Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Scrub. Rinse. Dry. Repeat.

That’s my morning bathroom routine. I let a mix of sensations roll across my face, shiny to matte, tacky to dry. It’s a ritual by now. My teenage acne overstayed its welcome into my early twenties, but I finally won that fight.

Twenty-four looks young in my hometown, though it probably wouldn’t hurt to understand insurance. I don’t. What I do have, though, is a killer ability to write a resume.

This morning feels different. Better. Last weekend I got the email, my application for Physical Wellness Instructor was accepted. Today’s the first day.

It’s my first real kinesiology-related position since graduating with my B.A., which means it’ll probably shape everything that comes after. No pressure.

I pat my face dry with a towel, swipe on some chapstick, and rub in a layer of SPF thirty. Done. I tap the white doorframe on my way out of the bathroom, a little good-luck charm.

Shoes on: black leather loafers. Bag on: canvas tote with a notebook, water bottle, lunch, keys, wallet. I leave my apartment trying to look confident even though nerves are buzzing in my chest like a hive.

By the time I reach the skyscraper’s glass doors, I’ve taken my headphones out. A smooth voice comes over the PA just as the doors hiss open: “Welcome to Obē! We hope you have a lovely day!”

The sign outside said the building houses multiple businesses, but Obē owns the whole thing.

I glance up and see the “face” of Obē on a mounted TV above the desk. Aiki, just a pulsing circle of rainbow dots that thrum to her voice. I’d seen her online while researching the company.

My eyes drop to the two secretaries at the counter. Both are in black slacks, emerald sweater-vests with the Obē logo embroidered in gold. The little swirls and forget-me-not flowers are almost too tiny to make out.

“Hello, welcome to Obē, do you know who you’re here to see?” one asks. Her badge says Lyla.

“Yep! Uh, yes. Oliver Scott Sykes, I believe?” I rattle the name off fully, just in case there are twenty other Oliver Sykes' in this building.

She checks the book, smiling just with her lips. “Ah, you’re early! First day? That’s alright, he should be ready for you in about 10 minutes if you don’t mind waiting?”

She spoke fast, barely leaving me space to answer. I smiled anyway. “Yes, of course, thanks so much!”

I head to the nearest cluster of seating and claim a navy spinning lounge chair. Once I sit, I finally let myself look around properly: white marble tile, flatscreen mounted to the wall, and a tall white pedestal with a gold vase on top.

I frown. The vase looks…off. Too opulent for a lobby like this. Real gold? I glance around to make sure no one’s watching before leaning closer, brushing the back of my finger against it.

A flake comes off instantly. I pull back fast, pretending nothing happened, and let out a quiet scoff.

Time slips. Lyla calls me back, and I stand, nerves flickering again. First impressions matter, after all.

“He’s coming down now, you can wait right here,” she says with that same faux-but-professional smile.

I rock on my feet, relieved I skipped heels. Then, there he is.

He rounds the corner, and my smile switches on automatically, even as my brain chants first impressions, first impressions.

And he sure makes one.

Maroon suit, black dress shirt, black leather shoes. Silver cuff links engraved with a strange star-like symbol. He reaches out, and I take his hand.

“Oliver. You can call me Oli, though.”

The casual offer makes me feel weirdly special, even though I’m sure it’s a line he uses with every new hire.

I buzz with nerves as I reply, clasping my hands against my chest to keep them steady.

“It’s a pleasure, Oli, really. I’m ecstatic to be starting in this role and working alongside you!”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I overthink every bit of it. He just smiles and nods neutrally.

Hard to read. That’s going to make things…interesting.

He parts his lips to speak, and I take a breath to relax myself

“Well… let's head up, yeah?” 

“Yeah– I mean yes! Absolutely…” 

I agreed, itching to escape the awkwardness of the first hello.

Before me, he turned to his side and swooped his arm to the direction of where we’d be heading, letting me lead us to the elevators, where he joined after me and pressed the metal button for the top floor– ‘20’.

The elevator lifted us quickly to the 20th floor. With a ding of the doors opening, he led us out and I was greeted with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cityscape and modern but comfy office furnishings. Much like the lobby, almost exact, in fact.

“This one’s close to the lifts. Some people find the noise distracting. Does noise bother you?” 

He faced me and looked between myself and the cubicle we were standing before, one of the closest to the elevators. A bit underwhelming, but not unexpected to me. 

“Oh, not at all! I actually *like* a little background activity. Makes me feel more… productive.”

I nodded and smiled appreciatively, I couldn’t afford to admit a personal preference on my first day. 

After a pause, he blinked at me, hazel eyes empty 

“...Good. I like people who can tune out distractions.”

His gaze lingered on me like he was weighing me. Measuring what I’d give up to look capable.

He turned then, and we finally continued on, I kept close at his heel to avoid missing anything. 

“The coffee’s here. You take coffee?”

Plainly, he picked up the carafe, as if to show me something I’ve never seen before, and placed it back down in the same boring manner. This wasn't exactly my idea of a morale-boosting tour on my first day, but it would have to suffice. I could understand, he was a busy man. 

As if my thoughts manifested it, another employee scurried up to us, notebook and pen clutched to her chest as she spoke nervously to Oli, I forced a neutral stare, unsure of what to do with myself. 

“Sir, there's a program happening in room 320 that the host hasn't shown up for, the members are wondering if it will be cancelled or hosted by Aiki?” 

I blinked in confusion as I learned my first thing about Obē, which was apparently that Aiki could host events? I had no clue how, and I decided it wasn't the time to ask.

“Let's have Aiki host it”

He tilted his head and smiled with a softness in his eyes, it was encouraging to see he was a personable boss. 

She nodded and disappeared just as quickly.

