#atsv fluff

He’s left standing in the aftermath of the fight, buildings crumbled before him, sand dunes covering streets and cars. It’s as if the whole city turned into a desert within the short hours of the struggle.

“You look like shit.” Gwen appears behind the portal with a hand on her hip as she saunters over to him.

Hands on his knees, panting, he notices his trainers on her feet before looking up at her with a glare. “Are those my chucks?”

“Y/N let me borrow it since hers doesn’t fit me.” She shrugs, looking at his sand clad suit teasingly. “You better shake that off before you come home, she was having one of her cleaning maniac phases before I left.”

Sighing, just the thought of seeing you at home has him wanting to run away into your waiting arms. “Thank fuck…” he mumbles to himself before taking a step towards Gwen and then shaking his head and body as sand flies and flicks towards the blonde.

“Hey!” She pushes him away as Hobie chuckles. “I just washed this, man!” Wiping her suit, she groans when the sand sticks to the spandex of her gloves instead. “Oh, come on!”

“Now you have to clean up too before goin’ back home.” Flinging some sand away from his watch, even scrubbing at the screen to clear some stubborn bits away, he dials in his home dimension. He groans when he remembers something you asked him to do before giving him your usual kiss at the door. “Ah, shit.”

“What? Did it break in the fight?”

“No, I forgot that lovie wanted me to grab some walnut bread for dinner.”

“The one from Miles’ place?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Hobie blows a tired raspberry as he inputs 1612’s coordinates. “She fancies that stuff better than ours.”

“I could get it for her.”

Almost immediately, Hobie’s eyes flick back at Gwen with a teasing glint. “Alright.”

“Shut up and give me the cash.” He could tell that she’s blushing under her mask as she pats her open palm.

“I didn’t even say anythin’.” Handing her a couple of bills, she rolls her eyes and walks back to the portal. “While you’re there, invite him over.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Walking backwards, Gwen flips him the bird before the portal closes behind her.

Snorting, Hobie turns his attention back to his watch as the lights flicker for a moment before he smacks it and the screen returns to normal. He makes a mental note to clean it when he gets home, for now though, he needs to melt into your arms or else he’ll collapse with his own longing.

He needs a cold pint after all that, and maybe some ibuprofen for his aching muscles. So without wasting any more time as the clean up crew finally arrives at the scene, he opens the portal to home and steps into a kaleidoscope of orange and red lights. Hobie’s fatigued body floats around the colourful tunnel in precise directions until he speeds up abruptly, the kind of speed that could be felt through the neck, a quick snap of momentum that has his limbs flying about.

“What the fuck?!” Getting a glimpse of his watch, he sees it flicker in and out, colours inverting, gears buzzing and the screen turning to black. That can’t be good.

Suddenly freezing in mid air, the tunnel shifts backwards as if someone pressed rewind on a remote control. His body floats aimlessly in zero gravity for a moment, until the tunnel turns again. He’s then flung about, back and forth and then around and around like he’s being blended into a smoothie. The G force was enough to make his neck hurt, jaw tightening as he flexes his muscles when he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. He braces for impact.

He thanks all his spidey experience for handling the rough landing. Rolling onto the familiar wooden floor, a tactical roll over the couch that has his muscles throbbing even more, he finally falls on solid ground, limbs limping and relaxing when he’s face to face with the houseboat’s ceiling, complete with the chipping eggshell paint, and some plastic glow in the dark stars. Wait, he doesn’t remember putting those up.

“Love?” Calling for you on instinct, he keeps his gaze up on the ceiling as he feels the tiredness creep up on him. “I think ‘m goin’ to sleep ‘ere.”

“You’ll catch your death there, big man.” His own voice answers back at him, tone strikingly similar to a light southern drawl.

Hobie’s head immediately lifts up as he stares at the source of the voice. His eyes widens at the leather cowboy standing by his feet with a glass of whiskey in hand. As if having a cowboy inside his living room wasn’t enough, the said visitor sports his own face, complete with his signature nonchalant expression. Despite the obviously different style, he has a very noticeable scar across his neck.

