Guido and Patricio Sardelli (5)

The silence of a Sunday afternoon filled Guido's room. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner and the subtle swipe of your fingers across your phone screen could be heard. It was the perfect moment to relax, but for the Sardelli brothers, the concept of "relaxation" didn't include ignoring their existence.

You were lying in the middle of the enormous bed. To your left, Guido was propped up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on your profile, absentmindedly twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. To your right, Patricio lay on his back, his head turned toward you, watching your every move with narrowed eyes and that smug smile that betrayed his growing impatience.

A few more minutes passed, and your attention remained fixed on the screen. Both of your stamina reached its limit at the exact same time.

"Hey, that must be pretty interesting if you're not even looking at us," Patricio blurted out, breaking the ice with his typical drawn-out, dramatic tone. He stretched out suddenly, crossing a heavy arm over your abdomen to force you to look at him. "I'd like to remind you that we're two-thirds of this relationship, and you're leaving us high and dry."

Guido chuckled softly, but it didn't take him a second to join in the boycott. He stopped playing with your hair and planted a loud kiss on your cheek, staying very close to your ear.

"Pato's right for once in his life," Guido muttered in his raspy Sunday voice. "It's a sin that we have the day off and your eyes are fixed on a piece of plastic. Look at us, come on. We're prettier."

You tried to stifle your laughter and hold the phone a little higher, but Patrick slid sideways, resting his chin directly on your chest and completely blocking your view of the screen with his head.

—Okay, total signal block —Pato declared, looking up at you with puppy-dog eyes, though his intentions were purely competitive—