He smiled at me, sighing as if to relieve himself of tension.

“Where were we? Ah yes, I’ll show you the pool” 

“Pool?” 

I questioned if I heard him right. 

“Yes, the pool. Wellness is central here. I trust you've read about that?” 

He confirmed. His tone was presumptuous of me, as if he wasn’t afraid to discuss his awareness of the rapid growth of Obē since its inception, I wasn't sure whether to take that as confidence or cockiness.

We travel together down a stretch of hallway, littered with office doors on either side, before the floor changes from a grey carpeting to a white concrete large-scale tiling. 

Rounding another corner, more floor-to ceiling glass unveiled an olympic size swimming pool. I could see right through the poolroom to the cityscape, it was all glass, like a fishtank. 

Wow, he really wasn't kidding. 

I huffed out of my nose as a stifled laugh bubbled up in my chest.

“We encourage all team members to use the amenities, so… don't be shy”

He stood in my personal bubble as he encouraged me to get comfortable, something I wasn’t used to in a workplace, but a welcome change indeed

“O-oh, yes, thank you!” my cheeks dimpled as I smiled up at him. 

His proximity was intimidating, and admittedly flustering. 

He placed a hand on my shoulder for a brief pat like a comforting father-figure might.

“That concludes the tour for now. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.” He slid his hand down to the side of my upper arm and gave it a gentle pat once more before stepping right past me.

I opened my mouth to speak – and he was gone. 

Yet I couldn’t stop replaying that small, deliberate touch. 

Did it mean something?

Chapter Text

Having returned to my new cubicle post-tour, I found myself between the three plastic grey walls — if you can even call them that. 

To be frank, they were depressing to stare at, and I glanced around to check if any of the other employees had put up any decorations in their own cubicles, to my delight, they had!

I felt encouraged and took a mental note to bring some of my own photos and treasures in the coming days, to brighten my hours in my new corporate life. 

It wasn’t long before my moment of solitude was over. Another employee approached my little square, and I spun in my seat to face her before she reached me. I smiled lightheartedly and gave a short wave, being as warm as I could be on such an odd day so far. 

“Hey! What’s your name?” 

She introduced herself, as did I, before she pointed at my turned-off computer screen 

“Have you set up your employee email yet?”

She inquired 

“O-oh uh… no, not yet” 

I answered, embarrassed of looking like I was slacking off

“What about our online portal, accessed that yet?” 

She continued 

“No…” 

I murmured, further embarrassed 

She tsk’ed, not quite judgemental, but certainly not approving of me. 

“That’s alright, let’s get you set up, here’s a step-by-step for both the email and the portal, let me know if you need anything else?” 

She reached into the back pocket of her dress pants before handing me a folded up paper

Just as her sentence faded, I had it unfolded and was briefing myself over the steps while she spoke, nodding to let her know I was listening intently.

I shot my head back up happily, 

“Thanks so much! That’s super helpful, I’ll be sure to stay in touch!” 

I smiled warmly, and she nodded with a straight mouth before continuing on past my cubicle. 

I tried not to let her see me follow her path with my eyes. I was too curious to know where she worked from. Hopefully I've just made a new work friend? 

I watched discretely from over the top of my cubicle as she reached her own. She was only a row across from me, super close! 

Well.. I suppose everyone’s really close when you all work in cubicles. 

 I focused back in on my screen, pulling up what I could see all other employees had on their screen; our employee task portal, I began to work away at my first tasks of the week, smaller things such as getting through my workplace orientation courses online, onboarding tasks, and the likes. 

As I typed away at my keyboard to complete some modules for the onboarding tasks, my brain zoned in on the sounds of the keyboard, the clicking and clacking, repetitive, rhythmic. It scratched an itch in my head, but it felt like that itch was starting to bleed. The sound of the keys became increasingly irritating as time went on. I shook my head slightly, trying to refocus on the modules themselves, rather than the repetitive noise.

No more than 30 minutes into my tasks, I had to take a break to refresh my mind a bit, as I rolled a couple more inches away from my desk, I looked around to notice everyone else still working hard at their cubicles, still sat closely tucked into their desks, eyes locked on their own screens. 

I felt my stomach hollow out, making me feel a bit nauseous then. The flutter was mild, but enough to notice.

I felt anxious about my own performance. I’ve always been one to want to please, impress, even. And while I've just started, I can’t help but be nervous that I’m still not doing enough, or not doing it right anyway.

I arose from my seat, remembering that I needed the password for the next module, so I approached my potential new workplace friend at her cubicle. 

“Hey, so sorry to bother you again, I was just wondering if you have the password for module 2?”

She nodded, reaching for a sticky note and writing it down for me, handing it to me gracefully with a smile.

“Thank you so much!” I smiled back at her

“Oh yeah no worries! Hey, some other teammates and I were wondering if you might wanna join us for the pool after work?” 

“The pool? Oh…” 

I hesitated, nervous, my stomach did a small flip

“Yeah, I can come” I gave a polite and appreciative nod to her

“Sounds good! We’ll see you there at…” She paused to lean to the side of me in her seat, glancing at the wall clock behind me 

“5 O’Clock?” 

I nodded in agreement, and then waved a small goodbye before returning back to my own grey square once again.

Time passed me by as I continued my newbie tasks and, while it went on without any further hitches, a lingering fluttering in my stomach had been persisting, a mix of anxiety and a sense of being watched. 

I dismissed the thought, and before I knew it, it was almost lunch.

Finally relieving myself of my stiff position in the office chair, I rose to my feet, gently stretching my shoulders out with a roll of them, I was sore in other places too, but I didn’t have an abundance of time for lunch, so I had to neglect them for now.

