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The thing about dating a punk anarchist from another dimension was that you never really knew when he was going to pop up in your universe.
Miles had learned to expect the unexpected where Hobie was concerned. The sudden tears in space-time. The casual destruction of physics. The way Hobie would appear in his dorm room at 2 AM with a stolen bag of crisps and a look that said I missed you without ever actually saying the words.
But the thing Miles hadn't been prepared for, the thing that still made his stomach flip every single time—was how touchy Hobie was.
"Babe, I'm trying to draw," Miles said, his pencil hovering over his sketchbook as warm lips pressed against the back of his neck.
Hobie hummed against his skin, the vibration sending a shiver down Miles' spine. "And I'm trying to appreciate my boyfriend. One of us is clearly winning."
"It's 3 PM on a Tuesday."
"Time is a construct, luv." Another kiss, this one softer, right at the junction where Miles' shoulder met his neck. "Didn't you get the memo?"
Miles tried to focus on the half-finished sketch of his latest suit design. He really did. But Hobie's hands had found their way to his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the muscles there with surprising gentleness for someone who played guitar like he was trying to fight it.
"You're tense," Hobie observed. "You've been hunched over that book for hours."
"Two hours. Max."
"Hours," Hobie repeated firmly. "And you're still wearing that bloody hoodie. You know how I feel about that hoodie."
Miles snorted. "You're obsessed with my shoulders and you hate the one piece of clothing that actually shows them off. Make it make sense."
"I hate that other people can see them." Hobie's voice dropped, that low rumble that made Miles' brain short-circuit. "That's not the same thing."
Before Miles could formulate a response, something clever, something that would put Hobie in his place, Hobie's lips were back on his neck, but this time there was teeth. Just a gentle scrape, barely there, but it was enough to make Miles' pencil clatter to the desk.
"Hobie."
"Yeah?"
"You're distracting me."
"Good."
Miles turned in his chair, finally facing his boyfriend properly. Hobie's hair was a riot of black and purple, his piercings catching the light, and his eyes—god, his eyes were fixed on Miles like he was the only real thing in the universe.
"Why are you like this?" Miles asked, but there was no heat in it. There never was when it came to Hobie.
"Like what?"
"All... this." Miles gestured vaguely at Hobie's entire being. "You show up and you're all over me and you haven't even said hello properly."
Hobie's expression softened. "Hello, Miles."
"Hi, Hobie."
"Now that's done." Hobie leaned in, pressing his forehead against Miles'. "Can I go back to appreciating my boyfriend's shoulders or do you need a proper greeting first?"
Miles bit back a smile. "You're ridiculous."
"Absolutely. Now turn back around."
Miles rolled his eyes but did as he was told, rotating in his chair to face his desk again. He picked up his pencil, fully intending to finish his sketch, but then Hobie was behind him again, and his hands were on Miles' shoulders, and his mouth was on Miles' neck, and god, how was Miles supposed to focus on anything ever again?
"You're obsessed," Miles muttered, tilting his head slightly to give Hobie better access. The movement was instinctual now, automatic. His body had learned what Hobie wanted before his brain could catch up.
"Can you blame me?" Hobie's lips traced a path from Miles' jaw down to his collarbone. "These shoulders. This neck. You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"
"Pretty sure you're the one trying to kill me."
"Details."
Hobie's fingers found the hem of Miles' hoodie, pushing the fabric up just enough to expose the skin beneath. He pressed a kiss to Miles' shoulder blade, then another, each one slower than the last.
"This is where I got you," Hobie murmured against his skin. "Right here."
Miles frowned. "What?"
"First time I knew I had you." Hobie's thumb traced the curve of Miles' shoulder. "You came through the portal and your suit was torn and you were bleeding and you were so angry—"
"I was not angry."
"You were. You had that look. The one where you pretend you're not about to do something stupidly heroic." Hobie kissed the spot again. "And I saw your shoulders, all tense and righteous, and I thought oh, I'm completely done for."
Miles' pencil had stopped moving. His heart was doing that thing again, the thing where it felt too big for his chest.
"You thought that?"
"I thought a lot of things." Hobie's voice was quieter now. "Took me ages to say any of them. You know how I am."
"I know how you are." Miles set the pencil down, turning in his chair to face Hobie properly. "I also know you showed up at my window at 2 AM after you patched yourself up and pretended it was about the music."
"It was about the music."
"It was about me."
