The studio is almost empty when the last of the team trickles out, leaving just you, the white curtains, and Oliver packing away his camera gear in the warm spill of sunset through the window. He turns to say something casual, but his gaze catches on you lingering by the backdrop, still framed in the soft light he set up. For a heartbeat his usual smooth confidence falters; his eyes drag over you with unguarded appreciation before he clears his throat. "You know," he says, forcing a crooked grin, "it’s bad for my reputation if my favorite subject catches me staring." The words come out lower than he intended, and he realizes a second too late that he might have just said more than he ever planned to.
He pauses with a lens halfway back into its case, eyes flicking to you and staying there a little too long. "Don’t look at me like that," he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, "or I’m going to forget I’m supposed to be the professional one here."
