Chapter 16
Miles’s knuckles were still aching from training, stiff from the hours he spent jabbing the heavy bag until his shoulders gave out. Sweat clung to the collar of his hoodie, sticking to his skin like guilt. His mind didn’t stop running. Couldn’t stop.
Gwen.
The way she’d whispered that name—“Prow…”—in the middle of everything. He’d kissed her neck and she’d moaned it, soft and dreamy like she didn’t even realize it slipped out. His chest still burned thinking about it. Who the hell was that? Who else was in her head while she had her hands on him?
He fumbled with his keys at the door, only to pause when he noticed the faint glow of lights under it. He hadn’t left anything on.
She was here.
He pushed the door open and there she was—curled up on his bed, hair damp like she’d showered before coming, hoodie riding up her thighs, scrolling her phone like this was normal. Like she wasn’t driving him crazy without even trying.
“Hey,” she said, looking up with a small smile. “Thought I’d wait for you.”
Miles didn’t say anything. He dropped his bag near the door and stared at her like she was made of glass. Gwen sat up, her expression softening when she took in the tightness in his shoulders, the flicker of something wild in his eyes.
“You okay?” she asked, voice gentler now.
He shrugged off his hoodie and rubbed the back of his neck. “Tired,” he said.
She patted the bed. “Come here.”
He didn’t need a second invite. She leaned into him first—hands finding the side of his face, thumbs brushing over the line of his jaw as if she could ease the tension right out of him. Her kiss was warm, slow, deliberate. She kissed like she wanted to remind him she was here. That he didn’t have to spiral alone.
But his mind stayed loud.
She whispered his name against his lips. Traced her fingers down his chest. Slid onto his lap like gravity pulled her there.
And he let her.
Because he couldn’t say no to her, even when every nerve in his body was screaming. Even when he thought he might die not knowing. Who the hell was Prow-whatever?
Gwen moved with care, more tender than usual—like she was trying to love the fight out of him. Like she sensed he needed softness tonight. She gave him everything: warmth, closeness, all the little kisses down his throat. And still, it didn’t fix the ache.
Afterwards, she curled up on his chest, fingers playing lazily with his chain.
“You okay?” she asked again, quieter now.
“Yeah,” he lied.
But even with her arms wrapped around him and her lips pressed to his shoulder, his mind kept turning. He stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
Who is he, Gwen?
Gwen didn’t mean to stare. Not really. But it was hard not to when Miles had just peeled off his shirt, and the late afternoon light was slicing across his body like something out of a painting. Sweat clung to his skin from whatever workout he’d been doing before she showed up—he hadn’t said, just let her in and kissed her like he needed her more than breath.
And maybe that’s what it was. Desperate, clinging, silent.
He moved across the room to grab a clean towel, and that’s when she saw it.
The scar.
Long. Slanted. Right beneath his ribs.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
It was familiar. Too familiar.
Because two nights ago—maybe three now, it was all a blur—Spider-Woman had gotten lucky. She’d landed a blow on the Prowler that sliced through the side of his suit. The tear hadn’t been deep, but just long enough to expose a strip of skin. A scar, pale and jagged, in that exact same place.
And Miles—her Miles—had that scar.
“You alright?” he asked, voice low and a little hoarse from the exertion.
“Huh?” Gwen blinked quickly, tearing her eyes away and trying to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
But she wasn’t.
“Is that… from a fight or something?” she asked, motioning vaguely toward his side like it hadn’t been gnawing at her since the second she saw it.
Miles paused. Just for a second. Not long enough to notice if you weren’t looking for it. But Gwen was.
He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Got into something dumb a while ago. Not a big deal.”
Something dumb. That didn’t sound like the Miles she knew.
Or maybe she didn’t know him like she thought.
She laughed a little, trying to play it off. “What kind of dumb?”
He didn’t answer right away. His back was turned, rummaging through his drawers, and maybe that was intentional. “Doesn’t matter. Wasn’t anything serious.”
Right.
Gwen nodded slowly. Didn’t push it. But her brain was screaming.
That scar—it couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?
She played the scene in her head again. The Prowler stumbling back, his suit torn, just for a split second. The glimpse of skin. The scar.
