𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼- 𝓜𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓞'𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓪

Pride and Incompetence

"What  the hell was that?" Miguel coughed, blood trickling down the left side of his temple. From beneath you, his light brown eyes flashed with annoyance.

"I- he started glitching, and-" you broke off, expecting Miguel to interrupt you with some snappish, cold remark. He didn't though. He just raised his dark eyebrows, listening. "He knocked me out of the way and my web slinger cracked," you finished lamely. Your cheeks heated up as you realized that you could have used your other web slinger to save yourself. Caught up in the terror of free-fall, you'd panicked.

"Don't let it happen again," Miguel sternly said. You could feel his heartbeat calming, pulsing like slow bursts of color in the northern lights. Miguel's eyes flicked back and forth with the sudden realization of how close you were pressed up against him. Maybe you imagined it, his quick inhale and flutter of his pulse against your hands.

Miguel cleared his throat, trying to sound authoritative. But gazing up at you, his voice came out husky and desperate, like a disgruntled request. "Get off me." Miguel quickly shoved you off of his chest, slipping his body out from underneath yours. You rolled to the side, slightly stunned as you lay there.

"Are you alright?" He grunted as an afterthought, picking himself up and dusting off his muscled arms.

"Yeah, I'm okay." You nodded, shakily getting to your feet. Surprisingly, even after that fall, you were okay. If Miguel hadn't slammed you out of gravity's cruel grip, you could have broken your neck. Or worse. You glanced up at Miguel, who sighed and kneaded his eyebrow with his fingers, clearly annoyed.

"Thanks. For coming to get me."

"Don't thank me. It's my job to keep everyone safe." Miguel said, smearing the blood off his tanned forehead without wincing.

"Yeah, well, thanks anyway," you said. Miguel didn't wince at his own blood, but you did. A nasty cut throbbed red, tearing through the side of his forehead. His thick, dark hair flounced over the cut, stiff and sticky with blood. It looked like it hurt. Miguel offered you a curt nod, not even glancing at you.

"Lyla," he barked, tapping at his bulky wristwatch.

A holographic girl popped up, tinted yellow. Her hair was cropped stylishly short and cheerful, heart-shaped shades framed her eyes. She grinned teasingly. "You can't go a day without calling me, can you, Miguel?" Miguel scowled and didn't dignify that with a response.

"Take her to get a new web slinger. She broke hers."

Lyla dipped into a mocking curtsy, her projection flickering further away from Miguel. She gestured for you to follow, dancing away with a mischievous smile. As you started toward her, Miguel gripped your wrist tight, catching it in his fingers. His hold was too firm to be described as gentle, but he didn't hurt you.

"What?" You demanded, whirling around. You felt embarrassed enough by your accident. Even Jessica had noticed by now, swinging down with an urgent, concerned frown. You didn't want to talk about it any longer. But Miguel didn't give it a rest.

"Don't be this stupid in the future," Miguel whispered intensely, pulling you closer by your wrist. "If you get hurt, it's on my head."

"What happened, Miguel?" Jessica called, trotting over with a clipboard clasped in her hands. "You're bleeding." You rolled your eyes, preparing for him to launch into the humiliating story. Miguel's eyes narrowed at the disrespectful gesture, but he held his tongue.

"She broke a web slinger. Everyone's fine." Miguel shortly said, mercifully avoiding a monologue on your stupidity. Jessica fixed the blood drying on his forehead with a skeptical look. Miguel harshly repeated, "I said everyone's fine."

"Alright, alright," Jessica agreed, sending an exasperated what can you do shrug to you.

"(Y/n)." He said your name with bold precision. You hadn't even known that he'd cared to learn it. "You're behind. Your swings are sloppy. Your aerobic abilities are severely lacking. You clearly aren't comfortable in the air."

"It's true," Jessica acknowledged, trying to smile sympathetically. Her tower of thick hair bobbed as she nodded.

"Fine." You glared at Miguel, feeling humiliated that he'd licked your pride and dignity away like a callous flame. That he'd called you inferior to the others. Coldly, as if it was a scientific fact. "Then kick me out of your stupid program. Let me go home."

"I'm afraid we won't be doing that," Jessica sighed. "I have a solution to get you up to speed, but you're not going to like it."

"What, you're going to make Miguel give me private lessons?" You sarcastically said, tugging your mask off of your head. It slipped into your fingers, silky and shimmering with gold.

Jessica pursed her lips together and didn't respond. That answered your question.

"What? No. I will not be doing that," Miguel immediately said, crossing his massive arms. "Do I look like I have time to train an incompetent recruit?"

"I will not be doing that, either," you confirmed, ignoring his insult.

"Miguel," Jessica whispered, an undercurrent of a desperate warning in her voice. "You know why we have to." Something in Miguel's incredulous glare faded to resigned frustration. He knew he had to train you. But why? When they both spared you a quick, significant glance, you knew there was a secret they weren't sharing.

"Fine." Miguel straightened his powerful shoulders, drawing to his full height to address you with his command. "Come to the Spider Center at exactly 9pm tonight. If you make me wait, i'll make you regret it."