#also goddamn i know that pic i drew and threw in there is. bad. but ive been playing with markers lately since i bought them
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Hobie1610 pt. 2
after god knows how long (months tho tbh), i am happy to present: hobie1610 part dos! In this installment, we see how Miles eventually rounds right back to Hobie Jones to apologize after pt. 1's gigantic blunder
hope y'all enjoy! :)
>pt. 1 here<
>pt. 3 here<
It was several weeks into the first semester-- with winter just right around the corner-- before Miles finally got around to confronting the little Hobie Problem that he had.
Being laden with pounds upon pounds of assignments to get done before the holidays and then trying to keep up with Spiderman duties on top of it all, managing his parentsâ overwhelming expectations once again, and trying to survive as a teenager in general forced his first day blunder onto the back burner for much longer than Miles would have liked.
Sure, his anxiety is a bitch sometimes, and it holds him back from directly addressing a lot of issues in his life, but Rio didnât raise any neanderthal. Miles knew that when he messed up, he messed up.
Problem is, every time heâs tempted to just reach a hand out to his dimensionâs Hobie Br-- Jones, pat his shoulder lightly, pull him into a corner somewhere during lunch maybe, and finally man up and apologize⊠thatâs when some crook starts some problems downtown, or some mad scientist finally snaps somewhere and starts to wreak havoc with crazy gadgets a bit too unnervingly close to his neighborhood.
Or Miles gets back to his dorm room and sees that he has an assignment due the very next day that he hasnât even had the chance to hop on yet, because of aforementioned crooks and mad scientists.
It was all driving him crazy.
And so now here he was, up on a rooftop in the middle of a chilly fall day, hanging out with his inter-dimensional besties (who he lightheartedly calls the Spider Squad but he hasnât quite brought that up to them yet).
They were on a lunch break after pummeling and restraining some prisoners-- who somehow got out of the Raft-- that tried to make their way across the Brooklyn Bridge. Miles sure appreciated the help, which was one of the many positives of letting Hobie Brown make dimension watches for everyone, mostly so they could all help another Spider shoulder the burdens that usually befell them.
But the teens-- being teens, of course-- also used their watches to just pop into an open portal and hang out with each other as often as they could. Who could blame them? Being a superhero and a kid was overwhelming most of the time. Sometimes they needed a listening ear or a supportive shoulder to cry on every now and then, and getting the opportunity to chill and explore a whole new world for them was always a thrill.
(Miles himself could never deny the excitement of getting to go to Mumbattan for shopping trips every so often, either.)
So with all of that in mind it was tempting to, after seeing the long and lanky punk Spiderman climb through his own multi-colored portal, ask Hobie if he could go back to New London with him. He needed to get something off of his chest.
Hobie, languidly as ever, hikes a skinny shoulder up in a nonchalant shrug and goes âyeâ sure, mate. Somethinâ up, or?â
Pavitr leans forward from his conversation with Gwen-- the little snoop, goddamnit-- and swallows a particularly big bite of his sandwich. âOooooh, Miles and Hobie? Alone, in New London? Wow!â He elbows Gwen, who shakes her head and snorts into her bottled juice.
Miles puffs up. âHey, itâs not like that! We just need to talk. In private. Nothingâs wrong, I uh⊠I just need some advice. Thatâs all!â
Hobieâs grin is full of teeth. âWaidaminnit. Miles Morales... Thee Great Miles Morales, needinâ my advice? Interesting!â His freeform locs bob and wiggle teasingly with every movement of his head.
Feeling put on the spot, Miles pouts as he picks at some lint on his spider suit and finishes off his soda as quickly as he can manage.
Gwen, bless her heart, notices his discomfort and scooches closer to him on the rooftop ledge. â⊠Is everything alright, by the way? It isnât anything bad, is it?â
Miles glances at her before returning his gaze to the concrete several stories below. âUhm, nah. Nah, itâs⊠yâknow, itâs just more inter-dimensional weirdness. But Iâm sure I can fix it. I think,â
He then shoots her a grateful smile for her considerate check-in, and pulls his mask back down over the lower half of his face. Gwen understands this as his âIâll be back for another check-in later,â behavior and simply nods back. She knows not to push him.
