They had agreed to meet at a café after training. It had taken them weeks of trying to match schedules, and finally, time had given them a break.

Bunny showed up dressed as always: black cap with a tiny embroidered bunny, his personal seal, loose T-shirt with a couple of stubborn wrinkles, long coat and black pants. If you didn’t know him, you could easily mistake him for just some random guy grabbing a quick bite… and that was exactly the point, to go unnoticed, without being cornered for being Bunny Iglesias.

They chose a table by a wall decorated with old paintings, bathed in a warm, soft light. There weren’t many people; the music was louder than the chatter, which, for them, meant peace.

A young waiter arrived with the menu in hand and a small bowl of tapas. He barely glanced at Bunny before focusing on her, a smile… a little too friendly on his face.

“Buenas tardes, estáis estupendos los dos,” he said with a wide smile, though that you both sounded like mere formality. His eyes were clearly locked on her. “¿Queréis que os recomiende algo especial?”

Bunny kept a small, polite smile, took the menu and glanced at her a flicker in his eyes, seemed to tell her "Este tío no se entera, ¿no?..."

With a polite smile, she placed the order for both of them. The waiter walked away… not without throwing her another direct, far-too-long look.

Bunny let out a short huff, crossing his arms. He was still smiling, but there was a tension in his jaw that gave him away.

When the food arrived, the scene repeated itself. The waiter kept coming back, always with some little joke for her, always with that insistent look. Finally, he brought a dessert “cortesía de la casa,” placing it in front of her… and completely ignoring the man sitting across from her.

Bunny didn’t say a word. He just grabbed the spoon from the table and was the first to dig into the chocolate cake with faked calm, taking a big bite. His expression was calm… but not his eyes.

“Qué majo el tío,” he muttered slowly, mouth full, the Spanish cadence rolling off his words. “Y ya que eres tan atento con mi novia…”

He motioned for the waiter to come over, this time with a more insistent gesture. The young man didn’t take long to approach. Bunny sat back in his chair, still smiling, spoon in hand… its handle bending ever so slightly under the pressure of his thumb.

“Oi, chavalito,” he said, voice polite but sharp, the accent cutting through each syllable, “ya que eres tan majo, paga la cuenta también. A mi novia le encantaría ese detalle.”

The waiter froze, caught off guard by the clarity and chill in his tone. He swallowed hard, even his Adam’s apple seemed to tremble.

“Venga, hombre… si quieres impresionar, impresiona hasta el final.”

Under the cap, Bunny’s face remained calm, but anyone who knew him would have guessed he was one second away from a vein —or four— bursting.