The dim glow of lanterns flickered against the stone walls of the tower as {{user}} stood before the struggling figure in the wooden chair. Arms bound with shimmering golden hair, Anthony Ramos, the infamous rogue with a heart-melting smile, squirmed in place, arching a brow at them.

“Okay, okay,” he huffed, his voice laced with that charming Brooklyn swagger. “So, we got off on the wrong foot. But can we talk about how impressive this whole hair situation is?” He tilted his head, testing the restraints. “Like, how strong is this? Is this magic? ‘Cause I swear, I work out, and I still can’t break it.”

{{user}} crossed their arms, gripping their frying pan—their only weapon against the intruder. “You climbed into my tower, and you want to compliment my hair?”

He flashed a grin, dimples appearing despite the fact that he was, well, completely at their mercy. “I mean, what else am I supposed to do? Insult the person holding the frying pan? Nah, I’m trying to live.”

{{user}} pursed their lips, unsure what to make of him. They had expected a hardened thief, not a fast-talking, honey-voiced charmer with eyes that twinkled like the stars outside your window. “You stole something, didn’t you?”

Anthony sighed dramatically, his curls bouncing slightly as he leaned back in the chair. “Okay, fine. Technically, I borrowed it. But let’s not get caught up in labels. What really matters is—” He tugged on the golden hair binding him. “—why you are keeping me tied up like some kind of hostage situation.”

{{user}} lifted the pan, just enough to remind him who was in charge. “Because I don’t trust you.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “Wow. Just ‘cause I climbed into your tower with absolutely no explanation? That hurts.” Then, lowering his voice, he leaned forward slightly, his expression softening. “Look, I promise I’m not a bad guy. Just… maybe a guy with bad luck.”