Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Luck has never been on Felicia Hardy's side. With her father, the only family she has left, in jail, Felicia ends up in the only place she doesn’t want to be. The prestigious Empire State University, the top research university in all of New York and the school that Norman Osborn graduated from. Blaming Osborn for her mother’s death six years ago, Felicia seeks revenge through her alter ego as Black Cat, continuing her father’s business. But what happens when the friendly neighborhood superhero catches her in the act? And even worse, what happens when Spider-Man thinks that Black Cat is better as an ally rather than a foe? Can Felicia keep her feelings for the sarcastic hero a secret just as well as she hides her double life from her annoyingly sweet roommate Miles? Or will everything come crashing down on her, like always?

Miles Morales always considered himself to be lucky. Despite the loss of his uncle Aaron, he has a mother and father that love him to death and a scholarship in his dream school. All of this while secretly being Spider-Man, the hero and protector of New York. Not bad for an Afro-latino kid from Brooklyn. His (not so) quiet life changes overnight when he is met with the deviant and alluring Black Cat. Fate brings them together and they form an alliance. Black Cat will put an end to her stealing antics and in return he will help her unveil a mystery that seems entirely too personal to her. Having to balance crime-fighting and college life can be tough, especially when you are crushing hard on your cold, distant roommate, while also trying to let down as gently as possible the flirty cat burglar from your secret life. Can Miles save them all, or has his luck finally run out?

´ཀ`

 🕷

The characters and the story, although inspired by the Spider-Man comics, are my original characters. The trademark for Spider-Man doesn’t belong to me but this story and the characters are set in an alternate universe, Earth-2904 made by me, my original work. Any differences from the canon storylines or character traits (backstories and arcs) of the characters are intentional. 

Marvel and Sony please don't sue me :D 

Chapter Text

The best thing about being practically invisible? Nobody pays you any attention and you can do whatever the hell you want.

Sweet, right?

“Hey, watch it!”

I bump into the man in front of me, not hard enough to knock him down but enough to throw him off balance. Enough to make him alert about something that isn't really there.

His briefcase slips from his fingers but not the coffee he clutches tightly in his right hand and with his attention turned elsewhere I slip my hand in the pocket of his synthetic grey suit, fishing out his wallet before he can even blink twice or even get a good glimpse of who just robbed him.

“Sorry,” I mutter under my breath, quickening my pace and already leaving mister Synthetic Suit behind me. Not that he was paying any attention to me. He was too happy his precious coffee didn't get all over his suit to notice I was there.

Only once I've walked down East 112th street, putting a safe distance between us, do I retrieve my newfound treasure.

The cheap leather of the guy’s wallet feels cold in my hands as I quickly open it. Inside, there are around sixty dollars, five credit cards and a handful of professional cards as well as the guy's ID.

Cheap bastard.

What's up with businessmen not carrying physical money these days? I could take the credit cards and crack them at home but despite the guy not appearing very bright, he would surely notice the absence of his wallet soon and freeze all his accounts.

I flinch in annoyance as I pocket the money and throw the wallet in the nearest trash can.

While I wait for the red light to turn green, I look around me for the first time since I left the apartment. A giant sign advertising the upcoming mayoral elections greets me from the top of a building. Wilson Fisk gives the citizens of New York his brightest smile and promises to be a fair and just mayor.

I would smile like that too if I had his money. Must be nice living the American dream like that. Excluding the organized crime and money laundering that he is definitely guilty of. Honestly, how did they allow Kingpin to run for mayor?

The light turns green and I raise my middle finger to the sign while I pass the street.

“You're late.”

I give Roger my fakest smile as I jog to the back of the busy café. I've been working here for five months now and my boss says the exact same thing every day no matter the fact that I always show up on time.

I pull my black hair in a tight ponytail, already walking to the kitchen while tying my apron around my waist.

The edge of the apron gets tangled under my feet and before I can notice it I step on it, tripping to the ground. The sudden impact makes me bite the inside of my lip as I gather myself from the ground.

Perfect. Amazing, really.

“Hello Licia,” Stefania is already stationed behind the sink, washing ceramic cups and plates.

“Hey Stef,” I greet her back, dusting myself while I run my tongue over the fresh wound on the inside of my mouth.

“Did you trip and fall again?”

I can feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment, which is stupid because it is almost an everyday occurrence at this point.

“Yeah.”

“You're too clumsy for your own good, sweetie!”

Despite the twenty something year old age gap between us, Stefania is my closest confidant at work. You can bond a lot with a person over unwashed dishes and sharing the same underpaying job.

I take a coffee mug and began washing it thoroughly with a sponge, mirroring Stefania's actions.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I'm good. Thanks, anyway.”

“How was your day so far?”

“Awful. Yours?”

“I had to take my granddaughter to the doctor. It's always the same when schools begin again! All the kids catch the flu!”

I laugh even though I can’t quite relate. Having been homeschooled almost my entire life I don't know what is the norm for homecoming but it seems it is catching the flu.

“Felicia?”

I raise my head at the sound of my name being called. Agnes, one of our waitresses, is standing at the door of the kitchen, awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to another. She is biting her bottom lip hard and her uncomfortable stance tells me everything I need to know.

“Is he here again?”

Agnes nods her head, uneasiness painted all over her expression. I let out a sigh, taking my gloves off.

“I'll be right back, Stef.”

“I'm really sorry,” Agnes mumbles under her breath, her cheeks almost the same vibrant red color as her hair.

“Why are you sorry?” I say, glaring outside the kitchen door at the same problem that always sits on table six. “You did nothing wrong. He is the one that makes you uncomfortable.”

If anything, scaring off persistent customers who harass waitresses is Roger's job. But whenever any of the girls have confided in him about it, he always brushes them off saying that a little harmless flirting from the customer's part does not equal harassment. He always pretends to look away when it happens. I don't.

Agnes hands me a giant mug of espresso.

“Thank you.”

I can't help but deepen my frown at her words. Agnes is a few years older than me, in her senior year of college and yet she is as timid as a child when it comes to handling that creep that has been bothering her ever since she began working here. I hate to see her like that.

“Don't thank me,” I say, shaking my head. I don't deserve her thanking me for doing the bare fucking minimum.

“Your coffee,” I practically growl, placing the steaming hot mug in front of that creep.

His smile immediately drops when he sees me. “Where is the redhead?”

“She has a name,” I gather the empty coffee cups from the table, avoiding looking at him. “And she is busy.”

“The redhead always serves my coffee.”

“Well, not anymore.”

The tips of the guy's crispy lips are cast downwards. I try to not glare so obviously at the wedding ring on his finger or his thinning from age hair. I hate him. Greedy men like him that want everything for themselves without even asking, disgust me.

My mother's face flashes through my mind and on instinct I grip the edge of my tray so hard that I feel the plastic digging into my palms.

I turn around but before I can even take a step away from him, I see his arm move in my peripheral vision. Unfortunately for both of us, my reflexes are much faster than his and before he can even come close to touching me, I grab the coffee mug and pour the scorching hot liquid on his extended hand.

“Unacceptable!”

I fight back the urge to roll my eyes as Roger keeps on scolding me. After the incident happened all hell has broken loose. The guy left the shop in a hurry to get to the hospital and I had to listen to this monologue for the past hour.

“It was an accident,” I say while rubbing my upper arm where a drop of hot coffee landed on my skin from when I spilled the coffee on that creep's hand. I hope it doesn't leave a mark.

“You deliberately poured coffee on him! I saw you!”

I scoff. “Very convenient to only see me pour coffee in someone's hand and not see what that same guy has put your staff through for months.”

Roger's expression falters for a second, his anger disappearing. He seems almost embarrassed that I have called him out for his behavior and I am sure as hell not going to stop now.

“That guy has been creeping on Agnes and all the other waitresses for months now and you haven't done anything about it! Well, someone had to!”

He shakes his head as if he is disappointed in me.

“You're fired.”

Blood freezes in my veins. “You are going to fire me because I stood up for myself and my colleague?”

“You're fired,” he repeats again, not even bothering to answer my question.

I stand there unable to do anything other than just stare at him in disbelief. This job has been my main source of income ever since I legally became an adult. As if in slow motion all my liabilities flash through my mind. How the hell am I going to pay for groceries? For the bills? For the bus rides to see dad?

The unfairness of it all makes me see red.

