Chapter Text
“Okay.” The dread that flowed in the form of a cold sweat after Gwen sealed the deal was uncomfortable– off-putting because she’d just done something that wouldn’t be easy to take back. She dropped her head and turned away from him completely.
Miles smiled, pushing himself up from his desk chair. He seemed happier and relieved, albeit with the trail of fresh blood rolling down his thigh in bright red blood it didn’t do much to soothe the lumps in Gwen’s throat.
She barely felt disturbed. After months of endless scratches and the occasional small chunk of flesh being lost in a fight, she began to become desensitized to blood, limp bodies, and infectious cuts straight out of a horror movie– it came with the job.
But her senses had never blared this loud since she thought he was dead under that rubble in Mumbattan.
“This never happened, aight?” He peered down at her, and when she peered back his eyes seemed different. A pool of disturbance snaked down her back as he broke his long, unblinking stare with a smile.
She swallowed back another growing lump in her throat and nodded, “Fine, but only since I want you to know I’m here for you, okay?”
“Yeah sure, Gwen. Let’s see how long that holds out for.” The strained positiveness went limp as he shuffled to
She couldn’t say anything to it. He was right.
The second apology came in the form of a letter. Miles could tell from the lifted font, like Miguel’s claws elevated the pencil enough for the words to nearly levitate off the envelope that the cursive name was his, even without ever being taught it.
Gwen held it out, chipped black nail polish brandishing her nails as they fluttered over the white letter. The nails reminded him all too much of Hobie. Pitch-black nail polish was painted over the fabric of his suit, and somehow the polish always managed to stick on during fights like glue. Something squirmed in Miles’ stomach that made him feel like he wanted to vomit.
“He wanted me to give you this.” Gwen’s empty voice was off-putting, her short sleeves layered under her crop top pulled tight enough to cut her circulation around her arms, pale skin angry red where the fabric cut into her arms, and Miles was confused on why she hadn’t loosened them.
He could feel his legs giving out with raw fear . Just an envelope, but he hadn't had time to shield himself from sharp fangs and a criticizing glare.
“Er, well? Do you want it? I heard he was working on it for a few days, but to be honest I know either of us could give less of a fuck.”
Another minute ticked by and she broke her stare to fidget with her jeans that’d got caught under her sneakers.
“I– I umm– I don’t–” His lips dried, and his throat was closing up like it refused to let anything else slither out. He didn’t have the strength that he did when Peter was by his side, because he felt safe by the older, like he would throw himself in front of Miles if Miguel came running on all fours.
He didn’t have the confidence fueled by anger and cockiness that ran through his veins like blood when Miguel was mentioned. Like he was in his face with a hard snare and eyes that could kill.
All he had was his trauma, and a few unhealthy coping methods to get him through tough nights when all he could close his eyes to were Miguel’s hands around his throat, furrowing his claws into the muscle tucked under brown skin.
“Read it, or don’t.” She flicked the envelope in the air with her index finger and used her other wrist to web it to the ceiling.
“So uh, hows Kilometers…?” Miles stared at her, mouth pressed so thin she could sense the restlessness in it.
“That’s just, not really why I came. I came ‘cause we need to talk. Those messages on our watches aren’t working anymore.”
Dread knotted his stomach like bundled chords, he could already tell where it was heading.
“That promise—“ She paused and hardened her face, “The one I made to you? I can’t keep it anymore.”
“Why?” He was surprised by the raspiness mixed into his voice, steeling his legs straight enough to take a step forward Gwen.
She avoided eye contact with him, bringing her arms to her chest as she leaned against his bed frame. The moonlight filtering in from his window darted over her features every so often she’d switch her weight from one foot to the other.
Heavy eyebags, greasy, frazzled hair, her complexion unnaturally pale– he could tell she hadn’t been well, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure it’d been because of himself.
“ Because , Miles. This is hurting me– but most of all,” She paused to thrust her hands out at his body, the oversized clothes that hung over it loosely, “ You . And I can tell, I can because you refuse to hang out with us and your room is so fucking messy and I just know you haven’t put something with actual nutrients in your body for a while.” Her eyes, still trained to the floor like they’d tell her why she couldn’t help him, met him for just a second, and something akin to repulsiveness throbbed on his tongue.
There it was. That brew of agitation boiled in his body. “Oh, we wanna talk? We can talk, Gwen. Don’t go shoving your face into my business when your eyebags are as dark as my fucking knuckles.”
“Miles, for once can we not argue? Can we just, I don’t know, talk? You just ignore all your problems by lashing out at everyone but that needs to stop right now!”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You’on know me.”
