naomy ᥫ᭡

unfaithfulness might as well be a disease. not one that can be contracted, but one that stems from within. 

those who are unfaithful are unequivocally the weakest links. you? you've always presumed them to be snakes that were to join lucifer on earth at the very beginning of time, because they'd rather cause havoc and jeopardize how those they love perceive them rather than relish eternal peace in the clouds. had adam and eve left the forbidden fruit alone, the one thing that those unfaithful could've stayed faithful to was their identity as whispering serpents. alas, that's not how the story goes. and for the sake of free will, god decided they should reside on earth with those who know nothing but faith. 

betrayal isn't limited to one kind of person. whether the relationship is romantic or platonic, anyone can smile in your face, only to turn around and drive a pre-sharpened knife right through your back when you least expect it. you're left to bleed out while you try and make sense of why it had to be you.

you've been double-crossed before, but never bad enough to the point where you needed to make a huge deal out of it. it was usually stupid stuff, like your elementary friends ratting out your genius hiding spot during hide and seek after they got found, or your mom revoking her promise to take you to the park that one day after school when you were younger. your ex-best friend from middle school spreading nasty rumors about you was far more serious than all the other instances, and it was probably the worst one until now. 

you know that girls and guys alike get cheated on. you've heard stories and even seen it happen firsthand. infidelity occurs more frequently than you initially thought it did. then again, you tried not to think about it much because you were positive it would never happen to you. ever. especially not with your boyfriend, miles.

that was your first mistake—thinking you were immune.

you wanted to gauge your eyes out when your best friend video called you and showed you that photo of miles kissing another girl in a bedroom at a halloween party. 

the girl you were once worried about.

❤︎₊ ⊹

when you were younger, you were in love with the idea of being in love. 

many of your earliest memories consisted of your father reading you fairytales right before bed, since your mother was never around to do so. when he learned that you took a liking to stories that were more centered around love, he began to look for various fairytales pertaining to such that he could read to you. you adored how the love interests would always end up together by the end of each and every story. after enduring all the conflict getting in the way of their relationship thriving, it felt like a reward. you always felt secure knowing a happy ending was guaranteed no matter what transpired throughout the story. you liked that security, but your obsession with it inevitably flawed your perception of love itself. you grew up under the impression that love in the reality in which you reside wouldn't be all that different from the fairytales.

it hurt you when you finally discovered that that wasn't the case. in eighth grade, you had asked your crush to the winter formal. he had harshly rejected you, cracking the most heartless jokes in addition, in attempt to impress his friends, who were indeed laughing up a storm. that encounter alone was enough to ground you to earth. you discovered how disappointing the world and its inhabitants truly were, and how the unrealistic fairytales you once swooned over would never be real life. maybe it was insane of you to ever even think so, given the perilous city you live in.

seeing as dating these days is more detrimental than beneficial, during your sophomore year of high school, you decided that you'd steer clear from being romantically involved in any way, shape, or form entirely. of course, the universe always sends you someone or something you stopped wishing for ages ago when you least expect it. maybe something you didn't even long for anymore at all. you were perfectly okay with sticking to romance novels. you sure didn't want to put your peace on the line, especially not in the name of romance—but someone changed that.

miles.

you knew of his existence before you started dating him, but only briefly. you had an algebra class together your sophomore year, but the boy was quite reserved, only speaking when spoken to. trying to keep to himself and stay out of your school's public eye completely backfired on him, because he became the topic of everyone's conversations multiple times for a full week after his father, the former police captain, passed away. 

officer morales' death was a humbling reminder that brooklyn would only continue to grow more and more minacious. you haven't gone for a walk at night by yourself for as long as you can remember. you'd either be mugged, killed, or both. on the streets of new york, there was peril lurking around every corner. the city has more loose criminals than you were able to count on your fingers. you got used to living in such an environment, but your arm hairs never did stop shooting up whenever you had to step outside.

you recall giving your condolences to miles when he returned to school two weeks later. he had just nodded. you couldn't blame him though. everyone was constantly reminding him of something he'd rather not think about.

if he wasn't reticent and constrained to silence before, he was sure as hell was now. you tried your luck with him anyway, though.

whenever you'd see him sketching in his sketchbook in algebra, you'd compliment his skill or ask him what he was drawing. maybe it seemed a little invasive at the time, but your heart was in the right place. 

"i didn't know you could draw," you whispered to him. your desk was right next to his, so ignoring you wasn't really an option.

"yeah."

"that's cool, art takes skill—and patience," you had smiled.

"mhm."

you fell into a routine of asking miles what he was drawing every day in class. he was undoubtedly annoyed by it at first, but he eventually got used to it, and you finally got more than a one-word response. it was this conversation in particular that changed the way miles saw you.

"is that the prowler's suit you're drawing?" you whispered, surveying the page.

miles nodded and responded flatly. "yeah."

"i think it looks cool. i really like his suit design," you retorted. "especially the purple."

"you do?" he stopped drawing completely and looked up at you.

"hell yeah," you expressed with a faint grin. "he may be a criminal or whatever, but you gotta admit, his suit and his tech are pretty neat."

so then you two were friends for a couple of months. you'd do things like eat dinner at his house, help around the flat, and study together. surprisingly, miles' mom, rio, took a liking to you. she even taught you how to cook, and would let you assist with fixing dinner. 

miles had it was rare for his mama to warm up to people as fast as she did to you, and that made you feel special.

within the period of time in which you and miles would hang out, you ended up catching feelings for him, which you pushed to the side without a second thought. you still firmly believed that a relationship would bring you nothing but trouble. what you didn't know was that miles felt the same way about you as you did him, and eventually, he decided that he couldn't hide his feelings for you anymore.

miles confessed to you one night under the water tower on the roof of his apartment complex. you'd been watching the sun go down together and talking about whatever came to mind. you could've gazed into his perfectly sculpted face until the end of time. you doted on the way his eyes glowed gold when the sun hit them just right.

"you helped me open up. i didn't think that was something i was capable of doing anymore," he had told you. "i really do like you, [name]."

though you were terrified of putting yourself in a position to be played, you didn't want to say no, so you didn't. 

for the two years you've been with miles, you've never not trusted him. he's never given you a reason not to. he's always treated you like royalty, practically kneeling at your feet like being in your presence was a reward all by itself—at least that's what you felt like being his girlfriend equated to. 

it's no secret that miles tends to capture the attention of numerous girls without ever even having to try, whether they went to your school or simply passed him by on the street. miles didn't even have to lift a finger to have them drooling.

when you two got together, you didn't announce your relationship to the public like you were some kind of celebrity couple. that didn't stop people from gossiping like you were, though. according to everyone who went to visions, "miles and [name] popped out with each other out of nowhere!" and that was okay with you. nobody needed to know the ins and outs of you two's relationship. unfortunately, the obvious fact that you and miles were together didn't stop girls from constantly trying to have their way with him—one girl in particular was more persistent than the rest.

you'd be lying through your teeth if you said it didn't bother you at first, because it made you sick to your stomach. the thought of miles leaving you for one of those girls was one you couldn't bear. 

you vividly recall standing beside miles while he was situating his books in his locker before a girl who was well-known around campus, arielle, approached your boyfriend on the opposite side and 'not-so-subtly' flirted with him like you weren't even there. it was no secret that she didn't like you, so you were stuck between trying to figure out if she actually liked miles or was just trying to get under your skin. all you knew was the way she was twirling her perfectly spiraled, bouncy, brown curls around her index while she bit her lip bottom had you undeniably heated. 

