Chapter Text
1.
“Morning Miles,” his mom says, when she finds him at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. "¿Has domido bien?”
She's casual. Too casual, Miles thinks. He narrows his eyes.
"Yeah, I slept okay," he says, slowly, taking his bowl and the box of cereal to the table, weaving around her as she goes to retrieve a mug from one of the upper cabinets. "You?"
“Mhmm,” she hums.
“That's good.”
There’s a brief period of quiet as she busies herself with fixing a cup of instant coffee, and Miles is just starting to relax when she says, “So is Hobie the reason you got your ears pierced?”
Miles lets out a deep sigh. He knew the chill vibe was way too good to be true.
It’s the morning after Hobie’s gig, and Miles has pretty much been floating on cloud nine since Hobie kissed him goodbye at his window last night. After Hobie left, he’d sat down at his desk and, in a fit of inspiration, started making a playlist for him. He’d resisted the urge to text him, trying hard to play it cool after he’d given Hobie what Miles is pretty sure has to have been the most convoluted romantic confession anyone has ever given, in life. The restraint had turned out to be unnecessary though, since Hobie texted him anyway.
Forgot how hungry feelings make me, the text said. I shoulda had more of the platanos.
Miles had snorted.
Yeah i'm finishing them without you right now, he texted back.
Rude, was the immediate reply. Miles grinned.
They’d gone back and forth for the rest of the evening, and when Miles fell asleep, it was with the words sweet dreams, hummingbird in his head and a dumb little smile on his face.
So yeah. All in all, a good end to the night.
It would have been good from the moment Hobie kissed him for the first time, if not for the part where his mom had very nearly walked in on them, like, fully making out on his bed. Miles had never experienced such a quick flip from bliss to panic in his life.
Honestly, with that in mind, it shouldn’t really come as a surprise that she's the one yanking him back down to earth again now. See, this is just what he gets for letting his guard down.
"Mom, really?" He feels the back of his neck warm with embarrassment.
"What?" she says innocently, taking a sip of her coffee. She's already in her scrubs, bag slung over her shoulder, and any other morning that would mean she's in a rush, but apparently not today. "I'm just asking. 'Cause he's got a lot of them, so. I just wanna know if I should be worried that my son might come home as a...pincushion one day."
"Oh my god, mamí,” he says, dropping his spoon in the bowl, exasperated. “Are you trying to say that my—that Hobie looks like a pincushion?"
"No," she says, smiling a little now, at Miles' little slip-up no doubt. Ughh. "I'm saying that's what you would look like if you had that many piercings."
"Wow.” Her lips quirk into a wider smile around the rim of her mug and Miles shakes his head. A pincushion. God. She really got jokes, huh?
Jokes but, Miles notes, still not disapproval, even now that he’s pretty much confirmed that he and Hobie are in fact together. In all honesty, Miles does appreciate that. He knows what Hobie looks like, with his height and his leather and his piercings—older and edgier than Gwen had been, and it had taken his parents long enough just to get used to her. Plus, for all that he’s always got the sense that they wouldn’t mind him dating a guy, it’s not something they’ve ever actually talked about. It’s nice to know for certain that it isn’t a big deal.
Miles feels a small surge of affection swell in his chest. They lapse into another brief, but comfortable silence as he finishes his slightly soggy cereal and she drinks her coffee.
“Oh, by the way,” she says, setting the now empty mug down on the counter. “Just so you know, I did mention it to your father that you had a friend over yesterday.”
Miles takes it all back—his mom is a menace.
“Mom!”
“What? Look, all I said was that he was a friend,” she insists, but if the weird emphasis she’s putting on the word “friend” right now is any indication, he’s pretty sure his dad has to have known what she meant by that. Great. “I'm just letting you know in case you want to talk to him about it.”
“I mean, not really,” Miles mutters. His mom is one thing; the thought of trying to talk about Hobie with his dad just feels…awkward. Honestly, if he can find a way to avoid that forever, that’ll be cool.
“Miles.”
Guess not.
“Fine….”
*****
2.
His dad ends up being the one to bring it up.
“So,” he says, when he stops by Miles’ room the next evening, the word drawn out, his tone overly casual. “I heard from your mom that you had a friend over the other night.”
And yep, there’s that same weird emphasis on “friend.” He knows, he totally knows.
