#a date

synopsis. : Getting put in a class you really don’t need, but don’t worry miles as a physics major is here to help 💋

pairing. Miles Morales x Black!Reader

content. Black!Reader, PhysicsMajor!Miles, GraphicDesignMajor!Reader, strangers-to-friends, friends-to-lovers, a HINT of angst, like one swear word, rude teacher, nameless crowd, fluff

word count. 2.9k

A/N. took me SIX hours hope y’all enjoy <333

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you mumble as you stand outside the counselor’s office. You had just finished a 30-minute conversation with your counselor about changing your schedule, which had not gone well. You were placed into a circuit design class, even though you did not need it; you were a graphic designer, after all.

“My day can’t get any worse,” you shrug, fed up, and decide to head to class since it’s unfortunately the first one of your day.

What have I done to deserve this?

You ask God as you run through the rain. Turns out a key detail your counselor left out was that the class was 45 minutes away from all your other classes, which are luckily in the same building. That means you are now 20 minutes late. You must’ve jinxed yourself. There’s no other way to explain it.

You finally reach the door of the building, soaked like a dog. You walk to the classroom number before entering, all heads turning toward you.

“Why are you late and making a mess of my carpet?” the professor, Mrs. McCarthy, asks.

“This building is 45 minutes away from my other classes and I was—”

She interrupts. “I don’t care for your excuses. If you’re going to succeed in my class, it’s best you be quiet and do as you’re told. Find a seat.”

That shuts you right up. It doesn’t mean it didn’t leave a frown on your face, so you look for a seat and see a curly-haired boy with an empty seat next to him. You walk over and sit down with a sigh. Then you hear a tiny gasp. You turn your head, annoyed.

“Do you have something to say?” you whisper to him with a glare.

He shakes his head. You roll your eyes and turn back to listen to her introduction of Mrs. McCarthy’s class. You don’t really want to, but after going back and forth with your counselor, you finally worked out a compromise. He couldn’t fix your schedule right away, but in two weeks it would be changed. So now you just have two weeks left before you can tell Mrs. McCarthy goodbye for good.

Until you glance down at the itinerary on your desk.

The next two weeks are completely packed with work.

You sigh, then feel a hesitant tap on your shoulder. You turn your head back to where you were just looking.

“My name is Miles… Miles Morales,” he whispers, holding his hand out with a confident smile. But when he says Morales, his voice cracks. The smile falters, turning awkward, nervous even, his hand still hovering in the air.

You look at him for a second before sighing again. Then you place your hand in his. His palms are calloused, rough around the edges, but somehow still gentle.

You tell him your name.

You turn back to Mrs. McCarthy, who’s still talking up a storm. You sigh, resting your elbow on the desk and your head in your palm, completely bored. Your mind starts to drift, slipping into a daydream.

Then you hear the words partners and project thrown out like missiles.

You sit up straight, your brows furrowing as you snap back to reality, actually listening to what she has to say.

“Today we will be starting a project—”

A collective groan ripples around the room.

Is she crazy? It’s the first day of school.

“Don’t start complaining now. You all signed up for this class, and if you want to pass, I suggest you hush so you can hear the instructions,” she snaps over the noise.

The room falls silent.

“That’s what I thought,” she says triumphantly. “First, you’re going to be partnered with the person to your right. No, I will not be hearing anyone out on partner changes. Second, this is due in two weeks. I’m giving you grace. Later in the year, you’ll have a week at most. If I feel like you can handle it, it’ll be cut to four days.”

The curly-haired boy, now known as Miles, taps his pencil against the desk, completely unfazed.

“You are tasked with building a device that takes high-voltage AC from the wall and converts it into a steady, clean 5-volt DC signal for a phone or a microcontroller.”

Your jaw drops. Suddenly it feels like she’s speaking a completely different language.

Everyone else in the room seems to understand, nodding along like this is basic stuff. I mean, how could they not? They learned about this freshman year… which was only a couple months ago.

Meanwhile, you’re still stuck trying to process what half those words even meant.

She claps her hands once and gestures toward the class. “Go ahead and meet with your partners. Get familiar with each other and get started.”

