Miles Morales loves taking photos; it’s always been something he can’t help as an artist.
Every phone he’s ever had was filled to the brim with photos; the camera app was used way more than any communicative function on the phone. Photos of family gatherings, selfies from when he was just entering middle school, dumb videos of his old friends running around the block and causing mayhem. Random pictures of strangers on the subway who he thought looked cool, clips of street performers, and anything odd he might see while traversing the streets of his concrete home.
He’s spent an entire semester learning how to use Adobe Lightroom, even creating a side hustle during the summers, helping out people on his block with their own family pictures, wedding photos, etc. He offers assistance to some of the rich, popular kids at school with their social media pictures. He even raised enough cash to buy himself a drawing tablet and a professional camera.
Miles takes pride in his photography, even if it isn’t always perfect or visually appealing.
The shots of his friends mid-laugh, or catching them off guard while making the dumbest face ever, are his favorites. The annoying .5 pictures where Miles had the camera impossibly close to their face are the ones he shows Ganke when he asks if Miles had fun hanging out with his friends. Sure, he probably drives his friends crazy sometimes because he is always taking pictures of everything they do together. Always there at the right time to take the worst possible picture of them doing something weird or gross. But at least he’s aware that it’s annoying sometimes, but he can’t help it! If his parents are going to pay all this money for him to have a phone with all these cameras, then sue him for utilizing what he’s given.
What’s his favorite thing to take photos of you may be asking?
It used to be New York’s skyline, especially right as the sun was setting. But now?
Well…
Don’t call him corny but-
His boyfriend, Hobie Brown?
Singlehandly takes up so much of Miles’ camera roll, he had to beg his mamí to upgrade his iCloud storage.
But can you blame him? He literally had one of the prettiest boys in the multiverse as his boyfriend. Hobie was a work of art that Miles wanted to sink into the colors that made the canvas what it was. A compelling masterclass of strokes and brushes, and Miles couldn't help that he felt as if he needed to capture Hobie's essence into as many media forms as he could, and still that wasn't enough.
His camera roll is full of moments of their relationship. Pictures from their first actual date, snapshots of the two doing graffiti together in Hobie's universe, Miles had taken mementos of it all.
Videos of Miles forcing Hobie to do TikTok trends with him because Hobie will do anything Miles asks him to, no matter how stupid (though he did enjoy doing the outfits trend to that song by some Ocean guy). Videos of Hobie onstage with his band, looking directly into Miles' camera with the biggest smile. These were the moments his friends got to see, that he would send to Peter after the elder had texted Miles, asking about his day. That he would one day show to his parents once he finally gains the nerve to come out to them.
But there were pictures and videos that only Miles and Hobie ever saw, locked away in the confines of their text messages and private albums. One's where they're laying in bed together in their bonnets, soft kisses pressed into their skin, living as if they were normal teenagers. One's where Hobie had propped one of their phones on a nearby counter and then made Miles dance with him in the younger's living room, a clear testimony that Miles has much more rhythm than Hobie. One's where Hobie had taken Miles' phone, leaving dumb pictures and videos of him singing whatever song was on his mind at that moment.
Miles’ favorite video of the two wasn’t even on purpose; Miles had left his phone recording after taking a quick video of the ocean. The pair had been sitting on top of the clocktower; Miles sat between the punk’s legs as he drew New York’s skyline in the style of Earth-138. The silence the two had been sitting in had been gentle, cascading over them in a blanket of warmth, protecting them both from the loud sounds of the world. Hobie was the first to unwrap them from the blanket as he tightened his hold around Miles’ waist and spoke freely into the air.
“Ey, ‘flower?”
Miles hums in response, lost in his artwork. The quiet sounds of the ocean’s waves crashing against one another fill the silence.
“I ‘hink I’m in love wit’ ya.”
The sound of Miles’ pencil dropping onto his sketchbook can barely be heard, as the boy turns around to face his boyfriend.
