Andy barely had time to knock before the door flew open and Summer launched herself at him, all joy and motion.

  "I got it!" she shouted as her arms wrapped around his neck. "It was one stupid comma! I spent hours on it, but it's fixed, it's finally — oh my god, you smell amazing — fixed!"

  Andy laughed as he caught her, stumbling back half a step under the impact of her joy. "Okay, okay, wow — hello to you too."

  She beamed up at him, eyes dancing, breath coming fast. "It feels so good when I figure it out. You want to see the diff? I left the print statements in like a trophy trail."

  He blinked down at her, momentarily stunned by how warm it felt to be met like this. Like she was happy he was here. Like she wanted him here. His serious, carefully composed speech crumbled at the edges. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "You can show me everything. Just — let me come in first before your neighbours think I'm kidnapping a hacker."

  Summer giggled and dragged him inside by the hand. "You came back," she said, quieter now, eyes full.

  Andy gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "Of course I did." And in the back of his mind, the words queued up for later. 'And I have something I need to tell you.'

  Summer flopped into her desk chair and pulled her keyboard close, one hand gracefully curved over the mouse. Andy joined her, leaning close, even if he couldn't quite keep up with the screen.

  "So here — this part — it was looping over the wrong array because I accidentally declared this variable inside the wrong scope, and then this..." She pointed, animated and flushed with victory. "That's where the comma was missing, so of course it broke, because syntax is a thing, so — "

  Andy leaned in, squinting dutifully at the multicoloured code blocks. He didn't understand most of it — some of the terminology registered, but only loosely. Still, none of that mattered. "You're like, glowing," he said softly, watching her more than the screen. "I've never seen anyone get this excited over... brackets and semicolons. But I love how you talk about it like it personally insulted your ancestors."

  Summer laughed. "It did. You should've heard me half an hour ago. I was threatening to throw it off a roof. A really high one. Like maybe the Burj Khalifa."

  "I believe you," Andy said solemnly. "You've got the energy of someone who wrestled a dragon and won."

  Her cheeks coloured, but the brightness in her eyes didn't dim. "It's stupid, but it just — feels so good. Solving something. Making it work."

  "It's not stupid," he said softly, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. "You built something with your mind. That's magic."

  Summer ducked her head, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, eyes flicking sideways to meet his. "You make it sound so cool."

  "It is cool," Andy said, watching her with something tender unfolding behind his ribs. "You're cool. Even if I only understand, like, every third word you just said."

  She bumped her shoulder into his, affectionate. "Sorry, I know it's probably boring."

  "Not even a little," Andy said, his voice low and sincere. "I don't need to get it to love watching you love it."

  Summer glanced up at him, startled and pleased. "That might be the nerdiest thing anyone's ever said to me."

  "I'll try harder," he teased. "Next time I'll bring glasses and ask you about kernel panic recovery or whatever."

  She laughed, turning back to her computer, but she leaned more into his side as she did. Andy stayed quiet, letting her keep talking, more content than he'd expected to be. Later. He'd tell her what he needed to later. For now, he just wanted to bask in the warmth she gave off when she was proud of herself.

  "Does this mean you're done working for the day?" he asked eventually. "Because I've been thinking about you all afternoon, and I've got a very compelling argument for dinner."

  "What is it?" she asked, closing the programs.

  "Me," Andy said, eyes dancing. "Being here. Hungry. Possibly also shirtless."

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Summer snorted. "That's not an argument. That's cheating."

  Andy grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

  "Okay, fine," she said, getting up with exaggerated reluctance.

  * * *

  Comment: dinner should be delivery

  When they finally sat down at her little table, bowls full of food, Andy stirred his rice without taking a bite.

  Summer looked up, noticing his pause. "You okay?"

  Andy nodded, then exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

  She set her bowl down, giving him her full attention now, hazel-green eyes wide and steady.

  "I wanted to talk to you about something," he said finally. "Not because I think there's a problem. But because I want to be clear. About my work."

  Summer tilted her head. "Okay."

  Andy took a breath. "So you know I'm a courtesan. That's not a secret. And you haven't flinched from that, which I appreciate more than I can say." He gave a little half-smile. "But I wanted you to know what that looks like, lately."

  She frowned slightly, thoughtfully. "Be... living art. Talk to people. Listen to them. Sometimes more."

  Andy nodded. "Yeah. That 'more'... isn't always just company. I'm selective about who, and it's always on my terms. But it is part of the job."

