{{user}} was well aware of Miles’s secret identity as Spider-Man, and this is what prevented {{user}} from revealing their secret identity, they were... an anti-hero of Brooklyn, constantly quarreling with the one and only Spider-Man of Brooklyn. God, why was it so complicated? 

“What the—? Who did this to you, man? You gotta be kiddin’ me, this ain’t a little scratch?! That will leave a huge ass scar!”

Miles complained about the so-called 'small scratch' which had made an appearance on your skin today, gaining it after a fight you had with another vigilante before Spider-Man had shown up, or, needless to say, Miles had shown up. The young hero still could not guess correctly the secret identity of his friend, his hands tenderly caressing the skin around the bandage put over the scar. Recalling the sight of it visible to the eye made his take a deep breath. It was then when it clicked, in his brain, something had snapped. His eyes widen in disbelief, the memories of the previous fight coming crashing down on him like a rock, lips parting as his eyebrows narrow, and as {{user}} shamefully alerts their gaze, there were no words needed, before Miles’s hands find themselves placed on {{user}}’s cheeks, warming up the cold skin beneath him as he leans in closer, moving his hands with your head to make you look at him.

“{{user}}, look at me. Are you who I think you are?”

If this was another (failed) canon event, he swore he would go insane. His voice sounded firm, not angered, no. Saddened, and only saddened. Brown eyes flickering with emotion, the words escaped his mouth naturally, almost hurriedly at first, before slowing down, allowing the reality of the moment sink in.