Work Text:
“Your man’s here.”
“First off, he’s not my man. Secondly-”
Diya ignored you.
“Praying he asks for you this time.”
He won’t.
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”
She laughed, taking off her apron. “That’s my cue to leave.”
You smiled and feigned whipping her with your rag. She let out a melodramatic cry and headed to the back to gather her things with a mock salute.
You turned your attention back to the counter in front of you, spraying the surface with cleaner. Your eyes soon glanced over at a familiar sight.
You sighed.
* * *
He had caught your attention immediately. He’d started coming in a couple months back - the mysterious regular currently distracting you from your job.
It was a rainy Thursday and the storm outside had made commuting to work a pain in the ass. You had irritably thrown your coat in the back to dry; you hadn’t expected the rain.
Rainy days typically meant little customers. And on a Thursday? Forget about it.
That sentiment rang true that day; you were the only one there fifteen minutes past opening. Your co-worker, Carmen, was running late. You assumed she ran into the same problem commuting in the poor weather.
You had decided to take advantage of the slow business, deciding to do a quick inventory check of the stock.
The door had opened and assuming it was Carmen, you had yelled out “Fucking rain . . . If anything I should be the one getting shitfaced right now -”
You turned around. It wasn’t Carmen.
A man stood outside the doorway, filling up the majority of the entrance as he bent down to enter the bar. A long black coat concealed his large frame as the rain poured down on him.
You watched as he shook his umbrella, getting rid of the remaining water droplets.
He was gorgeous. His sharp-features were accentuated by furrowed deep-set eyes and dark thick locks that framed his face. He was frowning and something told you he frequently wore the expression. It was apparent that he hadn’t shaved or had a haircut in a while.
Your eyes met and you hastily set your clipboard aside.
He walked quickly toward the counter and you immediately spoke, trying to salvage the situation.
“I’m so sorry - I thought you were my coworker. Welcome to After Dark. What can I-”
“Is V here?” he said. His voice was oddly hollow.
He was directly in front of the bar, now staring down at you with his morose, disconcerted gaze. He smelled faintly of the rain.
Someone hadn’t asked you that question in a long time. You steeled yourself and answered.
“I’m sorry. He isn’t here.” He swallowed.
“And when will he be here?” he asked.
Your fingers twitched. The windows of the bar shuddered, the winds outside picking up in speed.
“He passed away a few years ago.”
You saw something shift in his stormy gaze. His eyes widened and he stepped back slightly.
“What?” he said distantly.
You looked at him, perplexed. “I’m sorry. Did you know-”
He took a second to compose himself and then spoke again in an agitated tone. His fingers went to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“What do you mean he passed away a few years ago? I thought-” he paused. “The place is still called After Dark-”
You felt yourself becoming more impatient. “That’s because my uncle owns the place now-”
He dropped his hand from his face. “Uncle? ”
You both turned your heads as the back door swung open.
“Fucking rain, right?” Carmen yelled as she entered the bar, carrying a case of tequila.
You turned back to answer the man. He was gone.
* * *
Every week since he would arrive during your Thursday shift, always ordering the same thing without fail - a B-52 cocktail.
“Maybe today’s the day, champ,” your coworker Larry said, sliding next to you.
He hadn’t had a conversation with you since that day.
Initially you thought it was all in your head until one of your other co-workers brought it up one Thursday afternoon.
“Hey, did you spit in his drink or something?”
After that it became a recurring joke in the bar - that the hot mysterious regular always insisted on ordering from one of your other co-workers and avoided you like the plague.
Not that it bothered you, of course.
“I don't know who’s worse - you or Diya.”
“Me. Always me,” Larry said, winking and walking away to attend to a customer. “I look forward to the fat tip he’ll be leaving me today.”
You pursed your lips.
He was sitting at the corner seat, as per usual - directly in front of your line of vision, as per usual. You felt the familiar twitch of your fingers.
* * *
You hadn’t expected he would return to the bar the following Thursday. But sure enough, there he sat at the far edge of the bar.
He finally got a haircut, you thought briefly, noticing that his dark waves were considerably shorter and slicked back. His jaw was clean-shaven.
Your eyes met for the second time. It seemed he hadn’t lost the acute ability to sense your gaze since the last time you saw him.
Carmen finished making what you assumed was a Mojito.
Truthfully you felt a bit bad about your last encounter. You assumed that he had previously known your father, which in retrospect could have explained his standoffish behavior. Presumably he was taken aback by the news of his passing.
