Work Text:
3 times when miles got on miguel's nerves by interrupting the training + 1 time when miguel didn't get annoyed.
Miguel would have never accepted Peter B. Parker's proposal if it weren't for a very particular circumstance: he owed the man a favor.
After everything that happened with Gabriella, he had no interest whatsoever in setting foot back on an ice skating rink. It had been at least two years, of course, and two years is a long time, but not for Miguel. For him, hearing the sound of blades against the ice brought back memories he wanted to leave behind. The cold air on his nose gave him a discomfort that started in his belly and rose up to his chest. The laughter of children in skating lessons and also from the youth hockey teams was perhaps the worst part. In short, if he could, Miguel would never return to an ice skating rink. He was perfectly fine spending his days working in his office, alone, thank you very much. But then came Peter B. Parker, and it was always Peter B. Parker who found a way to ruin his peace.
"Please, Miguel!"
"No."
"Come on, pretty please!"
"I already said no."
At this point, Miguel was massaging his temples. Sometimes, he wondered why he kept talking to Peter. Maybe because Peter was too insistent and wouldn't let him stop talking to him even if Miguel wanted to. The man had his cell phone pressed against his ear, grumpy, staring out the window of his office. He couldn't wait for this call to end so he could go back to doing boring things in his boring job.
"Stop being so stubborn! It'll only be for a few weeks while Mary Jane needs to travel for work. Help me help myself!"
"I don't want to deal with training teenagers again. You know that. Teenagers are too noisy and don't know how to listen."
"But you're a great coach! And Miles is a good kid, you'll see, he's a sweetheart, and very talented too."
"It's no use, Peter. My final word is still no."
"Miguel,” he couldn’t stand listening to Peter's voice on the other end anymore “You’re making me play dirty, you know."
"And how do you plan on doing that?" Miguel raised an eyebrow, not very interested in the conversation.
"Do you remember a few years ago when the hockey team had to go to a tournament in the neighboring city, and it was about a forty-minute drive..."
"No. No, Peter, you're not going to do that."
"And you said you couldn't go because you sprained your ankle..."
"Peter B. Parker. Don't you dare."
"And you asked me to drive the minivan with the team to the tournament and supervise the kids? And then I had to drive a minivan full of pre-teens screaming for a total of forty minutes, and as if that wasn't enough, the tire blew out and I had to change it? Do you remember what you told me?"
Miguel groaned. He remembered very well what he had said. I owe you one. And not only that, he promised Peter that if Peter ever needed a favor, he would do it.
"Damn it. Send me the reports you made on the last training sessions of your kid to my email."
"Huh... you make reports?"
Miguel had many problems and many flaws, but being a man who breaks promises was not on the list of any of them. And that was the only, and the only reason he was on the ice rink at that moment, on that day, on that exhausting Wednesday.
As soon as he entered the rink, the first thing Miguel felt was chills. Not because of the cold; the dusty coat he took from the back of his wardrobe was doing its job well. The problem was the memories. Everything seemed so similar, so alike. The sound of blades on the ice, the conversations of the group of children for the lessons at that time, the discreet air conditioning in the background. Miguel took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He made a promise. He had to fulfill that promise. He was a grown man, for God's sake, he couldn't keep running away from something that had been part of his life for so long.
Miguel looked around, frowning. There weren't many people on the rink at that moment. In one corner, a teacher with a class of little girls learning the basics of hockey. In another, three or four pre-teens talking. And in another corner, a boy was alone. It had to be him. Peter B. Parker's pupil.
He was not very tall. Peter had mentioned that he was around fifteen, and Miguel wouldn't guess much older than that. He must have arrived a little before Miguel judging by the fact that he was already gliding on the ice, Bluetooth headphones over his curly hair. The rink lights illuminated his dark skin as he skated. Miles Morales. That was the boy.
"Morales."
The boy didn't hear. His headphones must have been too loud. Miguel frowned. Why were teenagers at this age so irresponsible? Miguel sighed, walking closer to the barrier that separated the stands from the ice benches.
"Morales!" he called again, louder this time.
