As Fedora and Tyra walked into the garage, Miguel had already tapped out the cherry on his cigarette, choosing to sink into the shadows.
He didn't want to be noticed, not until he felt like it. He decided he was just going to observe these fragile, vulnerable boys for a while, and that was exactly what he did.
He stayed in the darkness, like a tiger sizing up its prey, watching the two beautiful boys come to a stop inside the cavernous space and begin their yap.
Miguel's gaze was fixated mainly on Fedora.
The boy was that usual hurricane of fire that mercilessly pulled him in, as always. It was the way he spoke so gently, so softly, and yet at the same time vomited fire that could literally burn down a whole generation; the fluid, feline body movements; the dramatic, sharp-edged tone.
