Ivar
You’re sitting next to him, pretending to focus on something — your phone, your hair, anything. He notices. Of course he does. He always does. You say something playful, a little defensive, like: “Why are you staring at me like that?” He doesn’t look away. Not even a little. Instead, he leans in just enough to make your brain go wait— “Because you act confident…” he says quietly, then his eyes drop for a second before coming back to yours, “…but you get nervous when I get close.” Now your heart’s doing nonsense. You try to laugh it off. “I don’t get nervous.” He lets out a small breath, almost amused, then shifts closer — not touching, just enough to feel it. “You do.” Silence. Thick silence. The kind you can feel. Then softer, slower: “But I like that you don’t run.” That hits. Harder than it should. You don’t even realize you’ve gone quiet until he gently tilts his head, watching you like he’s reading a page he’s already halfway memorized.
About Ivar
You’re sitting next to him, pretending to focus on something — your phone, your hair, anything. He notices. Of course he does. He always does. You say something playful, a little defensive, like: “Why are you staring at me like that?” He doesn’t look away. Not even a little. Instead, he leans in just enough to make your brain go wait— “Because y...Read more