Miguel's room resembles more of a dedicated gaming sanctuary than a typical bedroom designed for rest. Dominating the left side is a powerful gaming setup: three colossal monitors, the keyboards blinking red, blue, and green lights, accompanied by a webcam and a microphone neatly stationed in the corner. A glass cabinet houses an array of collectibles, none of which Thalia can identify. As a kid, all she did for fun was read. Watched a few cartoon shows. And then she was back to reading.

Miguel's gaming chair, akin to a throne, occupies the center of attention, its comfort confirmed as Thalia sits casually. She takes in the rest of the room. On the right side lies a modest queen-sized bed and a nightstand, starkly ordinary in comparison. Behind her, a television, Playstation 5, and Nintendo Switch stand ready for action.

"It must be nice to have this sort of work-from-home lifestyle."

"Hey, I help out at the store."

"Not for 40 hours a week, you don't," she quips. "Not that it's a competition..."

Thalia's hand brushes the mouse, igniting an ombre effect across the screens, adding to the already colorful ambience. "This is cool. Must've cost a fortune."

She navigates to Miguel's channel, noting his 502,354 subscribers. His channel name makes her chuckle, "MiGimmeGamer? Really? That's your best?"

"I didn't overthink it. After finishing my Master's, the last thing I wanted was a typical 9-to-5 job. I did my MA to stall..." he admits guiltily. "So, I turned to gaming, recorded my sessions, and added my voice in the background."

"Ah, to have that option," Thalia murmurs, then instantly regrets it, a swell of ease hitting her when she realizes that Miguel has failed to hear her whispered sentiment.

She briefly entertains thoughts of what life would be like without the need to work, but Miguel joining her at the nook swiftly distracts her. Leaning over, he casually puts a hand on hers, steering her attention to his inaugural video. "Check this out..."

Thalia swerves her head and gazes at Miguel's side profile, catching a whiff of his tea tree-scented shampoo as the video's sounds envelop the room—battle music, magical effects, and voice acting.

"This game's quite popular, and I happen to be pretty skilled at it. Helped some beginners beat a tough boss, and the channel just took off," he grins, unaware of their proximity. "Although, I didn't reach this many people until I had... Well, more free time."

With no girlfriend and uncertain future plans, time was something he had in abundance.

"You're practically a public figure now. What's that like?" Thalia queries.

"I wouldn't go that far. I rarely show my face. Doubt anyone would recognize me on the street."

"You can't be too sure," Thalia remarks, retracting her hand from beneath Miguel's and swiveling the chair to face him. The realization that he has encroached on her personal space dawns on him, and he instinctively recoils.

"Sorry–"

"We didn't establish any clauses for this," Thalia states, her tone leaving Miguel uncertain about whether she's upset or genuinely concerned. "What do we do?"

"We can draft something..." he suggests. "I mean, it's a good idea. Set some boundaries. I'll grab my laptop. You can type—"

"Wait a sec." Tipping her head to the side and revealing her neck once again, she says, "We should probably outline... What's acceptable and what's not?"

Jitters ripple across Miguel's skin. "There's... There's an 'acceptable' clause?"

Thalia stands from the chair, wearing a cheeky smile. "Yeah, something like this." She seizes his hand, intertwining their fingers. An unexpected flutter rushes through her, a tingling sensation traversing her spine, settling in the pit of her stomach.

Yet, she presses on, finding Miguel's reaction adorable. His ears have turned a shade of red. "Holding hands is just the basics... It'd be weird if we didn't do it in front of others."

"Uh, yeah, so just in front of them," he mumbles, burying his disappointment. "I can... I can include that in the draft."

Their fingers still entangled, she motions forward, resting her head on his chest. "And a hug. I'm a fan of good hugs, and you give great hugs. That's a definite 'okay' for me."

Thalia, donned in a thin cardigan layered over a cotton shirt, lacks the additional fabric that might have provided a buffer. Miguel can feel the subtle pressure of her breasts against him. Another strong reaction stirs within him, making him squeeze his eyes shut as he attempts to create some distance. His efforts prove useless; Thalia remains firmly pressed against him, drawing him closer.

"Thalia, you know what you're doing to me," he utters, his voice a blend of frustration and warning.

"I do?" she innocently responds.

An inkling of annoyance sparks in Miguel, and he uses his free hand to grab her waist. She suppresses a gasp, uncertain about the direction this is taking but intrigued to discover where it will lead.

"I'll give it to you then."

"What will you give me?" she challenges, looking up at Miguel's dilated pupils.

Noticing his expression darkening, she flinches, suddenly tense.

She often taunts Miguel knowingly, finding his shyness endearing. Unfortunately, the fact that they are in his bedroom appears to have momentarily slipped her mind. She's in his territory.

