Your coworker, Miguel O'Hara, thought of himself as one of (if not the only) coworkers who didn't treat you poorly in your dead-end job. He also ensured it. However, there were instances when he made you doubt your own judgment.
Since you were a young child, you had always wanted to live in the concrete jungle. Your first step into this mayhem, from the dilapidated subways to Times Square, was a fantasy come true. Nueva York was portrayed as one of the most romantic cities to fall in love with in every romantic comedy. Naturally, you pondered if you’d ever be able to experience such a genuine heartfelt interaction.
You had concluded that this structure was peculiar. Anyone else would have assumed it was quite normal; it was a tall high rise within busy, gray streets, not too dissimilar from any other office building in the area. However, its normalcy seemed completely odd to you. Because of the company's wealth and the genuine nature of its mission, you expected something huge and lavish when you were told that this was Alchemax's main headquarters. Now that you were in front of it on this chilly, rainy day, it was completely underwhelming. You double-checked and then triple-checked the address you had written down. No, this was the proper location.
Even if you weren't very interested in genetics, the position was the last one that could help you meet a prerequisite in your life. After being moved to this particular branch, you discovered that it was one of the highest-paying jobs you could obtain with your background. You had your friend Peter Parker and his gracious recommendation to thank for that.
Unsure of what you were anticipating from this point, you glanced around the opened doors and realized that this was most definitely not it. For a few seconds, you were stopped in a state of observation. For an office, the space was about typical in size, with two enormous windows lining the wall across from you. From this vantage point, the view was a little better, but the day remained the same gloomy and depressing one you had just left behind.
The sound of a cough brought you out of your wandering thoughts, and you brought your attention to its source. The most put-together part of it was the computer, which you thought was hard in itself to look at all messy. Turning your attention away from your hard inspection, you noticed the very man you were here to see now staring at you blankly. “Please sit,” He started as he’d finally caught your attention.
You suddenly became conscious of how long you had been staring aimlessly through this poor man's doorway. You shuffled up to the chair that had been carelessly positioned in front of his desk, sat down, and put your bag down by your feet while making a brief gesture of apologies in the back of your head. After much waiting, you eventually made an effort to get a better look at the man you had come to see.
His lack of regard was the first impression you had of him. He hadn't noticed you before, but now he was far too preoccupied with whatever he was doing on his desktop to even notice you.
while minutes went by, he would regularly glance over at the paper in front of him while he scribbled notes here and there. You concluded that he didn't appear all that distinct from what you had envisioned. He didn't do anything but monotonously repeat your name before giving you a fleeting glance.
"Yes, that is me." Instantly nodding a few times, you suddenly felt nervous as you recognized the serious nature of what you were doing. A few more agonizingly awful silence-filled seconds passed before Miguel inevitably turned to face you, picked up the piece of paper he had been writing on, and grinned at you in what you can only assume was a forced expression.
As you immediately recognized the grave nature of what you were doing, your anxiety started to build. After all, this was all for a job, and a good one at that, so you couldn't afford to have an adverse first impression.
He stared down at the file, "Transferring from...", then quickly closed it and set it away. "Scratch that, Parker already told me about you."
The "interview" continued after brief introductions and data verification. For the most part, it was incongruous with the setting and the person you were speaking to as it was dull and ubiquitous.
"Well, I suppose you aren't what I was anticipating, but I suppose that's okay." Looking back at Miguel, you wished you could see right through his eyes what was going through his mind. He exhibited such deference in this situation. "Perhaps Parker was right to put you in this situation," He said.
You weren’t quite sure what to say to that, it was an apt observation if nothing else. Was he usually as blunt and brief? As you gave the matter some thought, there was a long period of stillness. Miguel appeared to be thinking similarly since he let out a gentle "hmm" before continuing.
That prompted a slight grin to return to his face. “Good. Parker will then get in touch with you in a few days to discuss your orientation and other matters." Was that it? He skirted every prospective line of inquiry that you may have thought he might have. You had decided that there was something strange about him, and you questioned whether he would behave the same way if he were your superior.
The majority of the information was delivered to you on your first day of work. This goes here, that goes there Don’t talk about sensitive information outside of the floor you were on. Lunch was at 12:30 pm. Etc. Seemingly hastily, a desk with your phone and computer had been set up for you outside of Miguel's office. Miguel himself still hadn't spoken to you. This was now your daily routine. Nevertheless, it was gradually turning into something you either found yourself dreading or loving. Mostly as a result of said coworker.
When you first met him, you knew nothing whatsoever about him. The individual in question was unassuming, quiet, and even kind of charming. Nobody, even you, ever knew what he was thinking. His enigmatic air made you imagine crude assumptions about what he might be concealing beneath his frigid eyes. Occasionally during the workday, you would catch his eye, and a glance would simply make you melt. When he rolled up his sleeves, his muscular forearms, high cheekbones, and deep voice were all prominent.
