☆
Will I ever be in love like this? Miles asks. God is silent.
His curls are braided down into two plaits, his distressed Lucky jeans falling softly on his curved brown hips. His loose “God ♥ Cowboys” tee rests right above them. The Black Sony headphones his Uncle Aaron got him last Christmas are settled on the tender loop of Miles’ neck, the ear cushions a soft blue.
Summers in Brooklyn weren’t dull but they did get old. And yes, Miles had wanted a change but he didn’t expect that change to come in the form of his sort-of uncle/mentor getting married to whom he considered the scariest man alive.
His eyes blur slightly as he looks down at his lap, his fingers streaking across the invitation he’s holding. Peter’s voice echoes through his head as he looks at the announcement picture just behind it, his rosebud mouth open in a laugh as Miguel glares into the camera.
“I know it’s unexpected, kid. But I hope you still come. That all of you do.”
The longer he looks at the upcoming nuptial mementos, the less real they feel.
There’s a tightness in his throat that refuses to go away, his hands shaking as he turns the invite over. The cardstock is thick and the color of cow cream, a pearlescent shimmer dusting over the hand-done calligraphy. He’s so happy for Peter (sans Miguel), that Miles feels like his heart will fall out of his mouth like a bloody comet if he tries to speak.
The wedding was yet to occur and yet Miles felt exhausted as if the festivities had already occurred. Not only was the engagement shocking, so was the fact that Uncle Aaron’s ranch was where it was occurring. How they knew each other, Miles was unaware. Where this ranch had come from? Miles knew nothing about either.
Apparently, it had belonged to his grandfather on his Dad’s side.
He remembered his dad saying something along the lines of ‘a goddamn ranch? where did he even find the money?’ to his mother and Rio responding with a soft ‘cariño, hay cosas sobre tu padre que nunca sabrás. sometimes a gift is just a gift. sometimes the meaning is only understood by the person it was meant for.’
Things are weird with his father and his grandfather. Maybe that’s why Jefferson tries so hard with him.
And so now they were on a cross-country trip with Miles laying across the backseat with his legs tucked behind the driver’s seat, cheeks and fingers tender from being pressed against the window, looking out from within. The sunroof is open and birds fly across the sky, Miles’ eyes following them sleepily.
“Anybody starving?” a warm voice filters into the tepid silence.
Miles meets Hobie’s dark gaze via the rearview mirror, his lip piercing glittering tenderly as his mouth quirks in a knowing smile. Gwen is deep asleep in the passenger seat and Pav has just recently hung up with Gayatri, his phone plugged comfortably into the shared charger.
His parents had been skeptical of him going to this strange white man’s wedding but with a promise of him not driving alone and a hurried lie of Peter being a mentor via university he’d made it onto the road.
“I could eat,” he answers, and Pavitr hums in agreement.
Hobie makes no effort to wake Gwen, his eyes flicking over her slumped body before eyeing the road and surrounding exits. They’re halfway to Montana, in the depths of Wisconsin, and the scenery is indicative. The hills roll like green bodies, water snaking through the greenery like blue apparitions. The sun is dying and so the land looks molten, gold covering every inch of farmland that meets the eye.
Most cars around them are pickup trucks and Honda Civics, the highway waving off in the distance with the sudden sweep of heat. Miles smiles at a child looking wide-eyed through a passing car’s window, his cheeks bunching up and closing his eyes just slightly. Hobie catches the tail end of his joy and smiles fleetingly, teeth working at his bottom lip as he focuses on merging into the right lane.
They hadn’t fought over who would drive, but it was a surprise when Hobie said he had an American license. At their raised eyebrows he had laughed and said that he hadn’t mentioned anything about procuring it legally. That had made even Pav sweat and Miles sent a desperate prayer to God that they would make it to the O’Hara-Parker doorstep in one piece.
“Isn’t it so odd that they’re getting married?” Miles comments.
“Not really,” Gwen answers, her voice raspy and familiar as she wakes. “You weren’t at HQ for long but they were terrible at hiding it. I think most people missed it because it’s one of those things you refuse to believe. It doesn’t make sense at first glance so you shrug it off.”
Pav nods in agreement, the light reflecting off of his perfect hair like a disco ball refraction.
“But I have never seen Miguel look at someone the way he looks at Peter.” Gwen sits up and stretches, the skin of her back tanner than usual and showcased by her faded pink tank that reads ‘Paradise Dance Con 2033’. “There’s so much love there it’s suffocating. When he would get hurt on missions, it meant more.”
“It is a lovely time to get married,” Miles admits.
And it was. Summer is almost gone and the air is cool with the promise of fall. It’s ideal for an outside ceremony and a pleasant weekend in the valleys of the country.
Peter was the more outwardly excited of the two. It was constant photos in the sub-group chat they had created for just themselves. Some were so blurry they didn’t know what they were supposed to be, but it was fun anyway. They got together and treated it like a daily Wordle.
Some were simpler and so tender that it made Miles’ heart seize in his chest. Candids of Mayday and Miguel, her small body running quickly with her arms outstretched and Miguel in front of her, just out of focus but close enough to see the way his eyes are soft and his mouth parts in awe as he waits for his step-daughter to make it and close the distance.
The best ones were the silent texts from Miguel, sent when everyone was on Do Not Disturb. Perfect, square takes of Peter laughing and an up-close of their rings resting by a small glass of wine. Tiny bits of love infused into everyday life. He was otherwise inactive.
“I think it’s cute to do a wedding weekend,” Pavitr chimes in. “You keep it small in case of disaster, which in this case could be a villain or Peter B. himself by accident, and you spend more money on having fun.”
There’s a beat of silence and then,
“I’m going to mention it to Gayatri.”
That cracks Gwen and Miles up and Hobie lets out an amused huff before exiting smoothly into a picturesque, little town.
“I think that girl is going to propose to you,” Hobie says.
Pav shrugs. “I don’t care. As long as it’s her, everything will be perfect.”
“God, Pav,” Miles says and squeezes his hand. “You’re so good at love.”
Pavitr squeezes back and shakes his head.
“I’m just happy with Gayatri. She’s good with me. Love is easier to come by like that.”
Hobie shakes his head and lets out a huff.
