It was surreal.

I was around five thirty in the morning. I was coming back from a party, dead, with my legs half trembling, my hair a mess, and only thinking about getting into bed and disappearing from the world. And, of course, when I arrived home, I put my hand in my pocket and nothing. The keys. The damned keys were not there. I had left them inside.

And to make matters worse, my parents were on vacation, out of town. I mean, literally, there was no one who could let me in. I stayed in the entrance, half drunk, half in shock, sitting on the stairs, staring at the door as if it was going to open by itself.

After being there for about twenty minutes, without battery on my mobile and almost crying, my neighbor, Jonathan, appeared.

He lives in the apartment above. We had always greeted each other with a "hello" or "how are you", not much more. But he's one of those guys who commands attention just by existing. Big, tattooed up to his neck, with a face that doesn't make friends easily. He's like a bad boy from an American series. He was 28 at the time, and I was 19; I swear, at first, he even scared me. But, I don't know, he had always caught my attention. He has that thing about him that makes you wonder if he's going to protect you or destroy your life. Or both.

He saw me there and stopped abruptly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, with a deep voice, one of those that sounds like it has an echo.

"I left my keys... and I have no way to get in."

"And do you plan on sleeping on the floor or what?"

"I don't know, I'm considering merging with the tiles."

He looked at me for two seconds.

"Come on, go up to my place. Don't mess around."

He said it like that, without more. It wasn't an invitation, it was an order. I followed him. I don't know why, but I followed him.

His house smelled like incense mixed with tobacco. Dark, with everything in its place, but with that air of "I live alone and I don't care about anything".

He looked me up and down.

"Do you want to shower? You look like you've had a long night" he said.

"How so?"

"Yes, you're sweaty and look like you've been to a club."

I let out a silly laugh, but accepted. The truth is, I needed it. I got into the shower and when I came out, wrapped only in his t-shirt —because, of course, I didn't have any clothes or a towel— I opened the door a bit to ask for something.

And he was already there.

He handed me the towel without speaking, but when I went to take it, he didn't give it to me directly. He placed it on me. Softly, but firmly. Touching my shoulders, my neck. Without saying anything. And I, swallowing saliva, in silence.

We sat on the couch. I was wearing his t-shirt, which was like a dress on me, and he was without a shirt, legs open, half lying down. He asked me questions. Everything very casual, bu...