Chapter Text
Miles didn't pride himself in his cleaning abilities. But his room was always clean, you could see a desk and there were multiple walkways.
His grades were great!! A few stumbles here or there, but he knew he was doing great.
His art was going well. His Dad finding 'legal' areas to practice, even helping him out with some things! And of course, there were his sketchbooks and doodles.
So Hobie was . . . confused when he stepped into Mile's messy room.
There were clothes scattered everywhere. Some looked clean, others didn't smell that well. There was no walkway. He had to step over things and shuffle around.
He walked over to Mile's computer, which for some reason, was on. It was showing his grades and missing assignments. Still perfect as always, but not as good as the last time he was here.
Hobie had been meaning to check on Miles sooner. Things with his band, and Gwen's situation, and Pavitr's universe, the gang hadn't hung out in a while. Hobie cursed himself for not alteast making a call.
Okay, where was-
"Hobie?" a small voice from the bed called out.
"Miles?" Hobie asked, walking over. Miles pulled the covers down, just to be able to see his face. "What are you doing?"
"Sleeping," Miles shrugged.
"Man, when was the last time you took a shower?" Hobie frowned, noticing Miles's hair didn't look the best. "Or cleaned, for that matter?"
Miles hummed, trying to roll back over.
"No, if I knew the reason you weren't coming out to hang out was because you weren't okay, I would have came by sooner," Hobie frowned, gently grabbing Miles's shoulder as he knelt. "I'm not going to judge you or anything, we're here for you, man."
"What?" Miles looked at him confused. "No, I'm fine."
". . . Miles, I say this with love, your room looks really really bad and you don't look any better," Hobie said as he stood back up. "And I don't know about you, but I've only seen these types of rooms from people who need help."
"Oh- No, Hobie," Miles smiled a bit. "It's nearing Spring Break, so almost all of my classes are having some sort of final and a ton of homework. So I've been worried about those instead."
"Instead of your health, Morales?" Hobie frowned, putting his hands on his hip.
Miles winced at Hobie's tone. Dang, did he have to use the last name too? He sounded like his Mom when he first arrived for the weekend. She scolded him too, and told him to take a shower. . . He didn't, he had more homework to do, but still.
"That's not fair-"
"How long have you been studying?" Hobie cut him off. "And have you at least taken any breaks?"
". . . Three weeks," Miles admitted, sitting up. "And I do! . . . . WHen I eat dinner-"
"Morales," Hobie said warningly, "do I need to explain to you that you won't be able to do any good work if you don't take care of yourself?"
"I don't need a lecture," Miles grumbled, getting out of bed. He looked at his computer. "Oh crap!" Miles gasped, rushing over to it. He closed out a tap, and Hobie stopped him from closing the second one.
"What's that?" Hobie asked, putting his hand on Miles's shoulder. It looked like a schedule. A pretty decent one at that.
"I tried to make a schedule, it just kinda fell apart," Miles shrugged. "Spiderman kinda ruined it, you know?"
Hobie frowned, but he couldn't blame Miles. He looked at the schedule. One thing he noticed was that there was time for regressing. But with how . . . destroyed Miles looked, Hobie would take a small guess that Miles probably wasn't doing that either. He'd probably that bet too.
". . . When was the last time you regressed?" Hobie asked softly.
Miles looked confused. Regressed? . . . Oh right- When was the last time Miles regressed? Before he started studying?
Crap, that was actually a really long time ago. His brain felt overworked and fried. Now that he thought about it, it'd probably be really nice to regress right now.
But he didn't want to put that stress on Hobie. And he didn't want to regress when his room looked like . . . this.
"Earth to Miles," Hobie gently tapped Miles's head. "Maybe you did fry something up there."
"Don't be mean, I have to clean my room," Miles said, grabbing one of his jackets. Hobie snatched it from him. "Hey-!"
"No, your going to go take a shower, you'll feel less icky," Hobie said, looking at Miles's closet.
"What are you-?"
Miles froze at what Hobie grabbed. He grabbed an adult baby onesie Miles owned. He'd never used it while small. He usually wore a sweatshirt and basketball shorts.
It wasn't that Miles hated the outfit. It was cute, he guessed.
But it was a baby onesie- Noir got it for him as an 'apology gift' for finding out about Miles's regression. While the gesture was nice, it was too . . . embarrassing, wearing something like that.
"I'm not wearing that," Miles frowned.
"Well I'm deeming all clothes on the floor a safety hazard, and there's very few outfits in your closet," Hobie said. "Listen, bub, wouldn't it be nice to get into a nice bath, feel less icky and better, have something yummy, and watch some 'toons?"
Miles knew this trick, he wasn't going to fall for it!
"I'll get you ice cream."
. . . Well, maybe Miles could study later.