Miles resists the urge to groan as he closes his sketchbook. His dad's caught him not long after coming back from patrol, curled up on his bed with his headphones on and every intention of just chilling for a bit until he passes out. Instead he gears up for what’s almost certainly guaranteed to be a Conversation™.
“Yeah,” he says warily. “I did.”
“Okay,” his dad responds, nodding. “That’s cool, that’s cool.” He clears his throat, glancing around the bedroom like he expects some trace of Hobie’s presence in Miles’ life to suddenly make itself known. Miles is very glad that he isn’t in the middle of drawing anything incriminating and that the thick, studded leather choker Hobie let him wear for his show the other night is currently sitting in one of his drawers, hidden from view. “Have you, uh—have you been friends for a while?”
Miles thinks, bleakly, this might actually be more awkward than the Spider-Man Conversation™ had been, and that was pretty bad.
“Um. A little over a year?” Miles says uncertainly, not sure if he’s supposed to be responding to the subtext of the question or the actual question now. This whole ‘using friend as a metaphor for something else’ thing is quickly getting confusing. “I mean, that’s how long we’ve known each other, so.”
“Right, right,” his dad says, pulling up Miles' desk chair and sitting down now. “But I’m guessing—I mean I'm just going off what your mom said—but I'm assuming maybe you've gotten closer to this friend recently?" His eyebrows raise meaningfully on the word “closer” and Miles has to fight back the soft surge of embarrassed heat rushing to his face when his brain immediately wanders to the thought of Hobie ducking into his space, a thumb tracing over his freckles; the cool brush of metal against his lips when they kissed.
Yeah, close is a word for that, Miles supposes.
"Because if you have," his dad continues, (thankfully) breaking Miles out of that distracted train of thought. "You know that's—that's all fine with me and your mom. You know that, right?”
Miles lets out a little breath he didn't quite realize he was holding, a similar bloom of affection to the one he'd felt talking to his mom yesterday settling in his chest.
"Yeah, I know,” he says. “And um, yeah. I guess you could say Hobie and I have gotten closer recently. Like, very, very recently."
His dad nods again. "Okay. Cool.”
“Cool,” Miles agrees, with a small smile because like. It really is.
“Well," his dad says, standing up now. "In that case, maybe you can invite your friend over for dinner some time. Say next week? Friday?"
He can tell that his dad isn't making a suggestion, so much as a very kindly worded demand.
Goddammit. How do his parents keep tricking him like this?
Miles sighs.
“I'll see if he's free," he says, resigned.
*****
Hobie, as it turns out, is free, and perfectly willing to come by for dinner. Making his boyfriend come to family dinner after barely a week of dating is crazy, in Miles’ opinion, but in typical Hobie fashion, he’s completely chill about it.
“Yeah alright,” he says, on a shrug, cool and casual as ever, when Miles tells him. They’re sitting on the couch in his apartment on Earth-138, hanging out in person for the first time since the night of the gig. Hobie had opened the door and smirked at him and Miles had felt that same dumb swoop in his belly he’s been getting over Hobie for the past six months. Apparently that isn’t going to go away any time soon. Miles is kind of okay with that. “I mean it figures after I met your mum that your dad would be next.”
“I guess,” Miles says, on a sigh. ”I just wish they weren’t always so embarrassing.” Hobie laughs.
“That’s just family, innit?” he says, throwing one arm around Miles’ shoulders and reaching for the TV remote with his free hand. “Alright, come on then. I’m ready to see what this batshit Jurassic Independence Day thing is all about.”
Miles perks up at that.
*****
(“Feels like I’m having some sort of Jeff Goldblum fever dream right now,” Hobie says halfway through the movie, his eyes glued to the screen.
“Stop thinking about Jeff Goldblum,” Miles says, frowning.)
*****
Hobie shows up at Miles’ building the following Friday right on time. His dad blinks when he and Miles greet him at the door, and then he straightens up to his full height, which unfortunately happens to be about an inch shorter than Hobie. Miles winces internally.
"You must be Hobie," his dad says, spine straight, tone veering towards his authoritative officer voice. Miles resists the urge to sigh, but just barely. "Come on in."
"Nice to meet you, Cap'n Morales," Hobie says, on a nod as he steps inside. He’s a little more dressed up than Miles typically sees him, wearing a black button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up against the August evening heat, and with his wicks pulled back. He’s still decked out in all his usual punk accessories though, and the overall effect kind of just makes him look even more intimidating than usual.