You made up your mind and began walking towards him.
“Hi! Welcome back,” you started. “I want to apologize about last time, I-”
“A B-52 cocktail, please,” he said, abruptly cutting you off. You blinked.
Your coworker turned her head in surprise, before shooting you a quick glance. He wasn’t talking to you. He was talking to Carmen.
You blinked again.
“Coming right up.”
Carmen grabbed a glass, discreetly mouthing to you as she walked past.
“You spit in his drink or what?”
* * *
That was the first time he blew you off. And it wasn’t the last.
“How are you doing today, sir?”
“Can you move me to another section?
“Hi, nice to see you aga-”
“Excuse me, I need to take a phone call.”
“What can I-”
“Someone already took my order.”
And those were the times he actually spoke to you.
The jokes had continued ever since. You sprayed an unnecessary amount of cleaner on the counter’s surface, wiping it down a tad bit too diligently. You glanced up. There he sat, disinterestedly scrolling through his phone.
You set your rag down with a solid wet thud.
Fuck this, you thought as you began striding toward him.
* * *
“May I help you?” he finally asked, setting down his phone.
If he was surprised that you were standing in front of him after months of not speaking to one another, he didn’t show it. His eyes were as impassive as ever.
How infuriating.
“What’s your problem?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Excuse me?”
You knew you shouldn’t press further. You knew you’d be reprimanded by your uncle for scaring away a seemingly perfect, well-paying customer. You knew there was a still chance that you had been simply imagining this silent feud between you and the stranger at the bar.
You weren’t even sure why today of all days was the day you decided to confront him. It could have been that your coworkers had made one too many jokes. It could have been the toast you had earlier to celebrate the anniversary of the bar’s opening - a bittersweet commemoration reminding you of your father’s passing. It could have been you hadn’t gotten laid in a while.
You were just . . . tired. Your rent was due in a few days. You had racked up the most shifts this month out of any employee in an attempt to pay off more of your grad school loans. You consistently came into work each week and you consistently overworked yourself.
And every Thursday, without fail, you found yourself looking into the same dispassionate gaze, somehow reminding you of everything all at once.
It could have been a lot of things.
And frankly you didn’t care at this point.
“You come here every week, order the same drink, and then leave after -” you motioned between the two of you. “- whatever this is. What’s your problem?”
He paused momentarily before looking away. There was faint amusement in his gaze when he turned back to you.
Your fingers twitched.
“You think I have an issue with you because I come to a bar, order a drink, and then leave?” he said.
Your skin bristled at the condescending tone of his deep voice. For a second, you reflected on the absurdity of the situation. And then you remembered the events of the past couple months. The jokes. The conversation about your dad.
No, you thought, I’m not crazy.
“So are you saying I’m imagining it when you come in here - pretending you’re so unbothered - when the second you walk through that door, you’re avoiding me? Do I have to call in witnesses?”
There was a pause as he let out a huff.
“Or would you say they’re a part of my imagination too?”
“Are you done?” he replied wryly.
You leaned forward abruptly, splaying your fingers on the counter in front of him.
“How do you know my dad?” you said bristly. “No one called him V except his closest friends.”
His eyes sized you up for a moment before he looked away.
“I met V when I was in a dark place.” His eyes still didn’t meet yours. “I guess you could say he was kind of like a mentor to me. For a time.”
“So you were close?”
He nodded soberly. “You could say that.”
“But you didn’t know? For years?”
He tipped his head silently as he crossed his arms. You felt your indignation rise as the man sat back in his chair.
“I don’t believe it.”
Something impossible to interpret flickered behind his eyes, his mask then falling back into place seamlessly. “Believe what you want,” he said.
He picked his glass up, bringing it to his lips. “It’s better this way.”
“For you,” you said pointedly.
“For the both of us. It’s mutually beneficial,” he amended, tipping his glass towards you. “I didn’t realize I occupied so many of your thoughts by the way.”
You felt your skin sear as you watched him swallow, his throat bobbing as he drank and looked at you with his half-lidded stare.
A small, reckless idea was beginning to form in your mind. One that you definitely shouldn’t have been entertaining.
“What’s your name?”
“Planning on running a background check on me, are you?”
“Answer the question.” The corner of his lip quirked up.
“Miguel, O’Hara.”
You felt the heat of his name wash over your chest. He bent forward, the fabric of his black t-shirt hugging his frame.
“You?” he asked.
