Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’re running late.

But then again…is there ever a day when you’re not running late?

It’s hard to differentiate whether it’s because you've left all your pre-reading till the last minute or if your alarm forgot to go off or if it was due to you oversleeping for an additional thirty minutes because your roommate had dragged you out last night for the fourth freshers party of the week.

Either way, you’re running late. Your bag is frantically packed with notebooks and random essentials, your laptop is less than half-charged and your socks are mismatched. It’s not the best start that you had imagined for your first week of lectures but as you glance at digits in the corner of your phone, you figure that you don’t even have the time to complain.

The campus is still relatively new to you, and also fucking huge. Groups of people swarm around like insects, trying to find their way around to their own lecture. Glancing down at the map app currently open on your phone, a frown reaches your brows.

It seems like you’re still so far away from the humanities block which is on the other side of campus.

You scroll down, pausing your steps to look for another route. If only there was….

‘Want a shortcut? Press here .’

“Yes fucking please.” you mutter to yourself, clicking the bold button absentmindedly.

—

The muffled sound of a robotic voice announcing your destination perks up your mood entirely as you reach the lecture doors of 202. You made it with just about five minutes to spare.

Entering the hall, you find most seats are taken, rows quickly becoming unavailable. Scanning around desperately, you find a seat near the back next to a guy mindlessly scrolling on his phone. Hastily, you walk to your desired seat before the rest of the row fills up and take a seat before the lecture starts. 

Taking a deep breath, your anxiety now sits comfortably in the pit of your stomach. 

This is how college was supposed to go. 

Prepared, calm and on time. You’re so relaxed right now that you’re not even slightly bothered about the percentage of your laptop when you slide it open in front of you; you have your notebooks in your bag if needed. You take a quick sip of water before the lecture begins and soon all conversations in the room seem to die away slowly. 

Those unlucky enough to have found a seat, settle with sitting on the steps of the lecture hall. A silent sigh of relief that you are not a part of that majority runs through your body. God, you forget that literature was so oversubscribed.

A hushed silence takes over the room and a steady grin creeps at the corner of your lips as you wait for the professor to start.

“Good morning all, it is nice to see you all bright and early for the first genetics lecture of the year. I know some of you had to clear up clashes with microbiology this morning which may be the reason why we are so oversubscribed today, but we’ll make do, there’s plenty of room for everyone.”

You blink in confusion as the words of the lecture settles into your brain.

Genetics ? Microbiology ? What the fuck was this professor talking about?

The lecturer drones on at the front of the hall, her voice echoing. “For those of you who don't know already, I'm professor Dr. Michaelson and I’ll be your genetics lecturer for the remainder of the year.”

Oh no. Oh fuck no. Oh hell no.

You look around, scanning the wide room to already see people begin to type away at their laptops. No one else in the room seems to be as confused as you are right now and it’s concerning. Reaching into your coat pocket, you open up your maps app checking your location.

Shit.

You’ve found yourself in the general medical sciences block, not arts and humanities. Zooming in further you find that the humanities block is directly across from the building that you’re in right now.

If there was a time for you to have a breakdown, it would be right now. All of your panicking and frantic packing that you had gone through this morning has now gone completely to waste because you’re not even in the right fucking lecture hall.

You turn towards the person on your left but notice that they’re rapidly typing away as the lecturer proceeds to run over the future modules for the course. Not wanting to bother her, you decide to glance towards your right, to the guy who was once mindlessly scrolling on his phone who has now replaced it with his very own laptop but…he’s not typing away yet. 

So you take your chances.

“Hey.” you whisper, trying to keep your panic out of your voice. You lean over a little so that he can hear you.

The man frowns a little, looking towards you. 

“What?” His tone is soft like yours, quiet so as not to disrupt other people but you can’t help but notice the annoyed intonation in his voice.

“What lecture are we in right now?” you subtly prompt, quickly noticing the crease between the eyebrows of the stranger sitting next to you. His nose curves up in distaste as if you’ve just asked him whether he thinks the earth is round or flat.

“Please, just answer my question.” you plead gently, reading his expression. You know he probably takes you for an idiot right now but you just need confirmation so that, 

One : You hadn’t just misheard and this was definitely a genetics lecture 

And two: If it was a genetic lecture this officially gives your body the right to go into full panic mode.

The guy lets out a light sigh before answering, “We’re in genetics right now.”

“Fuck!” 

A few heads in the row in front of your glance back at the sound and automatically your face burns out of embarrassment.

“Why are you asking?” the man sitting beside you questions. 

You hesitate in giving your answer, embarrassed that you had messed up one of the most basic rules of things not to do at university. Now it’s your turn to let out a beaten down sigh.

 “I–”

“You’re in the wrong lecture, aren’t you?” the stranger estimates. Clearly based on your mixed expression of disappointment and panic.

You nod silently, rubbing your hands across your face. Internally, you wished that you could go back in time. Back to before you had entered this stupid lecture room, double checking the location or at least had the chance run out before the lecture had started. 

“What are you supposed to be in?” 

“English Literature.”

The man sitting beside you stifles a laugh and again, a number of heads back to look at the two of you in frustration. He attempts to cover it up with a cough and you notice the way that his cheeks slowly turn to a dusty shade of pink.

“Por dios, what are you doing here?” he whispers. And again you don’t miss the tone of irritation in his voice.

“I–I think I got lost.” you stammer quietly, looking down at your phone. “I’m supposed to be here.” you point at a spot on your phone as you show him. “But I got it messed up.”

“It’s across from this building?”

You nod begrudgingly, before shutting off your phone and laying your head down on the table in surrender.

You stay down for a minute before perking back up. The lecturer is still droning on about god knows what and the man beside you begins to take notes. 

Leaning over, you whisper another question.

“How long is this lecture?”

“Two hours.”

Yep, you were screwed.

And it wasn’t like you could get up and leave. Well, you could, but that would mean drawing all the attention from everyone in the room, disrupting them and causing your entire row to stand up so that you could leave. You think that you’d rather die than be that person.

The man beside you says nothing more, choosing to ignore you and your situation as he types away along with the rest of the people in the hall.

Looks like you have no choice but to buckle yourself in for this ride.

—

Two hours later, you find yourself on level 12 of the world’s hardest game, still without any english literature knowledge but now have a deep insight into what the genetics modules will look like for the next three years as well as having a deep insightful knowledge about prokaryotic and eukaryotic organisms.

That’ll be some useful trivia some day at least.

You sit back watching everyone else pack away. The man beside you glances towards you briefly, he’s packed away too, now waiting for the people in your row to start filing out.

“Thinking about drastically changing your degree to biological sciences?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

You snort as you pack away your laptop, which surprisingly managed to survive the whole lecture. 

“I fucking wish.”

“How about next time you check that you’re actually in the right block before stepping into a lecture hall?”

You barely know this man and yet you can feel his judgment, not just now but throughout the whole lecture you’ve felt his continuous side-eye as you died for the 400th time in your game.

“Will do.” you note, hoping to cut this conversation short. “Looks like I’ve got a literature lecture to catch up on.” you mumble to yourself as you begin to walk away, filing out of your row and heading to the doors.

/

“You what? Ended up at the wrong lecture hall?!”

Burying your head onto your arms, you groan aloud as a non-committal response. Your college roommate and new friend, Lyla, laughs out loud which unfortunately attracts eyes from around the cafe.

You groan, this being the second time that your face has burnt up this morning. “Please don’t make my misery any louder ly’ ”

She wipes at the corner of her eyes, adjusting her glasses. “I'm sorry, m’sorry.” She chokes, spluttering her hot chocolate. “But could you go through exactly what it was that you did again?.”

You perk up your head on the table, keeping your eyelids shut. A mumble escapes from your lips.

Lyla cups her ears, teasing you unabashedly. “What was that?”

“Iendedupinageneticslecture.”

“What?” 

“I ended up in a genetics lecture!”

And if you thought that her first laugh had been loud enough for the tables near you to hear, her second laugh practically caused the entire cafe to turn their eyes on you.

“This is all your fault by the way.” You pick up your cup of hot coffee and as if your day couldn’t get any worse, you’ve managed to burn your tongue and now you wonder whether there’s any point whatsoever in living on this sadistic earth.

Lyla points at herself, “Me? What did I do?!”

If you–” you lower your voice, cautious of multiple eyes staring at your table. “If you didn’t drag me out last night then maybe I wouldn’t have been so sleep deprived that I could have actually gotten to my proper lecture.”

Lyla snorts, waving her hands around. “Oh, please! Didn’t I get you that number off that guy you liked? Matt, was it?”

“Tom.” 

“Right, whatever.” she says, picking up her cup and dipping her tongue into the generous amount of  whipped cream and marshmallows that cover her hot chocolate. You stare at your own order in distaste, deeply wishing that you had gotten one too.

/

The next two weeks following your god awful mishap, you were fine.

From now on you and Lyla had a pact.

No more nights out.

Only up until the halloween. 

With your reading classes and her technology lectures, the two of you found each other up to your necks in assignments and essays along with being forced to help out with Lyla’s little coding club maintenance.

Thankfully you’ve managed to maintain some sort of routine, attending most – if not all – of your lectures both on time and double checking that you were in the right ones. You’ve made a few friends here or there at social events and finally found a job as a barista at the same cafe where Lyla gets her favorite hot chocolate from – and you must admit that they are pretty great.

All in all, college is going pretty great.

You think.

It’s going well in terms that you’ve managed to dodge every single phone call from your mom ever since you got here. Weekly, you’ve been coming up with good excuses and you don’t think that she’s caught on. Yet.

It was something that you had expected to happen once you made the decision to move away, I mean it was only fair, her only child leaving the bird’s nest, what else is she supposed to do? 

You did feel guilty, of course you did . You hate lying to your mom but having her call every five minutes is not the reputation that you want to set up for yourself.

You’ll call her at the end of the week. 

You swear on it.

‘Sorry, I’m in the library right now mom, I’ll call you back later okay? Love you <3’

Sent: 5:34pm

Setting your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’, you place it next to your laptop, your playlist resuming through your headphones. 

Another thing that you were also proud of yourself, was getting in regular study periods in preparation for midterms. Your old self would have been procrastinating right up until the night before the exam but now? You’ve matured. You’ve changed your ways for the better and by getting in some pre-reading of essays and books, you know that you’ll be thanking your future self in the long run if you keep up this mindset.

And this mindset is a great mindset…as long as you don’t get distracted.

...

You lasted ten minutes. 

You had barely gotten through the second page before your attention was taken somewhere else and by somewhere else you mean somebody else. And this particular somebody reminds you of a moment that you are trying so hard to forget. Which is impossible to do when he had just so coincidentally pulled up a chair next to you.

It was him. The guy who you sat next to in the one lecture that we don’t talk about for certain implicit reasons.

On recognising his face, you hope that he doesn’t recognise you. He pulls up a chair beside you, not truly noticing you are until he glances up. You can already sense what he’s about to say. Taking off your headphones you go to speak but he suddenly cuts you off.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t mistake the janitor’s closet for the library then.”

“Oh, you’re funny.” you deadpan.

“I try to be.” he quips, the corners of his lips tilting upright.

Now that your body is not in fight or flight mode, you get a chance to take in this stranger. He’s…attractive. Conventionally. Tall. Awkwardly tall. Looks like one of those gym junkies or you guess that he actually is one based on those muscles on him. And those model cheekbones and naturally tanned skin and bushy eyebrows and soft lips–

“Do I have something on my face or are you just eyeballing me?”

“Neither.” you say, a little too quick for your judgment.

“There’s no shame in admitting the latter.” He prompts, a playful tone in his voice.

“You’re a little bit cocky don’t you think?”

This stranger leans back into his chair a little, raising a brow before dismissing your statement.

“I would disagree.”

“Of course you would, you’re a STEM student.”

The stranger huffs, glancing at you up and down. “At least I’m guaranteed a job as soon as I’m out of here.” He remarks, rummaging through his bag. “Good luck in getting out of your student debt with–” he squints over to one of the closed novels by your side. “Whatever book that you have over there.”

“You mean pride and prejudice?”

He simply shrugs, choosing to ignore you as he pulls out a huge textbook and his laptop. 

Your eyes glimpse the front cover, reading ‘Biological Sciences.’ Your face turns to distaste at the thought of willing choosing to read something like that.

“Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” you ask, trying to maintain a friendly unbiased tone.

“Never have and never will.”

“You’re missing out.”

“On what?” he scoffs, flicking a page of his massive textbook . It hurts your brain to even think about how much that would even cost. “A bunch of rich upper class Englishmen complain about their problems for a whole 300 pages?”

“Firstly,” you note, slightly offended. “That’s not what happens. Secondly, it’s 400 pages but it’s debatable depending on what version you buy. But when you suddenly get a gun cocked to your head with someone asking you to quote the first line from Pride and Prejudice one day, you’ll be regretting this conversation.”

“I highly doubt that’s even a probable situation.”

“There’s always a few anomalies lying around.” You shrug absentmindedly, flicking through your own novel which you had to complete reading for this week.

“Rarely.”

“But often enough to catch you off-guard.”

This stranger lets out a sigh heavily through his nose, a sign of which you know means ‘please shut the fuck up.’  He begins to ignore you again, eyes slightly squinting as he scrolls down, closely reading an article.

That’s it. You’ve lost your concentration. He’s ruined your mood and your mindset. 

You begin to pack away, huffing as you place your novel in your bag. You’ll have to get started when you get home it seems.

“Don’t let me spoil your 19th century fun.” he murmurs, scrolling further down on the article.

“I’m going somewhere else, so that I won’t be bothered with your stupid microbiology shit.”

The man huffs, barely acknowledging you as you stand. “Good luck finding another free spot because this place is packed.”

“I’m heading home actually.” you quip, zipping up your bag after placing all your materials.

“Make sure that you don’t accidentally end up in someone else’s dorm–”

“Hilarious.”

You walk away before he can poke another joke at you. Once again, mocking you and you barely know his first name.

You kinda hope you never see him again. Partly because he’s an annoying STEM student but mostly because he reminds you of the excruciating pain that you went through by sitting in a genetics lecture for two hours without a single break.

Key word: kinda.

Chapter Text

 You manage to get your pre-reading all done and dusted over the next few days. 

Crossing that off your checklist, you groaned at the thought of your remaining errands. Bills, assignments, grocery shopping and your shifts at the cafe were all piled on top of you constantly, not to mention your attempt to attend your lectures and classes, double checking that they were the right ones.

But the most stressful by far were your mother’s calls, occurring at least twice a day. As of recently, you had thought that you were safe, coming up with excuses left, right and center. 

At least that was before you had seen a missed call from your dad this morning.

That’s how you know that you’re really in the shits.

You’re gonna have to come up with something. And in quick timing. But for now, you’re going to have to sideline your personal dilemmas.

With your new job at the cafe, you have no choice but to remain consistent with your routine, that is of course, if you want your new job to last. After weeks of rejection or rather, the lack of replies, you had managed to secure a job at your roommate’s favorite cafe spot. 

And by secure you mean that you had sort of lied about having experience in a cafe previously. 

You didn’t entirely lie…just exaggerated the truth a little bit. 

