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I log into the Bureau portal every day in case something has changed. My brain knows it won’t have but I’m not ready to give up yet even though it’s been more than two months since Leo walked away from me at the North Lake cottage.

Status: Match Rejected.

Prime Match: Torres, Leo J.

I have a number of options on the screen. I can still ‘Schedule bonding ceremony,’ despite Leo’s rejection. That didn’t work out so well for me last time.

I can ‘e-mail match’. I’ve tried that. I don’t know if any of my emails have gone through. Unsurprisingly Leo hasn’t replied.

My cursor hovers over the final button.

“Acknowledge Rejection.”

One click and the failure of our match is official. I almost click it. Almost. I still want him. Desperately.

But he has spent the last two months telling the world that he doesn’t want me. Of course, he told me that too.

For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do. My path in life has always been clear: follow the science. Take the logical choice. If I haven’t known what to do, I’ve just sat myself down, worked out the options and came to the logical choice.

The logical choice is Leo, but he doesn’t want me and I can’t think of anything I can do to change that. My mind has spent weeks spinning in endless circles, like I’m a piece of software that has just decided to stop working.

Leo isn’t going to change his mind. My brain knows that. My heart refuses to accept it.

Then I notice the small print at the bottom of the screen.

“Unresolved match statuses remain active for 12 months before automatic closure.”

A year. If I don’t acknowledge the rejection, the system will keep our match open for a year in case Leo changes his mind. He won’t.

I close the laptop without clicking anything. I’m not ready to make it official. Not yet.

The living room is dark except for a single lamp. 11:46 PM. I used to never be up this late. I used to have a perfect routine—5:30 AM wake-up, 6:00 AM workout, in the office by 7:30.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I glance over at it, just in case Leo has decided to unblock. It is not so I ignore it.

I force myself to sit up, wincing at the stiffness in my back. The apartment is a disaster. There are clothes strewn across the floor, books piled haphazardly on every surface and takeout containers creating a small city on my coffee table.

I shuffle to the bathroom, avoiding the mess. I use the toilet and then avoid my reflection in the mirror in turn. My face is as big a mess as my apartment. I don’t need to look to know that I haven’t shaved in weeks and there are dark hollows under my eyes. It’s a normal reaction to losing a mate. I know that. I’ve written enough papers about it. Knowing it doesn’t make it easier.

I know I should shower. It’s been a couple of days, but it feels like too much of an effort. I’ll do it later.

My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything substantial in... I can’t remember. I open the refrigerator. The shelves offer nothing but old takeout containers and a carton of milk that’s definitely past its prime. I close it again and then go back to the living room to check my phone again in case Leo has messaged in the few minutes since I last checked.

The doorbell rings. I freeze, then hope rises and panic sets in. I know it’s not Leo, but if it is, I want to be properly dressed and showered. I want to look good.

Pathetic.

The doorbell rings again, followed by a sharp knock.

“, I know you’re in there,”

Halvorsen’s voice carries through the door.

“Security says you haven’t left the building in days.”

Shit. I consider my options. The fire escape seems extreme. Maybe I just won’t answer. Then he’ll get security to unlock it as a safety concern. I’ll just have to tell him to go home.

“I’ve got coffee,”

he says before I can say anything.

“And those ridiculous sourdough sandwiches you like.”

My traitor stomach growls again.

Fine.

I open the door, not bothering to smooth my hair or put on anything over my t-shirt and sweatpants. Halvorsen’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, but he recovers quickly.

“You look like hell,”

he says, pushing past me into the apartment. He’s carrying a paper bag that smells like heaven and two coffee cups.

“Hello to you too,”

I mutter, closing the door behind him.

Halvorsen stops in the middle of my living room, taking in the chaos.

“Jesus, .”

“If you came to critique my housekeeping, you can leave the coffee and go.”

My voice cracks as I say it. I haven’t spoken to anyone in days.

He sighs and sets the coffee and bag on the only clear spot on my kitchen counter.

“I came because I’m concerned. We all are.”

“We?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Your friends”

He hesitates.

“If you remember you have those.”

I grab one of the coffee cups and take a long drink to avoid responding. It’s exactly how I like it—black, no sugar and strong enough to wake the dead.

“I’m fine,”

I say once I’ve swallowed.

“Clearly.”

Halvorsen gestures to the apartment.

“This is the picture of mental health and stability.”

“What do you want, Ben?”

I ask, suddenly tired.

“A statement for the Bureau PR team? Reassurance I haven’t completely lost my mind? What?”

He opens the paper bag, pulling out a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.

“I want you to eat something. Hell, maybe consider rejoining the land of the living.”

The sandwich is pressed into my free hand before I can object. It’s a good sharp cheddar, lettuce and tomato on sourdough. Still warm and just the right amount of chipotle. The problem with Halvorsen is that I’ve known him too long. We were college room mates, then started at the Bureau the same year. He knows exactly what I like. My stomach rumbles again.

