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madschiavelique · 8 months

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჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Chapter 1 : First Day

pairing : teacher!miguel o’hara x student!reader summary : you visit your new university with the help of Hobie, and when coming back to your new apartment you meet your charming neighbour Miguel. turns out, he is not only your neighbour, but your teacher. (not proofread) content warnings : none word count : Route A : 4,2k | Route B : 4k masterlist of the fic : here.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Your lungs fill with the cool air of mid-September. The leaves are beginning to turn brown, a few falling onto the perfectly cut green lawn of the campus park. You can't wait to walk on them and hear them crunch under your shoes.

But for now, the sky remains blue on this late afternoon, dotted with a few cottony clouds, the gentle caress of the sun's warmth licking the skin of your cheeks. You breathe softly, calming your excited little heart for the new terrain that now stretches out before you.

At the end of this weekend, you'll begin your new year at the Academy of Science and Polytechnics, otherwise known to its students as ASP. Your previous university didn't live up to your expectations, nor did the one before that, but as they say, third time's the charm! At least, you hope so...

You're expecting to have a little more experience on various subjects than your future comrades, and you're quite happy to be starting out with a head start. Not that it's a competition, but the comfort you have with certain subjects is reassuring.

You're a little worried that the age gap might divide you from them, but you try to reassure yourself that, just in case, other people your age who want to change course will be along for the ride?

You give a quick nod, in the hope that it will give you enough courage and uprightness not to stumble and spread yourself like a pancake in a profoundly ridiculous fashion anywhere on campus, and start your walk to its entrance.

You're supposed to meet up with a certain Hobart Brown, who's supposed to be your guide for today - perhaps he's a student representative?

Whatever the case, you hope the visit won't be too long. Because not only is today your visiting day and the first time you've set foot in your new college, it's also the day when a good deal of your belongings are moved into your new apartment, which is located just a few blocks from the campus.

You'll receive several boxes containing, among other things, your books and the few manuals you've bought in previous years, clothes, your hygiene kit and a mattress to inflate. The apartment would be empty, with nothing but a refrigerator already installed as furniture.

You'd be on the third floor, the last one, as the building isn't very big or wide, with only two apartments per floor. You just hope your next-door neighbour won't be unpleasant. The reason you're hoping the visit won't be too long is that you'd like to take advantage of the delivery men’ presence to help you get everything up to your floor. Since the building is small, it lacks an elevator.

When you arrive at the large, imposing door of your university building, your gaze inevitably falls on a young man with an atypical style leaning against the wall right next to the entrance. Piercings, free hair, punk clothes and an aura of I-don't-give-a-shit to match, you wonder what degree he must be in.

With a toothpick wedged between his lips, he looks up at you, a shiver running down your spine as he tilts his head to the side.

"It's you? [Name] ?" he asks, calling your name, taking the toothpick from between his lips with his fingers.

It's at this precise moment that the realization hits you that the Hobart Brown you're supposed to find was this young man.

"Hobart?" you ask, raising both eyebrows.

"It's my name, but I prefer Hobie. Well," he nodded, rolling his eyes, "Hobie's a derivative of the one I was given at birth. Let's not get into the habit of names please, it's bad."

The scent of the anarchist anti-system was a perfume he nonetheless seemed to wear gracefully.

You pout understandingly, your lips forming into an inverted smile as you answer simply.

"Gotcha."

He smiles, nodding.

"Well, you're here for a tour," he says as he starts walking towards the interior of the building and you follow him, "but that's a particularly broad and useless term in this context. A tour only lasts once, and you discover things. But since you're going to be coming back here frequently, and you're still likely to discover new places, you could say I'm introducing you to the building."

"Are you in Arts?" you suggest as he walks down a corridor which you look at on either side where classes with their numbers are inscribed. "No, let me guess, you're in Philosophy."

"And you're perceptive." he smiles. "I like you, you seem to catch on quickly."

The university is, after all, home to the vast majority of the sciences, including the humanities. So Hobie is in philosophy, which is not surprising. It's interesting that he was the chosen student for your tour - sorry, introduction to the academy.

