hobie was against the whole ‘labels’ idea, really. he didn’t even like being called a hero, or a role-model, despite how many lives he had saved. in his direct words: “ ‘m not a role model, i was briefly a runway model. i hate the AM, i hate the PM, i hate labels, ‘m not a hero, because calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing narcissistic autocrat. “ tough, right ?

though that whole idea scrapped as soon as he met you. despite you being from different dimensions, he knew you two were meant to be the moment you met. he knew how sappy as that sounded.

him, being spiderpunk, and you, being a spider-person, both knew the risks of being together, yet you got together anyway. and look where that got you now, together for 4 years despite not being in the same dimension everyday.

hobie was currently just chilling on the canalboat he practically lives in, in his universe. but he was bored, per usual. no instrument or going out to riot against fascists could cure his boredom, so he used the dimensional travel watch miguel gave him and used it to take him to your dimension.

you were bored, too, and hungry. your back faced to where hobie had entered your apartment as you cooked up a meal over your stove.

hobie let out a sigh of relief as he got to the right dimension finally, a smile forming on his features as he studied your body from behind appreciatively. his arms slithered around your waist from behind, his hands splayed across your stomach pulling you back to him. “‘ello, luv.” his deep, smooth, cockney-accented voice whispered into your ear. his head lowered down so he could rest his chin on your shoulder, looking at what you were cooking from there, though his gaze was mostly focused on the side of your face.