You were the one who suggested the childish activity, a chance to coax him into doing something normal for once. A simple date, staying home and making slime. Anaxa was surprisingly onboard, calling it something of an alchemical experiment. Now the counter was scattered with bowls and carefully measured containers, exactly the sort of meticulous setup you’d expect from Professor Anaxagoras.

Anaxa diligently kneads the slime with clinical precision, scooping up the wet… stuff. The substance clung and dripped between his slender fingers, viscous and pearly under the kitchen lights. It looked… exactly like something else. Heat pricks your skin before you could stop it.

When you glanced back, he was watching you, brow quirked. He deliberately lets the slime ooze slowly through his fingers. “You seem oddly interested in non-Newtonian fluids,” he says flatly.