Threads of Red, Black and Orange

by TheYilingPatriarch1

Summary:

Miles grows. A red string is tied around his left pinkie, closest to his heart. He doesn't know who's at the other end of the string, or when they'll meet, all he knows is that the person is good and they're meant to be together.

Right?

or;

Miles is growing with a red string tied around his pinkie that he can barely see. What does that mean?

Chapter 1: String, Strong, Strung

Notes:

!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE READ DISCLAIMER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know there will be people complaining about the underage tag stuff, but Miguel and Miles have ALOT to work through and it's gonna take some time. The smut won't happen until prolly when Miles is like...borderline adult. If you don't like it then don't read it.

Miguel's age when he's introduced will be late twenties, haven't decided the age just yet. 25-29...somewhere around there.

There will be violence, there will be blood and tears and grief. Miles has dealt with a lot so just expect that.

Now, a disclaimer about me. I THRIVE off of the engagement I get with Ya'll through the comments. I love interacting with you guys and hearing your thoughts, it makes me feel good and it motivates me to write. So please please please lemme know what you think. If you're excited about something, if you hate something, just lemme know.

Okay! Enjoy!~

 

Miles is five years old, a red string is tied around his pinkie .

 

“Que es?” Miles shows his mamí his left hand.

 

“Que Pasa?” She grabs his hand and inspects it thoroughly like she did whenever he plays too rough with his Tío , or sometimes when he runs too fast and falls much too hard. Her face is scrunched, eyes searching his hand for any injuries, then her mouth falls into a soft oh. “ Miles. ” Her laugh is light. A breath of relief and amusement. “ Cariño. Are you talking about your red string?”

 

Miles’s head that’s much too big for his body wobbles in a way that’s supposed to be a nod. His mamí finds it cute, cooing at him sweetly and scoops him up into her arms. She holds his left hand and kisses at the pudgy fingers, easily pulling a laugh from him.

 

She says, “ Este es tu corazón, bebé. This is your heart.”

 

“Like bum bum?” He asks her innocently.

 

His mother laughs again, “Not the heart here,” she mimics the beating of a heart above her own chest. “But the feeling. It’s in your soul.”

 

“... No Sabo.”

 

His mother says a word he doesn’t know, something she only says when his papi does something or when he’s in the cart at the store and she forgets to add something, so she has to turn around and get it. “I told your Tio to stop letting you around the Sanchez’s . No, you say ‘No se’. Or ‘No entiendo’ . No ‘no sabo’ , oh dios mío , Miles. You will give your mama a heart attack.”

 

“Like bum bum!”

 

His mama kisses his nose. “Yes, like bum bum. My baby is so smart, who do you get it from I wonder?” Just then the door to the apartment opens and Miles’s papi walks in and trips over the toys Miles left on the floor, landing almost face first into the potted plant. Miles laughs, the small apartment is filled with his never ending laughter while his father and mother both groan for two, very different reasons. She sighs, “Well. We know it’s not from papi…”

_________________

 

Miles is seven years old, a red string is tied around his pinkie .

 

He understands what the piece of invisible color means- Soulmate . He’s known for a while but he hadn’t understood what it meant, or how serious it was until the first Monday in the month of October. He had been in homeroom when a new girl walked into class. Her hair was black and braided tightly to her scalp, he could smell the shea butter from her head when she took the seat in front of him.

 

He saw the exact second when she reached down to pull out her books and saw something, at first Miles thought ‘a bug’ and instantly looked at the scuffed floor. He saw nothing. The girl who he now knows as Alejandra looked up to the only asian girl in their class, Hana .

 

His class mate of three years has always been a crybaby. Hana’s cried for the most ridiculous things;One time, she lost her chap stick on the playground and wouldn’t stop crying until the aid found it on the slide. Another time she cried because Miles told her Santa Clause isn’t real, and it’s her mom who gives her quarters for her teeth. To Hana all of those times had been ‘serious’ and ‘life changing’. If they were …then he had no way to name the way she bawled her eyes out all day that day, holding tight onto Alejandra’s hand like she was afraid the girl would vanish if she didn’t.

 

Miles left school that day and learned two things.

 

The first came from his Tio -his uncle Aaron.

 

Miles ran out of line straight for the man’s legs and hugged him. “ Tio! Tio! Adivina qué!”

 

His Tio took his hand, beginning their walk to their apartments. “What’s goin on little man?”

 

Miles bounced and told his uncle all about it. How the two sat with each other the whole day, they didn’t talk to anyone else, the teachers gave them special attention and the whole staff had been excited for the two. All of it came out fast in a mix of spanish and english, his uncle understood all of it. “Hey, good for them. And you’re a good friend for trading seats. Kindness goes a long way, you’ll make great friends that way so always remember that. But don’t let nobody take advantage of you now, ya hear? Be kind, but don’t let no one punk you.”

 

He hopped over a hole in the sidewalk. “What’s ‘punk’?”

 

“Hmmm. It’s like if I stole your shoes just cause I wanted ‘em, and you don’t stand up for yourself. Or if I took your shoes everyday and lied to you, tellin you I was gonna give them back, but I never did. And I kept takin ‘em until I felt like stopping.” His face scrunched-his uncle laughed. His uncle ruffled his head, “But don’t worry bout that for now. See, you’ve got me and your dad. Someone takes yo shi-stuff, and we’ll handle it.”

 

“Right! Cause dad’s a cop!”

 

He laughed, “Exactly. And your uncle’s a certified G.”

 

“G! G! G,g,g,g,g!”

 

“Exactly. Let’s just hope no one tries…cause between you and me, your mom will do worse than either one of us.”

 

That got him thinking, “ Tio, does that mean Mami and Papi are soulmates?”

 

His uncle Aaron smiled down at him, “What do you think?”

 

“ Si! Si, lo son! Yes! Yes!”

 

“Ha-then you’re right, little man.” His uncle ruffled his hair. “So smart, just like your mom.~”

The next thing he learned came from his father before bed time that night.

 

Miles lied on his side, holding onto his father’s hand. His dads hands were big and rough where he felt on them, listening to his mami read him a story about a bean stalk and a kid named jack. His little hands took special interest in his father’s left hand-the pinkie.

 

It looked normal to him. Where on his own pinkie he could see his own red thread floating off into space, Miles couldn’t see the one on his father’s.

 

He had a thought.

 

His mother stopped reading to laugh and offer her hand he was grabbing for. Miles held both hands up to one another; he’d thought that maybe the strings would show if he did….they didn’t. “ Mami . Papi…Por qué no puedo verlo?

 

“Oh cariño . You can’t see it because you’re not meant to. It’s only for souls that are tied together.~” 

 

“Only mommies and daddies can see ‘em?”

 

His father’s smile felt awkward, scratching the back of his neck he said, “More or less.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

His mami hit his dad on the shoulder-the two looked at each other until his dad slowly started his next sentence. “...I will…talk about some things when you’re older, but you aren’t wrong . I don’t know-what has your school said about soulmates?”

 

“That we’d talk ‘bout ‘em later.”

 

“Okay..well, I guess there’s no harm in telling you before. Did you know that there are two types of soulmates?”

 

His. Whole. World. Spun. “What!?”

 

“Mhm, that’s right.~ There are two types of soulmates. It depends on the color of your string.” His father held his hand up and pointed at a space that Miles couldn’t see. “Red means…‘mommie and daddy’ love. Romantic. And orange,” his finger moved just barely. “Means platonic.”

 

“ Que es?”

 

His mami rubbed his shoulder, “It’s a strong kind of love, mi vida. It’s just as strong as a ‘mommie and daddy love’ but it’s not the same. Like….an amigo or a sibling….maybe a neighbour? It can be anyone, and they’re special to you, just not in a way that’s romantic. Lo entiendes? ”

 

“.... Si?” Then, of course, because his brain works faster than the other kids, he gasps. “ Papi! You have two!”

 

“Ah! My smart boy, you caught on.~ Yes, I do.”

 

“You have mami and a plastic soulmate!?”

 

His dad laughed. “Platonic,” he corrected. “And yes, I do.”

 

There was only one person he could think of who could be the orange, “Is it Tio Aaron!? ”

 

“Right again!~ Wow Miles,” a large hand ruffled his curls. “There’s really nothing that can get past this big brain of yours, is there? You didn’t even let me give you a hint.”

 

“Nope!~ I’m too smart for a hint!”

 

“That’s a good thing. This means that my son is the smartest son there is, isn’t that right?~”

 

His dad tickled his neck and behind his ear, miles giggled and kicked around in his covers until his stomach hurt and he couldn’t twist any more. His parents fixed him back and covered him back up, each kissing his head and told him ‘good night’. He lied there for a while, fighting the dregs of sleep, looking at the thread tied on his finger.

 

I can’t wait to meet you.

 

________________________

 

Miles is eleven years old, a red string is tied around his pinkie .

 

His parents, family and neighbours weren’t wrong. Miles is ‘too smart’ for his own good, and by that he means that he’s ‘too smart’ for the public school he’s attended his entire life. His grades exceeded his classmates, the material didn’t keep his mind thinking so he did anything else a kid his age would do(act out).

 

However his parents and councilors worked it out; it ended up with him sitting inside a prep school with other kids somewhat older than him, a pencil in his left hand and eraser in his right. A few weeks later his parents received a letter in the mail…

 

He’s smart smart.

 

And not only that, he will now be attending ‘Brooklyn’s Visions Academy’ right before his thirteenth.

 

A boarding school .

 

He’d no longer see the Sanchez’s every day. No more chain-netted-hoops on the basketball court or spray painting in the alley with his friends when the teachers weren’t looking. Vision’s academy has an art theater and normal, non-cracked floors in the air conditioned basketball court-all of this they showed him on a tour with his parents.

 

“Look, Miles! They’ve got a pool! Maybe you can join the swim team?”

 

“..yeah. Swim team…sounds great..”

 

His food would come from the cafeteria…breakfast, lunch and dinner -no more Fresa’s con Crema when he felt too hot. No more left over stuffed chile peppers to eat when he’d get home from school, he doubts the food staff would make him chilaquiles for breakfast if he wanted it.

 

He wouldn’t know anyone there. He would be moving out of his own home and would be living with a whole stranger. Although they don’t talk much outside of group projects, he’d miss seeing Hana and Alejandra glued together in the halls or at lunch. It’s become normal for him, never one without the other, and he’ll miss how his own friends always complain about how they haven’t found theirs.

 

At first he held the same sentiment as them. Most nights where he didn’t run himself tired from the day, he would lie down and look at the red string and wonder who’s on the end of it?

 

Is she nice? Would his mami like her? They had to be the same age, because apparently Miles has always played with his left pinkie ever since he was a baby. Or maybe she was older?

 

Is she black or hispanic like him? Does she have two doting parents, too? Maybe they could share similar, mortifying stories and bond over the embarrassment?

 

He would wonder how far she was, how her health was…he wondered if she was even a she .

 

In the most awkward, bile-inducing conversation he’s ever had with his dad at the age of eleven, he explained that romantic soulmates could be between anyone . A girl, boy, neither or inbetween-not that that disgusted him, no, he knows a few kids in his school who didn’t ‘fit’ the stereotype. It was the after …about stuff he would have to learn in sex-ed eventually. And consent…other things that made him not want to look at his dad for almost a week.

 

Whatever . He’s never found any guy attractive beyond jealousy, so he’s sure that his soulmate is a girl.

 

He had thought all of those things, he played scenarios in his head over and over again about how they could meet. In school, on a field trip, on a visit to Puerto Rico to see his abuela’s side of the family. Maybe she would be a friend to one of his many, many hispanic cousins? Or a neighbour? Is it spider-man? He asked himself one day….

 

I admire him! That’s all!

 

Miles thought the world of the girl at the other end of his string.

 

Until….

 

“Dammit, Aaron! Him? Are you serious?! You know what the NYPD thinks about him! Out of all of the…I can’t even begin to start-”

 

“So don’t. Fisk isn’t as bad as everyone makes him out to be and he takes care of his employee’s-”

 

“Except you and I both know the kind of work you do, Aaron. You’re not just an ‘employee’.”

 

All was silent in the livingroom-Miles held his breath.

 

“I have tried and tried, Aaron.” His dad sounded exhausted . “I’ve bailed you out, put in a good word for you time after time, I’ve told people they have nothing to worry about. I’ve offered to get you back in school, help you get your GED-”

 

“-you know I can’t let you and Rio do that-”

 

“-I’ve let you around my son , who looks up to you, man. Your nephew loves you, he talks about you all of the time and wants to see you, but I can’t let him spend the night or go places with you because of the company you keep! And I can’t even tell him that! I’m always the ‘bad guy’, but I’m the one who’s trying to stop the bad guys and trying to keep my brother, my soulmate, out of trouble! I am trying to be good and show Miles that there are other ways…I’m trying to show you there are other ways, but you’re so focused on your next big break that you can’t see that!”

 

“Yea, so what I like having a nice tv and clothes, shit we didn’t have when we were growing up, at least I’m still tryin to give that to others. Still tryin to take care of you and your family- my family. You’ve always called me selfish, man, but I’ve always had your back! You forget who got the money for our boots n’ coats that moms couldn’t afford?! You forget who bought that car jus’ to get you to and from the academy?!”

 

“Of course I haven’t forgotten! That’s why I’ve tried to do what I can to help you! But out of us both, I’m the only one who’s moved on ! We don’t have to live like that anymore! I did this to help us !”

 

“Moved on from the community that still needs you out of the fuckin’ uniform!” Uncle Aaron’s tone was sharp.  “I see it. I do, I see you for who you are. A husband, a father, a good-doer cop. Someone our community looks up to. A good person, that's who you are, Jefferson, that’s who you’ve always been. But you can’t say anything about me, man. When’s the last time you’ve given to your community, huh? Other than stopping the bad guys, which you get paid to do. I do what I do for myself, and for the people you left behind .”

 

“That isn’t fair.”

 

“Nothing is ever fair. That’s why I’m makin the moves I got to, and why you’ve got what you got now, man.”

 

“Aaron…I love you, man. You’re my brother. But…I can’t keep you around if this is what you’re going to do. I don’t trust any of those big typhoon guys, and you’re about to work for one of them. Fisk is dangerous .”

 

“...I’ve got to do what I’ve got to.”

 

“I know….but that means you can’t be around my wife…around my son. Miles..he’s too young and I’m trying to protect him from what we’ve gone through. I’ve been in danger before because of your decisions, that’s fine, I dealt with it, but Miles? I can’t, Aaron….He’s just a kid. I don’t want him to grow up before he has to. I won’t let him get hurt. Aaron, if you do this, just know what you’re losing..”

 

“..I have to do what I have to.”

 

All was silent.

 

On the stairs, Miles held his breath, then heard heavy feet walk towards the door and the creak of it opening. “Miles……he’s a good kid, Jeff…. He’s the best of us.”

 

“Yeah…yeah, he is.”

 

“Give him a hug for me, aight?”

 

“..Yeah. I will.”

_________________________________

 

Miles is twelve years old, a red string is tied around his pinkie …. and soulmates don’t always work out.

 

His dad never talked about it, he never even found out that Miles witnessed their falling out from the stairs above the living room, when the next day had come his father had given him a bone crushing hug and told him I love you. Miles, eleven years old at the time, saw the heartbreak so vividly on his fathers face that he returned the sentiment without his dad having to fight him about it.

 

Soulmates don’t mean forever.

 

For the better part of the year he sulked.

 

What if his soulmate broke his heart, too? What if they’re a really, really bad person, so bad that Miles can’t talk her out of her bad behaviors….or can’t be enough for her to want to quit, just like his uncle and his dad.

 

Uncle Aaron isn’t bad, though.

 

There’s things he doesn’t know about the man, sure, but he saw his uncle for who he was. He gave Miles so many life lessons, he watched out for those in the neighborhood and took care of the kids, too. His Tio wasn’t a cop but the community still looked up to him because they saw what Miles saw, too. That Aaron Davis is good , despite that Jefferson Davis didn’t see it that way.

 

He couldn’t help the resentment thread inside his chest like the red string on his hand.

