Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered through the large classroom window. Usually you'd be seated right by it, but today your usual partner was out sick, so you were moved to the back of the classroom. Blocking out the sunshine was the silhouette of a boy you had only seen in the hallways once or twice. He had deep brown skin, with two neat cornrows cascading down either side of his neck and brushing his shoulders. He had an undercut, faded cleanly beneath the braids. There was a case meant for holding glasses sitting at the front of his desk, but no spectacles sitting on his prominent nose. 

The boy was bent over his worksheet already, arm covering the page.

"Hey," you said with a pleasant upturn in your voice. A full thirty seconds passed. He didn't answer, so you try again.

"Um, excuse me-"

"I heard you." 

The boy kept his eyes on his desk, brows knitted together with focus. He was making broad, sharp strokes with his pencil. His elbow moved for a moment, revealing not a sheet of math problems, but a piece of printer paper filled with intricate geometric designs. Precise lines come together to create the form of a caped figure. It has large, mechanical claws and a mask with sharp, wide eyes.

"That's a cool drawing," you commented. The boy's shoulders jumped to his ears as if he'd been caught before dropping back down. He finally looked up from the page, and paused. Clear, brown eyes flickered across your face, trying to determine what to make of you.

"Thanks," was all that the boy said before returning to his sketching.

"You not gonna finish your work?"

"I'm already done, that's why Ms. Jones let me rock."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me," you muttered. 

You messed with the sleeve of your royal blue uniform blazer in silence, weighing your options. Ms. Jones wasn't going to let you turn in another incomplete assignment, and this kid couldn't even be assed to say 'hello'. A deep sigh escapes your lips.

"Can I get your name, at least?"

The boy set his pen down, and looked up at you as if he'd just been asked what color the sky was.

"Morales," he deadpanned, with a slight roll on the 'r'. 

"Which Morales?"

"Miles."

You hummed in slight recognition, having heard the name somewhere before, murmured next to you in passing.

"You Dominican?"

"Puerto Rican."

"Oh, cool."

"M-hm." 

He picked up his pen again and began to twirl it between his pointer and middle finger, but held your gaze. You looked like you were finally about to get to the actual question.

"Well, Morales," you began with a smile.

Here it comes.

"Since you're done, can you help me with-"

"No."

You scoffed, "What's the point of being partners, then?"

Miles had already returned to his original position, scribbling away.

"We not partners, ma."

And so began the longest school week of your life.

Chapter Text

"Oh Miles? He's in some of my AP classes. Honor student," Your friend's voice filtered through your phone speakers while on the FaceTime call.

She popped a potato chip in her mouth as she sat in bed and sniffled, at home with a nasty cold.

"I've heard his name before. I think his dad died, that true?"

"Yeah, a couple years ago. Say he used to be really sweet, and now he don't talk no more."

"That's sad," you remark. "Maybe that's why he's like that."

"You actually saw him in class?!?"
Your friend's face was the picture of disbelief, eyes wide as saucers as if this was a rare event.

"Yeah, he's my partner for the week cuz you decided to go and get yo ass sick!" you explained, dramatically jabbing a finger at your phone screen. 

"It's not my fault that kid from AP Chem sneezed on me, damn!"

"He's really smart, but his attitude fucking sucks. He draws good, though," you think out loud.

“It’s just a week, sis, give it four more days, you’ll be fine.”

“You’d better hope so, for your sake.”
-
The following afternoon saw you asking around, trying to piece together a picture of this kid that everyone simultaneously knew and didn’t know.

By the time lunchtime ended and Ms. Jones’ calculus class rolled around, you had heard the following:

‘Almost flunked out of school…on purpose’.

‘Did graffiti on the school walls once.’

‘Freakishly quiet’.

‘Secretly joined a gang’.

That last bit made your stomach turn a little as you approached your new temporary seat. Sure enough, Miles was already slouched at his desk, twirling that same pen between his fingers like a drumstick. You didn’t bother to say ‘hi’ this time. He didn’t bother to look up, either.