"so miles, i've been learning how to braid hair," she had said. "honestly, i think i've pretty much mastered it. i want to practice cornrows... problem is, i couldn't find anyone with the type of hair i prefer to practice on, but then i saw you!"

you had to turn around and face the opposite direction just to hide the distaste that hastily painted your once-neutral expression. you brought your arm to your mouth and coughed twice so it wouldn't look like you were turning around for no reason. when you turned back around, arielle was looking you dead in the eyes, like you had done something horrible to her. you were surprised that she decided to give you even a fraction of her attention instead of acting like you were a ghost altogether.

you returned the energy, narrowing your eyes to slits. you weren't going to go toe to toe with another girl over a boy who was clearly yours. you had just redone miles' hair not even three full days ago, so she'd had to find another guy to practice on.

you shifted your gaze onto miles as he closed his locker. he hadn't even said a word to arielle up to that point, or even looked at her. when he finally made eye contact with the girl, she smiled innocently, as if she wasn't trying to murder you by burning holes through your skull with the way she was staring at you. 

you were no longer bothered by the time miles turned his head to look at you. the way his face was twisted was more than telling, with confusion written all over it. you read that boy like a book. 

"i mean, come on," arielle giggled. "you'd be the perfect person to practice on."

this girl didn't know when to stop. you were silently growing furious, wishing miles would take your hand and drag you away from that foolishness, but no. instead, he chose to engage in conversation with arielle.

"what do you think of my hair now?" miles asked.

this made your stomach drop, but it didn't show on your face. instead of saying anything or trying to figure out why miles cared what this random ass girl thought, you stood still where you were, waiting for the worst to be over. at the time, you and miles had only been together for about five and a half months. you didn't expect your first relationship to end that quickly. if this conversation didn't wrap up soon, you were sure that your head would start spinning and you'd pass out on the spot.

"of course! the two braids always look so good on you. i love them," arielle angled her head and leaned against the locker next to miles'.

"so do i," miles smirked, snaking one of his arms around your upper back to the shoulder furthest away from him. he pressed his palm against your arm and gently urged you closer to him, pointing to you with his free hand then looking back at arielle. "my girl got me right the other day, and she did a damn good job."

a smile crept up onto your face. for only half of a second, you didn't want to come off like one of those annoying moms of five who got the last 75" flat-screen tv during black friday and rubbed it in everyone's faces in the checkout line, until you remembered who's boyfriend miles was.

yours.

you had bragging rights.

"thanks, miles," you looked up at him, smiling brightly as any and all doubts left your mind. your eyes soon met with arielle's again, who was in disbelief. it seemed that you'd exchanged expressions. you were the one geeking now. 

"damn, i'd say gossip doesn't spread like it used to, but the looks you were giving me tell me you know we're together and don't care."

arielle shifted her weight off of the locker, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. she was never one to admit, let alone accept defeat.

"girl, c'mon. don't be lame. miles wouldn't cheat on me. it's even crazier that you thought he'd flirt back while i was standing right here."

"have it your way, but he's gonna crack."

with that, arielle scoffed, opting to leave the situation alone for the day. that wouldn't be the last time she tried something like that, and it probably wasn't the first either. you just happened to be around to see it that time. it made you wonder how miles reacted every other time. you were also quick to question why she claimed miles would "crack." it rubbed you the wrong way.

"she's jus' talkin' outta her ass, hermosa. she likes attention," miles assured you.

for whatever reason, that response alone didn't satisfy you. you had an uneasy feeling in your stomach for the rest of the day. you remember calling miles that same night while you both did homework. in the midst of the comfortable silence that had settled, you decided to bring up how you felt about what had happened.

"i won't lie, earlier today, i was a little scared," you admitted.

"of what?"

"i thought you were gonna ditch me for arielle," you replied, letting out a deep sigh at the same time.

"i'd never," miles promised you. "te amo, chica. and only you. i'm with you for a reason."

"i love you, too," you grinned, genuinely feeling at ease. "i was just paranoid. i know now that you'd never do that to me."

the invasive thoughts that often crowded your mind and kept you up late at night; the ones listing each and every reason why your relationship with miles would crash and burn? they haven't bothered you since then.

©maybemymali

You add the flour to the large bowl before you. Singing along to your favorite playlist on the speaker, you add in all the other dry ingredients. When you back away to look for the eggs in the fridge your phone goes off. You see it light up on the counter before you turn back to the fridge and take out the box of eggs and set it next to your flour mix. 

You check your phone to see it's a text from Miles.

mi rey ❤️

hey ma  u home?

me 

yea  whats up

mi rey ❤️

i wanna see u 

You couldn't help the giddy feeling rising up your chest.

me 

my parents are working late

mi rey ❤️

omw

Your smile dropped slightly. Your parents weren't exactly fond of Miles. A lot of it had to do with his style choices. Your Mom never bothered to hide her distaste whenever he was around or brought up. Miles didn’t even know what to do with himself when she was near. There was no going over to each other’s houses after school and that also meant barely hanging out alone. The thought of her not accepting him no matter how much he tried to prove himself, it hurt, and you knew he felt hurt too. 

You shook off the sad feeling and went back to the task at hand. You glanced at the bag set next to you. The cans of condensed and evaporated milk poked out of the small bag. You cracked 3 eggs into the bowl and smiled, filling your mind with the thought of him coming over.

You were spreading out the cake batter onto a baking pan when you heard a knock on the front door. You quickly finished pouring all the batter into the pan, lowering the volume of your music before heading towards the noise. Slightly panicking at the idea of your parents showing up early, you looked through the peephole. You grinned, seeing Miles standing outside. You opened the door for him, and he smiled before diving in to peck your lips, arms automatically wrapping around your waist.

“The hell you up to?” He asked, having noticed the patch of flour on your cheek. 

“Guess.” You said, smiling up at him. 

He hummed and looked behind you, past the kitchen island and spotted the materials spread out on the counter. 

“Is it for me?” 

“Maybe.” You teased.

You turned and headed back towards the kitchen, not letting go of his hand. He followed with the same grin on his face. You let go to preheat the oven before turning back to him and turning your music back up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close, swaying to the music. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face on your neck as if it was second nature, swaying along with you. 

You hummed and pecked the skin of his neck the position exposed. He returned the favor, only he made it his mission to leave several tickling ones all over your neck. You giggled as he pushed you back to trap you against the kitchen island to continue his attack. He pulled back to set his temple against yours, glancing down at your eyes before looking down at your lips.

“‘Missed you, Ma.” 

“You literally saw me yesterday night.”

“So?”

You roll your eyes before moving your hands to hold his face gently. You left several pecks on his plush lips before slowing down and giggling at his attempts at chasing after your lips after each one. You finally complied and kissed him and he hummed, happily kissing you back. 

“I missed you too.” You said after you both pulled away. 

The beeping coming from the stove indicated that the oven had already preheated. You reluctantly pulled away from the embrace to go place the loaded baking pan into the oven. The moment your back straightened from bending over the oven, you felt the comforting weight of his arms around you. He went back to nuzzling his face into your neck from behind, the high puff you had put your hair in tickling him a little. You reached back to massage his scalp. 

“Can I have some now?” 

“No, it’ll taste better if we leave it overnight.” You say, finishing up pouring the mixture of milk onto the poked sponge cage. 

“Ion mind” 

You sighed, turning to peck him on the cheek. 

“I know you don’t but I don’t half-ass my shit. I haven't even prepared the heavy cream.” 

You hear him suck his teeth. “I’mma have you then.” He mumbles into your neck, gently sucking on the skin there. 

“Yeah right— Stop that, my mom sees that, and you won't hear from me for months.” You scolded. 

“I'll put them where she won't see them.” He replied, sliding the strap of your cami off your shoulder and starting to leave a trail of kisses there.

“Jesus, Miles.” 

He hummed in response.

You huffed but leaned back into his affection. He was going to be the death of you. Literally.

– BONUS SCENE

The breeze surrounding you two was tranquil as you sat on a bench. The yelling and bounces of a basketball from the court some feet behind you acting as background noise. Some little kids passed by rolling on their small bicycles. He had his head on your shoulder with a hand rubbing up and down your thigh. 

You carefully placed the sealed container in his hands, making him sit up, before going to look in your bag for the plastic fork you had neatly wrapped into a napkin and placing it on the lid of the container. 

You watched as he opened the container and unwrapped the fork, quickly diving into the dessert. He moaned and threw his head back at the taste.

“Is it good?” 