 

Miles missed his uncle. He’d sneak out to see the man, still, and lie to his parents about it after. It could be chalked up to growing up or the stress of school, something, but he felt a…disconnect between him and his dad. Miles missed how things were before. Uncle Aaron used to stop by the house multiple times a week to see them, he used to meet Miles after school so they could go to the Bodega and bother Roberto. He had thought that sure, moving out of public city schools is scary, but at least I’ll have my family.

 

Wrong .

 

So he drew. He painted. He invested himself in his art and spilled his feelings there, then at night he’d think about all the ways his relationship with his soulmate could go sour, just like his dad and uncle.

 

After his twelfth his parents ask him the color of his string for the first time.

 

“What color is it, mijo ?” His mother asked, then chided him for having his elbow on the table at breakfast.

 

Miles pushed off the table and slumped back into the chair, using his spoon to scrape at the Avena in his bowl. There were bags under his eyes and he’s sure there’s marker staining his skin..except his skin is too dark for it to be seen. “Red…like..really, really light red.”

 

His dad doesn’t look over the newspaper when he hums, “She must be really far away, then.”

 

Oh yea. He’d forgotten about that. The further the soulmate is, the lighter the color of the string. (That’s a lie, he’s thought about it so many times, he wondered if he could track her location based on the paleness of the thread.)

 

If Miles could meld his body into the chair he would. “Yup.” Picking up some of the oatmeal and dropping it back into the bowl. “ ‘s always been like that.”

 

“Aw, don’t sound so sad, Son.” His father finally looks over the paper. “You’ll meet one day, soulmates always do.”

 

I know . It can happen anytime, anywhere. Most people in his situation would let it happen naturally, others whose color is more vibrant would follow it until they found the end. Case in point, his friend Z did it and found his soulmate, Dejonay, not too long ago. Z had left everyday after school without any of them with his eyes focused solely on the string, until one day he burst into the classroom early in the morning and announced that he’d done it.

 

Not all of them were that lucky.

 

“...dunno if I wanna be.”

 

“What was that?”

 

Miles shook his head, “ ‘s nothin. Just thinking.”

 

His parents shared a look that Miles decided to ignore-scooping some of the food into his mouth now that it wouldn’t burn the top of it. His mami played it cool, scooping some in her own mouth as well, “What do you think she’s like?”

 

“Am I supposed to know?”

 

“Hmmm…maybe, maybe not. Sometimes we know the things in our heart are right and sometimes we aren’t perceptive enough to figure it out. Like me-I knew your father would be someone that made me laugh…and I knew that he'd be kind, and someone my children could look up to…someone who ate their food I made them and not make me tell them to.” Her pointed look stunned his father, then the man hurried to put down the paper and began eating his food. Rio watched him, satisfied. “So yes. Sometimes you know, sometimes you don’t and that’s okay, I just wanted to know what you thought.”

 

I haven’t thought. Is the thing.

 

He’s thought of everything about his soulmate, the million ‘what-ifs’, but he’s not known anything. Forget about bad habits, heartbreaks or shared hobbies.. who is the person on the other end of this string?

 

Call it intuition, call it his mami being right(like always). “... familia.” Came out first, stroking the string gently. “Family is important. She… tries .”

 

“ ‘Tries’ what?”

 

“..not sure, but she does. She tries real hard at whatever it is, and….she’s a good person. She cares real deep, you know? She’s not perfect but she does her best no matter what. Smart …and funny too, I think. I think…someone I can talk to..”

 

“Mhm, what else?”

 

“She likes to help. People. She’s just, she’s good . Not great, not nice , but kind and good. ”

 

It’s true. He knows it is. He could feel it in his chest, in his soul. Whoever it is, wherever she is, she’s good .

 

“Well then.~” His mother smiled wide from across the table. “I think her and I will get along just fine.~ He gets it from me by the way, Jeff.”

 

“Wha- I am perceptive-”

 

“ Oh si, claro. You thought I would be able to sing.”

 

“You can, though! You have a wonderful voice!”

 

“Love blinds the senses, but okay, mi vida. Whatever you say.~”

 

All of those doubts, the scenario’s, the unnecessary dislike for the string tied around his pinkie, crushed by the strength of a simple conversation with his parents. His father ranted, in love, and his mother grinned at the two people she loved the most from across the table. 

 

Miles thought to himself.

 

Soulmates don’t always work out, soulmates don’t mean forever.

 

But I want it to.

 

I want it more than anything.

________________________

 

Miles is thirteen years old, a red string is tied around his pinkie….it’s lost between the seven orange strings he never noticed before. And the world is crashing around him while a singular black string floats on….

 

A week ago he was suffering in school, tagging things, missing his uncle and his old friends all the while so far from home. Alone .

 

One week .

 

One week for everything to change.

 

Peter Parker, spider-man , was murdered because of him. A soulmate he never knew he had! Brooklyn lost its one and only hero all because Miles was stupid to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and got him killed! And what did he gain out of it?! Stupid powers that he couldn’t even use right!

 

He gained powers that should be something he could use to protect his family …

 

Instead I got Uncle Aaron hurt.

 

The blood of his uncle stained the front of his five dollar shirt and bled into the thread on his finger. “ Tio,” his voice cracked. “Lo Siento. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, we’re going to get you fixed..we’ll, we’ll-”

 

His uncle shushed him, “You…you ain’t done nothin wrong. Miles, I’m sorry. I wanted you to look up to me, I let you down, man.”

 

“No! You didn’t! You didn’t let me down, Uncle Aaron, we’ll fix it, we’ll..”

 

His Tio’s breath was becoming winded, long, like his lungs were trying to breathe in air but nothing was there for it to take. With great effort he clasped Miles’s hand, “You’re….the best of us, Miles. Always been..”

 

“ Tio-”

 

“You’re on your way…” his grip loosened, “Just keep goin…keep…” Uncle Aaron’s eye’s dropped , his head slumped back. 

 

“Uncle Aaron! Tio! No! Please ! No, no, no!”

 

They say when a soulmate dies, their string turns black.

 

Miles had never had an orange string to his uncle….

 

“Freeze!”

 

His dad did.

 

Miles disappeared-the only thing he’s done right the whole day-and was forced to watch his father’s heart break . His dad is always someone who got teary eyed at the movies or if Miles did something particularly amazing…this? This was nothing. I

 

Jefferson Davis, father of one, husband of a wonderful woman and the brother of only one person, lost said brother. His scream cut through the traffic of Brooklyn and into the hearts of the community that knew the Davis brothers.

 

Miles knows that feeling all too well.

 

Soulmates aren’t forever and I killed the first soulmate my dad ever had.

 

Peter, Uncle Aaron..who else? Who’s next? Who else will die? Who else will lose their best friend, their sibling, their husband or wife?

 

All of a sudden, it felt like the whole world would die if Miles so much as breathed .

 

No one could rely on him. Not his family or his new spider-friends, it had hurt but he couldn’t really blame them for abandoning him, he’s a screw up. He can’t do anything right. He can’t protect anyone , let alone himself….

 

“That’s all it is, Miles. A leap of faith. ”

 

The wind is thinner on the tallest building in New York. He can hear everything from up here-the blasting of music, horns, construction all bleeding together to sound like a beating heart, the heart of New York. Over it all he could hear his heart beating in his throat and the fear clawing at the back of his neck.

 

The red string on his left pinkie floated beyond his reach.

 

He breathed .

 

All became silent. He pushed off the glass, chasing the invisible thread, chasing the faith his uncle had in him, Peter, his dad. Chasing the faith that he hoped his soulmate would give him when the time came.

 

Miles jumped down and he flew up .

 

Flying towards the hope of a new tomorrow.

 

____________________

 

Miles is fourteen years old, a red string is tied around his pinkie….it’s lost between seven orange strings, he misses the five he now knows and the one he never had the chance to.

 

Apparently soulmates transcend dimensions? Or maybe it’s just a Spider-man thing? He’s not too sure but he’s willing to do anything he can to find out, to find a way to get back to his other halves without imploding their worlds. His whole fourteen years of life he never knew he had other threads on his finger, apparently so thin and translucent that the red had been the only one that stood out.

 

Eight . He counts every day. Seven orange, one red. Five of them I know, three that are still waiting for me.

 

Gwen is not my red soulmate and never will be.

 

Yet he couldn’t stop drawing her.

 

Or Peter, Peni, Noir, and Peter Porker.

 

His career as Spider-man is still flourishing, he’s still figuring all of this out on his own. There are people like him out there, somewhere, and he dreams about them every night, hoping that one day….one day I’ll see them again.

 

His uncle is dead.

 

Miles Morales has his family that loves him, Spider-man has his fans who adore him.

 

But somehow he’s never felt so alone.

 

“Just keep goin, Miles…” His Uncle Aaron’s words echo in his head everyday.

 

And it’s hard. It’s really, really hard. It had been one matter to deal with not knowing his red soulmate-he still doesn’t know who she is. Now Miles has seven threads that tie around his finger and the five he knew he couldn’t reach. Unfortunately for him his phone company doesn’t ‘support interdimensional communication’-he didn’t need to google that, but he was desperate.

 

Miles uses his black, grey and whites when he draws Noir on paper, always making sure to include a feeling of a breeze when it comes to the man. For Porker, he uses dark outlines, flat colors and little shading. He draws the spider-pic with a comically large mallet that Miles keeps in his pocket to this day, it weighs only a pound yet somehow keeps him grounded when he holds the handle.

 

For Peni he uses exclamations and sharp angles. He highlights her expressions and puts bubbles in her eyes, he gives her the same uniform he sees the younger girls wear at his school as an artistic touch. He thinks she’d like it.

 

Peter…..he draws his father-like-mentor in his most hilarious moments. Crumbs on his shirt, sauce on the side of his mouth, his belly hanging at the waistband of his pants. He shadows the man's face with NO. 64 shader and draws short, heavy lines to build the stubble.

 

And Gwen…he uses every color possible in his drawings of her.

 

Pastels; cute, soft colors. He draws her when she’s angry, when she smiles and the jokes they shared. He draws their first meeting and their last…he took a canvas and painted her of what he’d last seen of her, a black and white spider falling into the fray of colorful chaos.

 

Deep in the underground of New York city, in a place not many would go, Miles paints a mural of the ones he loves but will never get to see again.

 

And he saves a space for the three he’s never met before.

 

“Just keep going, Miles. Just keep going….”

 

Eventually he adds Aunt May in the Mural, too. Not because she died but because she decided she could no longer stay in a city that her nephew/son died in. She keeps the house though and gives Miles the key, writes him on her paperwork so no one can question anything. She also proclaims him as her ‘other nephew’ to the neighbours so no one asks said questions. He’s got access to Peter's lab and turns it into his own secret base, designing costumes and collecting trophies. He builds goobers and even begins his study on dark matter and space theory, he delves into figuring out a way to meet his soulmates again, and the new ones that are possibly somewhere out there, too.

 

Miles does good-decent. He goes to school, he fights the bad guys and wins, he congratulates his dad when he tells the family the big news. Captain Jefferson Davis of the NYPD. They have their own private celebration at home before they come up with a plan to host a party on the roof tops, so they can share the news with their other friends and family, the entire community that knew the Davis-Morales family.

 

Miles tears up when he visits the mural to tell them how proud he is of his dad.

 

Then he meets… The spot .

 

“What are you supposed to be? A cow, or something?”

 

Everything is just blown out of proportion after.

 

The cakes are screwed up, he gets grounded, he loses the bad guy.

 

I don’t know what to do.

 

And then….he feels it . The gentle tug he felt last year, the string on his finger that connects to his soul. His eyes open and he can’t breathe.

 

Gwen .

 

Sure, she silently rejects him on the tallest point of the city, hanging upside down because it’s nothing to them, but he’s happy . Because she’s there …except…when she isn’t .

 

It’s all suspicious to him.

 

The next sequence of events were words he’d never be able to describe, the feeling of being sucked out of his own dimension and into another, a place where his molecules scream he shouldn’t be, but his soul says he has to be.

 

He meets Pav and Hobie. He barely knows them but he loves them both, he’d die for them. The two missing pieces of his collection of orange. Pav is hilarious and kind, he and Miles joke around like old friends while Hobieis just… effortlessly cool . Miles is jealous but if he says that out loud then he’d be even less cool.

 

Miles can’t keep his hands to himself and no one complains or tries to make him stop hugging them, a constant hand on someone’s arm or elbow.

 

They leave Pav in his universe to deal with the events of Spot’s mayhem. Miles doesn’t want to, but he has no choice. So he joins Gwen and Hobie on a trip to the HQ in Nueva New York.

 

“Think this ‘Miguel’ will like an empanada ? I mean…he’s got to, right?” He stuffs his cheeks with the cheesy meal. “ ‘s really good. Like…crazy good.”

 

Gwen sends an uneasy look at Hobie, who just grins and slings an arm over his shoulder, grabbing one for himself. “Neva know till you try mate. Give her a go ‘n we’ll see, yeah?”

 

“Is he really a vampire? Or does he like…cosplay?”

 

Miguel O’hara. It’s a good, strong name, he thinks so at least. 

 

“Nah mate.” Hobi’s mouth was full, a piece of the empanada falling out of his mouth. “Bruv’s a bit dodgy when you first meet ‘em, yeah, but he ain't all bad……”

 

“But is he a vampire?”

 

“It’d be cool, innet?”

 

“No,” Gwen said over her shoulder. “He’s not a vampire. But he’s got these sick ass teeth. You know those spiders that paralyze their victims?”

 

“He’s got fangs?! Like, actual fangs!?”

 

“And claws.”  

 

“How old is he?”

 

“Umm…like, twenty eight, I think?”

 

“Bruv’s got to be twenty six?”

 

“Twenty something.” Gwen shrugs.

 

Miles walks through the halls of the spider HQ, he paints a picture of the mysterious leader in his head. Miguel , so he’s hispanic, late twenties with long nails and spider fangs…..

 

Hobie laughs in his ear. “Promise he’s not minger, mate. No need for the face…but or maybe he is? Time’ll tell it all…”

 

“Okay…” Whatever that means.

 

Miles meets more and more spider people, all in different shapes and sizes, though there’s only one of him. With every step he takes and every person he high fives or fist bumps, he feels warm . Like someone ignited a fire in his stomach and the heat of it spread from there, down his legs to his toes, and up to his chest all the way to his fingertips.

 

The doors to the center of the building opened.

 

His foot crosses the threshold.

 

Something’s wrong .

 

Hobie spoke words. Miles responded, chiding him for stealing the items from around them but not really caring that his orange thread was doing that. He couldn’t because something was wrong . Not a spidey-sense issue-no threat of danger from what he could tell, but his body felt off kilter.

 

“Jus’ don’t enlist till you know what you’re fighting.” Hobi’s warning shouldn't feel as ominous as it did.

 

Hobie hung back while Miles stepped up beside Gwen-nerves eating at his stomach. High above, bathed in a low blue light, an octangular platform slowly descended…and on it a man.

 

For the first time in his life the limp string tied around his pinkie yanked . He stumbled and shouted in surprise. Gwen and Hobie both shouted in alarm at the sudden movement and the platform comes to a sudden halt.

 

Miguel O’hara.

 

The red on his left pinkie shone like never before. It was thick and rose up, up, up, up to tie around the pinkie of the man who had been glaring at him over his shoulder just a few seconds ago.

 

Neither of them said anything.

 

Miles felt as stupid as he looked, and Miguel….Miguel couldn’t be any more pissed off than what he was.

 

Hobie, as he is, has a way of proving Miles wrong. “Damn.” He whistled low, jerking his head at Miguel. “Bet you feel like a wanker now, mate.”

___________________________________

 

Miles is still fourteen years old, a red string is tied around his pinkie and shines brighter than the eight orange ones threatening to drown it, but his broken one stands out even more. He wishes he didn’t have any of them.

 

They stopped Spot. They stopped Spot and saved his dad and the universe didn’t implode.

 

But the betrayal was much too fresh and cut him open until he was bleeding out.

 

He’d been yelled at, captured, chased, distracted, then slammed into the metal of an ascending bullet train by the person who’s supposed to never do that to him. A person who hadn’t even given him a chance, a man who yelled and chided him for something Miles knew nothing about and expected to let his dad die.