He didn’t speak during the lecture portion of class, not even to answer questions. Would explain why you’d hardly noticed him until this week. As the heavy-set math teacher scanned the classroom, she frequently craned her neck and made brief eye contact with Miles, but never cold-called him.

Her skin was a chestnut shade, and she kept her dark hair pinned back in a tight, slick bun. The way she pressed her lips together as she moved on suggested that they’d been through this before.

When her lecture ended, Miles suddenly stood to his full height. 

You weren’t able to tell by the way he sat, but the boy was quite lanky. Even with his awkwardly-broad shoulders slumped, he likely was a half a head taller than you. Ms. Jones stopped her slow pacing around the classroom and sighed.

“Miles, sweetie, what did I say yesterday?”

Miles looked up at the ceiling in exasperation before plopping back down into his chair. He raised his hand as if it pained him to do so.

“Yes, Mr. Morales?”

“May I please use the restroom?” 

A few snickers could be heard erupting around the classroom, and the woman rolled her eyes. An innocent smile was plastered over Miles’ face, revealing two deep dimples in his cheeks. If the smile had actually reached his eyes, you would’ve thought he was cute.

“Go ahead,” Jones relented. 

The boy dropped the smile and noisily pushed his chair aside; As he shot back up from his seat and strolled past your desk towards the door, Jones narrowed her eyes at him.

“Hold it. Sir, where are your glasses?”
Miles stopped in his tracks, groaning loudly.

“Oh my god, I don’t need glasses to go potty, Ms. Jones. I can aim, I promise.”

“Make sure you put them on as soon as you get back, your mother told me to remind you. Go,” Jones said, waving her hand dismissively.

“Uh-huh, thank you, ma’am!” The boy was already in the hallway, letting the door slam behind him.

Today's partner work was just a packet of long equations to simplify, so you were only mildly irritated that Miles never seemed to return from his impromptu bathroom trip until the last fifteen minutes of class.

You looked up as he sauntered over to his desk, hands in his pockets. 

“Where were you? Class is almost over,” you demanded. 

Miles ignored you and sat down, picking up his pen to work at a long string of equations at lightning speed. 
Suddenly, you reached over and snapped your fingers in front of him. The boy looked up with his lips curled into a grimace.

"What's good witchu? You got through the work, didn't you?" Miles hissed in a low whisper to avoid catching Ms. Jones' attention. 

You frowned deeply. "And what if I didn't? I'd be struggling while you were off running around the school-"

"I needed time to myself," he interrupted. "To think."

"Think about what?"

"Personal shit," Miles resumed his problem-solving. "Any more questions, officer?"

The school bell rang, pulling from you a sigh of relief that you wouldn't have to see him again for another 24 hours.

Chapter Text

…Or so you thought.

Standing right in front of you in the crowded bodega ordering a beef patty was none other than Mr. Morales himself, drowning in a huge black puffer jacket. As soon as he finished, he stood off to the side, eyes glued to the floor and shifting from one foot to the other.

“What you want, miss?” The man at the counter broke you out of your reverie, looking impatient.

“Sorry, just a BLT, please,” you called out over the din of music and loud conversation. The man nodded, yelling out your order to two other men standing over a hot stove beside him. 

You moved to the side, near the snack aisle where Miles was standing. His eyes seemed to remain on the ground, so you sneak glances at the side of his face, starting from his ears. They were pierced, but currently barren. You move up to his cheek, where a stray lash has fallen. The boy's lashes were just long enough to brush it. They fluttered as his pupil darted to the side, and you realized that you were making eye contact.

"Whoah, can I get my face back?"

Miles had caught you just before your eyes could flicker away. He had that same ‘the sky is blue’ look that he gave you on the first day you were seated together. You quickly turned away without a word, opting to examine the snacks lining the rack behind you.

“No ‘hello’?”

You spun around, bag of Takis in-hand.

“What?”

“You just gon’ stare into my skull and not even say ‘hello’?”

You scoffed at the boy’s sudden interest in etiquette.

“Fine, hi .”

One of the cooks called out both of your orders, sliding them across the counter wrapped in aluminum foil as the two of you went up to the front.

“ Bye. ”

Miles grabbed his food first before weaving through the crowd towards the exit.

