Author's note:

YES this chapter is I Can See You (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault) coded and YES I am obsessed with Speak Now (TV) and YES I am unapologetic. Thank you all for humoring me. 

BACK TO THE STORY

When the second anomaly came, you'd been eating tuna fish. 

Since the first attack, three days had flashed by like silver minnows through a stream. Miguel's accelerated healing had knitted together his swollen red skin. Although his crossed arms returned to training, he occasionally clutched at his battered ribs after overworking himself. 

The second anomaly tumbled out into the cafeteria, bowling over a short, slick-haired spider girl named Penny Parker. She quickly skidded to her feet, her rounded features determined and bright. The second anomaly wore a devilish mask with sharp elf ears. Despite its arsenal of smoke bombs, no anomaly could last long stranded in a pack of spider heroes. 

Noir fought with an infuriating gentlemanliness. He kept on shouldering himself in front of you and Arachnida, attempting to protect you from the worst blows. 

"Noir! We have it covered!" Arachnida screamed in frustration as he bodyslammed her out of the way of an explosive. He hadn't really needed to; Arachnida's fist had been just about to connect with the anomaly. 

"Search the premises! Make sure there aren't any more!" Jessica barked once the green monster had been detained. Stress bled into her voice. Sweating and heaving for air, you bumped your fist against Arachnida's before you both shot off. She sent you a worried look over her shoulder. Were there more? Lurking in the shadows, preparing to strike?

You paced down the silvery halls, peering through doors and checking rooms for the flickering colors of an anomaly. Miguel passed you in the narrow hall. 

His eyes stayed straight ahead, narrowed and focused. But when he gusted past you, his scent of vanilla and musk cologne filled your lungs like dizzying mountain air. The side of his hand grazed yours, so quickly it could have been an accident. Your cheeks flushed and your head twisted back at him in shock, but he didn't turn around. 

Even if your hands softly bumping had been an accident, Miguel wasn't the type to stutter and apologize. And if he'd touched you on purpose, the relaxed set of his shoulders seemed utterly unapologetic as well. 

You didn't allow yourself to linger on any delusional notions. You couldn't, anyway. While exploring in the dark, Arachnida, Noir, and Hobie had discovered battery-powered speakers in a forgotten storage unit. The next day, as evening darkness knocked on the windows, they'd decided to spontaneously hold a party in the main atrium. 

"It's perfect." Arachnida grinned, confidently flicking her blond ponytail behind her back. "Jessica's on break this weekend. And nobody's seen Miguel all day; he's probably off brooding somewhere about how sunlight hurts his eyes." 

Noir supportively set up the speakers, high in the rafters, but he visibly flinched when Hobie slammed down cases of beer and shot glasses. "That doesn't seem like such a good idea." 

"It's just alcohol. It can't kill you." Hobie self-assuredly crossed his arms, tossing his hair back, out of his face. He smirked at you, holding up a neatly folded wad of paper between his two fingers, the way you'd hold a cigarette. "Got something for you." 

"Let's have it then," you said, taking it from him. The note had been scrawled onto lined paper, with a jagged edge as if it had been ripped from a notebook. 

Come to my office. I need to see you. -M

Hobie's smirk deepened as you blinked in surprise, skimming your eyes over the words in disbelief. "Did you read this, Hobie?" 

"He told me he'd strangle me unconscious if I read it."

"So you did."

"Naturally." 

You crumpled up the note in your fist. It felt fresh and glittery in your hand, like an illicit present. I need to see you. Were the words a declaration of passion? Or just a rough, inconsiderate command? 

"I'm impressed," Hobie continued, flicking a web out of his wrist and absentmindedly knotting it with his fingers. "You're good at getting what you want, huh?" He kept his tone light and friendly, but from the pensive gleam in his eyes, you knew he was referencing the night he'd caught you shifting through Miguel's lab. 

"So are you." You returned the compliment with a forced smile. An uncomfortable strain tightened the air. Deceit and secrecy fizzled between you. Hobie held your gaze for a moment longer, with a hint of mistrust. He eventually inclined his head in a nod.

"Best get to it, (y/n)." 

"Hurry so you can catch the party!" Arachnida added, with forced cheeriness. Confusion sparked in her eyes at the sudden tension between you and Hobie.

His lab doubled as an office, with neatly filed papers stacked on the desk and scientific equipment scattered across the sterile, shiny table. You stepped inside, taking a deep breath. 

Miguel's massive shoulders tensed in focus, and he wore a white, collared lab coat that accentuated the large ratio of his shoulders to his waist. Strands of dark hair tumbled over his eyebrows, and his hands held up a glass beaker to the light of a candle. 

Vanilla Dreams swirled across the label of the candle in cursive font. One of Jessica's. With a sudden jolt, you recognized it. The scent you'd breathed in earlier, when he'd brushed you in the hall. Now, the same aroma billowed outward, filling the room with warm sugar. 

"Hey," you called, with jitters of nervousness running down your arms like shower water. 

"Hey," Miguel grunted, barely acknowledging you in his unpierceable cloud of focus.  Through his catlike glasses, he studied a micropipette and injected a syrupy substance into the beaker. 

You patiently waited for him to finish, allowing your eyes to wander around the lab. His cheesy, bright red Never Make Compromises poster was still plastered on the wall.

