"You are just full of surprises," Miguel murmured, a slow smile spreading his lips as he closed the distance between them. He purposefully sought out eye contact, utterly oblivious to the havoc it was wreaking on Fedora.
Fedora couldn't even attempt to look back; he felt himself going weak at the knees, the sheer, suffocating closeness of the man acting like a physical weight against his chest.
Fedora opened his mouth to offer a retort, anything to break the spell, only to realize his throat had gone full Sahara on him. Miguel, meanwhile, was simply savoring the micro-spiraling.
It was deeply satisfying to realize his presence and aura still held such a visceral effect on people,no matter who they were.
Maybe it was the alcohol that gave Mr. Rot-Mouth the strength and willpower to resist me that day, Miguel mused. The trembling, wide-eyed boy standing before him now told a completely different story from the fiery brat at the club.
"Hello?" Miguel broke the lingering, heavy silence.
"I-I-I don't know what you are talking about," Fedora stammered, his voice betraying the very bravado he was trying to summon.
"I see... This isn't a habit then; it's more of a trait." Miguel taunted the overstimulated boy, his fingers dancing in the air like a pianist across an imaginary keyboard.
"Who's your father, boy? You can't keep running away every time you create a mess, hmm? Mr. 'Bills-on-Me'?"
Triple shit!!!
Fedora yelled inwardly, his mental voice screaming at the top of its lungs. Embarrassment rushed hot and prickly through his veins as Miguel dropped those specific words.....words that circulated through his mind like nuclear gas.
Fedora briefly squeezed his eyes shut. This asshole, he cursed. So this asshole had recognized him the entire time? He had just stood there and let me fool the living daylights out of myself? Fedora cringed so hard he felt his spine vibrate.
He wanted to bolt, not out of fear this time, but out of pure, unadulterated shame. His jersey suddenly felt wetter, itchier, and more uncomfortable against his skin as he reached up to nervously scratch his neck.
"What?" Miguel tilted his head, the smile widening into a low, melodic, and deliberate chuckle.
"You're not going to charge up and slap me? And since there are no drinks available, maybe spit on me as well?" He poked and prodded, but Fedora remained silent, his face softening with a sort of survival-instinctual 'cuteness' that caught Miguel completely off guard.
This boy had smashed his car. He should be demanding blood, yet he found himself captivated. If Fedora didn't snap out of it, Miguel was going to be convinced the boy had cast some kind of spell on him.
Fedora thought the 'innocent' look was working, right until Miguel's voice barked out, startling him.
"Hello! You fucking smashed my car!!" The words hit harsh and jagged, even if the underlying intent wasn't purely malicious.
Fedora's eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. Well, since this man won't buy the cuteness... From the look of things, this giant wanted an argument. Fedora felt himself warming up, the shame being replaced by a defensive fire.
He wasn't going to stand there and take the blame like a fool. If I perish, I perish, he breathed to himself.
"Hello?!" Fedora snapped back, his voice regaining its edge.
"Tell your bum-ass driver to stop speeding past ditches like a concerning! Major!! Third!!! Degree psychiatry case!!!! It's not demure, splattering mud on random strangers and then trying to get away with it!"
Fedora clapped back with a calm, sharp precision, his words designed to slice through the air. His hands flew to his waist, firm and defiant.
For the first time in this encounter, he locked his gaze with Miguel's, meeting those intimidating eyes head-on.
What's the worst that can happen?!!
Strangely, Miguel felt a surge of happiness. He hadn't expected that level of fire.
He wasn't used to people being this brave in his personal space, yet he was fascinated. This boy knew how to stand his ground without the usual groveling fear. Miguel lived for the drama, and a part of his soul wanted to push even further.
"So you prefer smashing cars instead of getting apologies?!"
"Actually, I prefer the car stopping immediately instead of trying to make a run for it," Fedora retorted. Even though his voice still carried the faint, shaky undertones of fear, he leaned in and added in a sharp whisper, "Let's grow some balls!"
Never letting people gaslight, guilt-trip, or shift blame onto me again like my good-for-nothing ex. Never! he declared internally while he waited for what storm would come next.
"You rot-mouth..." Miguel began, but the words trailed off. The boy had successfully gotten under his skin, and Miguel was more mad at himself for letting it happen than he was at the boy.
On any other sunny day, the hockey stick would have already done its job. He would have left his victim disfigured and walked away without a second thought. But he couldn't do that here. Not to him.
His gaze shifted back to Fedora. The boy was still fixating those piercing, beautiful daggers at him, seemingly uncaring of the whatever was going on in Miguel's mind 'he couldn't care less!!'.
"You would be unstoppable if you converted the strength of your words into physical power," Miguel teased. Fedora responded with a dramatic, heavy eye roll. "You are just a handful of unpredictable!" Miguel pressed.
Fedora let out a long, stretched hiss, averting his gaze to the horizon. "That's your business," he shot back, quiet but loud enough for Miguel to catch every syllable.
"I'm sorry, but you ruined my car's windows. You're going to have to pay for the damage, bro," Miguel declared, his tone walking the fine line between a joke and a threat.
Fedora let out a short, dry laugh, his shoulders rippling with the motion. He snapped his head back to Miguel, a heavy grimace plastered on his face.
"I'm sorry, wah?" he asked.As Miguel coolly repeated the statement.
"I'm sorry as well, but your damn car also ruined my Pamela Skaist-Levy and Gela Nash-Taylor custom-made Juicy Couture velour jersey craze, 2003 edition!!!" Fedora's voice rose with indignant passion.
"And you know what? Since I'm not raggedy and dystopian!"
Miguel's brows knit together, utterly bewildered by the 'dystopian' line.
Fedora continued, his confidence peaking. "I am not going to ask you to replace it... because you in ten places couldn't afford this particular piece I'm wearing if I asked you to get me a new one. It's custom-made, like I said. Use the money you would repay me with to fix your car ; it would probably be enough to cover the bills, and you'd still have some change left!"
To be continued.....