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“See ya, Ganke!” Miles called, tugging the zipper of his hoodie over the school uniform underneath.
Without taking his eyes off of the game on his monitor, Ganke asked, “You’re not taking your stuff home?”
“Nah, I finished all my work, so I don’t have to take my notes with me this weekend,” Miles replied, flashing Ganke a cheeky smile. “If you put your controller down, maybe you could’ve done the same…”
Ganke waved his hand dismissively. “This helps me focus, dude,” he said, completely serious. “See you Monday!”
Miles rolled his eyes and shut the door to their dorm room, before turning to face the sea of students, all clad in the same navy-blue uniform.
The end of classes on Fridays were always the busiest, with everyone rushing to get home for the weekend. Miles sighed as he was pushed around by the throng of people, wishing he had had the foresight to have turned invisible back in his dorm room, and beat the rush by crawling along the ceiling.
After being bumped around enough to leave bruises, Miles finally found his way to the entrance, which was (thankfully) much less crowded. He breathed a sigh of relief, before beginning his journey back home. Miles reached around his neck for his headphones, though was dismayed to find them missing.
“Shoot,” Miles grumbled. “Left them in my room…”
Miles turned around, ready to reenter the congested school, when a sudden buzzing sensation filled his head.
Miles tensened immediately, as his Spidey-Sense continued to rumble within him. His eyes automatically began scanning the entrance of the school, alert for anything that appeared out of the ordinary.
His instinctual sense died down as his eyes landed on a dark SUV, parked right next to the school. The windows were heavily tinted, completely obscuring the driver and increasing Miles’ suspicion of the vehicle.
The teenager narrowed his eyes and watched as the car rumbled to life, slowly creeping along the sidewalk until it stopped closer to him. Miles stiffened, hands already reaching for his web-shooters as he waited for the car to turn into some kind of supervillain, and begin an assault.
But it never did. In fact, the car did nothing but sit idly beside the sidewalk.
Miles watched it for a few minutes longer, before turning and walking away from the school.
Forget those headphones, he thought worriedly. I’m getting out of here.
Miles walked with hastened speed, checking over his shoulder every so often to discern if that suspicious car was still behind him. He only relaxed four blocks later, when the car finally stopped showing up around the corner.
Miles walked into a convenience store that sat along the way, greeting the cashier amiably and grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerated shelf.
“That all?” asked the cashier, his words dyed with a heavy Jamaican accent.
“Yup!” Miles replied. As the cashier rang his purchase up, he could not help but ask, “By the way, have you been seeing a suspicious car driving around here?”
The cashier raised his eyes, looking surprised. “Why? Have you seen something happen?”
“No,” Miles answered, his curiosity peaking at the man’s reaction. “Have you?”
“Well…” the cashier handed the water bottle to Miles, lowering his voice as another customer entered the store. “All day today, I seen this black car driving ‘round and ‘round the school…”
Miles tried not to look alarmed. “Really…?”
The cashier nodded, looking over Miles’ shoulder. “I got another customer coming up, but you be careful!”
Miles made his way out of the store, clutching the water bottle tightly as his mind raced.
It’s been here all day? he thought to himself, shocked. Who is it here for?
“Calm down, Miles,” he whispered to himself. “It’s probably just someone’s dad…”
Who’s dad hangs around their kids school all day?
Miles chewed his bottom lip with worry, silently debating as to whether he should go back to Brooklyn Visions and attempt to track this person down.
However, he had no need to go all the way back to the academy, for a sleek, black BMW had just rolled up to the periphery of his vision.
Living in a borough as walkable as Brooklyn meant that Miles had little concern or knowledge for luxury cars, but he could tell at a glance that this car belonged to someone affluent.
He eyed the car apprehensively, wondering why it appeared to be tailing him.
My mask is off, he reminded himself, so it can't be a villain, right?
The attempt to comfort himself failed, and he quickly turned and ducked into an alley, hoping to lose the car once and for all.
He speedwalked through multiple, twisting alleyways, until he felt that he had finally escaped the mysterious vehicle.
Breathing heavily from the effort, he emerged out of an alleyway onto a relatively busy street, wondering if he should find a place to change into his suit.
Before he could take another step, something soft suddenly pressed against Miles’ calf. With his nerves still shot, he glanced down frantically to see a street cat curling around his legs.
A feeling of relief washed over him as he squatted down to pet the purring feline.
“What are you up to?” he asked good-naturedly, earning a friendly meow in response. Miles unscrewed the cap of his water bottle, letting it spill so that the cat could drink from its stream.