âWell,â Hobie unfolds himself from his position on some scaffolding on the side of building, straightening himself up to his full height and stretching, âIâm all finished, then. Prob'ly not a good idea to go swinginâ on full stomachs, though. Letâs take a quick walk before headinâ home, yeah?â
Miles grabs Hobieâs hand and helps him hoist himself up over the ledge, and the teens all gather their trash into one plastic bag together. They chatter and slip their masks on as they casually walk down the side of the half-constructed building, finally touching down onto the concrete alleyways and relishing the quiet of an empty block before heading to the congested streets of downtown Brooklyn.
They all eventually bid each other their farewells after a few quick photo ops from excited New Yorkers, but of course not before Pavitr leans into Milesâ ear conspiratorially and whispers: âLet me know how it goes, bro! Good luck!â
Pav punches Miles on the shoulder lightly and winks at him, then he does a backflip into his golden-bright portal and blinks out of existence.
Miles rolls his eyes and shakes his head. âDoes he want me and Hobie to be together, or me and you? I can never tell with that guy,â he groans at Gwen, whose shoulders are shaking with badly-concealed laughter.
âI think he just watches too many of those soap operas, honestly. Trashy daytime TV will do that to a guy sometimes.â She quips just as humorlessly.
Miles gives her a sidelong glance and a smirk. âRight. Rots your brain. Poor Pav!â
Gwen and Hobie laugh at that as Gwen pulls up her own portal.
âIâm thinkinâ we need tâ stage an intervention, really.â Hobie adds.
âYes, and soon,â Miles points out.
âIâll see what I can do to pull him away from those shows, but you know how his aunt is,â Gwen snorts. âPlus, Iâm pretty sure Pav is just a huge romantic anyways, soaps or no soaps.â
âWhen Iâve got relationship issues, I guess I know the guy to go to, then,â Miles shrugs, then throws Gwen a casual salute goodbye.
She stands in front of white and multi-colored splotches of watercolor floating out from her dimensional portal as she salutes Miles back, giving Hobie a quick wave. âLet me know how your little inter-dimensional weirdness problem goes too, Miles! Talk to us in the groupchat every once in a while!â
And like that, sheâs gone.
So now Hobie and Miles were left alone together.
Standing in the middle of a dirty alleyway on a cold autumn afternoon wasnât Milesâ exact definition of a good time, though⊠why wasnât Hobie opening his own portal right now? Miles turns his maskâs gigantic white eyes up to his dimensional variant (and boy was that a weird thing to think about when Hobie brought that up one day during a Spider Sleepover at Gwenâs) and gives him a pointed stare.
Hobieâs own painted eyes meet his.
âSoâŠâ Miles says.
âSoâŠâ Hobie says, his grin evident in his voice.
âAre we or are we not going back to yours?â Miles stuck his fists on his hips impatiently.
âFirst,â Hobie says as he holds up a long skinny finger, âI gotta know what this is about. âCause we all know you, Miles. I donât wanna enable any avoidant behaviors, mate. You know how it is.â
âWhat?!â Miles throws up his hands in the air. âDude! SO not cool! You are not my dad.â
Hobie shakes his head. âYou know Iâm right, though. This ainât about your parents, is it?â
Goddamn Hobie and his parental instincts. When is this guy ever going to get off of mom duty?
Miles huffs. âNo, Hobie. Itâs not. Look. I just, uh⊠if you donât wanna go back to your dimension, then can we get away from like⊠this area in general, please?â
Hobie hummed in thought, then shrugged and shot a web up to a nearby street lamp. Together, the two Spidermen swung through the concrete jungle that was earth-1610âs New York City until they ended up somewhere near the Financial District in Manhattan, happening upon a sort of indoor rooftop terrace party that a bunch of corporate yuppie-looking people were enjoying behind giant glass windows. A few of those yuppies were out onto the actual rooftop smoking and talking amongst themselves in the cold while the party bumped along behind them.