I was just about to abandon my post to head for the elevators when I turned away from my cubicle to see him again… Oli. 

He was leaned over the shoulder of a fellow co-worker, palm on the edge of their desk, the other resting on the back of their chair, probably to survey or help them with something. What had me more concerned, however, was that his gaze was on me instead, piercing and authoritative. I froze for a moment, unsure if he had actually noticed me or if my mind was filling in the details.

I felt like my eyes widened, but his expression didn’t change, so I guessed it wasn’t noticeable? Good. 

I gave a courteous smile and a wave with my free hand, the other clutching my fabric lunch bag, adorned with a lime-green gingham pattern. 

His eyes lazily fell back to the workers screen without any acknowledgment of my gesture, which stung a bit. 

Though I don’t know why I cared. 

I blinked a couple times to myself as I chewed on that thought, bringing myself to the elevator at the same time. 

A click and then soon enough, a ding. 

My thoughts lingered further on the day so far, it was alright for a first day, it was uneventful for the most part, but also not? Reflecting on the lack of acknowledgment to my wave just then, I wondered to myself why he bothered to give me a personal tour if he was so busy, so caught up with other things, more important things than me. 

Or maybe just how long he had been looking at me for before I had noticed? I shook my head, deciding not to overthink. It was lunch soon, and I needed a break.

Another ding of the elevator bell.

I exited the elevator, only to be met with a long and wide hallway, akin to one that would be found in a high-school or college.

I gingerly stepped out, utterly alone now. The doors on the left and right of the hall had silver placards above them. There was a variety of rooms, such as ‘Massage Therapy’, ‘ECT Clinic’, and a ‘Breakthrough Room’ which I misread as a breakout room at first. A quick glance around confirmed the layout, though I made a mental note not to rely entirely on memory for navigation yet.

I passed by each room to reach the cafeteria and break-room at the very end of the hall, opening double-doors to reveal the spacious and elegant dining hall and lounge. 

I found a seat at a small round table and unpacked my lunch, glancing around me to see there was not many others in the space, maybe 10 at most? Not significant for a company this large. As I surveyed my peers, I only then noticed the self-serve lunch bar. 

I sighed to myself, my lips forming a line as I stared into space in a deadpan manner.

Of course there was a buffet.

I shifted my focus to the wall-mounted TV in the space, a few tables away, to watch whatever is on. I half-focused on it, the other part of my brain already feeling like mush. About a couple minutes in, I irked at how the ads were still going. Until I realized that they were ads for Obē, both targeted at members and at employees, a mix of promotions for the public-facing services, and the internal resources, such as the rooms I had just passed by. 

The screen switched to another promotional video, a very cinematic shot of an employee amenity, the pool. Water so blue and cold-looking it almost seemed like it could swallow you whole.

I poked at the sandwich in front of me, trying to will down the hollow feeling in my stomach. The bread tasted fine, the lettuce was crisp enough, but it didn’t sit right. Like eating before a test, it felt like it was more for practicality than enjoying it.

A few coworkers talked quietly near the buffet. None of them looked at me, but I still adjusted in my seat, sitting straighter than I needed to. It was the same posture I’d caught myself slipping into during the tour, when Oli’s gaze had been steady on me. Like a reflex I hadn’t chosen.

I told myself it wasn’t bad. Not really. It wasn’t like he’d said anything cruel, or done anything inappropriate. In fact, he’d been… considerate, in his own distant way. Professional but attentive. And the way he’d said ‘Good. I like people who can tune out distractions’—I wanted that approval again. I hated that I wanted it, but I did.

I took a sip from my water bottle and immediately thought about how it might look: too rushed? too casual? too self-conscious? The thought made me laugh under my breath. Ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he was standing over me right now, judging how I ate lunch.

Still, my hand lingered on the side of my arm where he’d patted me earlier, almost without me realizing it. I pressed my finger there, trying to recall the exact spot, like replaying a scene I hadn’t decided whether to keep or delete.

The TV above the buffet flicked to another Obē promo. Rows of mats lined a yoga studio, all arranged with clean symmetry, and for a moment I thought about how easily Oli would belong in that frame; measured, controlled, impossible not to notice. My chest tightened, though I couldn’t have said whether it was nerves, admiration, or both tangled together.

I shifted my attention back to my food, trying to eat normally. But even in the quiet cafeteria, I caught myself imagining how he’d see me here. Whether I looked composed enough. Whether I was doing well.

After lunch, the afternoon moved in fits and starts. I ticked off onboarding modules, skimmed policy documents, clicked through training slides that blurred together. Every so often, I caught myself rereading the same line because I’d drifted into replaying the day—Oli’s tone, Oli’s eyes, Oli’s touch.

By four-thirty, the hive of keyboards had quieted into a steady rhythm, and the air in the office felt heavier. People were starting to think about the end of the day. I tried to look absorbed, but when the clock finally crept past five, the same coworker from earlier appeared at the side of my cubicle.

“Ready?” she asked, smiling with the kind of ease I couldn’t fake.

I nodded quickly, gathering my bag even though I didn’t need it, and followed her out. A few others joined along the way, our footsteps syncing as we walked down the long white corridor.

The pool doors opened onto a wash of light. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across two walls, the city skyline painted in perfect duplicate across the water’s surface. The whole space glowed blue and silver, and the faint echoes of voices bounced off glass and tile.

I slowed down, my eyes drawn to the ripples scattering the reflection. The city bent, broke, reformed itself in waves, and for a second I felt a tug in my chest I didn’t want to name.

“Not bad, right?” one of them said, already pulling their shirt over their head. Another laughed, tossing a towel onto a chair before diving cleanly into the pool.

I laughed too, though softer, and slid into a lounge chair at the edge. I slipped off my loafers, let my toes rest against the cold tile, and tried to look casual about not joining in.

