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It had been quite some time since he felt this way. He thought about Miles every day, all day, at all hours.
He believed that spending time away from the freckled guy would make the feelings disappear, or at least become less intense, but fortunately, the opposite was happening.
The mere idea of typing in the dimension of that hazel-eyed boy on his gizmo gave his goosebumps, but he wasn't a coward.
"1610, I'm on me way"
(...)
A kaleidoscopic portal pops open over the roof of an apartment in nighttime Brooklyn, letting out the lanky figure of the Londoner. He gives his checkered trousers a light shake, adjusts his leather vest, and readies his guitar, all set to swing through the streets of the city that never sleeps.
As he webs his way through the city toward Miles' apartment, a thousand thoughts race through his head, trying to figure out what to say about how he truly feels. Maybe the younger one already knew how he felt and just hadn't acted on it because their feelings weren't reciprocated.
Could it be that Miles didn't fancy Hobie?
He was overthinking things, really. I mean, he clearly remembers spending the previous summer with Miles and nearly roasting in the heat during that nap they took together.
"React, Hobart" He scolded himself mentally as he collided with someone's balcony, nearly knocking over their potted plants in the process.
"Think, Brown, think. What will you say? It would be too intense and daft to admit you only think of both of you together at home, lying on top of each other? Yeah, way too creepy; I might end up with a restraining order"
The train of thoughts keeps racing at full speed as it stops at Visions, climbs the ledge, and takes a quick glance through the window of what Miles and Ganke's room is like. Was he cautious around Ganke? No, why should he be?
...yes, perhaps he did feel a bit envious because Ganke spent a lot of time with his crush.
"Get a grip!" Ever since he started liking Miles, he had to mentally slap himself more times than he'd prefer.
Alright, let's rethink what to say.
Cor blimey. He doesn't know how to organize his emotions into coherent thoughts that won't spill out of his mouth like nonsensical babble.
He couldn't tell him that Morales could easily be a god, and he'd instantly become a believer.
He couldn't tell him that he kept him awake every night, trapped in an endless loop where those bright hazel eyes hypnotize him.
Dreaming about it, thinking about it; it feels like claustrophobia.
He collides with a fire escape.
Bloody hell. He's outside your window. He can't spot anyone through it. Would it be rude to enter without any permission? Please, check your window.
(...)
He has no idea how many minutes have passed or how many times he tried to adjust his strands to supposedly look good (he always looks fabulous), but the door opens, revealing the shorter guy lost in his own world with headphones until he sees Hobie.
Why does he look like a little puppy waiting for someone to open the door?
The window is open.
"I didn't know you were comin'. You been waitin' out there long? Your nose looks a bit... frozen"
The smaller one shuffles to let Hobie cross the window, maybe avoiding freezing to death on his fire escape.
Miles sits on the bed, Hobie remains standing by the desk near the window; he's been there so many times, but it's now that he feels inhibited enough not to move from where he's standing, static like a damn streetlamp.
His mouth is open, but nothing comes out to say, those golden eyes watch him expectantly, for God's sake, he's trapped in Miles' orbs.
His mind reacts a couple of seconds later, and he chooses to sit on the bed next to Miles, maybe the proximity will make him mobilize faster with his objective, but it's Miles who takes the lead and speaks first.
"I thought maybe you were too busy with your dimension stuff, you know, Osborn and all that crap. Is that why you haven't come around these days? Gwen and Pav asked too"
Was he absent long enough for his friends to notice?
"Yeah, well, 'ad a few things to sort out, y'know, like, needed to do some thinkin' and that"
This feels impossible. How is it that up close, Miles looks even more beautiful? Those eyes capable of melting his heart at any moment, those plush lips that must feel like heaven itself, and those almost imperceptible freckles adorning his nose and cheeks—he's counted them so many times when Miles is distracted by something else.
He doesn't realize that his mouth is faster than his mind until his own ears catch what he just said.
"I fancy ya, Brooklyn"
He has one hand on the slender thigh of the other, his free hand resting on the bed for support.
They gaze into each other's eyes and inch a bit closer, there's magnetism between them, they can't help but feel drawn to each other.
Both of their eyes meet low due to the atmosphere that now surrounds them, but it's in this reverie that Miles asks.
"So dat's why ya haven't dropped by? Is dat why ya ain't been hangin' 'round the precinct much either?"
Now that he heard it from someone else, it felt so absurd. He had acted like a brat.
A guilty laugh escapes from his throat.
"Yeah, well, when you say it like that, it feels bleedin' daft, love"
They both laugh, it feels as warm and cozy as they are right now. And it feels even warmer when the hand he has on Miles is captured by the latter's hand.
He takes his hand, and they intertwine their fingers, Hobie's calloused fingers from constantly playing the guitar and Miles' soft fingers stained with acrylics that haven't fully faded yet.
Not only do their hands come together, but their lips do too; Miles' lips are so enveloping, sweeter than the grape juice he once tasted.
"I like you too, Hobie"