“Some of that shit looks like a nightmare,” he says, his accent spinning around his words like the wind. “Croquet? What the fuck is croquet?”
“Something fun they do in Montana, I suppose,” Gwen muses and Hobie rolls his eyes. “A Big Sky wedding tradition.”
“I have to wear a bloody suit. And you should've seen Miguel’s face when he told me. He was straight taking the piss and Lyla was right behind him with those horrible glasses.”
“Hobie!” Gwen exclaims, hitting him good-naturedly.
“Nah, mate, someone needs to tell her. What is this? 2020 Tumblr love-core?”
“How do you even know what Tumblr is? It’s the biblical times in your universe. How’s Jesus?” Miles ribs and Hobie exaggerates his laugh at the familiar joke.
“‘M traveling around working this Spiderman gig, yeah? I see things.”
“That’s right, Miles. His pea-sized brain is pea-sized no longer. Now, it resembles an avocado.”
For that, Pav gets physically smacked and the car veers a little which makes Gwen squeal and grab for the wheel.
“Any more of this shit talking and I pull back onto the highway, food be damned.”
“I heard your stomach growl, Hobart,” Gwen scoffs. “So shut it and pull into that diner up ahead.”
The car makes a smooth turn into the aforementioned diner parking lot, the sky now a cool swirl of blue and purple.
Gwen hops out first, hips smooth as she bends and stretches. Her hair is longer this summer and she’s braided it off to the side in a messy fishtail, the side still shaved. The braid is held in place by her repurposed point shoe ribbon, the pink so pale against her neck that it looks like a trick of the lights.
Things have been better since the incident at HQ and Miles is glad he had called her late at night via their shitty (and definitely not Miguel-approved) inter-dimensional phones and admitted that he missed her. He had loved her, but it was different now. She had understood, and because there was no other path, they were okay.
“And anyway,” she says, turning so that the light catches on the delicate thread of her cheekbones, “You’ll look cute in a suit, Hobes.”
Hobie slinks out from around the car, eyes half-lidded in disagreement. Miles tries to ignore the way his stomach flutters at the sight of him. He’s ever so tall, wicks held back by a navy blue bandana lifted from his mom. Rio had cuffed him round the head when she discovered it missing, but it was followed by her affectionately tying it properly around the front of his hair before they headed off.
He’s in patchwork jeans and a band tee, his smile so easy and warm that it sticks to Miles’ skin like honey. His eyes catch on the sleek silver of his piercings and he lets out this horrible, desperate little sigh that only Pav hears.
Pavitr looks at him knowingly, eyes crinkling softly. Miles smiles back nervously, his lips pulling back tremulously as his growing affection begins to swallow him whole. He had been wide open his entire life, so pathetic with his crushes that his mother often faked surprise when he came to her for advice.
He didn’t mind being seen through except in instances where he wanted to be anything but translucent. He busies himself by checking his phone, texting his mamá that they’ve stopped for food and are already halfway.
Rio responds with a string of hearts and a reminder to choose something fulfilling off the menu. She tells him to tell update his dad the way he’s updating her, the text sliding in like an afterthought. He reads it and then exits the app.
“Gwen, I swear to every higher power in existence that I will not be losing the battle against the suit.”
“Miguel will hold you down and break several bones if he has to. I actually think he’s looking forward to it. Don’t give him what he wants, Hobie,” Pav chimes in.
Gwen laughs and traipses ahead, legs moving gracefully toward the pale pink door of the diner. Miles goes to follow, but his gaze gets stuck on a deer that is in between two cars. Its nose twitches, wet and black, and it eyes him with a softness that only comes with animals desensitized to people.
For some reason, it tugs at his heart. He lifts a hand and it startles, darting away. Just before it sinks into the tree line, it looks back.
☆
The ranch is devastatingly beautiful on its own, but the joy radiating from both Peter and Miguel makes it even more potent.
“You made it! Miggy said with Hobie driving you’d crash but I believe in my kids!”
Hobie glowers at Miguel and Miles swears the other man sticks his tongue out slightly before going back to his regular stoic disposition.
“I’m so glad you’re here! We’ll have fun.”
At that, Miguel visibility softens. A large hand settles on Peter’s broad back, his fingers trailing up his fiancé’s neck to the cusp of him before moving to card tenderly through Mayday’s tenacious curls.
“Sí,” he murmurs, voice low and heavy with affection. “We’ll have fun.”
Miles knows by the way he speaks that he is not referring to now but their engagement and the fragrant vision of their life together. He observes them, the way they lean into each other like trees, and how Miguel often tucks strands of Peter’s hair back without realizing it.
Peter is dressed in a rich, royal blue half-sleeved linen shirt that’s slightly unbuttoned and soft white cotton pants. His face is flush with the lax heat, cheeks bunching as he smiles. Miles has rarely seen him without his accompanying robe so it's almost disconcerting to look at his mentor in this new light.
Something is said but Miles doesn’t really hear it, his eyes roving over this picture of love and belonging. As his gaze moves beyond them he sees the river of red that belongs to MJ moving closer, her body willowly and graceful as she comes up to join them.
Mayday giggles and reaches out to her mother, MJ’s face crumpling into a helpless surrender as her daughter asks to be held. She slips easily from Peter’s arms into hers, Mayday’s eyes large with the kind of wonder that belongs to children.
“You alright?”
Miles turns, the end of his plaits dipping just under his collar. Hobie’s looking at him, mouth slightly parted as if he means to ask again. Gwen is giggling about something with MJ while Pav is waxing poetry about the love of his life to a distraught-looking Miguel.
“Yeah, I'm okay,” Miles says.
He looks back at the scene before them and turns back to Hobie.
“It’s just overwhelming. All that love.”
Hobie settles back on his heels, head tilting.
“Is that it? 'cause you’ve been weird since we left.”
And no, that’s not it. Miles is feeling this crippling sense of loneliness that had haunted him since HQ. He struggles to articulate it most days, but he feels as though he’s running out of time. Everyone seems to have someone meant for them that they’ve already found and Miles is losing a race he doesn’t remember signing up for.
