For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
Walking into Dr. Connors' lecture hall felt like stepping onto a different planet. The room was the same—the same steep tiers of seats, the same scent of old wood and dry-erase markers, the same low murmur of a hundred conversations. But Peter was different. The three words that had crystallized in his mind in the quiet of Diana's room—I love her—had fundamentally altered his perception of reality.
He was acutely, painfully aware of everything.
He was aware of the way the fluorescent lights caught the deep, almost blue-black sheen of Diana's hair as she found them seats in their usual row. He was aware of the soft, subtle pressure of her thigh against his as she sat down, a casual contact that now sent a jolt of profound, terrifying affection through him. He was aware of the small, secret smile she gave him when she caught him staring, a smile that felt less like a shared joke and more like a shared soul.
His love for her wasn't a warm, fuzzy feeling. It was a high-voltage current, a fifth fundamental force that had inserted itself into his universe, warping space and time around her. Every normal, mundane detail of their shared student life was now magnified, imbued with a terrifying and beautiful significance.
"Are you prepared for a deep dive into the world of genetic mutations?" she whispered, her voice a low, teasing hum that vibrated straight through his chest.
"I think I'm already on a deep dive," he whispered back, the words more honest than he intended.
Dr. Connors began his lecture, his voice a familiar, authoritative boom. Today's topic was "Spontaneous Genetic Alteration and Environmental Mutagens." Peter felt a cold, familiar dread snake its way up his spine. This wasn't just a lecture; this was the story of his life, a clinical, academic breakdown of the accident that had both made and ruined him.
He tried to focus, to be the diligent student. He opened his notebook, but his pen just hovered over the page. He couldn't stop looking at Diana. She was completely absorbed, her posture perfect, her gaze fixed on the complex diagrams of DNA helices on the projection screen. She took notes with an effortless grace, her elegant script filling the page. To her, this was theory. Data. A fascinating glimpse into the mechanics of the mortal world. To him, it was a horror story.
"…in rare cases," Dr. Connors explained, "exposure to extreme radiation, such as that found in a particle accelerator, can trigger what we call a 'genomic cascade.' The subject's DNA is not just damaged, but fundamentally rewritten. A chaotic, unpredictable process. The results are almost always catastrophic, leading to aggressive cancers or total systemic failure."
Peter's hand, the one that could stick to walls, began to tremble. Chaotic. Unpredictable. Catastrophic. He was a walking, talking catastrophe, a one-in-a-billion anomaly who should, by all rights, be dead. He felt a surge of his old imposter syndrome, the feeling that he was a fraud, a freak hiding in plain sight. And sitting next to Diana—so perfect, so composed, so… pure—the feeling was a thousand times worse. He didn't belong here. He didn't belong next to her.
He must have made a sound, a small, choked breath, because Diana turned her head. Her lecture-focused intensity melted away, replaced by an expression of immediate, sharp concern. Her deep blue eyes scanned his face, seeing not just his distress, but the reason for it. He didn't know how, but she understood.
She didn't say anything. She simply reached over and placed her hand on his knee, a firm, grounding pressure. It was a simple gesture, but it was an anchor in his spiraling thoughts. It was a silent, powerful statement: I am here. You are not alone.
"Of course," Dr. Connors continued, oblivious to the drama unfolding in the back row, "there are theoretical models, largely in the realm of science fiction, that suggest beneficial mutations. The sudden development of advanced cellular regeneration, for example. Or the acquisition of traits from other species… Mr. Parker?"
Peter's head snapped up. The entire lecture hall was quiet. Dr. Connors was looking directly at him.
"Can you give us an example of a known organism that has incorporated foreign DNA into its own genetic code to acquire a new trait?"
Peter's mind was a blank, white wall of static. He knew the answer. He'd read the chapter three times. But the words were gone, lost in the storm of his own self-doubt and the overwhelming, terrifying love he felt for the woman whose hand was still resting on his knee. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Before the silence could become truly humiliating, Diana spoke, her voice clear and calm, filling the large room effortlessly.
"The sea slug, Elysia chlorotica," she said, addressing Dr. Connors. "It consumes algae and integrates the chloroplasts into its own digestive cells. It can then photosynthesize, producing its own food from sunlight. A process known as kleptoplasty."
Connors stared at her for a moment, momentarily taken aback by her confident, precise answer. "That is… absolutely correct, Ms. Prince. An excellent example." He turned back to the front, and the lecture resumed, the spotlight moving off Peter.
Peter turned to her, his expression a mixture of profound gratitude and utter bewilderment. "How did you know that?" he whispered.
"I did the assigned reading," she whispered back, a faint, teasing smile on her lips. But her eyes were full of a soft, protective warmth. She leaned closer, her voice dropping even lower. "And I know that sometimes, even the most brilliant minds can be… loud. It is my honor to be your quiet."
My quiet. The words struck him with the force of a physical blow. She wasn't just his lover, his partner, his friend. She was his sanctuary. The calm in his storm. The signal in his noise.
He looked at her, at this impossible, magnificent woman who could discuss ancient Greek philosophy, command a battlefield, and explain the genetic habits of a sea slug with equal, effortless grace. The fear that had been gripping him since morning—the fear of his world poisoning hers, the fear of not being worthy—began to recede, replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated wonder.
Being in love with her wasn't a vulnerability. It was a superpower.
He laced his fingers with hers, their joined hands hidden between their seats. He gave her hand a tight squeeze, a silent message of thanks that she answered with a gentle pressure in return. The rest of the lecture was a blur. He didn't hear a word Dr. Connors said. He was too busy listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his own heart, which, for the first time, felt perfectly in sync with the quiet, powerful presence of the woman beside him. The anomaly in the lecture hall wasn't the theory on the screen; it was the perfect, improbable symbiosis of the two souls sitting in the back row.
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