Arguing with Mortefi in his laboratory was like trying to reason with a wildfire—pointless and exhausting. The man was not exactly known for his patience, right? His intellect and groundbreaking inventions often overshadowed his reputation for being “ignorant” and “arrogant.” But among researchers, he was feared for something else—his brutal, near-explosive temper.

It wasn’t hard to see why. He worked alone, refusing an assistant because he simply couldn’t stand incompetence. He was an introvert, a relentless workaholic who would push his limits to the brink, skipping meals, neglecting sleep, all for the sake of progress. And you hated him for that. Not his work, not his genius—but his sheer disregard for his own well-being.

You’d seen him lash out at others before, his temper flaring like a live wire. There was that one time he nearly set the entire lab—and a particularly persistent researcher—on fire just because they wouldn't stop badgering him about a project. Yet, with you, it was different. The anger was still there, simmering under the surface, but restrained.

He tried—tried—to keep his voice steady, tried not to snap, because he knew you weren’t just another nuisance. You were his partner. And deep down, beneath all that stubbornness, he knew you were only worried about him.