“What the fuck?” You’re the first thing that pops in his mind, are you okay? Where the fuck are you? “Where—?!”

“I didn't know we ‘ave a new member, old man.” The sound of footfalls has both Hobies turning to look, where a sharply dressed version of him sits on his armchair with his leg casually thrown over his thigh. This Hobie smirks at shocked Hobie’s raised brow, knowing damn well that he’d never wear something as claustrophobic as a navy blue suit. He has more questions when he sees blood splattered across his dress shirt, and a holstered gun peeking underneath his coat. “I think we got a live one ‘ere.” Smirking, he swishes his martini casually.

“What’s happenin’? Why the fuck are you all in my house?! And where’s—?”

“I thought I was smarter than this.” Another Hobie says, casually leaning against the wall as he wears an almost exact same spider suit as him. Except that he wears a different leather vest that looks like it’s been worn down but well loved that includes a very obvious cherry patch right atop his heart. “You’re in a different dimension, bruv. Fell through the crevice like Alice, innit?”

Realization flickers in his eyes, groaning, head falling back onto the floor, he grimaces and checks his watch. Sure enough, the screen is buzzing with different streaks of light. The sand definitely did more damage to it than he thought. That’s what he gets for trusting Miguel’s tech instead of using his own.

“Fuck.” Biting the inside of his cheek, the smell of salt and sea breeze suddenly wafts over his nose. When he opens his eyes, he faces a large tricorn hat that hides the face of its wearer. For a moment he thinks that this one doesn’t bear his face, but when the pirate looking man crouches down and smirks, he knows that it’s a variant of him too. “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“This one got some fuckin’ lip.” This Hobie’s tone is commanding, like a captain running a tight ship but with all his Hobie-like flare with his silver chains dangling around and leather boots that look well tended to. “Like all of us, I suppose.” Tilting his head, the pirate narrows his eyes at Hobie’s full head of hair. “Am I the only fuckin’ one?”

“What?” Scrunching his nose, his eyes roam around the identical faces. “A pirate me? What’s next, a fucking cryptid version of me?”

“I guess the closest one is a minotaur version of us.” The most similar Hobie to himself says against the mouth of his pint.

“Oi,” the suited Hobie flashes his mismatched eyes. “Don’t forget ‘bout fairy and Vamp over there.” He gestures using his chin towards the kitchen, where two more Hobies stand side by side conversing amongst themselves.

The ethereal looking Hobie clad in green and with sad eyes knits his brows. “For the last time, Smith, ‘m not a fairy.”

“Tomato, tomato.”

“I’ve got no bloody wings.”

The chill velvet clad Hobie clasps the fae’s shoulder. Wine red eyes glowing under the kitchen lights as he swishes a suspicious red liquid inside his glass. “D’you want me to drain him? Jus’ say the word.”

“Alright, you broken souls.” An older Hobie steps up from the bedroom as the other variants stop their banter. He has smile lines around his lips, and crow’s feet around his brown eyes. His long braids have white hair weaved around each braid beautifully, salt and pepper hair that adds to his charm. Hobie could only hope that he’ll age that well. He guesses that he will be. “Welcome to the club, what’s your gimmick, hm?” The man smiles at him, dimples in full display, one that Hobie doesn’t have.

“My gimmick?”

“Aye, what’s so different ‘bout you that separates all of us from the other?” The pirate sits down on the couch with a groan. “Sometimes it’s more obvious.” He gestures around his 1700’s seafaring attire.

“Sometimes it’s not.” The cherry Spider-Man says as he leans away from his post to grab a spring roll from the dinner table. Suddenly Hobie’s feeling a lot hungrier than before. “I had a will they won’t they with my childhood best mate. My Y/N and I are together now, don’t worry.” He says while chewing.

There’s a sudden sobbing wail coming from the kitchen.

“Look what you’ve done, mate.” The vampire hisses, fangs sharp as he tries to soothe his fae counterpart by patting his back. “You’re bloody callous, I swear kids these days.”

