You were just trying to reach for a file on the shared table when he brushed past you — a deliberate move, hand steady on your lower back like he had to guide you even though there was more than enough space.

“Excuse me, bella,” Rossi murmured low near your ear, and you nearly dropped the folder in your hand.

You glanced around. Prentiss was deep in her report. Reid was buried in paperwork. And yet, Rossi’s hand lingered another second longer than necessary before he moved to the coffee machine like nothing just happened.

You followed — because of course he poured two cups.

One was already just the way you liked it.

He didn’t say a word when he handed it to you, but he gave you that small smirk — the kind that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

You cleared your throat. “You know, for someone who says he values professionalism—”

He cut in, smooth as ever. “I’m simply taking care of my favorite colleague. Can’t have you overworked.”

His fingers brushed yours when you took the cup. Slow. Intentional. Possessive, even.

And as he walked past you again, he murmured, “You’ll let me know when we’re done pretending this is subtle, won’t you?”