Miguel couldn't predict that, at the exact moment he called the boy's name, he was about to make a jump. And he couldn't predict that his voice would distract him. He also couldn't predict the fall that would follow. Miguel would be lying if he said he didn't feel at least a little guilty when the boy let out a surprised noise, falling on the ice with a loud thud loud enough to make the other people present on the rink turn their heads. But, well, the boy was already learning Miguel's number one lesson.
"Lesson number one, Morales," Miguel said, walking to lean his elbows on the barrier that divided the stands from the ice. "No wearing headphones during training."
Morales seemed a little lost, as if he were still trying to understand what had just happened in the last few minutes. He got up from the ice, grumbling a little in the process, and took the headphones off his head, leaving them around his neck. Miguel stared at him with a bored expression as Miles skated over to where he was leaning.
"Huh... do I know you?" Miles frowned as he placed his hand on an area of his arm where he must have hit hard when he fell.
"No, but you should," Miguel rolled his eyes. "Parker should have talked to you about me, but obviously he took the liberty of not saying anything."
"Oh!" Miles' eyes widened, as if he had just realized something. "Peter talked to me about him needing some time off and that I would have a substitute coach. That's you, then?"
"It is. My name is Miguel O'Hara. I'll be your coach for the next few weeks."
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. O'Hara!" Miles smiled and extended one of his gloved hands. "My name is..."
"Miles Morales. Yes, your coach talked to me about you. Just didn't send me any reports about your performance."
"And do you need reports?"
Miguel had a lot of work to do.
"Alright, let's get started. I brought you a schedule with a daily exercise routine and a program to practice. And no headphones!"
1. HOBIE AND PAV
Despite it only being a few weeks since Miguel started working with Miles, there were already some things he had noticed.
Miles had some bad habits, most likely due to Peter's negligence in training the boy. For example, it was difficult for him to stretch before starting the training sessions. And even more difficult was convincing him of the need for a pre- and post-practice exercise routine. There was also the detail that he spent days complaining about the rule of not using headphones. And the other detail was that he was stubborn. Very stubborn, much to Miguel's dislike. But he could deal with it; discipline was something that could be learned, and, most importantly, the boy was talented. Miguel understood why Parker insisted so much that he didn't go without a coach.
"Come on, Miles, just one spin!"
Ah, and of course, there were these two as well. Brown and Prabhakar.
Miles was the type of boy who quickly lost focus, which was normal for a fifteen-year-old boy full of energy. However, to worsen Miguel's situation and impatience, Hobie Brown and Pavtr Prabhakar also entered the picture.
How these two had such easy access to the rink during training hours, only God knows (or maybe it was something to do with Jessica's apprentice). Miguel knew that both of them knew how to skate, and they weren't bad at it, to be honest. He had seen them perform some competent jumps and spins. But he also knew that the two of them did it as a hobby, not competitively or professionally. It wouldn't be a problem to have teenagers skating without any training purpose on the rink, except that, at that moment, the ice rink was closed for training sessions and classes only. And, especially, for Miguel's training sessions, as it was his responsibility to train a teenager for competitions.
And there they were, popping up from time to time, always distracting Miles from his training. It was just enough time for Miguel to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water, and when he returned, there they were on the ice.
Miguel clenched his teeth when he saw Brown and Prabhakar leaning against the divider between the ice and the stands.
"Uh... why don't you give those spins?" Miles raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from the water bottle in his hand. "It's not like you don't know how to skate either."
"But I'm not a professional!" Prabhakar exclaimed, exasperated, waving his arms a bit.
"Neither am I."
"Yet." Prabhakar pouted, holding his cellphone in his hand, pointed at Miles, who now had his arms crossed. "Come on, Miles, please, pretty please. It's just a quick video to post! It won't do any harm, and it's not like you don't do it all the time."
Miles paused for a moment. He made a face, rolling his eyes before sighing, finally seeming to give in. Prabhakar's eyes lit up.
"Ugh. I'm going to start charging you every time you use my image in your videos. And you, Hobie, are you still in favor of this?!"