That is, until you try to squeeze out of the door before him. Your face plants into the plush material of his jacket before you stumble onto the cracked sidewalk outside, your poor sandwich open on the ground before you could even take a bite.

Groaning, you hear a few ‘ Ohhh’ s behind you as you squat to pick the two halves up to throw them out. This was supposed to be your dinner.

Miles watches you toss them into a nearby trash can, and makes a decision.

“Yo,” he waved you over. His face looked like it was holding onto a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“Now is really not the time, Morales.”

“So I guess you not tryna eat, then?”

You paused, and looked at the boy skeptically. He didn’t seem like the type to be above making you eat things off the floor. As if you had communicated with him telepathically, Miles shrugs his shoulders and nods.

“That’s fair,” he says to himself. 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise when he makes long strides over to you instead. He carefully opens up the aluminum to reveal the golden pastry inside, and you watch him carefully split it in half with his fingers before offering the piece. You look up at Miles, then the patty, then back up at Miles. His expression softened into a knowing look.

“I’m not gonna ask for no money back, if that’s what’s on your mind.”

Finally, you take it. It was either this, or Takis and sleep for dinner.

 “Thanks.”

The sky had taken on a deep blue shade, and worry crept onto your features as the street lights began to flicker on.

“I gotta walk home,” you said flatly. “See you tomorrow–”

“By yourself?”

Even as it got dark, you could make out the deep frown on Miles’ face.

“It’s not that far, relax.”

“How far?”

Your tongue pushed against the inside of your cheek before you muttered, “Three blocks…”

Miles stuck his hands in his pockets. “Look, ion like yo’ ass, but I can’t have you walking around here by yourself in the dark. Lemme walk you two blocks,” he put two fingers for emphasis, “at least.”

You tilted your head at him, but agreed. 

“Slow down,” you complained as you struggled to keep up with the long-legged boy. The both of you had been walking for barely twenty minutes, but your feet were already starting to hurt from having to jog up to him.

“Walk faster,” Miles laughed. 

Silence settled in between you as the streets got quieter, save for the bustling of traffic in the distance.

“Is it true what people say about you?” you ask, suddenly breaking it.

“Be more specific.”

“Like, are you in a gang? You don’t gotta tell me which. And how the hell you flunk outta school on purpose ? Do you really do graffiti-”

“First of all, I’m not in no fuckin’ gang,” Miles had stopped walking abruptly. “You see any tats on me?”

“You’re wearing a coat.”

You hear Miles suck his teeth, and snicker.

“Well, I don’t have one . My momma would put me in the dirt if I did,”

He resumed his speed-walking, and you break into another light jog to stay next to him. “The other two are true, though.”

“Why?” you ask, a little out of breath.

“Do you know how to use complete sentences?”

“Why’d you flunk on purpose? Graffiti, I can understand. That, I can't.”

Miles was silent for a few moments, and you considered retracting the question before he finally replied.

“Visions…wasn’t really for me.”

You want to press further, piece together how a kid with a strict mother and a knack for advanced calculus could just… decide that school ‘wasn’t for him’. But the way he mumbled his answer told you he wouldn’t divulge any more, and your house was just up ahead. You’d walked all three blocks.

“This is me,” you say as you slow your pace. “Thanks again.”

“Yup, g’night,” Miles calls behind him, already strolling in the opposite direction.

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.”

Chapter Text

Miles had left his lunch in the counselor’s office to sprint to the rooftop. Someone had been playing jazz music next door; Ella Fitzgerald. He remembers the melody from somewhere, but the title is escaping him.

‘Just a…Moon’?

‘Only a Cardboard Moon’...

‘Once in a Blue Moon’…

Could it have been ‘Moon River’...?

No, wrong ‘moon’ song.

A small grin plays on the boy’s lips as he recalls clamping his hands over his ears in his dad’s car. Jazz music bored him half to death, then.

  I’ll have to ask dad, Miles thinks to himself. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut.

… I can’t ask dad.

A wave of hot tears that he’d been holding back for a year threatens to spill out of him. The deep breaths don’t work. The dam Miles had built was much weaker than he’d remembered.

