#reader!diva

He opens his mouth to protest but quickly closes it as he analyzes you. You are panting, your hair disheveled, your hands shaking slightly and your body is tense. You really needed help. He stays in the position you put him in and doesn’t move a muscle.

The screams start to get quieter, your body relaxes and you release the breath you didn’t even know you had been holding.

“Thank you, you saved my life.”

He doesn’t answer right away, keeping his posture firm over you.

“Does this happen often?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to attract the attention of anyone in the store.

You let out a laugh, looking over his shoulder to see the store window, the street seemed calmer now.

“All the time, but it’s usually more controlled, I’ve never had to turn strangers into human shields” you pulled away, now looking at him properly for the first time, and damn, he’s handsome.

“You should walk around with some security, it doesn’t seem very safe to me to walk around alone.”

“I know, I have one, but I thought I could buy a damn coffee by myself.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not approving of the idea.

“Doesn’t seem like a very smart plan to me”

“Oh, you swear Sherlock?”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“Okay, you helped me and I’m being an idiot.”

You didn’t mean to be rude to him, you were just frustrated that you couldn’t do something as simple as buying an afternoon coffee without the place filling up with people.

Don’t project your frustration onto him, you think.

“Excuse me, what’s your name?”

He seemed to be considering whether it was worth sharing this information with you. You couldn’t judge, if the situation were the other way around you probably would have run away already.

“My name is Aaron.”

He’s crazy enough, apparently.

Aaron just stood there staring at you as if silently asking, what about you?

“Excuse me, don’t you know me?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Should I?” he asked, his brow slightly furrowed.

You opened your mouth in surprise. What was natural for you – people knowing you, knowing your name, sometimes even what you had for breakfast – meant nothing to him. It was almost surreal.

“You really don’t know me?”

“No,” he crossed his arms, “But you don’t seem upset, so I don’t see the problem.”

“Are you kidding?” you laughed, “That’s refreshing.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like being famous, on the contrary, you loved it. It took years of sacrifice to get where you are, training and training until exhaustion. But it’s times like these, when you try to do something simple – like buying a coffee by yourself – and you can’t, that fame shows its price.

“Really?”

He looked as confused as before, and as if it were possible, more handsome than he had been two seconds ago. Your gaze quickly dropped to his hand, he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Would the universe be so kind to that extent?

What did you have to lose? You already had the no, now the only way was to go after the humiliation.

“Although it’s sad when a handsome man doesn’t recognize me.”

He blinked in surprise, his mouth opening and closing as if he didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m kidding.” You reassure him, suppressing a smile. “I interrupted your shopping, I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize, I still don’t know what I came to buy anyway.”

“You..don’t know?” you asked amused, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who just goes out to browse the stores.

He hesitates, his gaze shifting between you and the clothes on the rack.

“It’s okay, you just met me, you don’t need to tell me.”

“How much do you know about children?” The hesitation is still palpable in his voice.

“Um..I’m the older sister and I used to be a babysitter, so I guess that’s enough.” You answer confused, trying to remember “Why?”

“I need a gift for my son to take to a party, but I have no idea what to get him,” he confesses, sounding frustrated.

This man just got a thousand times more handsome. Okay, focus.

“How old is he going to be?” You ask, already scanning the clothes around you.

“Seven.”

“Okay, let’s pick out some neutral clothes. Do you mind if I keep this on?” You point to the hoodie and sunglasses.

“No, it’s okay, I don’t want to attract a horde of zombies.”

“Are you trying to badmouth my beloved fans?” You feign an offended expression. They can be scary when they want to be, but you won’t admit it out loud.

“Me? Never. Although I wasn’t the one running away from them a few minutes ago.”

You cross your arms, feigning indignation, but the amused gleam in your eyes gives you away.

“Are you a career management expert now? Next time I’ll let forty people run after you and we’ll see what your first reaction will be.”

“Touché,” he laughs, raising his hands in surrender.

You grab your phone, remembering to tell your security guard where you are and asking him to come pick you up in twenty minutes.

“What do you work with?” You look away from your phone and look at him.

“What?”

He looks at you with a look that says, seriously?

“You’re famous, right? So what do you do?”

“Oh yeah, I’m a singer,” you reply with a smile.

“Have you ever won a Grammy?” He asks, his tone not arrogant, but curious.

“Honestly, I think the legacy that remains counts more, but yes, i have Grammy' s.”

“Grammy' s? Like, more than one?”

You smile at him.

“You really have no idea who I am, do you?” You let out a dramatic sigh. “I already thought you were handsome, you don’t need to convince me.”

He stops laughing, looking disconcerted.

God can’t blame a woman for trying.

“I think this outfit here is nice.”

You change the subject quickly, not that you didn’t want to blatantly hit on him for the rest of the day – something you could easily do – but he seemed so disconcerted by your advances that you didn’t want to be inconvenient.

“Yeah, this one looks nice.” He picks up the outfit, examining it.

Chris – your security guard – enters the store looking for you. Man, I need to give him a raise, you thought.

Quickly looking over the counter, grabbing your store card and a pen, you write down your personal number and hand it to Aaron.

“You saved me today, if you need someone to pay your bail, I’ll be that guy. Of course, it will depend on the reason you were arrested, I still have my ethics.” You smile “If you want tickets to a show I think it’s easier to get, thanks anyway.”

He takes the card and puts it in the inside pocket of his suit.

“I don’t plan on getting arrested, but I appreciate the offer.”

Halfway there you turn to him again.

“Aaron?”

“Yes?”

“I’m serious, text me, I’d love to meet you again.”

You head back to Chris, leaving a stunned Aaron behind.

No one can say you didn’t try.

And God, for the next few days you and your phone would be one body.

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English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

This will probably become a mini series

His world was made up of reports, investigations and horrendous crimes, always keeping the focus on what was real, on what needed to be solved. The idea of ​​following the pop universe and celebrities in general seemed distant – even superfluous.

He liked movies, he could appreciate paintings, but music? It wasn't something he cared about, music was like background noise that fulfilled its purpose, filling the environment creating a pleasant atmosphere without standing out completely.