This was one of the only jobs that had replied to you out of a whole stockpile and you weren’t going to let it go to waste. Not under any circumstances.

You did have the experience of watching and observing what your classmate did at her family owned cafe whilst you were on the till for a few minutes.

But nonetheless, what’s so hard about making coffee? Anyone can do this shit. It’s okay if you’re learning on the job, doesn’t everyone do that? Currently, you succeed in trying to rotate between keeping track of orders and making drinks as well as trying not to get in MJ’s way too much.

But you were handling it to the best of your abilities. Even if that did mean messing up a few of your customers' orders every once in a while. MJ had said nothing about it so far which means that you're in the green light.

For now.

“You really should be getting some sleep, don’t let your first year knock you out before midterms.” She acknowledges, elbowing you slightly.

“I kno–” you barely finish your sentence, another yawn coming out of nowhere.

“See?” She hums, finishing off an order for the previous customer. “You need some beauty sleep.”

She’s referring to your bruised under eye bags that have started to appear. Ultimately, the results of you staying up till midnight yesterday to finish off an assignment. You had only managed to get a few hours of sleep before waking up in time for your 6am shift.

“I also need money, but we can’t have it all can we MJ?” you note, keeping your tone light before you move on to serve another customer.

You’ve only been on shift for a couple of hours but you think you’re coping well so far. MJ forewarned you about the morning lecture rush hour. You guessed that it was soon by glancing at the old clock hung up on the wall, indicating that it was just after 8:30 am. Students continued to spill in and out of the cafe, the bell above the front door continuously ringing in your ears. 

A small line had begun to queue up and you swiftly moved through them with ease. As your next customer came up to the counter, your face lit up at the sight of a familiar face. 

“Oh hey stranger–” you begin, recognising the same grueling face that you had seen last week bore into you. But you barely get a chance to finish your sentences before he cuts you off sharply.

“Coffee. Black.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you tap his order into the machine, immediately sensing his disgruntled aura. By the expression on his face, you can tell that he doesn’t seem up for teasing. 

He seems…frustrated? Or maybe even upset? 

“Name?”

“Miguel.” 

You can’t tell whether he’s cranky because it’s 8am in the morning or rather that you failed to notice this the last time you saw him. Either way, it gets you a little dazed. Perhaps he wasn’t a morning person; you were in no position to blame him because you were the complete same. Taking his name, you brush him off instead hoping that your coffee will cheer him up.

You inform him of the price and he swipes his card without a second glance. He leaves to take a seat in one of the corners of the cafe which just so happens to be the only part of the cafe that wasn’t so overwhelmed with customers. 

It’s not long before you head over there yourself with his order.

“Here’s your black coffee.” you say, setting it down in front of him. Hastily, you’re about to run off to prepare your next order before his words stop you.

“I ordered a black coffee. Not a latte.”

You turn around abruptly, realizing your full mistake. “Oh shit, I’m sorry—”

“Are you new here or just incapable of making a simple cup of black coffee?” Miguel interrupts, his tone laced with vexation.

“Who do you think you’re–”

Your outrage comes to a halt by the sound of your name being called by MJ. You glance over your shoulder and notice her point towards an ever growing queue of customers. Shit, you don’t have time to cuss him out. 

Taking a deep breath, you make the decision to be the bigger person, after all it’s like what your manager Steve said…

‘ The customer is always right.’

“I’ll bring it over for you, m’sorry.” you apologize again, rubbing at your forehead, suddenly overwhelmed with the pressure. With sweat beading at your brows, you look over to see a small queue beginning in front of the till again.

MJ throws you a hurried glance, a look which you know means ‘hurry the fuck up and make these orders.’

You end up taking longer than five minutes to return back to him, run ragged with the new orders of coffees, teas, lattes, macchiatos and hot chocolates that continue to pile up.

“Here you go, sorry about that.” You place his new and correct drink in front of him.

“No worries.” 

You’re almost taken aback by his response. First he snaps at you and now he’s telling you not to worry about it? God , he was so confusing.

“Enjoy.”

You think that you hear a mutter of ‘thanks’ leave his mouth but you don’t turn back to hear his words clearly. Yet… you can’t exactly keep away.

For some reason your brain keeps lingering towards a burning question which has rattled your mind all through the past week. Giving in to your temptations, you end up turning around and prompt Miguel with another question. 

“How did you know ‘Pride and Prejudice’ was set in the 19th century?”

“Huh?” He glances up from his phone, his thumb paused in his mindless scrolling. 

“Last time, when I saw you in the library. You knew it was set in the 19th century.”

“I didn’t.'' Miguel huffs, and your eyes can help but notice the size of his biceps. You estimate that they’re bigger than your fucking hands. “It was an estimated guess.”

“Really? You don’t seem too-”

“Listen.” Miguel quips, his sharp tone suddenly returning, causing your voice to trail off midway through your sentence. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he speaks. “I’m going to try and say this in the nicest way possible, but I’m really not in the mood for some crap about your literature degree, okay? I really couldn’t care less.” 

Ouch.

Your expression drops and you’re immediately aware of the distance between the two of you.

He’s right. You barely know him. He’s just a guy who just so happened to be there at one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. “Right, sorry.” 

You’re about to leave his table before he stops you…again.

“Y’know I ought to tell your manager that you messed up my order.” Miguel begins, continuing to scroll on his phone, not bothering to even look up at you. “This is a very reputable cafe and if you start slacking on the job then…”

“Then what?” You question. “Are you trying to threaten me with a bad review?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say threaten is the right word but…now that you say that perhaps I should write one.”

Your stomach drops at his words. “Oh, you fucking wouldn’t.”

He smirks, still peering down at his phone. “Maybe I would.”

“Bet.”

“Don’t start betting on things that you’ll end up regretting, nena .” 

Your brow raises at his phrase which you don’t entirely understand but you really don’t have time to question it. Your patience is running out as well as your time to get back on track with the orders.

As you walk away from his table, his words seem to settle into your skin. 

He wouldn’t? Would he? No… he hasn’t got the balls to. What kind of person has that amount of free  time on their hands to write a bad review? At least he had gotten his coffee in the end, you were in your right mind not to spill it all over him on purpose.  

“He’s a dick, he’s a dick, he’s a total dick.” You mutter under your breath, making your way back to your station. But you should’ve guessed that from your conversation with him in the library, recalling his mocking tone of your embarrassment. 

You should’ve kept your expectations low if you ever thought that you were going to be friends with him.  

“What did you say?” MJ queries, hearing your mumbles as you join her. 

You nod towards Miguel, still sitting in the far corner scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

“He’s an evil, brooding…” You fail to think of an appropriate ending.

“Dick?” MJ ends.

“Correct.” you say. You promise to yourself that from this moment onwards you are refraining from looking over at that corner. 

You find that time passes quickly during your shift and once the rush hour of students finally dies down, you and MJ get the chance to finally take a break.

“Fucking hell, I never want to do that again.” She murmurs wiping down the surfaces near the coffee machines for any spilt substances.

“Ditto that.” you murmur, grabbing a cloth to wipe down some empty tables. 

Learning that MJ was a performing arts student made you more than happy to get along well with her. She was in her second year, yet in a sea of sickening STEM students here you had real proof that you weren’t the only humanities student.

Take that Miguel.

/

Currently eating dinner alone in your apartment, you reminisce on your day in silence, your roommate out at her weekly computer coding club. You think that it was safe to say that it was a good day today, despite all the stresses at work.

Speaking of work, you recall the conversation from this morning. 

You don’t want to give this Miguel guy too much credit but you’d be lying if you said that his threat earlier didn’t scare the shit out of you for the remainder of your day. 

Even MJ had to ask if you were alright when it got to the end of your shift and you had brushed it off, blaming it on your exhaustion.

He was totally bluffing….right? I mean, he doesn’t even know you.

You bite down on your metallic fork, anxiety rapidly filling you within.

No, you can’t help it. You have to check.

Chewing on your fingernails, you type in the name of the cafe that you work out and head over to the reviews section on Google.

Scrolling down to find the latest reviews, your stomach practically drops at one comment, under the simple username of: @miguelohara20.

‘New barista lacked the ability to do her job. Couldn’t pay attention to even get my order right. Talks way too much unprovoked, to the point where you might as well save some money and make the damn coffee yourself.’

The fucking nerve of this guy causes so much anger within you that your fork practically falls from your other hand as you immediately go to text MJ. You send her a screenshot before typing with fury.

‘Did you see this? This was that guy that I was complaining about earlier: the rude, evil, brooding STEM one.’

Sent: 7:34pm

It’s not long before you receive a reply from MJ and it’s one that makes your stomach drop.

‘Yeah I did :/  Steve texted me about it actually. 

Received: 7:36pm

MJ sends through another text, a few seconds later.

‘He wants a meeting with you on ‘customer etiquette’ !!

Received 7:36pm

Dropping your phone on the table, you let out a groan, holding your head in your hands. Now, this day went from ‘good’ to being the second worst day of your life, now with your job on the line.

Yeah…you think you hate Miguel now.

Chapter Text

“Are you still upset by that review?” Lyla prompts, chewing her morning toast loudly in front of you. 

You groan aloud in response to her comment, auditory proof that if it wasn’t obvious enough by your body language and mood for the past forty eight hours, yes , you were still pissed. 

That– bastard almost cost you your job. Your very first job in fact since you had made it to college and he had almost made you lose it. 

“I swear if I see him around on campus today, there’s no promise that I’ll stop myself from drop-kicking him.” you warn in a low tone as you peer into the fridge searching for something to eat. Your shoulders drop in disappointment as the bare white corners of the refrigerators grimly greet you and your hungry stomach, guess you’ll just have to go grocery shopping later. But for now you think that you can settle on an omelette to satisfy your needs. You take what you need and head over to the counter to prepare your breakfast. 

The meeting on customer etiquette wasn’t too bad. Steve was…nice about it in a slightly condescending way. You just wished that you were given a chance to explain yourself from your own perspective, to try and prove that you weren’t actually trying to be rude.

Although, an upside of the meeting was that you’re now being taught on how to use the machines properly in the cafe.

“He almost cost me my job, Ly’.“ you note to your roommate, cracking two eggs into a bowl before whisking.

“Ah see, key word: almost .” She points out gleefully. “From an optimistic point of view, you still have your job right?”

You huff as you whisk, muttering out a “barely.” Your motions fastened quickly, gripping the whisk tightly. The thought of him proudly posting that comment makes you want to rage and you do so, letting your anger out on the current task of whisking eggs.

You groan aloud again, pouring the beaten eggs into the pan. “I just still can’t believe he did that to me. He barely fucking knows me.”

“Mhmm, like you’ve been saying for the past two days.”

“He’s publicly humiliated me, and now the whole campus knows that I’m the shitty barista at the cafe.”

“Not everyone–” Lyla quips up, a light smile drawn over her lips. “No one reads google reviews, if he really wanted to hurt you he’d go on yelp.” she snorts.

“Lyla, that’s not funny.” you deadpan, turning to face her. 

She raises her hands, seated at the table. “Okay, okay, it’s not like I’ll give him any ideas, I haven't even met the guy myself.”

“It’s hard to miss him.” you mutter under your breath, specifically referring to his height.

“What was that?” Lyla posed, not hearing your response.

“Nothing, nothing, m’sorry I just…it was really embarrassing having to be talked down to by my manager about not doing my job properly, like it was so condescending. If I mess up one more time, then I think I’m gone for good Ly’. Even MJ was surprised to hear me come back.”

“Maybe you should get revenge.” Lyla notes, finishing up the last of her toast.

“What? Like murder him?”

“Woah, woah, hey there missy-"

“ Joking, Lyla.”

A silence creeps in between the two of you, the sound of the eggs frying and Lyla’s crunch of toast being the only sounds in the room. As the scent of the omelette rose in the kitchen, you let yourself get carried away by your thoughts. Only a little bit. You know you said that you wouldn’t think about it anymore but you just can’t stop thinking about wrapping your hand around his large, veiny…

“I think you’re burning your omelette.” Lyla interrupts suddenly and as a result forces you to unconsciously squeak out your ongoing thoughts.

“Neck!” you say aloud.

“What?”

“What?” you repeat after her, dazed and confused.

“I said I think you’re burning your breakfast, babe.”

“Oh shit—”

/

Following your public mishap, you’ve returned to work and eager to start over on a new leaf. MJ shows you all the basic tricks and shortcuts needed for the job which you note step by step in your head. 

It goes smoothly, once you clock in. You make sure to smile at every customer, greet them with a cheerful tone, trying hard to put in all of your efforts to make up for what happened last week. So far it looks like no one really knows about the bad review online and you loosen up at the thought.

Lyla was right, you think. You had absolutely nothing to worry about. 

MJ agrees too, praising you a few hours into your shift. “You’ve seemed to handle it well. Most people would have crumbled for good after having a talk with Steve.” You nod eagerly at her words, your eyes brightening up slightly.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do if he comes in again?” She asks, referencing back to your crude insult directed at him.

Sure, you had thought about a way to get revenge. In fact you had compiled a list of ways to get him to delete the review, that’s the only way that you’ll truly be able to move on from the situation. 

Hesitating, you think about your answer before you speak, choosing from the list of possible methods to convince him. 

“I’ll kill him with kindness.” you say, smiling before you hand the next customer a drink.

MJ hums. “And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll make him regret it.”

That’s all you get the chance to say before the devil himself walks into the cafe. MJ gives you a nudge, signaling you to get back to the till and take his order. This is the first time you’ve seen him since you’ve found out about the review.

Pulling on a fake smile and exaggerating your cheerful tone, you greet the tall and brooding customer in front of you. 

“Good morning, what would you like today?” you greet, an eager smile on your face.

Miguel cocks up a brow, peering down at you. You don’t seem bothered in the slightest. He wonders if you’ve even read the comment yet.

 “Coffee, with oat milk, no sugar.” His face remains deadpan. You hum lightly, tapping his order into the till. You watch him pay, swiping his card without a second glance.

 “I’ll bring it right over for you.” 

MJ prepares his order for him whilst you get through the rest of the queue.

Just like before, you walk over to his table, isolated from the rest of the people in the cafe. You figure that he’s a loner in general and judging by his behavior, it’s not hard to see why.

“The nerve that you have.” you murmur, practically placing down his coffee with so much aggression that the hot liquid overspills on the table.

“Excuse me?” He frowns, his brows furrowed deeply, creating a crease. 

Awh. He’s playing innocent.

“Your review. I saw it.”

He takes a moment before speaking again, his frown now switching back to a sort of smug face.“I was wondering if you saw that.” He mumbles. “What’d you think about it?” 

That smile. That goddamn smile. You think you picked up his eyes lighting up just as the pure mention of the review. What a sadistic man.

You hold back a smirk as his eyes meet yours. They’re playful, teasing. He barely knows who you are yet plays into the temptation of learning how to push your buttons.

You batter your eyelashes on purpose, remembering to stick to your method of kindness. 

“Anything else I can get for you, Miguel ?”

His name slips easily from your mouth in a sultry tone. You weren’t really expecting that to come out of you and judging by the way that Miguel’s eyes widened slightly, you think that he wasn’t expecting it either. He sort of likes the way you make his name sound like that.