He was, however, occasionally quite haughty and conceited. Although he may have had good intentions, you began to feel that he was just another arrogant know-it-all who everyone adored. He liked to offer his unfounded opinions on topics and frequently sought to correct you when you answered something incorrectly.
He usually kept to himself, and since you remained skeptical about him, you did the same. You would occasionally hear him talking to the hologram known as Lyla, an abbreviation for some phrases you couldn't possibly remember. Given her talents, the hologram appeared to be rather potent; AI was truly remarkable.
However, over the past two weeks or so, you started to notice that he had gravitated toward you the most outside of the lab, always willing to lend a hand even when you weren't asking for it. On occasion, you had even caught him staring at you, only to quickly avert his gaze when your eyes made contact.
He even offered to buy you a coffee one time when you went to the cafe in the hopes that you could stop for a quick break and enjoy a warm beverage. Although he was pleasant, you always believed that he was only being especially kind to you given you were his assistant. However, your few exchanges with him did stir your curiosity, and you almost wanted to try to learn more about him to discover if your expectations were incorrect.
It was challenging, though, given how busy you were getting used to your new job. Even yet, you were intrigued by the mystery surrounding him and pondered whether his personality consisted solely of being a genius or whether he had other sides to him that he was concealing.
Sometimes, you'd like to believe that he wasn't quite the idealistic man that everyone believed him to be.
He was so outstanding at everything, you could have felt a little envious of him. Everyone was aware that Miguel would perform superbly in every subject, experiment, and outcome, seemingly without putting much effort forth on his part.
Even though you knew it was petty, you liked to believe that even someone as amazing as him had flaws, possibly even secrets. If Miguel had any secrets, you wanted to be the first to learn about them. It often irritated you to see him so polished with his praises.
There were times when you found yourself glaring at him as he had been prone to nitpicking, especially when it came to your reports. Your gaze flitted between the pile of papers that Miguel had placed in your hands and his disappointed expression.
Looking up at him, you asked as you glanced over the sheets. "What's the issue?"
"The reports aren't entirely accurate; certain details are missing, and your calculations are faulty."
You arched a brow and asked, "Perdon? There must be a mistake here. I evaluated all of the details at least twice."
"I apologize, but I never make mistakes. Your report contains fallacies, and they’re not suitable to be submitted to the higher-ups." You cocked an eyebrow at his remark because of how irritated he looked to be. You flipped through the pages, reading the graphs and the data again, unable to see how they were incorrect.
He proceeded while crossing his arms. "It's an easy task, and if you had been paying attention and not dozing off, you might have finished it efficiently.
You blinked as he finished speaking, attempting to understand what he was expressing because you nearly spent nearly every minute of your shift memorizing key concepts.
You snarled, "What's that supposed to mean O'Hara?" after realizing that he had to be acting in this way for a reason.
"I mean, you ought to become a little more adept." Your eye twitched in displeasure as you couldn't place the source of his abrupt attitude and somewhat harsh tone. "So make the necessary corrections to make your report submittable."
You reflected on how his behavior had changed a little bit during the past two weeks or so. When it came to you, he was more focused, and it almost seemed as if he was trying to take advantage of every chance to speak with you. You just dismissed him because you didn't want to rely on him and were still suspicious of his authentic motivations. Given everything, it's possible that he sensed the slight hostility you were feeling at the moment. But to constantly shove it in your face now? It was unusual.
“Right. Right. I’ll get to it then.”, Taken aback by the sudden diss, you only gave him a tight smile in response, willing yourself to avoid letting him get to you.
Once you had fixed any last-minute discrepancies, like being one decimal place off, you exited the lab and headed down the hall to your office. When you arrived at the door, the lights were dim; this contrasted sharply with the lab's lighting, which was much brighter; even the air felt a little bit colder and stiller as if you were the only person there.
When all you could hear were your footsteps, you were about to give up and accept that Miguel had probably already left until you noticed a glowing reflection to your right. This caused you to turn down the hall and, at last, find the room you were looking for on the corner.
There were large glass panels for the walls, allowing you to look inside, and after sighing a breath of relief from nearly being creeped out by the emptiness of the building, you could see that the source of light was coming from a laptop and found Miguel sitting at a table, seemingly reading something on the screen.
The scattered papers and books on the table told you he was probably doing some reports himself, and you were just about to walk in when a sudden movement on his end stopped you. The man was practically struggling to stay awake blinking slowly as he began slumping over.
You asked with an unwavering expression, "Por qué sigues aquí?" as you leaned against the door frame and observed him at work. You noticed that his sleeves were rolled up, his reading glasses were on the bridge of his nose, and some of his hair had fallen out of place. You traced the veins in his forearms down to his hands, which he was holding over a flat keyboard. You approached Miguel with your revised report as he arranged his papers into a tidy pile adjusting the frames of his glasses.
The interior was just as messy and disorganized as usual, and Miguel didn't initially appear much better himself. There was a nearly grey discoloration beneath his eyes, so whatever he was working on had to be wearing him out. Miguel hadn't seen you come in, so when he heard you speak, he jumped in his seat and jerked his hand to run over his slightly untidy hair before meeting your eyes. "I'm drafting a brief report. terminaré pronto."
