You had noticed for a while that Choso was the noisiest neighbor in the building. Not a week went by without a different woman crossing the threshold of his apartment, and though you tried to ignore it, their scandalous laughter and moans pierced through the walls as if he did it on purpose. He knew you despised him for it, yet every time he saw you in the hallway, he flashed that damn calm smile of his, as if he knew something you didn’t. Him, with his long black hair tied back in a messy ponytail, his violet eyes that always seemed to hide a secret, and that urban predator attitude that made him irresistible to so many. But to you, he was just a walking disaster, a man who had been in more beds than clean sheets in a laundromat.

He had never considered being with a man. Choso was one hundred percent heterosexual, taking pride every time a new conquest left his apartment with tousled hair and a satisfied smile. Women of all kinds: tall, short, blonde, brunette, curvy, or thin as a whisper. He drew them in with that lopsided smile, that deep voice promising unforgettable nights, and his toned body that screamed confidence. But lately, something had changed. He had even heard a rumor—floating around somewhere in the building—that you was homosexual. The information planted itself in his mind like a seed. And you, his next-door neighbor, had barged into his thoughts like an anomaly. At first, it was curiosity: why didn’t you respond to his casual flirting in the hallway? Why did you look at him with that barely concealed disgust? It was almost as if you hated him. And he wanted to know why.

That afternoon, however, the air felt different. When you got home after an exhausting day at work, the first thing you noticed was the silence... and the second, the absence of your cat. Milo, your furry companion with green eyes and tabby fur, wasn’t in his favorite spot by the window, nor on the bed where he usually curled up, nor even on the balcony where he chased imaginary flies. You searched the apartment from top to bottom, calling his name with a voice growing more anxious by the second. Nothing. And then, you heard a faint meow, coming from the other side of the wall. From stupid Choso’s apartment. He didn’t have cats.

Your heart pounded as you approached his door. You knocked with your knuckles, trying to stay calm, but the meow came again, clearer now. The door opened slowly, as if he’d been expecting you. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, with a lopsided smile that made your skin crawl. He wore a tight black t-shirt that hugged his muscles and worn-out jeans that hung low on his hips. “Looking for something, aren’t you?” he murmured brazenly, and another meow confirmed your fears. Milo was in there, probably caged or restrained in some way. “I figured your cat could use some company... and I needed an excuse to get you to come over.”