“Nope I’m good for now. Pretty good service today, maybe last week was a fluke.”

“Maybe it was.” you say and suddenly your hopes are raised. Here’s your chance. 

“Perhaps my service is good enough to take down the review now?” you propose, a smile printed across your face falsely. You take out a tissue from the metal box on his table and lean down to wipe away the split remnants of his coffee.

Your face is so close to his, you can practically feel his eyes bore into your skull as you wipe his table clean.

Miguel is so focused on you that he doesn’t even notice the words slipping from his lips. “I’ll think about it.”

“Really?” You glance up, now eye-level with him as you’re half bent over the table. Miguel leans closer to you, his face just a few centimeters away from yours. Your stomach fills with anxiety and apprehension but you’re not really sure why. His eyes never leave yours and you’re fighting every single muscle in your body to keep your own latched onto his own brown and intimidating eyes. 

Miguel hums lowly, his voice low and rough as he whispers. “But you’re gonna have to try better than that if you want the review taken down, nena. I can practically smell the desperation from you. It’s…sad.”

Right there and then you swore that you have never wanted to kick a guy in the balls. You hate his cocky attitude and the way that he looks at you, his eyes mocking you without a single word.

You have to take a deep breath to calm yourself, shutting your eyes. You stand up fully, crumpling the paper tissue in your hand. “Fine. Keep your stupid review.”

“What?”

“Keep it up. You’ll regret it.”

Miguel snorts, clearly judging you. “Should I be scared?”

“I dunno’.” you say, tilting your head. This time you’re not afraid to keep eye contact with him. He doesn't scare you and you shouldn't let him know how intimidated you are by him.

The two of you observe each other for a few seconds, waiting to see who’ll back down first. Your fists are clenched by your sides, your body and mind screaming at you to look away. 

And unfortunately, you end up giving in to your natural instincts.

Miguel opens his mouth to say something to you, probably something to annoy you even further until his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out immediately and silently reads an incoming message that’s popped up on his home screen.

That frown that you once saw at the beginning of the conversation had now returned. This time his expression seemed a little more…unsettled.

“I gotta go.” He says abruptly, before downing his latte. Your eyes can't help but notice the way that his Adam apple moves as he drinks the beverage, causing the uneasy tension to return back to your stomach… again .

“You should get back to work.” He mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t keep the queue waiting because then you’ll actually start living up to the review, y’know?”

You’re quick to open your mouth to voice back a quick-witted reply when MJ calls out your name. You turn back to see her glancing over at you from the coffee machines.

“Hey! A little help here?”

Your shoulders sag at the thought of leaving your goal unaccomplished. Shuffling away from his table, you move back to your station, entirely missing the way that Miguel turns back to look at you before he leaves.

Looks like he wins this one.

For the time being.

You - Nil 

Miguel - 1

Chapter Text

“Tomato soup or chicken soup?”

“Well which one is cheaper?” 

“Tomato.”

“Get that one then.”

“Have I ever told you that you're sooooo incredibly helpful?” Lyla mutters out, pushing the grocery cart as you stumble behind texting on your phone. You’re barely looking at where you’re walking as you text your mom.

Today, you had 2 missed calls that you genuinely missed. One occurred whilst you were on your shift and the other whilst you were in a lecture. Currently, you were relaying your excuses to your mother and failing to convince her that you were completely fine at college.

“Right, we need some yogurt and eggs.” Lyla announces, searching around for the specific aisles.

“Uh-huh.” you say absentmindedly, your neck still craned down to your phone. Due to this, you miss Lyla’s smirk as she peers over at you.

“And we also need an inflatable pool and trampoline for our backyard.”

You hum again, thumbs working at double speed.

“ Girl , we don’t have a backyard. You really aren’t listening are you?” Lyla sighs. You hum again, still distracted. “You know what? I’ll just meet you at the checkout.”

You raise your head to look at your roommate, finally listening. “Right, we could do that.” You begin to walk over to another aisle to get some personal stuff for yourself before your phone rings.

Reading the caller ID, you internally panic at the sight of your mom calling you. Obviously by now she must be sick of texting you, wanting to hear your voice instead. Looking around, your brain goes haywire in trying to think of an excuse. After a few seconds, you reluctantly give in and swipe to accept the call. 

“Hello?”

“ Oh, what a miracle ! My daughter finally answers the phone after ignoring me for almost a month!”

The sarcastic tone of your mother, echoes loudly in your ear. You wince as you beg to speak but she interrupts you.

“It’s barely been a month mom–” 

“And you barely stay on the line for more than 2 minutes when I call you.”

“I'm just a little busy, I swear.” You grimace as you speak. 

“You’re not having trouble paying rent are you? Because if you are then I could ask Uncle Robert for some money. Or is it trouble finding a job?  Honey, if you’re having any problems–”

“I’m not having problems mom. I’ve found a job and I’m paying the rent just fine.”

Your mother ignores your reassurances, her intonation high in stress. “Is your roommate nice? Are they clean? Tidy? Have manners?”

“Yes, yes and yes. She's great.”

“Listen, I know you’re sick of me calling you but I just wanted to know that I– well we — get worried about you sometimes. You’re so far away from us and–”      

“I know, I know and I promise to call more…I’m just really busy, y’know with work and shifts and lectures and homework and…”

“I’m sure you have time in your day to call me honey, even if it’s just for five minutes.”

“I really don’t–”

“I hear all these stories about college kids getting up to no good and I just get so worried that you’ll get caught up too—”

“I’m really not—”

“Is that why you don’t call me? Because you’re out with bad people?”

“What?” You frown at her comment. How the fuck did she jump to that conclusion? ”Mom, no I’m not with bad people. In fact I’ve made some really good–”

“You just need to tell me if there’s a problem because clearly there is one if you’re not calling me as much.”

“ Mom –” you can barely get a word in edgeways as she interrupts.You hastily avoid people in the supermarket aisle, becoming increasingly frustrated and overwhelmed in a matter of seconds. 

“Just be honest sweetheart, you can tell me anything, you know that right?”

“Mom will you just listen to me—” you attempt to speak, your tone becoming even more desperate as you simultaneously try to make your way past a crowd of people shopping. Why the fuck does everyone and their mother seem to in the same fucking aisle right now?

“I'm here for you darling, if you ever want to drop out of college–”

“Mom, I have a boyfriend okay?”

“What?”

You pause in the middle of the candy aisle, unable to ignore all the halloween candy already up on sale. A beat of silence passed on the phone. You pulled a face, full of absolute disgust at the words that you had just said aloud to your mother. Your mouth was agape, unable to give a reply.

You swallowed thickly, your mind still panicking. 

“What did you say?” your mother questioned.

Yep. You were in it now. No take backs. 

“I–I have a boyfriend.” you repeat, your voice shaking. You weren’t even aware of what you were saying anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“It– it all just happened really fast.” you blurted out.

“Is he a good guy?”

“Uhh–yeah, yeah.”

“What’s his name honey? Oh! You can bring him over for me to meet him at thanksgiving!”

Shit.

“What was that honey?”

“Nothing Mom.” you pull another face at her almost hearing you curse. The next words leave your mouth in a flurry of unintelligible language.

“Ineedtogonow,I’llcallyoutomorrow.”

“Promise me.” she quipped quickly before you could hang up.

“I promise.” Was that another lie? You can’t tell anymore at this rate. 

“Okay, stay saf–” You hit the hang up button before she can finish.

Shit . Shit . Shit . What the fuck did you just do?

Your body is frozen. You're standing in the middle of the aisle, unable to comprehend what you have just done. People merely walk past you and you’re only brought back to reality by the sound of Lyla’s voice.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve just committed the worst crime on the planet.” If lying to your mother ever counted as the worst crime of humanity then you deserve to be punished for the rest of your life.

“I’m fine. Did you need anything else?” You changed the subject as soon as possible. Not just for Lyla’s sake of not catching on but also for your own. You need a distraction from what had just happened.

“I think we’ve got everything, unless you still have stuff that you still need to grab?”

You shake your head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lyla raises a brow, a concerned look appearing on her face.

“M’fine.”

“Let’s go to the checkout then shall we?”

You’re left trailing again this time instead of your phone, you’re distracted by the thoughts that were running through your head.

How the fuck are you going to get out of this one? And where the fuck are you going to get a boyfriend from? You’ve completely dropped yourself in a lie that you cannot physically maintain. 

You watched on silently as Lyla began to pack on the items onto the checkout treadmill.  Anxiously, you chew at your nails, running over the conversation with your mother once more.

Oh god, oh god, why did you say that? You’re so stupid, stupid, stupid—

“Looks like you’re having a good day so far.”

Immediately you’re coaxed out of your thoughts by the sound of a stranger's voice addressing you. It was the till worker.

“ Huh? Oh me? I–”

“I was joking by the way. You do not look like you’re having a good day at all.” The man points out, swiping the items.

“I agree.” Lyla hums, packing the shopping items. Suddenly you felt useless, looking around for things to do. Anything to get this attention away from you. The till worker seemed to be young, around your age you’ll assume. 

Glancing down at his namepin, you squint to see the bold text say ‘Peter’.

“I mean I’ve been having a pretty bad day myself. First, I got in late because my alarm didn’t go off because my phone died. I mean I have no idea why my battery always runs out when they release a new version of the phone, it’s stupid really. And then I dropped cans of beans on my foot whilst stocking up one of the aisles which hurt like a total bit–”

“Oh god, that happened to me once.” Lyla interrupts.

You frown. “When has that ever happened to you ly’?”

“I was in Mexico–”

Peter suddenly gasped, scanning through a pack toilet roll. “You know my roommate Miguel actually–

“Miguel?” You blurt out suddenly.

“Yeah, do you know him?”

You freeze, the eyes of your roommate and the cashier now on you.

“Something like that. But uh– of course you might be talking about a completely different person.” you awkwardly chuckle. You hoped to the heavens above that this was not the Miguel that you were thinking of.

Peter frowns. “Is he tall and mean?”

You nod wordlessly.

“Yep, that's him then.”

“Oh god, you won’t believe what he did to her–” Lyla begins before you slap a hand across her mouth. Peter raises a brow quizzical, pausing his movements.

“Nothing! He’s done absolutely nothing. He’s a great guy.” You lie through clenched teeth.

Peter studies the two of you before swiping through the last few items. You quickly pack them into your bags hoping that Peter will brush off the weird behavior from the two of you. Lyla stares at you for your weird behavior, wondering why you had lied but she picks up on the signal and decides to say nothing more. For now. 

And thankfully Peter does move on. “Yeah, he really is a great guy. I mean once you’ve survived the grumpy side of him that is, but I think he’s beginning to show off his sweet spot now. He didn’t even snap at me this morning, so that’s a good sign right? Compared to last week he was reallyyyy pissed off and I have no idea why— oh, that’s it, your total is $35.71.”

Lyla rummages for her purse and your hand slowly peels away from her face.

“That’s great, that’s really great to hear.” You say almost robotically. Deep down, you begin to wonder how a guy like Miguel copes with Peter. They’re practically opposites.

“You’re a first year right?” Lyla asks, tapping her card on the reader.

Peter hums, “Studying biochem. How about you?”

You barely listen to the conversation between Lyla and Peter as they both gush about… STEM things. You think you’ll have to forcefully drag Lyla away before she starts talking about her coding club again.

“Hey, you work in that cafe on campus right?”

You’re caught off guard when Peter asks you this question. Unfortunately you make it clear enough that you were not listening to the conversation. “Yeah, yeah that’s me.” You cringe internally, thinking that perhaps Miguel has already told the story of your horrible barista skills. You can picture it already, the two of them laughing at it on the couch together, mocking—

“I rarely see you in the cafe…” you point out, shaking your head subtly as if to physically get rid of that vision.

“Oh.” Peter murmurs, a shade of pink beginning on his cheeks which lead to the tips of his ears. “MJ serves me most of the time so…” He avoids eye contact with you, drawing up the receipt for Lyla. 

Ah. You’re quick to get it. He’s got a crush.

“Well it was nice to meet you Peter, feel free to come join us at Coding club.” Lyla reiterates. “Every wednesday 6pm, the computer suite!”

“Noted.” Peter does a little salute at her.

Lyla’s already making her way out of the store and you’re not far behind until you abruptly come to a halt.

Turning around, you swiftly make your way back to Peter before he serves the next customer.

“Hey Peter, can I ask a favor from you?”

Chapter Text

Miguel would be lying if he said that he’s been able to sleep well lately.

He’s been lucky to get any sleep at all.

He’s managed to fit into the college lifestyle pretty decently. He’s set up a routine that he follows religiously: Wake up, work out, coffee, read up on pre-lecture notes,  lectures, eat, work shift, lab work, eat, study, read up on his post-lecture notes, sleep and repeat. 

That's all he can do here. Ever since he’s arrived onto campus he’s been successful in maintaining a bubble away from…all of that shit going on at home. It’s been a pretty useful distraction.

But…something that he can’t consciously admit to himself, is that being in a bubble means leaving everything that’s going on at home on a backburner. 

Miguel stares up at his ceiling from his bed, his hands behind his head, resting on his pillow. If he stares for long enough then he can just about match up patterns from the wall paint and if he stares for even longer than that, then they start to slowly move. He’s been awake for a few hours now, only managing to make it to around 3am before waking up or rather jolting awake. But he’s used to early mornings. Always was.

Unexpectedly, his phone begins to vibrate on his bedside table. He frowns, his alarm isn’t due to go off for five more minutes. Leaning onto his side, he peers over at whomever is calling him at this hour. His screen brightens up with the caller ID.

‘Gabriel is calling….’

Miguel stares at the phone for what seems like forever until it stops ringing. 

A minute later, just when he thought he was in the clear, text messages began to come through. One right after the other. 

Gabriel:  (sent 6:56am)

- I know you’re awake mig’

- Look, if you’re not going to answer, fair enough, but you’re going have to face it and communicate with us one day.

(sent 6:57am)

- Just talk to mama, por favor. If not now then it’ll be worse at thanksgiving.

- Trust me.

Miguel places the phone down after reading the messages from his home screen. He chews on his bottom lip, a mix of emotions beginning to grow in his gut. He’s not sure what they are exactly but they seem to make up the familiar combination of anxiety, guilt and fear. He curses to himself under his breath, rubbing his hands across his face.

‘Por dios, you’re so pathetic. Tonto, what are you doing?’ [fool]

He can’t help but reflect on his avoidant behavior, he knows what he’s doing but he just can’t seem to muster up the courage to face his problems. He knows that going to college is essentially him avoiding his problems and he knows that he’s in the wrong for leaving his brother to try and pick up the pieces despite Miguel supposing to be the older sibling.

 Falling back into his avoidant behavior Miguel pushes his thoughts away with a sigh and forcefully drags his limbs out of bed.

He’s about to head to the bathroom to brush his teeth when another text comes through from Gabriel.

And this one is impossible to ignore. 

Gabriel: (sent 6:01am)

- ‘Also…why is your car for sale on Craigslist?’

- ‘For 69 bucks?’

Miguel: (sent 6:01am)

- What?’