“You’re not swimming?” someone asked, eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

I shook my head, smiling. “Didn’t bring anything to change into.”

They teased lightly—“First day excuse, huh?”—but no one pressed too hard. Still, the attention made me fidget with the strap of my tote bag until they lost interest.

The water churned with movement now, voices overlapping, echoing strangely. I watched the surface settle and break, settle and break again. With each wave, the skyline warped like it was being bent into the right shape.

And even though Oli wasn’t here, I thought about how quickly the mood would change if he walked in. How everyone would shift just slightly—posture straighter, tone different, eyes alert. I realized I’d already done the same thing all day, without being told.

I stayed long enough to see how the others moved in this space, how the pool seemed less like a perk and more like a ritual. They fit here easily, like they already knew the steps. I sat just outside it, smiling at the right moments, but not touching the water.

When I finally left, I carried a quiet unease with me. Not fear, exactly. More like standing at the edge of something I hadn’t chosen.

I stayed just long enough to see, and not touch. 

Chapter Text

That night was hardly restful for me. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but my dreams were just as littered with thoughts of him as my day had been. 

His eyes; unyielding.

His tone; cutting.

His hair; disheveled and deliberate.

His control; consuming.

His scent; weighty.

His gaze; pinning me still.

I had no clue what was happening to me. I’d never felt this way about anyone before. Not even a hardcore teenage crush had felt like this.

I felt enraptured with him. I wanted him to approve of my every action, every thought. 

I wanted to be good. 

For him.

My dream reflected that, anyway. In which I was lost in some alternate fantasy universe where I had everything I didn’t know I needed; him stood over me, and I at his feet.

It was only my second day on the job, but by mid-morning, the ache in my body from yesterday’s work was back, sharper than I remembered. I shifted in my seat, trying to mask the wince as I bent over a spreadsheet. It was humiliating, everyone around me was tucked neatly into their cubicles, flawless in their posture, absorbed in their work without a single wasted motion. I could hear the steady rhythm of keys all around me, disciplined and unbroken, and my own pause stood out like a cough in a chapel.

I typed a number wrong and had to backspace. My chest tightened. They don’t make mistakes like that.

“Long night?” One co-worker joked lightly as they passed behind me, coffee in hand. They didn’t mean anything by it, but the words cut deep, a clean blade of shame. My throat went dry.

I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Something like that.”

They laughed, already gone, but the damage was done. I stared down at the screen, at my own weak hands. Work was supposed to be the one place I could control myself, where I could prove I belonged among them. Yet I was bleeding into it now, distracted and sloppy. My body had betrayed me, and worse, I’d let it show.

I hated myself for it.

The thought crept in before I could push it away: What if they tell him?

I could practically see the hushed voices carrying across the cubicles. “They seemed distracted. Couldn’t even keep the numbers straight. Maybe they’re not ready for this place.” My skin prickled at the idea of my stumble being passed along like a morsel. I tried to bury myself deeper in the work, but the itch of paranoia only spread. By the time lunch rolled around, I felt raw, exposed.

And then… 

“Come with me,” Oli’s voice cut through the hum of the office, calm, unhurried. He was standing just past my cubicle wall, dark eyes fixed on me as if he’d been waiting for the moment I looked up.

My heart slammed into my ribs. I swallowed, nodded quickly, and stood.

The walk felt endless. Every step behind him rang out too loud, too stiff. I wanted to glance at the others, to see if they were watching, if they were relieved it wasn’t them, but I kept my eyes low on the back of his legs with each step. 

He led me to a breakout room, not his office. That alone twisted something in my chest. This wasn’t about paperwork. This wasn’t official. It was personal.

He opened the door, held it just long enough for me to step through first, and I could feel his stature looming over my shoulder as I passed him by. The space was small: four chairs around a circular table, a whiteboard, the faint smell of dry-erase marker. Harmless, ordinary. Yet, my nerves didn’t care.

“Sit.”

I moved too fast, lowering myself into the chair nearest me, my back rigid. He took the one across, unhurried, leaning back with a measured ease that only made me feel smaller.

“You’ve been slacking today.”

The words hit like a stone in water. No anger, no raised voice. He let the silence after stretch until I squirmed.

“I—” My throat caught, and I cleared it. “I’m sorry, it won’t—”

He lifted a hand, silencing me with a calm that was somehow worse than shouting. “No apology needed, I need precision.” He sighed, disappointed. “Everyone here manages it. You don’t want to be the exception.”

Heat flooded my face, shame burning hot in my chest. He wasn’t cruel, but there was a deliberate weight in his tone, a pressure that left no room for excuses.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured before I could stop myself.

His lips twitched, the faintest curve upward. “Good. You learn quickly. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Something in me folded at that, not relief exactly, but a strange weight low in my body, unwelcome but undeniable. His reprimand had landed like a punishment and a gift all at once, humiliating and electric.

When he finally stood, I followed so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor. He said nothing about the sound, only held the door again, his eyes shifting over me once, sharp and unreadable, before letting me out.

I walked back to my cubicle with my chest tight, my hands still fumbling with themselves. But beneath the humiliation was something else, a fact hard to admit to myself.

I didn’t hate it.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of numbers and spreadsheets, but my body was keyed to a higher frequency. Every click of a keyboard, every shuffle of paper, reverberated inside me. My stomach churned at imagined whispers, eyes darting to the others who moved with precise, effortless composure. I wanted to dissolve into the floor, yet I couldn’t stop staring at the space where Oli had been moments ago.

Midday arrived, and with it, the inevitable. My phone pinged with a reminder: first meeting. Heart thudding, I looked up, and there he was, standing just outside the conference room, his eyes expectant as he surveyed the rows of workers. My pulse spiked.

