#atsv miguelmig

[theorphicangel]

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

tags: enemies to lovers, college au, smut, 18+, slow burn,

synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.

Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back.

(college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

previous chapter < | Next chapter

taglist: @oharasfilipinawife @palesatan @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @amelialysm @crimin4llyins4ne @strawberryjuice9 @beezusvreeland @faretheeoscar @lunablackcosplay @t4naiis @peachey-pie @mcmiracles @hardlystrictlystarwars @migueloharastruelove @fruityfucker @kingtwhiddleston

Chapter six: stupidity and insensibility

series

You’re an idiot. 

And a failure.

Some would suggest a mixture of both.

Following your shift, you went straight back to your dorm room, not bothering to hang out on campus for any moment longer. A benefit of studying the fine craft of English Literature is that you have plenty of independent study hours, a little more than the average college student. Of course, this time should be spent reading, planning and writing essays for your upcoming assignments, but you barely make it down the first page of a Jane Austen novel without bursting into tears.

Ever since your conversation, Miguel’s words repeatedly ring in your ear. His tone and his judgemental facial expression are permanently indented in your mind. 

‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage for once?’

As much as you hate the guy you can’t help but agree with him. What the fuck did you expect to happen when you set up the advert for his car? That he would get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness? Of course not. 

You’re planning to head straight underneath your covers,  ready to cry yourself to sleep for the rest of the day when you hear your phone vibrate from the bottom of your bag. After delving through numerous books, notepads, wasted receipts and tissues do you finally find it. And your stomach drops once you see the caller ID.

‘Mom’

And that was just what you needed to make you cry harder. 

Sobbing, you collapse to the floor, your mind and body completely frustrated with yourself. If you could dig a deep hole to bury yourself into, you would. If you could press a button to get yourself off this cursed planet, you would. If you could just have the chance to not fuck up your life for one, single second…you would take in a heartbeat.

Midway through your breakdown, a  knock was heard at your door. Soon followed by the sound of your roommate calling out your name. Your sobs come to a halt, a hand over your mouth to silence yourself. 

And if you could magically turn invisible to spare you from the embarrassment of your roommate catching you having a breakdown on your bedroom floor, you most definitely would.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t reply, frowning at the sound of her voice. 

You thought that Lyla was out today, it’s past midday and you assumed that she was out on campus. To be fair, you didn’t really pay attention to your surroundings once you walked into the apartment. You were much too preoccupied in getting to your room before your emotions had gotten the better of you.

“Can I come in?”

You make no reply again. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel a migraine begin as a result of your crying.

“Please?” Her voice is muffled from the outside. “I want to help you.”

Her tone is soft, not like the usual ring of playfulness and teasing. You’ve only known her for a little over a month but you can tell that she’s being genuine. 

Making it to your feet, you walk over to the door and allow yourself to let her in. To allow yourself to be seen by your roommate with makeup running down your cheeks and tear stains all over your shirt.

“Oh, my love, what’s wrong?” She murmurs, stepping into the room before shutting the door behind her. 

“Everything.” You croak out. A fresh set of tears begin to creep up, ready to overspill down your cheeks again. Lyla says no more, instead taking you into her arms, allowing you to cry your heart away.

Your cathartic moment lasts for a good ten minutes before your body and mind are totally exhausted. Lyla rubs tiny circles on your back whilst you hiccup away on your bed. It’s silent between you too, the autumn sun already setting in the distance. You don’t even know how long you’ve been cooped up in your room ever since you arrived from work. 

“I know what will cheer you up.”  Lyla smiles, waiting for the moment that curiosity hits you.

“What?”

/

Late night clubbing. 

That was Lyla’s medicine. And to be honest, what’s a better treatment than getting blackout drunk to forget all of your shitty problems?

You’re currently in a club that you don’t know the name of. It’s local, not too far from campus and actually not too far from your apartment. It reminds you that you’ve not yet had the chance to explore the city; being so caught up in work, assignments and readings does unfortunately take up the majority of your time.

