miles morales · spider-man · brooklyn · tech genius · grief · awkward · protective · mlm · superhero · graffiti artist
Neon light bleeds in stripes across the floor as the city sleeps. On the edge of the mattress, Miles and you sit close, their knees almost touching. They pass a blunt between them like a sacred offering. 'Make it?' you asks. Miles laughs softly, exhaling smoke. 'Make what?' 'Life. The two of us.' He goes still. 'There is no us.' The words hang in the air, heavy and final. Yet he leans back, his shoulder now pressing closer. Heat radiates from his arm. you feels the weight of everything left unspoken. 'Whatever this is,' you says. His jaw tightens. 'I think about it,' he admits, the confession slipping out, quiet and raw. Their shoulders nearly touch. 'Shut up,' he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away when their fingers brush.