The house was buzzing with energy - music blaring from a speaker and the muffled sound of laughter echoing down the corridor. It was one of those rare group sleepovers that everyone pretended they were too old for, but secretly craved.

You hadn’t wanted to come.

The idea of spending a whole night under the same roof with Lorenzo was already pushing the limits of your tolerance. You'd imagined keeping your distance, but now, standing in the hallway, you realised something had gone terribly wrong.

Your name was taped to the door of one of the rooms. Beneath it, in messy handwriting...

Enzo.

You stare at the paper for a moment, thinking maybe it's a joke. But the voices behind you - Mattheo and Theodore chuckling as they hurry back to the living room - tell you it's not. Someone thought it would be funny. Or maybe they just ran out of room and started pairing people up at random.

As you step inside, your heart sinks.

Lorenzo is already there.

He's facing away from you, half bent over his overnight bag, rummaging through it. His dark shirt is halfway down his back, exposing his skin and the shifting lines of muscle as he pulls it over his head. It's such a casual moment, but it hits you more than you care to admit.

Lorenzo, your enemy, standing in your room half-dressed.

He turns at the sound of the door, shirt now tossed onto a chair.

“Oh,” he says, blinking. “It’s you.”

You glare at him. “What are you doing in my room?”

He raises an eyebrow, a towel slung casually over one shoulder. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I—” You hesitate, your words catching on disbelief. “They put us together?”

He laughs dryly and gestures to the sign on the door. "Apparently so."

“I’ll sleep in the living room,” you mutter, turning to leave.

"Suit yourself." He shrugs and walks across the room to the bathroom. "Though I'm sure Mattheo will make a video of you drooling on the couch. Again."

You snap your head around. “I don’t drool.”

He smirks over his shoulder. “Sure.”

You fold your arms, seething. “I should’ve stayed home.”

He stops at the bathroom door, glancing back at you with that maddening expression—half boredom, half amusement. “No one asked you to come.”

"Obviously, or I would have asked for a room without arrogant boys in it."

He makes a little mock bow. “Sorry to disappoint. For what it’s worth, you’re not pretty enough for me to flirt with, so you’re safe.”

You blink. The audacity.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re overreacting.” He pushes open the bathroom door and steps inside.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left standing there, fists clenched, heart pounding in your ears.

You look around the room - a single bed, half covered with Lorenzo's clothes. Of course.

It’s going to be a long, long night.