“Can’t imagine bein’ away from my lovie.” Someone in the corner adds, the darkness hides him as Hobie could only see a purple outline around his eyes and form.

“Isn’t your lovie the black cat?” The older Hobie says with a teasing tone before the Hobie in the corner backs away into the dark once again. Shaking his head, the older one seems to be the one in charge, or tries to be as he keeps everyone from biting each other’s heads off. They do say that the ones who are similar to each other are the ones that end up not getting along. “Cowboy Hobie over there is obviously a cowboy—”

“An outlaw.” He corrects, shooting him a finger gun in his direction.

“Sure,” old man Hobie sighs tiredly. “the one in the corner is the prowler version of us from earth-616.”

Hobie looks over his shoulder to stare at the mysterious Prowler hunched in the corner as he hears munching coming from the dark. “How come I’ve never seen you lot at the society?”

“Not all of us got bit by a spider.” Reaching towards him, the silver fox gives him a helping hand. “I avoid the society, and Wallace over there,” he gestures towards the punk Spider-Man with a cherry patch on his vest. “Usually avoids spider variants of himself.”

“So what’s this then, a support group for us?”

“Sort of, we talk, give each other shit and sometimes a helpin’ hand.” The cowboy utters as he fidges with the bandana around his neck. “Shit, we are a support group.”

Once on his feet, Hobie dusts himself off, making sand fall from the crevices of his leather jacket and from his pockets down onto the carpet. The older Hobie raises a brow, russet eyes striking him like a chastising father.

“I’ll clean it up.” Hobie’s immediately looking around for a vacuum.

“Don’t even try to clean, I’ll vacuum it up later before my lovie gets home. Sit, eat, while they fix your watch.”

Shaking his head, locs dangling and charms clinking, he leads Hobie towards the dinner table where various plates of food are laid out, together with a familiar platter of chocolate chip cookies that just screams your recipe.

“My—” checking his wrist, he finds the interdimensional watch gone and in place of it is a blue bracelet that he has seen on visitors at the society. “Shit!”

“Calm down, it’s in good hands.” The prowler version of himself is now sitting on the living room floor together with the cherry Hobie, who are now tinkering with his watch. “What, you don’t trust yourself?”

“I trust myself but I don’t trust you, mate.” Knitting his brows, Hobie finds himself pushed down on the chair as a cold pint is shoved in his grasp.

“We all want you to go home. Trust me, I don’t want you stayin’ ‘ere any longer like these wankers.” The older Hobie says while looking over his shoulder at the cracked open bedroom door.

The dapper Hobie appears by his side at the dinner table, kneading at his shoulders with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Whispering against the shell of his ear like the devil at work. “Say, you have someone, right?”

“Yeah—”

“Oi, fairy, looks like you’re the odd one out again.”

“I will strangle you with my vines!” Vines slither out of his arms angrily, trying to lunge at the teasing Hobie. He’d be successful if not for the vampire holding him down with one hand whilst casually drinking.

“Calm down, Tinkerbell!” The suited Hobie fans the flames.

“That’ll work well in your favour.”

“Pissin’ off a mythical bein’, sounds ‘bout right for us.”

“I once fed a man to a gator.”

“We know, mate. And I bit a man’s throat open, we all have our traumas.”

“You’ll wake up my boy!” The older one steps in between them.

Their conversations fall in Hobie’s deaf ears the second he takes a sip of his beer. The cold drink is a cooling balm against his aching body as he sighs in content. The place might look the same as his home, but their beer definitely tastes better than the one from his world. As he munches on some cookies that are definitely your making, he looks around the houseboat, finding all the walls have empty spaces for picture frames that were clearly taken down based on the lighter shade of wallpaper that is in the shape of a frame.

Everything from the steady oak table and mismatched chairs is surely from his houseboat, but there are tiny details around that says differently. The kitchen cabinets are painted in lime green instead of soft blues that he’s used to. When he peeks inside the cracked open door of the bedroom, it has the same four poster bed, same wallpaper that he remembers you picking, and the same wardrobe. But he definitely doesn’t remember putting a baby crib in there with a homemade mobile circling atop it.

