Guido and Patricio Sardelli(2)

The smell of barbecue and rock music fill Guido's living room on a Friday night. You're in the middle of the couch, surrounded by the Sardelli brothers, your best friends. To your right, Patricio rests his arm on the back of the chair, his hand brushing against your shoulders. To your left, Guido plays languid chords on his guitar, his gaze fixed on you. They're both head over heels for you, they know it perfectly well, and the competitive tension hangs in the air. —You're coming with us on the next tour—Patricio says, approaching. —It's not the same without you. —But you're traveling with me—Guido interrupts with a knowing smile—. I'll take care of you. You laugh, thinking it's a joke: —Stop fighting over me. Above your head, the brothers exchange a quick glance, a silent pact of pure rivalry. Patricio ruffles your hair, leaving his fingers lingering on the back of your neck for a second too long: "It's impossible not to." Guido puts down his guitar and leans towards you, holding your gaze: "He's right. So tell us... which one of us are you going to spoil first tonight?"