Intimidating…but like, in a hot way though? Miles quickly looks away before he gets caught checking Hobie out in front of his dad. Horrifying.
Dinner is...well it's not a disaster, but Miles doesn’t know if he’d necessarily call it good either. His dad isn’t hostile or anything, but Miles can physically see him working to adjust to Hobie’s whole…everything. He thinks Hobie maybe wins over some goodwill by addressing him as Cap’n Morales (even though Miles also kind of suspects he isn’t all that happy to be saying it).
His mom, meanwhile, spends a significant portion of the evening oscillating between asking Hobie polite questions about his music and his part-time studies, and watching the slightly more strained interactions between Hobie and his dad with an expression that Miles recognizes as her trying not to laugh face. Miles decides to take that as a sign that he shouldn't be too concerned.
“So, Hobie,” his dad says once they’ve started on the flan his mom made Miles pick up from the local bakery earlier for dessert. “What do your parents do?”
Miles winces internally yet again, but Hobie, thankfully, seems to take the question in stride.
“They’re not exactly around anymore,” he says evenly. His dad’s expression immediately softens a little.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Hobie shakes his head.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Do you live with any relatives?” his mom asks.
Something in Hobie’s expression seems to flicker for a moment, but then he’s shaking his head again. “No,” he says. “But s’alright. I get by on my own.”
It occurs to Miles then, that he really doesn’t know all that much about Hobie’s family. He knew that his parents had both passed away some time ago, but he doesn’t really know anything about how it happened or who they really were. Hobie mentioned once, in passing, that his mom’s side of the family had originally been from Uganda. Other than that, Miles knows nothing.
He wonders if Hobie ever had someone like Uncle Aaron or Uncle Ben in his life. If he did, Miles suspects they must be gone now too. The burden of being a Spider-Person.
He doesn't believe in a predetermined story, not anymore, but that doesn’t erase the things that have already happened to each of them. As much as he sometimes wishes that it could.
Miles gently nudges his foot against Hobie’s under the table, where his parents can’t see. Across from him, Hobie’s mouth twitches slightly at the corner, the smallest hint of a smile. He feels Hobie’s foot nudge his back and stay there.
Once they’re done with dinner, and his mom waves off Miles’ offer to help with the dishes, he and Hobie go up to Miles’ bedroom. They leave the door open, per his mom and his dad’s request now. Honestly, it’s kind of a silly rule, seeing as they could always just go to Hobie’s very empty apartment for privacy. But, hey, if his parents aren’t going to say anything about that, then Miles sure as hell isn’t gonna be the one to point it out to them.
He connects his phone to the stereo system in the corner and throws on the playlist he’s been working on, sets it to shuffle. The familiar beats of a Frank Ocean song filter softly through the room.
“So,” Miles says, sitting down next to Hobie on the floor. He’s already made himself comfortable in his usual spot, leaning against the foot of Miles’ bed, one arm draped over his knee, all long lanky limbs. “That was…interesting.”
Hobie snorts. “I don’t think your dad likes me all that much, Brooklyn.”
“Nah, he’s just like that,” Miles says gamely, the reassurance possibly just as much for his own benefit as it is for Hobie’s. Hobie frowns a little at that though, like maybe he kind of wants Miles’ dad not to like him. Miles rolls his eyes. He’s gonna just let that one be for now.
They sit together in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the music, Miles enjoying the opportunity to just be close to him. More than anything else, he thinks that might be his favorite thing about being able to call Hobie his now, that closeness. Maybe his dad had been onto something with that whole “close friends” thing.
There’s a different track playing now, something from Talking Heads.
Home, the singer lilts, is where I want to be.
But I guess I’m already there.
Miles reaches for Hobie’s hand next to him. Laces their fingers together.
“Thanks again for coming tonight, Hobes,” he says. The corner of Hobie’s mouth twitches a little again at the nickname. He ducks his head in a way that Miles might describe as a little bit shy if he didn’t know any better.
“Course,” he says. “S’your family.” For a moment he looks like he wants to say more, his head tilting, something thoughtful in his expression. But instead, he just leans down and kisses Miles gently, soft and sweet as the lingering taste of caramel on his lips.
*****