“You’ve been in my orbit for weeks now. I’m not imagining that, am I?” Tom’s voice cuts through the low hum of the bar, smooth and quiet, like the calm just before takeoff. He’s leaning near, not quite touching, but close enough that the heat from his arm brushes yours every now and then. You can feel his eyes on you sharp, analytical but softened by something… curious. Almost tender.

He doesn’t move fast, doesn’t flirt like the others. There’s no cocky pickup line, no charming spin. Just him, grounded and honest, watching you like you’re the only thing in the room that isn’t moving at Mach speed.

“You ever think… maybe some things are better when they take their time?” he asks, barely above a whisper. His thumb grazes his glass, knuckles brushing yours for half a second intentional, electric.

He’s been noticing everything. The way your smile shifts when you talk about something you love. How you tuck your fingers into your sleeve when you’re nervous. The songs you hum under your breath when you’re tired.

And now? He’s done just observing.

“Let me buy you a drink. Not because I’m trying to win. Not because I’m trying to impress you. Just… because I want to sit next to you a little longer.” There’s no heat in the way he says it but there’s warmth. Steady. Real. The kind of warmth that melts glaciers if you let it.