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He was finally home. Well, not entirely. Although Miles had made it home to world 1610, he hadn’t gone home home, not yet. After managing to escape universe 42’s Prowler and getting back to his universe with the help of “the crew” as Gwen had called it, he immediately fled the group, running to his dorm, not wanting to have to face anyone at the moment. Ganke was probably in the library, looking for sources for his essay he had procrastinated on. Miles was suddenly glad he had turned most of his work in early.
When Miles finally creeps through the window, he is exhausted and tired and pissed off. He flops down on Ganke’s bottom bunk with a heavy sigh and pulls the mask off, throwing it to the floor. Miles had tried, he really had tried to understand where Miguel was coming from, but he couldn't. If any other spider had the chance of keeping their family, Miles would be thrilled, he certainly wouldn't want to try and stop them. He kept thinking over and over of any reason why Miguel wouldn’t even let him try, even if it didn't work out in the end. Nothing made sense, it was all blending together, contradicting itself and crossing over itself again and again. He was so damn tired of everyone telling him how his life was supposed to go, from his teachers and college counselors to people who didn't even belong to his universe. He wanted to be able to do his own thing, to live his life the way he wanted to and do what he wanted. He was so tired of people who didn't even know him telling him he was making mistakes, and going in the wrong direction.
He barely even realizes he's crying, it comes so suddenly. All of these empty emotions shove their way out of his heart and almost blind him with how overwhelming they are. How could Miles have worked so hard, done so much good only for it all to be called a mistake? He did what his mom told him, he tried to push away the people who made him feel as if he weren’t good enough, but how can he believe they were all wrong when some of them were his friends? Miles was only 16, maybe he was just a kid who didnt know anything, maybe Miguel was right. Maybe he couldn't do this. He lets his arm fall off the side of the bed, and looks to his messy desk, the notebooks, half opened pack of pencils and pencil sharpeners. He had gotten them recently, just a few days before Gwen had shown up. He figured he could splurge a little on the fancy metal ones that tended to be sharper and lasted longer.
Miles was chronically bad at expressing his emotions, even though his parents had always taught him otherwise. He always had this gut wrenching feeling of failure when he allowed himself to cry. So he rarely did. He would bundle up his emotions and shove them deep down, never letting them come back up. He was always happy Miles, the good kid with nearly perfect grades and a “decent” social life. But this week had been so draining, he couldn't even remember every little thing that made him feel this way, every little thing that went wrong or every mistake he made, but he felt it. Deep down, he felt like everything was becoming too much. He couldn't handle all of the things he was feeling. He felt like a glass container taken out of a hot oven only to be thrown into a bucket of ice water.
Miles wishes he weren’t alone right now, but he also kind of does. On one hand, the thought of someone seeing him like this was absolutely unbearable, but on the other, he wished someone were here to give him a hug. Hobie, Pav, Peter, hell, even Gwen. He didn't care, he just wanted to stop feeling like this, no matter how mad he was at them. He wanted a distraction from everything, just for one moment. Miles had never felt this alone before, even before he knew there were other spiders like him out there. He stands and leans over the desk, clicking on the little fairy lights decorating the dorm, giving enough light to see but not too much as to be blinding. In the back of his mind, something tells him he should close the blinds, he opts for only closing the window, instead. He doesn't care much about the light shining out, or if anyone can see in, it doesn't matter.
Once he’s finished fiddling with the window, cursing over how the box fan is always in the way, he steps back and slips on a book he’d left laying on the floor and falls into the desk chair. Miles swivels to scan the desk, noticing the tiny screwdriver next to the pc. Upon further inspection, it looks like Ganke put in new led fans, the soft rainbow color they emit is pretty, he wonders if the colors could be changed to make different patterns. His eyes next land on his notebook, pencils, and finally, the pencil sharpeners.
It’s been over a year now, maybe closer to a year and a half. He used to hurt himself before he became spiderman, when the scars would stick and be a reminder of his pain, proof that at least some of it wasn't in his head. He hadn’t even noticed when he stopped, he just sort of did. For a while, he didn't need it. But Miles needs it now, he needs something to focus on, needs to feel something other than the overwhelming mix of emotions he is feeling right now. He reaches for the opened pack of pencil sharpeners, removing the very last of the remaining two to ensure it hasn’t accidentally gotten something on it as well as pushing the keyboard back a bit. He then carefully takes out the screw of the sharpener with the screwdriver, and places it in between the keys of the keyboard, making sure it won't roll off the desk.
