[Cecil smiles. He feels his heart go pitter-pat in his chest, or perhaps it thuds like a thousand tiny drums beaten by a distant army, or perhaps it is not his heart that he hears at all. But he thinks that it is, and he is fairly sure that it is beating in joy because so much hypothesising reminds him of a certain boyfriend.]

Tell me, are you a scientist?

[His voice is like caramel. Sticky.]

I have never heard so many hypothetical questions come from anyone who is not a scientist, with their amazing ability to release their minds beyond the shallow and constricting confines of their own situation and body.

[His smile widens, the drum beats in his chest get louder and faster like the swelling buzz of hornets.]

Unless you are not a scientist. Unless you hypothetical is actually reality in a thin and tempting disguise.