Strange was the best way to describe the atmosphere between the two of you. No one knew where the other stood. How were you supposed to act? To speak? To express yourself? All things that would come in time, but that didn’t make the current moment any easier.
“Es tarde Miguel.Can it not wait for the morning?” You retorted, perhaps a little cruller than was needed. Anything this deathly important would have been evident from the beginning, in your mind.
“Not really, no.” Miguel breathed, eyes back up to meet yours.
You pinched the bridge of your brow watching as he dismissed you abruptly. He took your report and read the pages. Given that Miguel's computer screen was relatively dim and his office was gloomy, it seemed to be the case that he did not enjoy very bright lighting at all.
After a while, Miguel said, "Mejor." before reclining a little in his chair and clapping his palms together on the desk.
“Well." You raised your brows briefly before dropping them almost immediately as you groaned, "I guess you don't intend on leaving any time soon right?".
Then silence returned, lingering as he continued to stare off into nothingness. "Why's that any of your business."It wasn’t uncomfortable, as you were used to this by now.
“Bueno pues. Would you like a coffee?” You asked suddenly, noticing a slightly surprised look about him, eyes slightly wider, and red brows raised a tad. “If you’re offering.” An oddly familiar sense of deviousness came about him, almost a smirk gracing his features. “Gracias.”
Miguel learned that he liked the way you made his coffee. Not overly sweet, but also not as bitter as he typically drank it. On top of that, there was a twinge of vanilla and hazelnut. He would keep a mental note of how you had prepared it and use it in the future.
Miguel asked you to organize his files fairly a few days later. Since your first day, nothing had changed, and you had no memory of Miguel moving about the place either. Given the amount of junk in there, you wondered if it was even conceivable. So you knew it wouldn't be simple when a head appeared at your door early in the morning to call you over.
You moved closer, meeting Miguel's gaze as you lowered yourself onto the floor among a crime scene of other documents he had spread out in front of him, each with varied degrees of wear. You forced a professional grin as you did so. This seemed like the ideal spot to begin, so you assumed it.
You said, sticking your hand inside a box to your left and starting to rummage around inside it, "I'm shocked you don't store your records digitally like a normal person would in this era."
Miguel emerged from the box dive a second later, a wad of documents in his palm, settling it in his lap. He began flipping through the papers after giving the edge of his glasses a quick touch to move them back up his nose and giving his index finger a quick lick. He didn't glance up at you while he talked. "You really have an attitude, don't you?" He said matter-of-factly, having already taken a few pages out of the bind and put them away.
"What makes you say that?" You replied, moving a little to the right on your heels to shift through your box as you anxiously eyed its contents. Here, a little trepidation was expected, right? Wandering thoughts were quickly put into perspective as Miguel made a disapproving noise.
He commanded, his eyes still lowered downward and not looking at you, "Don't play coy with me mocosa." He kept flicking through the pages quickly, keeping up the regular pulse of the rustling pages. The remainder of the sorting process was mostly conducted in silence. As the hours passed, you flipped through more and more papers, and you discovered that more than half of them had nothing whatever to do with Miguel or his experiments.
"Just pointing it out, but shouldn't the holographic lady be used to transmit these digitally?
“Lyla. She goes by Lyla." His head briefly tipped to the side in annoyance as he looked over his shoulder after stopping his sorting. "No, to answer your query. She is still being programmed.”
Miguel rolled his eyes with a huff, bringing himself to stand as carefully as he’d lowered himself earlier. Slow strides closed the distance between you.
“Como vamos?”
Your calendar had been graced with a new day, and as you stood in front of his desk, you found yourself thinking back on any mistakes you may have made in the previous few weeks. "Your predicament is bound to change." Far too casually, as Miguel had said, for your taste. One morning, he had called you unexpectedly into his office without providing any clear explanation.
Miguel was the one who over weeks pulled you out of a downward spiral of obsessive thoughts and a mind filled with minute errors. His eyes were turned upward over the brim of his glasses, and he had struggled to meet your stare. His look had a slight void about it that you had grown accustomed to. "Parker claimed that you had some prior experience researching in the lab; is that true?"
You believed that you were only beginning to get used to the job—becoming an errand girl with a high salary—and that all you had learned and been accustomed to was about to disappear for who knows how long.
"Something like that."
You noticed that you were engaging in the lab's activities more as a result of the abrupt response. He was trying to duplicate the effects of a radioactive spider in Parker's DNA, identifying vials, playing with genetics, and even glossing over prior research. It was quite interesting.
You noticed that your bond with Miguel was thickening, much like crust would under heat. He would spend his breaks in the lab talking with you about his latest research and the state of his work, describing the theories he proposed and his process of experimentation. You nodded a few times as he practically described his scientific methodology as though he were reading from an instruction manual. Even though you already understood exactly what he had been up to and what lay ahead, you still indulged the man.
