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May understands, intellectually, that Spider-Man is necessary. She had understood that with Peter. She still understands that now, even after what happened to her nephew. Even without all the good that he - and now Miles - did for the city, the mask itself is a symbol of hope to people that sorely need it. That’s why, when she had found out about Peter’s identity, she had decided to help him rather than punish him. That’s why she encourages Miles now.
That doesn’t mean she has to like it.
The new web shooters are working well. May gets a good look at them during the evening news. It’s a segment about a robbery downtown that puts up some shaky camera footage from one of the bystanders. The quality isn’t great but Miles swings close enough that May can see the shooters almost perfectly.
The output is smooth. A sharp, straight line. The webs seem to be holding up well too, no obvious signs of strain. When Miles releases the web, so he can shoot another, it comes away as if it had never been attached.
It’s satisfying to see her technology working so well. Although, she’s pretty sure that Miles has made a few tweaks - the kid is smart. The satisfied warmth in her chest curdles. Peter was smart too.
She switches the television off.
It’s quiet in her house. Empty too. After the fight a lot of her possessions had been destroyed and May has cleaned most of the mess up now but everything seems disturbingly bare without them. She could replace most of them easily enough but for some reason she never seems to get around to it.
MJ comes round when she can. She hadn’t mentioned the unusual state of May’s sitting room, had simply pressed her back into the couch and gone to make a cup of tea for both of them. MJ is good like that. Miles comes around too of course.
May takes a sip of her tea and considers the fabric stretched out in front of her. She was used to a quiet house even before - even before. But now it feels unnaturally still sometimes. She spends a lot of time in the workroom now. It’s lonely, surrounded by empty suits, but she’s getting some good work done. That’s what matters.
Miles had had a lumpy bandage wrapped around his bicep the last time he had visited. He hadn’t seemed in pain but May's eyes had caught on the awkward bump automatically. Peter had come home with enough injuries for her to recognise a gunshot wound when she saw one. So now she’s working on a bullet-proof suit. It’s harder than she had imagined - if she makes the material too thick Miles won’t have the range of motion he needs, too thin and there just isn’t enough protection.
She slides the material through her fingers, feels it flex and stretch. Too thick still.
It’s hard not to think about Peter when she’s working on the suits. Would a thicker suit have protected him from the blast? Would a more flexible suit have allowed him to escape the Green Goblin’s grasp? Was there some mechanism she could have included that would have prevented Kingpin from caving in her nephew’s chest?
It’s pointless. Whether she could have saved him or not, her nephew is gone. Torturing herself can’t help him.
She can still help Miles though.
Her finger trails over the arm of the new suit, where she imagines the old one is torn beneath the force of the bullet, then over the chest. A few little adjustments should make it safer. In the meantime she can get to work on her parachute idea - just in case the shooters fail. Not that they should - it’s her work after all - but Miles might forget to refill the fluid. They might run out. Miles is just a kid after all.
Massive blunt force trauma. That had been the official cause of Peter’s death. Injuries from the blast compounded by Kingpin’s huge fists. May shudders. Don’t dwell on it, she tells herself, don’t dwell. That isn’t going to happen to Miles. May won’t let it.
***
Ganke understands that Spider-Man is necessary. He had listened to MJ’s speech the same as everybody else. Before that, when Peter was still alive, Ganke had taken the existence of Spider-Man for granted, the same as everybody else. He gets why Miles feels he has to continue his predecessor’s work.
That doesn’t mean he has to like it.
Miles tumbles through their window at 3am again - it’s starting to become a bit of a nasty habit - and he’s obviously trying to be quiet but that’s difficult when he dives through at such speed. Luckily Ganke is still awake, as usual, working on his thesis. So Miles doesn’t wake him up.
Not so luckily, Miles is bleeding heavily through the arm of his suit.
Ganke leaps up, knocking his chair over, and goes to steady his friend as Miles tries to stand.
“Jeez, what happened?”
He tries to get a look at the injury but Miles is cradling the arm close to his chest and he shrugs off Ganke’s attention. The dark colour of his suit makes it hard to tell exactly how much blood there is. It’s a lot though. Ganke feels a bit sick.
“I’m fine Ganke,” Miles says. But when he tugs the mask off, his face is covered in a fine sheen of sweat and the arm that Ganke is still holding onto trembles. “I heal pretty fast now. It’ll be gone by the morning.”
