didn't think so.

The lab is empty.

Well, mostly empty aside from one remaining student in particular. Cloth in hand, his palm swipes against a petri dish. His eyes flit to the side as he sets the petri dish and atop the counter, only to look onward and over at Junpei who had currently stood across from him.

“Guess I should start, then.”

He crosses his arms, leaning forward and against the counter. He was always one for attempting to pick others apart, even if his perception was always a bit too sympathetic and not always quite on the mark—regardless, he never exactly understood this one. If Sigma was to be honest, he was…seemingly not very well put together. No, not at all. 

Yet his work had always proved otherwise.

“Your last exam. You got a 91. That’s…impressive. Really impressive. The average was a 67. You’ve either got balls made of magic or your work ethic is seriously on fleek.

I don’t want to inflate your ego too much, so I’ll cut to the chase now. Most people don’t enter this field and succeed without a purpose. A goal to strive for. For some, it’s financial stability. For others, it’s expectations and dreams that their parents have projected onto them. And then there are those folks who legitimately just want to make a difference. Or maybe it’s for the pursuit of science. Either way, it’s always different but enough to get them through the hell that’s the MCAT. So–”

“What’s up with you, is what I’m asking. What do you plan on doing?”

His turn for the Sigma Fun Ride. They all get it, basically -- because that’s just what Sigma does. He relates to people, he acts nice, the perfect mix of casual and pushy that gets students opening up. Add onto that the spectre of TA hanging over everyone’s head, and the cohort, they just love him.

It’s pretty impressive, when you think about it. But it’s his turn, this time.

And so Junpei, he checks his watch, seating himself on the table right behind him.

His face is surprised but everything else screams let’s get this over with.

‘Woah. Is this what you did to Stella that time she got a 93?’ It’s a crack at trying to break the serious atmosphere, but not really. It’s more about him getting comfortable, sizing up where Sigma’s trying to go with this. ‘I mean... I know everybody likes bragging about how they’ll change the world, but... just because I can’t get behind that?’ He shrugs his shoulders.

Now there’s a pause. He’s got a couple choices: he could open up to the guy, deal with his terrible jokes and let him psychoanalyse him to kingdom come. He could also go with what he really wants to do -- tell Sigma to buzz off, mind his own business for once.

And so Junpei, he smooths a hand through his hair, making a useless gesture with his other hand.

There’s always door number three.

‘I guess I’m looking for something stable,’ he mutters, ‘For my brother. Things are kinda hairy back home... and I want to give him the best he can get here. -- but seriously.’

And whether that’s because his answer is more brave than she expected, or less infuriating than she expected, well she’s not sure. She’ll decide on that later, after another round or so.

There’s something in the way he talks that draws pity out of you, whether you want to give it to him or not. Reminds you too much of that one kid in school who you always felt bad about not being nicer to– but as an adult.

“What? Can’t see me married with 2.5 kids, house with a yard, driving an SUV?” She tries to act offended, but she’s sure it loses its believability when she downs the remainder of her glorified chocolate milkshake immediately after.  

She doesn’t think too deeply about much of what he says. Most of it was obvious, and the rest of it– well, everyone in his field seemed to assume they knew people, even when they didn’t actually. It was just his ego talking.

“You’re right though– with the way things are here, the chances of getting any kind of promotion are well–” She artfully punctuates her sentence with a raspberry– frustration, amusement, sorrow, all at once– and motions for the bartender’s attention. Here, not her, it was this place’s fault.

Phi’s not asking out of curiosity. Most of the time, it feels like she says things to fill the air -- not to hear herself talk, but because there’s empty space that someone needs to take hold of. Her words have purpose but only for herself. And it’s kind of enviable, that.

Except now’s not really the time for analysis. It’s a time for grimacing, bringing a tired hand to his head while he gives the bartender a longing stare.

‘Shouldn’t you be buying me a drink, first?’ he asks balefully, all the while sounding resigned.

He gives in anyway because that’s what he does.

‘I don’t really know.’ Junpei shifts, watching as the feminine gaggle in the corner gets their Flaming Zombie. It’s all for the girl from earlier, and you have to wonder -- do they really care? ‘Here, probably. If I stick it out, my programme should be finished by then. I could go with the PD, take over that old fogey’s position once he retires...’

It’s all just idle wondering. It’d be easy to stay here, let the waves of day shifts and papers beach him on the shores of a job and a comfortable life. He wouldn’t even really mind.

But where’s the purpose?

‘I might even get to chief if I do that,’ he says. He smirks.

‘How about that? If I was your boss, you could actually get promoted -- if you bought me a drink.’

Phi found hers in a vacuum, probably, and he wishes it could be that easy --

She wants to ask how many times he’s used that to hit on girls.

But she doesn’t. Instead Phi smiles, for the first time today, for the first time in a long time– corners of her mouth sharp.

“Keep your concern to yourself, okay?” She raises her glass to her lips, takes a tentative sip, and when she lowers it back to the counter. It takes her smile with it. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, and more successful guys than future you have led sadder lives.” She shrugs, like she didn’t actually just indirectly tell him to fuck off. Then again, whether or not she really had all depended on whether or not he was in the mood to take what she’d said personally. “Humor me though.” The college kids have cleared out of the bar, off to find a new group of down and out adults to haunt with the regrets they symbolize. It was still early for a Friday after all.

She rests her face on her palm, gaze drifting between him, his glass, and the man who’s still trying to drown himself in his beer mug.

