To keep himself preoccupied and less embarrassed for being childish, Miguel retreats into his escape pod: the world of game streaming. With headphones securely in place and the volumes cranked to the max, he carves out his own bubble of existence.
So, when Thalia knocks multiple times on Miguel's door, she receives no response. She had texted him that she was dropping off the month's report, but her phone, typically buzzing with his notifications, had sat eerily silent.
Just as she contemplates calling it quits, the distant sound of cheers pierces through the closed door, and she recognizes that he's in the zone. She digs into her purse, retrieving an extra key he's shared with her, basically permitting her to come and stay whenever she feels like it.
She surreptitiously unlocks the door, slipping into Miguel's sanctuary with a cautious peek. Indeed, he's there, lost in his world.
The realization hits—three days have passed since their last contact, a hiatus that began since that minor accident.
Moreover, Lorenzo has taken Miguel's spot as the 'cover' person, reducing his visits (it also makes sense because he doesn't want to inherit the store anyway).
But why? Miguel possesses an intimate knowledge of the business' workings, from suppliers to the intricate details of running the enterprise. And on rare occasions, like when he had to defend the staff, he presented himself as the rightful owner. So, why doesn't he want to take over?
Oh, never mind that for now. Is Miguel still sulking over Lorenzo? She has cleared it up, hasn't she?
Thalia eases open Miguel's bedroom door, a slow creak muffled by the hum of his live stream. Another unusual thing for him to do: he's engaged in an occasional moment of interaction with his subscribers. He's actually showing his face!
A brief, furtive glance assures her he's doing well, and she decides to make a quiet exit.
"Huh? What? Someone's behind me?" Miguel mumbles. "Don't scare me like that, folks. I live alone..."
Miguel swivels his head, his heart jumping at the sight of Thalia. Hastily, she tries to close the door, but it's too late. Their lines of sight have connected.
Miguel removes his headphones, unplugging them from the computer. The game's soundtrack and the alerts from the comments section spill into the room, bouncing off the walls.
"Thalia, hey," he beams, shoving the past embarrassment to the back of his mind. She came to see him! On her own!
"Uh, hi," she says. "I'll go. You're busy. Bye."
"No, hold on," Miguel says, closing the gap between them with a giant stride. Thalia's expression becomes a kaleidoscope of emotions—confusion, anxiety, and shock. "It's nice to see you."
"I, um, I was just dropping a report. Sorry, I used the key."
"I gave you the key to use," he retorts, taking hold of her hand, the heat of his touch sending a startle through her. "Come, I'll introduce you."
"W-What? To whom?" she stutters.
"To my subscribers."
She drags her feet behind Miguel, chewing her bottom lip. Miguel has half a million subscribers. Canada has 38 million people. Edmonton almost has a million. Rationalizing it, she reassures herself that it should be fine—
Miguel interrupts her internal monologue, gently guiding her to sit on a chair, the camera focusing on her. Comments flood the screen; some are inquiring about her identity, while others are demanding Miguel's return to the game.
"Folks, this is the first time I'll be sharing something personal with you," Miguel declares, his arm casually draping over Thalia's shoulder. She musters an awkward smile, torn between directing her attention at the camera, the screen, or Miguel himself.
"This is my girlfriend," he states excitedly. "She's kinda shy... Thalia, say something."
Panicked, she begins, "Uh... Something?"
Laughter overflows in the comments section, accompanied by a few confused emojis.
"I'm sorry. I'm not prepared," she admits, blushing. "Um, hello, my name's Thalia. I know nothing about gaming, but I know... Miguel loves it, and so do you, guys." She glances at Miguel. "I hope you continue to support him. Thanks."
Thalia tugs at his shirt, then leans in to whisper, "I'll kill you."
Politely waving her hand, she swiftly abandons the chair.
"Wait, Thalia, I'll end the stream," he says. "Wait for me. I'll take you home."
Without waiting for her reply, Miguel returns to the screen, pandering to the awaiting crowd, while Thalia collapses on the sofa in the living room.