The sun was setting quickly, and darkness descended upon both Spiderman as they scaled a nearby building and sat on a water tank to secretly watch the party from a little ways away. Miles took solace in the dark most times, and drank up the view of what few stars could be seen in the New York City skyline.
The clouds were scarce on this particular fall evening, so the red and yellow hues on the horizon were completely uninterrupted. Milesâ dimension took on an almost ethereal glow sometimes, and during this time of day, he was more than grateful for it.
Hobie was silent as he watched the sun set alongside Miles, until the entire city was enshrouded in darkness and the stars of the cosmos seemed to have fallen from the heavens and landed right onto the buildings and bridges laid out all before them. Lights from cars making their nightly rounds and tall buildings glittered all around them, and just beyond the skyscrapers, bits of the Upper Bay could be seen shimmering and reflecting the glittery light right back.
It was breathtaking. Beautiful.
But time was running out. They couldnât sit here and watch the scenery and the people from several hundred feet away forever. Miles also knew Hobie had stuff to deal with in his own world, a million miles away from anything he could ever know. With a world-weary sigh, Miles finally takes his mask off fully and winds it up and around his hands, over and over.
âYour problem botherinâ you that much, Mi?â Hobie grins at his friend, taking his own mask off and running a hand through his locs.
âItâs just⊠IâŠâ Miles chews on the inside of his cheek, wondering how to proceed.
It really was a weird problem to have, all things considered. There aren't many instances where someone pisses off a dimensional variant of their friend, and they have another version of that very same friend right by their side to ask how to even go about fixing the rift they caused in the first place.
âItâs just that I... like⊠I messed up pretty badly, right? And I know itâs totally my fault,â Miles is speaking quickly now, bottled up words now spilling forth like water, âbut my anxiety started spiking up randomly out of nowhere and I just blew it, man. I wasnât really thinking. Well, actually, I was. I was overthinking but I didnât really mean to leave this guy hanging for so long afterwards and--â
Hobie throws a leg over his other one, propping himself onto an arm and leaning back to face Miles. âOkay. Okay, Miles, thatâs cool. Thanks for the disclaimer, bruv, but weâre gonna have to start from the beginning.â He chuckles.
Miles laughs nervously. âRight, right. Yeah,â he takes a breath, licks his lips and tries again.
âSo⊠on my first day of school I bumped into⊠you. I mean, not you, I mean like my dimensionâs version of you.â
Hobie raised a pierced brow. âWait, thereâs another me here, too?â
âYeah, yeah and I just almost crashed right into-- wait.â Milesâ brain took a second to buffer. âWhat do you mean too?â
âEhhh, we found another me in some odd dimension or another. Yâknow, like, one of those ones we donât go to often. It was whatever,â Hobie shrugs casually.
Miles had a couple of questions about that but he decided to stick to the topic and not get distracted for now. â... Right, cool. So yeah, I almost crashed into you at Visions, except it wasnât you.â
Hobie nodded. âYou almost crashed into Not Me. Got it.â
â⊠Because I was late for class and not really, uh, thinking. Like at all. But it was you, you know what I mean? Not You is super bad at directions and navigating buildings, I guess, so I helped him out. Annddd I guess he wanted to be my friend afterwards, but.â
âMhmm,â Hobie hums, in a tone that sounded a lot like him saying go on, then.
âDid you, uh⊠did you know your name is Jones sometimes?â Miles scratches at his ear awkwardly. âHobie Jones, not Hobie Brown. It was weird when I found out, because another student said his full name and so thatâs how I found out in the first place,â
Hobie inhales. âHmm! Interesting. Dunno that I like the sound of that, if weâre gonna be honest here. Doesnât really roll off the tongue the same, I think. But alright. Whyâs that so important?â
âUhhh,â
Hm. Shit. This was the part Miles dreaded getting to in the first place.
