okay. We’re gonna figure it out, bro!” Pav typed a few things into his phone then pushed his arms off the countertop. He waltzed over to Hobie, a bounce in his step. His eyes faltered on the marks littered on Hobie’s body like twisted freckles, and he ignored the urge to ask Hobie about them. 

“Come on, let’s go sit down on the couch, okay?” Hobie flinched when Pav grabbed for his wrist, rubbing over raw skin that’d been burned by rope and a horny adult with no remorse for a struggling teenager that had no other way to get money. 

Pav rested his hand at his side, flashed a bright smile of reassurance, and hopped over to the couch, patting the cushion next to his. When Hobie relaxed into his side he rambled on about him and Gayatri’s latest date with stars in his eyes, allowing Hobie’s mind to release all of the gathered stress it’d soaked up as if it was a sponge. 

“So uhm, speaking of hickies… are you okay? Like y’know…” Pav’s voice trailed off, small and unsure, gestured with his hands at his neck, and he looked Hobie in the eyes. He took a sharp inhale like he was waiting patiently for the question. 

“If I tell you, you won’t see me the same.” 

“Of course I will, silly! Why would my opinion on you change?” Pav laughed like Hobie was telling a funny joke, but he was serious. 

“There ain’t nothing to be havin’ a hat and scarf about, Pav.” Hobie shot, throat tense. He swallowed then mumbled a broken apology, head to the floor with shame because he’d let his emotions get the better of him. 

“It’s okay, Hobie! We don’t have to talk about it, but I want you to know that you’ll always be my best bro, I don’t care if you identify as a toaster or hate every Spider-Man to exist, I’ll always be here for you.” 

“Okay, mate. Oddly and specifically creepy.” Pav snaked his hand around Hobie’s, giving it a strong but short squeeze that comforted him. 

“Y’know how I was homeless for some years. Got kicked to tha curb because my fam would rather a loose their son than have him be a faggot.” He licked at his layered black lip stain, heaving his anxiety over his shoulders because it was his body and he wouldn’t allow it to control him. 

“There was nowhere for me to go. No jobs for a lad who was homeless. So I turned to stickin’ my head ‘n bag’s for life’s and gigs. I’m ashamed, but I did it to survive . ‘M not a whore— I swear ‘m not a whore.” He clenched his fist around a pillow, jaw tightening. 

Pav cleared the air with a drawn out bubbly “hmm” and wrapped his arms around Hobie’s torso. 

“It’s good that you have me now, then! You’ll always have a room in my place! You’re so strong for making it all the way here, and I’d never shame you for what you had to do. But you don’t have to struggle alone with it anymore, you have me and Gwen and Miles!” Hobie nodded, smirk wide on his face because Pav always knew what to say. What buttons to push and how to manipulate his face to cheer someone up. 

“Pav, ‘ave I ever mentioned how husband material you are?”

Pav: plz go chedk omm maikkes

Gwen: huh?? can u type correctly please!! 

Pav: sorry i wus talking to hobie!! :333

Pav: GO CHECK ON MILES!!

Gwen: uh

Gwen: ok…?

Gwen groaned, slid out of her bed like her body was paralyzed, and tied her laces to her sneakers. She was lucky she’d kept her suit on under her lounging clothes and slid them off.  Her eyes still burned with an unresolved battle with sleep (it was kicking her ass) but she could solve it later. Right now, she needed to go check up on Miles. 

She knew she should’ve done it the second he texted her that he’d made it back. The dry texts he sent in the following hours were worrying, but with his constant floods of reassurance that he was fine and not to go to his universe she allowed herself to nod off. 

She tapped on her watch, a portal to his world materializing. Every second it took to widen enough for her to pop through, she tapped her shoe against the floor, impatience holding a tight grip on her. 

Gwen ran through, wasting no time as she webbed her way through streets like the back of her hands. She was right there, right at his window, then she paused. She pressed her body flush against the wall next to the window, shooting a web on her back so when she leaned over she wouldn’t fall. 

Her body ran cold. He was hurting himself, sliding what seemed to be a sharp piece of glass against his thigh. 

“Miles…?” His soul slammed into his heart like it’d left his body when he heard Gwen’s voice. His hands went cold, dropping the jagged shard of glass. He had to think of something— some excuse, but his head went blank as if it was telling him to give it up. 

“Gwen.” He moaned in pain when he stood up, stumbling over his weakened leg to plop down on his desk chair. She pushed herself inside the window, running over to his desk. He slapped his hands over his wounded thigh even though it was too late to stop her wandering eyes; the damage was done. 

“What are you— Miles? What is t…that?” She pointed towards the blood running down his thigh, a distorted mix of red hues that left a mess on his floor. 

“It’s nothing. You needa leave, please.” His voice was weak like the rest of his body, and the consequences of skipping meal after meal was catching up to him. 

“Fuck you Miles, no!” She scurried around the room, searching for the signature second aid kid every Spider-Man had. Miles' tears went dry by the time she found it and bent down to help him, hiding his eyes behind bloodied fingers and ashamed apologizes. 

His scars were hidden behind fresh cherry red, he still had time to push her away, kick her out, hide this part of him from her— but a part of him told her to let him in. Let her help him like she’d promised to days before and soak in her comfort, so he did. 

He didn’t know that he’d regret it. He just acted on what he was feeling, and what he was feeling was to trust her. 

“Sit on the bed while I clean these, no shoes, though.” He turned the chair so his back faced her, and only began to sanitize the wounds when she was a comfortable amount away from him. 

“How long? Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me before! I could’ve helped?” Miles bit down on the inside of his cheek as the tingling press of alcohol wiped at his cuts. He blew out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, watching as his sluggish healing factor began to patch up his open wounds. They did that when there wasn’t enough fuel to kick them into full power. 

“Since before I even knew you guys. It’s not even because of you so don’t start saying smack. I’m okay, swear on my mamma. ‘N I didn’t tell you because…I couldn’t trust you.” She nodded, mildly disturbed by his unusual cold tone. He threw his head back against the cushion of his chair, fitting his body into it. 

“Hey, Gwen?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t tell anyone about this, I’m serious.” 

“What do you mean? Of course I’m telling someone! Starting with your Mom?” She asked as if it was a question, but she’d already made up her mind. 

“It’s my business who I tell or not! And I choose you because I trust you. Please, Gwen.”

She swallowed back a combination of emotions: guilt, confusion, and dread. She was afraid that if she let him go he would keep hurting himself, or worse, do something . But she could only nod, a desperate attempt to further reconcile the broken trust between them. 

Chapter Text

Miles dipped his foot in first, testing the water temperature. It rocketed up, scolding heat searing into his flesh like a brand stamp. He hopped around comically for a few seconds, clutching his foot as if it was falling off. When the burning sizzled to tingles he turned the bathtub knob downwards and poured epsom salt in. 

His muscles ached like his stomach did— pulsing with exhaustion and fatigue. He tapped his fingers against his towel while the tub filled up more, the smell of lavender scented salt massaging its way into his tense shoulders. 

He repeated his action from earlier, foot first, then legs. The warm water teetering on the edge of too warm made his muscles tense before the water won the battle and they released as if they were sighing. He sunk his full body in, persistent gravels of salt that hadn’t been dissolved yet rubbed against the back of his calves and thighs, making him hum in relaxation.  

He flexed his toes like he did when he landed hard on his feet, stretching the pain out of sore body parts. Picking up soap he’d been gifted somewhere around Christmas, he lathered it up in his net and started to scrub his neck. 

Miles’ head tip-toed to sensitive thoughts: Hobie. He dipped his head back, submerging his shoulders into the water, suds of soap running off to play in the tub. As he imagined the liquid for Hobie’s hands, splaying across his back as his nimble fingers pressed into it, he swallowed the urge to squeal into his wet palms. 

In that moment he’d forgotten all about their petty argument, washed away by waves of strong beats of endearment that tickled the small hairs on his skin. 

“¡Por dios! ” 

“Get up Mijo, get up—“ 

“Don’t leave me!” 

Miles felt hands vicegrip the space between his neck and shoulders, shaking his body like coins would pop from his mouth. He swatted the arms away, groaning as he forced his eyes wide. 

“I’m up ,” He slurred deep with sleep, grabbing for his thick blanket that wasn’t there. Because he’d fallen asleep in the bathtub. 

The goddamn bathtub. 

Rio dropped to her knees, a shaky relieved sigh wringing its way out of her lungs as she did. “You scare me, boy.” She jutted her bottom lip out sourly while he closed his eyes again, cold water trying to force him back to slumber. 

“Oi, no you don’t.” She closed her thumb and index finger around his wrist, tugging it up with the rest of his body. 

“Why are you so light? I shouldn’t be able to pull you like this.” She sounded faint— far away from him because he was tired; bones and skin sagging with hunger and the need to let his eyes fall again. But he could still make out her tone, all spongy with concern and pity, a part of him hated it. 

He let her tug him over to the sink counter, leaning his frame against it as she began to towel off his wet body parts. He felt the towel halt around the area on his thigh of long healed scars; lucky that he was Spiderman and small cuts and slashes he inflicted upon himself would heal with a good night's rest or a few hours of walking and water. The cloth stuttered back into action, wiping the area clean of water and moving on. 

“‘m not a kid, mami.” He argued, trying to weakly wrestle the towel from her grasp. She yanked it back and pushed him back against the cold counter. 

“Just let me do this…I feel bad about putting you on the spot like that earlier, but I know I ain’t wrong.” Rio started back up where she’d left off, finishing with his neck. 

He noticed she was still in her scrubs— sleep deprived symptoms rubbing their paws into her skin, but she still glowed like a warm lamp, fond sappy grin oozing into Miles’ aura. 

“You know how much I love you, right?” She questioned, cheeks creasing where her smile lines dented. She flexed her toes, sprouting up like a flower to press a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then slipped his arms through an oversized shirt. 

He nodded and dressed the rest of himself, leaning against his shoulder because the drowsiness sapped him half of his strength to stand upright. 