"So, never make compromises." Your fingers twitched at your side, and the disastrous habit of rambling when you became nervous overtook your mouth. "You could do therapy in here, with all the morals on the walls. Like, a self-improvement group. People would eat that up." 

"Hmm." An odd, deliberating look crossed Miguel's features. He placed down his beaker on the table with a clink and studied you with a startling intensity from across the room. You swallowed hard, your heartbeat hiking up. Perfect clarity sparkled in your mind, and suddenly every piece rained into place. The secret touch in the hallway. The gentle words in the dark. The frightening, electric way you'd caught him watching you. You understood it now. Miguel wanted you. 

You didn't know yet what it was he fiercely wanted. Did he want to tangle his hands into your hair and crush his lips to yours? Did he want to snuff out the dim candelight and hold you in the dark? Or did he want something softer, something gentle like flower petals? A dangerous hope pulsed in your chest, glowing brighter and brighter. 

"Miguel-"

"(Y/n.)" He said your name just as you'd said his, but with a hint of sarcasm. Carefully, like trying not to to break a sheet of ice, he pushed his rolling chair back from the table and approached you. 

You gave an embarrassingly sharp inhale when he stopped, directly in front of you. Close enough that any pretense of professionalism shivered away. Close enough that if he leaned forward, he could touch his nose to yours. 

"I'm about to do the most selfish thing I've ever done," he muttered, his voice husky and his eyes immersed in yours. They burned amber in the orange candelight. 

Your breath quickened, and you stared up into his eyes. Dragonflies whirled inside your head. You couldn't think straight. Not with him this close. Not when his fingertips skidded up your sides, underneath your shirt. 

And certainly not when he kissed you. You'd known it was coming, but being swept away into his arms knocked you breathless. His lips dragged across yours, almost reverently. Then, like fire catching on gunpowder, he stopped holding back. He roughly molded his mouth against yours, his hands sliding up your arms to grip your shoulders. 

"You should take off your lab coat," you suddenly realized, earnestly blinking up at him as you pulled back for a moment. Miguel crashed back into you, not letting you catch your breath. "You could have spilled chemicals on it," you gasped out quickly. Miguel chuckled into the kiss, and you felt the cocky upward curve of his lips. 

"I don't spill. I'm not reckless with chemicals," Miguel mumbled against your mouth, pulling back enough to make eye contact. "I'm only reckless when it comes to you."

Your hands started to curl around the back of his neck, but Miguel caught your wrists, gently but firmly. With one hand, he held them together in front of his chest. His other hand grasped your chin. A rock sank inside of you. He wasn't going to let you touch him. Not even while you kissed. 

But you kissed him back, closing your eyes as the dazzling electricity swept over you and made your toes tingle with static. You'd take this part of him. You'd accept him for what he was; if being touched scared him, you'd go slow. 

Miguel raked his fingers through your hair, with a touch so tender you could barely believe it was his. Suddenly, he stopped, pulling away and leaving you in the jarring embrace of the cold. 

"Thanks. I needed to get that out of my system," Miguel said, wiping off his lips with his thumb in a clean, quick movement. He immediately walked back over to his chemicals. As if nothing had happened, he lifted the beaker back up and continued working. 

Dizzily, you watched his calm detachment as if watching through snow globe glass. Your breaths rushed fast, as if you'd sprinted a marathon. Your lips felt puffy and raw and your cheeks felt flushed. 

Out of his system? Disappointment sunk its claws into your heart. You'd been delusional enough to hope that cold, aggressive Miguel could have felt anything but lustful desire for you. Stupid. You felt bitter anger at yourself for believing he actually liked you. 

"I'll see you tomorrow at training. You're dismissed." 

"So that's it?" You flatly repeated, crossing your arms to feel less vulnerable. "You kiss me and then you order me out of your office?" Miguel's eyes flicked up to you, slightly alarmed. 

"Please don't get attached." 

"I won't," you snapped, embarrassment and hurt knotting tightly around your throat. Miguel watched you for a moment longer, his gaze unreadable. Then he sighed, and for a moment you dared to hope that you'd misunderstood. That he didn't want to just kiss you. That he actually liked you. But he just gestured to a tissue box by the door and returned to his experiment. 

"What?" 

"Wipe your face before you leave. Your lipgloss is a mess."

You silently gaped, glaring at him with incredulous anger. How dare he. Miguel didn't see; he wasn't even paying attention to you anymore. Like a thundercloud, you stormed toward the door. You considered leaving your lipgloss smeared from his aggressive kiss just to spite him. But at the last minute, you thought better of it and swiped a tissue across your mouth as you forcefully shoved open the door. 

As you wove deeper through the halls, you balled up your fists. One clasped his stupid note, the one you'd girlishly felt a rush of excitement for. The other hand gripped the pink-tinted tissue. With a frustrated scoff, you stuffed both relics from your night with Miguel into the nearest trash can. 

The faint thumping of Arachnida and Hobie's party drifted down the halls, crescendoing as you approached the atrium. Anger rushed to your head. Resolved with a new goal, your feet carried you toward the music and laughing chatter with brash abandon. 

Screw Miguel. You were going to get roaring drunk. And then you were going to kiss boys until you passed out.