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The bouncer hadn’t looked twice at his fake ID, leaving Miles to slip inside the club without any ado. His growth spurt had done Miles several favours—the least of which was the way everyone kept mistaking him for an adult. He’d now had a second rum and coke, and the flashing lights kept sticking to his eyes in colours, slowing his world down and fuzzing everything over. The bass reverberated through his body, and Miles had found his own little space in the middle of the dance floor and was swaying along to the beat, letting his head roll and twisting his hips.
Something about dancing—something about synchronising his pulse to the beat of the music and letting everything flow over into mindlessness, just relaxed him. Took every thought away. He had exams coming up, and he’d studied himself half to death, but tonight he wanted to get out under the eyes of his dad who, while being a great guy, was a cop and had the tendency to act like it even outside of work hours, and his mama, who worried way too much about his future.
He just needed a little break. And if that meant getting smashed and losing himself in sound for a night, then, well—nobody was looking.
Actually… someone was. Frowning and opening his eyes, Miles turned, seeking the stare responsible for raising gooseflesh on his neck. He had a bit of trouble—off the dancefloor the lights were muted, dark tones all blurring together, but then his eyes landed on a crisp white dress suit and dark eyes set into an imposing, familiar face. That was making its way toward him.
Miles’ slowed down brain didn’t connect the dots until his Spanish teacher was standing over him, staring down at him with cold maroon eyes.
“Morales,” Miguel O’Hara said, the words like ice. “You’d better have an older brother who I’m mistaking for you.”
Empty words, and both of them knew it. Miles didn’t have any siblings—or even cousins that looked remotely like him, and everyone knew it.
“Who’s Morales?” Miles tried, playing dumb, putting a wide grin on his face.
“I know it’s you, Miles. Don’t start with me.”
Miles scowled, turning away and planning to disappear in the crowd. Stupid downtown clubs. Maybe he should have tried somewhere in the outskirts. Fucking figures one of his teachers would catch him. He’d forgotten not all of them were perpetually exhausted with two plus kids.
Miguel grabbed Miles’ wrist tightly, pulling him closer, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set into a scowl. It was strange—in this lighting, Miles could see how soft his lips were, how well-kept the man actually was. From the eyebags and the half-hearted haircut, most people thought he just didn’t care. Up close, Miles realised it was the opposite.
Miguel shook him. “What would your father think? What if it wasn’t me who found you here? What if a bad man had seen you like this, drunk, defenseless—”
“—’M not defenseless—”
“—and decided to take advantage of you?”
Miles’ half-hearted, slurred protest went unacknowledged.
“My dad ,” Miles said after a moment of processing, yanking uselessly to try and get his hand free, “would tell you to get your hands off of me. Whatever, man. You caught me. I’ll go home.”
“‘Whatever’,” Miguel echoed dangerously. “Yeah, of course you will. I’m gonna take you there.”
“What? No, I can go by myself.” If Miles left alone, not pulled away by a furious, well-known teacher, he might actually have a chance to not get blacklisted at this club.
“You lost your chance. You lied to me once, and you’re not gonna get to do it a second time.”
“When did I lie—” Miles began, but fell silent when he realised Miguel meant him playing dumb about his name. “Fine, fine, c’n I just… walk behind you? And can you look less mad?”
Miguel didn’t answer, instead pulling him outside through a side door—not the main entrance. Miles blinked. He hadn’t known that door was there and not alarmed. Was Miguel a regular? Stop thinking, he reminded himself, weirded out at the thought.
The cool night air hit Miles’ face, and he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them when he got scared of stumbling.
“Back off,” Miguel snapped at someone, and Miles turned his head to look with wide eyes at a frat-looking guy retreating with both hands up, eyes still lingering on Miles. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re a kid, you don’t know these things—you don’t know how to take care of yourself. Guys like him? They don’t care that you’re fifteen, they just see a pretty ass and want to have a taste.” He tugged Miles across the street, barely watching out for oncoming traffic, then dragged him into an alleyway between two tall buildings.
“What—”
“Shh,” Miguel shushed him, suddenly far calmer than before. “I’m making a point.” He pulled Miles closer, then crowded him against the wall, staring him down. Miles swallowed hard, looking up at his teacher with wide eyes. It was always surreal having to see the man duck underneath doorways every day, but up close it felt like Miguel was twice his size and then some, even with Miles’ recent growth spurt.
