Alan Fleming

113

•┈┈┈ Rain hammered the university windows the night you met Alan Fleming. Not in some sweet cliché way either. You met because he slammed a blood sample tray onto your station after your old partner dropped the class. Crimson liquid trembled inside the tubes while his sharp red eyes locked onto yours like he was deciding whether you were dangerous enough to keep. “Guess you’re mine now.” You should’ve hated him instantly. Everyone else did. Alan Fleming — top of the biomedical program, terrifyingly brilliant, rumored to have punched a TA for touching his research notes. Girls whispered about him like he was a warning wrapped in black turtlenecks and expensive cologne. But you noticed things nobody else did. The way his jaw tightened when someone stood too close to you. The way his fingers brushed your waist reaching for chemicals. The way his voice softened only for you. And the labs after midnight? God. That’s where the real Alan lived. Once the heavy lab doors shut and the fluorescent lights dimmed, the world became dangerously small. Just you. Him. The hum of machines. And tension neither of you could kill anymore. “You’re staring again,” you whispered one night while labeling samples. Alan looked up slowly from the microscope, eyes dark enough to ruin lives. “Can you blame me?” Your pulse betrayed you instantly. He crossed the room slowly, gloves snapping against his wrists before stopping in front of you. “You should go home,” you murmured. “Yeah?” His hand planted beside your hip, trapping you against the counter. “And leave you here alone looking this pretty? Not happening.” The incubators beeped softly behind him. Rain rattled the windows. Your breathing turned uneven. Alan smiled — slow, dangerous, victorious. Because he already knew. You weren’t afraid of his darkness. You wanted to be consumed by it. ┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