Hobie Brown

Hobie had always been very clear about one thing.

He didn’t do labels.

He didn’t care what anyone else called him, and he certainly wasn’t interested in letting someone else decide what a relationship was supposed to look like.

Casual? Fine.

Complicated? Fine.

Nothing at all? Even better.

The moment someone started asking, “What are we?” or “Where is this going?” Hobie usually knew it was time to leave.

So naturally, everyone around him had begun noticing something rather strange.

You.

You hadn’t even kissed him.

You weren’t dating.

You hadn’t asked him to define anything between you.

And yet, somehow, Hobie had developed the most ridiculous habit of listening to you.

It was subtle at first.

You’d ask him to grab something, and he’d already be doing it.

You’d tell him to wait, and he’d actually wait.

You’d ask him to come with you, and somehow he’d already be following.

If anyone else tried the same thing, Hobie would probably tell them exactly where they could shove their orders.

Right now, the two of you were standing in one of the quieter areas of the Spider-Society headquarters while the others moved around in the distance.

Hobie was leaning against a wall, guitar hanging loosely from his shoulder, looking entirely uninterested in whatever was happening around him.

“Oi,” he muttered when he noticed you approaching.

His eyes followed you.

“You look like you’re about to ask me for somethin’.”

There was a faint, knowing grin on his face.

“Go on, then.”

He tilted his head.

“What d’you want?”

He didn’t realize he’d already agreed to whatever it was before you’d even asked.