orzo

It wasn’t hard to figure out, though; at least not for Hobie Brown, a guy who despite his carefree and relaxed nature, was more observant than what others believed. The way you continued to paw at the space on your wrist was more than enough to tell the punk what’s been bothering you.

“Mission’s done, crisis avoided, lives saved,” Hobie eventually drones, having heard enough of the overbearing lecture from the older, much more nuanced, Spiderman, of whom he’d have less of a care than the dirt under his boots, “can we go now, yeah? Day’s still young, I’d rather spend it kickin’ and prancin’ on my own time.”

Hobie has always had a special way of pissing off Miguel - perhaps it was the attitude he never once failed to show to the elder, or perhaps it was because of the lack of control Miguel held over the younger -  but nevertheless, a huff and a grumble from the leader dismisses the pair to be off on their own endeavors.

“I hate that I lost them.” you mumble out while walking down the hallway, your strides double the pace of Hobie’s in order to keep your paces matching. He’s got his hands in his leather jacket pockets, head tilted forward and proud. “Lost what?”

“My bracelets,” you lament, “that stupid anomaly messed me up and my bracelet got destroyed. Ugh, I knew I should have put them away before traveling out to that dimension.” There’s a pout on your face that makes Hobie frown - he hates to see any of his mates upset. “He said it was pretty bad there, I should’ve listened.”

“Piss-Face says it’s bad everywhere, can’t take him seriously, birdie,” Hobie says, “besides, wasn’t your fault. It’s part of your get up, ain’t it?”

“Kinda,” you reply, “I just had them for so long, I feel so…bare without ‘em.”

Hobie’s strides take him a few paces ahead of you, turning to walk backwards instead so he can face you. He gives you a once over, chuckling, “You’re right; you look mad weird without em.”

“Not funny, Hobie!” You frown, but the creases in your forehead then turn to confusion when he tosses something your way. Catching it between your hands, you open your palms to see the set of bracelets you’d believed to be destroyed in the battle; tied and combined with a piece of what you assume to be a studded band of Hobie’s.

“Good thing you got a friend who knows how to mend, yeah?” He chimes with a knowing smirk.

“How did you-?” You begin to ask, but the taller Spider brushes it off before you have a chance to address it any further.

“I’m starved, hope they have something good at the cafeteria today,” dark wicks  dance as he turns forward once again, the destination set in his mind, as he turns back to you, “you comin’ or what?”

A moment passes before a much more pleasant smile that Hobie knows your for graces your lips, as you slip on the bracelet and walk in stride with him once more to the cafeteria.

“Come get your man. He's gonna get kicked out with how loud the fucker is right now. The owner’s staring daggers at him”

Sure enough, there's a loud booming laughter in the background and what sounds to be glass shattering. Ned's swirling his words together but sober enough to put together a cohesive sentence. But definitely not drunk enough to handle his friends' shenanigans.

“Oh shit! Please hurry, he's telling everyone that he's Spider-Man, what a weirdo.” there's a rustling sound then the phone falls, banging on the wall briefly. There's fast footsteps and a muffled, “Hobie! Christ, that's your third fucking glass!”

There's roaring laughter, and an unmistakable voice. “Who you callin’? The coppers? You're no fun anymore, Neddy”

The dial tone ends and you're already putting on your trainers, taking your keys, wallet and coat. You don't even bother changing out of your pajamas, they look presentable enough, right?

The train ride was awkward. You in your pajamas, hair disheveled, and mismatched socks. Good thing there weren't a lot of commuters this late or the staring would actually get to you. There was an awkward silence when you stepped inside, but with you staring right back at them with your sleep deprived eyes, they looked away immediately.

You practically ran to the white horse pub, the party was in full swing, people with sloshing pints in hand and men drunkenly trying to walk straight. Hugging your coat closer, you tie them closed, scanning the pub for the familiar figure.

Spotting Hobie halfway up the table with Ned trying to drag him off, his laughs would make you giggle if not for him being so inebriated, chugging an entire pint while his other friends cheer him on, banging on tables and guffawing over the already loud pub. A friend you've recognized before joins him on the table, finishing his own pint. Hobie eggs him on with him tipping his friend's pint closer to the man's lips, while chanting: you can do it, mate!

The wood wobbles and you quickly make your way towards him. Ned sighs in relief, you smile apologetically before he changes course for the other friend on the table, almost tackling him off it.

You hold onto his leather jacket in an attempt to balance him. He usually has great balance but you don't completely trust his coordination.

“Hobie!” You yell through the loud chatter of the pub. The owner watches on in your peripheral, “Sorry, Joe! I'll get him home!”

“You better! Your boy's a menace, he's been inciting everyone on his little drinking game”

“Isn't that good? People are buying more booze?”

“Don't push it, love. That's the only reason why I'm not gonna make him pay for the broken glasses”

You wince, “sorry about those” He grunts, waving off.

Tugging at his jacket, you call his name again. Hobie finally looks down, eyes flicking from your hands to your face. You'd expect him to greet you with a smile or even drop down and hug you, instead, he swats your hands away from him, his eyebrows knitted together in annoyance.

You blink in surprise, bewildered at his actions. “Hey! Hobie!”

“What?” he folds his knees to level with you, his eyes blinking a little too quickly, head tilted, hands on his knees for extra balance.

“What do you mean ‘what’? I'm here to take you home. You're too drunk” you hold his hand, tugging him down on the table.

“And you're too bloody handsy” he flings your hand away. “I'm–” he blinks slowly, trying to get his bearings. “I'm have a girl back home, yeah? Don't” Hobie pokes your forehead.