They've just broadcasted their relationship to thousands of people. Wild. Thalia typically prefers to keep things private, but Miguel's enthusiasm to showcase her to the world is... Kinda adorable. How can she deny him when he looks at her like that? And again, will this help reduce his tendency to be jealous?
Ah, this man. He's wrapped around her fingers, yet he still won't admit it. Thalia is gonna have a lot of fun, waiting for him to give up and confess.
But this game... Is it worth risking his heart?
"Thalia," he calls out, taking a seat beside her. "Ready to go?"
She nods, disregarding her conscience. She has to think about herself, her status, her family.
She'll worry about Miguel later. It'll be alright. He won't be hurt. He'll get bored of her at some point and file the divorce himself.
"Sorry, I probably caught you off guard there," he says, his expression lacking any hint of regret. Evidently, he's ecstatic. Like he's proud to date her.
The thought makes her internally squeal.
"Not sure if my cameo would help you with anything," Thalia quips, rising to her feet and pointing to the sheets of the report to calm herself. "Those are the goods, okay?"
"Well, my subscribers are currently recovering from the shock that I've got someone in my life. Perhaps I've given them the impression that I'm a loner," he explains. "Or it's just a stereotype about gamers in general. That we have difficulty engaging in romantic relationships."
"Because you guys are usually socially challenged?" she teases.
Miguel shoots her an impish glare, also getting up. "No, because we typically have nothing in common with most women."
"Ah. Like you and me," she notes.
"Yes, but I... I don't mind. I like that we're different." He envelops her hand with his. "Don't you agree?"
She nonchalantly shrugs, deliberately avoiding his earnest gaze that has a peculiar way of softening her.
The two head out to Miguel's car, and in about ten minutes, he's parked by her apartment. Though she insists he shouldn't bother walking her upstairs, he remains persistent.
"We haven't seen each other in three days."
"And whose fault is that?" Thalia counters.
"Yours," he mumbles.
"Mine? What did I even do?" she inquires, feigning ignorance on Miguel's jealous episode. Which wasn't even that bad. Mad respect for him for keeping it all in.
On the other hand, Miguel won't admit that he conjured his own insecurities toward the new guy, who's evidently not a threat. Lorenzo immediately became a scapegoat of their relationship's uncertainty, a symbol of Miguel's unsure footing. Of where he stands in her life. While he has offered his help willingly, he can't deny the yearning for more—more clarity, more assurance, more of Thalia.
More. More. More.
With Miguel's lack of response, Thalia bids her goodbye and attempts to close the door behind her. She fails; Miguel has inserted one foot into her apartment.
Frowning, she questions, "What are you doing?"
"Make it up to me. Invite me in."
"Huh? Make it up to you for what?"
He ignores her, persisting, "I want to see where you live."
Pursing her lips, she tries to push the door, but Miguel's foot remains firmly in place. "No. There's nothing in here."
"Are you keeping a secret boyfriend?"
She smirks. "And if I do?"
Miguel's face contorts, his eyes drooping, personifying a puppy begging for some treats. Heaving a sigh of defeat, Thalia reluctantly flips the light switch on, opening the door wide, and gestures for Miguel to come in.
Miguel dutifully takes off his shoes by the door and steps into the apartment, settling on a chair by a study desk. "This is where you eat?"
"Uh, yeah," she responds meekly. She isn't exactly proud of her living situation. A bare studio apartment with no bed frame, just a mattress on the floor, and a study desk-slash- dining table. She's attempted to label it as minimalist to soothe her ego, but deep down, she knows it's more about not wanting to spend money on things she can live without.
Having someone witness her living quarters, however, is a different story. Thalia has observed Miguel becoming less direct about the discrepancies in their lives, but it doesn't make the experience any less demoralizing.
"And the heating of the building is enough?"
Thalia nods, hurrying to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. She offers it to Miguel, who thanks her while still glancing around. "Does the ceiling leak?"
"Mm," she discloses, squirming. "See, this is why I didn't want to invite you. It's empty and boring and looks sad."
"You think it's sad?" he contests. "Then why don't you just move in with me?"