And… Miles had no idea what to expect. He didn’t know this side of Miguel. Obviously—he wasn’t friends with his teacher, but still, in class he was composed, soft-spoken and concise. Not… this.
“What’s going on, man?” Miles asked, voice higher than intended.
“Well, you ruined my night,” Miguel murmured, pressing Miles up against the wall, a forearm strong over his chest, just underneath his throat. “I was gonna go in, find a pretty little number and take her back to my place for some stress relief after finally finishing writing those goddamn exams for your airhead classmates. But now I have to look after you instead. You know how frustrating that is, chiquito?”
Miles flinched back, ears burning. He didn’t wanna hear about his teacher’s sex life . Honestly, all he wanted to do was go home. The pleasant numbness that settled over him courtesy of the music and alcohol was morphing into a twitchy nervousness coupled with a headache, and he just wanted to go to bed.
“Oh, so you do know,” Miguel continued as if Miles had agreed. “If that’s so, maybe you can make it up to me.”
“You can’t give me detention after school,” Miles mumbled, looking resolutely anywhere but Miguel’s face. “What I do is outside class’s none of your business.”
“Is that right?” Miguel asked, moving his head to follow so he could meet Miles’ eyes with an eerie, direct stare. “And shit like this isn’t the reason you keep getting a B minus in my class?”
Miles shook his head, trying to pull back more, but the back of his head was already pressed against the brick wall.
“So I’m just a bad teacher, huh, is that it?”
“No!” Miles blurted out, putting his hands up to try and push Miguel off. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed, but the man didn’t even budge. Like he was made of freaking steel. “This isn’t funny, I wanna go home!”
“See, if you’d thought that before, I don’t know, ten PM, we wouldn’t be here,” Miguel said, tilting his head. “But that’s alright. I’ll take care of you, chiquito. I’ll make sure you get home in one piece.”
That sounded… less scary, less risky to answer, and so Miles stopped pushing slowly, opening his eyes.
“Can I go home?” he asked again, just to be sure.
“Yeah, I already told you,” Miguel said, brushing his fingers over Miles’ cheek. “I’m gonna take you home.” He didn’t move for a moment longer, then pulled away, grabbing Miles’ wrist again. “Let’s go.”
They weaved through the streets together, Miles stumbling to keep up with Miguel’s pace. For one moment the disturbing thought of ‘how does he know where I live’ shot through Miles’ head, but he pushed it away. Miguel probably had access to his files or whatever. Miles didn’t want to think about it. At least they were actually going to Miles’ house, and not somewhere else. Miles could already recognise the street sign where he’d peeled his own graffiti stickers off under the watchful eye of his dad.
Ah, right, his dad. If his dad found out what he’d been doing—probably straight from Miguel’s mouth, at this rate—Miles wouldn’t get to leave his room for a year, at the least .
“H-hey, Mr… Mr Miguel,” he called out a little stupidly. “If I swear to never ever do this again, can you not tell my dad?”
Miguel shot him an indifferent look over his shoulder. “We’ll see,” he said, pulling Miles across the street to his house. No lights on… that at least boded well. He hadn’t been caught yet. Miles made a noise of confusion when Miguel didn’t go to the front door, instead going toward the fire escape. The same way Miles had sneaked out. Huh.
They ascended together, Miles’ wrist still trapped by Miguel’s large hand—it was strange how warm the man ran, like he had a fever or something—and at the right height Miguel stopped. Miles considered for a moment that it was probably really strange that his teacher knew the floor Miles’ family lived on, but his mami made a point of knowing anyone in the area who could speak even a sentence of Spanish, so maybe they’d had Miguel for coffee one day when Miles wasn’t there? His head hurt; Miles didn’t want to think about anything any longer.
Miguel climbed carefully into Miles’ bedroom, going first and getting the window all the way open then pulling Miles through after him. Miles was too tired and confused to really figure out why Miguel was in his room… the man had no reason to stay, or even, like, guide Miles this far. He had his own place, so it wasn’t like he was going to sleep over. It felt weird, to see a teacher in his bedroom. Nevermind that Miguel was big enough to seemingly fill the not insignificant space entirely.
“Keep quiet,” Miguel warned Miles lowly. “I wouldn’t want to wake your parents if I were you.”
Yeah, Miles didn’t want to do that either. He stumbled over to his bed, scowling, and plopped down on it, slapping his palm to his forehead when his vision started swimming. “Ah, crap.”