But watching your creative process in your documentary,– he wasn't joking, he almost called Garcia to get more information – he wished he could get inside your mind and see music the way you do. Renowned and new artists citing you as a reference.

It was fascinating.

You are fascinating.

He took the card with your number out of his pocket. And for a moment, he actually considered sending a message.

He knew that if he took this step, there would be no going back. The weight of real life was falling on his shoulders again, the pressure of his profession was like a bee buzzing in his ear, a reminder that things weren't so easy.

You on stage, in the spotlight, were an easy target.

The thought paralyzed him.

Someone like you should never get involved with someone like him.

It's better to live with the thought of what could have been than to live with the guilt of having brought danger into your life. He can deal with it, maybe in a few years he'll tell Jack that he met a famous singer.

He can deal with it.

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What he didn’t know was that you were extremely stubborn.

You waited patiently for a week for any sign. A text, a call – even a smoke signal would do, but you received nothing.

Great, if he wasn’t going to look for you then you would find a way to find him. All you had was your first name and a dream.

But you like a challenge.

Your first thought was to type his name into Google, but there are too many Aaron’s in the area, that wouldn’t work. You sighed, without a last name the search would be useless – Aaron was a very common name.

But you have something in your favor – influence.

“Hey, I need a favor.”

“This smells like trouble.” Chris – your security guard – stopped near the door, crossing his arms. “What is it?”

You smiled, this poor guy really deserved a raise.

“I met a guy and I wanted to find him, but all I have is his first name, Aaron.” You paused, trying to remember the details. “He was tall, had black hair, wore a nice suit, his posture was firm and he had a serious look, he probably has a position of authority, a lawyer perhaps?”

He looked at you as if he were seeing a unicorn, the crease between his eyebrows deepened as his mouth opened in disbelief.

“Let me get this straight, you want me to find someone you saw once in your life, and you don’t even know their damn last name?”

“Well, that’s basically it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know either.”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair in a clear sign of frustration.

“I should be immortalized as a saint.” He rolled his eyes and picked up his phone to make a call. You watched as he muttered something under his breath to someone on the other end, his expression hardened, he sighed and hung up right after.

“This will take a while but maybe we can get something done”

You smiled, he always found a way.

“Thanks, you’re awesome.”

“I know, next time maybe you can remember that when you decide to go out alone”

“I already apologized, it was stupid, I know”

“What did you want? If you intended to die, couldn’t you kill yourself like a normal artist? Drugs, alcoholism or something?”

You snorted in amusement.

“Shut up.”

He just rolled his eyes, returning to his attentive posture.

While Chris dealt with the impossible mission of finding Aaron, you focused on work, with the tour approaching there were many details to be worked on. You spent the entire afternoon making adjustments to the sequence of songs, the position of the dancers, the light show. The worst part of being a perfectionist was this: everything had to go through you.

At the end of the day, when you were finishing up with the team, your cell phone vibrated on the table. Picking up the phone, you answered quickly when you saw it was Chris.

“Peaceful house, who’s disturbing you?”

“Ha ha, funny girl, are you done? I’m waiting in the parking lot.”

“I’m going, did you get anything?” Holding your phone with your shoulder, you said goodbye to some people who were still in the warehouse before heading towards the parking lot.

“You’re going to sing at my wedding, for free.” He expected a protest, but you just nodded in agreement, so he continued. “Your mystery man’s name is Aaron Hotchner, he’s been the leader of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for the past 5 years. He used to be a lawyer – congratulations, you guessed right, maybe you should ask him for a job. I’ll send you his office number.”

You walked into the house in silence, absorbing the new information. Now you had a full name and a profession.

Aaron Hotchner, FBI agent.

You chuckled to yourself, you had just stalked an FBI agent – ​​that didn’t get you arrested, did it? The idea of ​​looking for him again – this time in a more direct way – seemed like a crime you were willing to pay for.

But how? You couldn’t just show up at his work – that would be too weird. It was time to plan calmly, you didn’t want to scare him.

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Aaron Hotchner was a man of routine.

He liked predictability when he had the chance to experience it, which was why he tried to keep his mornings calm; any unexpected element was viewed with suspicion.

So when he walked into his office that morning and found a huge bouquet of flowers on his desk, he stopped. His brow furrowed automatically, studying the bouquet as if it were a crime scene.

Flowers. For him.

He began to run through all the holidays quickly in his head; it wasn't his birthday or Father's Day. What was this?

Silently, he closed the door and approached the desk, finally noticing the card carefully placed among the flowers. He picked up the card and opened it calmly – almost as if he were defusing a bomb.

“Aaron

I appreciate the way you tried to inspire me artistically by not texting me and breaking my heart – it was innovative, to say the least. I would almost say poetic – but sad songs are not my thing, I prefer romantic ones.

Before you think it's weird that I know where you work, let me clarify two things:

First, I'm not dangerous – unless you consider smash as a threat.

Second, this is your fault.

If you had texted me like a normal person would, I wouldn't have to do this.

I'm joking (or not).

Anyway, when you receive these flowers, take it as a thank you for saving my skin that day.

Note: I loved your last name, did you know that you can't spell Hotchner without Hot?

With love, Q Honey.”

He finished reading and couldn't help but smile, you're definitely crazy, he thought. He didn't know exactly what he expected when he opened the card, but it certainly wasn't this.

Before he could decide what to do with the flowers, the door opened without warning.

“Hotch, could you reconsider a new chair, the leg of mine is wobbly and I almost fell again today. Just letting you know that what kills old people is a fall-” Rossi stopped talking as soon as he saw the flowers on the table.

“Is there something you want to share?” he asked, his tone full of amusement. “Wait, is that a card in your hand? Did you get that?”

He could have ignored it and gone back to work until he had a good enough excuse, but the shock prevented him from thinking straight, how the hell did you find out his name?

“I..um, I guess so..?” His voice came out more like a question than a statement.

“Who’s the secret admirer?”

“Someone with a lot of determination.”

Rossi laughed, clearly interested in his friend’s reaction.

“That’s one of mine, whoever it is I think you should give her a chance since she’s so determined.”

Yeah, maybe he should.

