He almost felt a little bad for his knee-jerk reaction of hanging up on Nene; the guy that walked in had started browsing the rows near the front and hadn't paid Miguel much attention at all. He felt himself start to relax a little, regardless. All that panic, wasted. That little knot of anxiety wadded up into a messy ball in his chest, pointless. He huffed out a nearly-silent sigh of relief and braced an elbow on the counter, chin resting on his palm as he let his mind drift in happy clouds of newfound ease and contentment.
Miguel believed in a lot of weird shit (it was kind of hard not to, all things considered), but his own good luck wasn't one of them. To have Luke be that flawless specimen of the male species up front and probably shopping for a gift for his girlfriend? To have Luke be the guy that came to meet him wearing a Pikachu and Deadpool t-shirt?
That would be too...too perfect.
He was lucky enough to not get killed in a stupid traffic accident because of Pokemon Go, lucky enough that Nene hadn't had the good sense to drown him at the first opportunity and save herself years of stress migraines but he would not could not ever be that preposterously lucky. Hell, Luke might not even show today in the first place.
So of course, after being a bit player in the exposition dump of his own existence, Mr. Perfect looked up at him with a shy smile and big brown doe eyes and "Miguel, right? Luke." that had Miguel's elbow slipping out from beneath him and sent him into a half-sprawl of pure unmitigated shock across the counter. His brain fizzled out with a blaring 404 error and all he registered in that moment was the thought I'm going to kill Nene.
"Not too early," was the first thing out of his mouth when his brain mercifully rebooted half a second later.
This was going to go so poorly.
Scratch that: this was already a nightmare.
"I was just..."
Mooning over you? Admiring how the early morning sunlight painted you up like a statue of a Greek god? Mourned my hours of lost sleep over this meeting that I am irrevocably fucking up with my inability to be a normal ass person?
'What the hell do we do?' his brain asked him. Miguel pondered that for a brief moment, and could only give a profoundly ambivalent mental shrug. He'd have to obliterate himself off the face of the planet after this anyway; no point in trying to play it off anymore.
"...yeah, I'm Miguel. Mickey. Whichever," he finished lamely. "We're just going to pretend the past five seconds didn't happen, if that's cool with you?"