Miguel was doing… something, searching through Miles’ cabinets with aid of the low light that reached in from the streetlamps outside, and Miles sighed, falling onto his back on his sheets. He closed his eyes, preparing to sleep his impending hangover off. He didn’t really care that Miguel was still there—the man may have been super weird and a little aggressive, but he couldn’t actually hurt Miles, right? He’d probably leave soon enough after he did whatever he wanted to do, and then Miles could try his best to pretend he wasn’t a misbehaving teenager breaking the law come morning when he had to get up for breakfast.
He twitched when he heard Miguel come closer, looming over him, and then flinched when something tapped his nose, opening his eyes slowly as he sat up.
“Take this.” Eyes stared into his own, colouring Miles’ vision slowly red. “It’s for your headache.”
Miles tore his eyes away with difficulty to the man’s hand, in the centre of which lay a small, oval pill. He couldn’t quite make out the lettering on it. It looked kinda familiar… Tylenol, probably. Miles couldn’t focus long enough to check. Miguel pushed it into Miles’ mouth and pressed Miles’ nightstand cup to his lips, encouraging him to swallow the pill.
“There we go,” Miguel said, voice lowering to a smooth, dulcet purr. “You can listen after all. I never would have thought. Just lay back now… I’ll take care of you.” The bed dipped next to Miles’ legs, and Miles did as told, going lax into the pillows, sighing. Miguel was so weird … Miles probably wasn’t going to sit anywhere near the front of his class after this.
This was a stupid idea. Miguel knew it was—fucking an underage kid, and a drunk one, at that. He could talk, and then Miguel’s career would be over. But… right now, that seemed the least of his problems. At least compared to the way his dick felt like it was sure to explode in his pants.
He tugged the boy’s shorts off, throwing them somewhere across the room, and pulled his boxers right off after, exposing the boy’s pelvic region. A decently-sized cock sat there—not too small but not large by any means, uncut, soft as anything and, for a lack of a better way to describe it, pretty . He felt the need to tease the boy a little.
“The way you sit in class, sometimes I wondered if you weren’t secretly a girl. Knees together, legs crossed, that kinda thing.” Miguel laughed softly, pressing Miles’ thighs further apart and pressing his thumb roughly to the base of Miles’ soft cock. “Glad to see that isn’t the case, though. I didn’t bring a rubber.”
Whether he was actually going to fuck the boy was still up in the air. Miguel could do just fine with coming all over his stomach, maybe just fucking his thighs. It was certainly less effort than prep and lube and all that. He sighed when Miles wriggled in protest, pinning the boy’s hips down.
“And this…” Miguel rubbed over Miles’ hole, yanking him closer when Miles tried to squirm away. “Ever let anyone touch this?”
“N—no!” Miles gasped, kicking out uselessly. He almost seemed cognisant, but Miguel knew better. “Don’t touch me, don’t—”
“I’m guessing that’s my answer,” Miguel said calmly. At least this way the boy wasn’t a fucking liar . He couldn’t stand that. “You’re a teenager, aren’t you? Where do you keep the lube?” Even if he was just going to just jerk off, slicking up his palm with some actual lube felt much nicer than spit. More of a bitch to clean off, sure, but there were bound to be some tissues around.
“I don’t—I don’t get it,” Miles slurred, pretty big eyes glistening with unshed tears, movements turning lethargic again. Miguel stared at him, taking it all in. “W… why?”
“I told you you’d make it up to me,” Miguel said easily, “and I’m not a liar. You don’t have to do anything, chiquito. Just don’t fight.” He grabbed a hold of Miles’ soft cock, squeezing it lightly, alternating pressure between his fingers. The way he’d get himself up if the sight of dripping cunt or pretty hole wasn’t enough.
See, Miguel wasn’t exactly selfish , even buzzed up on a shot, two pills of whatever the name was and insomnia. He liked getting his partners off, so that was exactly what he was doing. He shushed Miles when the boy started whimpering and squirming, shifting his grip and stroking the boy’s cock slowly instead, arranging himself so he was kneeling between Miles’ pretty spread thighs, a perfect view of his hand dwarfing the small dick. Miles being uncut made it easier to jerk him off dry, which was fine for now.
“Where’s the lube, Miles?” Miguel asked again, tilting his head. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s make this easier for both of us.” Miles shook his head, and Miguel smiled, squeezing the hand curled over Miles’ cock tight. “Want me to go look for myself? I don’t think you want that. I’m not asking again.”