So there he was, curled up into a shaking ball with the wind and his own sobs in his ear. Ugly sobs that knocked all of the air out of his lungs. No one else ever seemed to have the bright idea to eat their lunch up here, so the boy didn’t bother to hold back.

Big mistake.

Once the sobs finally began to soften and slow down, Miles heard the shuffling of feet.

Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

A familiar pair of sneakers. Beat-up white running shoes, with a little golden anklet around the right sock. He held his breath as they slowly backed away before disappearing into the dark stairwell.

Chapter Text

The small plastic bag carrying your lunch swung from your wrist as you pushed the door to the counselor’s office open.

"Thanks again for helping me organize around here," said the woman standing beside you.

"No problem, Ms. Keene!"

By the time you stepped inside, Miles was already sitting at the round table in the middle of the room.

The boy spoke first as soon as your eyes met.

"Hey," he greeted you flatly. His stare wasn't too far off from the look of curiosity you get from a stray cat that isn't certain whether you're trying to give it food or not; neither malicious nor particularly excited.

You tilted your head in surprise.

"Hey, you in trouble or something?"

Miles shook his head.

"Ms. Keene lets me have lunch in here."

"You two know each other?" The tall, dark-skinned woman asked. Though she had asked you both, she beamed at Miles as she spoke. He glanced back and forth between you and the woman.

"Kinda."

She clasped her manicured hands together. 

"I'm glad you're starting to make friends again. That's progress . Enjoy your lunch," Ms. Keene said as she spun on her heel to leave, her short bob cut bouncing along with her.

"And put on those glasses!"

Miles rolled his eyes as the door shut with a click.

"Everybody's on your case about these glasses, dude. Just put 'em on," you said as you sat down next to him.

"Don't need 'em."

"Okay," you pointed to the analog clock hanging directly across from him, "tell me what time it is without using your phone."

He scoffed.

"Easy, it's…"

The boy stood, and squinted so hard that his nose scrunched. He heard you laughing through your nose behind him after a minute and soon dropped back down to his seat, hands raised in resignation.

"Alright, you got me. But who's looking at the damn clock all day?"

"Sitting in the back of the classroom with no glasses on is nuts , Miles. What's so bad about them?”

Miles pouted in indignation, "They make me look like Steve Urkel.”

“They can’t be that bad,” you said, grabbing the case from next to him and prying it open. “Lemme see.”

“Nope.”

“Just this once!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“ Please ?”

The boy sighed, then took the glasses from you with a wary expression. He looked at them like they were a moldy piece of bread before finally putting them on.

“Happy?”

Neon green color aside, the glasses were truly not that bad. The thick lenses framed his face and made him look younger. The boy blinked, awaiting your verdict.

“ Awww , you look like a little nerd!”

“Don't start with that,” Miles shook his head, a grin spreading across his face in spite of himself. He swiped them off of his face and took the case from you.

“It’s not a bad thing,” you said over a bite of your sandwich, “you look cute in them.”

He froze, a hand instinctively flying up to scratch the nape of his neck before turning his gaze in the other direction. You could still see the impression of his dimples peeking out from the side.

“Don’t get a big head over it, now,” you elbowed him gently. He quickly changed the subject.

“I’m finna tell Ms. Keene that you’re distracting me.”

Miles was now hunched over his notebook again. He had his homework sheet covering one page, but you could tell he was sketching. When you tried to look over his shoulder, he frantically shut it closed.

“Can you not be nosy for five minutes?”

“My fault, bro, damn.”

Miles continued to draw quietly for almost the entirety of calculus, never once allowing you to peek at it. He didn’t pause until you lightly tapped his arm.

The boy flinched at the sudden contact, but you had his attention.

“I’m stuck on this problem you wrote, just this one. Help me out?”

He tapped his pen lightly on the desk in consideration. Finally, he shrugged, closing the notebook and sliding it to the side.

“Sure.”

You placed the worksheet between you and Miles, where your desks met.

“It’s this one. I’m not getting the solution you got,” you explained, placing a finger on the offending equation. 

Miles peered closely at it. His braids nearly brushed the desk as his head moved.

