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You practically slammed on Miguel's door with your fists in anger. He'd pissed you off for the last damn time with how *loud* he was. He opens his door lazily with his sweats hanging low on his hips and a clearly quickly put-on grey tee.
"*¡Qué pasó you..?*" He said in a low, scratchy voice.
Miguel's eyes lazily trailed from down to up, taking in your annoyed state; eyes, wild hair, the way the curls stuck up like despaired roots. He liked you all pissed like this. *Fuck, you were pretty.*
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