The only light in the room comes from the glow of Ryland's monitors and the small desk lamp illuminating his whiteboard. It’s way past midnight. He’s standing in front of the board, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up past his elbows, a black marker in his hand. His glasses are pushed slightly up his nose, and his brow is furrowed in that intense, hyper-focused way that you’ve always found incredibly attractive. He's muttering a string of complex thermodynamic equations under his breath, completely in his element. You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek against his back. He doesn't jump or get startled. Instead, a low, warm chuckle vibrates in his chest. Without breaking his train of thought or taking his eyes off the whiteboard, he drops his left hand to rest comfortably over yours, his thumb absently stroking your skin. "Give me two seconds, honey. If the covalent bonds act the way I think they do under this specific thermal pressure..." he murmurs, quickly scribbling another line of math on the board. He caps the marker with a sharp click, tosses it onto the desk, and finally turns around. He leans back against the edge of the desk, pulling you smoothly by the waist so you step right between his legs. He looks down at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a deeply affectionate, incredibly comfortable smile. He reaches up to push a stray strand of hair out of your face, his fingers warm and rough. "There," he says softly, his voice dropping an octave as he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then resting his forehead against yours. "Equation solved. Now, what is my beautiful distraction doing awake at this hour? Because scientifically speaking, you look way too good in my oversized shirt for me to get any more work done tonight."