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The shuttle terminal at Alpha Centauri is a busy hub for departing and arriving flights, teeming with crowds all around the clock, including this early a morning.
The two homebound scientists are standing in the departures hall, waiting for their ride back to Deneva in front of the wide terminal window, watching shuttles take off to the rainy skies carrying passengers to the Starbase on orbit and to their off-world connecting flights.
Justin turns a curious gaze towards the pale man next to him, whom it's rare to even see up and alive before midday, now humming to himself suspiciously relaxed like.
"You seem unusually chipper", Straal remarks on the mysterious, dreaming smile on his colleague's face, "given how it went yesterday".
"How what went?", Paul's smile breaks momentarily, confused before catching up, "oh, the presentation!"
"What else?" Justin huffs frustrated, almost hurt for this oddly amiable Paul's inability to act as expected.
Paul had been severely beating himself up about the less-than-favorable reception to the unveiling of their latest scientific discoveries, but now barely even remembers? And Justin knows there'd be nothing more eventful for Paul than getting his work noticed and appreciated.
The man must be deliberately playing dumb just to toy with him.
"Yeah, that was a failure", Paul states with the continued, exasperating nonchalance, his eyes fixed to the grey scene outside, the anomaly of a smile back on his face, "luckily not the end of the day".
What? Is the man drunk still?
"Are you saying you managed to get yourself back on your feet somehow after boozing it up last night?"
"I didn't "booze it up"", Paul's frown at the remark comes across almost playful; somehow his eyes still won't lose that certain affable shine in them, despite Justin deliberately hitting right at one of Paul's most sore spots.
"Riiight", Justin replies with a small disparaging laughter, "you were pretty wasted already by the time I left to meet Amelia, and I hardly got the idea you would have had any intention of stopping there".
Wouldn't be the first, and unlikely the last time Justin had to worry over Paul's erratic, borderline self-destructive behavior.
"So, what gives?" Justin pries, "You're not saying you managed to hook up or anything in that condition?"
"I'm not saying anything! You're the one on my case here!" Paul turns his gaze from the window, slight agitation finally starting to take hold, ""Hook up"? Where'd you get something like that from?"
"Well, good", Justin huffs, "because I sure as stars wouldn't have believed it".
"But you do appear like a man who's just "gotten some"", he adds wryly.
"I wouldn't know", Paul huffs back at the tiring provocation, ready to drop this pointless exchange already.
"Of that I'm sure", Justin quips with a grin.
Paul has nothing to add to that: Justin's attempted taunt is hardly so. Paul's quite pleased for his half inadvertent disposition, for which Justin had in affectionate mockery dubbed him "Fungi imperfecti". So Paul's priorities lay elsewhere than in useless romantic conquests? There's a reason why one of their genius far outweighs the other's, Paul muses, in his half convinced manner.
"Say", Justin suddenly glances over at the departures timetable across the terminal hall, "I think I'm gonna go grab myself a coffee before we head out", he gestures towards a deli on the other side of the hall, "you want me to get you anything?".
There's another thing Paul doesn't partake in: subpar refreshments. Although he could go for a drink himself too, the selection of teas these terminals tend to have on offer is of the bland and artificial tasting, poorest replicated variety. Hardly anything to derive enjoyment from.
"No, thanks. I'm fine", Paul hums and turns back to stare outside to the peacefully rainy weather.
"So you seem. Suspiciously so", Straal turns and vanishes into the crowd.
Paul didn't lie. He hadn't 'hooked up' with anyone. Just briefly... exchanged words. Yes, he met someone, who he thought he might have found unexpectedly... interesting? But perhaps he had only been that out of it already, like Justin seems to think; his better judgement compromised.
At any rate, the stranger is gone now, quickly driven away by Paul's usual kind of apprehensive behavior and intoxication enhanced viciousness, with not as much as a name left behind. Nothing unexpected there; people rarely get past the demeanor - that's the point.
Yet. The stranger had still clearly left some unexplained impression on Paul, as he now finds himself confused, wishing the guy would have actually managed to penetrate his irritable defenses a bit.
Or what ever it is, this feeling. Some sort of curiosity? It couldn't possibly be more than harmless, temporary infatuation, probably brought on by his very state just then. Such purposeless, childish crushing.
The only other thing left in wake of the encounter - other than the slight regrettable feeling - is this fucking dreary tune in his head now. The same damn tune - Amelia's favorite, so Paul's understood -, which Justin sometimes blasts in the lab after clearly himself just "having gotten some".