Things were more than civil around the lab. You and Miguel not only kept to yourselves, but you also found a liking to one another’s presence. He was always there for you, bringing you coffee when you dozed off at your desk, taking care of your notes while you were preoccupied with something else, and, of course, arranging a ride home when your metro card ran out of credits. He wasn't acting like a complete douche for once. To you, he was being courteous.
Miguel’s eyes were always sunken from sleepless nights in front of the computer or machinery, Even though he was a geneticist at heart and thought of himself as such, anytime he interacted with you or simply spent time with you in his lab, there was a sudden dynamism that even he found himself drawn to.
"You're my assistant. Never forget that." He frequently told you while speaking in an almost monotonous tone. He always had you by his side, whether it was to give him a wrench or make him a cup of coffee just the way he liked it. The reality is you didn't exactly understand why he kept you around; Lyla was more than capable of managing things. More than you could ever imagine. You were the one to see the endless trials and errors as he programmed her and played around with her behavior and appearance, so you were aware of this.
You would continue noting down anything significant despite his brusque dismissal of your peeping queries with a wave of his hand. He maintained his stoicism and focused while turning a cog or studying blood.
He rarely sat upright on the unbearable swivel chairs, yet his body language was one of contentment. In an environment like this, when the floors were just stained tile and the walls were bare, this was typically impossible to achieve. But Miguel frequently found happiness in the little things.
If something ever truly caught his interest, such as any fresh insights on DNA or any improvements in his studies, he frequently bounced his knee up and down on the hard floor.
You would occasionally sit a little too near to him as well. He frequently became rigid at the slightest brush of the arm or shoulder, and while you were none the wiser, his angular face would occasionally turn a faint shade of pink.
If you had not applied to this position in the company, Miguel would never have considered appointing an assistant. In his perspective, you were practically a godsend, turning his monotonous days into discussions about experiments and concepts rather than charts and statistics. You truly amused him, from your silly nicknames to your dabs of sarcasm.
The two of you would frequently go out to eat during lunch breaks rather than visit the pathetic cafeteria on the first floor. This made it possible for the two of you to leave the lab and enjoy the city's fresh air as opposed to going back to the stuffy, air-conditioned lab that you both detested.
Miguel tended to suggest a quick, inexpensive meal choice, such as a food truck or a man who cycled with a cart selling corn. It is more affordable, simple to make and eat, and fills you up before lunch is over. He would profess to love certain foods from his culture, but you knew better. Just as you grinned in satisfaction as you tasted the tasty meat in the greasy street tacos, he would not openly admit how much he enjoyed them.
But you, being a keen and open-minded person, ordered takeout from family-run restaurants that each served food from many cultures to determine which one you preferred. More often than not, your counterpart would offer to pay for the food altogether just to witness the sheer sight of your widening smile as you tasted the diverse meals you indulged in.
It was in that cafe that the two of you could at last act like naive teenagers once more rather than straight-faced adults completing reports and responding to superiors. You could talk in-depth about esoteric topics or outdated pop music together. He would sneer and add a caustic comment to his sentences, and you would reciprocate by rolling your eyes a bit sarcastically. Before taking a sip of whatever he was drinking, he merely laughed.
Splitting the bill 50/50 and watching one another steal a few bites of each other's appetizers and main dishes, anyone would have guessed that the two of you were a couple going out for a bite to eat before getting back to work. Miguel frequently found himself anticipating these small moments, an hour out of his day spent just with his assistant and not stressing about guzzling more coffee than usual to finish tons of work before their due dates.
Additionally, Miguel had a good sense of perception. In the break room, there are just too many stray eyes. One of the lab assistants almost spilled hot coffee on you from laughing too hard at a joke that wasn't even funny, to begin with. You would have been severely scorched and your clothing would have been ruined if Miguel hadn't grabbed your wrist and practically pulled you out of peril.
“Guess he was too caught up in his silly joke huh?”, you’d try to lessen the tension as Miguel glared at the man with stern eyes as he released the tight grip on your wrist.
“He should’ve been more careful. Otherwise, I would’ve been dealing with complaints about a stained shirt all day.”, Miguel groaned, gritting his teeth.
Plenty of eyes in the elevator were drifting too close to your appearance. While you were yawning and staring into space in the mornings, scarcely having any sleep, somebody was peering at the wrinkled button-up shirt that fits you just a bit too well. The bags under your eyes occasionally gave you a sensuous appearance, which frequently led one of the other lab employees to inquire as to whether you had enough sleep the night before. You might naively respond that Miguel had kept you up all night because of work. Yet Miguel knew what was being insinuated.
When they asked queries like these, Miguel typically scowled. He was aware of what they were suggesting and found it disrespectful. It was no secret that you and Miguel spent more time together than with other people in the lab, but you never wanted to bring it up since you thought it didn't matter. You were only his heartfelt assistant, someone he looked up to when he needed help with basic things like coffee or handing him tools.
