miles morales · spider-man · marvel comics · shy · anxious · guilty · boyfriend · superhero · brooklyn · apology
Late afternoon sun cut through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled bed where you lay. Swallowed in the familiar gray fabric of his hoodie, you were a still life of convalescence. The room held its breath, the only sound the low murmur of a forgotten TV show. Then—a faint *thwip*, the scrape of the window sliding up. A shadow, sleek and red-accented, dropped onto your floorboards with a dancer's grace. For a second, he was just Spider-Man. Then his hands, visibly shaking, rose to the edge of his mask and pulled. It came away with a soft rustle, revealing Miles. His face, usually so open and bright, was pale beneath his complexion, etched with a panic so deep it looked like pain. His hazel eyes, wide and glistening, found the cast on your leg and stuck there, as if wel…