He rips at the already torn material of his suit, exposing the rest of his upper arm, he would get a new one later anyway. Past the cuts and bruises from the previous fight, are the faded scars there, in messy, criss crossed lines remind him of a time long before this, before spiderman. He almost misses that kid, the one who didn't have to balance multiversal collapse on his shoulders. He leans his elbow firmly on the desk and brings the blade a few inches up from the bend, just above the patch of scars. The first cut was shallow, a test to see how sharp the blade was. Miles had forgotten how good it felt to feel nearly nothing after feeling so much for so long. He guesses that's what burying your feelings will do to you, it will eventually become too much. He goes for another cut directly below the first, this one is deeper and stings a bit more. He watches the spongy white layer of dermis flood quickly with blood and spill down his arm, dripping onto his thigh. He’s gained a lot of muscle since he last did this, that means a lot more blood. He thinks about the earlier events, about being a mistake, an anomaly, he applies more pressure to the blade and swipes it faster. It hurts, it's a deep, searing pain that rattles his bone, but it was worth it because he wasn’t feeling as much as he had before. The cut was deep, reaching down to the bubbly layers of hypodermis before once again being covered with blood. It would make most others sick to see such a sight, but to Miles, it was beautiful.
Miles keeps going, adding more and more lacerations to his arm, pressing and swiping the blade, reveling in the pain. He doesn't hold back now, because he knows that in just a few hours they will be gone without leaving a trace. He digs the blade deeper, tears drip down his face in pain. His arm is a mess, nearly shredded as blood trickles down and soaks his thigh by the time he hears heavy boots land on the carpet behind him.
The group had split up nearly an hour ago, searching for Miles. Everyone understood why he left, they would all be angry and upset if they were in his situation too. Mostly, they wanted to find him to make sure he was alright, but also to talk just a little bit. They needed him to know he wasn’t a mistake, not to them. Pavitr and Hobie had been sent to the school to search for miles. Because it was nearly 10 at night, being able to find him in class was obviously not an option, but neither was asking the front desk or reception which dorm he was in. So Pav had gone to search the campus grounds while Hobie was cursed with the task of locating his dorm, which meant knocking on almost every door much to Hobie’s and the inhabitants' chagrin. After 45 minutes, he had given up and decided to search the windows from outside, hoping he would find something. To his surprise, one of the first windows to catch his eye was dimly lit, showing miles sitting at his desk fiddling with something. He honestly wasn't expecting to find him at all that night, but who was he to complain. He held off on contacting the rest of the crew, the idea of so many people bombarding Miles when he clearly wasn’t in the mood for it made Hobie cringe. He doesn’t even think to look before entering through the window, and the thought doesn't occur to him until his boots land hard on the floor and he gets a full view of what exactly Miles is doing.
Miles is given no time before a hand grips his shoulder and spins him around in the chair to face who he now recognizes as Hobie Brown. He's wearing an expression Miles never expected to see on the face of a guy as cool and laid back as Hobie. He looks worried, scared, and a little sad. It isn’t until Hobie lays a hand on top of his that Miles realizes he’s still pressing the blaze into his arm. He lets him take the blade away, shoving it into the pocket on his vest. Hobie’s brows are furrowed together so hard and he hasn’t said anything in the 45 second he's been here and Miles is terrified that he’s just fucked everything up and he is shaking hard . Hobie stands and digs through Miles’ room until he procures a discarded t-shirt, using it to mop up the blood still seeping from Miles’ wounds. Once the shirt is pulled away and Hobie can actually see the damage, he laughs a dry, humorless laugh and states “Looks like the damn gills of a shark, ay?” Miles chuckles “looks more like I've been attacked by one.”
Hobie keeps a hand firmly pressed into the side of Miles’ arm, it helps with his shaking a bit, keeps him grounded and gives him something to focus on. Miles directs Hobie to the drawer of his desk containing medical supplies, he ends up kneeling to clean up and care for Miles’ arm, concern still plastered across his face. It feels weird, he feels like he should be doing this on his own, not letting someone else clean up the mess he created.
“Thanks” Miles mutters, once Hobie is done.
“ ‘s no problem mate, just” He pauses, then moves to sit on the bed so he can more clearly look at Miles for this, more clearly get his point across. “We’re a team now, yeah? An’ I know it’s gotta be hard but ya gotta try an’ tell one o’ us if ya feelin’ like this, yeah? It ain't fair ya gotta be alone like this, alright? I get ya pro’lly got a reason I can't think o’ right now, and it makes perfect sense to you, but at the end of the day it’s you who's hurt and we wanna help ya, yeah?”
Miles can only give a small nod, and yet again before he has time to react, Hobie launches himself off of the bed and envelops Miles in a bone crushing hug. All Miles can do is cry into the taller man’s chest. “ you aren’t a mistake. Not to us and not to me, You hear? That bastard can go on all he wants, but it ain't true” Hobie continues, rubbing little circles down Miles’ back. He feels crushed, like he's just watched his little brother do all of this, and not someone he met only days ago. He wishes he could fix it, make it all better so he'd never have to feel this way again. But he knows he can't, knows it's not that easy, so for now he does what he can. Later, Hobie will notify the crew that Miles has been found, but wants to be alone. The next few days with spot and all the other spiders will be chaotic, but eventually, it will all turn out alright. And here, in the friendly dark of his room, listening to music and drawing with Hobie, the world no longer feels so overwhelming.