Work Text:
Gwen wakes up on Miles' shoulder.
Or rather, she doesn’t realize it right away. At first, she even leans her cheek closer, pleased with how cozy and sleepily warm it is, but as soon as a rustling sound rustles over her ear and she blinks a few times, focusing, a tsunami of confusion and stupor rushes from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes. One of her hands lies across Miles' stomach.
Only a miracle keeps her from screaming.
Opening her eyes and instantly waking up, she wants to pull away, jump up abruptly and run away, but Miles moans briefly – muffled and dissatisfied – and everything in her freezes. Her body goes numb for a second, and Gwen can’t figure out what exactly and more strongly: because Miles is about to wake up, find them in a strange position and try to retreat to another planet, or because... she doesn’t want to disturb him?
The frown between his brows smooths out, his face relaxes, and Gwen finds herself involuntarily watching. How the wings of his nose widen and narrow in the shallow breaths of deep sleep, how the sunbeams that managed to break through the curtains are lost in the dark eyelashes, but do not bring discomfort, how the lips, habitually stretched into a smile, are now outlined with peace.
Gwen definitely does not want to disturb him.
Instead, she thanks the sky dudes for the ability to silently climb walls, makes a hook above Miles and lands smoothly at the door, immediately slipping into the hallway.
It so happened that she had to stay in the Morales house in Brooklyn. Her bracelet, with which she jumped between universes, ran out of power at the wrong time, and Miles offered his house and his room for a place to stay for the night. The parents' night shifts at the hospital and the station coincided, and the house was empty, but neither Miles nor Gwen risked using their bedroom or the guest bedroom anyway - Jefferson often passed out there so as not to wake his wife. And it would be awkward if he found an unknown girl there, about the same age as his son.
She also didn’t allow herself to put Miles on the floor – ‘How dare I? After all, I’m in your house!’ – but there was no question about Gwen lying on the floor - Miles flatly refused. He resisted to the last, blushed, and when they reached a dead end and came close to the idea of sleeping on the same bed in the absence of adults, he left the room and returned with a mountain of pillows and soft toys. Building a fence.
Last night, this seemed like an excellent way out of the situation. Now this way out is lying on the floor - thrown down and unwanted. There is also a crumpled blanket there, which Miles always took away ‘unintentionally’ and for which they managed to fight twice.
Gwen then threatened that if he pulled it again, she would throw her icy legs on him, and was pleased with the effect of the threat.
Now Gwen blushes embarrassedly. Her bare feet are warm.
After breaking into the wrong doors a couple of times, Gwen finally finds the bathroom, locking herself inside - for some reason it feels more like she’s fenced herself off from the situation in Miles' room. She’ll take a shower, preferably a hot one, wash away all those strange and incomprehensible thoughts that swarm in her head, preventing her from thinking rationally, along with her hair, and return there as if nothing had happened - as if no strings in the soul of the unshakable and stubborn Gwen Stacy had been touched.
She turns the taps in the shower stall all the way and notices her reflection in the mirror.
Miles’ T-shirt.
In the absence of – it’s obvious why – a change of clothes, Miles offered her his wardrobe. After rummaging through the variety and finding a couple of T-shirts that she would gladly take and not return (Gwen, what’s wrong with you?), she pulled out the most unremarkable and the longest one, clearly not the right size for Morales himself, reaching to her mid-thigh, and hoped that this would be enough. And it really was enough.
To soak up Miles’ scent.
Gwen doesn’t notice right away – when she pulls the edges and tries to take it off – but as soon as she notices it, she stops in a stupid pose and inhales deeply. Muscat notes, a drop of wood and a huge ocean, not defined by any perfume in the world – something that belongs only to Miles and distinguishes him alone.
Something warm, forcing you to involuntarily close your eyes and enjoy, cozy and sneaking under the icy crust in her chest, warming the sharp thorns.
Gwen pulls off her T-shirt. No, no, no, she’s completely lost her mind, what smells and melting ice? This is crazy!
She shakes her head, shakes all the nonsense out of herself, stands in her underwear in the bathroom of a person who is close in spirit, a friend – just a friend! – and a partner in superhero activities, and kicks the T-shirt further with her foot.
But the smell does not go away.
It gets into her nostrils, settles somewhere in the depths, memorizing and taking away the opportunity to disown, and at the same time immerses her in a boundless feeling of security, trust. Gwen trusts Miles – trusts her life, trusts her most terrible secrets – and this aroma, scattered on her skin, seems to echo her for the owner: ‘Don’t worry, I will protect you, I will keep your secrets.’
She gathers it with her palms, allows it to open up and stop in the rhythm of her own heart, to enjoy and think about the essentials under the sound of pouring water.
Perhaps someday she will still admit to him that she likes him.
***
Miles wakes up to the sound of his alarm clock and insults it with a mental curse. The room is usually light, messy (though he can’t see this mess from his lying position) and he wants to sleep. Plopping his nose back onto the pillow, he notes to himself how strange it is that it smells unusually light and floral.
‘Mom didn’t do the laundry yesterday, did she?’ Yesterday Rio kissed him in the evening and went on night duty at the hospital, but instead of Rio, stayed with him...
“Gwen?!” startled, he turns red, rummages around the empty room and hears through super-hearing the sound of water in the bathroom.
Panic subsides steadily, while embarrassment only grows – memories of how he woke up in the middle of the night and found her on his chest, hugging him across the waist, treacherously sneak into his head and make him shake it convulsively. The thirst that woke him then reminds of itself with double force in a dry throat, but Miles does not rush to the kitchen to quench it.
Instead, he leans back, feeling his fingers – an invisible imprint of the memory of Gwen's smooth skin, hidden by the stiff fabric of his T-shirt, the softness of her hair and the heat of her breath, resting somewhere on his collarbones, makes him shudder with his whole body and turn over on his stomach, howling muffledly.
The pillow still smells like her.
And Miles is ready to find that maniac perfumer from the book and the movie in a parallel universe, if only he could make a bottle of similar perfume. Roses with the addition of lily of the valley and a hint of Gwen's own scent. Mmm.
"Enjoying yourself?" the laughing tone makes him hide his red cheeks deeper into the pillow.
"Your pillow is softer, you know?" He has enough strength to tear himself away, taking a last breath, and look at her - straight from the bathroom, with wet hair, damp skin on her cheeks and forehead. And still in his T-shirt.
"Definitely," she chuckles, shrugging her shoulder. "How about breakfast?"
“That would be nice,” he stretches, surprised. She’s really going to make him bacon and eggs?
“You’re cooking,” but no. Gwen darts out into the hallway, laughing – as if she could possibly do otherwise? – and leaves him alone again.
“Well, Gwen,” Miles grumbles, even though he knows she won’t hear it, and looks back at the bed, almost standing up.
A rumpled pillow with a blond hair sticking out at the very edge – Miles drops it to the floor, runs his hand over the pillowcase, and secretly, when no one is looking, takes a last breath.
It smells like her, and Miles definitely likes it.