The older Hobie notices his gaze, chuckling and clasping his shoulder with the same comfort as one’s father would. “My youngest, you woke him up when you went through the portal, so be quiet, yeah?”

“You’ve got a kid?” He asks in wonderment. “I thought you were supposed to jus’ be...old?”

“No, well, kind of, I have kids with my girl. Three of the little buggers.” Fixing a plate, he gives him a generous amount of food that has Hobie immediately digging in. “Can’t tell ‘em their names though, or I might change the direction of where you’re headin’”

“What?” He asks mid chew as the father figure hands him a napkin, the others listen in, clearly trying to know the new bloke that managed to stumble upon them. The argument finally calmed enough in favour of listening.

“Y’know, like time travelin’” The other Spider-Man says as he carefully screws open the face of his watch, not elaborating any further even when Hobie’s expression wordlessly asks for it.

“Don’t you mean our kids?” The fae adds, glittering golden eyes flash with mirth.

“Don’t make it weird. I’ve got my limits, mate.” Groaning, dad Hobie shuts the bedroom door fully with an experienced aim with his webshooter.

“I’m hundreds of years old.” The being retorts back.

“You don’t act like it.”

“Wait, wait, do we all have the same bird?” Hobie interrupts the argument before it strikes a flame.

“Aye, we do.” The pirate version of him whips out a piece of parchment from his trousers, unfolding it to reveal an old timey portrait of you.

Hobie’s heart leaps in his chest, from your eyes down to the shape of your face, it’s clearly you.

“I know, that’s my scuttlebutt. ‘m guessin’ that she looks exactly like yours?”

“Aye, I mean, yeah.” Chuckling, he hands the picture back gingerly, as if the paper will crumble in his grasp.

“This one is mine,” vampire Hobie unlocks his phone and shows off his wallpaper of you in a coffin, pretending to be a corpse with a large grin on your pretty face. When Hobie raises a brow, the being clicks his tongue. “What? A thousand year old vampire can still learn technology.”

“It’s not that.”

There’s metal tapping against glass coming from the armchair. “This one’s mine.” The suited Hobie shows off his wedding band. “Is that enough proof?”

“You’re not actually married to her, bruv.” Prowler Hobie mumbles under his breath, fixated on the watch. Even then, he still manages to give him lip. “It’s a fake marriage, remember?”

“I don’t need a reminder, Barney.”

“Alright, enough, we’ve already gone over our time.” Dad Hobie checks his own watch, a plastic one with pink glitters on the watch face. “You two need to finish up before my girls get home. I have to put up the pictures and clean up.”

“No, no, slow down.” Fae Hobie says with a smile.

“Don’t make me throw you back inside your abode.”

“So we all end up with her?” Hobie utters softly amidst the group, a tender smile curling around the corner of his lips, eyes gentle, mirroring the others’ eyes from the mere mention of you. The thought of you being his soulmate crossed his mind a few times, but this supports that theory. You’re the one for him.

“Yeah,” the cowboy tips his hat at him. “Trust me when I say this, no matter the timeline, what universe we’re in, it’s always been her.” The whole room quiets down from his sweetened words, a hush falling around the room. Not a dangerous or awkward pause, but something sweeter and softer as Hobie could see it in their eyes that they’re reminiscing about you. “And it’s bloody amazin’, innit?”

When he doesn’t respond, Vampire Hobie steps forward, smiling softly as his fangs poke out from in between his lips. “Don’t tell me you find it borin’, Hobie.”

“No,” shaking his head, his eyes fall towards the plate of cookies. “I find it comfortin’.”

A grin spreads around the whole room, infectious as they all begin to chuckle. He guesses that they all agree.

“Couldn’t have said it better than myself.” Dad Hobie clasps his shoulder, smiling tenderly as he almost chokes on his words. “So, what’s your story, hm?” Sitting down beside Hobie, the rest follow behind, huddling around him, keen on listening.