“Ugh—! Ah, b—bottom drawer, between the paint, ‘s the white cap with the sticke— eeeer,” Miles managed, throwing his head back and trying to twist away, skinny hips wiggling uselessly. “Please don’t, Mr Miguel…”
“Adorable. Calling me mister now… A bit late for respect like that, don’t you think?” Miguel leaned over and let go of Miles’ cock as he did, rummaging quietly around for the right bottle. He dropped it on the bed, in arms’ reach, then undid his belt and zipper, pushing his slacks down just a little so his erect cock didn’t feel like it was going to tear his pants anymore. Instead it lay heavily on his thigh, dripping fat beads of precum onto his now less-than-pristine clothes. It honestly surprised Miguel too, how worked up he was. He really needed this, huh.
He grabbed Miles’ cock again, thumbing carelessly at the space between the boy’s cock and balls, shifting his elbows to keep Miles’ legs spread. It was good that the boy was so out of it—Miguel tended to be too good at what he did, practically forcing moans and all sorts of other things out of his partners. The combination of alcohol and the painkillers (overkill, really) made Miles sluggish and quiet. Good.
Miguel scooted forward a bit, lining up his cock with Miles’ and grabbing the lube with his other hand, popping open the cap and pouring some directly onto his hand, spreading it half-heartedly between his fingers before taking their combined girths in hand. It was a fairly snug fit, mostly because of himself, but he managed it in the end, squeezing just as tight as he liked and beginning to jerk them off quickly. Miles’ cock was almost invisible beneath his own, cute and little, and the boy’s hips twisted underneath his own, almost inaudible whimpers reaching Miguel’s ears.
“Aw,” Miguel crooned, breathing a little heavier as he continued pumping his hand over their cocks, “too much for you?”
He kept ravenous eyes on Miles’ face, drinking in the sight of trails of wetness streaking over the boy’s cheeks in the dim light coming in from outside. Fuck, was he crying right now? Miguel groaned, leaning over Miles as he kept a steady pace with his hand, pressing his lips to the boy’s cheek. Salt—and not just sweat. God, yeah, he was. Miguel’s cock jerked in his hand. After all this he was going to have to seriously up his standards for hookups, since this was already shaping up to be much better than anything he’d ever had before.
Letting his tongue trail over the salty residue left on that lovely skin, Miguel barely noticed when Miles’ whines hitched until he felt warmth spill over his fingers, adding to the slickness of the lube. Christ, that fast ? Miguel wasn’t even halfway done yet himself. He just kept going, uncaring for the way the body beneath his own began to actually squirm , probably in an attempt to escape the oversensitivity. Miguel simply shifted to pin the boy down more, shoving the fingers of his free hand between Miles’ teeth and pressing down on his tongue, gently rocking his hips into his moving fist, creating extra friction against the cock pressed up underneath his own.
Miles’ cock didn’t even get the chance to go soft, Miguel felt, grinning against the boy’s skin. It twitched and strained, and blunt teeth made gentle indents on his index and middle finger, and Miles seemed to be almost entirely out of it, which was so hot Miguel didn’t even want to think about it.
He jerked Miles into a second orgasm, watching the cum—more watery than last time—spill onto the boy’s stomach, and reached his own peak not long after, finally letting go of Miles’ cock then to lean back a bit and watch his spunk splatter all over the boy’s genitals. His softening cock and cute balls, covered in Miguel’s cum, dripping ever so slowly down to his hole. It was all so pretty .
Speaking of his hole… Miguel was honestly nowhere near done yet, and God strike him down if he didn’t want to feel exactly how soft and warm that tight-looking little thing was if just the boy’s cock against his own had felt this good.
He let his own cock be for now, not doubting that he’d be up and ready to go again before long, grabbing the lube once more and pouring some onto his messy fingers. He’d have to be careful—he didn’t want to tear the boy, since they both had a class together on Monday. If he took his time, he’d be fine, but if he rushed it… well, he wasn’t. That was the whole point.
He slowly slipped a finger inside of that small, soft hole, marvelling at the way it clung to his finger, so warm and perfect. It was almost surprising how easily Miguel managed it, since his fingers weren’t exactly small by any means, but checking up on the boy’s face he quickly realised that it was because Miles was completely unconscious, eyes closed and spit-slick lips parted in sleep.
Stretching the boy out wasn’t hard. Miguel stopped at three fingers, deciding anything over that was overkill, and generously poured lube onto his hand again, using that to slick up his cock properly, especially around the head, twisting his palm over the glans the way he liked just because he could.