“When you wake up in the morning, vas a comer .” She jailed his wrist again, flinging him out of the restroom like he was a ragdoll. He wanted to argue that she’d forgotten to turn the light off, but like she read his mind she jogged back to flip the switch then led him to hers and and—. 

He stopped himself. 

“Lay down Mijo, I ain’t letting you get away from me tonight.” 

“Mami, what were you saying to me when you woke me up?” He rebuttaled, switching the light on because it was pitch black in the room. She flinched like she’d been struck with scolding iron and dropped his arm to the side. 

She shook her head, eyes casting down and eyebrows going downturned like her soul drooped . “I thought you’d tried something foolish again— baby I was scared .” 

Her trembling back, dilated pupils, grinding of her teeth; he had done that. It was all his fault— because he’d decided to irresponsibly traumatize his family with his dying body. He thought everyone was over it, healed and scarred over, but he could tell with how her voice trembled how she must’ve played the night back like the day she got the news of Uncle Aaron or Jeff’s death. 

Miles knew she was terrified. She didn’t want to be left alone, he was all the family she had left. 

“Oh.” He croaked, knees buckling from the shock and he fell into her plush bed. The first thing that hit him was the scent of heavy cologne and musk; it sent him reeling . He hopped up, yelping as if he’d been hit, and backed away from the bed. 

“Come here.” She hushed calmly, like she’d been expecting his reaction, and guided his weight onto her own. He was taller than her, but he felt safe in her hug, like she could shield him from anything. 

“It still smells like him.” He stated, overpowering the lingering scent with hers, hugging her tighter. 

“I haven’t slept in here since…” She paused, squeezing his hand like it would give her the will to continue where her sentence faltered. Instead, she led the two of them back to the bed. 

It felt wrong to lay on it— like he was treading on spikes and hellish fire, each brush against the sheets causing his skin to burn where it touched. His father had laid here at one point, probably exhausted from work and snuggling into his Mom. 

Rio winced, but instead of pushing him away she pulled him closer and tugged, leaving no room for her boy to escape. 

Miles padded out of Rio’s room, wringing the sleep out of his back with stretches. His body betrayed him, leading him to the kitchen of all places. Rio’s face dazzled under the meek oven overhead light when he said good morning and pulled one of the dining room chairs over to the kitchen island, stirring something in a pot. Oil popped from inside and she yelled “ Ouch! ” before pulling her hand back to her side. 

“Good afternoon sleepyhead. I’m making lunch,  want some?” Rio questioned, turning the heat on the stove eye down. His stomach pleaded— gurgles and rumbling, but he stomped it out. 

“Nah Mami, ‘mma go eat after me ‘n Ganke go hit up the art room.” He ignored her heavy disappointed sigh, like he was letting her down , and a pit began to swallow all the good feelings he’d woken up with. He was ruining his relationship with his mom, over food of all things.

“Baby, like I said yesterday, you need to eat. I miss cooking for you.” She turned around to face him, leaning her arms on the oven handle. “If you won’t hear me out as your Ma, hear me out as a professional. You keep neglecting yourself like this and it’s going to get lethal!” She spat the words out like they were bruising her insides, words she’d tried to force down for days. 

Miles scoffed, “A professional? I never asked for that, I just want you here as my Mom.” He tried to keep his tone in check. The last thing he wanted was to argue with her again, it’d hurt enough last time. She just shook her head and turned back to the eye, shutting the heat off completely. 

“Mijo you are all I have left. I can’t lose you, I won’t.” She transferred whatever was in the pan onto a plate lined with paper towels to soak up the oil because she didn’t have her strainer. They sagged with oil, drooping down to drown the plate out with it and he recoiled because it was what he felt like. Tired and heavy— heavy with pain and burden and guilt. 

“Lose me? You think I’m going to die? I’m healthy! I’m okay! Stop overreacting Mom.” A knot tightened in his chest, constricting his breathing like Rio herself was pressing down on it. 

“Have you seen yourself? It was worrying at first but now I can’t deny it. Miles, You. Have. An. Eating disorder!” She punctuated each word with a squelch that came from the plate, pressing down on the food with a balled-up wad of paper napkins.  

It felt like he’d been splashed with water straight from a crisp cup overflowing with ice. 

“What? What! No I don’t!” His heart raced out of his chest, each thump pressing further into the knot forming right above his lungs. 

“Do I have to become a detective to prove you wrong, boy? Your clothes are loose on you, you burn through gum like there’s an unlimited amount of it—“ 

“Stop.” He pleaded, hunching his shoulders into his ears. The knot wasn’t a knot anymore, it was a jumble . Huge, chaotic, and tangled. His wrists met the island marble as he stood and walked towards his room. 

“Miles I’m not done, please! I just— I’m your Ma.” 

He ignored her desperate plea. He wanted her to know it wasn’t her fault, none of this was. It was his, he was being a brat, a selfish, worthless brat who couldn’t stick food down his throat and swallow without sticking a toothbrush down after to vomit it up. 

“If you’re my Mami, then stop doubting me.” He fumed, slamming his door behind him. 

Then Miles laughed, because it was funny how he was always at his lowest when he slammed his door and locked himself in his room, refusing to let anyone in. 

He ignored her frantic pleas at his locked door, propping his window open without a second thought. He didn’t have his web shooters, so he just stuck his legs on the side of the building and hopped for the best. The second his legs hit solid ground he was off, running and running. He didn’t have a clue where he would go, he just knew it would be far from there. 

Miles came to the school, or art room in particular, whenever he got in his feelings. He loved working with charcoal. It was messy and risky. The adrenaline rush that came with the scare of ruining hid art piece with one harsh sneeze or trip had him always coming back to a discarded easel for more. He nudged his pencil roughly against the paper, sliding it down until the tip broke off. He changed his playlist— shoegaze was a befitting genre for his mood. 

The cords burned dull aches into him, allowing him to focus on anything else except the whole situation. His Mom, his Dad , Spider-Man, Hobie, Peter, Miguel, and on and on and on . 

He took his eraser and rubbed lightly at areas, creating lighting for the piece. His head was murky— couldn’t even tell what he was drawing, but he knew it must’ve been something great with the cheesy smile that taunted his tired face. 

“Dude. Shoulda came here first.” Ganke popped up from somewhere behind him and he jumped, dropping the eraser from his clammy hands. He paused his music, but he didn’t take his earphones off. 

“Man you know not to come up behind me like that, anyways what’s up ‘m busy.” 

“Sure you are.” Ganke teased drly, sitting on the stool directly in front of him. He wiped at sweat that had begun to bead at his forehead and huffed, a sign to Miles that he had been running because it was only possible to work up a sweat in this cold weather by exerting yourself. Miles was annoyed, and he was sure Ganke could tell too, staring down the tight pulled frown on his face. 

“Ms. Rio called me, said she was worried when she had to basically break down your door and you weren’t in there.” Ganke dropped his head, gulping in more air. 

“Deadass?” He turned his attention back to his canvas, disregarding the heavy side eye Ganke passed at him with a click of his tongue. 

“Can you like, I don’t know, stop being an asshole? She was terrified. I basically had to check every place we’ve ever been to together, and even then she almost called the cops.” Ganke’s eyes narrowed, pissing Miles off all the more. There was something he couldn’t describe that controlled his emotions for him, always. And lately it’d been spamming the button “Angry” like wads of cash would pop from thin air. 

“Oh, I’m sorry that you chose to look for me when I never asked you to! I don’t need both of you to treat me like a little kid, I’m not going to fucking throw myself into the street.” He threw his hands into the air. 

“Stop Miles, seriously. I know somethings wrong, you don’t have to keep it to yourself. ” Ganke bounced his leg against the stool, adjusting the beanie on his head. 

“Nothing is fucking wrong! You stop, all of you just stop, just fuck off and leave me alone. Do I have to go through this every day? Are you guys gonna torture me until I’m dead? Do you want me to die, is that it!?” Miles borderline yelled, flicking his gaze away from Ganke. 

Ganke remained silent, seemingly stunned or slack, to Miles it was one of his last worries. 

“Tell Ma I’m okay. I’ll swing by later, okay? Now leave.” And he pressed play on his phone, drawing up Ganke’s following words to the pitying lyrics sang from his earphones. 

As promised, he visited Ganke when he wrapped up his session with a dusty art room and pity party, but was blocked out with a cold shoulder and bitter glimpses his way. He grabbed his jacket and bolted, deciding it was better like that and he didn’t deserve his friends’ perturbed glances and questions. 

The world was against him— or Spiderman, because the second he let his mind slip, carried away by the numbing twinge of freezing breezes, walking mindlessly, and busy new yorkers, it ricocheted off his toes and bounced right back into his body. He felt electricity spreading its way through his veins with pincers, alive: like ants, because just a few dozens of people with places to go were two people he wanted to see the least. 

Peter and Miguel. The ex-father figure and psychopath. 

They didn’t see him yet, eyes trained onto their watches and he hopefully thought that maybe they’d come here for a mission then would bounce, leave him alone, let him wallow alone without having their last laughs. But all thoughts were shattered when his eyes met with Miguel’s, sharp and chestnut, the same ones that forced death and dominance into his face. The smell of sweat, desperation, and violence following. 

Miles felt a shiver rack his spine, his senses screaming “DANGER!”, then he was off. Sprinting and dodging through arms and purses like the grim reaper was swinging a pointed scythe after him. He heard Peter’s voice behind him, but he didn’t stop his legs to listen. 

He refused to let them rub into his face of how much of a mistake he was, how he was nothing but a failure and should’ve died years ago. 

He didn’t have his suit or web shooters on, so he could only rely on his legs. The other two were not as unfortunate, clad in their respective suits and web shooters. He felt a web wizz past his ear and screamed, raw and high with fear. 

And there was the knot again, forming and thickening in his chest, leaving his already overworked lungs panicking for more and more air. His legs were giving out, buckling and tired and he leaned against the side of a graffitied wall, eyes like googly ones the way vertigo tilted his world to the side. 

He heard their voices edge closer and quieted the loud song of his haggard breath to listen. 