“I think it’s less interestin’ than what you lot got goin’ on.”

“Try us.” With waiting gazes, Hobie gladly tells everyone his side of the universe as they all listen intently.

When the food and drinks are all gone, and the story is all finished, his newly fixed watch is done and dusted around his wrist. They stand in front of him, Spy Hobie leans against his fae counterpart, while Vampire Hobie snaps a photo of the newcomer.

“Jus’ like I said, you’re free to come back ‘ere, mate.” The silver fox utters, arms folded in front of him as he gives him a subtle smile. “Only if we have a meetin’ scheduled though. Don’t want you hoppin’ in my dimension while we’re havin’ our family dinner.”

“I won’t barge in next time.” Chortling, Hobie inputs his home dimension, checking it twice before pressing the button. He can’t risk falling into a different world again when he really just wants to come home to you.

“Get home safe, big man.” Fist bumping him, dad Hobie sends him off with an armful of tupperwares filled with food.

As Hobie nods, he can’t wait to tell you about the crazy day he had, especially with the bit of him finding out that you’re his love, and your soulmate in every universe where the two of you exist. As he steps into the glowing portal, the orange hues flicker off the second he gets in. But as the door closes, another opens.

The front door clicks open where you step through the doorway with a raised brow.

“Alright, which one of you is my husband?” You say with a smile, a hand on your hip as you meet with older Hobie’s eyes with a teasing glint.

“I wish I was your husband.” Fae Hobie mumbles under his breath, before getting yanked back by the older one of the group.

“Hi, love.” Older Hobie chuckles nervously while the others find the situation amusing. “The meetin’ kind of got away from us—”

Suddenly, the bathroom door creakily opens, and out comes Hobie with box dyed blonde and chopped hair, together with bright blue eyes.

“What’d I miss?” He says with an american accent.

You back away with a yelp, clutching your imaginary pearls with a shocked expression as if you were whiplashed by his presence. Your surprised hop was enough to have the whole room laughing.

—

“So you’re telling me that you already had dinner?” You ask as you stare at your Hobie like he grew three heads. He smells like your flowery soap, all clean and free of sand. He has a bandage over his cut, courtesy of you.

“Love, I jus’ told you that I met different versions of my self.” Sauntering close, he holds out his arms, embracing you as he cages you in between the kitchen counters and himself. “Including a vampire and a bloody pirate, and you’re more surprised at the fact that I already ate?”

Chin resting atop his clavicle, you flutter your lashes as you pout. “But I made carbonara, it’s your favourite.” Your thumb rubs along his windswept brow. “And we already know that there are different versions of us in other dimensions.”

“Yeah, but there’s a swashbucklin’ version of me out there somewhere.” Squeezing you, Hobie nuzzles the crook of your neck, nose brushing along your jaw line. “And you like vampires and ethereal blokes. They also said that there’s a venom me, can’t imagine meetin’ him.”

“I like you more than dusty old beings.” Cupping his cheek, you gently lift his head up to meet with his pout. “I’m sure that you’re the best out of all of them.” You whisper atop his lips, making him chase the kiss as you lean away with a giggle. Hobie resists the urge to carry you to bed “I’m a bit biased, but I know so.”

“I’ll still eat the carbonara, I made room for it.” He practically whines above your lips.

“You did?” Nosing his cheek, he sighs in content, he’s more tired than he thought he was. “It’s cool by the way, I’m glad you met some new friends at the Hobie tea party.”

“I learned somethin’ new today too, but I’ll tell you later after dinner.” Based on his tender gaze, you have a feeling on what it is, and you resist the urge to usher him to bed just to hear him say the words. Smiling and snorting, Hobie pecks your lips, tasting the pasta sauce on your lips when you most probably taste tested it beforehand. “Maybe you could have some sort of group with your variants.”

“Bold of you to assume that I don’t have one already.” A grin spreads across your lips as Hobie’s eyes widen. “Tell your spy version to man up and just confess to his missus.”

“What the fuck did he do?”

