The hallway still smelt faintly of coffee and fresh floor polish—that strange mix of morning and institution. Mira stepped out of her room with her scarf half-looped around her neck, a folded paper envelope tucked under one arm, and a small pastry bag in the other.

  Adrian’s door opened almost in sync.

  His gaze paused on the pastry bag, then to her eyes, as if confirming a calculation he’d already made.

  “No breakfast?” she asked, falling into step beside him.

  “I thought it would be safer not to.”

  She offered a crooked smile. “You say that like I poisoned the cake.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “Earl Grey chiffon. Not sweet. Not suspicious.”

  He didn’t object.

  Instead of heading straight to the lab corridor, Adrian veered through a side door that led into a narrow glass-roofed walkway—one of the old greenhouse annexes, mostly unused now except by early risers and wandering students. Light filtered through the vine-wrapped ceiling in soft streaks, painting the tiled floor in shifting patterns. They sat on a curved bench by the window, beside a planter where a lemon balm shrub had half-climbed the railing.

  Mira opened the bag, broke the cake neatly in two, and handed him the smaller piece without asking.

  Outside the glass, a bird rustled through the ivy, then stilled. Mira watched the sunlight catch the steam curling from the tea she’d brought for herself in a thermos.

  When the last bite was gone, Adrian stood. She followed.

  Adrian led her down the stairs, past the east wing, through a corridor most students never bothered with—under-lit, lined with keycard-only doors and frost-glass panels labeled with things like Temp-Control Bio Storage and Specimen Imaging Suite.

  The lock clicked with a reluctant sound, like it wasn’t used to being opened for anyone else.

  Mira paused at the threshold.

  The place was small and clean. Sleek shelves lined the walls—some filled with sealed glass containers, others with neatly arranged tools, wires, fragments of things she couldn’t name. A tall cabinet in the corner blinked with a low green light. Mira hesitated, adjusting her grip on the envelope.

  “So…” she said lightly, but her voice came out softer than planned, “this is where we do the leaf mission?”

  Adrian turned back at her.

  “It’s a prep room,” he said. “Technically off-limits to most undergrads, but I have clearance.”

  A pause.

  “And yes. We’ll do it here.”

  Mira stepped in carefully, conscious of the floor beneath her boots.

  “You sure it’s okay? I mean, it’s just… a few crunchy autumn dreams. I don’t want to interrupt anything actually important.”

  “You’re not interrupting.”

  He said it simply, with a certainty that settled in her chest. As if she belonged here the moment he opened the door.

  Adrian crossed to the far counter and flipped on a warmer lamp, casting a pool of amber light over the worktable.

  The steel glinted under the beam. Beside it, a tray with tweezers, droppers, and small petri dishes waited like they'd been laid out in anticipation.

  Mira followed, placing her bundle of leaves down with exaggerated reverence.

  “Operation Eternal Fall begins,” she whispered, then peeked at him. “Are you always this over-prepared, or is this just for me?”

  He peeled open the envelope in silence and lifted one of the leaves—crimson, fragile, almost translucent at the edges.

  “I don’t usually do preservation,” he said, “but I make exceptions.”

  The lab table became a mosaic of red, gold, and copper leaves—some spiky like stars, others broad and veined like tiny river maps. A few delicate ivy strands trailed across the edge, their greens turning into a soft blush.

  Adrian stood beside her, sleeves rolled just past his forearms, a small bottle of glycerin in one hand. The warm amber glow of the desk lamp carved a sanctuary into the clinical silence of the lab.

  “These,” he said, pointing to the momiji leaves, “will hold their shape best with pressing. The ivy—glycerin works well. Keeps them soft.”

  Mira examined the leaves like a jeweler appraising gemstones. “They’re too pretty to just rot,” she murmured. “Feels wrong.”

  Adrian gave a slight nod, then reached for a shallow glass dish he’d laid out earlier. He mixed water and glycerin, the motion precise and practiced. Mira handed him a bundle of ivy.

  “You always this neat?”

  “No,” Adrian said simply. “You just have a lot of leaves.”

  Mira snorted, accepting the observation. “I could’ve asked Ren or Noah, but they’d be too gentle with them.”

  “And you think I’m not?”

  “You’re careful,” she said, “but not afraid of snapping a few.”

  He remained silent, sliding the ivy into the solution with a steady hand.

  While Adrian worked on the soaking batch, Mira arranged the maple and broad-veined leaves between sheets of paper. She set a heavy textbook on top—“Ethics and Global Systems”—then another for good measure.

  Adrian lifted his eyes to the stack. “Fitting.”

  She smiled, mischievously. “Might as well make it useful.”

  The silence between them settled comfortably. Yet the lab carried a profound hush—still, clean, as if the air itself held its breath.

  She shifted slightly, then looked over. “Would it bother you if I… turned on some music?”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Adrian looked up from the dish. “What kind?”

