Archive of Our Own

It’s late summer, turning fall, in Philadelphia and Charlie Kelly is walking amongst some of the city's brightest minds. At least in his eyes, the student body of Philadelphia Community College is something to be in awe of. He can feel himself absorbing their knowledge as he passes by huddled groups of students chatting about the first lectures of the semester. He can taste the knowledge in the air. That could also just be the residual bus fumes but who's to say they don’t hit the same on one’s palette.

Regardless, Charlie always feels quite studious on his annual trips to the campus. He stands a bit straighter as he passes the welcome sign – forcing the natural slouch of his shoulders away – only to give in to bad posture and long term back pain, minutes later. He sharply greets everyone he walks past with questions like “How are you and your big brain today?” and does not bother waiting for a response before smartly retorting with “Mine is huge. I thank you kindly for asking.”

He likes to make vague observations that linger smartly in the air for a few very smart minutes, “All this learning...so much learning..here…” He interprets the puzzled, sometimes worried, expressions he gets in response as them taking a moment to consider what their fellow pursuer of education has just said to them.

Once he gets into the campus’ main building, he lifts his hand and consults the series of arrow-shaped sharpie marks he drew on his palm this morning, in an attempt to navigate the halls. The wall directories confused him the last couple of times he was here. He found it much easier to memorize a series of arrows and follow the ones in his head than to look at the series of arrows provided to him on the wall and follow those. The school’s right and left are completely different from his. Now he just has to remember if an up arrow means he should head straight-forward or take the stairs.

As Charlie sorts through his debacle with his hand held up in front of his eyes, barely watching where he’s going, his marked-up hand comes flying forward, hitting him square in the face. He must’ve been concentrating too hard and happened to not notice another body moving down the hall from the opposite direction.

“Oh, goodness,” the man in front of him mutters before stumbling backwards, catching himself on a nearby wall. Charlie pulls his hand down from his face and checks to make sure none of his marker directions were smudged from the contact before looking up at the person who ran into him. He briefly hopes they have a bloody nose. He thinks that’d be pretty neat.

To his shock, his self-made instructions must’ve been extremely good because standing in front of him, trying to get the stack of papers in his arms back in order, is exactly the person he came here to look for.

“Science Bitch! Hey man!” He spreads his arms out in a wide, friendly gesture.

The Scientist simply looks up at him with narrowed eyes. He pushes the last few stray papers into the stack and holds them against his chest, smoothing the outside few that got a little crumpled in the process.

“Hello Charlie,” he sighs in what is most likely exhaustion.

He doesn’t look all that terrible, but Charlie can tell a strung-out man nearing his final straw when he sees one. Charlie gets a lot of flack for not understanding simple stuff, but he understands emotions. He’s got a lot of them, arguably more than the average person. Science Bitch looks more disheveled than the last time Charlie saw him. Bits of his gelled-down hair are sticking up in the front. His chunky patterned tie is loose and uneven at the knot.

“Is there something I can- Oh! Your check, yes?” Upon his realization of why a dirt-coated, 5’6 man is standing in front of him, he begins digging through his lab coat pockets, switching the stack of papers between his arms as he goes back and forth feeling around for something. “I was certain I had it with me somewhere. Believe it or not, I was expecting you. The start of the semester has my head all over the place. I just-” he catches his rambling in his mouth and takes a deep breath to center himself. “I’m sorry it must be somewhere in my office. Right this way, down the hall. Come along.”

Charlie sticks his hands out in front of him and waves towards himself, “Here, Lemme!” He pulls the stack of papers from The Scientist’s hands and tucks it under his arm, “you just lead the way science man!”

The Scientist is taken aback by the gesture, a small noise of protest leaving his lips. His hands follow the pages, but they only hang in the space between him and Charlie for a brief moment before he gives in and lets them go. Instead, he digs in his pockets once again until there’s a jingling noise, and pulls out the keys to his office. He nods appreciatively at Charlie and begins down the hall, the shorter man in tow.

Several years ago Charlie was the sole participant in an experiment run by The Scientist that, according to him, was a complete and utter disaster that left him the mockery of his department. Charlie can’t remember many details from that week, considering that in the week that followed, he got so high that Frank was prepared to declare him legally dead. What he can recall about the experiment is that he thinks he had a lot of fun. The little white pills he took tasted like candy and he came out of it with a newfound respect for languages other than his own, such as Mandarin and spider.

If he’s being honest, he’d completely forgotten about the ordeal, only really remembering when he got a call months later from Science Bitch who was in the process of covering all his bases. Those from his department who attended his presentation got to witness the blunder, but he couldn’t risk the information creeping its way up to someone with the authority to fire him or take away his resources. Historically, buying people’s silence has been pretty effective. Dennis always talks it up as one of the most effective forms of blackmail.

So yes, Charlie has been receiving residual checks with his name on them (at least he’s pretty sure they have his name on them) for the past several years as a ‘consolation for being publicly humiliated in an unethical and scientifically invalid experiment’ as Science Bitch so eloquently puts it.

Science Bitch fumbles with his comically crowded keyring and tries one similar-looking key after another until one of them fits the lock of his office door. As he opens the door and waddles in, holding it open for his guest, Charlie realizes that he’s never been in here before. He just assumed all of Science Bitch’s work got done in a lab rather than an office. Offices feel so boring and corporate. Charlie’s had an office job before and he felt pretty sorry for the suckers who worked at the desks he delivered mail to. Being a scientist doesn’t seem like something that warrants a desk. In Charlie’s mind, scientists are supposed to mix glowing liquids and electrocute dead things. This is just a room with a bunch of paperwork in it.

It’s small and cluttered with several scientific dioramas scattered about. There are a couple of filing cabinets in the corner, many of the drawers half-open with folders haphazardly tossed in and around them. The Scientist seemed to be aiming for the general vicinity of the filing cabinet while doing his organizing. There’s a pulldown chalkboard on the wall to the right of the door covered in various lengthy to-do lists, instead of numbers and equations like the ones he’s seen in the lab.

Charlie’s eyes follow The Scientist as he steps around his desk and sits in a worn brown chair. He begins rifling through even more stacks of paper on the workspace in front of him.

“God, I should’ve cleaned up. My apologies. As I mentioned earlier the semester has just begun and it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that my job security isn’t very secure at all.” He tilts his body and opens up a drawer in the desk beside him as he speaks. Similar to how a child would clean their room, he starts tossing the mounds of paper into the desk drawers, putting the mess out of sight and out of mind. “I’ve been refining my lesson plans to make a good impression on the students and faculty. Unfortunately, all that digging has put me in a tough spot in terms of..” he looks around and, dissatisfied with what he sees, his shoulder slump, “Well, you see it.”

Charlie does see it and honestly, it’s one of the cleanest rooms he’s been in all week. There isn’t a single thing growing on the floor in here besides the potted plants up against the back windows. “This is nothing! You don’t have any suspicious smells or suspicious stains or suspicious skeletons! I think that’s pretty good!”

Charlie sets the stack of papers he’s holding down on Science Bitch’s desk, who immediately begins flipping through them frantically looking for the check. He pauses when his brain catches up with what Charlie has said to him and looks up with concern, “Suspicious...skeletons?”

Charlie throws his hands up in a shrug, “Yeah well things die a lot at our place. I think it’s like a safe space for them, but instead of not being judged for sharing their thoughts, they aren’t being judged for dying. It’s really special to me that I can provide that for them.”

The Scientist blinks up at him and decides it’s best not to question, “Thank you for sharing, Charlie..” He mumbles and lowers his gaze back to the stack in his hands to resume flipping.
There’s a couple of minutes of awkward silence as The Scientist rustles through his belongings in search of the money. Charlie can only occupy himself so much with the motivational posters tacked up around the room. He rocks back and forth on his heels impatiently and taps the palms of his hands against his jeans. The Scientist mutters curses under his breath, denoting the current folder in his hands to be a lost cause while Charlie scooches his way across the tile floor and towards the left side of the room.

The bookcase against this wall is filled top to bottom with science books, both of the fiction and nonfiction variety, in a wide range of topics ranging from biochemistry and astrophysics to social science and wildlife biology. Also on the shelves are collections of knick-knacks – some cool stones that Charlie has the urge to stick in his mouth, and framed photos of Science Bitch receiving accolades. Charlie looks at the photos and then over his shoulder to the man behind him, comparing the two.

“Wait a second!” Science Bitch exclaims, and stands up forcefully from his desk, causing his chair to roll back and hit the wall behind it. The noise startles Charlie who has become preoccupied wondering if the clear crystals taste more like vanilla or water.

“Silly me! I am almost positive- give me one moment.” Science Bitch makes his way over to the bookshelf Charlie is standing in front of, and searches through the titles, squinting and running his fingers along the labeled spines, “Yes, here we are.” There is a pleasant lilt in his voice as he opens the book to a gap in the pages and finds an envelope probably containing his check, with Charlie’s name written on it – once again, Charlie’s about 80% sure that’s what his name looks like.