And now Miles. Same placement. Same shape.
No. No, it couldn’t be.
Miles was sweet. Thoughtful. He painted. He cooked for his mom. He made her laugh when she couldn’t breathe.
The Prowler was cold. Calculated. Dangerous.
They weren’t the same.
Couldn’t be the same.
Still… her fingers clenched the fabric of her hoodie as she sat down on the edge of his bed. She looked at him again, not just at the scar but really looked.
Was she losing it? Or was something not adding up?
Her stomach twisted.
Something was off.
And the worst part?
She didn’t know if she wanted to be right or wrong.
The night air was heavy—moist with spring rain that never quite arrived, thick enough to slow her down. Spider-Woman crouched on the edge of a rooftop, breathing hard, heart thumping against her ribs like it wanted out.
Her arms trembled slightly. She wasn’t used to this kind of exhaustion.
They’d been going at it for nearly twenty minutes now—she and the Prowler.
He’d shown up out of nowhere in the middle of her patrol, as if summoned by some cosmic pull. No words. No threats. Just that silent stare behind the mask before lunging into her like the answer to a question she didn’t ask.
Every punch he threw, she countered. Every swing of her web, he dodged. Every time she tried to get away, he followed.
It was the most intense fight they’d had yet.
They were perfectly matched, and it was maddening.
Her body ached. Her fingers throbbed. The tips of her gloves were fraying, one of her lenses cracked. But she kept going.
Because he wasn’t getting away this time.
The rooftop gave way beneath their feet as they rolled, slammed, scrambled. She got in a hit to his jaw; he twisted her arm back. He was quick—but tonight, she was desperate.
Then it happened.
It was clumsy. It was messy. But it worked.
He misjudged a jump, and she slammed her foot into his side as he stumbled. He fell hard. Skidded. Rolled. And when he stood back up, his suit—just along his ribs—had torn.
Her breath hitched.
There. Clear as day.
A scar.
Same angle. Same length. Same everything.
Her heart dropped into her gut.
The Prowler noticed the tear. Covered it up with a grunt, tucking the suit back in place like it didn’t matter. But she’d already seen it.
The exact same scar Miles had.
She stood still for a second too long.
He lunged again, maybe sensing the shift in her rhythm. But she was gone, swinging across the air like the rooftop was on fire.
She didn’t stop flying for blocks.
Didn’t even breathe.
Not until she crouched behind an old water tower in a corner of Brooklyn Heights, hands shaking as the wind cut through her like ice.
No.
No, no, no.
That scar—it was just a coincidence. Right? Just… just a random thing. Lots of people had scars.
But she knew that shape. The slope. The way it dipped slightly at the end.
She knew it like she knew Miles’s smile.
Her mind reeled.
Could he really—?
No.
He couldn’t.
But she’d seen it. She’d seen it.
And her body refused to calm down.
Her stomach flipped. Her mouth was dry. Her fingers pressed to her temple like that would stop her thoughts from screaming.
There was no way.
But also…
There might be.
Miles didn’t even text her first. He just showed up.
He was outside Gwen’s apartment door, hoodie up, fists clenched at his sides as the hallway light flickered overhead. His heart pounded like it was trying to claw out of his chest. He told himself this was stupid. Told himself to calm down. But the second she opened the door, all of that restraint shattered.
“Miles?” Gwen blinked, surprised. “It’s late. Is everything okay?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Can I come in?”
She hesitated, stepping aside wordlessly as he walked past her. She shut the door slowly behind them. “What’s going on?”
Miles didn’t answer right away. He just stood in her living room like he didn’t recognize it anymore—like it belonged to someone he didn’t really know. The TV was still paused from the movie they half-watched earlier. A mug sat cold on the table.
“Is there someone else?” he asked finally. His voice cracked, like it hurt just to get the words out.
Gwen froze. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb, Gwen.” His hands were shaking now. He shoved them in his pockets. “You’ve been distant. Cold. Like I’m just… something temporary.”
“That’s not true,” she said carefully, taking a step forward.
“Then what is it?” he asked. “Because I see the way you look away now. Like you’re scared of me.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“But you’re hiding something. Or maybe I’m not the one you really want anymore.”