You told him your name and he nodded, seemingly digesting the new information. He repeated your name in his low timbre, the word rolling off his tongue effortlessly.
His eyes then softened for a moment before he continued to address you.
“I’m sorry I can’t answer more of your questions.” He actually sounded sincere, speaking to you in a tone you hadn’t heard from him before.
“For what it’s worth, I'm sorry about Victor.”
Based on his usual abrasive demeanor, you guessed this wasn’t a tone he took on regularly. This thought vaguely comforted you for some reason, before you quickly brushed the notion aside.
You weren’t here for this man’s pity. You had had your fill of people’s condolences and sympathies. And you certainly didn’t want more of it from him - a literal stranger.
You wanted a distraction.
“If you wanted to pay your respects, you’d give me answers - not more bullshit small talk.”
His eyes danced with sardonic amusement. “I’ve already said what I can. So why are you still here?”
You took the plunge as you deliberately looked from the glass to his lips.
“Something mutually beneficial.”
He stilled and his eyes glinted as you stared at one another, his gaze scanning over the contours of your face.
Before he could respond, you leaned past him, just close enough to make sure he could hear you over the loud atmosphere of the bar. “I get off at 10pm. If you’re interested, wait for me by the entrance.”
If he was surprised by your proposition, he didn’t show it.
He finished the last sip of his cocktail. His eyes were once again impassive as ever.
You walked away.
* * *
You wrapped your coat tighter around you as you stepped out into the cool night air.
The rest of your shift was rather uneventful. After paying his tab, Miguel had stood up and left without another word as usual. You didn’t know if he’d accept your proposition.
You had decided you wouldn’t dwell on the impulsivity of your decision, but thoughts of him continued to plague you nonetheless.
Your interaction with him - paired with your other encounters - had confirmed that he was stubborn and harsh to a fault, but this time you were left with the impression that he was not a bad person.
You involuntarily remembered the unexpected softness of his voice as he gave his condolences.
Checking for your wallet, you reminded yourself that none of it mattered anyways. He would remain a stranger to you, his true character remaining elusive, irrespective of the pull you felt towards him. That’s how it should be.
“Going so soon?”
You looked to your left, partially surprised to see the figure slouched against the bar’s brick walls.
Miguel stood up, the light at the bar’s entrance illuminating the shadows of his face. You were once again fully hit with the powerful magnetism that had gnawed at you all night.
“My place or yours?” he said, jingling his keys.
* * *
His place was clean and contemporary, with cream-colored walls and minimal but tasteful furniture. A few pieces of artwork were scattered along the walls. A plant sat in the corner of the living room, well-watered. Otherwise he had no pictures on his walls - no photos of family members or friends. Nothing.
The faint smell of sandalwood and some sort of floral scent wafted throughout.
The apartment revealed nothing about the man living inside of it, or perhaps the absence of anything remarkable or distinctive revealed something in itself.
“Do you want something to drink?” Miguel had said as he opened the front door of his apartment.
It was as if no one lived there at all.
“You don’t have to do that,” you said, shrugging off your coat and placing it on a coat rack. You both knew why you were here. There was no reason to feign unnecessary pleasantries.
He turned around, crouching in the doorway of what presumably was the kitchen. “God forbid I attempt to be a good host,” he said as he looked down at you. You refused to acknowledge the way your stomach fluttered.
“And when did you decide cordiality was important to you?”
He paused and rapped his knuckles on the heading of the door before turning away. You huffed.
After you both freshened up you walked into the living room, sitting on the couch. Bare, like the hallway you had entered initially.
You were surprised to find that there was a picture of Miguel and an Anatolian Shepherd - presumably an old pet - on a coffee table. You smiled as Miguel rummaged around in his fridge.
“Big place,” you mused out loud.
You heard what you suspected was a chuckle as you inspected one of the other few decorations he had put up - a small crude painting of what you thought was a spider. Its bold strokes of color stuck out to you inside the sterile room.
You turned your head as you heard him close the fridge door, looking at him through the half-wall that divided the living room and the kitchen. He’d gotten two cold bottles of water out from the fridge.
“Where’s this from?” you said, nodding your head towards the painting as he joined you.
Miguel set the water aside on the coffee table. When he turned back to you he had an inscrutable look on his face. “Another life,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
A look passed between you and a mutual understanding was met without a word ever being spoken.
It seemed you were both trying to avoid something from the past.
“Nothing you're tied up in now?” You didn’t want any lost connections from his part unexpectedly rearing their heads.