 

“Nah. Imma do my own thing.” He’d sucked the power from the suit and laced it with his own venom, summoning his anger-his rage- he got his lick back and shocked the hell out of Miguel O'Hara. Sending him flying down the bullet train, then went on to try and save his dad.

 

Chased, kidnapped-finds another soulmate- rescued, chased again, then finally they fought together for Miles’s universe. They found a way .

 

A part of New York had been destroyed though that wasn’t unusual. What had turned heads to the citizens were the task force of Spider-people that came through portals, attempting to fix what had been destroyed.

 

Miles left for the house Queens and slept in the lab.

 

A day and a half later, when he opened his eyes, the people who had hurt him the most were present. He barely had enough time to fully wake up before each offered their apologies-Gwen, Peter, Noir, Peni and Peter P. were all extremely apologetic. He didn’t have it in his heart to not forgive them. He’d missed them too much for him to not do at least that.

 

Even so, “...I need time.”

 

They understood.

 

There were few more apologies until only two were left in the giant expanse of the lab.

 

Miguel looked as tired as Miles. His shoulders were slumped over, holding a small box in his hand, he spoke. “ Lo Siento…por todo. ”

 

His uncle's words spoke in his head. “ Kindness goes a long way, you’ll make great friends that way so always remember that. But don’t let nobody take advantage of you now, ya hear? Be kind, but don’t let no one punk you.”

 

Then he remembers his own thoughts two years ago, soulmates don’t always work out, they aren’t always forever. But I want it to.

 

“ Prometes no volver a hacerlo? ” He needed to know. “ Mi familia es todo para mí .”

 

“I know that. I do. Te doy mi palabra -I give you my word.”

 

Miles swallows the bile in his throat and lifts his left hand, “ ‘Salright then, man. S’all good..”

 

Miguel doesn’t believe him, but he takes the olive branch for what it is and his entire hand engulfs Miles’s, shaking it. Then, the man hands him the box, Miles opens it to see a black and red watch just for him. “In case you need us… any of us.”

 

“ ..gracias.”

 

The mask to Miguel's suit crawled onto his skin, the man nodded at Miles. “ De nada.” He jumps into the portal, not before looking back one more time, and then..he’s gone.

 

The silence that suddenly surrounded him choked him . 

 

There would be a lot of explaining to do-the who’s, what’s and where’s from his parents. They would see his beaten up face and wide eyes eventually….but now? For now Miles just breathed .

 

Miles cried .

 

Tomorrow could wait. Questions, made up answers, all of it could wait.

Right now he just needed himself.

Notes:

I'll be working on the next chapter here soon. I hope you guys liked it, please feel free to drop a comment or to Kudos.

Thnkx~~

Chapter 2: Oranges to Apples, one Apple to several Oranges

Summary:

Grief and Trauma, it's not a fun thing and not something so easily able to get over.

It doesn't help when you miss someone you had, and miss someone you don't know if you can.

Notes:

Here's another one!

Please, let me know what you think. I didn't rush to write it like other fics im working on in another platform because no one's really said anything.

Enjoy!~

Miles is fifteen years old, a red string is tied around his pinkie and doesn’t shine as much as his eight orange ones do, the black one is sometimes(all of the time) noticeable.

 

The light of his phone illuminated his face and the singular glowing orange string.

 

He types:

 

From Miles:

I’ll be on 42. Gon’s goin to school for me tomorrow

 

From Pav:

Spanish test again?

 

From Gwen:

Dude, you speak spanish

From Miles:

How they teach it is dumb.

I’m half puerto-rican, not from Spain.

From Hobie:

I say piss on the system. Why learn what you already know?

 

From Miles:

Thank you! So yea, I’ll be here,

Ya’ll should come, just got the money

for a bass for Gon. They’re cheaper here

but don’t say anything, it’s a surprise

From Miles G:

Dumbass

From Miles:

Shit man, did you read all that?

From Pav:

Maybe you need school afterall

 

From Hobie:

This is fuckin funny mate

 

From Miles G:

Of course I fuckin read that shit man

From Miles:

Crap

From Miles G:

Next time you want to surprise someone

do that shit in a chat that they’re not in

 

From Gwen:

He’s got you there, buddy

From Miles:

I thought you were asleep!

From Miles G:

You’re eating my fucking chips and my phone’s not on silent

what’d you think would happen?

 

From Miles G:

Loud ass chewer

Go the fuck to bed bruh

Miles moved the phone out of his face and lifted his head, whispering into the night, “My bad.”

 

“Vete a dormir, maldita sea. You’re the one flunking Spanish, not me.”

 

“Well-”

 

“Sleep…and stop eating in bed, you leave crumbs everywhere.”

 

“ Aye , fine. Okay. Jeez.” He balled the bag up and tossed it in the trash somewhere in the room and wiped off the bed, turning to get comfortable again.

 

Then, as silent as can be, his not-twin said, “...thanks.”

 

“You’re my brother.” He said. “..you don’t need to thank me.”

 

“...yeah…well same.”

 

____

 

He meant what he said last year after everything. It took some time-the time to get out of being grounded for only almost three months, his parents had cut him some slack since they saw the state he was in. Limping with a busted eye and bruises still on his skin, all in the shape of hands.

 

“Quién hizo esto!?” His mother had sobbed , her hands shaking with rage. “Por qué le harían esto a mi hijo? Quién le hizo daño a mi bebé?”

 

His father, too. He took pictures and made reports, cursing in English-not once did the man’s wife try to correct him.

 

Miles couldn’t explain anything…he could have blamed it on a gang, or some street thugs, so his injuries would have some explanation ….which would have led to a whole nother set of problems that his family didn’t need.

 

So he said nothing.

 

Which, in hindsight, made it worse .

 

Refusing to answer them and evading the questions made his parents think the worst had happened to him. He had tried to explain that that didn’t happen, but they didn’t believe him.

 

So after a month of grounding, then two more months of them watching him like a hawk, they finally let up some enough to where if a cop saw him walking the streets after school his dad wouldn’t show up five minutes after. He had climbed all the way to the top of the skyline and messaged Peter. Then so on with his other soulmates. Peter helped him make an interdimensional chip which they all used to text off ‘company property’.

 

On one random weekend he asked his mom to braid his hair.

 

Sometime later, inside the room that wasn’t his room in Earth-42 he waited for the door to open. Miles G. Morales, his other platonic soulmate, his other self. The boy opened the door and caught the rubber wrist band Miles threw, glaring at him, “What the hell are you doing here, pendejo?”

 

Miles in turn opened a portal and said, "Póntelo y te lo mostraré. Go on then.”

 

“If this is some kind of fucking-”

 

“5.”

 

“Wait, why are you counting?”

 

“4.”

 

“Are you fucking listening to me!?”

 

“321-okay!” In one fluid motion he shot a web at his not-twin and dragged them both into the portal, secretly slipping the wrist band on him. One minute later they were flying onto the roof top of his home in Brooklyn.

 

Miles G.-who he’ll now be referring to as Gonzalo-put up a fight but Miles was able to drag him into the home.

 

“What the hell-”

 

“Shh!”

 

“Don’t you fuck-”

 

“Miles!?” A voice called up the stairs. Baritone and caring. “Is that you?!”

 

Gonzalo froze. “...is that..”

 

Miles threw him a wild grin and turned invisible just as the bedroom door opened. Straight from work, Captain Jefferson Davis stood in his entire uniform. His hand gripped the knob on the door, his face full of concern as it’s been as of late when dealing with his son. “Son?”

 

Miles watched on the sidelines. Gonzalo couldn’t move, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. 

 

“Miles?”

 

“...Papá….”

 

His-their- dad crossed the space between them, meeting his son in the middle and held him. Gonzalo broke down.

 

“Oh, Miles.” He stroked the back of his head. “It’s okay….You’ve got me. You always have me.”

 

Yup. So that’s how the living situation changed just a bit.

 

Miles would go to Earth-42 and spend time with his Mami there while Gonzalo spent time on his earth where Jefferson Davis was alive. Sometimes, a lot of times, Miles also had the boy go to the meetings and whatnot with his parents while Miles was out Spider-manning or on another earth spending time with his friends.

 

Gonzalo quickly became a member of his friend group….and he also found his soulmate. The one and only Judge. A Haitian-American staying in the dorm next door. Judge became the second non-spider friend of his to learn the secret, all more of a reason for Gonzalo to spend time on his earth.

 

Of course Miles asked Peter to confirm with Miguel that none of that would disrupt the cannon, Peter returned with the good news and a warning to stay no longer than twenty-four hours, while also putting babysitting duty onto Miles for that night. “She’s your goddaughter, you’ve gotta spend more time with her-Oh! And take pictures! Lots of em! Okay, bye, love you kids! Have fun but not too much fun without me!”

 

…all is good.

 

All is great.

 

How come it doesn’t feel like it, though?

_____

 

Miles, Hobie, Pav and Gwen go shopping. They find the perfect guitar for a great price and they end the day by watching Miles paint it, each of them adding a finger print on it like a hand-Gonzalo’s thumb being the only one needed. They make plans, then he and Gonzalo switch out with a dap. 

 

He goes home. But not home.

 

I don’t get it …watching the city below him, lying on the underside of the curve of the tall structure. Nothing is wrong…why doesn’t it feel like it?

 

He can’t shake the feeling.

 

It’s an itch under his skin. It’s the rising on the back of his neck, the feeling that urges him to turn around, look for your dad! It shadows him during the day and chokes him in the middle of his sleep, grabbing him by the skin of his chest to yank him into an anxiety attack. Sometimes he can get himself out of it before he reaches his parents room…other times he’s being ushered back into bed by one of them.

 

“Just keep on going.”

 

He tries. He does.

 

But the sensation never leaves him. No matter where he is, no matter how happy or content he can be in a moment, the crippling fear will suddenly choke slam him into a wall and urge him to return back to his dimension. 

 

Miles expects to return back to Brooklyn and see the words CAPTAIN JEFFERSON DAVIS, DEAD AT 45 on all of the screens he has to swing by. He’s terrified every day. He’s so scared that one day, he’s going to open his eyes, and there will be nothing left for him to care for. That the world will implode on him and he’ll be left with nothing .

 

“Just keep on going.”

 

His showers are so hot that water sticks to the walls and ceiling, all so the heat could scratch what’s under his skin.

 

“Just keep on going..”

 

He wakes out of a nightmare with his mouth open but nothing coming out.

 

“You’re the best of us Miles.”

 

He eats because his body needs it, he fights because Brooklyn needs it, he goes to school because his family needs it, and he hangs out with his friends because they need him.

 

“You’re on your way…”

 

He shoots out of his sleep in his room on Earth-616 and slams his hand on his watch. Miles is thrown into his own room and stumbles for his door, nearly breaking it from how fast he opens it, and he treats his parents door the same way. His mom and dad startle awake, throwing off the covers of their bed and come to him. Words are said, hands are gently touching his shoulder and his arm. His parents sit him down back in his own room at some point and make promises he can’t believe. “Everything’s fine, Mi vida. Prometo.”

 

“Just keep on…”

 

He doesn’t sleep much except when he sneaks into his Mami’s room on Earth-42 and sleeps there until she gets off of night shift. He tries not to be there too often, considering that Earth's Uncle Aaron doesn’t want much to do with his not-nephew. Which is fine . Gonzalo deserves to have something that Miles doesn’t, considering everything. The times they’ve crossed paths are little to none…he prefers it that way. Miles’s dad might be both of theirs, but Gonzalo’s uncle was his and his alone, as it should be.

 

He cries-sometimes-and feels guilty right after, it’s not like he lost more than the other Spider-people he knows. Miles is surviving off of his earth’s Peter Parker’s sacrifices, he’s leeched the man's abilities, fans and life .

 

Miles makes sure to paint his mural in the spot that overlooks the horizon. Ever so apologetic that it happened this way, not a day goes by that he forgets their meeting and his death…and the guilt that Miles could have stopped it.

 

Miles lies on the curved structure, staring down at the city that never sleeps and…. does nothing. It’s all mute to him. The lights, the noise, the moon and stars. Like this, without his constant company he keeps around him, he’s left to the numbness that both crushed him and left him feeling empty. Like this he can only stare at the many strings that emerge from his pinkie and think about how everything’s finally fitting together like a puzzle, except there’s one piece that won't fit the slot…

 

Well, two. He thinks, looking at the translucent red next to the broken, black string.

 

Miguel O’hara.

 

They don’t talk. In fact, Miles hasn’t seen his red string glow at all for an entire year. Miles will join his friends on their missions or go have dinner and catch up with his other soulmates in their dimensions-Peni’s is his favorite next to Noir’s-but never once has he stepped foot back in HQ, and never once has a mission been sent to Miles’ own watch.

 

The vampire-like-man is brought up in conversations plenty of times but other than that no one mentions him to Miles personally, not unless he asks, they sense the subject isn’t easy. Not to say he doesn’t (ask about him, that is), he does, though the questions are small and too far in between. Usually with the same person, too.

 

“So…” Mayday’s finally tuckered out and drools on Miles’s borrowed sweater, her red hair in a fray on his arm. “How is he?”

 

Peter is still setting up the crib. “Who?”

 

“Oh, ya know….your boss?”

 

“He quit, remember?”

 

“Miguel quit!?”

 

“Miguel?” Peter turned, confused. “No, Jimmy, from the press, I told you a month ago about it-wait, were we not talking about the same boss?”

 

“Why would I care about Jimmy?”

 

“Well why would you care about Miguel…..” He trailed off, realizing what he said.

 

Miles felt embarrassed, a little foolish. 

 

“Miles..”

 

“No, you’re right. It’s a good point, why should I-”

 

Peter cut him off by placing a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring look. “I didn’t mean that kid, I just forgot for a second what he means to you…or, what the universe wants him to mean for you. He’s your red thread, you have every right to care and ask about him. Alright?”

 

The touch felt warm. “Yeah…yeah, alright.”

 

“Good.” He squeezed his shoulder one last time then went back to cleaning up the crib. “....So, was there something specific you wanted to know or did you just want a generalization? Cause I can say that he hasn’t changed much, he’s still the un-funniest Spider-man I know.”

 

“I…don’t know, man. I just felt like I should ask.”

 

Peter finished changing the sheets, tossing the old ones into a basket, “Well then you just let me know when you do know, and I’ll tell you everything you want.”

 

When Miles does figure it out Peter answers him. The questions are simple, like ‘Have you guys gone on any missions lately?’ or ‘Does he ever sleep?’. Miles asks questions that spare him from the deep conversations while also giving him a bit of something that he’s too scared to do himself. Small pieces of his soulmate that he may or may not want to see for himself.

 

What he gathers is: Peter and Miguel are quite close, even though the other man doesn’t want to admit it. He’s strict about his diet and judges Peter harshly for not implementing healthy foods to Mayday-Mayday also adores Miguel(Peter's words, not his) and is amazing with children. If he sleeps, no one sees it. Miguel isn’t a talker but does have very close friends other than Peter(again, Peter’s words), and he does go on missions with them-Ben or Jessica, and sometimes Lego Spiderman. More often than not he’s in HQ, making sure the multiverse is in order and also working his own day job at Alchamex which basically funds the whole thing, and taking care of his New York as Spiderman.

 

“Wow.” Half of his mask is raised so he could eat his chilli dog, sitting on the top of the statue of liberty with Peter beside him. “So he like, really doesn’t rest or anything, does he?”

 

Peter stuffed his chilli, onion and extra cheese coney in his mouth, spilling sauce on himself as he did. “Nah.” He managed to get out in between his chewing. “I mean. He’s gotta at some point , am I right?” He laughed. “No one can run from a good sleep here and then, not even him.”

 

“...Does he..Does he ever ask about me?”

 

“Why? Do you want him to?”

 

“You’re deflecting.”

 

Peter groaned. “Well how can I deflect if you won’t let me deflect, you’re ruining the whole thing-”

 

“Cause I don’t want you to deflect? Why would you need to deflect, just answer the question!”

 

“Maybe I don’t wanna answer the question, have you thought about that, huh?”

 

“But I want you to, so you’ve gotta.”

 

“No I don’t. I’m the adult, here, thank you very much.”

