Ch. 2 Night Terror ✮༻

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He waits for you, standing tall in front of your apartment door. He's got a motorcycle jacket on, a dark navy t-shirt under, tasteful worn out jeans, and he's carrying a box full of your room decor; it's like a manifestation of your 18 year old fantasy delivered right to your door.

You approach him. He looks down at you, offering a slanted smile, still standoffish, but you can tell he's trying.

He was a focused student then. He paid no mind to the eyes glued on him as he rushed to class, or maybe he was too oblivious to notice. Eyebrows knit together, as he rummaged through his notes, all while walking at the same time. He had very few friends, kept to himself, and was envied by his academic competition, so it made sense why he was the way he was. And it, of course, made you want him even more.

You scramble to pull your keys from your back pocket.

"Got them," you mutter nervously, avoiding eye contact with him. He tilts his head, watching you. You open the door, and he takes a step back to let you walk in first.

He follows behind you as you reach the kitchen counter.

"You can leave it right here. Thank you, Miguel," His name feels new, weird on your tongue, but you like it.

"No problem," he replies, placing the box on the counter. "So this is what it looks like in here," he says, surveying the spread of the place, as he takes his jacket off.

"Yep, this is it," you smile, watching him from the side, "Feel free to take a look around."

He's huge, and tall, way taller than you remember, but this is also the closest you've ever been to him. He runs a hand through his hair slowly, biceps flexing as he wanders around the barren apartment. He could destroy you. If you hadn't had a massive crush on him all this time, you'd think it insane to let a beast like him into your apartment.

But you admire him.

You take in this sight of Miguel. You know this is the only possible way the Miguel O'Hara would ever willingly come into your home.

You step back and watch his eyes explore your new home. His hair is tousled, and his outfit doesn't look like Alchemax attire.

You force yourself to talk; you don't know when you'll see him next.

"Did you just come back from work, or school?"

He tucks his hands into his front jean pockets, shaking his head.

"No, I was umm just out, running some errands," he says, looking you up and down.

Did you overstep? Or had he just not had the chance to fully look at you?

"Hey, you never told me your name," he says, eyebrows furrowing, as he walks up to you.

"Y/N," you blurt, looking up at him.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Pretty and hard to forget," he says, smiling down at you, as he slowly towers over you.

Seeing his real smile evokes your real smile immediately. His crimson eyes stare into yours; you could stare into them forever, if you weren't blushing and panicking internally.

"So you're my neighbor, huh. Perfect timing running into you on the stairs there," you say, breaking eye contact.

"Yeah, I don't ordinarily take the stairs, but today felt different ... just wanted to try something new,"

"So you ordinarily take the elevator?"

He tilts his head, "Yes, yeah the elevator."

You back away and head for the pile of boxes on the floor.

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