“I’m single.”
“Good.”
He huffed and opened his bottle of water with a knowing smile, the cap breaking with a small pop.
“Tested?”
“Yes. All clear,” he said, taking a sip.
“Same here. Condoms?”
He nodded. “In the bathroom.”
You stood in front of him now and he put the bottle down, turning his body to face yours.
“Any more questions?” he asked smoothly, tilting his head as he looked down at you once more.
“None.”
* * *
You gasped as your back hit the back of his couch.
All of your senses were engulfed by him as your bodies pressed against one another, gluttonously seeking any ounce of friction.
His lips were on your neck as your hand slid under his shirt, smoothing over the expanse of his stomach. You felt him tense underneath your touch before his body suddenly shifted, his hard thigh now positioned between your legs. You tentatively rocked your hips, drawing a hiss from his lips. The noise spurred you on and you hastily dragged your fingers through his hair, drawing him close in a silent plea. He answered, his mouth pressed against yours in an instant.
Gently cradling your head, Miguel kissed you, his mouth enveloping you in an intoxicating daze. You remained grounded by the tight grip he had on your torso, the burning touch of his fingers provoking you to gasp into his mouth.
His lips were soft and insistent, the tender push and pull between your mouths leaving you both breathless and wanton. A frenetic heat was growing inside your chest and you found yourself asking for more, greedily taking his bottom lip between your teeth. You felt him smile against your mouth, his thumb lightly caressing your cheekbone before he slid his hand lower.
You paused, your lips barely grazing each other as your foreheads touched. His lips were wet and swollen as his eyes flickered to yours. You nodded.
His head disappeared beneath your shirt and you felt the cold air of his apartment briefly hitting the aching peaks of your chest.
He cupped your bare breast and you let out a moan as his warm mouth closed over your nipple.
He hummed appreciatively, the noise reverberating through your chest as his tongue lapped the sensitive flesh. His hand massaged your other breast, his thumb rolling your nipple between his finger tips.
“Miguel,” you said, your voice pitching.
It was everything you needed.
You raked your nails down his neck, pulling him closer and smothering his face between breasts.
“Fuck,” you heard him groan against your skin. He kissed the underside of your breast before he began to fervently lay open-mouth kisses on your chest, reverently sucking and enjoying the taste of your plush skin.
You tugged at his dark curls as his teeth grazed your nipple, a small whimper escaping you. He ran his tongue over the ridges of your collarbone, pausing whenever your breath hitched, seemingly hell-bent on putting you on edge. Your body ached with frustration and need for further friction.
You decidedly uncovered his face, the heat between your thighs igniting as you took in his aroused form. Dark, dilated eyes and disheveled hair from your own doing. A mirthful glint and slick lips.
“In a hurry?” he said. His voice was husky.
“Yes,” you said, unfastening your pants. He sat up and bent forward, his eyes roving over your face. You put your hand over his, swallowing hard.
His palm glided down your torso, gently caressing your breasts, still uncupped and swollen from the combination of his teasing and your arousal. He drew circles on your waist, the pressure causing you to writhe with want before his fingertips rested just below the waistband of your pants.
Miguel leaned in, kissing your forehead. The simple, affectionate gesture brought you out of your haze for a moment before you gasped as you felt his fingers dip into your slit.
He dragged a finger across your sensitive mound in one languid stroke, stroking the soft hair on your pubic bone before circling back and repeating the motion once more. You shuddered and your hips bucked before your eyes locked with Miguel’s. His cheeks were flushed with arousal, his face overcome with an emotion you hadn’t seen him express before.
Without thinking, you kissed him.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed Miguel, your arms clutching his back as he parted your swollen lips and stroked your sopping clit. He inhaled sharply and his fingers quickened in urgency as your kiss deepened. He applied increasing pressure to your aching clit, his rhythmic movements almost dutiful.
Your hips jerked again and Miguel held you down with the palm of his hand as you grinded against his fingers. You buried your head into his shoulder, trying to muffle your stark cries. He pulled away for a second and grasped your chin, his voice ragged.
“Let me hear you.”
A request. A craving.
A need.
You shakily nodded, your breath hitching as his fingers circled your entrance. Gently, he pushed one finger in and you both moaned as your scorching heat enveloped him. He pressed hot kisses against your neck as he began to thrust his finger inside you, stroking your walls as you impulsively pulled at his hair.
Miguel let out a low groan as he pressed his mouth against your skin, nipping at the expanse of your throat as he pushed another sweet finger inside you.
