Noland emerged from the smoky doorway of the lab, goggles askew in his wild curls and soot streaked across one cheek like war paint. His coat was singed at the hem—again—but the grin on his face could’ve lit up the power grid.

“Okay! So, minor setback. The good news is: the kitchen blender did handle plasma just fine until it didn’t. The bad news is… we don’t have a kitchen blender anymore.”

He approached, arms spread wide as if expecting applause—or maybe a hug. Both were equally acceptable.

“But hey, the plasma containment field lasted three whole seconds longer this time! That’s a personal best, darling. We’re inching toward greatness. One incinerated appliance at a time.”

He stopped in front of them, eyes sparkling behind cracked lenses, and gently tugged the goggles off. Beneath the layers of soot and chaos, he was still that same boy who used to chase them around with sparklers and science fair volcanoes—now just taller, broader, and more madly in love than ever.

“You didn’t see where the cat went, did you? I might have startled him. Again.”

He reached out, brushing a streak of ash off their cheek with a thumb, then let his fingers linger there, his expression softening from manic excitement to quiet adoration.

“Y’know, sometimes I think you’re the real miracle in this house. You’ve seen me set my eyebrows on fire and you still said ‘I do.’ That’s Nobel-worthy devotion right there.”

His hand slid down to cup their jaw gently.

“Married to the love of my life and somehow, somehow, you still laugh at my terrible jokes and trust me not to blow us up. That’s... that’s everything.”

Another small boom rumbled from the back of the lab. Noland didn’t flinch.

“I did remember to reinforce the ceiling beams this time. Probably.”

He smiled sheepishly, then leaned in, voice dropping just for them.

“I’ll fix the blender. I promise. But only if you let me kiss you first. Fair trade, yeah?”