/

“Girl, are you okay?” 

MJ’s voice snaps you back out from reality and you stumble over your words in giving a reply.

“What? Oh, uh– yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” 

It was an obvious lie, but MJ doesn’t get paid enough to deep dive into your problems and judging by your body language you’d rather she not say anything at all anyways.

Telling your mother – or rather — lying to your mother that you had a boyfriend has to be one of the stupidest things that you have ever done. And trust me, you have done many stupid things. 

But where the fuck were you going to get a boyfriend? And most importantly, who?

Lyla had suggested Peter at first and you had too but that was before you realized that he had an ever-growing crush on MJ. And like I said, you don’t get paid enough to care but you’re pretty sure that she likes him back. Now more than ever, you’ve been noticing them together, often third wheel to their awkward but cute interactions together. He’s nervous and chatty but she’s a good listener and you figure that they balance each other out.

Now only if you could find someone like that. Someone that your mom would believe that you’re dating. Maybe you should ask Peter if he has any friends who are available. Maybe you could–

Your thoughts are disrupted by the sound of MJ calling your name. You glance over to the counter to where she’s serving a customer and by the looks of it…it’s a very well-known customer.

“Someone wants to see you.” 

As she tells you so, you can’t help but notice her tone indicating a tone of flirtation between you and this particular customer but once you see the look on his face, you know that it will never get to that point.

Miguel is the one standing by the counter and a chill runs down your spine when you meet his eyes. He’s staring at you, unblinking, with his jaw forcibly clenched.

Shit, you think, he definitely knows by now.

“Uh, sure.” You say, putting down the towel that you were currently wringing with your hands. As you make your way around the counter you try your best not to look nervous as you approach him.

“Outside.” He murmurs, his tone and face grave.

You follow him without a single word, a hole of anxiety opening up in the pit of your stomach.

The two of you make it outside, the bitter October air nipping at your bare arms. Wrong day to wear a short sleeved shirt, you think to yourself, attempting to distract your mind from the tension of the conversation that you’re about to have. You can feel your cheeks begin to go cold and you cross your arms in a failed attempt to maintain your warmth.

“What the fuck is this?” Miguel shows you his phone screen. 

You could tell he was seething, despite him seeming to maintain his calm externally. His phone screen is open on a website browser illustrating an advert for a car and you recognise that it’s his car.

It was your advert.

You squint your eyes, pretending like you’ve never seen it before. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Don’t keep up the bullshit. I know it was you. Who else would do this shit for revenge?”

You shug, attempting to seem nonchalant.  “Maybe you have a lot of enemies out there Miguel, especially with the way that you treat people.”

Miguel frowns, a crease appearing between his brows. He opens his mouth to speak yet you manage to beat him to it.

“How’d you even know that was me? It’s not nice to throw accusations around y’know?” 

Miguel snorts. “And you know what else is not fucking nice? Selling other people’s cars!”

At the sound of his raised voice, you look around to see if there was anyone approaching. It was early morning, the morning lecture coffee rush awaited you in just fifteen minutes. By then you had to get rid of Miguel. 

You were infuriating him by the second, it was beginning to grow clear that your innocent trick was not working. That deep pit of anxiety in your stomach began to grow larger and larger, your palms getting sweaty in the process. 

“Maybe I wouldn’t have done it if you were a little nicer to people and if you hadn’t posted that review.”

“Oh, so it was you?”

Shit.

Miguel continues on. “It’s illegal to sell other people’s property without permission, you know that right?”

“Of course I do.” you lied. You stammer for a few seconds, searching for an excuse. “You nearly made me lose my job for fuck’s sake.”

“You didn’t lose it.”

“Nearly!”

“But you’re still here aren’t you?”

You groan aloud, not believing the words that are coming out of his mouth. “You’re acting like such a jerk, are you not even going to try and understand that what you did to me was wrong?"

"No, because it was never on the level like selling my car on the internet for basically no price at all!"

You cross your arms. “You don’t even have proof that it was me. That’s not my email account.” 

He clicks his tongue. “Quit the lying, it doesn’t look good on you. Plus, Peter told me you were looking for my car.”

Remember earlier when you said that lying to your mother about having a boyfriend was the stupidest thing that you had done? Yeah, well scratch that.

“You could get criminally charged for this, do you realize that? Attempted theft or whatnot. And then not only would you lose your job but it’d get you suspended from the university too.”

Your face falls. “I wasn’t actually going to sell it–”

“But it seems like you didn’t think about that did you?” His tone was venomous, sharp enough to cause physical pain to you.. You can’t help but feel as if he was getting some sort of pleasure out of this, out of threatening you. “Not so smart are you? I’m almost glad that I caught you, if Peter didn’t tell me–”

“If you’re going to go to the cops then I’ll take full blame.” You interrupt. “Peter had nothing to do with this.”

Miguel raises a brow. “I didn’t think you’d take full responsibility.”

“Yeah, well I don’t like to do bad things to innocent people.” you spat.

“Innocent?” He repeats. “Wow, tienes sentido del humor.” [ ‘you’re quite the comedian’ / you have a sense of humor’] 

You bite down on your lip. “I'll take it down but you promise not to drag Peter into this?”

Miguel nods. “You have till the end of the day to take it down.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“You won’t call the cops on me?”

He shrugs. “I can’t promise that I won’t and–” Miguel points a finger at you to stop your interruption. “There’s nothing that you can say that would change my mind if I do.”

Your shoulders defleat. Great. You’ve just somehow managed to make your life a living hell all for the satisfaction of revenge.

“Oh.” He turns around to face you. “And for your information, I deleted the review ages ago.”

It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. Oh great .

“You fucking–”

“What? Bastard? Jerk? Go ahead, call me all of the names you want, nena . Don’t you think that you’ve done enough damage for once?”

Ouch. You’re not even sure how to respond to his last comment. 

You remain silent as you stand on the curb watching Miguel leave, your fists are curled up by your sides. Your nails dig into your palms until it hurts, trying to distract your mind from the full tsunami of anxiety that paralyzes your body.

What the fuck do you do now?

You don’t think that your life could get any worse than this. Not by a mile. In less than 48 hours you’ve managed to be not only a liar but a criminal.

As you step into the cafe there might as well be a visible gray cloud over your head. MJ knows not to ask any questions as you return back to your station. She gives you a longing look, wordlessly asking if you were okay. Ignoring it, you keep your head down, trying to bite back your tears until the end of the shift. 

‘Keep it in until the end of your shift.’ you told yourself. ‘Keep it all in.’

You: still nil*

Miguel: 2

*[point redacted due to illegal activity]

Chapter Text

You’re an idiot. 

And a failure.

Some would suggest a mixture of both.

Following your shift, you went straight back to your dorm room, not bothering to hang out on campus for any moment longer. A benefit of studying the fine craft of English Literature is that you have plenty of independent study hours, a little more than the average college student. Of course, this time should be spent reading, planning and writing essays for your upcoming assignments, but you barely make it down the first page of a Jane Austen novel without bursting into tears.

Ever since your conversation, Miguel’s words repeatedly ring in your ear. His tone and his judgemental facial expression are permanently indented in your mind. 

‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage for once?’

As much as you hate the guy you can’t help but agree with him. What the fuck did you expect to happen when you set up the advert for his car? That he would get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness? Of course not. 

You’re planning to head straight underneath your covers,  ready to cry yourself to sleep for the rest of the day when you hear your phone vibrate from the bottom of your bag. After delving through numerous books, notepads, wasted receipts and tissues do you finally find it. And your stomach drops once you see the caller ID.

‘Mom’

And that was just what you needed to make you cry harder. 

Sobbing, you collapse to the floor, your mind and body completely frustrated with yourself. If you could dig a deep hole to bury yourself into, you would. If you could press a button to get yourself off this cursed planet, you would. If you could just have the chance to not fuck up your life for one, single second…you would take in a heartbeat.

Midway through your breakdown, a  knock was heard at your door. Soon followed by the sound of your roommate calling out your name. Your sobs come to a halt, a hand over your mouth to silence yourself. 

And if you could magically turn invisible to spare you from the embarrassment of your roommate catching you having a breakdown on your bedroom floor, you most definitely would.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t reply, frowning at the sound of her voice. 

You thought that Lyla was out today, it’s past midday and you assumed that she was out on campus. To be fair, you didn’t really pay attention to your surroundings once you walked into the apartment. You were much too preoccupied in getting to your room before your emotions had gotten the better of you.

“Can I come in?”

You make no reply again. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel a migraine begin as a result of your crying.

“Please?” Her voice is muffled from the outside. “I want to help you.”

Her tone is soft, not like the usual ring of playfulness and teasing. You’ve only known her for a little over a month but you can tell that she’s being genuine. 

Making it to your feet, you walk over to the door and allow yourself to let her in. To allow yourself to be seen by your roommate with makeup running down your cheeks and tear stains all over your shirt.

“Oh, my love, what’s wrong?” She murmurs, stepping into the room before shutting the door behind her. 

“Everything.” You croak out. A fresh set of tears begin to creep up, ready to overspill down your cheeks again. Lyla says no more, instead taking you into her arms, allowing you to cry your heart away.

Your cathartic moment lasts for a good ten minutes before your body and mind are totally exhausted. Lyla rubs tiny circles on your back whilst you hiccup away on your bed. It’s silent between you too, the autumn sun already setting in the distance. You don’t even know how long you’ve been cooped up in your room ever since you arrived from work. 

“I know what will cheer you up.”  Lyla smiles, waiting for the moment that curiosity hits you.

“What?”

/

Late night clubbing. 

That was Lyla’s medicine. And to be honest, what’s a better treatment than getting blackout drunk to forget all of your shitty problems?

You’re currently in a club that you don’t know the name of. It’s local, not too far from campus and actually not too far from your apartment. It reminds you that you’ve not yet had the chance to explore the city; being so caught up in work, assignments and readings does unfortunately take up the majority of your time.

It’s a small club with very loud music pounding in your ears, the stench of sweat and spilled alcohol is something that you’ve now grown accustomed to after spending the past two hours here. You can barely hear the things that Lyla is saying to you as she orders countless drinks for the both of you.

Right now, you’re on a high. Your entire body feels light and your vision is slightly blurry but you can’t tell as to whether that’s because of the lighting. You can barely remember the meltdown that you had earlier, it seemed like a lifetime ago to you. 

After Lyla had found you, she helped you get ready for tonight. You’re slightly surprised that a simple face full of makeup and a short dress with some heels would have cheered you up so easily. You’re happy, happily drinking away your sorrows. The small part of your conscience that remains sober warns of how much you’ll regret it in the morning. And just like any other drunk person would do, you ignore it.

“I can’t hear you!” you shout across to Lyla, failing to lip-read her sentence. 

Lyla draws in closer, the scent of her cherry lime tequila on her lips. “I wanna go talk to that girl in the corner.” She mumbles in your ear, now loud enough for you to hear. “Behind me.”

As subtle as you can, you try and take a peek behind Lyla. Squinting, you spot a girl in a black dress in the back corner of the club. She looks around about your age and you’d assume that she’s a first year too. She holds a pink drink, standing with her own group of friends. Every now and then, you notice the girl glancing towards where you and Lyla are standing. 

“Oh, girl….”

“I know right! She’s so hot.”

You look back at Lyla, a smile creeping across your face. “Go for it.”

“Lemme take a shot first, y’know? For my confidence.” Giggling, the two of you approach the bar. It’s busy for a weekday evening but you assume that with halloween coming up, most people are in the mood for a night out. 

Taking the shot, the liquid burns the back of your throat and the two of you pull disgusted faces at the taste. Brushing herself off, Lyla prepares to make her way over. 

“Right, do I look okay?” She dabs a little lip gloss across her lips.

“Gorgeous, girl.” You pat her on the shoulders. “You got this!”

Lyla blows you a kiss goodbye, “I’ll text you if anything happens!” You give her a little thumbs up, watching her make her way over to the girl and her group of friends. A smile slips across your lips at Lyla’s ease of making a conversation, slipping easily into the group.

You turn back, ready to order another drink when you spot a familiar set of eyes from across the other side of the bar. Your smile drops at the sight of Miguel. 

“Oh, fuck me.” you mumbled.

Ignore him. That was your plan. Ordering another shot, you decide to drink away the embarrassment of your conversation earlier. You’re not even facing him but you can feel his eyes practically bore into you. Unfortunately, you didn’t look long enough to see who he was with but you hope that he gets the hint and chooses to avoid your awkward situation. 

Your hopes come crashing down at the sound of his voice close, very close to you. Just a little turn of your head and you find him standing next to you. 

“Don’t you think you should slow down a little?” He judges the pair of shots that you hold in your hands.

“And don’t you think that you should mind your own business? How long have you been watching me?”

“I wasn’t watching.”

“Right,” You pause to take both of the shots, one right after the other. Sure, you were doing a little extra, but if anyone else was in your situation they would do the same.

 “And I’m totally trying not to get black out drunk.” You mutter sarcastically, wincing immediately at the after taste.

“Any reason why you’re doing so?”

You snort at his question. Typical. He threatens to call the police on you and now asks why you’re trying to drown your sorrows in cheap alcohol? Men are idiots.

“Why are you even talking to me? Shouldn’t you be busy calling the police on me?” You didn’t hide the frustration in your voice, fiddling with the empty shot glasses in your hands.

Miguel hesitates. That’s a good question. A question that he unfortunately doesn’t have the answer to. But you’re not going to wait around for an answer.

“I’m going to get another shot so if you don’t mind, please leave me alone.”

“Don’t you have a shift tomorrow?”

Shit .

 You do. An early one too and if you don’t go home now then you’re looking at getting four to five hours sleep max.

But you’re not going to admit that to him. You shrug. “So what?”

“You need to go home.”

“And you need to leave me alone.” You’re already sounding drunk, the multiple drinks that you’ve consumed over the past few hours building up in your system and not in a good way. “I’m waiting for my roommate, she’s somewhere over there.” You stumble a little as you point to the back of the club.

Immediately, Miguel’s hands move to steady you. His large hands touch your waist, keeping you in place. Heat abruptly rises throughout your body, his actions having more of an effect on you than you’d like to admit. 

“And you need to go home.” He repeats, his tone a little more stern. 

“I said–”

Your sentence is interrupted as you feel your phone vibrate. The screen glows, illuminating your face as you read the texts that pop up on your home screen.

Lylaaaaaaa :) - (Sent at 2:23am)

- I tried looking for you, where did you go? :(((( xx

- also…I’m not coming home tonight wink wink

- Get home safe okay? xx text me when you make it back xx get an uber please!  xxxxxx

A sigh leaves your throat, your mood dejected. “She’s not coming back.” you mumble to yourself.

For some superhuman reason that you cannot understand, Miguel manages to hear you over the pounding music.

“I’ll take you home.”

You’re taken aback at his suggestion, your brain malfunctioning for a few seconds.

“Uhmmm, no.”

“Why–”

“Because.” You cut him off before he can even finish.

“That’s not a reason, nena . You can barely stand.”

“Because I hate you and I want nothing to do with you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Drunk enough to know that I still fucking hate you.”

“I should be the one hating you.” he scoffs. “You were the one who tried to sell my car.”

