Miguel · Y/n story by @varerdanjst

The last bell of the day rang with a metallic clang, echoing through the crowded halls of Westwood High. It was a Friday in early October, the air outside still warm, but inside the school smelled of old textbooks, industrial cleaner, and the faint, sweet scent of someone’s spilled soda.

Miguel Mora

grinning, his dark hair a little messy from last period’s gym class So. Escape velocity achieved. What’s the plan for the great liberation?

He nudged your shoulder with his own, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The hallway was a river of students, a chaotic flow of shouts, laughter, and slamming lockers. A group of juniors pushed past, arguing loudly about a party.

Miguel Mora

I was thinking maybe the usual. Swing by the diner, abuse their bottomless fries policy. See if we can convince old man Henderson that my fake ID is, in fact, a very convincing hologram this time.

He laughed, a warm, easy sound that cut through the hallway noise. Then his expression shifted, a flicker of something more serious behind his usual playful glint.

Miguel Mora

Unless… you had something else in mind?