he finished it–––– his latest picture finally out of his sketchbook and up on a wall. he'd worked hard on his tribute to nova: his signature helmet, a moon and stars, and NOVA in bright, bold letters. the picture he took was hasty in his nervousness, a landscape from a few feet away, and he didn't check to see what the reply is to the picture and short message of, 'put this up for you––––like it?' he sent before putting the phone in his pocket and packing his paints away. why was he so nervous?
@aracniido. kai sniped me
sam feels his phone buzz somewhere under his blanket, and he gropes blindly around the sheets to grab it — half-asleep, only half-knowing what he’s doing. it’s a little bit after dinner in arizona, and sam had decided to take a nap before going out to fly around for the night. sleep is a rare and valuable commodity for him, you see. he’s out in space for days at a time more often than not, and it isn’t easy to find a safe bed out there in the stars —- but his plan to get some shut-eye is quickly derailed by a beeping phone and a text from a friend.
he blinks at it, for a minute. doesn’t really know what miles means. put this up for you— put what up? sam blinks the sleep out of his eyes in an attempt to feel a little more awake, but the clutches of a post-meal nap are unfairly strong. when he does wake up a little more though, he rolls onto his back and stifles a big yawn, noticing that miles had attached a picture to his message too.
and that picture makes him feel like he’s still trapped in a dream.
he zooms in and out on the semi-blurry picture, brows furrowed in confusion and in baffled surprise. the moon and stars sitting crisp and bright on top of a dark galaxy background, his name cut in swooping letters and bold colour, the intense red of his helmet’s star stamped in the middle of the piece with confidence and pride. it’s surreal. it’s not just nova — it’s him. that’s his helmet. that’s his nova. sam refreshes the app, trying to trouble-shoot if this fever-dream is a reality or not, and it’s still there, staring back at him, when he clicks into his chat with miles. put this up for you—- like it?
he —- he made this for me?
sam’s face feels hot; like he’s been breathing under a weighted blanket for ten minutes, or stuffed in a sauna room, or ran a mile down the road on a hot summer day, or just been gifted a tribute art piece by his best friend who he totally hasn’t been crushing on at all, ever. never ever. his cheeks are warm, pink, flush with fluttery feelings and flattery and ever-beating butterflies, and he just. pulls the covers over his face for a moment and tosses his phone down to bounce off the mattress for a second. he needs a second!
why miles would do this for him is beyond him — it really came out of nowhere, and it’s so sweet and generous and meaningful and thoughtful (all things that miles absolutely is, of course) that sam can’t just type out a ‘wow, looks great man! ty!’ text and be done with it. he can’t! it couldn’t possibly be right! so he musters whatever courage is left in his little flustered heart and hops out of bed, pops his phone into his pocket, grabs his helmet—- and starts on his familiar fly across the country. it’s darker out here in brooklyn than it is back home ( there is a three-hour time difference, after all! ), but it’s no matter to sam. he makes his way up the familiar path to miles’ residence, looking around to make sure no one sees him coming, and when the coast is clear, he knocks quietly on miles’ window like a pigeon tapping the sill for crumbs. when the spider sees him and opens it up, sam smiles so big and so bright. ( he’s so happy! he’s so crazy happy! ) he props his elbows up on the windowsill, leaning his cheek in one of his palms while his grin competes for the brightest light on the city skyline.
❝ hey, man. i heard there’s a sick new superhero mural downtown. real cool stuff. wanna go check it out? i wonder if i’ll get to meet the artist and get his autograph—- ❞
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