“I don’t– I used to, but I don’t. Because you used to be kind and warm, you used to hug me, and god, shit! You would talk to me! Shocker, right? We would’ve been watching a movie right now or, or playing a game… but now you’re just.” He felt his heart squeeze as if she’d shoved her arm in and grasped it.
“I’m just what , Gwen.” He took another step forward, his forehead close enough to bump with her own. She shook her head no, and licked the dryness from her lips.
“Spit it out, c’mon. I’m just what? I’m ugly? I suck? I should just die? What!?”
Another smile, but this time it had emotion . Regret twitched on the edges of her lips, sadness glossing over the rest. “ I wish I never said okay not to telling anyone. Because I turned you into a horrible fucking person.”
Miles couldn’t sleep that night. It was on ones like this he wished he could see the stars. That the light pollution would disperse and he could go so far where it couldn’t touch and he could web so high he’d be able to see the heat radiate off of one.
His cat purred next to his neck, curling in on herself further. Miles appreciated the warmth, but it did nothing to soothe his anxious thoughts.
She’s going to tell everyone. She’s going to tell everyone I cut myself and I starve. They’re going to hate me, they’re going to think I’m disgusting. The thought played relentlessly throughout his skull, and by fully into the early morning he’d memorized every pause it took to push to the next word, each breath he would take after a few rounds of the sentences if he put air behind the words, and the quickly normalizing feeling that’d claw into his heart every time he’d repeat it.
At this point, it felt to him like he was using his Dad’s death as a shield. His head would whisper through curled wisps, “
You aren’t broken because he’s dead, you’re broken because you wish you were instead.”
“Miles, buenos días.” A hesitant knock at his locked door. He ignored it in favor of his Mom walking back to the kitchen for her morning coffee, but she persisted.
“I know you’re up, boy. We need to have a conversation about some things.” He groaned, and Gwen had blabbered, just how he’d fear through the stretch of the night.
“Okay, Mami. Give me a few minutes.” The hardest part of the morning hadn’t been forcing his legs out of his bed, but what came after– after he planted his feet on the cold floor and pulled his bonnet off of his head, what came after dictated the rest of his day. Rather that meant spending most of it crying, or shoving himself headfirst into school work and letting villains use them as their punching bag before he finally decided he’d had enough.
Two choices. A pill– one he’d been prescribed. He could down the thing, no bigger than his pinky nail with a sip of stale water and have a numb day. No intruding thoughts, no crushing pressure to harm himself, no agonizing hunger that forced him to binge on whatever he could find in the kitchen and then hurl it up. How he should’ve been.
But there was a reason he almost always chose the other. The medication stripped him of everything he was, including his feelings and everything that made him feel humane. So, on days after a rough binge or when he was craving a blade against his thigh, he wouldn’t pop the pill down his throat.
He flicked the bottle onto its label and wrestled a hoodie on.
“Miles, now!” He opened his room door and the smell of bitter coffee hit him. Rio, who was out of sight, turned the corner and pointed towards the couch. The worn hoodie gave him something to distract his mind from, folding the sleeves into cuffs and then redoing it again.
“So, are you going to tell me what this little stash is?”
“My god, Mami. What stash–” An inconspicuous black bag slammed onto the coffee table, and before the contents inside could spill out he threw his arms out towards it.
“I already saw. Razors and laxatives, Miles? Really?” He clicked his tongue, a wave of irritation washing over the jagged pieces of his throat.
“I mean, aren’t you a nurse? You already knew I wasn’t going to the restroom normally with how little I eat, didn’t you?”
Her house slippers came into his line of vision as she stared him down. “ Mientras tu vivas en esta casa, don’t you talk smart to me boy. I have been doing nothing else but trying to help you. You’re so lucky your friend told me about the crazy stuff you’ve been doing to yourself. First, you close up yourself, then you start coming home at the crack of dawn doing who knows what, and now you want to do this nonsense?”
“Lucky? I’m lucky ? All you’ve been doing is crying yourself to sleep and dropping me off at therapy the next afternoon! Some bonus points if you decide to check up on me after I leave that fucking hospital looking worse than when I went in.”
“That’s all you see it– me as?” Rio took a sharp inhale and crossed the few steps it took to touch the couch.
“Yes, it is! And sometimes, you’re so fucking annoying I wish you had died instead of Dad!”
Rio’s face dimmed, her mouth drooped, she took another sharp breath and her knees gave out as they collided with the living room rug.
Miles had no time to regret what he’d said before her hands balled into fists around a couch pillow. She let out a horrible sob. One that racked her body like the ones he had and he would never wish on another. But his wishes never came true, especially with how ugly he’d been treating everyone close to him.