He scratched behind the cat’s ears, beginning to say, “Sorry, I don’t got any food on me—”
Only to be cut off by the loud roar of an engine.
Miles jumped a few feet into the air, before spinning around and seeing that ominous, black SUV parked on the road next to him.
“He was following me…!” Miles whispered to himself. “But who…?”
Miles watched anxiously as the tinted windows rolled down, revealing a man with a chiseled face, prominent cheekbones, and slicked-back hair—
“Miguel?!”
Said man raised his eyebrows at Miles. “Are you done running from me? Get in.”
Miles looked around, and when the cars had stopped zipping down the roads, he hurried to the passenger’s side of Miguel’s BMW.
When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sound of Lalo Rodriguez’s “Ven, Devórame Otra Vez” drifting softly from the radio. Miles slid onto the Merino leather seats, feeling slightly out of place in this polished space, with his scratchy uniform pants and scruffy hoodie.
The car revved boastfully in response to Miguel lowering his foot onto the gas pedal. They shot down the road as Miles was putting on his seatbelt, mind still reeling.
“Wh-Why are you here!” Miles asked, unable to hold himself back.
“I’m not allowed to visit?”
Despite the dry tone of his voice, Miles knew this was Miguel’s attempt at humour.
“Sure, you’re allowed to visit,” Miles countered, matching his energy, “but maybe you could, you know, say hi to me first and then stalk me home.”
Miguel scoffed. “I was trying to make sure I had the right kid.”
(This was a lie, since Miguel could have recognized Miles even if the boy wore an Inuit snow jacket. Truthfully, he had been enjoying the sight of Miles going about his daily life).
Miguel looked over to Miles, who was staring right back at him, still awaiting an explanation.
“I came to give you an update on your watch.”
Miles’ eyes lit up, and he leaned towards Miguel. “Is it ready now!”
“Nope.” With a pang in his chest, Miguel watched Miles’ smile fade. “It’s still being made. That’s why I… decided to spend the day here, on Earth-1610.”
Miles stared at Miguel for a second, utterly confused.
“What does me not having a watch have to do with you staying here?”
“Well, you just want a watch because you’re lonely, right?”
Miles reddened. “That’s not— So you’re here to keep me company?”
Miguel pulled into the parking lot of an outlet mall. “Essentially.”
Miles hesitated, unsure of what emotions he felt the strongest at that moment.
The wish to impress Miguel had returned, now that the man was not violently opposed to him joining the Spider Society.
However, the fear that the other Spider-Man had instilled in him had not yet left. In fact, whenever Miguel moved too suddenly, or spoke too loudly, Miles would flinch and then clumsily try to play it off.
Perhaps this was what they needed to properly mend their rocky past— some time to spend together, without the fates of multiple dimensions looming over them.
“Okay…” Miles finally said after much deliberation, unbuckling his seatbelt as Miguel killed the car’s engine. “Are you… sure? What about Spider Society?”
“I left Jess in charge,” he responded, ducking out of the driver's side of the vehicle. “She’s more than capable of keeping things in check while I’m away.”
Miles mumbled in agreement, shuffling after Miguel as they entered the mall. “Then, why today?”
“I’ve memorized your schedule, from watching you beforehand.”
That’s not creepy at all, Miles thought, though he dared not to voice this comment aloud.
“So… why here?”
Miguel shot a look at Miles that made him back away from the older man. “Are we playing a game of 21 Questions?”
Miles raised his hands defensively, stammering, “N-No? Sorry?”
Miguel huffed and kept walking ahead. It was then that Miles noticed that he was not in his usual suit, but instead wearing athleisure-style clothes. The clothes, Miles noted, looked as expensive as the car they had just exited.
Miles followed Miguel as he stepped into a shoe store. Upon entering, the sneakerhead immediately perked up, eagerly looking around the place while Miguel calmly watched him.
“Woah!” Miles breathed, snatching a pair of Air Jordan 5s off of the shelf. He turned to Miguel, who stood behind him with his arms crossed. “Look, they're my size!”
Miguel hummed in acknowledgement, watching the teenager excitedly try them on. Miles’ eyes were bright as he balanced on one foot, pointing his other leg at Miguel to showcase the shoe. Miguel nodded expressionlessly, not seeming quite as exhilarated as Miles about the rare find. He turned away from Miguel to pick up its designated box.
“These are so clean…!” Miles said in awe, as he took the shoes off and placed them back in the box.
Miguel leaned forwards, looking down over Miles’ shoulder. “How much is it?”
Miles turned the shoebox around, and winced at the ‘$489’ price tag.