How was he going to put into words the weird dread that befell him upon learning that this Jones character might very well be this dimensionâs version of his MJ? How could he possibly explain the thrilling electricity that races up and down his spine everytime he totally does not think about dating, kissing, possibly even having children with this other Hobie? How was he going to get that across to this super-cool, super-hot, super-put-together version of him?
Speaking those kinds of words out loud right to Hobieâs chiseled face made Miles slightly nauseous. He opted to circumnavigate that little problem altogether.
âListen, donât ask, okay? Seriously, man, Iâm not playinâ. Buuuut⊠if I pissed you off real bad, how would. Like, how could I make it up to you, theoretically speaking?â
Hobie exhaled a laugh. Miles could see his bright grin even in the low lighting of the night. âHuh? Howâd you go from helpinâ Not Me out to pissinâ âim off all of the sudden? Weâre missin' a step there, Milesie. Câmon now,â
Miles laughed too. âHo-biieee, I already told you, man!â He hated how whiny he sounded, but this really wasnât the time. âYou cannot ask me about it!â
Hobie tossed his head like a horse. âOh my god, mate. I canât give ya solid advice when I donât even know what the hell Iâm givinâ advice for. I gotta know what happened, bruv, whatâd ya do?â
âJust--! Ugh,â Miles deflated. âI maybe sorta... ditched him all of a sudden. Like, out of nowhere. When he, uh, when he needed me.â
Hobieâs glittering eyes bore holes into Milesâ hot face. âMhmm? Why for?â
âHobie, for the love of all that is good in the world, just--! Throw me a bone, here, man. I am dying of embarrassment right now!â He buried his face in his hands as Hobie rocked back with laughter.
âWhyâd ya ditch âim?! That doesnât sound like ya, Mi. Sounds like a real wick thing, but not a Morales thing to do. Câmon, what did Not Me say to you? You can pretend Iâm him and Iâll apologize anâ everything.â
âNo no no no, Hobie you donât get it,â Miles sighed. âHe didnât do or say anything. Thatâs the thing. I just⊠I freaked out I guess, when I looked up his name and saw that he was a super accomplished model and everything. Heâs got thousands of followers on Flickstagram, even. But I justâŠ! I dunno what my brain was doing to me, once I saw that. I guess I just had a mini panic attack and just⊠bounced. Then, obviously I had tons of homework and Spiderman stuff to deal with, so ever since then, weâve just been avoiding each other in the halls and I havenât had any time to even tell him anything. I really messed up, man.â
Hobie was unnervingly silent as he thought for a good minute. The night had really fallen thick onto the city and the temperatures were dropping fast. Miles could barely see his own breath clouding in front of him or even Hobieâs face now that the darkness completely enshrouded them both, and it made him a little nervous.
âSoâŠâ Miles prodded carefully.
âSuper accomplished model and everything, eh?â Hobie quietly asked after a little while. Miles couldnât see Hobieâs expression, but he could hear the rhythmic rubbing of fabric against fabric as Hobie rubbed at his arm with a gloved hand.
âUhhyup.â Miles confirmed.
âHm. Utterly fascinated now, mate. Tell me more about this other me, then. He cool like me, or a total neurotic space cadet?â
Miles rubbed the back of his neck. âI mean, I canât tell you much. We havenât gotten to talk much. I guess you can be the judge, hereâs his social media here...â
He then pulls his phone out of a recently-added pocket he found the time to sew onto his suit, taking inspiration from his motherâs own yoga leggings that she got as a birthday gift a few months before. The fact that spandex was able to hold so much but still stay so snug against your body was nothing short of a modern miracle, in Milesâ opinion. He was grateful for it now as he unlocked his phone and tapped on Hobie M. Jonesâ page right out of the search history on his phoneâs Flickstagram app.
