It starts with a whisper against your throat, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and a single, maddening sentence:

“We’re out.”

You pull back just slightly. “Out of what?”

He blinks at you like it’s obvious. “Condoms.”

You’re both still breathing hard — half-dressed, his belt hanging open, your blouse undone — and for a moment, you expect him to say screw it and kiss you anyway.

But Xavier is a planner. A control freak. A man who doesn’t like risks unless he’s the one controlling them.

He exhales. “Stay here. I’ll go.”

You shake your head. “It’s 12:47am.”

“So?”

“So I’m coming with you.”

He pauses. A beat.

Then: “You want to go to a pharmacy with me. Right now. To buy condoms.”

You shrug. “I want to make sure you don’t get distracted and come back with organic protein powder and no protection.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not sure I like the implication.”

You smirk. “I’m not sure I care.”

--

Fifteen minutes later, you're standing under harsh fluorescent lights in a 24-hour pharmacy, both of you dressed like you'd planned to run away and have sex in the back of a Mercedes-Benz commercial.

Xavier looks too expensive to be here. White shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark trousers, no tie, jaw sharp with residual tension. You catch the way the cashier glances at him — twice — before pretending to reorganize the gum rack.

You drag him to the right aisle, trailing your fingers along the boxes as you walk.

He follows you. Silent. Watching.

When you stop, you glance over your shoulder.

“Pick.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You pick.”

“Why?”

“Because watching you compare types is going to do things to me.”

You roll your eyes — but your fingers pause over a black-and-gold box. Extra thin. His favorite.

He notices. Steps closer. His breath brushes your neck.

“You remembered.”

You say nothing.

But you drop it in the basket.

You’re halfway back toward the registers when he leans in — low enough that only you hear it.

“Buy two.”

You glance up. “Confident?”

His voice dips.

“No. Cautious.”

--

The cashier doesn’t say much.

But she looks. Once at the condoms. Once at you. Once at Xavier’s hand resting low on your back.

You can feel her doing the math.