“Uhh… It’s too much…” he mumbled, already putting the lid back onto the box.
Miguel leaned even closer, his shadow completely engulfing Miles. “How much?”
Miles fumbled with the box for a second, before answering, “It’s… nearly five hundred bucks.”
“¿Nada más?”
Miguel plucked the shoes out of Miles’ hands, and made his way to the cash register.
Shocked, Miles stood frozen in place, watching Miguel carelessly toss half a thousand dollars at the scrambling cashier.
Only when the shopping bag was handed to Miguel, did Miles finally comprehend what had happened.
“Miguel—!” Miles gasped, dashing to the older man as they exited the store. “A-Are you serious? I can’t accept those!”
“Then I’ll have to toss them into the trash, ‘cause they sure as hell won’t fit me,” was Miguel’s nonchalant reply.
Miles spluttered a bit more, but after taking a moment to absorb the fact that Miguel O’Hara of all people had bought him his dream pair of shoes, a grin had begun to spread across his face.
“Tío!” Miles exclaimed, pressing affectionately against Miguel’s side. “Thank you!”
Miguel glanced down at Miles, who was practically glowing with excitement. The older man hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should go back and buy out the entire store for him.
Instead, he raised a stiff hand, and rigidly patted Miles’ head.
Miles leaned into Miguel’s touch for a moment, before bouncing off ahead of him, full of renewed energy. Miguel watched as Miles greeted the strangers around him, and was surprised to see that the strangers reacted warmly to Miles in return.
It seemed as though Miles’ mellow energy was simply that contagious, because even after he moved away from the groups of people, the fond smiles they had offered to him would remain. Miguel rubbed a hand over his face, wondering if he could contract diabetes from a boy so sweet.
I can only contract it if I taste him, he thought to himself.
If that was the case, then he supposed diabetes would be worth it.
They continued walking along, until Miguel spotted a store he recognized. He reached out and grabbed the hood of Miles’ sweater, stopping him in his tracks.
Miles backtracked until he was standing at Miguel’s side. “S'up, tío?”
“This company is still running in 2099, but I’ve always preferred the classic models,” Miguel said in his monotone voice, crossing the threshold of the Rolex storefront's entrance.
Miles’ eyes widened as he followed closely behind Miguel. He glanced around nervously, too intimidated to even touch anything.
The retailer waiting inside the store approached them instantly. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”
Miguel looked down at Miles, as though he was expecting him to answer. Miles gave him a baffled look in return.
Miguel turned back to the employee, suppressing a smile at Miles’ rookie reaction. “Do you have any 18238’s in stock?”
The employee nodded. “And what colour dial face would you prefer?”
“Bring 'em all out.”
The employee inclined his head towards the pair. “Very well. Please follow me to the fitting desk.”
Miles was holding onto the sleeve of Miguel’s polo sweater, and Miguel placed one large hand on the small of Miles’ back, guiding him forwards. While Miles busied himself by asking a multitude of questions to the employee, Miguel tried not to dwell on the fact that his hand easily wrapped around the better portion of Miles’ trim waist.
The employee retrieved three gold watches, each with a different coloured dial face.
“Give him your arm,” Miguel ordered.
Miles turned to him with round eyes. “Me?”
Miguel cocked an eyebrow expectantly. Anxiously, Miles shifted his feet, before pulling back his sleeve and holding out his thin wrist to the employee.
The employee placed a gold-coloured dial, a blue-coloured dial, and a black-coloured dial onto Miles’ outstretched arm. Miles gaped at his bedazzled wrist in awe, unaware that the two men were watching and waiting on his choice.
“Well?” Miguel finally asked, wrapping a large hand around Miles’ lean arms and holding them up to get a better look for himself. “Which one do you like best?”
Miles had always felt sheepish when his abuela would try to secretly shove hundreds of dollars at him during family gatherings. Miguel’s question reminded him of that situation, but on a scale too vast for him to even imagine.
“Miguel…” Miles turned his puppy-dog eyes up at the older man. “There’s no way I can—”
“We’ll take the black dial face,” Miguel confirmed, speaking over him. The employee had been fitting the three watches to the diameter of Miles’ wrist, and at Miguel’s words, he pulled the other two options off of Miles, leaving only the selected watch.
“Excellent choice, sir,” he said. “And how will you be paying today?”
“Card,” Miguel answered, ignoring Miles’ embarrassed pleas.
The employee tapped on the screen of the digital cash register. “That’ll be $22,950.”
They left the store with the watch secured around Miles’ wrist, who was so stunned that he could hardly remember how to speak.