Your anger suddenly boils at the mention of it. You drunkenly point a finger at him, your nail tapping his chest as you speak. “Because you were a fucking asshole to me and wrote a fucking mean ass review about me!”

Miguel scoffs. “You did all this because I was rude to you? Por favorrr Dios, dame fuerza.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a breath. [Please God, give me strength.] “So when your boss criticizes your work you’re just gonna go out and break the law for some petty revenge?” 

“But you’re not my boss, that’s the difference.”

“And if I was, I'd fire you in a heartbeat.”

You meet his eyes, the two of you staring at each other unmoving as the music continues. The atmosphere of the club is beginning to get heavy. It’s getting harder to breathe with every minute that passes. You’re not sure whether that’s because there’s too many people here right now or if it’s because you’ve locked eyes with Miguel O’hara.

“I hate you.”

“Ditto here, nena .”

“M’going.” you announce abruptly, turning away from him. You barely make it a few steps away from him before a hand tightly grabs your wrist. You turn back expecting to see Miguel and forcefully push the figure away from you as hard as you can. 

“Hey! What the fuck? You made me spill my drink!”  are the words of the mouth of a complete stranger. 

“Oh shit–”

The stranger's expression turns to an angry frown yet he quickly disappears from view as Miguel stands between the two of you.

“Maybe keep your hands to yourself then, compa.” 

Miguel grabs you gently by the arm pulling you away. “Quick, before he gets angry. I think this asshole’s drunk.” He mumbles in your ear, his voice low and raspy.

“Who’s paying for my drink?” are the words that you leave behind to be swallowed up by the music.

Miguel takes you swiftly through the crowd, his height paying off in getting people to move out the way for him. “I’m taking you back to your dorm room. No ifs or buts.”

You barely have an argument to reply back with, your mind preoccupied with trying to make sense of that situation. 

Before you know it, you come to a halt in front of a table where a girl who you assume is your age is seated with a drink in her hand. Another person who you don’t know the name of is by her side. Her face lights up at the sight of you and Miguel.

“Jess, I’m going to take her home.”

“Whoa, whoa–”

He sighs, “Ay por dios– not my home. I’m taking her back to her dorm room, she’s someone I know and her drunk ass is gonna pass out any second.”

You observe Miguel’s friend in front of you, golden hoop earrings glistening under the club’s disco lights. You can’t pull your eyes away from her hair, black curls shaping her face.

“You’re really pretty!” you sob, tears beginning to blur your vision.

“Uhhh…thank you?” She raises a brow. “You too!”

You sob even harder, turning to Miguel. “She called me pretty!”

“And we’re going.”

Before you know it you’re whisked off, waving goodbye to a friend that you wanted to get to know better.

Stepping outside of the club, the cool air hits your body. The late October chill makes you shiver, almost regretting your decision at not bringing a thicker coat. Miguel keeps his hand on your wrist, he’s not holding you too tightly but just enough for you to keep your balance. He keeps close to your body, the warmth of him radiating over to your own. You hate it. How much you needed him. 

To keep you warm. Of course. That was all.

“I hate you, Miguel O’hara.”

“Uh-huh, you keep telling me that.”

“Just making sure that you don’t forget.”

“I sure won’t.”

You hate it. You hate him and his sarcastic attitude, his confidence and his ego. If he wasn’t so goddamn rude then you might have been more willing to accept the idea that you were attracted to him.

“You ruined my life.”

“You did that to yourself, nena .”

Silence comes between the two of you as you ponder on his words. The realization hits you abruptly. 

“I did, didn't I?”

You stop in your tracks, causing Miguel to do the same, his hand still around your wrist.

“Oh, please don’t start crying again–”

“I’m such a bad person,” you begin. “I-I-I ruined my life by trying to sell your car and I nearly got fired at my first ever job and I lied to my mom… I lied to my mom.” you emphasize.

Miguel shugs, “We all have, haven't we?”

“I lied to my mom about having a boyfriend!” You exclaimed. “And– and–and I’m a terrible daughter and I deserve death! and–and—

“ Hey , hey , don’t say that about yourself.” Miguel’s voice is stern, forcing you to look at him.

“But I lied and now she– she’s expecting me to bring someone over for thanksgiving and I don’t have anyone because I’m a liar and a criminal and I’m going to prison!” you sob harder, kneeling on the ground.

Miguel loses his grip on your wrist as you crouch down, crying. 

He looks around, searching for anybody nearby to help you and this…state that you’re in. But of course, there’s no one around on campus at two in the morning and he curses under his breath.

Bending down slightly, he decides to try the softer approach.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed and you can sleep and forget that this never happened.”

You lift up your head, tears dripping from your chin. “No. I- I won’t forget, I’ll just remember it all over again and– and –”

“Hey, look at me.” Your eyes meet his, this time with makeup dissolving down your face.  “I promise you’ll go to sleep and forget all about this okay? I promise.”

“Do you pinky promise?” You hold out your pinky in front of him. 

“I pinky-promise.” He sighs.

You shake your head, pouting. “No, you have to link with me.” He’s reluctant but it’s done and sealed for good. 

Slowly but surely he manages to get you to stand up again and starts to get you to walk. Through your drowsing speech he manages to figure out where you live based on which building you point to and he thanks the gods above that you don’t live far away from campus.

As you get nearer to your apartment, your tears slow down and you manage to recollect yourself, hiccuping every now and then as your sobs quieten down. You’re tired. Exhausted even. And you can’t wait for your head to hit the pillow. 

“Are you alright?” Miguel asks as you now approach your apartment building. 

You nod silently. He won’t try to get you to say anything anymore. 

He helps you up the flight of stairs, making sure that you don’t topple over. You grip his bicep for support, trying not to think about his scent, or the way he looks at you or the close proximity between the two of you as he helps you up each step.

You’ll question why he did all this tomorrow. But for now, you really just want some fucking sleep. Once you make it to your door, he stands to the side, silently watching you unlock it. The door swings open and you find yourself hesitating to get inside.

“You think you’ll be okay?” He asks, his voice soft.

You nod silently again. This is the part where you thank him for taking you home but you really don’t feel like it. Not to him. You nod in response.

Awkwardly, you enter your apartment, not looking back before closing the door. 

Your apartment is dark and cold. You don’t even want to turn on the lights, afraid that it’ll be too much of an eyesore. 

Your clothes that you were trying on with Lyla before you left are strewn across the living area. The black dress that you almost chose to wear tonight now crumpled over the couch. 

Entering your bedroom, you manage to blindly make your way to your bed. Not bothered to get out of your clothes or take off your make-up. The silence is eerily loud around you, second to, your heartbeat thumping loud in your ears.

“I hate you Miguel.” you say aloud, despite him being long gone.

And just like he promised, you fell asleep and managed to forget all about it. 

Chapter Text

Pissed was an understatement if you were to describe Miguel's reaction when he found out.

“Whoa, whoa –” Peter’s expression changes to concern as Miguel emerges from his bedroom with a look of pure irritation on his face. Peter leans against the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in one hand. “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning.”

“Did you know someone put my car up on craigslist?”

“What?”

“My car.” Miguel emphasizes, his tone growing thick with impatience. “Why the fuck is it up for sale?”

Peter frowns. “I don’t– I don’t understand, what are you talking about?”

Miguel sighs, unlocking his phone to show Peter a screenshot that Gabriel had sent.  “Look.”

“And that wasn’t you?”

Miguel curses. “Of course it wasn’t me! Why would I sell my car for 69 bucks?”

It takes everything in Peter not to let out a laugh. “Well, it wasn’t me.” He attempts to defend himself with a mouthful of cereal. “ Miguel , I swear I had nothing to do with it–”

“I know.” He cuts off, waving a hand to dismiss him. “You’re too idiotic to do something like this.” Miguel squints, inspecting the ad; there’s even a fake email with his name attached to it. “I just– I don’t know anyone who would do something like this.”

 “Anyone you can think of? Maybe anyone you pissed off lately?”

Miguel shakes his head, glancing down at the ad again. Other than Peter there’s no other person who comes to mind. Just when Miguel was about to suggest reporting it to authorities, Peter speaks up.

“ Oh , maybe it was your friend.”

“What friend?”

“The one who works at the cafe.”

Miguel holds back a scoff at the thought. You , his friend? He barely even considers you an acquaintance. 

“She’s definitely not my friend. Never was and never will be.”

 Miguel gives Peter a clear look implying that he should elaborate nonetheless. Peter swallows, taking another bite of his breakfast before speaking. His words are muffled by his chewing – a pet peeve of Miguel’s – but he can just about make them out.

“She told me that she was friends with you but she needed a favor from me. And then, she told me that you were picking her up somewhere but she didn’t know what your car looked like and she didn’t have your number so, moi,” he pointed at himself with his spoon, “being a very good friend gave her your number and got a picture of your car for her on your behalf. I think she’s in your genetics class or something, right? But I did that because she said she wouldn’t be able to see you for the rest of the week and then she saw me at work and found out that I was your roommate which is why she asked me in the first place. Anyways, because I helped her out I finally got MJ’s number which was what I was meant to tell you yesterday but you were in a mood and—”

What?

At this point Miguel blocks out Peter as he rambles on, trying to comprehend his side of the story.

It was you. Of course it fucking was. He should hardly be surprised. 

Miguel storms away without another word, his face struck with anger.

“Hey, where are you–”

The door slams before Peter can even finish his sentence.

“And I didn’t even get to tell you the best part.”

/

Okay…so maybe he wasn’t too serious about reporting you to the police. But could you really blame him? 

His week was already heading for the shits when deadlines after deadlines began to be set. Not to mention the stress of lab work with two incompetent idiots who refuse to do anything, resulting in Miguel doing it all himself. Then the incessant texts from Gabriel begging him to talk to mamá, which only dug up memories of Miguel’s last unforgettable conversation with her which therefore reminded him of the upcoming anniversary . 

And then there was you .

You were the sickeningly sweet cherry on top of the dog pile of shit; causing an inconvenience to his life which only seemed to be full of inconveniences. 

At this point Miguel’s beginning to think that going to college was more of a curse than it was a blessing; perhaps bad karma for his behavior before he left home.

Either way, you were his last straw.

For the remainder of the day, a sullen expression was glued to Miguel’s face. Those around him actively avoided him, walking around him as if he were some sort of minefield; tiptoeing to avoid accidentally setting him off.

It wouldn’t be the first time. From a child through to his early adolescence he was used to being alone. Sitting in a corner by himself with nothing but a ‘simple introduction to all things science for teens’ textbook to keep him company . Throughout his childhood, his withdrawn demeanor caused him to stand out from the others, constantly being told by teachers to ‘smile more.’

But back then there was nothing to smile about.

It wasn’t until Jess approached him that afternoon that he actually considered letting off steam. He was surprised at first that she was coming to him, only noticing her a few times in his cells and molecular seminars.

“Wanna come out for drinks with us tonight?”

He hesitates at her question, his mouth slightly ajar; dumbfounded that she was addressing him directly.

 “You look like you need it.” She adds on.

He’s caught in a moment of insecurity, almost surprised that his social life is taking off. In that same moment he remembers the words of his seventh grade teacher echoing in his mind: ‘How are you going to make friends, Miguel, if you keep pushing them away? Give it a chance.’

And so he did. Ending up in a club a few blocks away from campus with shitty music and too many college students. The stench of sweat causes his nose to scrunch up as he squeezes past a sea of bodies just to make it to the bar.

Did he regret coming here tonight? Maybe. But it was better than staying cooped up in his room all night doing a piece of lab work that his classmates should have done.

Miguel waits his turn at the bar, eyes scanning the club as he does so. Strobe disco lights bounce across the walls, changing color in beat with the pounding music. If he stares for too long his eyes begin to hurt so instead he squints, still studying the room as he tries to remember the orders he was given. His lips move a little, mumbling to himself. “One gin and tonic, margarita and— 

His sentence cuts short, body freezing at the recognition of you. He didn’t notice you at first, the lighting of the club being too dim to make out anyone’s face. It was only as you turned towards the bar, standing directly across from him, that he noticed you.

He watches you from afar as you wave the bartender down but then you pause for a split second, sensing a pair of eyes on you and glance back at Miguel.

He feels your sense of panic as you look at him. He too silently curses himself for meeting your eyes. You look away as quickly as you can, the bartender now approaching you. 

As much as he hates to admit, he can’t tear his eyes off you as you lean over the bar– drunkenly he notices– to shout your order to the bartender.

Just at the sight of you, anger grew from the pit of his stomach. After your conversation earlier he had sworn that he wanted nothing to do with you. By now, you’ve probably already removed the ad but that still doesn’t excuse your actions. 

Despite his rage, Miguel just can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you; he watches as you pull back from the bar, stumbling a little. He can sense you actively avoiding his eye contact; just one look at him and your face cringes with embarrassment. 

He can’t remember what sparked his body to move closer to you. Maybe it was some left over resentment or pure concern at the sight of watching you drunkenly attempt to look as sober as possible. Even reflecting back, he’s still not sure what made him gravitate towards you. Maybe curiosity? Maybe boredom?

 or maybe he just wanted one last petty dig at his nemesis.

For a guy of his stature, it’s easy enough to push past the sea of people in his way who immediately make room. Just a few meters away from you, he sees the bartender pass over the two shots you had ordered.

 Miguel frowns. “Don’t you think you should slow down a little?”

You’re clearly caught off guard, nearly spilling shots in surprise as you turn your head to see him. 

Miguel’s brown eyes take you in, pouring over your outfit; a tight dress that suits your skin tone; it’s a little short but he can tell you’re playful with it, accentuating your curves and tits but his eyes move away quickly. For a second, he’s grateful about the club’s dark lightning as you miss the way that his face heats up.

“And don’t you think you should mind your business?” Your pronunciation sounds heavy, no doubt due to the alcohol, yet Miguel can’t miss the lethal tone as you speak. “How long have you been watching me?”

He’s caught off guard, stammering quietly but you don’t notice due to the music in the background.

“I wasn’t watching.” Is all that he could come out with.

You scoff a little. “Right.” You say sarcastically before taking the shots; one right after the other. Miguel raises a brow as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, wincing a little at the taste. “And I’m totally not trying to get black-out drunk.”

“Any reason why you’re doing so?”

You snort after his question, holding back a laugh. “Why are you even talking to me? Shouldn’t you be busy calling the police on me?” 

You fiddle with the empty shot glasses in your hands and Miguel senses your ever-growing frustration as you glare. He hesitates, unsure of his reasons for both questions. You turn around once you sense he has nothing more to say.

 “I’m going to get another shot so if you don’t mind please leave me alone.”

“Don’t you have a shift tomorrow?”

The words leave his mouth before he can even think. No , he doesn’t have your schedule memorized. He’s just noticed that whenever he has a genetics lecture at 9am, you’re usually on shift that day too. Miguel notices your face fall at the realization, your confidence soon draining out of you.

You shrug halfheartedly. “So what?”

“You need to go home.”

“And you need to leave me alone.”

Miguel stops himself from scoffing. You look like you can barely stand, trying to lean back on the bar for support. He repeats his words again, his voice a little more stern as a crease appears between his brows. “And you need to go home.”