Miles moved to point at the chilli dripping all down Peter's chin. “But out of the two of us, I’m the one who’s got all his food in his mouth.”

 

“...point taken.”

 

“I mean.” Shrugging his shoulders, he looked down at the coney in his hand. “You can just say ‘no’, already. It’s fine…” A bit quietly. “I didn’t expect it, anyway.”

 

Peter eyed him from the side, then sighed, stuffing the rest of the coney in his mouth. “Look, kid.” He licked off his fingers. “You’ve got to understand. I’m in a precarious situation here. What you say to me and ask me about, I can’t say to him, vice versa. I’m in a bit of a bind.”

 

“..Yeah. That makes sense-”

 

“No.” Peter put a hand on Miles’s shoulder. “Listen to what I’m saying. What you say to me, I can’t say to him. What you ask me, I can’t tell him. Vice versa.”

 

“Yeah? I get it, you can’t go back and forth-”

 

“No, I don’t think you do. Pay attention to my mouth. Alright?” 

 

“Okay?”

 

Peter spoke slow for him. “When you tell me things, and when you ask me about him, I cannot tell him anything-”

 

“-yeah, I get it-”

 

“-When he tells me things, and when he asks about you, I can’t tell you anything.”

 

His jaw dropped .

 

“You get it now?”

 

“..yeah.” Breathless. “Yeah, I do.”

 

Just thinking about the memory brings the same sensations he’d felt then. The light flutters in his stomach, the warmth in his chest, how his body tingles just knowing that his soulmate does ask about him. He wonders about Miles like Miles does him, and has done it more than once, according to Peter’s words.

 

What chases those pleasant feelings are little pins that stick in the back of his neck and drag over his skin, pulling the anxiety out from under it until it's weighing him down. So heavy that he can't lift it, because what does he ask Peter about? Does he want to know if Miles is still screwing up everything? If he’s using the watch like he should? Does he want to know if Jefferson Morales is going to die anytime soon? Or does he ask personal questions, like Miles sort of does?

 

If he does, what questions are they?

 

His mind tells him that if he wants to know these things, he’d have to brave himself to do the thing he’s been avoiding for an entire year. Since the last time they’d seen each other, and the first time they touched without violence being involved.

 

Does he want to see me?

 

That’s the real question.

____

 

The answer comes to him unexpectedly not long after. He’s on Earth-42, it’s his Mami’s first day off in seven days and she decides to spend it doing Miles’s hair. He’s got it washed and brushed for her, so she sits down on the couch with him in front of her, the TV is on and he rests his head on her thigh for her to do what she needs to do. Gonzalo is with Judge on a date, Gwen is on a school trip to her earth’s UK, and Pav and Hobi are keeping busy somewhere doing things he doesn’t want to think about(he’s walked in on them before and still wants to burn his eyes from the memory).

 

They’re watching an old re-run of a Spanish soap opera that his Mami likes, he can’t stand it but she never has time to watch it, if he has to suffer through two episodes, so be it.

 

Long story short, after he had his hair done, he did something incredibly stupid and cracked his watch. The damage was so bad that he had one of three options available:

 

Option one: go home and never be able to interdimensional travel again (as if he’d consider this for longer than one second).

 

Option two, travel to Hobie’s location and hope that he and Pav are decent so he can fix it(hope being the operative word).

 

And then option three….travel to headquarters to get a new watch.

 

After moments of dreading the inevitable, he talked himself into opening a portal on the roof of his building, setting the destination to a place he didn’t expect to see for a while(or if ever). He’d always known he’d have to get there eventually…..had just hoped that he’d have actual time to prepare for it, not now while he’s still anxious all of the time. Not when he pictures his father’s lifeless body somewhere in New York, the product of Miles having not been there to protect him.

 

The portal yanks him through time and space, spitting him out in the same place that haunted his dreams most nights. The futuristic scene of Nueva York hasn’t changed at all since he’d last been there. Compared to all of the other New Yorks he’d been to, all of the ones across the multiverse, this one is the only one that looked completely unfamiliar to him. It was….. too different . Too clean looking, to white. Too unburdened with criminal activity, color, and life that made New York what it was.

 

It’s night time now so the white just seemed even more ghostly the longer he stared.

 

What does Miguel think of it? He wonders as he tears his eyes from it and walks away from the ledge.

 

The implications of Night-as in one should be asleep when the sun goes down-does not usually apply to spider people, so the place still has people walking through and swinging about their business. But it’s notably much less if he compares it to when he’d first come here. He’s invisible, crawling on the walls quietly so no one can see him. He’d received hundreds of apology messages through his watch, not equating to the thousand or so Spider people within the spider society. There’s some who still believe that he shouldn’t have what he has, Pav and Peter Noir explained to him over dinner one time, they understand that Miles’s situation was purely from luck, but are still upset that they didn’t have a chance like he did. His dad-the police chief- and mother are still with him. He didn’t lose a best friend like Gwen did or did he lose an Aunt May. To them he only lost an uncle, nothing more.

 

(But they can’t see the black thread on his finger like he can. They can’t see the images plaguing his mind whenever he blinks too long.)

 

Right now he feels that it’s in his best interest not to figure out who those people are.

 

As he crawls along the wall he can’t help but to stare and study the crimson of the red thread that’s been mute for an entire year. It’s loose, trailing all over the floor, over tables and plants, leading to where Miles was quickly making his way to. It doesn’t tangle or knot or move from the weight of people walking over it, it just keeps on, slowly retreating as he takes the last leap and hops onto the ground floor. He turns off the invisibility and steps through the door, feeling his throat closing up and his stomach twisting into an uncomfortable knot.

 

It’s as silent as the grave. Only the gentle whirring of the machines to offer any comfort. He can’t hear anyone; the seats that had been occupied before are empty-no banter or anything-he really, truly, is all alone.

 

Well . His eyes following the end of the trail… Except for him.

 

There he is, front and center, standing a few feet up from him on the octagonal platform similar to the first time they met. Except this time there’s no other spider person around, and Miguel is in casual attire instead of his suit. His back isn’t completely to him, Miles can see the angular jaw line above him just like he remembered.

 

Miguel knows he’s there. It would be impossible to ignore the glowing red string between them, tying together their fates…their souls. 

 

Neither one says anything. Or, maybe Miguel is waiting for Miles to address him while Miles is having a complete, utter, panic attack in his head.

 

In times like these it’s better to move on autopilot, so Miles lets go of the wheel and thrusts his left wrist out. “I broke it.”

 

(He nearly face palmed).

 

Miguel sighs, then presses a button, lowering the platform. Something small and bendy is thrown at him-a visitor wrist band. He gets the silent order and puts it on, taking off the watch as he follows the man over to a desk. Miguel holds out his hand, still not looking at Miles, and he passes over the watch.

 

He stays a respectful distance of six feet, his arms resting on the table with his head on top, and watches the man work on the device silently. Miguel is laser focused on his task under his curious gaze.

 

Before he knows it it’s fixed and being slid across the desk at him.

 

Miles puts it on, Miguel is walking off to return to his duties.

 

Neither say a word.

______

 

That night as he lies in his own bed, Ganke on the bottom bunk snoring, Miles can’t shake the feeling in his stomach-he doesn’t feel right.

 

The red is no longer shining like it just was, it’s thin and translucent as the other ones, flying into the fray in opposite directions where he holds his hand above him. He feels sick looking at it, he doesn’t know why that is, just that he hasn’t been right since he stepped out of the portal three hours ago that not even a fling through the city could cure. 

 

I should’ve said something . Scolding himself, and then the rational part of his brain asks, What would you have said?

 

What can he say?

 

What can they say?

 

….I don’t know .

 

A car drives by and its light reflects against the new glass of the watch on his wrist. An idea pops in his head, he’s not sure if he should…if it will be received well.

 

“That’s all it is, Miles. A leap of faith. ”

 

He presses the button, the hologram appears, then he works his way to the messaging system that he doesn’t use. He types ‘Mig’ and only one icon pops up, because there is only one of him within the Spider Society, just like Miles-two spiders so different from each other, but tied together by the same red string.

 

He clicks on it to start a message thread.

 

At 12:15 am he only types two words.

 

‘Thank you’.

 

Miles shuts it off and rolls over, the buzzing inside of his stomach making it hard to fall asleep.

 

When he wakes up at seven in the morning to his alarm, the first thing he checks is his watch with a new notification on it. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding….and feels a glimmer of something stir inside his chest.

 

Received at 12:17 his time:

 

‘Anytime’.

_____________

 

Notes:

Our poor Miles. He's really going through it, guys.

Hopefully, he and Miguel can figure out how to work with each other. After all, it's just a leap of faith, isn't it?

Please let me know what you think in the comments. Not sure if you read it at the top, but it took me so long to get back to this one because I have no idea if ya'll are really enjoying it. I have other stuff I'm writing on another platform that people respond well to, so I prioritized that.

I hope to get this next chapter out soon. So! please feel free to drop a comment or to Kudos.

Thnkx~~

P.S Seriously, I wanna write more on this but like...out of 248 hits, only 3 peeps have commented :/ It's a little disheartening as a writer(still appriciate the 3 very much).

Chapter 3: Broken objects can be fixed if you have the right tools

Summary:

Miles breaks things. Miguel is a great handyman.

Notes:

Here's another chapter!

I appreciate the comments that's been written. I was this 👌🏾 close to dropping the fic all together since no one was really sayin anything. So thanks for the motivational boost!

Miles is almost sixteen years old, he has nine strings tied around his pinkie. The broken one is never changing, but his only red one shines a bit more than it used to.

 

Directly following the watch incident, Miles came upon a period that he hadn’t felt in such a long time, since before he put on the mask as his earth’s new spiderman. 

 

For the first time in so long, he was able to go days without that odd, crippling sensation creeping up on him-a feeling that would often make him turn and look, like if he didn’t, his world would come falling apart. The food he put in his mouth didn’t turn into ash after the first bite. He could sleep a full night's rest without seeing the visions that plague him whenever he blinks too long.

 

The simple ‘Anytime’ he read over and over-when he woke up, when he went to the restroom, when he sat on top of the city skyline, breathing like he had never before- until his hands moved on autopilot whenever he sensed he needed the strange comfort it brought him. Pulling it up on the message thread stuck in stasis, not changing since the first time he received it, it filled his stomach and chest cavity in a way that it probably shouldn’t. But does anyway.

 

He feels just a bit whole again.

 

At night, the more he looks at the message thread, the more his fingers itch to type on the key pad. So many times do his fingers hover over it, stuck above the low blue glow in hesitance. His mind racing with words he wants to say, questions he wants to ask, but never brave enough to dare type them out in fear of rejection…the same rejection he’d felt when Miguel told him to his face:

 

“You’re an anomaly, Miles! You’re a mistake! ”

 

How broken is the heart full of woe? The memory carves into it like a knife, slowly bleeding him dry.

 

Anxiety, fear, trepidation, it all comes back to him eventually, because of course all things have to come to an end. Miles can never have too much for himself without suffering the consequences-the universal law of motion applies to him more than the universe itself, his happiness must come in exchange for something else, usually in the form of someone else.

 

He realizes this later in the night, hours after classes ended and Ganke had left for dinner with Judge. Miles had been drawing sharp lines in his canvas notebook in his shared room; it started off with the background. Tables, grey-blue machines and the gentle light from the skylight overhead illuminating a metal table and watch parts on top. It casted a kind hue to the center of his piece-light washed over dark brown hair, making it a honey brown color like the eyes shadowed by black eyelashes looking down. Miles put life to the memory of Miguel O’hara fixing the watch on his left wrist without complaint, or a question as to how Miles had broken it to begin with.

 

It’s a fond memory.

 

Miles moved to switch to another colored pencil, a red so he could shade in the shadows on sharp cheekbones, when he happened to look at the translucent red on his pinkie, and the orange ones…

 

The broken one.

 

“You’ll be fine, I can help you. If you stick around I can show you the ropes.” The rumbling above called for him. “I just need to destroy this big machine real quick before the space-time continuum collapses. Don’t move.” Spider-man jumped onto the railing, giving Miles one last look. “See ya in a bit.”

 

But then Miles watched, frozen where he stood, clasping the device in his hands as King Pin towered over the unmasked Spider-man. His hero, his first orange string, his soon to be mentor, crushed to death under the force of King Pins fists. 

 

His orange string that snapped and tore into his very soul, blackening both the thread and a part of his heart.

 

Power in exchange for his soulmate’s life, because there could only be one Spider-man…and the universe he lived in made the decision for him.

 

Black overwhelmed the orange and red.

 

The image of Jefferson Davis’s mural towered over him in the rain. Dead at forty-five, no Spider-man in his universe having been able to save him.

 

Miles dropped everything and jumped off the bed, landing hard on the floor and scrambled to get to his window. He threw it open so hard that, hidden beneath the buzzing in his ears, glass broke.

 

Happiness is an exchange. He ran through the night of the city. His heart racing, the noise mute to his ears.

 

I’m a mistake. He bumped into people and crashed into garbage cans, cutting through an alley to get to a familiar street, cars lined and blocking his path.

 

I killed him. He jumped over the oncoming traffic and went to the front door of his home and tried opening the door.

 

Dad is dead. The fear squeezed his throat, pressing fully onto his back until he couldn’t breath or think -the door knob didn’t move, didn’t budge.

 

It’s all my fault. There’s loud music on the other side, and voices deeper in the house-laughter. Miles is desperate and takes his shoulder and slams it into the door, completely throwing it off its hinges and falls forwards with it.

 

There’s a shout of surprise and yelling, his father is the first to appear from the dining room, then his wife and some of their friends from work. A mix of fear and anger among the faces of people, but what matters to him right now is father who shouts in anger, first, before seeing who had broken down the door, right as his wife did, too.

 

Rio gasps into her hands at the state of him. “Miles- cariño?!”  

 

Miles is fast. Jumping off the door and seeking his fathers embrace. His arms are trembling and grip onto the back of his dad’s pressed shirt, they squeeze Jefferson Davis so tight just so he knows this is real . His father isn’t some mural painted on a wall in New York, a memory of a fallen soldier or just some face to plaster on the television, calling out for Brooklyn’s grief and prayers for his family.

 

The door is broken, he has no shoes, and he’s bleeding because his mother cries out in shock and fear. (But his dad’s heartbeat is loud and beats beneath Miles’s eardrum where it rests above his chest).

 

Miles can breathe , now.

 

Jefferson holds him close, smoothing over the braids in his hair while his mother runs for the first aid kit. “It’s okay,” gently trying to stop his trembling. “It’s okay, son. I’m here. I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere.”

__________

 

Miles makes the decision that he’s going to reach out to Miguel again. The message thread is too short, he wants more(he needs it, something he won’t admit to himself). Miguel is his red thread, Miles promised a long time ago that he wants to make his relationship work with his soulmate, it’s why he forgave Miguel after everything. But Miguel won’t be the one to make the first-second-move, it has to be Miles.

 

But how?

 

He figures it out when he’s packing up his keyboard on Earth-138 after a successful band session with his best friends. Gwen and Pav promise to drop Gonzalo off on his own Earth after they check out a new Thai food place, Hobie had left in a rush before that, and Miles actually can’t stand Thai food. So he waves them goodbye and stuffs in the stand of his keyboard, moving to grab the actual keyboard…

 

Then promptly steps on the cord and drops it on the ground.

 

See. It wouldn’t have been a problem from the height he’s at, except that it had flung forward off the stage and swung, smashing against the front of it. Miles shot a web but was too late, wincing to himself at the sound of keys clattering all over the floor.

 

“Man, I spent two-hundred on that!”

 

He fretted over it, searching up how to fix it…but it’s built differently than the variation from his earth. He figures he could see if Hobie could fix it since he was the most skilled engineer in his group of friends, then packs it up along with all of the parts and goes to open a portal back to his dimension….

 

‘Anytime’. ….

 

Miles makes a split second decision and transports himself back to Nueva York, a place he hadn’t been at in almost a month.

 

It’s night time again-very early morning. Around the same time that Miles had traveled here the last time. He walked through the place, dodging other spiders and keeping invisible, following the glowing red trail that led him through the dark. Miguel is in front of a glass panel when he reaches the end of it, monitoring a machine on the other side as it creates something that Miles doesn’t know anything about.

