𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼- 𝓜𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓞'𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓪

Wonderstruck Quiet

Author's note:

Do you ever have that giddy feeling of: oh, now the story's really getting started? I felt that while writing this ahhhh

Best. feeling. ever. 

By the time 9 pm crept around, you'd already set up a candle in the center of the training room. A respectful shrine to your fear of the dark. Its light sputtered and was a little weak, but at least it illuminated the room with a glow. 

By 9:15, you felt annoyed. By 9:30, you felt irate. Standing attention in your glossy blue-and-gold spidersuit, waiting on Miguel.

Around 9:45, he sleepily tumbled in the room. It was clear he'd forgotten about the session. His chestnut hair was tousled, as if he'd just slunk out of bed. Wiry glasses balanced on his nose and made the sharp slant of his red eyes even sharper. He wore a thick, dark grey sweatshirt that gave him a deceptive resemblance to a cozy bear. 

"You wasted my time," you quipped, staring at Miguel with your arms loosely crossed. "Should I beat you until you can't walk?" You rolled your eyes up to the ceiling, mocking his stupid sticky note. You weren't sure how he'd even known which bed belonged to you. What if he'd terrified a hapless spiderman with his threat? 

"Go ahead." Uncharacteristically, the corner's of Miguel's mouth flicked up into a small, amused smile. "You think you can?" 

You released an angry noise, because you obviously couldn't. Miguel sighed and adjusted his glasses with two fingers. "I'm sorry I'm late. Really."

You blinked, a little shocked by how easily the apology glided off of his sharp tongue. But Miguel probably took his own punctuality very seriously. He took most things very seriously. 

Wasting no time, you demonstrated your basic web-slinging techniques while Miguel offered up corrections from the ground. 

"Hey, how are you liking those webs?" Miguel asked when you landed. He'd forgotten that Lyla had given you his laserlike, powerful webs, and seemed pleased that you still used them, even after your own had been repaired.

"They're stronger," you admitted, and Miguel's smile was genuine. You decided you liked sleepy Miguel. He was softer. A little slower. Gentler. 

Unfortunately, it didn't last. As the night drifted onward and Miguel crawled back into alertness, his permanent, resting scowl slunk back onto his face and his orders became barks. 

By 11:30, exhaustion seeped into your bones, and you dully wondered how long Miguel would command you to repeat the same, sideways-flying movement. 

"I said tuck your chin!" Miguel shouted up at you, frustration pulling his dark eyebrows down. Your costumed feet smacked into the ground, right in front of him. 

"I tucked my chin that time!" You insisted, flushed with physical exertion and irritation. 

"Clearly not, if we're having this conversation." Miguel glowered down at you. "Do it again." Groaning, you jerked back down your mask and paced across the floor. Preparing to do it again, even though your muscles whined in complaint. 

But you didn't get the chance to. The wick of the candle snuffed out and coughed its wisps of dying smoke. Dismay ripped a hole into your chest and darkness encroached into the room, spilling over everything like a black tide. 

"I can't do this, not right now," you feigned annoyance, batting back the fear that swarmed your chest like nightmarish bats. 

"Do the chin tuck. What, is the darkness gonna hurt you?" 

"Miguel." Panic laced your voice. 

"Like I said earlier, grow up. You're not a kid anymore. You're spidergirl. You can't afford to be scared of the dark."