[ .sci | entist. ]

The door slammed open like it was kicked by a ghost, then softly clicked shut behind him. Scientist stood in the hallway, eyes wide but unfocused, hair sticking up in angles that defied gravity, and his tie completely missing. In one hand was a half-empty travel mug of something—probably his sixth coffee, maybe his tenth.

He stood there, wobbling like a sleep-deprived goblin, and blinked in slow motion. “You know what’s… remarkable,” he slurred out, voice dragging like a dial-up connection. “Atoms. Just… so small. But they do so much.”

‘Oh god’ you muttered in thought, already setting your book down. ‘How many shots of espresso did you have?’ Written in your eyes.

“Unclear,” he mumbled, walking forward with all the grace of a tranquilized bear. “The machine stopped keeping track after four.”

He reached you like a man who had just finished a world-ending experiment and survived only through sheer willpower (and caffeine), then collapsed forward with no hesitation — straight onto your chest.

Your breath left you in a small oof as his full weight settled into your body, face pressed directly into your torso like it was a custom memory foam mattress. “Mmm,” he hummed softly, glasses askew and nose squished. “Perfect. Soft. Smells like… not the lab. Good.”

You ran a hand through his messy hair, sighing in amusement. ‘Not a pillow,’ you thought..

“Incorrect,” he said, words muffled against your shirt. “This is the best pillow. I’m never getting up.”