The Scientist picks out the envelope and passes it to Charlie, who, with very little care for something The Scientist just diligently hunted for, shoves it into the inside pocket of his army green jacket. He lightly pats at his chest, taking account of the inventory. The Scientist shuts the book between his hands and rotates the front cover towards Charlie, “This picture reminds me of you. I put it there so when I inevitably made the association again I would remember to give you your check.”

Staring at Charlie are the tiny beady eyes of a brown rat, hands curled into one another, pink ears lifted upwards in a curious manner. The title reads ‘Rats 101: A Comprehensive Guide to Rat Care.’ “Looks a bit like you, hm? If I remember correctly you weren’t the biggest fan of the rodents?”

Charlie tilts his chin up and looks down at the rat book almost as if he expects the creature to skitter off the cover and up Science Bitch’s arm the moment he breaks eye contact. “Yeah, well I don’t know about this one, but the bar rats are pretty close to signing the peace treaty I left down in the basement for ‘em. I keep finding their little dirt prints all over it, so they’ve definitely read it. You could say we’re cool now.”

The Scientist smiles for the first time this afternoon. However, the grin is short-lived as he looks past Charlie and realizes the organizational massacre he’s made for himself in the process of searching for the check. He sighs deeply, the hand holding the book dropping defeatedly in front of him, “Well Charlie, if that’s all you came for I’m going to have to ask you to get going. I have quite the week ahead of me and a 3-hour long department meeting coming up and I'd very much like some time alone to mentally prepare for that.”

Charlie nods and snaps into some finger guns, “Right right right. Totally.” They say their awkward departures like any two people who only see each other once a year do, and Charlie makes his way back towards the office entrance. The Scientist places the rat book back into the gap on the shelf and goes to sit at his desk.

As Charlie is about to leave, hand gripping the doorknob and ready to push it open, he turns around again, “Not that it’ll make you feel any better, dude, but I think you're super smart. I don’t know a single other person who has certificates on their walls for things they actually did. Frank has one for his donkey brains and Dennis has one for doing school, but other than that I always thought awards were something you dumpster-dived for and then wrote your name on. These all came with your name on them which is pretty sick.”

It’s a small sentiment but The Scientist looks up at Charlie, his expression morphing into something fond, “Actually, that’s lovely. Thank you, Charlie.” He briefly looks back down at his work but pops his head up as if he’s forgotten something. “If you don’t mind, on your way out, will you shut the lab door? I don’t want any students getting in there without supervision. It’ll lock on its own, all you have to do is close it.”

“You got it doc!” Charlie exclaims, throwing his hand up in a big salute before ducking out, closing the office door behind him. He breathes in and holds it in for a moment. He has a task. An easy task. Doors are easy. He can’t fuck up closing a door. He just did it five seconds ago! He’s been closing stuff his entire life so he should be good at this by now, but the pressure of a mission can be overwhelming. He lets the breath go and begins looking around to get his bearings. He glances back and forth at the various room titles until he sees one beginning with an ‘L’. He sounds out the word ‘Laboratory’ to himself in the silence of the hallway before approaching the open door and reaching for the handle. All he has to do is close the door and-

He pauses, eyes growing wide in interest. On one of the lab tables within view of the entryway, just sitting out in plain sight, is an Erlenmeyer flask filled with..something? It’s clear. He thinks it could be water, but why would it be in such a science-y looking container if that's all it was? He shakes his head, scolding himself for getting sidetracked from his given mission, and starts pulling the door toward him. He stops halfway and peers apprehensively into the room again. No one inside. No one wandering out in the hall behind him. He doesn’t even register that he's moving into the room until he’s 3/4ths of the way to the table, well past the door’s threshold. When he’s close enough to examine further, he gets down on his knees, becoming eye level with the flask. He bites the inside of his cheek as he observes. It’s just clear liquid. Nothing special about it like glowing properties or a fizzy, carbonated surface. He reaches forward and picks it up, swirling it around in its container. The top is sealed with a stopper so the liquid can’t get out unless he opens it. He absolutely could open it right now. He tilts the flask and watches the room around him refract through the mystery liquid.

“What..are..you?” He mumbles under his breath before setting it back down, not wanting to jostle it too much. He knows Science Bitch would probably be pissed at him for even thinking about it, but these are real laboratory chemicals. Charlie can’t imagine getting fucked up on anything higher grade than this. He can’t get this kind of stuff from the bar basement or from underneath Dee’s kitchen sink. Several minutes go by in which he just sits there, tapping his fingers anxiously on the cool, black lab table surface.

“Oh...ARGH!” He blurts out in a release of frustration. Against the better judgment he frankly never had, Charlie gives in and flings his arms forward, grabbing the flask with both hands, one grips its neck as the other pries the stopper from the opening. Charlie pulls it to the edge of the table where he’s still squatted. He doesn’t even have to bring it any closer to his face. He can smell it from here. Definitely not water.

Charlie does what Science Bitch asked him to. He shuts the lab door and it locks behind him so no one can enter or snoop around unsupervised. He makes intellectual conversation with the students he passes as he departs the campus and boards the bus back to Paddy’s with no issue. No one else is sitting close enough to hear the sound of liquid sloshing against glass walls when the bus goes over a pothole. Even if they did, it’s no one’s business what’s hidden inside the flap of his jacket, held to his chest with crossed arms.

-

He doesn’t bother excusing himself when shimmying his way through the door, past a couple of fleeing guests, into the dingy abyss of Paddy’s Pub. Their distressed mumbling between one another as they discuss getting drinks elsewhere is almost entirely drowned out by the arguing of siblings over the bartop. The front door bangs shut and bounces on its frame, old and barely sturdy to keep closed, alerting the unoccupied Mac and Frank to Charlie’s arrival.

“Heeeyyy, Charlie! Where ya been man?” Mac reaches over from the barstool where he’s sitting and tugs at Dennis’ sleeve, drawing his attention toward their recently arrived friend.

Dennis’ voice cuts out mid-sentence, head snapping towards Mac, glare in full force. He swiftly tugs his arm away from Mac’s grasp and smooths out the pinched cuff on his button-down. He follows the angle of Mac’s hand to the opposite side of the room and breathes a sigh of relief on seeing Charlie, “Oh, Thank god. Someone who knows their worth,” he hops up on a stool beside Mac and pats the empty seat to his left, “Charlie, Come over here and promise me you’ll never develop any delusions of grandeur.”

“Charlie doesn’t even know what grandeur means!” Dee squawks from her end of the bar, causing Frank to flinch beside her. Charlie notices she’s tapping away at a laptop keyboard set on top of the bar in front of her. He also takes note of the stuffed bookbag around her shoulder that seems to be weighing her down on one side, causing a lean in her stance. Her voice goes up in a sing-songy manner, “But you know where he could learn it..”

Dennis scoffs and downs the first beer he sees on the bar in front of him, throwing his head back dramatically. Mac reaches forward to grab the bottle, but his hands land on the empty counter with a smack, the beer he opened for himself long gone down Dennis’ throat. His hands slide back in defeat, “I don’t even see what the big deal is, Dennis. You always talk about how cool college was and how you’re better than Dee for actually graduating!”

“Well Mac, that’s because my brother doesn’t actually want to see me thrive as an individual! He’s only interested in being a miserable sack of shit who still clings to his youth to feel something!” The sound of her fingers clicking against the keyboard only gets louder and more pointed.

Dennis lowers the bottle back to the bar, crosses his hands around it, and shakes his head disapprovingly, “This is exactly the behavior I would expect from someone with the maximum education level of a high school diploma. So sad.”

Charlie lets the argument go on in the background while he walks around to the other side of the bar. He kneels beside one of the sinks and searches through the chemical cabinet below for anything that could possibly smell similar to the mystery liquid still held awkwardly between his arm and chest.

“I’m with Dennis on this one!” Frank chimes in, banging a hand down on the bar top. “All college does these days is spread the liberal agenda. They’re gonna teach you all about that fake shit like, uh, vaccines or impeachment! Even worse, diversity.” He smacks his lips like he’s tasted something awful.

“And evolution!” Mac chimes in.

Dennis groans, “No no no! I just think Dee is too old to go to a university at this point. It’s pathetic. No one is going to accept a 30-year old woman! That’s-” His words falter into nervous laughter, “-just not going to happen! It’s crazy.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, buddy!” Dee sneers, rotating her laptop so it’s facing Dennis, the Philadelphia Community College homepage displayed mockingly on the screen, “Community college baby. Suck on that.”

With an offended gasp, Dennis puts all his pressure on the barstool’s footrest and abruptly leans forward, across the bar, to shut her laptop, hand coming down violently on the top cover, “God! Come on, Dee! First, you want to embarrass yourself by attending school with a bunch of 20-year-olds who are smarter than you, and now you want to use my government stolen tax dollars by attending a community college?”

Charlie is still tucked under the counter, drowning out the bickering by going back and forth, sniffing the cleaning products he knows and loves before ducking down to whiff at the uncapped new addition. He’s thinking that maybe comparing and contrasting this chemical with the ones he already has will help him identify it. Like a chemical connoisseur. Even if after the first couple of huffs he forgets to process or loses all mental note of what he’s smelling.

