Miguel O'Hara x Reader [one-shots]

OLDER [NR/F] (P.I)

I HAD RECONNECTED with him. It's been almost two years, and after I graduated high school, I rarely thought of my old principles, my old teachers, or my old friends. I had moved far away after being accepted into my first choice college. Across the entire country to be exact. East coast to west coast.

Though I wasn't very fond of my family, I was pretty much obligated to visit. It had been too long and I already blew off holidays, birthdays, and summer break.

So after a six hour flight, I had arrived home two weeks ago. It had been an okay time. I saw some of those old friends I had rarely thought about, and reminisced over the time we all spent in high school.

It was bittersweet, really.

I wasn't much older, but mentally it felt like it. I graduated high school when I was 17, and I was turning 20 in a few months. I had much more freedom, yes, but being yelled at by my mother over the smallest things was not something I missed. At all.

After one of her yelling sprees, I had decided to leave to cool off. I had gone where the road took me, until I decided to eventually stay at a small café I noticed.

I walked in and took a look around the dainty shop. It smelt fresh of coffee and hors d'œuvres. After a few minutes of standing on line, I ended up ordering a small coffee.

I waited until my name was called before moving to the counter to grab my drink. It was right in front of me, and I reached out to grab it before I bumped into someone.

I quickly jumped back, afraid that if this person was holding coffee, it would spill on me. Luckily, it hadn't.

"I'm so sorry—" we both say at the same time. I finally look up at this person— this man.

Brown hair. Reddish-brown eyes. Tan skin.

I recognized him after a few seconds.

"Mr. O'Hara?" My head tilted and my eyebrows furrowed.

Two seconds later, and his expression changed. The glint—resembling the glare of the metal wrapped around his finger—in his eyes told me he now recognized me too.

"Y/N," he said my name in that voice of his, a grin forming on his face. "Hi, how are you?"

"Hi," I chuckled nervously, my face flushing.

Of course I ran into him. The teacher kind of had a crush on junior year of high school.

Most of the feelings had just bubbled up because he had always kept his cool and never allowed anyone to struggle. He was always so respectful. He was a man, and I was a girl.

But now, I was a woman.

It seemed that crushes—old or new, forbidden or forgotten—had an effect on me all the same, just like how they had when I was in high school.

My heart still resorted to that default speed, and my hands resorted to shaking rather than staying still.

"I'm good," I smiled at him, moving aside to grab my drink before we both took a step back, not wanting to block the counter any longer. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well," his smile stayed on his face as we both walked to another counter, where all the sugar, cream, utensils, and whatnot lay. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, it has," I chuckled softly, pulling off my cap to put some creamer and sugar inside of my coffee.

He only grabbed a sleeve and a napkin for his coffee. "Last I heard, you got accepted into UCLA."

"I did," I nodded, placing my cap right back onto my coffee. I went to grab a sleeve, but when his fingers brushed against mine, I looked down to him already putting one on. "I'm visiting. It's been almost two years since I've been back, so my ticket back to California isn't for another week-and-a-half."

He took a sip of his coffee, nodding. "You know, ever since the end of your junior year, my classes have never been the same."

"How so?" I take a sip of mine next, my tense muscles and my anger dissipating the more I spoke and drank.

"I had hoped to get you in my class your senior year. I told you just as well," we fell in step, walking to the entrance. "You were the best behaved in all my classes. You know how everyone else in your class would give me headaches."

"Yeah, I remember," I took another sip, swallowing at the exact moment he opened the door for me. I gave him a small thank you before resuming. "Everyone was always so hyper. But you still liked them all the same. There were good days."

He nodded, letting the door close behind us. "There were good days. But you always struck out to me. I knew you'd be one of the greats. I still see it now."

I shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek. "Ah, well. Still waiting for that to happen," I chuckled.

"Don't rush it," he said, his voice flowing throw the wind as if it were always meant to be there, soothing my inner turmoil. "You're still young. You've got your whole life ahead of you."

"I guess," I shrug, nodding with a small smile on my face. We take a sip at the same time.

A small, but short silence sets before he was speaking again. "Listen, I gotta go. But we should meet up again before you go. I remember you talking about that clothing store to me all those years ago—they just built a new one not far from here. You can tell me about how it's going for you all the way in Cali while we shop."

I laugh softly at the fact that he remembered my favorite store I had told him then. He was like a friend now that I had been more grown. Back then, he was my teacher and I was his student. He had honored that of course, and so did I.

But being older, a small friendship had no repercussions. I had always liked speaking to him back then. To speak to him now felt easy, maybe because he hadn't built up any opinion about me since all he knew about me was my grades and some of my interests from when I was 16.

"Sure," I say, looking up at him.

"Next Friday sound good?" he asked, pulling out his keys and pressing the unlock button.

I nodded, pulling out my phone. He did his next, and when held it against one another's, getting each other's contact info. It should have felt weird in theory, but it felt as if I were talking to an old acquaintance.

"Sounds perfect," I pulled the device once it was lodged in both our phones and stored it right back into my pocket. "I'll see you then, O'Hara."

He chuckled. "Think you have the right to call me, Miguel now, Y/N."

"Yeah," I glanced down at the ground for no particular reason other than to cool down on the eye contact. "I'll see you then, Miguel."

I met his eyes again, and we both made the same expression. "It's weird," we both agreed, nodding and laughing.

"It's okay," I pulled out my keys next. "I'll get used to it."

He smiled again. I smiled back.

"Bye, Y/N," he gave me a still wave goodbye and retreated back a few steps.

"Bye, Miguel," I did the same.

One last look and we both turned around, walking to our cars that were parked at opposite ends of the lot.

I waited until he had left first before making my escape.

I drove some more after that. I kept the windows down and let the wind blow through my hair. I let the summer breeze wash away my indignation and frustration.

I smiled.

California would always be my home— my sanctuary and getaway from the madness that is my family. But it was the first time I had ever felt even a sliver of peace in my home state.