“Innit brill how nice you are to ya motha’?” The baritone spread through the room like incense smoke. The insides of Miles’ body jumped at the familiar voice, the accent, the confidence carried with it. He knew he wasn’t hallucinating when Hobie’s warmth brushed past his shoulder. He shoved past the punk without a glance and headed for his closet.
“How much did you hear?” He grabbed a duffel bag and began to shove clothes in it. He couldn’t be here anymore. Not when he’d just broken his Mom like that. Even if she thought he was still welcome, he knew himself he wasn’t.
“Em… a lil. A tad bit… Aight maybe all uh it.” Hobie widened his pointer and thumb as he talked. The eyes on his mask were scarily expressive as they painted his mischief.
“Okay.” He bit the insides of his mouth as he continued to place clothes into the fast fulling duffel. Moving back fully into his dorm wouldn’t be hard, but living with Ganke again would.
“You wanna talk abou’ it?”
He scoffed, “ Hell no , Hobie.”
“Thas fine. Jus’ one question, eh?” Hobie bent beside him, his watch gleaming with a barrage of notifications that Miles, really, really wished he answered. He nodded despite the voice that told him not to, and Hobie lit up.
“Who’re you so mad a’?” Maybe Hobie was talking about all the recent outbursts he had the second someone tried to talk to him, anger welling up so far it’d burst and burn anyone nearby. The hatred that’d cull his thoughts until all that was left were poisonous ones, demanding them to make him suffer, revel, and celebrate when another unwarranted bruise buried itself into his flesh.
The self-hatred was destroying every emotion he had except it— rage.
His hand faltered around a fist of undershirts and socks that he’d balled to stuff into the bag.
Hobie stared at him for a few seconds, took a long sigh, and then the eyes on his mask popped right back into a smile.
“Anyways, I’ll do ya a solid, since I saw summat stuff you been holin’ in, I oughta do the same? We’ll forget this all happened until I bring you back.”
“No, it’d be better if you left.” He pressed one hand to the side of the duffel bag as he used the other to zip the bag up. Hobie just laughed, deep and song-like, like one of his chords were being strummed in his throat, and waved his finger in the air.
“Nuh-uh. You ain’t gettin’ out of this one Miles, les go.”
The portal was chaotic, he felt his atoms split and rearrange themselves as he was led from one reality to the next. For a second he felt his stomach throttle into his stomach, and he lurched forward as the portal spat him out on the roof of a building. Being a Spider-Man made portals like that light-work when he was actually healthy.
“Easy,” Hobie murmured. He bent down and his cool hands wrapped around Miles’ clammy ones. To miles, it was like magic, on that newspaper-cut building as the nausea dissipated from his body.
He was composed, and confident, but his eyes bounced in anxiety. Something Miles didn’t like to see— something that made his anxiety dance as well.
“Aight you, stand up.” The awkward silence as he gathered himself and stood was humbling. Hobie was smart, if he didn’t know then, he knew now.
Miles’ breath was haggard, his heart thumping out of his chest, even a half-deaf man could hear how loud he struggled to calm it.
“Sorry.” He couldn’t do anything but apologize for his pitiful state.
“Naw, ain’t nothing to be sorry for. You don’t realize how strong you are, don’t apologize luv.”
Hobie always knew what to say, how to make him feel like he deserved to breathe. It made him contempt for a moment.
The building rearranged, the newspaper clippings screamed at his pounding headache, but he couldn’t help being at peace. Hobie led him to the ledge of the building and held his hand like he was never letting go.
“Come on wit’ it.” Hobie shoved his mask on his face, gesturing with his elbow for Miles to do the same. He blindly followed Hobie down the side of the building, thought slower and less energetic.
“Where are we going?” Miles could feel the pit of nausea in his stomach gurgle again, another dizzy encounter and he was sure stomach acid would come hurtling out of his stomach.
“Mmm, I gotta brill lil spot I found out that's the same in your world. Met this cat, looks just like me.”
The pieces snapped together in Miles’ head. They were going to that cat cafe Ganke had led him to one time. Sure, he was a little intrigued about how similar a cat could look to Hobie, but he was more confused about the fact of why they were making a stop when there were much more important matters.
“I see that look on your face. Don’t get aggro, it's right around the corner Sunshine.”
They dropped down the last bit of the building. Hobie grabbed Miles to support his wobbly legs. He was irritated at himself for needing the help but let Hobie guide him down a sidewalk.
The cafe was tucked secretly into a corner, outshined by the bustling market by it. Hobie reached for his wrist to stop Miles from walking further ahead but he flinched.