Once he hands his phone to his friend, he has to resist the urge to suck in a breath as he watches the bright light from his screen illuminate Hobieâs features in ways heâs never seen before.
Hobie takes a second to scroll for a bit and Miles watches as the light plays across his features with just a bit more rapt attention than he normally would. Must be getting late, and Milesâ brain has historically been known not to work very well when he was tired.
Then, Hobie handed the phone back to Miles and folded his arms across his knees.
âInteresting, interesting,â was all he muttered. Thankfully, he did not comment on the âM. Jonesâ part of the username.
Miles tried lightening the mood. âLet me guess. You hate him because heâs not a fascist-fighting punk like you, huh.â
âI canât be thâ judge of that, Miles. You know social media ainât real life, and all that just looked like his portfolio to me, if weâre gonna be honest.â He checked his spiked bracelet in the light of Milesâ lit up screen. âI think that this other me doesnât really feel too comfortable openinâ up and lettinâ other people see who he really is, though. So if you do go off anâ apologize to âim, I donât think itâll be very easy to gain his trust back.â
âHold on,â Miles shakes his head and tucks his phone away again. âYou got all that from looking at his Flicksta for not even a minute? How do you even know all of that?â
ââCause heâs me, bruv. I know that look on his face, on those candids. Even them professional shots look⊠like, well, I dunno how tâ explain it. I guess itâs just sort of like--â
âIf you know, you know?â Miles puts in.
âMm,â Hobie smiles and nods. âYep. That. Heâs⊠withdrawn. Held back. I âunno⊠doesnât seem like he has many friends.â
Miles sits back to think about the distant and carefully-put together mask that Hobie Jones slipped onto his face back when an annoying student butted into their conversation just before 2nd period that fateful day. Not to mention how famous he seemed, that the whole school wanted to pull him into a million different directions just for some selfies and autographs in generalâŠ
âHeâs famous. He has a billboard up near the school, even,â Miles says without thinking.
âThat explains it, then.â
Miles thought aloud for a bit. âHe told me that I was the only person in the world who didnât look at him like he was made out of solid gold. Hmmm,â
âRight then. Thatâs a start, eh?â
Miles sighed. âI-if⊠if someone who you thought could be like, your only friend in the whole world. Your only real friend⊠if that person abandoned you out of nowhere, with no explanation⊠how would I go about making it up to you?â
Hobie doesnât comment on the phrasing of that question, either. He lays a warm hand on Milesâ cold shoulder and squeezes.
âListen, Mi. Youâre real special, you already know that. If he liked ya enough to wanna be your friend the very same day you two met, then I bet you can come up with somethinâ thatâll stick eventually. That being said⊠a little food ainât never hurt no one.â
They stare at each other in the dark for a second.
âUh, what?â Miles asks.
âYâknow. Like a peace offering. Bring âim a peace offering, make your apology, and then leave the poor kid alone. Let âim sorta⊠well, let âim kinda just chase you a little bit, right?â
Milesâ brow was raised high now. âWhat, like. Just leave some food and a note for him at lunch or something? Dude, that is so lame!â
âItâs about the mystique, mate. Trust me. Gotta keep the intrigue up, donât crowd him too much or else youâll scare man away, right? I hate when people grovel at my feet if Iâm gonna be dead honest with ya. Donât make too much of a big deal of it, and he just might forgive ya. You two'll be holdin' hands in no time,â
âIs that it? Is it really that easy?â Miles was skeptical.
Hobie shrugs and removes his hand from Milesâ shoulder. âHell if I know, but if heâs anything like me, it just might work. Just be prepared to take it on the chin if he doesnât forgive you in the end, though. Gettinâ ditched like that with no warningâs a bit hard on someone whoâs never had any friends to lean on in the first place.â
Made sense to Miles. He shrugged, nodded, and then had only one question left to ask.
â⊠Cool. Got it. So, uh. What kinda food do you like, anyways?â
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And that was how Miles ended up making a quick run (swing, really) over to his favorite Jamaican store for a dinner plate with some beef patties thrown in during the next dayâs lunch period.