“I said—”

The rest of your sentence was interrupted by your phone buzzing, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what you were going to say. Closely, he watches your expression turn from frustration to a sense of dismay, eyes glued to your phone. You begin to chew on your lower lip with Miguel silently observing your dejection, managing to lip read the words that slip quietly from your tongue.

Someone’s not coming back?

At this he takes his chance. 

“I’ll take you home.”

Miguel’s words abruptly bring you back to reality and you snap your head back up at him in surprise as if he’s just grown two heads. You let a small pause pass through before coming up with an answer.

“Uhmmmm, no.”

“Why–”

“Because.”

 “That’s not a reason, nena , you can barely stand.”

“Because I hate you and I want nothing to do with you.”

The second your venomous words leave your mouth, he’s taken aback, eyes widening a little. It takes him a second to reconcile his thoughts. The words leave Miguel’s dry throat in an empty tone.

“You’re drunk.” 

“Drunk enough to know that I still fucking hate you.”

The second time that that word leaves your tongue, a chill runs through his spine; and as if you’ve set off a trigger, faded and blurry memories suddenly begin to resurface through his mind.

There’s a voice in his mind from his distant childhood, where the words “I hate you” were constantly thrown at him in another language. That same voice conditioning him to think that all he caused was screaming and shouting throughout the house.

You don’t hear Miguel repeat his words a little quieter. “You’re drunk.” 

You don’t mean it, he thinks. Internally, he tells himself a little more sharply. You don’t mean it. Of course you don’t. You don’t even know his past. It’s not the same. You’re just drunk.

“I should be the one hating you. You tried to sell my car.” As soon as that reminder slips from his lips, Miguel knows he’s accidentally set off a trigger. 

Your expression turns to rage, pointing at his chest furiously. “Because you were a fucking asshole to me and wrote a fucking mean ass review about me!”

Miguel quickly notices multiple eyes suddenly looking in his direction. Fuck , he does not want to be attracting too much attention right now. 

He lowers his tone a little, drawing in closer to you so that you’re the only person who can hear his words. “You did all this because I was rude to you?” Por favor, dame fuerza. ” He lets the ‘r’ roll off his tongue, fingers grabbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

He needed to get out here. He can’t do this. He can’t fucking stand you and your nonsensical behavior. Miguel’s chest begins to rise and fall a little more heavily; he was beginning to get overwhelmed. Your loss of temper, your words and the resurfacing memories were all getting a bit too much for him. A migraine was beginning to catch on with the pounding music only seeming to grow louder with every song.

“So when your boss criticizes your work, you’re just gonna go out and break the law for some petty revenge?”

“You’re not my boss, that’s the difference.”

“And if I was, I’d fire you in a heartbeat.” He snaps, locking eyes with you. For a moment, it seems like everything stops. The noises, the people, the flashing lights all fade into one hazy background as the two of you stare at each other with mutual hate and anger. A whole ten seconds seem to pass by before you succumb to his gaze and glance away.

You don’t understand him and he doesn’t understand you. He doubts he ever will. 

“I hate you.” You mutter. 

“Ditto here, nena .”

The little nickname has caught onto him. It’s become a habit that he can’t shake off. He says it more out of spite rather than a term of endearment. Miguel remembers when he called you ‘nena’ for the very first time. He noticed how your nose scrunched up and how you tried to ignore it, unsure of the exact meaning of the word yet you didn’t miss the sense of ridicule in his voice each and every time he said it. 

“I’m going.” you announce, turning away from him and camouflaging into the crowd. Miguel grits his teeth out of frustration as you disappear. Although, with his height he can just about make out your figure. It’s not until he sees you snap back at a stranger and spill his drink that he rolls his eyes.

Here you go again. You can barely go two minutes without causing a  problem. 

From just a few meters away, Miguel can see your expression change from annoyance to fear as the stranger begins to shout in your face, edging closer to you. Squinting, Miguel notices your wrist being held by the man and without thinking, he steps in.

“Maybe you should keep your hands to yourself then, compa .”

He scans the man up and down. The figure sways back and forth, an ugly drunk expression written all over his face. Ah, he’s one of those guys. The ones who get riled up over jack shit and want their egos validated by taking it out on others. 

Miguel turns his back on the figure, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Quick, before he gets angry. I think this asshole’s drunk.”

A mumble leaves your mouth as you turn to leave. 

“I’m taking you back to your dorm room. No ifs or buts.” The two of you easily weave in and out of the crowd, thanks to Miguel’s height.

Soon spotting Jess, he leads you over to her table.

Jess opens her mouth to scold Miguel for taking so long with the drinks before realizing that he hasn’t got any in his hands. Instead, a hand is latched to your arm as you stumble drunkenly next to him.

“Jess, I’m going to take her home.”

“Whoa, whoa.”

“Ay, por dios– not my home. I’m taking her back to her dorm room, she’s someone I know and her drunk ass is going to pass out at any second.” Miguel scrunches up his nose in disgust. 

God , no . It would never be like that. You’d have to be the last person on earth to even think about that. No, not even the last person. He’s confident in his decision to let humanity go extinct rather than…that. Despite his dislike for you as a person  right now, there was a part of him that was enough of a decent human being to make sure that you got home safe.

Of course, that was the least he could do. 

/

“I hate you Miguel O’hara.”

“Uh-huh, you keep telling me that.”

He’s learned to face your words a little more assertively than before but they still dig into his skin a little, despite him telling himself that you’re not in the right state of mind. 

You’re mostly using Miguel for balance as the two of you walk across campus to get to your dorm. Your heels echo off the walls of closed campus buildings, the  late October chill running through Miguel’s body. But despite this, he’s still rather warm. Whether it comes from his pent up anger from earlier or because his body hasn’t adjusted to the chill of the night just yet, he’s unsure.

“Just making sure that you won’t forget.” you say, a cloud of warm air leaving your mouth and dissipating into the late night.

“I sure won’t.”

“You ruined my life.”

“You did it to yourself, nena .”

His words are harsh but true; Miguel doesn’t fully realize the extent of his words after a long pause between the two of you. 

“I did, didn't I?”

“Oh, please don’t start crying again–”

It had taken Miguel a full fifteen minutes to get you to stop crying earlier after your near clash with the stranger.

“Who’s gonna buy him a drink? Oh my god, he’s gonna find out where I live and–.”

“He doesn’t even know who you are, you’ll live.”

Unfortunately Miguel’s words die on deaf ears as you begin to break down. He sighs, letting go of your hand as you cry for the second time tonight.

“I’m such a bad person, I-I-I ruined my life by trying to sell your car and I nearly got fired at my first ever job and I lied to my mom…” You pause, reflecting on your words. “I lied to my mom.”

Miguel shrugs. It’s not the worst thing in the world, compared to his relationship with his own mother, it seems pretty insignificant. 

“We all have, haven’t we?” His words have a slight tone of regret, the memory of his harsh conversation with his mother arising again.

“I lied to my mom about having a boyfriend!” you exclaim. “And-and-and I’m a terrible daughter and I deserve death! and– and—”

Miguel’s eyes widen at your words, he doesn’t hesitate in scolding you for your language. “ Hey , hey , don’t say that about yourself.”

He’s not really sure about what you’re talking about and he’s not going to ask, but the last thing he wants to deal with tonight is a drunk and self-destructive college student. 

 Maybe he should’ve stayed at home and done the lab work.

“But I lied and now she– she’s expecting me to bring someone over for thanksgiving and I don’t have anyone because I’m a liar and a criminal and I’m going to prison!” You kneel down against the pavement, an endless stream of tears running down your face.

Awkwardly, Miguel watches you break down. For a second, he panics, scanning around for any person nearby to help him. He’s not really the right person to be helping you with…this. A street light flickers nearby, the only sound on campus is you sobbing and the faint sound of a siren across the city.

Miguel doesn’t even know why you’re being so dramatic but he blames it on the alcohol. So you lied about having a boyfriend?  So what? If anything, he’s done much worse. But he’s not even going to ask. He doesn’t want to be involved with your shit. Whatever problems you have, he does not want to be a part of it. 

But he does want to get you out of here as soon as possible before anyone comes across him standing awkwardly next to a girl sobbing in the streets.

He crouches down, trying to meet your eyes.  “C’mon, let’s get you to bed and you can sleep and forget that this never happened.”

You lift up your head, tears dripping from your chin. “No. I- I won’t forget, I’ll just remember it all over again and– and –”

“Hey, look at me.” Your eyes meet his and he makes sure that his tone is more mellow than before. “I promise you’ll go to sleep and forget all about this okay? I promise.”

“Do you pinky promise?” You hold out your pinky in front of him. 

“I pinky-promise.” He sighs.

You shake your head, pouting. “No, you have to link with me.”

Internally, he curses; rolling his eyes before finally joining your pinky with his.

Slowly but surely he manages to get you to stand up again, leading you to your accommodation block. You’ve now gone silent, only letting out a few hiccups here and there. Miguel asks if you’re alright and you let out a nod. Soon enough, you make it to your apartment building and he  carefully helps you up the flight of stairs; a hand gripping onto his large bicep for support. He says nothing about it, now letting you lead the way to your dorm room.

The two of you stand awkwardly outside your door, silence infiltrating the entire corridor as neither of you know what to say. Miguel soon decides to break the silence.

“You think you’ll be okay?” His voice is still soft.

 A small part of him wants to ask more about your…dilemma . But he soon reminds himself that it’s none of his business, that he shouldn’t even care. He just wants to get you home and leave you alone. Hopefully, never having to speak to you again after tonight.

You don’t let out a reply and instead ignore him, heading inside without so much as a last glance back to him. The door slams shut in his face, echoing loudly down the soulless corridor. A faint thump of music and muffled conversation are heard from the dorm rooms on the floor above.

Miguel’s mouth is slightly agape, his chance to recommend water or aspirin is now lost.His mouth closes slowly and he exhales through his nostrils. Letting out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, shoulders dropping. 

Pulling out his phone, eyes search for the name ‘Lyla’ . He sends a text to make sure that you get the support that you need tomorrow morning. Sure, you’re not his favorite person in the world right now, but he knows what regret feels like in the form of a pounding headache.

Miguel moves to lean next to the wall beside your door, tilting his head back as he closes his eyes. He’s beginning to feel a migraine come on. Ever so softly he can hear little shuffles behind your door, no doubt you trying to drunkenly make it to your room. 

This night had to be one of his worst nights in college so far and it’s not even the end of October yet. 

He hates you, he thinks. You irritate him with the way that you talk and the way that you somehow attempted to sell his fucking car. You irritate him in a way that he can’t stand, making him swear that he wants nothing more to do with you. In fact that’s what he told himself today, after your conversation at the cafe. Tonight was just an anomaly. A situation of him doing the bare minimum so that you’d end up without regret tomorrow morning. 

Only now, does he finally get a chance to respond to the multiple remarks you’ve spat at him the entire night.

“I fucking hate you, too.” he mumbles, the words barely audible from his lips.

Chapter Text

The recovery from…that night hasn’t been going very well. 

You don’t remember much; it comes and goes in little bursts; your hazy memory briefly outlines the night of your intoxication. If you try hard enough, you recall bumping into a person which led to chloric words spewing from your lips before stumbling back to your dorm room at two in the morning.

After spending over half of your day rotting in bed, you reach the conclusion that you should avoid Miguel O’Hara at all costs. Your memory won’t allow you to remember the entirety of the night but you can feel it in your gut that you’ve done something which sober you wouldn’t really be able to live down. 

For the past two days, you’ve been so lucky to avoid him on campus. 

The morning following your night out, you were somewhat able enough to type out a coherent text to MJ stating that you wouldn’t be able to make it for your shift. A simple reply of her successfully finding cover for you, was the glorious confirmation for you to rot away in bed. 

But before you could succumb to the embrace of slumber, your phone vibrates again yet this time your ringtone echoes loudly throughout the room. Leaning over, you squint to peer at the caller ID,  your eyes red and sore.

And it doesn’t help that the autumn sun has chosen this morning to distribute violent beams of sunlight. You don’t trust yourself to make it across your room without falling to shut the curtains. 

As soon as you read the word ‘Mom’, you can feel your stomach drop into a bottomless pit, nausea creeping up your throat. You’re unsure whether you’re about to vomit from guilt or the vodka shots you took last night. 

You manage to swallow down the bile, instead watching your phone heavily vibrate against the wood of your bedside table. You hold your breath, watching your phone dangerously vibrate near the wooden edge, letting it ring out.

And just like the past month or so, you ignore it.

Ever since you stepped into college your plan was to cut her off. Clearly, it doesn’t seem to be going well. 

You have to consciously stop your mind from thinking about thanksgiving; you have yet to think of an excuse, the boyfriend situation is roughly pushed to the back of your mind. Just like the rest of your problems.

The guilt of your lack of productivity continuously eats away at you for the remainder of the day, resulting in you going to the college library bright and early the next day with ‘ The Great Gatsby’ in your hands.

After spending nearly two hours in an isolated corner, trying to avoid all human presence you’re only on page 24. 

You can’t concentrate, your leg jutting up and down with restless leg syndrome. Your mind is restless.

How on earth were you going to tell your mom that you didn’t actually have a boyfriend? She’s probably already told the whole family, you know she can’t keep anything to herself. Despite avoiding her calls all day, you can still imagine her condescending tone and sarcasm piercing through your skin.

It’s not hard to understand why your father left her all those years ago.

Living at home with her was a pain; she was overbearing, coddling you and simultaneously berating you for everything you did. You can already imagine her comparing you to your cousins, perhaps emphasizing how you were the last to finally get a boyfriend.

To tell her it was all a lie was something that you dreaded. She wouldn’t be able to let it go, you think, transforming you into the family’s disappointment. 

Adding on to that, you’re also waiting for the cops to show up at any point. 

Every lecture, every seminar or every time you have a shift, you’re just waiting for someone to come and interrogate you. So what, it slipped your mind that selling someone else’s property was a crime? He deserved it. And it wasn’t like you were actually going to go through with it. 

Just a taste of his own medicine, you think.

Despite your attempts to console yourself, it doesn’t stop your anxiety rising through you each time you hear the bell ring, snapping your head towards the door. Your apprehension was too obvious to disguise and only an hour into your shift MJ had to ask if you were okay.

She seems to be doing that a lot recently. 

Like always, you brush it off. Every time you come in for a shift, you expect that question to fall from her lips but this time she puts in effort to act like she gets paid enough to care.

“No, I’m asking you seriously.” She emphasized in a concerned tone. The loud hum of the coffee machine in the background interrupts her words. “Lately, you just seem out of it and at first I thought it was about the review but it’s been ages since then and you still seem stressed and uptight.”

Your eyes can’t bear to look up at MJ. Was it really that obvious? You had tried so hard to put up a facade that everything was fine but you should’ve known better not to put up an act in front of a professional drama student.

“I’m fine. Honestly.” You put effort in your tone to make it lighthearted, maybe a sense of happiness even but it still doesn’t get past her.

“It’s not about that Miguel guy is it? Because ever since–”

“ No , it’s not.” you snap and your tone is sharp, more harsher than you intended it to be.