“You gettin’ it wrong because you forgot to distribute here ,” he pointed. “Everything has to distribute.”

You nodded as the gears in your head got to turning again. “Thanks.”

“ Ma! ” Miles whined as he took his plate of yellow rice and peas from the table.

“I’m just saying! La chica es muy linda, sigues mirándola. Don’t do anything crazy up there, understand?”

You were far from fluent, but the first bit of the brown woman’s sentence made a shy smile grace your features.

“This looks so good, thanks Mrs. Morales.” you said as you grabbed your own plate, carefully carrying it with both hands. 

“No problem, baby,” the woman replied, gently smacking the back of her son’s head before sending you both upstairs. “Same time as usual.”

“Your mom’s nice,” you remarked once you entered Miles’ room.

“You just sayin’ that ‘cuz she gassed your head up,” Miles laughed.

“Whatever. I’m ‘bout to fuck this plate up !”

“Not on my bed, I hope.”

The boy gave you a warning glance.

“Relax, you see me sitting?” 

You blew on a spoonful of rice before trying it, and the flavor nearly made your eyes pop out of your skull.

“Your momma went crazy in that kitchen.”

“M-hm,” was all Miles could reply as he shoveled the rice into his mouth, already halfway through the plate.

Soon both of your plates had been scraped clean, and you started working after taking the dirty dishes downstairs to wash. All three calculus problems had been completed, but a small squabble broke out over the appearance of the slideshow that Miles had put together.

“It looks so boring ,” you complained. “At least make the background a different color–”

“Uh-unh, you gon’ make it hard as fuck to read. I say we keep it simple,” the boy swatted your hand away from the keyboard.

“Make the title dark magenta, and you got a deal.”

He sighed, “Fine. It’s legible, I guess.”

It was still only 7:30 by the time the project was finished, and you didn’t feel like leaving behind the warmth of Miles’ home just yet.

“Can you play some music?” 

Miles spun around in his swivel chair.

“What kind?”

“I dunno, whatever you listen to,” you tilted your head at him quizzically. “What do you listen to?”

“Um,” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small Bluetooth speaker, setting it on his desk. “Just…whatever I feel like. Lots of stuff.”

He carefully laid down on his bed next to you, making sure to maintain at least a few inches of distance.

Old jazz music began to float through the air.

“You like Ella?”

“Yeah,” he said at a near-whisper. “...I do now . Forgot what this song was called.”

“‘It’s Only A Paper Moon,’” you answered. “From ‘The War Years’. Beautiful record.”

Miles snuck a glance at the side of your face while you stared up at the ceiling. He liked the dreamy, far-off way you’d said the title.

“You sound old as fuck right now,” he commented. “ Record …”

This made you burst into laughter, and Miles decided that he didn’t mind that sound, either.

“My momma always calls ‘em ‘records’, so I picked up the habit.”

“I like how you talk.”

You finally turned your head and met the boy’s eyes. The small grin playing on his face wasn’t a teasing one.

“‘ How I talk ?’”

“When you’re not grilling me with questions like a cop? Yeah, it’s nice.”

Not sure what to do with this new information, you turn your gaze back up to the ceiling.

“You’re a strange one, Miles,” was all you could say.

There was a brief pause before you asked,“What did you mean by ‘now’?”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “What’d I say about complete sentences?”

“Sorry,” you rolled your eyes. “You said you liked this song now , you didn’t like it before?”

He was silent for a good, long, ten seconds before answering.

“I used to not be super into jazz. Dad used to play that shit on the radio, driving me to school. I hated having to hear it the entire ride,” he laughed. “I know he’s somewhere making fun of my ass now.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, wondering if you should offer comforting words, or your condolences. Knowing Miles – at least a little – you decided against it.

“I used to listen to Ella songs when the house got too loud, or while I was eating lunch.”

“They let you listen to music down there?”

“Nah, I was eating upstairs with the English teacher after she saw me sitting by myself.”

“You still sit by yourself?”

Shaking your head, you answered, “I sit with Tianna, she’s usually my calc partner. This week’s kind of an exception.”

