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Today, to say the least, was going poorly.
The day had started out nice and normal enough: Miles had rolled exhaustedly out of bed in his dorm, drudged through the school day and tried not to fall asleep at his desk from being out all night, then done homework, and gone out on patrol. Then—theoretically—he should have climbed through his dorm window way later than his curfew—maybe dressing some wounds afterwards—and collapsed back into bed.
Except that last step needed to get scratched from his schedule, because he had been dumb enough to get himself captured.
He lamented this fact as he was pushed roughly to walk faster across the concrete floor of a warehouse, his comms picking up nothing but static and handcuffs digging into his wrists behind his back.
He hadn’t expected the arms dealers he had intercepted earlier to be packing enough of a punch to debilitate him, but they had. That, and some kind of drug. Which still lingered annoyingly, fogging his thoughts slightly.
Whatever it was, it had been rough, Miles thought dazedly, unable to catch himself as he was shoved towards the floor.
He wasn’t looking forward to owning up to Peter that he had let mobsters get the better of him.
He bit back a groan of pain, opting to push himself as best he could to his knees, narrowing his lenses at his captors. At least they hadn’t removed his mask. Yet.
“Ain’t you a feisty one,” one of the goons sneered down at him. He moved a little closer, moving his gun to one hand and outstretching the other with wiggling fingers. “Maybe I outta take you down a few notches. I’d bet taking off your cozy little mask would do the trick.”
Miles’ eyes narrowed, but before he could dole out a bold reply, another scowling thug stepped forward and lurched the first one back by the shoulder.
“Boss said specifically that he wants to be the one to unmask ‘im,” he scolded. He turned his cold gaze back to Miles, releasing the other man’s shoulder and approaching him. Something glinted in his hand, and Miles felt his blood freeze.
It was a syringe. Great, even more drugs. He went with his first instinct to jerk back, but as he did, a hard barrel was ruthlessly pressed into the side of his skull, reminding him of the reason he wasn’t currently breaking out of his bindings and mowing through everyone in the damn warehouse right then and there. These guys had excellent kidnapping form; they hadn’t lapsed in keeping several guns aimed directly at him the entire time, leaving no potential opening for a Venom strike or other attack.
Annoyance and panic started to waver slightly towards fear.
“I’m no expert on spider powers, but I’m pretty sure that putting a bullet through your brain at point blank range will have the effect it would on a normal person. So,” the thug crouched closer to his level, smirking at him, “Hold still and take it like a man.”
Miles grit his teeth in anger, trying to shift back a little once more as his spider-sense shrieked in alarm at the needle now inches away from his neck, but it was to no avail. He held back a flinch as the gun was pressed closer, and as the pinprick of the needle bit into his skin. Something cold began to spread through his veins, and he repressed a shudder as the thug pulled away after a moment.
“There,” he said with a malicious grin. “That outta do the trick at quietening him down.”
There were a few snickers throughout the warehouse, and despite the humiliation and new flavor of wooziness he was beginning to feel, Miles tried to stay kneeling straight upright, chin still lifted.
As the moments ticked on, however, just that simple act began to seem more and more impossible.
His shoulders began to slump, his chin lowering slowly as he eventually kneeled further down to sit on his ankles, head bowed as his vision wavered.
Everything felt...slow...and dizzy...
The occasional voices that echoed somewhere in the background were mostly indiscernible, and eventually, he just stopped paying attention to them. Whatever cold, hard thing that had been pressed closely to his skull eventually moved away, and Miles found himself drifting away into his own world, where everything felt oddly warm and fuzzy, like he was floating.
At some point, one of the voices came closer, and he felt his chin being lifted up. When he forced his eyes open, all that he could see through his lenses was a blurry face.
“Nah, he’s...’ly...out of it,” was something along the lines of what the person said. “I don’t know what...entertaining.” They chuckled before letting go of his chin, and moving away with strangely echoing footsteps.
It could have been moments, or hours later until Miles felt some of the wooziness finally beginning to dissipate. He eventually forced his head to raise, staring blearily around him and trying to pick out exactly what was happening.
Dusty warehouse...people with guns...malicious looking man smiling down at him...
