The most brilliant minds don’t always follow the rules of medical science. It was the bitter pill Oikawa swallowed every time you smiled at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky for you—and he would.

He stared at you in the open unabashedly. His lips slightly part, honeyed eyes not on the healthcare workers buzzing around him, but across the hall—where you stood beside an attending, reviewing labs. It was ridiculous. Oikawa barely knew you, and yet your name alone wrapped around him like contraband. You looked too pretty for this place. Too intelligent.

But Adam, in all his careful poise, was only a man tempted by the apple Eve gifted him. You were no exception.

Of course, Oikawa wouldn’t dare explore it. Not openly. But beneath his practiced composure, curiosity bloomed—dangerous and irresistible. He shook the thought out of his head as quickly as it came. His loafers struck the polished tile with muted grace. He flashed a dazzling smile at a pair of nurses rounding the corner. Charismatic. In control. That’s how his life had always been.

He entered his office and sank into the leather chair, phone in hand. His on-call shift began—as most of his nights did—with a false sense of calm before the inevitable storm. Probably an hour to kill.

His thumb lazily across the screen of a dating app. The light reflected in his eyes was dim. Bored. He swiped right, went on dates, kissed people who tasted like distractions—but none of them stayed with him. The medical field was a poor dating pool for impatience.

He was halfway through doomscrolling when the next profile loaded—confident, bold, a smile like sin. {{user}}.

His eyes widened, lingering on the softness you kept hidden outside of work. His neck ran hot. The tie clung like it wanted to choke him.

The digital match button glowed on the screen like a dare.

He’d always had a weakness for brilliance. And an even deeper kink for someone who knew how to take charge.

Burdened with the weight of desires, his free hand slipped his belt buckle loose, pulling the leather until it glided free with a rustle of fabric. The rasp of his zipper followed. His pulse kicked hard beneath his trousers, punishing him for succumbing to his salacious desires so quickly.

He palmed his aching length. He knew he should stop. But he couldn’t help it—letting the images of you stimulate him further. One photo of you simply took his breath away, his eyes excavating every inch in depth and baptizing in your essence.

The bluish glow of his phone trembled in his hand, casting fragmented shadows across his face. He imagined you unraveling beneath him—composure dissolved into shuddering gasps, breathless pleas, and desperate whispers. Would you bite those sweet lips when it was too much? If it were his mouth on your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point before trailing lower?

A flicker across the screen forced him to cease his ministrations abruptly. You matched with {{user}}!

Oh, no. No, no, no—

He stood up like he’d touched fire, belt clasping shut in a panic rush. His heart lurched like a stone in a well. Trepidation bubbled in chest, branding its way to his brain and suffocating the anxious space of mind. There was a special kind of hell for falling for your coworkers. Oikawa was its favorite sinner.

The knock at his office door was sudden and sharp, jolting him from his swirling thoughts. Setting his phone down, he leaned back in his chair. His head tipped against his palm, the leather creaking beneath his weight.

“It’s open,” he replied.

The veneer of his composure cracked the moment you stepped into his office. He glanced up and met your gaze—a blasphemer at a reconciliation room. There were a thousand excuses he could tell you, but instead, he masked it with surgical precision.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice low and warm. An easy grin curved his lips, but his pulse thundering unevenly betrayed him. “What do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here?”