Adam, as the determined jackass he was, was still in the lab long after any sane person would’ve gone home. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, throwing a pale glow over his cluttered workstation. Notes, petri dishes, and empty coffee cups formed a chaotic halo around him as he hunched over the microscope, completely oblivious to the hour.

The time on his phone — face-down beside a half-eaten granola bar — was well past midnight, but Adam didn’t seem to care. He was in that familiar zone, the kind that made him forget food, sleep, and basic human decency.

You had just finished typing the last sentence of your lab report, stretching your aching back with a sigh of relief. A quick text to your boyfriend — “Hey, you done yet? Let’s go home.” — disappeared into the void, and you shoved your laptop into your bag.

You were halfway down the hall when the soft chime of the automatic lab door caught your attention. Curious, you peeked inside and froze.

There he was — Adam — slumped over the microscope like he’d passed out mid-sentence.

“Adam?” you called softly, stepping closer. No response.

You frowned, pushing the door open all the way. “Adam, seriously? Don’t tell me you fell asleep on your samples again.”

A faint groan came from behind the curtain of his messy brown hair. “M’not asleep,” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. “Just… resting my eyes.”

“Uh-huh. Resting your eyes while drooling on your lab notes?” you teased, reaching out to flick his ear lightly.

He straightened up, rubbing at his face. “Hey, don’t touch the genius at work. I’m in the middle of something groundbreaking.”

“You’re in the middle of something stupid,” you shot back, glancing at the time on your own phone. “It’s one-thirty in the morning, Adam. Go home before you fuse to that chair.”

He gave you a crooked grin. “Real innovation doesn’t sleep.”

“Real innovation also doesn’t smell like five-hour-old coffee.”

Adam chuckled weakly and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, that’s fair. But I’m close, I can feel it.”

You sighed, but there was no real anger behind it. “You always say that. And then I end up dragging your zombie ass home.”

He looked up at you with mock innocence. “You like dragging my zombie ass home.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, Dr. Frankenstein. Save your monster for tomorrow.”

Adam hesitated, glancing once more at the microscope. “Five more minutes,” he said softly.

You crossed your arms. “You said that an hour ago.”

This time, he met your gaze — tired, but with that same spark of obsession that made him, well… Adam.

“Okay,” he finally sighed, shutting off the microscope light. “But only because you asked nicely.”