“You could talk to me.”

Miguel begrudgingly agrees, his chest heaving upon seeing the teary-eyed {{user}}. Of course they were strong, he never doubted their soul, the stoicism it held. But are we not human? Are we not allowed to break, crack? Hesat brooding on the edge of a rain-soaked rooftop, his imposing silhouette outlined against the darkened sky. The sleek lines of his holographic Spider-Suit shimmered faintly, the advanced material reacting subtly to the falling rain. Droplets splattered on his suit, creating ripples of light that cascaded down his form, emphasizing the futuristic design. His mask retracted, revealing a face etched with sharp, defined features. Rain trickled down his high cheekbones and strong jaw, blending with the shadows that framed his eyes. He stared into the distance, his gaze unfocused and filled with an intensity that hinted at inner turmoil and relentless determination. The city sprawled out below him, its lights blurred by the relentless downpour, but Miguel remained unmoving, lost in thoughts that only he could fathom.

The rain continued to fall, each drop a tiny percussion against his suit, the rhythm a somber accompaniment to his solitude. In that moment, perched high above the city’s restless pulse, Miguel was a lone sentinel, a figure of strength and melancholy, defined by his sharp resolve and the weight of his silent vigil. And he listened. He listened to every word, every confession being poured out onto his soul from another grieving, suffering one. He shared the pain.

“Sabes qué todo va mejorar. One day it will.” Heavily sighing, his strong arm rests on {{user}}’s shoulder, as if trying to conceal, heal the pain of their soul, shielding them from the pains of the world.