It was supposed to be casual. Ice cream. Sunlight. A quiet afternoon in the park. You were wearing something soft, biting into your cone like it was nothing.

But Armin?

He’s losing it. Quietly. Desperately.

He doesn’t know what’s worse—the way your tongue curls around the melting scoop or the fact that you’re totally unaware of the effect it’s having on him.

He knows he shouldn’t be watching this closely.

But you make the simplest things look like a slow-motion porno.

Now he can’t sit still. He’s flushed, breathing shallow, and fighting an erection he absolutely did not plan for.