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English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel, I'll be happy to hear them :)

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Aaron was too worried about everything that involved you. He had already reorganized the surveillance team about three times – made you invest in better cameras, hired more security for your home, and even reinforced the security protocols for events like this. He was really a nervous wreck.

You tried to calm him down but nothing seemed to work, he insisted on going with you, so you gave in.

You sighed, patting his arm twice before walking away “Okay.”

- You decided to skip the red carpet. Maybe he never really relaxed, but you could try to ease some of the tension.

The event went on like all the others, just celebrities drinking and talking. While you greeted other artists and exchanged smiles with producers, he stood a few steps away, like a shadow – protective. His eyes roamed the room, always alert, observing the people around him and checking the exit doors frequently.

You turned around slowly, appreciating the view.

Aaron Hotchner.

Standing a few feet away from you with that straight posture, broad shoulders under the dark fabric of his jacket, his hands crossed in front of him with an expression that said “Don’t come any closer.”

You accepted a martini that one of the waiters offered you, sipping it slowly, feeling the alcohol burn your throat.

When he looked at you, surreptitiously – as if it were an innocent gesture – you lifted the toothpick with the olive between your fingers and, with the tip of your tongue, caught the drop of alcohol that threatened to fall. Then, slowly, you pulled the olive with your lips.

You could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

-

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, your eyes trailing over his shoulders, still visibly tense.

He didn’t answer right away. Just closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the leather back of the seat, letting out a soft sigh. “Better now that there aren’t a thousand people around.”

You kept your gaze fixed on him, his suit tight at the shoulders, his tie slightly looser, his head thrown back – the way his Adam’s apple stood out. The combination of all of this made something inside you twist.

“Driver, can you please raise the partition?” With a slight nod, the driver raised the partition without asking any questions.

His eyes opened, watching you with a frown as the partition rose. He sat up slowly, never taking his eyes off yours. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low tone.

“I’m just trying to help you relax.” You smiled innocently as you approached him.

“And how exactly do you intend to do that…?” He looks at you with narrowed eyes suspiciously.

“Relax, it’s just a massage.”

You sit on his lap, resting your hands on the leather seat behind him to adjust yourself better. He tenses, clenching his jaw as he takes a deep breath.

“You don’t have to do this” your voice comes out low, almost like a warning.

“I know” , you leave a kiss on his cheek, “But I want to.”

He continues to look at you with narrowed eyes. Honestly? You’re almost certain he knows exactly what you’re doing. Your name escapes his mouth almost as a whisper as he places his hands on your hips, twirling his thumbs in circles.

“Just a massage, right?”

“Well, yes”, you place kisses at the base of his neck. “Unless you want me on my knees.”

He swallows hard, his mind clouded. The tension before seemed insignificant compared to now, your hands on your hips stopped. You could feel the exact moment your mind stopped working.

He pressed his lips together in a tight line. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

You smiled against his skin, trailing your lips down to his jawline. “I’m just trying to help you relax,” you whispered, dragging your nails over his white shirt as you swiveled your hips.

His breathing hitched as he closed his eyes—an attempt to regain control and reason, after all the poor driver was still in the car.

“You’re having the opposite effect,” he groaned, tilting his head back.

You swiveled your hips again, slowly. Feeling his breathing hitch again, his jaw tighten even more. “Why, honey? Do you have a better idea?”

He let out a low sound—a muffled almost groan.

And then he gave in.

In a second, his mouth found yours, hot, intense and hungry. His hands went down from your hips to your ass, pulling you closer. You gasped against his lips in shock at the contact.

Your bodies fit together, eliciting a moan from both of you at the friction. Your hands tangled in the back of his neck – burying your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. You continued to move your hips in slow circles.

He slides his hands down your back urgently, his fingers tracing a path from your ass to the collar of your dress – exploring the details of the tight fabric on your body.

His fingers paused there for a few seconds – hesitating.

And then he pulled.

The sound of the tulle tearing sounded muffled between the kisses. A moan escaped your throat. The cold air of the car in contact with your exposed skin was a direct contrast to the heat that grew between you. He pulled his lips away for a second to stare at your lap with the lingerie now exposed. His eyes roaming over every detail of the lace, as if he were recording the image in his mind.

You could feel the knot in your belly tightening even more as you felt his eyes burning into your skin.

"You’re still going to kill me" he murmured hoarsely.

You laughed softly. Without taking your eyes off his, you began to slide your dress – or what was left of it – until it was on the floor of the car, now exposing your tiny panties.

He swallowed hard, his eyes following your movements, his chest rising and falling slowly, his fingers digging into the leather seat.

Returning to his lap, you could feel how hard he was, the lace of your panties so soaked that it would surely stain your pants. You rotated your hips harder, eliciting a moan from him that made your clit throb.

“Baby, please.” he whimpered, holding your waist, stopping your movements.

You reached for the clasp of your bra, pulling the lingerie down your arms before throwing it somewhere in the car. “What?”

“Fuck, can you stop torturing me for a second?” Your plea came out so desperate that you could have had your orgasm with that sentence alone.

Your fingers slid down to the button of your pants, unbuttoning them as Aaron lifted his hips, helping you get rid of them. You gasped when you felt him run his cock through your panties.

“Look at you, so wet you’re almost melting this lace,” he teased you as he continued to slide into you, now forcing the head of his cock into your still covered entrance.

“Fuck, Aaro—” he quickly took the tie off your neck, hurriedly kneading it before shoving it in your mouth, muffling your moan.

“Shh” he began distributing kisses, alternating between your neck and your collarbone. “You can’t make any noise, do you think you can?”

You nod, sinking your teeth into your tie, trying to control yourself from making any loud noises.

A muffled, desperate “Please” escapes your lips. He lowers his hands to your ass again and slides your panties to the side, holding your hips, he pushes you down, plunging into you. You bury your head in his neck, clenching the leather backrest behind him as you moan his name.

He lowers your hips once more while he moves up with his, going deeper inside you. You hold him by the shoulders, taking control. With strategic movements – somewhat desperate – you alternate between going up and down and rotating your hips back and forth.

The sight of you with your cheeks flushed, your hair slightly disheveled as sweat began to form on your forehead was too much.

“Y-You… Sir, don’t stop.” He stuttered, turning his attention to your breasts. Distributing his attention with his mouth equally between them – muffling your moan.

