Vampire Next Door ⋆⟡⋆ Miguel O'Hara x reader

Ch. 3 And I remember her...˚○◦˚.

She looks just like I remember her.

Plump rosy lips, that same flush of color in her cheeks, soft hair that falls perfectly into place, and a beautiful, contagious smile, one I'd let myself be infected by, that is, if I wasn't thinking of the one million things I had to do, the people I had to protect, and that piece of shit tied up in my bathroom.

When she talks, when I stare hard enough, I can find little changes in her: the way she carries herself, the way she looks up at me, the slight change in the colors she wears, but still, even through that, I see her, and I remember her... and the thoughts from then rush back.

But I've changed ... a lot in the past two years. A lot. So I wasn't too surprised when she didn't remember me. There were three hundred people in that hall, and I was just one of many TAs. I do remember making eye contact with her more than I could count. I thought she'd notice, thought maybe she'd feel it,

but guess she didn't.

Anyways, can't be too involved with new girl. I acknowledged the odds that she round up across the hall from me, but also acknowledged the risks. I can only keep work so far away from home. Shit follows me.

She let me walk through her apartment. It's empty, but just from the one box I carried, I can tell she's going to make it her own.

Boots. She had her own style then and she has her own style now, and I know her place will reflect that when she's done with it. I wonder if she'll invite me over at some point, when she's done decorating and settling in.

Now, I stand in her empty bathroom, watching her unpack. Today's my off day, so I figure I'll bother her a bit, jog her memory.

The walls are thin, I know that now.

The fucker thumps against my wall, forcing my visit at her place to be cut short. I rush to my front door, he whines through the red webs I shut him up with. I flash her a smile, "Ha yeah, gotta help the little guy, I'll- uh I'll catch you later," I say, blocking her from seeing the inside of my apartment.

I know I seem like an asshole, and the shitty side of me, the Spider-Man side of me, wants her to perceive me that way. I can't afford to get close to anyone again. Not after what happened.

I slam the door shut.

I storm over to the bathroom. The anomaly I've caught, who I still need answers from, sits tied up in the bathtub. He glitches in the red stringy mess he's tied up in.

I would have brought him to HQ, but Jess would want to help, probably scold me, and I had to deal with this one on my own.

"Maldito idiota, I told you, I'm not letting you go, and I'm not letting you die until you tell me who fucking sent your ass! How did you find me in this universe?!" I kick him as he lays sideways on the tile floor.

He rolls his eyes.

"Coño, I didn't want to have to drag you across my freshly mopped floor, but you're disturbing the neighbors."

Dragging him to the kitchen, I question him a bit more, rip off the webs on his mouth, and when he smart-talks, I shut him back up and relent.

Letting out a self-pitying groan, I tap my watch. The portal opens and I drag him back to HQ.

My suit activates upon arrival. Jess looks me up and down from the platform.

"I hope I'm wrong about where you just came from, Miguel," she mutters, looking down at her watch.

"Shut up, leave me alone ... Peter Parkedcar, anomaly control. Pick-up in my office, please," I speak into my watch.

I leave the anomaly glitching on the floor, and shoot web to pull myself up to the platform.

"What did I tell you about bringing work home, Miguel?"

I storm by her, ignoring her scolding, heading straight to the hologram screens.

"Yo sé, yo sé," I mutter, swiping across the screen.

"Hmm, your hair looks nice. It's ... different."

"Different?"

"You don't usually have your hair that way, is what I'm saying. What's the occasion?"

How can she tell?

"Are you seeing someone?" she asks, standing behind me, reaching her hand beside me to help organize my tabs.

"No, why would I– no,"

"Miguel ... I'll get it out of you eventually, so might as well tell me now before you start letting it affect your work, act weird, and end up making a mess of yourself ... a mess that I'll have to clean up ... not that I'm complaining I just–"

"There's a new girl, someone I knew back at NYU ... and now she lives across the hall from me. I don't want her to get in the way."

"Get in the way of what? Stop bringing work home and she won't be in 'the way.' Easy," she shrugs.

I exhale. It was ... recent. Time won't fly. The pain in my chest deepens, I remember it all for a second. I feel her eyes looking up at me. She knows.

I look down at the hand she's now rested on my forearm. She looks up at me, brows knit together, her worry visible even through her goggles.

"You can let it go, Miguel. You can have a life outside of ... this."

"This is my life. This is my responsibility."

"No. There are hundreds of us, Miguel. It's all of ours. You know ... if I could find love, create life, and still be here kicking ass and being a good friend to you, then so can you. You can live again,"

I sigh, head hung low. It takes a lot to admit to myself, how exhausted I am ... from everything. I haven't breathed in months.

"Let yourself live again."

I breathe back the tears welling up.

"Yo sé," I manage to mutter.

"Invite her out, Miguel, put yourself out there," she encourages, patting my back then jumping off the platform.

"How's ... Baby doing?" I ask, turning around to watch her leave.

"Baby's healthy and happy," she calls out, rubbing her belly.

"Gracias a Dios."

"Miguel, do yourself a favor... be more like Baby," she mutters walking out.

I let myself chuckle then look back at the screen.

My fingers subconsciously open that file. I feel myself smile, watching my past self be happy, full of life.

Let yourself live again.

Maybe I'll try.