“You must burn through the stuff pretty fast with your freaky spider shit,” the man observed. “Though, I gotta say, you put on a much more interesting show than anyone else I’ve ever seen shot up. What with you sounding all like a little kitty cat.”
Miles stared at him for a long moment, then finally felt his foggy brain beginning to translate his words. The last part felt...like it should mean more to him than it did.
Then, he finally noticed it. Blended in with the fogginess of his mind, and the weakness of his limbs, was a terrifyingly familiar sensation.
He was purring.
Now that he noticed, he could hear the quiet chirrs of it, too.
Feeling a hazy surge of desperation, he tried to cough weakly, even shifting slightly to try to wake himself up more as he continued to fight off the effects of the drug. It wasn’t working, though, he couldn’t stop—
He became aware of the snickers and stares being directed at him, then. The goon who had initially addressed him was crossing his arms and beaming cruelly.
“Can’t stop, huh?” he chuckled.
Miles grit his teeth, humiliation burning through his veins. No matter what he seemed to do, he just couldn’t cease the sensation. He was literally being forced to purr. Even trying to make himself stop with the discomfort of harshly digging his fingernails into his palms wasn’t working. The pain was too delayed and dulled by the drug.
After shakily trying to rise to his feet was met with another gun barrel at his head, he lowered his gaze again, refusing to meet the thugs’ leers. He...he needed to conserve energy, to focus on escaping...
“What’s the secret then, spidey?” one of them called. “You part cat under that mask?”
“Maybe he’s the bastard son of Black Cat and Spidey Senior.”
There were a few snickers at that, and Miles did the best he could to tune out the rest of their taunts, even when he felt someone’s boot and another gun prod into his side.
“Guess we’ll have to ask him more about it later, when he’s not all drugged up and cooing like a fuckin’ pussycat. Who knows? Maybe Boss’ll want him as a pet.”
Miles bristled at his words, jerking his head up to glower at the criminal through his mask, though keeping his steadfast silence. He eventually dropped his angered and alert posture after a few more moments, much to the thug’s satisfaction.
He needed a plan. The drug’s effects still lingered, though their strength diminished with time. His purring didn’t taper off until around a half hour later, and by that point, he was beginning to calculate the odds of successfully escaping from his current position, subtly glancing around the room while keeping still.
Miles was just finally feeling like he had some control back over himself when he heard the softest of creaks from one of the dilapidated vents above.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to dig himself out of this mess completely alone, then.
He was careful about tilting his head slightly, relief blooming through him as he recognized familiar red and blue waiting for him on the ceiling.
Peter had just crept out of the vents, his suit visibly dusty even from down here. His wide lenses fixed on Miles, likely assessing him for injuries.
The teen fought back the urge to gesture or try to communicate with him, remaining stock still as he watched his mentor, only lowering his eyes to check that no one had noticed the other spider. None of the goons thought to look up, so they were in luck.
Upon registering that Miles wasn’t visibly injured, Peter began to make silent gestures, indicating his plan.
Miles dared to tilt his chin down fractionally, a silent nod of confirmation.
His mentor took careful aim, then instantly pulled the guns out of the hands of the criminals closest to him. At the same time, the younger spider stumbled to his feet, breaking the metal chain of the handcuffs in half and unleashing a burst of Venom onto the nearby goons.
He might have been a little woozy, and the world might have spun a little at first, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting some sweet, sweet revenge on these fools.
They spasmed under his Venom with shouts of pain and surprise, but Miles was already moving, flickering out of visibility and forcing his stiff legs to function as he darted towards his other captors.
Peter was webbing some up to the ceiling, leaving the last two for Miles to finish off with a vicious Venom burst.
The older spider dropped nimbly to the floor, jogging up to him and ready to hover over him like the mother hen he tended to be.
“Took your time getting here,” Miles snarked weakly, his humor still coloring his tired words.
“Yeah, well, you know how rush hour gets,” Peter said in a light tone, even though he was very clearly inspecting him for injuries. “You ok?”
“I’m fine,” Miles insisted, stretching his sore muscles and glancing back around the warehouse at all the unconscious thugs. “Just—kinda embarrassed that I got myself kidnapped by regular criminals.”