You cursed, digging your fingernails into his broad back as a breathless laugh escaped him.
His teeth grazed your earlobe as he vigorously pumped inside you - in and out - at a tortuous pace that had the coil inside you tightening, desperate to be released.
You felt as if you might shatter at any moment.
You turned your head and grabbed his wrist, panting. Miguel stilled.
“I want you inside me.”
A request of your own.
His lips parted.
“How do you want me?”
You sat up and he soundlessly fell onto his back as you shakily climbed on top of him, discarding your pants and panties in a small heap.
Miguel watched as you went to unbuckle his belt and unzipped his pants, his large hands gripping the couch cushion beneath him. You unconsciously swallowed as your eyes roved over his large conspicuous erection, something you had felt against your thigh earlier as you rocked against him. Miguel ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth.
Your core throbbed.
His hand smoothed over your bare thigh before resting on your ass. Your thighs clenched at the sight of him beneath you - the dewy sheen of his skin, his dark eyes egging you on to take him whole. You grabbed the wrapper from him and his grip on your ass tightened ever so slightly.
He closed his eyes as you pulled out his cock and gave his shaft a gentle pump, his chest rising and falling as he savored your touch. He felt warm and heavy in your hand and you fought the urge to take him into your mouth entirely.
You rolled the condom over his hard cock with baited breath. He opened his eyes as the condom hit the base of his shaft, his gaze searing into your skin.
“Need help?” he murmured.
You made a small ‘tch’ noise and hiked his shirt up, your hand splaying across his hairy chest. You reached in between your legs and grasped his shaft, positioning your entrance just above the head of his cock. Your heart thudded as his tip teased your entrance.
You sunk down onto him with a gasp.
Miguel’s jaw clenched as he slid inside you, your vagina stretching to accommodate his girth as he filled you completely. You let out a strangled moan, your body jerking forward as he finally hit your apex. He cupped your face and kissed you fiercely, only to pause as you moaned into each other’s mouths as he rolled his hips.
You leaned back onto the palms of your hands, your lips wet with saliva as you began to ride him in earnest. You raised your hips and sunk down on him again, settling into a rhythm.
Miguel cursed and fondled your breasts as you steadily rutted against him, the sensation of his cock rubbing against your inner walls causing the pressure inside you to slowly build up again. With his cock nestled deep inside you, the carnal need for release continued to grow.
Again you wanted more.
You lurched forward. “Harder,” you breathed into his ear.
He inhaled sharply and seized your hips, dragging you closer. You pressed a kiss against the curve of his jaw.
His face buried into the crook of your neck, Miguel thrusted inside you.
“Just like that,” you gasped, his cock consumed by your wet heat. Your head was spinning.
Your back arched as you moved together, Miguel pulling your hips down to meet his thrusts. The sound of his heavy sack slapping against your ass made a sinful noise that had your blood rushing into your ears. Your movements became increasingly frenzied.
You bit down on his collarbone and his fingers dug into your plush skin, the motion accompanied by a breathy shudder. Your lips sought his own as you pressed against one another.
Thighs trembling as you held on, his hand steadied you as you began to lose yourself. Thrusting into you deeply, his nose grazed your ear.
“Come for me, cariño,” he murmured. The ghost of his mouth pressed a kiss against the side of your face.
He brought your full weight onto his cock.
You moaned loudly, your fingers sinking into his chest as you finally came. You ground your hips into his pelvis, riding out your climax as he continued to pummel into you. Your body came apart just to be brought back together again. He let out a ragged breath and smiled.
His grip on your ass tightening, Miguel's thrusts became erratic as as you shattered.
He grabbed your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist as he finally let himself go, cumming inside you as he thrusted into you again and again. You held each other as you rode out your ecstasy. Eventually, your body sank onto him, your head resting on his chest as you listened to the pounding thump of his heartbeat over the distant sounds of the nighttime city.
You swallowed.
Your thoughts post-orgasm were still a bit hazy, but an unexpected emotion was beginning to settle into your stomach: confusion. You mustered a small smile.
“That was great. Thank you,” you said, looking up at him.
A distinct inscrutable expression flashed over his face for a moment before his mouth settled into a casual smile.
“Glad to be of service,” he huffed. You must have imagined it.
Finding yourself unable to meet his eyes any longer, you slipped yourself off of him and onto your shaky legs. You gathered your clothes.
“I’ll be back,” you said, pointing towards the bathroom with your thumb. He nodded.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Let me know if you need anything.”