“ You wait right there! He was so sc—“ 

“¡ Puta madre! We can’t put this off—“ 

“Miguel, let me just talk to him fir—“ 

His teeth chattered, throat dry and the taste of metal on his tongue. The air had made popsicles of his insides, leaving him rubbing at the areas of skin that weren't covered by his thick jacket to bring heat to them. It wouldn’t work, though, he was always cold. 

“Buddy? Ooh, nice hair.” And Peter turned the corner to look at him. Peter, the one who he trusted and let in when his relationship with his father was zero to none. The spider who’d taught him what it was to be a hero— the very one who’d let his father die for the “greater good”. 

“Shut the hell up, you don’t get to call me that.” He hissed, revelling the look that flashed on Peter’s face. It was only a fraction of what he felt, of what he made him feel. Then the high passed, leaving him shivering and afraid thinking of what if’s. Like, what if he and Miguel had come back to finish the job? To kill him, or worse, his Mom.

“Sorry, uh, Miles. You can relax, we’re not going to hurt you.” Peter heaved, mirroring Miles’ pose and pressed his back to the wall. Miles scooted away, legs jittery like a newborn. 

“You’re trippin’ if you think I’m just gonna believe you.”

“I know. And I’m to blame for that! Just hear me out for a few minutes.” 

A part of him felt like he was being pressured into saying yes. Miguel was right around the corner, talons and strong build that would snap him, spider-powers be damned. 

“Okay.” He emphasized the word harshly, leaving no room for Peter to hope this would be an easy conversation. He saw him fiddle with his fuzzy robe, material fraying and matted in spots. 

“You know you’re my first child, right?” And no, not this bullshit. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. 

“You sure didn’t treat me like it.” He bit, imagining the small insult was enough to make Peter double over in pain and beg for forgiveness.

“I know, I know . I spend every single night thinking of what I should’ve done, how I should’ve helped you.” 

“Being there for me would’ve been nice, you know? I mean, you guys left me alone for a year— you could’ve come. But. You. Didn’t.” 

“Miles, that’s the thing! I would’ve come if I could. Believe me, I wanted to so bad but Miguel wanted us to stay away!” 

“So if Miguel told you to shoot me down instead, would you? Actually— why are you still even friends with him like you guys are buddy buddy? He killed my Dad! You’re a grown adult, Peter. I called out to you when he had me pinned down on that train. I needed you, man.” 

“I failed you, I can’t apologize enough Miles. I would never hurt you on purpose, I thought I was saving you by staying away!” 

“Well, you didn’t Peter! You didn’t. God, I thought I’d never get to see you guys again— I was about to go to fucking Princeton just to get a chance to study for something you had in the palms of your fingers. The difference between you and Gwen is that— is that she still came to see me, you didn’t.” 

He grinded his teeth, graveling the tips of his fingers into the wall to ground him, so the waves of nausea and hurt wouldn’t wash him away and forgive Peter like he’d attempted to do at the hospital. 

“I know how wrong I am for what I did, Miles. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I betrayed you, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop what Miguel was doing, I’m sorry I couldn’t be someone you could look up to!”  

Miles paused, looping the words back and forth for something to lash out at or something to declare was a lie, but he couldn’t find anything except Peter’s sincere words. 

“But the one thing I’m never going to be sorry for is having Mayday, because I want her to be just like you . An amazing, smart, talented kid who’s going places. You don’t need me anymore, but I will gladly watch you from afar because I need to know you’re sa—“ 

“Cállate.” Miles turned on his heels, head down, but even then it felt like he was staring right into Peter’s heart. He took a few steps towards him and grabbed at his robe. 

“What?” 

“I said shush.” Miles sobbed, grabbing Peter by the fuzzy fabric. “I do need you, I’ve never not.” 

Peter froze for something less than a second, then wrapped his arms around Miles like he was caging him in. It felt good , fatherly and warm, it was what he craved ever since his Dad was gone. 

But all good things had to come to an end— at least for Miles. He felt needles prick under his skin, senses blaring at him to run. Miguel rounded the corner with his same, indifferent face, but the wrinkles on his face spoke for him. 

Miles instantly darted back, breaking himself from Peter’s hold. For a second he’d deluded himself into thinking he hadn’t come with the very man who was the reason his Dad was buried. 

His head swung between the two, preparing his venom under his fingertips while his eyes narrowed. 

“Wait, Miles!” Peter called out loud, like he could tell he’d have to shout it over the rush of blood thrumming throughout Miles’ body and the panic. 

“He just wants to apologize.” 

What? 

He felt almost offended that Peter thought he could trick him like that, curling his eyebrows and sticking his lip out. Somewhere in front of him Miguel put his hands to hips, shaking his head like an “I told you.” gesture to Peter. 

“Him? That fucking wild animal?”

“Er…yeah. Let’s go sit down somewhere.” 

The way Peter led the other two through the streets revealed his eagerness to “sit down” when they ended up in a burger joint, the one Miles had been avoiding for a year because of how much it reminded him of Peter. 

Miguel was quiet behind them, leaving Miles’ head free to take over and fret. He clung onto Peter like a floaty, trusting that he would keep him safe. 

He had no logical reason to be so afraid every time their eyes met a shock threw itself into him, prickly sensations spreading across his body like the glances were enough to end his life but he thought the chasing-on-all-fours-fiasco was enough reason. 

Hot air hit him the second they stepped in, the aroma of beef being grilled following. It made his stomach grumble, reminding him of how little he’d eaten in the last few days. He set his eyes on an empty booth and walked over. 

He slid into the booth first, then Peter right next to him. Miguel sat down on the other side and stared holes into Peter like he’d talk for him. 

“Ah, waiter!” Peter laughed instead, calling a waiter over to order food. When he asked them what they wanted Miles asked for a Coke Zero and Miguel refused. 

“So?” Miles asked, bouncing his knee under the table. It took everything in him to not listen to his senses and force the table into Miguel’s torso and flee. 

“Oh wait! I forgot to ask you if you wanted me to stay, Miles—“ 

“Stay.” He commanded, wrapping his quaky fingers around Peter’s thick ones. 

There were nights he experienced where all he saw was Miguel. His talons ripping holes into his beat and bruised skin, his voice that snarled venomous words into the opening of his ears, and those arms that held him back from his dad. Seeing him right in front of himself almost felt taboo, like he was supposed to remain a nightmare that could only touch Miles’ fears in his dreams. 

Peter nodded towards Miguel to start, and he did. 

“Morales, like I said before, the cannon was right.” Miles felt his skin fizzle, rage surfacing like the patties being grilled in the kitchen behind them. He let it take over him and it made his fear cower in the corner of his heart. 

“You’re fucking buggin’, man. All this shit and all you have to do is rub in my face that you were right? Do you think that’s what I give a shit about?” Miguel rubbed at his eyes, exhaust apparent on his melanated skin. 

“You didn’t let me finish.” 

“And I don’t have to let you, either. Fuck off.” 

Miguel continued anyways, and if Miles wasn’t so fed up he’d swear it was apprehension deepening his wrinkles. “Like I was saying, my cannon was right but I realized how I treated you was wrong. I apologize, and I will do anything I can to make it up.” 

“Wow, you’re a really great dude, you know that?” Miles sneered bitterly, staring straight into the eyes he’d flinched at earlier. 

“I mean, you go and fuck up your universe, but if that wasn’t enough you had to go fuck up mine too!” He exclaimed, clenching down on Peter’s poor fingers. He jabbed his other hand in Miguel’s direction, index finger stabbing into his chest. 

“Don’t you dare .” Miguel growled in a deep baritone that threatened with all of his being, leaning his upper torso towards Miles’. They were separated by the table, but if they weren’t he was certain he might’ve pissed his pants. Miguel's eyes seemed to glow with rage, pinning his mouth in place. 

Miguel's eyes softened slightly when he saw how he’d frightened Miles with nothing but a few words and a look. He leaned back into the booth and cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to scare you or argue, I just want you to know that I regret what I did.” 

“You regret it but you aren’t sorry . You just want to get rid of your guilty conscience, but I’m not letting you have that. You killed my dad. I hope you live with that for the rest of your sorry ass life.” Miles rushed to say as he braced for another rattley grumble of anger-soaked words that didn’t come. He hopped over Peter’s legs and zipped his jacket up. 

“Wait Miles, where’re you going?” 

“I’m done. If I have to look at his face anymore I’m gonna lose it.” His throat shook with unsaid paranoia, and he tightened his hood around his head. 

“Okay…let me walk you home?” Peter stood from the booth, turning back to converse with Miguel using their eyes alone. 

Miles shook his head. “I need time alone.” Time alone as in time to process both of the apologies, his situation with his Mom, Ganke, everything . He gave Peter a quick, stiff side hug that he instantly regretted and walked out of the diner like his pants were on fire. 

Chapter Text

Pants on fire Miles concluded, was not a good look. 

Sight? 

Experience. 

His calves set into a rhythm of dull throbs and muscles pulling in overtime to propel his feet further down cold asphalt and dodge litters of discarded trash left to decompose. His shoes, as he found out the hard way, definitely weren’t fit for all the exertion he’d been putting himself through. 

But even with the ache and clusters of ticklish stabs that ghosted over him, he felt euphoric because he was gone. 

From his Mom, concerned eyebrows knotted up and offers for food. Disappointed glances and tense shoulders that looked as if they were holding his and hers world up. Those shattering sounds she made when he pushed her further and further away from his heart, years of progress being ruined with handpicked words she tried to fit into him like a handful of keys and one lock; to his heart. 

From Hobie, big and broad in both personality and body— covering both of them with his shadow. Loud bolstering voice that struck him everytime he spoke, making him fall deeper in love. And the way he’d squinted with hesitance at him the last time they saw each other, all absent in the head with that stupid guitar and stupid pretty face, disregarding him like he was one of his other love-sick puppies who eyed him down the street like he was eye candy and nothing else.  

And the most recent contenders, Peter and Miguel. A lethal combo, who to be honest, he wasn’t ready to face. The whiplash of Peter’s candied sweet words that applied a soothing balm over the searing, crashing, tough spits of Miguels’ left him wondering if he was just too sensitive or crazy . 

