Ophelia withdrew her left hand and tucked it back into her sleeve.
The movement was natural, no different from before. But this time, she was a beat slower in retracting it. Just a fraction of a second, perhaps.
Klein was still struggling with the blue stain on his cuff, rubbing it with the clean side of the cotton cloth. The blue didn’t come off; instead, it gained another smear.
Ophelia watched him for two seconds.
“Go back and rest.”
Klein looked up, about to say something—likely regarding the subsequent experimental plans—but he caught a glimpse of the sky outside the window and swallowed his words.
“Alright.”
He began tidying the workbench. He covered the porcelain dish, tossed the cotton cloth into the nearby waste box, and placed the vial of pale blue liquid back on the innermost part of the shelf. His movements were efficient, though the blue luminescence on his cuff flickered with every motion.
Ophelia leaned against the doorframe, waiting for him.
Klein put the last bottle back in its place and wiped his hands on his apron, only then realizing that the apron was already stained with several marks of various colors—blue, gray, and a patch of yellow he didn’t remember getting there.
He looked down to assess his current state.
“...I’ll take a shower first.”
This was a reasonable statement. Ophelia glanced at the distribution of stains across his cuff, apron, and collar, and nodded.
“Even though cleaning magic could handle it—” Klein paused as he untied the apron, “I always feel like that kind of clean is fake. On the surface it’s clean, but the body still feels wrong.”
“Picky.”
Ophelia offered a rare joke.
“It’s not being picky; it’s being meticulous.”
He hung up the apron and blew out the candles on the workbench. The laboratory plunged into semi-darkness, with only the light from the hallway illuminating the space, stretching their shadows long.
Ophelia turned and walked out.
After a few steps, she paused. She didn’t look back.
“I’ll wait for you in the room.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, her tone much like when she usually said, “Training at six tomorrow morning.” It was a perfectly normal notification.
Klein responded with an “alright” from behind her.
Then he paused.
For some reason, those ordinary words echoed in the half-empty laboratory a bit longer than usual. He looked down at the blue stain still on his hand, then at her retreating back.
The light carved her outline into a clean silhouette.
...Better finish washing up quickly.
He turned to lock the reagent cabinet.
Ophelia continued walking. Her steps were steady, her pace normal. As she rounded the corner, she raised a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing against the shell of her ear.
Her ears felt a bit hot.
No particular reason. The hallway just wasn’t very well-ventilated.
She quickened her pace.
Back in the bedroom, she lit the bedside lamp and took off her coat, draping it over the back of a chair. The windows were closed, and the room retained the lingering scent of sunlight from when the blankets had been aired out during the day. She sat on the edge of the bed and removed her boots, her toes curling into the carpet.
Then she realized she didn’t know what posture to wait in.
Sitting? Too deliberate. Standing? Even stranger. Lying down?
...This... wouldn’t work either.
...When did she start caring about such things?
She stood up and walked to the wardrobe, pulling open a drawer. Her fingers paused between two nightgowns. One was her usual one, with a high neckline and sleeves that covered her wrists. The other... she wasn’t sure when it had appeared, but the neckline was looser and the sleeves were shorter.
Ophelia stared at the short-sleeved one for three seconds before expressionlessly pulling out her usual one.
She closed the drawer with a bit more force than necessary.
She changed her clothes, sat back on the edge of the bed, and picked up the half-read book from the nightstand, flipping to the dog-eared page to begin reading.
She read a single line three times, but the words didn’t sink in.
She rested the book face-down on her lap.
The sound of water came from the end of the hallway. Separated by two doors, it wasn’t very clear, but it was distinguishable.
She picked up the book again, this time starting from the first line of the page. She read earnestly, word by word.
It was only when she reached the fourth line that she realized the corners of her mouth hadn’t quite come down yet.
Ever since leaving the laboratory, they had been turned upward.
Ophelia used the book to hide half her face.
No one could see. It was fine.
...
