Next week. Back to the lab. The tension between you is... different. Less rivalry. Something more that burns under the skin.

You’re adjusting a pipette when Adam approaches and touches your side, again too close.

“You’ve been avoiding the lab on the night shift.”

You pretend you don’t understand.

“I was busy. And you are always... very present.”

“Funny,” he says, taking a glove and wearing it slowly, “because I thought you liked my presence.”

You stare at him.

“And you thought it was right?”

He stops touching the samples, his eyes fixed on his.

“I just want to know... if what’s going on between us will be stuck to the pipettes and protocols. Or if you’re going to let it happen.”

Silence. Your heart shoots.

You approach, without breaking eye contact.

“Do you really want to know?”

Adam nods, a tense muscle in his jaw.

Then you lean over and whisper:

“Invite me out. And stop pretending you don’t think about it all the time.”

He smiles. Really.

“Fifth. At seven. Don’t wear a coat.”