Sticking out like a sore thumb on the roof top of a family party that definitely wasn’t yours, though they’d started to feel like it in the last few months. It’s not like your family would be mature enough to come together, put their pride aside for five minutes, and get along the way these people were. And after your parents’ separation earlier this year, negotiation was way out of the question. This distraction from the chaos you left back home was more than welcomed.

Your friend’s hand was starting to pale from how hard you were clutching onto it, yet you didn’t notice. The music was loud and a little upbeat for your taste, but you slightly bobbed your head to it anyway, a mindless thing you found yourself doing regardless of whether you could understand the lyrics to the song or not. There's no way you’d be caught dead at a party looking as if you didn’t have at least an ounce of rhythm.

Noticing your nerves, as well as the growing ache of her fingers, your friend Camila turned her head to the side, her silky, chestnut brown tresses flowing over her shoulder when she shouted over the bass of the speakers.

“Don’t be nervous! They’re all real nice, I promise!”

"Camila—" barely hearing what she said, you stopped for a second to give a sweet smile to an older lady who passed you, then softly tugged her arm to get her attention. “Can’t we just, stay in that cute little corner over there with the—“ you paused. “What are those— enchiladas?”

“Empanadas.” She corrected with a lighthearted eyeroll, her Queen’s accent heavy on her tongue. “And no way! I want you to meet everyone.”

"Everyone—wait what?” Your eyes bulged. You probably resembled a looney tones character at the moment. “I thought I’d officially met everyone last month at the uhh— the fuckin—“ You made a wafting motion with your hands, as if it’d prompt your brain to get your thoughts out as quickly as the two of you were walking. “The Heritage Month BBQ, thingy?”

This was the first time the doe-eyed girl had stopped to look at you throughout your walk through the venue—like, actually look at you—and of course it was only to laugh at your ridiculous observation. She nearly doubled over.

“Ha!- Yeah, nah. That was a funny joke though.” she giggled. “That was family family. This is family and family friends. So basically, more family. You know that!”

Oh yeah. Makes complete sense. Family didn’t even sound like a word anymore at this point, you thought to yourself as she pulled the both of you to a stop at the drink table.

You and Camila had been friends ever since the second grade. The girl had the prettiest hazel eyes and the longest, shiniest hair you'd ever seen. Since time she’s liked to refer to herself as the “Puerto Rican-Filipino Rapunzel", and though the term she’d come up with was a bit of a mouthful, you’d be lying if you tried to disagree.

She’d waltzed up to your secluded spot at indoor recess in Mrs. Walter’s class, demanded the two of you be friends, and even gave you a pink Hello Kitty sticker to accompany her proposition.

And seeing as you couldn’t remember much before that, you really couldn’t remember a time when Camila wasn’t in your life, either. Protecting you from anyone who might have anything to say about her bestfriend, and always quick to step in front of you and get in someone’s face about it, even if the someone in question was a burly 6’3 football player who had to crane his neck to look down at who was cursing him out a mile a minute.

If people saw Camila, they saw you, too. That’s just how the two of you rolled. And yeah, you’d been to more than a few family parties, slapped on some low-waisted, bejeweled miss-me jeans and boots to fit in with the dress code, and attended a few bailes even though you couldn’t dance for shit. But you’d never been to a gathering of theirs that was this large. What was the occasion?

As you watched her scoop a ladle of some sort of homemade drink mix into a red solo cup, you realized you’d unintentionally asked the question in your head.

“So, what’s the big occasion?” You took in your surroundings, noting how happy everyone looked.

“Ah, my aunt finished her PhD program, or somethin’ like that. Basically, she’s a real big doctor now, so you know we had to party. My cousin invited me."

“Mm,” you nodded stalely, accepting the cup she quickly pushed into your hand before she went to pour another for herself.

“Speaking of my cousin…”

There was a mischievous glint in Camila’s eyes. Was mischevious the right word? Maybe excited, but either way, you didn’t like it one bit.

Mid sip, you slowly lowered your drink from your lips, eyes narrowing at her in suspicion.

“Camila Janaé Reyes. What are you plotting?”

“Nothingggg!”

Judging by that tone, it was definitely not nothing.

“I just want you to meet him, that’s all.” Her words drawled as she gave you one of her sickeningly sweet smiles, and you whined like a child who’d just been asked to put a coat on before leaving the house.

“Seriously, ‘Mila? That’s why you invited me?”

“No! Well… Kinda?” she grimaced.

Your bestfriend could be quite persistent, especially with specific things others didn’t want her to be persistent with. Every human on this earth had a trait that irritated someone or made them slightly less favorable, and of course, that trait is almost impossible to recognize in yourself.

This—the overbearing persistence, the thinking that she knew better for everyone than they did themselves—was Camila’s, and it irked you to your core like no other.

“Camila, I told you, no boys. I don’t even think I have it in me after..." The rest of the sentence died on your tongue as your hand came up to pinch the bridge of your nose, prompting Camila to give you a knowing look. With her, you didn’t even have to finish the thought.

“I know, I know,” she said. “But his mom’s been a little worried about how quiet he’s gotten and asked if I could bring someone for him to talk to. So, I thought maybe you guys could be friends or something. That’s it! He don’t got many, and you—well…”

You almost cracked a smile at that, even though you were still annoyed with her. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

You somehow found it in you to let your guard down a bit, which, in theory, would probably come back to bite you in the ass later. You just didn’t know how soon that would be the case.

Your shoulders slumped, a telltale sign of you ready to throw in the towel, just this once like you always did. Camila was already getting excited.

“Alright, alright. Who’s your cousin?”

The petite girl rolled her lips inward to bite back a wide grin, and instead of answering you, she slid beside you and slunk her arm around your shoulders. Her neck stretched for a second as she scanned the lively gathering, her eyes widening once she found who she was scouting for.

She gestured with her chin, not wanting to make it obvious.

“See that guy by himself over there? Like, six foot two, wide shoulders, lowkey thinks he’s Batman, kinda gotta mug on him? He’s nice though, swear. When he wants to be.”

You squinted into the distance. “Uhh… I think that’s a woman, ‘Mila.”

She gasped at that, shoving your shoulder hard enough to almost make you stumble. “No not my Tia Beatriz, you bitch!”

“Oh shit—“

A laugh tore through your apology before you could stop it, and the girl next to you made a sound with her throat that was clearly her trying to hold back her own laughter.

"Idiota," she mumbled.

Two hands clamped down on your shoulders before you felt your body shift to the side a bit, someone else coming into view once your perspective changed.

“I’m talkin’bout him.”

The last time you could recall your heart dropping into your ass at this same rate was when your mom caught you trying to stuff your bra in the sixth grade before the bus arrived. And somehow, that feeling still wasn’t comparable to this.

This—this was much different.

“Y’see him?”

How could you not?

A little ways down, casually leaned back on an elbow at the tall edge of the roof, stood a lanky-looking, brownskinned boy who was far too handsome for his own good. Clad in a fitted black shirt and a cropped leather jacket, you could tell that piece of clothing alone cost more than your entire outfit. He was rocking some straight-legged, black cargo pants and a pair of Air Jordan 1’s you’d never seen before. There was a jaded look plastered on his face, and something about his body language led you to believe that he was forcing himself to be here.

You swallowed,

“That’s your cousin?”

Camila’s insanely, good looking, cousin, if you hadn’t mentioned that already. Not even her older brother was this fine. This boy put the childish crush you had on Luis to absolute shame.

“Mm-hm.”

Your gaze alternated back and forth between her and the boy in the distance. "But, you guys don’t—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We get that a lot, big family.” She waved you off, probably having heard this a million times.

Her posture suddenly straightened with newfound determination, and it made your heart jump.

“Well, what are we just standin’ here for? Let’s go-“

“Nope. Nuh uh.”

Camila’s head recoiled when she raised a questioning brow at you. “Fuck you mean ‘nuh uh’?”

You gave her a balking look, as if the answer were obvious.

“I am not talking to that man!”

“Well why not?” she asked incredulously.

“Because he is fine as hell, are you crazy? I ain’t got no business goin’ over there.” You don’t know why you were lowering your voice; it’s not like he’d be able to hear you over the music anyway.