Aaron moved his hand up to your neck. His grip was firm – just enough to give that nice pressure. Your back arched at the unexpected touch.

You were overwhelmed, your knees burning with effort, the knot in your belly intensifying with each deep thrust. You gasped when he groaned with his mouth still on your breasts.

He lifted his hips again, hitting the spot that made your vision blur, feeling all your muscles contracting and you finally came undone.

He came right after, inside you, when he felt your walls squeezing his cock. The feeling of him throbbing inside you was something you could get used to.

You fell back on the bench, smiling breathlessly. Your legs were shaking – your mind still clouded by your orgasm.

“Just so you know, I don’t usually do that with my bodyguards.”

Aaron chuckled as he looked down at your clothes on the floor.

“Well,” he replied a little breathlessly, “That’s an important point, thanks for letting me know.”

You followed his gaze, looking at what was left of your dress on the floor. “Do you have any idea how many zeros there were in that outfit?” you asked with an amused smile.

He sighed. “I can imagine, I’m sorry.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “That’s not even the problem, how am I going to get out of the car now that I have no clothes left?”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that.” He mumbled awkwardly. “I’ll give you my jacket.”

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I really admire anyone who can write this. Because, you see, I want to hide under a rock.

English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

“Did I overdo it?” you asked, adjusting your diamond necklace as you watched her in the mirror.

She looked you up and down. “I wouldn’t say it was overdone…” she replied with an amused smile on her lips. “That outfit and that perfume. Do you want this man to survive dinner or are you trying to cause a breakdown in his nervous system?”

You let out a low laugh – which came out more nervous than you’d like to admit. “So, he could have run when I sent flowers to his office, but he didn’t. So I think he can handle this.”

She looked down at your body again, pointing to your ass. She looked back up at your eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, I don’t think this man has ever seen an ass like that.”

“Lisa!” You scolded her with an incredulous laugh.

She just raises her arms in false surrender, her smile full of provocation. “Are you sure you’re not trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I’m not going to answer that.” You go to the closet to look for an oversized jacket that matches the dress.

“Cinderella, your Prince Charming is at the door-” Chris walks in with his cell phone in his hand, his sentence trailing off halfway. His eyes run up and down you, he stops, leaning against the doorframe. “Wow… I was going to make a joke,” he continues, still dazed. “Something like ‘don’t come back after midnight or I’ll turn you into a pumpkin’… but honestly? If this man has two brain cells working, he’ll propose to you before dessert.”

“I told you,” Lisa adds in the background, her arms crossed and a smug smile on her lips.

“You guys are a constant attack on my humility.” You stop in front of the mirror, taking one last look at your appearance, applying lip gloss with precision. Taking a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Okay, wish me luck.”

“We know you, you’re not the one who needs luck. I just hope he doesn’t have a family history of heart disease.”

“Christopher,” you hummed in warning as you walked to the door. He held his hands up in surrender—clearly enjoying himself.

When you opened the door, for a full second you forgot how to breathe. There he was—standing just inside the entryway, in the soft light of the garden.

Aaron Hotchner.

His casual attire said more than any expensive suit ever could. The lack of a tie, the slight crease in his shirt sleeves, the perfectly tailored dark jeans—everything about him screamed carefully unpretentious elegance.

“You need to step up the—” the sentence trailed off in your throat as his eyes met yours.

You smile, frowning slightly. “I need to emphasize what exactly?”

“I… I was going to say something, but right now I can’t remember,” he confesses, almost in a whisper, his eyes still locked on you. “You look beautiful.”

Your smile grows. For a second, you forget the nervousness you’ve been feeling all afternoon. Everything feels so… light.

He swallows hard, trying to compose himself as he holds out the bouquet to you. “I… I got this for you.” The sound of your laughter as you accept the bouquet makes something bubble in his chest—had he really noticed how beautiful you are already?

“You’re officially forgiven,” you say, looking up at him over the petals. “But only because I brought flowers… and these jeans.”

He arches an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” you continue, your tone soft. “But I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. I might need to fill your office with flowers just to balance things out.”

He chuckles softly, opening the car door for you. “While I appreciate the thought, it would raise a lot of questions that I wouldn’t have the answers to. And consequently, my phone would be hacked before the third delivery.”

You nod slightly, settling into the seat. “Delivery before eight o’clock, noted.”

He gets in on the other side with a slight smile on his lips. “If I may ask, what’s the deal with the flowers?”

You smile, looking at the bouquet for a moment before turning your eyes back to him.

"They're pretty, they smell nice… they have this way of accompanying people on both good and bad days." You pause for a moment, looking away at the road ahead. "I usually send flowers when I want to thank or congratulate someone… Sometimes, just to let them know I'm thinking of them." An amused smile plays on your lips. "There's this crazy conspiracy theory that says I 'silence' my competitors. My fans like to joke that I send them flowers just so they know I know where they live."

He lets out a short laugh, looking at you as he keeps his hands firmly on the steering wheel. "Well, now I'm wondering why you want to fill my office with flowers."

"I can send one to thank you for picking me up, one to congratulate you on being so handsome, and one just to let you know I'm thinking of you." You shrug, your eyes turning to him with mock innocence. "You can interpret it however you want."

Aaron turns his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I have to give credit to your quick wit, the way you combine conversation with flirting is admirable.”

You laugh, bowing. “It’s a gift, thank you.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, the silence between you comfortable. The restaurant was beautiful. The tables were dark wood, with crisp white tablecloths and fresh flowers in the center. The walls were adorned with subtle artwork and pendant lights that reflected a golden hue into the room, giving it a soft, cozy glow.

But the place felt… deserted.

You let Aaron guide you to a table, murmuring a “thank you” as he pulls out the chair for you to sit, still silently scanning the room, a little confused. He sits across from you and just watches you for a moment, as if trying to figure out what you were thinking before you have to put it into words.

“Um…” He clears his throat, hesitating a bit before continuing. “I… asked my friend if I could bring you here after they closed.”

Your jaw drops before you can stop it, surprise written all over your face. He notices it instantly. His gaze changes—almost alert.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says quickly, leaning forward slightly. “I still remember how big the crowd was that day. I just wanted to make sure you felt comfortable.”

