[Ah, see? What did he say? Cute. Amusement bubbles up in Yael's chest and bursts out in a series of little chuffs. That's about what he expected Michel's response to be, but it tickles him regardless.]
Right, right. My bad.
[Yael lifts a hand from the water and gently pats Michel's head, realizing only afterwards that he's trying to keep his hair dry. Oh well.]
Let me guess: you don't believe me? You don't strike me as the modest type.
[It's easier imagining a guy like Michel avoiding his own reflection in the mirror than preening in it.]
no subject
Right, right. My bad.
[Yael lifts a hand from the water and gently pats Michel's head, realizing only afterwards that he's trying to keep his hair dry. Oh well.]
Let me guess: you don't believe me? You don't strike me as the modest type.
[It's easier imagining a guy like Michel avoiding his own reflection in the mirror than preening in it.]