 

He’s quiet. Bites his bottom lip, then slings off the strap of his case and holds it out towards Miguel. “ Lo rompi. ”

 

Miguel looks at him through the glass, the case, him again, and without a word he takes turns to take it off Miles’s hands and walks to the table like he did last time.

 

Peter told him before that Miguel is an engineer. He’s the one who created LYLA, and discovered how to travel the multiverse, the rules, ect. Miguel is smart . It shouldn’t come as a surprise when the man pulls out the keyboard and its parts within that he pieces everything together like he’d built it himself, but it does anyway. It completely throws him off guard and stirs something in his stomach. The feeling of watching him work his fingers to fix something that belongs to Miles is indescribable. Irreplaceable . 

 

Miguel finishes his tinkering then turns it on, playing a few notes to check, then turns it off and packs it away. Clipping it closed to hand to Miles.

 

He feels shy under the stare, pulling the case to himself to hug, he says, “...thanks, man.”

 

Miguel jerks his head in a nod, “ Cuando sea. ”

___________

 

This is how Miles began using Miguel as his own, personal maintenance man. It wasn’t everyday that he needed something fixed, not everything around him was broken, but maybe he might just ‘drop’ his computer a little too hard…or ‘trip’ over his gaming console. He can’t help that gravity exists and that he has spider powers, it’s not his fault that the combination of both is damaging the things around him. What does it matter anyway, as long as it gets fixed? He rationalizes.

 

It happens randomly that whatever item it is that's around him..from his mom’s coffee machine, to the monitor in his and Ganke’s room, something would break. So he’d wrap it up and drag it to Nueva York sometime between 11pm and 2am to Miguel’s office for him to take a look at. The fourth time he’d done it, Miguel had been waiting for him at the desk, tools already out to fix whatever Miles had broken.

 

Neither of them talked during that time, they’d just enjoy the comfortable silence between them. Miguel would focus on his task and Miles would stare at his face or hands as he did-Miguel never complained about it, so he didn’t stop. Then Miles would spend his days recreating the image in his mind on paper.

 

“Miguel seems happier these days.” Peter says over breakfast. “Less….angry?”

 

“Oh, really?” Miles fakes disinterest, not blind to Peter eyeing the side of his face. “That’s good, then.”

 

“Hmm….yeah, real good. I’ve got no complaints, he hasn’t yelled at me in three whole days- three ! It’s a miracle.”

 

“Must be.”

 

“Yup.~” He uncaps the syrup and drowns the pancake on Miles’s plate like how he likes, and then his own before putting some on Mayday’s. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with Miguel refusing visitors past eleven…”

 

Surprised, Miles' brows raise. “Really? Uh, I mean, weird.”

 

“Mhm. Sure. ‘Weird’.”

 

A bit after that, Miles had gone straight to the house in Queens, waving at the neighbours as he slotted the key in the lock, then went straight for the lab. Over time he’s steadily been using the place Aunt May gave him for a hang out with his friends. There’s a piece of all his soulmates there-the black trenchcoat from Noir beside one of Peter's pink robes, Porker’s comical sized camera sitting on the dining room table since last time, and lots of clothes and blankets resting in random spots over the house. He’d also changed the lab to fit his tastes to black and red rather than blue and red. He had art work all over the place, and spray paint on the metal beams where he and Gonzolo threw their art work up.

 

He sat in the lab for a bit, going through suit designs, tired of hearing the complaints of his costume and his ‘bleeding armpits’. Miles sorted the ones he liked and set them to the side for experimenting later on, then spun in his chair to look around him.

 

Aunt May had no use for any of these things-her exact words when she first told Miles she’d be moving- so left them all to Miles.

 

“Peter…he’d want you to have them.” She told him with a sad look in her eye.

 

Guilt choked him. The sense of sadness, shame, a need for what never would have come over him. He didn’t deserve any of it, but still he said, “...thank you.”

 

Miles had access to a Spider-Jeep, plane and a motorcycle. He’d tested all three with Hobie and Gonzolo, all worked fine, though the late Spider-man never finished all the plans for his motorcycle. Peter had planned on upgrading it to have a Surface-Adaptive system and an advanced gyroscopic stabilization so it could drive on all surfaces, at all angles.

 

Basically a motorcycle like Spider-womans.

 

Miles had all of the blueprints and parts he’d need. He’s not a mechanic but he’s been around Gonzalo and Hobie enough that he’s sure he could fix it up if he wanted to-and wouldn’t that be awesome?! Driving around the city on a tricked out motorcycle on all surfaces?

 

Miles looked down at his red thread, plucking at it lightly with his fingers…

 

They moved to his watch, pulling up the message thread. He typed on the keypad before he could second guess himself.

 

‘Busy?’

 

It takes two minutes of him biting his bottom lip to get a reply. ‘I am always busy.’ Followed up by a, ‘What do you want?’

 

‘Just seein if u want to work on this bike in my lab.’

 

‘When?’

 

‘I’m by it right now.’

 

After sending it, he figures out that this is the first time he’s requesting to see Miguel outside of Spider HQ. The first time he’s inviting Miguel into his personal space rather than barging in on Miguel’s. He also realizes that it’s probably a lot to ask of him to leave his post while it’s the late afternoon in Nueva York, Miguel is for sure busy with protecting the multiverse or his day job duties at Alchamex. 

 

Miles waits for the message saying that Miguel is , in fact, too busy to travel dimensions away from his own duties just to deal with Miles’s need for companionship.

 

He receives no message back, almost taking that as rejection itself if it hadn’t been for the slow brightening of his red thread on his pinkie. Miguel’s coming.

 

This must be what he sees when I come to him.

 

Something in him warms when the portal opens and Miguel shoots out of it, landing smoothly on the platform. He’s in all black casualware, the neck of his spider suit poking out of the neck of his sweater. Miles is surprised to see him. “You’re here.”

 

Miguel raises his brow, the portal closing behind him. “You asked me to come?”

 

“Yeah, but…I thought you’d be busy?”

 

“I’m always busy, Miles. That’s why I have LYLA, Jess and Ben to contact me when I step away from the monitor.”

 

He tries not to blush at the sound of his name on the man’s lips, nodding. “Yeah..okay. That makes sense.”

 

“Mhm.” Miguel takes in the view of the lab. “It looks different.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I..uh…did some remodeling. Wasn’t into the whole ‘Red and Blue crusader’ thing.”

 

Miguel crossed his arms, nodding at the artwork thrown all over the place. “So you went for ‘urban-myth’ instead?” 

 

“What can I say?” Shrugging. “Gonzolo’s down here more than I am, some of this is me, most of it’s him.” To make his point, they both look to the left, upper platform, one of the bigger ones in the lab. It’s neat and organized(obviously it’s got nothing to do with Miles), he has cases with the suits he’s working on. A work table, then a desk for homework, etc., and a cot he’ll use to nap on. There’s a lot of purple and black over there and laced with Miles’ red and black throughout the lab, along with a splash of another color here and there. His twin-but-not is the one between them both that drags the other to thrift stores, Miles isn’t one to care that much otherwise(not down here, the house is a different story).

 

Miles suddenly realizes that this is the first time they’ve held a conversation since last year’s cat and mouse chase. This is the longest they’ve spoken to each other at all since Miles has been invading his personal space, which is weird, because they’re both speaking to each other so easily as if they aren’t still building their relationship.

 

Or, at least, he thinks they’re building their relationship? He hasn’t asked, so he doesn’t know.

 

He also realizes that he hasn’t said anything and now it’s probably an uncomfortable silence between them. “Uh!” He winces from the too loud exclamation in the quiet lab. “Bike-it’s over here, c’mon.” He shoots a web and flings onto the platform, Miguel’s laser-wire web shooting and the man lands on the platform with him. Miles uncovers the bike that Hobie helped him paint. It’s nearly all black, with red lines decorating it, and a red spider slapped on both sides of it. “I have some blueprints and parts, it was supposed to be like Spider-Woman’s bike; able to go on all surfaces, any angle, all that.”

 

(It would have been if Peter didn’t die. If Miles hadn’t let him get killed.)

 

“You don’t have your license yet, do you?”

 

Miles bites down the pain in his chest and smiles, “I’m Spider-man, I don’t need one.”

 

There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, “Mhm. Right, so I suppose you know how to drive it, then?”

 

“Uh. I’m Spider-man?”

 

Miguel snorts- snorts because of Miles- and moves to start inspecting it. Miles throws him a ‘Be right back’ so he can go get the parts and blueprints, when he comes back Miguel’s taken off the tires and put them on the work bench. There’s some tools he doesn’t recognize beside them, and other parts that probably came from the bike. Miles comes over and holds the box, Miguel doesn’t even need the blueprints that he casts aside, going for the parts he knows he’ll need.

 

Usually Miles would sit off to the side and watch him work…this is no different, other than six feet turning into three. Plus, Miles feels a little comfortable around the man, so doesn’t stay quiet like he would. “How do you know how to do all of this?”

 

“The same way you know how to paint and draw.”

 

Miles plucks up a part that Miguel takes almost right away, attaching it to other parts out of the box. “But that’s just art. This is….like, genius-level shi-stuff.”

 

“Hm. Nice save, and it’s not hard if you get it. You understand art beyond the theoretical, you’re able to create what your mind lets you. That is the same for me.”

 

“Except with biochemistry, robotics and genetics.”

 

Miguel flashes him a look, humming. “Yes.” He says. Then after a moment of silence, he asks, “Peter told you?”

 

“About what?”

 

“Biochemistry, robotics and genetics.” He lists off, not taking an eye off of his work. Tweaking a few things and grabs a wheel, along with the device he put together. “Or was it someone else?”

 

Miguel has his back turned to Miles, so he can’t see the flush on his cheeks. “..Peter. He told me, we were…talking, and he said something, so I asked…”

 

Miguel is putting the tires back on, telling Miles something that makes him both nervous and jittery(in a good way). “...You can ask me.”

 

“...Ask what?”

 

“Questions. If you have any.”

 

“Oh.” His voice is quiet. “...Está bien. I’ll, uh, let you know when I do.. ”

 

“Hm.”

________

 

The bike doesn’t get fixed up that first day. Miguel ends up having to leave after a notification goes off on his watch about thirty minutes in. Miles is disappointed to see him leave that day, and is down about it, until he messages him again almost twentyfour hours later to see if he was busy, and if he wanted to return. 

 

‘I’ll be there in ten.’

 

And he was.

 

Slowly but surely, Miguel worked on the bike. Adding the things that Peter would have done himself if he still had the time. Miles doesn’t know a single thing about it, so he stays out of the way, but watches him all the same. Sometimes they’re in a comfortable silence while Miles watches, most times Miles spends the time together talking and talking to fill the space, because that’s what he’s always done. He tells Miguel funny stories, tells him about his day or the music he and his friends do. He tells Miguel that Mayday calls him ‘bru bru’-that he thinks it’s adorable. 

 

Miguel gives small ‘mhm’s’ and ‘hm’s’ to show that he’s listening, not once complaining about Miles’s mouth that won’t stop.

 

Their time spent would end when Miguel would be summoned elsewhere.

 

Miles would leave the lab and swing home, pulling out his notebook to draw the visions in both his head and heart. Small, discernable moments that stuck out to him when it came to his soulmate. Images of the man tinkering with things from the box, on his knees as he checks something on the tires, fiddling with the web shooters system on it.

 

Miles made art from the art that is his soulmate.

 

His hand drew in gentle swoops of the brown hair that’d lay on his forehead, a crease in brown skin between thick eyebrows. He ran his NO.8 pencil down to the nub to color in red eyes whenever the light was just right in the drawing. The scratch on soft looking lips, and a bruise on otherwise smooth skin.

 

He drew the shape of Miguel’s back. Broad and muscular, wide. Imagining just where the divots of muscle under skin would be and shadowed in the area generously. Then the taunt muscles of his abdomen that he could see whenever Miguel lifted his shirt to wipe his face, or the times when Miguel would walk into the Lab with only his spider suit on.

 

His sixteenth birthday is only some days away. He’s not a child . He’s had erections before and has touched himself to the thought of his mystery soulmate before he’d met Miguel…and then started up again after the first few times of asking Peter about the man.

 

Call him sick. Say it’s a ‘trauma response’. But he’s never felt something so sensual in his life before Miguel had taken him and slammed him down on the bullet train, his entire weight pinning him onto the metal until he couldn’t move. The mint on his tongue and musky scent of his cologne, Miles had thought about that traumatizing moment almost every day afterwards….through all that pain and heartache, a part of him would always note how he smelled.

 

How he felt on top of him.

 

He’d felt guilty to himself the first time he woke up from a wet dream with Miguel the last thing he’d seen in it-it had happened two months after his grounding and made him throw up in the bathroom across the hall, so violently that it woke up his dad.

 

Now?

 

Miles gives into his desires in the shower or in the privacy of his room, stroking himself while imagining that weight pressing up against him again. Coming undone with Miguel’s name on his lips. Envisioning scenarios where instead of him beating the shit out of him on that train, Miguel had done more favorable things instead. 

 

Some days he sits there and watches Miguel work like normal, other times he’ll fantasize about him using those fingers on Miles’s body instead….then promptly blush and look away from guilt and shame that he’d done that in Miguel’s face.

 

This goes without saying that he feels somewhat normal again-he’s in a band with his best friends and will be playing another gig soon, he’s got a brother he hangs out with, three parents(four if he counts Peter), and fond memories of his soulmate with a tricked out bike on the way. Beneath his superhero life, he has normal, teenage experiences that he should be having. He’s happy . He’s content. He feels right .

 

Miguel had his face up to a magnifying glass, using the small screw driver to tighten the screws on the touch pad of the bike. “Miles?”

 

“Huh? Yeah?”

 

“There should be another sensor pad somewhere around here, Puedes pasármelo? ”

 

“Yeah, I got you, man.” Miles hopped off the desk, humming to himself as he looked around the place.

 

“I think it’s in the file cabinet.”

 

“Gracias, solo un segundo.” He began searching through the file cabinets, starting in the middle first, then worked his way randomly. Miles slid open one of the higher ones, tapping inside. “Aha!” He felt it.

 

Except when he pulled it out, it wasn’t the touch pad he was hoping for…it was an old picture frame. Set between chipped wood and scraped varnish was a photo of a blonde haired man whose face haunts his dreams. Peter Parker in his graduation uniform from Columbia, he’s holding a degree in one hand and hugging Aunt May in the other…

 

The date on his diploma is four days before Miles had gotten his powers.

 

Five days before they’d met.

 

Five days before he died.

 

His happiness must come in exchange for something else, usually in the form of someone else.

 

“...inturrupt this broadcast for a special report. Sad news tonight. The hero known as Spider-Man…has died. Related to another powerful earthquake…”

 

Peter Parker’s face had been plastered all over New York. Mary Jane Watson, fiance to her red thread, gave a speech about how she knew Peter. Who he was, what he believed and what he inspired in the city. How amazing he was and would have wanted them all to believe in themselves and not lose hope.

 

I’ll never get to know him like she did.

 

“Miles?” He distantly heard. “ Necesito el panel táctil.”

 

Peter had been alive and happy in the photo, innocent and unknowing that in five days that diploma meant nothing…because Miles got bit, and his universe wouldn’t allow two of them. In five days, the years of hard work-the beatings, the bleedings, the heartache of losing his loved ones- would have all been pointless because Miles is an anomaly, not meant to exist in this world, and stole the bright future he had ahead for his own. In five days, Peter Benjamin Parker, the young adult in the photograph, would be nothing more than a corpse rotting in the ground when he shouldn’t be…because he was cursed to have Miles Morales as an orange thread. 

 

Five days.

 

There was shuffling, the rolling of a chair and his name being called out again, a slip of concern.

 

I couldn’t save him. I got him killed. 

 

It should’ve been me.

 

“Miles?” Came closer. “ Que Pasa ?”

 

The picture frame cracked under the pressure of his hands, splintering along the sides. His breathing became sharp, shallow, each breath clawing down his throat. Too fast.  

 

His happiness must come in exchange for something else, usually in the form of someone else.

