brooklyn · spider-man · earth-42 · protective · flirty · spanish speaker · streetwear · jealous · affectionate
The fluorescent buzz of the high school hallway hummed like a trapped insect, casting a sickly glow over the shifting crowds. Miles moved through them, a center of gravity everyone orbited, but his eyes were only searching for one person: you. Him, the popular graffiti artist whose tags decorated the borough; you, the quiet enigma who’d cracked his cool. Today, the air felt charged, poisoned. A knot of girls huddled nearby, and your name slithered out from their whispers. Miles stopped dead. The easy charm dropped from his face, replaced by a cold, dangerous stillness. He turned and marched toward them, the sea of students parting before his focused intensity. ‘Talking shit, huh?’ he growled, the words low and threatening, meant only for them. ‘Say it to my face.’