The Man in the Audience

Spoiled.

Your POV:

EARTH-616
Y/N's apartment, Manhattan, NYC, NY.
1/11/24. 8:07 A.M. EST

My eyes opened slowly, blinking heavily as I began to awaken myself. The side of my face was buried deeply into my pillow; my bare back left facing morning sun. My skin was warm, and almost glowing in the sunlight. My arms lay in front of me outstretched, reaching toward nothing but the other side of my bed. The side that Miguel had laid on just last night. But now, he was gone. Only the warmth of his presence was left to linger on the sheets of my bed.

My heart sank at the feeling of him being gone. A cold, isolated, and almost desolate feeling began to simmer deep in my soul. A feeling that only came about only when I was feeling extremely disappointed- or sad about something. It was a harsh, twisted sting in my heart that made me want to curl up under my comforter further, and shut my eyes tight; imagining that Miguel was still holding me close. His arms around me, and my face buried into him- getting a smell of his powerful cologne. Maybe I was being dramatic. I knew he was a busy guy, but I couldn't help but to feel a little disappointed about him leaving. Who wouldn't? I thought that maybe we could have a nice breakfast together or something. Something...more intimate after that hell of a night we had shared together.

I sat up lazily in my bed, quickly realizing I was still fully nude under the covers. With a grunt, I scratched the back of my head; swinging my feet down to the floor- beginning to slowly come to a stand. That prediction I had made last night about me being sore today- was indeed a correct prediction. My legs trembled as soon as I transferred my weight. My back, abs, and arms all feeling the same- immediately feeling the intense weight of gravity. My entire body was heavy with muscle fatigue. I trudged over to my boxers, shorts, and shirt from last night sprawled across the floor and lazily threw them in my hamper. Barely even making it in. I got some new underwear, put on some sweats, threw on a hoodie and called it good for the morning. I wasn't really planning on going out anyway. Just recovering and thinking about Miguel over coffee.

I was about to exit my room when I began to hear noises. Something like the sound of dishes clattering together, the squeaky faucet followed by running tap water; the faint, warm hiss and sizzle of something being prepared on the stovetop, and music all being stirred together down the hall in the kitchen. I paused, pressing my ear lightly against my bedroom door to get a better listen.

My immediate thought was that it was Miguel, my heart jumping into my throat with excitement at the thought of him still being here. If it were to be an intruder, I doubt they'd be making this much noise- or robbing me at 8 in the morning at that. (Or using my kitchen.) But of course, it's New York. People are...crazy. Most people can't even think straight here, let alone function properly. So it's much better to be safe than sorry. Especially with the recent rising crime rates. I mean, even if you were the sanest of people living in New York, you'd only be sane because of those $8.00 coffees you have to drink three times a day to keep up with the energy and hustle of everyone around you. But you gotta love it.

I slowly turned the doorknob, creaking my door open cautiously as I took my first quiet steps into the chilly hallway. The sounds began to get louder with every stride, my footsteps still slow and hushed- like a mouse. Once I could see a sliver of my kitchen from around the corner, I saw movement at the stove.

There in front of it stood a very tall and very shirtless Miguel, humming along to "Sabor a Mí" blaring from his phone as he cooked. The golden light protruding from the windows of my den ricocheted off the intricate carvings of muscle in his back as he stood there; in a total state of focus at the stove.