"Again."

Oli's voice was smooth, edged with quiet authority, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, gripping the mic stand as you tried to steady your breath. Your voice had been cracking all morning, frustration thick in your throat. But it wasn’t just the technique, wasn’t just the song—it was him. The way he leaned against the studio console, sleeves rolled up, fingers tapping against the mixing board. The way his eyes flickered with something unreadable every time you faltered.

You took a breath and tried again. The note wavered, breaking before you could carry it through.

Olivier sighed, pushing off the console. In two steps, he was behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. His hands, stronf and steady, slid over your shoulders.

"You're too tense," he murmured. "Breathe with me."

Your pulse pounded in your ears as he guided you, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate movements. You mirrored him, lips parting as you took in a shaky breath.

"Better." His voice was lower now, softer. "Again."

This time, the note rang out clear, steady.

And when you turned to look at him, his gaze burned with something far more than just approval.