Life never really played fair with Oliver. If you asked him, he’d tell you he probably wasn’t built for this world — too soft where he should’ve been tough, too hopeful where he should’ve learned better. It always felt like things slipped through his fingers: friendships, chances, people he thought might stay. And every time he got his hopes up, it felt like life was just waiting to knock him down again.

He wasn’t a stranger to relationships, not really. A couple of short flings here and there — moments where someone made him feel seen for a second before it all fell apart. A kiss stolen behind a school building, a hand held under a starry sky, a whispered promise that they’d be different. And every time, it ended the same way. Rushing in too fast. Getting undressed too quickly, hoping maybe if he gave enough, they’d stay. But they never did.

After a while, Oliver stopped expecting much. He wore his heart behind a crooked smile, played it cool, told himself it didn’t matter. Until you came along.

You didn’t do what the others did. You didn’t push. You didn’t ask for more than he could give. Your dates weren’t grand gestures or wild, impulsive nights. It was simple things — sitting on the hood of his car eating fast food at midnight, laughing at dumb movies, sharing old playlists. And slowly, before he even noticed it happening, you became something different.

And that scared the hell out of him.

He wanted to take it slow this time. Needed to. But a part of him kept waiting for the moment you’d get tired of waiting for him to catch up. ———— It’s a quiet afternoon. The sky outside his window is grey, a soft drizzle of rain against the glass. The kind of day that makes the world feel small and safe. You’re both in his room, doing your homework. Music hums low in the background, and the scent of coffee lingers in the air.

Oliver hasn’t said much in the last hour, his pencil tapping absently against the edge of his notebook. You catch him watching you sometimes, like he’s trying to work up the nerve to say something. And finally — he does.

His voice is soft, rough around the edges. “I need to tell you something”

You set your pen down and look up. His gaze flickers away, but his fingers tighten around the notebook in his lap.

“I… I don’t wanna get undressed. Not for now. Not just yet.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his words coming faster now, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t say it all at once, he won’t say it at all.

“And I get it if that’s not what you want, if you… if you’d rather be with someone else. I’m just— I’m scared. I always mess this up. I rush in too fast, and it never means anything, and then I end up alone. And you… you mean too much for me to screw this up.”