"I'm here just for the chaos," Hobie shrugged, arms crossed, a smirk on his face. "And because it's always hilarious to see your coach pissed off when we're here. What was his name again? Marcos?"
"No, I think it was Manoel."
"Mario?"
"What if it is..."
"For you two, it's Mr. O'Hara."
Neither of them seemed to have noticed that Miguel was nearby, or close enough to overhear their conversation. Miles, at least, seemed to have noticed, considering he was holding back laughter as he finished drinking from his water bottle. The color drained from Pavtr's face, and he swallowed hard. Hobie, on the other hand, seemed to find the situation amusing as Miguel approached the three of them with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.
"What have I told you two about coming here during training hours?" Miguel growled between clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed. "And at least next time you're talking shit about me, get my name right."
Miles seemed to have a lot of difficulty holding back his laughter this time, but he wasn't exempt. Miguel stared at him with a fierce look in his eyes.
"And you should be training, not chatting away. We have only a few weeks left until the next tournament, and I want to see if you'll jump twice into the stands and call it quits."
"Why are you so annoying, Miguel?" Miles rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Just relax a bit. Hobie and Pav just came to talk to me real quick!"
"Oh, yes, real quick. Like that time they came real quick and you told me you'd quickly go out for a snack and came back half an hour later. Or as quick as the time you guys were watching kitten videos on your phone until it was time for the hockey players' practice to start. Or even better, as quick as..."
"You care too much about how much time Miles trains for someone who claims to be here because they owe him a favor, you know?" Hobie raised an eyebrow.
"You both have a minute to get out of here before I get arrested for assaulting two teenagers," Miles opened his mouth to protest — "three if you dare say anything."
"You know what? I actually had to go take care of some things at Gayatri's house," Pavtr forced a nervous laugh, pocketing his phone and grabbing Hobie's arm to drag him towards the exit.
"Didn't you say she had ballet lessons today?"
"Let's go, Hobie. See you next time, Mr. O'Hara!"
Miguel watched the two of them walking away, Hobie grumbling something as Pavtr dragged him towards the exit. Finally, when they disappeared from his sight (thank God), Miguel turned to the person he should be most furious with at the moment. Miles didn't seem too concerned about the older man's reactions; quite the opposite. He skated back and forth like a child playing on a winter day.
"Why are you so uptight, Miguel?! Peter never had a problem with my friends coming to talk to me while I trained. He even participated in one of the videos once!"
"First, I'm not Peter. Second, your friends distract you. You have the rest of the day to talk to them, but while you're training, I need your full concentration. And Peter being an irresponsible pushover is the reason your triple axel is a mess."
"My triple axel is not a mess!"
"Oh, really? Every time you've tried it, you've fallen on the ground like a rock."
"You're exaggerating, okay?"
"Then go ahead. Do a triple axel now."
Miles looked him up and down as Miguel continued to stare at him, challenging him. But of course, the boy wouldn't back down. He never did. That's why he skated to another corner of the rink, wanting to gain speed, and there he went. Miles always performed the first parts of the axel perfectly; he was good, Miguel would never tire of saying that he was good. But he still needed to fix some bad habits. And that's why there he went, jumping off the ice. He spun one. He spun two. And on the third one, he took a nasty fall, landing in front of Miguel with a loud "ouch" escaping his mouth.
Stubborn brat.
"Get up already," Miguel grumbled, a satisfied smile playing on the corner of his mouth, extending a hand to help Miles up. "We still have a lot of work to do."
2. GWEN
Miguel could even enforce rules about Miles not letting the little brats enter the rink while they were training. But there was nothing he could do about the other skaters who used the ice rink.
This usually wasn't a problem. Most of the other skaters were kids taking lessons, and at most, they liked to hang around and watch Miles train because, wow, he has won several competitions, and he's so talented! And those kids didn't bother much. The others, on the other hand, were instructors who were too focused on their lessons and training to engage in conversation. The hockey team skaters were never on the ice rink at the same time as them, so... yeah. In general, when it came to skaters, Miguel didn't have many issues with distractions for Miles.
