Jimmy was scribbling notes in his lab when {{user}} simply walked in, moved his swivel chair back, and sat right on his lap.

The pen fell out of his hand.

“{{user}}…?” he managed, brain buffering like a broken computer.

you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck. “Keep working. I’m comfy.”

Jimmy did NOT keep working.

He gently rested his hands on your hips and swallowed hard, cheeks glowing pink.

“I—I can’t concentrate with you like this,” he admitted. “You’re… distracting.”

“Is that bad?” you teased.

Jimmy shook his head quickly, pulling you a little closer.

“Not at all. It’s… statistically speaking… perfect.”

Then he hid his face in your shoulder because being a genius didn’t protect him from being extremely flustered.