He discarded the lube bottle again, absently wondering if Miles would consider the amount now missing from it as significant before dismissing the thought—too late to worry about it now—and using his thumbs to spread the kid’s cute ass so he could nudge his slicked up cock at it. It took a few tries, the pills in Miguel’s system not really helping, before his cock caught on the soft rim and began to sink inside.
And fuck , Miguel hadn’t been a quick shot for the last decade and then some, but if anything was going to make him feel like he was bursting at the seams, it was the perfect, tight heat that enveloped the head of his cock. He grit his teeth, pressing on, struggling to recount any of his previous partners feeling quite this right, this perfect . He was almost relieved when he bottomed out, stuffed as deep as humanly possible into that little hole, blissful, immaculate pressure on every part of his cock. Miguel had to take a moment, or he’d come right there and then.
He kept still until he was sure he wasn’t going to come like a teenager having their first wet dream, and then carefully drew back the slightest bit before rolling his hips back into Miles’ body.
…Shit.
Overwhelmed at the perfect, soft warmth around his cock, Miguel let his weight drop onto one elbow, tilting his head to mouth at Miles’ slack lips, pushing his tongue against the plump flesh. Miles didn’t react at all—out cold, probably. Miguel groaned softly, rolling his hips in just the right way that the bed wouldn’t move underneath them. It wasn’t great for building up to orgasm, but that was fine. Miguel had time.
Shit. The slackness of Miles’ mouth just made Miguel feel ten times as turned on, and he deepened the kiss, sucking at the unresponsive flesh and tracing his tongue over Miles’ teeth. He’d have to do this more often. Never realised how much fun an unconscious partner was.
He kept going, and going, and going, panting against the boy’s mouth as he tried to keep his pace under control, quiet, unable to resist licking at the salt on Miles’ cheeks and the softness of his lips like a dog as he rutted into the small body underneath him, both trying to prolong the feeling of ecstasy and desperately wanting to seek his release.
He couldn’t resist speeding up as he got close, thrusting fast into the young boy beneath him, chasing his release. The bed’s legs creaked a little, not too bad, and Miguel moaned softly as his hips stuttered, slamming home and letting his orgasm sweep over him, coming hot and thick inside Miles’ perfect little hole. He rocked his hips through it, milking himself into that lovely heat, and caught his breath against the side of Miles’ sleeping face.
Miguel sighed as he pulled out and turned Miles onto his front, admiring his handiwork—his cum staining Miles’ hole and leaking down his taint slowly, providing a pretty contrast. He smeared it a little, idly inspecting for any hints of red. No bleeding. That was good. One less problem to deal with. He’d prepped him well, at least.
A soft groan escaped his throat as exhaustion slammed into him like a truck. Damn insomnia. At least the pills worked. He collapsed onto Miles, barely noticing the jut of his body underneath his own, and closed his eyes. He just needed to rest for a moment—a few minutes, then he’d clean up and scram…
Miguel jerked awake early in the morning, instantly aware of the pre-dawn birdsong outside and the small, bony body pressed half underneath his own. He didn’t really recognise the place at first, and everything took a moment to get back to him. Tired eyes roamed the room for an alarm clock, and he found it on a dresser opposite the room. Five fifty-six. Great.
The window was still open, cold air brushing his skin. Miguel’s slacks were unzipped and tugged low on his ass, his belt undone… somewhere. Shit. He pushed himself up to his knees, getting a good look at whatever unfortunate person had been the recipient of his abysmal post-nut manners. Falling asleep clothed on top of someone, seriously…
Miguel froze when he recognised the face of the young man—no, boy —underneath him. That… Miles Morales. Still sleeping, thank Christ, but definitely one of his underage students.
Memories of the night before flashed through Miguel’s head, and he cringed. Well, fuck. Couldn’t even pretend it was consensual or anything, because the boy had clearly struggled. Had said ‘no’ loud and clear. He could only pray he didn’t remember it very well. If he did, well—the kid’s dad was a cop. There was no way Miguel would get out of the situation unscathed.
He didn’t even clean up after himself, Miguel realised, eyes on the tacky, dried cum clinging to the boy’s ass, and no doubt also his stomach. So much for trying to play it off as a dream if he dipped. Which he’d need to do soon, if he wanted to change in time for his early morning meeting.
