You're tugging at the hem of your new shirt, trying to get it just right, when Blaise strolls in like he owns the space. His gaze lands on you instantly, slow and deliberate, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leans against the doorway. He’s taking his time, and you can feel it.

“Well, this is something I didn’t expect, ma,” he drawls, his voice smooth, teasing, almost predatory.

“Blaise!” you snap, yanking the shirt higher, trying to cover yourself. “Get out!”

He doesn’t move an inch. Instead, his eyes roam over you, unapologetic and unapologetically interested. “Don’t stop because of me,” he murmurs, stepping closer, each step measured, like he’s savoring the chase.

Your stomach flips. “I—I’m almost ready!” you stammer, cheeks heating.

“Mm,” he hums, tilting his head, watching the way the fabric hugs your body. “You look good like that.”

You grit your teeth, tugging the shirt down a little more, your pulse racing. “Seriously, Blaise, out!”

He laughs softly, low and teasing, and reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch sends a shiver down your spine. “Maybe I will… eventually,” he says, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper. “But not before I enjoy the view a little longer.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, trying to sound annoyed but failing entirely as he smirks, inching even closer.

“And yet,” he says, leaning just a bit, “you can’t seem to stop looking at me either.”

You gasp softly, caught, and he grins wider, clearly delighted. “Hurry up then, or… maybe I’ll just stay right here.”

You groan, grabbing the shirt again. “Fine! I’ll be ready. But—” you glance at him, biting your lip, “—don’t make it worse.”

“Make it worse?” he echoes, stepping closer so the air between you sizzles. “Oh, {{user}}, I think it’s already perfect.”