Hobie's lips twitched. "Maybe a little."
"A little?"
"A lot." Hobie's hands cupped Miles' face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "Everything's about you, Miles. Has been since I first saw you across a multiversal bar. You're just that sort of person."
Miles leaned into the touch. "That's cheesy."
"I'm being romantic. Don't ruin it."
"Does this mean you're finally going to admit you were pining?"
"I was not pining. I was strategically observing."
"You wrote a song about my shoulders."
"It was about social justice."
"It was literally called 'Shoulders Like That.'"
Hobie groaned, dropping his head to rest against Miles' shoulder. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Never." Miles pressed a kiss to the top of Hobie's head. "I'm going to play it at our wedding."
Hobie went very still.
Miles felt his own heart stutter. "I—sorry, that was—"
"Do you mean that?"
The question was soft, almost fragile. Hobie Brown, who faced down villains and interdimensional threats without blinking, who'd literally been shot and patched himself up without complaint, he sounded vulnerable.
Miles swallowed. "I mean... yeah. Eventually. One day. If you want."
Hobie lifted his head, and his eyes were bright, brighter than Miles had ever seen them. "You want to marry me?"
"I mean, we've only been together for like, three months, so I'm not saying right now—"
"Answer the question, Miles."
Miles took a breath. "Yes. I want to marry you. One day. When we're ready. If you're ready. If you even want to—"
Hobie kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't slow. It was desperate and hungry and tasted like salt and tears and finally, and Miles kissed him back like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.
Which, honestly, he had.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Hobie pressed his forehead to Miles' and laughed. Actually laughed, loud and bright and so unlike his usual sardonic chuckle.
"Three months," Hobie said. "Three months and you're already planning the wedding."
"You're the one who wrote a song about my shoulders."
"I'm going to write another one. About your neck. And your eyes. And the little noise you make when I kiss you here—" Hobie pressed his lips to Miles' jaw, "—and here—" his lips traced down to his neck, "—and here—"
"Hobie—"
"—and I'm going to play it at our wedding, and everyone's going to cry, and you're going to love it—"
"Hobie, I have class in twenty minutes."
Hobie pulled back, one eyebrow raised. "And?"
"And I can't go to class looking like this."
"Like what? Loved?"
Miles felt his face flush. "Like I just got thoroughly kissed by my interdimensional punk boyfriend."
"Excellent. That's exactly the look we're going for." Hobie kissed his cheek, soft and quick. "Your housemates are going to figure it out eventually. Might as well let them know you're taken."
"They already know I'm taken."
"But do they know you're taken?" Hobie's hand slid down to rest on the back of Miles' neck, thumb stroking the skin there. "Do they know the kind of sounds you make when I'm close to you? Do they know what it takes to make you blush?"
"Hobie."
"Do they know about the way you melt when I whisper in your ear?" Hobie's voice dropped, lips brushing against Miles' ear. "Do they know what you look like when you come undone, Miles? Because I do. I know exactly—"
"Hobie!" Miles shoved him back, face burning. "I have to go to class!"
Hobie laughed, that bright laugh again, and it was the most beautiful sound Miles had ever heard. "Go on then, luv. I'll be here when you get back."
"Don't you have a dimension to save or something?"
"Probably." Hobie shrugged. "But they can wait. You're more important."
Miles stood, gathering his things with shaking hands. He could still feel Hobie's lips on his neck, still feel the ghost of his touch. It was going to be impossible to focus on anything in class.
"Hey, Miles?"
Miles turned back at the door. "Yeah?"
Hobie was sprawled in his chair now, all long limbs and lazy grace, but his eyes were soft. "I meant it. Everything I said. You're it for me."
Miles felt his heart swell. "I know. Me too."
Hobie's smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. "Go to class. We'll talk about the wedding when you get back."
"We are not planning a wedding right now."
"We're absolutely planning a wedding right now. I already have color schemes."
"You do not."
"Purple and black. Maybe some gold. Very punk. Very us."
Miles shook his head, but he was grinning. "I hate you."
"You love me."
"I really, really do."
He slipped out the door, still smiling, and made it halfway down the hall before his phone buzzed.
Hobie: For the record, I'm still thinking about your shoulders.
Hobie: And your neck.
Hobie: And the way you looked at me just now.
Hobie: Come back soon.
Miles typed back with one hand, almost walking into a wall.
Miles: Stop texting me, I'm trying to go to class.