You blink in surprise. The revelation hits you like a warm wave—unexpected, but gentle.

Your gaze softens as you watch him silently, absorbing the warmth behind the gesture.

“That’s…very kind, Aaron. Thank you.”

He looks away, unsure what to make of your thanks. But you notice the way his shoulders relax. The slight twitch at the corners of his mouth—and the way he tilts his head slightly downward to try to hide it.

“I haven’t told you this yet, but I recently found out that someone on my team is a fan of yours.”

“Really?” You raise your eyebrows, genuinely curious. “How did you find out?”

“Remember that gala event you showed up at unannounced?”

You hum in response, tearing off a piece of bread the waiter had just brought to the table.

“So… Events like this usually don’t require the entire staff to be present, one representative is enough – in this case, the boss. As usual, everyone came up with some crazy excuse to leave.”

“Wait.” You hand him half of the slice. “I get that these events can be kind of… boring. But giving away free food and drinks? That’s almost a crime. Do they really try so hard not to go?”

Aaron smiles, accepting the piece of bread with a slight nod. "You have no idea. Morgan once said he couldn't come because he had an appointment to get his hair cut."

You frown, chewing slowly. "That sounds pretty plausible to me," you mutter in confusion. "How exactly does that fall into the category of lame excuses?"

Aaron raises an eyebrow, his smirk slowly widening. "Morgan is bald."

You stop mid-chew, your eyes widening—and then you burst out laughing, putting your hand in front of your lips, trying not to spit out the bread you just put in your mouth.

"You've got to be kidding," you say, still laughing, biting your lower lip—in an attempt to maintain your composure.

"I wish it was." He shakes his head with a feigned tired expression. "He even tried to explain that it was specifically 'keeping up with the finishing touches.'"

Your laughter intensifies—this time uncontrollably. You lean back slightly in your chair, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye with the tip of your finger.

“Keep up with the polish?” you repeat, panting between laughs. “That’s brilliant. Absurd, but brilliant.”

Aaron smiles, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep your composure at that moment.”

“And what did you say?”

“I couldn’t answer at the time, I just stared at him trying not to laugh. It was one of those moments where you have to look away, as if you were breaking the fourth wall, it was so absurd.”

You fan yourself with your hand and take a deep breath, trying to stop laughing. “Okay, I understand the level of commitment, I can get back to the main topic.”

“Well, the other day, Penelope was waiting for me at the elevator door. As soon as I got on the floor, she bombarded me with questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

"Was it true, was she there? Did you see her up close? Is she pretty? Oh my god wait, did you talk to her? Did you get close enough to smell her perfume? If so, was it good?" He counts on his fingers as he speaks. "When I said you stayed a while after the presentation and talked to whoever came near, I thought she was going to cry."

You let out a low laugh, raising your hands in surrender. "Okay, you convinced me, now I have to meet her in person."

"Just let me know, she would sort out that office if she didn't take a sedative first."

"Imagine if she found out who took me home."

You notice how your shoulders tense at the comment, quickly correcting yourself. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, if my flowers bother you you can tell me, I won't be upset."

He seems to hesitate before lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips. “I don’t want to seem disinterested – believe me, that’s not the case. You’re so beautiful, smart and funny, it would be a sin not to notice you. I just…” He avoids your eyes, focusing on the glass of wine on the table. “I just have to be honest, I’m at least ten years older than you, I’m divorced with a child, my work takes up practically all of my time.”

You smile, the uncertainty in your voice so palpable that you want to walk around the table and hug him. “Well, if it comforts you in any way, I already knew all of this and I still chose to be here.”

“I don’t really know how to deal with this,” he admits, a little embarrassed. “I mean… I’ve been with Haley since college. That was twenty years ago.” He lets out a laugh "And I found that I could handle it all. Work, marriage, being a father. I thought the silence between us was so tired. Part of the routine. But deep down, I knew. I knew she was pulling away… And yet, I stood still. I didn't get closer, I didn't try to stop her." His eyes lower, looking at the glass in his hands. "And now, every time I think about opening up again, it feels like I'm leading you into a minefield. That at any moment, something will happen. I don't want to hurt anyone again. Especially you."

He pauses, still avoiding your eyes "That's what I have to offer you. I don't want to start something I can't sustain. You deserve more than halves."

You stay silent for a few seconds, absorbing the weight of his words, trying to find the right words to react to his sudden confession.

"Well, since we're talking about it…" you begin with a small smile. "My life is chaotic, I can't do anything outdoors without some crazy guy with a camera following me around - and that's been the case since I was twenty. I'm barely at home, when I'm not traveling on tour I'm in the studio recording, or in the warehouse rehearsing, or doing interviews and performing at festivals."

He raises his eyebrows gently, turning his gaze to you.

“I’m a huge perfectionist, and it interferes with pretty much every aspect of my life. I know I seem confident, with the flirting and all, but I went to therapy for a few years and realized that I have a tendency to sabotage my relationships. I figured out that it was because, deep down, I don’t think I’m good enough.” You pause, laughing humorlessly, absently fiddling with the napkin next to your glass.

He watches your monologue in silence.

“Oh, I can be a bitch too when I’m focused on my work and it’s not working out as it should. You have your demons, I have mine.” You rest your face on your hand. “For now, just tell me what’s good.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps looking at you with a small smile. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

You were getting ready to leave when a tall man came out of the kitchen. He approached, drying his hands on a kitchen towel as his eyes went from you to Aaron, and then back to you.

“No way,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you. When recognition dawned on him, he looked directly at Aaron with an expression that was a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Man… there’s no way you pulled that off.”

Aaron looked away with a low sigh, a slight blush appearing on his face. “James…”

“Sorry, it’s just that when you asked to bring someone here after hours I thought it was a serial killer, like dinner with Hannibal. It didn’t cross my mind for a second that you’d come here with what? The third most famous person in the world, behind only Jesus Christ and Michael Jackson?”

You let out an amused laugh, partly at his audacity in comparing you to Jesus and Michael, partly at the way Aaron closed his eyes—almost as if he was praying for the ground to open up and swallow him.

