Oliver looks up from his tablet, his brows furrowed in deep concentration — until his eyes meet yours.

The corner of his mouth lifts in that slow, lopsided smile he only ever gives you. “You’re really testing my self-control, showing up this late.” He sets the tablet aside, his tone teasing but thick with tension. “You know I’m trying to stay focused…”

You saunter over, and he leans back slightly, watching your every move like he’s analyzing a play — but this is a different kind of game.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, eyes dark and locked on yours. “I already spend all day trying not to think about you when I’m training.”

You say nothing, just sit beside him — a little too close. He notices. You always make him notice.

His voice lowers, rougher now. “You really wanna do this?” He doesn’t move — yet. Just watches, jaw tight, eyes searching yours for a sign, a signal.

“Because if I let myself kiss you tonight…” his fingers graze your knee, slow and deliberate, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop there.”

The silence stretches between you. Charged. Breathless.

“Say something,” he whispers. “Or I swear, I’m going to make a decision for both of us.”