"Why did he do it?"
Jealousy.
Standing in the corner of the housewarming party with a glass of wine in his hand and a stupid party hat on his head that Layla had forced him to wear, Miguel watched the multicolored lights dance across Miles' face as he gleefully chatted with the other guests, and jealousy was all he felt.
After the accident of the canon event and the criticism he ironically received from everyone, despite the funny fact that they had all indulged in the chase, he alone apologized to Miles Morales, but he never really meant it. All Miguel could think as he shook the boy's hand seven years ago was, "Why?"
Why him. Why could he stop the canon? Why couldn’t he? He lost his world, and he lost the world his daughter was in.
He had lost everything, despite how hard he tried. But that boy, all he did was try to, and just like that, he rewrote a story that was set in stone. A story that Miguel couldn't change. A story that not only took everything from him but also from many others.
As the years went by, the announcement that people from different dimensions couldn't be together was made known. And just like the canon event, Miguel watched with pure hatred in his eyes as the mother-fucking Miles Morales defied that rule, and to make matters worse, he himself was the one who made that rule. So watching the boy, whom he already couldn’t stand, challenge his rule, his authority made his blood boil. And just when everyone expected his relationship to fail, it fucking succeeded.
Just great.
That irked Miguel. Even though the person Miles was with was his student, he couldn't stand it.
When he moved to another dimension, that dimension and his own were destroyed, but his student Margo moved to Miles' dimension, for she didn’t need to be in her universe physically to protect it. With her intelligence and her world technology that was way ahead of dimension 1610, she made a name for herself. It was quite funny, wasn't it? His moving to another dimension caused it to disappear, and hers made it more prosperous.
He couldn’t stand it. He just couldn't.
Result?
There he stood in the opulent penthouse. The housewarming party was over, and everyone had left. Margo had gone to the store to buy something, leaving the luxurious penthouse where she and Miles now reside in serene silence.
Well, almost—
Miguel was in the house, and Miles? Well, Miles was on the floor, cold—almost lifeless, one could say.
Two fang marks on his neck as he gasped for air in shallow, painful breaths. His vision was fuzzy; he was trying his best to stand up, but to no avail. The pool of blood around him generated by his own blood was tripping him, each fall more excruciating than the last.
If the canon wasn’t gonna do its job, if the universe wasn’t gonna do its job, then he would do it.
Miguel thought to himself, towering above the wretched man, his anger burning like an unquenchable fire.
He had let that anger out, unleashing it upon Miles, who was now older but still no match for Miguel's strength. He caught the man off guard and beat him half to death. After that, biting him became a child's play.
Miguel wanted to suck Miles dry, but more importantly, he wanted Miles to feel the unending misery that had plagued him for years. It was a foolish yearning, yet it had been his feeling for years.
And now it was Miles’ turn to suffer the same fate. The corner of Miguel’s lips tugged into a twisted smile as he took in with his eyes the one everyone called Sun, laying at his feet like a mere insect, desperately trying to cover his neck to stop the bleeding.
Miles gasped, his voice trembling as he muttered, "Why?" His shaky hand clung desperately to Miguel's ankle, the puncture wounds on his neck throbbing with pain. Even now, he still hadn’t grasped the situation. Just moments ago, he had been chatting happily with Miguel, and in the blink of an eye, the man attacked him.
If it weren’t for his spider senses, Miles knew he would've met a deadly fate. The shock and disbelief weighed heavily on his heart. And all he could do was ask and hope to be graced with an answer.
The urge to kick Miles’s hand away and stomp on it was strong and appealing, but Miguel resisted, for he knew that even an action as simple as that could cause Miles to push Daisies, so he settled for a cold and loud chuckle, sending a cascade of unsettling shivers down Miles's spine, his entire body quaking with a mixture of fear, confusion, and a growing sense of betrayal.
Outside, the sound of a car parking echoed on the deserted street. He heard it. The soft footsteps nearing. A familiar humming sound as they approached the entrance. Then, the soft creak of the door as it was gently pushed open. Miguel heard it all.
He could’ve left, but he didn’t. He should've, but he didn’t. Hurting Miles was his goal, and he harbored no remorse for that. But could he take the pain of betrayal that will soon wash over his student? He had no idea.
"What game are you guys playing?" Margo inquired, her voice brimming with curiosity as she stepped into the room, completely oblivious to the impending tragedy.