Her mouth parted like she had something to say but couldn’t find the words.
Miles laughed bitterly. “Is it him?”
“Him who?”
“The guy,” he said, voice rising. “The one you’re thinking about all the time. Is it him? Is there someone else, Gwen?”
She stepped back. “Miles, you’re overthinking—”
“I’m not stupid!” he shouted, and his voice broke at the end. “I know when someone’s slipping away from me. I know it.”
Gwen looked at him, eyes wide. He looked… broken.
Miles scrubbed at his face like he hated himself. “I—I don’t sleep. I’ve been seeing you pull away, and I don’t know how to fix it. I keep thinking about you with someone else, laughing the way you used to laugh with me. Touching him. Saying his name.”
“Miles—”
His eyes glistened, and he finally let the tears fall. “Just tell me. If there’s someone else, tell me. Don’t let me keep losing sleep over it.”
Gwen’s lips trembled. She hated this. Hated how much it hurt to see him like this. But she couldn’t lie. Not when she didn’t even know what the truth was anymore.
“There’s no one else,” she whispered. “But I... I’ve been scared.”
Miles frowned. “Of what?”
Her throat closed up. “Of finding out something I don’t want to believe.”
He stared at her for a long time. His voice was soft. “You think I’m lying to you.”
Gwen didn’t answer.
And that silence said more than anything she ever could’ve said out loud.
The alley echoed with a solid crack as Miles drove his knee into a thug’s ribs.
The guy dropped, gasping for air, coughing on blood. Miles didn’t stop—he grabbed the collar of the second one and slammed him against the graffiti-stained wall, ignoring the whimpering plead for mercy. This crew had been harassing vendors on the edge of his turf. Under normal circumstances, Miles would’ve just scared them off.
Tonight? He needed pain. He needed noise.
“Please, man—” the last guy wheezed.
“Shut up,” Miles snapped, dragging him to the pavement with a heavy shove. He loomed over them, shadows swallowing his figure, claws gleaming purple in the dim light. “You know what block this is?”
“N–No—”
“This is my block.”
Silence. He left them bruised and limping but alive, stalking away through the alley with heavy footsteps. His heart still thundered like a drum in his chest. It wasn’t enough.
He needed more.
The next stop was the gym.
It was almost midnight, but Aaron was still there, taping his knuckles in the ring with the lazy rhythm of someone who knew he was about to get punched. When Miles walked in, sweaty and wired like a live wire, Aaron raised a brow.
“Rough night?” he asked.
Miles didn’t answer. Just climbed into the ring.
Aaron smirked, tossing him the gloves. “Ah, so it’s that kind of night.”
Miles said nothing as he strapped the gloves on.
They didn’t waste time. The first punch Miles threw came in hard and fast—wild, angry, uncoordinated. Aaron blocked it with a grunt, immediately countering with a jab to the ribs.
“You ever think about takin’ a breath first?” Aaron grunted.
Miles lunged again. More hits. More dodges. More sweat flinging off his brow.
“Seriously, kid—what is it this time? That blond-chick again?”
That made Miles falter for half a second. Aaron caught him in the stomach.
“Thought so.”
“Shut up.”
Aaron just laughed, dodging the next hit. “You only train like this when she’s got you twisted up.”
Miles landed a solid blow on his uncle’s shoulder, teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached. “She’s pulling away. I can feel it.”
Aaron tilted his head. “So what, you think she’s got someone else?”
“...I don’t know,” Miles muttered.
But the weight in his chest said otherwise.
“She say that?”
“She didn’t have to.”
Aaron took a step back, wiping sweat from his brow. “Miles, you can’t keep tryin’ to punch your way through feelings.”
“You’re one to talk,” Miles growled, gloves still up.
Aaron chuckled. “Fair. But at least I don’t go fallin’ in love with girls who keep secrets.”
Miles froze.
The silence cracked between them like thunder.
Aaron frowned. “Wait… are you in love with her?”
Miles dropped his gloves.
And the look on his face—tired, broken, wide-eyed—said everything.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But I think I’m losing her. And I don’t even know why.”