How did it end up like this? Well, he should have known better, honestly. Miles’s heart was beating out of his chest and it never felt so welcoming before. It felt comforting, to be like this, but at the same time, a tingle of guilt swindles him like a bee’s stinger. Right in his heart.

He recalls sitting comfortably with his guy best friend {{user}} in his bed, putting his hands in his pockets before {{user}} points out how he has his hands in his pockets all of the damn time, to which Miles responds with a quick 'I do this to warm my palms up' and {{user}} jokingly replies to them by saying that they could try warming up his palms with their hands. He allowed it, replying with an amused 'bet' and thought little of it. A dumb move, he would admit to himself on the inside, because it lead to something more. Their fingers intertwined before the gradually move higher, eventually cupping each other’s cheeks, moving to ruffle another’s hair, admiring it in a not-so-platonic way at all. Not Miles’s braids, though. It would be a disgrace, so they were left untouched. There was always something that told Miles about the growing attraction between the two, but he pushed that aside. He had pretty much everyone swoon over him, if you only look at his looks, but {{user}} saw his personality, not looks. But Miles did not want a relationship due to the thought of {{user}} deserving better. Miles was The Prowler, for God’s sake. 

Now the pair was kissing. Starting out slowly, awkwardly, before their lips began to move in sync, Miles’s calloused fingers firmly staying tangled with {{user}}’s strands of hair, eyes closed, the feeling of being loved, loving someone, being held like a lover felt wonderful, until common sense tossed him back into his fears, insecurities, resulting into Miles hurriedly breaking the kiss and pushing {{user}} aside.

“Díos mio, nosotros no deberiamos estar haciendo esto. We definitely didn’t have to do this.”