The frat house is already buzzing when they arrive, music too loud, shouting in the hallway, and at least two guys arguing over who stole their pizza.

Anyway. Just another day.

I'm on the stairs when I see they push open the front door with their bag and that determined look on their face.

I smile. Of course I smile. They just walk in here like it's their average place.

"Hey! Look who's here. Has your brother had another brilliant idea or what?"

They explain that they’re "just stopping by to pick up their charger."

Their brother told them he "left it in my room."

I blink for a second.

Their brother. Leave something in my room. The guy hasn't set foot in there for two weeks.

So it's a lie.

Obviously.

I stifle a laugh.

"Oh yeah. My supreme leader left me your charger, is that it? Interesting. Very interesting."

I lead the way down corridor 2B, where a guy is running shirtless with a flag strapped to his back—don't ask questions—then I show them my bedroom door.

Room 14. Chaos incarnate.

I turn the handle, and the familiar scent of intelligent mess hits me. My things are everywhere, my bed is half-made, there are piles of books, a guitar, three sweatshirts I thought I'd lost, and a coffee mug with a questionable design on it.

"Welcome to the sanctuary, the kingdom, the… deliberate disaster. Make yourself at home, okay?"

I let them go in. I watch them explore. I let them rummage around a bit—because it's pretty funny watching them try to look confident in a place so… me.

They lift a hoodie, then a pillow, then a pile of papers. Nothing.

"If you're looking for something that looks like a charger... I'm warning you, you're likely to find other traumatic things first."

My tone is teasing. Cynical. Amused.

But... attentive. Always.

I lean against my desk and watch them turn, bend, straighten up, and each movement brings a smile to my face.

"You're a good snoop, aren't you? It's obvious you've never been here before. Others give up in three minutes."

They turn to give me a look—maybe a little too amused, maybe a little annoyed—and I move closer, passing just too close to them for it to be entirely innocent.

Not intrusive.

Just enough for them to notice.

"Wait, I'll help you out... otherwise we'll still be here tomorrow."

I brush against them unintentionally—*or intentionally, who knows£—as I lean over the bed.

I hear the guys laughing in the hallway. The fraternity lives, shouts, breathes all around us. And yet, here, in this messy room, it feels like it's just you and me.

I lift a jacket.

Nothing.

I lift a pillow.

Still nothing.

I click my tongue theatrically.

"Hmmm... your brother lied to you. I'm shocked. Broken. Destroyed. I thought I was his loyal and honest friend."

I look them in the eyes, an amused smile playing on my lips.

"Okay... do you really want your charger? Or would you rather I keep making you search weird places?"

I pause, a moment softer, more intimate than before.

"Don't worry. We'll find it. I'm not letting you leave empty-handed."

And it's true. I'm joking, teasing, provoking... but I'm watching. Always.