“Fine,” I untie my apron and throw it in Roger's face. “You're doing me a favor because now I don't have to quit.”

“Hey! Get back here!”

I don't even bother to turn around as he yells at me. He is not my boss anymore so why should I?

I go to my locker to get my stuff with eyes burning from unshed tears when Stefania rushes out of the kitchen.

“I just heard. Are you okay?”

I sigh, taking my backpack in hand. “I'm fine.”

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, it's fine. Just can you tell Agnes that what happened wasn't her fault? I don't want her to think she caused any of this.”

Stefania nods in understanding before she reaches out and traps me in a hug. The unexpected notion isn't unwelcome. I hug her back and I am pretty sure this is what must be like hugging your grandma.

“I'll see you around, I guess,” I say, pulling back and walking out the door before my tears make everything even more uncomfortable than it already is.

I wipe a tear that slipped down my eye, trying to get my mind off thoughts about money and food while I walk away from the café. I don't even know where I'm going. I don't have anywhere I need to be and nobody is waiting for me. I just know I want to be away from here.

The scenery around me changes and takes the form of well known family restaurants and red brick houses from another century. Without even realizing it, my feet have taken me back in Astoria, back to the closest place I can call my home.

I sit down on a bench that overlooks a small park, glancing at the burn on my left arm. It’s red and angry and much bigger than I had initially thought and I already know it’s going to leave a mark. Just my luck.

The light September breeze blows through the trees, making the first dried leaves fall while families play catch with their kids and gym bros jog through the park.

Pickpocketing can't get me through the entirety of September. Not that working at Roger's was paying any good but it was the only job I could find as an eighteen year old with no prior working experience.

Right about now I wish dad was here. He would know what to do.

I try really hard to not let the persistent tears fill my eyes again when a voice calls out.

“It's Spider-Man!”

Immediately, I look up and I manage to catch a glimpse of his black and red suit before he disappears, webbing through buildings.

My heart beats so fast I am scared it might actually escape from my chest as everyone in the park erupts in cheers and loud claps for the hero and I quickly join in.

No matter how shitty my day is he can always make it better.

“He saved me once,” I mutter to the grandpa feeding pigeons on the bench next to mine, with my voice almost trembling from the excitement.

The grandpa smiles. “Who hasn't he saved?”

And it's true. For the past three years Spider-Man has guarded New York, keeping all of us safe without ever asking for a thing in return.

How can I not love him after that?

I hop off the bench with my mood renewed. Sure, everything goes to shit but I just saw Spider-Man even if it was for just a second. That is considered a win in my book.

Ever so often I glance up at the sky, hoping I catch another glimpse of him while I make my way to the bus station. At least mister Synthetic Suit’s money will get me somewhere.

“Where to?” The man behind the register asks when my turn comes.

“Ryker’s Island,” I say, handing him the money.

The man takes a good look at me before he prints me my ticket. I get that look a lot. I’m not exactly the norm when it comes to buying bus tickets that take you to a state prison.

Getting to Ryker’s Island Maximum Security Penitentiary is just as hard as trying to remember its full name. First I have to take the bus to the East River harbor. Then get on the ferry for the twenty minute ride to the island and when you are finally there, wait for at least half an hour for the guards to search every corner of you before you are allowed into the facility and be just in time for visiting hours.

“Felicia Hardalias to see Nikos Hardalias.”

I sent a glare at the guard next to me. “It’s Hardy.”

He checks the list of names in the folder he has at hand.

“Sure, whatever you say. You have fifteen minutes with the inmate.”

I brush him off as I take a seat at the chair in front of the protective glass that separates me and my father. He smiles at me tiredly behind the plexiglass and I pick up the built-in phone to finally talk to him.

“Hey, daddy.”

“Felicia,” he smiles and the crow’s legs around his eyes deepen. He seems older each time I visit, more tired.

“Still trying to change our last name I see.”

“Come on dad,” I say, not able to contain my smile. I haven’t seen him in a week but it felt like ages. My dad is the one who raised me and to say we are close would be an understatement.

“Lydia always said that our last name was too big and hard to pronounce. Hardy has a nicer ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Still quoting her to this day,” he says and the veil of sadness that covers the usual brightness of his brown eyes doesn’t fail my attention and I immediately regret bringing her up.

Once upon a time my father had a different life. A brilliant scientist that Oscorp Industries handpicked to be a part of their crew. I still remember how big everything seemed when we moved to New York. Up until that point I only knew our little island in Greece and that was the limit of my world.

But that was before he married Lydia. Before she died. And before my father became a bulgar.

‘Anyway,” I switch to our mother tongue knowing that will cheer him up. We always talked in Greek when we were by ourselves and that meant most of the time.

“How have you been?”

He exhales deeply. “Good. There is not a long going on here, Felicia. But how have you been?”

I bite my lower lip, looking at him. We look alike, me and my father. We both have dark eyes, shielded behind glasses that rest on the bridge of our noses.

I could tell him the truth. That I am broke and just got fired. He is my father after all, my only remaining blood relative for all I know. But I don’t want to disappoint him further. He is stuck in this hole for the rest how many years and I don’t want to be another thing he has to worry about.

“Good,” I fix my glasses higher up my nose. “Yeah, you know good. Works going fine. It's uh, it's all fine.”

My father listens to me patiently but I know it is coming. The same conversation we had the last four months.

“Have you considered taking up that scholarship?”

“Dad–”

“No, you will listen, Felicia.”

His tone barely rose an octave but I still succumb. I lean back on the chair, crossing my arms over my chest and preparing myself to listen to the exact same arguments for the millionth time.

“You wrote a paper so good it immediately got you accepted into one of the top three schools in New York. Do you know how lucky you have to be to get into Empire State University? And you got a full pledged scholarship!”

“Okay, first of all it wasn’t a paper, it was a stupid end-term physics exam and second, when have I ever been lucky?”

“This is serious, child. You won this scholarship and everything that comes with it. And instead of standing up straight and taking that chance you act so stubborn and just let it slip right through your fingers!”

I don’t budge. “I am not enrolling into Empire State, dad.”

Dad’s expression turns colder. He looks almost scary.

“And why is that?”

He knows why, of course. We had the same conversion countless times before and even if it makes him angry, I will continue to decline taking that scholarship.

“Because it’s Norman Osborn’s school. He practically owns it. Did you know, his foundation gave me the scholarship?”

My father shakes his head, thoroughly annoyed by my justifications. If this was any other argument we had, I would have immediately backed away and apologized to my father. But not this time.

“Felicia, you need to stop blaming him for what happened to your step-mother.”

I scoff. “It happened in his gala and the first thing he did was fire you after–”

“Felicia!”

The visiting room is empty but us and the guard standing near the door. Ryker’s Island inmates don’t exactly have a lot of visitors so my name echoes in the empty room. I look down at my lap in resignation and embarrassment.

“I grieved Lydia. What happened to her was unthinkable. And the fact that you were the one who found her…”

I push my head lower, looking at my hands that rest on my thighs. All that blood on the marble floor of the Oscorp Tower. My mother’s dress ripped to shreds as she layed down unmoving and exposed.

I dig my nails to my thighs, trying to get the picture out of my head.

“I will never forgive myself for not being with you that day. But you must let go. It’s been seven years. You need to let go.”

His tone turns softer through the telephone as he looks at me.

“I want the best for you. You have so much potential, you have a chance in this world and I want you to have the stability I could never offer you. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

Finally, I raise my eyes to look at him through the glass. It didn’t seem like that when he took me with him to his heists. When he taught me how to pick locks and open safes. When he took me away from school and homeschooled me himself, teaching me what I needed to know in order to survive.

“It’s a bit late for that, don't you think?”

His smile drops. “Felicia–”

“I gotta go,” I say, switching back to English and putting an end to the conversation. I get up from my chair, knowing I still have three more minutes with him but needing to be alone.

Before the guard can escort me out, I turn to my father one last time.

“I’ll think about the scholarship thing.”

The smile he rewards me with is not enough to make me feel better but it does make me feel a little bit more at ease.

“Thank you, child.”

I nod and let the guard show me the way out. I wanted to tell dad I loved him before I left but it didn’t seem like the right time for that.

It is already dark when I exit the stronghold that is Ryker’s Island. Rain drops hit the bus’ window while I rest my head against it, earphones on while I gaze outside at the busy city.