"Alright, this will be the best of three!"
Except for Gwen Stacy.
She was Jessica Drew's student, and Miguel knew well that Jessica wouldn't accept the job of training just anyone. In other words, the girl was good. And really good, judging by the few times he saw her skating seriously. But she was also stubborn, at least as stubborn as Miles, and of course, the only two teenagers on the ice rink practicing figure skating would end up getting close. Too close for Miguel's liking, as it only took a few minutes for him to go out and buy a coffee, and when he came back, he found the two of them skating around like headless chickens and racing on the ice.
Luckily for Miguel, her training schedule didn't overlap with Miles'. And unfortunately for him, neither of the two teenagers cared about that.
"Oh, come on!" Miles shook his arms in frustration as Gwen outpaced him on the ice for at least the fourth time. "How do you keep beating me every time?!"
"I've been playing hockey for... I don't know... at least five years, remember?" Gwen smirked as she skated past him. "Of course, I'm going to end up being faster than you."
"And I've been skating for much longer than you," Miles pouted while circling around Gwen, who was now standing still with her hands on her waist. "It's not fair!"
"Maybe if you had listened to me and hadn't quit the hockey team like I said..."
"I thought I was going to lose a tooth that day. No, thank you. You can keep being faster than me; I'm perfectly happy the way I am. And you know what? At least my axel is better than yours."
"Oh, really? Last time, at the championship, you took a pretty big fall."
Miles raised an eyebrow at her, as if challenging her to repeat what she just said. The boy rolled his eyes before skating a bit away from Gwen, gaining speed. And there it was. One. Two. Three. And he landed with a smirk on his face. A perfect axel. Just as Miguel had taught him after endless and tiring practices and a lot of complaining from the teenager. But there were the results. A perfect axel.
If Miguel wasn't so mad that Miles was always interrupting the training, maybe, just maybe, he would have had a little proud smile on his face.
"Your boy has come a long way, hasn't he?"
Miguel blinked, turning to find Jess standing next to him, her arms crossed over her chest. He muttered under his breath. Apparently, Miguel was the only sensible person in that ice rink.
"Not thanks to your girl interrupting the training," he mumbled, more to himself than to Jess, but it was more than obvious that she heard him.
"You never change, do you?" Jess rolled her eyes, not seeming to have much patience to deal with Miguel and his personality. "That's probably why you haven't found anyone else to train."
"I haven't found anyone else to train because I haven't found anyone worth it," he lied – and furthermore, I'm here just as a favor to Peter."
"For the sake of the women's hockey team?"
"Yeah, for the sake of the women's hockey team."
"Well," Jess whistled, raising both eyebrows, not looking too impressed. "But you must still see some potential in the boy, don't you? You wouldn't complain so much if you didn't care."
"It's just my method, Jess. You know how I work."
"Hm. Or maybe you're just lying to yourself."
Miguel made a face.
He had no affection for Miles. He didn't care about that stubborn, annoying teenager who always needed to learn the hard way before realizing that, yes, what Miguel had said was the best course of action. He couldn't care less if Miles would perform well in competitions or not. But he had a debt to Peter, and Miguel honored his word. That was the only reason he wanted the boy to succeed. That was the only reason he was so demanding (and, to be honest, sometimes even a little cruel) with Miles.
"Miles!" Miguel exclaimed, bringing a hand close to his mouth to amplify the sound of his voice, getting the boy's attention. "For every minute you waste fooling around, I'm adding it to your training!"
"What?! No! Oh, come on, Miguel! That's not fair!"
"Well, Miguel, it's not fair!" Gwen laughed as she skated in circles around Miles. "He already loses to me all the time, and you're punishing the poor guy like this?"
"Whose side are you on?!"
Miguel was just repaying a debt. That's all it was.
3. PETER
Miguel knew very well what it felt like to be a first-time father. He knew it very well because he remembered when Gabriella was little, when he felt like she could break just by holding her in his arms. He remembered the feeling of wanting to show off that little thing to anyone who was willing (or unwilling) to pay attention, telling them how his little girl was the most beautiful and precious child in the whole world. Being aware of how it felt made Miguel more tolerant of Peter's incessant messages, sending him photos of the little redhead crawling around his house, talking about how Mayday was so clever, so big, and crying about how his little girl was already growing up.