“He already knows.” Sending him a wink, you lean close to kiss his cheek. “I have my own gossip circle too. Please help me with the table, Gwen got the walnut bread I liked.” Hobie’s immediately grabbing the utensils with a lopsided smile.

“ah, let her figure out how antisocial he is.” peter shrugs, adjusting mayday’s spider beanie.

“i think she already knows.” miles says.

“that’s probably why she’s over there. to “cheer” him up.” pav adds.

“good luck with tha’” hobie lightly chuckles, resting back against pav as he swings his legs up, watching what he’d call a “show”.

“you look like you could use a friend.” you say, finally making miguel look at you. his expression was the definition of ‘indifferent’. your smile didn’t fall. “or maybe an acquaintance you can talk to?”

miguel’s expression doesn’t shift. you nod. “imma have you figured out soon…i promise.” your eyes slightly narrow in an inspection of him. then he turns back to his food.

“it’s going well.” pav sarcastically comments back at their table, making hobie scoff.

“you know…” you say, fingers lightly tapping the table. “there’s things that can help with being moody.”

“i’m not moody.”

“ah huh!” you softly cheer. “you spoke. progress.”

miguel looks exasperated as he shuts his eyes. He just wanted to enjoy his empanada.

“but you wanna know what will help?”

“i’m not…moody.” he repeats a little slower, to make sure you heard.

“yeah you are. but it’s okay. cause you wanna know what will help?”

“you clearly want to tell me.” miguel breathes out.

“mhm.” you smile. “a hug.”

miguel shifts his gaze to you, blinking a few times.

from the farther table, the spider gang is still thoroughly invested. “oh shit, he looks annoyed.” miles comments.

“what do think she said?” gwen asks, resting against the table.

“tha’ he looks like a wannabe gangster.” hobie says, now rocking his leg slightly back and forth as he watches.

“a hug would help. it helps me.” you are saying, still staring at miguel, smiling.

miguel clicks his jaw, before he’s standing, muttering to himself.

“let me know!” You call to his leaving form with a chuckle.

;;

later that night miguel is pacing his office, just back from a mission that went terribly. The anomaly got away. and miguel is beating himself up inside. how could he let that happen?

you’re walking down HQ’s hallway, looking for something you had dropped. as you scanned the floor, you hear muttering that reminded you of earlier today. miguel.

you stopped by his slightly cracked open office door. you carefully knock. miguel swings it open, sighing upon seeing you. “now’s not a good time.”

you smile. “don’t worry. i just want to ask if you’ve seen a pen.”

“a pen?” miguel’s brows furrow.

“mhm. i lost it.” you reply. “you look stressed.”

“i’m not—“ he takes a deep breath. “i'm fine. and no I haven’t seen your pen.”

“no worries.” you begin to back away. “let me know if you see it though. it’s got a weird blue design on it.”

miguel’s mind is whirring for some reason, as he finds himself calling for you to stop and turn back around. “did you mean it?” he muttered it so quietly that you almost missed it.

you’re now walking back, eyeing him. “mean what?”

miguel’s tongue pokes out against his cheek, feeling his entire body drenched with exhaust and self pity. and putting his pride away he says “a hug.”

“a hug?” your smile has widened. “i thought you weren’t moody?”

“i’m not. i just— you know what forget I asked.” miguel goes to turn away feeling stupid, but then you’re reaching forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, with a smile.

at first miguel doesn’t know where to place his hands, but you stay put, just resting your body against his, as your cheek slightly squishes up against his shoulder. then miguel slowly—very slowly—wraps his arms around your midriff, and hugs you back.

miguel doesn’t what to admit that his body has instantly relaxed upon feeling yours against his. your hand had begun to softly soothe the top of his back. just drawing in slow circles, that makes his muscles stop their tensing.

and that hug wasn’t the last time it happened.

now miguel would secretly search for you. big on the ‘secret’ part though, because he can’t have anyone else knowing he likes to hug you. no that would cause too many implications and destroy his well thought out ‘in control’ demeanour.