A billboard plays a clip of Spider-Man. I haven't seen it before so it must be new, probably from the morning when he webbed through Astoria. I find little consolation in it, even if it's Spidey.

The sudden growl of my stomach reminds me that I haven't eaten anything all day.

When I get off the bus, I run to the first bodega I see. Scanning the prices I land on a chicken sandwich that looks mostly edible and a can of tuna. I stuff my purchases on my backpack, my Spider-Man keychain wiggling around and put on the hood of my sweatshirt.

Running in the rain through a neighborhood like Upper East Side is not at all as romanticized as movies make it out to be. I don't feel like Audrey Hepburn running to find her cat. I feel like a drenched mess who can't wait to reach home.

The familiar new classical architecture of the building comes into view and I rush to the back of it. I grab on to the fire escape, lifting myself off the ground. Even with the rain, I manage to climb it gracefully and hop on to the far left window of the top floor.

My arms and thighs burn from the intense workout as I open the window and slip into the penthouse.

“Honey, I'm home!”

The sound of soft paws hitting against the polished wooden floor echoes in the empty apartment and the most fluffy Siberian cat I have seen greets me with a small meow.

My heart melts a little.

“Hello Satin!” I say, opening my backpack and taking our food out before scooping the kitty in my arms.

“I got you some tuna! You like tuna, don't you, my girl?”

Satin leaves out another meow as I walk to the kitchen of the vast apartment, turning the lights on.

This isn't my house and this isn't my cat, as much as I would want it to be. The penthouse belongs to an elderly couple that have spent the last four months in their summer house in Bali, leaving their house and sweet cat completely unattended.

When my dad was arrested six months ago, I was still a minor. I got sent to a foster home and had to be enrolled in a high school. The family that I stayed with was gracious enough to let me stay with them until I graduated but after my eighteen birthday in April, I had to make it out on my own.

Breaking into the penthouse was the easiest thing I have ever done. Most of the neighbors are spending their summer vacations in their own summer houses so I don't have to worry about anyone seeing me but even if they did I could simply say I am the couple's granddaughter who is looking after their cat.

Because seriously, how could they have left this ball of fur alone without any food for months?

If I wasn’t here Satin would have starved to death. So they deserve that I broke into their house. Not that I have stolen anything. Yet. I'm saving that one for the last day I spent in the penthouse. But I don't think that's coming any time soon.

I drop Satin gently on the kitchen counter, leaving our food next to her. She almost blends in with the white surfaces of the kitchen as I take out our food.

I offer the tuna that I have placed on one of the porcelain plates on the top counter. Satin digs into her food immediately.

I pet her head as she eats. “You know for a highborn cat you really don't mind common tuna.”

Satin's pink tongue darts out to lick some tuna and I giggled, unwrapping my sandwich. My first bite assures me that the bread feels more like sponge than actual bread. I gulp it down and force myself to eat it.

“All done?” I ask Satin who persistently licks the plate in search of more tuna. “Yeah, me too. The sandwich wasn't a success.”

I let my half-eaten sandwich down, turning on my heel.

“You know what sounds good? A hot bath!”

Satin follows after me as I enter my bed chamber. Well, the Kensingtons' bed chamber but mine for the time being.

I take out my drenched sweatshirt and pick out some dry clothes while Satin lies on the king sized bed. I enter the bathroom, already taking my wet clothes off before I hop in the shower.

The warm water drips down my body and I cringe when the water touches the burn on my arm. I grab my body wash while the water washes off the black hair dye on my hair, revealing the platinum blonde underneath. I grab my fruity hair wash and after every inch of me is clean, I wrap myself in one of Mrs Kensington's fuzzy towels.

I scrunt my eyes, searching for my glasses but I must have left them in the bed. Too lazy to retrieve them, I put my contacts on, blinking a few times to see clearly.

My reflection stares back at me through the mirror. Wet bleached hair trail down my back as I reach for the hairdryer. I am still getting used to me with blonde hair. The shade is too eye-catching so everyday I religiously apply temporary dye on my hair to hide it. I like my dyed hair. I just don't like everyone's eyes on me.

Dad doesn't even know I have dyed my hair because for a long time blonde was associated with Lydia.

Lydia is the only mother I ever knew. The woman that gave birth to me left me and dad when I was too young to even remember her. So I guess you could say I idolize Lydia a little.

Those two years we spent as a family were the happiest of my life.

I wrap my now dry hair in rollers like she did each day. Sometimes she would let me sit on her vanity table while she got ready for work. Lydia had an old Hollywood star air to her. She always had her hair and nails done and her makeup on flick at all times, always taking care of herself.

That's how I want to remember her. Radiant and alive. Not what was left of her on the night of Norman Osborn's gala.

Maybe dad is right in the fact that Norman Osborn didn't actively kill my mother. But he had something to do with it, I know he did. After the incident the first thing he did was fire my father, practically leaving me and him with nothing to our names in a foreign country where we knew no one. He didn't even want to see my father's face again. If that is not guilt, I don't know what it is.

“You can be anyone you want to be with the right shade of lipstick,” I remember her saying as I grab a lip gloss from my makeup bag.

With my makeup done I slowly take out the rollers from my hair, leaving behind bouncy curls that fall down my back before I slip into the clothes I picked out, a black shirt and shorts for sleep. Whenever I do my makeup I feel closer to Lydia in a way.

The girl in front of me is nothing like the one that was previously looking at the mirror. I have to admit the pearly shade of my hair compliments my tanned skin and my eyes seem bigger when my glasses are not in the way. Mom would be proud.

And one day I only hope I can make her equally proud when I finally catch the man who took her from me.

I twirl around myself before I leave the bathroom, satisfied with how my makeup turned out. Satin is waiting for me curled up on the feet of the bed and I gently lift her, not wanting to scare her.

“You know what?” I say, laying down on the plush bed. “When I'm out of here, I'll take you with me. Would you like that, Satin?”

Satin purrs against my chest. I will have to get up and take my makeup and contacts off later but now I just want to snuggle a little after the day I had.

I deserve it.

The smile on my face stays on even when the sound of keys entering a keyhole disturbs the perfect silence of the night.

“Home sweet home!”

I jolt out of bed at the sound of the front door opening. The Kensingtons are back.

What are they doing here so early? Aren't they still in Bali?

I'm fucked. So fucked.

“Fuck,” I mutter, dropping to the floor with Satin in my arms. If I keep completely quiet maybe they won't notice I'm here.

“Bali was heaven but nothing beats your home, does it darling?”

I enter the living room when the Kensingtons moves to the kitchen, my guard always up. Their luggage is by the door and I internally curse myself for not preparing my own luggage beforehand. I can't return back to the room and grab my suitcases.

“Have you seen Satin? Satin! Where are you baby?”

Satin stirs in my embrace but she doesn't move to find her owners. Good girl.

Taking great care in not hurting Satin, I roll to the window, grabbing my backpack that I thankfully left there.

“Where is Satin?”

Slowly, I open the window, passing one leg over it and exiting the penthouse just when mister Kensington enters the living room, almost catching me in the act.

The fear of being caught combined with the heavy rain that was pouring until minutes ago leaving everything wet and slippery and the fact I am not wearing any fucking shoes makes me trip as I ran down the fire escape. My back hits a somewhat soft surface on top of the trash can but I am too busy checking the fur ball on my arms to care about where I land.

Satin meows at me, licking the tip of my nose and I let out a sigh, dropping my head back.

Before I can rejoice on our fast escape the sound of a siren interrupts the moment as blue and red lights light up the alleyway.

Just my fucking luck.

Chapter Text

I glare at the two-way mirror on the other side of the questioning room.

The police jacket around my shoulders is too big but at least it's offering me some warmth after getting soaked in the rain. My feet are still bare though and if I knew for a fact that nobody was looking at me through that mirror, I would pull my legs to my chest to warm them up.

It has been half an hour since they brought me in and my heart has been hammering in my chest ever since.

I'm so screwed. If the Kensingtons press charges against me it's over. Dad made sure to keep my record clean, always telling me that if nothing tied me to his heists then no one could touch me. But what now? What would he say if he knew I fell from the fire escape of an apartment I wasn't renting and into a mattress that thank God someone threw away?

Finally, the door opens and I sit up on my chair.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, miss…”

One of the two cops that just walked in the room fixes his glasses before checking the file in his hands. While he searches for my name I take my time to weigh him up. His tall frame and broad shoulders are a sharp contrast to the smaller figure of the other cop who hasn't stopped eyeing me since she got in the room.