“What?” His response is feather soft, a light breeze could easily carry the words away into the sun.
“I’m in love wit’ you, Miles. “
Despite not being able to see his face, the raw emotion within the british teens voice was overpowering.
“Are you sure? I don’t want y-you to say it because you feel like you have to.”
“I’m extremely sure, moppet. I’ve lived a life of squattin’ and fightin’, of not knowin’ who I could trust and if I was ever going to have some place to turn to. Then I met you and suddenly everything made sense in a way I didn’ ‘hink was possible. I don’ feel alone anymore. Everytime I see you it feels as if I’m coming home because you have that effect on me. I doubt ‘his makes much sense but you have altered the beat of my heart, it’s much wilder than before.“
The sound of a kiss can be heard. A kiss to the forehead? The lips? Maybe a soft kiss was gifted to Miles’ hand instead…
“I love you and you will have me as yours until ‘m gone, yeah? You make me better Miles, you accept every par’ of me without question and you have put a light to the darkest par’ of m’self. You don’ have to say it back, hell you don’ have to ever say it, but ‘ll love you enough for the both of us ‘til you're tidy, okay?”
There’s a moment of silence, wavering as if it was glass tethering on the edge of a skyscraper. Then there’s an intake of air. Then another and another and another and soon it’s the unmistakable sound of someone crying. The sound of a panicked breath can barely be heard, but it’s there.
“Miles? Miles, d-don’ cry, luv. I ain’ mean to make ya upse-”
“Te q-quiero mucho, gilipollas. Te amo tanto, que me a-aterroriza cada maldito día.” The words are spoken through tears, but there’s light laughter following the end.
“I don't have much of a clue what you just said, but I reckon the feelings’ mutual?”
“Yes, yes it does. I love you too, Hobs’, more than you’ll ever know.”
Usually, the issue of leaving his phone recording in his pocket by accident would annoy Miles, but this time, he was never more thankful for his inattentiveness. He loves this recording more than anything he owns and listens to it frequently. It’s become a comfort item for him, as cheesy as it may sound. He listens to it on nights when everything becomes too loud, too much to bear by himself. He repeats Hobie’s emotion-ridden confession in his headphones when he’s far into his self-doubt, questioning if he’s good enough for Hobie or if he’s just missing the British teen.
Actually, now that he’s thinking about the British punk, he needs to call him to ask if Hobie wants to come by for their weekly movie night; he just needs to find his phone and-
Wait.
Where is his phone?
★✧✮
The discarded phone on the counter was buzzing loudly. Text after text came through to the point where it was beginning to annoy Rio as she made dinner; the makings of Asopao de Camarones spread across the counter. She was tired from her shift at the hospital, Jefferson wasn’t going to be home until the next day, and Miles had been showing signs of being stressed, so making something quick and comforting was the best course of action.
Another buzz hits the marble countertop as she washes her hands, quickly drying them with a (hopefully clean) dish towel. Rio reaches for the device, ready to turn it off, and to yell for Miles to come get his phone, but the picture taking over the lock screen causes her to pause.
It was Miles and another boy cuddled close together in presumably Miles’ bed. While the boy’s face was hidden away into Miles’ neck, Miles’ face was clear as day, smiling wider than Rio had ever seen him, and it pulled at her heart. There was a softness to the picture that filled Rio’s soul with warmth, the soft hue of the sun serving as the only lighting in the photo.
The photo, as simple as it was, was absolutely beautiful.
But now there’s the problem that her son has a secret boyfriend.
Just Rio’s luck, whoever this boy was sent another text to her son, its words illuminating the screen. There’s still no name attached to the mystery boy, the contact name only reads mi alma🎸 , and the message reads: u ignorin me or sumn darlin?
‘Darling?’ Rio stares at the phone screen a bit longer before turning it off and setting it back down in its original place. Moving to continue her cooking, attempting to look as non-suspicious as possible.