I walked into the meeting room last, my stomach knotting as fifteen pairs of eyes turned toward me. The table was oval, black lacquered, chairs tucked in neatly. I slotted in near the end, feeling like a peg in a square. Oli took the head of the table, calm and commanding, leaning back just enough to appear casual while radiating control.

“Morning, everyone,” he began, voice even, smooth. “Let’s get started.”

A meticulous-looking woman with a sleek ponytail cleared her throat. “Attendance is full, and last week’s minutes have been circulated. Any corrections?”

“None,” Oli said, scanning the room, his gaze landing briefly on me. I shivered under it, my hands gripping my notebook tighter than necessary.

He nodded. “Good. Let’s move on to updates. Marketing?”

Confident and precise, a peer began a rundown of campaigns. Her voice was measured, professional. I tried to follow, but my eyes kept darting to Oli. His chin rested lightly on his hand, thumb brushing his jaw, eyes sharp and assessing.

When she finished, Oli’s tone shifted ever so slightly, still calm. “Solid work. Numbers are improving…” He let the words hang, and I felt the weight of the silence pressing on me. A couple of coworkers glanced at each other, nodding almost imperceptibly, like they were silently acknowledging his approval of their efficiency.

Next, a coworker from finance spoke. “Budget projections for Q3 are steady. However, if we adjust the ad spend per campaign, we could increase engagement by at least fifteen percent.”

Oli nodded, a small tilt of the head. “Make sure your projections are grounded. I don’t want guesses or assumptions. Data only.”

I jotted notes frantically, unsure if I even needed to, conscious of every movement, every glance. My throat went dry. A few coworkers shifted slightly in their seats, the faintest hum of agreement, signaling they were mentally syncing with Oli’s expectations.

“And the client follow-ups?” Oli asked, eyes sweeping the group like a predator scanning a room.

“I’ve scheduled all meetings for the week,” another coworker said, crisp. “Emails are drafted and ready for approval.”

“Good,” Oli said. His gaze fell on me for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. My chest felt tight. My pencil dropped once, and I scrambled to pick it up, embarrassed by the noise.

“Are you following along?” Oli asked quietly, almost conversationally, but I could feel the edge in it. 

Shit.

I nodded quickly, cheeks burning. A few coworkers’ eyes shifted to me, subtle smiles of encouragement that made me feel simultaneously welcomed and painfully exposed.

He let it pass, moving to the next topic. “Operational efficiency. Suggestions?”

Hands raised around the table. Voices overlapped in their eagerness. I felt invisible, yet somehow hyper-visible under his scrutiny. My pulse thudded in time with the words I was supposed to contribute.

Finally, my turn came. I cleared my throat. “I’ve been reviewing the schedule for the upcoming fitness and wellness classes, and I think a slight adjustment to the rotation could give participants more consistent access to the instructors. For example, if yoga and dance classes are staggered with cardio sessions, the floor won’t get congested, and it’ll allow me to observe each class setup and manage the equipment efficiently.” My voice trembled slightly, but I pushed through. I exhaled silently, only then realizing how I’d forgotten to breathe for my entire contribution. 

Oli hummed softly, eyes narrowing fractionally, scanning me as if weighing my words against some invisible scale. “Thoughtful. I like that you’re thinking ahead.” He glanced around the room. “Let’s all note this approach. Precision, forward-thinking. That’s the standard.”

The rest of the meeting unfolded in similar fashion; updates, projections, minor disagreements quickly smoothed over by Oli’s calm interventions. Every time my name was mentioned, I felt the prickling anxiety of being observed, judged. The coworkers around me offered little nods, soft murmurs of agreement, or brief glances at each other that acknowledged my input without drawing attention, all signaling their practiced synchronization with Oli’s expectations.

By the time the meeting wrapped, I was trembling slightly, my notebook full of scribbles that hardly resembled coherent sentences. As everyone filed out, Oli’s gaze lingered.

“Stay a moment,” he said, just me. My stomach dropped.

He watched silently as the others left, then leaned slightly toward me. “You’ve got potential,” he murmured, voice soft but heavy. “But… you should be taking better notes, you understand?”

“Yes…” I whispered, nearly unable to breathe.

“Good,” he said, letting the moment hang before straightening. “Now, we’ll need you for afternoon prep. And… don’t rush.”

I left the room, hands clammy, heart still hammering. The meeting had been a trial by fire, a quiet exhibition of his control, and I had survived, barely. Yet I knew tomorrow, the tension would only rise.

The hum of the office felt heavier after the meeting, like the air itself had thickened around me. I barely registered the chatter of coworkers returning to their desks; my mind lingered on Oli’s presence, the faint curve of his mouth when he’d dismissed my apology, the calm, deliberate way he’d held the room.

At mid-afternoon, I had to prepare the fitness space for the upcoming week: laying out yoga mats, arranging resistance bands, testing the music systems. The work should have been straightforward, even a bit mindless, but I couldn’t shake the awareness of how deliberate I felt every motion needed to be.

“Could you double-check the Monday schedule?” one of the coordinators asked, looking up from her tablet. I was glad to have company before my first teaching opportunity.

“Sure,” I murmured, tapping through the interface. My fingers hesitated on a couple of the touch-screen keys, but I navigated the system without any hitches. She didn’t comment, already absorbed in her own tasks. I felt a flicker of relief; tiny, but enough to notice.

I imagined her observing me, noting the little pauses, but the thought didn’t twist into panic. It was just… awareness. A reminder that everyone here moved with purpose. I wanted that too.