That, Miguel could tolerate. However, what Miguel couldn't tolerate was Peter B. Parker taking advantage of the moment he went out to buy coffee, only to return and find the idiot leaning against the edge of the ice rink. If that wasn't enough, Miles was there, standing still instead of continuing the exercise routine Miguel instructed him to do in his brief absence. On the other hand, he held the same little redhead with big eyes in his hands, waving her gloved hands, trying to grab Miles' face.
"Oh my God, she's so tiny!" Miles exclaimed, smiling, the baby in his hands laughing. " ¿Te gusta el tío, ¿eh?, cosa linda? ¿Dónde está el bebé? ¡Aquí está! ¿Dónde está el bebé? ¡Aquí está! ¿Dónde está el...”
"I think you already know exactly where the baby is."
It was clear that Miles rolled his eyes as Miguel approached the two, his fists clenched, his eyes narrowed. Miles pouted, cradling Mayday in his arms, which made the baby laugh even more at the situation.
"I just didn't ask where the annoying guy who can't have fun with anything was."
"I can have fun when I'm not. You know. During training hours. And when there are only a few days left until the next competition."
"Blah, blah, blah," Mayday laughed again in Miles' arms, who also laughed, starting to skate slowly with the baby in his arms. "He's boring, isn't he, Mayday? Uncle Miguel is unbearable. And look, you've been around him for less than five minutes. I have to put up with this guy for months!"
"Miles!" Miguel growled, but the boy was already skating away. "Come back here now! Carajo, este chico solo me trae dolores de cabeza, no es posible."
"Oh, come on, Miguel," Peter put an arm around his shoulder, a lazy smile on his face as Miguel snarled at him. "You have to stop being so boring, you know?"
"It was my boringness that made him evolve. You're a damn irresponsible guy. And what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home taking care of your little troublemaker?"
"Yeah, yeah," Peter waved his hand, not paying much attention to Miguel's apparent irritation, "but you know how it is. Today was a bit boring, there wasn't much to do, and I thought it'd be nice to visit the rink for a few hours."
"A few hours?!"
"And anyway, I also wanted to see Miles. I missed the kid. How is he? Any news?"
"And he doesn't tell you anything through messages? During breaks, I only see him with his face buried in his phone all the time," Miguel raised an eyebrow.
"Of course he tells me, but he only talks about how much of an asshole you are, but that's not news. So, tell me, I want to know the news!"
Why did Miguel insist on talking to Peter? That was a question that, to be very honest, he asked himself almost every time the two interacted. Maybe it was because they had known each other for a long time, and now it was hard for Miguel to remove the man from his life, like a cat that now lived in his backyard and he was too lazy to get rid of the cat. Or maybe it was because Peter always brought cookies for all the children who trained figure skating at the rink, including Gabriella.
Miguel grumbled softly, still irritated, watching Miles skate delicately and carefully while Mayday continued laughing in his arms.
"When I took over his training, he had some... bad habits."
"Bad habits?" Peter removed his arm from around Miguel and put it in his jacket pocket. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"I mean you're a lazy undisciplined person, and you passed that on perfectly to your protégé."
"How thoughtful."
"But..."
"But?"
"Miles is talented," Miguel said, shrugging. "And very much so. He was like a diamond that needed polishing. And when it comes to polishing diamonds, I'm good at it."
"Summarize before you start listing all the bad habits you passed on to him."
"After a lot of work, and a lot of complaining, and a lot of training... he made a huge leap. He was already good, don't get me wrong, but now? I really think there's a chance for him to win a championship."
"It seems like you two got along well, then," Peter whistled, giving Miguel a friendly pat on the shoulder, as if congratulating him for something. "I was afraid your horrible temper would cause more harm than good, but I had a feeling you would like Miles."
Liking the boy was a strong word. Tolerating him might be more appropriate.