Thalia's eyebrows meet in a perplexed furrow. "We're not married yet. We're not even engaged."
"We are engaged. We're getting married in less than a year."
"Oh. Right. I guess we are engaged in a sense..." She bites her bottom lip. "But still a no. I haven't told my family about you at all. So it'll surprise them if I'm suddenly in a different apartment. With a man."
Miguel drums his fingers on the table, asking, "Why haven't you?"
Thalia sits on the bed, looking up at him. "I am not sure if I want them to know. I don't think they'll be happy that I'm getting married for my status. I don't want them to know... I have a feeling they'll object."
"That's why you should introduce me," Miguel suggests, rising from the chair and plopping down on the spot beside her. "Oh, the mattress is surprisingly comfortable."
"I don't know..." she murmurs, staring at her feet. "Does it matter? This will all end in about two years. I think I can keep it a secret until then."
The mention of two years stirs something within Miguel. It's been a while since he's given much thought to their agreement, but hearing it voiced by Thalia brings an unexpected gloominess that sneaks into his core.
"What's with the face?" Thalia prods, poking his chin with her index finger. "You gonna miss me--?"
Their moment is interrupted by the ringing of Thalia's phone. The name on the caller ID stiffens her, and she warns Miguel with a hushed intensity, "Don't talk, okay?"
"Why? Who is it?"
"It's Mama," she replies, raising a finger to her lips. "Keep quiet."
As Thalia answers the call, Miguel becomes an unintentional observer, studying her expressions as her face lights up during the conversation. They exchange pleasantries, and to Miguel's surprise, he even hears Aly's voice in the background. It appears that, for now, the mother and younger daughter are on amicable terms. Yet, based on Thalia's tales, their relationship is like a ticking time bomb, with monthly explosions that leave Thalia emotionally drained.
Soon, the chatter shifts to the practicalities of Thalia's next remittance—how much, when and what for. Miguel's shoulders sag with the weight of the details: groceries, utilities, allowance... The additional 500 CAD he's been paying her has seemingly made a marginal impact.
Miguel's eyes incessantly wander, taking in the sights of the leaking ceiling, worn-out furniture, and thin walls. If Thalia were living solely for herself, she could probably afford a more adequate apartment. But she's chosen to take a step back and endure this less-than-ideal environment for the sake of others.
Exhaling heavily, Miguel releases the petty concerns that have burdened him these past few days. Two years, he reminds himself, is a substantial period to spend together. In that span, he'll be Thalia's steadfast shoulder to lean on whenever she seeks a moment of rest.
He will belong to her, just as she will be tied to him. Nothing will change that... Nothing.
Midway through her speech, Thalia is taken aback when she feels Miguel's head resting on her lap.
"Ate?" Aly utters from the screen. "Okay ka lang?"
(Trans: Ate - older sister; Are you okay?)
Miguel is staring at her face wordlessly, a muted query that leaves Thalia puzzled. Is he feeling neglected? Is he silently pleading for attention?
"Oh, yes, sorry," she responds, breaking the silence. "Anyway! I'll send the cash to you soon. I'll receive my paycheck this coming Friday."
Thalia hastens to end the call and meets Miguel's gaze, her head lowered, loose strands of hair falling from her shoulder. She catches a glimpse of herself reflected in Miguel's eyes, and for a second, she recognizes a negligible shift. Whether it's the way he sees her, she can't quite decipher, but she undeniably looks better – a transformation in an intangible sense.
"What is it? Are you sleepy?" she asks. "Do you want to head back?"
"No," he replies. In a spontaneous gesture, he extends his hand, grazing the tip of her ear. "I like it here."
"Um, okay?" she stammers, rosiness coloring her cheeks.
"You should tell your family about us," he suggests out of nowhere.
"Why?"
"Because if it works out between us, then you'll have to explain why you hid your husband from them."
Thalia delves into deep thought. "You are making sense... But what makes you think we'll work out?"
"I don't just think it," Miguel responds with a confident grin. "I know it."
******
A/N: Should Thalia mention the set up to her family?
Thanks for reading! Vote and comments are always, always welcome if you're enjoying this work.