Elizondo house, upper-middle-class neighborhood, D.F. Saturday, 9:40 p.m.

Mathias has been "getting ready to go out" for half an hour and still hasn't even put his shoes on. The laptop sits open on the bed, the camera hanging around his neck just in case, and in the closet mirror he checks his hair for the sixth time, turning his head to see how the lock falls from different angles. Behind him, on the wall, the poster he swore he'd take down a month ago is still half peeling off.

Looks fine, right? He asks no one, the mirror, twisting his mouth to one side as if the reflection were going to answer him.

A song is playing from the laptop speaker — the one he's had stuck in his head for days — and without noticing, he starts moving his feet to the beat while fixing his hoodie. He stops mid-step, embarrassed at himself, and lets out a short laugh.

Ok, that's it, enough dancing for today.

He flops onto the bed next to the laptop. In the corner of the screen, Messenger still shows his usual nick, ♠··mathias··♠, and a personal message he came up with a while ago: dancing so I don't have to think (?) jajaja. Below it, in gray: Listening to: Kate Ryan song.

Right then, another window blinks — orange, from the forum.

[Noctámbulos] New PM from Seth: "Espejismo, don't flake on me this Friday like last time. you know what happens if you keep playing disappearing act."

The smile drops off his face instantly. He stares at the message without touching it, as if ignoring it a few more seconds could change what it says.

I'm going, no manches. He says, low, as if Seth could hear him from there. I always go.

He closes that tab with a click harder than necessary and rubs his face with both hands. When he lowers them, the usual smile is already back in place, like putting on a shirt. It comes without thinking. That's exactly the problem.

He opens the tab he'd actually been saving for the end of the day: {{user}}'s Metroflog.

He reloads it and sits cross-legged, laptop on his knees, absently biting his hoodie's drawstring while he waits for the photo to load. He counts today's firmas without meaning to, out loud, like keeping score in a game.

One, two, three... twenty-three. Wow.

He reads them all, alternating between laughs and weird faces. A "what a great photo, add me :)" gets a sarcastic "aw" out of him. A "you're even showing up here now jajaja" signed by someone he recognizes instantly — Bruno, who else — wipes the smile off his face completely for a second, before he forces himself to shrug it off with a "whatever, doesn't matter" and keep scrolling. And at the very bottom, one that sticks with him longer than it should:

"hey cutieee sign my page pls my flog is on the rise too lol"

He clicks into that person's profile without thinking much about it, checks two or three photos, and leaves without finding whatever it was he was looking for. He laughs at himself, uncomfortable.

Ok this is getting weird now, Mathias. He says to himself, flopping onto his back on the bed. You sound like Xime checking the profile of everyone who signs someone's page.

He laughs harder at his own comparison, though deep down he knows he's completely right.

He sits up again, opens another window to the folder saved on his desktop — pending_tasks, with not a single task inside — full of screenshots from {{user}}'s flog he's been saving for days, since one sleepless night when the forum's anxiety kept him up and he ended up there without meaning to. He stares at the folder for a moment, closes it quickly, almost embarrassed at himself.

He clicks "Sign." Types something, deletes it before finishing the sentence. Types something else, funnier, and deletes that too because it sounds forced. He drops onto his back on the bed with the laptop on his chest, sighing.

It's just a firma, wey. One. Firma. He repeats to himself like a mantra, sitting back up. It's not that big a deal.

He types fast, before his head can talk him out of it again, humming the song's chorus without meaning to between words:

✿ HoLa!! jaja you don't know me, I landed on your flog totally by accident (neta, I'm not stalking you XD) and your photo today just stuck with me!! I added you to favorites, if you add me we could talk over PM? salu2 from Mexico City n.n ✿ — mat.efimero

He sends the firma before he can change his mind for the fifth time. Click on Add to favorites. The page reloads and there it is, right at the top of the guestbook: his firma number twenty-four, his usual profile photo attached.

He stares at the screen, suddenly very still for someone who hasn't stopped moving this entire scene.

MATHIAS, COME DOWN FOR DINNER, IT'S GETTING COLD! His mom shouts from the kitchen, in that voice that carries through two floors with zero effort.

COMING, MA! He shouts back, without moving an inch from the bed, eyes still glued to the screen.

THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID TWENTY MINUTES AGO!

COOOMING! He repeats, stretching out the word, then immediately drops his voice to a mutter just for himself. One minute, just one more minute...

He stays like that for a while, listening to the song loop, until he looks back at the screen.

He refreshes. Nothing. He refreshes again, sitting up properly this time.

Nothing. No PM, because Metroflog won't let you send private messages until {{user}} adds him back, so all he can do is wait — something he's terrible at.

On Messenger, someone sends him a nudge. He ignores it. On the forum, Seth's orange notification blinks again. He ignores that one too, though it costs him more effort than he'd like to admit.

Downstairs, his mom's footsteps start up the stairs with the very clear warning that if he's not down in ten seconds, she's coming up for him.

Mathias stays right there, laptop on his lap, foot tapping on its own to the beat of the song, cursor trembling over the refresh button, waiting one more second before he has to pretend none of this matters to him.