The sky remains a heavy indigo, the stars still bright against the deep blue. Mira stirs within the sheets, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of the vast, dark universe stretching overhead. She reaches out, her hand brushing the space beside her, but the mattress is empty. A sense of longing fills her chest as she looks toward the floor, seeing a pair of soft, lined slippers waiting for her. She slides into them and pulls his oversized white shirt closer. The cotton carries the scent of him, making her cheeks heat as she notices the hem leaving her legs bare. A flutter of shyness makes her heart skip while walking toward the door. Reaching the staircase, she pauses to look at a grand piano in the common area, its dark wood gleaming in the shadows. The thought of him playing such an instrument feels like a secret she has yet to uncover.

  Downstairs, a single lamp casts a warm glow over the kitchen island where Adrian stands, the white cotton of his sleeves rolled to his mid-forearms beneath the dark texture of his black knitting vest.

  He holds a red apple against the wooden board, his fingers curved to keep the fruit in place. The blade of his knife sinks through the skin, peeling away long, curling strips of crimson. Mira stands in the doorway, her heart thrumming against her ribs. Is this real? After a night of magic and their first kiss, she can hardly believe this life—and this man—are hers. The sight of him taking care of her in this simple way feels more intimate than any dream.

  Adrian does not turn until the salad is finished. He sets the spoon aside, the movement pulling the white fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders. As he notices her standing in the shadow of the doorway, his expression breaks into a slow, private smile. He wipes his palms on a dark linen cloth and walks toward her.

  "Did you sleep okay?"

  Mira flusters, her gaze fixing to the collar of his shirt as she gives a small, shy nod.

  “When did you get up?” Mira asks.

  “Just a bit ago.”

  “Why didn't you wake me up?”

  “You needed the sleep.” He answers, his voice low and warm, as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to her temple.

  The touch is light enough to bring back the memory of the night before. The feeling of his lips on hers stays with her, making the morning feel new and sweet. Mira closes her eyes, letting the warmth of the kiss settle on her skin. She shifts closer, her hand reaching out to curl against the fabric of his shirt.

  “Tell me this isn't a dream,” she whispers. Her fingers find the beat of his heart. She lets her head rest there, her cheek pressing into his chest, breathing him in.

  For a moment, the shadow of him falls over her, blocking out the bright kitchen light. He leans down, his lips meeting hers in a slow, deep kiss that anchors her in the heat of the moment. A cold shiver runs through her skin, down to her spine, where his large, warm palm covers the area behind her ear and along her small neck. She can feel the heat of his forearm wrapping around her waist through the oversized shirt as he pulls her in. His hands are so big and his body is so broad that she feels like she has disappeared into him, the thud of his heart beating against her own ribs and making her own heart race even faster to match his.

  Then he slowly pulls back, his lips lingering just an inch from hers.

  "Does this feel like a dream?"

  The words are a low vibration she feels through his chest before she hears them. Mira feels the weight of his chin resting atop her head as his arms tighten, forming a massive, protective circle that completely encloses her. The hold is so desperate and sure that she can feel the decade of longing in his grip—as if she is finally everything he ever wanted to hold.

  She wraps her arms as far as they will go around his broad back, squeezing him with everything she has.

  “If it is,” she says, her voice muffled by his shirt, “don't wake me up yet.”

  He stays there, his nose nudging the hair at her temple, neither of them willing to be the first to break the circle. After a long moment, Adrian lets out a long, slow breath against her hair, his grip loosening just enough for her to find her footing again.

  “I've got breakfast ready. We should probably start so we can stay on schedule.”

  “Can’t we just skip breakfast?”

  “No skips,” he says. “Why? You trying to get out of class, too?”

  Mira pulls back just enough to meet his eyes. “How about skipping the vaccination?”

  “Nice try. Also no,” he says, his tone firm but his eyes softening as he brushes a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

  “Fine,” she gives his waist one last squeeze before finally letting her heels touch the floor. The sudden distance feels cold, even though he hasn't fully let go yet.

  He takes her hand, his fingers lacing through hers, and leads her to the table. The reality of her outfit finally sinks in as she settles onto the cool wood of the chair. The cotton bunches up high around her thighs, leaving her legs completely bare and exposed.

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  “Uhm…” Mira crumples the shirt in her fist, her face heating up as she tries in vain to tug the hem toward her knees. “What am I supposed to wear?”

  "Your new clothes are in the closet upstairs," he answers gently.

  "Do we still need the device?"

  "Yes," Adrian says, his voice soft. "I am not your only stimulus. You have to learn to regulate your emotions—fear, joy, stress.”

  He leans in closer, his gaze searching hers. "You need to be calm and deeply relaxed around me to transform back to normal, Mira. Right now, you are still flustered, too joyful. Your heart rate is already climbing."

  Each of his words rings through her mind, making her face turn a deep shade of pink.

  "Adrian. I know already," Mira says, her voice small and flustered as she hides her face slightly. "Please stop it."

  Mira focuses on her plate, carefully spearing a small leaf of lettuce with her fork before Adrian breaks the silence.

  “Do you have any food allergies?”

