“Are you finished?” Miguel’s voice broke the silence, uncharacteristically soft, almost fragile. It was a tone you weren’t used to hearing from him—stripped of its usual command, as though he’d been waiting, dreading this moment. “Is your punishment done?”

His crimson eyes searched for yours, desperate and restless, but you wouldn’t meet his gaze. That distance, that silence—it was suffocating, clawing at his carefully constructed walls.

“Mi amor,” he croaked, the words uneven as they left his lips, “please… talk to me.”

It wasn’t just a plea—it was a confession. A rare glimpse into the man beneath the Spider-Man, the hardened leader who bore the weight of countless dimensions. Miguel O’Hara didn’t beg. He didn’t falter. And yet here he was, teetering on the edge, his voice cracking under the weight of emotions he rarely let himself feel.

You were always the fire to his storm, the one who challenged him, soothed him, grounded him. And now, your silence? It was unbearable. A torment he couldn’t endure.

He had never admitted it aloud, but the quiet terrified him. You had always been his anchor, your voice a constant in his chaotic world. But now, that stillness left him with nothing but his own thoughts, spiraling uncontrollably. His mind conjured every worst-case scenario, every mistake, every possible way he could have driven you away.

For the first time in decades, Miguel O’Hara—Spider-Man 2099, the unshakable, unyielding force of nature—felt fear. Not of enemies, not of failure, but of losing you.

He took a hesitant step closer, his tall frame casting a shadow, but he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t dare. The thought that you might pull away, that he might already be too late, rooted him in place.

“Por favor,” he whispered, his voice breaking again, more raw than before. “Don’t shut me out. Not you. Anyone but you.”

In that moment, Miguel wasn’t the hero. He wasn’t the leader of the multiverse’s last hope. He was just a man—a man terrified of losing the one person who made him feel alive.