If their goal is to intimidate me, then they are not doing a really good job.

“Miss Hardalias,” he finally says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“It's Hardy.”

“Hm?” The cop blinks confused, checks his file and looks back at me with a questioning look.

“It's just… I prefer it this way.”

“Alright then. Miss Hardy.”

He pulls the chair opposite mine and takes a seat. He didn't fight me when I told him to call me Hardy.

He earned a little of my respect there, even if he is a cop.

“Well,” the other cop says, taking a seat next to her colleague.

“I am officer Brown and this is officer Morales and we–”

“How is the cat?”

Officer Brown blinks dumbfounded. My angry glare doesn't waver.

“The cat?”

“The Kensingtons’ cat.”

“You were brought into the precinct on suspicion of breaking into an apartment and you care about the cat?”

Besides her, officer Morales lets out a small laugh and my frown deepens.

“Cat's fine,” officer Morales reassures me. “She is with her owners.”

I scoff loudly. “You're really going to return Satin back to those people? They left her alone in that house to starve!”

“Actually they didn't,” officer Morales flips through the file. “The Kensingtons had paid someone to feed her once a day but it appears the person took the money and never bothered to look after the cat.”

My lips part in surprise.

“They did?”

“Yes. And apparently they are so happy that you took care of their cat that they will not press charges against you.”

My chest feels too tight for my liking and I never thought I could say this but I am glad I was wrong about the old couple. It seems Satin is in good hands. But I do wish I could say goodbye to her properly.

“But.”

Officer Morales folds his arms over her chest. There is an amused smile on his lips, almost hidden beneath his mustache.

“That is not why you are here. You broke into an apartment. That is illegal activity.”

I mirror his actions, folding my arms over my own chest.

“I didn't break into anything. I was just playing with the cat on the fire escape. Outside of the apartment. And then I slipped.”

“We found your things inside the Kensington residence.”

Fuck.

“I don't know how they got in there.”

Officer Morales inspects my face. His dark eyes are earnest, like he really wants to help me.

Sighing, he slides my file towards officer Brown who begins inspecting its contents.

“You are Nick Hardy's daughter.”

It is not a question so I don't answer. Officer Brown's attention turns to her colleague, lowering her voice as she speaks to him.

“The cat burglar. He is the one who stole those statues from the Modern Art Museum.”

Officer Morales presses his lips together into a thin line.

“Makes sense why a girl her age would end up breaking into apartments.”

My frown deepens. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you are my son's age,” he says, as Brown still flips through my file. “And as a father, I would make sure my son would never have to break into people's houses to have a place to spend the night.”

I bite my tongue, trying to hold myself back from speaking my mind. He knows nothing about my father and the lengths he went to just to offer me a better future. To protect me and make sure that what happened to Lyfia would never happen to me. And he would never understand.

“Did you call my dad?”

“No.”

A wave of relief washes over me like a cool wave. Dad must know nothing about today.

“However, we did call child services.”

My stomach drops.

“What?” I exclaim too loudly than necessary. “Why did you do that? I am an adult now!”

“Do you have any family except for your father then? Some guardian we can call?”

Before I can respond, officer Brown has turned the page and reached the reason I have a file with the police.

My statement on Lydia's murder and all the details of what happened to her that night in a sheet of A4 paper. Just an unsolved crime that is gathering dust inside a file. There are photos too but I can't bear to look at them. I can see the immediate shift in their demeanor.

She closes the file, setting it aside.

“I am sorry.”

I shrug, feigning indifference. I don't trust my voice right now.

Officer Morales runs a hand through his face, trying to figure out how to approach me. Perhaps he feels bad about what he said earlier.

“Listen, kid,” he says, far too gentle than I would like. I don't want to be pitied by a stranger.

“Legally, we can't hold you here. Now, there is a lunatic with magnetic wings terrorizing Chinatown. If you ask me, that is the real threat, not a young girl who breaks into apartments to have a place to stay.”

I tilt my head in confusion. “I thought Spider-Man caught the Vulture.”

“That is not the point,” officer Morales shakes his head. “Child services thought you were attending your first semester at Empire State University. Imagine our surprise when they told us you have a full blown scholarship to their physics program.”

My glare is practically glued on my face at this point. Officer Morales is starting to sound a lot like my father when he is nagging me. I don't even know why he cares about where I end up.

He places his palm on the table.

“I am personally driving you there.”

“What?” I squelch.

“If I let you go now it's a guarantee that you will end up breaking into another apartment. And it's my job to make sure that doesn't happen.”

I fold my arms over my chest, stubbornly. “You can't make me go there.”

“Then where do you suggest you go? Because from what I understand you are currently homeless and jobless.”

Okay. Ouch.

“I get that you are angry. But ESU is one of the top universities in the country and someone needs to be the responsible adult here and if you can't look out for your future, I will.”

I want to argue but I can't list any reasons why I shouldn't attend ESU aside from Osborn being so closely associated with it. I do need a place to stay and attending some classes may not be that bad.

I let out a surrendering breath.

“Can I at least get my stuff back first?”

Ten minutes later I find myself sitting on the back seat of a police car wearing dry clothes and my combat boots. I even had some time to scrub off my ruined makeup and spray the black hair dye on my hair. I will draw enough attention to myself when I show up in a police car anyway so might as well try to be as conspicuous as I can.

The cops didn't say anything about my changed appearance but I know they noticed. Officer Morales hasn't stopped sending cautious looks my way through the rear view mirror. I try to ignore him as the car rolls down the busy street.

“I made a call to the school,” his voice breaks the silence of the car ride. “They are expecting you.”

I don't bother with a response. It's already early morning, the bright sunlight making my tired eyes burn and reminding me I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. I am still trying to come to terms with the fact that from today I am actually going to be attending an Ivy League school through a scholarship that was granted to me by Osborn of all people.

The grey granite of the columns of Empire State University come into view and I take in a sharp breath. A fountain is positioned in the middle of the campus and red bricked buildings surround it. Flags with the school's logo flutter proudly in the wind.

My stomach turns into a twisted knot.

Officer Morales discreetly parks the car a little further from the main entrance. Nobody in the car makes any movement to get out.

“It might be nice,” he offers.

I shake my head. I know for a fact it will not be nice.

Taking one last breath, I open the car door.

“And you better not cause any trouble. My son's attending that school and I need my boy out of trouble, you hear me?”

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, taking my bags out of the car.

“It's your lucky day, Hardy,” Brown says with a mocking smirk.

“I don't have lucky days,” I say, shutting the car door with more strength than needed.

“Felicia.”

I turn at the sound of my name.

“If you need anything you come and find me at the precinct, okay? Anything at all.”

“Okay,” I put my backpack on one shoulder and grab my suitcases. “Thanks anyway, officer.”

Officer Morales smiles at me but doesn't turn on the engine. I know he is waiting for me to get into campus before he drives off to make sure I don't run away. Not having another choice, I turn on my heel and walk towards the entrance of the university.

I've never been to a university campus before so I don't know what to expect. Keeping my guard up I cast wary glances around me but the students walking to their morning classes barely pay me any attention. My heartbeat returns back to normal.

“Excuse me! Are you Felicia?”

I turn around. A guy stands next to me, extending his hand at me. The guy is chubby and tall and his smile rivals the sun in warmth as he fixes his glasses higher up his nose.

“I am Ganke Lee. Welcome to Empire State!”

He is wearing a T-shirt with Spider-Man's logo on it. I smile while I let go of one of my suitcases to take his hand.

“Felicia Hardy.”

“Hardy?” He checks his phone. “I thought your last name was–”

“It is. I just prefer Hardy. Much less ethnic.”

He gives me an understanding smile. His almond shaped eyes are kind and despite his imposing frame I just know he is as much of a sunshine as he seems.

“Cool shirt.”

“Thanks! It's official merch. Do you like Spidey too?"

I turn around, making the Spider-Man keychain on my bag dangle. Ganke's smile widens.

“Want help with those?” He says, bending to take my suitcases from me.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he casts a look at me behind his back. “Ready for your tour?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Ganke laughs and I don't think he understood my sarcasm as I follow after him.

“Okay let me give you the basic overview. The school was founded in 1773 by William Pottersmith and is one of the top research universities in the world. The buildings you see around you are the dormitories, this is the library and that big one over there is the arts school. They have all been renovated by Osborn Foundation five years ago so everything is brand new.”

