The night was colder than usual, the city's skyline illuminated by the distant glow of neon lights. Miles Morales swung through the city as Spider-Man, his lithe form moving gracefully between buildings, but tonight was different. His movements were strained, every swing an effort, and the grace replaced with a hint of desperation.

Finally, he landed on a rooftop, panting heavily. His suit was torn, and bruises marred his skin. The pain was evident in his eyes as he contemplated his next move. The danger he faced tonight had been greater than he'd anticipated. He needed a safe place to rest and recover.

A familiar address came to his mind, a place where he knew he would find solace. With a renewed determination, he launched himself from the rooftop, swinging towards your apartment.

As Miles landed softly on your balcony, he rapped lightly on the glass door. His breath hitched as he waited, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. The door slid open, revealing you in pajamas. Concern etched across their face as they took in Miles' battered appearance. Without a word, they stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

Miles managed a faint smile, gratitude shining in his eyes. He didn't need to explain; they understood. He was safe here.

The reader led Miles to the bathroom, where they retrieved a first aid kit. You motioned for him to sit on the edge of the bathtub, and gently began to clean his wounds. The silence between them was comfortable, a mutual understanding that words weren't necessary right now. Your touch was gentle and soothing, each careful movement a balm to Miles' battered body.

Miles winced as you dabbed antiseptic on a particularly nasty bruise, and he instinctively reached out to grip their hand. His touch conveyed more than words ever could – the trust he placed in them, the vulnerability he rarely showed.

As you worked, tending to his injuries with practiced care, Miles couldn't help but let his thoughts wander. Why did he keep putting himself in these situations? Was he doing more harm than good? And why was he drawn to the reader like a moth to a flame?

His thoughts were interrupted your voice broke the silence, soft and comforting. "You're safe here, Miles."

He met their gaze, gratitude shining in his eyes. "I know."

You finished bandaging his wounds and sat back, studying him with concern. Miles mustered a tired smile, trying to reassure them. "I'll be fine. Just need some rest."

You nodded, but there was something more in your gaze – a question that went unspoken. Miles tilted his head, curiosity getting the better of him.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice gentle yet filled with curiosity. "Why do you keep pushing yourself like this, Miles? You're just a kid."

Miles chuckled softly, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "I guess I feel like I have to, you know? With great power…"

"Comes great responsibility," you finished for him, a small smile tugging at their lips. "But you also have the responsibility to take care of yourself."

Miles nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes it's hard to balance."

You reached out, tilting his chin up to meet their eyes. "You don't have to do it alone, Miles."

Miles held their gaze, a mixture of emotions swirling within him – gratitude, longing, and a newfound sense of connection. Without thinking, he whispered the words that had been on the tip of his tongue.

"Mi amor."

You blinked, surprised by the endearment in his tone. Miles flushed slightly, realizing he'd spoken without thinking. But your eyes softened, and you smiled warmly.

"Rest for now, Miles," you urge him, your voice a soothing melody. "We'll figure everything out together."