so when he’d find you walking alone—something he noticed you did a lot. and after he’d make sure that you were both in a desolate enough place, he’d softly grab your arm, pulling you somewhere even more desolate before he’s wrapping his arms around you in a much needed hug.

you didn’t mind. hugs had always been your love language with family and friends alike. though you were surprised by how often miguel would now seek you out, just so you could rest your head on his shoulder and draw patterns on his back.

he claimed it was just for relaxation and that you shouldn’t have offered him a hug if you would’ve asked so many questions. so you let him, his own hand having gradually drawn its own patterns on your waist.

he liked hearing and feeling your breathing. your breath by his ear sent almost cleansing shivers through him. and the feel of the rise and fall of your chest against his own made his usually racing heartbeat calm down to match with yours.

he liked the calmness your body gave him. and deep down he knew he now craved it.

;;

you were all in a different universe. gwen, miles, pavitr, hobie, peter, mayday, miguel and you. jess had to take care of another mission so miguel very clearly claimed how he’s stuck with you all, his scowl very present.

it was midway through trying to catch this anomaly when miguel’s gaze gets caught up in a man and his child. and as you stopped, noticing his focused gaze first, you identified the man and child as miguel and his daughter.

you didn’t know much about miguel’s daughter. just that in his universe she had died. and now as miguel watches a variant of himself with a variant of his daughter he can feel his body tensing.

he’s never had the misfortune of seeing variants of his family before. and now really wasn’t the time to dwell and sink deeper into his mind but he just can’t help it.

“is he okay?” whispered miles to peter.

peter shakes his head. “but there’s nothing we can do about it. no one can take him out of episodes like this.”

because everyone could see that inside miguel was fuming, so close to exploding that everyone had almost taken a step back.

you stared at miguel, watching as his chest heaved with a racing heart.

you remember one time he had muttered to you, head in your neck. you weren’t sure if you were actually meant to hear it or not. but he had said how your breathing slowed his breathing. or something along those lines. because after he had said that he had drawn you in tighter, keeping his large hands around your body.

so now you edge closer. and this could be a terrible idea, you realise that. your friends seem to as well.

gwen hisses your name quietly, watching as you edged closer to the ‘beast’ or how everyone else was treating him like.

you all needed miguel to focus to capture this especially dangerous anomaly. you couldn’t have him trapped in his mind teetering on the edge.

so you continued to walk forward, and as everyone stared in shock, you carefully wrapped your hands around his neck in a hug. you did so very lightly, to give him any room for rejection. you were actually waiting for the rejection.

but then, to everyone’s shock, miguel wraps his arms around your waist, just like every other time. and he’s found you fit against him so nicely, it felt so comfortable. your heartbeat was against his now, and the slower tempo made miguel sink into your neck, his arms now engulfing you.

shocked now isn’t a big enough word. because you were hugging miguel. and it wasn’t the ‘you’ part everyone was surprised by. it was the ‘miguel’ part. he was clearly eager to hug you back, and they all watched as miguel practically became putty in your hold.

yes. miguel craved your hugs now. and there was nothing you could do to stop him from bringing you in and keeping you close. you were now his comfort and he a wasn’t going to let that go so easily.

He laid on his back with an irked sigh, hands scrubbing down his face as he lightly groaned into them. There was no need for him to check the time, he already had a pretty accurate guess seeing as he’d been checking his phone every twenty minutes when his eyes would spring back open after another failed attempt to fall asleep.

He missed you. That he couldn’t deny. He’d made the mistake of falling asleep with you one night, and he’s found himself suffering through the same old routine ever since. He’d never slept as peacefully as he did than when he was next to you, and his mind craved your presence more than it craved sleep apparently. The both of you could’ve slept on concrete and he still would‘ve sworn it was more comfortable than his own bed.

It was a stupid idea, and had he not been desperate for a solution he would’ve realized that. But there was no one to talk him out of it as he got up from his bed and fished around in his dimly lit room for his jacket and a pair of nike slides, so it looked like he’d be going through with it anyway.

