(Miguel's POV)
I wake up splayed on my living room couch. My ears ring, skin tingling, buzzing at me, trying to tell me something. I feel her eyes on me.
She's sat at the kitchen counter, looking at a pile of blueprints.
I don't get hungover; my genotype won't allow it, but I suppose it's had worse shit mess with it. I stand up slowly then walk towards the counter, to her.
"Good morning, Y/N."
"Good morning, Mig."
"How did you sleep? How was the bed? Are you hung over?"
"I'm good, I'm fine," she smiles up at me, softly. It gives me that feeling in my chest.
She looks down, her brows knit together.
"Last night was something, huh? Quite an eventful night," she nods, looking down at the prints, avoiding my stare.
"It was..."
"I'm sorry, I– I shouldn't have come onto you, I mean you were drunk and I–"
"You're saying it like it was a mistake..."
"No– I mean yeah well, I pulled you into me,"
"I cornered you in the closet– it's on me too, Y/N... did you not... mean it?"
"You were drunk, Mig, you didn't mean it."
"What didn't I mean? How would you know?"
She pauses, tilts her head.
"After the party, you walked me back, that stuff you said, it was the alcohol. You were drunk."
"I uhh put a happy face on your final paper," I exhale as we drag our feet back to our corner of the apartment building.
"Do you ... remember that?" I ask.
She looks up at me, nodding, softly smiling. She looks back down.
"Yeah, hm, that fed my delusions for quite a bit."
"You weren't delusional. I saw you,"
"How? I sat in the way back, Mig."
"I liked the way you wrote. I liked to read you, liked the way your mind worked. Still do."
"Are you drunk?"
"I am ... but I still mean what I say."
Her eyebrows furrow, then soften up with a smile. Wish she believed me.
"That doesn't mean I didn't mean it,"
"We just met, Mig, and I just, I wanted it to be real."
"Everything I said was true. Did we not go to the same university? I knew who you were, I read you, and it felt like– I knew you... Where is this coming from? What did it mean to you, huh? I wasn't asking for your hand in marriage–"
I wince at my words.
She slowly gets off of the stool.
"Yeah, it was a mistake," she mutters, reaching for the door.
"Y/N, no. I just—"
Her cheeks are flushed, and I take a deep breath, realizing the overwhelming weight in my chest, watching her leave, watching her realize I was her mistake.
I watch her retreat. She shuts the door, shuts me out.
****
I come back from work, climbing through the window, when I feel the buzzing again.
It comes from the other side of the hall. Unfamiliar voices.
I open my door.
It's maintenance.
I stand in the hallway, watching men converse, walking in with their tool boxes.
"Y/N? Is Y/N there?"
"Yes, sir. She's in the bathroom, showing the guys."
"Y/N," I call out. I hear her footsteps approaching, recognizing the weight, the creak that comes with her steps.
She looks surprised to see me, which ends abruptly, her face growing unamused.
"What do you want?"
"Why didn't you come get me? I could've done it for you!"
"Done what."
"Fixed whatever needed to be fixed."
"That seems like... like something a married person would do for the person they've married,"
"You brat. Dios. They're going to be here all night! There's three men in your apartment right now. It would've been a one man job for me."
"There's also a woman working inside, sexist," she shrugs.
I cross my arms.
"Mig, it's fine. I'll lock my bedroom door."
"Do you hear the ruckus they're making? Think you'll be able to sleep through that?"
She pauses, thinking.
"It's late. Stay at mine again. Please— for both of our peace of mind."
"Mig,"
"Stay at mine. I'll sleep on the couch."
****
I open to her knocks. She storms in, right past me, heading to the couch, pillow in hand.
"Y/N, I said you could sleep on my bed."
"No. We're not married, remember? It's your bed," she raises her palms at me, "Couldn't touch it. That would be a sin."
"God, can you drop that?"
"You started it."
"Funny."