However, you had also seen a reluctance about him occasionally becoming more distant and less dependent. Even though you weren't going to embrace it, as time went on, you began to worry more and more about Miguel. When you initially started, his reserve felt typical; he only spoke to you when he wanted something, but in the weeks since then, you felt as though he had loosened up even just a little bit. This only increased your anxiety about the prolonged amount of time you had previously spent together.
Unfortunately, that was the last time you saw Miguel for a while. A week passed when you were beginning to worry. The paperwork began piling up and the screws grew too tight to unwind. These were things Miguel usually fixed. You knew that Miguel had enough willpower to not throw himself into any dangerous predicaments. You couldn’t care less about why Miguel was gone rather than when he’d be coming back.
However, compared to when you were with Miguel, you started to become increasingly frustrated while alone. You thought you were going crazy. You were sure that if you stayed in the eerie lab alone for too long, you would start having hallucinations. The sound of machines buzzing and liquid bubbling was the only thing bringing you back to reality.
Weeks passed before you realized how much you missed your lab partner. The daily discussions you had, whether they were topical or pertinent to your current situation. The coffee he’d always request from you, even the little sarcastic comments. His office chair sat vacant, accumulating dust. His window curtains were closed, and there was hardly any sunlight pouring in.
On the other hand, you hardly ever saw your counterpart at work or in the lab. You were anxious about it, and you detested the fact that no one else in the lab appeared to notice his absence as much as you did. Instead, everyone's attention was on a man wandering around Nueva York with skills akin to spiders. You pinched your brow and wondered why Miguel had departed without saying goodbye or even exchanging any words. You sat in his chair, pinching the bridge of your nose, feeling wretched since your calls and texts had gone unanswered.
“Ay Miguel.. donde estas…”
You were walking home one evening after work when your thoughts started to stray. It wasn't as horrible as the memories' agonizing sting. And you were aware that you were once again feeling mostly optimistic about your life at that very moment. It shouldn't have been so difficult for you to live without Miguel. Although he was one of, if not the only, really close friends you had, you reasoned that you could not focus your attention on him all the time.
However, you crossed a curb and stepped too close to the road before hearing a car horn honk loudly all around you. The first thing that crossed your mind as the driver yelled in frustration was, "God, please don't let this be the way I die."
Your body stiffened up suddenly as the automobile sped up its approach. So close you didn't have time to brace yourself for the arm that would swiftly wrap around your waist since the lights dazzled your vision. The wind blasted through your hair as you gathered your breath and clung tenaciously to the masked form of your savior. Your eyes widened as your masked hero lifted you into the air and set you down on a rooftop.
"Why weren't you paying attention!?" He demanded. "That car could have hit you and you could have died!" were his first words as he set you down. You were relieved to be saved, but you didn't like the way he behaved with you. The idea of having to save you seemed to irritate or even inconvenience him.
When the two of you ceased speaking, you saw yourself standing alone in the blues of his mask's reflection. He briefly choked, appearing to be at odds with what he was trying to say.
He had just yelled at the one person who had been granted access to his heart, and he suddenly regretted it. He groaned anxiously out of embarrassment and muttered, "Estas bien?."
You couldn't see the expression on his face due to the blue mask. But judging from the way his shoulders fell, you could tell he wasn't angry. He chuckled softly as he ran his fingers over his mask. "I'm going to take that as a yes."
The sound of it caused your heart to stop, and the back of your neck began to tingle. That laugh was recognizable from anywhere. Before you could finish your sentence, he had already left. It appeared that he realized that you recognized him.
You sat there motionless, playing the sound over and over in your thoughts. Things now seemed to make a lot more sense to you.
Miguel… was Spider-Man..?
As soon as you arrived home, you fell deep asleep. You carelessly placed your phone down and slid into bed as you were too exhausted to process your latest discoveries. Your slumber was dreamless for some time. When you woke up, you weren't sure what time it was, but the sound of thunder was there to welcome you. As you dragged yourself out of the blankets, you made an effort to shake the sleepiness from your eyes. Before you sat down, your feet lightly tapped against the wooden floors of your flat. While yawning, you reached for the remote control to switch on the television and checked your phone, scrolling through all the unanswered texts you had previously sent. The dingy little picture you had of him wearing heart-shaped sunglasses as his icon only made you lean back on the couch cushion as you sighed gritting your teeth.
You had so many questions.
Shortly after that, your flat was filled with the sound of breaking glass and a loud thump. You searched your mind for ideas about what might have happened and who might have chosen to break in at this time of night.
You swiftly jumped off the couch while your nerves were on fire and snatched up an unsharpened pocket knife. The discovery of Spider-Man lying on the ground was a complete shock. He was completely drenched. While you were drifting off, it had been raining.
His arms were curled over his torso to keep any remaining body heat in while scarlet stained his side. His damp, brown hair was sticking to his forehead. Water droplets were accumulating on his cheeks.
You noticed that he was shivering slightly, and with a hint of guilt you asked, "Miguel…? Estas bien?!"
