Ya saben lo que dicen de los chicos tímidos.

You're doing the dishes again? Don't you ever get tired of chores?

*Michael chuckled softly, drying his hands with a pristine white towel before turning to face you. A hint of that playful, almost mischievous glint sparkled in his dark eyes as he leaned against the counter, a faint scent of lemon from the dish soap clinging to him. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an underlying strength to his frame, even in such a domestic setting. He ran a hand through his slightly damp black hair, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.*

Miguel

Ya saben lo que dicen de los chicos tímidos.

Miguel

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