I try not to scowl as I look around me. The buildings stand tall and I can only imagine how expensive their renovation must have been.

“You won that scholarship right? The one the Osborn Foundation offered? Man, it must be nice. You are like a genius or something.”

“I'm really not.”

“You know Norman Osborn's son is also attending ESU? He is a chemistry major I think but whenever he goes out on campus there is a whole crowd around him so it's not like I can go up to him and ask. Not that I would go up to him like that, I mean I don't know him but you get what I mean.”

“Has anyone told you that you talk a lot?”

“Only everyone I ever met,” Ganke says not fazed at all by my comment. “You get used to it after a while.”

I chuckle at that as we enter the dormitory building.

Inside the building I admire the interior design of the common spaces. Everything is polished to perfection and I feel so out of place inside this luxurious space. Banners advertising the clubs and fraternities of the school are hanging from the tall ceiling adding to how enormous that building really is.

“So are you a physics major?”

I nod, looking around me. We walk down a corridor of doors that are clearly dorms. All I want is for Ganke to just point me to my assigned room and sink on the bed.

“Cool. I'm a computer engineering major. Classes have already begun two weeks ago but I am sure you won't have a problem with catching up.”

I follow Ganke through the corridors. We have taken too many turns and the doors that lead to dorms around us are becoming less and less.

“Exactly where is my dorm room?”

Ganke turns around to face me. There is an awkward look on his face, like he is trying to decide what to say in the nicest way he can.

“So here is the thing.”

I tense up. I don't like where this is going. At all.

“I'm pretty good with computers, I mean I am a computer engineering major but that's besides the point. But because of that my roommate Miles, who is my boy, like that guy is my brother, he asked me a favor.”

“Ganke,” I say, voice gravely. “What did he ask you?”

Ganke grimaces. “Miles doesn't do really well with sharing his space and trust me I know that, I was his roommate for four years at Visions Academy before. So I hacked into the school's system and because you didn't show up for two weeks, we thought you never would. And so I placed your roommate with someone else and then I assigned that guy's roommate with me so Miles could have a room of his own.”

My jaw basically touches the floor. Ganke lets out an awkward chuckle and I want to scream from frustration.

“But good news is the guy I ended up pairing with what would be your roommate, ended up liking her and now they are dating so that's cute, don't you think?”

I close my eyes, trying to calm myself down. This can't be happening.

“Don't they do room checks here?”

“Well that's a problem for later right?”

Ganke fumbles with the handle of my suitcase, awkwardly.

“Look, I'm really sorry but we really thought you would not be coming. And the only dorm that is not vacant now is Miles’.”

“How hasn't anyone noticed yet? And why did they send you to be my tour guide?”

“Actually they didn't. I happened to still be logged into the system and learned that you are coming so I wanted to meet you before you found out about the roommate situation on your own.”

Ganke laughs. “Sorry.”

I groan in utter and complete frustration.

“If you worry about Miles, then don't. He is my best friend, I've known him for years. I tell you he will not be a problem to you.”

“You just said he is an awful roommate that doesn't like sharing his space!”

“No,” Ganke shakes his head negatively. “I meant he is always out. He never set foot in our dorm at Vision Academy and when he did come back it was in the middle of the night and it always woke me up.”

I glare at him. If that Miles was away from our dorm most of the time maybe that could work.

“I promise you, he won't even be in the dorm most of the time. It will be like you are on your own in the room.”

I feel like crying. Not only am I trapped in this fucking school but I also have to share a space with a man. My father spent the bigger part of my life telling me to never trust men. Literally all my training is for this reason.

But I am too tired to think about anything other than getting some sleep. Even in a room with a stranger.

“Just take me to his dorm.”

Ganke lets out a breath. “Thank you!”

“Don't think I'm not mad at you. Right now I literally hate you and we just met.”

“And it is one hundred percent valid,” Ganke stops outside the door on the far end of the corridor. “It's here.”

Great. A dorm so far away from the rest that literally it is at the end of the building. Amazing.

Ganke knocks on the door, sending me apologetic glances.

“Come in!”

Ganke opens the door abruptly, getting in and setting my suitcases down. I hesitate for a moment before I follow him inside.

The first thing I notice are the posters. Tens of them hang on every wall and make the room look so colorful that it strains my eyes. Scattered on the right side of the room are clothes, textbooks and shoes in an organized chaos that makes me almost recoil.

And sitting on his desk is my roommate.

Miles takes his headphones off, closing his laptop's screen while looking at me in silent question.

“Hey.”

I quickly turn my eyes away from him, focusing on the left side of the room that appears to be mine. No sheets on the bed. No personal belongings thrown about. Thankfully, it looks mostly clean.

“Miles this is Felicia,” Ganke quickly jumps in, filling his best friend in. “Remember the scholarship girl who didn't show up?”

Realization immediately dawns on Miles. “Ah.”

“She is gonna stay with you so meet your new roommate!"

I scoff, fixing my gaze back at the two men. Ganke is looking between me and Miles, his eyes anxiously awaiting our reactions.

Slowly, my roommate rises from his seat and when he isn't watching, I take a studious peak at him. He stands at his full height, a little over average but still a lot taller than me. I don't know why that irritates me as much as it does.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, offering me his hand. “I'm Miles.”

I look at his extended palm before my gaze flickers up to his face. His eyes are the color of dark honey and I can understand from his forced but polite smile that this sudden situation we both found ourselves in is just as unpleasant for him as it is for me.

But I don't immediately look away from his face. There is something familiar about him but I can't quite place it. I study his rich dark complexion and thick eyebrows but I just can't place where I know him from.

Ganke takes my arm and places my hand inside Miles’. His hold tightens around my hand, the callouses on his skin feeling foreign against my skin.

“She thinks it's nice to meet you too,” Ganke speaks on my behalf before I pull my hand back.

“Felicia is also a physics major like you, man,” he offers again, trying to get us to talk. Miles smiles politely and I let out a huff.

“Okay, you obviously have a lot of catching up to do so I'll leave you to it.”

But Ganke is already at the door before any of us can say anything, eager to get out of this sticky situation.

“I have a class I need to attend in ten minutes, you're my best friend, I love you, talk to you later!”

The door slams shut and me and my new roommate are left alone. An unsettling silence falls between us.

“You put up all those posters?”

Miles turns to me. “Uh, yeah.”

I take a closer look at the colorful posters. There are a handful of drawings there too and I wonder if he drew them himself.

“I can take them down from your side of the room if you want.”

I nod. Miles runs a hand through his thick curls.

“Listen, I'm really sorry about all this,” Miles finally says. “If I had known you would be coming in the end I wouldn't have told Ganke to change my room.”

I shrug, nonchalantly. I grab the handle of one of my suitcases, pulling it to my side of the room.

“It’s not your fault.”

I don't even know why I said that. All this is entirely his fault.

I can feel him watching me as I drag my suitcase to my bed. All my belongings are inside those suitcases so they weigh close to a ton and I need to use all my force to pull it.

“Do you want any help?”

“I got it.”

“I think you should watch out–”

Suddenly the handle snaps from the rest of the suitcase. I am still clutching on to it as I regain my balance and I want to die of embarrassment that this happened in front of the guy I have to share this room with.

“You alright?” Miles asks and there is genuine worry in his voice. I can feel my cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“Peachy,” I mutter under my breath, crouching down on the floor. Setting aside the broken handle and just opting to unpack my stuff without moving the suitcase.

I can feel Miles' persistent gaze on me as I unpack. I try to shake the feeling off and focus on my task but his voice interrupts me.

“So it's Felicia Hardalias, right?”

I am really too tired of explaining that fuckass name over and over.

“Actually it's not. Because I'm female you don't have to add the s at the end of my last name. My dad's last name is Hardalias because he is a man but it's not the same for me.”

Miles listens to me carefully. He is leaning back against his desk, arms folded over his chest. His expression is calm and like that he is even more handsome than I initially thought him to be.

I make a vague gesture, a little embarrassed that I am bringing all that up.

“It's very Greek. Just call me Hardy. Saves us a lot of time.”

“Nah, I get that. Gender based grammar kinda fucks me over too. My mom gets furious when I misgender a word in Spanish.”

“You are Puerto Rican?”

His confusion is evident in his face. I point at the Puerto Rican flag that is hanging on his wall.