As soon as you turn to Miles, he’s already smiling at you.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” you blurt out.

He laughs, his smile widening. “That’s a good joke.”

You just stare at him, completely serious.

His laughter slowly dies. “You’re not joking… are you?” he asks, more hesitant now.

“I’m really not. It was a mistake putting me in here. I’m getting switched out in two weeks.”

He nods while you talk, listening closely, his eyes fixed on you a little too intently. A shiver runs up your spine under his gaze.

“Oh. Well, that’s alright,” he says lightly. “I’ll just do the project for both of us.” He waves it off like it’s nothing.

You frown. “I can’t let you do that. I’d feel bad. I still need to work for my grade while I’m here.”

You sigh, looking at him seriously.

“No, really. It’s fine. I can do it on my own,” he insists.

You shake your head. “No. You can tutor me on what I need to know for this project. I’ll even give you something in return. Deal?”

He freezes like his brain just short-circuited.

“YES—”

He clears his throat, shoulders stiffening. “Uh, I mean, y-yeah. That’s cool… or whatever.”

He tries to play it off, but the way he avoids your eyes gives him away. 

You reach out your hand to shake his. He quickly accepts and shakes your hand. 

Over time, or rather the next few days, you start meeting Miles after class at the café near central campus, the one where ceremonies and events are always held.

Somehow, those quick study sessions turn into hours.

You get to know him more closely than you expected. How he’s Puerto Rican. How he almost flunked Spanish in high school, and how his mom nearly killed him for it. He swears his teacher had it out for him. How he loves to draw, which is something you both have in common. The two of you share the same love for music, trading songs back and forth like secrets.

You talk about growing up Black, about feeling a little out of place sometimes, even while getting good grades and ending up at the top of your classes.

Talking to him feels easy. Natural.

Like seeing a version of yourself in someone else.

You feel more alive around him. Like you finally met someone who just gets you.

Now you’re on your last session, sitting across from him with your finished project between you. Tomorrow you present. You both poured your heart and soul into it.

Two weeks really flew by.

“I can’t believe it. One more detail and we’re done,” you say, excitement bubbling out of you.

Miles just hums, leaning over the project and tweaking something with careful hands.

“C’mon, Miles,” you drag out his name with a grin. “Aren’t you happy?”

You poke at his sides to get a reaction.

He chuckles, squirming a little, then gently grabs your wrists to stop you. “Okay, okay—”

“Of course I’m happy. It took forever to do,” he says with a smile, but the excitement in his voice sounds half-hearted.

Something feels off.

He’s still being his usual goofy self, but there’s this hesitation under it. Like he doesn’t really want it to be over.

You assume he’s just stressed about the grade.

“Miles,” you say softly, “I promise we’re getting a high score. I’m sure of it.”

“I know. It’s not that. It’s just…” He trails off, sighing and shaking his head before turning back to the project. “Never mind.”

You frown at how quickly he shuts himself down. “Miles, c’mon. Speak your mind. You know you can trust me.” You smile, resting your hand gently over his.

He stops working. His eyes drop to your hand, like it’s something fragile. Then he sighs. “It’s nothing. Just forget what I said.”

“Miles, talk to me. You’re probably just overthinking it,” you say softly, trying to coax him out of his shell.

“I said just drop it,” he snaps.

His own eyes widen right after, like he didn’t even realize it came out that harsh. “I didn’t mean— I’m so sor—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in quickly. “No pressure. Is the project finished?”

Your voice sounds calm, but the smile on your face doesn’t reach your eyes anymore. The warmth from earlier is gone.

He hesitates. “Y-yeah. It is.” He looks down, fidgeting with his fingers like he just broke something important.

Like he broke you.

You pack up your things without rushing. Not dramatic. Not angry. Just quiet. Calm. Collected.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Miles,” you say with a polite smile. Not the usual one. Not the soft, real one you always give him.

His head snaps up as you stand. “W-wait—”

But you’re already walking away.

The café door closes behind you, and he just sits there, watching, the words he didn’t say caught somewhere in his throat.

The next time Miles sees you is in class the following day.