"Here's a typical corridor, nothing special, you'll come across lots of them," he sighs as he swings his hand in the air as if chasing a flying insect around him. "On the other hand, on this floor there are a few empty classrooms that we use from time to time, and obviously without the knowledge of the professoriate."

"Makes perfect sense," you say with a shrug.

"It's very useful for the meetings we hold about blockades," he informs, turning to you while walking backwards. "FYI," his ring-fingered hand rests on his chest, "I'm kind of the leader of our blockade committee, although being a leader or having one at your head isn't something I endorse. You could say I'm... the spokesman, the one who makes the speeches at our rebellion events, because let's face it, when you get tear gas thrown in your face, it can be confusing."

He seems to look you up and down, weighing up the pros and cons for a few seconds.

"Would you like to join us?" he finally said, with a jerk of his chin in your direction.

You crossed your arms, looking up at him.

"I'll think about it," you reply simply.

He smirks before turning again and walking straight ahead.

"Now, let me show you what will really matter here for you. You're in 'real' science, aren't you? You like playing chemist? Toying with vials?"

Hobie's little prejudices make you smile and laugh slightly.

"If you're nice, the one who toys with vials will show you how to make a better assortment of components to respond to tear gas."

He turned to you, laughing heartily and pointing at you as he walked to the staircase at the end of the corridor.

"I like you," he repeated as he led you upstairs.

"This is the second floor, in case you can't count. I don't know all your stuff and your complicated scientific words for this or that or such-and-such subject," he says, his head tilting this way or that, "but one thing's for sure: this is where you'll have most of your classes."

In the hallway in question, coming from a room that had just been locked by her, a lovely dark-skinned lady with gorgeous afro hair was walking towards you.

"And you may well find yourself in class with Mrs. Drew," he said, almost raising his voice and smiling as you walked towards her.

She walked slowly, unhurried, chin high as she smiled at the young man's call.

"Hobie, convincing one more person to tag the campus lawn with a capital A?" she said in a voice that was half sigh and half sneer as she came up to your level.

"You know me at this point, you know I never do the same thing twice," he says with a shrug before plunging his hands into his back pockets. "But for once I'm bringing in a bright element that will go into your side." he turns to you.

"A new student?" asks Professor Drew as her eyes settle on you.

"Nice to meet you, I'm [Name]," you smile simply.

"Welcome, miss." she says, inhaling heavily. "I hope you'll get used to the rhythm here, it can sometimes prove to be merciless."

"Jess, don't be so hard on a new arrival, you'll scare her away," warned a new voice.

A slightly disheveled man with light brown hair came towards you.

"This," Hobie began, "is Professor Parker. You're going to have to put up with him too."

"Eh, I'm not someone you 'put up with'," commented the aforementioned Parker, imitating a finger-crunching reaction to the use of words, "it's not my fault your religion is Spinoza and mine is Mendeleev."

"It's crazy how you're both so distinctly the same mental age," Jess sighed. "Anyway, welcome to our midst miss." and she headed off down the hall.

"Oh, so you're new!" realized Peter, "welcome to ASP."

"Stands for Appearant Soporiphic Problem," Hobie sneers.

"Does Freud have an acronym too?" puffs Peter.

"Of course," he says before raising his hand as if viewing an imaginary title in the air, "MI."

"Mission impossible?" asks Peter, frowning.

"Mommy Issues." corrects Hobie.

"Very funny," laughed Peter falsely, "I hope that as a reconversion option you've chosen the circus?"

"I'm already there. "

"I am fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten." This little chat lasted a few more minutes before Peter in turn left to go home and the visit continued. Ten minutes later, the visit was over.

You told Hobie that you were new to the city, and that everything was a bit of a discovery. You learnt that the building was very old, just like a few others in the town, and that many changes of direction had led to it being rebuilt over the years, while preserving its charming, slightly old-fashioned setting. "Well, I've shown you the parts that are important to you here," says Hobie as he descends the few small steps leading to the building's main entrance. "You mentioned that you were new to the city, so do you need a mini 'tour' of it too? Just the surrounding area, to familiarise yourself a little", he suggests.

Here's your first choice! Select the option you want.

