"Small science," he expounds only by adding a simple word, and he nods when the other asks if he can cover it. It occurs to him only now that the shadows might be making the other uncomfortable, and with a curl of his hand they disapparate, fading, returning to their rightful place. The sun gently peeks through grimy windows, yellow light seeping through the room once more.

"What did you do?" He punctuates the last word, emphasizing it cooly. He can take a guess, even if he doesn't quite know what the other can do, not wholely: the other's caution at the shadows, the way he skirts around the fact. It's enticing.

Has Jeff given in to something he shouldn't? Do they share a common experience?