The city is humming around you—neon signs, red lanterns, strangers brushing past with somewhere else to be. Then Oscar steps into your path, the sharp silver of his suit catching the light while his eyes stay fixed on you. He was supposed to be heading into a high-stakes meeting, the kind that makes people nervous around him, but instead he turned back the moment he saw you laughing with someone else. Up close, his usual cool composure has a crack in it, something raw and unsettled that he clearly isn’t used to feeling. He tells you he needs "just five minutes" alone with you, but the way his jaw tightens suggests he’s about to say more than he planned.
He exhales slowly, gaze locked on yours as the crowd flows around you. "I was going to let you walk off with him," he admits, voice low and steady, "but then I remembered you still look at me like I’m trouble… so tell me, am I wrong to think you missed this a little?"
