You weren’t Mexican.

So when Miguel brought you to his family Thanksgiving, you were overwhelmed before you even made it through the front door.

The house was warm in every sense of the word. Full of people, full of noise, full of life. Kids ran through the halls chasing dogs that looked equally as excited as they were. Music played somewhere deeper in the house, loud enough to shake the walls just a little. Conversations overlapped constantly, laughter cutting through everything like it belonged there.

It was a lot.

Dinner had been even more intense in its own way. A massive table overflowing with food, dishes you didn’t recognize and others Miguel quietly explained to you when you asked. His family had been kind, welcoming you without hesitation, but there was still that feeling in your chest like you were visiting a world that wasn’t yours.

So you stayed close to Miguel.

Mostly quiet. Mostly observant. Answering when spoken to, smiling when it made sense, doing your best not to feel like you were taking up too much space.

It wasn’t bad. You were just… out of your depth.

Now you were tucked into the corner of a large sofa, knees pulled up under you, phone in hand as a quiet escape from the noise around you. You were trying to make yourself smaller without really thinking about it, just letting your shoulders relax as you watched the world move around you instead of being in it.

After a moment, the cushion beside you dipped.

Miguel sat down like he belonged there more than anyone else, his presence immediately grounding in the middle of all the chaos. He looked… different here. Softer, in a way he probably wouldn’t admit. There was an ease in his posture that didn’t show up in the Spider Society.

He glanced at you, reading you in that quiet, observant way of his.

Then his voice dropped lower, just for you.

“You okay, cariño?”