But, just by a stroke of luck, he suddenly looked up, probably due to the sweltering heat of your eyes dissecting his entire persona.

“Anddd now he’s looking at me. Oh my god,” you whisked around as casually as you could play off, fingers pressed to your hot forehead as you cursed beneath your breath.

His line of sight was cast in your direction, and though he could’ve been looking right past you, which was simply wishful thinking on your end, that was a chance you absolutely weren’t going to take.

“Yeah, he’s always able to catch people staring. I don't know how he does it… And s’kinda weird now that I think about it…” Camila mumbled distractedly to herself, her pondering eyes drifting skywards. A sharp elbow to her side, yours to be exact, was enough to pull her out of her observation and earn you a pained whine.

“Focus! What do I do now? He probably thinks I’m a creep.” you groaned.

A puff of amused air blew from her nose. “Yeah, I doubt that. He’s a bit of an odd ball himself.”

That definitely did nothing to make you feel better.

“Besides, he don’t bite,"

Your feet weren’t moving on your own accord as you began walking; it was Camila tugging you out of your in-plain sight hiding spot and towards the very boy you were just marveling at.

“I think.” she added.

“Camila, I really don’t think this is a good idea—“

Through the rush of the brief murmur-screamed argument you had with her, the walk over to him was surprisingly much shorter than your brain had estimated it to be. And of course, ever the gentleman with perfect manners, the boy in question clicked his phone off and tucked it away in his front pocket once he saw the both of you approaching him.

Camila put on her sweetest voice, and albeit a bit annoying, her intentions were pure.

“Heyyy, Miles! How are you?”

Miles. That’s a cute name. Or is it only cute because I think he’s cute? Fuck, I’m spacing out, aren’t I?

The light baritone in his voice edged you to believe that it was the latter.

“Hey cous’, I’m straight.”

Miles was talking to Camila, but he was staring dead at you while he did, as if he was purposely trying to send you into a terribly premature fit of cardiac arrest.

He had a solemn look to him; face hardened with faint frown lines that seemed a bit unfitting for his age. The only resemblance these two shared was the striking allure of hazeled eyes and how they were both able to have people lost in them without even trying. There was an energy that radiated from him—something about his presence that you felt a pull towards. It wasn’t intimidating, or brooding, no. It was more on the lines of intoxicating. And it didn’t necessarily make you uncomfortable, per se, but the fact that you couldn’t pinpoint the exact feeling his stare was giving you most definitely did.

It was a known fact that you couldn’t hold eye contact for shit, and an observing Miles easily picked up on that after the third time your eyes had darted back and forth between his own and any random object you could keep your attention on. So, when he finally decided to spare you and directed them towards his chirpy cousin instead, you felt like you could finally breathe again and stole an embarrassingly deep inhale that nearly made you lightheaded.

“So wassup, who’s this?” Miles motioned towards you with a slight tilt of his head, hands nonchalantly planted in the pockets of his jacket.

Now that the focus was off you for a second, you used this to your advantage and took a moment to get a good, close look at him.

Everything about him was clean cut and neat—strategic. From his sharp, tapered hairline that was so precise that not a single strand of hair was out of place, to the tidy twin braids that kissed his shoulders, and even down to his shoes. They were crisp, and looked like he’d taken them right out the box before he came here, but you could tell that wasn’t the case. It was clear from the way he carried himself and the fresh ass silver cuban link hanging round his neck that he simply cared about his appearance enough to keep them that way.

“This,” A subtle, yet intentional squeeze to your right arm brought you back to the conversation. “is Y/n, my bestfriend. I don’t think she’s met you yet, so I just thought I’d introduce the two of you.”

He didn’t even nod. You weren’t even sure if he blinked. All he gave was a vague,

“Mm.”

What the fuck did that mean? Was that a good mm, or a bad mm?

Your ruminating was interrupted when Camila quietly murmured something to Miles that you couldn’t quite make out, her eyes hard in warning.

“Sé amable y no hagas nada estúpido. De verdad.” (Be nice and don’t do anything stupid. For real.)

He kissed his teeth at that, an indistinct irritation evident in his tone at the latent reprimanding. “Nunca hago nada estúpido.” (I never do anything stupid.)

Brows bunched in confusion, your lashes fluttered in annoyance upon realizing it was their intent to keep you out of the brief exchange.

“Well,” Camila clapped her hands. “I’ll leave y’all kids to it! I need to go grab some of those pinchos before they’re all gone.” Both you and Miles sent an irked look her way when she gave a cheesy thumbs up and dipped.

It was just the two of you now, and since names were already out of the way, you hadn’t the slightest idea of where to start. But the worry didn’t last long; Miles was the first to speak up, which you were more than grateful for.

“So, how you know my cousin again?” His brow peaked. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Miles was good with faces—excellent, actually. He spent a lot of time people watching; knew most of Brooklyn by now, and he definitely wouldn’t have forgotten a face like yours. So he let his eyes drink you in from head to toe, committing you to memory. And damn, he sure picked a good day to be social.

You tried to focus on your answer instead of the glint of his earrings or the sharp of his jaw when his head turned to the side, so you settled on studying the buildings that lined the magenta-stained skyline in the distance.

“Well, there’s not much to it, really. I met her in the second grade, and she said we were bestfriends now, no questions asked. Guess it’s been that way ever since.” you shrugged.

“Yeah, sounds like her," he chuckled, shifting to rest both his elbows on the ledge as his back leaned against it. “She can be a little—“

“Persistent?” you interjected knowingly, a small smile painting your features.

“Shit, you tellin’ me," he snorted. “I guess that’s a nicer way to put it.”

Miles picked his cup up from where he’d previously set it down and took a swig. So far, this conversation wasn’t nearly as grueling as he’d expected it to be, and shockingly enough, he might’ve even been enjoying your company.

But unknown to you, this wasn’t the first time Miles had been introduced to one of Camila’s friends. He’d met probably three of them at this point, and honestly, he was a little over his cousin trying to throw him a bone he didn’t ask for. Did he entertain them? Possibly, for fun. Though it’s not like he actually enjoyed their presence. But there was something intriguing about you that he didn’t pick up on with the others, and he was starting to wonder what was in this punch.

“Hol’ on,” a curious look crossed his face. “You from Queens, right?”

“Mhm, why?”

“You’on really sound like it, that’s all.” he noted.

“Yeah… I go back and forth a lot.” You gave a half-hearted smile, in which he responded to with a simple nod.

Your brows furrowed as a sudden realization dawned on you.

“Y’know, now that I think about it... I don’t think I’ve ever seen you, either. You don’t come around often, do you?”

“Mm,” His lips pushed into an upturned frown—that thing people usually did when someone wasn’t far from being correct. He gave a shadowy answer and changed the subject.

“You could say that. Camila’s brought you to one of these before, I’m guessing?”

“Mm-hm, all the time.” You nodded, swirling around the fizzy liquid in your cup. “I usually chill with the elders, though.”

“Heard that.” Miles understood you completely, the corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile.

Now that you’d had the chance to actually speak with him, he wasn’t nearly as aloof as you’d presumed him to be.

“This your mom’s party?”

“Yes ma'am." he hummed.

You took a quick breath in through your nostrils, and Miles almost laughed at how much one word affected you.

"So..." Your eyes cautiously dragged their way over to him. “Why aren’t you celebrating with everyone else?”

Your tone was careful. Like you already knew your question was personal.

His jaw tensed for a beat and his smile dimmed a little, but he was shrugging and back to his coolheaded mien before you could make any inferences on how your question might’ve made him feel.

“Just like bein’ by my lonely, I guess. Better this way.”

Every human on this earth had a trait that irritated someone or made themselves slightly less favorable, and this was yours. Asking intimate questions too soon, unintentionally trying to uproot information about someone’s life through the innocent curiosity that usually got you into trouble.

“S’ain’t really my kind of vibe anyway." he admitted with a flippant gesture toward the party.

You mindlessly fiddled with the charm bracelet dangling from your wrist.

“And what’s your ‘kind of vibe?’”