  She hesitated, tugging the edge of her sleeve. “Uhm. Rain sounds. And maybe… soft piano or something. This place makes me feel like I’m about to be examined in a lab research.”

  He paused slightly. “You think I’d dissect you?”

  “Only if I annoy you enough.”

  Adrian tapped his tablet, a few swipes, and the speaker in the corner filled the room with the patter of rainfall, distant and soft, laced with a few wandering notes of piano.

  The atmosphere shifted instantly. Mira exhaled, her shoulders dropping.

  “Better,” she said.

  Adrian had just lined up the third shallow dish when Mira, crouched beside the desk, accidentally flicked water across the table while shifting a tray of leaves.

  “Oops,” she said, wincing as a few drops landed on the edge of one of the momiji leaves. “Is that gonna ruin it?”

  Adrian kept his focus on the dish. “Depends on the cell structure. If it’s already brittle, moisture can cause spotting or breakage once it dries too fast.”

  Mira blinked. “Okay. Translation?”

  “Might wrinkle. Might not.”

  “That’s all you had to say,” she muttered, dabbing at the table with the sleeve of her cardigan.

  She moved on to separating the leaves by type, trying to mimic his neat piles, but soon ended up with a colorful, jumbled nest. She poked at it with a pencil, frowning. “How do you even tell which is which?”

  “By margin shape, venation, and pigmentation under different light,” Adrian replied, gently turning a leaf toward the lamp. “See how this one has palmate venation? Veins spread like fingers.”

  Mira squinted. “Looks like a tiny red spider web.”

  He gave the ghost of a smile. “Close enough.”

  She paused, then picked up another. “This one?”

  “Pinnate venation.”

  “You just made that up.”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You could say anything right now and I’d believe you.”

  He let the comment hang in the air, reaching out to reposition the leaf she held. The tips of their fingers brushed for a second.

  Mira cleared her throat, suddenly very focused on flattening the next leaf. “So… after the soaking, what’s next?”

  “Drying, for at least two days. Low humidity, indirect light. Then seal them in plastic sleeves or under glass.”

  Mira’s nose wrinkled. “That sounds like real effort.”

  “You invited me.”

  “Technically, I didn’t. I just mentioned it. And you stayed.”

  “You had no plan.”

  “I had vibes.”

  He huffed, just barely. “Vibes won’t preserve leaves.”

  “Vibes preserved my sanity through exams, so don’t knock them.”

  She leaned in too far to examine an ivy leaf, slipped, and caught herself with both hands on the table, nearly toppling the dish. Adrian caught the glass in time, steadying it with one hand and her elbow with the other.

  “Graceful,” he said flatly.

  “I’m a natural disaster,” she replied proudly, brushing her hair back. “Now help me do the rest before I destroy more of nature.”

  They continued, Mira filling the space with chatter while Adrian sorted and measured, always methodical. Despite the silliness, the desk transformed into a true project—a mosaic of autumn color preserved in careful order.

  ?

  A subtle rustle, a blur of motion near the back wall. Adrian registered it peripherally—a variable entering the field—but Mira didn't notice. She was bent over the table, entirely focused on pressing the serrated edge of a maple leaf, unaware that chaos was about to descend.

  Something brown launched itself from the temperature gauge with a chaotic flutter.

  A cockroach. Flying.

  She froze. He saw the exact moment the logic center of her brain shut down.

  “Oh my goshness—Adrian!” she hissed, bolting behind him as if the desk had suddenly liquefied. Both her hands latched onto his sleeve, one clinging higher at his shoulder, effectively using him as a human shield. “It’s flying. That thing is flying!”

  Adrian stilled mid-motion. He turned slightly—just enough to look at her over his shoulder.

  He saw her wide eyes. The genuine panic. The way she was practically welded to his side.

  A thought crossed his mind, unbidden:

  Followed immediately by:

  Without comment, he shifted forward again, reaching calmly for the nearest transparent lid from the desk tray. He didn’t rush. Rushing would spoil the observation.

  He waited. Watched. The insect zigzagged once more above the leaf pile.

  And with an unhurried, precise motion——he brought the lid down over it, trapping the creature like it was just another specimen for analysis.

  Mira didn’t move.

  “I’ve worked in this room for two years,” Adrian said evenly, setting the lid aside on a sealed tray. “Never seen a single cockroach.”

  Her voice was half-muffled behind his back, vibrating against his shoulder blade. “It came for me. I’m sure of it.”

  He glanced down at the trembling edge of her sleeve still clutched in his hand. “The bees. The mosquito. The spider. Salamander. Now this. Nature’s clearly… fond of you.”

  She gave a horrified sound. “Fond? That thing tried to assassinate me in broad daylight.”

  Adrian straightened, resisting the urge to check if she was still holding onto him. He brushed a stray paper scrap off the desk instead. “Or court you. Who knows what intentions it had.”