“So if it wasn’t for her, I woulda finished this shit three days ago,” he joked.

You placed your hand over your heart and gasped dramatically. “You mean you don’t enjoy being graced by my presence?”

“Hm,” Miles conceded, “I enjoy it a little .”

“Is this your way of saying we besties now?”

“Whoah, never mind. You killed the moment.”

“That was a moment?”

“Nope, forget everything I just said.”

Chapter Text

You released a shaky breath as the group just before you wrapped up their presentation. Miles gave you a sidelong glance, noticing the way you clutched your lab report in both hands. You felt him elbow you softly before the two of you took your places at the front of the classroom. Before pulling up your slideshow, he gave you a quick thumbs up and a lopsided smile from behind the laptop. You smiled back at him, and began reciting the results of your lab report.

Miles watched you slowly get comfortable talking as the presentation progressed. The strength and clarity he had heard the other day slipped back into your voice and made it solid. Something clicked when he realized the grin hadn’t left his face for the duration of your part.

The presentation didn’t drag itself out, and was over as soon as he got done working through your chosen problem on the whiteboard. It was the trajectory of a rocket being launched into orbit, nothing crazy. To him.

In a rare show of leniency, Ms. Jones ended class right before the bell.

“Excellent work, everyone. Enjoy your weekend!”

A cluster of backpacks all but swarmed the back door and filtered out into the hallway, excluding you and Miles.

He was doing the neck scratching thing again when you turned to him.

“Thanks for working with me, I think we did a pretty good job,” you said.

The boy nodded wordlessly, and you raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Y-yeah, I just…” 

Miles shook his head.

“Do you still need to study? For English, I mean.”

You shrugged and answered, “I’m almost done with the book, but I could come over tomorrow if you want.”

If you want . 

Miles sniffed. He didn’t “ want ” anything.

“I mean, we gotta essay coming up, so…”

“Ah, shit, I forgot about that. My final draft’s not even finished,” you winced, throwing your book bag over your shoulder. “Alright, tomorrow, then. Same time?”

Miles fought back another smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yup. Don’t eat up all my momma’s food while you’re there, though.”

“No promises.”

Chapter Text

“Miles, what is this emo shit you got me listening to?” you laughed.

Miles was currently in the middle of an imaginary drumming solo next to you, with two mechanical pencils as drumsticks. Once the final cymbal crashed, he turned to you to respond.

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s emo, that beat goes crazy . You done with your conclusion yet?” 

You rolled your eyes.

“No, but I’ve got all my body paragraphs together.”

“That shit is due Monday,” the boy adjusted his glasses, “Mr. Padilla don’t do extensions.”

Shutting your laptop in protest, you got up and stretched your arms. “Can we take, like, a ten-minute break?”

Miles smirked. “The last half hour felt like a ‘break’, but sure.”

The smirk fell from his face when he noticed you staring at something on his desk.

“Aye, don’t touch nothing–”

“Is this me ?”

Too late.

Miles’ notebook was already in your hands, flipped to a page full of sketches of your face. There were little lines scratched out next to each sketch, as if he were measuring the proportions of your eyes, nose, ears... 

His lines were sharp and geometrical, as always, but they softened at your hair and lips. Speaking of lips, there was an oddly-detailed sketch of them off to the side. He’d even managed to include the suggestion of gloss.

You looked up to see Miles standing in front of you with his arms crossed, expression unreadable. 

“You done invading my privacy yet?” 

“Nope,” you placed a finger on the page. “How long did you need to stare at my face for this?”

You held back a laugh when he tensed visibly.

“Not long enough for it to matter,” he deadpanned, finally snatching the notebook out of your hand. “It was just a study.”

“Oh, so you’ve been ‘studying’ my lips? Got it.”

Miles’ eyes flickered down at them as you spoke before he returned to his spot on the bed. “Whatever. Break’s over.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” you teased as you followed him, “the drawings are nice! You made me look prettier.”

The boy looked at you like he wanted to say something - to argue - but he remained silent. You elbowed him playfully in the side.

“What, you think I’m ugly, then? I’m telling you, Morales, one day we gon’ fight–”

“No,” he interrupted.