Miguel furrowed his brow. He trained Miles, helped him practice, assisted him in reaching his potential in every training session, every day, every practice on the ice rink. He gave him tips, told him what needed improvement, what was already good. He told him when to stop and when to push further and exceed his own limits. He rolled his eyes at the kid's sarcastic remarks, but smiled to himself, proud, when he saw that little by little, he was helping Miles reach his fullest potential. But it wasn't special. It was the kind of behavior he had when he trained Gabriella too.
It was just coach stuff.
"Just don't be too hard on him now that the competitions are approaching, okay?" Perhaps that was the most serious tone of voice possible coming out of Peter's mouth. "Miles gets really nervous, and the last thing you want is for him to have a breakdown."
"Don't worry," Miguel grumbled, not very interested.
"I'm serious, Miguel. Miles isn't Gabriella. And even if he were... you know that sometimes you were too tough on her. Maybe that's what..."
"Enough, Peter. I know what I'm doing."
"Peter!" Miles exclaimed, spinning around on the ice rink, Mayday laughing in his arms. "Look! She likes it when I do this! You're going to be a figure skater when you grow up, aren't you, Mayday?!"
"As long as she's not a hockey player, I'm fine with it!"
Miguel was getting tired of all the small talk. He glanced at his wrist, grumbling once again when he saw the time.
"Miles, drop the thing already. We need to get back to training."
"Don't mind him, Mayday," Miles pouted as he skated towards Peter, handing the smiling baby over to him. "He's always like this. But usually, it means he likes you, okay?"
"Miles!"
"You see?! He loves me!"
4. MIGUEL
“No, Miguel. I just can’t. I just can’t anymore.”
Miguel could be demanding at times, that's what his colleagues would say. That's what Gabriella would say, complaining after hours of training. Some even went as far as to say that Miguel could be cruel, as his ex-wife had claimed. Miguel wasn't cruel. He just... when he saw potential, when he saw talent, he wanted that person to push their limits, to reach their maximum potential. Miguel just wanted to show people what they were capable of. And he wasn't always kind in doing so.
It was only two days until the championship they had been training for weeks. Miguel needed to make sure Miles would do everything perfectly, that he wouldn't make any mistakes because Miguel knew that Miles had the ability to do everything perfectly and not make mistakes. He knew Miles' potential. And he wouldn't settle for anything less.
"Come on, Miles, stop slacking off," Miguel sighed, walking with a water bottle to the boy who was leaning against the divide between the stands and the ice rink. "You still need to train. We're not even halfway there."
"What part of I can't take it anymore don't you understand?" Miles waved his arms, exasperated. "I'm exhausted! And more than exhausted, I... I'm scared. I'm scared of performing poorly in the competition."
"If you perform poorly, then everything I've done so far has been a complete waste of time," the words escaped Miguel's mouth without much thought; he was tired, and Miles had been complaining since they arrived at the ice rink. "Do you want to stop training? Fine. Sit on the ground and cry for a couple of hours like a fool would. But think about the sacrifices your parents made for you to reach this level. Is that what you want, Miles? To be a failure?"
Miles blinked. And then Miguel realized what he had said.
He wasn't a man with much filter when it came to his words. In fact, he had no filter at all when it came to scolding his students. Gabriella knew that well.
Miles opened his mouth, as if to respond with a few of his usual smart remarks. But this time, something unexpected happened. His eyes filled with tears. He tried to speak, but perhaps the words got stuck in his throat. Miles shook his head, frustrated; he skated to the rink's exit, quickly removing his skates and passing by Miguel without saying a word, walking towards the locker room without looking back.
Yeah. This time, maybe Miguel had gone too far.
Teenagers were always so sensitive, weren't they? They could be worse than children, Miguel dared to say. On a normal day, Miguel would have just rolled his eyes and waited for Miles to finish his drama. But there was something about the way he stormed off the ice rink that made Miguel furrow his brow. Something that made him decide it would be good to follow him to the locker room, where the boy must have been. And there was something about that day that made Miguel's heart ache a little when he saw Miles sitting on one of the benches, hugging his knees, burying his face in his legs.