He twitched his eyebrows as you watched; he opened his mouth to speak but immediately shut it again. He appeared to be frantic with emotion and you pleaded in your head for him to say something to explain his abrupt disappearance all those months ago. He bowed his head in shame before sighing feebly and saying, "I'm sorry," with impeccable articulation. Even while a part of you wanted to hug him and reassure him that everything was fine, you also felt that you deserved more than just those two words. You sprinted toward him and pulled him off the carpet without receiving a word back from him.
“You need to go to the hospital Miguel. I can’t treat something like this…”, you watched as his clawed fingers roamed over a deep incision, blood staining his fingers as it ran deep.
“P-Please…”, he mumbled as you sat on the side of the couch, still wearing your pajama pants and a wrinkled tee. You took a deep breath and ran to get an old first aid kit that rested in your bathroom closet.
Even though they were a little shaky, your hands toiled hard to treat his wounds. He had never before appeared to you in this way. Miguel was a strong, serene individual. Sure he did sometimes get bruises from little mishaps like sliding from his chair when nodding off or slamming into a doorframe, but they were never quite as severe as this.
Now that he had been dismantled into a million parts and glued back together, he seemed like an entirely distinct person. Harsh edges and a dearth of delicacy. A clichéd metaphor. A million questions were racing through your mind as you cradled his face between your palms, words on the tip of your lips. His pupils were a blazing red color, and his fangs were prominent and sharp like that of a vampire. His eyes were silently pleading with you not to ask questions, and you understood, keeping your mouth shut. In the back of your throat, your thoughts withered. You softly rubbed your thumb along his lip's bloodied edge. His calloused fingers clasped your wrist, putting a stop to your movements. Your thoughts quickly flip through the options as you consider the circumstance and consider each potential response.
“Tus colmillos…”
"I know you are not worthy of how I left you, and I'm sure you have a lot of questions.", he said again after observing your response. When he speaks, the words sound hollow, as if they were taken from a book called Things People Say in Times Like These.
You nodded as you closed your eyes before he could finish. You sighed as you peered into his eyes to discover all of his feelings whirling about in an amber pool. You murmur a little aggressively, "An explanation of everything would be nice." But it wasn't angry; rather, it was more maternal in nature.
The situation feels dreamlike and hazy, as if you’ve imagined it so many times that it can’t truly be real, but it must be, because he’s still talking. You planned this scenario in your mind multiple times, what he’d say, how you’d react, and what would happen after.
This is how it would go: you’d greet him, and he’d be apologetic. You’re angry, you’d be blatantly upset, slap him for the dramatic effect as you’d seen in those corny novelas you had watched together, and then cry about it a week later when you are too many drinks in and can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt anymore. Instead, you found yourself caring for the wounded man like a stray cat you found off the street, coddling him in warmth and blankets as you soothed him with sweet words.
You swiftly get to your feet and offer him a warm blanket and a mug of tea. Although you were aware that he would prefer coffee, the circumstances called for tea, and the calming aroma of chamomile was perfect as the rain poured down. As you sit across from him, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear. When his gaze finally falls onto yours, you begin to comprehend how worn out he appears. His black circles give him a more human quality; he is no longer just the coworker whose snarky attitude would make you smile.
Your hands whirled as you set the mug on the glass table, saying, "See, I don't understand this whole situation." Nevertheless, Miguel couldn't help but smile when he saw your cuddly bunny slippers.
He said, "Nice slippers.." before you glared at him for interrupting. "Miguel, not now. But thank you." He sipped the warm, fragrant liquid while witnessing your continuing rambling. He sat against the corner of your sofa with a flat pillow caressing the curve of his back as the steam appeared to soothe his agitated attitude.
"I do not understand. You're absent for months... No calls. no texts. Nada," you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Then, when you're wounded and battered, you're here, sprawled on the ground, leaving me with a broken window."
He said, "I'll pay for the window.." he turned to look at the mess he had made in your living room. Glass fragments were all over the carpet, and all you appeared to do was gaze at him angrier. As his mama would say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and surely if he didn’t play his cards right you’d have a knife at his throat. He was extremely fortunate to find someone who loved him just as much as you did. He was fortunate to have that someone within arms reach. He was the one who ignited the downward spiral.
“Que te paso Miguel.. you have claws.. and fangs.. and you’re what? A vigilante?”, you glare at him expecting an answer.
“Spider-Man…”, he groaned taking another sip of tea while the steam clouded his eyes and the thunder echoed throughout the apartment.
“Si hombre araña or whatever.. but please explain. I was worried about you Miguel. I was so close to filing a missing persons report! But I didn’t.”, your voice was a little too soft for the situation. You don’t want to come across as sad, or desperate, but can’t find anything else to say. “You could’ve at least told me you were quitting or something…” The words rush together as they leave your mouth and you try not to wince
"Okay," he says anxiously, his voice sounding a little shaky. "Te explico todo." He runs a hand through his hair as you nod in agreement. Miguel utters your name in a whisper as he takes sips of tea and starts rambling. He gave thorough details about his genetic alteration as a result of the consequences of the rapture, giving off an anguished aura. While he detested his newfound skills, Miguel appeared firm in saying that he saw them as a blessing in disguise.