He’d texted Milan about it one night when he couldn’t sleep.
i just feel like i have nothing in front of me ig. there’s no future with someone else.
u don’t need a future w someone else, mi. ur so good on ur own.
i get it tho. felt like this before i went to uni + then i met ganke.
it all made sense then.
am i pathetic?
don’t answer that
no ur not
too late
stop worrying about it, ur gonna be okay.
u are not going to be alone. starting early doesn’t guarantee anything.
ur doing fine on ur timeline.
ty <3
tell ganke i love him
i love u too, miss u
whtevr
ur boyfriend will not leave u for me
so tell him pls
no
i love u too, miss u - SAY IT BACK
shut the fuck up, dawg
te quiero más
te echo más de menos
As he looks at Hobie in the light he thinks of what his twin had told him. You’re doing fine on your timeline. He wanted this to be his timeline, though. He wanted to be more than a wedding guest. He wanted Hobie as his plus one.
Hobie must know. There is no way Miles looks at him normally.
“I—”
As he begins to respond, Miguel appears like an apparition right next to them. Miles jumps about a foot and there’s a quick smile that plays across the other man’s weathered face at the movement. Miguel’s dark eyes see right through him, his nose scrunching before he addresses them.
“Come on. I cooked.” He turns to Hobie, face cracking into a truly evil smile. “Your suit fitting is tonight.”
“I swear to every fucking high power—” Hobie starts and Miles just can’t help it.
He laughs.
At Hobie’s affronted look he makes his eyes as wide as possible and says,
“I think you’ll look good in a suit, Hobes.”
Hobie rolls his eyes and walks ahead of them.
“I guess I can try it on,” he calls over his shoulder and Miles smiles.
☆
Friday morning dawns bruised with love and highlighted with the slow notes of corrido.
Miles floats through the wooden corridors of the house, feet slipping into the kitchen rhythmically as he hums along to the song playing. Though they haven’t spoken often, Miguel’s love for regional Mexican music has brought them closer. It's a new exposure for Miles, but one he doesn’t mind.
The song is warm and yet sad in a way that only comes with a tremendous amount of love. As the musician weaves his story of falling in love, Miles skirts around Miguel’s broad figure to grab one of the mugs of coffee set out on the counter.
Music has continued to save Miles’s life in ways he cannot explain, but it has formed connections too. Through this, he had opened a valve in other people’s hearts. It was satisfying, a battle fought and won.
Through him, he’d also found Dermot Kennedy who was Irish just like Miguel, which often other people forgot.
“‘Siendo Sincero’,” Miguel says, his voice gravelly with sleep. “That’s the song name.”
Miles exits out of Shazam and opens up Spotify, scrolling to his shared playlist with his mom and adding it.
“Peter loves it,” the other man continues with a smile. “Always makes me dance to it if I play it.”
“Then why do you play it?” Miles asks with a wry smile of his own.
Miguel says nothing, but he looks up and his eyes light up with so much desire that it weighs down the air in between them. Miles turns to look behind him and there is Peter, clad in a light brown sweatshirt that is far too big for his frame and sleep shorts.
He presses a kiss to the top of Miles’ head in greeting and then cups Miguel’s jaw, his ring flashing in the strands of sunlight that come in through the window. The kiss is short but the intimacy goes on forever, Miguel murmuring something that Peter laughs at before he pulls away.
He grabs his own mug of coffee and leans on Miguel’s shoulder as he cooks. The love between them is so private, only for them and Miles feels as though he is intruding. He watches as Miguel slips a hand down and around Peter’s waist, swaying them back and forth to the music.
As he moves to pour more coffee he passes them and realizes that Miguel is singing lowly along to the melody, serenading his fiancé.
“Love you, Miggy,” Peter says, kissing behind his ear before pulling away.
Miguel looks after him like a follower of their god, his mouth soft around the edges. Peter opens the cabinet and pulls out a stack of pale green porcelain plates, flowers curling around the edges and stretching toward the middle.
“Wanna help me set the table, kid?” Peter asks and Miles nods, collecting the plates and marching in the direction of the dining room.
He looks back to see if Peter is following and finds him against Miguel’s chest, kisses peppered softly across his face.
“Miro las estrellas y ahí estás.” Kiss. “Cierro los ojos y ahí estás.” Kiss. “Siento con el corazón y ahí estás.” Kiss.
“Whatever you say, big guy” Peter responds affectionately.
“He says that all the time,” he tells Miles as he joins him in the dining room. “I don’t know what he means but I think it's good. I’m trying to learn more Spanish so that I’m not that partner.”
He arranges the plates with precision, his voice warm as he speaks of his husband-to-be.
“When I try to speak to him he tells me to focus on his Irish side, just to make fun of me.” There’s a sigh and then Peter laughs. “I’m marrying such a mean man.”
“It’s good,” Miles promises. “It’s very sweet, what he’s saying about you.”
“Thanks for the reassurance, kid.”
Miles rolls his eyes and lets out a huff.
“Man, I’m in college. You have got to let this kid thing go.”
Peter comes in so close that Miles's eyes cross.
“No,” he says, elongating the ‘o’ and patting Miles’s cheek.
Miles goes to protest but is interrupted by his phone buzzing in the pocket of his sweats and Gwen tripping down the stairs.
“Morning!” She says brightly, steadfastly ignoring the tears of pain gathering in her eyes.
Peter chuckles and helps her up, slinging an arm around her shoulders and steering her into the kitchen where food awaits. Miles checks his messages and fights back a smile at the text his twin has anxiously sent.
bruh
why did ganke convince me we were spending the day together just to tell me
we’re meeting his fucking parents
bruh </3
is this all i am to you
negro PLEASE
i am literally in the middle of an emergency
suck it up
u’ve been dating for a year
Miles thinks of his best friend’s parents and types out another message.
if u can, hide ur tatt sleeve
“Mornin’.”
Miles looks up and automatically tempers. His voice is indulgent as he speaks to a sleepy Hobie.
“Hey, Hobes. Sleep well?”
“Yeah, I guess. Is today croquet day?”
“It’s whatever day I need it to be,” Miguel answers for him.
Hobie rolls his eyes and rubs his temples.
“Mate, I need you to relax.”
“It’s not croquet day, Hobie,” Miles says, rubbing a hand alongside the table. “It’s horse riding day. Croquet is on another day.”
