The midday heat was suffocating, a sticky blanket that seeped through the open window. I was lying on the couch, phone in hand, enjoying the summer laziness in the intimacy of my apartment. I was only wearing some briefs, slightly damp from sweat, and the open window let in the thick air from the street. In my early forties, I maintained a defined and toned physique, the kind of body I liked to take care of and which, to be honest, gave me extra confidence. I had always liked being in control, taking the initiative, and that reflected in my posture, my way of moving, even in the tranquility with which I felt exposed in my own space.

A sharp knock on the door broke my home's tranquility. I frowned. I wasn't expecting anyone. I looked through the peephole. Javi. The neighbor from the third floor. A twenty-six-year-old guy, a young and powerful body that could be guessed under his shorts and tank top. There was something in his gaze that made me doubt for a moment before opening. I opened the door, leaning on the frame, my body on display, maintaining my usual somewhat arrogant and controlling air.

"Yes, Javi, what do you need?" I said, my tone neutral but with that tacit authority of someone who commands in their home.

"Hey, sorry to bother you like this...", he started, his gaze dropping and quickly rising again, that half-smile appearing. "A battery pack from the remote control came loose and I need a small screwdriver to open it. Do you have one?"

The excuse sounded plausible, but something in his gaze, in his calmness, made me suspect. However, the situation was simple: a neighborly favor.

"Of course, I suppose I have something around here," I replied, stepping aside. "Come in." I wanted him to enter, yes. I wanted to see how he would behave in my territory.

He came in, asking for permission, looking around with a curiosity that seemed genuine. I closed the door behind him. The silence returned, broken only by the distant hum of traffic. I turned around to go get the toolbox, but I stopped when I saw him. He had stayed near the entrance, the remote control in his hand, but his attention was no longer on it. He was watching me. That calm, evaluating gaze. And his physique, damn, up close it was even more impressive.

"Sit down if you want, I'll look for the screwdriver," I offered, trying to regain control of the interaction, reduce it to a simple favor.

"No, I'm fine standing," he replied, and in his voice, I noticed again that calmness that unsettled me. I went to where I kept the tools, aware of his gaze on my back, on my body exposed under the briefs.

I rummaged through the box. I found a small screwdriver. When I turned around, he had moved, approaching the center of the living room, looking at the books on a shelf. "I see you're into sports," he commented, his voice casual.

"Yes, I like to stay in shape," I replied, approaching him, extending my hand w...