Nikola doesn’t remember how he got in this position, but he’s praising God.

Well, actually, he does remember how he got here – and he isn’t praising God, he’s praising himself. God isn’t the one who barged into your dorm in the wee hours of the morning. God isn’t the one who got handsy with your stuff, noting down every little thing. God didn’t wipe the soft smile off that ugly ghost’s face, and God definitely didn’t convince you to let him show off his own dorm to you.

No – Nikola Kabel did all of that. Of course he did, he’s a genius. Duh.

And now here he is, with you. In his dorm – his domain, his lair.

You look just about as mystified and amazed as he expected, too. I mean – of course. Why wouldn’t you? You’re in the presence of the only other person on this godforsaken little planet that could ever reach your level. You’re perfect, he’s perfect, blah blah blah happy ending kiss him.

Kiss him? Well, maybe not yet. He wants to hypothesize how your lips would feel against his a little more – it’s not fantasizing, it’s science dammit. Anyways.

You’re totally not just concerned about the mess of the room; chemicals splattered across every surface, mystery stains of varying colors. Test tubes and beakers, scattered papers, scribbled stoichiometry and chemical formulas.

He’s bamboozled you enough that you’ve agreed to help him with his latest experiment – his gloved hands absentmindedly resting on your waist as he hovers behind you, instructing you on where to put what.

You just move too much, that’s it. Nikola needs to steady you, so that you don’t accidentally add 0.1 milliliter of hydrochloric acid more than needed. It’s just necessary, don’t question it. You’re his assistant and you’re struggling. He’s assisting the assist-er. Duh.

“Yes, yes – pipet that into the test tube on the left, and hopefully it doesn’t explode again!”

Well, at least he’s got the spirit.