“Cheers. You’ll be on my team then, yeah?”
Blood flushes through Miles’ cheeks and he nods quickly. He would always be on Hobie’s team.
Hobie smiles satisfactorily and walks to the kitchen, Miles trailing after him. He watches as Hobie picks up two plates and begins to load them with fruit and an omelet each. His brow is furrowed as he focuses, setting the tableware down to top up two crystal tumblers with passionfruit juice.
He finishes and manages to balance everything, coming to stand before Miles.
“This enough for you, love?”
Miles’ stomach warms and he takes a plate and glass.
“It’s perfect, Hobie. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Where are you sitting?”
“Come,” Miles says and they trek back to the dining table, bodies folding into the chairs as they settle in.
Miles lays a cheek on his knee as he picks at his fruit, slipping a slice of golden kiwi into his mouth. He reaches out and plucks a piece of fuzz from one of Hobie’s wicks, flicking it off into the air before going back to his plate.
The room is silent but the sounds from the kitchen filter in. Most people are awake except for Pav and Mayday, the morning winding on with the sun’s light getting more robust as time passes.
Hobie nods his head along to the reggaeton now playing (he showed “Miggy” this one, ha!) and Miles takes the time to trace his side profile with his eyes. He catches on those full lips, the upper lip darker than the other. As Hobie sips on his juice, Miles sees the inner pink of his mouth and wonders if they were to kiss just how hard he’d need to suck before it became swollen, heavy, and burst like fruit.
“Got something on my face?” Hobie asks, eyes glittering slyly.
“No,” Miles said. “Just thinking.”
Hobie hums and then settles back, hand reaching out to tug at the end of Miles’ braids. Miles feels his head bend backward, till the sleek road of his throat is opened up to the ceiling. The gesture is childish and yet intimate, the pull of his hair reminding him of crushes on the playground and the ways you tried to show that you liked someone else without having to actually say it.
“Don’t think too hard. Might break something.”
“Shut the fuck up, Hobart.”
Hobie laughs with his chest, his teeth flashing like pearls in the valley of his mouth.
“Yeah? Or what, Morales?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Come on,” Hobie says, voice low. His eyes search Miles's face as he yanks again. “Come on. Give it to me. Do your worst.”
Miles is flustered now, teeth working at the inner tissue of his cheek as he thinks. He scoffs and turns away, shoving more fruit into his mouth. Hobie laughs again, winding the ends of his plaits around the palm of his hand before letting go. He pokes Miles in the side, face creased with pleasure.
“Big steppa,” He murmurs and Miles smiles so hard his lips crack, blood beginning to bead.
“You’re so fucking stupid, Hobie.”
“I know.”
☆
Seeing Miguel in a cowboy hat warrants many pictures being taken, but Miles is more distracted by the way Hobie has decided to dress for today’s outing.
Objectively, there’s literally nothing for him to be crumbling over. It’s just dark denim overalls with a side undone to reveal a white tank that stretches tightly over Hobie’s shoulders. Two thin silver necklaces loop over the bones of his neck, a star pendant settling in between the divots of his collarbones.
A carefully curated stack of bracelets sits on both of his arms and he’s worn his hair completely out this time, no bandana at the front of his wicks.
He sees Miles looking and smiles slowly at him, mouthing something that Miles doesn’t really understand. Nonetheless, he smiles back. They end up standing together, eyes on the instructor as they’re introduced to their horses and given tips for an easy ride.
Before they break to get ready, Hobie reaches behind his back and tugs his hair again. Miles’ head lolls back again and he sticks out his tongue, pushing at Hobie’s arms before stepping away to go meet his girl. On the way to his designated stall, he catches Pav’s all-knowing gaze and feels that flush settle at the base of his throat again as he breaks eye contact, tugging at the collar of his oversized tee as he walks past.
He’s been given a mare, her coat a gorgeous grey dappled with spots of brown. Her name is Rhea and she’s gentle, her body sturdy beneath Miles’ own. He rubs between her eyes, stroking her coat tenderly as if he really knows her. She carries him without complaint, trotting softly out of the barn and into the field.
Up ahead Miguel and Peter circle each other, one’s head thrown back while the other looks pleased that he’s managed to make his fiancé laugh. Miles feels that thing inside of him grow bigger, the loneliness almost suffocating even though he’s under an infinity of open sky.
His throat is closing and he looks away, taking a hand away from the reins and rubbing his face. Someone comes up next to him, his senses tingling. There’s silence and then Gwen speaks.
“You’re so stupid about him.”
“Oh my God,” Miles groans. “Does everyone know?”
“Just me and Pav,” she answers.
“Not even him,” he sighs.
“Not even him.”
Another period of silence.
“I mean, probably him too. He’s stupid about you too. You’re both so stupid about each other, it’s absolutely ridiculous.”
“Gwen, what if you’re wrong? What if this is how he is and this is all I’m going to get?”
Gwen looks at him, her eyes widening in disbelief. She turns her own horse so that it's blocking him from moving forward and tilts her head.
“I’m sorry but that whole hair-pulling moment was disgustingly flirty for everyone involved and we’re literally participating in a wedding weekend, Miles. Are you fucking kidding me?”
Miles can’t help but laugh then, the sound rolling through the open space like thunder. As if summoned, Hobie’s head rises and turns in his direction. He’s chosen to ride bareback, claiming that he wanted the horse to be as wild as it could be allowed.
Gwen gives him another look and then nudges her horse into a gallop, her hair fluttering as she gets further and further away. As she departs, Hobie arrives, and with him comes that familiar tide of fondness curling up the inside of Miles’ stomach.
“You look like you belong out here,” Hobie tells him, his tongue piercing flashing as he speaks.
Miles wonders if it would be cool against his teeth if they kissed and if Hobie would kiss him with the same desperation that he does anything. Maybe it would be like the movies. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he’d kiss Hobie so hard that he’d have to be held back, Hobie wrapping his hair around his hand again and forcing him to yield as he applies more and more pressure to Miles’ wanting mouth.
“Really?” he asks instead.
He’s acutely aware of what he’s wearing all of a sudden. Oversized denim shorts, Wilson socks peeking out of customized Chucks, oversized Acne Studios tee he’d drawn all over when he couldn’t sleep two weeks ago.
