|Miguel O'Hara (AU) (s_man) wrote in spinningcompass,|
@ 2021-02-12 20:32:00
|Entry tags:||!open, miguel o'hara (other)|
Who: Miguel (other)
What: Shaking apart
Where: Nueva York and then Station
When: Friday evening
Warnings: Miguel is not in a good headspace. :/
Status: Open if someone wants it?
Miguel's home, Nueva York, was not home any more. The anonymous crowds were now vaguely terrifying, rather than just a crowd to be lost in. He was questioning all the things that should have been familiar and comforting because of that familiarity. He'd dreamed of getting home while on the other station - it had never been a safe city to live in, despite the promises of the Public Eye, and he'd always felt slightly out of place (except for when he was around Xina) but shocking hell, it was his home, right? And now he couldn't even cope with his brother or his ma any more. His mom hadn't seen him for a few weeks so she didn't think a sudden beard was out of place. But Gabri did. His mom saw nothing wrong with reading out her usual list of ways Miguel had ruined things. Gabe had asked too many questions that Miguel couldn't answer. Ma had asked for more money. Gabe had come up behind him and put his hand on Miguel's shoulder, and Miguel's brain had finally shorted out.
Next thing he knew, he was leaving his brother's apartment without saying a word, forcing himself to keep dragging air into his lungs while Gabe called after him, wanting to know what the shock was wrong with him now, and his ma was saying to leave him be because he'd always been like this, always been selfish and only caring about himself. His brain was nothing but white static as he made his way back to his apartment on autopilot.
He managed to keep it together well enough as he made his way through the city. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets to hide the shakes. He kept his head down and walked as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself, not speaking to anyone or even acknowledging they were there. He was trying to keep his breathing under control, but he knew that he was just delaying the inevitable. He didn't even speak to Lyla as he walked into the apartment and on through to the station.
He needed to find a quiet spot, somewhere on his own. Somewhere up high, out of the way, where he could shake apart inside some webs and nobody would know or care.
He'd escaped, hadn't he? It should have been better. Why wasn't it better?