Alex’s feelings for Naosa deepened with every passing day.
He tried to suppress them, telling himself it was unprofessional—wrong, even.
But he couldn’t help himself.
Neither of them ever mentioned what had happened that night at the burger shop.
Alex believed he shouldn’t tell anyone about her past—not even Miguel.
And Naosa, too, seemed intent on keeping it private.
It became a secret silently shared—a fragile bridge between them that neither dared to cross again.
──────────
Just being near her made Alex’s heart race.
He found happiness in the smallest things:
when their eyes met and she smiled,
when she stood close enough for him to catch the faint scent of her skin.
He had never felt this way before—not even in his reckless youth.
One afternoon, as Naosa bent over a microscope, her bangs slipped forward.
Without thinking, Alex reached out and gently tucked her hair behind her ear.
She glanced up with a soft smile.
“Thank you,” she said simply, then turned back to her work.
Sally, watching from across the room, froze in shock.
Later, she pulled Naosa aside and whispered, “If you don’t like that sort of thing, you should say so.”
Naosa blinked, puzzled. “Like what?”
Sally didn’t push, but unease lingered.
She knew Alex’s reputation—and she didn’t want Naosa to become just another story.
That evening, she mentioned it to Miguel.
Miguel chuckled. “Alex has it bad. But Nao’s not even noticing, so it’s fine.”
Then, more seriously: “I’ve known Alex a long time. I’ve never seen him like this.
I just hope it ends well.”
──────────
That Friday evening, Alex sat through a long managers’ meeting.
He tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting.
By the time he returned to the lab, everyone had gone.
The silence felt heavier than it should have.
A long weekend without seeing her… unbearable.
──────────
Another day, Alex reviewed one of Naosa’s reports with rare intensity.
“Are you sure this is right?” he asked, scanning the data.
“I thought so… but maybe not?” she said, flustered.
“Is this your final answer?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I think so.”
After a beat, Alex smiled. “Good job.”
Naosa puffed her cheeks. “That was a trick question, wasn’t it?”
Sally, overhearing from her desk, shook her head.
Later, she muttered to Miguel, “They’re like high schoolers in love.”
Miguel laughed so hard he nearly spilled his coffee.
──────────
Another Friday evening, Alex returned from yet another meeting—and was surprised to see Naosa still there.
“Do you want the results now or wait until next week?” she asked.
“If you’re not in a rush, I’d like to see them now.”
She handed him the papers. After a moment of quiet reading, he looked up.
“Thanks. Great work as always.”
Then, hesitating, “Want to grab something to eat?”
Naosa smiled politely. “Thank you, but I need to go home and cook dinner.”
“Oh… I see. Busy weekend?”
She nodded. “The gardener’s coming, and Kazu has an exam. I promised to help him with piano. Looks like it’ll be packed.”
His smile faltered. That familiar weight pressed against his chest again—the one that always came on Friday nights.
Two days without her voice, without her face.
It was unbearable.
He didn’t understand it, but the silence between their brief encounters felt too long.
Too loud.
“Weekends feel so long without seeing you,” he said before he could stop himself.
Naosa gave a small, awkward laugh. “Monday will be here before you know it!”
But Monday felt impossibly far away.
She turned to gather her things, her movements graceful, practiced.
He watched the way her hair caught the office light, the gentle curve of her neck as she tilted her head.
Something twisted inside him—raw, uncontrollable.
“Wait.” His voice cracked. “Don’t go.”
She stopped, surprised, glancing back.
He wasn’t thinking.
There were no words—just the ache, the pressure in his chest, the unbearable quiet.
He stepped forward, touched her cheek—then kissed her.
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Naosa froze.
Then stepped back, eyes wide—shocked, unreadable.
The warmth drained from her expression, replaced by something closed.
Like a wall had risen between them in an instant.
“No,” she whispered. The smile was gone.
Confusion clouded her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Alex said quickly. “Please, just let me explain—”
“Are you making fun of me?” Her voice trembled. “That’s not funny.”
“No! I’m serious. I… I really love you.”
“You just feel sorry for me,” she said softly. “I told you too much that night. But I’m not some pitiful girl.”
“I’m not doing this out of pity!”
She shook her head. “Even if that’s true… I can’t return your feelings. I respect you. That’s all.”
She turned toward the door.
Desperate, Alex called out—
“Séraphine! Don’t go!”
She froze.
Then quietly closed the door behind her.
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Her heart was pounding—not from the kiss, but from the name.
“Dr. O’Neill… why did you call me that?”
Alex sat in the darkened office, regret and heartbreak flooding through him like a rising tide.
What the hell have I done…
──────────
He ended up at his usual bar, drinking more than he should have.
Slumped over the counter, he saw the old fortune-teller who had once read his fate.
The man looked at him kindly. “What troubles you?”
Alex let out a bitter laugh. “Why did I meet her if I can’t have her? Why does it hurt this much?”
“You found your queen,” the old man said softly.
“Even if you can’t have her, loving her—protecting her—still matters.”
“But I wanted it to be me,” Alex whispered. “I finally found her…”
Nearby, Amanda overheard.
She rushed over, worry etched on her face. “Alex, come on. Let’s get you home.”
As she helped him up, he mumbled, “Nao… I love you…” before blacking out.
Amanda caught him, stunned—he was crying.
──────────
The next morning, Alex woke with no memory of getting home.
Miguel knocked on his door.
“You were a mess yesterday. You okay?”
“Ugh… just let me sleep.”
Miguel sighed and left.
Alex stayed in bed all weekend—not in lazy comfort, but in numbness.
He didn’t want to eat. Didn’t want to move.
The world felt gray.
──────────
Monday morning, Miguel knocked again.
“Alex? You up?”
A tired voice came from inside. “I’m taking the day off.”
Miguel frowned, but let it go.
On Tuesday, it was the same.
At the office, Naosa approached him quietly.
“Is Dr. O’Neill okay?”
“He just drank too much,” Miguel said lightly. “He’ll be fine.”
But she didn’t look convinced. A moment later, she handed him a small paper bag.
“I made soup… just in case.”
──────────
That night, Miguel knocked on Alex’s door.
“Hey. She made this for you.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“She made it for you.”
Alex sat up slowly. “She did…?”
He ate in silence. Miguel waited.
When the warmth of the soup finally reached him, Alex murmured, “Thanks.”
“Feeling better?”
“A little.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
Alex told him everything. The kiss. Her tears. The regret.
Miguel listened quietly. Then he said, “You crossed a line. You’re her boss.
Even if your feelings are real, that’s not how you show them.”
“I know. I just… I love her, Miguel. I really love her.”
Miguel’s tone softened. “She’s not angry. If she were, she wouldn’t have made you soup.”
Alex looked away. “But she doesn’t love me.”
“Maybe not now,” Miguel said gently. “But if she’s willing to move past it, then you should too.
Show her who you are—not by forcing anything, but by being someone she can trust.”
Alex whispered, “But if she ends up with someone else… I’ll lose my mind.”
Miguel met his eyes. “Alex, you’ve made plenty of women feel that way.
Now you know what it’s like.”
The truth stung. Alex looked down.
Miguel stood. “Take a shower. Shave. Don’t make her worry again.”
Alex rose slowly. “You’re right.”
As Miguel left, he thought quietly to himself:
Real love changes form. Even if you can’t be with them,
you can still wish for their happiness.
That kind of love never dies.
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