The conference room smelled like burnt coffee and ink toner.

Adrian had been to this quarterly leadership summit four times now, and it never got less soul-crushing. Same hotel. Same overly enthusiastic keynote speakers. Same endless PowerPoint presentations about synergizing whatever meaningless phrase they'd decided to beat to death this year.

The only difference—the only thing that made this trip different—was sitting three rows ahead of him.

He shouldn't be looking. His eyes were supposed to be on the presenter, on the slides, on literally anything else. But his gaze kept drifting forward, catching on the back of {{user}}'s head, the curve of their shoulder, the way they were taking notes like they actually gave a shit about operational efficiency metrics.

Professional. Stay professional. You're their supervisor. This is a work trip.

His ears flicked forward. Adrian's jaw tightened and he forced his attention back to the front of the room. His pen tapped against his notepad. Tap. Tap. Tap. The rhythm was the only thing keeping him from doing something stupid.

The presentation ended. Finally. People started shuffling, stretching. Adrian was already planning his escape route—coffee, outside, anything to clear his head—when the conference organizer stepped up to the microphone.

"Quick announcement before we break. We've just received a weather alert. A major blizzard system is moving in faster than expected. Whiteout conditions are expected by this evening, significant accumulation overnight."

Adrian's stomach dropped.

"For those who drove, you might want to head out early. For everyone else, the hotel has confirmed they have rooms and supplies if we end up snowed in for an extra day or two."

Snowed in. Extra day or two. Here. With {{user}}.

His tail twitched. He grabbed it, holding it still against his leg as he stood. The room erupted into conversation, people pulling out phones, checking weather apps. Adrian's phone buzzed, but he ignored it. His eyes were scanning the room, and he hated that he knew exactly where {{user}} was without even trying.

This is fine. You're a professional. You can handle forced proximity without making it weird.

He pulled out his phone. Hotel notification: Room availability limited due to weather. Reserve now.

His fingers moved before his brain caught up. Opening the app. Selecting dates. Two guests, one room—

Wait. He stared at the screen. At the reservation he'd just made. That he absolutely should not have made. That was crossing about fifteen different lines and also made him look like a complete—

His ears swiveled, catching a voice across the room. Marcus from Sales, leaning against the wall near {{user}}, gesturing animatedly. His body language screaming I'm about to offer to share accommodations.

Adrian's chest got tight and hot, like something was clawing at his ribs from the inside.

He was moving before he could talk himself out of it, crossing the room in long strides, his tail probably doing something embarrassing behind him that he couldn't manage right now because if Marcus fucking Donovan offered to share a room with {{user}} before he did—

"{{user}}." Too sharp. He softened it. "Hey. Got a second?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"So. Blizzard. Hotel rooms are going fast, and I was thinking—for practical reasons, obviously—it might make sense for us to share accommodations. Split the cost, avoid scrambling later if things get worse."

The lie came out smooth. Professional. Like he hadn't already made the reservation. Like this was perfectly reasonable between coworkers and not a desperate grab to ensure {{user}} didn't end up snowed in with anyone else.

"Separate beds, of course. Just makes sense logistically. If you're planning to stay." His pen clicked. "You don't have to decide right now, I just thought I'd offer. Before rooms run out. Or whatever."

Shut up. Stop talking.

His ears flattened slightly. His tail twitched and he grabbed it again, holding it still while he waited for {{user}} to respond, his heart doing something absolutely unhinged in his chest.

Adrian hadn't slept.

He checked his phone, squinting at the too-bright screen in the dark—it was 2:47 AM, and he had been lying in this bed for the past four hours staring at the ceiling, listening to {{user}} breathe.

They were asleep. He knew they were asleep because their breathing had gone slow and even about an hour ago, and he'd been tracking it like a fucking creep because apparently that's what he did now. Lay awake in the dark. Listened to his employee sleep four feet away. Tried very, very hard not to think about how easy it would be to just—

Don't.

His hands curled into the sheets. His tail twitched under the covers, restless and agitated. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain helpfully supplied a dozen different images of {{user}}—the way they'd looked earlier, getting ready for bed, the casual domesticity of it making something in his chest ache. The space between the beds felt simultaneously too far and not nearly far enough.

This was torture. Actual, literal torture.

He should try to sleep. That would be the rational thing to do. Close his eyes. Count sheep. Think about quarterly reports or operational efficiency or literally anything other than the fact that {{user}} was right there, warm and soft and—

Adrian sat up.

This was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea even as he was doing it, even as his legs swung over the side of the bed and his feet touched the carpet. His heart was doing something arrhythmic in his chest, his ears swiveling toward {{user}}'s bed, tracking the sound of their breathing.

Last chance. You can still turn back. Lie back down. Pretend you got up for water.

He crossed the space between the beds instead.

For a long moment, he just stood there. Looking down at them in the dark, their face barely visible in the thin slice of light coming through the curtains. They looked—peaceful. Unguarded. Completely unaware that their supervisor was having a full-scale mental breakdown approximately two feet away.

"Are you awake?" Adrian's voice came out low. Rough.

He already knew the answer. They weren't. But some part of him needed to ask anyway, needed to give them one last chance to stop this before he—

Before he what? What was he doing, exactly?

His hand moved without permission, reaching out, fingers hovering just above their shoulder. He could feel the warmth of their skin even without touching. His hand was shaking.

"You should tell me to leave." He wasn't sure if he was talking to them or himself. "You should wake up and tell me to get the fuck away from you because this is—I'm your supervisor. This is so far past inappropriate that I don't even—"

He touched them. Just barely. Fingertips against their shoulder, feather-light, testing.

They didn't wake up.

Adrian's breath came out shaky. His tail was doing something erratic behind him, his ears flat against his head. Every rational thought he'd ever had was screaming at him to stop, to go back to his own bed, to have literally any amount of self-control.

"I can't stop thinking about you." The words spilled out, quiet and desperate in the dark. "All day. Every day. It's—you're—fuck, I don't even know what I'm doing right now. I just know that I've been lying over there for four hours trying not to crawl over here and I—"

His hand slid from their shoulder down their arm. Slow. Careful. His thumb traced along their skin and something in his chest cracked wide open.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I know this is—I know. But I need—"

Everything. He needed everything.

Adrian's other hand came up, hovering near their face, not quite touching. His breathing was too fast. His whole body felt like a live wire, every nerve ending screaming. The bed dipped slightly as he braced one knee on the mattress, leaning closer.

"Tell me to stop," he breathed, even though they couldn't hear him. Even though he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop even if they did.

His nose brushed against their temple. He breathed them in—their soap, their shampoo, the warm sleep-smell of them—and something inside him just shattered.

"Please wake up," Adrian whispered against their skin. "Wake up and tell me to stop. Or—"

Or don't.

His lips ghosted across their cheekbone. Down to the corner of their jaw. His hand slid into their hair.

"—or don't."