“Will you let me take a look at it anyway?” Ganke asks, biting his lip. Then, when Miles hesitates, “please?”
For a long moment Miles doesn’t move. Then he nods, short and jerky, and unfolds his arm so that Ganke can take it gently by the wrist. The skin around his eyes is tight with pain.
Ganke is definitely not a medical expert but there’s no way that Miles would let him take him to the hospital. He’s probably right anyway - Miles does heal pretty quickly now. The wound looks bad though, even to Ganke’s limited knowledge.
There’s a small tear in the suit. Ganke can’t see Miles’ skin through it though because there’s so much blood, dark and slick and bubbling up through the hole in Miles’ arm. Gently twisting the arm reveals a bigger hole on the other side - it looks as though a bullet has punched the entire way through.
Ganke hopes he doesn’t look as ill as he feels.
“Jesus.” He swallows against a gag as blood pumps steadily out of the wound, pulsing disturbingly with Miles’ heartbeat. “This looks really bad Miles.”
Miles looks as though he wants to snatch his arm back. Ganke doesn’t think he will - even if Ganke wasn’t still gripping his wrist, moving that arm has got to hurt.
“It’s fine,” he says shortly.
And Ganke knows that Miles isn’t being difficult on purpose, but he wishes his friend would try a little harder to keep out of danger. He comes home injured more often than not - although this is a particularly bad one.
“At least let me bandage it.”
Miles smiles, small and tight. “Help me get my suit off first.”
As gently as he can, Ganke lets the injured arm drop, and moves to peel the suit away from his friend’s shoulders.
“It’s a nice suit,” Ganke says conversationally. It is. The material is smooth and strong and comes away with very little effort, considering how skintight it looks.
“I know,” says Miles, casting a mournful glance at the hole in his arm as Ganke carefully works the sleeve over his elbow. “I’ll have to get another one now.”
“Maybe you should make the next one bulletproof,” Ganke says. It’s a joke, but even he can tell his voice is too tight as he says it. Miles chuckles weakly anyway.
“Maybe.”
Finally, Ganke manages to peel the arm of the suit away from Miles’ skin. The wound looks both better and worse now that it’s exposed to the air. The suit had hidden a lot of the blood, but now Ganke can see that the hole itself is pretty neat, a smooth, round circle steadily leaking blood.
“Here,” Ganke offers, pulling out the first aid kit that he’s started compiling ever since Miles had told him about Spider-Man. He has a decent collection of bandages and antiseptic wipes now but it’s obviously not the same as a real hospital. If the bullet had hit Miles in the chest Ganke wouldn’t have been able to do much for him.
Ganke has to swallow another gag at the thought.
Carefully, Ganke presses a wad of clean cotton against the wound and starts mopping at the blood with an antiseptic wipe. The job is a bit too big for the little square but it’s all that he can offer. Miles holds still the whole time, even though the antiseptic must sting, and stays quiet until Ganke has finished wrapping a bulky bandage around his arm.
“Thanks Ganke,” Miles says once he is finally finished. He smiles, then flops back onto the bed without even bothering to remove the rest of his costume.
“No problem.”
Cleaning Miles up isn’t a problem - the problem is that he has to. Ganke thinks about the first Spider-Man, how young he was, and shudders. That isn’t going to happen to Miles. Ganke won’t let it.
***
Jefferson understands, now, that Spider-Man is necessary. The realisation had come to him as he watched the new Spider-Man go toe-to-toe with Kingpin as alternate universes had roiled and crashed like waves around them. Even an entire police force couldn’t have stopped that man from destroying the universe. Jefferson can’t ask them to. Hell, Jefferson had been standing right there, and he hadn't been able to do anything - just watch helplessly from the sidelines. So, yes, Spider-Man is necessary
That doesn’t mean he has to like it.
Finding out that the original Spider-Man had only been 26 when he died had been a shock. A nasty electric current right through his body. Jefferson had never really thought of him as a real person before - he had always seemed a sort of mythical figure. To find out that he had been so young was...horrifying.
Sometimes Jefferson imagines losing Miles so early and has to restrain himself from calling his son up to blub and tell him how much he loves him. Miles would appreciate it, he’s sure, but it isn’t very ‘cool dad’ of him. Not that Jefferson has ever been particularly concerned about being the ‘cool dad’ before. Miles answers almost every time and that’s what matters.