The man continued, addressing you with genuine enthusiasm. “I know you probably hear this all the time, but… my wife is a huge fan. Like, a huge fan. She has all your CDs, vinyls, even a limited edition that I don’t even know how she got. She’s been to all your shows. All of them. And just last night she spent the whole night trying to buy tickets for your new tour. She almost cried because the digital queue froze. She screamed when she got it. I thought some room in the house had caught on fire.” James continued, now pulling a pen out of his pocket with an almost shy expression. “So… if it’s not too much to ask, could you sign something? Anything. A napkin, my arm, the restaurant bill—she’ll frame it anyway.”

You smiled, grabbing the nearest napkin with the restaurant’s gold logo on it. "Sure. What's her name?"

"Helena, with an H." He stares at Aaron for a few seconds before turning to you. "Look, with all due respect, I don't know what's more impressive… You managing to drag Hotchner out of that office or the fact that Mr. "nobody-knows-about-my-life" is meeting a pop culture icon. It's like watching a shooting star leave with a comet. If I tell anyone about this, they'll think I hit my head."

Aaron blushed slightly, his stoic expression crumbling for a moment. "I'm starting to think that being chased and possibly trampled isn't such a bad option."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you wrote carefully.

“Dear Helena Knowing that you appreciate my art enough to be with me for these fourteen years leaves me speechless. It is an immense honor to know that my music has touched your life in some way. Now, between you and me: how lucky you are, my friend. The food here is some of the best I have ever tasted in my life — I hope it tastes as good to you as it does to the spices. I can’t wait to see you at my show. With love, Miss Honey”

James held the piece of paper like it was a sacred artifact. “Thank you. She’s going to make an altar, probably put candles around it.” You smiled as he walked away, protecting the napkin with the palm of your hand as if it were made of thin glass.

Aaron opened the door for you, and as you left, he muttered under his breath, “I’m sorry about him. Apparently, there’s no hiding from all the fans.”

You smiled, glancing at him sideways. “It’s okay, and honestly, he was adorable.”

On the way back, he seemed quieter than usual. You could feel his gaze, disguised by quick sideways glances, as if he was studying you.

“You’re staring,” you tease.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a tight smile. “I’m trying to figure out how someone like you would be interested in someone like me.”

You frowned, tilting your head slightly. “I thought we talked about this already.”

“We talked,” he nodded slowly. “But sometimes, even when someone says the right words… it’s hard to believe them. You’re the kind of person you double-check to make sure they’re real.”

You laughed awkwardly, looking away to the window, trying to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks. “Okay, stop it, you’re embarrassing me.”

He tilted his head, his eyes shining with amusement. “What? Did I manage to embarrass you? Should I go back and order some champagne to celebrate?”

“I could double your teasing, but I’ll spare you, as an act of kindness.”

“Oh really?” He parked in front of your house, turning slightly to look at you, a cocky smile playing on his lips. “And how would you do that?”

You didn’t answer, instead, you took off your belt and leaned towards him, pressing your lips against his. He stood still for a second, stunned by your boldness, but soon he kissed you back, his lips moving against yours with the same intensity.

When you pulled away, still a few inches away from him, both of you were breathing quickly, his eyes fixed on yours, trying to process what had just happened.

“Goodnight, Aaron.” You said softly with a smile, before opening the car door and getting out.

He stood there, motionless, his eyes still fixed on you as you walked away. The scent of your perfume was still in every corner of the car.

He had just crossed the line.

And he didn’t regret it at all.

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English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

A few seconds passed, almost enough time for him to start regretting having sent it.

“Dinner… I like that, I think it might work.”

He felt a slight tightness in his chest. I need to schedule an exam, this is happening frequently, he thought.

“I have a place in mind, discreet enough that you won’t need disguises.” “That’s very thoughtful, I’ll see you tonight ;)”

Aaron read the message once, twice – as if it could disappear if he blinked. An involuntary smile appeared on his lips.

Damn, he’s screwed.

With a sigh, he put his cell phone in his pocket, adjusting his tie. He needed to focus on the report—or at least pretend to. Finally opening the folder, his eyes scanned the first few lines, forcing himself to focus on his work. He was almost halfway through when the office phone rang.

“Hotchner.” Her tone was low and serious.

“Sir, we have a case in Atlanta, Team on the jet in thirty minutes.” Penelope’s voice broke through on the other end of the line.

He closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. Someone on the other end doesn’t like him very much, he thought.

“I’m on my way.”

-

The team was spread out in the armchairs, each focused on their material. The constant sound of the engines drowned out the silent tension. Aaron reviewed the case information. After reading the same page three times, his eyes fell to his cell phone on the table. He opened the messaging app, clicking on the last conversation, his eyes scanning the keyboard – indecisive. He still doesn’t know why he hesitated to talk to you. Maybe it was the fear of crossing the invisible line – which he was one step away from doing. Maybe it was the awareness that something had changed or the fact that he no longer had control over it.

“I might need to reschedule dinner tonight. I have a case.”

He typed and deleted it. Aaron knew he should text you to explain himself. But a simple text didn’t seem enough. You deserved more than that. Opening his contact list, he searched for a familiar number and discreetly called.

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Do you know what the best source of artistic inspiration is? Relationships.

Your best compositions have always been those that were born from your feelings. Sometimes they were strange – you’re not proud of that. But what could you do? Composing was your love language.

Looking at the lyrics you’ve just finished, an involuntary grimace appeared on your face. “Maybe this is too… intense,” you thought. A knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts, startled, you slammed your notebook shut, your eyes slightly wide as you held your breath – like a child when they make art. Lisa – your personal assistant – enters the room raising an eyebrow at you.

“You look like you’re up to something…” she looks at the notebook on your lap “Who are you stalking right now?”

You grimace, opening your mouth ready to protest “Hey, I’m not stalking anyone” you open the notebook quickly skimming the lyrics “Well, not consciously.”

“Let me guess, is that the FBI guy?”

“No…” you tried to keep your expression neutral, but it was useless. Just hearing his name made your heartbeat falter. “Well, maybe.”

“Holy shit, you just got zinged.”

“What are you talking about?” you frowned as you tried to remember what that meant. “Zing? I think I finally cracked you.”