It was a genuine question. Honest. You knew his confession came in passing, yet that didn’t deter you from wondering what he was thinking when he said it.

Miles’ aureate gaze floated to your person, and you watched as he studied your features. Eyes flitting between the both of yours, as if he were trying to get a read on you without having to ask.

You relaxed a little when he finally cracked a mirth-kissed grin.

“You just full of questions, huh?” he teased, a glint in his eye.

Somewhere in the midst of this conversation, his body had turned towards yours, and you hadn’t noticed until now that he was facing you completely. You looked to him with the same intensity he gave you and played right back.

“You could say that.”

There were a few seconds of internal struggle, seen in the way he fought to pull his gaze away. Teeth biting at the inside of his cheek like he needed a taste of pain to remind him to behave. But, when he caught sight of the way you were looking at him, that little voice in the deep of his mind wasn’t nearly loud enough for him to listen to it.

Licking at his dry lips, he knew better, but he asked anyway with an appetent tilt of his head.

“You wanna get outta here?”

—

Now how did you end up here?

Party forgotten like an old toy on Christmas morning. A newfound agenda on your mind and a new pair of lips on yours to match.

You knew good and well that the question he asked didn’t entail stepping away from the party to get a breath of clean air; in fact, you were finding it quite difficult to breathe right about now.

Huh, and here you thought he was a gentleman.

And Miles was fully aware that this was probably a bad idea, but when he wanted something, it was as if tunnel vision clouded any chance of better judgement.

Every human on this earth had a trait that irritated someone or made them slightly less favorable, and Miles was not excluded from this verity.

Even the teacher found the silence awkward, muttering to himself as you walked into the dreary classroom. He was a bit of a pushover, Mr. Wellston — a newbie who really had no idea what he was doing besides fixing his unevenly cut hair every two seconds while everyone pretended to know what was going on. God bless AP Calculus; you didn’t even know how to do the starter activity on the board.

But your teacher’s ridiculous inadequacy didn’t matter right now. The most important decision you had to make was what poor soul you were going to look at sideways when everyone turned to the source of the growl. Being nice wasn’t exactly an option when you were 3 seconds away from dying of starvation.

Thankfully, you were at the back, and the only seat next to you was empty. It wasn’t so bad, you tried convincing yourself as other students started to fill up the seats in front of you. Maybe you'd even forget about how hungry you were if you engrossed yourself in "one of the most riveting fields of mathematics", as advertised by your freshman year math teacher. Just one hour. You could hold back your hunger for one hour.

"Attendance..." Wellston murmured, looking around the room without much attention. It was reasonable to assume was here as usual, except for one kid who'd been absent since the first week. "Morales" — you didn't know his first name, not like you had the chance to learn it.

Scribbling down whatever activity there was, a part of you was glad this kid wasn't here today. It was one less person to hear the result of your unfortunate choice to not have breakfast this morning. You'd never spoken to the kid, but everyone knew why he wasn’t here. The renowed "hero", PC Davis had passed away — his dad. It was all over the news: "PDNY OFFICER DIES SAVING A CHILD", around mid-freshman year. You couldn't guess what was going on with the kid almost 2 whole semesters into sophomore year, but you couldn’t exactly think too hard when your pen had barely touched the page, and your other hand was clawing into the side of your shirt.

You were sure your stomach was going to growl, and loud. And your teacher was looking at you. Pretty much every muscle in your face was straining. You probably looked insane, which you’d actually rather be right now. The worst he would make was a bad joke, but the sheer panic that rose in your chest when Mr. Wellston started to walk towards you made your heels dig into the ground, ready to bolt out the class. You were exhausted, anxious, praying to anything you could think of that your teacher would just turn around and stop looking at you and—

Creak... Everyone's eyes, including Mr. Wellston's, turned to the door. You could make out someone with a black jacket — teacher? They wouldn’t let you wear jackets inside. Not important. Water.

"Nice seeing you here, Morales," Wellston said, his expression as unamused as he could attempt. The pushover was feeling confident today.

You drank so much water that it got stuck in your throat for a moment, making you scrunch up your face. "I'd take off that jacket if I were you,” Wellston continued.

The boy obliged with an incoherent mumble, stepping into the classroom and slipping off his jacket. His eyes landed on the seat right next to you. Even if he wasn't looking at you, something about his gaze made you look away immediately. Great. 53 minutes until lunch. Why did he have to show up today? Why did you wake up late and skip breakfast? A part of you was telling you it’d be better to not blame it on this guy either — maybe it was your gut. Ha-ha. Maybe you were insane.

Screeech! The slap of a notebook next to you snapped you out of your mini-spiral. You were now all the more aware of the boy next to you. His attendance was so low that it competed with your will to live, so you couldn’t help but look. His hair was in two braids slipping just past his collar, but that’s all you dared to notice. They were kind of cool, you admitted to yourself. The muttering was quickly shut down by a grating "Focus!" from Wellston, and you tried to get back to your work.

Calculus, calculus... When was the last time you’d gotten a question right? All you could do was keep uselessly pressing the fraction button on your calculator, watching the empty boxes stack up. It felt like he was staring at you. Math, come on, you know math. What was the probability he was looking at you? What if he was just glancing at you? What was his eye colour? Black or dark brown, probably. You could check — if he was staring, of course. Not his eye colour. That'd be weird.

That tight feeling built up in your stomach like the foreshock of an earthquake. You pictured yourself slamming your head into the desk, far too vividly to be normal — like an insane person. No need to traumatise the “new” kid on his first day back.

"Alright class, considering we have a full house now," You stopped yourself from imagining Wellston’s head slammed into a desk. "I suggest you all try to solve this problem. It's the hardest question that's ever come up on Calc BC, and you're getting secret access to it."

Yeah, like you cared. This man did not have a lesson plan, as usual. Now you had to fight the urge to look at the kind of cool kid next to you, fight your hunger like a famished Victorian child and fight the stupid calculations forming a jumbled mess in your brain. You were fighting a lot of things, and losing miserably. Just looking at the question made your brain hurt, and you could see it in the rest of your class too. All Calc BC nerds who were just now realising their mistake in taking this class with this particular teacher, probably. Visions was a scam.

"Does anyone have an answer?" It hadn't even been two minutes; it was like the man just wanted to feel smarter than everyone else. Something about him today was even more annoying than the pitiful jokes he usually came up with ― just because a "new" kid came in? Maybe this was to make up for the first day of class where he totally embarrassed himself mumbling all lesson, the bell ringing overtop of him.

The awkward silence and the slight cocky curl to the corner of Mr. Wellston's mouth made you question why they hired someone who was fresh out of college to teach you the classes that were supposed to get you into college. Your frustration only grew when you were going in circles with your attempt.

"No? Guys, you that you have a midterm soon." Helpful.

"This is more simple than you think." Explain it, then?

"Nobody? Really? Okay, you really should start paying attention, the―"

"Six." You almost forgot about the kid next to you until he spoke up. He put down his pen, giving Wellston an expectant look while the whole class was silent.

"…Six what?"

"Litres per hour."

The man quickly shuffled to his computer. Of course he didn't know the answer either.

"Six litres per hour," Wellston confirmed. No other kid had a chance to retort. Wellston seemed surprised for once. A part of you was surprised too at how simple the answer sounded when it came out of the "new" kid's mouth. You noticed that the boy didn't even have a calculator.

"Well, it looks like you all have something to learn from Morales here," he continued, something almost like contempt in his words. "Do you want to explain how you got that?"

The boy went about explaining it pretty simply, almost like he was reading off of a script. It was concise, different to what you'd learnt. Something about chain rule, which you truthfully had no idea how to actually use because someone didn't bother to go through it properly. Even if you were still somewhat unsure, it sounded easy enough.

"Interesting method..." Wellston murmured, trailing off for a moment. "Well, that settles it then. Do you guys understand how we got six?"

We? This guy... Aside from the fact that he was looking at you a little too much for comfort (probably because you were still clutching your stomach like you’d been shot) you had another reason to be annoyed by this teacher and his stupid hair. Everyone just returned his question with silent nods and mumbles, people taking opportunities to actually look at the calc-wiz.