  Mira finally peeled herself away, backing up slowly, still eyeing the trapped insect like it might perform a second aerial assault. “This place needs a cleansing. Salt. Sage. Maybe a hazmat team.”

  He returned to the table, glancing briefly at the remaining leaves. “You’re usually braver than this.”

  “I am brave,” she muttered darkly. “Against logic. Not against… that.”

  Adrian didn’t comment. He picked up the next leaf. “Shall we finish before something else falls in love with you?”

  Mira scowled. “I swear, if the next thing is a bat, I’m never touching leaves again.”

  They returned to the work, though Mira eyed every shadow now like it might sprout legs. Adrian handed her a fresh sheet of blotting paper, saying nothing. His gaze drifted—just for a moment—to the way her shoulders were still tense, to the slight color in her cheeks, to the messy halo of silver hair that had come loose when she leapt behind him like a startled cat.

  And then, not quite meaning to, he smiled. Small, private.

  But Mira caught it.

  She turned her head sharply, eyes narrowing. “Stop that look.”

  “What look?” he replied, forcing his expression into absolute neutrality.

  “That look.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to. Your face is loud,” she muttered, jabbing a corner of the paper with her pencil. “And if I hear one word about this from anyone I’ll know it came from you.”

  Adrian folded his arms. The opportunity was too perfect to ignore. The logical thing to do would be to reassure her. The thing to do was... this.

  “I just saved your life. You should behave.”

  He let the silence stretch for a beat. Then, he lowered his voice, dropping it into a register that was velvet-soft and undeniably threatening.

  “Otherwise… I wonder what the next rescue might look like. I don’t do charity work that many times.”

  She gave a tiny scoff. “What do you want?”

  “Something simple. Polite.” He kept his face blank, knowing it would drive her crazy. “Maybe a soft, heartfelt, ‘Thank you, Sir Vale. I promise to be good.’”

  Mira blinked slowly, unimpressed. “No.”

  He didn’t even blink. “We can localize it.” A pause. “How about—‘Thank you, Senpai. I’ll behave from now on.’”

  Her entire soul seemed to recoil. “Absolutely not.”

  “I thought you liked Japanese culture.”

  “Liking it doesn’t mean surrendering to it in public.” She looked at him like she was recalculating the terms of their friendship.

  He continued, mild as ever. “I could always reintroduce the cockroach. Here and now.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I might.”

  He tapped his finger once—lightly—against the edge of the flip case containing the prisoner.

  A gentle reminder that terror was, quite literally, at his fingertips.

  “One,” he started to count.

  “Two.”

  There was a pause. Then Mira let out a sigh—long, dramatic, the sound of a woman surrendering her dignity.

  “Wait.”

  “Three,” he continued mercilessly. “I will count to five.”

  She straightened, hands loosely clasped in front like she was preparing to confess a crime.

  “Okay. Fine... Thank you…”

  A beat.

  “…Adrian…”

  He said nothing. He just waited.

  She looked away.

  “…senpai.”

  The word nearly dissolved on her tongue.

  “I will…”

  Her voice dipped even lower.

  “…behave from now on.”

  A hush fell over the lab. She glanced up, looking thoroughly mortified.

  Adrian gave a small laugh—just enough to break the air. The satisfaction was illogical, disproportionate to the event.

  Then, acting on an impulse he probably should have examined more closely but chose not to, he reached out.

  He gently patted her head.

  And said, calm as ever—

  “Good girl.”

  Mira froze. It was like he had pulled the fire alarm in her brain.

  “Did you just— No—no—did you actually—?!”

  He stepped back slightly, arms folded again, shielding himself with jargon. “I’m reinforcing positive behavior.”

  Mira gave him a withering look. “Don’t treat me like a dog in a Pavlovian experiment, Adrian.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “You’d fail the test. That was Skinner—operant conditioning, not classical. But if you insist, I can ring the bell next time.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, looking like she was trying to suppress a scream. “Urgggg. You are insufferable.”

  Before she could locate a projectile, he smoothly pivoted. “By the way—what are we doing with the cockroach? Should we release it?”

  “In your room, please,” she said sweetly. sweetly.

  “It doesn’t like me. And my room’s technically just across from yours. You know it’ll fly straight into yours.”

  She flinched visibly. “Stop it, Adrian. I swear—I will kill you.”

  He couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laugh broke through—sharp, bright, utterly unrepentant.

  Mira snatched up a pencil, brandishing it like a weapon.

  And so, what was meant to be a structured scientific preservation had dissolved into absolute chaos. Adrian leaned back against the counter, watching her fume, and thought that perhaps chaos wasn't so inefficient after all.

  Far, far away, a tiny voice piped up,

  “Told you the cockroach would work,” one fairy whispered, smug.

  The other snorted, unimpressed. “Then why didn’t she even blush?”

  A beat of baffled silence.

  “…Why is it so hard to shake her heart loose?”

  No one had the answer. Not even the wind.

  ?