Mac is the first to notice and questions him once again, “Charlie, you good down there? What were you doing earlier? Where were you?”

Charlie springs up from behind the bar and looks around at the others, whose attention he now holds, “Oh, ha, yeah...I was at college.” Dennis kicks the bar siding below him and lets out a guttural scream of protest. Dee claps her hands together in a victory laugh.

“No, wait! Dennis, you’ll love this!” Charlie throws up his pointer fingers, telling them to hold on, before ducking down to grab the glass-contained substance. He sets it down on the bartop with no care for the health code violations he may be committing and places it evenly between the five of them, “I snagged this on the way out!”

Dennis does seem slightly intrigued at least, resting his hand on his chin in thought before slowly angling towards whatever has been set before him. His eyes dart between Charlie and the flask, “And why am I supposed to care about this?” he finally asks.

Charlie mumbles something jumbled and bitter about having to always do shit for them under his breath. He removes the stopper, swirls the liquid, and in one big circular arm motion, wafts the fragrance in everyone's direction.

Mac’s the first to get hit by its sweet, sharp acidity that tickles his nose. He stands from his stool and circles around to where Charlie is standing. He tugs the flask from Charlie’s grip and brings it up to his face, shoving his nose into the opening. Charlie’s little protests are completely ignored as Mac pushes his hand back up and continues to take a deep huff of the liquid. He blinks profusely when he pulls his head up, “Oooh yeah, that’s some primo shit right there.”

“What is it?” Dee asks, reaching out towards Mac with an open hand, waiting for him to pass the glassware.

“I’ve got no fucking idea! It was just sitting out there in the open on one of the tables! I was torn up about taking it but it didn’t seem like anyone was planning on using it or anything. It’s from a lab, they’ve probably got a ton.” Charlie rationalizes his decisions out loud while the flask gets passed around the group. Everyone has the same reaction to the fumes. Some coughing followed by immediate lightheadedness, all of them in agreement that this was in fact ‘good shit.’

“Okay. Okay! Give it!” Charlie snatches the flask back from Frank who is currently on his fourth huff. His voice dips into a British accent towards the end of his sentence, mimicking Science Bitch, “I’ve got some experimenting to do with this later on.” He shoves the stopper back in and stuffs his mystery chemical back into the safety of his jacket, hoarding it away protectively like a squirrel with an acorn. Dennis grimaces at the impression.

“Y’know what, that’s probably what they use to preserve the bodies of dead people. The stuff they use to embalm ‘em!” Frank wags a finger in Charlie’s direction and brings his voice down to a hushed, accusatory tone, “They’re killing conservatives and turning ‘em into liberal zombies and you just uncovered their scheme!”

Dennis shakes his head, “No Frank, Community colleges are at the bottom of the educational food chain. They don’t have access to real chemicals as the people there are not getting a real education,” He puts it so matter of factly, tipping his beer bottle towards his sister.

Dee rolls her eyes and begins packing away her laptop, trying to shove it into her already overflowing satchel, bursting with the unnecessary textbooks she bought with Frank’s money. “Well losers, I am out of here. I gotta hit these books if I wanna have a Psychology degree to hold over my therapist's head by next year.”

“Really? A single semester? How long do you think it takes to get a degree, Dee?” Dennis interjects once again. “Psychology too? You’re foaming at the mouth to piss me the fuck off, Dee, and I’m not having it. Not today!”

“Well, now I feel like everyone is in on the college thing except me. Dee’s going to school, Dennis went to school, Charlie’s huffing school chemicals..” Mac professes from where he’s standing, running his fingers along the condensation on the wood. “What if I wanted to be the first McDonald to make something of myself?”

“It is beyond too late for that,” Dennis snorts.

Charlie runs his hands through his beard in thought, slowly nodding, “I already have plans for this tonight and, depending on how strong this stuff can get, the rest of the week, but maybe I wanna do the whole sky learning thing too one of these days!”

The four of them turn to look at him in confusion. All trying to make sense of what he’s just said. Mac breaks the silence, “Sky learning?”

“Yeah! You guys keep saying skycollegey. Is that like a big school in the clouds? Do you have to take a flying bus to get there or, oh, a big invisible staircase? Oh! Are you learning about the sky? I don’t think I’d be very good at that, I’m not a big heights perso-”

“Psychology. Charlie, You should know what Psychology is. You were literally a part of a psychological experiment!” Dennis chokes out, his white-knuckled fingers gripping the edge of the bar top. His body shakes with rage and forced laughter. “Oh Charlie, I’m so glad I can count on you to be a complete lost cause. Someone around here has to have zero potential, buddy, and I'm glad it’s you. Dee...Mac...You have no excuse for your stupidity. You’ll see. I’ll be laughing and you’ll see.” The chuckles that escape him slowly build up into angry shouts of “HA HA HA!”

He throws his arms up into the air in giant sweeping motions, waving Mac and Dee out of the bar, “Yes! Go to college! See how long you last! Use my tax money on your pathetic little libraries and computer labs! See if I care! You’ll be back in the bar doing absolutely nothing like you always do in less than a week and I’ll still be laughing!”

Mac and Dee have already collected their things and are on the way out the door by the time Dennis is finished with his rant. Mac opens the door for them, scowling at Dennis as they leave together, Dee already pulling out her laptop once again to walk Mac through the application process.

None of them are strangers to Dennis’ outbursts. After over 25 years of something resembling friendship, the most his fits warrant is a roll of the eyes. This is far from the worst Dennis can get, yet Charlie can’t help the icky feeling that claws its way up through his abdomen. He physically places his hands on his stomach, briefly hoping he could just pull the feeling out and let it plop on the dusty wood floor.

Dennis takes deep shaky breaths, shoulders heaving, while Charlie and Frank stare at him wordlessly. “‘Excuse me,” His strained voice chokes out before he pushes himself away from the bar and wanders into the back office, his ego leaving crumbs behind him. Frank just shrugs it off and hops down from his stool, mumbling something about dropping one before waddling to Dee’s bathroom. Charlie tugs at the front of his shirt, still trying to pull out the bad feeling. He decides he’d much rather be at home getting high than sitting in an empty bar in the rancid wake of his friends.

-

A screeching cat fight under his window jolts Charlie awake to a pitch-black apartment, only sparsely illuminated by the blinking alarm clock toppled off his nightstand, and hanging by its power cord. It’s hard for him to move at first. A warm, fuzzy weight in his limbs rendering him useless on his ratty couch. It probably takes him a full 20 minutes to get his bearings – ‘bearings’ mostly being his ability to process where and who he even is. He stretches out his arms above him, flinching as he accidentally hits the bird-themed wall decor, making his brain just a little more alert.

That stuff he stole from the lab must’ve done quite the job, as even hours later – according to the lack of sunlight filtering in through his windows – his brain is still foggy and his hands feel funny when they curl in on themselves to rub at his eyes. He eventually builds up enough energy to flail his hands in the general direction of the digital clock till he can grab it. 1:15 am.

“Ohh sick!” He grumbles to himself, making a mental note of his hours passed out. It’s certainly not a record. He’s been out for days before so this doesn’t even break the top five, but it’s always important to note one's achievements. Charlie lets go of the alarm clock and is momentarily mesmerized by the blurred red digits swinging back and forth with the clock. Inching himself closer to the edge of the couch to blindly find the table lamp is a struggle, but after a fair bit of wiggling and straining, he’s able to find and turn it on. Just as the artificial brightness of the lamp hits him, he instantly recoils and covers his eyes. His vision is still blurred around the edges and he thinks he might be seeing spots, but it’s getting better by the minute.
While he’s waiting for his vision to adjust, he notices the unfortunate mess he’s made of the pile of clothes on the floor by his feet. Laying amongst his favorite shirts is an empty Erlenmeyer flask, a wet patch long since formed, soaking the fabric underneath it.

“Ah fuck!” He curses, throwing himself forward to grab the container, the state of his clothes not even a thought in his brain, “Really?” He swirls around the few droplets of chemical left in the curves of the glassware, wondering if this is enough to at least supply him with one more good night. He’s not so sure the fumes will last that long, especially if he can’t find the rubber stopper that came with it.

“That’s just great. Really that’s fantastic. Way to go, Charlie, you’ve done it again!” he babbles sardonically, pushing himself to his feet. He’s able to make it to a standing position for a whole 2 seconds before his knees give out and he’s falling back into the embrace of his grimy furniture. He huffs out of frustration and slumps further down on the couch, his shirt riding up his stomach, his back halfway down the seat.

He glances around the room, noting Frank's absence. He’s probably with Artemis or blowing money at a strip club. Regardless, Charlie doesn’t really want Frank to see him like this right now. There’s still that shameful sneaky feeling playing hide n go seek in his gut. It was hiding for a couple of hours while he got blasted on his science stuff, but it’s that time of the evening when the effects wear off and the emotions bubble back up. Something about what Dennis said got to him particularly hard today. It wasn’t laced with any less malice than usual for a tyrannical rant from theirs truly, but it hit a sensitive spot that he didn’t think he had these days.