  “No,” Mira says, “as long as there are no stimulants.”

  She spears a shrimp and takes a taste. It’s perfect. She looks up at him, genuinely impressed. “Adrian, is there anything you aren’t good at?”

  “Why?” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “Uhm… maybe being funny and adorable.”

  Mira exhales. Just as she thought—he’s even great at cooking, which makes her feel a little ridiculous. She moves a piece of apple around her plate before looking back at him. “My class tomorrow is in the afternoon. Let me make you breakfast.”

  Adrian pauses and smirks, his expression turning sceptical as if he already knows the answer. “When’s the last time you actually made breakfast?”

  Mira goes still, trying to find the memory, then glances sideways at him.

  “Uhm… do cookies and cereal with milk count?”

  "Chocolate milk?" Adrian simpers, his eyes glinting with mischief before he looks back down at his plate.

  "Uhm. How do you know?" Mira asks by reflex, then stops. Her face turns a deep shade of red as the realization sinking in.

  Does she seriously taste like chocolate milk? No matter how one looks at it, it’s easily the most childish thing ever. Why can’t she just be feminine, like whiskey—or at least a shot of espresso, but a drink for a six-year-old?

  She stares at her plate, her grip tightening on her fork as she tries to hide her burning cheeks.

  "Why the long face?" Adrian lets out a low, amused huff. "I never said I wanted something heavy or sophisticated."

  Mira looks up, surprised that he’d read her mind.

  "Chocolate milk is a natural stress-reliever," his thumb grazes her knuckles before he pulls back. "Creamy, sweet, and addictive. The kind of thing you can drink from morning to night."

  Mira blinks, her cheeks flushing a deep rose. She finishes her meal in a shy, comfortable silence, caught between embarrassment and a spark of joy. When Adrian sets the chilled choco milk glass in front of her, she wraps her hands around it and takes a sip, wordlessly accepting his care. In this moment, being his "chocolate milk" girl feels like the best thing in the world.

  ?

  Mira stands before the floor-length mirror, adjusting the vintage midi dress. The soft cream fabric fits her perfectly, featuring a classic collar and a row of buttons that transition into a pleated skirt adorned with delicate floral patterns. The long, puffed sleeves frame her shoulders, and the cinched waist defines her silhouette with elegant simplicity. The tracking vest beneath her dress feels remarkably light and invisible. She turns to the side, observing how the elegant lines of the floral print stay completely undisturbed by the device hidden underneath.

  "Adrian, uhm... I don't think I can wear this to class." Mira says, her finger pressing against the floral skirt as she closes the door behind her.

  Adrian is already waiting in the hallway, dressed in one of his usual suits. He looks her over with a slight tilt of his head. "Why not? It looks great on you."

  "But isn't it a bit much for a lecture hall?"

  "Should we go pick out some casual clothes for you then?"

  Mira flusters, her cheeks warming. "No, that’s not what I mean, Adrian. Never mind. I can just stop at the dorm and change later."

  "Shall we?"

  He steps closer and takes her hand. His fingers lace through hers, the warmth of his palm grounding her while the world outside remains draped in the deep shadows of the early hour. There is a newfound ease in the air, a soft rhythm to their movements that belongs only to them.

  And so, their first morning starts simple, just like that.

  ?

  The doctor looks over the medical records, her voice even as she begins to speak.

  “We’ll start your vaccinations today, Mira. Based on your exposure, we’re prioritizing the essentials.”

  Mira nods once, her breath catching as she listens to the plan.

  “First,” the doctor continues, “you’ll receive the influenza vaccine—standard adult dose, 0.5 milliliters. This will protect against common flu strains, including those that can circulate in wild mammals and birds.”

  Mira’s fingers twitch. Her gaze drifts sideways for a second, glancing at Adrian as if to say, Are you serious?

  Adrian’s eyes meet hers—calm, attentive. He offers a silent agreement, his presence feeling like an unspoken rule.

  The doctor continues, her tone measured.

  “Tetanus will only be administered if your record shows a need for a booster. As for leptospira—often transmitted through exposure to animal urine or contaminated water—we’ll monitor for fever or muscle pain. If symptoms emerge, we’ll begin treatment. Tick-borne encephalitis is rare here, but we’ll watch for any neurological signs. For avian influenza and rodent-borne bacteria, we’ll flag any respiratory symptoms for testing. Given the forest exposure, we’ll also screen for fungal infections—spores from decaying mosses—especially if skin lesions appear.”

  Mira’s breath slips out, the room’s bright atmosphere wrapping around her like a strange pressure.

  The doctor’s voice becomes more gentle, almost a reassurance. “We’ll start with the flu shot today. Are you ready?”

  Mira nods once, a small breath catching in her chest. Even with how happy she feels in their new relationship, the reality remains that Adrian is still Adrian. She can hardly believe they are seriously spending their first official morning together at a hospital getting vaccinated. It is a total clinical version of romance. Most people get flowers, yet she receives a biological security upgrade against flu and rodent-borne pathogens. It is so absurdly on-brand for him that she almost has to laugh.

  ?