The new Spider-Man looks even younger.
Occasionally, Jefferson will bump into him. Every time he’s struck by how small the guy is, how young he acts. If Spider-Man is any older than 16 Jefferson will be very surprised. Peter Parker had started the Spider-Man gig at 16 - Jefferson had done the math. The thought had made him vaguely ill.
Tonight it’s a mugging. Typical. Jefferson deals with those every day. Only it isn’t Jefferson dealing with it - he’s one street away, purely by coincidence, and Spider-Man is the one cleaning up the bad guys. Jefferson had seen him earlier, a small, dark spot against the hazy city sky.
The sharp report of a gunshot startles Jefferson. The high cry of pain that follows startles him worse. Someone is hurt.
Jefferson takes off running before he even thinks about it.
The mugger is gone by the time Jefferson reaches the alley. But Spider-Man is still there, kneeling on the ground, clutching one arm against his chest. Jefferson can’t see his expression through the mask but it’s obvious that he’s in pain. A young couple are hovering behind him, looking as though they aren’t sure whether to touch him or not. As soon as Jefferson arrives they melt away into the darkness as if they were never there, distancing themselves from the crime scene as quickly as possible. Jefferson doesn’t bother chasing after them - they clearly weren’t the ones who fired the gun. He moves towards Spider-Man instead.
“Hey,” he calls, announcing his arrival. The kid still startles, ducking his head, shoulders going tense. He tries to struggle to his feet but Jefferson is there before he can manage it.
“Are you hurt?” It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees blood on the suit. “We should get you to a hospital.”
“I’m fine da- sir,” Spider-Man says in a strangely accented voice. Jefferson feels a sharp pang in his chest. Definitely a kid. The voice changes every time.
“You’ve been shot,” he explains. “You need to come to the hospital with me.”
“No.” This time the kid manages to get to his feet. Jefferson puts out a hand to steady him but it’s easily shaken off. “Thank you for your concern but I’m fine. Really.”
Jefferson would argue but the next moment Spider-Man throws out his uninjured arm and his web whisks him up into the air. Jefferson watches him go with frustration. The injured arm is still tucked against his chest, meaning he swings awkwardly with only one hand. Jefferson is pretty sure that there’s blood splattering the floor beneath him. But Jefferson isn’t his dad, he can’t exactly demand he ‘comes back here right now or you’re grounded’. Besides, the kid is too far away to hear him now.
There’s definitely blood on the floor of the alley. Jefferson regards it with a sort of shivery disgust. Apparently even superpowers can’t stop bullets. Superpowers hadn’t helped Peter Parker either. Jefferson shudders. No. That isn’t going to happen to the new Spider-Man. Jefferson won’t let it.
***
May isn’t stalking Miles exactly. That would be...unethical. But if she had included a crude sort of monitoring system in the latest suit design - well - Miles didn’t really have to know, did he?
She glances at her phone. At the little red dot that’s moving steadily through Hell’s Kitchen and the little ticking numbers that count out Miles’ heartbeat and respiration rate.
It’s creepy, May will admit that. But it only works when he’s wearing the suit.
And it isn’t unethical for her to get out of the house every so often. In fact, MJ would be delighted. If she coincides her night time walks with Miles’ most active hours - bringing her trusty baseball bat with her just in case - it’s purely coincidental.
The little red dot moves closer and May is forced to duck beneath the overhang of a nearby doorway as Miles breezes past, moving quickly on the webs that May had slaved over.
She can’t help peeking her head out to admire her work as he goes by. The new suit looks good, strong, and Miles can clearly move his arms well - probably better than he had been able to before. She scans him for injuries as best she can as well. None that she can see, but the suit hides a lot of sins. He’s not moving awkwardly though - heart rate and breathing normal - all good indicators that he’s survived tonight unscathed.
May lets out a little sigh of relief. The tracking and monitors make Miles’ nightly excursions both more and less stressful for May. On one hand she can monitor him - can be there in moments if something seems to be going wrong. On the other hand it seems to have made her a tad obsessive. Technically the monitoring makes sneaking out at night to keep an eye on him totally unnecessary. And yet, here she is. It’s ruining her sleep schedule.