The door to the fitness room creaked, and I glanced up automatically, a part of me expected him. It wasn’t him, just a facilities worker carrying a stack of towels in. My pulse stuttered anyway. I straightened the mats, adjusted a few straps, and caught myself tilting my head over my shoulder to peer behind my back, almost looking for him even though I knew he wasn’t there.

He appeared quietly, like he’d been leaning against the doorway the whole time. I stiffened, knelt over the edge of a yoga mat as I peeked back at him to meet his gaze.

“You’re setting this up well,” he said, voice low as his eyes grazed over each mat on the hardwood flooring. Not praise, exactly, more acknowledgment. 

“You’ve got the mats aligned… mostly,” he said, tone casual, almost lazy, but his gaze pinned me anyway. “Don’t rush... You’ll notice the gaps if you actually look.”

“Okay…” I murmured, turning my head forward again to adjust the mat more carefully than needed. 

He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the shift in the air, his presence heavy. He squatted beside me, one hand settled briefly on my lower back as he nudged the mat into place. The touch was light, but it left a spark where it lingered.

“Better,” he said softly, leaning slightly to survey my work. His eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary, then flicked around the room with the same quiet scrutiny. “Keep at it.”

I swallowed. My chest throbbed faintly, but I nodded. “Yep….” I murmured, nervous.

He straightened, stepping back just enough to let the room breathe again, though the lingering weight of him was everywhere. “Good. Don’t forget what this feels like. You’ll want it when the class starts.”

I nodded, a shiver of focus threading through my chest. It wasn’t fear exactly, just the weight of being seen, of being measured against his expectations. My pulse was steady, though quickened, the awareness of him and the implication in his words settling deep in my chest. 

“Yes, sir,” I said again, and this time the words felt like something I meant; a quiet pledge, an acknowledgment that I wanted to meet the standard he set, even if it made me hyper-aware of every shift in some inconsequential mats, every sound in the room, every movement of my own body.

When he left, the faint scent of leather and amber lingered, and I found myself pausing, just for a moment, before resuming my tasks. My hands were steadier now, my chest lighter, but the awareness remained as it has been for the past two days.

Chapter Text

The afternoon dragged, and I had led my classes with ease, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t help but keep glancing toward his office, imagining him behind the glass, assessing me silently. 

Then my phone pinged. An email alert, brief and direct: “See me in my office before leaving today.” My chest tightened. There was no further instruction, no reason given, but I knew he didn’t need to explain. The way he had observed me all day; the tiny nods, the lingering glances during the meeting, the faint touch in the fitness room, it already had me out of my element. I obeyed almost before thinking, desperate to salvage any last hope for myself in this role.

I collected my notebook, wiped my hands on my bottoms, and hesitated only a moment outside his office door. The hallway felt quieter somehow, like the air itself had thinned, leaving only the weight of expectation behind the closed door. My pulse hammered in my ears as I knocked lightly.

“Come in,” he said, measured as ever. No other sound, no greeting, just the simple authority of his voice.

Inside, the office was precisely arranged: bookshelves aligned, a desk immaculate, the scent of his cologne dancing over my nose faintly. But the space didn’t feel professional; it felt personal. The absence of any coworkers made every inch of the room feel like it existed solely for him, and for me, in that moment.

I stepped in, notebook clutched in both hands. I moved careful and deliberate, an attempt at not disturbing his space, but the tremor in my fingers overruled that. He didn’t rush me, didn’t give instructions; his presence alone dictated the rhythm. I sat where I felt expected to sit, as if he had marked the spot, my body already adjusting to the invisible structure he imposed.

It was a subtle shift. Out in the open office, I had been anxious, self-conscious, aware of coworkers’ judgments. Here, alone with him, those anxieties crystallized into something more intimate, more personal: an acute awareness of his gaze, a desire to anticipate, to please, to be measured and found adequate. By the time he spoke, the words of earlier fell into place naturally. I was already poised to respond.

As he stood from his chair and rounded behind me, I noticed how quiet his office was, almost painfully so. The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the space, but I couldn’t focus. My chest tightened the instant the door clicked behind me. He was just a step away. I froze, aware of the taut space between us, the weight of him pressing without moving aggressively, without raising his voice.

Why am I so aware of every inch of him? My thoughts raced, my heart pounding. He’s only standing there, nothing warrants my muscles going tight or my breath falling shallow.

His eyes didn’t blink, didn’t shift. They pinned me, steady and unrelenting, but his lids relaxed over his gaze, looking at me like I’m a meal. “You know… I notice everything you do.”

Notice everything? I swallowed, heat rushing to my face. Why does that feel like that?

He stepped closer, and the air between us thickened. I felt trapped by the calm aura he carried, like he was a storm contained. One hand brushed my wrist purposefully, it left a trail of heat that crawled up my arm.

Oh god, my arm is trembling. I can’t even stop it. My thoughts scattered, trying to find a rational anchor. He’s not hurting me, he hasn’t said anything alarming. Why do I feel like I’m about to crumble?

He paused, letting the silence stretch. And then, almost conversationally: “I don’t need you to admit it. I can see it.” He rested a hand on the crux of my shoulder, his forefinger tracing a line along my collarbone, precise, slow. His eyes followed his own touch. “You’ve been waiting for me to take control, even if you think you haven’t.”

I…what? How could he know that? My stomach lurched, nerves sparking like electricity under my skin. Every nerve in me was on high alert.

“Turn toward me,” he said softly. My body obeyed before my mind could intervene. I felt his chest close behind me, his proximity overwhelming yet calm, controlled. His hand slid along my side, pausing at my hip.

I can’t believe I’m letting him do this. And yet… My thoughts were scattered, chaotic. I want this? I shouldn’t want this. I can’t stop wanting this.

