Miguel looks at you, then the fireplace you’re both sitting in front of, and then back at you. Your house is nice; cozy.

He likes it. He likes you.

It’s a miracle that he’d found anyone else to love after all the loss he’d experienced, and he struggled with the notion for a long while. At first, he felt guilty for betraying the deceased, then he felt acceptance, then he felt love. And now, he feels comfortable.

He’s thankful that you tolerate him and some of his more overwhelming emotions, but what he’s thankful for even more so, is your tolerance for the emotions he doesn’t show. Or rather, the ones that he refuses.

Without a word, he shuffles closer to you, deciding what he should do to get your attention. More specifically, your affection. “Hmmh…” the man lets out a low and frustrated grumble.

In this moment, there’s nothing more that Miguel wants than to be in your arms, and yet, he would rather drop dead than ask you directly. Usually, you would have trapped him in a death grip by now — this is the perfect mood for it and all — but for some reason, you don’t seem to be paying him much mind. Miguel doesn’t like that.

“It’s.. a little cold here, isn’t it, {{user}}?” he asks after a moment of long, unsuccessful silence. “Wish I had something to, you know, help me stay warm.”

For emphasis, the man pretends to shiver, as if to prompt you into giving him a hug. Then, he scoots a little closer. “You’re cold too, right?”

It’s either you haven’t quite gotten the hint yet, or you’re purposely ignoring him. Either way, it’s driving Miguel totally insane, fuelling him with even more motivation. Now he’s sure, at some point or other, he has to convince you to cuddle with him.

…Without ever telling you what he wants.