“Yeah. Every time ‘M looking at you, I get this sense that this is where you’re supposed to be.”
“Nah, man. Brooklyn is my home.”
Hobie nods.
“Yeah, but this could be too.”
Miles nods because his throat is swollen and all his love is stuck in between his teeth and he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth Hobie will see it in all of its glory: stained orange and pink all over his tongue, clawing at the roof of his mouth.
“You want what they have,” Hobie says quietly. “That’s what it is. I couldn’t figure out how you were looking at O’Hara and Peter but now I know.”
The observation is so acute and Miles can’t help but feel caught out. He surprises himself with the way he gives away so easily, his walls crumbling.
“Fuck, Hobie,” he whispers, curling closer to Rhea’s muscled back. “I want it so badly. It fucking sucks. I’m saving the world all the time, I don’t know if I have time for love.”
“You make time for it depending on who you want it from and how much you want them,” Hobie says.
“Mmm,” Miles says, covering his face with his hands. “I want him so bad, it's insane.”
He sits up and looks at the side of Hobie’s face, eyes roving over the apples of his cheeks. Hobie looks back at him, eyes tender as he rubs a hand down the side of his stallion.
“Why don’t you tell him, then?”
“‘M scared,” Miles admits.
“A lot of life is doing shit through the fear or you end up not doing anything at all.”
Something undefinable surges through him and he shuts his eyes against the onslaught of impulse. Still, it slips out.
“In all honesty,” he begins and then stops.
At the other end of the sentence lies ‘I’m in love with you’. Miles doesn’t say it.
“I’m just figuring it out,” he finishes.
“That’s fine,” Hobie says with a nod of his head. “If they’re the one, they’ll be there.”
There’s a moment where Miles thinks the other is going to turn away and go back to the group, but things go differently. Instead, Hobie comes closer and leans across until they’re almost touching, nose to nose. To an outsider, it looks as if they’re going to kiss. To the people around them, it looks like they’re finally getting their shit together.
Miles wonders about closing the gap. He stays where he is.
“But Miles,” Hobie pleads, voice raspy. “For the love of God, please tell him. When you finally figure this shit out, please. God fuck, just tell him.”
“Why do you care so much?”
Hobie pulls back and tugs the reins, turning away.
“Maybe he wants to tell you too,” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.
Miles chews on his bottom lip, spine heavy and his head is beginning to hurt. Nothing is clear except for the fact that Hobie may have just implied that he liked him back and that Miles is a little bit of a coward.
The sun is beginning to disappear and God, he wishes he could call his mom.
☆
The rehearsal dinner is what does it for him.
The venue is a hotel in the midst of being torn down, the ceilings high but stripped of their art and the doors gone leaving gaping wounds that peek into the gardens. The flora of the grounds creates a dark spring, lilies drooping over themselves with the weight of the heat.
Miles stands off to the side as everyone arrives and mingles. Peter is beautiful in his eagerness to host, but Miguel steals the show. He’s chosen to wear a silk shirt that dips in a soft ‘u’ over his collar bones and the beginning planes of his chest, before coming back up. The shirt is a soft blue that makes Miles think of the moon catching on water and it's tucked delicately into black, crisp pants that have obviously been tailored for a perfect fit.
The man’s face is stoic as ever but in every moment when he’s looking at Peter his face breaks, ice releasing its hold on a lake. Love, raw and immense, rises like daybreak in his eyes. It settles around his mouth and shadows his cheeks, his fingers so much bigger than Peter’s as he holds his hand.
There’s a brief pause in conversation as guests find their seats and come to rest in them, glasses clinking and water bubbling over the mouths of their decanters. Miles is in between Hobie and Pav, Gwen across from them tucked into Margo’s side.
She’d arrived later than all of them, but she was a welcome addition.
From the very end of the room, Miguel rises and taps his glass. The room quiets and everyone turns their full attention to him, faces upturned like he is the sun. He focuses on no one but his future husband, gaze spearing straight down the length of the table and through Peter’s chest.
“I never thought I’d be here,” Miguel begins, his voice low with that undercurrent of constant desire. “I thought love wasn’t for me. My life has been hard and I suppose I thought it would always be that way.”
Peter’s expression is one of grief, his eyes tender.
“Peter was a surprise. Our friendship was unconventional. He pushed and I was constantly pulling away, only to find one day that there was no further space to pull away to. I was angry at the fact someone could weaken me so severely. I was angry at the fact that I was being given so much love that I thought I didn’t deserve it. There was a lot of anger in the beginning.”
“It took a failed mission to make me see the light.” He pauses and then continues, making an effort to push through the rush of emotion written so clearly on his face. “There I was, held underneath a villain’s knife fully prepared to die. And then—and then I thought of Peter. I thought of how this moment could be used to describe my love for him.
“Even then, I missed him. My desire for him was violent, my love knew no end. I loved him enough to let him kill me. If I were Orpheus, I too would look back. He was worth turning around for, even if it was just to lose him in the end.”
“Oh, Miggy,” Peter says softly and Miguel softens even further.
“Peter, eres mi lujuria por la vida. To be fulfilled, I only have to think of you. There is no one else for me. No one would have worked this hard to know me, through my grief and rage. You will always be the one person in the room who thinks I mean something. I am meant to marry you because what is the purpose of these years I have left, if not to make you happy?”
Miles feels his throat close up and he looks away from them only to find Hobie looking at him. He forgets to blink, his eyes stuck in limbo. They stare at each other, the low lighting makes the twin brown of their gazes look so dark they could be black.
The braiding of Miles’ hair makes his face so prominent it’s sickening, his heart pulled apart with vicious fingers and smeared over his cheekbones. The viscera is dripping down his spine.
Vaguely, he registers the end of Miguel’s speech.
“Peta, I could never not care about you. You have discovered me; my love cannot go back into hiding. You were my war and now, you are my victory.”
Miles gets up and walks out.
Outside is cool as night fully settles and Miles takes a deep breath, running a hand along the seam of his ribs.
“You okay?”
Miles turns slightly, looking at Hobie’s silhouette from over his shoulder. There’s a sudden course of exhaustion through his body and he loosens his limbs, eyes closing briefly before he speaks.