“I won’t hurt you,” he added, voice low. “Not unless you want me to.”

Indifferent. Calm. Like he doesn’t really care if I want it or not… My pulse raced.

He turned his head towards my own, and I toward his, moving in closer to my cheek as he was leaned over my shoulder from behind the chair. His breath ghosted my lips, deliberate, testing, claiming. One hand cradled the side of my neck, guiding, controlling, while the other lightly held my wrist down against the top of my own thigh with a light pressure. I gasped internally, responding before my mind could catch up.

This is wrong. This is…so wrong. And I can’t stop feeling…this. I tried to fight it, tried to ground myself. But every inch of him pressed into my awareness, I couldn’t escape.

He pulled back just enough to let me inhale, eyes holding mine with a steady assessment. “See? That wasn’t difficult.” His thumb grazed my jawline. “You make it too easy.”, he gave a hint of a smug smile with teeth, and I bit my tongue at the glimpse of his canines, pearly white and just barely sharper than average. 

Easy? I…he makes everything feel like surrender. Like falling without an end. I’m not sure I want to stop falling.

The pause stretched, suffocating in its calm. He lingered, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, hear the subtle rhythm of his breath. Only him and the inevitability of what he wanted.

His hand slid down to my waist, trailing along the fabric of my clothes, pressing me gently further into the seat. “You belong where I put you,” he said, voice low, rich, weighted with authority. “Get used to that.”

Belong where he puts me. The thought made my stomach twist. I’m terrified. But every fiber of me is responding. My chest tightened, heart hammering, mind a mix of fear, anticipation, and a growing, undeniable heat.

He held the moment a heartbeat longer, then stepped to exit, leaving the space charged, hollow in my chest. Breathless. All the smooth muscles in my body trembled, grasping onto every micro-movement, deliberate touch, and pause that had been agonizingly stretched across time.

Breaking me from my daze, another email ping lit-up my phone; “Your session with Oli has been successfully booked for tomorrow at 2pm…” 

I quickly clicked the lock button again, the screen turning black. 

This is just the beginning. I know it is.

Chapter Text

Wednesday. I had nearly survived the first half of the week. 

I gingerly approached my new work-acquaintances cubicle; peering over her shoulder from a distance, I noticed her desktop name plate, holding her place in the office like introducing herself was a frequent occurrence; ‘Annie’. 

I cleared my throat softly “Annie…? Mind if I ask you something…?” 

“Mhm, what’s up?”  She spun in her chair to face me, giving me a friendly look, but a posture like she’d been expecting me, or anyone for that matter, to ask her for something.

I displayed my phone up in my grasp, “Yesterday I got a work email about a ‘session’ being booked for today? I was wondering if maybe you’ve seen this before and could let me know what it is? I don’t remember booking anything…” 

Nodding as she listened, she puckered her lips to one side as I explained my confusion. 

“Mm, yeah I can help with that, show me the email?” She reached out to receive my phone, already unlocked to the content. Her eyes skimmed left and right rapidly before flicking back up to me through her lashes, as though the email was not a good sign for me. 

“… is it bad?” I mumbled awkwardly 

“No! Not at all, this is good! It's just personalized training, you must be doing really well, huh?” 

 I blinked, shifting my eyes around her figure as I processed. “Uh… I suppose.” I answered her with a lax uncertainty. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll do great with him, wish you luck!” She praised in a sing-song fashion, perhaps the most enthusiastic I’d seen her yet. 

Annie turned back to her screen before I could ask anything else. I hovered behind her chair a second longer, then gave up and wandered back toward my cubicle. “Personalized training,” I muttered under my breath, rereading the email for the tenth time. It didn’t have a sender’s name, merely the Obē logo and a calendar invite set for 3:00 PM.

When the time came, I followed the directions primarily from memory, only taking note to turn left before the pool entrance, where the ‘check-in’ office for my session was stated to be. 

When the doors opened, the hallway beyond was colder and quieter than my first visit with my co-workers. The walk felt longer than just a few metres. It didn’t look like the rest of the building; no posters or whiteboards, just pale walls and recessed lights that cast everything in low hues of a warm white. 

When I finally made it to the office, I tried the door. Finding it locked, I frowned. I noticed the fob scanner, and tapped my badge against it, the panel beeped and the indicator blinked green with a click. I let myself in. A woman sat behind a sleek but small reception desk, her smile polite and unreadable. The door whirred shut behind me with a sound too soft to be mechanical.

“Name?” she asked, though her screen already seemed to display it.

I told her anyway.

She nodded. “Hm.. Level One session. Please sign the release here-”

She slid a tablet across the counter. I skimmed it, but the words blurred, phrases like ‘guided experience,’ ‘individual readiness,’ and ‘internal methodology’ standing out in corporate bold. I signed at the bottom.

“Locker room’s through the right corridor behind you,” she said. “Change into the clothing provided. Leave your belongings in the cubby. You’ll be collected shortly.”

Her phrasing stuck; collected. I smiled faintly and moved along.

The locker room was empty. The air smelled faintly of mint and chlorine. Every locker was numbered, each uniform folded perfectly on a shelf: a plain black shirt with the Obē logo on the sleeve, grey shorts, and a towel.

I hesitated before changing, half-expecting someone else to walk in, but no one did. The hum of the ventilation was the only sound. I opted to keep my loafers on for now.

When I stepped back into the corridor, dressed like everyone else here but still somehow out of place, the world had gone muffled. The fluorescent brightness of the cubicle area was gone; this was softer, hazier. The air felt filtered, like the kind you breathe in a spa or a hospital.

A low murmur of voices came from a nearby doorway. Two employees, both in identical attire, were talking in hushed tones.

“Mine was two weeks ago,” one said. “He said I wasn’t ready. Not yet.”