Choice A: Decline and go straight to your flat. Choice B: Accept and take a short tour of the surrounding area.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

tag list : @deceitfuldevil @allysunny @zkelecr0w @chichimisaki @luvrdonny @oooof-ifellforyou @aisyakirmann @carelesswister @jojos-wife @akiras-key @love4saturn @simpychaotic

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madschiavelique · 8 months

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sorry i’ve been a bit inactive lately besties but it is only for the best (i am working on a lil multi chapter fic for u guys 👀 i hope you’ll like it !!)

(this was my state about 3 days ago :)

#mads ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#☁︎ ⋆₊ ⊹ oxytocin✦love ᥫ᭡#mads rambles ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #astv miguel #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x y/n

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madschiavelique · 8 months

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჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

<< Click here if you want to go back to chapter 1

Common End to Chapter 1

content warnings : none word count : 620 masterlist of the fic : here.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

The weekend is over, and your first week of classes is finally starting. The timetable had been sent to you in a bit of a hurry, considering how late your registration had been. It's true that you were a bit late in applying here, and you were afraid you wouldn't be accepted. But since your file was excellent and your former teachers had warmly recommended you, you had been accepted.

You look down at the list of subjects, sometimes grimacing at the way they fit into your day. You notice the name of Mrs Drew, your Cellular Biology teacher, as well as that of Mr Parker, who teaches Biochemistry.

And your eyes fall on a name that is familiar to you: O'Hara.

You smile, wondering what Miguel's face would look like if he knew you had a teacher with the same name.

You go to your first class of the week, and by the time you get there most of the class has filled up, enough so that not one double table is completely free. Your gaze roams around the class, trying to find someone approachable.

Your eyes land on a young blonde girl with a partially shaved head and a pierced eyebrow. It's double or nothing, so you approach her with her cheek resting on her hand and ask:

"Hey, can I sit here?

She turns to you, looking you up and down, before shrugging her shoulder.

"Sure."

You smile, sitting down and saying simply:

"I like your hair," you put your bag on the table to take out your note-taking things.

"Thanks...?" she says, frowning and smiling at the same time. You give her your name before asking “you ?"

"Gwen.”

"You wouldn't happen to be friends with a guy called Hobie, would you?" you say, turning to her as she straightens up.

" You know Hobie?"

There followed a short discussion until the start of the course, when you learned that Hobie's famous friend, the drummer in his band, was sharing almost all of your class time with you.

The day passes, until you arrive at your last class, the famous one with Mr O'Hara. You have a few hours with him during the week, and you're over excited by the simple fact that the subject is Bioengineering.

You take a seat with Gwen, your discussions having multiplied since this morning. You've had lunch with Hobie, and you're really pleased to have made friends so quickly.

But as class time approaches, your eyes fall on the person who has just come through the door, and your heart drops into your stomach.

Your sublimely beautiful neighbour, Miguel O'Hara, has just entered the room and placed his things on his desk. So, when you read his name on your timetable, it was him ?

Mr O'Hara was your Bioengineering teacher. "Well, before we start the class, I'm obliged by the university organisation to take roll," he said, pulling out his name sheet. "As a reminder, after two unjustified absences, you'll be considered absent for the whole semester, so I'd advise you to have your excuses ready."

The roll-call began, Miguel reading the names and looking up to check that the person was present and in particular to try to mentally register the names and faces of his new students. Then, after a few names, he called out yours, and shyly you raised your hand, trying to articulate:

"Here."

His eyes stayed on you for a few moments longer, his gaze slightly surprised as he continued his call.

The scenes you had of your encounter with him flashes in your mind, and it almost tingled you to know you had his phone number registered.

This is going to be a very special semester.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Back to the Masterlist | Next Chapter(Locked for the moment) >>

#madschiavelique ☾⋆｡☁︎ ﾟ #☁︎ ⋆₊ ⊹ oxytocin✦love ᥫ᭡

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madschiavelique · 8 months

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჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

<< Click here if you want to go back to chapter 1

Choice B : Accept and take a shor tour of the surrounding area

content warnings : none word count : 1,7k masterlist of the fic : here.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

It has to be said that you don't know much about the city, just as you don't know anyone here apart from your caretaker. Getting closer to Hobie and becoming his friend would be really reassuring in such an unfamiliar environment.

