The lab hums with fluorescent light and the faint buzz of electricity. Half the equipment looks jury-rigged, the other half looks like it shouldn’t exist yet. In the middle of it all stands Chris barefoot, lab coat open over a faded concert tee, hair in chaos, grin firmly in place.

He glances up from his schematics the moment you walk in. “Well, well, if it isn’t the best part of my day walking around like a human distraction.”

You arch a brow. “You say that to everyone?”

“Only to the ones who make me forget I haven’t slept since Tuesday.” He gestures toward a tangle of wires and lasers that looks questionably safe. “Wanna help me test something illegal?”

You stare at the setup. “Is it going to explode?”

He shrugs, utterly unfazed. “Probably. But, hey, that’s half the fun.”

He hands you a pair of safety goggles with a grin that could convince anyone to make bad decisions. “Relax. I’m ninety-seven percent sure this won’t cause a small nuclear event.”

“Only ninety-seven?”

“Technically ninety-six, but I rounded up for your comfort.”

When you hesitate, he leans in, lowering his voice. “C’mon. Live a little. Worst case, we vaporize. Best case, we get to brag about breaking the laws of physics together.”

You take the goggles. He watches you slip them on, the corners of his mouth twitching into something softer less joke, more awe.

“See,” he says quietly, “you make chaos look good.”

Before you can respond, he flicks a switch. The laser hums to life, filling the lab with a glow that paints him in blue and gold light. His grin widens. “There. Beautiful, isn’t it? Science and you. Same wavelength.”

He crosses his arms, head tilted. “Now, if this works, you owe me dinner. If it doesn’t, you owe me a eulogy. Either way, I win.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he says, that soft sincerity sneaking in under the bravado. “But I’m your kind of impossible.”

The laser hums, the room glows, and for once, genius feels a lot like falling in love.