Charlie looks down to the flask in his right hand. He unclenches and watches it slip out of his fingers, falling back into the pile of clothes with a thud. It’s not like the thought of returning the substance had even popped into his head. He had every intention of using every last drop for his dishonorable purposes. He’d probably be up for plotting how to get some more of it with the gang if he didn’t have this nagging disappointment squirming its way across his brain.

He harrumphs, reaching over and grabbing the stained – with god knows what – blanket, that he and Frank share, before wrapping it around himself, nightcrawlers style. No, he was never going to return the bottle. In fact, he was planning on taking it over to Mac and Dennis’ the second he could move his legs. Maybe a small part of him is bummed that returning it isn’t an option anymore. He imagines Science Bitch scouring the whole lab for the solution – distressed, panicked, so terribly worried that he misplaced or lost the lab’s prized possession. Only for Charlie to then make a grand entrance, swooping in to save the day. The full flask in one hand, a non-existent cape flapping in the wind, like a true superhero. Except now that delirious hallucination was never going to come to fruition and there’s a pile of his clothes soaking up what was probably the Science Bitch’s life’s work on his floor.

He sniffles and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. Science Bitch isn’t even a good name for him, Charlie decides. He’s not a bitch. Dee’s a bigger bitch to him than Science Bitch ever was and they’ve never called her ‘Bar Bitch’ or ‘Dennis’ Sister Bitch’ or ‘Terrible at Stand Up Comedy Bitch’. She’s still Dee. So why can’t Science Bitch be...whatever he actually is. Charlie knows whatever it is, it’s not a Bitch. The guy has been nothing but super chill to him since the whole pla-see-bo situation. He talks to him like he’s an adult and not someone at second-grade reading level (Charlie is both but that’s beside the point). Sometimes he says really big words and talks about things Charlie doesn’t quite understand, but he always stops and explains them if Charlie furrows his brow or cocks his head in confusion. Most importantly, he doesn’t treat Charlie like he’s stupid. It’s not fair that after all of Science Bitch’s tireless work towards righting his wrongs, paying Charlie to keep quiet, and speaking to him at least once a year, this is how Charlie repays him. By stealing his super-secret science serum and spilling it all over his floor.

Charlie’s fantasy morphs into something darker. Charlie’s cape is in tatters. Science Bitch is cradling a broken flask in his hands, scooping up shards of glass and spilled liquid. He glares up at Charlie, tears in his eyes, blaming him for the end of his career. He’s also wearing cat ears, but that’s normal. Everyone in Charlie’s maladaptive daydreams comes with cat ears. It’s part of his programming.

The guilt buries itself in the fleshy wrinkles of his brain when he thinks back to his interaction with Science Bitch from the day before. Dennis sometimes calls Charlie pathetic. He thinks it’s one of his skycollegy terms, but Charlie is pretty sure it means that he can tell what other people are feeling. His patheticness must’ve been working overtime. He could completely tell that Science Bitch was having a rough time before he even started talking about his job troubles. Charlie hates to think that he knowingly added to that stress.

If he wants a cape, he has to earn it. It’s not enough to think about doing good things and then completely tossing them out the window, or onto the floor haphazardly while high, when it’s convenient. He’s going to make it up to him somehow...eventually. Right now, however, his eyelids are feeling heavier and the crusty blanket encompassing him is just too warm to shrug off. Tomorrow. He’ll figure something out tomorrow.

-

Tomorrow ends up being two days later, but he’s kept busy in the interim. He helps Mac choose what classes to take, reading the titles together and just barely skimming over what the course descriptions say. If Frank’s paying a thousand bucks for this semester then this astronomy class damn well better be taking Mac to space. Luxury rocket ship amenities included, of course, such as freeze-dried beer and a monogrammed space suit. He tells Charlie it’s false advertising if they don’t and that he can legally sue.

They also sign him up for a US government course because, as Mac puts it, one should know thine enemy to defeat them. Charlie doesn’t know what a ‘thine’ is but Mac sounds really smart while saying it. Charlie honestly thinks Mac’s gonna kill it at this whole school thing. Unfortunately, they don’t have any Martial arts-centered courses, leaving Mac gutted, but he’s pretty sure he’d be too advanced for them anyway. He can’t imagine how devastating it’d be as a professor to dedicate your life to teaching your craft only to get shown up by a first-year student. Mac will save them the embarrassment.

Dennis, on the other hand, has been stewing over the situation for the past few days and, in an attempt to come out on top, has decided to change his entire life’s trajectory towards becoming a college professor. What better way to prove community college is a sham? He graciously offers the position of ‘Teacher’s Assistant’ to Charlie if the opportunity ever arises, letting him handle all the nonsensical parts of teaching like grading and lecture planning. Dennis promises he won’t unload any of the hard tasks onto him and convinces Charlie that with his help, Dennis’ lectures will be the best they could possibly be. He’ll get to focus all his energy towards talking out of his ass in front of a massive room of susceptible young adults. The offer is immediately rescinded when Dennis remembers how much he likes drawing big Xs over incorrect things.

Dee is currently in the process of revamping her dating app profiles so that they speak to the younger, enigmatic college crowd. She asks Charlie to put himself in the perspective of a ‘young but not too young, very much still legal, studious rebel who might ask her out for a slam poetry date’ and then to give her some feedback on her newest Tinder bio. Instead, Charlie asks her how therapy is going and endures the lengthy response he gets.

Usually, Charlie doesn’t mind a Dennis/Mac/Dee scheme because it leaves him and Frank to do whatever the hell they want for the next couple of days. Charlie suggests some alley dumpster-diving followed by a Chopped-adjacent cooking competition where they take whatever they can find in the apartment and combine it with their haul. He’s been trying to figure out what to do with that pack of everything bagels in their pantry for a month now. Unfortunately, Frank has his hands in the college cookie bowl too. Charlie comes home to find him drafting up formal contracts for Mac and Dee that state how their costs of tuition must eventually be paid back in full with interest. He shoves them both into Charlie’s hands and asks if the fine print is fine enough. Charlie notices that Frank’s also drafted a third contract for Dennis to sign when he inevitably realizes that in order to become a professor, he does, in fact, need to go back to school for several more years.

Charlie is left on the outskirts of a plan once again, but it doesn’t bother him for long. He has his own scheming to be done. Well, as long as ‘making up for one’s chemical stealing crimes by befriending the rightful owner of said chemicals’ counts as a scheme. Instead of staying home slumped on his couch-bed, seeing how many bags of salt and vinegar chips he can down before his mouth starts bleeding, Charlie will be attending office hours at the Philadelphia Community College.

When throwing on a shirt for the day, he doesn’t take much note of the clothing pile that he reaches down and grabs from. The smell of his spill doesn’t even register after spending days in an apartment that reeks of nothing but the acrid aroma of the chemical. He’s grown so used to it, he might as well adopt it as a new cologne, pre-soaked into all his attire.

Charlie can vaguely remember the path he took a few days ago. He resists pressing every button on the elevator panel as he rides up to the second floor, walking past the stairwell and a computer lab, before approaching a glass door separating the teacher’s offices from the classrooms and student areas. He feels a tinge of pride for his memory and physically goes to pat himself on the back as he enters, but cuts himself short upon seeing a group of professors eating lunch who are all looking back at him. He pretends like he was going to scratch his armpit. Good recovery, Charlie. Now they won’t think you’re a weirdo who celebrates the tiny victories of navigating your way through buildings.

He pauses in the doorway, avoiding eye contact with the intimidating bunch while attempting to scan the room and various offshoot halls. Unfortunately, his luck has run out and he’s entirely forgotten where to go from here. He steps forward into the room a bit more to make out the wall signs, but they’re just a series of numbers and dashes that you could not pay him enough to comprehend. He considers knocking on every door in the building till Science Bitch answers while he fiddles with his jacket sleeves.

“Sir, do you-” one of the teachers speaks up from the table to his left, pausing to look him up and down with a forced smile, “-need help finding something?” He has a wrinkle-free button-down and a nice pair of slacks. A very professorial look that works with his polished loafers and closely cropped haircut.

Charlie nods enthusiastically and claps his hands together, shaking off the awkward energy and approaching the table. “Yes! I am! These hallways are just, haha, woo crazy, huh?” he falters into a bit of nervous laughter. “Yes, I’m actually a friend and uh..former colleague of a professor here so I was looking for his office.”

The professor that originally called out to him glances across the table quickly to gauge the reactions of his coworkers, communicating with his eyes like they’re in a secret club. One of them shrugs subtly and raises their eyebrows, expressing intrigue. Another gives Charlie some serious side-eye. The other excludes themself from the conversation, ducking their head and continuing to poke at the wilted lettuce in their lunch box salad.

“Well uh, who are you looking for?”

“The Scientist” Charlie blurts out confidently, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in a pointing motion, “He teaches, like, over that way.”

Mr. Starched Shirt follows the direction Charlie is pointing, “So, a science professor who teaches near the labs?” He folds the napkin in his lap and places it on the table before him, crossing his legs, “Any other, perhaps more helpful, information you have on this professor?”