It’s a small club with very loud music pounding in your ears, the stench of sweat and spilled alcohol is something that you’ve now grown accustomed to after spending the past two hours here. You can barely hear the things that Lyla is saying to you as she orders countless drinks for the both of you.

Right now, you’re on a high. Your entire body feels light and your vision is slightly blurry but you can’t tell as to whether that’s because of the lighting. You can barely remember the meltdown that you had earlier, it seemed like a lifetime ago to you. 

After Lyla had found you, she helped you get ready for tonight. You’re slightly surprised that a simple face full of makeup and a short dress with some heels would have cheered you up so easily. You’re happy, happily drinking away your sorrows. The small part of your conscience that remains sober warns of how much you’ll regret it in the morning. And just like any other drunk person would do, you ignore it.

“I can’t hear you!” you shout across to Lyla, failing to lip-read her sentence. 

Lyla draws in closer, the scent of her cherry lime tequila on her lips. “I wanna go talk to that girl in the corner.” She mumbles in your ear, now loud enough for you to hear. “Behind me.”

As subtle as you can, you try and take a peek behind Lyla. Squinting, you spot a girl in a black dress in the back corner of the club. She looks around about your age and you’d assume that she’s a first year too. She holds a pink drink, standing with her own group of friends. Every now and then, you notice the girl glancing towards where you and Lyla are standing. 

“Oh, girl….”

“I know right! She’s so hot.”

You look back at Lyla, a smile creeping across your face. “Go for it.”

“Lemme take a shot first, y’know? For my confidence.” Giggling, the two of you approach the bar. It’s busy for a weekday evening but you assume that with halloween coming up, most people are in the mood for a night out. 

Taking the shot, the liquid burns the back of your throat and the two of you pull disgusted faces at the taste. Brushing herself off, Lyla prepares to make her way over. 

“Right, do I look okay?” She dabs a little lip gloss across her lips.

“Gorgeous, girl.” You pat her on the shoulders. “You got this!”

Lyla blows you a kiss goodbye, “I’ll text you if anything happens!” You give her a little thumbs up, watching her make her way over to the girl and her group of friends. A smile slips across your lips at Lyla’s ease of making a conversation, slipping easily into the group.

You turn back, ready to order another drink when you spot a familiar set of eyes from across the other side of the bar. Your smile drops at the sight of Miguel. 

“Oh, fuck me.” you mumbled.

Ignore him. That was your plan. Ordering another shot, you decide to drink away the embarrassment of your conversation earlier. You’re not even facing him but you can feel his eyes practically bore into you. Unfortunately, you didn’t look long enough to see who he was with but you hope that he gets the hint and chooses to avoid your awkward situation. 

Your hopes come crashing down at the sound of his voice close, very close to you. Just a little turn of your head and you find him standing next to you. 

“Don’t you think you should slow down a little?” He judges the pair of shots that you hold in your hands.

“And don’t you think that you should mind your own business? How long have you been watching me?”

“I wasn’t watching.”

“Right,” You pause to take both of the shots, one right after the other. Sure, you were doing a little extra, but if anyone else was in your situation they would do the same.

 “And I’m totally trying not to get black out drunk.” You mutter sarcastically, wincing immediately at the after taste.

“Any reason why you’re doing so?”

You snort at his question. Typical. He threatens to call the police on you and now asks why you’re trying to drown your sorrows in cheap alcohol? Men are idiots.

“Why are you even talking to me? Shouldn’t you be busy calling the police on me?” You didn’t hide the frustration in your voice, fiddling with the empty shot glasses in your hands.

Miguel hesitates. That’s a good question. A question that he unfortunately doesn’t have the answer to. But you’re not going to wait around for an answer.

“I’m going to get another shot so if you don’t mind, please leave me alone.”

“Don’t you have a shift tomorrow?”

Shit .

 You do. An early one too and if you don’t go home now then you’re looking at getting four to five hours sleep max.

But you’re not going to admit that to him. You shrug. “So what?”

“You need to go home.”

“And you need to leave me alone.” You’re already sounding drunk, the multiple drinks that you’ve consumed over the past few hours building up in your system and not in a good way. “I’m waiting for my roommate, she’s somewhere over there.” You stumble a little as you point to the back of the club.