“Oh, right” he rubs the back of his neck, perhaps ashamed that he forgot about the flag. “Yeah, I am from my mom's side.”

“And you still make mistakes?”

Miles makes a face and despite myself I laugh at how awkward he seems. The sound makes Miles grin and I change my mind. He looks more handsome when he is smiling.

“But yeah, last names are kinda crazy. I mean when I was born they gave me my mom's last name and now my dad changed his too.”

“What's your last name?” I asked with interest.

“Morales.”

My smile immediately drops.

“Morales?”

“Yeah?” Miles smiles awkwardly. “Miles Morales. That's my name.”

And then it hits me why I thought he looked so familiar. He has his father's thick eyebrows and facial structure.

Of course. Because why wouldn't my roommate be the son of the cop who arrested me?

I can't believe that for a moment I thought we may actually get along.

“This just keeps getting better and better,” I mutter, pulling myself off the floor.

But as I stand up, I accidentally step on the broken handle of my suitcase and slip before I can even realize it.

I get ready for impact but it never comes. Two arms are wrapped around me, stopping my fall before it even happened.

I look at Miles with wide eyes. How on earth did he manage to get next to me so fast?

“Uh,” he clears his throat, helping me get to my feet and immediately withdrawing back. “Sorry.”

“Nice catch,” I mutter, kicking the handle away from me.

Miles looks everywhere but me. My heartbeat is still too fast but I ignore it as I grab some clothes and my toiletries bag.

“I am going to take a bath. When I get back, you better be gone because I am not changing in the same room as you. And don't think we are going to be buddies or anything other than two people who unfortunately have to share the same room.”

Not giving him time to respond, I head to the door.

“It was really nice meeting you!” He calls after me as I stomp into the hallway.

How the fuck did I end up in this sutiation?

Chapter Text

My first week at Empire State is as expected, hell.

Countless hours spent in the secretary's office trying to sort out my late enrollment on top of having to learn everything the professors already taught while I was absent has left me more drained than any judo practice I had with dad. And dad was not a lenient teacher.

I look down at the open Physics tome resting on my lap. I have been trying to make sense of a paragraph for the last half an hour but it seems my mind is too tired to pick up any information.

Maybe if I had a good night's sleep it wouldn't be that bad. But thanks to a certain someone that is out of the question.

Speaking of him, I can feel my roommate's eyes on me. Persistent, like he is trying to read me for reasons I can't possibly think of.

“What?” I ask, not lifting my gaze from the book in front of me.

“What?” Miles repeats, caught off guard.

“I can feel you staring at me. What is it?”

“Nothing!”

He sounds almost apologetic and I finally look up at him. He is sitting on his desk, his gaming chair turned to face me.

“Just wanted to let you know that me and Ganke are grabbing something to eat later. And he, well both of us actually, were wondering if you would like to join us.”

“I have to study.”

Miles nods in understanding. “Some other time then.”

The fact that I have to study is just one of the reasons why I turned him down. The other is that I don't have money to waste on food.

My fists clench in embarrassment at the fact. I am so broke that I can't even pay for the stupid ride to go visit dad. It's been more than a week since I last saw him and I miss him even more than I normally would. Everyone here already knows each other and I end up feeling like a stranger among strangers.

I need to find some money as soon as possible.

Miles’ voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“I have notes,” he gestures to the open notebooks that rest on his desk.

“You can take a look if you want. Maybe it will help.”

“I can?” I ask in doubt.

“Yeah, you can.”

Miles pushes himself off his chair and leaves a notebook full of physics notes next to me on the bed. I look at it uncertainly.

“Thanks,” I say, finally taking his notebook in my hands and inspecting it. His handwriting is a little rushed, like he wanted to be quick while writing them but overall easy to understand.

“Any time.”

I look at him, pushing my eyebrows together, still doubting his motives.

“Are you trying to get on my good side by giving me your notes after what happened yesterday?”

His smile visibly falters. Ganke really meant it when he said that Miles wasn't a good roommate. Unfortunately, I had to find out the hard way.

The sound of the window opening echoed in the silence of our shared room, waking me up way before the first light of the day.

Someone was inside the room.

My next moves were immediate, just as dad had instructed me all those years now. I slipped my hand under the pillow, clutching the small army knife in my hand.

I shot out of bed, ready to come face to face with the intruder. I wasn't afraid. I knew what I was doing.

The hooded figure turned to me quicker than I have ever seen a human react before.

“It's me!”

Miles slipped his hoodie off, revealing his face in the near darkness of the room. I couldn't quite distinguish his features but there was the shadow of a bruise forming in his cheek that wasn't there that morning.

“It's just me.”

I didn't say anything as I turned around and got back in bed. The knife remained in my hand all night as I shivered in my own sweat until Miles’ alarm signaled that morning had arrived.

“Did I scare you last night?”

My eyes shot up to meet his. Miles is already staring down at me.

“No,” I lie.

I could ask him where he was. But I honestly don't really care what he was doing as long as it doesn't get me into trouble. Though, I doubt he was doing anything like that. Not just because his dad is a cop but because even if I don't know Miles that well, he doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would disobey rules easily.

But that bruise is turning purple on his cheek and I am curious.

“You should put some ice on it.”

Miles blinks. “Excume me?”

“That bruise,” I gesture to my own cheek to indicate where it is. “You should ice it.”

On instinct he brushes his knuckles over the bruised skin. It seems painful but he doesn't flinch.

“Thanks. I, uh, tripped on the fire escape yesterday,” he tries to lie. It's a miserable attempt.

“What were you even doing out there?”

“Just chilling, listening to music that kind of stuff,” Miles shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yeah?”

God, he really is terrible at lying.

I search for his eyes but Miles avoids looking at me. I don't push him further than that. As I said, I don't really care.

He clears his throat, changing the subject abruptly.

“So do you have any siblings?”

I scoff. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I'm just trying to get to know you. That's all. We literally live together now. Might as well get to know each other.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Mine, okay? I know I screwed up but let's just make peace now. I don't want my roommate to hate me for the rest of the semester.”

I shake my head. Of all the people I had to room with, fate picked the most stubborn and obnoxious one.

“You are not going to drop this unless I give you something, are you?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

I observe him. Ever since I met him he always carries himself with confidence, like he is sure of everything he does no matter what may come his way. Such blind trust in himself can only mean one thing.

“You're a Leo aren't you?

Miles looks at me dumbfounded.

“How the hell did you know that?”

I roll my eyes. Can't believe I'm actually indulging Miles right now but here goes nothing.

“I'm an only child as far as I know. Happy now?”

“As far as you know?”

“Well my mother bailed on me and my dad when I was still a kid so there is no way of knowing if I have any siblings I will never know about.”

Miles' lips part in shock. Bet he wasn't expecting that answer. His fault for being so nosy.

“I'm sor–”

“No,” I cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “Don't be. I'm not. She made her choice.”

Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Not because it brings back painful memories. It doesn't. I don't even know the woman. All I know is that she is an art historian and that she named me after some ancient Latin poem she was studying when she was pregnant with me, much to my grandma's dismay. She came to our island for an excavation but stayed after she met dad. But when I was around four she left us without a reason. Just woke up one day and left. It broke my father's heart. I couldn't find it in me to be sad when all I felt was anger that she had abandoned us.

I could tell Miles that I had a great mother. Lydia was far more interesting than the woman who birthed me. She was a singer at a bar. I mean that has to be the most interesting thing in the world, right?

But I don't say that because I don't even know what made me tell him all that in the first place.

Miles gives me an uncertain look. “But I am really sorry. That I brought it up, I mean.”

“You would have found out sooner or later. And you were the one who wanted to get to know me.”

My words make the tips of Miles’ lips cast downwards. The more I look at him, the more he resembles a wounded puppy. If I don't lighten the mood somehow I will feel bad for the remainder of the day.

I close the Physics tome with a loud noise.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

That seems to do the trick. Miles perks up at my question, as if he had been waiting for me to ask him something all along.

“I have a baby sister. Her name is Billie. Do you want to see her?”

Miles shows me his phone's lockscreen. It's a picture of him holding a baby no older than three years old in his arms, both of them sharing identical wide smiles. No DNA test needed. That's his sister, alright.

“Cute.”

“And she is even cuter in person.”

I watch as Miles puts his phone back in his pocket and my mouth opens before I can even process that I am about to ask him another question.