 An exhale drifts from your lips. “Sorry it’s just—”

You're interrupted by the sound of someone coughing behind you, indicating that they were waiting to be served. With your back to the till, this was the single moment you weren't paying attention to who was coming into the cafe. MJ’s lips begin to upturn, eyes suddenly amused.

Turning, you begin to deliver an apology. “Hey— oh .”

It’s a familiar face with a tall and overbearing stature hanging over the till. Intense brown eyes stare deadpan at you, a single eyebrow raised to show his impatience. Your words get clogged in your throat, anxiety rises rapidly across your body like a tsunami wave on a beach.

He’s coming to tell you that he’s pressing charges, right? I mean, why else would he bother coming inside?

An expression of confusion and hesitation appears on your face as you approach the till. Your mouth opens to ask if he did end up reporting you but he interrupts before you get the chance.

“Coffee. Black, no sugar.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, a momentary pause passing you by.

“Did you hear what I said or–?”

What?

“Uhhh, yep! I’ll just—” You tap his order into the till, slightly shaking your head as if to get rid of your thoughts berating you. “Anything else?”

To a stranger, it seems like you’re asking about his order. But to you, you’re asking whether he has anything more to say about your…criminal case. 

Miguel squints his eyes a little, catching onto what you’re implying before responding nonchalantly.

“No, that’s all for now.”

He’s teasing, you think. You can tell by the amusement in his tone at your troubled body language. 

He’s having fun taking the piss out of you and it only makes you despise him even more.

 A shaky exhale leaves your lips once he pays and stalks away, finding his ‘regular’ seat in the back corner of the cafe. 

You try your best to decompose whilst serving the next customer, too aware of the pair of eyes watching you from behind. You falter a little in making the order, as if you were trying to learn from scratch all the right things to do. MJ picks up on this, the observer that she is, and offers to take Miguel’s order. For reasons that you can’t explain to her, you shake your head. 

No , you think, you can do this. You can keep it together and be professional.

He has nothing to say to you and you have nothing to say to him. If anything, you wanted to see if he would mention anything whilst you give him his coffee, all for the benefit of scratching that little itch of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. 

You try to keep calm; merely acting as if he were another customer, placing the steaming cup of coffee on his table without a word. You feel his eyes watch your movements carefully, piercing through you. You make sure to avoid them.

As soon as you’re ready to walk away from his isolated table, a question slips from his lips.

“When do you get off for your break?”

You’re caught off guard. 

“Excuse me?”

“I said, when do you get off for your break?” You don’t miss the huff of impatience in his voice the second time.

You glance down at your wristwatch. Do you lie or tell the truth? It’s not like you could avoid him if you did, you’d just feel his eyes watching your every move, there being no corner or crevice in which you could hide from him.

“In ten minutes.”

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” You raise a brow in suspicion, crossing your arms. 

“You’ll find out after those ten minutes, nena .”

Oh god, it sounds like a threat. This could be about anything: either that embarrassing night which you’ve forcefully stored away into your unconscious mind or the fact that he was pressing charges.

Saying nothing more, you walk away immediately regretting your decision in entertaining him.

“Fucking asshole.” you mutter under your breath.

MJ’s on the sidelines, arms crossed in observation. “What now?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe it’s nothing if it gets you all worked up like this.”

“It’s complicated.” you begin.

“You know he only comes in whenever you have a shift?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. He never comes in when you’re not working.”

You hold back a laugh. 

“Oh, trust me, it’s not like that.” You don’t even want to address what she’s thinking out loud.

“This is not whatever it is between you and Peter.” You clarify, waving your hand and you notice MJ’s face beginning to burn up at the mere mention of his name.

Yep . That was all you needed to say to shut her up. 

You hold back a grin as MJ refuses to say anything more, instead keeping a watchful eye over you as you aggressively prepare the next order. For the next ten minutes, you try your hardest not to think about the person sitting in the corner, busying yourself with customers. But unfortunately for you, the ten minutes pass quickly.

“Better be worth my time, O’Hara, I swear.”

“I think it will be.”

His empty coffee cup sits on the table in front of him. If he were a decent customer then you’d offer a refill but the petty in you thinks he doesn’t deserve that. Pulling out a chair, you sit adjacent to him. The cafe is at a low hum, intelligible conversations and the smell of roasted coffee beans keep you at a level of calamity. You can hear MJ refilling the coffee machines in the background.

“Do you remember what you said to me that night?”

“What night?”

“Don’t play dumb, nena , I was there.”

You look down, hands resting on the table. You’re currently anxiously fiddling with a ring on your finger. So, he wants to talk about 'that night'? You let out a sigh, still too sensitive to force yourself to remember what happened.

“I said a lot of things that night. I was drunk, how am I supposed to remember what I said?”

Miguel hums. “You told me you hated me. Multiple times.”

You hold back a snort. Is it weird to say you feel slightly proud about that? 

“I’m not taking that back by the way, if you came here looking for an apology.”

“I wasn’t.”

“So what do you want then?”

“You also said you lied to your mother about having a boyfriend.”

Your face begins to heat up, eyes avoiding him again. “So what if I did? It’s none of your business.” You’re trying your hardest to seem nonchalant, acting as if you don’t remember it at all.

“ If you need a fake boyfriend, I’ll do it.”

It takes a long pause for his words to settle. Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again but words can’t seem to make it out of your mouth.

Him? A fake boyfriend?

Finally you seem to get something out.

“ Ohhhhh, you’re funny.” you deadpan. You clap your hands slowly, your tone sardonic. “Great prank, no really that was fantastic, ten out of ten.”

“I’m serious.” His facial expression remains unwavering as he speaks, eyebrows furrowed with what seems to be a crease in between them. 

“You’re serious about being a fake boyfriend? Wait, you need a fake girlfriend?”

Miguel exhales through his nose, pondering. “I wouldn’t say I need…”

“Want?” 

He shakes his head. “You’d have be the last person on earth to pick if I was looking for someone serious. This would be an…agreement of some sort, like a deal.”

You lean back into your seat - you ignore his insult of course, your mind to preoccupied in trying to make sense of what he was trying to say. Your face painted with complete disbelief. “And why should I agree to this ‘deal’? ” you air quote the last word. “I’m sure you have a long line of girls waiting for you to ask them out.”

Miguel’s lips slip into a smirk. “Is that a compliment?”

“No.” You answer quickly. Too quickly. You regret your choice of words. 

Okay, yes. He was conventionally attractive; you weren’t stupid to deny that. He’s…pretty. If you look past his cocky attitude and cold demeanor, then you begin to notice how pretty his velvety brown eyes are and his nose and the smooth curve of his lips; the way his dark– slightly ruffled– locks seem so soft you kinda wanna drag your fingers through it or the way that his muscles seem to be prominent no matter what shirt he wears. 

Not that you notice them…or find it hard to get your lingering eyes away from them, right?

Miguel hums, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s not like you have a choice anyways. You owe me. I didn’t even call the cops on you.”

Wait, what?

Your eyes widen. Oh, there it is. You fell for it. For a split second you thought he was doing it out of his own kindness, didn’t you? No, there it is again, that is what maintains your wrath for this man.

“So you’re blackmailing me?

“I wouldn’t call it that.” he begins, now leaning back in his own seat. “Like I said earlier, it’s a deal.”

“A deal? Miguel, this is not a deal.” You clarify. “I mean would you call it a deal if someone just randomly went up to you and said, ‘hey date me, or else you’re going to prison!?’ ” 

At the exclamation of your voice, you disrupt the quiet hum of the cafe, resulting in a few people side-eying your table. Miguel rubs his forehead in frustration, mumbling incoherent words.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes fluttering shut. (you notice he has pretty eyelashes too goddamn.)

 Miguel’s voice is quieter than before, encouraging you to keep a low tone. “ One , it’s fake-dating. Like I said, I wouldn’t stoop so low to pick you out of all people. It’s just convenient. Two , you got yourself in this position in the first place if you didn’t try to–.”

“Convenient? Yeah, because you can threaten me and I wouldn’t be in this position if you weren’t such a petty asshole.”

“Do you want your mom to find out that you lied or not?”

You take a few seconds to muse over his words, studying his expression. You’re not totally convinced. “What’s in it for you?”

“The same benefits as you. Distract my family a bit. We fake-date you to keep your mom all happy or whatever reason you were crying about the other night and it keeps my family from…bothering me.”

“And if I do this you won’t report me?”

“Pretty much.”

“ Oh , great . As if that isn’t the definition of blackmailing itself.” You get up to leave, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. 

You can’t take this anymore; who did he think he was, trying to blackmail you into this shit? You haven’t even known him long enough to be entertaining this.

Catching you by surprise, Miguel’s hand manages to catch your wrist –  and oh god does he have pretty hands. It’s a light grip but it manages to get you to pause your movements. 

Appalled, you glance at his face and you’re shocked to see an expression of sincereness in his eyes replacing his cold demeanor. “Please, just hear me out.” 

“What, are you going to beg? ” the corners of your lips begin to upturn at the thought. It’s difficult to hold back a laugh.

“What? No, I’m just– look , I wouldn’t be asking you if I wasn’t sure enough.” His sunken brown eyes continue to scan you up and down, silently pleading instead. He’s beginning to get impatient, regretting his method of choice.

Miguel lets out a sigh, “Are you going to say yes or what?”

Chapter Text

The incessant buzz of the single streetlight over his head keeps the eerie silence at bay along with the sound of faint sirens and the quiet hum of city traffic not too far away. Long, unnatural shadows form on the gravel below the hot incandescent light, flickering on the concrete pavement. A group of moths dance around the warm glow of the lamp, careful to avoid getting burned. They seem to keep him company as he sits on a lonely park bench.

He should be on his way back to his dorm. He’s just dropped you off at your own dorm, leaving the building without a last word from you. Miguel hopes that it’ll be the last he sees of you. You seem like someone with one too many unresolved issues and he definitely wants no part in that. 

Technically, Miguel should be at his dorm by now. The last time he glanced at his phone, it was nearly three in the morning. Yet, for some reason he can’t explain, Miguel decided to take the long way back, or rather, an annoying feeling in his gut decided for him, nudging at the impulse to take the path around central campus rather than through it. 

Maybe it was Miguel’s restlessness from being cooped up in his claustrophobic room with endless textbooks surrounding him or his mental exhaustion at the thought of hearing Peter through the thin dorm walls talk on the phone with MJ, inevitably followed by an early morning debrief which Miguel didn’t ask for.

He just needed a few more minutes alone. And for once, he willingly chooses that option.

Straying from the glowing path that leads through campus, he decided to take the alternative. There’s fewer streetlights and hopefully fewer chances of bumping into a drunk college student making their way back from a night out. He’s already helped out one too many tonight.

The October chill nips at his body, a simple shirt and jeans all he wore to survive the stuffy nightclub. As his footsteps echo, the realization hits him that he hadn’t actually spent enough time with Jess and her friends. All because of you. 

You and the word ‘problem’ always seemed to be very acquainted somehow. 

A voice in his head reminds Miguel that he wasn’t obliged to take you back. He did that from his own free will. He could’ve easily let someone else take care of you or made you someone else’s problem but instead he took you home himself. He doesn’t regret it, he thinks. Even after all the hate you spewed at him. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t get a chance to question the reasoning behind his actions as a single park bench appeared from afar, glowing underneath a single streetlight. If that wasn’t a call to sit and question your entire life choices with a sickly feeling of regret at three in the morning Miguel didn’t know what was.

And this is where he finds himself. After sitting in silence for a few minutes – save for the buzz of the streetlight – Miguel decides that he’s sick of listening to his own thoughts and instead, like most people on the planet who want to avoid their feelings, he decides to scroll mindlessly on his phone. 

But a glance at his home screen filled with notifications unfortunately disrupts his plans.

Two missed calls from Gabriel.

And twelve too many texts clogging up his notifications.

He’s been ignoring Gabriel since he told him about his car. Too many questions which would inevitably lead to too many headaches. 

But now his thumb scrolls through his list of contacts. It’s not many, just a few important people: aunts and uncles, old high school friends he’s now gotten distant with and cousins who live in another country. Up and down he scrolls, judging and critiquing every name. He’s not bothered to delete the ones he doesn’t keep in contact with anymore.

The realization that he hasn’t heard Gabriel’s voice in weeks, hits him hard and cold like the first wave that hits your body when you step into the ocean. Gabriel’s sweet tone of concern and compassion is the one he misses the most; the only voice that could ever ground him. 

Similarly, he hasn’t heard his mother’s in weeks; harsh and sharp in her native tongue. Always criticizing, rarely loving. It’s only gentle when he leasts expects it, creating an uncomfortable emotion that he can’t identify to roam across his body. 

And he hasn’t heard father’s for over a year. 

For a second, Miguel struggles in remembering what it sounds like and immediately a pit of anxiety opens up in his lower stomach. Was it low? No , it was gruff. No , maybe it was— no , all he can remember was shouting. A coarse tone that was snappy and violent, bleeding through the walls. 

If he tries hard enough, he can remember times when it was…soothing. Like when he took Miguel out for fishing for the first time, just the two of them. Or maybe when Miguel told him that he came first in the school’s yearly science fair, the fake gold medal with ‘#1’ imprinted, held proudly in his father’s hand.

It’s only faint, but it’s important that he remembers. His thumb hovers over the contact name ‘Papa’ . He knows he shouldn't click it. By now the number would have been given to someone else but he can’t bring himself to get rid of the contact itself.

Miguel shakes his head slightly, scrolling up from the name ‘Papá’ to ‘Gabriel’. Without thinking he clicks on the name due to pure instinct and the consequences of his actions don’t hit him until he hears the tone ringing out. 

Don’t pick up, he thinks, don’t pick up, don’t pick up, don’t pick —

A muffled click is heard and Miguel pauses for hIs brother to speak first.

“Hey, it’s Gabriel. I can’t answer the phone right now for whatever reason, but just leave a voicemail and I’ll get back to you ASAP!

 Miguel’s shoulders seem to drop with relief but now he’s stuck in the loophole of hanging up or sending a voicemail. What would he even say? Miguel’s not even sure that he had anything to say in the first place, only calling due to pure impulse.

Nonetheless, he lets the tone ring and clears his throat before getting ready to speak.

“He–hey, uh–” he coughs, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to call you…and you’re probably asleep and…busy…or something.” an inaudible sigh leaves Miguel’s mouth. He was never good with words.

“I know we haven’t talked in a while but I’m doing fine…I think…I hope you are too…uhh–”

There’s a long pause before Miguel speaks again, stretching out for a minute. Fuck, he wasn’t prepared. Rubbing his forehead, a random thought pops into his head, suddenly thinking about your mess – your lie of telling your mom that you had a boyfriend which you had now regretted.

But why did you lie in the first place?

At the time, he wanted to ask but he buried that urge as soon as it came to the surface. It’s none of his business. Maybe you were just awfully sad and desperate that you just had to create a lie about having a boyfriend.

Or…

Was it something to do with your mother?

He recalls the first time you ‘met’ . Where you stupidly ended up in the wrong lecture hall and sat by him. You were too focused on that dumb game you were playing to notice your phone silently  lighting up with messages or calls. 

