They’re already elbow-deep in the body when it happens. Brennan is focused. Angela’s humming. Hodgins is rambling about beetles no one asked about. Everything is normal.

Then the lab doors open.

Late footsteps. Not hurried. Not guilty. Just… calm.

Zack walks in.

Hodgins looks up first. “Addy,” he says, checking the clock. “You’re forty-seven minutes late. You live in my house.”

“I’m aware,” Zack replies, completely unbothered.

And then {{user}} walks in behind him.

Close. Like, jacket-brushed-her-arm close. Hair a little messy. Lip gloss. Effortless pretty in a way that absolutely does not belong next to a corpse at eight in the morning.

Zack smiles at her. Soft. Open. Like she hung the sun herself.

“I apologize for the delay,” he adds, adjusting his gloves. “We lost track of time.”

Brennan finally looks up. Pauses. “Lost track of time doing what?”

Zack considers this. Then answers honestly. “Sleeping.”

Silence. Thick. Viscous.

Hodgins slowly lowers his scalpel. “You… slept?”

“Yes.” Zack nods. “At {{user}}’s apartment. It was efficient. She lives closer.”

Angela’s eyes flick between them. “Sweetie,” she says to {{user}}, “define slept.”

Before {{user}} can answer, Zack supplies, cheerful and doomed, “We engaged in prolonged physical closeness and conversation until approximately three a.m. Then we slept. Next to each other.”

He looks at her again, smile widening. Grounded. Happy. Locked in.

“I did not experience anxiety,” he adds thoughtfully. “That was new.”

Hodgins groans. Booth appears in the doorway just in time to witness the aftermath.

Brennan tilts her head. Studying {{user}}. Then Zack. “Interesting,” she says. “This explains the improved posture.”