“Miguel…” he said weakly. “I don’t get it… why are you…?”
“Consider it my apology,” Miguel said simply.
Miles shut his eyes in disbelief. “You know I held no hard feelings, right?”
“I know,” Miguel answered. “The fact that you didn’t hold a grudge made me feel more sorry.”
Miles shook his head, bemused. “Well… thank you. If you ever want to wear it, let me know! We can share!”
Miguel looked at the custom-fitted watch, with its diameter as wide as a single one of Miguel’s fingers.
“Guess I could wear it as a ring,” he said sarcastically.
Before Miles could reply with a snappy remark of his own, a girl who had been standing outside a hair salon stepped towards the pair.
“Hey!” she said brightly. “Looking to get your hair done?”
Miguel glanced at Miles with his eyebrows raised.
“I— Miguel!” Miles exclaimed, unable to stop him as he dragged the younger boy into the salon.
Dembow music blared from the speakers above them, and the multiple barber chairs were filled with people getting their hair braided, sewn in, and/or styled.
“How much does a head of braids cost?” Miguel asked, already taking out his matte, black credit card.
“Miguel!” Miles pleaded, his Rolex glinting as he tugged on the taller man’s arm. “Not my entire head! We’ll be here all day!”
“Then, what’s a quick hairstyle?”
“Well!” the lady piped up. “We can give your boyfr— er, nephew?— two microbraids! I think it’ll look cute!”
Miguel glanced at Miles, expecting a response. Miles’ mouth open and closed silently in disbelief, as words seemed to have evaded him yet again.
“Can you add accessories to the braids?” Miguel asked.
“Of course!”
“Then, do you have 24 carat sunflower charms?”
The lady tapped away at her tablet, checking their inventory before chirping, “Sure do! We also have gold chains and crystal beading!”
Miguel placed his card on the desk. “And how long will it take?”
“45 minutes, if it's just two strands. We’ll have a person working on each braid.”
Miguel nodded, and the lady ushered Miles onto one of the barber’s chairs.
“Gosh, you are so adorable!” she squealed, fluffing up his curls while two other women settled themselves on either side of him.
Miles thanked her and smiled shyly, unaware of Miguel’s glowering figure right behind him.
The two women each picked a small section of hair, right above his temples, and began skillfully braiding them into the gold chains and charms that Miguel had selected. The rest of his fluffy hair was conditioned and polished, though retained it's usual voluminous style.
They pulled his sectioned curls and used their techniques to lock his hair in a straightened position, which lengthened his braids until they ended up reaching just past his ears.
After around forty minutes, the ladies had finished braiding and cooing over Miles, finally letting him leave with Miguel.
Delighted, Miles shook his head and listened to his new braids chime softly as the pair left the salon.
“Miguel!” he giggled, practically skipping as he walked beside him. “I love them! I want my whole head done next time!”
“We can go back,” Miguel said instantly.
“Uh, my mom’s gonna be so sus—” (‘Sus?’ Miguel thought. Why does this generation shorten everything?) “—if I show up to the house with my hair done… I don’t even know how I’m going to explain the watch and shoes…”
Miguel grasped one of Miles’ braids, letting the charms clink against his fingers. “Want me to explain it to them?”
Miles laughed dryly, as the two made their way over to a less populated part of the mall. “They freaked out at me for having Gwen as a friend, and she’s a year older. My mom would leave chancla prints all over you.”
To Miles’ surprise, Miguel chuckled.
The two walked to an empty corner, with the exit nearby. Miles continued rambling.
“But they’ll scold me anyways, when they realize how much I took from you…” Miles fiddled guiltily with his fingers, avoiding meeting Miguel’s eyes.
“You didn’t take anything,” Miguel responded, the gruff edge of his voice much less prominent than usual. “I wanted you to have all that— and more.”
“Still!” Miles’ braids jingled melodically as he turned his head to Miguel. “Now I owe you something.”
Miguel did not skip a beat, though his heart could not say the same. “Really? You won’t mind if I take something from you, this time?”
Miles nodded earnestly. “Anything.”
Miguel was always too susceptible to that old heart of his— always letting emotions cloud his judgement.
Listening to his heart had failed him multiple times in the past, but how could he pass up an opportunity when it was looking at him with such ardent, honey-pot eyes?
Thus, Miguel’s emotions clouded his judgement once again, proving that it was his heart that had him tilting Miles’ chin up and leaning down to press a kiss against those plush lips.
Miles was stunned frozen, as Miguel pushed his tongue into his mouth with a roughness only Miles was familiar with. It reminded him of their scrimmage on that monorail— so desperate, so fervent— but this time, the fear and confusion dissipated as Miguel’s Kurkdjian cologne overtook his senses.