“So.. you’re half-spider..?”, you mumbled as you held his palm, pressing on the pads of jus fingers watching the little claws peak out. He nodded, somewhat impatient and irritated yet he could understand your blatant curiosity. Only you could turn a serious moment into a nonchalant one with your quirks and calming personality.
“Do webs come out of your a- “
“No. They come out from above my wrists. Come on you saw this yesterday.”, he groaned as he recalled the prior event from the night before. Right, Spider-Man had saved you from a soon-to-be pedestrian accident.
“Why did you save me Miguel?”, you tilted your head to the side as your chin rested on the palm of your hand.
"It was the appropriate course of action. Though I didn't expect you to recognize me so quickly..," he murmured, cursing the sneaky laugh he had let out. Your expression changed to one of sadness as you appeared to become acclimated to his laugh and accent. "I realized you already knew, and I would eventually have to tell you."
It is very sincere. He pronounces each word rapidly, seeming as though he can't believe what he's saying, and you can tell that his Spanish accent is getting stronger with each one. He tilts his head, "I just - I don't know,"
“We Can discuss my abilities and whatnot another time. Unfortunately…I was so afraid that I was putting you in danger because of Alchemax. That's why I left; I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt because of me.”
How does one explain that their memories of her are fading moments, glossy and healed-over, like a scab he steadfastly refused to pick at? That he tried to block out your face, that sweet girl he knew, because it hurt too much to think about her. That it almost worked if it wasn’t for the holographic voice, and his increasing heart beat reminding him. Miguel turned away sheepishly as your hands rested above his, caressing his knuckles. The gesture was bittersweet.
“I know it's been a while, but I couldn't stop thinking about you every day." With every word of his confession, you felt yourself coming closer. “Hearing you talk about how worried you were about me you only made me feel worse... I wish you hadn’t been so concerned.”
“Why wouldn’t I have been Miguel? Do you think that low of me..?”, your voice sounded bitter, nearly cracking. The sentence is listless, and it gets away from you as your head tilts, looking down at the table.
“Of course not. I just didn’t know how to explain everything. I couldn’t just appear out of nowhere and say that I was part-spider and running away from my father after he roofied me with an addictive drug.” His sentence runs on a little too long and he looks winded, but you’re wide-eyed with a soft smile creeping on your face by the end of it. He can never seem to get to the point of what he’s trying to say as easily as other people.
Miguel tried lightening the mood, you could tell by the way the tone of his voice had changed, as well the form of his brow. “Yet here you are.” You drift off, unsure of where you’re going with the statement. Miguel attempts to catch your eye again.
Miguel can only muster a raised eyebrow and a nod in response. The days of slogging through the lab's worthless tasks come flooding back. You recall the plaque you assisted him in hanging and how you almost fell off the rickety office chair trying to get it to lay straight. Fragrant dark coffee. Your shared laughter. A tsunami of memories.
You groan and rub your eyes. You are more than just jet lagged at this point in the evening, and the steam from the drink you are sipping doesn't seem to be making any difference. You're having too many thoughts at once to think clearly.
"I know. I apologize for everything. You deserved an explanation, after all." You reached a breaking point because of the gentle tone of his words and the way he was fixated on you. Every last bit of anger you were harboring vanished at the touch of his fingers on your cheek.
It takes you a moment to realize the hush that has descended over the table after the apology since you were consumed with your inner worrisome thoughts. Looking upward. "Te extrañe mucho," Miguel said as he tucked your hair behind your ear, and you felt your voice falter. "It hurt." He seized you into an intimate embrace before you could say another word. He didn't mind that his clothing was drenched in rain. As he held you, you buried your head in the crook of his neck and inhaled the intoxicating fragrance of his cologne. You surrendered yourself to melting deeper into him as he held you in his arms and laid his head on top of yours.
"Please let me take care of this," He moved away from you while pleading, placing a hand on each side of your arms. You couldn't help but feel your breath catch in your throat as he spoke sternly. He uttered one final request in a whisper, "Give me a chance."
A smile crept across your lips, and it was all the confirmation Miguel needed before he cupped your jaw. He gently drew you nearer to him. He was unable to contain his smile as his lips gently caressed yours. To close the gap and give him a proper kiss, a hand moved to cradle the back of your head. The kiss was gentle, but it was also the culmination of months of unrequited passion. He let all of his feelings out in a way you didn't expect, telling you what he had been feeling deeply through the years.
However, as time went on, you helped Miguel with his strange gadgets while listening to the hologram talk as she described the ramifications of multidimensional travel. It seemed exciting to meet an alternate version of you. What subtle differences would you have in common with her? Would she have the same eye color as you? Would you share the same relationships? The possibilities seemed intriguing. As you and Lyla started fiddling with the device, Miguel appeared intrigued by the idea.
You muttered to the hologram as she chattered, tiny glitches encircling her body, "Do you think Miguel is a sardonic grump in all universes..?".