So far Miles hasn’t needed her - and what would she do if he did? - but she still follows him out almost every night.
It does feel a bit illicit - sneaking around in the dark to keep tabs on a young boy - even though she’s doing it for his own good. Sometimes she’ll catch sight of a police car idling in the street nearby or cruising slowly in the direction May was heading, and she’ll have to duck into the shadows to avoid suspicion. It’s been happening more frequently as of late. Always the same car. If May were a more paranoid person she might think it was following her.
Sometimes she appreciates it hanging around though. The places Miles usually visits aren’t exactly the safest and being out, alone, in the dark always sets her on edge. Even though she has her baseball bat May can’t help but feel a bit frightened. Sometimes she can’t shake the sensation that someone is following her - and not just the police car.
On one memorable occasion she had nearly taken the head off some poor kid with her bat. He can’t have been much older than Miles. May had turned into a side-street, following Miles’ little red dot, and run right into him. The bat had swung towards him before she’d even had the chance to get a proper look.
The little frightened noise he had made had stopped her in her tracks and she had sent him home with just a lecture about staying out too late rather than a caved-in skull. It's a dangerous place - kids shouldn’t be hanging around in little side-streets in the dark. With the exception of Miles of course.
The little red dot is moving steadily away from her now but May doesn’t feel the need to catch up. It’s around the time Miles usually starts to head home. May doesn’t need to follow him there.
She leans back against the doorway. Scrubs a hand over her tired eyes. It’s exhausting, being out so late every night, rushing around the city to try to keep up, and spending all of her other hours in the workroom. She’s no spring chicken anymore.
At least it means she doesn’t have time to think. No energy for nightmares either. For a long time after Peter - after Peter - she had been plagued by them. Terrible visions of her nephew’s hollowed out chest, of Kingpin’s huge, meaty fists. Miles had starred in a few of them. They come less frequently now. May isn’t sure if it’s because her monitoring is putting her mind at ease, or if it’s because she’s just plain too exhausted. Either way, she isn’t going to stop.
***
Ganke isn’t stalking Miles exactly. That would be...creepy. But if he had engineered his own basic tracking device and slipped it into the collar of Spider-Man’s suit - well - that was just scientific interest. He wanted to know if he could do it, and he had. Not to mention the added benefit that now Ganke has a little warning for when Miles tumbles into their dorm room injured at 3 in the morning.
Mostly because Ganke has been using his little tracking device to follow Miles around at night and keep an eye on him.
And, OK, when he says it like that it sounds creepy. But it isn’t creepy for Ganke to want to make sure his friend is safe - Ganke is the one who has to bandage all his wounds after all.
Following Miles around the city at night - with all the twisty little back alleys, hazy light pollution, and no-doubt-unsavoury characters - is creepy. For the most part Ganke manages to keep his head down and avoid the worst of it, just keep his eyes on the black dot that tells him Miles’ location and avoid seeing anything suspicious - and if Ganke is there to keep an eye on Miles, at least that means Spider-Man is nearby incase Ganke is in trouble.
Once an old lady had run right into him, nearly bowled him over, then tried to take his head off with a baseball bat. Ganke had called it a night after that, even though Miles was still on patrol. He had crawled home, then just sat in bed with the covers pulled over his head, shaken, waiting for Miles to get back. Luckily, he hasn’t seen her since. But now he makes sure to carry his dad’s little Swiss Army knife around in his pocket - just in case.
It’s silly really. If Miles ever is in trouble there won’t be much that Ganke can do about it. But if he stays at home he can’t do anything but think about it. Think about Miles out there alone, facing off against all sorts of evil people without any backup or support. He can’t sleep for thinking about it. Can’t do any of his work. So he might as well do something useful with the time.
It’s been a pretty quiet night tonight. Two muggers, a drunk driver, someone’s cat stuck up a tree. Miles handles everything with the same dedicated enthusiasm whilst Ganke skulks in the background, trying to stay close enough to see him, but not so close that Miles can see him back. It’s a bit of a delicate balance - Miles has much better eyesight than Ganke after all - but Ganke has the advantage of actually knowing what he’s looking for.
He’s pretty certain that Miles hasn’t cottoned on. His friend definitely wouldn’t approve of what he’s doing and he hasn’t said anything about it yet. The tracker is still in place. Ganke’s pretty confident that he hasn’t been discovered.