He couldnât afford to be seen by security, so he suited up at his usual place on the rooftop of the school and sailed down to retrieve his peace offering as quickly as he could before lunch was over.
What luck, that he had the same lunch as Hobie Jones! Made this whole run a pretty easy thing to do at all, which was always a bonus.
Once he made his way back to the school, he hurriedly stuffed his mask back into his bag and practically jumped back into his uniform, not even taking the time to stop and check if his suit was properly hidden. No time for that, when the period was almost over and he hadnât even gotten a bite to eat for himself.
Miles also took the time to write up what he hoped was a sufficiently appropriate apology note the previous night after getting back to his dorm room at a late hour, and he tucked that into the crinkled paper bag as carefully as he could manage. A grease-stained apology note was definitely not a cool thing to receive, especially from someone who wronged you out of nowhere and wasnât even man enough to say that apology to your face.
He arranged everything as best he could while flying down several flights of stairs down to the cafeteria.
Once Miles pushes past the double doors into the large cafeteria area, he feels the tightness in his chest and the heat radiating from his gut outwards intensify more as he gets closer to his target.
It takes a bit of wandering to finally spot Hobie, but then Miles sees him: sat at a table near the center of the room. Heâs surrounded by a bunch of fake friends all talking loudly over one another and trading phones over their meals. Hobie Jones himself looks forlorn even when in the middle of a group, surrounded on all sides by bodies he doesnât even look directly at, even when he turns his head slightly to speak to them.
Well, shit.
Miles was not expecting Hobie to have fallen into so large a group of friends so soon. He spotted the same girl who pulled him aside for a selfie that one time sat at the same table, and her and her little posse were just gossiping loudly about any and everyone.
Miles found his feet stuck to the floor upon finally laying eyes on the scene.
Ugh. God. A bunch of preps poking their noses into his and Hobieâs business while probably begging to read the very private note that Miles wrote for him was absolutely not anywhere in his list of things heâd like to experience today.
So Miles did a sudden about-face and walked away quickly, before he was even spotted.
Plan B was set in motion, then: give the bag over to Hobie before the next period.
Miles always dreaded the class he and Hobie shared right after lunch. The awkwardness subsided after a while, since it was kinda hard to feel so bad about The Incident when the entire class had to cram for quizzes and do research for essays, but the pit in Milesâ stomach as he purposefully averted his gaze away from that corner of the room was never easy to ignore.
But now, after weeks of gloom and doom, Miles found himself actually being excited for the bell to ring. He quietly made his way upstairs to the top level and slipped into the classroom as gracefully as he could manage.
Sure, he was nervous as hell about it all, at the end of the day. But he wanted this little problem thatâs been put away for far too long to just⊠finally be done and over with. If for nothing else, he just wanted one less student at Visions hating his guts, really.
He placed the paper bag onto Hobieâs chair and scooted it underneath the desk to hide it from the rest of the classroom. The last thing he needed was some other nosy student swiping it up and rifling through the contents before Hobie could see it.
Miles ate part of his sandwich in the peace and quiet of the classroom, enjoying what precious little minutes he had until the bell rang and everyone-- including the teacher-- filed in to start the classâs lessons of the day.
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Milesâ simple plan was a success, just as his buddy Hobie Brown had predicted.
Hobie Jones had read the note quietly in his corner of the room and hastily shoved the dinner plate into his backpack soon after.
Miles didnât know if that meant he was forgiven or not, but at least he took the (probably cold) food with him and read the note without tearing it up into a million pieces, so at least Miles had that going for him.
There was one last step to really clinch the victory, though; an invitation to meet up at the rooftop later that day, before the last bell finally rung and let all of the kids out of the school for the day. Miles still had a lot to get off his chest that he couldnât quite lay down on paper, and he needed to properly apologize to Hobieâs face to finally put his conscience at ease.
