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Vignettes of your time as Miguel O'Hara's neighbor
AN: This is an enmeshment of Comic!Miguel and Movie!Miguel's stories. Hope you enjoy!
Pt. 2 here!
The waiting room of the police precinct felt like a liminal space. You tapped your foot nervously, unsure if you should dart out the door and pretend this whole thing never happened.
“Next!” A heavily accented voice reverberated through the room.
You swallowed and stood up. You walked over to the older woman behind the pane of glass.
“Hello Miss, how can I help you today?”
“I’d like to file a missing persons report for my neighbor.”
“Alright, I’ll have an officer with you in just a moment. Can I get you any coffee or water while you’re waiting?”
You shook your head. She pointed a finger to a different row of chairs and you took a seat.
“We’ll be with you shortly!” She called as you sat down.
It had been over three months since you’d seen Miguel. The first few weeks were no big deal. By week 5, you were a little annoyed. By week 6, your texts weren’t going through. You tried to stalk him online to see if you could find something, but he was a ghost.
It was like he fell off the face of the earth.
“Miss?” A female officer was holding a secured door open.
You stood up and followed her to her desk.
“So, you’re here to file a missing persons report?”
You tapped your fingers along your leg nervously. “Yes, for my neighbor.”
“Ok let’s start with your neighbors name.”
“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara. I’m pretty sure he’s a doctor but I’m not positive.”
“Age?”
You furrowed your brow. “Not much older than me. 32? 34?”
She nodded, jotting down the notes in her pad. “How long have you been neighbors?”
“Only about three years. He watches my cats sometimes and I’ll water his plants. He’s a nice guy, but I don’t know much about him. He’s just been gone for…a really long time.”
“Can you tell me about how long?”
“3 months and 8 days.”
You saw a hint of surprise at your words. “Any family we can reach out to? Significant other?”
You shrugged. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know. I think he has a brother but I don’t know if he’s in town.”
You balked at the answers. You knew he liked black coffee. You knew that, despite never admitting it, he loved to play laser pointer with your cats. You knew he had a watering and fertilizing schedule for each of his plants.
“He’s a scientist. I don’t know if that helps.”
She jotted it down. “Anything is helpful, miss. Here’s my card. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
“If he turns up, will you reach out?” The question came out before you could grapple with what it meant.
The first time you met Miguel, you were baking cookies. Your apron was covered in flour, and you had been up to your elbows in butter and sugar all morning.
The knock startled you. You quickly rinsed your hands and darted over to the door. You were surprised to see your neighbor Miguel when you peered through the peephole. You two had waved to each other here and there, but you never paid him much mind.
You swung the door open. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey, sorry to bother you, but I’m going out of town for a couple of days, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind watering my plants? I can pay you.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s fine. You don’t need to pay me.”
“Are you sure? They’re high maintenance plants.”
The timer beeped, indicating your first batch of cookies were done baking. You looked over your shoulder.
“Can you come in for a sec? I don’t want them to burn.”
He shrugged and stepped inside. You sped back over to the oven and pulled them out. You set the baking sheet on top of your stove and turned back to him.
You laughed as you saw your two cats inspecting him curiously. He held his hand out to one of them, letting her sniff him.
“Sorry, they have no manners. Okay, what were you saying about your plants?”
“It would be easier if I showed you. Do you have time?”
You nodded and took off your apron. You did a double take to ensure the oven was off.
“Okay, let’s go.”
You both walked across the hallway into his apartment.
As soon as you stepped in, you noticed the light, fresh scent akin to a greenhouse. His kitchen was spartan, and his living room had large shelves in front of the floor to ceiling windows with rows and rows of plants. Cacti, monstera, bonsai trees, and other plants you didn’t have names for were organized in neat rows. A clipboard sat next to the monstera.
Books were scattered on end tables and shelves across the entire place. Some were worn, with cracked spines and frayed edges. Others were pristine, like they had never been opened.
He walked over to the bonsai and carefully inspected it. “This one is precocious. You can only give it 175 milliliters of water every other day or it loses its vibrance.”
You nodded as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
You listened for 30 minutes as he walked you through each plant’s individual needs. He made sure that you understood the need to document the quantity of water given every day, and that you would never touch the thermostat since he had a “delicate balance of humidity” in the apartment.
He even made sure that you understood how to find the meniscus for the water level in his graduated cylinder.
“Can you like…text me? Or write this down? I’m just a lowly cat owner. This is intense.”
“It’s the ideal way to care for them. But yes, I can create a packet.”
A few weeks later, it was your turn to go out of town. You knocked on his door. He opened it almost immediately.
“Hey, I’m going on vacation next week. Would you mind watching my cats? They’re super low maintenance.”
“Sure. Just write it down, and I’ll keep an eye on them.”
You saw behind him that he was repotting a plant on his counter.
Your eyes widened. “I didn’t kill one of your plants, did I?!”
He furrowed his brow and turned his head to see what you were looking at.
“What? Oh, no, I bought a new one and the soil it was in was dismal. It needed a new home immediately.”
“Are you a…botanist? A plant scientist?” It took you a moment to think of the word.
