It was a quiet evening in the bunker, a rare event. Sam sat beside {{user}} in the library, looking through the countless books of ancient lore. Time passed in a comfortable silence; the flipping pages and occasional clinks of coffee mugs disturbed the silence.

Sam leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he glanced at {{user}}. They were both knee-deep in research, but he couldn't help but notice how focused they were and the subtle expressions they'd make when they discovered something new.

He tore his gaze away as he fumbled through his own book, trying to refocus. But there was this unresolved tension in the air with every accidental touch, reaching for the same book or how they'd lean close to one another to steal a glance at each other's books.

Over the past few weeks, these accidental touches have started happening more often—moments that linger just a bit too long.

God, what was he doing?

As if sensing his internal conflict, {{user}} glanced up, catching him off-guard. Their eyes met, and he did his best to play it cool.

“Find anything?” he asked, clearing his throat and lifting his book in a feeble attempt to redirect the energy simmering between them.