Klein took quite a while to wash up.
Those messy colors on his body were indeed difficult to clean.
He stood in the bathroom, watching the water wash down his arms, carrying away the last of the residual color and meticulously cleaning under his fingernails.
He washed his hair, too.
Not because he was being extra, but because some of the stains had somehow gotten into his hair.
As he dried his hair, he caught his reflection in the mirror. The man in the mirror still had a lingering trace of excitement on his face; his eyes, though tired, were excessively bright.
He took a deep breath.
Calm down.
It was only a preliminary result, not yet a complete success.
He threw his old clothes into the laundry basket and pulled on a clean robe.
The hallway was quiet. His footsteps made no sound on the carpet.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar.
He pushed the door open gently. The curtains weren’t fully drawn, and a sliver of moonlight leaked through the gap, falling exactly across the foot of the bed.
Ophelia was lying on her side on the right side of the bed, her back to the door. Her breathing was steady, the rise and fall of her shoulders minimal. The covers were pulled just below her shoulders, revealing her nape and the curve of her collarbone. The book had been closed and placed back on the nightstand, with a bookmark tucked into one of the middle pages.
Asleep.
Klein didn’t make a sound.
He went around to the left side of the bed, lifted a corner of the covers, and sat down slowly, then lay down just as carefully. He controlled the entire process well; the mattress barely shifted.
He pulled up the covers and lay flat, staring at the ceiling.
The moonlight painted a small, irregular patch of light above him.
His mind still wouldn’t stop. Tonight’s experimental results replayed in his head—he could try lowering the concentration another level, extend the permeation time to forty minutes to see the reaction, and the catalyst content in that ratio, the next batch should be reduced by half a graduation...
Klein closed his eyes, forcing himself to stop thinking.
Sleep. He’d deal with it tomorrow.
His breathing gradually leveled out. His body began to relax. Just as his consciousness started to drift—
There was movement beside him.
A very soft rustle of fabric.
Then, a small patch of warmth pressed against the outside of his arm.
Klein opened his eyes.
Ophelia had turned over. She was lying on her side, facing him. Her eyes were open.
The moonlight shone from behind her; her expression was hard to make out, but there was a light in her eyes. It wasn’t a reflection of the moon; it was shining from within.
She wasn’t asleep.
She hadn’t been asleep from the very beginning.
Klein realized this belatedly.
Ophelia didn’t speak immediately.
She just looked at him, with almost no distance between them. Her hair was spread across the pillow, its golden hue appearing a few shades darker in this light. The moonlight traced a very soft line along her profile, from her brow to her jaw.
Then she shifted forward a little more.
Just a little.
Not leaning in, just closing the distance slightly. Her hand emerged from beneath the covers, her fingertips brushing his forearm. It was her right hand. The temperature of her fingertips was normal—dry, with thin calluses.
Klein didn’t move. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he felt this moment shouldn’t be interrupted.
“Klein.”
She called his name. Her voice was much softer than during the day, carrying a low huskiness from being muffled under the covers. It didn’t sound like she was calling for someone, but rather like she was confirming something—confirming that he was here.
“Hmm?”
Her finger slid from his forearm to his wrist. She didn’t grip it; she just rested it there. Right over the spot where his pulse throbbed.
Two seconds of silence.
Her fingertips tightened slightly.
Klein slowly turned his palm, letting her fingertips fall into his grasp. Then he gently closed his hand.
Ophelia’s fingers stiffened for an instant.
Then they relaxed.
Silence hung between them. The moonlight shifted slightly, moving from the foot of the bed to the folds of the covers.
“Klein.”
She called him again. Her voice was even lower this time. So low that he had to tilt his head slightly to hear her.
“Hmm.”
Her fingers curled slightly in his palm. As those tiny scales brushed against the lines of his palm, they left a faint, scratching sensation.
“...Shall we continue?”
She wasn’t talking about the experiment.
Rate on N.U.
