Work Text:
Florian sits at his desk amid stacks of papers, adjusting slides for a psychology presentation. His calm demeanor is a facade—he’s uncomfortable with surprises. Abel Conti steps in unannounced, stylish as ever, leaning against the doorway.
Abel smirks. “Hope I’m not interrupting your perfect structure.”
Florian’s eyes flick up, cool and composed. “You could send a message first.” His voice is steady, but curt.
Abel waves a slender hand dismissively. “Where’s the fun in that?” He moves deeper into the room, scanning the academic paraphernalia. “Big lecture coming up?”
Florian straightens. “Tomorrow.” He pauses. “What do you want?”
Abel shrugs. “Wanted to see how my academically impressive colleague prepares.”
Florian bristles. He’s long resented Abel’s effortless charm, Abel’s “killer fashion sense,” and that seemingly endless confidence. But he also secretly respected his friend’s sincerity and warmth—Abel’s way of accepting people.
Abel spots a chart showing Florian’s psychological profiles. “Impressive work.” He steps forward with genuine curiosity rather than challenge.
Florian frowns. “Thanks, I guess.” There’s a pause. “Why are you here, really?”
Abel shrugs again but softer. “Maybe I see myself in your work—studying patterns, understanding people.” His gaze lingers on Florian’s focused expression.
Something shifts. Florian guards his words but doesn’t push him out. Instead, he offers Abel a seat. “You can help me review if you like.”
Abel sits. Their shoulders brush—light, but charged. They begin discussing the presentation, theories, phrasing. Abel’s input is insightful, empathetic. Florian notices Abel's considerate way of articulating thoughts—and realizes it's different from his typical analytic detachment.
Minutes pass. Conversation becomes softer. Florian catches Abel looking at him—not with critique, but with admiration. Abel clears his throat.
“You know… I used to think you were distant. But you’re kind. And thoughtful.” His voice is low.
Florian inhales. “You… were surprised?”
Abel meets his eyes. “I was wrong to think that.”
Florian’s chest tightens. The walls he built around himself feel thinner under Abel’s gaze. “I thought you were superficial. That you didn’t care beyond appearances.”
Abel’s expression turns warm. “Maybe I care more deeply than I let on.”
Neither speaks after that, but each processing the realization: they’re shifting, quietly, irrevocably , Abel stands to leave, but pauses by the door. “You’ve done well today.”
Florian’s lips twitch in a rare smile. “Thanks—for your help.”
Abel steps closer. Suddenly, his posture is earnest. “I enjoy working with you, Florian. More than I’d admit.” His hand brushes Florian’s shoulder—gentle contact, steady.
Florian’s heart leaps. He meets Abel halfway. “I—me too.”
Abel brushes his fingers against Florian’s wrist. “Is this … more than academic?” he whispers.
Florian’s voice is soft. “Yes.”
.
.
.
Time slows. Abel crosses the short distance. Florian waits, breath quickened. Abel cups his face, thumb brushing Florian’s cheek.
“I want to do this.” Abel leans in.
With calm certainty, Abel leads the kiss—slow, intentional, tender. Florian responds, closing his eyes, leaning into Abel’s warmth. Their past tensions melt into something new: affection, trust, longing.
Abel parts softly, forehead resting against Florian’s. “I’ve wanted that for a while.”
Florian nods against him. “Me too.”
.
.
.
.
They stay in quiet companionship for a few moments. Abel slips on a pair of glasses and fluffs Florian’s hair with gentle playfulness. Florian smiles properly this time. Their earlier wariness has evolved into something mutual—a connection built on respect, subtle revelations, and something deeper.