Chapter Text
Miles knew that regardless of whatever budding feelings were occuring, he had an obligation first and foremost to his art.
As soon as he got his restaurant work schedule, he started planning around it for his first visit to the studio. He’d been able to get his hours reduced, finally, so he had more time during the week to actually think and paint and rest- which was completely new to him.
During undergrad, he didn’t do much resting, preferring instead to study relentlessly so he could learn and grow and progress- enough to cure illnesses or develop scientific patents or something.
Truthfully, he hadn’t thought much past actually getting his degree. He did everything in his power to obtain it, which he did- with honors, actually.
And now, he has free time to use as he pleases.
To work, until he dies. To paint, until he feels alive again.
Hence, the rush to set himself up at the studio. He wasn’t sure what he’d need to do beforehand- if there were any security logistics or limitations on his visits.
Miguel kept the invitation open- almost too open- but he hadn’t actually given much information on how he should go about everything.
In fact, Miles hadn’t heard from Miguel at all since he visited the office over a week ago.
Which was fine, Miles kept telling himself. He didn’t need Miguel to hold his hand through everything, he was a big boy.
Correction- he was a grown man.
He could figure things out on his own.
Which is exactly why he decided to call Miguel’s assistant, Lyla, to help him instead. It took a moment for him to find her number in his call logs, but once he did…
“Lyla Lopez.” Her upbeat voice greeted after only two rings.
“Lyla! Hi, this is Miles Morales.” He greeted into his phone, hand pressed over his opposite ear so he could hear better over the chatter of the city.
Miles was on his break. Technically, his ten minutes were already over, but once he got the schedule for the week, he couldn’t resist making the call.
“I recently sold a painting to Mr. O’Hara.” Miles said, a bit tentative. “I’m not sure if you remember me.”
“Of course I remember you, Miles.” Lyla’s voice drawled, “How can I help you?”
“Mr. O’Hara offered me one of his office spaces to paint in.” Miles rocked back on his heels. “I was going to stop by on Wednesday, is there anything I need to do before? Like, to set up or…”
“Oh! I can help you get set up, what time on Wednesday?”
“Whatever time works best for you?” Miles suggested, eyes wide at the sight of his boss cracking open the back door of the restaurant to glare daggers at him.
Miles holds up an apologetic hand to the man, waiting for Lyla as she likely checked her schedule.
“How does the morning sound? 9:30?” Lyla asked after a moment.
A grin stretched Miles face, “Sounds good.” He said with a nod.
Lyla hummed, “See you then, Miles.”
His boss shot one more glare before he slammed the back door shut.
Miles didn’t let it bother him. He couldn’t.
He had too much to be happy about.
…
On Wednesday, he caught an early train down to Miguel’s office building. The commute wasn’t far, thankfully, and he was able to get there about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.
When he approached the large, glimmering building once more, he saw the woman standing outside of it.
The first thing he noticed was that Lyla was tall. The long, furry, beige coat she wore made her look like an off-duty popstar.
When he approached, she looked up from her cell phone with a grin, brown eyes shining with amusement.
“Nice to properly meet you, Miles.” Lyla said, looking him up and down through her rose colored, heart shaped sunglasses.
She seemed so different from Miguel that Miles was curious as to how she even started working for him. Though, opposites do attract.
“Likewise.” Miles started, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for helping me out.”
Lyla shook his hand, then dramatically placed her own over her chest. “So polite!” She exclaimed, then glanced down at Miles’ bags. “And well prepared.”
Miles shifted, awkward. He was carrying..a lot. A duffle full of sketchbooks, markers, and colored pencils. Plus, his backpack that carried his favorite paints and luckiest brushes.
He looked a little silly on the train, but no less than anyone else in New York.
Lyla moved into the building without another word and Miles followed behind, instantly trying to keep up with her fast pace.
At the security desk, they gave him a keycard.
“If it opens a room, you’re welcome to enter.” Lyla told him. “If it doesn’t, best to stay away.”
Miles nodded, that seemed simple enough.
While he hadn’t initially planned on going anywhere besides the studio, the idea of other rooms- especially prohibited ones, intrigued him greatly.