What about the delivery men? Well, they'd leave your things with the concierge, who'd keep them safe until you got back. It's no big deal, maybe you could even ask Hobie to help you put your stuff back together.

"I'm in, " you confirm.

"OK, let's start with the most important thing."

So the first destination is the music store. Hobie obviously knows the salesman well. So you learn that he belongs to - or rather is a member of, given that he wants to detach himself from any affiliation whatsoever - a band. You find out a bit more about the group, how he's the lead guitarist and that his friend Gwen, who's also a student at your university, is the drummer.

The next destination is a small, inexpensive convenience store. He knows there's a mall not too far away, but since every temple of consumerism is to be avoided at all costs, he shows you this one. You take the opportunity to do a bit of shopping in his presence, just to fill your fridge and cupboards up a bit so you don't go hungry tonight and tomorrow morning.

You share a packet of biscuits as he shows you the bar where he and Gwen tend to perform. He greets the waiters, people seem to generally like him, although the looks he gets thrown his way aren't always appreciative. But of course these same glances go right over his head, he doesn't give a damn.

The visit continues, the two of you chatting and laughing. The sun covers you both in orange as you finally reach the front door of your building, observing it. It's obviously not your first time here, but you can't help but feel that this place is going to be your home.

"Are you free for the next five minutes?" you ask Hobie.

"I'm free for the rest of my life," he corrects, "but I'm available now if that's what you're asking."

You tell him about the plan to move your boxes upstairs, and he agrees. The relief of not having to go back and forth between all the floors runs way too many times travels through your arms, encouraging them to hold on for the few weights you'll have to carry.

You swipe your building badge over the sensor and enter the Hall. You knock on the concierge's door, and he opens it and smiles at you. He's a kindly old man with a smile that never leaves his face.

"Ah, there you are. I tried to hold back the delivery boys because I didn't know if you'd arrive at the same time as them, but I didn't manage it," he says with a little shrug.

"It doesn't matter," you assure him. "My friend here is going to help me bring it all up." Hobie gives a little wave.

Although your concierge is old, he doesn't seem in the least bit shocked or judgmental of Hobie's style.

"What a nice gesture on your part, young man," he smiles as he goes out and grabs his set of keys. "I've had the boxes placed in one of the cubbyholes.

He guides you to the storage area and opens it, revealing the six boxes that have been deposited in a narrow room.

"Here they are," he turns to you, "don't forget to come and see me when you've finished so I can close it again."

"Thank you very much," you say simply as you grab the first two stacked boxes, elevating them as best you can. "We won't take too long."

"Take all the time you need," he laughs as he walks away, "the building's not going anywhere soon."

So begins the little move of all your stuff.

You've managed to get everything upstairs, along with your groceries, and you're on the ground after all that effort. You hand him a bottle of water, still fresh from the shop.

"I can't thank you enough for your help," you breathe out as he takes a sip.

"Don't mention it, you're the least depreciating person I've met in a while."

The remark makes you smile.

"Well, that's not all, but I'm not going to stay long," he says as he stands up, rubbing his hands together as if to dust them off.

You take him back downstairs, you exchange numbers, and he says goodbye one last time before leaving. You tell the concierge that you've finished your little move, and head back upstairs to your flat. It's empty, and while you still have a bit of energy left, you decide to inflate your mattress.

You don't have an air pump, so you have to use your mouth. During your interminable, head-spinning puffing session, you think back over the day, your meeting with the teachers who seem to be really great, and the very pleasant late afternoon you've had...

Oh, but you haven't met your neighbour yet! Perhaps it's time you pay him a visit and introduce yourself.

You quickly finish inflating your mattress and get up. You have nothing to offer for your arrival, and hope that it won't spoil your meeting.

You check your appearance in the bathroom mirror, just to make sure you look presentable, and leave your flat to take just a few steps to the opposite landing.

You knock on the door. You wonder what kind of neighbour you're going to have; all you know is that it's a man who lives there.

There's no way it's going to be someone too old on these floors, which reassures you. If you ever invited someone to your flat, like friends for a simple party, not necessarily with loud music, he'd be more understanding.

