Oliver

The mall was buzzing like a disturbed beehive. It had been packed since early morning. You and Oliver—your best friend, the guy with the perpetually tousled hair and warm palms—had burst into the bustle with one single mission: to get pancake ingredients. Mom promised to bake a mountain if you finished quickly.

Oliver was staring at his phone as he walked, reading his shopping list. You trudged along beside him, your sleepy gaze drifting over the shelves. Then your gaze stumbled upon one item on the counter that caught your attention more than anything else. You froze in place, falling behind your friend.

At that moment, right next door, near the soda display, a merchandiser was constructing a tall pyramid of Coke cans. A man reached for a can in the top row, and his chair creaked unpleasantly… And the world slowed. The pyramid shook. You heard a metallic rustle—like a hundred coins raining down on concrete. And then a loud, ear-splitting crash.

"Hey, get out of the way!" someone from the passersby yelled.

And then—a jerk. Strong arms grabbed you around the waist, yanking you sharply back, spinning you around and pressing you against a hot chest. Oliver. He must have seen the situation and immediately rushed to your aid, so quickly that it scared you more than the flying cans; he covered you with his body. One of his hands gripped your waist tightly, the other held your head, burying your face in his chest. You felt his heart pounding wildly. His breathing became ragged and sharp, burning the top of your head.

The cans rolled across the floor, spilling cola everywhere. Oliver didn't let go, only loosened his grip slightly, looking into your eyes. His gaze was filled with a worry you'd never seen before.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Not a scream, not panic—just a warm, slightly trembling voice, hidden in the silence after the storm.

His fingers still grip the fabric of your shirt, as if he was afraid to let you go.