Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

By now, there were three things that you had never seen Miles Morales do:

Work with a partner, say ‘hello’ first, and eat lunch in the cafeteria.

The first thing was about to change in the next forty-five minutes or so. 

The third, you’d soon figure out as you crept quietly up the staircase that led to the rooftop. You had planned to convince the boy to actually cooperate with you in Calculus, offering to do his English homework in exchange. 

As soon as you reach the top of the stairwell, though, all thoughts of negotiation leave you. Your eyes land on Miles’ heaving figure, and you realize that there's a fourth thing you’d never seen him do: cry.

The only sound that could be heard was the whistling of wind and the small, whimpering sounds that it carried with it. He didn’t seem to have a bag or tray of food with him. It unnerved you to try to imagine what could make a boy that tall shrivel up like that.

You didn’t say anything (what could you say?), slowly stepping back down the stairwell.  While your back was turned, Miles peeked through his elbows and caught a glimpse of your retreating sneakers. He didn’t come downstairs until the bell rang.

You sat down at your not-by-the-window seat. Miles had arrived earlier than you as usual, but his head was down, seemingly asleep. 

The case holding his glasses sat unopened. As usual.

“Today, you all will begin to brainstorm for your partnered projects ,” Ms. Jones beamed, clapping her hands together.

Miles’ head suddenly perked up. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost, while you chewed on your pencil’s eraser absentmindedly. There was no way Jones was about to pair you up with a temporary partner–

“...and I’ve switched some of the pairings to account for those who are unable to join us this week.” The woman made direct eye contact with you as she finished the sentence, and your stomach dropped. “Everyone will be partnered with the scholar sitting next to them.”

Small cheers and celebratory squeals erupted across the classroom. You look at Miles, who still has rings of red around his puffy eyes. He glances at you before turning away to fake-stare out of the window. 

Jones continues, “Your AP Physics teacher and I have decided to combine our projects into one prompt, meaning that the instructions are two-fold. In Physics, as you already know, you will be writing a lab report based on the experiments y’all have been doing all of last week. In my class, you’ll also come up with three short calculus problems based on real-life scenarios,”

The woman paused at the wave of groans and sighs, and shook her head.

 “based on what you have learned, both here and in Physics. You will present at least one of them in class for your own mini-lessons. Any questions?”

The classroom was silent as she quickly scanned the room,

“Well, alright, then! I need someone to pass around these brainstorming sheets.”

Miles had a frown on his face for the entirety of Ms. Jones’ spiel, arms crossed like a toddler. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t currently in the same boat.

Two sheets of paper landed on your desk, and you passed one to him.

“Any ideas, Morales?” 

“Not in an ideas mood at the moment,” the boy muttered, massaging his temples.

You rest your chin on the backs of your hands and sigh.

“Fair enough.”

Another awkward silence. You began to jot down a few topics for math problems: projectiles, the speed of a vehicle, but your pen eventually slowed to a stop out of boredom. Had your friend been here, she would’ve filled the silence with lively conversation about the news, P.E., or Ms. Jones’ outfit. 

“Why don't you like working with people?” you ask, suddenly. Miles cut his eyes at you.

“ ‘Cuz of questions like that.”

“What if I’m just tryna make conversation?”

“About what?”

“Well, whatever’s on your mind,” you gesture towards the open spiral notebook next to him full of sketches. He hasn’t added anything new to it all class. “Must be something happening up there.”

The boy’s eyes flickered toward the page. You’d already seen it, so there was no point in shutting the notebook closed.

“I don’t see what’s so interesting about these to you.”

You tilted your head to see the drawings better. Some of the figures leaping across the page looked vaguely familiar; some from action movies, others from anime, judging by the hair.

“I like your art style. It’s so…” you stare up at the ceiling, lips jutting out as you try to find the right word. “... Knife-y .”

The corners of Miles’ lips quiver, and an unusual sound suddenly escapes him. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and his shoulders shake as he briefly turns away.

“My fault,” he says, turning back around after clearing his throat. “You said it’s what ?”

The sound of his stifled laughter makes you giggle despite being the subject of it.

“It’s sharp and pointy , okay? That’s what I meant.” 

At this point, both of you are struggling to keep a straight face at the back of the classroom.

“Why didn’t you just say that ?”

“Listen, I forget words a lot. Gimme a break!”

Miles wipes a tear away, “Yeah, I ain’t neve r letting you forget that one.”

“Okay, back to the drawings, though. Who’s that?” you pointed at a sketch of the caped figure with sharp eyes from before. A shadow fell over the boy’s expression.

“Nobody important. Just sumn I made up.”

You hum in acknowledgement, drumming your fingers on the desk.

“One more question, then I’ll leave you alone. Why don’t you eat downstairs with everyone else?”

“It’s too loud down there, so I eat in the counselor’s office,” he answered.

Miles narrowed his eyes. “Now, can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How’d you know I don’t eat downstairs?”

He knew the answer, of course. But he wanted to know if you’d lie.

You nibbled at your bottom lip, staring at the solid lines on your worksheet.

“I…may or may not have seen you. Upstairs.”

Miles nodded slowly, silently. As if he was considering something.