He scribbled a quick note for his mom onto a post-it note, stuck it to the fridge for her to find after her shift and left their apartment without another thought, making sure to lock the door behind him.

Night walks through Brooklyn didn’t scare him, in fact they calmed him. Everything was quieter at this time, slower— and he knew these streets like the back of his hand. And even if he didn’t, he was pretty good with the switchblade he kept in his pocket at all times. Your place was only a few blocks away, and even through the slight haze casted over him from his lack of rest, he was still vigilant as ever.

He climbed the fire escape just three stories up until he got to your window, using both his hands to hoist him over the steel railing, his feet landing on the old metal as quiet as he could make them.

He hoped that you still kept it unlocked for him, that your offer stood firm when you told him he was welcome anytime. He whispered a plea before he curled his fingers under the edge, sighing in relief when the window lifted open, though the unpleasant squealing due to the age of the pane made him wince.

The last thing he wanted to do was wake you, so he only lifted it halfway, ducking down and stepping into your room and out of the cold. He glanced over to see your cheek still smushed against your pillow, your legs probably tucked into the fetal position with the way your blankets were swaddled around you.

He managed to close the window without making a sound, but on his way over to your bed he accidentally bumped into your dresser, causing a bottle of perfume to clatter into the other objects you had up there.

“Fuck—“ he hissed quietly, twin braids following the act of his head whipping in your direction when you stirred.

You weren’t the lightest sleeper, but the noise had been enough to startle you awake. Lifting your head from the pillow, you sat up quickly, eyes adjusting to make out who the hunched figure was. The two of you had said goodnight just a few hours ago, and now here he was, in your room.

”Miles?” There was a slight rasp to your voice.

“Hey, ma…” he responded, hands nervously hovering over the mess he’d unintentionally created. He fixed it to the best of his ability, but it definitely wasn’t the way you had it before.

You reached over and turned your clock towards you, the bright white numbers making you screw an eye shut.

“Miles, baby, it’s two am in the morning,” you grumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands and yawning. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

Blinking the sleep from your sight, you took in his slightly slouched disposition. He looked exhausted, annoyance from his sleepless night evident in the way he sighed.

”Nah, nah,” he shifted from foot to foot, hand hesitantly raising to scratch his head. His idea seemed sensible at first. He was willing to do anything to get some shut eye, and to see you again, but now he just felt silly for waking you up for no good reason.

“Nothing happened, but I—I couldn’t sleep for shit. So I just thought—“ he rubbed his brow and gave a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know, it’s stupid. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight and I just wanna be laid up with you. I really didn’t mean to wake you up and I can leave if—“

“It’s okay! It’s okay,” you cut his rambling short and opened up your blankets, scooting over to make room for him. “Come on.” Even in your drowsy state you could tell he was getting flustered trying to explain himself.

“Oh thank God,” he said beneath a breath as he shuffled his jacket and shoes off, eagerly slipping into your bed beside you.

You shifted back onto your side like you were before and pulled the blankets over the both of you, his arm instantly slinking around your waist to pull your body into his, your back against his chest.

“I love you so much.” he sighed tiredly.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath in through his nose just as your hand came up behind you to caress the top of his head. His behavior made it seem as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks; like he was trying to refresh his mind of every aspect of you.

“I love you too… Miles, are you sure you’re alright?” you asked, not yet all the way convinced.

“Mhm. Just needed to be with you.” he hummed, his words muffled as he pulled you closer.

“What about your mom? I don’t want her to be worried.”

He grunted at that, his response slurred and barely audible. “She know where I’m at.”

His fingers slipped under the waistband of your cotton sleep-shorts, hand traveling to the round of your lower stomach and resting over it. Why guys were so obsessed with the extra weight girls held there was still an anomaly to you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it, but he always threw a fit if you didn’t let him hold you like that so you allowed it.

“Goodnight, Miles.” You murmured into the stillness of your room.

Your eyes opened after receiving no response from him, and you were barely able to turn your head to look over your shoulder since his own was occupying the space there.

“Miles?” you questioned gently.