“I like you.” He sighs. “I was sitting there listening to Miguel and all I could think about was how much I like you. And how much I need to tell you and how scared I am.”
“You know I like you too, right?” Hobie says, teeth tugging on his lip piercing before letting it go.
Miles nods, smiling crookedly.
“So why are you so scared?” Hobie tilts his head. “You don’t really have anything to lose.”
“What if this goes wrong and you don’t love me forever? Every single mission, every space where we exist together will be stained with that. That’s literally a horrible thing to think about.”
“Well,” Hobie tells him, sitting straight down on the grass and staining his suit paints. “No relationship is guaranteed forever love. That whole speech in there? That’s for the moment, they could always fall apart. Not that they're going to, I actually think Miguel would have a psychotic break and I just refuse to live to see that day, but still. They’re trying anyway.”
“Mi, you have to try anyway.” He shrugs. “That’s what makes it worth it.”
He comes closer, wrapping that hand around one of his plaits again. The tug is expected and Miles feels his center of gravity shift, his head bending back so he can look up into the bright star of Hobie’s gaze.
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m not worth it, Spiderman?”
Miles blinks up at him slowly, Miguel’s voice echoing through him. He was worth turning around for, even if it was just to lose him in the end.
Eres mi lujuria por la vida.
“Never stop pulling my hair,” he says in answer and Hobie’s face does something Miles has no name for.
Their faces are so close, the air warm between them. Everything around them seems to have stopped, the laughter and cheers filtering out from inside slowly fading away.
“Sure. I’ll keep pulling. Anything for my favorite groupie.”
“Shut the fuck up, Hobie,” Miles says, laughing softly.
“Yeah,” Hobie agrees, nodding. “Okay.”
“You’re so stupid,” Miles tells him fondly and Hobie grins.
“I may be stupid but at least I’m not scared.”
“That’s fair.”
Miles’ back is beginning to ache from this position and yet he refuses to let up, eyes roving over this upside-down version of the most beautiful boy in the world. He eventually pulls himself up, Hobie unwinding that same braid from around his palm and positioning it so that the end kisses at the base of his neck.
They go to rejoin the party but just as quickly as he begins walking, Miles stops. Against the stone wall lies Hobie’s guitar, the strings glistening as if wet. Miles reaches out to touch the head, fingers sliding down to the neck. There’s an irrational urge to press his lips to it, but he refrains.
☆
Though a rehearsal dinner is technically held the day before the entire affair, Peter and Miguel insert a day before.
It serves no purpose other than to play croquet but that idea is abandoned when the day turns out to be so warm that Mayday can’t help but start crying when she’s introduced to the outside world. So, it becomes a day of rest.
Miles walks down the stairs and is greeted by the image of MJ spread out on the couch, her hair falling over the edges of her face like an open flame over a cliff. Beneath her Mayday is crawling around, sitting up at different intervals just to fall over again. Miguel sits beside her, arms open as she explores that long stretch of open wood between the coffee table and the legs of the chairs. Peter flows around the both of them, kissing the top of Miguel’s head and stroking a gentle hand over MJ’s stomach.
Miles admires the love he still has for her. He likes that instead of shriveling up and dying, it had blossomed into something else, shifting its form to fit itself into another space. It gave him hope that love never really ended, it just rerouted itself until there was another place for it to go.
Something settles in his stomach as he glances at the scene, turning away to see magnolias strewn across the kitchen table. Some of the blossoms have tumbled across the surface and bled onto the floor.
“Just last-minute things!” Peter chirps when he catches Miles looking at the disarray.
“He’s been a right mess since six this morning. I need him to get married so I never have to endure this again,” Hobie whispers, making Miles jump a foot into the air.
“How do you even do that? I have literal Spidey-Senses.”
“Not like other Spidermen, love.”
Miles rolls his eyes at the line but can’t help the smile that spreads.
Stepping forward, his sock catches on the edge of one of Mayday’s toes and he bends to pick it up. As he does, Hobie moves past him, fingers skating across the small of his back. Miles closes his eyes briefly at the feeling before straightening back up.
“Hobie, I am not a right mess. I’m just making sure that everything is perfect,” Peter corrects, teeth biting into his bottom lip anxiously.
Hobie rolls his eyes and grabs a mug of coffee, eyes ever observant through half-lids. Miguel gets up from where he’s been lying across from his soon-to-be step-daughter and comes over to cup Peter’s neck softly at the base. He leans down and presses a kiss there, mouth sticking to his warm skin and loosening slowly as if bothered to let go.
He turns so that he’s in front of Peter, hands curling around the soft spheres of his cheeks to pull his hand to his chest. Peter lays against him without resistance, eyes closing and breathing settling into a slower rhythm. His pale hands catch in the sun as they slide up and clutch at Miguel’s back, his fingers flexing in and out as if to test their strength.
“Peta, nothing will go wrong. And if it did,” Peter tenses, “we would take it in stride.”
“Miggy, I know. But—”
“But nothing,” Miguel interrupts firmly, his voice leaving room for no argument.
This is a conversation they’ve clearly had before.
Peter looks up into Miguel’s face, brown eyes large and searching. Miguel softens, mouth going tender at the sides before leaning in and kissing the other man with such great affection that Miles has to look away. The kitchen is quiet as they kiss and Peter falls against the counter, still clinging to Miguel’s wide shoulders.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I am made to love you. I will do nothing but love you.”
Miguel makes a noise as if he’s been wounded and presses further against his husband, his neck extending elegantly toward the ground as he tucks his face into the space between Peter’s shoulder and the column of his throat.
Hobie moves so quietly that once again Miles is unaware. He startles at the feel of those long fingers tracing the valley of his hips. Though the t-shirt he’s slept in is oversized, it feels tight and see-through in this moment. Hobie is only touching a small part of him and yet it feels as though he is touching all of him.
Miles turns his head to the side, his lips brushing scarcely against the plush flesh of Hobie’s cheek. There’s a hitch in the other’s breath at the motion and the hands on his hips tighten, bruises arcing invisibly across Miles’ bones.
“It’s so heavy, innit? The love they share.”
