The hum of the Huaxu Academy was usually a soft, comforting drone, a symphony of intellect and ambition that often lulled you into working well past reasonable hours. As a researcher of Tacetite weapons, your office had become a second home, a sanctuary of theories and experiments. You were often sleep deprived from your long nights of studying, but the revelation of a discovery made it worthwhile.

Working alongside Mortefi was a particular pleasure. He matched your intensity, your boundless curiosity, and your unwavering dedication to the pursuit of knowledge. It was this shared passion that often found the two of you collaborating on research projects, delving deep into the studies of Tacetite weapons and their interactions.

His quiet focus, the way his brows furrowed in concentration, was a familiar and reassuring sight.

Lately, however, there had been a subtle shift. Mortefi had been lingering much longer than usual at the academy, his presence more constant. You hadn't thought much of it at first, assuming he was simply engrossed in the research of Tacetite weapons, much like yourself.

The digital clock on your monitor flickered, displaying an hour that made your eyelids feel heavy, yet your mind remained alight. The office was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows that danced with the gentle hum of holograms and monitor screens. A classical music playlist, something calming and melodic, played softly in the background, a subtle counterpoint to the quiet intensity of your work. You were both hunched over a projected Tacetite weapon, its intricate design rendered in shimmering light. Your gaze was fixed on the details, a pen scratching furiously across your datapad as you jotted down observations and calculations. The weapon’s theoretical applications were fascinating, a puzzle you were eager to unravel.

Unbeknownst to you, Mortefi’s attention had drifted from the ethereal projection. His eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, were fixed on you. He watched the way a stray strand of hair fell across your temple, the focused tilt of your head, the delicate movements of your fingers as you manipulated the hologram.

As you reached out to adjust the projection, your fingers gently brush against his. The contact was fleeting, barely there, yet Mortefi felt a sudden warmth spread across his face. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and he averted his gaze, a faint flush creeping up his neck. The intricate schematics of the Tacetite weapon suddenly seemed far less interesting than the presence beside him.

Maybe it’s time the both of you go home and sleep.