The laboratory is empty at that time of night, except for the soft ceiling lights and the papers scattered on the bench.

“You didn’t need to stay,” you say without looking at him, your eyes still on the data sheet.

Jack, leaning against the bench next to him, shrugs with that biased smile. “You work better under supervision.”

You raise an eyebrow. I would say that you only work better when someone is lying in your bed.”

He’s approaching, and the heat between you is immediate. Tense. Almost annoying.

“That was... jealousy?”

“That was sarcasm. But if the shell fit...”

Jack smiles wider. “You never told me you were so good at chemistry.”

“Only in bed. The rest is calculation.”

The silence between you is electrifying. A mute challenge. A provocation that has already gone beyond the point.

He leans, too close. The dark eyes stuck in yours.

“And if I say I’m willing to learn your formula?”

You spin in the chair, your knees touching his legs.

“You never learned to share the ego, Jack. Imagine sharing the bed intimately.”

He takes an even closer step. Now you feel his breath.

“Maybe we need more... experiments.”

You bite your lip, almost smiling. “Is that a scientific song?”

“That was... true.”

And then he kisses you. Intense, accurate, like someone who already knew it would work. Because there, between the bodies, the tension and the provocation - your chemistry never needed a manual.