You took a chance too, looking over at his seemingly unbothered face. You were almost right about the brown eyes. They were more coppery than anything, maybe even a little green. If he was staring before, you couldn't tell, his gaze trailing his desk with disinterest. Why did his eye colour even matter?

Forty minutes of class to go. You felt like you could eat your calculator at this point. The mystery kid didn't seem to need one anyway, and you weren’t getting much use out of it.

BRIIIIIIIIIING!

"The bell doesn't―" The screeching of chairs cut him off.

Like that would work this far into the semester. The Morales kid was already gone by the time you'd stood up. Letting out a drawn-out sigh, you debated between your tiredness and hunger. Would you try to fight to the death to get to the front of the lunch queue? All you wanted was food, maybe a nap afterwards, definitely no more calculus.

That couldn't happen, of course. For some reason, you were the only one left in class. You heard your name, wincing a little as you stopped in your journey out of the door.

"I just want to speak for a moment, spare me a few minutes?" You figured this was coming. It looked like he wanted to speak to you about something all class; his expressions weren’t exactly mysterious like that new kid. You wanted nothing more than to strangle him with his ugly patterned tie as you walked over to him.

Mr. Wellston leaned on his desk by his elbows, lowering his voice as if he was about to tell you something serious.

"You're not doing very well in this class." Okay… not that serious. "It’s the longer questions, I think. FRQs.”

Your grogginess made it impossible to focus on Wellston’s rant, but what you did pick up on was his weird accent. You guessed he wasn’t from Brooklyn, but the way he was talking right now let you pick up on the strange intonation in his voice you otherwise wouldn’t care to notice. Almost European-sounding. First that kid's eye colour and now your teacher's accent... what was it with you and random details today?

"So..." he continued, looking up at you with his head still low. "I'm going to start an extra class after school. I want you to come to it." Okay, this is worse. You couldn't have lunch, and now you couldn't even have after school.

"When is it?" It better not be some unreasonable time.

"Well, I've only got Friday afternoon free. You know how it is, meetings..." If he was trying to be apologetic, or convincing, he was failing at both. "I'll call you in later to discuss it further."

You just nodded, the grip on your backpack tightening. "Okay."

"It's important that you come!”

His voice was drowned out by the flood of students in the hall as you shut the door, turning on your heel to head to the cafeteria. The line was probably impossibly long by now. You couldn't care less about that extra Friday class. Forget college. You'd be a bum, or work at a WcDonalds. You'd probably make more money than Mr. Wellston there anyway. Forget Visions.

Forget that Morales kid who was standing outside the door all that time while you were too frustrated to notice.

You slumped down onto an empty table as you tried to rid your mind of him.

The probability that he'd show up to class with his cool braids and coppery-green eyes again was too low for you to care anyway.

"Soy Miles. Miles Morales."

Calc-wiz, or Miles as you just found out, was also in your Spanish class, and was also sitting directly behind you. It seemed like he was coming into more classes than he had been all semester — good for him?

"Morales… ¿Eres hispano, Miles?" (Are you Hispanic, Miles?) Miles simply nodded while Mrs Hernández flicked through the worksheets, licking her finger to set them down on individual desks. Spanish was one of the classes you actually liked. Apart from your classmates, Mrs Hernández was funny, and a good teacher, even if she was a little strict.

She paused for a moment to look at Miles again, eyebrow raised. "¿Guatemala?"

"Puerto Rico." The woman's raised eyebrow fell along with the rest of her expression, eyes narrowing in disappointment. She was always talking about where she was from, Guatemala. You found it kind of endearing, though you weren't sure if she'd get any teaching done if there was another kid from there.

"All these years y nadie de Guatemala..." (and nobody from Guatemala...) She simply frowned, cracking her knuckles while making her way back to the front. Most of the people taking AP Spanish were Hispanic, just trying to get extra credits, but it seemed like Mrs. Hernández was out of luck when it came to finding her natural favourite. "Vale clase, quiero que miren este articulo sobre―" (Okay class, I want you to look at this article about―)

All that class you felt like Miles was staring at the back of your head, of course. If he wasn't uncomfortably silent, he was conversing with Mrs Hernández, and she came over more than once to talk to him behind you. As much as you wanted to overhear, they were talking too quietly and quickly — and in Spanish. What they were talking about wasn't your business — most likely about his absence. You had also no idea what this article was talking about. It was something about art, but most of the words you were reading were unfamiliar as your highlighter hovered uselessly over the paper.

It had almost been a week since Miles first came in. You constantly saw him get pulled out of class or talking to teachers — except in AP Calc; it seemed like he was doing just fine there. He could speak Spanish fine too, but was behind on everything else. Other than teachers, he never really talked to anyone. You occasionally saw him with his earbuds on in the hallways, but more often his jacket was what got him chased down by teachers; the kid didn’t really seem to care. Good for him. He was probably more ahead of you anyway given the way your studies were going.

“Oye, look a little alive!” You noticed Mrs Hernandéz standing over you, and that your highlighter bleeding through the paper from pressing too long. A half-hearted “lo siento” (sorry) is all you could offer. “Extraño (strange) — What's different today, chicos? Is it because you’ve got a new friend here?” She crossed her arms, eyeing everyone with her brows knitted together.

The atmosphere around Miles was strange. Not only was he known for being missing since freshman year, but also for his late father. It wasn’t a secret, as much as he didn’t talk about it. Everyone could tell from the way teachers whispered to him and how he disappeared to the counsellor’s office that he wasn’t treated like any other student here. In fact, he didn’t even live in the dorms according to what you’d heard. He was quiet, but the rumours were undeniably loud. You tried not to involve yourself — you hadn’t even spoken to him yourself, anyway.

“He’s not the only Puerto Rican. You gonna forget about us, Señora?” The voice made you hold back a sigh. When Rafael started speaking there was no stopping him. You figured it was time; no matter how far he was moved from his friends, he always found a way to talk to them from the other side of the classroom. He was also right next to you. You had a few reasons to want to drop this class, and each of them were all going “yeah” in agreement to what Rafael had to say.

“I think you’ve forgotten that you have an article in front of you, Rafa.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at your teacher’s words, and nickname. To your dismay, Rafael noticed you immediately.

“You makin’ fun of me, bro?” He turned his head to stare at you.

“Rafael,” Hernandéz warned.

“Nah, Señora, you don’t get it, I should be sitting over there.”

She wasn’t amused by the way he was gesturing to his friends. “I’ll kick you out.”

“Come on man…” He just threw up his hands and sunk into his far too tiny chair. You prayed he wouldn't start rocking on it and make that god-awful creaking sound. Mrs. Hernández simply turned to ignore him and continue with class.

“Why’s he special anyway?” Rafael mumbled to himself. “Famous cause of his dad?”

Tension – it was so thick you could cut it. The only thing that was cutting through it, apart from your Spanish teacher’s rant, was Miles’ gaze. You could feel it burning right through you. It seemed like Rafael, the moron, for some twisted reason, wanted Miles to hear that.

If you had anything to say at all, it was too late to give Rafael a piece of your mind. Considering how quickly he'd shut you down, it would be useless to stick up for some kid you barely knew. Nobody else heard Rafael anyway; it'd just pit everyone against you. Still, a part of you felt bad. Even though you didn’t really know Miles, he was in a lot of your classes. You’d gotten used to his presence over the past week: moving out of the way so he could get to his seat, occasionally picking up each other’s fallen pens, giving unshared glances to see how the other was doing on the work.

He seemed nice enough despite the lack of words you'd exchanged, but when you turned a little to fix your chair, the expression you caught was anything but. It was almost scary, if you could make out anything from his darkened features. There was a strange sense of focus in his eyes, like he was calculating something – deliberating. You didn't try to guess what, keeping silent and trying to listen to Mrs. Hernández talk about the article while ignoring the deadly gaze simmering behind you.

If you were stronger, scarier, more influential, maybe you’d punch one through Rafael right now. Just looking at him was irritating, and it's not like you hadn't thought of it before. Maybe you wouldn’t have to, though, because it seemed like Miles was thinking the exact same thing. As much as you wanted to learn Spanish and not have a fight happen right next to you, it’d be nice if he was able to teach Rafael to shut up instead of the material he didn't seem to care about.