"Watch what you say." Miguel shrugged his eyes as he began transmitting nonsense, "I Can still hear you." Despite appearing agitated and strained, you were aware that he grinned at the sarcastic remarks you and his favored hologram made toward him.
He couldn’t quite understand why you had aquatinted yourself so well with his AI, though he supposed you did play a role in programming her so of course you’d both get along… a bit too well for his liking.
Nevertheless, despite these things, he found himself enjoying your company, your enhancements in his experiments, and even the way you spoke to him. He would continue with his gaze especially when your lips or eyes wrinkled. Miguel was so engrossed that he barely paid attention to anything that was said. Only then would you gaze at him while rubbing your temples.
“Me estas escuchando?”, you’d glare at him as he swallowed thickly, blinking slowly. “Eh, si..si…”
“Apoco? Then what did I say.”
Miguel muttered, "Lyla replay the event." as the hologram showed an instance that had taken place just seconds earlier. He was met with an annoyed scowl and a minor smack instead of a beaming grin. Moments shifted, though, when he felt your hands caressing his cheekbones as you gave him a chaste kiss while smiling with his arms resting on your waist.
It takes him a moment to fully process what he's seeing. Miguel had skipped his way around truly accepting his canon events. He would flick through Lyla's memories, but the knowledge feels utterly unfathomable. You? Gone? The feeling wasn't right. In his perspective, you were still very much alive. Young and thriving. The recollections he had in his head don't correspond with this. He had known you since before death had ever existed. His years with you had been free from any trace of sorrow, the golden immortality illuminating the city as it radiated through your twin worlds.
Even though Miguel was aware that it was over, he clung to the tangled web of unpleasant yet tender memories. Since his heart only ached for the real events he had once again experienced, his search for consolation or comfort was unable to begin. He questioned himself as to just why he had felt so alone, and his mind simply seemed to chastise him with the plaintive wail.
Miguel felt his throat tighten as he spoke. He blinks in response. It may have been the start of your name, but he refuses to read into it too deeply. He pleads with himself not to cry. I'll lose it if you cry. He prays for something selfish and undesirable, but he still does it.
Lyla mumbles, "You know, it's been a while." She nods stupidly, hoping her appearance is arranged acceptably. Her attitude is so serene that it almost seems unsettling. "Almost five years have passed since. Miguel, this is not healthy for you maybe we should-."
"God, Lyla I had actually believed that I could just — you know, not pretend and come to terms with things...but I can't. It hurts." He cuts her off before he can finish his thought, like his words don’t seem to sit correctly on his tongue, awkward and hard to spit out. “I mean. I haven’t had to think about this stuff, In a while.”
“Miguel,” she says, and it comes out in a stilted half-whisper. She’d never known how to deal with others’ grief especially his. Ironic wasn’t it? He programmed her. Yet she has the impression that she should be saying more at this point, using some spellbinding words to express her feelings, but she is at a loss for words. Lyla couldn’t bring herself to scan the web for comforting words, otherwise, they’d seem false and clearly fabricated. So she stayed silent, watching as he logged out of her memory chip.
“I should have — I don’t know, I could have done things a lot different. But I didn't choose that." His jaw tightens. He unintentionally triggered something delicate, and fury is his most susceptible emotion as it is the easiest to conjure. Miguel finds this low-lying hurt, swirling somewhere near the surface, rapidly. It is simple to discern. even more practical to live in.
"Miguel, there was nothing you could have done." It is unwavering. He can't tell from her tone whether she's upset or not, but it's something he's never heard in her voice before. When his screens beep in front of him, he continues to reflect on the ruins of his torn past. His heart sinks even more as a result of the cacophony. Catastrophizing. Gyrating. Aggrandizing
Miguel feels it moving through his mental rhythms and cognitive processes like a living, contagious virus. If only being conscious of oneself would make it stop. However, it doesn't. Lyla feels hesitant in front of the vivid holograms and is gazing strangely at Miguel.
“Right. Its part the canon." The words are said as if they signify something quite different, but Lyla already knew the real meaning.
She nods in response to his earlier futile remarks, "Yeah," mirroring him. Miguel struggles to conjure even a small smile to demonstrate how fine he is. Look at me. I'm sane. It’s not a fake smile, just a lackluster one, and he swallows something fragile down before turning off the displays and leaving.
Lyla wanted to say something trite and bland like, "Take care of yourself," but she couldn't get the platitude out before he abruptly left.
The world doesn’t move in slow motion the way he had expected it to. Time should have stopped itself when he was reminded of his past, but the spider society is still very busy, his wristband is vibrating, and Miguel feels like he's fantasizing every minute of it right now. He should have been performing better as it was late in the day, but everything else is running just as it should. It seems too realistic. Too typical. He draws in a long breath.
It's time for him to gather his possessions and feelings. Leaving his space alone doesn’t make him feel any sort of way at all. I'm content with who I am. He would believe it would become real if he told himself that enough times. Eventually.