“What exactly is the building used for?” Miles asked as they walked from the desk towards the elevator. “I saw a lot of office spaces but not many people.”
Lyla turned over her shoulder with a knowing smile. “What did Mr. O’Hara tell you?”
“Not much.” Miles said, trying to sound casual. He realized that he was trying to go over Miguel’s head a bit by asking this.
“The O-Gen building is multifaceted. It’s used for storage, meetings…” Lyla trailed off as she walked, “Whatever need Mr. O’Hara has, the building fulfills.”
Miles hummed at that, looking at the sleek interior of the building on the way to the elevator.
The O-Gen building had a cool name, but it only added more mystery to Miguel than clarity. On the way up to the studio, floors passed in a blur.
Miles would enjoy getting to walk through them, explore it all.
At some point.
“There’s breakfast in the morning and you can always go down to the desk and order anything you may need. Food or otherwise.” Lyla explained on the way up.
Miles nodded, and when the elevator doors opened, he wasted no time before approaching the studio doors. His keycard allowed the doors to slide open with a quiet whir, revealing the space he’d seen a week prior.
Still big, still beautiful. Miles looked down at the keycard.
Still his.
He turned around to thank Lyla again, who had remained inside of the elevator. She was already distracted, working and typing on her phone.
“Thanks, again.” Miles called from the doorway. “I didn’t want to bother Mr. O’Hara, but you’re probably just as busy.” He gave her an apologetic smile.
“Of course, Miles.” Lyla glanced up, brow quirked in confusion. “You’re one of his favorites.”
Before Miles could process her words, the elevator doors begin to slide shut.
“Enjoy.” She said, a slight smirk on her pink lips. And then she was gone.
Miles took a step back and into the studio. He looked around at the space once more, his smile growing wider.
He certainly would enjoy.
…
At first, it was strange having so much space all to himself. There was no one to bother him. No one pestering him or interrupting him with the sound of video games (God bless Ganke).
He was completely alone and completely at peace.
However, once all of his supplies were unpacked and put away, he was left with the daunting task of a blank canvas.
Even with all the paints he could’ve imagined and his favorite pastels- he couldn’t think of what to paint.
Honestly, really, all he could think about was Miguel.
He wondered what the man was up to, if he was busy with work or if he’d need to stop by his office at some point.
Miguel was the one who gave him this space. He was the one who bought Miles’ painting- even though no one else saw any value in it. And from that, he was the reason that Miles had enough money to actually save.
If someone had told Miles a couple months ago that his cycle of work applications, and stifled painting would be interrupted by a rich man- he probably wouldn’t have believed it.
Yet, it was true. His life had been changed drastically by a man he hadn’t even known for that long.
Miles found himself inspired and encouraged by Miguel’s words. He found himself listening and following him- he followed him all the way here.
Where he now sits, staring stupidly at a blank canvas.
Lyla said he was one of Miguel’s favorites. Like it was obvious, like nothing else in the world should matter because Miguel had given him favor.
Miguel said something similar, that he kept his favorites close to him.
Miles liked being kept close. It made him feel warm all over. Safe. Protected.
Miguel had no idea that he was one of Miles’ favorites too.
Suddenly, Miles stood from his easel. He gathered his pens, markers, and sketchbook, plopping himself down on the couch.
He settled into the cushions, letting out a long breath. He inhaled and exhaled again, trying to clear his mind of any distractions.
When his sketchbook opened and his pencil hit the page, it was like he couldn’t stop.
First, it was the city skyline. The view from Miguel’s office was still fresh in his head. It was possibly the best view he’s had of the city- though he’d never tell Gwen that. They spent too many nights on rooftops for a window to take the top spot.
Still, the lines he drew intersected to recreate the beauty of it. He used his markers to color in the low, fading light of the sun. The feeling of the warmth was something he couldn’t replicate- but he could try.
Anything to get him back to that moment.
Shortly after he was done with the skyline, he began drawing figures. Shapes with harsh lines and rounded edges that didn’t make much sense until he was nearly done.
Wide, broad shoulders. A tiny waist and long torso. A pin straight back-
It was Miguel.
Miles’ mouth went dry. He stopped his pencil to stare down at the page like it had moved on it’s own.