“My bad, Miles. Hmm, before we go in I oughta tell you sumin. It ain’t pretty enough to spill in a cafe, c’mon.” They were back walking up the side of a building. By now a thin sheen of sweat had started to coat Miles’ forehead.
Hobie was making him exercise more than he had in the last few days. Sure, he still fought villains, but he cut corners. They plopped down on the ledge of the building, taking a much-needed break.
Miles watched Hobie’s legs rock back and forth, he seared holes into the intricate details onto his most likely DIY platformed boots, and his tense face.
“Okay, this’s gon get real corny, but,” Hobie stopped. Almost as if it was a reflex, his hand went to play with his lip piercing. Miles had never seen the other look so anxious, so scared.
“I’m a whore, like a real, fuckin prostitute,” It was something he’d never expected, but why was Hobie so scared? Everyone knew he wasn’t one to judge.
“It was the only way I could survive— or that’s what I told myself. But then I started to get greedy, I liked it.” He spat it out like venom, his eyes gone wide, he wasn’t there anymore but it didn’t matter because his pent-up emotions were the ones speaking.
“I tried to hide it from you. I tried to make it seem like I was alright, but I ain’t like you Miles. I can’t be nearly as strong.” Those hard, searing eyes had clouded over. He followed them down to the chaos that broke out below the building. From there he couldn’t tell if it was a petty fight or a crash with how much text and colors were rearranged.
Miles grabbed his other hand that’d balled into a fist. There was blood from how tight he’d dug his fingernails into his palm. It was something Miles struggled with too, and his heart had begun to ache like it was on fire.
“Thank you for telling me, man.” He leaned his head on Hobie’s shoulder, hoping the contact would bring him back from wherever his mind had run to.
“I’d be crazy if it bothered me. I don’t want it to. There isn’t anyone I cherish more than you. You know? I treated you like trash, I acted stupid, and yet you’re always there for me. Hobie, I wouldn’t care if you shot someone dead. I’d be there to help you clean up the body.” He weaved his hand into Hobie’s bloodied one, rubbing soothing circles into it.
They’d never been this close other than the time they cuddled. This deep into each other's space, mentally and physically. It felt intimate– it was intimate. Heat had traveled up and down his face, he could feel it in the way his ears burned. A few solid moments passed before Hobie pushed words out of his mouth.
“But– I was…” Hobie clicked his tongue, shoving his face away from Miles with a flustered look of his own.
“You don’t have to force yourself to say anything, Hobie. Just you opening up to me is enough. We can take our time and figure it out together… okay?”
Hobie shook his head as he disagreed with Miles.
He grunted, clearing his throat, “I was savin’ my first kiss for you,” his voice a lot more projected than it had been before. It sent a deep shiver down Miles’ back and then an affirming feeling bloomed in his chest.
But that fluttery feeling he felt came crashing down.
“Take that back, man. You’ll regret it.”
Hobie Brown liked him back. Those glances he’d second thought weren’t because he was seeing things. But how could he accept his advances? Miles was undeserving of them.
He’d treated everyone around him like garbage. Even going as far as to nearly manipulate Gwen, yell things he didn’t mean at his mom, and let his dad die—. He was nothing short of a jerk, and even then Hobie still liked him.
“I’on take nothin’ back. I like you. I like how strong you are and your bloody strong conviction. How you stood up for yourself when no one else did. I fell in love with you when you carved your own path.”
Miles refused to cry. He snaked his hand until it found its way into Hobie’s, and then he pushed himself impossibly further into his space. Every move was slow and calculated, he wanted to be sure that Hobie was being truthful.
Being with Hobie made the bad thoughts disperse into nothing, maybe if he kissed him, they’d go away for good.
“Enough teasin’,” Hobie tilted Miles’ chin up with his hand and brought it to his face. Hobie paused, that cryptic curl of his lips fading onto his face the longer he did. It was Miles’ turn to get impatient.
“I’m going to kiss you, alright?” He had barely any experience, only faint memories of clacking teeth and bite marks, a few more recent but blurry from the time he’d gotten wasted. But it’d have to do.
Hobie nodded and he pressed his lips against his. He felt something like a spark of heat travel through his body, burning his face, and frying his thoughts. It was like a drug. He pressed harder, deeper, and that heat fizzled all his thoughts to nothing.
Kissing him was magic in itself. He felt euphoric, like he was made for this moment, and for the first time in forever he didn’t hear that degrading voice in the back of his head.
Miles felt the familiar ache of tears sliding down his face. But if Hobie noticed, he was too busy kissing him to notice.