Immediately, Miguel’s hands move to steady you. His large hands touch your waist, keeping you in place. Heat abruptly rises throughout your body, his actions having more of an effect on you than you’d like to admit. 

“And you need to go home.” He repeats, his tone a little more stern. 

“I said–”

Your sentence is interrupted as you feel your phone vibrate. The screen glows, illuminating your face as you read the texts that pop up on your home screen.

Lylaaaaaaa :) - (Sent at 2:23am)

- I tried looking for you, where did you go? :(((( xx

- also…I’m not coming home tonight wink wink

- Get home safe okay? xx text me when you make it back xx get an uber please!  xxxxxx

A sigh leaves your throat, your mood dejected. “She’s not coming back.” you mumble to yourself.

For some superhuman reason that you cannot understand, Miguel manages to hear you over the pounding music.

“I’ll take you home.”

You’re taken aback at his suggestion, your brain malfunctioning for a few seconds.

“Uhmmm, no.”

“Why–”

“Because.” You cut him off before he can even finish.

“That’s not a reason, nena . You can barely stand.”

“Because I hate you and I want nothing to do with you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Drunk enough to know that I still fucking hate you.”

“I should be the one hating you.” he scoffs. “You were the one who tried to sell my car.”

Your anger suddenly boils at the mention of it. You drunkenly point a finger at him, your nail tapping his chest as you speak. “Because you were a fucking asshole to me and wrote a fucking mean ass review about me!”

Miguel scoffs. “You did all this because I was rude to you? Por favorrr Dios, dame fuerza.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a breath. [Please God, give me strength.] “So when your boss criticizes your work you’re just gonna go out and break the law for some petty revenge?” 

“But you’re not my boss, that’s the difference.”

“And if I was, I'd fire you in a heartbeat.”

You meet his eyes, the two of you staring at each other unmoving as the music continues. The atmosphere of the club is beginning to get heavy. It’s getting harder to breathe with every minute that passes. You’re not sure whether that’s because there’s too many people here right now or if it’s because you’ve locked eyes with Miguel O’hara.

“I hate you.”

“Ditto here, nena .”

“M’going.” you announce abruptly, turning away from him. You barely make it a few steps away from him before a hand tightly grabs your wrist. You turn back expecting to see Miguel and forcefully push the figure away from you as hard as you can. 

“Hey! What the fuck? You made me spill my drink!”  are the words of the mouth of a complete stranger. 

“Oh shit–”

The stranger's expression turns to an angry frown yet he quickly disappears from view as Miguel stands between the two of you.

“Maybe keep your hands to yourself then, compa.” 

Miguel grabs you gently by the arm pulling you away. “Quick, before he gets angry. I think this asshole’s drunk.” He mumbles in your ear, his voice low and raspy.

“Who’s paying for my drink?” are the words that you leave behind to be swallowed up by the music.

Miguel takes you swiftly through the crowd, his height paying off in getting people to move out the way for him. “I’m taking you back to your dorm room. No ifs or buts.”

You barely have an argument to reply back with, your mind preoccupied with trying to make sense of that situation. 

Before you know it, you come to a halt in front of a table where a girl who you assume is your age is seated with a drink in her hand. Another person who you don’t know the name of is by her side. Her face lights up at the sight of you and Miguel.

“Jess, I’m going to take her home.”

“Whoa, whoa–”

He sighs, “Ay por dios– not my home. I’m taking her back to her dorm room, she’s someone I know and her drunk ass is gonna pass out any second.”

You observe Miguel’s friend in front of you, golden hoop earrings glistening under the club’s disco lights. You can’t pull your eyes away from her hair, black curls shaping her face.

“You’re really pretty!” you sob, tears beginning to blur your vision.

“Uhhh…thank you?” She raises a brow. “You too!”

You sob even harder, turning to Miguel. “She called me pretty!”

“And we’re going.”

Before you know it you’re whisked off, waving goodbye to a friend that you wanted to get to know better.

