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Numerous pint-sized, floating flakes of snow under the drizzling weather were casting gloopy shadows ceaselessly upon Miles's eyelids, he frowned a bit and groaned under his breath on account of all those unbidden guests. With that being said, he must has forgotten to draw back the widely pulled drapes before he was about to doze off on his cozy, tempting sheets. Great. By all appearances, the typical story went that keeping Straight-A grades at school and being New York's friendly neighborhood simultaneously had the competence to drain the liveliness out of you—And now centred on it has been five good minutes since Miles decided to stretch out his arm in the nippy air for a fair while before finally muting the on-going alarm—That's as likely as not so urban tale after all.
Manhattan was not quite a neck of the woods that never rested, don't get me wrong, when it caught a nap soundly as the luminescence radiated through the gloominess, it snored like a slumber, vicious beast, but predominantly Manhattan was a dim, ambiguous overcast, daydreaming and whirling into the fervency. Miles would snap open his eyes, fumble into his Spider-Man suit and sway along the gentle breezes every fresh, new morning. There were faint, tender kisses of sensuality when morning haze ghosted on his mask and shone gleamingly as he swung down the moment of heavy traffic, the glittering spire atop the Empire State soared above the horizon had him standing tall. It was basically Miles's daily routine before headed for classes, but perhaps that didn't include today—Peter was being as persistent as he would be. Today was his eighteenth birthday.
The incidents occurred ten months ago shattered on collision into shards of sorrow that drowned in the everlasting hollowness which have been living rent free in Miles's mind, even the draft between the hallways was a better listener. He slowly grew to fall in love with lingering around from above, a height where boiling voices barely reached, lofty enough to catch a glimpse beyond the jagged skyline. The tick tock echoed stilly in his bedroom has been a rough, fixed concept for Miles ever since, he threw kicks and punches unrestrainedly towards the injustice to defuse his guilt and doubts, to restore his soul, to exprience aches travelling through his veins, to feel alive. He had a developing habit of laying inert on his back, drawing in long breaths with a tightness to his face and staring into the elliptical galaxy when the night was hush enough to overhear the whispers of the blow and momentary silence reigned the city. Miles could have unburdened himself to his mother or Ganke at sometime, but it was never painless to rip your heart open unambiguously, blood-soaked offering for everyone to witness. It was supposed to be his own struggle and he was under an obligation to signify something new all by himself. That is to say—
"You wanna get a what?" Frankly, Peter was pretty sure his eyes must have seemed widely dilated, alarmed or even a hunted look clinging onto his cheeks spontaneously since Miles was trying his best to disguise his new found discomfiture right off the bat. "Belly button piercing?"
"On my eighteenth birthday, y'know, the day that I get to become an official grown up, which is today," To put it bluntly, Peter was the last person Miles would turn to for advice, not that he was a wicked soul or any kind, but because he was not. The truth is, Peter was the hearth-sipped hot cocoa with a wisp of fragrant haze in late night memories and as solid as the oaks. He was so bright with a dusky-colored hair and a fresh pair of doe eyes crowded with tender glances that eclipse the woven threads of gold bathing in the daylight. They carried the shades of earth caressed by summer thunderstorms, exuding the vibrant touch of a brand new season and glinted with obscure,veiled secrets of the past. Miles adored every bit of it, which made it even harder since Peter was well-aware almost everything about him, the Morales-him or the Spider-Man him. As much as Miles intented to maintain the initiative in his own hands, Peter was probably the only one who truly understood him. Thus, he gasped a lungful of air before laid his heart bare to the man in front of him, "Listen, I know how it sounds, irresponsible, childish, most likely a risky decision. I've thought about it for a while and after everything that happened…I think I need to make a difference."
"You do know that," Peter scrunched up his face, concentrating on Miles's scrappy words with a thoughtful expression hovered on the edge of his lips, "You do not need to prove anything to anyone by doing anything, right? Do you really like it? I'm not questioning your decision, I mean, I just…I don't want you to have any regrets." The tone between his teeth was smooth and bursting with careness aside from worries, "Plus, I don't consider you are irresponsible or childish, like you said, you're a grown man now. There's always an interspace beyond wrongdoings and rightdoings. And you're enough to me."
Again, the typical story went that Miles could not gulped back his eagerness and went on morning patrol in secret and it inflamed the swollen wound eventually. And habitually Peter beared the responsibility to assist in dabbing some iodine in a cotton swab and applied it to his belly ring. The piercing sparkled lustrous silver under a dim of lamplight, showing upon dark skin, moving around bias. Those memories still lived in Miles's head, he would still walk up to the tall edge and watch his world below, enjoying the soreness rushing down his muscles. Only this time, he was not alone, and the gleam within him, everglow.