He shook his head. “No, I’m a geneticist. The plants are just a hobby.”
“Oh. Interesting. Anyway, I’ll leave a note about their quirks and their needs, and I’ll leave my key under your mat. And don’t let them con you into a second dinner. They’re very convincing.”
“Noted.”
You returned from your trip to find your key stowed under your mat. When you walked inside your apartment, everything was just as you’d left it.
You found a clipboard sitting on your kitchen island with meticulous notes and neat handwriting.
Day 1: grey cat and black cat engaged in play-fighting. Black cat was the aggressor, but grey cat pinned black cat to the ground which caused an immediate end to the fight.
Day 2: grey cat was amenable to tube treat. Black cat was disinterested.
Day 3: both cats engaged in enrichment activities with toys. Both became disinterested after about 5 minutes and resumed their rest in sunlit area.
The notes were at least three pages long. You smiled as you flipped through them. A box of new treats were sitting on your counter with a sticky note.
“Ingredients in the other treats are awful. Let me know if they like them.” -M
The next day, you knocked on his door again, clipboard in hand.
“You made observations on my cats?” You chuckled.
“They were fun to observe.”
At the sound of his voice, your cats meowed relentlessly from inside your apartment.
You gestured for him to follow you, and you opened the door. They both rubbed against his legs affectionately, purring loud enough to be heard by the entire building.
“Oh my gosh, they’re obsessed with you!” You laughed.
“They’re just demonstrating their survival instincts. I fed them for a week, nothing more.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
You corralled the cats and Miguel into your apartment and handed him a wrapped present.
He inspected it skeptically.
“Can you just open it?”
He finally ripped the paper off and flipped the book over to read the description.
“Sally Rooney?” He asked.
“I noticed you didn’t have any fiction.”
“Is she a good author?”
“I’m keeping my opinions to myself until you’re done reading it.”
9 days later, you opened your door to a particularly frustrated Miguel.
“Why did she go back to him?”
“You just finished it, didn’t you?”
“The miscommunication in this book was maddening. Why didn’t he leave his wife? Why did she call him back after she finally got over him?”
He was waving the book around in his hand like a dramatic English teacher.
“Whoa, take a deep breath. I’m surprised you got so invested!”
“I’m not invested.”
“You came to my apartment at 9 o clock on a Tuesday.”
“The ending was ridiculous. Unrealistic, even.”
You gestured to the barstool at your island. “Sit, and we can discuss. Do you eat ice cream?”
He took a seat and nodded. You pulled a carton out of your freezer and two bowls out of the cupboard.
“It doesn’t make any sense. Okay, she was involved with a married man, and then she realized the error of her ways and moved on. Why did she call him back?”
“Because she’s impulsive.”
“She could find someone her own age.”
You slid the bowl across the island to him. He inspected it.
“Cookie dough?”
“Tell me a better remedy for emotional frustration.”
“You know, this is statistically going to make it worse by raising my blood sugar. The best way to calm yourself is to do box breathing.”
“Do you want the ice cream or not?” You asked as you took a spoonful.
“Anyway, I’m genuinely confused. Their entire conflict could’ve been resolved if they communicated directly.”
“Is that not a summary of 85 percent of conflict across human history?”
He pondered your question. “Perhaps.”
“Okay, so did you like the book?”
“No! I became more and more irritated with every chapter.”
“Me too. I threw it across the room when I finished it.”
“And then you gifted it to me? That’s sick.”
“I didn’t hold a gun to your head and make you read it. Nor did I make you finish it.”
He shook his head. “No, no. I do not leave things unfinished.”
One of your cats jumped into his lap, and he began scratching her head absentmindedly.
More time had passed. You woke up with a start to a fire alarm blaring and someone banging aggressively on your door.
You jumped out of bed and immediately thought of your cats. You stumbled to your closet where their carriers were.
You ripped them out of the closet. Whoever was banging on your door would not stop. You ran over and found Miguel on the other side.
“Where are the cats?” He asked.
You let him in and resumed your search. “I know one is in my room but I don’t know where the other is! Can you look in the bathroom?”
You split up and successfully wrangled your black cat into her carrier. You came back out into the living room to try to find your grey cat, and you found Miguel crouched next to your couch with an arm underneath.
“She’s inside it. We’re going to have to flip it.” You ran over to the other side.
You two worked in tandem to turn your couch on its back. You yanked her from between the wooden slats by her scruff. You made a note to yourself to make it up to her later with an extra treat.
Miguel grabbed the carrier and you shoved her inside and zipped it closed. You grabbed the other carrier and you both bolted down the stairs. The alarms were still blaring.
You pushed through the exit door and the cold air hit your face. Hundreds of other residents were outside with their animals, all wearing pajamas or sweats and looking exhausted and irritated all at once.
You found a spot on the curb and set down your carrier. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off. You looked down and thanked the universe that you decided to wear normal clothes to bed tonight. You hadn’t thought to slip on a pair of shoes in the moment, but you decided not to think about it.
Miguel was wearing a tight black long sleeve and grey sweats. He had the sense to throw on a pair of sensible men’s slippers before knocking on your door.