"Go away," Miles muttered, his voice choked. "You just make everything worse."
Miguel sighed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He didn't want to get closer to the boy. At least not now. But he couldn't just stand there, watching, without doing or saying anything.
Think, Miguel. Think. What would you do if it was Gabriella instead? He couldn't remember Gabriella ever running away crying like this. He couldn't remember Gabriella acting this way. It seemed that Gabriella inherited at least some of his anger issues and, when frustrated, pouted and stomped her feet, like Miguel imagined any young teenager at that age should do. He never had to do much to comfort her; things just worked themselves out. But with Miles, it was different. Miles was different.
Miguel sighed, massaging his temples.
"Miles, I... I didn't mean the things I said to you, okay? What I want to tell you is that I understand you. I don't think you're lazy. I think you're talented and very hardworking, but sometimes, you... I feel like you're not giving your all."
"I always give my best," Miles sobbed, looking at Miguel with big, teary eyes. "But it's hard. It's hard because my parents spent a lot of money on a career that I'm not even sure will work out. What if I'm wasting my time? What if I'm not good enough? It'll be the third championship that I fail to win. And I can't take it anymore, Miguel. I'm tired."
"You can handle it," Miguel spoke with an unusual patience coming from him. "Because in these past weeks, I've seen the stubborn and determined boy you are. And the talent you have, Miles. You can go far."
Miles remained silent for a moment. He sniffled a bit, wiping his nose with his arm. Miguel thought that was a good opportunity to get closer, so he sat next to the boy on the bench. His gaze was gentle, or at least as gentle as someone like Miguel O'Hara could be.
"I know I've been demanding," he spoke in a calm tone, "and I know I can be unbearable. I'm like that because I believe in you. But I know it has hurt you. So I'm sorry, Miles. I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel this way."
Miguel wasn't sure when was the last time he apologized to someone like this. In such a direct, sincere way. He needed to talk about it in his next session with Lyla. She would be very proud.
Miles looked at him for a few brief moments, as if studying the sincerity on Miguel's face. Whether it was genuine or not.
"Are you like this with everyone you train?"
"I used to. I gave a few lessons to students here and there. But I didn't push them as hard. I mean, except for one. Gabriella. She was my last student too. The last one before you. And she was so talented. But stubborn. Just like you."
Silence.
"What happened to Gabriella?"
Silence.
"She passed away some time ago. And she was someone very special to me."
Miguel didn't notice when Miles rested his head on his shoulder. There was no sound in the room except for their breathing and the occasional sobs of the boy.
"Do you really believe that? That I can go far. That I have talent?"
"I don't lie, Miles. I don't believe it. I'm pretty sure of it. I wouldn't be spending my time with you if it wasn't for that."
A muffled laugh escaped from Miles' throat.
"What a delicate way to put it."
"But it's not a lie."
Silence.
"I'm sorry for all the times I interrupted the training. It wasn't intentional."
"You don't have to apologize. You're just a kid. It's okay not to pay attention to everything. It's normal. And I shouldn't yell at you so much."
"Yeah, you really shouldn't. You're a grown ass man yelling at a teenager."
"Language. And you seem to be feeling better now," Miguel rolled his eyes, standing up, making Miles lift his face that was previously resting on his shoulder, "since the smart replies are back."
"It's not my fault you can't handle the truth."
Despite everything. Despite the fights, and the yelling, and the times Miguel lost his patience. Despite the boy's stubbornness, despite him never listening even though Miguel was always right in the end, despite him always messing up silly things out of pure lack of attention. Despite all the times Miles interrupted training, whether to talk to Hobie or Pav, or to race on the ice with Gwen, or to hold Peter B. Parker's baby, or any other stupid interruption that would get on Miguel's nerves. Despite all of that and even a little more, Miguel wouldn't trade it for anything.
After all, it was Miles who reminded him how much he loved that silly sport.
"Get up from there. Let's get you something to eat."
***
“Parker, have you considered staying a few more months taking care of Mayday? It wouldn't hurt.”