Sophie Collins

The universe, Felix had concluded, wasn't just conducting an experiment -- it was running a clinical trial with his libido as the primary variable.

"Felix Ryder? My God, it really is you."

Sophie Collins stood before him, the high school debate team captain turned social worker, her professional attire unable to disguise the athletic frame he'd admired from afar during their shared history class senior year.

"Sophie," he managed, his heart performing gymnastics in his chest. Unlike his previous displacements, Felix now recognized the signs immediately -- the momentary dizziness, the shimmer at the edges of his vision, the sudden transportation to what appeared to be a community center hallway.

"What brings you here?" she asked, tucking a curl of professionally styled brown hair behind her ear. "Don't tell me you've switched from coding to counseling troubled teens?"

Felix glanced at his watch -- a new habit he'd developed after analyzing his previous encounters. One minute and forty-five seconds remaining, at most.

"Actually," he said with newfound boldness, stepping closer, "I came to see you."

Her eyebrows rose, the small scar above her right one catching the fluorescent light. "Me? But how did you even know I --"

Felix didn't wait for her to finish. His lips found hers with surprising confidence, his hands gently framing her face. For one terrifying second, Sophie froze -- then melted against him, her clipboard clattering to the floor.

"I've wanted to do that since AP Government," he whispered against her mouth.

"Felix, this is completely inappropriate," Sophie replied, even as her hands slid inside his jacket. "And surprisingly out of character for the boy who couldn't make eye contact during group projects."

Thirty seconds left, by his estimation.

His fingers found the buttons of her blouse, and to his astonishment, she guided his hand beneath the fabric, her breathing quickening as he caressed her breast through delicate lace.

"I have a conference room," she gasped, nipping at his lower lip. "Down the hall --"

The dizziness returned, the colors around him beginning to swirl.

"No," Felix groaned, clinging to her desperately. "Not yet --"

His hands clutched empty air as his cubicle materialized around him, his arousal painfully evident beneath his desk.

"Dude, you okay?" Raj peered over the partition. "You've been staring at that same line of code for like ten minutes."

"Fine," Felix managed, discreetly adjusting his position. "Just ... debugging."

That night, Felix discovered every displacement lasted exactly two minutes. As he lay in bed, his thoughts were on Sophie Collins and what thirty more seconds might have changed.

The next day, he was distracted at work, replaying the memory of Sophie's lips, her warmth, and the way she whispered his name. He managed only twelve lines of code in four hours -- a record low.

"Earth to Ryder," his supervisor interrupted, reminding him of overdue reports. "Sorry," Felix muttered, hastily sending them.

His productivity dipped further as he secretly researched Sophie online. Her LinkedIn revealed she worked at the Eastside Youth Center, which he added to his spreadsheet under "Current Location."

By afternoon, Felix theorized that if the displacements followed a pattern, he might revisit the same person, as his encounters seemed to progress through his history of attractions. If the cycle repeated...

"Two minutes," he whispered, tapping his pen against his desk. What could he accomplish in two minutes with proper preparation? The possibilities made concentration impossible.

That evening, Felix did something unprecedented -- he practiced. In front of his bathroom mirror, he rehearsed opening lines and confident smiles, feeling both ridiculous and determined. "I've been thinking about you," he told his reflection, attempting a smoldering gaze.

Three uneventful days passed, and Felix worried the displacements had stopped. Then, during a dull meeting, dizziness overtook him. When his vision cleared, he found himself in a small office with framed degrees and motivational posters. Sophie sat behind a desk, looking surprised as before.

"Felix? How did you --"

"One hundred and twenty seconds," Felix interrupted, already moving toward her. "That's all we have."

Understanding flickered in her eyes -- impossible recognition that defied explanation. "Last time wasn't enough?"

"Not nearly," he breathed, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

This time, there was no hesitation from either of them. Sophie's hands were in his hair, her body pressing eagerly against his as he lifted her onto the desk, files scattering to the floor.

"Ninety seconds," he murmured against her neck, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher.

"Stop counting," Sophie commanded, deftly unbuckling his belt. "Start using."

Felix lost himself in the moment -- the taste of her skin, the soft sounds she made as his fingers found their way beneath lace, the heat building between them with an urgency that matched their time constraint.

Sixty seconds remained when Sophie sank to her knees before him, her eyes locking with his as she took him into her mouth. Felix gasped, one hand bracing against the desk, the other tangling in her curls.

"Sophie, God --" he managed, watching in disbelief as she moved with practiced confidence, her hands gripping his thighs. The sight of her -- professional, composed Sophie Collins -- on her knees in her office was almost too much to process.

Thirty seconds.

She seemed to sense his urgency, increasing her pace, her fingers digging into his flesh. Felix felt the familiar pressure building, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I'm close --" he warned, his voice barely audible.

Twenty seconds.

Sophie didn't stop. If anything, her movements became more determined, more focused. Felix's vision began to blur -- from pleasure or the impending displacement, he couldn't tell.

Ten seconds.

"Sophie, I'm --"

The world dissolved just as Felix reached his climax, the sensation of Sophie's mouth replaced by the empty air of the conference room. He bit back a cry, doubling over in his chair, his body shuddering through a release that left him dizzy for reasons entirely unrelated to interdimensional travel.

"Felix? Do you need a minute?" His manager looked concerned from the head of the table. "You've gone completely pale."

"Bathroom," Felix managed to croak, stumbling from the room on unsteady legs, praying no one would notice the state of his pants.

That night, Felix lay awake, focused on his spreadsheet's new "Completion Status" column. Sophie's encounter was marked "Interrupted -- Critical Point."

His phone buzzed: a text from his supervisor about a concerning quarterly review.

Felix sighed. If these disruptions persisted, his career was at risk. Yet, as he drifted to sleep, his mind lingered on Sophie and those incomplete two minutes.