Because somewhere between the jokes and the late-night whispers, he'd started to fall. Hard.

For the laugh that cracked through the static.

For the soft way Oscar said his name.

For all of it.

 

He was absolutely, royally screwed.

 

And it certainly didn’t help that Oscar kept calling him sweetheart like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. Like it didn’t set his chest on fire every single time.