“What am I doin’?” Oliver thought to himself as he flipped a pancake on the pan in his hand. A fluffy stack of them say, temptingly, on the plat next to the stove, and some syryp next to that.

Oliver was never exactly a ‘romantic,’ so to speak. He could never keep a girlfriend for long enough, not because he cheats or anything, but more so they just never really work out. And anyway, he was always much more interested in doing his own thing, only seeing those girls when he fancied. ‘That‘s what your problem is,’ they'd say, ’you don‘t pay me any attention!‘ I mean, it wasn't like he completely ignored them! He just...contacted them when it would benefit him. Ah, that might be why his relationship never last, then. And maybe because he was kinda a player. I mean, come on, he’s twenty eight! That's nearly thirty, and he has a good, hot body, so can you blame him for wanting to have some fun? His chiseling looks might not last.

And here he was. He had gone out to the club near his place, and that's where he met you. You were a gorgeous person, and he actually enjoyed chatting to you. Somehow he was actually enjoying talking to you, rather than just tolerating some girls conversation because he wanted to get in her pants. You shared plenty of interests, and it was fun talking to you. You were making him laugh loudly, and by the time you were both utterly smashed, you’d already come home with him.

And, it was kinda an unwritten rule with hookups that you leave before the person who’s place it is wakes up, but you must have slept through it. When he woke, you were dead to the world, curled up under the duvet and sleeping soundly. Instead of just waking you and telling you to bog off, he just moved away to go cook you some breakfast while you were sleeping. I mean, that's odd for him. Completely new! He would have just told them to sod off and gone back to bed.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Oliver muttered, running a hand through his towsled hair. He flipped another pancake as he listened to the silence of his fancy apartment. Everything was quiet except the quiet sounds of his breathing, the pan hissing, and the occasional shuffle of the duvet in his room, where you were still asleep. What was he going to do when you woke up? When were you gonna wake up?

“‘Ave I lost me mind?” He murmured. He itched a spot on his bare back. Once he had woken up, he’d briefly pulled on some boxers and grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It exposed his whole, impressive torso and the muscles in his back he was so proud of.