“Complete sentences, please,” you mimicked, laughing when the boy sucked his teeth in response.

“Fine. No , you’re not ugly, and I like drawing you. Can we move on?”

With a triumphant smile, you finally cracked open your laptop again. “Yes, yes we can. I need your genius powers to proofread this for me.”

Miles leaned in to get a good look at your screen, hitting you with the crisp scent of sports deodorant and some generic brand of lotion. You watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read your work out loud to himself in a low mutter. While he read, your gaze drifted away from the screen and landed on his side profile. His ears were now delightfully occupied by tiny gold studs that you would’ve missed at a farther distance. Past his jawline at the nape of his neck, a thin gold chain peeked out at you from beneath his black graphic tee.

Your eyes met Miles’ the moment you brought them back up to his face, amusement playing on his features.

“Yo, are you good? There something on my shirt?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “Go back to reading.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m done. I just said you need to switch these two body paragraphs so they flow better.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘ oh ’,” he laughed, dimples on display. “I’m scared I’mma get my face stolen one day. Do you stare at everybody like that?”

A beat of silence passed as you considered whether to say something bold a second time, if not just for a reaction.

“...Nah, it’s just you.”

Miles blinked, the smile dropping from his face. “Huh?”

“You’re nice to look at, and I can’t draw you in my notebook to make it last longer,” you tilted your head comically. “Staring will have to do.”

Like clockwork, the boy’s hand shot up to his ear to toy with his piercing. He glanced out of the window. 

“The sun’s setting, you should really get that essay done,” he blurted out before narrowing his eyes at you. “What’s so funny?”

You had a hand over your mouth to stifle the laughter. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, “it’s funny when you’re nervous.”

Miles scoffed.

“I’m not nervous .”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you sang, beginning to type your conclusion paragraph.

There was no response. 

Your typing slowed as the silence grew long, feeling Miles’ eyes on you until you finally stopped to look at him quizzically.

“Yes?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

He leaned in closer until your noses were in danger of brushing each other, looking determined despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. You met his gaze with a challenge.

“Well? You just gon’ sit there?”

Miles couldn’t hear anything above the heartbeat pounding in his ears, his eyes squeezed shut as he closed the distance between you. 

No one told him that kissing would feel this weird .

For one, your lip gloss wasn’t half as sticky as he’d anticipated it to be, tasting like artificial fruit flavoring. Your sweaty palm came up to rest on the side of his face and kept him anchored as his breath stuttered. Having no idea where he would put his hands (another thing no one had explained to him), he kept them flat on the mattress for support as you deepened the kiss and he leaned back. 

Your hand was gripping his chin now to guide his face. Having kissed at least two other boys before, you had a vague idea of where it was supposed to go. Unlike the other two, Miles was tense, almost unmoving, despite being the initiator.  

Miles’ head buzzed when you pulled away, chuckling softly.

What the hell was so funny? The boy felt white hot blood rapidly coursing through all of the veins in his body at once. He thought he might start floating, like a hot air balloon. Or explode. Or vomit. Preferably the first one.

“Are you okay?” you asked, dropping your hand. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

He blinked slowly, three times. “Yeah, I’m…fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. That was, um…” 

Hand on the neck. “ Interesting .”

“A good interesting, I hope,” you laughed.

Miles tilted his head, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“I don’t think I’d mind doing that again.”

Handing the boy your phone, you said, “I think you’d need my number for that.”

Chapter Text

Miles tapped his pen to his chin as he sat at his desk, staring down a little pad of sticky notes. 

At the top of one of them, the words ‘Conversation Topics’ were written in neat print, followed by a series of bullet points detailing just that. He had decided that school talk was off-limits, but favorite shows were fair game. Music, of course, was a no-brainer.

Before he could come up with a third topic, a knock at the door interrupted his train of thought.

“Yes?” he called out. The door opened to reveal his mother Rio’s face, wearing a cheeky grin.

“Tu novia está aquí,” she said with a playful movement of her shoulders. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

She held back a laugh at the way Miles shot up from his swivel chair, shoving the sticky notes into the pocket of his leather jacket. 

