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The city was quiet in that rare, impossible way—no sirens, no shouts, just the hum of New York breathing at night.
Miles sat on the edge of a skyscraper, legs dangling over nothing, mask pushed up so the cool air could hit his face. He rolled a web between his fingers, unfocused.
“You’re thinking too loud.”
He smiled before he even turned. “You always say that.”
Gwen landed beside him lightly, barely making a sound. She sat close—close enough that their shoulders almost touched—but didn’t say anything at first. The silence wasn’t awkward. It never was with her.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
Miles shrugged. “Just… feels like everything’s moving faster than I can keep up with. Multiverse stuff. Expectations. Being Spider-Man.” He glanced at her. “Being… me.”
Gwen’s fingers curled into the fabric of her suit. “Yeah. I get that.”
They stared out at the city together, lights stretching endlessly below them. Different worlds, same worries.
“You ever feel like,” Miles started, hesitating, “like the universe is waiting for you to mess up?”
Gwen turned toward him then. Really looked at him. “All the time.”
He laughed quietly. “Guess that’s comforting?”
She smiled a little. “Guess so.”
A breeze rushed past them, tugging at Gwen’s hood. Miles watched her for a moment—how steady she seemed, even when he knew she carried just as much weight as he did.
“Hey, Gwen?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think… we’re doing okay? I mean—us?”
Her breath caught, just for a second. She shifted closer, their shoulders finally touching.
“I think,” she said carefully, “that no matter what universe we’re in… you’re my constant.”
Miles felt something warm bloom in his chest, grounding him more than gravity ever could.
He smiled. “You’re mine too.”
Gwen leaned her head against his shoulder, and for once, the world didn’t feel like it was pulling them apart. Just two Spider-People, sitting above the city, holding onto something real.
For a moment, the universe could wait.