“Hotel Transylvania, you know, when two people look at each other and the universe just stops and goes like: boom, spark, destiny, soulmate.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I don’t know what’s weirder, you having time to watch cartoons or remembering them. Just stop it.”

Lisa shrugged. “I’m just saying, when you like someone you have two outlets. You write songs that are either really romantic or really perverted. But when you really like them, they get intense and obsessive – psychologically worrying.” She counts on her fingers as she speaks, before pointing to the closed notebook on her lap. “And based on what I’ve seen, plus your scared face when I walked in here, I’d bet my kidney that if this guy heard what you wrote, he’d run. Like: lock this woman up.”

You blink in disbelief. Was she lying? No. Would you admit she was right? Not even under torture.

“Shouldn’t you be reorganizing my schedule based on the cities and partnerships we have to make in a week?”

“I’m multifunctional, I can do both at the same time. I just came here to let you know that Lana is waiting for you at the studio,” she says with a smile, already turning to leave. “Disturbing you is my job. Organizing your schedule and sending emails is just a bonus.”

You threw a pillow in her direction – she dodged it, her reflexes were definitely on point. You stood there for a few minutes after Lisa left, staring at the notebook in your lap, your fingers hesitating before opening it again. The lyrics were there, staring back at you. Exactly as she described, intense and obsessive.

All up in your mind I try to get all up in mine your mind It stops at a crime that I wanna make you mine I try to get all up in your mind I'll go and do the time if it means I'll make you mine Your My eyes, yeah, I really like your smile It stops the time, yeah, I'll stay here for a while You awaken in me that good feeling that I didn't even know I needed.You give me that real good feeling that I need Be careful what you ask for 'cause I just might comply You need a real wild girl You need me, all mine your demons, it's gon' take a little work It's absurd but I'm gon' say those three words Yes, I do, I think it's true I just know I love you (gon' make you mine, minе) Tell mama that I'd do it for you The rider always want you, I'll bе groupie for you It may hurt at first 'cause I'ma make you work Put me first is what you need I know you're gonna love me  Why don't you take the time to really notice me? You need that really wild one (you're mine, you're mine) I knew that you can't live without her He know I'm a fuckin' problem I knew that I could get it out him (you're mine, mine, mine) I really love you (you know I love you) Tell mama do it for you (you're mine, mine, mine) My eyes behold you, this kitty always want you I'm the only one for you (you're mine, mine, mine)

A part of you wanted to lock it in a trunk and throw away the key. And the other… You secretly wanted Aaron to see this side, just to know if he would stay.

“What the hell, this song is going to be recorded,” you thought, getting up to go to the studio.

-

“I want a strong beat and something electronic, futuristic, something that gives a synthetic effect. I want the beat to grow as if it were surrounding the person listening, giving a feeling that is kind of claustrophobic, you know?”

Lana arched an eyebrow, already turning to the mixing table. “Like a glitch? A synthesizer with a metallic tone? Or something more “screaming”, like high-pitched effects?”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second. “No, nothing screamy. Add a bit of the first two, I want the bass beat, maybe even a reverb effect.”

“A synthetic base that sounds like a whisper.” She nods softly. “You know what would be cool? Add some very low, almost imperceptible breathing samples. To give the feeling that someone is there. Very close.”

You nod “I thought about it, I think that instead of whispering I will record some tracks going down a tone, I will harmonize and overlap.” you think for a second “Maybe a synthetic effect, half robot on top.”

“Girl, I love how your mind works. Do you want to record a track yet?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am.” You get your headphones and notebook ready, signaling for Lana to start recording.

After recording and choosing the best tracks, you sit down with Lana to adjust the beat and add some vocals in the background. She added effects, adjusting volumes, testing reverbs and delays with surgical precision. In the background, she added her processed voice, they floated like ghosts. After listening to the finished track, Lana leaned back in her chair, looking at you with an expression that was hard to decipher. “I don’t know if this is music, a spell or a threat. But I liked it. You should explore this more alternative side of you.”

You smile, shrugging your shoulders “Maybe later. This song doesn’t fit with the rest of the album and I still don’t know if I want to release it… Just save the demo.” Lana nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on you for a moment longer – as if reading between the lines of what you didn’t say. She didn’t ask questions – there was no need. She knew.

A soft knock echoed in the room, and you and Lana exchanged a curious look. You stood up and walked to the door, still confused, and when you opened it you were faced with Chris, holding a huge bouquet of flowers with only a card on top with your initials.

“Special delivery” he said with an amused expression, holding the arrangement out to you.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, accepting the flowers. “Hey” you murmured with a half smile, bringing your nose closer to the flowers “Sending bouquets is my thing.”

“Yeah, it seems like it's both of their things now .”

You looked at him over the flowers, frowning “Our thing?”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the side of the door, his smile widening. “Who do you think sent you this?”

Your heart raced, the question hanging in the air, but there was no need for an answer. Maybe you weren’t as crazy as you thought. Muttering a “Thank you,” you turned away, walking back into the living room to the couch in the corner, Lana’s eyes following every step. Setting the flowers down beside you, you pulled out the small card.

“Last-minute cancellations aren’t my style, but a case took me out of town before I could give you a heads up. If you’re willing to give me another chance, I promise to make it up to you. Pick a place, a day, and a time. I’ll be there. P.S. I wish I had the gift of writing notes as witty as yours… but all I can offer is my sincere apologies – and please don’t send the sound truck. - A.H.”

You bit your lower lip, fighting the smile that threatened to escape.

“Please tell me he wrote something absurdly cute.” She said with a fake sigh, clasping her hands close to her face.

“It’s cute,” you agreed, chuckling softly. “In his own way, of course.” You picked up your phone and typed a reply.

“I could consider this an act of relapse, but since the situation called for it, I’ll let it slide. No sound truck for you – for now. Just come back in one piece.”

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The local police station was stuffy, the distinctive smell of paper and stale coffee wafting through the air. Aaron sat at a makeshift desk, his jacket hanging over the back of his chair. In front of him was a stack of files—photos of victims, reports of old cases, a list of suspects.

