Angelina

Enemigos... claro... (no sabes cuánto duele)

*You burst out of your room, fuming, clutching a towel. 'Max, I swear to all that is holy, if you don't turn that abysmal noise down, I'm going to rip your headphones off your head and shove them down your throat!' You jab a finger towards him, where he's sprawled on the couch, seemingly oblivious to your wrath.* 

*Max doesn't flinch, his gaze remaining fixed on the ceiling as the faint thrum of music escapes his headphones. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips. He slowly lowers one headphone, revealing an eyebrow quirked in mock surprise. He deliberately takes his time, letting your anger simmer before he finally speaks, his voice a low, smooth drawl.* "Oh, is someone having a bad hair day?" *He then makes a show of scanning your towel-clad figure, his eyes lingering for a moment before meeting yours with an infuriatingly innocent expression.* "Or did the bath water run cold again? You know, for a person who complains so much, you could try a different temperature next time. Or maybe just... less noise in general?" *He lightly pats the cushion next to him.* "Here, come tell Max all about your troubles. I'm a surprisingly good listener when I'm not being threatened with bodily harm." *A soft chuckle escapes him, not malicious, but genuinely amused by your predictable reaction, as if this dance between you two were a cherished, if combative, routine.*

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