Another student perhaps? It wasn't impossible, on the contrary. The rent here wasn't too expensive surprisingly, and it was well placed for the university. If your neighbour was indeed someone around your age or a student, that would be reassuring.

But the man who opened the door for you was neither, and your heart froze by a burn along with your whole body.

A man in his late twenties, with your head barely reaching his shoulders, opened the door. His brown hair, swaying between the wet and dry of the shower he'd finished two minutes ago, fell over his brown eyes, which looked at you quizzically.

His towel in hand, still rubbing his hair, gives you a glimpse not only of his contracted biceps, which must easily approach the size of your own head, but also of the veins running down the back of his hand.

When your eyes return to his, he is still waiting for you to explain the reason for your visit.

"Hello," you greet, pulling yourself together as your mind hurries to rearrange your heart in your chest instead of your eyes, you present yourself with your name before you add “I've just moved into the flat next door," you point to it with your thumb behind your shoulder, your door still open.

He suddenly seems to understand and opens his lips to nod an Ah.

"Welcome," he says, holding out his hand, "I'm Miguel O'Hara."

Miguel, then, you think. But your thoughts go blank as you grab his hand and squeeze, the size of it almost completely encompassing yours.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr O'Hara," you smile.

"Please, call me Miguel," he says, leaning against the doorway of his flat, crossing his arms.

Is it even human to have so much beauty and aura that attracts you? Is it because of your air session with the mattress that you feel this way, or is it the effect he gives you that makes your head spin and sends stars to the back of your skull ?

"Have you got it all arranged yet?" he questions, pointing to your door with his chin.

"No, no, I haven't," you sigh, "All I've got at the moment is a humble air mattress."

"No box spring?" he asks, frowning.

"No, I'm hoping for a proper mattress in a month's time, along with a chest of drawers and some shelves. Once the movers have put everything in place, it'll be a nice little craft day for me," you joke softly.

"If you need any help, I could help you put it all together," he offers.

You're slightly surprised, the kindness and politeness with which you're chatting putting you at ease. You wouldn't have expected such generosity when you first arrived here.

Decidedly, this educational renewal was perhaps the best decision you ever made in your life to cross paths with so many nice people.

"I don't want to be a bother," you say, wrinkling your nose.

"No, really, I insist," he smiles.

Your eyebrows raise slightly, and you smile not politely this time but sincerely.

"Very well then," you say, biting the inside of your cheek. "I don't know how to thank you for this."

"No te preocupes," he says, waving it off gracefully.

A beep and a buzz sound. Miguel pulls his mobile out of his pocket, and sighs, a sudden look of exasperation placed on his face.

"Duty calls. Speaking of which, can you give me your number? It'll be easier if you ever have a problem."

Two phone numbers in one day? That's a miracle.

"Of course," you say, taking the phone he's holding out to you and putting your contact on it.

Your fingers slightly graze each other, and the single feeling of it creates sparks in your hand.

You hand it back to him, he taps it, and a few seconds later you receive a simple "It's me.”

"I wonder who that could be," you joke as he smiles slightly and you save his number.

"It was nice to meet you," he says as he gives you one last wave, pronouncing your name with a smile on his lips, grabbing his door handle.

"Likewise, Miguel," you smile as you step back towards your door.

His door closes and you enter your flat.

You could only think of one thing: the way your name sounded from his lips.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Common end >>

#madschiavelique ☾⋆｡☁︎ ﾟ #☁︎ ⋆₊ ⊹ oxytocin✦love ᥫ᭡

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madschiavelique · 8 months

Text

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

<< Click here if you want to go back to chapter 1

Choice A : Decline and go straight to your flat.

content warnings : none word count : 1,9k masterlist of the fic : here.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

You don't want to miss the arrival of the deliverymen, hoping that at this hour you can still catch them and get their help.

"That's kind of you, but I've got to try and catch my delivery men on the fly."

"Consumer?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as if reconsidering the whole pseudo-friendship you'd created from the beginning of this tour.

"Receiver," you corrected, "I receive my flat's stuff."

He nodded, reassured, his anti-capitalism thoughts comforted by the news.

"I’ve got to go repeat with Gwen anyway, have you got a pen?" he questioned, the query catching you off guard, "with paper."