He’s going to make a mistake soon though. He’s tired. Miles might be able to stay out all night, running around like a lunatic, and still get up in time for class, but Ganke doesn’t have superpowers. Pretty soon his schoolwork is going to start suffering.
Miles had seen the first Spider-man die. He had told Ganke about it one night. Ever since then, Ganke has had nightmares about the same thing. Watching from a distance as Miles is crushed, shot, stabbed. Sitting at his desk and getting a phone call to say his best friend is dead and wondering if maybe there was something he could have done to stop it. Ganke can’t sleep much anyway nowadays, so he might as well do what he can. Either way, he isn’t going to stop.
***
Jefferson isn’t stalking Spider-Man exactly. That would be...illegal. If he just so happens to be at the same crime scene every time Spider-Man steps in to intervene - well - that’s purely coincidence. He is a police officer after all.
Honestly, at first it had been coincidental. Jefferson would get to a call and the kid would already be there. And, OK, maybe it’s more engineered than coincidental now, but no one can blame him for wanting to look out for both Spider-Man and the civilians he protects.
Like he said, he’s a police officer.
Jefferson pulls up onto the curb. Lets the car idle as he squints out of the window to try to catch a glimpse of the kid. It’s difficult to follow him surreptitiously in a squad car, but Jefferson doesn’t want to be unprepared if the kid really does need his help, and it’s hard to keep up with him when he can just swing over buildings and Jefferson has to go around them.
He manages to keep up with the kid mostly through reports on the police radio and the occasional breaking news update. On really quiet nights he can usually manage just to tail him.
So far Spider-Man hasn’t really needed his intervention, but Jefferson has spotted some suspicious characters hanging around him, and he makes himself useful by keeping an eye on them.
There’s the old lady - which normally Jefferson wouldn’t think twice about - but he’s seen her more than once and she’s always lurking furtively in some alley or other. Not exactly little old lady behaviour. Not to mention the baseball bat she carries.
Then there’s the young Asian guy, probably not much older than Miles. Again, not necessarily someone Jefferson would usually worry about, but he’s seen him more than once and always in the same vicinity as Spider-Man.
Most likely they’re not dangerous. Probably just overly-obsessed fans - Spider-Man saves them once and now they creepily follow him around. Jefferson keeps an eye on them anyway. If they do decide to take their weird Spider-Man obsession up another level, Jefferson will stop them.
It is difficult though, to balance keeping an eye on the kid, doing his real police work, and making sure he has enough time left for Rio and Miles. He feels stretched too thin, as if the sun would be able to shine right through him and hit the ground. There’s a horrible guilty feeling in his chest almost constantly. He can’t help but think about what he’s neglecting.
There’s a crackle and Jefferson’s police radio bursts into life. A robbery at one of the stores near him. Jefferson switches on the lights and peels away from the pavement. Spider-Man will probably be there before him anyway.
Despite everything, Jefferson knows he won’t stop looking out for the kid. Sometimes he thinks about the original Spider-Man, about whether Jefferson could have saved him, if he had taken the time to look out for him too. It’s not a pleasant thought. There’s no guarantee, either, that Jefferson will be able to help this Spider-Man, no matter how much of his time he dedicates to following the kid around. Either way, he isn’t going to stop.
***
The blow stuns Miles, sends him flying, smashing him painfully against the concrete. Miles has never taken a hit that hard. Not even from Kingpin. At first he doesn’t even feel the pain, just a blank sort of hazy surprise. Then it seems to explode on him all at once. Spiderwebs of electricity sparking across his face, screaming through his head, his eyes, his mouth. It feels almost as though his entire skull is fracturing. Shattering. He can’t breathe through the pain.
He lies, sprawled, on the concrete. The impact feels as though it’s liquidised his brain. He doesn’t have the power to move his limbs.
Anaconda steps closer. Miles’ spider-sense is pinging so strongly that he wants to scream, but he can’t seem to figure out how to open his mouth. She reaches down with one huge, grossly enlarged arm, and drags Miles upright. His head hangs limp, lolling bonelessly against his shoulders. Blinking furiously to clear his vision, Miles can’t even focus on her properly, but he sees her grin, sharp and fanged like a snake. Appropriate.
Those grotesque arms wrap around him. Miles struggles, desperate, but already he can feel his ribs creaking, the air suddenly seeming too thin. He gasps.