You get cross eyed, a minute ago you'd thought he was just a little too drunk, the kind of drunk where you're wobbly on your feet, now you know he definitely can't see straight. You decide to play along, just so you can tease him in the morning.

“Oh” you bring your hands on your chest in a mock surprise. “Didn't know that, so sorry”

“No harm, but she–she would…could throw hands if she saw you grope me like that”

Grope? “I wasn't– you know what, tell me more about her. She sounds nice”

Hobie beams at you, a resemblance of what he would usually look like once he sees you in a crowded room. He sits on the table like you just asked a child what his favourite dinosaur is.

“She– she's sooo good to me, y’know” you nod, biting your lip to stop a giddy laugh from escaping. “I told her that I was Spiderman and y’know what she did?!” He excitedly yells, good thing no one here actually believes his drunk ramblings or else the entire pub would know that they're currently drinking with spiderman himself.

“No, what did she do?” you smile, eyes twinkling under the dim lights of the pub.

“She said she loves me! And and” he gestures excitedly. “Supports me! Isn't that fuckin' amazing?!” Hobie sighs longingly. “I miss her, I wish she was here. She'd probably bonk me on the head with how much I've drunk though.” He trails off, his eyes glassy. “I should go home”

“Yeah, you should” you slowly inch closer to him. “Hey, babe?”

“Yes, lovie?” Hobie does a double take, his eyes wide as dinner plates. “Lovie!” He tackles you in for a hug. His face snuggling closer to your neck. You rub his back, giggling.

Now you're the one struggling to balance. “I miss you too” you kiss his temple. “Let's go home before you let out anymore of your secrets”

You would have struggled more if you brought him to the tube, luckily enough, you found a cab within five minutes of waiting (and wrangling) with Hobie.

After a round of goodbyes from his equally drunk friends, you finally got him inside the taxi. The driver clicks his tongue at another drunk passenger.

“He better not get sick all over my seats” the driver says gruffly.

“He won't, don't worry” you say with a fake smile.

“I think ‘m gonna be sick.” Hobie opens the car window, letting the cool air in.

“Please don't” you whisper to him, patting his back affectionately whilst you smile at the glaring driver so he doesn't kick you out.

After a car ride that seemed endless and one throw up outside the flat, you're both finally home. Getting him up the stairs was more of a struggle, he wobbled on his feet, almost tumbling off the staircase, if not for you clinging to him he would most definitely fall. Once inside the bedroom, he groans, leaning his entire body on you. Arms enclosed around your shoulders, head lolling to the side.

Hobie drops like a sack of potatoes on the mattress, bringing you down with him. You land on top as he traps you in his embrace.

“You're so good to me” he murmurs against the crown of your head.

“Mm-hmm, so I've been told” you cuddle closer, not minding the smell of alcohol.

“Because it's true” Hobie places a sticky kiss on your head then folding his neck just to reach your temple.

“You're gonna regret this in the morning” you help him in attacking your face by leaning over him, your elbows on the side of his head, fingers scratching his scalp. His hands skim over to your waist, holding you securely.

“I'll never” kiss “ever” kiss “regret” kiss “snogging you”

You laugh from the belly with every peck he leaves on your skin. “I know that, I’m talking about you drinking too much”

Hobie pauses, eyes narrowed from tiredness, lips still pursed together. “Ah that, sorry” he apologizes for his future self even though he would most definitely say it in the morning when you hand him some meds and lots of fluids.

“We'll talk about it once you're sober and without a banging headache. Rest, I'll take care of you” kissing his nose, you leave his side to grab fresh clothes for him to change into.

Before you completely leave, Hobie takes your hand, squeezing it.

“Love you, thank you” You let him bring your knuckles up to his lips, he sighs.

“Love you too, I think you're about to have the worst morning tomorrow” you chuckle, leaning closer to his touch like a planet orbiting its sun.

“With you, it won't be”

“You get cheesy when you're drunk” kissing the tip of his nose, you leave again, turning away, earning a grunt of disapproval from Hobie.

“I hate to see you go but I love watching you leave!” he says with gusto.

You should've brought a video camera with you when you were in the pub.

Loves being around people who are outspoken and speak their truth because It’s so refreshing for him. Likes to sit back and smile as you chew someones ear off (probably Miguel). He absolutely gets your attention the moment a pushy girl flirts with him just to watch the show.

Does your hair for you. I just know Hobie knows what he’s doing. Puts punk-style accessories in it.

Grabs your sleeve or hands when you’re both laughing your asses off because if he falls down he’s taking you with him.

I think he’s as touchy as he is because he’s so fucking touch starved. He’s kind of nervous to initiate intimacy with you when you first date because he doesn’t want to fuck it up or seem weird,

“I can’t remember the last time I felt like this…” He had whispered after your first time together, gently rubbing his hands up and down your back as you laid with him.

Makes you pinky promise you’ll be safe whenever you two have to be away from each other. He absolutely swears by and he holds eye contact with you the entire time, scanning you over like there’s some way he can protect you just by his gaze. If you’re a reckless fighter, Hobie understands how dangerous your missions could be. He himself is a messy, crazy, fighter. He trusts you, but he can’t stomach the thought of you getting hurt, that’s why he values something as simple as a pinky promise,

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Tried to not worry you with his emotional struggles at the start of your relationship but that didn’t last long—you were adamant that he could lean on you the same way you lean on him,

“I can hear you crying, Hobie.” You’d said in the dark night as Hobie gently cried beside you, turning to face you with a broken and defeated look on his face.

“M’sorry...didn’t mean to wake you…” He instantly softened, letting you hold him in your sweet embrace. He closed his teary eyes and nuzzled his face into your neck as you whispered to him,

“Don’t be sorry, Hobes…I’m always here for you no matter what you’re going through…”

—