  Summer looked at him for a long beat, her hazel-green eyes unreadable.

  Andy continued, quieter. "I have obligations, bookings made months ago. This Friday, there's a party I'm contracted to attend. I'll look good, be social, make someone feel important. Probably nothing physical. But it's still part of that world."

  He waited, unsure what he was bracing for — disapproval, sadness, disgust. But Summer just nodded slowly and took a sip of her drink, then set the glass down gently.

  "I think... I'd rather know, than wonder," she said, voice even. "I'm not surprised. I've had five days to think about what you do. And I like you. A lot. That's not going to stop because of your job."

  Andy's throat tightened, relief and affection flooding him all at once.

  "You can tell me," Summer added, softer now. "About those things. You don't have to hide them or protect me from them. That would hurt worse."

  "I never want to hurt you," Andy said. "Not for anything." He hesitated. "I guess I just wanted to be honest. I'm still working, and I don't know yet what that means, if I'm also... with you."

  Summer looked down at her hands, thinking. "Are you asking if it bothers me?"

  "Yeah," Andy admitted. "I guess I am."

  She was quiet for a long beat, then looked back up. "I don't know yet," she said slowly. "But I want to figure it out. I want to keep seeing you. I knew what you did before I ever invited you in. And I trusted you anyway."

  Andy's shoulders dropped an inch in relief, and he exhaled. "That means everything."

  "I'm still gonna have questions," she added, giving him a wry look. "But you're being honest. So ask me things, too. Fair's fair."

  He grinned. "Deal."

  "And if you look really good Friday night," she added, mock-serious, "I might demand a private show on Saturday."

  Andy laughed, the tension easing completely now. "That can be arranged."

  * * *

  As they moved around the kitchen — Summer rinsing plates, Andy loading the dishwasher — there was a steady rhythm between them, easy and companionable. The kind of rhythm that sneaks up on people, built from gestures and glances rather than long histories.

  Summer dried her hands and leaned against the counter, watching Andy line up the silverware.

  "I've been thinking," she said softly. "About what you told me. About your job."

  Andy glanced at her, alert, but said nothing. Just waited.

  "I just... I expect you to be safe," she continued, her tone matter-of-fact but gentle. "Not just physically. I mean, yes, that. But emotionally too. You're doing something intimate with people who might not always treat you like a person. I don't want you getting hurt."

  A little tension loosened in Andy's shoulders. He straightened up and met her gaze. "I always am. It's non-negotiable."

  "And," she added, softer now, "I don't want you to quit. Or feel like you have to stop doing your job just because we've decided to be... " She hesitated, then gave a self-deprecating little shrug. "Boyfriend and girlfriend. That's what we are, right?"

  Andy smiled, slow and sincere. "That is absolutely what we are."

  Summer ducked her head at his grin, fiddling with the edge of the dish towel. "I mean it," she said quickly. "You chose that work, and it's not my place to take it from you. I just want to know what's between us is... real."

  Andy blinked at her, heart tugged taut. "You're sure?"

  "Of course I'm not sure," she said wryly. "But I know that I like you. And I want you to be who you are, not some version of you trimmed down to fit around me. You're obviously really good at what you do. And it's not up to me to reshape your life just because I stumbled into it."

  He set the rinsed bowl carefully on the rack and looked at her. "I appreciate that," he said, quiet and sincere. "More than I can say. But I do want you to feel safe, too. Secure. So if anything ever changes for you — if it gets too hard, or too weird, or anything — you can tell me. I'd rather talk than guess."

  Summer leaned her hip against the counter and gave him a soft smile. "Same goes both ways, Andy."

  He stepped closer, took the pan from her hands, and set it in the drying rack. "That means a lot to me. All of it. Your trust. Your boundaries. The fact that you're not asking me to choose between you and my life. I don't think you know how rare that is."

  She groaned under her breath and turned half away, embarrassed.

  "I'm serious." He leaned down until she had to meet his eyes. "You're thoughtful and strong and wise, and somehow gentle and fierce at the same time. I've never met anyone like you."

  "Stop," she mumbled, face heating up. "I just said I want you to have your autonomy, not that you had to compose poetry about me over the dishes."

  "Too late," he said, teasing, brushing a knuckle down her cheek. "You've inspired me."

  She gave him a helpless smile, still half-flustered, and swatted at him lightly with the towel.

  "Hopeless," she muttered.

  "Yours," Andy replied easily, and kissed her temple.