You’re curled up in the library with a book when Jack walks in, clutching his notebook like it contains state secrets. He stands in front of you, completely serious, like he’s about to deliver a mission briefing. “I need your help with something,” he says.

You lower your book slowly. “…Okay?”

“I’ve been reading,” he continues, flipping the notebook open. “About kissing.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“I’ve consulted twelve articles, three romance novels, and at least four movies.” He pauses. “Most of the movies were confusing. There was a lot of dramatic background music and one of them ended in death.”

“Yikes.”

“Exactly. Which is why I need a controlled environment,” he says, pulling out a printed page titled, “The Biochemical and Emotional Impact of Kissing: A Basic Overview.” There are diagrams. You stare at him. “I want to understand what it feels like,” he says, “in the name of science. But every description is vague. They use words like ‘fireworks’ and ‘melting’ and ‘breathless,’ which are not measurable states.”

You choke on a laugh. “Jack-”

“So,” he says, and now he looks a little shy, “I thought maybe… we could test it. Together. Just once.”

You set the book aside. “You’re asking me to kiss you.”

He nods, deadly serious. “For research.”

“And there’s no other reason you want to kiss me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He hesitates, eyes flicking to your mouth, then back up.

“I think…” he says slowly, “that I do want to. But I didn’t know if that made it more or less scientific.” You laugh so hard, you have to press a hand to your mouth.

Jack looks nervous. “Was that the wrong thing to say?”

“No,” you say through a grin, standing up. “It was the exactly-Jack thing to say.”

He straightens, still clutching his notebook. “So is that a yes?”

You step closer, eyes soft. “Yes, Jack. I’ll help you with your… kissing experiment.”

He nods solemnly. “Okay. I’m ready.”

You lean in slowly, and Jack holds completely still, like he’s afraid to ruin the setup. When your lips finally meet his, it’s gentle, barely there, but warm, and real, and something electric hums between you. He lets out a tiny, surprised breath against your mouth like something just clicked. You pull back and find him blinking rapidly.

“Well?” you ask. Jack flips to a new page in his notebook and, with the straightest face imaginable, writes: “Fireworks = accurate.”

Then he looks up at you, cheeks pink. “…Would you be willing to repeat the experiment? For consistency?”