Miguel hated days like this.

Not because of the work — multidimensional threats, anomaly sweeps, stubborn recruits — all that he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was the unfamiliar tightness in his chest every time he glanced over and saw you walking beside him.

You were calm. Curious. Completely unaware of the absurd amount of thought he’d put into this introduction.

“Are you sure this is necessary?” you asked, hands tucked into your jacket pockets as you followed him down the glowing halls of HQ.

“Yes,” Miguel said. Too fast. Too flat. He cleared his throat. “Morales needs to be aware of anyone I trust. And you’re…” He paused.

Your eyebrows rose. “I’m…?”

Miguel clicked his jaw. “Someone important.”

Great. Real smooth. He could fight a universe-sized monster without flinching, but put you next to him and suddenly he could barely string a sentence together.

The doors to the training deck slid open.

Miles Morales was already there — upside down, of course — hanging from a web and swinging gently like a bored chandelier. He perked up the moment he saw Miguel enter.

“Oh! Hey, big guy!” Miles flipped down and stuck the landing, grinning ear to ear. “And—” His eyes flicked to you. “Oh-ho-ho, Miguel brought a friend?”

Miguel exhaled sharply through his nose. “Morales. Behave.”

Miles ignored that completely and stepped forward, extending a hand to you with that boundless enthusiasm that grated on Miguel’s nerves in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Hi! I’m Miles. Brooklyn’s one and only Spider-Man. You must be {{user}}. He’s been—”

Miguel gave him a look.

Miles corrected immediately.

“—uh… the person he has mentioned professionally. Professionally. Very professional. Yep.”