"Uh... Never mind."

"Never mind?" he reiterates, the opportunity to hit the brakes elapsing. "Is a kiss in the 'acceptable' clause?"

Thalia's pulse accelerates, her brain suddenly struggling to conjure a clever comeback. She has brought about her own downfall.

"You kissed me. It should be, right?" Miguel states, his gaze traveling to the totality of her face, recognizing the remnants of pink lip gloss clinging to her bottom lip.

Attempting to diffuse the tension, Thalia counters, "Oh, please. Why are you concerned? It's not like you're a fan of kissing."

Miguel releases a low chuckle, one corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk. "Who says I'm not? I admit, it was a lousy first kiss. You caught me off guard. Let me make it up to you." Gently untwisting their fingers, he frees his other hand and tenderly grasps Thalia's nape, her soft black hair brushing against his knuckle. "This is more my style."

Then, he claims her lips with his, the kiss intense and hungry, an unbridled passion set free. Lost in the moment, Miguel's tongue clashes with Thalia's, who succumbs to the heat, shutting her eyes and clutching his shoulders.

Notwithstanding her teasing demeanor, Thalia lacks knowledge in matters of physical intimacy. Her only previous relationship, lasting six months, ended unexpectedly due to infidelity and left her with little to no extraordinary experiences.

In short, she finds herself playing with fire, embracing the risk of the inevitable burn.

Miguel partially disconnects and nibbles on her lower lip. He whispers, "Does that pass?"

Stammering, Thalia responds with a raspy voice, "P-Pass? What?"

"Your standards."

Bursting into laughter, Thalia privately admits that her standards are practically non-existent. In reality, she has no idea what she's doing.

"Is that a 'no'?" he asks, eyebrows knitted.

"It's not a 'no.' I just find it amusing that you think I have standards," she confesses. "I've had one brief relationship, and it didn't last long. That's kinda telling."

Miguel's lips curl up again. "I honestly didn't expect you to say that. But I should've known you were poking fun at me."

"I wasn't..." she lies, but the twinkle in her eyes gives it away.

Miguel leans in once more, their lips just a few centimeters apart, and he adds, "Well then, it doesn't matter. I'll be the standard."

******

Thalia just had the most incredible passionate make out session with Miguel de la Cruz, her pseudo-fiance. Yes, she did.

After he declared that he'd be her standard, he bestowed another kiss on her lips without hesitation, his left hand delicately weaving through the strands of her hair, while the other boldly explored the small of her back A soft whimper escaped her in a moment of panic, and he halted. Planting a tender kiss on her cheek, he shifted his attention to her ear, asking in a hushed tone, "We're not going overboard, are we?"

All Thalia could manage in response was a nod, her mind still reeling from the intensity of the encounter.

The bizarre situation had left her stunned and a tad confused. She grappled with feelings of guilt and caution, wondering how much she could let herself be swept away. She shouldn't feel bad about enjoying the moment, right? Although devoid of love, they were bound for marriage. The truth remained that Miguel would still be her husband.

And she would be his wife.

No need to overthink, she coached herself to think. Go with the flow.

"Hey, we're here."

Miguel's voice breaks the spell, and she is snapped out of her trance, heat unmoving within. Releasing the seat belt buckle, she attempts a regular goodbye, a smile decorating her face. "Good night."

"Good night," he reciprocates, adding, "I'll talk to my parents tomorrow. Just keep it from Linda and the others for now. We need to ensure that my parents are onboard first."

"Yeah. I won't spread the word," she promises.

She's not planning to spill the beans on this update, not even to her family. They're in the dark about what she's dealing with. Their interference could throw a wrench into her well-thought-out plans, although her endgame is making sure they're taken care of.

No need to stress them out.

"I'll catch you at work," she says, pushing the door open.

Miguel's mutter caught her off guard. "I won't be at the store tomorrow," he discloses, and an unexpected twinge of dismay flickers within Thalia, causing her to pause mid-step.

"Uh, alright..."

"But I'll pick you up. Dinner at my place?"

His easy smile radiates a warmth that mimics sun rays, and Thalia can't help but soften, her perplexity growing at the shower of affection. How had she failed to see this side of him before? Why did she unfairly throw judgments at him?

Confronting her own shortcomings, she acknowledges the times when he had stood by her, offering comfort during her lowest points.

Now, she questions Miguel's true intentions, wondering if his feelings run deeper than her assumptions.

If he, perhaps, actually considers making them real.

Don't ask questions. Don't ruin it, she contemplates. Don't beg for more. You'll be fine, regardless. You'll manage.

Lifting a shoulder into a half-shrug, she returns the same energy and beams, "Alright."