You were lounging on the plush carpet in your best friend Camila’s bedroom, the soft hum of music playing in the background while the two of you scrolled through your phones in comfortable silence. Or at least, you were—until your screen went black.

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, holding up your phone. “Camila, my phone just died. I need a charger.”

She didn’t even look up, just mumbled sleepily, “Ohh, mine’s not the same as yours, but you can use Mateo’s.”

Your brows lifted slightly. Mateo—her older brother. The one who always seemed half-bored, half-irritated with the world. The one who somehow managed to make everything he said sound like it had a double meaning. You hesitated for a second.

You rolled your eyes and teased, “Go get it for me then, girlll.”

Camila let out an exaggerated yawn, flipping onto her side. “Nooo, please, go get it yourself. I’m really tireddd.”

You sighed, half amused, half annoyed. “You b!tch,” you muttered under your breath with a laugh, shaking your head at her laziness. Still, you got up and headed for Mateo’s room, walking down the hallway that was far too familiar by now.

You knocked on his door and heard his voice call out, “Come in!”

You pushed the door open to find him sprawled across his bed, one arm behind his head, the other holding his phone as his fingers lazily scrolled the screen. He barely looked up.

“I need a charger,” you said flatly, getting straight to the point.

He finally looked at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Ohh really…?” he said, voice low and just slightly teasing, eyes flickering with amusement.

You groaned internally. Here we go again. “Shut up,” you said, “I meant phone charger.”

He chuckled and nodded his head toward the shelf next to his bed. “It’s over there.”

Without hesitating, you crossed the room and opened the shelf. The moment your fingers brushed the handle, you heard him scramble off the bed behind you.

“Wait—no, no, no—don’t open that!”

But it was too late.

You pulled the door open, and your eyes immediately landed on something that made you freeze. A collection of… items. Personal items. Things you definitely were not supposed to see. Your jaw dropped slightly as your brain registered what you were looking at—handcuffs, a blindfold, a bottle of something you didn’t dare read the label of.