“Where do you see me in five years?”

It’s all casual words that end up revolving around herself, in the end, a self-centred orbit that somehow manages to be kind anyway. It’s the unassuming trail of her eyes around the room, how she manages to relax in a way that says Ruin this for me, and you’re a goner.

Junpei drums his fingers on the counter and wonders where this all started.

‘Five years, huh...’ he mumbles, gaze brushing feather-light against hers before it wanders again to the table of university girls. You don’t need to know Greek to understand what they’re talking about, and for him, that’s a little disappointing. ‘To be honest?’

He’s not sure she wants the truth, but he gives it to her anyway.

‘Probably right here. I guess... I can’t really see you going anywhere, not with the way things are now.’ He lifts a hand to his chin, a thoughtful gesture he picked up somewhere along the way. ‘Maybe if you got a big lead, or you saved a baby from a burning building. Something like that...’

The beginnings of a grin that pull at his mouth don’t belong, but Junpei doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t need to hide his smiles, not like Phi does.

He’s more the type to hide behind them.

‘But I don’t see you changing much on the inside. So why should the outside change?’

She’s a rock of her own making.

‘Unless you decide you want to settle down,’ he finishes, humour finally creeping into his voice.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” Her voice is quiet, level, but somehow it comes out as much as a demand as it does a question. She takes her irritation out on the little hallow chocolate stick garnishing her drink, snapping it between her teeth and using the half that remains to stir the muddy mix of flavored liqueur. 

Big surprise there. When Phi’s feeling burned, she lets everyone know, disguising her wounded pride with long looks and jokes-that-aren’t, not-really. 

He follows her gaze down the line, catching but a glimpse of the sad old man before his attention’s pulled by the girl. She’s weaseled her way back over to her friends, where her discomfort is immediately turned on its head. It takes thirty seconds before they’re pointing at him. It takes thirty seconds before they’re laughing, voices rising from their booth as they gossip about how sad his life must be.

Junpei turns away. He looks back at his potential future, patting the crown of his head like he’s scared to find his hair gone.

But that’s not what he’s worried about. Not really.

‘H-hey. I’m a little better than that!’ he complains, but he looks away and that’s a tip-off. A tip-off to what, though? ‘I’d never perv on some girl that much younger than me... ugh. I mean -- I wouldn’t perv on any girl, period!...’ He slouches in his chair, but it’s a quick vanishing act.

Reel it in, comedian.

‘I guess most people know by now how they’re gonna turn out.’ It’s a sober revelation in a bar full of drunks, but nobody cares about that. He stares up at the ceiling. ‘You go through college, you fuck around, and you come out the other side knowing what you wanna do. You’ve got your game plan and you’re ready to go.’

And he should probably snicker about that, jump on the pun he made -- but that’s not what he does with Phi.

‘... I dunno about you, but I don’t think drunk lechers get their start as PsyDs.’ He rolls his shoulders, gives what could be a sigh of relief. ‘And I don’t think heads of the Greek PD are supposed to play the traffic cop game, but you never know.’

He flicks a finger against his empty glass. Its echoing tink is like his want for more alcohol given voice.

Bars are loud, liquor is overpriced, and she’s embarrassingly bad at holding her liquor. An ideal setting for consuming alcohol was by herself with some Greek dub of Star Trek as white noise while she polishes off half a bottle of cheap pink moscato. 

But it’s one of those days– the really exhausting kind. The kind of day that makes parents come home and tell their children how lucky they are to have their youth, with that sort of paternal contempt that made you resent your mom and dad a little.

As if they’d just tried to steal something special from you.

So when he asks to grab a drink after work, she says yes ( “sure why not” ) but with a tone you’d expect someone to say no with.

The bar is packed, as she’d expected of anywhere on this side of the island after five.

It’s a weird mix– college kids and middle aged folk. The two of them are smack dab in the middle of the spectrum, young enough to be envied and mature (looking) enough to be respected. The prime of their lives, right?

A group of rowdy, clearly American, college kids sit down next to them at the counter, and Phi spares the guy in the PI KAPPA ALPHA sweatshirt a withering frown, distracted only when the bartender sets down her drink.

A frozen cocktail, mostly khalua and chocolate. 

“I hate college kids.” Down on his side a group of balding salary men hopelessly nurse beers. “But old people are kinda’ sad too. What’s this place’s demographic anyway?”

And he wonders if that makes him sound old -- “the usual place.” He figures he’s meant to be more like the boys next to her, pounding the bar and chanting the name of their home football team; he figures most people would see him that way, too. It’s not a hard reputation to live up to.

But Phi’s never cared to be impressed and he’s years past caring to try.

His drink comes, eventually. It’s some kind of scotch from who-knows-where. The only thing he focuses on is the way it burns going down, the way it burns through all of his drinking money in one easy go. The stipend from his program, it’s not much. Not with a kid at home.

But now he really sounds old.

‘You think that could’ve been us?’ he asks, a little later when the noise has died down. It’s not the bar’s ire that’s quieted them, but the lost battle in trying to get a game on the television. ‘You got hazed for one of those sororities once, right? “Lambda Alpha Chi...?” --urgh.

‘Just trying to remember the names gives me a headache...’

He rubs at his temples, interrupted only by the lingering stare of one of the salarymen on his left. His smile of apology is all I don’t know Greek and I’m just a stupid college kid -- and it works.

He turns to Phi again, and he gives in. ‘I can’t really see it...