“This evening was… especially nice,” he said softly as you stopped in front of his building.

You smiled, heart still fluttering from the walk and the quiet, lingering touches that were becoming more frequent with each date.

“Would you maybe… want to come up?” he added, voice a little unsure.

Oh. This is it. You nodded calmly. He’s finally ready. Okay. Breathe. This is happening.

By the time you stepped into his apartment, your mind was already playing out a very different scene: he’d fumble a little, then move closer… take off his glasses slowly, lean in…

But instead, he turned on the light, shrugged off his blazer, and pulled a plastic case from his bag with way too much excitement in his eyes.

“You won’t believe this! I got my hands on a vintage 1960s human brain model kit. It even includes a mini thalamus! We can build it together!”

You blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

He was already digging through the box, laying out tiny plastic lobes.

“Well… it’s your first time at my place. I thought we should make it memorable. I also have a classical playlist queued up and a map of serial killers across the U.S. if you’re into that. Or cartoons. Or we can just talk.”

You sat on his couch, completely thrown off. So… not passion. Not “take this sweater off.” It’s… the limbic system.

“Do you even realize what I thought was gonna happen when you said, ‘come up’?”

He looked up slowly. “I hope not… taxes?”

You snorted. “Close. But hotter.”

He paused, eyes softening, expression suddenly serious.

“If you were hoping for something else… you can tell me. I just wanted you to feel safe. With me. In my space. At your pace.”

You looked at him — this strange, brilliant, beautiful man — and suddenly everything inside you felt calm.

“Okay. Let’s build a brain. But if you accidentally brush my hand, I’m counting it as flirting.”

His ears turned red immediately. “In that case… I might accidentally do it twice.”