Chapter Text
"Now we're both invalids," Gonzalo drawls the second Miles enters their house, Mami in tow.
"Don't say that," Mami chides immediately, hanging up her coat and taking Miles' too.
"It's just a headache and some dizziness," Miles corrects awkwardly, sitting down next to his little brother on the couch. "Why are you home, anyway?"
"I had gym for last period," Gonzalo says. "They let me go home early so I don't sit around doing nothing."
"So you don't sit around pissing people off," Miles assumes, correctly when Gonzalo scowls.
"You sure you're sick? You sound pretty annoying to me."
"I can be sick and annoying."
"He's here because I want to keep an eye on him," Mami says from the kitchen. "I'm sure Visions is a great school, but I can't say I trust them with your medical emergencies. And if something happens overnight… I just want to be able to keep an eye on it."
An idea strikes Miles. Stupid, maybe, but—"D'you think Mr O'Hara would come over if I asked?"
"I'm going to hit you," Gonzalo threatens immediately. "I swear—"
"I think he's busy, mijo," Mami says, the both of them ignoring Gonzalo's rant. "It's a weekday, after all—I'm sure he has work to do. But you can ask. Maybe he'd like to join for dinner?"
"I'm leaving," Gonzalo says loudly, crossing his arms and slumping further on the couch. "I'm going to live with Uncle Aaron now."
"I don't see you moving," Miles says, annoyed now, grabbing his phone to ask.
"That's because my leg's broken, dumbass."
"Stupid say what," Miles mutters under his breath, and takes childish pleasure in Gonzalo demanding 'What?' right after.
He heads to his room shortly after sending the text to take a nap, also because Gonzalo's just making his headache worse. He doesn't take off his clothes, just slumps down onto his bed with a sigh, one arm tossed over his eyes to block out the light, exhaustion taking over.
"Hey, sweetheart," a familiar voice whispers softly, the bed dipping next to Miles' hip, and Miles stirs, humming, comfort washing over him. "I heard you had a rough day?"
Miles nods, eyes still closed, breathing out and relaxing further into his bed.
"You almost look too comfortable to wake up," Mr O'Hara says warmly, reaching out to trace Miles' cheek.
Miles turns into the touch, eyes finally blinking open.
"Hey," Mr O'Hara whispers, blurrily coming into focus, haloed by the light from the open door behind him. He's smiling, eyes like gold in the low light. "There you are."
"Tío," Miles mumbles, leaning up for a kiss, but a hand carefully stops him. Mr O'Hara looks subtly behind him, shoulders tense, and Miles remembers where he is—where they are. He drops back down, unable to hide his disappointment.
"I'm sorry, chiquito." The words are hushed, even more than earlier. "I want to, but…"
"No, no, I get it." Miles averts his eyes, trying to will the sharp feeling inside his chest away.
Mr O'Hara stares at him for a second. He nods, then, relaxing again and putting his hand back on Miles' face. "So. Wanna talk about it? Your mother said dinner'll be ready in about fifteen minutes, I just figured you wouldn't want to sit at the table with drool all over your face."
Miles wipes at his mouth reflexively, pouting when he comes up dry. "I didn't drool."
"You didn't," Mr O'Hara agrees easily, smile returning easily. "I'm sorry for teasing." His eyes stay on Miles, though, expectant, and Miles sits up with a sigh, blinking the last traces of sleep away.
"We were working with pure ethanol in the lab, and I guess the cabinet things weren't working as well as they were meant to, or maybe someone was stupid and took a bottle out or something, but everything smelled like alcohol in no time. Then I got a really bad headache and stumbled into one of the machines, and something broke, I think—and Dr Ohm got really mad at me." Miles' voice grows quieter as he talks, his shoulders pulling up nervously. "He said he'd get me expelled."
Mr O'Hara's eyes flash with something like recognition, his face hardening. "Sounds to me like they weren't following protocol."
"Yeah, well." Miles shrugs, feeling a little miserable. "It's my word against his right now, isn't it?"
"It doesn't have to be," Mr O'Hara says, and Miles looks at him, not quite understanding what he means by that. The man doesn't elaborate, however, instead turning his head toward the door. "I think dinner's almost ready—you wanna get changed?"
Miles shakes his head, slipping off the bed and standing up properly. "I'm good," he says. "And hungry."
Mr O'Hara hums, standing up too and leaning toward Miles to press his lips against Miles' forehead. He strokes a hand over the back of Miles' neck, toward his middle back, and Miles sighs, filling with warmth.
"No fever," Mr O'Hara murmurs then, but Miles can tell he didn't just do it for that. "That's good."
They head into the kitchen together, Mr O'Hara guiding Miles to sit down before he heads in behind Mami, quietly searching through cupboards and cabinets for plates and cutlery.
"What—" Mami starts when she notices, eyes narrowing at Mr O'Hara.
Mr O'Hara just raises his eyebrows in return, eyes flicking toward Miles once, then back to Miles' mother. A silent conversation, almost.