“They’re not regular criminals,” Peter insisted quickly. “They were clearly very well-prepared to deal with whatever Spider-Man showed up. I pulled the data from your suit and tracked you here once I realized you’d gone off-grid. I mean, you would’ve had the situation handled by yourself, but I had some spare time, and I figured—Ok, I’m rambling,” he apologized, shaking his head. “You’re sure you’re ok?”
“Yes,” Miles insisted. “They gave me something to knock me out once or twice, but nothing serious. And I wasn’t questioned or anything,” he added at Peter’s immediate alarm. “They just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t escape. Their boss was supposedly on his way here, though I don’t think he’s gonna show up once he realizes what happened.”
He specifically did not mention the purring. This situation was embarrassing enough on its own.
“Now can we please get out of here and pretend this never happened?” Miles asked. “And also never tell anyone about it?”
“I expect you to tell the need-to-know people in your life about it, but yes, we can get out of here,” Peter affirmed, leading the way out of the building and into the night. “I’ll leave a message for the cops to pick those fine gentlemen up. C’mon, let’s get you home. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I determine that whatever they gave you won’t harm you.”
‘Whatever they had given him’ had not harmed him, as they found out later. Miles already knew that, but it didn’t hurt to sit still for a few moments and let Peter fuss with blood tests and general medical proddings. It was the least Miles could do, to thank him for the assist.
Of course, the truth that he had a more complicated run-in than usual did slip out of him when confronted individually by Ganke’s concerned eyes and his mother’s all-seeing gaze.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he tried to soothe their worries quickly. “They didn’t rough me up. I’m ok.”
They hadn’t roughed him up too much—but Miles found that the event had left an interesting consequence behind.
Oddly enough, his mother was the first to notice, a few weeks later.
“I haven’t heard you purr in a while,” she joked, her expression light and teasing. “Cat got your tongue, Mijo?”
Miles didn’t really have to force the smile he gave her in return, rolling his eyes. “Nah, just haven’t been super tired lately.”
Which wasn’t true, but she didn’t need to know that. And here he was again, just like at the beginning with the whole purring thing: stuck in a ridiculous situation.
He didn’t want to purr. Not after the beyond-humiliating ordeal of being forced to do so in front of mocking leers. The memory of...all of it made the idea of indulging in his soft, vulnerable tendency seem impossible.
He didn’t like to think what sorts of stories about Spider-Man those criminals were spreading around in prison.
The whole situation was just...annoying. Which is what Miles forcibly reminded himself it was, because labelling it as anything else would make the strange amount of stress he was feeling about it seem much more problematic.
It wasn’t traumatizing or something—just... Invasive.
Purring had been something he only did when he was alone, or around those he unequivocally trusted. It was allowing the more questionable parts of his spider mutation to show freely, and using what it offered as a way to de-stress.
It was meant to be private. Not something for people to exploit, or a sign of weakness in his Spider-Man persona.
Every time he found the instinct automatically gripping him, Miles forced himself to stop. The anxiety would start to chew at him almost instantly, making shame curl in his stomach as he quickly shifted or forcefully reminded himself to cease.
At least he could find ways to actually stop it, now. Not like before, when all those cruel eyes had been staring...
The resultant stress that started to build up because of his holding back was strange. He hadn’t ever needed to do this before in life. Why should he now?
A few purr-free weeks later, and Miles found himself in an unrelatedly somber and silent mood as he clambered through his mentor’s apartment window.
It was freezing outside, and the warmth from the apartment made his face sting as he pulled off his mask.
“Hey,” Peter called from his desk, clearly in the process of jotting down an unending diagram of some sort. “How was patrol?”
“Fine,” Miles sighed, pulling off his backpack and dumping it on the floor. “Figured I should probably return those tools I borrowed from you, like, a month ago.” He extracted said items, wandering over and setting them down on the most mess-free corner of his desk.
“Thanks,” Peter said, giving a satisfied grin as he finally finished writing and turned his focus towards Miles. “You hungry? MJ and I made a lasagna last night, and it actually didn’t turn out terrible. Wanna try it?”
The younger spider gave him a surprisingly wavering smile. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’m just gonna head home and try not to lapse into a coma from all those all-nighters I had to pull for school these past few days.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Peter coaxed, carelessly shoving back his chair before standing up and heading towards the kitchen. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Plus the weather is getting worse. I was planning on taking a little break that I really don’t have the time for anyway.”