Miguel's heart clenched as he met Margo's trusting gaze, a trust so profound that it almost hurts to look at. She didn't for a moment entertain the possibility that her teacher had harmed Miles, despite seeing him on the ground. Her mind steadfastly rejected any notion of such a horrifying reality, leaving Miguel grappling with the weight of his deceit.
Margo walked to the kitchen counter, placing her shopping bag down, her sense of security still intact.
"M-Margo," Miles's voice quivered faintly, but she caught it. Her movements stilled, and she slowly turned her head toward him.
“W-ah, what game are y’a playing?” Miguel felt the shift in her voice. She was feeling uncomfortable, probably grappling with the thought that her teacher had hurt Miles.
"Run," Miles whispered, a sense of urgency in his voice, a plea for his lover to escape the impending danger. The tone of Miles's voice sent a chilling shiver down Margo's spine, one that forced her to take a step back, dropping the apple she was holding.
The sound of his voice wasn't right; it was a mere whisper, but it held such a strong trace of anguish, desperation, and pain that tears began to weld up in Margo’s eyes. Her heart was beating frantically; never had she seen her boyfriend display such emotions. It was clear that something was wrong. The second that registered in her head, Margo did the complete opposite of what Miles instructed.
She ran toward him.
The second her knees hit the ground, she placed a hand underneath his head, lifting it up to place it on her lap. Feeling the coolness of his brown skin against her palm sent panic through her veins. She had yet to notice the pool of blood she herself was sitting in.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” She mumbled desperately, caging his face with her hands, her tears blurring her vision. Miles couldn’t answer. He could barely manage to breathe, so multitasking wasn't on his cards.
"Who did this?" she demanded, her voice quivering with desperation as she looked up, her trust in Miguel clouding her judgment, causing her to search for an answer that stood right across from her.
“Who?!” Anger built into her at Migeul’s silence. Only then did he realize that she was asking him the question.
Wasn't that quite ironic?
Despite the pain, Miles managed to convey an understanding look. He recognized the depth of Margo's trust in Miguel. Sure, she didn’t agree with everything bullshit he threw out there, but she had faith in him. He understood why her mind was struggling or even refusing to understand what was really in front of her.
Weakly, he placed his hand on hers, drawing her attention to the fang marks on his neck. A chill ran down her spine, and for a brief moment, her entire body went numb. Her mind refused to acknowledge the meaning of those marks, but the soft gasps for air escaping Miles pulled her back into the present. Margo's eyes slowly rose toward Miguel. The confusion in them was hiding the rage behind them.
“Y-you wouldn't," she uttered, her voice more of a desperate plea than a statement. She silently implored him to deny it, to claim innocence. But Miguel's silence spoke volumes, confirming the painful truth she was beginning to grasp.
He really must’ve been crazy because Miles didn’t know what was more painful: watching tears streaming down his lover's face or the fucking wound on his neck still fucking bleeding. The answer should’ve been more obvious than the color of the ocean, yet he never felt so much anger coursing through his body as he did when watching Margo cry.
Margo's gaze remained fixed on the man she had called "teacher" for years, her eyes a tumultuous mix of emotions that hurt to even look at.
“You son of a–” she almost stood up, almost attacked him, But Miles's trembling hand on hers halted her, a silent plea for her to remain close to him.
She felt a wave of guilt wash over her, realizing she was making this about herself when Miles was the one suffering, the one in pain.
“Get the fuck out!!” She erupted, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her forehead pressed against Miles, who endured the pain with slow, controlled breaths.
She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to pay for this, but right now all she could and needed to focus on was Miles, and that was hard to do with the predator himself in the room.
Miles flinched, not from her outburst but from his own suffering.
“You're losing too much blood—oh god.” Margo's panic intensified as she grasped the extent of Miles's condition. The sight of blood on the ground sent shockwaves through her. How was he even still alive?-----She forcefully stopped her own thoughts, reached into her dimensional pocket an invention she had made and pulled out another one of her inventions.
A round, clear plastic like gauze With steady hands, she applied it to Miles's neck, pressing firmly to staunch the bleeding. Her invention proved invaluable in that moment, as it stopped the bleeding.
Margo cradled Miles's face tenderly as she helped him sit back against the couch. "Hey, hey, hey, you okay, you okay.” she whispered gently, her voice brimming with desperate reassurance. Her thumbs caressed his cheek repeatedly, as if to soothe away the pain and fear.