"Oh, alright," Mami sighs. "But just this once, okay?"
"Naturally," Mr O'Hara accedes. "I wouldn't want to impose."
The front door opens then, and in comes Dad, a familiar voice right behind him.
"Uncle Aaron!" Gonzalo yells, delighted.
"Hey hey, my little man!" Uncle Aaron says. Miles leans on his chair to peek out of the kitchen, catching the tail end of their secret handshake. Mr O'Hara turns too from where he's still gathering cutlery, curiosity clear on his face. "How's your leg?"
"Still broken," Gonzalo replies. "But it gets me out of chores, so it's fine."
"I heard that!" Mami interjects loudly. "Just wait until you're cleared for physical therapy, young man."
Gonzalo scowls at that, and Aaron turns his attention to the kitchen. His face brightens when he spots Miles in his seat at the kitchen table.
"Hey!" Uncle Aaron says, coming closer, hands spread, palms up. "It's been a while, huh?" He stops when he reaches the doorway, eyes focusing on something behind Miles, expression immediately shuttering.
"Yeah, sorry," Miles says, a little slowly, confused at his uncle's reaction. A warm, big hand settles on Miles' shoulder, thumb tracing the side of his neck as Mr O'Hara leans over to place some cutlery down in front of him. "It just slipped my mind, I guess—"
He shakes his head, cutting himself off, and gets up when Mr O'Hara moves away again, heading over to give Uncle Aaron a hug. His uncle reciprocates easily, albeit a bit tensely, and Miles follows his gaze to Mr O'Hara.
"You know each other?" Miles asks, stepping back a little to see his uncle's face better.
"I've… heard of him," Uncle Aaron replies carefully, then addresses Mr O'Hara. "Of you. O'Hara, right?"
"Yeah," Mr O'Hara confirms easily, continuing to put down plates and cutlery without pausing once, though he casts his eyes up to look at Uncle Aaron in a way Miles has never seen on him before. Eyes lidded, gaze sharp. Almost calculating. "You're the Aaron Miles keeps telling me about. His favourite uncle."
"The only uncle," Uncle Aaron says, tilting his chin up in a nod once. "Rio's only got sisters."
"And we love them," Mami adds, voice light, not turning away from her cooking. "Are you gonna keep posturing?"
Uncle Aaron blinks, shoulders jumping in an aborted roll. "I'm not—I'm not posturing—"
"You too, O'Hara," Mami adds, and Mr O'Hara straightens up, glancing behind himself but not turning his head. "You were both invited, so we're playing nice."
"Yes ma'am," Uncle Aaron murmurs. "Want me to help?"
"I've got it," Mr O'Hara says, placing the last plate as he says it, and Miles has to fight back a snort. Mami's right; they're totally posturing. It's kind of strange to see the two men like this; usually they're the most put-together people Miles knows.
"Alright then," Uncle Aaron says, sounding a lot like Dad in that moment. "What are you doing home, by the way? Don't you have to be in the dorms tonight or something?"
"Kind of. A thing happened at school. I don't really…" Miles shrugs. "It's confusing. I'm not entirely sure what happened."
"The broad strokes is that Miles got ethanol vapor all up in his system at school, which his brain wasn't too happy about," Mami fills in. "So he's home for tonight at the least, so I can keep an eye on him."
"Good." Uncle Aaron nods. "You call me if anything happens."
"I will," Mami tells him. "Now get out of my kitchen. It's too small in here for all four of us. Miles, sit down and drink something."
"Yes Mami," Miles mutters, doing as told.
Dinner is served not long after, and Miles fights off a few yawns as he eats gratefully, the flavour bursting on his tongue. Mr O'Hara's sitting to his left, Gonzalo ushered strategically into a place where he can keep his injured leg stretched out, but mainly to stop the two of them kicking each other under the table. Uncle Aaron's next to Gonzalo, and his parents fill the spaces between them.
"So," Uncle Aaron starts halfway through, after Dad's done talking about his day. "How'd you guys meet?" He's looking at Miles and Mr O'Hara, and Miles opens his mouth, closing it to look at Mr O'Hara for a second, then opening it again.
"At my fourteenth," he says. "The party. He was invited, and we talked, and he offered to, uh…" Miles isn't sure how to word it.
"To let him visit, if he ever needed somewhere away from home. If things get a little hectic."
"That's nice," Uncle Aaron says, expression clashing heavily with the words coming out of his mouth. "Miles could use a good role model."
"I try." Mr O'Hara shrugs a little, leaning in just that bit closer to Miles before sitting back up. "Nobody's perfect, obviously."
"I dunno," Mami says with a joking look, "you've been pretty perfect so far. I'd almost call it suspicious." She laughs, and so does Dad. Gonzalo glowers.
"Baby, do you have something you want to tell me?" Dad asks, eyes shining with mirth.
Miles cringes, putting his cutlery firmly down for a second. "Gross, ew. I'm right here."
"You think you got it bad?" Gonzalo demands. "I can't even leave that couch without crutches whenever they start. Actual torture."
