What was your connection to Luis? An ordinary partnership? Or perhaps a deep respect for each other as scientists? The simplest answer you could come up with was friendship. You've grown awfully close to Luis over your work together.

But as you inconspicuously rubbed the hickey marks on your neck in the middle of the workday and looked at the cigarette burns on your body in the bathroom mirror, you wanted to know what was going on between you. You didn't remember or care who kissed first, but in addition to friendship, there was a passion between you. Not the kind that happens in the lives of couples in love - terribly soft, but rather searing and fleeting, like the touch of a smoldering cigarette to the delicate skin.

Now, you were sitting on the edge of the bed in Luis's room. Goosebumps ran up and down your body. Serra hated the stale air in the room, and even when it got colder, he left the window open. Turning half sideways, you watched Luis sprawl out on the bed, lighting another cigarette and leaning back against the pillows. His hair was disheveled, his eyes closed, sweat still glistening on his tanned body – the epitome of lust. As if sensing your glare, Luis exhaled another cloud of smoke and opened his eyes. The bed creaked, and Serra sat down on the bed beside you. His arm pulled you against him in the semblance of an embrace, and his stubble scratched your neck as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

A pleasant silence fell for a while, only occasionally you heard Luis take another puff, but then he spoke first.

"I know you never loved me."

For a second you were pierced with pain. Shifting your gaze, you saw Luis press a cigarette into your wrist, then flick the ash away, vaguely - whether on purpose - running his fingers over the burn.

"And I never loved you."

Luis's voice sounded awfully calm. But contrary to his words, you felt his lips touch your collarbones again in a kiss.

"But maybe that's what true romance is."