"And I'm only staying here because it's either them keeping me up or you keeping me up with all your loud sex activities," she mutters, pulling the blanket off from the top of the couch and over her, laying down.
"Sex– I don't have sex activities. I'm just boxing, or... or reorganizing my bathroom cabinets. Ay, cállate y duérmete. I've had enough of you." Ugh, shut up and go to sleep.
"You sleep," she mutters, muffled under the blanket. Her eyes are closed.
****
I sit at the kitchen counter, scribbling on a blueprint, as she sleeps on the couch.
I look up every once in a while, wincing at the clinging of metal across the hall, checking if it was audible to her. Our ears work differently.
The living room isn't as warm as my bedroom. She's all bundled up.
I get my blanket from my bedroom and bring it over to her.
Her eyes are closed, the bottom half of her face is covered by the blanket. I cover her up with another layer.
I turn to walk away, when I feel warmth tug at my wrist.
"Did you mean it? Did I really mean anything to you back then?" she whispers.
I stop in my tracks, looking down at the carpet under me. It's hard to be sober and... open.
"Yes... Y/N," I whisper down at her. She opens her eyes.
"I liked you then," she whispers through the blanket.
I nod, then look back down at her, "I get that now."
She lets go of my wrist.
"Are you comfortable? Do you want my bed?"
"Are you going to stay up working? I don't want to steal your bed again."
"I'll probably be up for a while working on something. Take my bed. Vamos," let's go.
She slowly gets up, as I take the blankets off of her and sling them over my shoulder.
I lead her down the hall, then open the door into darkness.
"I'll never get over how huge your bed is."
"I'm tall." She looks up at me then scoffs.
She approaches the lamp on my bedside table, touches the pull chain then looks back up at me. I nod.
The room becomes dimly lit up by orange light. She looks up at me before slowly getting into my bed. It makes my heart race.
She stays on one side of the bed. I walk over to where she lays, and gently layer the two blankets over her.
"I'll be in the kitchen," I nod, adjusting the blanket over her shoulder.
"Good luck with the blueprints."
****
Two hours pass. I check in on her, slowly opening the door. She lays on her side, eyes opened, staring at the wall.
"What's wrong?" I whisper from the doorway.
"Just thinking," she whispers back, turning to look at me, "Creep."
"Just checking on you... what's wrong?"
"Lay with me."
"I– okay."
I sink onto the other side of the bed.
I lay on my back, arms crossed.
She turns to face me, lying on her side.
"I've been stuck in the past, Mig. I've been confused about everything lately, everything but... you, " she exhales.
My heart skips a beat, and I don't know what to say, though I know I feel the same.
Say something, idiot.
She closes her eyes, eyebrows furrowed. "Do you want me?"
I gulp, then nod. Thought it was clear.
"Then say something."
"You know how I feel–"
"I don't,"
A sigh escapes me.
"Can't you feel it? I don't know how to put it into words. I'm trying."
"I know, I know."
She grabs the hand I have rested on my side and squeezes it.
And she looks up at me, like she can see me, the me I can't even see in myself, the one I thought died a year ago.
I grab her hand and put it to my face. I let her feel the warmth in my cheeks, the flush she put there.
I sigh, gather my thoughts.
"So what will it take for you to fall asleep?"
She hums in thought.
"Just stay with me for a bit."
She turns, grabbing my hand and placing it on her side.
"Earlier, you said we just met, now you want me to touch you?"
"Then don't. Refuse," she mutters, pulling the sheets higher over her shoulder, half of her face now covered.
"You know I can't do that."
I turn on my side, then rest my face in my hand. She looks up at me, and I feel things I haven't felt... maybe ever.
"I like you, Miguel O'Hara," she sighs.
"I like you, Y/N."
I find myself brushing my fingers through her hair. I find myself wanting to lull her to sleep. I find myself wanting to be soft for her. And it pains me.
She closes her eyes, but I can tell she's smiling under the sheets.