He had a lot to do— a lot to fix. But he wasn’t ready to do any of it, his pit of depression was much more comfortable to slink into. 

Miles never understood why people in movies would always be filmed crying in bathrooms. There were so many other places— tucked away under a stairway, or hell even an empty classroom. So why he was breathless, nose clogged with snot, and swollen eyes, perched on the edge of a toilet bowl in the unisex bathroom?  He couldn’t explain it either. 

The sleek design of the bathroom pissed him off. State-of-the-art white sinks and counters shiny enough to see his own reflection. Not a single dirty toilet; prim and proper, it was what he hated. Even after a year of the school he’d never learned to love it or the people there, because he belonged with people like him, ones that didn’t mind a little mess in the bathroom and a few scribbles etched in pen or colored pencils on the sides of stalls or undersides of classroom seats. 

It was just a bathroom, but it made him feel disgusted, because he felt like the opposite of what it was. But he couldn’t be picky, not when he was biting his nail beds till they drew blood, holding back bodyrocking sobs that made his head thump with every heaving inhale. 

The hallucinations of his dad being there had begun to become so real . He swore he could feel his encouraging hard pats on his back telling him he was enough or hugs tight enough to bind every broken piece of him back together. Like his most wanted feelings he’d never get to make with his dad again, they would be transcribed into neatly lined paper and shipped off to his brain, showing him exactly what he desired. What he’d never have again . 

After the fight with his Mom and Ganke, it had only been two days but mental health was indiscriminate— raising hell on him for trying to force himself back up with a smile. Panic attacks and the suspicious herd of growing excuses for needing bandages to his Mom in a short amount of time. The fact that it was the only time he dared to look her in the face and talk wasn’t helping his case either. 

Miles pulled his knees closer together, fisting the material of his sweats closer to his chest to shrink in more on himself. He pressed his sit bone closer to the edge of the toilet bowl and prayed— begged , to whoever was listening, that he wouldn’t have to suffer so much for longer, because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to make it. 

Whoever was listening, didn’t hear him correctly. 

DANGER , Miles’ spider senses buzzed into the pulse of his veins, pushing his knees ahead of him before his feet could catch up. He rounded a corner, praying that he’d stalled for enough time to think . 

A simple walk then a bus, that was how easy his commute home was supposed to be— but he was Spiderman, and spidermans never had it easy. 

He thought to rely on the thrum of electricity rising in his veins or go invisible, but he’d already tried the second and the villain saw right through it. 

“You can’t hide, Miles. ” The heinous vocal scraped down his vertebrae like a sharp knife, a flash of nausea stirring in his stomach. He turned to face the source of screeching voices mixed into one, but a fist met his face instead. 

His vision went sideways, swimming and turning before his shoulder slammed into a light pole, slowing the momentum from the punch. He bit into his hand to muffle a loud groan of pain and pushed himself on his feet. 

“Hey man, usually you say ‘hey!’ or ‘how’s your day?’ not punch me across the street!” Miles ran for cover, eyes scanning over the street to look for the grotesque figure that might’ve dislocated his shoulder. They stood tall— around the same height as Miguel, and a dark look in their eyes. He knew they were an anomaly from their appearance, every action rough like sandpaper.  

“How do you know my name anyways? Or how I look, just my input but that’s a little creepy.” Miles stalled, charging the electricity up in his palms. He leaned his body over from the side of the car to get a look at the villain again— but they were gone. 

“Eyes over here.” A hand wrapped around the back of his throat, a handful of twists being tugged along with it. He remained level headed and planted his hands flat against the hold, releasing all of the charged up electricity he had been preparing. 

When the hold didn’t release he began to panic, breathing going choppy as the hold on his neck tightened. He struggled in it, digging his fingernails into their wrist. 

“Stop fucking moving around Miles, or I’ll kill you!” The villain seethed, squeezing tight enough to restrict his breathing. His eyesight faltered, flickering to a memory of similar sensations and terror, and he froze. 

Miguel wrapping his hand around Miles’ neck with ease, slamming his body into the train, jolts of pain shocking his body over until it dulled his senses, fangs and claws alike forcing themselves into the traumatic memory like fungus. 

He bawled, thrusting another charge of electricity up the side of their forearms— which clearly did nothing, because they swatted his hand away and pressed the tips of their fingers deeper. 

“Please, please, I—I’m sorry Mi— Miguel.” Miles babbled, kicking his legs as he was lifted off of the ground. He felt hopeless; no one was coming for him, this would be the day he died and it would be one where he couldn’t apologize to his Mom, Hobie, Ganke, Peter— 

His train of thoughts seized when two punches pummeled into the pit of his stomach, pushing up bile and the oxygen he’d managed to procure from persistent writhing and squirming. 

“Didn’t know the Spider-Man in this universe would be so weak .” The villain sneered before their knees hit the ground, and Miles had never thanked the timing of glitches so much more than then. 

He took off, only managing two steps before a hand grabbed right below his ankle and he lost his balance, falling face first to the pavement. 

“Oi! You up?” Cool metal pressed into the fat of his cheek and the scent of fresh newspaper wafting just below his nostrils. 

“ Fuck .” He cursed, shutting his eyelids airtight in case blinding light could ease in. The pounding headache taunted him— limiting him from forming coherent thoughts. 

“That thang ain’ here now, you’re safe, you hear?” The metal rings ghosted the side of his cheekbone then rubbed soothing circles into his temples, releasing the tight knot of tension. He pressed his head into the fingers and smiled, light and soft. 

“Yeah… Hobie?” He lilted, chasing the warm fingertips with his forehead. He tried to fight the need to curl into Hobie, feel the pokes of studs and spikes on his cheeks and laugh like a hopeless romantic, but he couldn’t.  All the anger he’d directed towards Hobie dispersed into thin air like it was never there. The punk snickered and caressed the head full of twisted curls. 

“How long was I out? Where is he? He knew my name. He could withstand my electricity too and could see wh—“

“Slow your horses, luv. I laid his ass out, he’s Brown Bread .” There was a sliver of malice in Hobie’s voice, but it was almost like music to Miles’ ears. He didn’t understand the last bit of slang he’d just managed to utter under the low rumble of Hobie’s utter, but sticking around in New York long enough gave you ears good enough to pick out certain edges to a voice. A deeper part of him— most though, was disturbed on why Hobie had “laid his ass out” when he was just doing villain-of-the-week things. 

“Jus’ takin the piss, bonked his ass so hard ‘e slept right through the portal jump to tha bloody spider lobby.” Miles let his shoulders fall in relief, because making someone else get their hands dirty for him was something he’d dread— no matter how great it felt to be protected. 

“Good, I’d be a lil disturbed if killing was that easy for you.” 

Hobie’s finger faltered in motion it’d set of coiling Miles’ twist lying above his forehead, then popping his finger from it. “Yup.” 

“But ain’ a villain like tha’ lightwork for you usually? Wussup?” The motion kicked back into action, and Miles moved his head closer to make it easier. 

The one thing Miles wished Hobie could tone down on was how observant he was. Eyes that’d follow him like a hawk and cryptic touches. The saliva in Miles’ mouth dried, and a sponge took its place. He was a good liar— but he didn’t want to lie to Hobie . 

“Just off my game bro.” His tone was an octave too cold, too suspicious, and from the way Hobie’s eyes flickered to his face for a split second after he said it, he knew he’d caught on. 

Hobie decided to keep quiet, instead nodding as if he understood. “Ay, you good. Les get outta here, I got a hella’vu apology to give.” 

“And who could you be giving this apology to?” He questioned, feigning ignorance. He hopped up from Hobie’s knee and wiped at a dried dribble of blood just below his chin, relieved the not-so interrogation was over. 

“Wouldn’ you like to find out?” Hobie shook his legs out and Miles’ eyes traveled to his body, scoping out for the Spider-Man suit that peaked from under his clothes. 

On top was an oversized gray hoodie, stretching over the full length of his arms before a few familiar bracelets cut it off at his wrists. Black, skinny jeans that were missing the usual tattered rips that screamed Hobie’s name, and his usual boots were traded for worn down sneakers. The whole outfit was off putting . Even without him saying anything Miles knew something was wrong because Hobie Brown didn’t half ass his outfits, even if it was for something as mundane as a stop to the grocery store. 

And his hair— his hair was in a bun . It wasn’t how it was supposed to be, or how he was supposed to be. Anyone who knew Hobie also knew that he took pride in every locked strand of hair in his wicks, and how much time he took to care for them weekly so he could wear them out loud and proud. 

“Who’re you?” Miles joked, giving Hobie another look. 

“Have your bubble but ‘m the same, jus’ a lil laid back today.” Miles bobbed his head, but he’d be an idiot if he believed Hobie just like that. 

“Snacks an’ a brill tall building.” Hobie walked a step behind Miles, arguing that if he got too tired he would catch him. The sentiment was great— but did friends really say things like that? 

“Uh, alright. There's a bodega around the corner for the snacks and we can swing for a spot.” Miles ticked off his fingers, pressing his toes into the soles of his shoes. He felt jittery, a mixture from his small meal that left him hungrier and the constant bump of Hobie’s knuckles swinging too far to meet his palm. 

“That sounds ace. You alrigh’ though? You don’t look so good.” Hobie’s eyes narrowed in on Miles’ body, peering down as they searched for a reason he’d been acting like he was. His feet halted in front of the store, itching to run in and ignore the probing question. 

“Hobie, I’m fine! Now let’s go in, okay? I’ll pay.” He forced one of his signature blinding smiles, grabbing the door handle to the store. 

“Whateva you say, luv.” God, he really had to stop using that nickname. 

The tension faded into the actions of them both, breaking off into the store to find what they wanted. Miles focused on the back of the store where the drinks were, while Hobie turned to the aisle where the chips sat. 

“Any crisps in mind?” Hobie’s voice easily projected over the boring music playing from somewhere behind the counter. 

“Nah I’m alright, get anything!” Miles yelled back, pushing the freezer door shut. He wasn’t planning to eat anything, so he got a diet drink and grabbed a Gatorade for Hobie. 