“Where are you from?”

Miles’ smirk is downright devious, entirely too smug that I asked him a question out of my own free will. I fight back an annoyed growl.

“Brooklyn. Born and raised. What about you?”

The tricky question that all immigrant children are faced with. Does he mean where I was born or the place my family moved to here in New York?

“Astoria,” I say simply.

“For real?” Miles' eyes shine with excitement.

I nod, thinking this is the end of this little chat but clearly my roommate doesn't share the sentiment.

“We are basically neighbors! What school did you go to?”

“I was homeschooled. My father was a physics professor back in Greece.”

He raises both his eyebrows. “Really? I've never met anyone who was homeschooled before.”

“You should take a picture then.”

“I might,” he manages a small, somewhat sheepish smile at my dry sarcasm.

I stare at Miles for a moment longer. The way he draws his vowels is characteristic of Brooklyn's accent.

“So you're from Brooklyn. Like Spider-Man.”

Miles lets out an awkward laugh like he wasn't expecting me to say that at all.

“Spider-Man? I don't know, man. Is he even from Brooklyn? I don't think anyone really knows for sure.”

“He has been seen in Brooklyn more times than any other region in New York. I mean he has to live nearby, right?”

“Right…”

Miles looks at me in silence, carefully picking out his next words. His eyes drift to the Spider-Man poster I hung up on my wall after he took his drawings down and then to the limited edition Spider-plushie that rests on my pillow.

“So are you like a fan of his or something?”

Seriously? Isn't it obvious?

“Yes,” I say very slowly.

“Cool. Yeah, cool. Ganke is too. He would love your merch."

“Thanks.”

Miles nods. For some reason he looks really agitated with our conversation. Which is weird because who doesn't love to talk about Spider-Man?

“And you?”

“Me what?”

“Are you a fan of his too?”

Miles’ eyes go so wide I get scared they might pop out of their sockets.

“Spider-Man's?” His voice cracks near the last syllable and he has to clear his throat to even it out.

“Yeah, I am. Everyone is, right? He seems like a good dude. Not that I know him or anything!”

I flutter my eyelashes.

“Okay.”

“But uh,” Miles rubs the back of his neck. “Ganke will know more about him. He is in like a hundred online forums about Spider-Man. Maybe when you are free we can grab some pizza and you guys can talk about it.”

During my brief high school experience, nobody ever desired my company in school. I'm flattered to say the least.

“That sounds nice.”

He offers me a crooked smile and the smile lines around his mouth prove how often he smiles like that, with all his heart into it. He is handsome when he smiles. It suits him.

“Alright. You have my number, right? Just call me whenever you want and we can sort it out.”

His words make me pause. And then the solution to my problems suddenly hits me.

“Oh my God,” I shot out of bed.

“What? What is it?”

“I have to go,” I say, grabbing my backpack and already slipping into my boots. “Put some ice on that bruise, you hear me?”

The sound of the door slamming shut, engulfs Miles’ answer as I run down the hall.

´ཀ`
🕷

After the failed job at the Modern Art Museum, I tried to erase anything that could further incriminate dad. The cops were all over our place and thankfully I had done a pretty good job at hiding our side hustle from them.

I am so glad I didn't get to erase my father's contacts.

“Are you telling me you're Nick's daughter?”

The voice on the other end of the phone let out a sharp laugh that echoed incredibly loud in my ears. I try not to scoff as I readjust my phone against my ear.

I don't even know the name of the man on the other end of the line but what I do know is that he is the only one who can get me out of financial bankruptcy. He was my father's middleman, arranging our heists and getting us in contact with whoever we were working for. There has to be a heist I can take up on my own.

“Yes, I am his daughter. Now do you get anything for me or do I get to hang up on you?”

The laughter immediately stops.

“Rude. Not a very charming attribute for little ladies like yourself.”

“I'm hanging up now.”

“Wait!”

He lets out a tired sigh.

“Are you sure you can take up a job on your own? Your old man won't be there to help you if things turn south.”

His words feel like a punch to the gut. I try to not wince as I speak again.

“Postive,” I say with determination.

“Well then, you are in luck, little lady. A team of my guys just dropped out of an assignment at the MET.”

He makes a small pause and my mind immediately runs through all the information I have about the MET.

“A jewelry exhibition is unveiled tomorrow morning titled ‘Diamonds In The Rough’. And among the thirteen pieces is the Mehtab, a diamond attached to a necklace. It is certainly not the most valuable diamond of the exhibition but it is a family heirloom for our generous benefactor, mister Singh. It belonged to his great-great-great grandfather before the East India Company's annexation. It ended up in the hands of some British aristocrat whose family denied the diamond’s return to mister Singh for years.”

I roll my eyes.

“The British? Why am I never surprised?”

“Mister Singh is very determined to get it back. He has done everything it takes to ensure it is returned to him. I am sure he will be very gallant in his reward to you. That is, if you manage to steal it.”

“Of course I will,” I say, offended. That dude can say whatever he wants about me, but he does not get to question my skills.

“Good. The exhibition will be set tonight after closing hours. After you get the necklace, you just call me and I will arrange a meeting between you and mister Singh. You get your money, I get my money and all's well. So don't mess this up!”

Five hours after the phone call, I find myself on the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

It's not my first heist but it is the first one I'm doing entirely on my own. I feel both excited and scared at the same exact time.

It's a little after three and the guards are about to change shifts. I managed to bypass their CCTV network and in exactly three minutes all the cameras will be turned off for a whole minute, enough time for me to get out of there. Now is my turn.

The glass cutter feels heavy in my hands as I align it with the glass of the roof of the west wing. I placed the suction cup in the middle and taking the one end I cut the glass. Carefully, I retract the perfect glass circle I just created, leaving a hole in the window, big enough for me to fit in.

I carefully stand up on the rooftop. My high ponytail swings from the action, blonde strands falling down my back. I didn't feel like hiding my hair with black dye this time. The night-vision goggles are almost like a mask that conceals my face in case someone sees me.

But they won't.

I take the grappling hook out of my backpack. It is my father's invention. He made the prototype back when he first picked up the debt we had to pay back.

I press the trigger and the hook shoots, tightly grabbing a chimney. I pull at it, making sure it won't budge.

“You can do this, Felicia.”

A sharp breath leaves my lips before I fall down the hole in the roof. The grappling hook’s rope untangles as I fall and when I press a button it suddenly stops my fall. I dangle some feet off the ground and only when the soles of my boots touch the ground do I breathe again.

I press another button and the hook lets go of the chimney, traveling down to me with a sharp sound. I cringe at the loud sound, looking around me. The guards are changing their shifts and I need to be fast before someone catches me.

Using my flashlight I shed some light to the absolute darkness. The sparkle of the diamonds in the displays against the artificial light is enough to blind me and I am left to admire the fine jewelry that surrounds me. My fingers burn with the itch to crack those displays open and feel the coldness of those rocks on my hands.

But I must focus. I am not here for them.

Maybe another time. Soon. Really soon.

It doesn't take me long to find the diamond necklace. Displayed on top of a dark blue cushion, the sparkling diamonds of the necklace shine just like the light of the moon on a summer night. It's identical to the images I saw when I was researching about it earlier. That guy who stole it from mister Singh's family had it cut into that necklace and although it is lovely, I can only imagine how beautiful it must have been in its original form.

Not wasting time, I place my palm on the display glass. Even through my gloves I can tell that this is no ordinary glass that they used to display the jewels in. I only hope the glass cutter can cut through this bulletproof glass.

I am about to pull out the glass cutter again when an earsplitting sound echoes in my ears. I look up at the roof just in time to see half a dozen masked figures fall from a helicopter.

The glass of the roof shatters as they fall down into the west wing. I immediately drop to the ground, hiding behind the display.

Perfect. Just perfect. Not only am I being interrupted in the middle of a heist but I am being interrupted by amateurs. Seriously, have those guys ever heard of stealth?

The lights are suddenly turned on around us as the alarm goes off. Fucking amateurs.

“Get the necklace!” One of them yells and I roll behind another display, trying to get away from them.

I peek behind the display's corner and see them circle Mehtab's display. They are carrying machine guns half my size. And now it makes sense why the group before me dropped out of this heist.

Seems like mister Singh wants that necklace so badly he is willing to hire more than one people to ensure the job is done.

“Hurry up!”

