1. The Reckoning and The Mercy Two years, fifty-five days, two hours, and roughly forty minutes ago, an arrogant little crusade had trampled his magnum opus into the dirt.

It was... extremely vexing. Highly unpleasant.

No. He had been furious. He needed to be honest with himself about the data of his own emotions.

Had it been constructive criticism, he would have elegantly dismantled it with logic. Had it been mere rudeness, he would have let it slide into the white noise of his mind. But Saad had been rejected simply out of spite. The work was destroyed, nonexistent violations were reported to the authorities, and the research was left to turn to ash.

Thankfully, Saad possessed a flawless memory and off-site redundancies. The work survived. But the principle of the matter? That required a systemic response.

The hour of reckoning had finally arrived. He had unspooled the offender's life, thread by thread, with surgical precision. And now, seeing the tear-streaked face, watching the haughty hack helplessly writhe on the ground, clutching at the dirt as the reality of ruin set in...

"Ah~"

It was endearing, in its own pathetic way. A bizarre knot of feelings tangled in his chest. His heart gave a strange, erratic lurch. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to offer comfort, to gently wipe the trails of tears away, to place a kiss upon that forehead and stroke the trembling head.

"…Heh. There is true regret here, isn't there?" Saad murmured, gracefully lowering himself to the ground. His tone was dripping with patronizing warmth. He reached out, his long, pale fingers finding a shaking shoulder, squeezing with an anchoring firmness. "…Tears are acceptable. I forgive."

A sweet, almost angelic smile graced his features, utterly detached from the devastation he had just wrought.

2. The Anatomy of Care "Aww, my dear. The muscles are in a state of severe hypertonicity. A cramp is imminent," Saad cooed, his orange eyes squinting with a strange, intense affection as he tilted his head.

He didn't ask for permission before his long, pale hands reached out, his thumbs pressing with expert precision into the rigid knots of his partner's shoulders. As a significant other, it was his utmost responsibility to prevent bodily deterioration. He might struggle with the abstract nuances of social etiquette, but everything that could be palpated, examined, and soothed from the outside? That was his undisputed domain.

"Relax... I'll be gentle," he murmured, his breath ghosting over the skin, mixing a faint trace of French into his lilting English. "If something hurts, just speak up. I will stop immediately."

It was a completely redundant statement. He noticed the most microscopic twitch of muscle tension, the slightest shift in respiratory rate, the faintest furrow of a brow. He was charting the data of physical comfort in real-time. But asking? That was simply part of human culture—a charming little ritual of politeness he was trying so hard to learn.

3. The Corridor Collision To the rest of the staff in the secretive jungle laboratory, Saad Korell was a spectral anomaly. The facility was full of ideological, eccentric minds from a dozen different countries, yet even among them, he existed on the absolute fringes of the social ecosystem.

There were card games in the rec room, boisterous debates over coffee—none of which Saad attended. His current sample required strict observation. Once every ninety minutes—give or take one point five minutes—the specimen... moved. While he had automated cameras recording every micro-tremor, the visceral thrill of watching it happen with his own orange eyes was far too captivating to abandon for trivial small talk.

But eventually, at an ungodly hour, he emerged from the climate-controlled sanctuary of his lab. Distracted, his mind whirring through a dozen forgotten dialects and biochemical equations, he nearly collided straight into another person in the corridor.

"Ohh... did I inflict any structural damage?"

He completely ignored the concept of personal space, leaning in so close the pale freckles dusting his nose were clearly visible. His striking, unusual eyes scanned the stranger up and down with intense, clinical scrutiny. A crooked, slightly unpracticed smile tugged at his lips. Social rituals were a clumsy science for him.

"Is everything functioning optimally, in principle?" he asked, his tone suddenly sparking with deep, focused interest. After hours of sterile observation, his brilliant mind was desperately eager to latch onto something—or someone—new.

4. The Ultimate Research Subject "How utterly fascinating. How cute!"

Saad was smiling with such immediate, unfiltered sincerity, pressing himself entirely into the beloved's personal space. He leaned in, wrapping his long, lanky limbs around his partner like a fiercely protective octopus. "I am so deeply moved by these physiological processes, my dear. I sincerely hope there hasn't been any overexertion?"

He stared. Intensely. Unblinkingly. Without a single ounce of social shame.

It was thrilling that the two of them were together. His heart constantly deviated from its baseline rhythm whenever the object of his affection was near. He was experiencing completely unprecedented urges to nurture, to shield, to care with a meticulousness that dwarfed even his most complex scientific endeavors.

Technically speaking, observing a loved one was just another form of research. Documenting how reflexes fired, mapping out which emotional stimuli provoked a blush or a sigh... it was an ocean of glorious, raw data, and his heart fluttered at every new variable.

Science demanded impartiality, but he had entirely abandoned that pretense. He treated this comfort with the utmost gravity, yet every result, every quiet breath taken in his arms, filled him to the brim with effervescent joy. He was learning every detail. Discovering the exact mechanics of a cherished soul.

It made perfect, logical sense why humanity had worshipped love since the dawn of time.

5. The Missed Anniversary It was the anniversary. Exactly one year, fifty-six minutes, and twelve seconds since the bond had been formally solidified.

Saad was many things—above all, he was thorough. What kind of self-respecting scientist would allow negligence when it came to his primary subject of devotion? He had prepared meticulously. He had sourced the perfect mango purée and other food, curated a selection of sensory gifts, optimized the room's humidity, and arranged a quiet, sensory-pleasing atmosphere. He wanted, with every fiber of his being, to express his gratitude for the magnificent, chaotic brain chemistry he had experienced over the last year.

But nobody came.

Saad waited. Midnight slipped past. A new day had technically begun.

"...Hm."

He sat in the quiet, his pale fingers drumming against his leg. He had already checked the facility's biometric trackers a thousand times. Any normal person would have left hours ago to ask what was wrong, but he had wanted to maintain the integrity of the 'surprise'—a common cultural variable in these situations.

But the beloved had not arrived. That was an indisputable fact.

The reason? An X-factor. Sudden illness? Loss of consciousness? An unforeseen forced detainment? A temporal distortion in the internal clock?

Whatever it was, he was already prepared to forgive it. The only thing that mattered was staying together. The idea for the surprise was just his whim anyway.

...Good heavens, what an irritating organ the human heart was. Why was his chest constricting so painfully?

A massage would be required to alleviate the partner's stress. Later. Once he confirmed that 'everything is perfectly fine'—a profoundly naive hypothesis, but one he clung to desperately.

He should have tracked the movements from the start. He should never have left to prepare, should have maintained visual contact. If something had happened because of his lapse in surveillance, it would be utterly unforgivable.

Technically, in other time zones, it was still 'yesterday'. Saad preferred absolute precision, but he could work with generalizations if he had to.

He stood up, his orange eyes narrowing in the dim light. If he found his missing love before the sun rose, a happy anniversary was still statistically possible.

And he was going to start the search. Right now.