“How long was the alarm going off?”
“Only a couple of minutes. But I know you’re a heavy sleeper, so I wanted to make sure you guys got out okay.”
You furrowed your brow at him. “What? How would you possibly know that?”
“You snooze your alarm at least three times every morning. I can practically hear your negotiating with yourself for a few more minutes of sleep.”
Embarrassment flooded your system. You blushed deeply. “Oh my god. Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know you could hear.”
He shrugged. “It’s a nonissue.”
“It’s absolutely an issue. Now I know you’ve been listening to me fail to wake up every day for the last year and a half.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but a firefighter caught your attention.
“False alarm everyone. Sorry for the late night interruption.”
You and Miguel looked at each other and each grabbed a carrier.
“Do you think we’re allowed to use the elevators, or should I mentally prepare for a workout?”
“They’re probably resetting the alarm system. So, yes, I’d prepare for a workout.”
“Awesome. You have to promise not to judge how quickly I get winded when walking up 3 flights of stairs.”
He reached over and grabbed the handle of the carrier you had in your hand. Both cats were meowing dramatically, and one was throwing herself against the mesh like she was in a jail cell.
You furrowed your brow at him. “What are you doing?”
“Helping. I do endurance training all the time. Again, nonissue.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s an issue.”
You walked back inside and headed up the stairs. Most of the other residents were waiting for the elevator, but all you could imagine was getting back into your comfortable bed and going back to sleep.
The first flight wasn’t too bad. Your heart was beating steady in your chest, and you were a little winded, but nothing you couldn’t handle.
He looked at you expectantly when you got to the first landing. “Want to take a break?”
“No, let’s keep going.”
You continued. It wasn’t until you got to the last landing that you asked to wait a few minutes. Perspiration dripped down your back and your face felt hot.
To your irritation, Miguel seemed just fine.
“I think I need to start working out.” You said as you leaned against the wall.
“You can come running with me. I go at 5 am on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then I do strength training Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday.”
“Yeah that is not happening. Okay let’s go.”
You climbed the last set of stairs, said your thanks, and went back to bed.
after a month of going back and forth with myself, feeling confused and honestly a little all over the place, i think i’ve finally figured out what i want to do with this blog and my work that i’ve put out. as you may have seen; all of my quinn writing has still been up. the past few weeks have been kind of messy for me just trying to figure things out and i know i took a while to get here so i apologize for that but i do appreciate everyone being so patient.
and most importantly, i just want to say thank you so much to anyone who reached out, shared their thoughts, or told me what they’ve been thinking about doing with their own stuff. it meant a lot to me, more than i probably said. none of it went unnoticed and i have so much love every single one of you angels.
it was really crappy knowing the fact that everything i had planned and written was just sitting there untouched in my notes app and drafts. every time i went back and saw it, it made me feel worse in a way? because it’s my work and things i was genuinely excited to share, ideas people had requested that i’d turned into something i thought would be so sweet to put out and it sucked not being able to bring myself to post any of it or even keep writing.
if i’m being honest, there were times i’d look at it and just feel put off by everything. like i didn’t want to write at all. but then other days, it hit differently, i would just feel sad knowing i could’ve been writing something people would’ve actually enjoyed once it was posted. so after constantly going back and forth in my head and overthinking everything, i’ve decided i’m going to start writing again. even if it’s slow updates because i’m honestly just tired of letting the actions of these guys ruin something i love. it doesn’t change the fact that still thinking about it gives me the slightest bit of anxiety.
and i need to make this LOUD AND CLEAR — i DON’T support them for any of their actions and i NEVER will. what they did is disgusting and embarrassing. there’s NO excuse for it, and i’m not going to pretend otherwise. i’ve seen a lot of pages get hate for simply posting and writing for quinn or any of those usa players even after they put out their claims of not supporting them and i just want to say, hating on someone’s page as anon is fucking embarrassing.
when it comes to writing, especially for my case for quinn because he’s the only person i’ve written for on my blog, the version i write isn’t him. it hasn’t been for a while now. it’s just a character i’ve built in my head, someone completely separate. someone who would never hurt anyone (unless it’s angst… then yeah, that’s on me lol..)
thank you for being patient with me my sweet angels, i love you all soso much. with this new writing journey, if there’s any players you haven’t seen on my blog that you would like to see me potentially start writing for, feel free to send in an ask!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i’m only a little over 100 pages in and y’all i’ve been ready to start crying several times now. but like wiress and beetee my beloved babies from district three. mY bELovED beETtEe you guys i’m gonna end up BAWLING over the beetee / ampert storyline
just found out someone thought my Megan Thee Stallion header was Nicki Minaj and was trying to call me out for disagreeing with distasteful handling of sensitive topics regarding sexual assault.... meanwhile the header was literally Megan's diss track that had Nicki in a week-long coke rant with the infamous line, "Don't be mad at Megan, be mad at Megan's Law". so no, unfortunately i stopped listening to Nicki when i found out (13 y.o, me as a CSA survivor) she victim blamed her brother's 12 year old rape victim and married a murderer rapist.