Despite himself, the corner of Miles’ mouth turned up a little as he listened to his mentor ramble. “Alright, just for a little while, though,” he replied.
“Great!” Peter beamed, already in the process of hacking off a slice of lasagna that he had extracted from the fridge. “Now go change out of that suit. I don’t want any melted snow ruining the luxurious material of my designer couch.”
Miles scoffed humorously, sending the ancient piece of second-hand furniture a raised eyebrow before slipping into the bathroom to change into whatever clothes he had stuffed into his backpack that morning. He counted it as a win that it came out to a complete outfit.
He was a little hesitant to try the food Peter pushed on him—the quality of the other spider’s cooking had been a topic of some debate in the past—but after tasting it, decided that it probably wouldn’t poison him. MJ had likely been mainly responsible for its success at being not only edible, but actually good, he thought as he scarfed some down.
Settling in on the second-hand sofa with a textbook to stuff his nose in was as familiar as it was welcome. Peter practically flopping down next to him with a tired grin and a Starkpad to work off of also proved to settle him into a familiar sense of calm.
He read and jotted down notes for a while, the only sounds reaching his ears the city life beyond, and the turning of pages.
“There’s the upstairs neighbors again,” Peter observed softly at some point into the silence, the sound of clunky footsteps traveling over their heads following his words right on cue. “Still not totally convinced they’re not trying out cinderblock shoes as a fashion trend.”
Miles chuckled at that, and they fell into that peaceful silence again.
The words on the pages started to lose some of their meaning, and Miles found his mind beginning to wander as his exhaustion began to catch up with him. He hadn’t been sleeping poorly, per say—but waking some nights and expecting angry captors hovering over him wasn’t helping much. He just wasn’t quite sure why his unconscious mind wanted to make such a big deal out of a one-time event.
He didn’t really notice that his eyelids were beginning to droop until they slid all the way shut twice, by accident. He tried to shake some of the tiredness off and keep working, but it just kept happening. Eventually, he began to give up on the idea of fighting it.
It couldn’t hurt to take a five minute break, anyway.
Except apparently it could, because the next thing he knew, a familiar warmth was curling in his chest, and the humming of a purr was rumbling low in his throat.
A few soft purrs had already escaped him before he could wake up, clamping down as hard as he could on the instinct and narrowing his eyes slightly as he tried to push away the anxiety already creeping up on him.
It was fine, no one was here to exploit or laugh at him—wait. That wasn’t entirely true. Someone was here.
“You ok?” Peter’s surprisingly quiet voice came from his left, and Miles forced himself to glance over at him, already feeling humiliation settle in his stomach.
This wouldn’t end well. (And also, he was getting major Deja Vu.)
“Yeah, just,” he said awkwardly, “Cramped up, or something.”
“Huh,” Peter hummed, his eyes still scanning the screen. “A few more in, and you probably would’ve convinced me to bail on being a responsible grown-up and join you in your catnap.”
He said it with humor, and no ill intention, but still. It hit a little too close to home.
Something must have shifted in Miles’ expression or posture, because the next thing he knew, Peter was looking back at him more attentively this time, frowning ever so slightly.
“Hey...you sure you’re ok?”
Miles nodded mutely, glancing away.
“Is there something you wanna talk about?”
“Nope,” he replied, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m good.”
He thought for a split second that he might get lucky, that Peter might just drop it—but no, of course he wouldn’t.
“Did something happen on patrol? An embarrassing face-plant, or tricky pigeon encounter? Or—”
“No,” Miles stressed, his exhaustion catching up to him as his voice wavered slightly with emotion. He was tired and stressed, and although he thought it was...dumb, he already felt too weighed down to deal with any jokes. Not in this moment, anyway.
A gentle hand came to poke at his shoulder before settling there, making Miles automatically glance back at Peter, taking in the shift in his expression.
His mentor was studying him in that way that made him feel as if he was peering into more than just his eyes. It was always a tiny bit unnerving, but Miles didn’t look away, gazing back at him and trying to keep his features in check.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His tone was so achingly gentle—yet steady, like something you could tangibly lean on—that it made Miles unsure whether he wanted to run and hide or bury his face in his shoulder. The overall effect of it made the truth slip out of him with a little too much ease.