He tossed the drinks back and forth in his arms, poking his head between isles to look for Hobie. 

“Hobie, put whatever you just slipped into your sleeve back right now.” The punk shot his hands up in the air, an arrogant sneer on his face. 

“Dunno wha’ you talkin’ about, sunshine.” It was new, and definitely a little cheesy, but how the nickname traveled out of Hobie’s throat like a love song only meant for the two of them to hear made shocks spike down his spine. He could feel his ears burn hotter by the second. 

He still felt so cold though, and he licked the edges of his mouth to shove down the urge to clack his teeth back and forth. 

Hobie’s eyes flitted down to Miles’ face, “Then let me check.” He took two steps towards Hobie, fingers unclenching from a formed fist. 

“Alrigh’.” Hobie breathed airily, body hitching when Miles placed his bare hand on his sweater sleeve. 

“Your hands’ cold.” Miles inched two of his fingers up the inside of the sleeve, dragging the top of his chipped nails against Hobie’s arm. 

“It’s just really cold in here.” 

Hobie cocked a knowing look at him, before he flinched again. Something in him told him to pull his hand back and act like it’d never happened, but he couldn’t .

“Hmm… where’d you hide it?” His hand was almost touching brown skin full of life, dotted with black moles scattered around like they were destined for Miles’ hands to work through and connect every single one. Hobie wrapped his free arm around his mouth, tilting his head away at an angle so that all Miles could see was his accessorized neck. He was already missing the shiny piece of metal protruding from full lips that’d bob anytime he got amused. 

“Didn’ know you were such a smooth man, Morales.” And suddenly the touch felt much less platonic. The tips of his finger pads burned wherever he touched, and he was noticing how every few seconds, Hobie would swallow and his Adam's apple would spring like the salvia in his mouth was gathering so fast it could drown him. 

“Seriously, where’d you h—“ Hobie snapped away, turning his back straight to Miles as he cleared his throat. He dug through his pockets and pulled a small packet of cookies from one, slapping it down right where he swiped it from. 

“ Bloody hell , t—there, thas all I half-inched.” 

“I’on even know why you steal, I offered to pay!” Miles shook his head a little, disappointment ready to jump from his face and tackle Hobie. 

“ I’on support tha big companies. You know that by now.” He quipped, taking a large step that put him in front of Miles. As they walked out of the aisle it seemed like every few, scattered pairs of eyes were trained onto the two of them. 

“This small place is anything but a big company.” 

“Oh, quite a shame. It’s one in my place.” 

Were we that loud ? 

Hobie tossed the chips and other few snacks he’d decided he’d let Miles pay for on the register. Miles shook his pockets down for a few seconds before flattening a few crumbled bills between his fingers. 

“Ten dollars, receipt?” The cashier dragged, long hours of customer service and sitting and waiting bold on their face. Miles nodded as he handed the money to them and grabbed the bag. 

“And no offense, because I know you guys are just teenagers, but do stuff like that at home.” 

“C’mon sunshine!” Hobie whooped, voice blasting through the strong noise of wind rushing straight up Miles’ head, making it almost impossible to hear. 

He’d also blame the wind, sharp and biting, for the flush that bloomed over his skin. 

“Nah, you c’mon!” He hollered over a particular powerful gust of wind, webbing his way through tightly packed buildings. Hobie disappeared from his sight before he popped up again— he always did. 

Hobie had been hesitant to let him swing at first. Rather if it was because he was still getting over the last time they’d gone out and he’d ended up in the hospital or if he could see Miles’ alarmingly thinning limbs and constant shivers like earlier, even when they were inside a store with the heater cranked on blast. Or maybe it was a little bit of both— Miles prayed with his fingers locked, nails digging into knuckles that it was neither. 

Hobie said something, but the greedy air carried it away before he could hear it. 

“What?” He questioned three times before giving up, and Hobie slowed his momentum on top of a street light to beckon him over. He shot out a web and fell feet first, letting his body crash against the grating waves of gales. The web shot him up and he placed his arms on the light, pulling the rest of his body up. 

“You’re sluggish, les stop at tha’ building right over there.” Hobie’s masked face told him everything he needed to know; expressionless and hard, no room for argument.

“Two Spidermans?” A pedestrian screamed, alarmed, from below. Miles webbed the camera to their phone before they could even think about photographing the two. 

“Next picture is on the house, swear!” He flashed a masked grin towards the person below then turned his attention back to the punk. 

“I’m not sluggish! Just off my game, like I told you earlier!”  He shrugged his shoulders to his chin, defensiveness weighted on his tongue like tar. 

“Miles, if it was up to me we’d walk . So c’mon, I ain’t finna have a repeat of last time.” Hobie dived off the streetlight, uncaring or unaware of Miles’ protest. 

Miles wrapped the plastic bag tighter around his gloved hand and followed after Hobie, giving up since he knew he couldn’t win against him, not at his own game at least. 

“See, this brill, ain’ it?” Hobie landed first, crossing his long legs to stare out at the streets below, slowly dipping into less numbers of people as the sun had begun to set. 

“Mhm.” Miles sat by him, pulling his knees to his chest with his arms. 

“Don’ be mad, jus’ looking out for you.” Hobie nudged with his knee, pressing the hard part to Miles’ stomach. He saw the light for a second— every touch did that to him, and the spell of his pout fest shattered. 

“Alright. Anyways, here.” Miles unwrapped the bag from his hand, sitting it between the two of them. 

“Shabba Ranks.” Miles snorted, grabbing his drink from the bag. “What does that mean?” 

“Thanks.” Hobie replied, grabbing a bag of chips and his drink from it. 

“How’d you know I love this drink?” He thumbed the cap then popped it smooth off, tugging the bottom of his mask off to put the bottle to his mouth. 

“Lucky guess?” Miles pulled at the bottom of his own and sipped, letting his legs go limp so he could swing them from the ledge of the building. 

“But I know that ain’t your favorite, issit, Miles?” Hobie pressed, cocking his eye at the bolded red print of “ZERO” on his bottle. The airdropped teen degrees, but even then he was sweating. 

“Maybe you’d know if you didn’t disappear for a week, yeah?” Miles took another sip and swished the drink in his mouth. 

Quiet, a chip bag being opened, quiet again. 

He felt humiliated— embarrassed that he was being read like an open book and they hadn’t even been together for longer than a few hours. 

“Guess ‘s time I apologize.” 

“Nah, don’t need it. I forgive you anyways.” Miles kicked his feet farther, letting the cold wind snap his thoughts away for a split second before they came rushing back.

The wind hushed again, so much he could hear his heart running and Hobie chewing on a potato chip. 

“As much as I try to read you, I can’ do it completely.” 

“Better that way, don’t you think? Makes it funner.” Miles tightened the cap around the rim and tossed it back into the bag, pulling his mask back down. 

“Take me home.” 

He turned his back to Hobie, insecure and small, because he knew if he stared into those defiant eyes or laughed a little too forced, he’d catch on again and get closer to figuring it out. It terrified him, and he didn’t want to be read, especially by Hobie Brown. 

Chapter Text

“Take me home.” The words floated in the air for a few seconds, wind gone dead. Hobie’s eyes bulged, but he didn’t say anything— the way he stared down Miles’ eyes was all he had to do. 

“We jus’ got here, why?” Pupils darted down every breath he took. 

“My ma’s worried, you know.” He tugged at the neckline of his suit, letting the cold breeze slip in so he wouldn’t sweat to death. 

“I hate when people lie to me, Miles.” His vocal a tone deeper and less fond than when Miles had searched for the stolen snack, hand elbow deep into Hobie’s sweater arm, but neither had cared. 

“I’m not lying.” He answered, too defensive to back out now. Hobie smirked, like something was funny , and put his weight into his arms that’d leaned back to support him.

“Wanna know why I randomly decided to show?” Needles stabbed at Miles’ neck. A jangle from metal and leather accessories rattled the edge in Hobie’s voice further. 

“Why?” He shielded himself for the answer, hardly aware of why he was terrified to hear it. Knowing Hobie, it could be something very absurd. 

“Your mum found your watch. The one I made ya.”

Why was it getting so hot? 

Miles’ suit seared into his skin, sweat gathering at every tight crevice where fabric squeezed a bit too tight. His sight was dotting, black circles dancing in his vision like they were chanting. 

“And?” There was no masking the weighted quiver in his voice, wiggly like it was walking on tightrope. His throat was closing, and he knew it was a matter of time before something bad happened. 

“She decided to message tha group chat wih’ me, Pav, ‘n Gwendy. Asked us if we knew why you were barely at home anymore, gone, y’know.” 

Hobie was always one to tiptoe, bite his words before he finished, slither and teased the point because he wanted the other to come to their own conclusion. 

“And you came?” He ran circles over his clothed thigh, the smidgets of bolted pain from raw cuts were enough to keep him on the verge of panicking. 

“You mad? Why’s that even a question.” His voice hearty and loud, how it should’ve been all the time. 

“Because…” Miles hauled the other part of his sentence with him, an empty bag stuffed with surgared lies and impromptu excuses. Hobie steeled beside him, as if he was waiting; holding his breath, like in his head he was filling in every blank Miles’ wanted to scream, but didn’t. 

He stilled the rotation of his thumb and took to popping his knees out of the position they’d manage to lock themselves into, stretching his back next as he stood as tall as he could— as tall as someone with the baggage of weighted guilt should. 

Everything sloshed to one side of his vision like it’d been shaken up like soda, fizzy bubbles chorusing twistedly to protest let him fall! He hardened his legs, weakness spreading across the full expanse of his body. 

“I ain’ done with you.” 

“Don’t need you to.” Cold, cold, cold. Like the rumbling wind terrorizing pedestrians who had been ignorant enough to walk out the house with thin layers, like Ganke’s tone when he’d told him off, like he was now . 

Hobie’s barrier snapped, emotion fresh and inflamed on his face, the print radiating off of his proud chest gone dull like the ink had run short. 