Consciously, he’d been trying to quell how much he’d actually liked Miguel. Clearly, his subconscious couldn’t quell a damn thing.
It was clear from the page in front of him.
Miles didn’t want to over analyze. In fact, that’s something he tried to avoid with his art. Whatever he made, was whatever he made. Nothing more, nothing less.
Unless he wanted it to be.
Instead, he kept drawing. Let the strong lines of Miguel’s body and face make for good practice.
It’s what he told himself as he filled the next page with Miguel’s suit jacket. Then, the page after that with his sturdy neck and jaw.
Then, the next with his nose, and the one after that with his eyes…
…
Two more weeks passed without Miles seeing Miguel. Meanwhile, his sketchbook saw the man every day.
Once the initial adjustment, Miles found it easy to make the studio part of his routine.
On Sundays, he got his schedule for the work week. Any day he wasn’t scheduled to work, he had planned on showing up to the studio.
It was great on days where he got to sleep in and come by whenever it was convenient. He could stay as long as he wanted, work as little or as much as he wanted, and he didn’t have to answer to anyone.
Some days, he’d come by after work just to stare at the ceiling in complete silence. Yes, his job was still kicking his ass, but that was a completely separate issue.
At least he had options- money saved and a place to relax when he wasn’t working. It made everything just a little bit better.
On the early mornings he’d come by, he always checked in with the doorman and the security guest. They were nice people, and the only other people Miles had noticed in the building, so it was important for him to befriend them.
He’d always check out the breakfast bar, which was basically a buffet of foods in the middle of the lobby.
Miles loved the fruit options, deciding every morning on a banana with coffee.
He’d wondered a few times about who set it up, especially since he’d come by as early as 7AM some days, but figured it was just someone on Miguel’s payroll.
After breakfast, he listened to music and sketched for a least thirty minutes. It was an exercise to get him warmed up and prepared for whatever may pop into his head.
Even though every day, without fail, it was always Miguel.
His shoulders in his suit. His big, bushy eyebrows.
Sometimes, Miles forced himself to practice other things- only to avoid becoming obsessed. He’d been through a similar phase when he had a crush on Gwen and it took months for him to break out of it.
He didn’t want to go back to that.
So, he focused on other subjects- like food.
One time, he drew a full spread of bread…flaky, round, loaves. Croissants and other treats. It reminded him a little of the pastries from the coffeehouse.
Miles smiled at the thought, pulling out his phone and snapping a quick picture of the page.
He looked it over, the studio space was clearly visible in the background. Something in him wanted to send it to Miguel- the thought excited him.
They’d spoken on the phone a few times (Miles could never forget the rumble of that voice), but they’d never texted before.
It’d be good for Miguel to know that Miles was using the space.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he moved.
miles: my warmup sketch of the day. [photo]
Only a few moments passed before his phone vibrated.
Miguel O’Hara hearted the photo
Miles felt his stomach flutter. He kept his phone far away for the remainder of the session.
Next week when Miles looked at the breakfast bar, he was surprised to find a warm display of croissants.
A dry laugh escaped his lips.
He reached for one that was covered in chocolate and took a bite. It was warm, and the chocolate melted over his tongue, complimenting well with the soft, flaky bread.
They were the ones from the coffeehouse!
A smile spread across his face as he picked up another croissant and a banana. With his other hand, he pulled out his phone to send a quick text.
miles: thank you.
By the time he’d gotten back up to the art studio, his phone vibrated.
Miguel O’Hara: Keep up the great work.
Miles let out a long exhale. He would.
For Miguel, he’d do just about anything.
…
Somehow, the texts slowly started to become part of his routine.
After he’d finish his warm-up sketch, he’d send a picture to Miguel. Not every time, of course, but when he’d drawn something interesting to share.
Miguel continued to send reactions to the images rather than an actual response. It didn’t bother Miles much, though. The simple acknowledgement was enough for him. More than enough.
Sometimes, if he really liked the sketch, Miles would post it on his Instagram story.
It always felt a bit awkward trying to find the perfect angle of his sketchbook just to show off something as silly as rubber ducks, but it was good practice. He was putting himself out there.