 

“Mi papá.” He gasped. Through the roaring in his ears, he heard something drop on the ground and glass shatter. “I have to..”

 

“Miles?” Miguel's voice was right beside him-hands were reaching for him but Miles evaded them, shaking as he took a step towards the elevator.

 

“I have to..I have to.”

 

I have to see if he’s alive.

 

Initiative kicked in and slammed him into overdrive. Miles ran for the elevator, flinging a web and escaping out of the confinements of the lab. He stumbled out of the shed, turning invisible, and raced across the darkening city. One moment he blinked, he was crawling through his window, the next time he blinked he came stumbling down the stairs.

 

Someone shouted in alarm and familiar, gentle hands were pulling him up, holding onto him. Miles buried his face into the collar of his dads shirt, holding onto him like he would disappear the second he didn’t, listening to the beating of his heart that was also Miles’s own lifeline.

__________

 

Eventually his parents got him into bed and stayed there until they thought he was asleep. His mom kissed his forehead and both of them walked out the door, the wood coming to a close but their steps stopping right outside. He could hear them talking.

 

“..been months since the last episode, cariño. I thought he was getting better?”

 

“I know, I know, honey-”

 

“Do you think something happened tonight? He didn’t seem hurt to you, did he?”

 

“You checked over him, remember?” Jefferson reminded his wife gently, voice concerned as hers was. 

 

“Our little boy is still hurting, Jeff. Qué hacemos?”

 

“..I don’t know. I just. I wish he would talk to us about it, about what happened, so we can help . It just doesn’t make any sense, I don’t understand why he won’t talk to us about it? He knows that he can, right?”

 

“Of course he does, mi vida.” She soothed him. “He knows we’re here for him. I guess, maybe that’s why he comes to us? To you?”

 

There was a light ruffle of clothes, Jefferson sighed. “I guess there’s nothing more we can do, except be there for him when he comes….I just wish I could do more.”

 

“Lo sé.”

 

Miles lied there in his guilt, in his shame , as his parents concluded their worries in the hallway, eventually making it back downstairs and turned on the tv. Miles couldn’t lie awake any second longer in the darkness of his room, throwing back the covers to quietly make it to his window and climb out of it. He followed the glow of his red thread up to the top of his building where Miguel stood…a little awkward, more worried than Miles has ever seen on that man’s face when regarding Miles.

 

“Todavía aquí?” Sitting down on the edge, overlooking the neighborhood and the tall buildings in the distance. It was a question-not-question, he’s really a little surprised Miguel stayed after he borderline freaked out in front of him for no reason.

 

The loose gravel crunched beneath Miguel’s feet, taking a spot just inches away from him. Not close enough to where they touched, but close enough that when a light gust of wind swept through the streets, the scent of cedar blanketed the smell of burnt rubber and smoke that was part of the city's smell. He surprised Miles again by his response.

 

“.....Estoy intentando serlo.”

 

At first Miles stared openly at him in shock, then the guilt crushed him under, making him turn away back to the city in front of him. “...I don’t know, man. I don’t think you want to, I’m all…screwed up in the head.”

 

“Yeah, well. You’re Spider-man, it’s a given to be.”

 

He snorted-at his comment, and the irony of it all. “Right….but I was never supposed to have this , any of this. The mask or the trauma that comes with it, remember?”

 

…..I stole it.

 

“Miles…”

 

“It’s true,” eyeing him from the side. “You know it, I know it, and every other spider knows it. Esto no es mío -or, it wasn’t supposed to be, and now it is.”

 

Miguel sat there quietly, thinking. “But we don’t know.” He said, and met Miles skeptical look head on, unflinching. “... I don’t know. You.. mierda -I am trying to find the right words. Escuchar, Miles, yes, the spider belonged to Earth-42 and would have bitten Gonzolo had there not been interference from Alchemex labs-”

 

“Right-”

 

“-But who’s to say that it was going to happen?”

 

“What?”

 

Miguel huffed, brushing back his hair. “I am an engineer. I build, I fix, it’s what I’m good at.” He explains. “I see puzzles in everything I look at or touch. Siempre he sido así , it is how I have lived and survived my own shortcomings and what has got me to where I am today. As Spider-man, my position in Alchamex, and in Spider society- Miles, do you understand the definition of a Scientific Theory?”

 

“Yeah. It’s something that’s been tested and has evidence of supporting the idea.”

 

“Yes. But it’s more than that. Miles, it’s everything you said, but is an idea that hasn’t been disproven . It is the fundamental rule of the scientific method. What we claim to be correct, and have evidence to support, has to have room for adjustment should it be disproven….And is the very rule that I disregarded when you were bit.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He hummed, posture hunched, resting his elbows on his knees. “After we defeated spot, I returned to Nueva York and thought about what you mean in our web, to your universe..all of ours. No tenía sentido , although we found the reason why your universe did not collapse, I still could not understand how it was possible. In the puzzle that all spiders have a place in….why is it that your piece isn’t ‘meant’ to be there, able to fit with the rest? That is what I couldn’t understand. Y ahora lo hago.”

 

“You do?”

 

“ Si. I do. I thought about our strings.” He plucked the ones on his own pinkie lightly. “If we were going off the sciences of our universes, these should not be possible. I should not have formed these strings, or you, or Jessica, Peter and all of the other spider people in our society. I don’t know why , but I know that it is something bigger than us-than me. You were bitten by a spider from another universe, there’s no way to say that you weren’t supposed to be. The universes are stable, they haven’t collapsed. It could have meant to have been this way. We don’t know, and I don’t get to make that call….neither do you. ”

 

With every sentence Miguel said, the more he felt something inside of him. A flurry, the aftermath of a rumbling storm, feelings that had him at a loss for words.

 

He managed to find six. “..You..don’t think I’m a mistake?”

 

Making his chest ache in the best way, and his stomach flip, Miguel looked both apologetic and sure when he looked him in his eye. “I was wrong. I don’t think you’re a mistake, Miles. Not at all. Or an anomaly.”

 

“...Then, what am I?”

 

Just the tiniest bit of a smile, “You’re the exception.”

Notes:

Next chapter I plan on things getting SPICY, finally! Now that some conversations are out of the way.

Please, comment, kudos, I appreciate both! Let me know what ya'll think! I get my motivation and drove to write based on the interactions I get with everyone. I'm not lying, I really was 👌🏾close to dropping this since no one was saying anything at first😕

Thnks~~

Chapter 4: Meet me at our spot

Summary:

Feelings are feelings, but does Miguel feel the same?

Notes:

Ya'll. I worked VERY HARD on this chapter (accidentally writing about half of the next, with it).

Please let me know what ya'll think in the comments, I'd appreciate it very much. They really do motivate me :/

 

Miles is sixteen years old, there are nine strings tied around his pinkie. His seven orange strings bring him comfort, the broken black one brings him pain, and the glowing red one brings him something else entirely.

 

The summer ends as fast as August 3rd comes around. He’s sixteen now, still small compared to his father, and just a little taller than his mother(and steadily falling head over heels for the person on the end of his red thread). He spends his birthday on the rooftop where they had his dad’s congratulatory party when he became Lieutenant. There’s a giant ‘16’ next to a black backdrop and blue, black and white balloons in a half arch for people to take photos at. His mami hired an old school photo booth and a 360 photo booth machine. His family is there, his friends from visions and from his old public school that are there to see him. Miles spend a few hours on his earth, cuts the cake and opens presents, then runs to ‘use the restroom’.

 

He’s right on time to switch out with Gonzolo. 

 

“Feliz cumpleaños.” His twin-but-not says as he chucks a box at his face.

 

Miles catches it and laughs, holding the small box. “You too, man. I’ve got your gift under our bed. Had it commissioned just for you, try not to wear it out in one night.”

 

Like usual they keep the same hairstyle as each other, but collectively decided they wanted something new. Days ago he’d sat under his Mami’s hands, watching that same soap opera while she removed the two braids so she could wash and put in new ones.

 

Her hands paused, “Miles….Did you take your hair out at all?”

 

“Hmm? No, Mami. Por que?”

 

She shook her head, returning back to the braid. “...No es nada.”

 

Gonzolo flicked away the new braids in his hair, tucking it behind his ear next to the fade and design, then shook his head, “It better not be another damn hello kitty clock.”

 

“ Right. But aren’t you the one that puts it on the night stand and uses it as a back up if your alarm doesn’t go off?”

 

His cheeks went a little red. “ Te odio. ”

 

“Love you too, man.~”

 

They switch out. Miles hopping back through the portal to get to Earth-42. The objects in the bedroom fall back down into place from the slight gravity shift, and then he runs out, going to the top of the building. The party is essentially the same decorations except Jefferson Davis watches over them all as the freshly touched up painting on the wall, and the atmosphere is a slight shift compared to his own earth’s. His mom is a nurse, his dad is a lieutenant, when there are parties on his earth….he’d say they’re more square . Here? It’s about the opposite. Fun, but a little more loud, and more streetwear than the business casual he’d just seen from the adults and his classmates.

 

“ Ahí estás ,” his mami comes over, “Make use of these machines, Miles, son caros. They’ll be leaving soon.”

 

“ Si, mami.”

 

“Oh, and your uncle is leaving in a few minutes. Ve a despedirte, no lo verás por un tiempo por ese viaje, recuerdas? ”

 

“.. Si, I remember. I’ll go tell him.”

 

“Good, now go, shoo. He’s over there.”

 

His mom nudged him in the direction of his not-uncle. The man stood tall next to this earth’s Sanchez’s and some other’s from the neighborhood.

 

He’s had a long time learning how to mimic his counterpart. In the past, it had been very easy to express himself in a cool, more relaxed manner because it had been hard to express himself most days. Today he felt fine, but it didn’t make things difficult to walk how Gonzolo does over to the group of men, or the relaxed way he knows Gonzolo daps up others-doing that himself to the adults.

 

“ Tío.” He meets his uncle's eyes.

 

Earth-42’s Aaron Davis peers down at Miles, towering him, sending his senses spiraling as he looks over his face once. Those few seconds it’s hard for him to breathe, to keep up the charade of someone he’s not. “Miles.. Estás aquí. ”

 

Someone Aaron Davis knows Miles will never be.

 

The man knows-he’s always known-who is who. They’ve fooled every single person on this roof, from his mother to the students and teachers at Visions Academy, but never Aaron Davis. Miles sees it in the way disdain takes over his eye, the slight straightening of his shoulders, the hair rising on the back of Miles’s neck that screams DANGER. Things invisible to the untrained eye, but to Miles? It tells him what he knows in his heart, that Aaron Davis of this Earth hates the boy who is not his nephew, the boy who pretends.

 

He keeps his face blank, hands shoved in the oversized purple coat. His braids are all pulled back into a ponytail with just a few hanging in front of his face. “You’re leaving?” 

 

“Yeah, soon.”

 

“.. por cuánto tiempo?”

 

Aaron looked down his nose at Miles. “Ya te lo dije….. recuerdas ?”

 

Miles hummed , keeping calm despite his beating heart, shrugging his shoulders, “Me olvidé.”

 

Uncle Aaron of Earth-42 watched him, animosity so thick that Miles could feel himself drowning in it. It took everything in him not to flinch when the man moved after staring at him for so long, placing a heavy hand on Miles’s shoulder that spoke more words than the man would say at the moment. “Don’t stress ‘bout it, nephew.” Squeezing his shoulder. “ Me verás pronto. ”

 

Miles was at a loss for words.

 

Aaron patted his shoulder, pulling back, running his hand on his jacket as he stuffed it in his own pocket. A smirk on his face…mirthfulness not reaching his eye, “Now go on. Enjoy your party, yo mama and I paid good money for you to enjoy it.”

 

“..Yeah. Okay. Adios , Uncle Aaron.”

 

The man caught him before he could walk away, “And Miles?”

 

“...Yes?”

 

“Happy birthday.”

 

“.....Thank you.” Miles walked away…knowing those words meant anything else but.

_______

 

Miles and Gonzolo walked into the house in Queens, Earth-1610, to a living room full of spider people and Judge and Ganke. The whole house was decorated in monochrome, cartoon colors, pastels and alternative themes. It looked like all of the colors and lack-there-of threw up on the first floor of the house in balloons and tapestry. Hobie played a rift while everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday’ over the banner that read those exact words, Miles blew out his strawberry shortcake cake and Gonzolo his Dark Chocolate and salted Caramel one.

 

They both cut their first slice of cake and exchanged it with each other-a bright smile on Miles’s face, and a shy blush on Gonzolo’s.

 

“Don’t look at me like that, bruh. No es gran cosa.”

 

Miles still grinned stupidly, because they both remembered their Mami’s family custom-she’s mostly Puerto Rican, but with a Brazilian grandparent, so it’s a fun tradition the family’s passed on. “I knew you loved me.~”

 

“I’m gonna hate you more if you don’t shut up and eat your slice.”

 

At the same time: They dipped in the fork, stuck it in their mouth, then gagged .

 

Everyone laughed, including them when they washed the tastes out of their mouth, and enjoyed the well thought party they all put together. Opening presents, showing off those exact same presents, and, of course, what’s a party of Spider-People if not heading out to the city for chaotic madness? Ganke and Judge stayed back while everyone suited up and flipped their way into New York city. Even Gonzolo in his Prowler gear raced with them, testing out his new hover board that Miguel made. Miles laughed when the other boy kicked the front half of it off his foot and flung it at the back of the head of a purse snatcher, the piece flying back and slotting into place.

 

The day ended with all of them sitting in Miles’s favorite spot in the whole city, upside down and trying to stuff chilli dogs in their faces. Gonzolo strapped down with various spider webs secured over his lap from every spider present.

 

“ How are you supposed to eat this?”

 

Peter reached over and saved the rest of Gonzolo’s toppings on the dog, then turned it so the top of the dog was facing Gonzolo. “The trick is, you gotta eat from the top of the dog, not at the end like you would do usually.”

 

“That’s insanity.”

 

“But it’s delicious.”

 

Miles felt….content, like this. Almost at peace. There were two strings on his pinkie missing from this scene-one broken and black as the day it’d happened, and the other light red one that he wished he was brave enough to ask him there. He knew he’d be painting this later, probably beside the art of his broken string resting right on the other side, and maybe he’ll add his Uncle Aaron here, too.

 

He deserves to see the light.

 

Everyone finishes their food, then one by one they all drop from the structure, freefalling, and make their way back to the house.

 

The clean up is quick-there’s no food left when there’s eight spider-people and two other teenagers in the mix. Everyone hugs them and runs off to their own dimensions, then Gonzolo leaves with Judge up the stairs while Miles walks Ganke home.

 

He makes his way back up to his own room, throwing himself down on the bed-

 

“ Ouch!” He jerks up and throws the pillow back, there’s a present he missed.

 

It’s small and metal, a little smaller than a shoebox. Miles plucks it up and sits criss-cross, placing it on his lap to inspect it. There’s a bow…no wrapping or a name, no seams to open it… Oh. He sees the thumb pad and places his thumb right over it. The green scans his print-there’s a hiss. In a retro-like fashion, it opens block by block, revealing dark material inside and a note.

 

He reads the short message.

 

Saw your final design, figured I’d save you the trouble.

 

Happy Birthday

 

There’s a smile stretching on his face when he drops the note and lifts up the Spider-man suit.

 

There’s a thin, red spider partially encased in a circle with two of its arms reaching around at the upper arms, meeting the thicker spider on the back. And a red web design from the upper arms and up, matching the mask.

 

Quickly he hides it, then types away on his keypad.

 

‘Thank you.’ It’s read almost immediately.

 

‘Te gusta?’

 

Miles grins, lying on his stomach. ‘I love it.’

 

‘The material is able to mask your heat signature. It will be useful when you use your camouflage ability.’

 

He was going to type something, then thought about something else. His fingers typed before his brain could tell him not to. ‘How’d you know my size?’

 

This one actually does take a few minutes to receive an answer, the little bubbles appearing for way too long.

 

The response has him floored.

 

‘There’s no way possible that I wouldn’t know your size, Miles.’