“I just...keep getting caught up in thinking about something really...silly,” he muttered. “The other day, at that warehouse...I—I lost control.” He couldn’t seem to stop the way his voice creaked slightly.
“That drug, it...It messed with me. With my brain—and my body. Something about it triggered my mind into thinking I was relaxed, and...I started purring. In front of all those people. And it was...really bad.” He tore his gaze away, ashamed.
Peter’s features had shifted several times throughout his explanation—concern, to fear, to something like anger.
“Did they hurt you?” he asked in a deceptively soft voice. Miles could hear the danger under that tone—not for him, of course, but for the criminals who had potentially harmed him.
“No,” he replied quietly, his own tone slipping towards dejection. “They didn’t do anything about it. Just...laughed. And stuff.”
“Hurting you doesn’t necessarily mean physically.”
Miles bit back a scoff, not at Peter’s words, but at himself. “I don’t get all broken up about bad guys trying to mess with me. It wasn’t that. It’s just... I don’t know. Now I can’t help but feel anxious whenever I start purring. I’m just, off, now. Like I said, it’s...really dumb. I’m sorry.”
“No,” Peter said firmly, staring at him with the sort of intensity that might have made some people squirm. “It’s something that happened that made you feel exploited. You were forced into the most vulnerable state you could be in, all in front of people who wanted to hurt you. Of course it matters. And now the idea of being in that vulnerable state again is associated with danger. Right?”
“Yeah,” Miles replied softly, unable to repress the embarrassment and shame he was feeling, but also experiencing a sense of relief at how sharply Peter had pinpointed his thoughts. “That’s exactly what’s happening. But it doesn’t really matter. Just some annoying little problem.”
“It matters to me,” Peter said steadily, and Miles met his gaze again from where his eyes had wandered. “You were hurt—maybe even traumatized—by this, and I didn’t even realize. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not trauma,” Miles said hastily, cringing slightly. “It wasn’t even that bad. It could’ve been so much worse.”
“Lots of things can be ‘so much worse,’” Peter replied. “That doesn’t make the things that do hurt or bother us any lesser.”
Miles glanced down at his lap, swallowing thickly. He sure hadn’t left much room for more argument with those answers. “Thanks, man,” he mumbled quietly. “That’s—really nice.”
“It’s meant to be more than ‘nice,’” Peter answered gently. “I want to be there for you to lean on with this sort of thing. No matter how ‘dumb’ you think your problems are. They matter. A lot.” He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging Miles into his side and letting him lean into him.
“Now come on,” he murmured after a moment, when he felt the younger spider begin to slowly loosen up and lean more into the embrace. “I already know that I can totally make up for whatever five minutes of work I shirk right now later.”
Miles frowned slightly at that. “Nah bro, you don’t have to—”
“I want to. If you’re ok with it.”
The younger spider took a soft breath. “Yeah, alright. Just...just five minutes, though. Then I should probably get going.”
“Fair enough. Here, lay down.” He shifted away slightly, then patted his lap invitingly. “I won’t mind being your pillow for a little while. Just this once.” The familiarity of his lightly teasing smile made some of Miles’ hesitation and corresponding dubious expression fade away.
He rearranged himself on the couch, pulling his legs up and curling on his side. He hesitantly rested the left side of his head into his mentor’s lap, turning his back to the other spider.
“Comfortable?”
“Yeah, I—I guess.”
Peter chuckled softly at that, and Miles couldn’t quite help but to instinctively tense slightly as one of his hands came to rest on his shoulder, applying the slightest hint of pressure to help him relax again.
“A rousing endorsement. Let me know if you wanna move.”
He switched the TV on after that, lowering the volume way down and turning the channel to a ridiculous reality show that was not living up to the ‘reality’ part of its name.
It got a few snickers out of Miles, though, and he unconsciously settled in more to their new posture.
At some point during one of the commercial breaks, when he finally allowed his eyes to slide shut, he felt Peter’s hand lift off his shoulder and come to brush a feather light touch along the edge of his hair, right where his fade started to taper off.
Miles shifted slightly in surprise at the contact, but didn’t say anything or move away. It had been unexpected, yes, but he hadn’t found it unwelcome.