Geez, Charlie thought that description would be enough for this guy, but he guesses some people just want to be difficult, “I mean, sure I guess? If you really need more..” He chuckles and glances around at the other professors to bond over the stupidity of the question, getting nothing but avoidant gazes in return. “He’s taller than me. Uh, he wears a lot of funky ties. He’s got, Uhm, really tight hair. Like, you look at it and say to yourself ‘that’s gotta hurt right’. It’s right up on his scalp.” He pauses to think and drags his fingers through his beard, “Let’s see, what else...Oh yeah! Big mouth. Real wide mouth. He could probably fit a ton of pieces of candy in ther-”

“Charlie?”

Charlie whips around, bumping into one of the seated professors' chairs, earning a disgruntled “Watch it!” in response. Science Bitch loiters in the entranceway, one hand full of vending machine snacks and the other still pressed solidly against the open door behind him.

“Hey, man!” Charlie exclaims and reaches a hand over to pat the shoulder of the professor who’d been doing all the talking up to this point. His hand is not so gingerly shrugged off, “We were just looking for you!”

Another one of them, a pensive-looking woman in cat eye glasses corrects him, “He was just looking for you.”

A blush makes its way across the scientist’s face, his embarrassment almost like a visible blanket that curls around him, “Well, I'm glad you’ve found your way this far at least.” He sighs and lets the door shut behind him, refusing to make eye contact with the clique of coworkers behind Charlie. “My office is down this hall right here to the left. Number 219. Come along.”

The professor with the salad snidely mumbles something Charlie barely catches under their breath which causes the others to break into a fit of subdued snickering, “Makes sense.”

Charlie doesn’t know what's supposed to make sense or what is so funny about the situation, but the delivery paired with Science Bitch ducking around the hall corner as fast as possible makes him feel sort of yucky inside. He follows in Science Bitch’s footsteps and leaves the common room behind in favor of a cluttered office.

Science Bitch’s office isn’t as messy as it was the first time he saw it, not that Charlie cares or notices. He strolls in behind Science Bitch and falls into the plush comfy chair opposite the more organized desk. Papers seem to be in neat stacks, labeled by sticky notes, rather than strewn around the room.

“As you can see-” Science Bitch begins speaking, setting the contents of his hands down in front of him before plopping into his desk chair, visibly relieved to be off of his feet. “Not a slob. Simply eclectic.”

Charlie shrugs, “I wouldn’t care if you were, dude.” He plants his feet on the ground and holds onto the chair, jerking forward in an attempt to move it closer to the edge of the desk. Upon the motion, he discovers that his chair swivels which is a definite game-changer.

Science Bitch sits up straight in his chair, a juxtaposition to Charlie’s slumped posture, “What can I do for you, Charlie? Did I leave something off of your check?” He crosses his fingers on the surface in front of him, patiently awaiting Charlie’s response. He becomes a little less patient as Charlie pulls his feet up onto the chair, tucking his head over his knees and using his hands to push off the side of the desk and spin himself around, “Charlie?”

Charlie abruptly stops himself and looks in the direction he thinks Science Bitch is sitting. He’s seeing double of everything from the dizziness so he’s not totally sure he won’t be looking at the window when his vision refocuses, “Yeah! Sorry, what?”

“Why are you here, Charlie?” Science Bitch flattens and folds his tie in between his fingers out of anxious habit. “I don’t believe you left anything as I would’ve found it while cleaning yesterday. If this is about increasing your last payment, I need you to know that this is something I simply can’t do. I am struggling a bit as is and I understand that the embarrassment I put you through was damaging but-” he cuts himself off. “Sorry. Worry rambling. You’re here because..?”

Charlie lets his feet slide off and hit the floor with a thud before he leans forward, “Oh, I’m just here to hang, buddy!”

Science Bitch’s expression pinches in confusion, his lips pursing and the space between his eyebrows wrinkling. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is the gasp of air one holds on their tongue before they speak. Unable to rationalize the thought, he confirms, “To hang? As in, hanging out?”

Charlie grips the arms of his chair and pushes himself up to a sitting position, so Science Bitch is not half obstructed by the edge of his desk. “Yeah! The gang is off doing their own stuff for however long it takes and I didn’t really wanna be a part of it so...I thought since we’re friends and we don’t hang out a ton-”

“We’re friends?” He lifts his finger to interject. It’s not a denial, but a genuine question.

“Oh! Of course, my man!” Charlie beams and reaches forward to grab the little bag of vending machine cookies that Science Bitch bought for himself. He’s too busy processing to notice when Charlie rips it open with a squeak and starts popping them into in mouth one by one. “I knew you weren’t feeling good the other day-” he lightly presses a chocolate-coated hand to his chest, “-’cause I'm anesthetic, y’know, and I can feel it when people aren’t doing too hot. So I thought, Hey! it’s not fair that Science Bitch is always doing cool stuff for me and I never do anything cool for him! I should hang out with that dude!” As he talks, cookie crumbs fall out of his mouth and into his lap, “and now I'm here!”

“...Empathetic?” Science Bitch corrects, looking like a stock photo of puzzlement. “Charlie, all I've ever done to you is publicly humiliate you and then bought your silence for the better half of a decade.”

Charlie drops his cookie bag into his lap and waves his hands in the air in a sort of circular ‘ehhh? who's to say?’ motion. That may all be true but Science Bitch is giving him more money per silence check than he’s ever made from a bar paycheck. He can’t remember the last time he’s actually seen money from the bar anyway. Not to mention he has absolutely no idea how to cash a check and just tapes them on his wall every time he gets a new one. He likes to think of them as collectors’ editions.

“Tomato, Potato, dude. To be real with you, You probably gave me the most confident week of my life. It was cool to be smart for once and have people respect my ideas. You never even followed up to see the lasting effects! It must’ve worked a little since I know what psychology means now! That’s all you, buddy.”

This makes Science Bitch’s shoulders relax slightly. He does a terrible job of holding back the fond smile playing on his lips, “That makes me happy to hear, Charlie. But I know what I did was shameful and I have to live with the consequences of that.” He tilts his $1.25 bottle of soda towards Charlie and his chocolate-stained teeth, “Perhaps eating lunch alone in my office while my colleagues speak poorly of me is the consequence.”

Charlie recognizes the feeling. He kind of gets what it's like to be ostracized by your coworkers. Science Bitch’s office suddenly feels a lot like the Paddy's Pub basement. A lot like the bad room in the ceiling space where he’d go to break stuff when he was younger. Charlie puts the bag of cookies in the center of the desk in front of them and shoves them gently over to Science Bitch’s side, making sure the bag opening is facing toward him. “But you’re not eating alone anymore,” he gestures to the bag. “We’re already eating together. You can’t be alone and together at the same time. I don’t think that’s possible.”

Science Bitch looks from Charlie’s friendly, crooked smile to the half-eaten bag of cookies in front of him. He contemplates for a moment more but ultimately gives in, reaching into the crinkling plastic bag and pulling a single cookie out to place between his teeth and crunch down on. He eats much politer than Charlie, covering his mouth when he speaks, “It appears we are eating together.”

Charlie grins and excitedly stands up from his chair to drive home his sales pitch, “And friends do more than just eat in each other's sad offices!”

“Is my office sad-”

He ignores the interjection, “You can tell me about science stuff! You teach it so you must be really into talking about it! Maybe you can make me even less dumb!” Charlie practically bounces as he speaks. Science Bitch holds his hands out to calm him as if mentally grasping his shoulders and holding him in place.

“To be honest with you, I don’t want to be anyone’s tutor at the moment. That’s what student instructors are for. I don’t think I have the mental capacity to carry my job over to our..friendship..” It sounds weird coming out of his mouth as if he doesn’t know what inflection to say it with. “However, a change of pace could be good for me. I’m afraid I get too focused on routine.” Charlie looks at him expectantly, waiting for a cut and dry answer. “You know what Charlie, I think I would like to hang.”

So, it’s settled. After punching the air for a solid 30 seconds out of excitement that his plan is falling into place, Charlie allows Science Bitch to do the honors of picking their meeting spot. They settle for meeting tomorrow evening, at a cafe down the street, after Science Bitch gets a little bit carried away talking up their teas, babbling about the various blends they have in stock and how lovely the atmosphere is. He catches himself mid-infodump and saves the boring details for when they’re actually there and Science Bitch doesn’t have a class to go teach in less than 15 minutes. Charlie agrees. Whatever is gonna make this dude happy and scrub away the mark of guilt across Charlie’s consciousness.

“By the way, Charlie,” Science Bitch seems to have a habit of stopping people on their way out the door. Charlie is half expecting to be called out for the crime plaguing him. The other half of him is concerned he’ll be given the responsibility of closing yet another door. Instead, the scientist simply stands up from behind his desk to gather his things, smiles genuinely, and says, “You smell quite lovely today. Did you put something on?”