______________

 

Miguel is…for a lack of better words, breathtaking . From his voice, to his physique, to their 11pm chats in the laboratory…tucked away into their own solitude where no one can find or bother them. Miguel would listen to Miles’s prattling, sometimes Miguel would tell him about his own day, other days they’d sit there in a comforting quiet that made Miles feel warm. For a few hours every other night, Miles would have Miguel all to himself until the man had to leave, and Miles would admit it to himself…he hates watching him go. He wants to be selfish and take all of the man’s time for himself, or even waltz into Spider HQ and spend time with him during the day.

 

The only problem is that no one else knows about the development in their relationship. Peter suspects, though Miles never confirmed, other than him he hasn’t told a single soul. His friends, who know Miguel is his red thread, still don’t talk much about him around Miles. And his own parents don’t even know that Miles has met his red thread-or the other orange ones….or that he has a black one, like his dad.

 

He has no one to talk to about how Miguel makes him feel. No one to offer advice on how to approach him, or ask him if the words he said meant what Miles thinks they do. Everything he’s doing is on a whim or a google search-like ‘How to initiate physical contact with your person of interest without it being awkward?’ and ‘How weird is it to have an almost nine year age gap between romantic soulmates?’.

 

The answers he received for the first question did not help, but the second one made him feel a little bit better. 

 

Soulmates are bound together by the Red Thread—a connection woven by the universe itself, transcending time, space, and the laws of man. This bond is considered sacred and absolute, existing independently from human systems of governance. While mortal law dictates the legal age for romantic consent, the soulmate connection is recognized in most states as a unique exception: when the younger party reaches the state’s age of consent, they are legally able to enter into a romantic relationship only with their fated Red Thread partner(if older). Outside of that bond, normal laws apply without exception. This clause exists because the Red Thread is not a matter of choice or chance—it is an immutable truth, acknowledged by the courts as something beyond human interference.

 

Miles decides to chance it.

 

The next time he sees Miguel it’s two days after his birthday, they meet in the lab so Miguel can begin adding other features to the bike, a conduit for Miles’s powers. Miles brought the suit with him to put in the mannequin case with the other ones he may or may not wear in the future, Miguel is sitting on a chair and placing wires next to each other, twisting them, then Miles watches from afar as Miguel uses one of his claws to cut a strip down a plastic tube.

 

“Do they hurt?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Do they hurt? Your claws.” He shoots a web and swings over, walking right next to him where Miguel looks up from his task, then down at his finger tips.

 

“I have a high pain tolerance, like you.”

 

Miles moves, hopping to sit on the desk beside him. “Yeah, but they’re, like, coming out of you, man. And they’re sharp, how do they not hurt?”

 

“Because the skin’s healed over, there’s space for them to come out.”

 

“What?”

 

Miguel sighs, the glove on his hand pixilating away. He holds it up for Miles to see.

 

There on the pads of his finger tips are thin, barely-there-lines on each finger. Miles doesn’t so much think about it, the feeling comes to him naturally to reach out and grab a hold of his hand. Miguel lets him feel the lines, and doesn’t complain when he presses to see if the claws would extend out like a cat’s would-they do. He can’t help but laugh. “Your powers are freaking cool, man.” Pouting just a bit at the end. “Wish I could do that.”

 

“One would argue that your abilities are superior.”

 

“But yours are cooler . You’re like…a vampire-what about your teeth?” Miles drops his hand on his lap, reaching for Miguel’s face. “Do they hurt?”

 

Miguel parts his mouth so Miles can stretch the side of his mouth, displaying bright, white teeth and two sharp canines on the top and bottom. He tilts his head, looking at them, “I thought they were longer?”

 

Miguel gently takes Miles’s wrists in one large hand, pulling them away from his mouth, then opens it himself so all four are visible. He widens it, the fangs begin to elongate, making Miles stare in awe. He tries to move a hand-he wants to touch one-but Miguel must’ve known what he’d do and so that’s why he kept both wrists held together in his one hand.

 

“Do you, like, ever bite your tongue? Have you ever paralyzed yourself?”

 

“My body has a natural immunity to the venom, it wouldn’t work.”

 

“Ha! So you do bite your tongue!”

 

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Everyone bites their tongue.”

 

You can bite me. He thinks.

 

Miguel’s eyes flicker at his-so fast he almost didn’t see it. It made his brows furrow, “What?”

 

Miguel has his lips pursed together, then shakes his head, letting go of Miles’s hands. The glove reappeared on his skin, reaching for some more tools. “My fangs are dangerous, you know? I use them to paralyze my enemies.”

 

He tries not to pout-missing the warmth of his touch. Miles leans back on his hands, stretching, “Yeah, I know. I was told about it.”

 

“Hmm.” Red flickered to his face, quickly. “What else have you been told?”

 

“About what?”

 

“ A mí.”

 

He shrugs. “Workaholic, healthy eater, vampire, doesn’t sleep-but I guess that goes with the vampire thing.”

 

“And that’s all?”

 

“Yeah? Basically?”

 

Miguel hums , as if that’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day, and a smile playing on his lips. “Ya veo.”

 

Before he can ask ‘what do you see’, there’s a rapid succession of beeps coming from Miguel’s watch. Miles is groaning already as Miguel shoots out of the chair, answering the call. “What is it?”

 

On the other line is Ben. “We got that anomaly taken care of on Earth-9500, but the whole block's flickering out like bad Wi-Fi. The patch machine isn't getting enough power, we're gonna need you to lock it down before someone gets phased into next week.”

 

Miguel cursed in Spanish, pressing buttons on his watch, “I'm on my way.” He cuts the line.

 

The octangular portal opens, Miguel is pulling the sweater off his body, giving Miles the perfect view of his defined back, and the taunt muscles of his stomach when he turns to toss it on the chair. “I’ll grab it when I’m here next.”

 

“Okay. Hasta luego?”

 

“Yes.” The mask materializes on his face. “I’ll see you later.”

 

Miguel jumps into the portal, the thing closing as fast as it had been there, and he watches the red thread fade into its usual pale color. He’s left all alone in a lab that shouldn’t be he- maybe , it shouldn’t, because Miles doesn’t get to make that call(just like Miguel had said).

 

He stands there for just a few minutes, thinking about his interactions with Miguel, then remembers the sweater he left behind…..

 

A web shoots out and pulls it to him. He slips it on, immediately drowning in the scent of Cedar and the body heat left behind. Miles hugs himself in the massive sweater, the warmth seeping into his skin, right into his soul, then swings himself towards the elevator.

______________

His dad takes him school shopping while his Mami has to work the overnight shift, so she’s back home sleeping while the two make their way through the Walmart in Valley stream. A list in hand, Miles pushes the cart while his dad maneuvers them through the store.

 

A new calculator is tossed in the cart. “Calculator, check . And…okay, now we need pencils-”

 

“I’ve got enough pens.”

 

“But the list says you need pencils.”

 

“I’ve got plenty, I don’t use them for anything except tests.”

 

His dad shakes his head, waving the paper, “We get everything on this list. Or do you want to explain to your mother why we didn’t do what she told us to? Hm?”

 

His body slumps forward on the cart. “ No. ”

 

“Right, and neither do I. You know how she is about these things.” He says, taking them back around the store to the pencils and pens section of the ‘back to school’ aisle. Miles just hums in response. His dad shakes laughs, shaking his head as he grabs the No.2 mechanical pencils and places them inside, “Sixteen years, you’d think you would’ve gotten used to it by now, son. Word of advice, whenever you meet your soulmate, just do as she says. It’s less arguing, and it’ll make her happy. I mean, we’re better at taking orders anyway, so just do what you’re told…You know, unless she wants you to hurt yourself. Then you tell your mother and I and we’ll handle it.”

 

He bites his lip, trailing behind his father. “What if it isn’t?”

 

“Hmm?” His dad plucks two binders off the shelf.

 

“You know…” shrugging. “What if she isn’t one, a she, I mean? Like…what if she is a he ?”

 

He watches as his dad stops reading the front of a pencil pouch, his brows knitting together, the words coming to register in his head. Jefferson Davis is very surprised to hear the question, “Miles, do you..are you thinking your soulmate might be a boy?”

 

“Uh..”

 

“Because it’s fine!” He adds, quickly, taking Miles’s demeanor the wrong way. “If you think it is, it’s okay, there’s nothing to be ashamed about! Though we’ll need to brush up on certain, uh, education-”

 

“ Dad!”

 

“It’s important, Miles. If your mother were here right now, she’d agree. We’ll have to take time during the weekend or something, and talk about it.”

 

“We really don’t need to do that. I know everything, I’m not six.”

 

Jefferson Davis shot him a look, “What do you mean ‘you know everything’? Miles, are you..have you been active-”

 

“Oh my god- no ! I haven’t-”

 

“Because you could seriously hurt your soulmate’s feelings, Miles. I mean, it’s one thing if you only have orange threads, but a red one? We talked about this-”

 

“Dad. No.” Miles stopped him. “I’m not active . I’m just saying that this is stuff we’ve talked about in health class, and there’s articles I’ve read, I know all of the safety things I should know.” Although most of it doesn’t apply to him, having a superhuman immune system and everything.

 

His dad eyed him. “Hm, sure, but we’re still going to have a talk. And you can’t get out of it, I’m telling your mother as soon as she wakes up.” Miles groaned in his hand when his father said that. The man didn’t care and came over to pat him on the head. “Don’t worry. It will be as mortifying for you as it will for me-now come on, I think I saw the lined paper this way.”

 

“....Thanks, dad.”

 

His dad stopped and turned to drop a kiss atop his head. “Of course, son. I love you, no matter what.”

 

“I love you too.”

___________

 

His Mami takes the news of his sexuality as well as his dad does, though now she and his dad are more protective in their wording when they eventually talk about sex between two men. It’s horrific, he wants to turn invisible and jump off the Hell Gate Bridge the moment it starts, he comes into the lab on the first weekend after school begins traumatized from it.

 

“ Que pasa?”

 

“ Nada.” Miles tells his soulmate, hopping on the desk right beside him, so close that Miguel’s face is near his legs. Red eyes eye them when he crosses one over the other. “How much longer you got, by the way? You know, till you’re done building the extra stuff?”

 

Red seems to tear away from the black of Miles’s thigh, turning back to his task. “... Seis minutos-”

 

“Six minutes!?”

 

“Mhm.” He twists in a small screw. “And then you’ll be able to terrorize the city with your terrible driving.”

 

“I barely scratched it!”

 

“Sure, but you weren’t the one who had to fix the dent.”

 

“It’s cool, man. I’m Spider-Man, I’ll get the hang of it…Plus, you’ll fix it for me if I break it, won’t you?”

 

Miguel barely spares him a glance. “You know where my office is.”

 

Miles smiles wide-there’s a little bit of red on Miguel’s face. He’s happy to sit here and watch him work…the six minutes go by and Miles is suddenly very sad when Miguel pushes out of his seat and places the item beneath the touchpad. It’s done.

 

Months of taking apart, fixing, building, and planning in the lab, Miguel is finally finished with Miles’s motorcycle. “...this is it.”

 

Miguel is staring at the bike, too. “... Si. It is.”

 

But Miles doesn’t want it to be over with. He doesn’t want to see Miguel go, and not come back…how else could he make him stay, though? Unfortunately he doesn’t get the chance to have the time to figure it out because the man’s watch beeps, Lego Spider-Man’s voice patching through. Miguel has to go.

 

“.. Hasta luego?”

 

Miguel jerks a nod. “ Hasta luego.”

 

Once again the lab is empty. He’s got a new bike ready to be driven anywhere and everywhere like it’s meant to, and another new sweater Miguel’s left behind, but not the person responsible for both. He has no other reason to give him to come over to the lab-to spend time with him.

 

Miles doesn’t touch the bike for a few days. When he does, he takes it into the city and drives it recklessly across buildings and along the sides of them, driving upside down on the bullet train’s tracks. Miguel is an amazing engineer, he’s built it to be durable. To withstand a sixteen year old boy’s reckless behavior and the villains he may encounter, there’s not a single thing wrong with it when he’s driving it back to the lab.

 

On the weekend his dad is in New Jersey for a conference, and his mom is out with some of her friends. He sits on the couch in his home and types in the messages to his soulmate, ‘I drove it.’

 

Miguel responds in five minutes. ‘How was it?’

 

‘Great. I didn't crash it, either. And all of the features worked like you said it would.’

 

‘That’s good. It means I did my job.’

 

Miles doesn't know what to type next-then his stomach rumbles, and his fingers type ‘Wyd?’

 

‘Responding to emails, why?’

 

‘Peter says you can cook. Is that true, or is he being an idiot again?’

 

‘He's always an idiot.’ Followed by, ‘And yes, it is true.’

 

‘What do you cook?’

 

‘Everything.’ He types. ‘Por que? Tienes hambre?’

 

‘Yeah…I've got a whole kitchen in Queens I don't really use. Hobie, Pav and Peni are the only ones that can cook edible food. And Peter's only allowed to make breakfast. But I’m broke and there’s nothing I can cook here besides cereal.’

 

‘Qué quieres comer?’

 

‘Pasteles sound good. Chicken.’

 

‘Dónde estás?’

 

‘Home.’

 

‘Nos vemos en nuestro lugar.’

 

Miles throws on his suit and Miguel's hoodie, then races out the door. It takes him less time than it would to get from his home to the one in Queens, Miguel is already there in the lab with a box of things. Miles is happy to see him, and more than happy to bring him into the house Aunt May left him.

 

Miguel looks at the state of the kitchen-and peeks around the corner to see the hazardous looking living room- raising a brow at Miles.

 

He's a little sheepish under that stare. “Uh, organized disorganization?”

 

“There's a pancake on the ceiling.”

 

“Gwen did that!” Or was it him? “Maybe. And it's only been there for two days.” Or three. At that exact moment, the pancake gave way, falling down and landing on Miguel's shoulder.

 

Miguel looked at Miles.

 

Miles looked at Miguel.

 

“....at least it's not on the ceiling anymore?”

 

“......”

________________

 

Over the course of time of him talking to Miguel, Peter has never been wrong about Miguel’s ticks-his behaviors, habits, the things that make up his personality. He's always clean and hates having any dirt on him, his nails are also clean-something Miles noticed a while back. His work station is always neat, his clothes never stained, and his teeth are as white as the pristine shirts he wears. He should have known the man would froth at the mouth at the thought of cooking in a dirty kitchen. Miguel refuses to step foot out of the house until it's spotless .

 

Between the two of them it takes an hour to clean the kitchen and to organize the living room into something decent, and vacuum up the crumbs on the floor- Huh, he forgot there was a rug under the coffee table.

 

The only place downstairs-and upstairs, too-that he doesn’t have to worry about too much is the restroom. Gwen and Peni come over, Gwen more than Peni, so everyone who comes through the home pays special attention to the bathroom for their sake. Miguel was pleased to see there were no piss stains on the bottom of the toilet seat, and a plug in air freshener pumping out ‘booktown bakery’ in the small space. The both of them finish, make a grocery list, then swing their way into the city for the bodega near Ozone Park. 

 

The people standing outside are used to seeing their Spider-Man waltzing in and out of the store at any given time, usually they say stop what they’re doing to dab him up. This time, however, they’re completely transfixed on the other Spider-Man with him because Miguel is who he is. He’s a giant compared to Miles’s smaller frame, and the design of his suit is certainly more menacing than Miles’s more approachable one.

 

Mateo, who owns the store with his twin sister, stops sweeping, eyes glued to Miguel. “Spider-Man…who’s your friend?”

 

“Ah, him? He’s visiting.”

 

Miguel hums, nodding, “ Encantada de conocerte.”

 

“Another hispanic one?” Pleasantly surprised, “ Nuestra gente esta ganando.”

 

The small crowd parts out of the way for them to reach the door. “Technecally he’s Irish, too.”

 

“I try not to claim that fifty-two percent.”

 

Miguel pushes open the door and Miles slips under, throwing back to the people in the front. “His hair is bright red under that mask. Like a chili pepper-it’s brighter than the red on his suit.”

 

“No, it isn’t.”

 

“Don’t listen to him, Mateo. He’s a ginger.”

 

Mateo doesn’t believe him, “Mhm. Sure.” Just as the door begins to shut. 