I sit at my small kitchen table, pushing aside a stack of journals to make room. Halvorsen takes the seat across from me, his own coffee cradled between his hands. He waits while I take a few bites.

“The Department meeting is next week,”

he says finally.

“They’ll be discussing your sabbatical.”

I snort.

“You mean whether to extend my exile?”

“Self-pity doesn’t suit you, .”

Halvorsen says flatly.

“Yes, the Torres situation was unfortunate...”

“Unfortunate?”

I repeat, anger flaring suddenly.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Halvorsen meets my gaze.

“What would you call it?”

It’s a good question. What would I call it? A disaster? A wake-up call? The most profound connection I’ve ever experienced, followed by the most devastating rejection?

Halvorsen just sits, waiting for me to come up with an answer. He takes a sip of his coffee and raises his eyebrows at me.

“I don’t know,”

I say finally.

“He’s my true mate, Ben. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? “

“I’m glad you asked,”

Halvorsen says. The corner of his mouth turns up as if he is amused.

“Because I’ve come with a proposition. Not just food.”

I raise an eyebrow, suddenly wary.

“What kind of proposition?”

“A teaching position. At the university. Starting next semester.”

He leans forward slightly.

“Evolutionary Psychology, three courses. They need someone with your expertise.”

Halvorsen holds my gaze.

“I recommended you personally.”

“Why?”

I ask bluntly.

Halvorsen shrugs, feigning casualness.

“The university needs the position filled. You need something to do beyond wallowing in your apartment. It’s win-win.”

Then it hits me.

“Torres is still enrolled there, isn’t he? Finishing his law degree.”

Halvorsen’s expression tightens almost imperceptibly. Bingo.

“Yes,”

he admits, watching me carefully.

“But the Evolutionary Psychology department is on the same side of campus as the law school. You don’t need to deliberately seek him out to cross paths.”

A spark ignites in my chest. Leo is still there. Still on campus. Still within reach.

“I see,”

I say, struggling to keep my voice neutral.

“And would that be a problem?”

“Would what be a problem?”

Halvorsen asks, though we both know exactly what I mean.

“If I were to... encounter Torres on campus.”

Halvorsen sighs, setting down his coffee cup.

“That depends what you do with it. It’s a double opportunity. It’s a way back into academia and you’ll be in proximity to Leo. Just don’t stalk him too hard or it’ll blow up again.”

“I would never—”

I begin, indignation flaring.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Halvorsen cuts me off.

“You’re wearing a t-shirt that still carries his scent. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Heat rises to my face.

“I’m more than capable of maintaining professional boundaries,”

I say stiffly.

“I’ve left him alone for two months, haven’t I? Haven’t called, texted, or shown up at his door despite knowing exactly where he lives.”

Halvorsen studies me for a long moment, skepticism evident in his expression, then he nods.

“Good. I want you have the opportunity to see him, but I’m taking a risk here. My reputation is on the line if this goes sideways.”

“It won’t,”

I promise.

“The position starts whenever you’re ready,”

he says finally.

“Get your act together.”

He looks around, grimacing. He finishes his coffee and stands.

“I’ll tell the Department you’ve accepted the position. They’ll want to meet with you next week to formalize everything.”

I walk him to the door, feeling almost human again.

“,”

Halvorsen says, pausing in the doorway.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t,”

I say, meeting his gaze steadily.

As soon as he’s gone, I move to my laptop. I bypass the Bureau database with its still-pending match status and pull up the university’s website instead.

Academic calendar. Faculty directory. Campus map. Leo’s class schedule wouldn’t be public, but the law school’s general timetable is. Their library hours. The coffee shop they favor.

I’m not stalking. I’m... preparing. Researching. What I do best.

And if I happen to cross paths with Leo Torres... well, what could be more natural than a professor and student encountering each other on campus?

I close the computer and look around my disaster of an apartment with fresh eyes. Suddenly the chaos is unacceptable. I begin gathering empty containers, discarded clothes, forgotten coffee mugs. I strip the sheets from my bed, I need fresh bedding.

Hours later, the apartment resembles its former self. I stand in the shower again, this time with purpose rather than mindless routine.

When I emerge, I catch my reflection in the mirror. Still hollow-eyed, still bearing the marks of these painful weeks, but... there is a flicker of hope.

I dress in actual clothes—jeans, a button-down—and order proper groceries for delivery. While waiting, I move to my desk where Leo’s binder still sits—the one he left behind at our Bureau meeting all those months ago.

I run my fingers over the worn leather, imagining his hands holding it. Instead of returning the binder to its place in my desk drawer, I place it on top. I’ve been meaning to return this to you.

As I turn away, my phone buzzes with a notification from the Bureau database: Reminder: Match Status Torres, L. / Thorndike, M. remains under review. Click here to acknowledge rejection.

I dismiss the notification without clicking. The system will keep our match open for a year. And now, I’ll be on the same campus as Leo. Not pursuing him. Not forcing anything. Just… existing in proximity. Available.

It’s not much of a plan. But it’s a start.