Miguel’s hands slid up Miles’ body, stopping to clutch at his slim biceps and pull him closer in a way that made Miles shudder as he sank deeper into their kiss.
Miguel had to enact a level of control that was rare for him, just to keep from crushing the svelte boy within his animalistic embrace. He tried to focus on keeping his sharp canines away from Miles’ lips, but focusing on anything other than the candied taste of his tongue was more difficult than any mission Miguel had ever undergone.
Diabetes was definitely worth this.
Miguel pulled away, letting Miles gasp for air and gaze up at him with dewy eyes.
“M-Miguel—” was all Miles could muster, before the sound of his honeyed voice drew Miguel back in, hungrier than ever.
A surge of thrill shot up Miguel’s spine as he noticed the way Miles stood on the tips of his toes, trying to meet Miguel’s kiss halfway. With Miles holding onto his forearms, the older man lifted him slightly off of the ground, so now Miles’ toes were just barely dusting the floor.
Miguel felt a flicker of electricity tickle his tongue, and he grinned against the kiss, knowing that Miles’ venom had sparked intuitively. Even if Miles was not capable of this ability, it felt as though lightning had struck Miguel regardless.
Miguel broke the kiss once more, though his lips remained close enough for a strand of saliva to connect the two for a second longer, before breaking off and sliding down Miles’ chin.
Miguel set Miles firmly back onto the ground, and moved his lips along his soft jawline, peppering the gentle curve with kisses and growing more and more intoxicated with every inch of skin that he covered.
“Migu—el…” Miles hiccuped, his shaky hands tugging on Miguel’s shirt. “P-People are looking…”
Miguel’s eyes flashed red as he glanced up, mouth still attached to Miles’ neck.
Indeed, a couple had turned the corner, and appeared to be rooted to the spot at the sight of Miguel devouring Miles. At Miguel’s intense gaze, both the man and the woman flinched and scurried off towards the exit.
Only then did Miguel, panting with desire, straighten himself up and peer down at Miles.
The boy was disheveled; with his braids dangling in his face, his lips swollen and puckered, and his hoodie and the school uniform beneath it both slid off of one of his shoulders. He wiped a trembling hand over his mouth, cleaning up the string of drool and apparently unaware of the multiple reddened marks beginning to blossom along his neck.
If his mom could see us now, Miguel thought, she would bury my body with that chancla right beside me.
✦ ✦ ✦
The following Monday, Miles was back inside his dorm room, trying to explain his experience with Miguel to his roommate.
Ganke gawked at Miles’ shoes, then at his watch, then at his hair. “Your scary vampire-ninja-boss-friend-guy bought you all that?”
Embarrassed, Miles slapped a hand over the watch on his wrist, though he had already failed to hide it. “I swear I wasn’t asking! He just did, I don’t know why! And then… he kissed me!”
“He kissed you?!”
Miles toyed nervously with the hem of his uniform shirt. “Yeah… I guess he doesn’t hate me that much after all…”
“Miles…” Ganke looked at his friend soberly. “You just got yourself an interdimensional sugar daddy.”
Miles swiped a Spider-Man toy off of their executive desk, and chucked it at Ganke with sniper-like precision.
Ganke let the plushie bounce off of his head, face still dead serious as he leaned forwards and said, “You know what this means, right?”
“Ganke, cut it out!”
“It means” —Ganke pushed his glasses up his nose— “he’s expecting sugar.”
Another stuffed toy came soaring towards Ganke, this time hitting him square in the face.
“Shut up, Ganke!”
Ganke tossed the plush back onto the desk, watching as Miles heated up like a kettle.
It was at that exact moment when Miles’ ringtone began to blast, causing him to scramble for his phone.
The way he bit his lip when he saw the caller ID was enough for Ganke to know exactly who was on the other end of the line.
Miles picked up, and stuttered out a “Miguel?”
On the other end was a low voice, which rumbled into the phone in a way that smothered any words that Ganke was attempting to nosily make out.
Ganke watched Miles turn redder and redder, as he whispered sentences such as, “L-Like tomorrow? Alone?” and “You want me to… but I have class in 30 minutes!”
Ganke stood from his bed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I’m leaving before you two start having phone sex.”
He saw Miles reach for a stapler, and he quickly shut the door before Miles’ perfect aim could break his nose.
Even through the door, he could hear Miles yell, “Jesus Christ, Ganke, shut up!” along with what sounded like deep laughter from the other end of the phone.