* * *
You closed the bathroom door with a thud and exhaled.
After cleaning yourself up, you sat on the closed lid of his toilet. Your head was reeling with thoughts.
What was that?
Everything had happened so quickly and yet, your bodies had blended together seamlessly. There was a level of comfort - of familiarity - that seemingly came out of nowhere.
The night had led somewhere unexpected - what you anticipated as a quick lay had left you feeling dazed. Bare.
Your time with Miguel had felt . . . intimate, intimate in a way that almost scared you. Reflecting on it alone, our heart fluttered and a now familiar warmth had returned between your legs.
No strings attached, you reminded yourself. Never.
You rubbed your arms and stood up, the cold air of his apartment now leaving you feeling chilly.
* * *
Walking back into Miguel’s living room, you found Miguel on the phone. You smiled at the sight. His hair was still disheveled.
“You’re going to have to cover me until I get there, Peter,” he said, staring out the window of his apartment. He ran his hand through his already mussed hair. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks. Bye.”
He slid his phone in his pocket before noticing you had returned.
“Late night business calls?” you said playfully. He huffed.
“Yes, actually,” he responded. His tone almost sounded apprehensive.
“I was going to head out anyways,” you said. Your voice was airy as you grabbed your car keys and water bottle. “Work in the morning, y’know.”
He blinked before giving you a small smile. “Ah. Can I walk you to your car?”
You nodded. “Yeah,” you said, finding yourself evading his eyes again.
He followed you to his front door. You grabbed your coat from the coat rack, putting it on as he opened the door for you.
The neighborhood Miguel lived in was quiet as the two of you wordlessly walked towards your car. The walk was conveniently short as you had parked right in front of his building. You unlocked your car with a small click and Miguel opened your car door as you slid into the driver’s seat.
Miguel crouched down, his eyes meeting yours one last time.
“I . . . had a nice time tonight,” Miguel said, his hand on the roof of your car.
Your heart thumped.
“Me too,” you said. Your voice sounded unexpectedly soft. The nighttime sounds of the neighborhood gently buzzed in your ears.
“See you on Thursday,” he said.
You almost had to laugh.
“A B-52?” He gave you a singular nod, knocking his fingers on the car’s roof before shutting your door.
You turned on your car’s ignition and pulled away from the street curb, Miguel’s form fading into the darkness of the night.
* * *
After years of fighting, Miguel could finally say he was happy.
Years prior he had steadily moved up the chain at Alchemax. When he became head of their genetics program he believed that the countless hours spent overtime and rubbing shoulders with New York’s nauseating elite had finally paid off.
He was wrong and through a series of painful, unfortunate events, he became a Spider-Man.
The series of painful events seemed to continue.
Until he met you.
He had read studies that owning a pet could reduce anxiety and depression (not to mention, ease loneliness). He was anxious and depressed and it had become progressively more apparent that filling his life with heroism hadn’t done anything to ease the inner turmoil of his mind.
Not that this realization stopped him from overworking himself.
Miguel decided he had nothing to lose.
He adopted a dog - an Anatolian Shepherd he named Chiquito.
Chiquito proved to be quite the handful for Miguel, the large dog forcing Miguel to get a healthy amount of sunlight everyday during their walks to the local dog park or trips to the nearby hiking spots. His life began to have a semblance of a routine.
One particular summer day that routine deviated with Chiquito accidentally swallowing a bee while at the park. After rushing his dog to the closest animal hospital available, Miguel anxiously awaited for the veterinarian to call his name.
The veterinarian was nice. She assured him Chiquito would be fine, prescribing him a dosage of an antihistamine medication to take home.
“First time owner?” she had asked.
"Yeah,” Miguel replied, wringing his hands together. Chiquito stared back at him blankly, his big puffy face leaving Miguel unable to decide if he wanted to laugh or cry.
“Don’t be hard on yourself. These things happen,” she said, consoling him. “He’ll be better in no time.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking up from his hands.
Somehow he found himself continuing to run into you.
It first happened at the new park he had started going to with Chiquito. (The other one evidently had a high bee population.)
“Hi,” you said, taking your earbud out with a breathless smile. You had been on a jog with your own dog - a Cocker Spaniel named Beedo - when you had bumped into each other.
“Hey,” he said, trying to maintain his composure as Chiquito pulled at his leash.
And then at the grocery store.
He reared the corner of the frozen food section, a familiar figure standing before him.