Miles didn’t look particularly strong — he was kind of scary-looking right now, but that didn’t mean he could take on a 6ft tall football player, no matter how pissed off said football player made him. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but Miles stayed put for the rest of class; it felt like a sniper was right behind you.

The all-too-familiar creak of the chair made you automatically grit your teeth.

“Oy, mi pana, you got gum?” Rafael murmured to you in his worst friendly voice. It was 10 minutes till the end of class, and he was asking now? You still had no idea what pana meant since he moved next to you, but the way he said it always made you feel icky regardless.

You quickly shook your head, getting a sigh out of him. You hoped he’d give up, but he just leaned over to whisper to you. “What do you think of that dude, huh?

“What?”

“Strange, yeah?”

“He’s okay.” Your defence was quiet, but it was the most you could do as you heard Miles scribbling right behind you.

“He’s drawing, dude.”

You looked at him almost incredulously. Rafael just rolled his eyes.

“Why do you care?” Your voice came out louder than you wanted.

“¡Silencio!” You gave Mrs. Fernandez, another one of your muffled “lo siento”s, shrinking into your seat as her eyes locked onto you. Snickering from Rafael’s friends only fuelled the embarrassment surging through your cheeks. Miles shuffled in his seat behind you, followed by the sound of paper being crumpled up. You wanted to crumple up the smug expression plastered on Rafael's face right now.

Class ended with another stack of homework in your backpack, and you were more than happy to leave. Free period — you could get a start on the homework. Or talk to Wellston about that extra class. The thought made you wince, but you didn’t exactly have a choice. You had to see him by the end of the day.

“Ay, Milo!” You turned to see Rafael and his little group approaching Miles’ desk. “What’s good?”

“Nothing.” He kept his voice low, pushing his chair under the desk. The boys just laughed as he got up, a grating mix of malice and mirth.

“Right, right. Puerto Rican, eh?” It sounded like Rafael was just talking for the sake of talking. You were also standing for the sake of standing too, of course.

Miles let out a mumble as a confirmation of sorts. Heading for the door, he was blocked by Rafael.

“Ay, where you goin’? Let’s talk, huh? Got a free period?” You could see Miles’ eyes narrow, a flash of impatience in his demeanour before he let out a breath. Rafael was trying to get a kick out of this. A kick out of some kid with a dead dad.

“Someone’s waiting for me.”

“Huh? What’d you say? You got friends?” The start of more laughs were already forming around Miles.

You didn’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the regret of not saying anything earlier, or the strange intrigue you’d felt since a week ago. Peeking your head through the door, you took a step back into the classroom. “Miles, c’mon.”

The gnawing feeling only intensified as you felt four sets of eyes on you at the same time. You’d rather it be hunger than the anxiety coursing through you at that moment.

“Comin',” he murmured, shoving past the three boys towards the door.

The two of you left the classroom, hearing a faint “what the hell man?” as the door fell shut. Miles lingered behind you as you approached the next turn in the hallway.

“What’s your name?” He’d already stepped in front of you.

No thanks or anything? Well, he didn't really owe you anything. It was "the right thing to do", like the many anti-bullying posters around the school encouraged you to do. God damn Visions.

“You uh… know my name.”

“Wanna hear it from you.” His voice had a little twinge of an accent that you hadn’t noticed before. You tried not to think too hard on it. Too many details for too little of an interaction.

“You’ve gotta introduce yourself first — pretty sure that’s how it works,” you tried to joke, something like embarrassment replacing the lingering anxiety in your stomach.

“I did — in class.” Miles’ face was unreadable, but there was something like amusement in his voice.

“Not to me specifically, though.”

The two of you stood in the hallway as people ushered past you. A freshman almost hit you running past, making the two of you retreat to stand beside some lockers. Damn freshmen. You were a freshman only last year, but shoving past them in the cafeteria wasn’t exactly fun. Miles seemed unbothered, as he usually did.

“You seriously don’t know my name?” you continued, almost frowning a little.

“Let’s say I don’t.” He leaned back against the cold blue metal of the lockers, tilting his head at you. The tiny mannerism only made your embarrassment grow. “What’s your name, pana?”

“…I still don’t know what that means.” The frustrated sigh you let out made the corner of his mouth curl up.

“And I still don’t know your name, pana.” No wonder you didn’t bother to talk to anyone. It seemed like you never had the upper hand, first with Rafael and now with Miles. Truthfully, though, you knew which you’d rather talk to.

“Sounds like a food,” you continued, shrugging.

“Could be,” he pretended to muse. And to think you thought he was nice. You hadn’t decided to be annoyed yet, though.

“You know my name, Miles.” You must’ve looked funny the way you crossed your arms and furrowed your eyebrows, because that got an entertained breath out of him.

“Who’s Miles? Haven’t introduced myself yet.” His smirk wrote guilty all over his face.

“Milo, then?” It was a bit harsh, but his cockiness made you say it without much thought. The apology was written on your face already, and you unfolded your arms, deciding you couldn’t have Mrs. Hernandéz’s sass today.

“You wanna be called pana forever?” He slipped an earbud into one of his ears, the blue light flickering into life. At least you didn’t tick him off.

“Not like I care,” you murmured, trying to take a step away.

“Seems like you do.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked, trying to keep your tone in check as you glanced down the hallway.

“Do you?” You felt like you were talking into a mirror, one that reflected back a person that got all the more mysterious and annoying when you did.

“Yeah, actually.” Mr. Wellston’s class. The thought made your eyes narrow, probably in exhaustion, most likely in irritation. “Need to speak to a teacher.”

His brow raised in mild interest. “You in trouble?”

“I wish. It’s about some extra class I have to take.”

“Calc?” You turned to look at him again, and his expression was more knowing than curious now.

“How’d you guess…?” It sounded more like a statement, your tone more disappointed than surprised. Were you really that bad at Calculus? Maybe you did need this class, especially if calc-wiz thought so.

“…You have lunch today?” he thought to ask instead. For a moment, you were confused, until you remembered calc last week.

“Shut up.” Your cheeks burned, hand balling up the fabric of your uniform. God. Damn it. All.

“Aight, sorry.”

More silence. You should’ve blamed the growling on him.

“Why the class though? You failing?”

“I’m not failing… Just need some help, I guess” Your shrug wasn’t very reassuring.

“Anyone else goin’?” The longer he kept inquiring, the more you figured Mr. Wellston’s attitude was building up.

“No clue. Bet everyone else is gonna join, though. He’ll probably tell everyone anyway.” The people in your class were quiet, but desperate to out-do each other. Maybe the problem wasn’t you, but the fact that everyone else was trying so hard.

“He didn’t ask me.” The corner of his mouth dimpled into his cheek in thought.

“You’re good at calc anyway.”

“Haven’t been here a while, so I gotta catch up, right? Lemme come with.”

You tried to think of what to say as your hand found the back of your neck, but he was already walking past you. Miles looked back at you to see if you were following.

If he had somewhere to be, it didn’t seem to matter. You noted the slight rhythm to his step, wondering what he was listening to, and if his eyes were green or brown. Ripping away your gaze from him before you could chase that thought, you tried to dodge all the freshmen running around as the bell went for next period.

You had more questions than answers so far — both in your backpack to do this period and in your mind. Aside from Miles, you wondered what that extra class would be like, and what Wellston would say. A part of you hoped that Miles would be in that class with you, despite your less than favourable introduction. Maybe you’d figure out why the answer was six litres an hour. Maybe you could be friends.