His phone vibrated on the desk, his eyes darting to the screen reflexively, his name flashing on the screen. Swiping his finger, he opened the message.

A small smile—almost imperceptible—appeared on his lips. The casual way you teased him was disarming—and unexpectedly comforting. He definitely needed to solve this case soon. Maybe it was too soon to name what was emerging between you. But it wasn’t too soon to admit it—even if only to himself. He wanted more. More of your boldness and unexpected responses. More of the way you messed up his carefully constructed routine.

He wanted you to stay.

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English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

You continue to gesture dramatically with your hands. “They have fifty-seven bridges. Fifty-seven! It’s like a civil engineer’s paradise.”

“I really don’t know how you find time to learn this stuff,” he says, shaking his head with that half-smile that makes you want to get on a plane and face an eleven-hour flight.

You shrug. “I find time for a lot of things.”

“I see.”

The last week has been… interesting. You’ve gone on a date with an FBI agent, poured your insecurities out to him, and kissed him.

And now you’re on a FaceTime call with him. Everything is normal. Clearly a sequence that would exist in some kind of manual in the magazines you read as a teenager.

You hadn’t exactly named your relationship. But after the conversation at the restaurant, it was clear that you needed to take it slow—test the waters first. And if everything went wrong, you could still have a friend. A good friend, by the way. Someone who understood you. Someone you could count on, knowing that he wouldn't charge more than you could offer. But looking at him now…

His shirt was slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the defined arms that were usually hidden under the fabric. His tie was loose and almost careless.

Being honest? You were tempted to break the deal and ask him to marry you.

He notices your sudden silence, putting down his pen completely, paying full attention to you now. “What is it?”

You bite your lip, trying to contain a smile that threatens to escape. “Nothing.”

“You're lying.”

“Damn profiler.” You roll your eyes, feigning impatience. “I was just looking at the decor in your office. Did you actually read all those books?”

He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest with an amused smile on his lips. “No, I haven’t read them all. Now are you going to tell me what you’re really thinking or do you need to be formally interrogated?”

Your gaze immediately drops to his arms – you wonder if he’s doing this on purpose just to test your sanity.

You blink your eyes in mock innocence. “It depends.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Of what?”

“Can you turn off the cameras in the interrogation room? If so, what material is the table made of? Is it sturdy? Can you guarantee that no one will peek through the mirror?”

The surprise quickly passes over his face, replaced by a crooked, curious smile. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

“Insinuating? Me?” You place a hand on your chest. “Please, Hotchner. This is field research. I’m developing a paper.”

His laughter bursts out from the other side – without any attempt at restraint. He tilts his head back for a second, his eyes closing briefly – trying to assimilate what you just said.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice still thick with laughter. “A paper, yes? Where will it be published?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Unfortunately, it’s confidential. But I can send you a copy.”

“Please include graphs, I want to understand the methodology.” He quickly looked away to the corner of the screen, checking the time. His brow furrowed then. “Didn’t you say you needed to rest so you could write some tomorrow?”

“Yes,” you agree, reaching for your notebook. “I’m doing that right now.”

He narrows his eyes, trying to decipher if you were serious or just joking.

“Are you going to try writing now?”

“Yes,” you repeat with a smile. “You’re a good inspiration. In fact, so good that I could freestyle it right now.”

He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, a skeptical – and amused – glint in his eyes. “Freestyle? I need to see that.”

You rest your notebook on your knee, already opening your phone to choose one of the bases Lana sent you. “Okay. But you can’t laugh.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He raises his hands like an oath.

“Okay, tell me a word, anything.”

He looks around the office, as if it were part of a criminal observation exercise. Your eyes wander over the table, papers scattered around, until they stop at a small snow globe on the shelf next to it. “Christmas.”

“May baby Jesus forgive me.” You mumble before pressing play on the audio.

“Think I only want you under my mistletoe I might change your contact to Has a Huge North Pole You said you like my stockings better on the floor Boy, I've been a bad girl, I guess I'm getting coal, oh”

He frowns, before his eyes widen a little. A short laugh escapes, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “That escalated fast.”

“Let me come warm you up You been out in the snow Baby, my tongue goes numb Sounds like: Ho-ho-ho”

He leans forward, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Oh my God…” he mutters.

“I don't want Santa's elves Underneath this ol' tree Here's a lil carol I wrote It's about you and me (me) You're my wish list Lookin' at you got me thinkin' Christmas Snowflakes in my stomach when we're kissin' And when you're comin' down the chimney Oh, it feels so good”

A disbelieving laugh escapes his lips. "Okay, you're insane," he says, chuckling softly. "I can't have you, Morgan, and Garcia in the same room, the world wouldn't take it."

“I need that Charles Dickens You'll be Santa Claus and I'll be Mrs I'll take you for a ride, I'll be your Vixen I don't even know, I'm talkin' Christmas”

He arched an eyebrow “Are we just talking about Christmas? Really?”

“I'm talkin', I'm talkin' (ah) I'm talkin' deckin' all the halls I'm talkin' spikin' eggnog I'm talkin' opposite of small I'm talkin' big snowballs” You got a new toy for me I'm out here trimmin' the tree I caught that holiday glee My true love gave it to me I'm talkin' (talkin'), I'm talkin', I'm talkin' (talkin') I'm talkin', I'm talkin', I'm talkin' (na-na-na, blah, blah, blah, blah) Ah, ah, ah, ah (ah) I'm talkin' chestnuts (talkin') I'm talkin', I'm talkin' Look at all those presents, that's a big sack Boy, that package is too big to gift wrap Woke up this morning, thought I'd write a Christsmash How quickly can you build a snowman? Think fast”

When you finish singing, still half laughing, he blinks slowly – half dazed, trying to process what he just heard.

“Okay.” He keeps his eyes fixed on you, somewhere between confused, fascinated… and maybe a little scared. “So many things to point out.”

He holds up a finger, listing: “First, the fact that you managed to improvise an entire Christmas-themed song in seconds. Amazing.” He holds up another finger. “Second, your ability to create double meanings so quickly… with consistency. Scary.”

He pauses slightly, as if searching for the exact words. “That was one of the most bizarre and genius things I’ve ever seen or heard in my entire life.”

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English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)