Whether or not Hobie took the invitation was left up in the air, really.
Miles made sure to try and get a head start so he could make it up there before Hobie could, but he made sure to add âbe up at the rooftop by 3:30pm if youâre coming or Iâm bouncingâ to the end of the note, because as much as he wanted to make amends with his dimensionâs Hobie, he was not going to let petty school drama get in the way of Spiderman-ing.
Miles was a man of standards, and he held himself to some level of professionalism, thank you very much!
It was cold that day, very cold.
Miles was lowkey regretting his decision to meet outside now as he tucked his chin deeper into his big puffer jacket, warming his hands with his warm breath before shoving them into his pockets.
He hoped Hobie had gotten used to getting around the hallways a bit more now, and that he could find his way up to the roof level without becoming completely lost and just giving up entirely.
As the minutes crawled by, Miles found himself unlocking and locking his phone multiple times, checking the time, checking for any notifications to distract himself, and wondering just why he decided on the roof to meet instead of, say, his dorm room hallway or whatever.
Then, the roof access door slowly swung open, and there stood Hobie M. Jones in all his six-foot-something glory.
Miles sucked in his breath as Hobieâs big brown eyes scanned the roof and fell upon his face, and the both of them stood rooted to their spots for a split second like deer in headlights.
Then Hobie grunted, tugged at his ponytail to let it loose, and his long dreads fell all around his face in one graceful movement. Miles felt his mouth go dry.
Milesâ feet moved on their own. They met in the middle, and a strong wind rushed through to tousle Hobieâs impressive locs some more as they both stared each other down.
Miles finally opened his mouth to speak, feeling his voice catching in his throat for a split second, before being interrupted anyways.
âYou donât need to apologize,â Hobie says quickly, tucking his own chin into his expensive-looking jacketâs collar as well.
Milesâ brain bluescreened. âWait, wha?â
Hobie huffed out a laugh, the vapors of his breath being carried away in the chilly wind like dandelion seeds. âIâm being serious, man. Itâs⊠itâs cool, honestly. I get why you ditched me. It happens all the time,â
Milesâ heart sinks. âN-no, Hobie, look. I really messed up and I felt like I had to-- wait, what do you mean all the time?â
Miles had a sweeping feeling of déja vu overcome him then.
Hobie chuckled ruefully, shrugging as he shoves his hands deeper into his own pockets, mirroring Miles. âI mean, like⊠you think youâre the only one who ever ran for the hills after seeing how famous I was? It just happens. Thatâs my life, I guess.â
Milesâ lower lip stuck out a bit. âBut thatâs⊠dude. That is so depressing!â
Hobie shook his head, tossing a loc out of his face. âSure, but itâs⊠itâs just my life. Itâs just how things are when youâre a model around here.â
They looked sadly into each otherâs eyes before Hobie averts his gaze to his shoes, scuffing the toe on the roof floor for a second before looking back up and continuing.
â⊠You, uhm. Howâd you⊠howâd you know that I like Jamaican food, though? Iâve never told anyone about that before. Nobody but my family, anyways.â
âUhh, lucky guess?â Miles offers him a lopsided grin.
Hobie smiles for real this time, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like his earth-138 counterpart. âYou really are a weird guy, just like you said before. What else did you want to tell me, before we both gotta bounce?â
Miles gaped at him like a fish. âYou⊠you have to let me apologize, though. Like actually. Before we both have to go.â
Hobie nodded. âOkay. Iâm all ears,â
Miles took a deep breath. âIâŠ!" His voice caught in his throat for a second. "Uh. Do you wanna maybe⊠hang out, like outside of school sometime? Maybe grab some more Jamaican food from my favorite place?â
Hobie looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face. âYou⊠thatâs your apology?â
Miles sighed. âIâm bad at conflict management, man. Just let me treat you to some more lunch and then⊠maybe we can just let this whole thing go, yeah? You wonât ever have to talk to me again after this, I promise!â
âYou are seriously sending me mixed signals here,â Hobie says. But he doesnât seem opposed to the idea.