“See you later, mami,” he said once Rio opened the door wider to let him out, and he ducked underneath her arm. 

“Remember, 9pm. Claro ?”

“Claro!” 

You squinted as the evening autumn breeze swept over your face. Massively underestimating how much leeway seventy-five degrees would give you, you had only gone out in a light blouse.

“Hey, Miles!” you called out from the open front door. You saw him padding down the stairs in his socks before stopping at the base. He beamed as soon as he spotted you.

“Hey! Just gimme a second,” he replied as he slipped on the pair of black and white Jordans he was holding and jogged up to you. 

Miles looked down at your sneakers and whistled at their pristine, almost blue-white tone. It didn’t hurt that you were wearing the exact same pair.

“Nice kicks.”

You looked down at his feet and laughed, “They must be if you’re stealing them out my closet.”

“Aight,” Miles said as he hopped down one step. “You ready to bou–”

“Aht-aht!” you interrupted, tugging on the collar of his jacket to stop him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Miles pouted in confusion, which melted into a frown when the realization hit him. “We just goin’ out to eat! The food is gonna be right in front of my face!”

He knew that he was about to fight a losing battle when you crossed your arms. With a dramatic groan, he spun around and climbed back up the steps to go inside.

“Tienes suerte de que eres lindo,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

After a few moments, Miles was back with the case containing his glasses in-hand and a small black crossbody bag to keep them in. You raised an eyebrow.

“What? They’re right here,” he held it up for emphasis.

“Miles, we’re not leaving until they’re on your face .”

“W ooo w.”

“I’m not kidding!” You laughed. 

He opened the case and put the notorious green spectacles on with a huff, earning him a peck on the cheek.

“Alright, can we go now?”

“Yup.”

You gently took his hand and began tugging him along towards the nearest subway station.

“Where’s your jacket?” Miles asked, slowing you down to a stop. 

“Look, I thought it was gonna be hot out. I’ll survive, I promise.”

Not even a moment after you had spoken, Miles was already in the process of removing his jacket. It was now your turn to groan.

“Come on now, you saw this coming,” he said with a triumphant grin as he draped the jacket over your shoulders. “No need to thank me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Such a gentleman .”

-

You thanked the server as she set down two plates of crab cakes in front of you.

“Whatchu wanna order for dessert?” you asked Miles, who still had his nose in the large menu with his brows furrowed. He looked up.

“Not a damn clue. I’ll get what you get as long as my card don’t max out.”

“Hm,” you turned to the dessert section of your own menu. “They got peach cobbler, how ‘bout it?”

Miles made a face at the suggestion, and your jaw dropped. “You don’t like peach cobbler ?!?”

He shrugged. “Not a fan.”

“Well, okay, what about apple pie?”

“Nope.”

“Blueberry pie?”

“Nah.”

“Apple pie?”

“Nuh-uh.”

You leaned back into your seat, thoroughly shocked and offended. “Fuck you mean ‘nuh-uh’?”

“Fruit shouldn’t be hot,” Miles explained casually, “And Ion like the texture.”

You sighed, “Chocolate cake it is, then.”

He winced. “See, about that–”

Before Miles could cause you any further distress, he was interrupted by the server returning with the main entrees. You both said your thanks at the same time, each taking your respective plate.

"Anything for dessert?" The woman asked, notepad at the ready.

You gave Miles the side-eye before answering, "A bowl of ice cream, please."

"Same here."

The woman nodded and took note before leaving your booth.

“So, what foods do you like?” you asked, leaning forward again. “Other than the alfredo, obviously.”

Miles paused, looking genuinely deep in thought before replying. 

“Arroz con gandules,” he counted on his fingers, “Platanos, of course, mac and cheese, and uh…” 

He trailed off for a bit, having run out of meals to list off. “Other…stuff.”

You snorted, “Don’t push yourself too hard, now. I take it you’re a picky eater, then?”

Miles grinned bashfully. “I guess you could say that. You?”

“Nah, I’ll eat anything for real. Long as it fills my stomach.”

“Explains why you like eating baked fruit,” he quipped.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I have taste .”