Ignoring the mess on his own soft cock, he tucked himself back into his slacks, zipping them up and quickly restoring his belt to its proper place instead of on the floor. He looked around for tissues, and found a small packet of those pocket-sized things. Good enough—he wasn’t exactly in a position to be picky. He dipped the end of one into the cup Miles drank from last night—water, hopefully—and got to work carefully cleaning up what he could without waking the boy. Anything else he missed he’d pray could be attributed to sweat.
While cleaning up the boy’s—no doubt tender—hole, Miguel noticed Miles’ hips were twitching, like he was rutting against the mattress. Carefully he grabbed Miles’ side, turning him over just a bit, and sure enough: the boy’s cock was hard, precum beading at the slit. Miguel was almost done with his cleanup, since the cum on Miles’ stomach had rubbed off onto the sheets underneath him, and it’d be kind of cruel to just… leave the kid like that, wouldn’t it?
So he carefully curled his fingers over Miles’ straining cock, jerking it gently, seeking the small pressure points that would make him twitch and whine ever so softly. It was addicting to watch, honestly, even without the buzz of last night’s high in his system, and Miguel only just remembered to position the ruined tissue in front of the boy’s slit to catch his mess before Miguel undid all his hard work cleaning up.
Miles’ back arched just a little as he came, pushing his hips up, and he groaned softly before his eyes blinked open. Miguel cursed softly, shoving the ruined tissue in his pocket and fighting a grimace before shifting away, coming to a stop at a reasonable distance, moments before Miles regained clarity.
“W—wuh?”
The boy sat up, cradling his head and curling one arm over his chest. He was naked, still, cock thankfully soft between his thighs again.
“Miles,” Miguel said carefully, deciding to bite the bullet and get that out of the way before Miles could start to panic, or God forbid, scream.
Miles’ head snapped up, wide, blown eyes finding his own. The boy was quiet for a long, heart-stopping moment, before he realised his nakedness fully and his brain began to work.
“Y—you—” Miles gasped out, eyes wide and teary. “You—?”
Miguel interrupted. “No, I didn’t. I helped you out. Someone roofied you with an aphrodisiac.” He shifted uncomfortably, the lies falling off his tongue easily. “It was just… really late, and I fell asleep here. Which was stupid. Shouldn’t have done that.”
“Th—then why—my back…”
“I’m heavy, Miles,” Miguel sighed. “I’m a big guy. Three-hundred something pounds. Come on, I’ll get you a painkiller.” He got off the bed, grabbing the blister of painkillers he’d found last night again and popping another one. He held it out to Miles, hand open and relaxed, trying to make himself look less… intimidating, or something.
Miles stared at the pill, apprehensive, brain visibly working.
“Familiar, huh? Yeah, I gave you one of these last night, too. You fell asleep right after.” If everything went well, Miguel could just nudge Miles’ mind into filling in the blanks in the right way. “I guess you had a nightmare?”
It took a few seconds longer, then Miles nodded jerkily, the movement barely qualifying as a nod, the corners of his plush lips pulling down in apparent dismay. Fuck, was he going to have to console him, too?
“Yeah?” Miguel said, grabbing the cup from the nightstand and holding it out as well. Miles finally took both it and the pill, swallowing it down with a grimace. “Wanna talk about it? They can feel very real, huh?”
“I… I don’t, I don’t wanna t—talk,” Miles started, shaking his head. That was good; Miguel honestly didn’t need a recap, since he could remember it just fine.
“I can imagine.” Miguel sat back down at the foot end of the bed, folding his hands between his knees. “I once had a dream about dying—felt like my body was gonna explode. Woke up and I couldn’t breathe ‘cause it hurt so much. Brains are strange like that.”
Miles held on to the cup, lashes wet and eyes puffy, but thankfully quiet. “...Oh,” he said, sounding confused.
“Mmh. The roofie probably didn’t do you any favours either. Tell you what—I’m still not happy about you sneaking into a club, but I think you learned your lesson about that already, so I’ll let it slide. Sorry I fell asleep on top of you, that won’t happen again—this whole situation won’t, really. Want to just put this behind us?”
The boy nodded slowly, not looking at him, eyes solidly on the cup. Good enough.
“Alright,” Miguel said, getting up and moving toward the window. “Sleep some more. Take care of yourself, Morales.” He paused when he was halfway out, looking back with a slight frown. “And… Miles. Just do your best in my class, kid. I’ll know. And that’s all I need.”
Then he was gone.