The gunshot is ear-splittingly loud in the quiet intimacy of the warehouse. Anaconda makes a sharp noise of pain right in Miles’ already ringing ear and stumbles backwards. One arm tightens, convulsively, around Miles’ chest. The other whips out, striking like a snake towards -
His dad. Miles’ dad is standing in the ruined doorway, gun drawn, terrified expression on his face. The limb lashes out, too fast for Miles to even shout a warning, and knocks the gun from his dad’s hands. Then it snaps back round again, throwing his dad to the ground.
Miles manages a little strangled sound behind his mask. What is his dad doing here? He’s going to get hurt. Miles has to save him. Not that Miles can even save himself at the moment.
Anaconda balls her free hand into a fist. Brings it down hard, aiming straight for Jefferson’s head. Miles sees awful visions of his dad’s head bursting like a grape beneath the force. Sees his dad lying lifeless on the floor of the warehouse. He fights.
Then, Ganke Lee flies out of nowhere, crashes into the thick limb, and knocks it aside with the force of his body.
Is Miles hallucinating? It must be oxygen deprivation. If Miles’ dad being here was unbelievable, Miles’ best friend being here is impossible.
Miles’ dad is already clambering to his feet, looking between Miles and Ganke with a sort of confused horror on his face.
“Get out of here!” He yells, diving to push Ganke out of the way as Anaconda’s arm swings back round again. “What the hell are you doing?”
Miles feels like shouting that at both of them, but he doesn’t have the air to do it.
Ganke just pants in reply, a bit helplessly, before throwing himself onto Anaconda’s bulging arm and wrapping his arms around it, as if he can hold it to the ground with his body-weight alone.
“Leave Mi- Spider-Man alone,” he cries as he does it. Miles’ dad makes an odd, bug-eyed expression and throws himself forward as well.
Even their combined weight isn’t enough to hold just one of Anaconda’s limbs down. She whips it free. Miles’ spider-sense pulses.
Suddenly, Anaconda falters. Her arm slips, sending Miles tumbling free. He staggers upright immediately even though his ribs scream in protest. He has to stop this. He has to save them.
There, behind Anaconda, her baseball bat - now splintered in half - still raised, is May.
Miles is definitely hallucinating. Maybe he’s actually still lying half-dead in the ground and this is all some crazy dream made up by his dying brain.
Anaconda seems equally confused. She snarls, furious, head whipping between them. Miles only just manages to catch May as she goes flying. He swings around, sets May carefully on the ground, before launching himself back towards Anaconda. He needs to take her out now before she can hurt his friends, his family.
The second gunshot is just as loud as the first.
Anaconda staggers backwards, eyes wide in her head. Miles hits her right in the chest. For a long moment it seems as though she won’t go down. But she does, hitting the concrete hard. Miles webs her arms down by her side, then webs them again for good measure. The bullet hit her right in the chest. Miles doesn’t think it will be fatal, but he doubts she’ll get back up anytime soon.
Finally he stands. His ribs are definitely broken. Miles thinks his cheek and jaw might be fractured too, but he got off lightly. He’d be dead if it wasn’t for the others - he’s pretty sure of that. Still, it’s not exactly a pleasant thought, knowing that Ganke and May and dad had put themselves in so much danger for him. Miles will heal from this. The others probably wouldn’t.
“What the hell?” Miles snaps, forgetting to put on an accent. He whirls to face them. His dad is holding May gently by the elbow, checking her over for injuries. May shrugs him off easily. “What are you guys doing here?”
Silence. Miles thinks it sounds a bit sheepish.
“Spider-Man,” his dad starts, taking charge as usual, “you were in danger. It’s my duty as-“
“You could have been killed!” Miles cries.
Silence again. Then: “Actually, I think you were the one in danger of being killed.”
May says it so calmly, swinging her shattered baseball bat idly by her side, as if she hadn’t nearly been flung through the wall of an abandoned building by a genetically engineered super villain.
Miles can only stare in silence.
He starts forward, as if moving closer will help impress his point on them, staggers. Both Ganke and his dad move forward to catch him simultaneously. Miles catches them both up into a hug. After a moment May moves forward and envelopes them too.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Miles gasps.
He can feel Ganke’s smile against his neck.
“No promises.”