“It's bulletproof!”

“Then find another way to break it!”

“Hey! Stop!”

“Get the guards! Quick!”

The sound of fires being shot makes my blood turn cold. I need to get out of there. Fast.

Frantically, I look around me for a way out. But there is none, not one where they won't see me. The alarm is still going off and cops will circle the building any time now.

Only a miracle can save me now.

“What the–?”

Just as suddenly, the lights are turned off.

Wait. Don't tell me when I played with the CCTV network I accidentally cut the entire electricity of the building.

“Keep your guard up! And take the necklace!”

The sound of shattering glass echoes in my ears and that's my cue to leave. My night-vision goggles allow me to see in the dark so I crawl to the nearest display, hiding behind it.

Maybe I can snatch the necklace when they aren't looking. Sure. How hard can it be?

At exactly that moment one of the masked guys is thrown over the display I was hiding in before. He groans in pain, lying on the floor and covered in some net-like thing that holds him down.

“Someone's in here!”

The machine gun shots light up the dark room and I roll closer to Mehtab's display. Someone hidden in the shadows slips away from every shot, taking down the masked figures one by one.

“It's the Spider!”

The muffled sound of the guy's screams dies out as he gets thrown to the other side of the room.

“Some people will do anything to not pay a ticket, somehow.”

I blink still hiding behind the display. No way. No fucking way. This isn't who I think it is.

The lights turn back and I have to shut my eyes tight.

“Are you guys okay?” I hear that same voice speak but I don't dare reveal myself. He is probably speaking to the guards and I don't want them to know I am here.

Tiptoeing and trying to not step on the glasses and bullets that are littered on the floor, I near Mehtab's case. The bulletproof display is broken and the necklace lies untouched between glass fragments.

I can't believe my own luck as I slip my hand into the display and take it.

It is heavy on my hand and the pear shaped diamond in the middle is so sharp it might as well cut through my glove.

But I did it. I made it. If only dad was here now.

“We are good thanks to you.”

“Thank you Spider-Man!”

Oh. My. God.

Spider-Man laughs. “You guys should get to a hospital just in case. I got it covered here until the cops arrive.”

I circle the display as the two guards move away from the wing, clutching on to one another despite not saying they were hurt. But it is not the guards I care about right now.

Standing in the middle of broken glass and havoc is Spider-Man. I have seen countless photos of him but never one so close, so alive, so real.

His back is turned to me and I can see every detail of the red pattern of his suit. The crimson spider logo on his back, bigger than the one in his chest creates a fashionable contrast against the black color of the suit.

“You're Spider-Man.”

Did that just come out of my mouth?

Spider-Man turns around and I am left to gaze at the big lenses of his mask.

He shrugs, playfully. “Guilty.”

“Oh my God.”

“And who are you? Or even better, what is that?”

I look at my right hand that is still clutching the Mehtab. Fuck.

Before I can open my mouth he flickers his wrist and a web shoots out, grabbing the necklace and snatching it from my grasp.

“Hey!” I say defensively before I can hold myself back.

“You went to a lot of trouble for that necklace,” Spider-Man inspects the necklace.

“She is not with us!” One of the masked men who is bound to the wall by one of Spider-Man's webs shouts.

With another flick of his wrist, Spider-Man sends another small web that shuts his mouth.

“You're not?” He asks, eyeing me up and down. I try really hard to not blush. I'm wearing an all black training body suit. It's the comfiest thing I own but I know wish I had put some more thought behind my outfit.

I force a laugh out, trying to break the tension.

“I'm just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Happens to me a lot, you know.”

Spider-Man tilts his head. “Aha.”

“Yep,” I say, taking a step back and breaking some glass under my boot. “I just have really really bad luck. Like when you see a black cat in the street and all your week goes like hell. Something like that.”

“Black cat?”

Even though I can not see his face I know he is probably extremely confused by my rambling. Honestly, I'm just trying to save myself some time.

Spider-Man lifts the Mehtab in the air, dangling it.

“Why are you trying to steal this if you are not with them?”

“Look, it's not called stealing if you steal back things from the actual thieves!”

His lenses narrow in evident confusion. “What?”

I let out a frustrated groan.

“That necklace doesn't belong in this museum. It belongs to the family of a man from which they stole it from. And I'm just taking it back to him.”

Spider-Man looks at the necklace and then at me, hesitating for a second. But then he pushes his shoulders back.

“I appreciate the ethical reasons behind it but stealing from thieves is still stealing in my books.”

I freeze. “Seriously?”

“It's what I do best,” he shrugs one shoulder. He is so expressive even if I can't see his actual facial expressions.

“Getting thieves in prison and all that. It tires you out after a while but what can I do?”

Okay. Sure. If that's what he wants.

“I'm not a thief,” I say, trying to snatch the necklace back. “It's called a cat bulgar!”

Spider-Man lets out an amused laugh, easily dodging me. He is actually enjoying it!

“Sure. Whatever you say, kitty.”

Kitty?

I feel my face heat up faster than a stove as I try to get the necklace back. It almost grazes my fingers but before I can grab it, I accidentally trip over and fall into the masked hero, sending us both tumbling on the floor.

“Ouch,” he groans under me and it takes a few seconds for me to register that I have fallen on top of his stomach.

The glint of the diamonds of the necklace shines in the corner or my eye and I fully turn towards it. Discarded a little further is the necklace, slipping from Spider's fingers after our little fall.

I crawl towards it and grab it tightly in my hand.

“Ha!” I raise my fiat in the air in triumph, holding the Mehtab proudly. Which is a fairly stupid idea because the hero laying on the floor sees me doing it.

“Run, girly!”

I never thought that I would get cheered on by wannabe jewelry thieves while being chased by Spider-Man in the MET but this is my life.

I dodge a web-shot as I run down a corridor filled with elaborate paintings on each wall. My heart is beating like the drum of a metal song as I climb to the first window I stumble upon.

Spider-Man lands on the wall, crawling towards me.

“You know that I will just follow after you if you run away right?”

I fight back a cry as I jump out of the window. The grappling hook is in my hand and I press on it until the hook grabs the edge of the fire escape of the building next to the museum. My hands are sweaty under the gloves but I don't stop as I climb to the roof of the building, running faster than I have ever before.

Before I can even taste victory, a web shoots at my boot, stopping me dead in my tracks.

I fall face down on the roof, incing in pain. But it is the shock of how fast everything happened that pains me more.

“And you're coming with me,” Spider-Man says as he takes the necklace from my hands for the second time and I feel so utterly defeated I want to crawl under a rock.

I gather myself off the floor, chest heaving and goggles scratched.

“So what now?” I say angrily. Maybe if I appear angry he won't understand how deeply sad I feel over my own failure.

“You will take me to the cops?”

There are a bunch of police cars gathering at the entrance of the MET nearby. I dread a second meeting with officer Morales after I've failed him and myself.

The hero rubs the back of his neck, walking back and forth on the roof.

“I mean you didn't hurt nobody. And you didn't manage to actually steal anything.”

A web is shot at my hand, webbing me to the giant chimney behind me.

“What the fuck?” I mutter, trying to free myself. It is impossible to even move my hand, the web turning as solid as a rock in the blink of an eye.

“This is enough of a punishment for you I think,” the hero says, twirling the necklace in his point finger. “Stay here for the past two, maybe three hours and think about what you did.”

“Three hours?” I yell, grabbing my wrist with my other hand and trying to tug my hand free.

“Hey, I said maybe three. It usually takes a little less that that for the web to dissolve.”

“Get me out of this now!”

“No, can't do. It's your punishment, remember? Stealing's bad!”

Spider-Man walks to the edge of the roof and my blood turns colder in my veins.

“I'll see what I can do so this can get to his rightful owner,” he gestures to the diamonds in his hand but that is the least of my worries now.

“You!” I yell after him. “Don't leave me here!”

“I'm sorry, I promise I'll swing by in a few hours to check if this hasn't dissolved. Be a good kitty and rethink your life choices.”

Okay, I am pretty sure my face is the shade of a tomato by now and I am not even sure if it's because of embarrassment or anger.

“See you later, Black Cat!” He promises, before he dives away from the roof.

“That's not my name!” I scream but he is already gone.

I am left all alone on that roof with my hand stuck in one of Spider-Man's webs. Collapsing to the red bricks of the roof I can't help but smile so widely that my cheeks actually hurt.