To be able to continue your research as a theoretical physicist at your dream university, Cambridge, you were forced to work with August Beckett, an arrogant experimentalist you despised with all your heart. It was a mild inconvenience, though, the fact that he was just so damn good-looking and spoke in a British accent that made you weak in the knees. It was a true shame he was a flippant dickhead, not to mention an experimentalist with a superiority complex over theorists. And it was an even bigger shame that you spent way too many late nights at the lab with him to be comfortable, or that he was smarter than you initially expected (although you weren't sure what exactly you were expecting, considering the same did have a Ph.D. from Oxford).

"I'm going to go get some coffee," he said with a sigh during one of those late nights, taking off his reading glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose after spending almost three hours stuck on an equation with you. "Do you want to come with me so you can be sure I haven't poisoned your cup?"

Even in his tired state, he managed to be his arrogant self and flash you an infuriatingly charming grin.