"Yes," you affirm, rummaging through your bag, pulling out a pen and with this your agenda. "The pen is called come back."

"Come back? Do you give names to all your things?"

"They all have the same name, come back. But especially my pens," you say as he gives a little laugh.

"Here," he says as he grabs both of them, uncapping the pen with his teeth before quickly writing numbers on your planner's first page. "Here's my number," he handed you your diary, "and here's come back." he said as he handed you your pen. "If you ever need any information or have any problems, just give me a call. All right?"

"Alright," you as you pack your things into your bag. "Is it weird that I didn't expect you to have a phone?"

After all, as anti-system and anti-consumer as he was, the thought of him having a phone seemed almost unlikely.

"No, but I had to have one just to keep in touch." He pulls out of his pocket what looks like a relic of technology, an antiquity not so very distant in our era: a Nokia 3310.

Your eyes remain fixed on it for a few moments before you pull yourself together: there's no time to lose, you've got to see your delivery men.

"Thanks for..." you're not going to list every item you want to thank him for, so you simply finish your sentence with "everything"

He nods as you start to leave, giving you a two-fingered salute.

You pass a street, trying to take note of the shop signs. There's a small mini-market on the next street you turn down. It seems to have a bit of everything, food, crafts, even candles.

You pass another street, a little longer, before taking a turn and arriving in a narrower one where most of the buildings are residential.

Hey... that's the delivery van leaving! You're almost tempted to run, but it's already too far for you. You let out an exasperated sigh, your bottom lip bitten by your annoyed teeth.

The good thing is that, even if you haven't been able to collect all your stuff, the concierge is in charge of collecting it if you're away for the delivery. You arrive at the door of your new building, looking at it again. It's obviously not your first time here, but you can't help thinking that this is going to be your home.

You enter the hall with your building badge, and come face to face with two people. One of them looks familiar: the concierge, a kindly, gentle old man who's been keeping up the good neighbourly business since he took over the building. And the second...

The first thing you notice is that he's tall, very tall to the point where you’d have to raise your head to speak with him. His body is massive, and the way his shirt is tight on his back but a bit more loose around his waist has your complete attention. He's brown-haired, wearing a black shirt and dark jeans. His back is turned to you as the little caretaker's eyes sparkle at the sight of you.

"Ah, [Name] there you are. I tried to hold back the delivery boys because I didn't know if you'd arrive at the same time as them, but I didn't manage it," he says with a little shrug.

"That's all right," you assert as you approach the pair.

The man who has his back facing you turns around, and you are overwhelmed by the beauty of his face. You didn't think that such a perfect body would go with such a flawless figure, but right now you're happier than ever to be wrong. If every time you were mistaken such miraculous results occurred, then being wrong would inevitably become your favourite occupation.

The way his eyes through his long dark lashes find yours in a sort of surprised new interest found in your presence makes you forget how to breathe for a long second. You approach them, the feeling of his gaze travelling your body tingles your skin.

"This is Miguel O'Hara.” introduces your concierge. “He's your next-door neighbour."

Wonderful day, thank you for having graced me with the presence of this god among men whom I have been given to have as a neighbour, you think to yourself.

Miguel turns to you, holding out his hand and flashing a polite smile.

"Nice to meet you, [Name] is it ?” he says, as if to make sure he pronounces it properly.

"That's right, nice to meet you too," you smile, taking his huge hand and shaking it softly.

The warm skin of his palm meets yours, his grip is soft and you wonder how hard it must be for him to lower his strength and not crush your hand in his.

You had held a bird once in your hands as it had been slightly wounded on its wing, and you remember how caressing its head with just your thumb felt like a single stronger pressure could hurt it. It was round and its skull felt as thin as an eggshell.

Does Miguel ever feel like this ? Like whatever he holds might break ?

You don't know what's more disconcerting, the feel of his hand against yours, or the sound your name had in his mouth.

Is it wrong that you want to hear him call your name again ?

Your eyes linger on his features. His hair that he must’ve combed with his fingers beforehand, his salient cheekbones, his straight jaw, his full lips...

"The boxes are right here," says the concierge as you conclude your handshake.

The concierge’s words feel like a needle popping a bubble, this sharp and sparkly come back to reality prickling in your mind as you remove your hand from Miguel’s.