“Nice to see you again,” you said, an amused smile forming on your lips. He let out a soft huff and shook his head.
"They have pretty cheap cuts of meat,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say.
Thankfully you seemed to enjoy his poor attempt at humor. “I don’t eat meat but that’s good to know,” you said.
Miguel felt himself internally shrink.
"Right now I’m just stocking up on stuff for a trip to the beach,” you added, grabbing a bag of ice from the freezer.
“The beach?” he said, tilting his head.
You spent the rest of the time shopping together, meandering about the aisles of the grocery store as you asked each other questions. He found out you had two siblings - a younger brother and an older sister with a baby on the way. Tomorrow you were hanging out with your sister at the beach as you hadn’t seen her for a while.
Apparently veterinarians were their busiest during the summer season.
He informed you that Chiquito had made a full recovery, and recently had taken up lounging on Miguel’s side of the bed. You found out he hated coffee - the caffeine made him jittery and sleepy at the same time.
He walked you to your car, wishing you a safe trip and as you drove away he exhaled, realizing he had left the store without picking up any rice.
You met again.
He jogged up to you with a small sheepish smile.
You had the same routine.
You turned, your bright eyes setting on him.
The two of you talked, finishing your jog together.
"Would you be interested in grabbing a coffee with me sometime?” he said, finally mustering up the courage to ask you out on a date.
You had said yes.
And from then on he learned something new about you everyday.
How deeply you loved your family.
How deeply you loved.
Your fear of enclosed spaces.
Your fondness of the color green.
The reason you became a veterinarian.
The sounds you made when you were on the brink.
The way your eyes crinkled when you laughed so hard that your stomach hurt.
Your favorite disgustingly sweet alcoholic cocktail.
His years of being a Spider-Man taught him that loss was inevitable but you were the one thing that kept him anchored throughout it all.
And for a time, he was happy again - until it became clear to Miguel that death followed him wherever he went.
You got sick.
And with Chiquito’s passing, Miguel had once again found himself living a life in solitude. He found himself continuously losing.
And so he gave up on trying to live any other way.
Jumping from dimension to dimension, he eventually found somewhere he could do just that - he resigned himself to a dimension where he didn’t exist.
He drank to make his thoughts of the other world - his thoughts of you - fade into the background. The alcohol dulled his hyperactive senses, and for fleeting moments of bliss, everything quieted. His life became lonely, but consistent.
He eventually tried to quit the habit and resigned himself to drinking only in public in an effort to limit his consumption.
A nearby bar had high reviews.
During his first visit the owner, a man named Victor, had checked in on him, and the two had a conversation that lasted until the bar’s closing time.
‘Conversation’ was one way to put it, as it was mostly the older gentleman sharing long-winded anecdotes with the occasional input from Miguel.
Suffice to say, Miguel never went back.
And yet once again the multiverse apparently had other plans for him.
Stumbling home one night and badly beaten from a fight with an unruly variant, Miguel had run into the same bar owner he had met weeks prior. The man took him into his home despite Miguel’s protests, opting to treat his wounds.
“I don’t exactly know what you're going through, but I know it’s hell,” Victor had said, wiping the blood from Miguel’s arm. “I’ve been sober for 20 years and it’s still a struggle.”
He seemed to have misunderstood Miguel’s situation but he stayed silent, unable to offer any other alternative explanation.
“I know what you’re thinking - an alcoholic that owns a bar? Yeah, I didn’t think things would turn out this way either,” he laughed. “Didn’t know what to do with my life after serving and bought the shack during the recession.”
He tightened one of Miguel’s stitches, causing him to wince. “But y’know what they say?”
“Never dip into your own product,” Miguel muttered.
Victor huffed. “Yeah. Now the place just reminds me of how hard I’ve worked to get where I’m at,” he said, pointing at a picture hanging up on the wall.
It was a framed photo of a young Victor and his wife, holding up three children between the two of them. Miguel blinked as unexpected tears welled in his eyes.
He and Victor talked for a long time that night.
Between correcting deviated timelines and tracking down variants, Miguel never was never home often. V often lightheartedly complained that he never made the time to visit him at the bar. But regardless, Victor became a sort of mentor figure to Miguel and the two would catch up occasionally when Miguel was in town.
Miguel’s visits became less frequent as the abundance of variants increased. He still had destructive habits, diving headfirst into his work and working excessively long hours to detach from anything else. He was constantly exhausted and haggard, his powers being the one thing that kept him from collapsing entirely. He was just going through the motions most days and he preferred it that way.