Peter tentatively repeated the gesture, keeping his touch light and easy to pull away from, but the younger spider did not make any indication of a desire to do so. Instead, he kept his eyes closed, remaining relaxed and even leaning into the contact slightly.
His mentor seemed to understand his unspoken permission for him to continue, because his hand came back with a more tangible touch, brushing slowly over his short hair in an indulgently soothing caress. His strokes evened out into a steady flow of contact, gently exploring through Miles’ hair as he did.
The younger spider found himself softening more and more under his ministrations, his breathing evening out and the beginnings of pleasant heat gradually starting to nestle in his chest.
He finally reached the tipping point when Peter tilted his fingers slightly, providing delicate, painless scratches against his scalp with the barest hint of blunt fingernails brushing his skin. If possible, Miles melted even more into his touch, and his soft purr that had been keeping his chest toasty became audible.
He was so distracted by how heavenly the touches in his hair felt, that it took a moment for the sudden rush of anxiety to catch up to him.
Maybe boss’ll want him as a pet.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, fear began to spike as he realized just how defenseless he was making himself. He automatically began to tense, making to lift his head as his brow furrowed into a grimace and his chest stuttered and began to halt in its murmurs.
Except then, Peter’s hand was carefully guiding his head back into his lap, his second hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
“Shh...” he hushed softly, gently resuming his attention to his scalp after Miles hesitantly lowered his head back into his lap. “It’s ok. You’re safe.”
Miles felt his features twist into an unhappy, almost saddened expression, but took a steadying breath as he felt his mentor’s hand in his hair again and heard his comforting murmurs.
Safe, the other spider was telling him. His spider-sense seemed to agree.
So Miles finally stopped focusing on the niggling fear and anxiety at the back of his mind, and tried only to focus on and feel the moment he was in.
He was in Peter’s apartment, not pinned down in a filthy warehouse with a gun pressing into his skull. His mentor was the one touching him, not some cruel thug ready to hurt and humiliate him in front of the others, maybe tearing away his mask—
“Hey.” Peter’s voice suddenly broke through the nervousness of his thoughts that had begun to spiral. “It’s ok to let your guard down. I’m right here. Nothing will hurt you.”
His hand shifted from where he had been massaging near his temple, coming to settle closer to his forehead before stroking gently down to the back of his skull. Miles felt the tension in his jaw and face ease up, the softest of sighs escaping him as Peter continued to play with his hair.
“I’ve got you,” his mentor murmured to him, and Miles finally found himself relaxing into that soft, fuzzy place once more. Where he was choosing to be, and where he was allowing himself to be this time.
His purrs were a little quieter than usual, though this time, he tried only to let his thoughts linger on the moment. Peter’s warmth around him was grounding, his touches making his purrs even out into a steadier rhythym as he continued to smooth through his short hair and knead tender massages into his scalp.
Peter silently noted that the younger spider’s purrs seemed to grow slightly louder when he brushed over his hair in specific spots, or even just altered his technique slightly. He made sure to linger in those places, feeling and watching Miles bask under his touch with stronger chirrs each time.
Miles felt himself nearing sleep by the time he hazily noted that his mentor was joining him with his own purrs. The sound of Peter’s purrs mixing in with his own must have been the final relaxation trigger for his mind, because he steadily let go of his hold on consciousness and dozed off in the older spider’s lap.
Above him, Peter smiled hazily, carefully maintaining his slow strokes through his hair even as Miles’ purrs slowed as he slipped into sleep. Carefully, using his other hand, he painstakingly extracted his phone from where it was slipping down the couch cushions, making sure the brightness from the screen was directed away from Miles. He opened his texts.
To: Rio Morales
Hey Ms. Morales, Miles fell asleep at my place after he stopped by to visit. I can tell he needs the rest, and I didn’t really want to disturb him. Is it ok if he stays here for the night?
It only took a few moments for the reply to come in.
Yes, that’s ok, as long as he still gets to school on time :) I am glad to hear he’s finally getting some good sleep. Thank you, Peter.
He set his phone aside after sending a quick thanks, awkwardly picking his Starkpad back up and keeping his other hand wandering through the younger spider’s hair the entire time.
Working one-handed was an insignificant inconvenience in face of seeing the peace written across Miles’ features.