A glance at your stuff pointed by the caretaker is enough to make you sigh heavily. The idea of a box or a single cube is enough to currently make you tired, so much so that even the idea that you're about to lift Minecraft cubes can't comfort you.

"Thank you very much," you greet him as he waves goodbye to both you and Miguel one last time before heading off.

You inhale, then relax your shoulders as you exhale before stooping down to pick up two boxes that are stacked together. You've got six boxes in all, some heavier than others, but the weight isn't what worries you most. What bothers you slightly is that you're going to have to do it three times to bring everything up.

"Do you need any help?" asks Miguel

You turn to him, his gaze impassive as he points to the remaining boxes. With his build, all your problems of moving around would be immediately solved.

"It would be really nice, if it's not too much trouble," you reply simply, your hands already hurting from lifting the two boxes.

"Not at all," he says with a smile as he picks up the four remaining boxes and lifts them, two boxes per arm.

It's amazing how easy he makes lifting them look, when only two in your arms are killing you. You can’t help but notice how the fabric of his shirt tightens over his muscles as the contract, and you silently swallow your saliva at the view.

You both start to climb the stairs, every step feeling like the pressure in your fingers from holding the boxes deepens and raises in your arms. Miguel seems hesitant to engage in conversation, and to be honest so are you.

It’s not so much because you lack of conversation, but it feels like his presence itself squeezes your throat, such that you’re worried if you try to speak words they'd come out bitten into pieces.

"So, you’re a big reader?" he eventually asks, breaking the silence that seems to tingle the air as you make your way up the stairs.

"A bit,” you breath, “although let's just say it's not fiction," you end up replying, climbing the stairs in front of him one by one.

"Oh really? What kind of books are they?" he questions, his voice steady.

"Scientific books," the pain in your fingers feels like the boxes are becoming heavier by the second. "I know, sounds very exciting," you joke.

The number of times some of your friends look at you like you're an alien as you rant on about the latest in the world of science is countless.

"What kind of science?" Miguel doesn't seem to act like them on the subject though, and is actually rather curious about it.

"Bioengineering," you reply as you arrive on your shared doorstep, lifting your knee to support the boxes as you grab your keys and open the door.

As you step inside, the emptiness of the flat feels strange. The entrance leads into your corridor. You pass your bedroom door on the left, then the bathroom, and finally you get to the living room which is linked to the kitchen.

You put the boxes on the floor of it and Miguel follows your movements. You look at your fingers, the linear trace of the weight of the boxes visible.

"I love the decor," he quips, which makes you laugh softly.

"I paid a fortune for the interior decorator," you say as you turn to him, your lip stretching into a smile.

His eyes are soft, and you catch yourself looking into them more than you should.

"I don't know how to thank you enough for this."

"No te preocupes," he assures you, staring at the emptiness playing as the only item of furniture in your apartment. "When do you expect to receive the rest of your furnishings?"

“I've got a big delivery in a month's time. Bookshelf, chests of drawers, bedsprings, all my dearest dreams," you tell him.

He nods, taking his phone out of his pocket and tapping on it. It’s almost ridiculous how even his phone looks small between his fingers. He hand it to you.

"When the delivery arrives, let me know. I'll come and help you."

Slightly surprised – as pleasantly as possible – you gently take the phone, your fingers brushing against his again before you fill in your contact. You hand it to him, and it only takes a few seconds before you receive a simple message : "pretty decor," which makes you smile.

His phone then vibrates, his expression changing from amusement to exasperation without much transition.

"I've got to go," he admits.

You would’ve liked to continue this conversation, you wanted to know more about it, just maybe not in the neighbourly way.

You walk back to your front door, him brushing against you as you hold the door.

"It was nice to meet you, [Name]" he greets you, pronouncing your name one last time with a little smile, stepping back towards his door.

"Likewise, Miguel," you smile as you close yours.

The door shuts and you stand still behind it for a moment.

You could only think of one thing: the way your name sounded between his lips.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

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#madschiavelique ☾⋆｡☁︎ ﾟ #☁︎ ⋆₊ ⊹ oxytocin✦love ᥫ᭡

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