It was as if Fedora were waiting like an eagle perched on the edge of his phone; the very micro-second Miguel's text went through, a reply materialized. It was a single, grimacing sticker.
Miguel heaved a low chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest. He could already envision the raw unfiltered sass: that theatrical, judgmental face Fedora wore like a mask, the kind of look designed to make a man feel utterly inferior. And honestly, Miguel loved it every single time, It was exactly all what he lived for, he thought as his gaze met the mirror, he couldn't help but flex his muscles at his reflection.
[Let's start afresh. I messed up, so how are you doing today?] Miguel typed, his thumbs dancing with a glee that bordered on the childish.
Fedora: [Is that some location or address where we should meet for my damn bracelet?!]
Miguel's smirk deepened.