Is this what Miles was attempting to tell her on top of the water tower all those months ago? That he liked boys and had a boyfriend? Why hadn’t he come to her by now about this? It’s been months since that day! Had she or Jefferson done anything to make Miles feel he couldn’t share this part of himself with his parents?
As these questions begin to fill Rio’s mind, the sound of a door opening breaks her thoughts. Miles steps out into his doorway, walking into the living room as he looks for the phone that was sitting discarded on the counter. Rio watches her son from the corner of her eye as she pours the cooled shrimp broth into an empty pot on the stove.
"Mamí! Have you seen my phone?" Rio turns as Miles continues his search between the couch cushions.
"It's on the counter!" A hum of acknowledgment leaves Miles as he moves to sit at the counter, grabbing his phone. A smile spreads across Miles' face as he presumably reads the string of texts sent by the mystery boy.
"So, Mijo, do you have anything new you want to share with your mother?"
"Uhhh, no?" Miles looks at her with an eyebrow raised, "Everything's fine, mamí."
The sound of onions and peppers sizzling in the large pot on the stove fills the silence. The smell of his mother's sofrito briefly circles around the two, and Rio hopes it serves as a silent reminder that he's safe within the walls of their home.
“Sabes que puedes decirme cualquier cosa cariño, estoy aquí para ti.”
Miles' grip on his phone becoming slightly tighter is unmissed by his mother. "You saw my lock screen, didn't you?" Miles looks up at his mom with a nervous smile. 'Tío Aaron always said that taking all these pictures would get me in trouble one day.'
"It's a possibility."
"Mamí, I-" A sigh leaves Miles as he begins to fidget, picking at his nails like he used to when he was younger. He doesn't see it, but Rio's eyes soften as his nervousness becomes more noticeable. "I promise I was going to tell you and Dad; I was gonna plan this whole thing so you guys could meet him over dinner. I'm sorry I kept it from you, and I really hope you aren't mad and-"
Rio grabs her son's hand. A smile that only a mother could produce grows on her face as she steps around the counter to give Miles a hug. "Mijo, it's okay. I'm happy that you've found someone, regardless of whether it's a boy or a girl. I'm sorry if we've made you feel like we wouldn't be supportive of this or of you." Miles relaxes into his mom's arms, fighting the urge to cry because he's spent months freaking out how they would react to the news.
Rio presses a kiss to Miles' forehead before leaving the embrace, moving back over to the stove (to her, hopefully not burning sauce). "We're always going to be proud of you, Miles. Lo único que queremos es que seas feliz, ¿de acuerdo, hijo?”
"Sí, mamí."
"Now, invite him over for dinner tonight; I want to see what this boy looks like!" Miles smiles fondly at his mom, sending a quick text to Hobie, letting him know that he was invited to dinner (and also to come through the front door for once).
"Do you have any pictures of him? Cause if you don't, I'll be surprised since it seems like you always have that camera of yours pointed at something."
"No, no, trust me, I have so many pictures of him." Miles stands from his seat, opening the photo album of pictures he's taken of him and Hobie on his phone, ensuring that it doesn't hold any photos of them in their spider suits. He gives his mother a minute to finish adding her shrimp to the asopao, observing like he used to do when he was younger. With Rio's hands now clean, Miles hands her his phone, preparing himself for her reaction. "This is my boyfriend, Hobie Brown."
"Oh my," To say that she wasn't expecting someone covered in chains and piercings to be the one to hold her son's heart is an understatement. Miles had always been a bit of a rebel like his Tío, so maybe Miles and Hobie weren't too much of an odd pair to see together. She can't wait to see her husband's reaction, though.
"Mami, don't judge."
"I'm not! He's just not what I was expecting, but you both look so happy in this picture." However, "happy" may not do the photo justice. Rio can't remember the last time she saw Miles smile this big, "Do you have any more of you two?"