“Love is supposed to be heavy, I think,” Miles says lowly. “It has weight to it. I mean, you love another person. You’d die for them. Give up your life for them.”
“That’s heavy,” Hobie agrees.
Miles smiles.
“It’s like Mami says to me and Milan: no sé hacia dónde vamos, solo sé que quiero ir contigo.”
“What’s that mean?” Hobie prods, his head sinking down to rest on top of Miles.
“I don't know where we are going, I just know I want to go with you,” Miles translates. “That’s what love is.”
“And what if someone were to lead you astray? I mean, that’s not really love then is it?”
“It is,” Miles refutes. “Sometimes love is thinking only of not being alone and steering someone the wrong way, making them lost so they have to rely on you. It’s a horrible thing to do and terribly selfish but rooted there, at least at the start.”
“So, love is control? Don’t know how I feel about that, love.”
“No,” Miles says carefully. “Love is not control. And if it is, it’s self-control. It’s like right now, how I’m leaning against you and how I’m aware of close we are and how much I want you. And yet, I have done nothing to feed that hunger. I want to kiss you more than anything and I am standing still.”
“Move, Miles. Please,” Hobie pleads, his voice hoarse with desire and desperation.
Miles turns all the way around now, forgetting that they are not alone.
“I just wanted you to ask,” he tells Hobie, smiling slightly.
Hobie bends and Miles outstretches, their lips melting like spun sugar against each other. In Miles’ chest, his heart is splitting apart as one half crawls away and ingrains itself into Hobie’s own. Blood pours over their feet from the wound, that wretched hole inside of him weeping and shrieking in delight as it is finally stitched and mended.
His legs shake and he knows nothing about where he should put his hands.
As Hobie pulls away, a gasp rips out of his throat and he falters. Hobie thumbs at his mouth and Miles’ thighs are aching, his body so wound up in anticipation that it's in pain. He can feel every atom of the world move and rearrange.
“No sé hacia dónde vamos,” he murmurs against Hobie’s mouth, trembling. “Solo sé que quiero ir contigo.”
☆
The wedding day begins with a sharp crack, thunder spilling forth like the yolk of an egg.
Peter takes it in stride, his robe billowing behind him (Miguel got him a quality, silk one) as he speeds down the stairs. He throws open the front door and screams at the top of his lungs.
“I’m getting married today! I’m getting married to him!”
Mayday squeals in agreement and MJ laughs from where she’s come up behind him. Miguel has already gone to get ready but Miles thinks if he was here he’d be laughing begrudgingly.
On the kitchen counter rests candied violets and beside them is a letter sealed shut by baby blue wax, red script covering the front.
My Peta, it reads and Miles feels himself tearing up even though they haven’t even begun the day.
Pav and Gwen come down the stairs and Peter runs up to them, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Do you know what I’m doing today?” he asks, giddy.
“Getting married?” Gwen answers drily, her mouth twitching in amusement.
“Getting married!” Peter yells. “Again!”
“Getting married!” Pav cheers in agreement, squeezing Peter’s hands. “Again!”
Miles begins to laugh at the child-like joy Peter is displaying and Peter shoots him a wide smile before running back up the stairs to begin collecting what he needs to get ready at the venue.
As everyone begins to move into their places, Miles finds himself standing in the open doorway watching sheets of rain pour down.
“You know,” MJ says, coming to stand next to him, “There’s this belief that when it rains on your wedding day, your marriage will last. When it rains on a knot it becomes hard to unravel, therefore the marriage vow will be just as strong.”
Miles turns to look at her, his eyes roving over the strong line of her jaw and nose.
“It comes from a Hindu tradition.” She pauses and the rain falls more softly now, kissing the ground with reverence.
“It’s so hard to watch him get married again. I know we are so much better as friends but it is so difficult to watch something that I had become someone else’s. I thought maybe I could love Miguel too and we could do a whole three people in the mix thing, but it wouldn’t work. So, I’m there for him.”
She wipes her face hurriedly and when her hand falls back to her side, Miles intertwines their fingers. He steadfastly ignores the slick coolness of the palm of her hand, the wetness of her tears sticking between the both of them.
“My point in telling you this is to convince you to keep going with Hobie even if you’re scared. Because even if it comes to an end, at least you can say you did it.”
“MJ—” Miles begins and she holds up a finger to quiet him.
“You look at him the way I’ve looked at anything I’ve ever loved. You’re fucking terrified,” she laughs wetly. “I’m always scared in love but it always ends up being worth it. Peter was the big love of my life and we came and went and now my love is Mayday and God, does she fucking scare me but—”
She breaks off, detangling their hands and stepping further outside so that her hair begins to get wet.
“I’d do it all over again. I’m glad I can talk about it in retrospect and tell someone that I do know what it's like to love someone and have a crush and have a good go of it.” She pushes out a breath and shakes her head. “I don’t even know what I’m saying really. Just…I want you to know that someone else was scared like you. And they turned out okay.”
Miles goes to tell her thank you, to let her know that he loves her as much as he loves Peter and Mayday and Miguel, even. But as he begins to speak, he’s cut off again.
“Mary Jane?” Peter says quietly and MJ turns to him, her face so wide open you could just fall into it.
Miles swallows his words and gives them a moment.
☆
Miguel and Peter read their vows to each other in a private room, where there is no one but them.
Miles wrinkles his nose irritably when he overhears some guests complaining that they wanted to witness the readings. You are not entitled to their vulnerability, he thinks.
The ceremony is still beautiful and Mayday is darling in her baby blue dress, her curls made big and hazy against her face. She beams in pleasure as everyone coos over her, her small hands fisting the flowers with fervor before she rains them over the aisle.
Miguel is stunning in his off-the-shoulder satin blouse, the fabric wrapped warmly across the length of his arms and shoulders. The hem is tucked into his white suit pants and his shoes shine so brightly that Hobie makes a show of looking away.
Peter is just as lovely in his matching suit, the jacket open to display his lace shirt with pearled buttons.
When they are announced as the Parker-O’Hara’s the room erupts into loud cheers and congratulations. Peter kisses his husband sweetly, his wedding band sparkling in the light as it sits perfectly in line with his engagement ring. Miguel deepens it, forgetting their surroundings, and pulls away with a barely-there blush at the catcalls that emerge from the crowd.