Or maybe you were ignoring her on purpose. 

Not that he cared much about you back then but in the space of that two hour lecture missing 5 calls and 16 texts from your mother had to mean something was up.

Based on your act of ignoring your mother, it had to mean that she was one of those parents who obsessively worry about their kids, stifling them wherever they go. Perhaps the boyfriend myth was a tactic to get her off your chest, to get her to stop worrying about you. 

Yeah…that had to be it. 

And suddenly it clicks.

What if he did the same? Miguel knew his brother would never admit it but he can tell Gabriel was worried about Miguel going to college. He knows him too well to not notice how Gabi would cover up his anxiety by addressing his concern for how their mother would cope when Miguel left. Miguel knew all too well how much Gabriel worried about him, whether he called twice a day or not.

It seemed like a reasonable lie, enough to perhaps keep his family off his back. It seemed harmless.

“I’ve just been busy too, but I’m doing well.” He continues. “I’m on top of all my assignments and going to lectures and eating well but I…I do miss home cooked food but uhhh—” Purposely, he avoids any mention of mamá . Probably for the best.

Miguel thinks about his next words, deciding to blurt out his lie as quickly as possible.

“Ahora tengo una novia – she's cool. So, don’t worry about me. You don’t have to call or text me every week because I’m doing fine and I have people around me and friends…and plenty of them…I should probably go, uh– I’ll call you again later.” 

He created his lie in a rush. Miguel thinks his tone was too hasty and it slipped out of his mouth too unnaturally. Would Gabi believe him? Or does it sound too good to be true?

He hangs up, staring at his phone screen. Miguel’s pride is too big to acknowledge the fact that you had given him the idea to lie, but maybe it would work and force Gabriel to relax, finally giving him a reason that he was perfectly fine.  

Thinking over it, Miguel actually thinks it’s perfect. It wasn’t like he was planning to go home anytime soon and so unlike you, it was way more practical for him to lie knowing that he wouldn’t have to keep it up in person. Miguel tells himself that it was necessary. This keeps Gabriel off his back, distracting him a little bit, and then afterwards he’ll subtly drop in something about a mutual break-up.

 It sounded simple enough. 

Above him, the streetlight begins to flicker, more violently than before. The shadows on the gravel seem to distort, a gentle wind now causing goosebumps across his arms. 

Miguel sighs, now more than ever does he feel suffocated. His body feels heavy. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he was carrying. It was barely a month into college and he felt like he could explode. Assignment after assignment and lab work and reading and memorizing, he wasn’t prepared for it. A feeling of frustration creeps up on him at his biology teacher in high school for even encouraging him to apply for this college. 

Miguel’s phone buzzes in his hand, a default ringtone sings over the hum of the streetlight.

The caller ID reads ‘Gabriel’. 

Shit. 

For about thirty seconds, Miguel simply stares at his buzzing phone. Just for a split second, he thinks he understands why you freaked out earlier, you had every right to. In the pit of his stomach anxiety begins to bubble, rushing through his bloodstream only moments before he finally accepts the call.

“You what?!”

Miguel’s mouth is agape but no words come out in response to his brother.

“Por dios, I knew that when you’d go to college you’d be keeping shit from me, don’t even try to deny it!”

“I wasn’t—”

“¿Quién? ¿Dónde? ¿Cuándo? ¿Cómo?” The questions spill from his lips speedily, wanting immediate answers. “And what do you mean ‘she’s cool’? Did you ask her or did she ask you? How did you meet?”

“Gabe–”

Miguel lets out an exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. Regret begins to seep through his skin like a permanent tattoo.

  Fuck , he shouldn’t have done that. Why the fuck did he do that? This seemed to do the opposite of trying to keep his brother away. “I don’t want to—”

“ Oh , you have to bring her over for thanksgiving or whenever you get a free weekend? Maybe she can come over for Christmas and—”

“Please don’t tell—”

“I’ll tell mamá for you and—”

“Gabe—”

“I personally think she’d be happy to hear that you finally—”

“Gab–.”

“ ...someone to talk to because even if she doesn’t show it I know she’s really worried–”

“ Gabriel .” Miguel’s voice is stern this time and louder than he expected but he manages to get his brother to stop rambling. Immediately afterwards, Miguel silently scolds him for losing his temper.

“What is it, mig’?” Just from his tone alone Miguel can tell Gabriel is excited. He almost sounds glad that Miguel has something else in his life other than studying genetics. Miguel doesn’t want to know how he’ll sound when he announces that this so-called ‘relationship’ was over. 

He’s now at a crossroad. He could give in now and honestly tell Gabi that it was all a lie, a reckless lie that he didn’t think about before saying.

Or…he doesn’t say anything at all and carries on. His mind internally shouts at him to choose, to pick and to pick quickly before Gabi catches on.

“What is it?” Gabriel asks again when he takes too long to reply.

“Nothing, nothing.” Miguel exhales, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll uh— I’ll call you back later, in the morning.”

He picked wrong and he knows it from the way his gut twists as the words leave his mouth.

“Oh okay.” Miguel bites his tongue at the evident disappointment in Gabriel’s voice. “But will you still come over for Christmas break?”

Miguel’s throat is clogged with hesitation. Despite the October chill, his body seems to heat up out of pure anxiety.

“Uhh—”

“Please, for me.” Gabriel begins. “I don’t wanna guilt trip you or anything but…I don’t want it to be the first Christmas without you.”

Fuck , maybe he spoke too soon when he thought that this lie was going to be simple.

Miguel stays silent for a little longer, thinking it over. The shadows from the surrounding trees sway a little on the gravel, the pictures changing all the time.

Miguel lets out a sigh after what seems like an eternity. “Okay.”

“What? Really? You promise?”

He really can’t disappoint him. Not his brother. Anyone but him. After all those years he’s never broken a promise for Gabriel. Ever. He still remembers the last promise he made at the funeral. 

“I promise.”

Miguel thinks he can picture Gabriel’s smile as clear as ever as he lays in bed,  toothy and unabashed at the ceiling. “Go get some sleep.”

“Good night Miggy.”

“Night.”

Miguel doesn’t take the phone away from his ear even after Gabriel has hung up. The reality of what he’s done begins to sink in. 

Shit .

The streetlight above suddenly blacks out without warning, blindly dropping him into the sea of the night.

Chapter Text

“Are you going to say yes or what?” 

Miguel’s dark brown eyes bore into yours. They seemed to be piercing into your skin with every second that he impatiently waits for your answer. His knee shifts up and down with anticipation causing a slight tremble to the table each time. 

Purposely, you hold on to your answer for a few more seconds. He’s made the past few weeks hell for you so why not torture him a little by making him wait? Maybe, you’re a little bit of a sadist.

Eventually Miguel’s frustration ends up getting the best of him and you watch him grit his teeth, ready to propose another way to get you to agree.  “Look–”

“No.” You interrupt. 

Miguel’s speech abruptly pauses and in just a split second, you can spot confusion spread rapidly across his face.

“What?” His expression seems dumbfounded.

“I said no.” You begin. “I fully reject your proposal.”

Miguel stutters, words unable to form correctly on his tongue. He blinks rapidly, trying to understand what you’ve said. “But you seemed so desperate the other day?”

Your nose wrinkles at the reminder of that night. “And I was also very drunk. A hazard to the public even. I don’t remember what I said but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t serious or that desperate.”

You lied. You did remember, it all came back to you in little pieces over the past few nights and had become a faded memory.

“It wasn’t serious enough for you to break down in the middle of the campus?” Miguel raised a brow. He didn’t believe you. You were bluffing and he could tell from a mile away.

“I was drunk.”

“Right, that’s the excuse you’ll keep using.”

“I barely know you to do something… like this.” 

“You know me enough to get a hold of my personal information and try to sell my goddamn car–”

“For fuck’s sake, are we still going on about that?”

“If you don’t want me to call…”

“Just call the cops for all I care!” You interrupt with a burst in your tone. By now a few people sitting nearby had turned their heads but you continue to pay them no mind. “Do it. Enough of the blackmail and just fucking do it.”

“Keep your voice down.” Miguel huffed in a low tone.

“What’s it to you anyways? It’s not like you need a fake girlfriend—”

“What if I do?” Miguel interrupts.

You pause, studying Miguel’s facial expression. Lines appear across his forehead, evidently from stress and it’s only now do you take notice of  dark bruises which seemed to be permanently inked under his eyes adding a melancholic look.

“Believe me,  you’re not the only one with family issues. I’ve seen the way that you ignore your mom’s calls.”

At the mere mention, your throat is suddenly clogged up and your mind short-circuits, unable to think of anything to say. “I don’t have family issues.” You deadpan. “My family is fine and perfectly functional.”

Miguel glances at you with an expression which clearly expresses the words he holds back to say.

 ‘I don’t believe you.’

“If you don’t have family issues and they’re perfectly functional then why would you lie to your mother in the first place?” Miguel looks away for a split second searching for something more to say. “I’ve seen it y’know, the way that you never respond to her calls or texts. You’re lying to keep her out of the picture.”

Holy shit.

Your arms prickle with goosebumps. How does he know so much? Were you really that obvious?

“Wow, now resorting to stalking me? A real low for you O’Hara.”

Miguel clicks his teeth, opening his mouth to spew out a retort but it fails to come out.

You finally stand from the table, your chair screeching back obnoxiously. “I think we’re done here.”

“Wait—”

You don’t hesitate to interrupt him. “Even if you were the last person on earth I still wouldn’t date you, Miguel, real or fake.” Your spite is obvious in your voice. Tone heavy and laced with nothing but pure hatred for the man. 

How dare he attempt to blackmail you into a fake relationship and then act like he knows so much about your personal life. How fucking dare he?

If there’s one thing you’ll secretly admit is that you’re desperate. But not that desperate. Never in a million years would you consider it and you feel the urge to make that clear to him right here and right now.

“I want you to leave me alone from now on. Don’t talk to me, don’t contact me, don’t look at me on campus and don’t even think about coming here anymore.”

Miguel scoffs. “You think you have any power in banning me from the cafe?”

You let out a quiet huff. He’s right. You don’t have the power to ban him without the consent of your manager. There’s no logical way that you’d be able to explain ‘hey I want to ban this customer for trying to fake date me.’

You screw up your lips. “Fine. I just won’t serve you.”

Miguel leans back in his seat, looking up at you with lidded eyes. “At least someone competent enough will be making my order properly then.”

You decide not to waste your breath on him any longer. Before walking away, you murmur one last thing to him.

“Good luck in finding a fake girlfriend with that rotting attitude O’Hara.”

/

Ever since that conversation, your life has been surprisingly peaceful.

After the last few weeks of stress and overflowing emotions, you can finally find comfort within yourself to put the Miguel situation behind him. Over the past week, you haven’t seen any sign of him. You haven’t bumped into him on campus or even seen him within a remote distance of the cafe.

MJ questioned it a little, noting how it was weird that Miguel never shows up when you’re on shift anymore. Clearly something happened, particularly after you returned to her after the conversation but judging by the pissed off look on your face, she decided not to speak up about it.

Finally, your life begins to come down to a gradual pace. You continue to distract yourself by reading your assigned books and drafting up essay plans. Yes , your mother still calls frequently and you’ve had to resort to turning off your phone for hours at a time during the day just to get some peace and quiet.

Yes , your life has been great without Miguel but there’s a weird feeling in your gut which you can’t seem to get rid of. Almost as if your body seems dissatisfied with your choice.

No , you remind yourself, you made the right choice. It was all or nothing. 

Yet, whether you’re reading an academic essay or writing an assignment at the campus library you still can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if you said yes? 

What if you caved in? 

Just as soon as you were stuck on a sentence or taking a break before finishing up a paragraph your brain seemed to automatically switch to think about him.

And on sleepless nights, when you’re being bombarded by text messages from your mother and staring up at the ceiling in a numb state, you can’t help but wonder about him. 

Reflecting back on the situation, you can’t help but remember there being a certain look in his eye. Different from his usual sarcastic and sneering self. It seemed to you that he had a glint of desperation in his eyes, it wasn’t completely obvious but with the way he attempted to convince you it was most definitely there.

‘Believe me, you’re not the only one with family issues.’

Maybe you should’ve said yes.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of changing your costume last minute.” Lyla interrupted, bursting through the bathroom door with a lipstick kit in her hand. She was dressed as a Ghostbuster, hoping to match with a few others from her computer science club.

You finally blink, eyes turning glossy after falling deep to your thoughts.

“This halo thing is kinda annoying, it’s gonna give me a headache.” You thought it was much too small, pinching the sides of your head.

Lyla leans over the sink and you shuffle over to give her space as she focuses on applying her lipstick correctly in the mirror. “Just wear it for a little bit and then take it off if you want, I think it’s obvious what you are with the angel wings.”

You hum, “But the halo keeps it all together.”

“By the end of the night you’ll lose it anyways, trust me it’ll be hectic tonight.”

You nod, watching Lyla touch up her makeup. “That’ll be good.” you note. Anything which could distract you from thinking about him tonight would be more than enough.

You judge your outfit once more which was, as Lyla noted, an angel. With cheap angel wings and a halo headband, you paired it with a gothic white dress which came fitted in with a corset like waist. The dress was frilled at the bottom, covering the back of your legs and you matched it with white high knee heels which Lyla had in the back of her closet.

Maybe you’ll see Miguel at the party – no , he doesn’t seem the type to go to those . He’ll just ruin the atmosphere with his negative energy. But if he were to make an appearance, your mind was set on ignoring him and sticking to your words made at the cafe. 

“You think you know who will show up?” You cover up your thoughts in a joking tone, trying not to take it seriously.

“Who? Miguel? Probably, I spoke to him yesterday and he said most likely.”

Your eyes nearly pop out your head at Lyla’s nonchalant note that Miguel was in fact making an appearance tonight. 

“I’m sorry, what? You know Miguel? This whole time you knew him?”

“Well, yeah, I see him in the STEM buildings and I’ve interacted with him at a few events after Peter mentioned him. One time after a lecture, Peter caught me and introduced us. He’s a nice guy.”

“Nice? He’s the epitome of the devil.”

“Miguel told me that you two had sorted out your beef.” 

“Beef?” You scrunch up your nose, “What are we five?”

“Sometimes, you certainly act like it.”

“But he started it?”

You haven’t told Lyla the full extent of your issues, the only thing she knows is Miguel’s attempt to get you fired. She knows nothing about that night or the police or Miguel attempting to blackmail you into fake dating. She knows nothing at all and you figure that it would be better rather than explain the whole situation.

The less she knows – or anyone for that matter – the better.

Lyla shrugs, “Well, I guess that by the end of the year I guarantee you’ll kiss and make up.”

You act out a scene to fake vomit which evokes a loud laugh out of her.

“Okay, then maybe after tonight, you’ll find someone to take your mind off him.”

You hum absentmindedly, “Maybe.”

“Or we get so drunk that you don’t even think about him and by tomorrow morning you won’t even remember who Miguel is.” Lyla spoke, with a smirk now putting away her lip kit. 

You nod. That was the plan hopefully.

Fingers crossed she was right.