 

Martina is at the cash register behind the counter and greets him, eyeing Miguel skeptically, but continues counting the drawers. Miguel goes ahead and places a lot of money on the counter and tells Miles, “ Consigue lo que quieras. I’ll get the ingredients-you’re not allergic to anything, right?”

 

“Uh..” he’s still processing what he’s sure is at least two hundred that Martina is swiping under the glass to her. “No, but, I could’ve paid-”

 

“No hay necesidad, y dijiste que estabas ‘en quiebra’, recuerdas?”

 

Oh…I did say that.

 

Miguel has a basket in hand, “See. Now get what you want.”

 

“How much did you give her, though?”

 

“ Suficiente.”

 

Miles doesn’t know what that means-how much he did give her. Even so, he’s a broke sixteen year old with a set income, if Miguel wants to spend his money on him, who is he to stop him? Miles grabs another basket and makes his way through the store, plucking up things for himself from the shelf and for his other soulmates while Miguel grabs the ingredients. Martina slid bags under the glass, telling them to have a good day. Both of them left, walking down an alley, and then used the watch to teleport them back to the house.

 

Miguel worked while Miles sat on the counter and watched, a bag of chips in his hands and drowning in the sweater he stole off the back of the couch. “..shadowing at different colleges, I had wanted to go to the one in Jersey-you know, cause of the dimensional travel thing-but now I have this watch so I don’t really know if I want to anymore? I don’t really know what I want to do anymore.”

 

“You go to a school built for STEM students, why not that field?”

 

“Biochemistry isn’t a bad idea, but what can I do with that degree?”

 

“You can research cures for diseases, work with clinical staff in hospitals, or you could do something with your art.”

 

“I guess…”

 

Miguel is finished grating the calabezas , moving onto the potato. “Statistically, it would be more beneficial for you to take a minimum of a year off of school to give yourself time to think.”

 

Miles looks at him, horrified. “You do realize that my mom will kill me if I do that. Like… actually kill me. And I won’t be able to stop here, either, cause she’s my mom.”

 

“It’s a suggestion.”

 

“Yeah,” tossing more chips into his mouth. “A terrible one.” His parents can’t support him forever, they’ve worked hard to make sure Miles has the opportunity he does, he can’t take off for a year..that’ll be, like, a lifetime for his parents.

 

“Go to school undecided, take general classes, then commit to a major when you’re ready.”

 

“Easy for you to say. You’re a whole CEO of a company, and you’re not even thirty.”

 

Miguel shrugs, “Nepotism. Now, can you pass the banana leaves? They’re behind you.”

 

The bag is directly behind him, between the wall and where it presses against his tailbone. He could give the man the bag like he asked, instead he decides that he hasn’t irritated Miguel enough today, and decides to be a little shit. He sets his bag of chips down and shrugs, “No hablo inglés.”

 

Miguel stops his mixing to look at him, unimpressed. “Puedes pasarme las hojas de plátano?”

 

“Sorry, man. I don’t know Spanish.”

 

Exasperated, “Miles.”

 

“ Miguel .~”

 

They look at each other for a long second-Miles has a shit grin on his face, and Miguel is tired. There’s a flash of something in his eye, then the man puts down the bowl and walks over.

 

The smile is instantly stripped from his face when hands slide up his calves and under the crevice of his knees, yanking him forward, spreading his legs apart to fit Miguel in between them. Miles gasps , his hands shooting up to grab the fabric of Miguel’s suit. Miles stares up openly at Miguel-the man’s expression doesn’t say anything at all.

 

And then they move.

 

Miguel’s hands are big and spread fire in the wake of their path, moving up and up the tight fabric of his suit, sliding towards the hem of the sweater. One stops to rest on his hip, and the other moves to sit on the counter.

 

His chest is rising and falling, breathing quickly and heat moving down south. Miguel is getting closer-Cedar is all around him, blocking his senses along with the red of Miguel’s eyes and the blood rushing in his ears. Miles closes his eyes, waiting for the moment their lips will touch-

 

“Lo siento,” Miguel whispers only a few inches away. “Estabas en el camino.”

 

What-

 

The hand is removed from his hip and his soulmate completely steps away, the bag of banana leaves in hand when Miles snaps his eyes open. The man sets them off to the side of the oven to sterilize them after, picking up the bowl again to stir-the ghost of a smile playing on the corner of his mouth.

 

Miles blinks once….twice….

 

He buries his face in his hands and disappears right there on the counter. “ ...te odio.”

 

“Hmm. I thought you didn’t speak Spanish.”

 

(Miles hates him even more.)

____________________________

 

Gwen, Gonzolo and Pav stepped one foot into the house and whistled. Hobie had gotten there ten minutes before then, resting on the couch, “Striking, innet?” 

 

Pav came over to drop in his soulmate’s lap, pointing at the carpet under the table. “Has there always been a carpet under there?”

 

“I ain’t got no scooby-doo, mate.”

 

“It was there when I vacuumed, so yeah.”

 

Gonzolo seems relieved, dropping next to Miles and pushing him to make room on the arm chair. “Finally, I’m not walking on chip crumbs wherever I go.”

 

“It wasn’t that bad -”

 

“Wasn’t there a pancake on the ceiling weeks ago?” Gwen points out, throwing herself on the other side of the couch and kicks her legs up on the table. “Pretty sure one of us did that.”

 

“Uh..”

 

His brother gives him a look, “Yeah. See?”

 

Ever since his motorcycle was fixed and there were no more things Miles could use to coax Miguel to the lab, the man’s been coming over to eat with Miles a few times a week. Miles makes sure to keep the space decent so when his soulmate comes over, all they have to do is take a quick trip to the bodega and then come back to cook and eat.

 

So far they’ve had some Latin Caribbean food, and Italian. The kitchen is stocked with items it hadn’t had before-a tortilla press, a molcajete, a rice cooker and more-all of which Miguel purchased with his own money and brought over. Pav points it out when they all rummage through the kitchen for food and snacks to drag outside for the movie they plan to watch. “Are you learning how to cook? Because my Amma has a recipe book you can borrow.”

 

“Something like that? But sure, I’ll take it.”

 

“I’ll bring it the next time I see you.”

 

They’ve got blankets outside, snacks, and a white sheet hanging up. The projector plays the first Friday the 13th from Gwen’s universe, except the summer camp is on ‘Diamond Lake’ instead of ‘Crystal Lake’. They get through it, and the following three sequels until Miles has to head back home.

 

He swings through the city and stops in the alley to hide his mask, then walks in through the front door. “ Estoy en casa!”

 

His dad pokes his head out from the kitchen, “Hey there, son. We’re in here.”

 

Miles kicks off his shoes and walks to the kitchen. His Mami is cursing and messing with the coffee maker while his dad is cleaning up glass from the broken coffee pot. “...What happened?”

 

“Your Papi is reckless, that’s what happened.”

 

Miles shoots his dad a look, knowing already that the whole house is on thin ice. His Mami loves coffee more than anything and that coffee machine is her favorite thing to use in the kitchen, but now it’s broken and without its matching coffee pot. And work tonight because she’s in her scrubs.

 

“...I might be able to fix it?”

 

His mom glares at her husband, then places it down. “Be my guest. Maybe you can be the opposite of your father, and fix things, not break them.” She snatches her purse off the counter and her keys, moving to kiss Miles on the cheek. “I’m going to run down the street before I go to work. If you can fix it, you’ll be my favorite son in the whole world.”

 

“I thought I already was?”

 

“You’ll be even more .” Kissing his cheeks multiple times. “And Jeff, when you get off in the morning, you’d better come through that door with a new pot, or don’t come in at all.”

 

“Uh, yes. Honey.”

 

“Good.~”

 

Miles and Jefferson watch her leave, both breathing a sigh of relief once she’s gone. His dad promises to slip him a twenty if he can get it fixed, leaving for work himself. Miles pockets the cash and gathers everything together, taking it to the person he knows that can.

 

At 11:59 pm he steps through the doors of Miguel’s office, then at 12:17am he’s sitting on the table while Miguel works to put it together. “I’m supposed to be shadowing Cornell, NYU and Rockefeller next week. Cornell has the best Biochemistry research performance, Mom went there so it’ll be like..a generational thing if I go. But I don’t know, I might go somewhere cheaper.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s expensive, man. Mom’s still paying off all her loans and she’s almost forty. I don’t know if all of my scholarships would cover it, and I still don’t know if I want to commit to that degree. There’s no point in putting my parents in more debt if my heart’s not in it.”

 

“You won’t be a senior until next year. You still have plenty of time to think about it.”

 

“ Lo sé. But it’s like…everyone wants me to figure it out now , and Dad is telling everyone at his job that I’m going to shadow there, and Mami is telling her side of the family that I might cure cancer, or something. I just don’t want to let them down.”

 

“Your parents are very proud of you, Miles. They’ll be happy with whatever decision you make. And don’t worry about the money, I’ll take care of the rest if you need me to.”

 

Miles stops swinging his legs. “What?”

 

As if it’s five dollars he’s talking about, and not thousands , Miguel places the part down and stands, walking over to his tool drawer. “I’ll pay for the rest of your tuition.” He says, simply, hands picking up pieces to inspect them and replacing them if it isn’t what he needs. “You can think of it as a grant, or a scholarship.”

 

“It’s a lot of money, though?”

 

“ Lo sé. I have more than enough.”

 

How rich are you!? He wants to ask. Instead he glances at the table and shoots out a web, snatching up a screw driver and hides it behind his back. Miguel’s found what he’s looking for, coming back to the table. Miguel’s shirt is pearl white and clinging to his chest and arms “But what if I change my major before I finish a degree?”

 

“I said what I said. I will cover the costs.”

 

“You don’t have to …”

 

Miguel’s eyes meet his, “I want to.”

 

Miles bites his lip. “...Okay…thank you.”

 

His soulmate simply hums and looks back at his work. It takes five minutes for Miguel to notice. He reaches for the tool, not feeling it, then looks to see that it’s gone. He then sees Miles’s stupid grin and glares in suspicion. “Miles, where’s the screwdriver?”

 

Innocently, “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

 

Miguel notes the hands carefully concealed behind his back, red eyes dragging back to his face and raising an eye brow. “Really?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

 

Miguel sighs, standing, leaning to reach behind Miles-Miles snatches away a hand and holds the screw driver far away.

 

“ Miles.”

 

“What? No estoy haciendo nada.”

 

Miguel glares, reaching again, but Miles switches hands. He laughs when Miguel growls in frustration.

 

Then , just like he wanted, Miguel’s hands hook under his knees and pull him forward. Miles spreads his legs and loosely wraps them around Miguel’s waist, pulling him in until their hips almost meet. 

 

Miguel is too stunned to speak at first. They’re bodies are close -so close that Miles can feel the shallow breathing, and something firm pressing against his thigh-making Miles flush from the neck up.

 

Slowly, Miguel draws his hands up to grab Miles by the waist and keep him there-hands so large that both of them are almost able to wrap around him completely. They burn over the material of the sweater. “ Miles,” his voice is deeper than what it had been. “Qué estás haciendo?”

 

Red eyes glue to where Miles bites at his bottom lip. “ No está bien? No quieres?”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“Then what are you waiting for?” He feels a bit shy, having to summon enough courage to slip a hand under the pearl white shirt and hook a finger in the belt loop of his jeans, pulling him even closer. “ Quiero que lo hagas.”

 

Miguel leans forward, resting a hand next to Miles and the other inching a little higher beneath the sweater. “What do you want me to do, Miles?” Breathing his name like it were air. “ Dime.”

 

His heart beating in his chest, he begs . “ Bésame. Tócame. Please?”

 

Miguel doesn’t waste a second more and leans down, brushing their lips together like he were testing the waters. Miles needs -he wants -more, grabbing him by the front of his shirt to drag him down. 

 

Miguel is perfect.

 

Their lips slot together like a perfect puzzle-a missing piece to each other's picture. The kiss is gentle and warm, threatening to make his heart burst at any second. His eyes flutter shut, whining when Miguel separates, and moans when they meet again. It’s soft and deep-just like how his soulmate has been treating him this entire time. Miles can’t get enough-feeling like he’s floating and the only thing grounding him is Miguel’s large hands burning holes on his hips where they keep a hold of him.

 

Miles gasps when he feels something wet swipe at his bottom lip-it’s Miguel. The man prods again and swallows the noise Miles makes when their tongues me

 

Fuck.  

 

The sweet and innocent kiss gradually shifted into something more hot, more primal. Sweet turning into something hungry . Miles has no idea what he’s doing, only that Miguel is gripping him so tight and drinking in his gasps and moans, a hand gripping him by the back of his neck to keep him steady. 

 

Only when he couldn’t breathe did Miles pull away, a thin trail of spit between their lips. Miguel jerked him closer, gently pushing on his stomach. “ Acostarse.”

 

“Huh?” He’s a little dazed. “Lie down?”

 

“You wanted me to touch you, right?” He asks. Miles bites his lip, nodding his head yes , quickly. “Lie down, so I can give you what you want.”

 

He allows Miguel to push him down until his back is pressed against the cool metal of the table. His hair fanning around him, Miguel takes in the sight before the hands that grip his waist tug him closer to the end of the table. Miguel leans over and kisses him again in that same way that makes Miles’s head spin, then those lips move to kiss his chin, his jaw. Down to the spot behind his ear, Miles feels hands push up the sweater until his entire front is exposed. The office is cool against his flushed skin and his nipples.

 

Miguel skips over the fabric and kisses his collarbone, down and down, until his mouth is above his chest.

 

Miles gasps when lips latch around his nipple and sucks. A hand shooting out to grab him by the shoulder. “Miguel!”

 

He peels the hand off of him, pinning it on the table and holding it there. “Está bien, te tengo.”

 

Miguel sucks , bites and nips all over his chest. Gently tugging on his nipples with his teeth and sucking love bites the further he moves down. Miles watches through hooded eyes as he lets go of his wrist and slides his fingers in the waistband of Miles’s sweatpants, pulling them off his hips, and his boxers along with it.

 

His soulmate has to push away Miles’s hands that try to hide himself from that piercing stare. “ Bebé, eres perfecta, no te escondas de mí.”

 

“Es vergonzoso.”

 

“Not to me, it isn’t.” Miguel is transfixed, sliding his hands over his thighs, pushing them apart. Miles is painfully erect(painfully embarrassed) , but can’t look away or stop the man from doing what he wants…because Miles really, really wants this. He’s dreamt about this-drawn and daydreamed. Miguel stares at him like Miles had imagined he would, reaching out to take Miles in his hand-

 

“Miguel! Mierda, yes. Más, por favor. Please-”

 

“What do you want, Mi deseo?”

 

“Can you…can we?” He can’t get out, but Miguel knows what he wants, nodding his head. With one hand he unbuttons his jeans and pulls himself out, bringing both their cocks together. It’s hot and throbbing against Miles’s, big . Miguel wraps a hand around both of them and pumps, leaning down to swallow all of Miles’s whines. His hand is so big, stroking them both together. Miles feels heat flowing from the base of his stomach all the way down to his fingers and his toes-it’s intoxicating. His hips jerk up and his legs wrap around Miguel-his soulmate is grunting into the kiss, thrusting against Miles. Their tongues dance together, dirty and filthy, teeth bumping together.

 

Miguel bites and drags his teeth across his bottom lip.

 

That’s all it takes for Miles to reach the height of it all, his back arching off of the table, crying out Miguel’s name as he cums all over himself and Miguel’s hand.

 

Miguel curses, his hand moving faster, his hips stuttering. Miles feels him throb and sees the moment his soulmate comes undone all over his stomach. White mixing with white.

 

Together they slowly come off of euphoria, chests rising and falling. The cum is beginning to cool on his stomach-Miguel notices. He leans down to kiss Miles on the lips before leaving out of view.

 

When he returns, he’s got himself put away and a rag in hand, cleaning off Miles. Then he helps pull him up so he can put his boxers and pants back on. 

 

“Podemos hacerlo de nuevo, verdad?”

 

Miguel huffs, kissing him again. “Yes. We can.”

Notes:

Hot!? Right!?

Just wait till the next chapter!!! And also, anyone got any writing prompts for these two? I'm open to writing more if ya'll have suggestions.

Anyways! Please, drop a comment, tell me your thoughts, and Kudos if you like!~~