N O A H

I shouldn't have pinned her against the wall. I shouldn't have let my hand touch her like that.

Shit, Noah!

She smelled like fresh soap and something sweet. The way her breath had hitched when I had
gotten too close, I'm craving it.

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall in front of me. My stomach growls, a loud reminder of how hungry I am, but I can't bring myself to leave this room. I can't bring myself to face her, not after everything that happened earlier.

Sarah's been calling me for the past hour, her knocks at the door faint but persistent. Each knock lands like a punch, a reminder of how I've messed up. I know she's angry, probably hurt too.

I can feel it. I deserve it. I've been an idiot.

I run a hand through my hair, the weight of guilt pressing down on me more than the hunger gnawing at my insides. I stare at the door for a long moment, torn between wanting to fix things and the fear of what I'll say if I open it.

But in the end, guilt wins. I unlock the door, step out, and rub the back of my neck, wishing for some kind of answer, something to make it right.

She's standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed tightly, her face a mix of sadness and anger that I can't quite read. When she sees me, her lips press into a thin, tight line, like she's holding back everything she wants to say.

"Your food is ready," she says, her voice colder than I expect. There's no warmth, no invitation to talk. She simply states the fact and then walks past me, her footsteps sharp and deliberate, heading into her room. The door clicks shut behind her, and I'm left standing there, staring at the spot where she disappeared.

I frown, a strange sense of unease creeping into my chest. She's upset, but... something feels off. Did she eat?

My mind replays the image of her expression, her eyes clouded with something darker than just anger. She looked tired, maybe a little pale.

Without thinking, I head downstairs to the kitchen. The table is set, one plate prepared, mine. The knot in my chest tightens. She hasn't eaten. She's been avoiding me.

And I'm the reason for it.

I grab her plate too, without thinking, and make my way back upstairs. When I get to her door, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the knob. The guilt churns inside me like acid. I knock softly, unsure of what kind of reception I'll get.

"Sarah," I call out quietly, my voice low.

There's no response.

I knock again, louder this time, my patience thinning. "Sarah, open the door."

The door creaks open just a crack. Her face appears, eyes narrowed, lips set in a hard line. She looks at the plate I'm holding and then back at me, her gaze unreadable.

"What do you want?" she asks, her tone sharp.

I hold the plate out to her, my heart thudding in my chest. "You didn't eat."

She sighs, looking away, and then opens the door a little wider. "That's none of your business," she says, her voice quieter now, but still filled with that quiet anger. "You're my boss, not my caretaker."

I step into her room without waiting for an invitation, the air thick between us.

"And as your boss," I start, my voice firm, "I'm telling you to eat."

She glares at me, the fire in her eyes enough to make me hesitate for a second. But I stand my ground, the plate still in my hands.

"Noah," she snaps, her jaw tight, "this is ridiculous. You shouldn't-"

"Sarah, sit down," I interrupt, my voice more commanding than I intend it to be.

She crosses her arms tightly, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "You can't just order me around like this," she retorts, her voice barely controlled.

I place the plate on her desk, my eyes not leaving hers. The space between us feels charged, like something is about to crack, like something inside both of us is on the edge.

"You're angry, fine. Stay angry. But eat first."

She looks at the plate for a long moment, her eyes darkening. "I'm too mad to eat right now."

I can't help it. A small smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. "You know," I say, my voice low and teasing, "you look kind of cute when you're angry."

The words are out before I can stop them, and instantly, her cheeks flush with colour. She looks away, flustered in a way I've never seen before.

"Don't try to distract me," she mutters, her voice quieter now.

"I'm not distracting you," I reply, stepping a little closer. My heart pounds in my chest. "I'm just pointing out a fact."

She glares at me, but the redness in her cheeks tells a different story. "You're impossible," she mutters, reaching for the plate reluctantly.

I watch as she sits down, her movements stiff, like she's still holding on to her anger. She pokes at the food with her fork, clearly not happy, but she's eating.

I keep think about her. About how she looked when I touched her, how close we were, how I felt her skin react to mine, the way her waist had fit so perfectly against my hand, the heat of her body, the smoothness of her skin.

"Happy now?" she grumbles.

"Very much," I reply, my smirk growing as I lean back against the wall, arms crossed.

She rolls her eyes at me, but I can see it now. The tension in her shoulders starts to fade with each bite she takes. I don't know what it is, but seeing her eat, seeing her like this...

It feels like a small victory, like something is shifting.

As she finishes her meal, I stand up, preparing to leave, but something pulls me back. Something pulls me to her. I turn back to look at her, my voice softer this time.

"Sarah," I say, my words unsteady, unsure.

She looks at me, her expression still unreadable, but there's something in her gaze.

Something... softer.

"What?" she asks.

"Thank you," I say, surprising myself with the sincerity in my tone.

Her expression softens. She looks down, her voice quiet when she responds. "You're welcome."

I don't know why, but the words hit me hard. I close the door behind me with a quiet click, heading back to my room. As I sit back down, the strangest feeling settles in my chest.

It's warm, maybe even... content.

I close the door behind me, but I don't go far. I lean against it for a moment, my mind racing, my heart still thudding in my chest. That small moment.

When she flushed, when her eyes softened just a bit, it's replaying over and over again in my mind, like a broken record. She didn't fight me this time. I made her angry, and she didn't argue about it.

But that's not what's eating at me. It's the way her face softened, just for a moment.

The way her gaze met mine, not with anger, but with something quieter, something... real. It felt like a crack in the armor she's been wearing around me.

I run a hand through my hair, pacing back to my bed. I'm not sure what to do with the way I'm feeling right now. The guilt is still there, gnawing at me, but it's tangled with something else, something warmer, something I don't know how to define.

Fuck, stop it, Noah!

It's not just the way she looked when I was teasing her. It's the way her hands lingered over the plate, the way she slowly allowed herself to eat, despite her anger.

I saw it, the quiet vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

I close my eyes, and the image of her face flashes in my mind again. The way she flushed when I called her cute. I shouldn't have said it. It was a stupid thing to say.

But it wasn't a lie. I liked seeing her that way, off balance, her anger replaced by something else.

I think about how close we were. How my hand brushed hers when I gave her the plate. It wasn't intentional, but it happened. I felt it. A jolt of electricity that shot up my arm, making my skin feel too tight, too aware.

I know I shouldn't have crossed that line, even if it was small. But for a moment, I let myself want more.

Want her more.

Noah, Stop!

I shake my head, trying to push away the thought, but it lingers. A part of me wonders if she felt it too.

I stand by the window, watching the world outside without really seeing it. My thoughts keep circling back to her. Her eyes, her voice, the way she looked at me tonight, like I wasn't just her boss.

For the first time, I didn't feel like the guy who just gives orders.

I felt like... someone she might actually listen to. And that thought rattles me more than it should. What am I doing? I don't know what this is, this pull I feel toward her.

But it's undeniable.

I take a deep breath and sit down on the edge of my bed, staring at the door to her room. I don't know what's going to happen next. I don't know if we're supposed to talk about it or pretend it didn't happen.

Yet, I can't ignore the way my heart beats faster when I think about her.

The strange, unfamiliar warmth that spreads through me every time I think about her, it scares the hell out of me.

Am I obsessed?