“I see what you’re doin’, an’ it ain’t gonna work.” Crude denial, an emotion Miles pleaded he’d never have to hear from someone so sure of themself again. 

Defeated? Guilty? A mix of both? He crouched on his knees, the distant closer and more precarious than last time, placing a hand on Hobie’s knee.

Hobie bounced his leg into the touch, wrestling his mouth ring with his tongue. 

“Sum else I wanna get off my chest, I can make it fast since you’re desperate to leave.” 

“No, take your time.” Miles picked out the cautiousness in his voice, spelling out danger letter for letter, but he paid it no mind— whatever that was so heavy on Hobie’s mind was so much more important.  

Hobie had transformed into an anxious knot of jitters, bouncing his legs as if he wanted to take off. It did nothing to quell Miles’ growing fear as well, letting thoughts fester under the heat filled spotlight he’d been placed under.  

“Just kiddin’ Sunshine, tha look on your face could be in a museum .” Hobie’s neutral face was back, all hints and cries and small wrinkles that’d crease his face when he let his walls fall, tightened. Miles knew he’d lost his chance to hear Hobie open up and a part of him wanted to cry. 

“Oh,” He placed his burning palm around the other one, already missing the warmth of Hobie’s body, “It’s aight.” 

The defeat pressed into every sour part of his mind, and he understood now how everyone around him felt when they couldn’t get him to talk. 

“Still want me to take you home? Quite a smooth talker, Morales.” Another joke to cover the tracks of his moment of vulnerability, Miles decided to let it go for now. 

“How’d it go!?” Two voices chimed, swinging the front door off its hinges to let Hobie in. He bent over to untie his laces and chucked the sneakers somewhere into the living room. 

“It was alrigh’.” His heavy sweater was next, dropping it right next to the door. His muscle shirt did little to shield him from the scrutinizing gaze— Gwens eyes widening as she struggled to tell bruise from hickey, and he was thankful for the dark that’d fallen over the sky and the fact he was behind on his light bill. 

“You’re shaking, I don’t think it was alrigh’ .” Pavitr squeezed Hobie’s hand, leading him over to where Gwen was pressed into the side of his couch, a quilted blanket laying over her loosely. She opened the end and patted the spot next to her. 

“C’mon Hobs.” She beckoned, her voice soft like pillows. He wouldn’t let anyone but the ones inside his apartment take that tone up with him, maybe Miles . He plopped down beside her, stretching his long legs far. 

“Yeah, it ain’t alrigh’, but it went better than I thought.” He downplayed the better, pushing past the other teenager’s hand flat on his arm, the fact he looked way too skinny to be healthy, or even their borderline argument. 

“Oo, ooo! Better how?” Glee popped into Pavitr’s being like fireworks, he bounced on his heels and got up into Hobie’s space, the scent of Gayatri’s stubborn perfume and a dish Pav’d shoved up in Hobie’s face every time they hung out at his house, saying, “Eat as much as you want, dude! I can always make more!” 

“Well, I almost snogged him. I think I woulda if he hadn’t trapped me so good.” He could feel the corners of his mouth aching in delight, happiness clouding over him like a euphoric cast. 

“Snogged?” Gwen’s pink highlights inched closer, interest showing in between the gap in her two front teeth and her fingertips that drummed the percussion part of a song the two of them had been obsessed with blasting in their ears as they patrolled in each other's worlds against his toned bicep.

“Trapped?” Pav joined, face so close to Hobie’s his silk hair tickled the piercings on his ear. 

“I wanted to kiss him, horribly. Was itchin’ to, but he didn’ look ready for any of that and I don’ even know if the bloke fancies me.” 

“Oh my god. Oh my god , Pav both of them are so stupid!” Gwen fell back onto the couch, holding a pillow to her face to playfully scream into it. 

“I know!” Pav leaned back into a laugh, cranking and building up until it exploded into full wheezing. 

“Is there something you two want to let me in on?” But his question was drowned out by the others' laughter that was sure to warrant a noise complaint the following morning. 

“Wait, omigosh.” Pavitr wheezed out, holding his stomach to halt his laughing fit. Gwen’s snorting stilled too, and a comfortable silence fell over them. 

Good Hobie, you got them off guard, now bring it home. 

“There was somethin’ else, but is’ just a suspicion for now, I ain’ got no proof so don’t go yappin’.” He took a tightened scrunchie from the depths of his wicks, shaking his hair out and allowing his scalp a rest. 

“Okay?” Gwen caught onto his tone change, rustling back onto the side of his arm. 

“He was too underweight— and he had a pop but it was diet. It coulda been just a quick mistake cause we were rushin’ but then he refused to have any crisps.”. His eyes flew back and forth, trying to gauge their reactions, trying to see if they knew anything. Pavitr’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline, a usual one when he was shocked. 

Gwen, however, looked guilty, and combined with her lip that’d begin to quiver he could already guess she was blaming herself. 

“You good, Gwendy?” She turned her head away, set on not letting the other two see her face, but he’d already glimpsed it. 

“Come out wih’ it, I don’ play when it comes to Miles.” He pressured, saliva surging in his throat. Pav squeezed so hard on his fist it went numb, but considering what he had heard, it was difficult to be mad at him. 

“I can’t. I promised him.” Promised? Promised what? What’d he missed? Something between the two of him? Something he wanted to keep secret? Did he not pay enough attention? Was it already too late? 

“Please, if it’s somethin’ tha’ can put him in danger I need to know—“

“No you don’t! Just stay out of it!”

Ouch. 

Hobie thought. 

Gwen dived in to fix it, mask how blunt she just was, but it was already too late . 

“I—I can fix it okay? I’ll fix it just don’t bring this up again!” Franticness shadowed her voice.   

Nothing’d hurt as bad since Miles had looked him down with such blazing anger, such sadness. Or maybe akin to the time he’d been pinned down, begging in distress for someone who’d never show because he was homeless and alone, out for anyone who’d offer crisp bills or a place to sleep for the night. 

Alone— that’s how he felt, as she shot his comforting hand away, his silver rings stamping his skin like the sun. He knew he wasn’t, but he could count on his fingers how many people he had there for him, in his small, pathetic , corner, and it felt like it was about to tick down to one less. 

Pavitr, ever the fresh air stuck an arm out between them. “Guys, calm down! We need to stay level headed and think about how we should approach Mi—“ 

“We can’t help him, Pav! I couldn’t help him ! A—And I’ve known him the longest!” Gwen shot down another contender who’d stepped up to the plate, Pavitr sinking back with a hurt look.

Gwen choked on tears, tightening a stolen cardigan from Gayatri around her waist. It felt like a mockery of her bold, black messily done eyeliner and another twin set of piercings that’d found their way around the bridge of her nose, pink knit trying to win the fight of fashion staple with her hair box dyed hair. 

She ran her fingers through it, pacing around the room like she’d already fucked something up. “ Fuck! ” Pushed out in between the gap of her two front teeth followed by a frustrated, throaty groan that voiced her guilt for her. 

“We can help him together !” Pavitr recovered, a sniffle finding its way loud into the room. So uncanny for Pav with his bright smiles and infectious laugh, flawless hair and the scent of sunshine that flowed through him. Hobie was too busy trying to calm his racing heart to hear it though. His sweaty palms, the looming feeling of dread like when a guitar string would snap under the pressure of his thrumming fingers, and a gnawing feeling he couldn’t wrap his arms around. 

“Hobie? Hobie.” Warm palms around his shoulders, he couldn’t tell who. They dug into the places where fat and bone met. He felt gone , his mind fluttering to the place it did when the spotlights were making sweat drip down his face like rain or when the throbbing and bruises on his backside felt so bad he’d double over and curse himself for being born . 

“Hobie, wake up! ” 

There was a black, silent hole, and then there was Hobie. Sometimes the two worked in harmony, they ignored eachothers , he went on with his life and it went on with its, sitting and waiting. 

But sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes it was vicious and snappy, and when Hobie would pull his pants down splayed against motel sheets or alone with music so loud it’d burn through his eardrums rather than soothe his thoughts— it would chip at another part of him. 

A small project he’d tried putting in effort in for a new solo, an underground band he’d been obsessed with, a growing amount of excuses to hang out early in the morning with Pav and Gwen because he couldn’t scrub the dirt and dried lipstick stains, bruises and marks off his skin from the prior night fast enough to meet them. 

Those things were miniscule, they were okay, but the thing he was terrified of was losing his love. 

“Get in .” Rio set the car in park, slamming the button for unlock like it was what she was angry at. Miles plopped into the seat behind her that sat diagonal, so he could look at her face but she couldn’t turn around to meet his. 

He hadn’t even expected the night to turn out like this— he was still half gone . The other part of him floating, levitating above the other, leaving him to wonder; what’d happened? 

He relaxed his neck, afro cushioning his head from hitting the car seat too hard, and he closed his eyes, trying to decipher what exactly had happened. 

Miles’ head still felt alien without his twists parted into his hair, but after the rift between him and his mom, he could expect to never have it done again. 

Rio’s warm legs heating him from where he sat in between her, motherly laughter, gentle tension she applied against his scalp to get a long lasting protection style— it was all gone. And he’d been the one to destroy it. 

“You’re never home, you never tell me anything, you lie, skip school, ignore me, Ganke, and the therapist I’m paying for, and now, what? You go and get drunk? Like some animal? Respóndeme ahorita mismo! ” She cranked her hands on the wheel, taking off before he could even formulate a thought. The criticism berated him like bricks, but the alcohol washed it all away. Thick, crimson blood, but he couldn’t feel it with how feathery he felt. 

Oh, oh. He’d stumbled out of the apartment, paying no mind to the time or how frigid it was, searched for something he yearned for, and found a lively party instead. Lead inside, thrown into the middle, he was allowed to bounce and scream and drink the isolation he’d placed himself in for two weeks since Hobie had opened him on a sanitized table for dissection. 

He felt a simmering pot well up inside him, someones hands on his hips, squeezing through the skin like they could peel it off like an orange and worship his bones. He let it happen— let them get close, let them laugh at his slurred jokes brought on by cheap, illegal, alcohol, let their hands travel, then he blacked out. 