Like usual.

Except it doesn’t feel usual at all.

He tries to talk to you. He really does. Whispering your name, leaning a little closer, hoping you’ll respond. But you don’t. You just stare straight ahead, focused on the projects being presented, acting like you don’t hear him.

The air between you feels stiff.

Then Mrs. McCarthy calls your names.

You stand immediately and walk past him without a word. He scrambles to grab the project, nearly stumbling as he hurries to catch up before setting it down at the front table.

And just like that, you both slip into presentation mode.

Practiced. Professional.

You start.

“For our two-week project, we built a regulated DC power supply designed to convert 120 volts AC wall power into a stable 5-volt DC output. Our goal was to achieve a low ripple voltage regardless of the load attached.”

You glance at Miles.

He’s just staring at you.

It’s his turn.

He jolts slightly. “W-we started with a step-down transformer. This dropped the 120 volts AC down to approximately 12 volts AC. This makes it safer for the circuit and closer to our target output voltage.”

He looks at you again like he’s checking if you’re still there.

You turn back to the board.

“Next, we used a full-bridge rectifier made of four silicon diodes. This flips the negative half of the AC sine wave, creating a ‘bumpy’ DC current that only flows in one direction.”

“To smooth those bumps,” Miles continues, “we added a large electrolytic capacitor as a filter. It stores charge during the peaks and releases it during the troughs. Without it, the ripple would be too high for sensitive electronics.”

You nod and finish strong.

“The last stage is the LM7805 voltage regulator. Even if the wall voltage fluctuates or the load changes, this chip keeps the output at a precise 5 volts.”

He swallows, then adds, “As you can see on the oscilloscope, our final output is nearly a flat line. We tested it with a 100-ohm resistor, and it maintained 5 volts with less than one percent ripple.”

The class gives the usual polite clapping.

Mrs. McCarthy looks up from her clipboard. “Why didn’t you just use a larger capacitor instead of a regulator?”

You answer quickly. “A larger capacitor reduces ripple, but it can’t handle load regulation. If more current is drawn, the voltage still drops. The regulator actively corrects the voltage in real time.”

She nods and writes something down.

“Is your design linear or switching?”

You open your mouth—

Nothing comes out.

Your mind goes completely blank.

“This is a linear power supply,” Miles says smoothly. “It’s less efficient because the regulator dissipates extra energy as heat, but it provides a much cleaner, lower-noise signal than a switching supply.”

He glances at you.

You avoid his eyes.

Mrs. McCarthy nods and dismisses you.

You walk back to your seat quickly, not waiting for him.

After the last group presents, she looks up and says, “You may come up to ask for your grade.”

You and Miles move at the same time, like muscle memory.

Both practically leaping out of your seats and hurrying to her desk, a little out of breath.

She looks up at both of you, then back down at her paper.

She sighs.

“One hundred.”

For a second, neither of you reacts.

Then it hits.

You and Miles turn to each other at the same time. His face lights up instantly, a wide, proud smile spreading across his lips like he can’t help it. Like he wants to celebrate with you.

Like he’s waiting for you to smile back.

But you just stare at him.

Blank.

Then you turn and walk away.

His smile slowly falls, the excitement draining from his face. He sighs softly, shoulders dropping.

You head back to your desk and quietly gather your things.

Zipping your bag. Sliding your chair in. Not looking at anyone.

Then you walk out the door.

Behind you, Miles rushes to pack up, shoving everything into his bag way too fast, papers crumpling in the process. He nearly trips over his chair trying to catch up.

He calls your name.

You hear him.

You keep walking.

“Hey— wait!”

Still nothing.

He breaks into a jog and finally falls into step beside you, slightly out of breath. “Please… talk to me.”

You stare straight ahead, like he isn’t even there.

“Please,” he says again, voice cracking a little. “I don’t care if you yell at me. Just— just say something. Can we talk?”

His hand gently wraps around your wrist, stopping you in place.

You slip your wrist free.

“Don’t.”

He freezes.

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

He doesn’t argue. He just goes quiet, a little scared.

“…Okay.”