Charlie’s eyes go wide, “Wha-? I didn’t-” Forced laughter bubbles up from his abdomen. “I don’t know what that means! Bye!” He quickly utters before darting out the door and down the hall towards unsuspecting freedom.

-

On entering The Scientist’s cafe of choice, Charlie is delighted to be greeted by the resonant sound of an overhead windchime, hanging above the door to alert baristas of a customer’s arrival. The chime trails off into a distant hum and gets replaced in Charlie’s ears by the low chatter of surrounding tables and the whirring of steamed milk. He looks up at the classic garden windchime with amusement. Dee has been complaining for years about the telltale Paddy’s door squeak, harassing him to replace the door that’s falling off its hinges before they get robbed again. Charlie always felt that the unmistakable squeak acted as a security system in itself. He doesn’t need a door that stays closed for more than two minutes if he can hear it open from the basement. He’s glad to see the trendier coffee-drinking crowd on the same page as him when it comes to noise-based security systems.

He isn’t very well versed in local coffee shops, or coffee shops at all. He’s only ever been to one, and they currently have a framed picture of him in the back to let new hires know that he needs to be ‘escorted off the premises’. Despite not having legally been there in some time, he remembers the Waitress’ shop being a whole lot different than the funky college hangout he currently is in. He expects to be hit with the smell of burnt drip coffee, the sight of gaudy yellow paint chipping off walls, and the high probability of a mug getting thrown at him before shattering on a dated tile floor. However, this little corner establishment he loiters in the entryway of is anything but hostile.

Mismatched diner chairs are forgone in favor of velvet couches and matching plush seats around wood-finished tables. The floor is a rich walnut brown and intersects with an accent wall of thin weathered bricks that expand up behind the bar. Letterboard menus read off the standard offerings and daily specials. Skimming through them as he studies the room makes him wonder how similar coffee-making is to the bartending they do at Paddy’s. Not that he’s usually the one behind the bar making drinks, generally that's Dee. Anytime he’s ever been waved down by someone trying to order, he just goes and fetches them a bottle of whatever beer is at the front of the fridge that day. Charlie does know how to make a mean cocktail but keeps being ushered away by Dennis every time he offers to make something for their bar-goers. Apparently, Charlie’s definition of a Long Island Iced Tea would get Paddy’s shut down for good. At the end of the day, bartending is just advanced liquid mixing, and Charlie’s pretty proficient in that. Other bars tend to overdo it with all the fancy shaking and garnishing and measuring.

As he struggles to find a single item on the menu that he recognizes, his eyes catch the word ‘Latte’. While he thinks it’s a pretty weird way to spell it, the menu is right. Charlie is late. Twenty minutes late to be exact. He got held up trying to find clothes that weren’t chemical soaked or otherwise stained, but the smell has permeated almost everything he owns at this point. The white short-sleeved button-up Charlie’s turned up in was one of the more saturated articles of clothing from his pile. It’s also the nicest shirt he owns. Paired with his brown corduroy blazer. Perhaps it’s nice enough to distract Science Bitch from any familiar scents that could remind him of a certain missing lab material. If not the fanciness of his attire, maybe the remaining bloodstains along the hem of his shirt from an unruly wedding will do the job.

Charlie’s shocked to see Science Bitch stationed at the furthermost corner table. He was fully expecting his future friend to be long gone, fed up with waiting, taking Charlie’s chances at reconciling the guilt in his heart with him. But he’s there, tucked away from the groups of chatty college kids comparing their semester’s start.

He doesn’t seem to have heard Charlie’s windchime accompanied entrance as his eyes are still downcast to the stack of papers sitting slanted on the table in front of him. What’s even more surprising is that he looks comfortable for once. He’s balancing a ballpoint pen between his fingertips, occasionally marking whatever he’s reading. His chair is rotated slightly away from the table and he’s slumped further back in it than Charlie’s ever seen him, right leg hooked over his left knee and foot bobbing along to whatever soft indie song is playing over the cafe speakers. Science Bitch isn’t a definitively tall man, coming in at just a few inches above Charlie himself, but here his legs look like they go on for miles. It makes Charlie question if the fumes fucked with his memory so bad that he doesn’t remember Science Bitch being well over six feet.

Up until this point, Charlie can’t recall ever seeing him without a lab coat on. The white protective garment is slung over the back of his chair, and Charlie can see the rolled-up sleeves of a dress shirt for the first time. The chunky patterned tie hanging down from Science Bitch’s collar is more noticeable now too, not having to peek its way out from behind long coat flaps.

He doesn’t look like a scientist right now. At least not to Charlie, who has a very skewed idea of what someone in the field should look like. He looks professorial, but not very ‘scientific.’ Charlie’s brain goes to weatherman or public broadcasting children’s educational television host. Provided he change his name from Science Bitch, of course. His hair still looks uncomfortably tight. His expression is still distinctly shrewd.

Worry expands in his chest as Science Bitch straightens out his stack of papers and rises from his chair. Charlie hurriedly runs towards him, “Hey hey hey! Wait! Don’t leave!” His sneakers squeak to a halt in front of Science Bitch whose hands instinctively reach out to catch the smaller man from barreling into the table, “I’m here now!”

“Woah, Hello there-” Science Bitch utters a short, breathy chuckle as he processes who he is holding onto by his upper arms. “-Charlie,” His mouth turns up into a soft grin and his hands lower from Charlie, albeit with hesitancy. He looks him over, curious but pleased. “I don’t believe I've ever seen you in something so nice. Not to say that you don’t usually look nice but-” He rethinks this statement, “Well it’s certainly a new look. New, but welcome.”

Charlie’s quick thinking skills have once again come in handy. He bounces on the balls of his feet, “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to wear ‘cause this is my first time doing something like this! It’s a pretty safe bet though, I think. If my hand gets possessed or something and I start throwing coffee all over the place. I know brown won’t stain so…” He picks at one of the blazer’s dangling buttons, held to the fabric by a scraggy thread, “Thought that was pretty cool.”

Science Bitch’s eyebrows raise and he visibly stiffens, relaxed shoulders arching backward. “Stuff like this..” His voice trails off like he’s stopped himself from finishing the inquiry. He clears his throat and crosses his hands behind his back, “Yes, it’s a very studious-looking blazer. Very, Uhm, flattering on you. It makes me wish I would’ve tried a bit harder if I’m being honest.”

The compliment takes a couple of seconds to sink in. Charlie’s not very used to them. He holds out his arms, rotating them to observe the cat hair-covered fabric. The last time he wore it, Dee told him to ditch the 70s car seat cover. He doesn’t try to force down his goofy smile, “Hey, Thanks, man! We both look like men of learning now!”

“That we do.” Science Bitch nods once and motions over to the bar, “I hope you’re happy to know that I actually wasn’t leaving. I came early to get some grading done and was just now getting up to order. You were right on time.”

Charlie doesn’t have to be a scientist to know that he is definitely not on time, but he appreciates the absence of resentment for it.

While waiting in line, Science Bitch explains how he’s a regular at this particular store, assuring Charlie that the baristas here know his order by heart and start making his tea the second he steps up to the counter. Charlie glances up at the staff and catches the leer of a teenager working at the bar, not removing his glare for a second even while pouring what remains of a carton of milk into a steaming pitcher.

Charlie is much more focused on the fact that he now has to pretend like he knows how to order coffee like an adult. Usually, If he doesn’t have Mac to read out the menu to him when they go somewhere, then he at least has the colorful pictures to fall back on and point to when it’s his turn to order. There aren't any pictures to be seen, just white letters on a black background with useless numbers displayed next to them. But he can do this. He was just telling Science Bitch the other day that his experiments must’ve worked a tiny bit. Maybe he couldn’t before, but now there’s absolutely no reason that he shouldn’t be able to order a simple coffee. How do adults drink their coffee anyway? Black, right? Oh, but Charlie likes sweet things. Should he ask them how fresh their milk is? He’s not sure if that’s something the average coffee drinker would ask, but it sure is something Dennis would ask. He racks his brain for any memory of Dennis showing up late for his shift, tiny paper cup in hand, waving it around and gesturing with it like it’s imperative that everyone knows he went and got coffee this morning. What would Dennis order?

“Charlie?” His thoughts are interrupted by Science Bitch who is now a few feet in front of him, leaning up against the order counter, looking at him expectantly. “While I appreciate the assumption that we’ll be ordering separately, it’s quite alright. I’ll pay for both of our drinks.”

The barista behind the register puts on a strained smile and her tone is way too forcedly cheerful to be authentic, “Whenever you’re ready, sir!”

“I..uh...Chocolate!” Charlie blurts out because it’s the only thing his brain can currently pull together. “Chocolate coffee. Coffee...with chocolate.” He looks between Science Bitch and the barista whose eye might’ve just twitched, “Please.”

The cashier’s customer service front begins to slip away. She lets out a shaky breath and lifts her hand to type something. “Size?” she asks, very much dreading the answer.

“Yes!” Charlie responds, not even processing what she asked him. He thinks he did it right though because after staring blankly for a moment, she begrudgingly nods and finishes typing out his order.