A cop, an awkward call, and here he was. 

“How’d you get this car?” A simple slurred question, one to guide her away, coax her into giving up. The car ricketed against a speed bump, he held onto the bottom of the car seat, digging his jagged nails into it. 

“Miles, are you happy with yourself?” 

“Ma, please, not right now.” His words were getting more concise, easier for her to pick at with the way she scrunched her nose from the front scene and slid her hands over the wheel to the left. 

“If not now then when? Tomorrow? Next week? When I drop dead?!” Her grip tightened on the wheel, eyes trained ahead like if she looked back she’d break. One hand broke loose, forearm resting on the storage compartment, a red light blaring from the car's blindspot. 

He’d squeezed his fist enough to make it through this, he couldn’t feel anything, the throb in his heart was because he’d skipped meals again— its what he told himself. 

Rio slammed the brakes and put the car into park. 

“Papi, we can’t keep going on like this. One day we’re going to crash, we’re going to fall and it’ll be so bad we won’t be able to stand again. So please, please—” 

His senses told him before his eyes did, something familiar was there. Another one like him, a spider, and dread flowed through him. He couldn’t prepare himself in less than a minute, given he’d just had the worst car ride of his life, or maybe the fact he’d been pushing away the other three for weeks, excuses for meet ups and leaving them on delivery. 

He breathed, then pushed his bedroom door open. A figure idly knocked a figurine back and forth with their finger, humming to themselves. Broad shoulders and toned arms— anyone with eyes would be able to tell through a tight, black cropped shirt and embroidered baggy jeans that that was Gwen. 

She turned on her heels to face him, a flashing smile cut out from printed paper pasted on her skin. It wasn’t hers— it was forced and wasn’t genuine, the emotion didn’t reach her face, something was off. 

“Oh hey, Miles. Let’s talk.” 

Chapter Text

“Okay.” The dread that flowed in the form of a cold sweat after Gwen sealed the deal was uncomfortable– off-putting because she’d just done something that wouldn’t be easy to take back. She dropped her head and turned away from him completely.

Miles smiled, pushing himself up from his desk chair. He seemed happier and relieved, albeit with the trail of fresh blood rolling down his thigh in bright red blood it didn’t do much to soothe the lumps in Gwen’s throat. 

She barely felt disturbed. After months of endless scratches and the occasional small chunk of flesh being lost in a fight, she began to become desensitized to blood, limp bodies, and infectious cuts straight out of a horror movie– it came with the job. 

But her senses had never blared this loud since she thought he was dead under that rubble in Mumbattan. 

“This never happened, aight?” He peered down at her, and when she peered back his eyes seemed different. A pool of disturbance snaked down her back as he broke his long, unblinking stare with a smile. 

She swallowed back another growing lump in her throat and nodded, “Fine, but only since I want you to know I’m here for you, okay?” 

“Yeah sure, Gwen. Let’s see how long that holds out for.” The strained positiveness went limp as he shuffled to

She couldn’t say anything to it. He was right. 

The second apology came in the form of a letter. Miles could tell from the lifted font, like Miguel’s claws elevated the pencil enough for the words to nearly levitate off the envelope that the cursive name was his, even without ever being taught it. 

Gwen held it out, chipped black nail polish brandishing her nails as they fluttered over the white letter. The nails reminded him all too much of Hobie. Pitch-black nail polish was painted over the fabric of his suit, and somehow the polish always managed to stick on during fights like glue. Something squirmed in Miles’ stomach that made him feel like he wanted to vomit. 

“He wanted me to give you this.” Gwen’s empty voice was off-putting, her short sleeves layered under her crop top pulled tight enough to cut her circulation around her arms, pale skin angry red where the fabric cut into her arms, and Miles was confused on why she hadn’t loosened them. 

He could feel his legs giving out with raw fear . Just an envelope, but he hadn't had time to shield himself from sharp fangs and a criticizing glare.

“Er, well? Do you want it? I heard he was working on it for a few days, but to be honest I know either of us could give less of a fuck.”

Another minute ticked by and she broke her stare to fidget with her jeans that’d got caught under her sneakers. 

“I– I umm– I don’t–” His lips dried, and his throat was closing up like it refused to let anything else slither out. He didn’t have the strength that he did when Peter was by his side, because he felt safe by the older, like he would throw himself in front of Miles if Miguel came running on all fours. 

He didn’t have the confidence fueled by anger and cockiness that ran through his veins like blood when Miguel was mentioned. Like he was in his face with a hard snare and eyes that could kill. 

All he had was his trauma, and a few unhealthy coping methods to get him through tough nights when all he could close his eyes to were Miguel’s hands around his throat, furrowing his claws into the muscle tucked under brown skin.

“Read it, or don’t.” She flicked the envelope in the air with her index finger and used her other wrist to web it to the ceiling. 

“So uh, hows Kilometers…?” Miles stared at her, mouth pressed so thin she could sense the restlessness in it. 

“That’s just, not really why I came. I came ‘cause we need to talk. Those messages on our watches aren’t working anymore.” 

Dread knotted his stomach like bundled chords, he could already tell where it was heading. 

“That promise—“ She paused and hardened her face, “The one I made to you? I can’t keep it anymore.” 

“Why?” He was surprised by the raspiness mixed into his voice, steeling his legs straight enough to take a step forward Gwen. 

She avoided eye contact with him, bringing her arms to her chest as she leaned against his bed frame. The moonlight filtering in from his window darted over her features every so often she’d switch her weight from one foot to the other. 

Heavy eyebags, greasy,  frazzled hair, her complexion unnaturally pale– he could tell she hadn’t been well, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure it’d been because of himself. 

“ Because , Miles. This is hurting me– but most of all,” She paused to thrust her hands out at his body, the oversized clothes that hung over it loosely, “ You . And I can tell, I can because you refuse to hang out with us and your room is so fucking messy and I just know you haven’t put something with actual nutrients in your body for a while.” Her eyes, still trained to the floor like they’d tell her why she couldn’t help him, met him for just a second, and something akin to repulsiveness throbbed on his tongue. 

There it was. That brew of agitation boiled in his body. “Oh, we wanna talk? We can talk, Gwen. Don’t go shoving your face into my business when your eyebags are as dark as my fucking knuckles.” 

“Miles, for once can we not argue? Can we just, I don’t know, talk? You just ignore all your problems by lashing out at everyone but that needs to stop right now!” 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You’on know me.” 

“I don’t– I used to, but I don’t. Because you used to be kind and warm, you used to hug me, and god, shit! You would talk to me! Shocker, right? We would’ve been watching a movie right now or, or playing a game… but now you’re just.” He felt his heart squeeze as if she’d shoved her arm in and grasped it. 

“I’m just what , Gwen.” He took another step forward, his forehead close enough to bump with her own. She shook her head no, and licked the dryness from her lips. 

“Spit it out, c’mon. I’m just what? I’m ugly? I suck? I should just die? What!?”

Another smile, but this time it had emotion . Regret twitched on the edges of her lips, sadness glossing over the rest. “ I wish I never said okay not to telling anyone. Because I turned you into a horrible fucking person.” 

Miles couldn’t sleep that night. It was on ones like this he wished he could see the stars. That the light pollution would disperse and he could go so far where it couldn’t touch and he could web so high he’d be able to see the heat radiate off of one. 

His cat purred next to his neck, curling in on herself further. Miles appreciated the warmth, but it did nothing to soothe his anxious thoughts. 

She’s going to tell everyone. She’s going to tell everyone I cut myself and I starve. They’re going to hate me, they’re going to think I’m disgusting. The thought played relentlessly throughout his skull, and by fully into the early morning he’d memorized every pause it took to push to the next word, each breath he would take after a few rounds of the sentences if he put air behind the words, and the quickly normalizing feeling that’d claw into his heart every time he’d repeat it. 

At this point, it felt to him like he was using his Dad’s death as a shield. His head would whisper through curled wisps, “ You aren’t broken because he’s dead, you’re broken because you wish you were instead.” 

“Miles, buenos días.” A hesitant knock at his locked door. He ignored it in favor of his Mom walking back to the kitchen for her morning coffee, but she persisted.  

“I know you’re up, boy. We need to have a conversation about some things.” He groaned, and Gwen had blabbered, just how he’d fear through the stretch of the night. 

“Okay, Mami. Give me a few minutes.” The hardest part of the morning hadn’t been forcing his legs out of his bed, but what came after– after he planted his feet on the cold floor and pulled his bonnet off of his head, what came after dictated the rest of his day. Rather that meant spending most of it crying, or shoving himself headfirst into school work and letting villains use them as their punching bag before he finally decided he’d had enough.  

Two choices. A pill– one he’d been prescribed. He could down the thing, no bigger than his pinky nail with a sip of stale water and have a numb day. No intruding thoughts, no crushing pressure to harm himself, no agonizing hunger that forced him to binge on whatever he could find in the kitchen and then hurl it up. How he should’ve been. 

But there was a reason he almost always chose the other. The medication stripped him of everything he was, including his feelings and everything that made him feel humane. So, on days after a rough binge or when he was craving a blade against his thigh, he wouldn’t pop the pill down his throat. 

He flicked the bottle onto its label and wrestled a hoodie on. 

“Miles, now!” He opened his room door and the smell of bitter coffee hit him. Rio, who was out of sight, turned the corner and pointed towards the couch. The worn hoodie gave him something to distract his mind from, folding the sleeves into cuffs and then redoing it again. 

“So, are you going to tell me what this little stash is?” 

“My god, Mami. What stash–” An inconspicuous black bag slammed onto the coffee table, and before the contents inside could spill out he threw his arms out towards it. 

“I already saw. Razors and laxatives, Miles? Really?” He clicked his tongue, a wave of irritation washing over the jagged pieces of his throat. 

“I mean, aren’t you a nurse? You already knew I wasn’t going to the restroom normally with how little I eat, didn’t you?” 

