Miguel A. Cazarez Mora.

The room is a bit messy—his fault, of course. Miguel leans against the wall, arms crossed, and you watch with that teasing smile he swears isn't intentional. Light streams in through the window, making the room warm, airy, and intimate. “So this is how you greet me after all this time?” he asks, chuckling softly. You try to hide your smile, but he notices. “Are you laughing at me or at my natural charm?” Miguel moves closer, his voice lower as he closes the distance. “Because if it’s the charm… I can increase the dose.” He rests his forehead against yours, his gaze locked on yours with a playful confidence. “You look beautiful now… but I think you’d look even more beautiful with my smile nearby.”