Hobie: Never. I'm going to text you every second of every day for the rest of our lives.
Miles: That's excessive.
Hobie: That's love, luv.
Miles: God, you're so cheesy.
Hobie: You like it.
Miles pocketed his phone, still grinning. He did like it. He liked all of it—the texting, the kissing, the way Hobie couldn't keep his hands off him. He liked the way Hobie looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the multiverse.
He liked the way Hobie loved him.
Three months ago, Miles had never imagined he'd have this. He'd never imagined he'd find someone who saw all of him: the awkwardness, the anxiety, the desperate need to save everyone, and loved him anyway.
But Hobie did.
Hobie saw him. All of him. And he stayed.
Miles made it to his classroom with two minutes to spare. He slid into his seat, pulled out his notebook, and tried very hard to pay attention to the lecture.
His phone buzzed.
Hobie: Also, I was serious about the color scheme. Purple's definitely happening.
Hobie: It's the color of royalty. And you're my king.
Miles: I'm going to mute you.
Hobie: No, you're not.
Hobie: You love me too much.
Miles smiled down at his phone, ignoring the weird look his classmate gave him.
Miles: Yeah. I really do.
He was so, so gone for this boy. And honestly? He wouldn't have it any other way.
---
When Miles got back to his dorm room three hours later, Hobie was exactly where he'd left him: sprawled in Miles' chair, guitar in his lap, pencil tucked behind his ear.
"You're back," Hobie said, setting the guitar aside. "Good. I missed you."
"You saw me three hours ago."
"And I missed you for every single second of those three hours." Hobie opened his arms. "Come here."
Miles went. He always did.
He settled into Hobie's lap, his back to Hobie's chest, and felt those familiar hands find his shoulders. Hobie's thumbs pressed into the muscles there, working out the tension Miles hadn't even realized he was carrying.
"How was class?"
"Boring. I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"Good." Hobie pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. "That's how it should be."
Miles leaned back, letting his head rest against Hobie's shoulder. "You really meant it? About the wedding?"
"Every word."
"It's only been three months."
"And I've been in love with you for far longer than that." Hobie's arms wrapped around him, holding him close. "I've been in love with you since you looked at me like I was something worth saving. Since you jumped through a portal after me without a second thought. Since you decided that I was worth the effort."
Miles turned his head, pressing a kiss to Hobie's jaw. "You're worth all the effort."
"Stop making me soft."
"Never."
They sat like that for a while, just holding each other. Hobie's hands never stopped moving—tracing patterns on Miles' shoulders, stroking the back of his neck, brushing through his hair.
"You know what I love most about you?" Hobie asked quietly.
"What?"
"Your shoulders. And your neck. And the way you let me touch you, even when you're busy. Even when you have class. Even when the whole multiverse is falling apart around us."
"That's three things."
"I'm a complicated man."
Miles laughed, warm and happy. "You really are."
"But those are my favorite parts." Hobie pressed a kiss to the spot just behind Miles' ear. "Because those are the parts you show me. The vulnerable parts. The parts that mean you trust me."
Miles felt his throat tighten. "Hobie..."
"I know." Hobie kissed him again. "I know it took us a while to get here. I know I was an idiot about it. But I'm here now, Miles. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
And as Hobie's lips found his neck again, as his hands gripped his shoulders like he was something precious, Miles felt something settle in his chest.
This was it.
This was home.
He could feel Hobie smiling against his skin.
"What?" Miles asked.
"Nothing. Just thinking about how lucky I am." Hobie's arms tightened around him. "How lucky I am that you let me love you."
Miles turned, cupping Hobie's face in his hands. "I'm the lucky one. You showed up in my life and made everything better. You made me better."
"Mate, you were already perfect. I just made you realize it."
"That's cheesy."
"You love it."
"I really, really do."
Hobie kissed him then, soft and slow and full of promises. And when they finally broke apart, Miles was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.
"Hey, Hobie?"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe we can start planning that wedding."
Hobie's eyes lit up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I'm not wearing a tux."
"I wouldn't dream of making you wear a tux. I was thinking something more... custom." Hobie wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe something with your shoulders exposed."
"You're never going to stop being obsessed with my shoulders, are you?"
"Nope. You're stuck with me. Shoulders and all."
Miles laughed, happy and bright and so full of love it felt like it might burst out of him.
He was stuck with Hobie Brown. The most annoying, beautiful, chaotic, wonderful person in the multiverse.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.