The other laughed lightly. “That’s good, though. It means he sees something.”

Their voices dropped lower when they noticed me. I pretended not to hear and walked past.

At the corridor’s end, a door slid open before I could touch it. The receptionist appeared again, but she didn’t meet my eyes. “He’ll see you now,” she said. I’d heard that before.

Oli stood on the other side.

He was dressed in the same black as me, though his looked deliberate, sharp sleeves, no logo, everything tailored to fit too well, even despite the casual attire. The air shifted when he looked at me, an almost physical pull.

“Come,” he said simply.

He didn’t ask if I was ready.

We walked in silence. The corridor grew darker as we went, the lights thinning until they dissolved into a cool, aquatic glow. The sound of the water reached me before I saw it, faint echoes of movement and filters running.

He stopped at a door with frosted glass, a different entrance than the one I’d gone through with my peers, and turned to me. “You’ve done well this week,” he said. His voice was calm, low. “I want to see how far that goes when we take away what you control.”

I swallowed, not sure what he meant, but I wanted to prove I could keep up.

He tapped his own keycard to the reader. The door slid open with a hiss.

Blue light spilled out, reflected off rippling water. The poolroom, a different one than a mere couple of days ago, waited, vast and quiet. Like a private oasis meant only for him.

It was empty when he led me inside. The lights were lower in this section, that softer blue glow reflecting off the water’s surface, making it look bottomless. I stopped just short of the tiled edge, clutching the hem of my shorts like it could anchor me.

His steps echoed across the floor until he stood right in front of me. Calm, collected, filling the space.

“I hear you don’t swim.” He said it like a fact, not a question.

My throat closed up. “I—I never learned.”

He tilted his head, eyes moving over me in that deliberate way that felt both intimate and merciless. “That’s a weakness. And you don’t like being weak, do you?”

I shook my head automatically, though every muscle in me wanted to back away.

“Good.” He took another step closer. I felt the heat of his body before his hand landed lightly at the small of my back, steady but inescapable. “Then let’s fix it.”

I blinked at him. “Now? I don’t—”

“Shh.” His voice dropped lower, coaxing and firm at once. “Don’t think. Just follow.”

Before I could answer, his hand pressed gently but insistently, guiding me until my loafers touched the slick edge of the pool. The water looked like glass, reflecting my face back at me, pale and nervous.

“Shoes off.”

I hesitated, but he waited. Not impatient, not kind, just watching until I obliged. My fingers fumbled at the heels, slipping them off and nudging them back against the tiles.

“Good,” he murmured, approving in a way that sent a hot flush racing through me. “Sit.”

I lowered myself onto the edge, legs stiff, feet dangling just above the surface. He crouched down next to me, close enough that I could feel his breath at my temple.

“Put them in,” he said.

My stomach turned. “Oli, I—”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm but edged. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

And because it was him, because the weight of his gaze made refusal impossible, I slid my feet into the water. The cold shot up my calves, and I flinched. His hand pressed firmer against my back, steadying me.

“That’s it. Breathe.” His voice like honey. “Don’t fight it.”

I tried. I really did. But the smell of chlorine, the dizzy shimmer of the surface, it was too much. My chest pulled tight.

“You’re too in your head,” he said. “That’s why it scares you. Always bracing, planning.” His lips curved faintly. “Close your eyes.”

I did.

The darkness magnified everything: the hum of the filter, the faint echo of water against tile, the heat of his hand steady on my back.

“Now,” he whispered, close enough that I felt his breath against my ear, “inhale slow. Through your nose. Let it go.”

I did. My chest loosened.

“Good.” His approval slipped under my skin, sharp as a blade. “You listen well when you want to.”

Heat shot through me, settling in my stomach.

I opened my eyes. That was when he pushed.

Not hard, but sudden. My body pitched forward into the water. The cold slammed into me like glass shattering. My mouth opened, but no sound came, only bubbles, rushing up as I sank.

My world turned blue, distorted, endless.

My limbs flailed. No bottom. No air. My throat locked, panic spreading like fire in my chest. I clawed toward light, toward the surface, but the weight of my own fear dragged me down.

The seconds stretched into forever. My lungs screamed and my vision was spotted.

And then I was caught under the arms, pulling me upward in one smooth motion.

The surface broke above me in a rush of sound and light. I coughed, gasping, clinging to anything. To him.

He held me against him, his arm firmly wrapped around my waist, his shirt now wet and plastered to his body. His voice was calm, unaffected, as if nothing had happened.

“Easy.” His breath brushed my ear, steady, grounding. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

I clutched at him, shaking, hating how desperately I needed the contact. My chest still spasmed with leftover panic.

He leaned closer, lips so near the shell of my ear that it sent a fresh shiver through me. “You see? You panic because you think you’re in control. But you’re not.” His tone was deep.

Heat and shame warred in my chest, mixing with the fear. My pulse thundered, not just from terror though.

He shifted me upright, his gaze cutting into mine with unsettling calm. “Next time…” His mouth curved into the faintest smile. “…you’ll have to beg me.”

The words hit harder than the water, echoing inside me.

I couldn’t answer. My body shook from an overwhelming mix of adrenaline, want, humiliation, attraction, dread.

His hand rose from my waist to cup my jaw, fingertips grazing my damp skin. He tilted my chin until I was forced to meet his eyes.

“You’ll beg,” he said softly, almost like a vow.

And then he let go.

I clung to my own knees as I sat on the pool’s edge, gasping, while he stepped gracefully out, water dripping from his cuffs as if the plunge hadn’t touched him.

Frozen where he left me, lungs raw and pulse erratic, I was unable to decide if I’d just survived a punishment, or been given a gift.