Her house slippers came into his line of vision as she stared him down. “ Mientras tu vivas en esta casa, don’t you talk smart to me boy. I have been doing nothing else but trying to help you. You’re so lucky your friend told me about the crazy stuff you’ve been doing to yourself. First, you close up yourself, then you start coming home at the crack of dawn doing who knows what, and now you want to do this nonsense?” 

“Lucky? I’m lucky ? All you’ve been doing is crying yourself to sleep and dropping me off at therapy the next afternoon! Some bonus points if you decide to check up on me after I leave that fucking hospital looking worse than when I went in.” 

“That’s all you see it– me as?” Rio took a sharp inhale and crossed the few steps it took to touch the couch.

“Yes, it is! And sometimes, you’re so fucking annoying I wish you had died instead of Dad!” 

Rio’s face dimmed, her mouth drooped, she took another sharp breath and her knees gave out as they collided with the living room rug. 

Miles had no time to regret what he’d said before her hands balled into fists around a couch pillow. She let out a horrible sob. One that racked her body like the ones he had and he would never wish on another. But his wishes never came true, especially with how ugly he’d been treating everyone close to him. 

“Innit brill how nice you are to ya motha’?” The baritone spread through the room like incense smoke. The insides of Miles’  body jumped at the familiar voice, the accent, the confidence carried with it. He knew he wasn’t hallucinating when Hobie’s warmth brushed past his shoulder. He shoved past the punk without a glance and headed for his closet. 

“How much did you hear?” He grabbed a duffel bag and began to shove clothes in it. He couldn’t be here anymore. Not when he’d just broken his Mom like that. Even if she thought he was still welcome, he knew himself he wasn’t. 

“Em… a lil. A tad bit… Aight maybe all uh it.” Hobie widened his pointer and thumb as he talked. The eyes on his mask were scarily expressive as they painted his mischief. 

“Okay.” He bit the insides of his mouth as he continued to place clothes into the fast fulling duffel. Moving back fully into his dorm wouldn’t be hard, but living with Ganke again would. 

“You wanna talk abou’ it?” 

He scoffed, “ Hell no , Hobie.” 

“Thas fine. Jus’ one question, eh?” Hobie bent beside him, his watch gleaming with a barrage of notifications that Miles, really, really wished he answered. He nodded despite the voice that told him not to, and Hobie lit up.

“Who’re you so mad a’?” Maybe Hobie was talking about all the recent outbursts he had the second someone tried to talk to him, anger welling up so far it’d burst and burn anyone nearby. The hatred that’d cull his thoughts until all that was left were poisonous ones, demanding them to make him suffer, revel, and celebrate when another unwarranted bruise buried itself into his flesh. 

The self-hatred was destroying every emotion he had except it— rage.

His hand faltered around a fist of undershirts and socks that he’d balled to stuff into the bag. 

Hobie stared at him for a few seconds, took a long sigh, and then the eyes on his mask popped right back into a smile. 

“Anyways, I’ll do ya a solid, since I saw summat stuff you been holin’ in, I oughta do the same? We’ll forget this all happened until I bring you back.”

“No, it’d be better if you left.” He pressed one hand to the side of the duffel bag as he used the other to zip the bag up. Hobie just laughed, deep and song-like, like one of his chords were being strummed in his throat, and waved his finger in the air. 

“Nuh-uh. You ain’t gettin’ out of this one Miles, les go.” 

The portal was chaotic, he felt his atoms split and rearrange themselves as he was led from one reality to the next. For a second he felt his stomach throttle into his stomach, and he lurched forward as the portal spat him out on the roof of a building. Being a Spider-Man made portals like that light-work when he was actually healthy. 

“Easy,” Hobie murmured. He bent down and his cool hands wrapped around Miles’ clammy ones. To miles, it was like magic, on that newspaper-cut building as the nausea dissipated from his body. 

He was composed, and confident, but his eyes bounced in anxiety. Something Miles didn’t like to see— something that made his anxiety dance as well. 

“Aight you, stand up.” The awkward silence as he gathered himself and stood was humbling. Hobie was smart, if he didn’t know then, he knew now. 

Miles’ breath was haggard, his heart thumping out of his chest, even a half-deaf man could hear how loud he struggled to calm it. 

“Sorry.” He couldn’t do anything but apologize for his pitiful state. 

“Naw, ain’t nothing to be sorry for. You don’t realize how strong you are, don’t apologize luv.” 

Hobie always knew what to say, how to make him feel like he deserved to breathe. It made him contempt for a moment. 

The building rearranged, the newspaper clippings screamed at his pounding headache, but he couldn’t help being at peace. Hobie led him to the ledge of the building and held his hand like he was never letting go. 

“Come on wit’ it.” Hobie shoved his mask on his face, gesturing with his elbow for Miles to do the same. He blindly followed Hobie down the side of the building, thought slower and less energetic.

“Where are we going?” Miles could feel the pit of nausea in his stomach gurgle again, another dizzy encounter and he was sure stomach acid would come hurtling out of his stomach. 

“Mmm, I gotta brill lil spot I found out that's the same in your world. Met this cat, looks just like me.” 

The pieces snapped together in Miles’ head. They were going to that cat cafe Ganke had led him to one time. Sure, he was a little intrigued about how similar a cat could look to Hobie, but he was more confused about the fact of why they were making a stop when there were much more important matters. 

“I see that look on your face. Don’t get aggro, it's right around the corner Sunshine.”

They dropped down the last bit of the building. Hobie grabbed Miles to support his wobbly legs. He was irritated at himself for needing the help but let Hobie guide him down a sidewalk. 

The cafe was tucked secretly into a corner, outshined by the bustling market by it. Hobie reached for his wrist to stop Miles from walking further ahead but he flinched. 

“My bad, Miles. Hmm, before we go in I oughta tell you sumin. It ain’t pretty enough to spill in a cafe, c’mon.” They were back walking up the side of a building. By now a thin sheen of sweat had started to coat Miles’ forehead. 

Hobie was making him exercise more than he had in the last few days. Sure, he still fought villains, but he cut corners. They plopped down on the ledge of the building, taking a much-needed break. 

Miles watched Hobie’s legs rock back and forth, he seared holes into the intricate details onto his most likely DIY platformed boots, and his tense face. 

“Okay, this’s gon get real corny, but,” Hobie stopped. Almost as if it was a reflex, his hand went to play with his lip piercing. Miles had never seen the other look so anxious, so scared. 

“I’m a whore, like a real, fuckin prostitute,” It was something he’d never expected, but why was Hobie so scared? Everyone knew he wasn’t one to judge. 

“It was the only way I could survive— or that’s what I told myself. But then I started to get greedy, I liked it.” He spat it out like venom, his eyes gone wide, he wasn’t there anymore but it didn’t matter because his pent-up emotions were the ones speaking. 

“I tried to hide it from you. I tried to make it seem like I was alright, but I ain’t like you Miles. I can’t be nearly as strong.” Those hard, searing eyes had clouded over. He followed them down to the chaos that broke out below the building. From there he couldn’t tell if it was a petty fight or a crash with how much text and colors were rearranged. 

Miles grabbed his other hand that’d balled into a fist. There was blood from how tight he’d dug his fingernails into his palm. It was something Miles struggled with too, and his heart had begun to ache like it was on fire.

“Thank you for telling me, man.” He leaned his head on Hobie’s shoulder, hoping the contact would bring him back from wherever his mind had run to. 

“I’d be crazy if it bothered me. I don’t want it to. There isn’t anyone I cherish more than you. You know? I treated you like trash, I acted stupid, and yet you’re always there for me. Hobie, I wouldn’t care if you shot someone dead. I’d be there to help you clean up the body.” He weaved his hand into Hobie’s bloodied one, rubbing soothing circles into it. 

They’d never been this close other than the time they cuddled. This deep into each other's space, mentally and physically. It felt intimate– it was intimate. Heat had traveled up and down his face, he could feel it in the way his ears burned. A few solid moments passed before Hobie pushed words out of his mouth.

“But– I was…” Hobie clicked his tongue, shoving his face away from Miles with a flustered look of his own. 

“You don’t have to force yourself to say anything, Hobie. Just you opening up to me is enough. We can take our time and figure it out together… okay?” 

Hobie shook his head as he disagreed with Miles. 

He grunted, clearing his throat, “I was savin’ my first kiss for you,” his voice a lot more projected than it had been before. It sent a deep shiver down Miles’ back and then an affirming feeling bloomed in his chest. 

But that fluttery feeling he felt came crashing down. 

“Take that back, man. You’ll regret it.” 

Hobie Brown liked him back. Those glances he’d second thought weren’t because he was seeing things. But how could he accept his advances? Miles was undeserving of them. 

He’d treated everyone around him like garbage. Even going as far as to nearly manipulate Gwen, yell things he didn’t mean at his mom, and let his dad die—. He was nothing short of a jerk, and even then Hobie still liked him. 

“I’on take nothin’ back. I like you. I like how strong you are and your bloody strong conviction. How you stood up for yourself when no one else did. I fell in love with you when you carved your own path.” 

Miles refused to cry. He snaked his hand until it found its way into Hobie’s, and then he pushed himself impossibly further into his space. Every move was slow and calculated, he wanted to be sure that Hobie was being truthful. 

Being with Hobie made the bad thoughts disperse into nothing, maybe if he kissed him, they’d go away for good.

“Enough teasin’,” Hobie tilted Miles’ chin up with his hand and brought it to his face. Hobie paused, that cryptic curl of his lips fading onto his face the longer he did. It was Miles’ turn to get impatient. 

“I’m going to kiss you, alright?” He had barely any experience, only faint memories of clacking teeth and bite marks, a few more recent but blurry from the time he’d gotten wasted. But it’d have to do. 

Hobie nodded and he pressed his lips against his. He felt something like a spark of heat travel through his body, burning his face, and frying his thoughts. It was like a drug. He pressed harder, deeper, and that heat fizzled all his thoughts to nothing. 

Kissing him was magic in itself. He felt euphoric, like he was made for this moment, and for the first time in forever he didn’t hear that degrading voice in the back of his head.

Miles felt the familiar ache of tears sliding down his face. But if Hobie noticed, he was too busy kissing him to notice.