The office buzzed with the usual morning energy phones ringing, keyboards clattering, printers whining. I tried to focus, but I could feel him before I even turned my head. Rylan, leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like he was cataloging every move.

“Morning, Blake,” he said, voice teasing. “Ready for another thrilling day in paradise?”

I smirked, shaking my head. “Some of us survive the thrill, Rylan. Some of us just survive you.”

He chuckled, moving closer as if to prove a point. “Sure, sure. Just remember I’ll be watching.”

I rolled my eyes, but my chest tightened. Watching. Always watching. Always aware of me.

Throughout the morning, it became a game. Shared jokes at the copier, brief touches on the shoulder when passing by, leaning just a little too close during discussions. Nothing overt, nothing scandalous, just… enough to feel the electricity between us.

I noticed a few colleagues glance our way, eyebrows raised, whispers barely audible. They’re noticing, I thought, a mix of embarrassment and thrill stirring in me. Rylan caught my glance and smirked just enough to make me flush.

At lunch, we sat in the usual spot, close enough that our knees brushed occasionally. I laughed at something he said, more freely than I had in weeks.

“You’re too easy to make laugh,” he said, leaning back in his chair, eyes glinting.

“Maybe you just pick the wrong targets,” I teased back, feeling the tension relax slightly.

He shook his head, mock-serious. “Nah… you’re the perfect one. Always been.”

I froze, and for a heartbeat, the room seemed to shrink. He caught my reaction, smirked faintly, then took a slow sip of his coffee. Nothing more. Just words left hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with small tests passing by desks, brushing hands lightly over mine, leaning just a little too close when explaining design edits. Each touch, each glance, held a silent question: Will you notice? Will you react?

I noticed. I reacted. And part of me… liked it.

By the time the day ended, we walked out together, shoulders brushing, speaking casually about mundane things, deliveries, schedules, weekend plans. Familiar, easy. But underneath, the unspoken current hummed between us, a promise we weren’t ready to voice yet.

And for today, that was enough.

Next day

Felix was back. The moment I saw his name pop up on my phone, my chest tightened. Part relief, part… something else I couldn’t name.

Rylan noticed immediately. He didn’t comment, just a small flicker in his eyes, sharp enough that I caught it. And I knew. He was jealous. Even if he wouldn’t say it.

The site visit was scheduled for the afternoon. Rylan and I were paired together walking through empty offices, inspecting designs, taking notes. Just the two of us, the hum of construction and the smell of wet concrete surrounding us.

We moved silently for the first few minutes, each of us focused on the task. But the quiet wasn’t awkward it was tense. Electric. I could feel his gaze lingering on me as I leaned to inspect a corner, adjusted a sample board.

“You’re tense,” he said finally, voice low, almost teasing.

I straightened quickly, feeling my cheeks heat. “I’m… fine. Just… paying attention.”

He smirked faintly. “Sure. Attention.”

The teasing wasn’t cruel. Not exactly. But every word, every glance carried weight. He was claiming this space, marking it with a presence I couldn’t ignore.

I focused on the blueprints, pretending to read lines and measurements, while feeling him there, close. His presence made it hard to think clearly, and I realized… I relied on him, even here, in public, in a professional setting.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Felix. I felt a pang of guilt, but I ignored it, slipping the phone back in. Rylan noticed. I could feel it the subtle shift in his posture, the faint tension around his jaw.

“You okay?” he asked softly, almost too softly.

“Yes,” I muttered, though my voice wavered. “Just… concentrating.”

We continued, working side by side. Every now and then, our knees brushed, or his hand came near mine to point something out. I caught myself holding my breath, heart skipping.

By the end of the site visit, I realized how much I had come to rely on him not just at home, not just emotionally, but even here, in a mundane task, I noticed every glance, every subtle touch, every small claim he made without words.

And Rylan… he didn’t speak of it. He didn’t need to. The tension between us said enough.

Felix would be back in the picture, soon enough. But right now, walking back through the unfinished halls, I felt a quiet certainty. That Rylan wasn’t going anywhere. And that, maybe, I didn’t want him to.