What was the probability of that? Some questions couldn’t be solved with a calculator. But Miles didn’t need one, after all.

thank you for reading. im so tired of looking at this but its okay part 1 !!! hooray !!! next chapter is miles pov .... need more Substances in my Bloodstream before i post that though LMAO

dimmed hues of red lights spotted your vision as you came to, eyelids heavy as they peeled apart to reveal the room you assumed would be the setting of your demise. your head snapped up when you finally regained consciousness completely, fright-riddled eyes darting around to scout out an escape plan. but just as you went to move, you heard chains clink from above as your body swayed, and realized you couldn’t. you looked down to find your legs bound by rope, as well as your hands, as well as the rest of your body to a firm, stuffed sack.

feet dangling from the ground, you let your head fall back against the punching bag, defeated, and settled for your only remaining option. “help!” you yelled, voice rasped and weak. “help!” you tried again.

“don’t bother, can’t hear a thing down here.”

an artificial, robotic voice sounded from above, warranting your eyes to meet a masked man who resided on a high beam, crouched in place, watching you. how long had he been there?

he jumped down, catching himself and effortlessly hanging from one arm before his sneakers met the steel floor. they were untied, you noticed.

fear permeated your entire being as he strolled over to you, a semblance of uneasiness coursing through your veins, pumping into your blood and rendering your spine straight as the ominous figure stopped just in front of you.

“ple—please, i don’t know why i’m here,” the words tumbled out in a broken heap of suffocated, stifled sobs as tears welled in your eyes.

“shh, it’s okay,” he shushed you, a hand reaching out to gently pinch your chin, lifting your head back up after it’d fallen. his touch was delicate, like he was scared he’d break you.

“i’m not gonna hurt you, mi vida. i’d never hurt you… you know that.” the voice distorter cut out, your breath catching in your throat and your eyes fluttering over every inch of this strange mask. it reminded you of a ventilation mask you’d seen in miles’ room once, a mask used to protect your lungs from the fumes of spray paint.

as if your mind were working against you, you found yourself… calmer than you were just a few seconds ago, and even more confused. why did the voice sound so familiar?

something wasn’t right.

“who— who are you?” you gulped.

“you don’t remember me?” the shield over his face pulled back, the quiet sound of mechanical whirring as it revealed his face drowned out by the heavy thrumming of your heart in your ear drums.

here stood your boyfriend in front of you, the same features, but… different. his entire demeanor had shifted since you had last seen him just prior to whatever time it was now, to something sinister. his hair was longer, pulled back and braided. an accent, almost resemblant of his mother’s lingered on the tip of his tongue, dripping within the words he spoke. his face was harder, etched and carved like the weight of the world had chipped at it piece by piece, only to settle on his shoulders, leaving him with no time for himself.

this couldn’t be right.

“miles?” you choked out, mouth gaping to find your voice. “w-why… what am I—you’re, you… but different? what is this? where am i?”

a puff of air shot through his nostrils, his best effort at a laugh as a small, smile lifted the corner of his lips, braids gliding over his shoulders when his head tilted to the side.

“you came back to me, mi amor. and god…you’re even more beautiful than i remembered.” he breathed, eyes flickering with sorrow for just a moment as they studied your face, a moment that was almost too brief for you to catch.

when he’d encountered you and his counterpart on the roof with his uncle, he swore his prayers had been answered. somehow, someway you’d been brought back to him— the pain of witnessing the bullet that pierced through your chest that fateful night just a year ago drifted from his mind, and replaced itself with the all consuming, peaceful, sleeping image of you the minute he’d picked you up and cradled you in his arms. it pained him to inject you with the needle to sedate you, but he had no other choice, he could never truly hurt you. no, he would never do that.

“i missed you so much.”

“first time in a long time hurtin' deeply inside”

the hand sporting his mechanical gauntlet lifted towards you, fingers bending so the claws wouldn’t scrape your skin as he let the cold metal brush against the swell of your cheek. the sound of the steel joints ticking made you flinch, chest stuttering for breaths you couldn’t keep within your overworked lungs as you turned away from him.

you looked at him with so much fear in your eyes, when all he’s ever wanted to do was keep you safe, to protect you, to make you feel comforted and secure. and he failed at that before, he knows that, but he’s ready this time. he’d been given a second chance, and he’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers again.

“it’s me, hermosa… it’s okay, you know me. just trust me, and i can set you free, and then we can be together. just like old times.” his brows furrowed, his tone one of sincerity as he assured you, but it did nothing for your racing heart.

“trust—“ you sputtered, voice wavering when you spoke. “trust who? you? how can i when you have me tied up like this?!” you balked, your bewilderment such a stark contrast from his bleak, seemingly unmoving disposition.

“yeah… i’m real sorry ‘bout that. uncle aaron made me, so i tried not to make ‘em too tight. you know something like this would never, ever be my idea.”

you shook your head, was this some kind of sick joke? why wasn’t he understanding a single word that was coming from your mouth?

you grew frustrated, time was not on your side, and honestly you were getting tired of this game.

“i don’t know anything about you, i don’t even know who you are. you might have his face, and—and his body,” you looked him up and down. “but you… you are not my miles.”

he felt a pang in his chest, the words you uttered, the way you said ‘my miles’, as if he wasn’t right here, as if he wasn’t right in front of you. the version of himself he’d buried in the ground with you just last year wanted to jump out and yell at you, plead with you, anything to make you see he could be just like your miles, because he was your miles.

“oh,” he pulled the skin of his cheek between his teeth as he turned away with an agitated nod, extending his arm out to point towards your miles, who was still unconscious, chin dropped to his chest as he hung from another punching bag.

“him?” his voice raised in volume and broke apart with desperation, a humorless chuckle unintentionally escaping his trembling lips. “what’s the difference? huh? tell me.” he demanded, nostrils flaring as he tried to maintain his composure, staring deep into the eyes of the girl who would’ve burned the whole world down with him if he asked. the girl who was in his grasp, right in this moment, yet still so far from his reach— reserved for the one who had everything that belonged to him.

your head whipped to where he pointed, and the moment your eyes landed on your boyfriend your blood ran cold, a pained gasp rippling your chest. “miles! oh god, please!” you called out for him as you struggled against your restraints, his counterpart interrupting you by blocking your line of your view with his body.

“cálmate,” he hummed, “he’s fine, just unconscious. i’m not cruel. is that how you remember me, mamí?” he questioned, voice bleeding with hurt.

your gaze drifted over to your miles again, hope swelling within you when you heard him groan.

“no, no, princesa. don’t look at him, look at me.” he urged.

he didn’t understand. you always used to say you would love him in every universe, that you’d find him in every lifetime, what happened to that?

“please, we need to get home, if we don’t… he won’t be able to save his father, he—he’ll die. you have to understand.” you pleaded, the tears finally bubbling over your waterline, streamlining down your cheeks.

“you are home! it’s me, mi amor, i’m right here. what about everything we went through?” he asked tenderly, voice full of hurt and eyes still soaking in the slight difference in your features. he was too distracted by the fact that the girl he thought he’d never see again, was right here in front of him to even try and comprehend what you were trying to say. “please, don’t cry. you know i hate seeing you cry.”

nothing else seemed to be working, so you settled for empathizing with him. he was still miles, after all, different universe or not, he was still the same person deep down. and from the way he was looking at you, love flowing from the eyes that held so much anguish within them, you knew some version of you had loved him, too. in the same way you loved your own.

“look, i’m sure i-“ you stopped to correct yourself, “she, loved you, but i’m not her. i’m not from here, and i’m sorry she’s gone, and i’m sorry you have to live with this pain, but, please… you have to let me go.” your tone was forbearing, words teetering off into a hushed plea, your lingering apprehension threatening to tear through the seam of your heartfelt spiel.

“let you go?”

you nodded tentatively.

he moved closer to you, to unbound you from this elevated prison, you assumed. because maybe, just maybe you’d managed to get through to him.

but this wasn’t your universe, and this… this was not your miles.

for the first time in your entirety of knowing miles morales, you felt your heart stop— and not in the way that brought a flurry of warmed, passioned butterflies to flutter within you— but in a way that invited his words to settle like ice in your bones, allowed panic and dread to inhabit your senses, clutching you in a selfish grasp of resentment that had no intentions of letting you go— you realized, as this time, his gloveless hand swiped away yet another tear you hadn’t even noticed you’d shed.

“why would i do that?”

“I've given you enough time. hurtin' deeply inside.“

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