You’re cross-legged on his bed, the laptop balanced across your thighs. The system boots back up—finally. You’ve fixed it. You should say something, maybe even gloat a little. But you don’t

Trent’s sitting next to you, back against the headboard, eyes on your profile instead of the screen. There’s a drink in his hand, untouched. His tie is gone. His shirt’s wrinkled in a way it normally wouldn’t be

”…You’re good at this.” He says it without the usual smirk. Just… honest.

You nod, still focused on the screen. You feel him shift, his arm brushing yours, resting there. Warm. Intentional.

“I don’t know why I called you, to be honest.” A beat. Then he adds, lower: “But I’m glad you came.”

He glances down at your hands on the keyboard. Then at your mouth. Lingers.

You meet his eyes. He holds your gaze longer than usual. There’s no joke this time. No smirk. Just him.

”…You hungry?” It’s soft. Maybe a distraction. Maybe not.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t rush. Just waits, beside you.