"Believe it or not, Gonzo," Mami tells him, "We're toning it down with you in mind. It could be worse."
"I'm throwing up," Gonzalo complains, covering his face with his hands. "I'm gonna puke. Nobody touch me."
"Well," Mami starts, "if that's the case I'll just have to give your dessert to someone else—"
Gonzalo perks up so fast it looks like it gave him whiplash. "We have dessert?"
"Oh, so that's what motivates you," Mami says with a snort, then turns to Dad. "Guess one good thing that comes out of this whole broken leg situation is that he can't check the fridge to steal desserts anymore."
"Men and their stomachs, eh?" Dad says, patting his own with a grin.
Mr O'Hara hums. "Believe it or not, I mostly forget to eat. Having you around—" he pats Miles' shoulder with an easy smile, "—helps with that. It's easier to take care of you than of me, it seems."
Miles feels strangely bashful at those words, shrugging half-heartedly with a subdued smile, though he leans into Mr O'Hara's warmth like it's sunlight before the man pulls away. "I just eat all your food, though."
Mr O'Hara smirks. "Sure, but I cook it. Which means I eat food that's been cooked. It's a miracle delivered straight to my doorstep, if you ask me."
"You're always welcome here, Miguel," Mami tells him. "We could use the help with Billie sometimes too, if you're any good with toddlers, I'm more than glad to repay you with a homecooked meal any day. The babysitters do their job pretty well, but I don't think it's good for her to get as much of a rotation as she does currently. More familiar faces, if that makes sense."
For a moment Mr O'Hara's face pinches just a little with an expression Miles can't quite pin down, but then it clears. "I'll consider it," he says, smile much more reserved this time. "I'm not sure how available I'll be, though."
"Of course, no, we understand," Dad cuts in easily. "The offer's open, though. Even if it's just a saturday afternoon." Miles jerks to look at Dad at those words, betrayed—those are meant to be his, to spend with Mr O'Hara alone. He almost protests, but bites it back at the last second, guilt washing cold over his chest.
Does he really have the authority to tell Mr O'Hara what to do—or not to do—with his time?
"I think Miles might get jealous," Gonzalo drawls, and Miles glares at him, angrily grabbing some more salad for himself.
"I think you're mistaken," Miles snaps back. "Are you sure your brain's working right? Not eating healthy causes nerve deterioration, you know."
"Like you would know, fucking nerd."
"BOYS!" Mami says loudly, eyes wide, twin points of colour high on her cheeks. "What's gotten into you? I did not raise you like this!"
Miles picks at his salad, slumping a little in his chair, face heating up. He's meant to be mature, but—
His train of thought falls away completely when he feels a warm hand settle just above his knee under the table, squeezing a little in comfort. Miles turns to look at Mr O'Hara, but quickly averts his eyes too when he realises the man is purposefully not looking at him, instead aiming a placating smile at Mami.
"I'm sorry," Mr O'Hara says. "I didn't mean to cause friction." His hand slides off Miles' knee again, and Miles instantly wants it back.
"It's not—they're teenagers," Uncle Aaron says, putting a placating hand on Gonzalo's shoulder. "Friction is bound to happen. I'm just sure your mother would appreciate it if it didn't happen in front of company, huh?"
"Yes, thank you," Mami says, relaxing a little, and Miles and his brother both mumble 'Sorry, Mami' in reply. Gonzalo glares at Miles one last time, and Miles sticks out his tongue in reply, but they're both content to leave it at that.
Far too soon, dinner is over, and so are the post-dinner talks—or maybe Mr O'Hara's just tired of Uncle Aaron's slightly cagey prodding—and it's time for people to go home. Mr O'Hara goes first, to Miles' disappointment, but as the man dresses for the crisp late October weather, he tries to console himself with the fact that Mr O'Hara did actually come over in the first place, when he could have stayed home just as easily.
"Hey," Mr O'Hara says at the door, pausing with his hands on the lapels of his coat, his amber eyes meeting Miles' with warmth. "Are you still worried about school?"
Miles shrugs, toeing lightly at the rug. It's not on his mind right this moment— though he'll die before he admits what he was really thinking about—but it's something that's bothering him in the background still. "A little."
Mr O'Hara hums. He's quiet for a moment, then speaks again. "I'll take care of it." Miles looks up at him, startled, and Mr O'Hara smiles, broad and easy. "Just try to get some sleep, alright? Don't get sick, now."
"I won't," Miles promises, leaning into the door as Mr O'Hara passes through it. The man tugs his scarf over his own shoulders, then wraps it half-heartedly around his neck, winking at Miles.
"See you soon, chiquito," Mr O'Hara promises, and then he descends the stairwell in a flash, coat trailing behind him. Miles thinks he looks rich like that—a proper businessman, headed off to some important board meeting or something.
For just a moment, he's breathless with how far away Mr O'Hara feels—but then it's gone, just as the door to the outside opens, bringing with it the sound of faraway sirens and whooshing wind and traffic, and closes—and everything goes quiet again.