The lab was quiet except for the low hum of machines and the occasional scratch of Lena's pen against her notebook.
It was late - far later than either of them should've been working - but neither had the heart to leave.
The air smelled faintly of coffee, disinfectant, and something sweeter: the stubborn hope that tonight would be the night they finally succeeded.
Ethan sat hunched over a microscope, dark hair falling into his eyes, utterly focused. Lena smiled to herself from across the room, pretending to write, but really just watching him.
How many hours had they spent like this?
Side by side, chasing impossible dreams?
She stood up, stretching her arms over her head.
Her lab coat fluttered around her knees.
"You need to blink, Ethan," she teased, walking toward him. "Your eyes are going to dry up and fall out."
He grunted in protest without looking up.
"Scientific progress waits for no man's eyeballs."
"You say that now," Lena said, leaning over his shoulder, "but when you go blind, don't come crying to me."
He finally turned his head, and their faces ended up close - too close.
Lena froze, her breath catching in her throat.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Ethan smiled, lazy and a little shy, and Lena's heart stuttered like it always did around him.
"I wouldn't cry," he said. "You'd just have to lead me around everywhere."
She snorted, covering how fast her pulse was racing.
"I already do."
They shared a laugh - soft and familiar - and it settled around them like a warm blanket.
---
The lab wasn't much: cracked tile floors, battered metal cabinets, ancient equipment they had begged, borrowed, or half-stolen from other departments.
But it was theirs.
Their little kingdom of caffeine-fueled dreams and whispered jokes.
On the far wall, a whiteboard was covered in chaotic scrawls - chemical formulas, half-finished ideas, stick-figure doodles of each other wearing ridiculous superhero capes.
In the corner, a tiny table held an ancient coffee maker, stacks of cold pizza boxes, and a battered Polaroid camera.
Lena picked up the camera, turning it over in her hands.
"Remember when we thought we were gonna win the Nobel Prize?" she said, smiling.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, stretching with a groan.
"We still might," he said. "If our miracle cure doesn't kill us first."
Their project - Project New Dawn - was supposed to be the next leap forward.
A universal regenerative serum - a way to help the body heal itself from almost anything: cancer, nerve damage, degenerative diseases.
A way to save millions of lives.
And tonight, the final stage - human compatibility testing - was within reach.
Just one more step.
One small risk.
---
Ethan caught her staring at the vial on the workbench - the clear, shimmering liquid that could change everything.
"Don't look at it like it's a grenade," he teased.
She didn't laugh.
Instead, she walked over and touched the glass vial lightly with one finger.
"I just..." she started, then shook her head. "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of what happens if it works," she said. "And of what happens if it doesn't."
Ethan stood up, coming to stand beside her.
He placed his hand over hers, warm and solid.
"Hey," he said gently. "We've triple-tested every stage. It's safe. It's ready."
"You sound so sure," Lena whispered.
"I have to be," Ethan said, meeting her eyes. "Because I believe in it. I believe in us."
The lab around them faded away.
There was only his hand holding hers, his heart steady and fierce beneath his shirt.
"And if something goes wrong?" she asked.
Ethan smiled - that quiet, stubborn smile she loved so much.
"Then we face it together."
---
Later, they sat on the windowsill of the break room, legs dangling, drinking cold coffee and watching the stars.
Campus lights glowed below them - safe, normal, alive.
Lena rested her head on Ethan's shoulder.
"You know," she murmured, "normal people would've gone home hours ago."
"Normal is overrated," Ethan said, leaning his cheek against her hair.
She laughed softly, threading her fingers through his.
"You ever think about what comes after?" she asked. "After we finish this? After we're...famous? Rich? Probably sued?"
Ethan grinned. "I think about a cabin. By the lake. You, me, coffee every morning, stars every night."
"That's cheesy."
"You love cheesy," he said, nudging her playfully.
She smiled.
Yeah.
She really did.
---
Much later, when the world had changed and she was staring into the hollow eyes of the man she loved -
when he was no longer fully human -
she would remember this night.
The warmth of his hand.
The weight of his promise.
The quiet certainty in his voice when he said:
> "We face it together."
And she would realize:
He hadn't lied.
Not even a little.