âI know, I know! But please, just humor me, man. We can do it this weekend, even. I just⊠feel like a total dick after what I did and I wanna be able to actually make it up to you.â
Hobie directs his shy smile back down to the ground. âJesus,â he mutters.
Miles holds his palms forward. âWhat? Is that a no?â
Hobie laughs, full and bright and it-- fuck-- it fills Miles with a dizzying thrill that makes him laugh, too!
âFine⊠but if you ditch me again this time, you asshole--â Hobie grabs the front of Milesâ jacket and yanks it towards him, putting the both of them closer together and making a complete heatwave roll through Milesâ nerves, âI will-- uh,â
Miles doesnât register why Hobie stops speaking all of a sudden until his eyes slowly follow down to what heâs looking at, and then both of their hearts stop at the same time.
In Milesâ earlier haste to jump into his clothing after his meal run, he forgot to button a few buttons on his shirt, which left his very visibly black and red suit out in the open with just one small yank of his coatâs zipper. The top of his red spider emblem shone bright against the dark spandex.
For a second, the world stopped. The wind stopped blowing, the cars down below stopped honking, Miles stopped breathing.
Then, he hastily took a step back and cleared his throat, hoping against hope that Hobie would not recognize the spider suit so easily.
âS-so, yeah? Youâll go? I, uh, promise I wonât stand you up if you do. We can, uhm. Exchange numbers if you want--â here, Miles starts fumbling around his pockets for his phone, a device that he clung onto like a lifeline moments ago now almost completely forgotten in the excitement of the situation.
Hobie swallows and takes a step back also. âY-yeah⊠yeah, sure. Letâs uhm. Letâs link up later, then.â
Miles lets Hobie input his digits into his contact list, and then bids him farewell.
âIâll text you later, okay? Gotta go now, bye!â
Miles almost wants to throw himself off the roof of the school just to land on the concrete sidewalks below with a splat. A flattened spider. Itâs what he deserves, honestly.
But he swallows his embarrassment and rushes down the stairs towards his own dorm room, instead.
He seriously, seriously hopes Hobie didn't recognize his spider suit, goddamn!
Once Miles gets to his room, he sags against the door with a sigh and shrugs off his puffer jacket. Then, he fishes his phone out of the jacketâs pocket and flicks the screen on, which now has Hobie Jonesâ digits input into it under the name of âMJ (from Visions)â.
Miles throws himself into his and Gankeâs shared computer chair and twirls over to the window.
Itâs Miles. I am not ditching you this time, PROMISE, he sends over to the number.
A few minutes later, he gets a response and his stomach flutters with the chime.
You better not, Hobie playfully teases. I know where you sleepâŠ
A few more knife emojis accompany the texts and Miles laughs out loud. Then he bites his lip.
Fuck⊠damn. This really is earth-1610âs version of MJ, huh. The name beamed straight into his eyeballs from where it sat right at the top of his messages and it continued to haunt him as he got his laptop out for the night to finally make some more leeway on his English essay.
Miles went to bed that night dreaming of him and a red-headed Hobie Jones holding Mayday.
#spiderverse#hobie brown#miles morales#punkflower#mine#*stadium cheering* miles did it!!! he did it!#with his awkward spider rizz he secured a dat-- i mean a hangout with hobie mfing jones!!#stay tuned to see what happens in part three đ#and who knows..... there just might also be a part four.....................#<_<#we just might have to see!#also goddamn i know that pic i drew and threw in there is. bad. but ive been playing with markers lately since i bought them#so i figured i'd also use this fic lowkey as practice lmfao#pls excuse the weird mistakes and bad coloring overall. its been years. IM TRYING OK đ#gonna hopefully add in a much better drawing to the next installment. just gotta practice more is all!#also this is my 1st time writing out hobie brown's dialogue with tha accent n everything#lemme kno how i did đ i tried not to make the accent TOO cringey to read!
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