𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼- 𝓜𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓞'𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓪

Don't Touch Me

"In the training room, when it was just us. When my hand was on your neck," Miguel studied your downcast eyes with a keen, intelligent smirk. "It was fluttery, like a hummingbird. So tell me. Why was your heart going so fast?"

"Miguel." You scoffed and rolled your eyes, heartbeat pounding. That hadn't been fear he'd felt. As his fingers had curled loosely around your neck in the dark, his gaze held yours. As he tried to calm you down, his grumpy, cold demeanor had melted into something almost gentle. And you'd liked it. It terrified you how much you'd liked it. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Am I?" Miguel's narrowed eyes glittered, staring up at you. He shifted his weight in the bathtub. "Being ridiculous?"

"Yes." No.

A traitorous blush colored your cheeks, giving you away. Something clicked in Miguel's eyes, and the harsh line of his eyebrows twitched upward, stunned.

"I know what I felt," Miguel carefully said, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours as his body stayed completely relaxed, slouched back into the bloodied tub. "But maybe it wasn't for the reason I thought."

"So what do you think now?" You challenged, tossing the ball back into his court. Fine. You found Miguel attractive. But you would choke yourself with your own webs before you whispered that to him like a lovestruck fool.

"I think you're scared," Miguel finally said, analyzing you with his red eyes. They burned red like a dying sunset sky, right before it charred into night. "I'm just not sure what you're scared of. Only you can know that." Like a deer shivering in the headlights, you froze in the attentive beam of his gaze. Because a lot of things scared you.

Tumbling into freefall. The cruel curve of his clawed fingers. How much you'd liked when they'd dragged across your skin.

You ignored him and focused your attention of the glittering shards embedded in his back. You carefully tugged one free, sending out a tiny spurt of blood.

Miguel sucked in a hiss through his teeth, flinching on instinct. "What are you doing?"

"Picking all the glass out of your back." You said, sternly. "Stop moving." Miguel's shoulders coiled, tense and vigilant. But he held still for you. You rested a hand on his muscular shoulder and balanced on the edge of the tub. His skin felt hot, almost feverish. Your own hand glowed, as if fire danced around your fingers in dangerous coils. You liked it way too much, touching his bulky shoulder.

"Move your hand," Miguel suddenly commanded, his voice thick and unreadable.

"Why?"

"I don't like being touched." Miguel muttered, rolling his shoulder as if trying to edge off a fly.

You obeyed and balanced your hand on the wall instead, trying not to let disappointment sink on your face. With a washcloth, you carefully cleaned the blood from his shredded back. It had dried, hardening into stiff muddy-brown.

Miguel jerked away from your gentle hand with a wary look hanging in his eyes. He hated being touched. It became clear as you dragged the cloth down his biceps and cleaned off the tensed muscles of his neck. He closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. You immediately stopped, your arm stretched out straight and your body hovering over his.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No," Miguel muttered, "I'm just used to doing this myself."

"It seems like you're used to doing a lot of things yourself," you thought aloud, pressing the damp washcloth to his cheek. Miguel stiffened at your sudden closeness. He stared straight ahead.

Slowly, to avoid scaring him, you ran the cloth over his forehead and under the sharp ridge of his jawline. His fingers curled around the side of the bathtub, and you thought you saw them trembling.

Like a gust of wind, his eyes collided with yours. A desire you barely understood swirled in his eyes. You suddenly became hyper aware of how your body draped across his in the tub. Miguel caught your wrist.

"What are you doing, (y/n)," Miguel whispered, like a deeper warning. Suspicion warred in his narrowed eyes. He tightened the pressure, almost painfully.

"Cleaning the blood off," You answered, a little thrown off by his guarded question. You tried to jerk your hand back, but his firm grip held you relentlessly.

"No." Miguel shook his head firmly. "You want something from me. What is it? I'd prefer you to be up front."

"What-" His meaning sunk in, sad as seawater. You frowned down at Miguel and his distrustful, angular face. He couldn't relax. He couldn't accept help. He'd shoved everyone away, in a lonely quest to protect himself from betrayal.

Burning with sympathy, you lightly stroked a hand through his hair. Shock ricocheted through Miguel's eyes like thunder. He blinked quickly, entirely jostled off guard. But he didn't snap at you. He didn't snarl or bat your hand away. He froze as still as a statue, unsure how to react. Scared that if he moved, he'd shatter the delicate spell.

"How long has it been since someone took care of you?"

"Recruit," Miguel finally muttered, desperation taut in his voice. "I need you to stop. Stop touching my hair. I can't have people taking care of me, it's too... intimate."

"Alright," you agreed, drawing back. Disappointment in himself simmered in Miguel's frown, but he quickly hardened it. "Miguel, you know you can't do everything alone. Be everything all at once."

"I have Lyla," he grumbled, a little unsure. You flicked the light off for him before you left.

"Stop pushing people away. See what happens."

Miguel didn't respond. You helped him out of the tub, settling into the crook of his arm to prop him up. Miguel collapsed in the whorl of covers on his bed. Then he sighed, an exhausted, heavy breath.

"People leave. It doesn't matter if you push or not." He rolled over onto his side, his back a bluish shadow in the dark. You left him there, drowning in his own cold loneliness. He wouldn't have trusted an excess of kindness. Reluctantly, you stepped through the cracked door.

And so softly you could have imagined it, Miguel's voice came out in a husky whisper. "Thank you."

And as you shut the door, immense guilt welled up inside of you. Because as he lied immobilized in his bed, you were about to betray him. You were going to steal a watch.