The silence between them had begun to grow loud, a heavy, stretching thing that morphed into a long, awkward staring contest.
It was the perfect image of two men, unmoving, with a sea of unspoken words bubbling beneath the surface of their individual hearts. Miguel remained as cold and stiff as a statue. His soul-piercing gaze observed Fedora with a predatory stillness, never blinking, not even for a sharp second. It was starting to get to Fedora; the way Miguel looked at him was too severe, too intense.
It felt like a physical weight, making him feel nervous, overwhelmed, and strangely lightheaded.
Finally, for the sake of his own peace of mind, Fedora broke.
"What?!" He barked the question, his strict, syrupy voice finally shattering the nauseating silence. "What is going on in that mind of yours?" he added, leaning in subtly, his eyes searching Miguel's frozen expression.