"Uh yeah, just keep scrolling. That whole album is just pictures I've taken of him."
"Oh mijo, you have quite the collection of this boy, huh?"
If their skin tone had allowed it, Miles would've been redder than the tomatoes sitting on the counter. "Mamí-"
"Relax! I think it's cute," Rio hands the phone back to Miles as she returns to cooking, "Now, how much longer till he's here?"
★✧✮
Dinner went by a lot smoother than Miles had imagined it going, though Miles attests that to the fact his father was gone for the night. He loves his father truly, but the fact that his son's boyfriend was a cop-hating anarchist definitely would've caused severe judgment. But considering how his mom interacted with Hobie if it came to it, she would help convince his father to look past the blue laces. If anything could be considered to have gone wrong, it was that Miles definitely embarrassed Hobie by showing his mom some of the more embarrassing videos/pictures he had of the British boy.
Now that the two were left alone within the safe confines of Miles' room, his mom retreated to her bed after wishing the two goodnight; Miles couldn't help but smile as he waited for Hobie to finish getting ready for bed. While Miles loved how different and loud Hobie's style was, seeing the softer, more relaxed version of Hobie Brown was Miles' favorite thing. His makeup was removed, his septum and lip ring either hidden or taken out, his hair soon to be pulled under a bonnet and the ripped clothes and chunky jewelry were replaced with sweatpants and an oversized band tee. It was a version of Hobie reserved for Miles's eyes only, and Miles adored it.
As Hobie returns to the room, he's met with the familiar sight of Miles' camera flashing. He gives the camera a lopsided smile as Miles takes a few more pictures before tossing his phone across the room to his bed. "Got enough of me yet, luv?"
"Yeah, sorry. You just look really soft like this." Hobie stands between Miles' legs, taking his face into his hands as Miles' own hands snake around the taller's abdomen.
"Oh yeah? You say I'm pretty like this or some?" Miles tried to ignore the shiver running up his spine as Hobie's voice dropped down the octave as the two got closer.
"What if I am?" Miles' hands move to Hobie's arms, moving further up as he stands to meet Hobie's gaze. "You gonna do something about it, punk?" Without a word, Hobie pulls Miles impossibly closer as he brings him in for a kiss, not missing the way Miles smiles into it. Hobie's thumb rubs at Miles' cheek as gently as possible as Miles' own hands begin to play with the stray curls sitting at the nape of his neck. The two were definitely reaching a point where they shouldn't be able to breathe, but Hobie didn't care; he loved moments like this. He gets to hold Miles because, for some unknown reason, the multiverse allows him to have the light that was Miles Morales in his life. No one else got to see Miles like this, no one else got to tell Miles that they were in love with him, and even if they did, it would never mean the same as when Hobie said it.
Call him a sap, but Hobie would happily lose all the air in his body if it meant he could make moments like this last forever. But much to his dismay, they do need to breathe.
Miles is the first to pull away, breath heavy as he falls back into his desk chair. Hobie fights everything in him to not collapse onto Miles and kiss him stupid. "I'll be done in a minute; just gonna clean up my desk, okay?" With a short hum, Hobie presses a feather-light kiss to his lover's hand; Hobie moves away from Miles, reaching into the nightstand to pull out their bonnets before sitting on the twin bed.
He picks up Miles' phone to move it to the nightstand, not missing the lock screen holding a picture of the two. Now that he thinks of it, he doesn't even remember Miles taking the photo. The same could be said for most of the pictures Miles had shown to his mother that evening. He knew Miles had a knack for taking photos. The printed snapshots strung across his walls proved so. Hobie lays down on Miles' bed, carefully watching how Miles moves as he cleans his deskspace, and something pops into his head. "Can I ask you a question?"
"You know you can ask me anything, Hobs."
"Why do ya' snap pictures of everythin'?"
Miles stopped his task at hand, turning around in his chair to look at the punk lying in his bed. A smile spreads across Miles' face, but Hobie him well enough that there was sadness hiding behind it. He still loved that smile, regardless.