Stepping outside of the club, the cool air hits your body. The late October chill makes you shiver, almost regretting your decision at not bringing a thicker coat. Miguel keeps his hand on your wrist, he’s not holding you too tightly but just enough for you to keep your balance. He keeps close to your body, the warmth of him radiating over to your own. You hate it. How much you needed him. 

To keep you warm. Of course. That was all.

“I hate you, Miguel O’hara.”

“Uh-huh, you keep telling me that.”

“Just making sure that you don’t forget.”

“I sure won’t.”

You hate it. You hate him and his sarcastic attitude, his confidence and his ego. If he wasn’t so goddamn rude then you might have been more willing to accept the idea that you were attracted to him.

“You ruined my life.”

“You did that to yourself, nena .”

Silence comes between the two of you as you ponder on his words. The realization hits you abruptly. 

“I did, didn't I?”

You stop in your tracks, causing Miguel to do the same, his hand still around your wrist.

“Oh, please don’t start crying again–”

“I’m such a bad person,” you begin. “I-I-I ruined my life by trying to sell your car and I nearly got fired at my first ever job and I lied to my mom… I lied to my mom.” you emphasize.

Miguel shugs, “We all have, haven't we?”

“I lied to my mom about having a boyfriend!” You exclaimed. “And– and–and I’m a terrible daughter and I deserve death! and–and—

“ Hey , hey , don’t say that about yourself.” Miguel’s voice is stern, forcing you to look at him.

“But I lied and now she– she’s expecting me to bring someone over for thanksgiving and I don’t have anyone because I’m a liar and a criminal and I’m going to prison!” you sob harder, kneeling on the ground.

Miguel loses his grip on your wrist as you crouch down, crying. 

He looks around, searching for anybody nearby to help you and this…state that you’re in. But of course, there’s no one around on campus at two in the morning and he curses under his breath.

Bending down slightly, he decides to try the softer approach.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed and you can sleep and forget that this never happened.”

You lift up your head, tears dripping from your chin. “No. I- I won’t forget, I’ll just remember it all over again and– and –”

“Hey, look at me.” Your eyes meet his, this time with makeup dissolving down your face.  “I promise you’ll go to sleep and forget all about this okay? I promise.”

“Do you pinky promise?” You hold out your pinky in front of him. 

“I pinky-promise.” He sighs.

You shake your head, pouting. “No, you have to link with me.” He’s reluctant but it’s done and sealed for good. 

Slowly but surely he manages to get you to stand up again and starts to get you to walk. Through your drowsing speech he manages to figure out where you live based on which building you point to and he thanks the gods above that you don’t live far away from campus.

As you get nearer to your apartment, your tears slow down and you manage to recollect yourself, hiccuping every now and then as your sobs quieten down. You’re tired. Exhausted even. And you can’t wait for your head to hit the pillow. 

“Are you alright?” Miguel asks as you now approach your apartment building. 

You nod silently. He won’t try to get you to say anything anymore. 

He helps you up the flight of stairs, making sure that you don’t topple over. You grip his bicep for support, trying not to think about his scent, or the way he looks at you or the close proximity between the two of you as he helps you up each step.

You’ll question why he did all this tomorrow. But for now, you really just want some fucking sleep. Once you make it to your door, he stands to the side, silently watching you unlock it. The door swings open and you find yourself hesitating to get inside.

“You think you’ll be okay?” He asks, his voice soft.

You nod silently again. This is the part where you thank him for taking you home but you really don’t feel like it. Not to him. You nod in response.

Awkwardly, you enter your apartment, not looking back before closing the door. 

Your apartment is dark and cold. You don’t even want to turn on the lights, afraid that it’ll be too much of an eyesore. 

Your clothes that you were trying on with Lyla before you left are strewn across the living area. The black dress that you almost chose to wear tonight now crumpled over the couch. 

Entering your bedroom, you manage to blindly make your way to your bed. Not bothered to get out of your clothes or take off your make-up. The silence is eerily loud around you, second to, your heartbeat thumping loud in your ears.

“I hate you Miguel.” you say aloud, despite him being long gone.

And just like he promised, you fell asleep and managed to forget all about it. 

reblogs are much appreciatated!!