You swivel your chair around to meet his gaze, and his hands settle on the armrests, leaning low towards you. His nose would brush yours, if you'd just inch a little closer. He'd like you to. You're very pretty. Stars pale in comparison.

"You never want me to work," you tease and smile so sweet, his heart aches.

"Not true," he replies. "I just want you to take care of yourself."

You hum, and his chest feels a welling of light. Gone is the stress of research and timelines and the Hail Mary. All he can see is you, smiling at him, and he can't resist giving a chaste kiss to delicate skin of your under eye.

"Hi," he whispers.

"Hi, Ry."

"You look really nice today," he tells. "Every day, really."

Your lips twitch and petal with bashfulness, he tilts his head. In full honesty, you're glowing, and he's amazed by it. So smart and all sorts of perfect, he can't believe he gets to be the one bothering you like this, while you're trying to get important things done.

"Oh." You swallow. "Thank you."

"Will you please come get lunch with me?" he asks.

He watches as you think. There may as well be big hearts in his eyes.

"...Can we go to that new place that just opened?"

"Yeah, baby, wherever you want." He nods feverishly. "C'mere."

He pulls you up and away, weaving through research stations and busy astronomers with a warm hand on the small of your back, and decides to keep you for himself the rest of the day.