Her gaze turns towards Science Bitch. “And you, sir,?” Her voice dropping two octaves.

Science Bitch snickers smugly, “I’ll be doing my usual today, thank you.” He shoots an amused, sidelong look Charlie’s way.

The barista shoots the same look to the nearest coworker within earshot, “And that would be?”

Science Bitch’s confident exterior crumbles with little pressure. Nervous laughter dries out his throat. Almost ashamed, he leans in closer to her and brings his voice down to a piqued whisper, “English breakfast tea, two brown sugars, and steamed oat milk.” His hands go up to anxiously tug at his collar, “Please.”

Science Bitch goes about paying, fussing with the loose cash and change in his wallet, counting it multiple times over before handing it to the impatient twenty-something barista who took their order. She hands him his change back and eagerly calls the next customer up to the counter. Science Bitch ducks his head and drops a few extra coins into the tip jar beside them before making his way back to their table, gait odd as if he’s trying to draw as little attention as possible. Charlie clomps along behind him.

“Hey! Did you mean to drop your money?” Charlie asks once they reach the table, jerking his thumb back toward the counter.

He falls into the chair opposite Science Bitch who tilts his head quizzically, “Of course not. That was a tip, Charlie.”

Charlie blinks at him.

“You know. When you appreciate the service you get from someone, you leave them a tip..” Charlie is still staring, mouth hanging open as if he’s about to say something but not quite getting there. “Do people not tip at your bar?”

Charlie shakes his head, “Not that I know of, I mean, I'm not really the money guy. Frank’s the one in charge of cooking the books and I just kind of take whatever I get in my envelope at the end of the month!” Science Bitch’s eyes widen slightly but Charlie continues before he can ask any questions, “I’m the janitor actually. I do grouts, corners, buckets, traps, plungers, stickiness...” He holds up his hand, counting off his duties on his fingers, but losing track somewhere between traps and plungers. “Ah, I could go on and on, but the point is, I'm not the money guy. They don’t let me nowhere near it, but I guess it’s okay ‘cause my cut is pretty small anyway.”

Science Bitch pulls a satchel off the floor and moves his stack of student assignments into it as he listens to Charlie speak. “I assumed bar profits would be split equally amongst you all. Are you not all owners?” He uses the now clear table space to prop his elbows upon, intently listening to Charlie.

“It started that way, but Dennis likes gambling and we place a lot of bets. It’s been twenty years since we got the bar and I'm not very good at betting,” Charlie shrugs, leaning back into his seat in defeat, “So, yeah.”

Charlie knows that the look Science Bitch is giving him is filled with pity. He doesn’t want to be consoled for something that doesn’t bother him that much, “I promise it doesn’t, like, bother me. I like doing all the janitor stuff! I like scraping gum off the table bottoms!” He doesn’t tell Science Bitch that he can absolutely tell what flavor of gum it used to be by the muddled shade of brown he finds it in. “I don’t like being forced to do it, but I don’t think anyone wants to be forced to do their hobbies. I bet you hate being forced to do sciencey things, but you still like science!”

“You’re right and it’s a debate I've had with myself multiple times,” Science Bitch seems to catch Charlie’s drift. He leans back slightly and relaxes the concerned pull at his brows, “Well your friends all have very strong personalities. I’m sure your bar is a very happening spot.” His face scrunches the second the phrase leaves his mouth, “You know what I mean.”

“Oh yeah! Lots of happenings! You’ll love this one!” Charlie perks up, scooching himself closer to the table and practically leaning halfway over it, “This week Mac and Dee are trying out community college!”

“Trying out-?”

“Mac came by my place this morning to steal some of the crayons and markers I use to dream journal. I stocked up on a ton of extras ‘cause Frank breaks ‘em when he sleepwalks like he’s Godzilla and the crayons are little people!”

Science Bitch pauses to take this information in, rolling it around in his brain for a bit to make sure he heard that right, “Mac and Dee are..trying out college for a week? Just for a week?”

Charlie groans exasperatedly, “Ugh, I know right! Literally, it’s so annoying. Now Frank and Dennis are roped into it so they’re all busy doing college stuff too and I can't, which is why I'm free to hang out with you!”

Charlie doesn’t register the pained grimace that briefly crosses Science Bitch’s face as being anything other than commiseration. “I don’t understand why you can’t just go to college for the week too if you’re that miserable without them.” He looks down at his hands, which have begun fiddling with his bold striped tie.

“Nah, man,” Charlie rubs the back of his neck, mumbling, “I’m too dumb to get into something like that. I'm not very good at filling out applications, either. I forget where stuff goes and write my name in the wrong spots. Plus, they always ask for my ‘social security’ and it gets confusing ‘cause there's never enough spaces for my phone number. It’s like, what number could possibly be more social, y’know?”

Science Bitch’s eyes dart up towards Charlie. He’s quick to defend him against himself. “Why do you say that? Sure you’re on a different level of comprehension than most individuals your age and possibly above the age of fifteen, but you still graduated high school right?”

Charlie gives an emphatic nod. “I did tons of high school! I did one more year of school than everybody else. Our principal said I just ‘couldn’t keep up’!” He throws his fingers up in air quotes and presents it like it was a compliment.

Science Bitch presses his lips firmly together and shakes his head, “Charlie, I’m telling you this as someone who is employed by the college that your friends are currently attending – you can take classes there if that’s something you want to do. Almost anyone can get into community college with a high school diploma or an equivalent. Even if there are roadblocks, or you don’t think you can get in. There are so many people and programs in place to help you.”

Charlie drops his hands flat to the table, “Yeah, yeah, I know all about those. Dennis and Frank hate those things. They always talk about how they’re closing the wealth gap and how it’s bad for the economy or whatever.” He melodramatically tosses his head side to side, knowing that the shit he’d get from Dennis would be tenfold than what he’s giving Dee and Mac. “I think it’s neat that people can do that if they wanna, but college really isn’t for me. I don’t thrive in school, man.”

Science Bitch crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, “From what you’ve told me about Dennis and Frank, I don’t think I like their world views all that much.”

“It’s okay! They definitely wouldn’t like you either!” Charlie’s honesty shocks Science Bitch, he almost bursts out laughing but throws a hand up to his mouth, catching the noise before it escapes. He continues to chuckle behind closed lips, his shoulders shaking.

“But I like you so it’s okay! Who gives a shit what they think!” Charlie beams from across the table. There’s a sharp intake of breath opposite him. Science Bitch’s hand stays covering his mouth and Charlie almost assumes he’s choking from the way his posture tightens. Charlie knows from experience that he is not equipped to deal with a situation like that.

Luckily, Science Bitch clears his throat and his hand slowly falls to the table. Another quick breathy laugh escapes from him. He bites the inside of his blushing cheek. “I am, uh, I’m glad I have your approval,” He stammers out.

Charlie nods enthusiastically. “Plus, I’m already self-educated in my chosen field,” He tilts his chin up in a display of confidence. “I’ve taken it upon myself to become well versed in the combined forces of birds and the laws surrounding them.”

Science Bitch nods along with him, matching the bobs of Charlie’s head as if it’ll get him closer to understanding what goes through his mind. “Hm okay..,” A finger comes up to tap against his lips curiously. A smile splits behind his pointer. His tone is jokey and sweet, “Do you mind elaborating on that? So that the common man such as myself might be able to understand?”

“I’m talking about bird law, buddy,” Charlie’s eyes narrow, and his scratchy voice fights against taking on a serious tone. “If we’re looking at cases won using cold hard bird facts, I’m kind of a big deal.”

Science Bitch looks delighted at this revelation. “Oh, Charlie! This might just be my favorite thing I've learned about you. How many years have I known you? Genuinely, I had no idea that you are a fan of ornithology. Such a simple fact and I was entirely unaware. It’s nice to know..” He looks up in a pleased thought, “Let’s see, I’m no zoologist, but I may have a couple of books back at my office that I think you’d be interested in taking a look at. With many pictures, I should add.”

“Orni-.. what?” Charlie cocks his head, “Dude, birds don’t have teeth. I’ve checked, like, a ton of times.”

Science Bitch is alerted to the bar by the calling of a name Charlie doesn’t catch. He excuses himself before standing to retrieve their order, leaving Charlie alone at the table. Charlie’s eyes follow him through the cafe as he politely weaves his way around the various tables of college kids. Charlie tries to imagine himself in their place and he isn’t surprised by the almost immediate wave of frustration that rolls over him. He’s not lying to Science Bitch when he says that college just isn’t for him. It’s not something he can ever picture himself doing, even when he closes his eyes and imagines it really hard. Nevertheless, Science Bitch’s assurance that college isn’t a closed-door puts a warm feeling behind his ribcage. Charlie could go to college if he wanted to. Dee and Mac aren’t actually all that special.

Charlie watches Science Bitch collect their drinks, pausing to converse with one of the on-duty baristas. She lifts their cups up to pass them across the pick-up counter, stopping just short of his hands. She raises a brow and darts her eyes toward Charlie. Whatever she asks causes Science Bitch to bashfully tuck his chin into his neck. Charlie focuses in, attempting to read their lips but comes up short. He doubts they are talking about monster trucks, even if that’s the only word his brain wants to fill into the blanks. She finally passes him the drinks, winking before turning back to her workstation.