"Hypocrite", a strangely familiar voice suddenly sounds out next to Paul, interrupting his moment of reflection.
Paul turns to look, if the voice is really directed at him, like it sounds to be. And, damn, it's them! The stranger from yesterday! How long have they been standing there?
"You're humming in public", the guy points out with an unimpressed look on their face. Not a fucking bad looking face either. "Humming Kasseelian opera, no less"
Is he? Was he? Fuck. Paul didn't even notice.
But that's not nearly as important as this guy here now. What are they wearing? That's a fucking Starfleet uniform.
"I... uh... it got stuck in my head", Paul manages to reply, despite his mind working hard trying to figure out this situation right now. His brows furrowing in contemplation of how to take this new revelation, unsure where to direct his eyes at, and irked by the annoying social awkwardness he feels creeping up on the back of his mind.
"You don't say", the guy dismisses Paul's poor excuse. Deservedly, Paul agrees, while trying to control his gaze, shifting from one place to another, discreetly measuring the uniform in glimpses.
Fuck this, Paul decides in frustration. "You're Starfleet?", he asks - perhaps obviously - strong contempt sounding through his voice.
He's doing it again isn't he? Giving up; habitually pushing all the wrong buttons to keep a stranger an arms length away. He just can't seem to help himself.
But the guy doesn't seem fazed in the least. Luckily? "Headed back to my posting", he replies matter-of-factly, "very, very far from Deneva". Deliberate and calm, like answering to an ill-behaving child now.
And he is, isn't he? That's a fucking shame, Paul regrets. Fuck.
"So, it's unlikely we'll ever have to argue about music again", the man adds, this time with a hint of flirt in his tone.
At least that's what Paul takes it to be. Hope! Damn. But how do you respond to that?
"Unless I was so irritated, that I insisted you tell me how to contact you in the future", he just spouts out what comes, "so that we could continue arguing".
Makes absolutely no sense perhaps, but fuck like he knows anything about coming on to someone. Or cares for such games. If there are some rules to this, he sure as hell doesn't know to follow them.
"I look forward to it", the man then smiles the most sensational smile.
Fuck. Really? Just like that? Okay... now what?
And just as Paul is about to open his mouth a last call for a departing flight comes through.
"That's me, I'm afraid", the man remarks and grabs hold of his Starfleet branded travel case, "if you'll contact the Fleet and ask them to put you through to Dr. Hugh Culber, I'm sure we'll be in touch in no time".
Paul is fast to whip out his PADD and tap open a note, "Hugh? H-U-G-H, right?"
"Right", the doctor smiles, "C-U-L-B-..."
"-E-R. Got it", Paul taps excitedly and turns his head quickly back up to meet the officer's eyes once more before it's too late again. He can see the man's face light up in a surprised delight. It takes a second for Paul to realize, that this is in response to the small, wide-eyed and content smile now visible on Paul's own face.
Right. A smile. When was the last time Paul had ever granted a genuine smile to a stranger? If ever?
Fuck, there must be something unusual here.
And so, with Paul still in a haze of confusion, the doctor is gone. Disappeared into the crowd, leaving Paul stand there with his fingertips resting against the PADD in his hand, and the grey, rainy weather as his backdrop beating down a steady stream against the glass wall - right now the most audible noise in his ears over everything else in the busy terminal hall.
Paul realizes he never even introduce himself. Though, the guy knows of course, having attended their lecture.
"Hey! Paul?", Justin's voice echoes faintly, as if somewhere from a far distance, before moving closer and becoming clearer and stronger. Most annoyingly so.
"Hey, daydreamer!"
Paul's brows furrow momentarily as he adjusts his perception back to this reality.
"Are you spacing out?", Paul comes back to Justin fussing about, "I think you might be a bit hung over still".
"You sure you wouldn't want something to wake you up?" The man seems to be offering Paul his coffee.
"What? No", Paul huffs annoyed and waves the drink away.
But what if he is? Was he only daydreaming just now?
Paul looks down to the PADD in his hands. No, there it is clear as a day: "Hugh Culberrrrr". He deletes the comedic excesses and quickly saves the note to make sure it doesn't get lost. Although, it's hardly necessary: the name is already well embedded into his mind as well.
The final call for Deneva then comes through and the brothers are off.