But he doesn’t let go. His hand hovers in the air like he’s trying to reach you without touching.

“Just—can I say one thing first? Please?” His voice is small. Hesitant.

“I’m sorry. I messed up. Don’t shut me out.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“What is there to talk about? We got the grade. Project’s done. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“What? No—why would I want that?” His head shakes quickly, like he can’t believe you think that.

Something snaps inside you. Your brows furrow, voice shaking.

“You said ‘drop it’ like I was annoying you for caring. Do you know how that felt? I was just trying to be there for you.”

“Wait—no, no, I wasn’t annoyed at you. I swear.” He raises his hands, panicking a little. “I snap when I’m stressed. It’s not you. It’s never you.”

“I did try to talk to you, Miles. Yesterday. You told me to drop it.” Your voice is calm, steady, almost cold. And somehow, that hurts more than yelling ever could. “So I did.”

He freezes first, the words knocking the air out of him. He rubs the back of his neck, voice small.

“I didn’t mean it like that… I wasn’t trying to push you away.”

He steps closer, hesitates, like he’s scared you’ll pull back.

“I didn’t want you to stop caring.”

You look at him, quieter now, almost shy.

“You’re the first person here I actually liked being around… so yeah, it hurt when you pushed me away.”

Brain gone. Blushing. Stuttering. He can barely form the words.

“You—you liked being around me?”

Then a nervous laugh escapes him. “Are you kidding? I’ve been looking for excuses to see you every day.”

He swallows hard, gaze serious now.

“I didn’t want this to end. That’s what I was trying to say yesterday. I just… got scared.”

“The project was just an excuse to hang out with you. I didn’t want it to end at all.”

Then quieter, softer:

“I was scared, okay? I didn’t want the project to end because… that meant I wouldn’t get to see you like this anymore. I just… I suck at talking about stuff when it matters.”

“Yeah, I kinda guessed that,” you say with an eye roll.

“I’m sorry… that was so stupid of me, ignoring you instead of being a big girl and just talking to you. I… I really like you, Miles.”

He blushes, eyes wide. “Y-you do?”

“Duh. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said it,” you chuckle.

“I… uhm, I like you too! I mean… yeah, that’s cool. I feel the same.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Mm, wow. So nonchalant of you.”

“Y-yeah, I’m just naturally this way… so, uhm, do you want to go on a date? I mean, if you want to — you don’t have to — I mean, unless you want to — but I don’t want to make you feel pressured.”

He rambles, cutting himself off at every other word. You can’t help but smile.

Gently, you put a hand over his mouth. “I would love to.”

He slowly takes his hand away from his face, blinking at you.

“Great! I mean… ahem, cool. Totally expected that.”

You both stare at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter.

Yeah. This… this is how it’s supposed to be.

A/N. guys why was it exactly 2999 words… I’m magic. Also, the research so I could get the physics project right was so tiresome oml.

“Y’know… only if you want to.”

@wxlfbound

"A date?" Midori replied, "What exactly does that mean? I mean, I kinda know what a date is, an' people usually say it to mean, like, a prelude to havin' sex. But, what does a date entail for you? Uh, what are your intentions with this date?"

after serving most of his twenty year sentence, enver flymm is given another chance at life. he’s older, wiser and less likely to involve himself in the criminal underworld he slipped into as a teen. part of his parole conditions is to attend weekly group therapy in order to rehabilitate him and help him learn new social skills and be a part of a community. he doesn’t expect to find someone he never knew he was missing there (or: the chosen of bane and the chosen of bhaal find each other, centuries after they were forced apart, with no gods to hold them back)

chapter 9: past

The rest of the month passes by in a blur of emails to Raphael about pulling his case from being studied and computer parts and the decaying remains of autumn.

His emails are still unanswered, in the corner of his living room there’s a desk with various pieces of a computer he has yet to put together and the date for his three month review creeps closer and closer. Life feels as if it’s both in and out of his control and there’s nothing he can do except wake up, check his emails, spend the day busying himself with research on how to build a computer and hope to any god that remains that he makes it through the week.

And for the most part, he makes it.

Del x Malcom_

_Fides Cordis

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