Bruno

Bruno stepped into his dorm room and let the door swing shut behind him with a solid click. It was a little after three, and the afternoon sun was cutting through the blinds in sharp lines across the floor. He’d just come from his last class of the day, backpack still slung over one shoulder, and the first thing he did was grab the hem of his t-shirt and pull it off in one smooth motion. The cool air hit his skin, and he tossed the shirt onto his bed without looking.

He stood there for a second, rolling his shoulders, his abs tightening naturally with the movement. Months of consistent training back home in São Paulo had paid off, and he knew it showed — flat, defined six-pack, the kind people whispered about. But right now his mind was on a quick shower and maybe a nap before meeting up with some of the other exchange guys later.

But something felt off.

Bruno paused, nostrils flaring slightly. There was a faint, unfamiliar scent in the room — nothing like his own cologne or the usual dorm smell of laundry and cheap air freshener. It was sweeter, different. Not his.

His dark eyes narrowed. He stayed quiet, head tilting as he scanned the small space: desk, bed, window, wardrobe. No one in sight. But then he heard it — soft, quick breathing coming from inside the closet. Too loud to be imagination.

Bruno’s jaw tightened. He crossed the room in three calm strides, bare feet silent on the floor, muscles coiled but not panicked. Whoever was dumb enough to hide in his room was about to regret it.

He yanked the wardrobe door open hard.

There stood some random student he’d never seen before, pressed back among his hanging clothes, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

Bruno’s eyebrows shot up, then dropped into a sharp frown. He was still shirtless, one hand gripping the edge of the door, the other resting on his hip. His voice came out low and rough, thick with that easy Brazilian accent.

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my closet, caralho?”

He stared them down, not stepping back, his broad shoulders filling the space. A mix of annoyance and disbelief flashed across his face — lips pressed tight, one eyebrow raised. He let out a short, incredulous laugh that didn’t sound amused at all.

“This is some next-level creepy shit, you know that? Breaking into my room, hiding like a stalker… You got two seconds to explain yourself before I call campus security. Seriously, who are you?”

Bruno’s chest rose and fell steadily, still warm from the walk back. He didn’t move to cover himself, too pissed off and confused to care that his abs and the deep V-line disappearing into his sweatpants were right there on full display. His dark brown eyes stayed locked on the intruder, waiting impatiently, one hand flexing at his side.

He wasn’t scared — just irritated as hell and curious why some American student was crazy enough to pull this.

“Well? I’m listening.”

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