Miles managed a soft smile, hoping to ease her distress. It was evident she was saying those words as much for herself as for him. He could feel her vulnerability in that moment, but was he in that bad of a state?
One look over Margo’s shoulder at the pool of blood was enough to answer that question. A dry chuckle left his lips.
He was in a bad state, but despite that—
“I’m fine.” He reassured
her, using the last bit of strength he had to squeeze her hand.
Margo's red-rimmed eyes bore into his own as she posed the unsettling question. "Are you gonna change into a vampire or some shit?" She asked.
Miles let the weight of that question settle in. The truth was, he didn't know what would happen next. If he survives this, does that mean he’ll become— “I think death would be better—" he began with a dry chuckle, but the look on Margo's face stopped him in his tracks.
"Sorry, that's not what I meant," he whispered, his gaze falling to her thumbs still caressing his cheeks.
How would she react if he confessed that right now even those warm feelings aren’t reaching him? He was cold. She probably feels it too, right? His icy skin, right now he felt as if he had fallen into an icy lake and was locked there with no way out.
He was suffocating at the notion of not knowing what was going to happen.
Anger was swirling within him, a burning desire for retribution against Miguel. His gaze fell upon his own hand, but could he? Could he beat Miguel? Fuck! What was he supposed to do from now on? Feed on humans— oh—The simple thought of thar twisted his stomach into nausea, but he suppressed the feeling. The alternative, the realization that death might be the only escape from this torment, loomed ominously.
How many hours—no, minutes—did he have till he began craving blood? How many?!
He pressed his head back, laying it on the couch, one hand covering his face.
He was a monster now, wasn’t he? No words could truly capture the depth of his despair. Miguel wanted him to be an anomaly, and now he was one.
That son of a bitch must be sipping on a Romanée-Conti right now, he thought bitterly, his resentment for Miguel simmering beneath the surface.
Margo's eyes were filled with an overwhelming concern that Miles could sense, even with his face partially covered. He didn't want her to witness him in such a vulnerable state. While she had seen him in difficult moments before, this situation was entirely different. He had no way of predicting what might happen next, and he didn't want to burden her with his troubles. This was his problem, not hers so…
Slowly, he raised his head, his gaze meeting hers. His brown eyes, or at least he believed they were still brown, locked onto her own.
and Miles found himself captivated by Margo's eyes, now red from crying. They held a beauty that he had never fully appreciated before, reminding him of the way her cheeks darkened when she blushed. His eyes trailed to them, and then, almost involuntarily, his gaze drifted downward towards her neck.
His heart rate double. He was excited.
He had never noticed how pretty and warm they were. "Warm." The word echoed in his mind, pulling him under a strange and unsettling spell. His hand began to reach out towards her, his mind clouded by an inexplicable desire.
“Miles, Miles?” Margo's voice snapped him back to reality, and he realized with horror that his hand had strayed to her neck and he had been leaning towards her as if to bite her. Panic surged through him.
He wasn't—no, he wouldn’t do that—not to her.
Desperately, he moved his hand to her cheek, praying that she hadn't sensed his dark thoughts. "You should go home tonight," he stammered, aware of the irony in his words since this was her house too, but he needed her gone, not just for her safety but for his own sanity as well.
In a tender and unexpected gesture, Margo wrapped her arms around him, causing him to gasp in astonishment. “Margo?” Miles uttered, his chin nestled in the crook of her neck. The fragrance of her blood wafted towards him, intoxicating and tempting, surpassing even his favorite food—
“This is my home.”
Margo’s words knocked those eerie desires out of him and grounded him. Just a minute ago, he felt utterly lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. It was as if he had been a lost child in a chaotic city, and now she had appeared to hold his hand.
Tears glistened in Miles' eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, seeking protection and warmth in her embrace. His voice was a whisper against her, full of vulnerability. “I’m cold.”
Margo hastily stood up, intending to fetch blankets, but Miles’ reaction was swift. With inhuman speed, he pulled her back into his arms, refusing to let her go. "Don’t," he pleaded.
"I’m just gonna go get some blankets," she murmured.
"I don’t think that’ll help." He almost chuckled at the innocence of her thought. How could a blanket warm up a…Vampire?
"This…this is enough,"
He whispered, hugging her closer. A content sigh escaping his lips as he found comfort in her embrace. Margo knew it wasn’t enough. She knew that the life in which they were so comfortable had been changed forever, but right now all she could do was hold him tight, and so she did.