Miles cheers the loudest, whooping as they walk down the aisle. One of his hands is tucked into Hobie’s, who looks quite handsome in his suit.
Off to the side, MJ holds Mayday. Her face is puffy and streaked with emotion. Her hair is pinned back to give way to her face and she smiles so hard that her eyes squeeze into small half-moons. Peter stops in front of her and gives her a hug, stroking her hair gently.
When he leaves her be, Miguel steps forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. He leans back to look at her, mouth moving as he tells her something. She shakes her head and says something back, kissing his cheek. Miguel looks at her with something undefinable, saying something once more.
Mayday babbles excitedly as if to agree and the adults look down at her, their love spilling all over her and staining the floor.
☆
We couldn’t have done this without you, Miguel tells her.
Yeah, you could, She says back, her chest full of warmth.
But we would’ve missed you, he says. Me most of all.
☆
Miles lays across Hobie’s stomach, his skin tingling in the dying summer air.
"Hobie."
Hobie blinks and steadily continues to wind his fingers around the valley of Miles’ ribs. He gently pushes the small of his back, until the front of him is arching forward.
He wonders briefly, teeth worrying at his jeweled lips, what it would be like to be there for him to fall into. Miles smiles at him, once he's aligned with his face again, and stretches out his hand.
Hobie does a crooked tilt of his lips back and clasps his hands, breathing out sharply when Miles yanks him forward so that his nose brushes the shoreline of his wicks. He kisses the ridge of his nose before letting Hobie go, picking up his hand to examine it.
"You have a long lifeline. I think that's what it's called anyway. My mami had a wide array of books on palm reading and other things from my abuela. I don't think I actually read any of it, I think I was reading more so that I could consume her, make myself something resembling her, collect her in my teeth."
Hobie stares at his bent head for a long time and then says,
“All that illustrating, just with words. Maybe you should sketch less and write more.”
Miles rises and the rich brown of his skin kisses against the stark white of his collared shirt.
Hobie chuckles and leans in. Miles looks at him carefully and touches the boutonniere in his suit pocket. His face turns to stare at the view, and Hobie thinks that he'd like to kiss along the bend of his nose forever.
☆
The wedding being done marks the end of their shared holiday. Miles looks up to the sweep of Hobie’s face and smiles with all of his teeth.
It’s the last day and he’s floating in a lake with Pav, Hobie, and Gwen, somewhere deep in the skin of Montana. His face is almost submerged completely in the water. The grass behind them is green and lush, mouthing at the ankles of the mountains looming behind it. Hobie smiles back from right next to him.
After a moment, he climbs out to languish on the soft grass. A cool breeze sweeps over his wet body, the water droplets quivering with the wind.
Hobie swims to where he is on the shore and climbs on a rock a few feet from him. His eyes are calculating and he purses his lips, pressing wet fingertips to Miles’ cheekbone.
"Do you believe in God?"
Miles blinks at him, surprised and brain half immersed in the varying shades of green of the landscape he’s been admiring.
"I do," Miles says, waiting to see if Hobie will speak before continuing.
"I think God is the universe and love and the fracture of light across a glass. I think God is the tenderness I feel when I look at you, and the ache that I get when I dream about my mami, and the way I slam my hands into the comforter when I give my dad an inch and he takes a mile."
Hobie is quiet and nods slowly processing. He waits a moment before responding.
"I'm not sure if I do. I think it's less of not wanting to believe and more of never having been asked otherwise."
Miles chews the inside of his cheek and traces the skin of Hobie’s ribs through his dark skin, brain working hard to straighten out what he wants to say.
"Say I'm afraid of the dark and by some weird circumstance, some fantastical element, I'm thrown into the dark of space out of an airlock into the dark. To die."
Hobie presses back a laugh and nods very seriously, brow furrowing and eyes bright with mirth.
Miles rolls his eyes, smiling briefly and then going back to his scenario.
"Would you come after me? Even if you were to die too?"
"Yes," Hobie tells him. "I wouldn't want you to die afraid in the dark without anyone."
"Then you do believe. Because that feeling, to me, has to be something bigger than us."
Hobie slips off the grass into the water. His swim trunks are pale yellow, his hair weighed down with water and bending toward the ground.
“Hobie,” Miles calls out. "What made you realize you liked me back?"
Hobie turns, raising a dark brow. He tucks back a piece of hair away from his cheek.
"Certainly not the moment when you said you were excited about going to HQ, I can tell you that."
Miles sticks his tongue out, unimpressed.
"No, really," he pushes, getting up and stretching his legs.
Hobie sighs, pretending to be put out by his curiosity, and tilts his head. He looks Miles in the eye, dark earth on earth.
"Well, we were in Australia, for that one mission. And you were so tired, stumbling through the streets like you were off your face."
Miles smiles. Hobie reaches out for him and Miles finds that he has moved closer.
"We got to the safe house because our watches were beat for the night. I was in the hallway, about to go to bed because you told me not to wait up for you. You couldn’t sleep. You smiled knowingly at me and told me that I would never listen. I said that—"
"—following orders was just not for you," Miles finishes, eyes too deep to swim through.
"The truth of it is, I had seen you coming down the path earlier, walking slow and steady towards our shitty little safe house. You had stopped halfway there and closed your eyes. You looked like you wanted to give it all up."
The world is quiet, except for the heightened sound of their breathing.
"And then you looked towards me, to the house, and gave this big sigh, as if you could just not fathom another choice but to come home to me. So you continued on until you stumbled through the doorway and saw me standing tall in the hallway.”
"I knew then that I truly liked you. Loved you even. Because, at that moment, I realized two things: you would always choose to never give this up,” Hobie says, gesturing to himself and the silhouettes of Pav and Gwen,” and I would always choose to stay for you, whether that was to stay up or stay with you if you asked."
"You talk about me so sweetly,” Miles says after a while.
"You do the same when it comes to me," Hobie says, honest yet again.
Miles smiles and slides his hands up the plane of Hobie’s throat to cup his chin. His fingers fan across Hobie’s cheeks and he reaches behind him to tug his hair.
The sky is so big here.
They stand in the water together.