One afternoon, Miles sent a doodle of a giant man holding a boombox and stomping through the city. Miguel responded with “Very cool.”
Miles snorted at that. He knew it was very cool, but it was cute that Miguel thought so too.
The interactions were short, but sweet. And they made Miles feel good about himself.
At first, Miles worried about coming off as annoying to a busy man like Miguel. He’d lay off the messages for a few days, sometimes solely because he hadn’t been able to draw at all that day.
He’d been at home scrolling on his phone before work when his phone vibrated.
Miguel O’Hara: How are you?
Miles sat up in his bed. Miguel had texted him first. With words. A smile spread across his face.
miles: im good. about to head out for work.
Miguel O’Hara hearted your message.
That was it for the rest of the day, but that was fine with Miles. The fact that Miguel thought to ask just had his heart swooning.
Was that the bare minimum? Maybe. But, Miguel had already proven to provide him with much more than that. Something that money couldn’t buy.
Confidence.
The little bursts of encouragement for his tiny drawings got him hyped up enough to sketch something onto his canvas, finally.
The next time he was at the studio, he was determined to actually paint. He didn’t send a warm-up from his sketchbook, just wanting to actually focus on the canvas. About an hour into his sketching, his phone vibrated.
Miguel O’Hara: How are you?
miles: really good! finally starting to work on my canvas.
A few minutes later, there was a response.
Miguel O’Hara: That’s great to hear.
miles hearted the message.
Miles didn’t know what else to say, but he didn’t want the conversation to end yet.
If he was completely honest, it had been a struggle to ensure that Miguel’s face didn’t end up on that canvas. He missed the man, and weeks without him was starting to get difficult.
At least he had the texts.
miles: how are you?
About ten minutes later, his phone vibrated.
Miguel O’Hara: Technically, I’m in a meeting.
miles: omg!
miles: well, don’t let me get you in trouble.
Only a minute passed.
Miguel O’Hara: I’m the boss, remember?
Miles swallowed nervously. The statement made him feel warm.
It was entirely true, wasn’t it?
He had no response so, he just forced himself to put away his phone. He was too flustered to do anything besides return to his canvas.
Hours later, he’d been making great progress, mixing paints on his palette when his phone vibrated again.
He rubbed his hand off on his jeans before picking up his phone with slight confusion.
Miguel O’Hara: Still working?
Miles let out a soft laugh. Deciding quickly to snap a photo of his hands. They were covered with multicolored paint smears.
miles: i’ve reached flow state. [photo]
A moment later, his phone buzzed.
Miguel O’Hara: Remember to take breaks.
Miguel O’Hara: Have you eaten today?
Miles stared down at the message with a frown. No, he hadn’t really eaten besides his normal fruit and caffeine combo from the breakfast bar.
miles: does coffee count?
As if on cue, his stomach growled. Then, his phone buzzed again.
Miguel O’Hara disliked your message
Miles snorted, putting his phone back down. He couldn’t worry about food right now, not when he was making so much progress.
He’d wanted to return to the canvas, but instead he decided to grab his sketchbook and doodle his favorite subject. Just when he’d captured the curves of Miguel’s nose perfectly- there was knock on the door.
Miles frowned, standing cautiously before walking to the door.
When it slid open, he saw the front desk man standing in front of him with a wry expression, holding a box of pizza.
Miles stared for a moment. “I didn’t order this.” He said.
The man raised his eyebrows. “Boss did.” He told him gruffly, holding out the box.
Despite the confusion, his heart skipped a beat. Miles grabbed the pizza box, a disbelieving laugh slipping from his lips.
“Thanks, Jerry.” He muttered, before the door slid shut again.
Miles walked back over to his easel, balancing the pizza box as he dug out his phone from his pocket.
miles: are you psychic?
He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he typed.
miles: thank you.
The reply was almost instant.
Miguel O’Hara: Eat. The flow state will be there when you’re finished.
Miles laughed at that, taking a moment after to hold his phone close to his chest like the texts were some kind of ancient secret.
Miguel was the boss, after all. Who was Miles to deny him?
He flipped open the pizza box and grabbed a slice, completely giddy as he took the first bite.