At 11:00 PM, the Life Sciences building had completely merged into a thick, inky darkness. Only one window at the end of the fifth floor stubbornly emitted a sliver of fluorescent white light, looking exceptionally lonely in the middle of the empty campus.
Silas Shen sat at his broad laboratory desk. The cold glow of the computer screen hit his face, sketching his already refined features into a pale, nearly translucent silhouette. His slender fingers tapped mechanically on the keyboard, as the jumping data points appeared like strings of meaningless, garbled code.
He had been suffering from insomnia lately.
Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Lin's face—radiating with happiness—and that sentence, "I chose her because I think she is the best when I'm wide awake," would prick at his most sensitive nerve like a tiny steel needle.
On the corner of his desk, the grand, gold-stamped red invitation lay discarded.
The words "Plus-One" reflected a piercing golden light under the warm yellow desk lamp. It was like a silent mirror, bluntly and cruelly reflecting the crack in his soul named "Conflict." He was the youngest full professor at Beijing University, the very personification of rationality; yet now, within the scent of oranges brought by a student, he had become an apprentice who had lost his formulas.
Tap. Tap.
A light, rhythmic set of footsteps echoed in the silent corridor, sounding like drumbeats stepping directly onto Silas's heart.
His typing came to a violent halt. His spine stiffened instinctively, and his breathing grew shallow. This particular frequency of footsteps was something he would likely never mistake for the rest of his life.
"Professor, I knew you hadn't left yet."
The door was pushed open, bringing in a crisp, refreshing chill unique to autumn nights. Hunter Huo was dressed in an oversized hoodie, his flamboyant blonde hair slightly disheveled by the night wind. Like a flicker of an inextinguishable flame, he instantly lit up the cold laboratory.
He carried two bulging insulated bags and walked over with a natural ease, as if he had rehearsed this move a thousand times, setting the bags directly next to Silas's hand on the lab bench.
"The cafeteria closed ages ago. I climbed over the wall and went to that century-old shop on the back street to buy these—crab roe soup dumplings." Hunter grumbled while expertly unpacking the bags. "The line was huge, but luckily I snagged the last steamer. Eat them while they're hot; the skin gets tough once they cool down."
A rich, savory aroma instantly smothered the bitter scent of reagents in the lab.
Silas stared blankly at the steaming bag of dumplings.
The white steam blurred his lenses. In that moment, the scene before him overlapped with a humid morning in Haicheng. Back then, Hunter's left hand was still wrapped in thick bandages, yet he had stubbornly used his clumsy hands to peel shrimp for Silas one by one, his gaze as focused as if he were handling a priceless treasure.
At that time, Silas didn't understand that this "puppy" who always smiled mischievously would silently take a cold blade for him in a rainy alley; that he would guard him in the hallway of the midnight lab, refusing to leave even when he fell asleep clutching his backpack.
All of the scorching, searing affection had been hidden by Hunter behind these seemingly heartless smiles and midnight snacks.
"Hunter Huo," Silas called out softly.
"Hmm?" Hunter was busy snapping the disposable chopsticks apart to hand them over. He looked up, his eyes startlingly bright, like they were filled with the starlight of the night.
Silas looked at him, a sour, swelling sensation rising in his throat. He wanted to ask "Why are you so good to me?" He wanted to ask "If it weren't for that 99% compatibility, would you still be like this?" But all these rational, sharp questions melted away the moment they met those eyes, which were sincere to the point of being foolish.
"...It's nothing."
Silas lowered his lashes, concealing the panicked tremor in his eyes. He took the chopsticks and obediently picked up a dumpling, bringing it to his lips.
The savory explosion of crab roe burst on his tongue. That scorching heat slid down his throat and into his stomach, dispelling the chill he had accumulated from sitting in the lab all day.
Hunter didn't press him, nor did he haggle for "interest" as he usually did. He simply pulled up a chair and sat across from Silas, resting his chin on his hands, watching Silas eat with total focus.
His blonde hair looked soft under the warm yellow light, drooping over his forehead—he truly looked like a large Golden Retriever guarding his master, quietly wagging his tail.
"Is it good?" Hunter asked with a smile, his voice carrying the magnetic pull unique to a young man.
"Yes," Silas swallowed the last bite, his gaze losing focus.
In truth, he had never enjoyed these types of messy foods before; he found them troublesome and hated getting his hands dirty. But at this moment, he felt that this soup dumpling was more delicious than any delicacy he had ever tasted.
Outside the window, the night was heavy, and the wind blew through the ginkgo trees with a soughing sound.
Inside this small laboratory, the light was warm like amber, freezing the silence into a texture that felt almost like tenderness.
Silas lowered his head and continued to eat, his movements slow and meticulous.
In the air, that orange scent—which was supposed to be suppressed by blockers—seemed to seep out again, bit by bit, due to the excessive stillness of the atmosphere. It was Hunter's scent, a warmth that made him feel incredibly steady even without relying on biological compatibility.
He suddenly realized that logic was utterly powerless at this moment.
On this deep night, he hadn't just eaten a snack; he seemed to have swallowed the "poison" named "attraction" that he had once fought so hard to resist.
After finishing the last dumpling, Silas set down his chopsticks, wiped his hands with a tissue, and let his gaze fall on the scarred arm Hunter had extended.
"Does your hand... still hurt?"
Hunter was stunned for a second before flashing a grin. He waved his arm in front of Silas, his tone arrogant yet tinged with a hint of spoiled whining. "Professor, are you worried about me? Then blow on it for me. If you blow on it, it won't hurt anymore."
Normally, Silas would have told him to "mind his manners" with a cold face.
But tonight, Silas simply stared at the scar. Then, extremely slowly—as if afraid of waking from a beautiful dream—he gently brushed his hand over it.
Hunter's smile froze. His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.
The air pressure in the laboratory seemed to spike in an instant.
Silas retracted his hand quickly, his voice returning to its cool tone. "It's late. Go back."
But his ears, hidden beneath his hair, were flushed a deep, undeniable red in the shadows where the light could not reach.