"At first, it was another artistic expression, a way for me to capture things that I could want to draw in the future. I was filling up phone after phone with pictures because it was fun to learn the ins and outs of photography." Miles opens a drawer on his desk, pulling out a rather expensive-looking camera from a dark black case. "I even bought this camera after I spent a whole summer helping my neighbors and people around the block with their family photos and stuff like that." Hobie doesn't miss how Miles' grip on the camera becomes slightly tighter as he continues speaking.
"After my Uncle Aaron died, the pictures I took suddenly had much more meaning to them. Sure, I have his record player and some of his other stuff, but physical items don't last forever. Having his things isn't the same as having the videos and photos I have of him and I." The camera is no longer in his hands, the task of cleaning his desk long abandoned as Miles makes his way to sit at Hobie's feet.
"It's the same with you guys. After I was left alone, I realized that there's so much to life that can be taken away from me in an instant. The lives we lead as spider people don't guarantee that we'll wake up the next day, that I'll get to enjoy the New York sunset for one more day. I want to have pictures and videos of my loved ones because something like another dimension-ending villain could send my life crashing down around me again. I could be left alone and outcasted again."
Miles faces Hobie and laces his hands through Hobie's, looking at him in a way that makes Hobie feel warm inside. Those big golden eyes held so much love that Hobie couldn’t resist sitting up so he could be closer to his flower. "I also want to capture everything you are. Despite it just being pictures and videos, I can still feel your presence, your soul. You're a masterpiece, Hobie Brown, and I hope I can spend the rest of my life capturing it in every way I can."
Hobie could only stare at Miles, eyes impossibly wide as he watched Miles' eyes flit back and forth, searching for any sign of emotion.
Somewhere deep in Hobie, he realizes this is another reason he loves Miles so damn much. If anyone else had asked him that question, they would've gotten a more straightforward answer. Something short and to the point, like, "Oh, I just like capturing what's around me." Yet, Miles trusted him enough to pour out his heart when he wasn't asked. Miles knew he could've told Hobie some bullshit, and Hobie would know that, but the punk wouldn't have questioned why he withheld the actual answer.
Miles had no issue reaching into his chest and ripping out his heart for Hobie to have, and that both terrified and amazed the punk.
God, fuck, maybe he needs to start holding onto all those rough drafts of songs he's written about Miles…
"Hobie?" The soft tone breaks Hobie out of his stupor, realizing he's left the room in silence by staring down Miles instead of answering. "I'm sorry, was that too much? I didn't mean to make the vibe all sad and shit-" His words are cut short by Hobie pulling them both down onto the bed, practically holding onto Miles for dear life as he furiously presses kiss after kiss onto Miles' skin.
Hobie stops his advances, leaning over Miles with a soft smile on his face. "You just walk through life with so much meanin', and I just,” Miles looks at Hobie with that same stare from earlier, and Hobie fully believes his heart will leap out of his chest at any moment. "I love you so much, Sunflower. Don' ever change, yeah?"
“Not in a million years, Te quiero demasiado punk.”
The two boys stare at each other a bit longer before Miles begins to yawn. The boys continue basking in each other's warmth as they shift into a more comfortable position beneath the covers. Miles quickly connects to his speaker sitting on his windowsill, turning on the playlist of liminal music he's created to help him sleep since everything that happened. Suddenly, Miles realizes how tired he is as the heat emitting from Hobie was pulling him like a sailor to a siren's voice, telling him that he is safe to rest. Before Miles closes his eyes, he feels Hobie reach over him for something on the nightstand. He opens one eye to see Hobie unlocking Miles' phone, pressing a kiss to Miles' cheek as the camera's flash goes off.
And if Miles noticed that Hobie’s lock screen suddenly matched his own as they hung out a few days later?
He wasn’t going to do anything but smile at his boyfriend.