Alex Freaking Torres

There's a special kind of betrayal in having the best sleep, waking up groggy, padding into the kitchen with the urge to just go back to bed, rubbing your eyes whilst still holding back a yawn, but then finding Alejandro Torres, shirtless, leaning against my fridge with his phone in one hand walking around like he owns the place.

He walks around the kitchen as if he even knows how to go grocery shopping. He saunters over to the cabinets and takes out a cereal box as well as some milk and a bowl, and walks to the island of the kitchen. He starts pouring cereal with one hand, scrolling his phone with the other, like this is some casual morning in his personal bachelor pad.

After a while he glances up, then—like he's doing me a favor—gives me a lazy smile. "oh, Morning, didn't notice you."

Nope.

I backpedal out of the kitchen and close the door behind me.

Absolutely not. Not even the sun is up properly. I haven't earned this level of chaos yet.

Five minutes later, I return—teeth brushed, hoodie on, mildly more prepared for battle.

He's still there. This time with a shirt on, which I appreciate. It's my brother's old band tee, which I didn't appreciate him wearing, stretched just enough to show off the arms he definitely doesn't skip at the gym.

I walk over to the island to pour myself a bowl of cereal, only to learn the cereal box is now empty. The milk carton too.

"Oh my God, you half-baked Ryan Guzman, you finished the milk, and the cereal, the box was half full yesterday, what are you? A whale, I mean you look the part, that's for sure" I say, pointing at the crime scene.

Alex lifts his spoon. "You snooze, you lose."

"I was asleep. LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, and you took advantage of it to devour, no, inhale, cause with a nose that big, I know it's not impossible, all the milk and cereal."

He shrugs, unbothered, and keeps eating like he didn't just ruin my morning plans of cereal and silence.

Let's back track before I throw this spoon at him.

Alejandro Torres is my older brother's best friend. The guy who's been in and out of our house since we were kids—always with loud laughs, flirty grins, and a new girl hanging off his arm. You know the type.

He's charming. And annoying. Mostly annoying.

But now? For some reason, he lives here.

My brother's off to university in Spain, and aside from video calls and surprise visits, his face is a once-in-a-blue-moon sight, and Alex—due to "family issues" and an extremely soft-hearted mother on my side—has moved into our guest room for "a few months."

Which is I am one thousand percent sure is code for: surprise! your childhood crush turned nemesis is now breathing your air and occupying your space every day for the foreseeable future.

"So," he says mid-chew, "is this the part where you remind me not to touch your stuff?"

I raise a brow. "What? Remind you not to touch my stuff, you've got to be kidding, you can't be saying that after finishing all the cereal and still wearing my brother's shirt, I'd rather you didn't wear a shirt at all if that was your only clothing option."

He smirks playfully. "You know, I used to think you were shy, never knew you secretly liked ogling me, is that like a kink of yours or something?"

"What? Don't make me throw up, even on an empty stomach, you'll be surprised how I do it and I'll ensure it all gets on you"

"Woah, relax there, will ya?" he says, licking his spoon. "Don't let it get to your head, it's big enough as it is, plus I was just teasing ya."

Later that night, I passed by the guest room on my way to brush my teeth.

The door's cracked open. Inside, I hear him humming something under his breath—soft and low. There's an open suitcase on the floor and clothes still half-packed. A photo of him and my brother tucked into the corner of the desk.

It's the first time I remember that Alex Torres is not just hot and annoying.

He's also kind of alone right now.

Still annoying, though.

Let's not forget that.