It became his routine.
He spent an entire year in another dimension, using his background as a geneticist to help revitalize the agricultural development of an alien colony that had just endured a civil war.
He knew he was running away but he couldn’t look back. There was nothing to turn back to, he had decided in his own mind.
You were everything he had needed. And he had lost you.
Only when they no longer needed his help, he returned, only to realize how much time had truly passed. With no one answering his calls, he rushed to After Dark, only for his world to shatter again.
His heart felt as if it was about to pound outside of his chest, a feverish cold sweat overcoming him. His mouth went dry as a thousand thoughts raced through his mind.
Clipboard in hand, there you stood, casually restocking the bar. Your eyes met. Everything went silent.
You hastily set your clipboard aside and he staggered toward you, only to compose himself at the last second.
This person wasn’t you.
“I’m so sorry - I thought you were my coworker. Welcome to After Dark. What can I-”
Years of unsaid words welled up inside him, only for a singular question to escape his lips.
“Is V here?” he said. He was terrified to say anything else.
"I’m sorry. He isn’t here.” He swallowed, a sinking feeling spreading across his chest.
“And when will he be here?” he asked.
“He passed away a few years ago.”
He had stepped back, the ringing in his ears growing louder.
“What?”
You looked at him, visibly confused. “I’m sorry. Did you know-”
It was hard to breathe with you so close.
“What do you mean he passed away a few years ago? I thought-” he paused to inhale. “The place is still called After Dark-”
“That’s because my uncle owns the place now-”
His head whipped up. “Uncle?”
You both turned your heads as the back door swung open. A woman yelled as she entered the bar. You turned to answer her.
He ran.
That night Miguel returned to his empty apartment and cried for the first time in a very long time.
* * *
There was a deeply sad irony in him returning to After Dark the following Thursday. As he stepped into the building he realized he had been in the bar more times in the past two weeks than he had ever been before.
You appeared before him and the words left his mouth before he could think.
“A B-52 cocktail, please,” he said, cutting you off.
* * *
He continued to return to After Dark - whether out of guilt, or duty, or out of perceived obligation he wasn’t entirely sure - and yet he found himself at the corner of the bar nonetheless.
Miguel would continue to keep his distance away from you. He was curt - standoffish and impersonal, much like how he had been in the beginning of your interactions with one another.
For the most part he didn’t even do this consciously. It seemed that old habits truly did die hard.
You had your own life in this world and he would respect that. A voice inside him told him that your life was better off without him.
And he believed it.
* * *
You came barreling back into his own.
“What’s your problem?” you said, your figure obscuring his line of vision as he sat at his table.
Time slowed and everything went quiet again.
You were as beautiful as ever.
"Excuse me?” he responded, unable to devise any other response.
* * *
He wanted to hear you call him all the special names you had come up for him throughout the years. He wanted to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you made love into the night, rocking your hips gently against one another until you found your release. He wanted to apologize to you for not being stronger - for not being the man you believed him to be.
He wanted to hold you in his arms - to hear some sort of reassurance that everything was going to be okay.
But he bit his tongue instead, letting his body express his desires and lamentations that his words could not.
A part of him broke as you slid off of him, a cold wall of indifference rising between you. What had your life been like for you to harden yourself in this way?
You were in the bathroom when Peter called, asking if Miguel could come into headquarters.
“I can’t,” he said. The silent sound of pure shock on the other end of the phone was deafening.
“What? You can’t?” Peter stuttered. “Are you okay? Should I send Spider-Doc to your house to look-”
“Christ, I’m fine. I’m just - “
He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with Peter of all people.
“ - occupied at the moment. You’re going to have to cover me until I get there, Peter.”
“Miguel, are you sure you’re okay? Remember that I’m here if you ever need to talk about anything-”
Miguel huffed. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks. Bye.”
He slid his phone in his pocket, thankful that the conversation was over. He swallowed, noticing you had returned.
You told him you were leaving and despite every fiber of his being wanting to ask you to stay, he walked you to your car.
“See you on Thursday,” he said.
“A B-52?” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.
His heart clenched.
Miguel watched as you pulled away from the street curb and drove off into the uncertainty of the night.
He slowly walked back to his apartment, shutting the front door softly and locking it behind him.
Walking into his living room, he picked up a photograph from the coffee table, slipping it out of its glass casing and unfolding the picture that was enclosed inside - a picture of him, Chiquito, and you.