“You was looking for me?”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to…interrupt,” you look up and meet the boy’s eyes. “Did you get to eat lunch, though?”

He gave you a weird look. “What’s that gotta do with you stalking me?”

Crossing your arms defensively, you shot back, “You were so damn worried about whether I ate, why can’t I return the favor?”

Miles’ eyes widened for a moment, before darting in the other direction. “I think you should go back to doing your work.”

Just as he finished his sentence, the school bell rang. Miles was already standing with his bag slung over his shoulder.

As you gather your stuff, you call out, “ Wait! I need your email for this project, I forgot.”

“Right,” Miles ripped out a sheet of paper from his notebook, scribbling his email address on it before handing it to you. “I’ll share my slides with you when I’m done.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I thought you weren’t in an ‘ideas’ mood, today.”

The boy shrugged as he pulled the back door open with his free arm, stopping it with his foot. “I am now. We’re getting graded as a group.”

-

The two of you had decided to reconvene just outside the basketball court after the final bell of the day.

“You already decided to take over the slides, lemme at least present!”

“Nope. Not riskin’ it.”

You groaned, pacing around as Miles leaned on the chain link fence.

“I’m literally good at public speaking, what ‘risk’?”

“ You ,” Miles pointed, “are an entire letter grade below me in English. Why should I believe you?”

“I am on the mock trial team , bro.”

He raised a challenging eyebrow. “You any good at it, though?”

You scoffed, “Of course I am!”

“Prove it. Gimme a closing speech right now.”

A deep sigh left you, but you did happen to have a speech on-hand that you had won with last season. You moved to stand in front of Miles as if he were a jury member, and cleared your throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” you began, “in today’s trial, we have clearly laid out the facts of this case…”

By the time your speech was over, the court was empty and quiet. Miles nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his features. Your voice took on a sharp precision and clarity that he hadn’t gotten to hear in the couple days he’d known you.

“Shit, maybe that nigga is innocent,” he said beneath a laugh. “Alright.”

“You gonna let me present?” you perked up.

“Yeah, you convinced me. My bad,” the boy stuck out his hand.

You rolled your eyes, and shook it.

“Yeah, your bad ,”

Suddenly, your hand flew over your mouth when you recalled something.

“Oh, shit, I gotta stay after and do my readings.”

“Stay… after ?” Miles repeated. “There’s no office hours today.”

“I know,” you shrugged, “I just sorta hang out around here to do my homework till it gets too dark.”

The boy’s face was a picture of disbelief.

“Why don’t you just do it at home?”

“Too noisy. Can’t focus.”

Miles stared at the ground, looking deep in thought. He got off of the fence.

“Look, do you wanna study at mine? If your parents let you, I mean.”

“Don’t need to ask ‘em. Long as I’m home before midnight,” you replied.

Miles shook his head, but said nothing as he took out his phone and began to dial a number.

“Hello? Hi, mami. ¿Puedo estudiar con un compañero de clase?”

He paused for a second to wait for a reply.

“Sí, es la misma chica. M-hm. Love you, bye.”

“She said yes?”

Miles nodded, then gestured to get you to follow him. “Yup, ‘till ten.”

You hummed thoughtfully as the two of you began walking.

“I like your Spanish. It sounds better than Ms. Sanchez’s,” you remarked.

“ ‘My Spanish’?” Miles looked back at you briefly, eyes narrowed. “What does that even mean ?”

“It just sounds nice.”

“You’re weird. Walk faster.”

-

“Can you even see without those?”

You pointed towards the brown case sitting on the small desk by Miles’ laptop as he typed away.

“I’ve seen enough,” he replied, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. The soft ‘thud’ of the case shutting reverberated across the quiet bedroom.

“I wouldn’t wear ‘em, if I was you.”

“Too late,” you chirped. The case contained a pair of green, rectangular prescription glasses. The lenses were still clean from their utter lack of use. Of course, you couldn’t see a thing through them.

“Damn, you blind as fuck!”

This earned a snort from Miles. He paused his rapid typing and turned around to see you sprawled out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling through his glasses.

“Bro, do your homework ,” he laughed. “Did you even start?”

You looked over at the small paperback novel laying by your head. 

“Maybe,” you said with a grunt, propping yourself up on your elbows. “How many chapters we got?”

“Just two.”

“ Just ?”

“I finished the book yesterday, you’ll be a’ight,” Miles said as he turned back to his laptop.

“Of course yo’ ass already finished the damn– Who’s point of view is this ?” you asked, squinting at the paragraph you had left off on.

“Minerva’s, we in part two now.”

“Thanks.”

You sat in a comfortable silence for the next few hours, and you had read the assigned chapters before you knew it. The time on your phone read ‘9:01pm’ when you checked it. You heard Miles shut his laptop.

“A’ight, you gotta get up outta here. My ma said she gonna drop you off before work, that okay?”

“So soon?” you joked, sitting upright.

“Yeah, you need to dip. What if I had a girl over and she saw yo ass lying on my bed?”

“Alright, Mr. Bitches, I’m gone,” you hopped to your feet. “Lemme get my shoes first.”

Miles rose from his swivel chair and stretched.

“Damn right, I am.”

“Whatever you say, Morales.”