That feeling from before, the one situated behind his ribcage, drops into his stomach briefly before dissipating. He quickly turns back around so he’s facing the opposite wall, away from the bar and the approaching scientist. Charlie never considered why this might be Science Bitch’s coffee shop of choice. He didn’t make the assumption that maybe Science Bitch’s relationship to this business was equivalent to his patronage to wherever The Waitress was working. If that is the case, Science Bitch seems to be having much more luck than he ever did.

A decorative paper coffee cup is placed on the table in front of him as Science Bitch plants himself back in his chair. Charlie watches him pluck the stopper from his cup’s opening, releasing wisps of steam into the air before bringing the tea up to his nose and breathing it in. He cradles the warm cup in his hands, elbows set on the table in front of him as he leans forward, “Where were we? Bird law, was it?”

Charlie unstops his coffee and attempts a taste test. He grimaces, hating the chalky syrup that settles on the roof of his mouth. He forgot that he doesn’t like hot liquids that aren’t soup. He’s also confused by the distinct lack of coffee grounds floating around in his drink. What kind of coffee place is this? It takes a second for him to realize that the man opposite him is waiting for him to speak. Charlie promptly wipes milk froth off his upper lip with the back of his hand, “Bird law!” He perks up.

The corners of Science Bitch’s mouth tilt up into a wide, daffy grin.

-

The start of the Philadelphia Community College Fall semester brings about a concept that the proprietors of Paddy’s Pub aren’t too familiar with. Change. Just as the maples decorating campus are beginning to put on a vibrant show of red and orange, the routines of narcissistic bar owners across the city are changing with the season.

What Charlie presumed, and Dennis hoped, was going to be just another weekly venture before they collectively gave up and moved onto something more worth their time, has unexpectedly become their new norm. Dee and Mac fall into their grooves, their very different approaches to student life becoming quickly apparent.

At the end of week one of sixteen, Charlie walks into the back office to find Dee with her feet kicked up on the desk, gleefully shredding her class syllabi ‘out of principle’. She insists that she’s done this all before when Charlie opens his mouth to question her methods. Dee knows that there’s nothing useful in these twenty-page packets except the exact day and time you can schmooze your professors in their office. She even tried refusing them when they were passed out, but was told that they were the ‘key to her success’ and got one shoved towards her anyway. She dumps her shredded classroom expectations on the desk in front of her and tells Charlie to use them for the basement rat nests. Who is he to say no?

This leads to a betting pool between Dennis and Frank about what Dee’s final GPA will be, as they watch her dump her backpack onto the bar top and make blackout poetry with her childhood and adolescent development readings every week.

“I don’t know why people make such a big deal about getting through college,” Dee tells him a month and a half into the semester while she folds a printed diagram of the human brain into a paper airplane. “I’m feeling easy-breezy,” She twists around in her chair and tosses the origami toward one of the occupied bar tables, watching it twirl in the air before it lands smack on Mac’s opened government textbook.

“Real mature, Dee,'' He pushes his unprescribed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. The weeks for Mac have progressed much differently than Dee. When Charlie was in high school he overheard a lot of conversations where teachers told some students that they were going to “thrive in college.” Charlie’s never personally been told this, but he’s aware of the expression's popularity. Mac is probably the only example Charlie has ever witnessed of this actually being the case. What Mac lacked in friends, extracurricular activities, and academics in high school, he makes up for tenfold in college.

He came home from his first week of classes and immediately penciled in all his due dates on the back office calendar between Dennis’ tanning appointments and Frank’s scheduled meetings with his drug guy.

“You guys have to help me adhere to my schedule, okay?” He pleaded with them as they cracked open the first of many weekend beers. He interrupted conversation repeatedly that night to wave his phone around in everyone’s face, showing off a meme someone sent in his English Comp group chat. “Do you get it? The dog is saying it’s fine, but it’s not fine! Cause he’s on fire! Dennis, where are you going? Guys, you’re not looking.”

Not even a week later, Charlie walked into the bar to find Dennis, Dee, and Frank positioned shoulder to shoulder behind the station, passing a bowl full of popcorn between them and looking out onto the scene before them like a riveting television show. “Mac has friends..” Dennis explained, his voice shaky with horror. He didn’t tear his eyes from the booth where Mac and a couple of twenty-something college kids were going over flashcards together, discussing terms and definitions that made Charlie’s brain hurt. The young adults even burst into laughter when Mac told a joke. One of them even pats Mac on the back, insinuating that the joke was actually good. The gang gasped in unison. Charlie grabbed a greasy handful of popcorn and inhaled it from his palm.

In their third week of classes, Mac drops the bomb that he’s joined the school’s LGBTQ+ organization. They meet weekly on Thursday evenings. Charlie knows this because every fourth weekday Mac is on his ass about making every visible corner of the septic tank they call a bar as clean as can be. Mac’s only rule is that the rest of the gang ‘don’t embarrass him’ and swears that the sexual tension between him and the club’s vice president will NOT be an issue. Don’t make it a big deal, but definitely let him know that Mac is NOT interested in him and is WAY out of his league.

Dennis can’t complain. Thursday nights at Paddy’s end up being their most profitable since he can jack up the prices and charge extra for those vodka-heavy party drinks kids love so much. Not to mention Dennis gets to spend the evening flirting with college girls who think they’re lesbians. He hasn’t had any luck yet, but they’ll come around, he’s sure of it.

Despite Dennis’ confidence in both Dee and Mac’s failure to succeed in college, the slim prospect of either of them becoming his academic equal is enough to keep him stewing all night. The psychology degree hanging in their apartment would lose all meaning if his sister or Mac hung a matching one beside it, even if from a lesser establishment like a community college. Dennis has to be ready for all outcomes. Dee must know the power of the education and knowledge that he holds over her, and in order to make her understand this, he is going to become what she disdains most – A psychology professor. Dennis went to school, got the paper, and there's absolutely no reason that any university worth its salt wouldn’t let a man of that feat pass his knowledge onto the next generation.

After being escorted out of the dean's office by campus security, he comes to the conclusion that he is above government-sanctioned teaching. He needs to find an untapped niche. One where he’s in control. Dennis begins uploading psychology lectures online behind a paywall with a $10 access fee to each one. Charlie hasn’t watched these recordings, because he doesn’t have a spare ten bucks to toss around, but has heard Dennis wax poetic nonsense about the inner workings of the comparatively larger male brain through the paper-thin bar walls.

Before long, almost two months have gone by and the introduction of October hides the lingering summer heat behind a curtain of cold fronts. Two whole months of focus that the gang hasn’t really had on anything before. Two months of Charlie being left to his own devices while Mac studies with his alternative-looking college friends and Frank ditches him to follow Dee around to her classes so he can hide in the back and interrupt when the professor starts spouting “liberal nonsense.”

In the past, a situation like this would’ve bothered him more than it does. It would have made his mind go a mile a minute, and made his limbs feel heavy and restless with anxiety. Charlie doesn’t feel that way though. For the first time in his adult life, his social life isn’t dependent on what the gang is getting up to. He may be coming home to his friends all caught up in their various ventures, but he’s quite frequently coming home from having just spent the day with Science Bitch.

After their first coffee meeting, Charlie decided that he needed to start their friendship off with honesty. As they left the cafe together and began to part ways, Charlie reached a hand out to stop Science Bitch in his tracks. He took a deep breath, looked him in the eyes, opened his mouth to speak, and said, “…Y’know dude coffee’s kinda gross. We should just get ice cream next time.”

And thus, a next time was born.

A singular next time became several next times in which the two grew accustomed to regularly wreaking havoc on Philly’s food service workers. Charlie notices that the scientist likes having a plan. He’s not one for spontaneity and tells this firmly to Charlie on his third unannounced visit to the office. So, Charlie decides the only rational thing to do is to show up every day at the same time, that way instead of being the thing that breaks the routine he’ll become a part of it. They begin to eat lunch together in the confines of Science Bitch’s office. Occasionally they venture outside the concrete walls and over to the cafe, where Science Bitch teaches Charlie that drinks usually made hot can also be made iced, or down to the nearby park where they walk around the pond and feed ducks. Science Bitch brings a little ziplock bag of torn lettuce and sweet corn, adamantly refusing to use bread since it’s harmful to the waterfowl’s digestive system. Like when Charlie eats legos, he thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he nods and lets Science Bitch give him a personal lecture on wildlife ecology.

Historically, Charlie’s gotten frustrated by people who try to teach at him. He’s too familiar with the way people’s words twist up with condescendence. Muffled mocking laughter hidden behind a hand, only to be polite, as if he doesn’t know that they’re not laughing with him but at him. It’s different when Science Bitch teaches him stuff. It’s never patronizing. No superiority in his words like he’s rubbing the knowledge into Charlie’s nose. He presents it to him gently in the palm of his hands and lets Charlie roll it around between his fingertips, trying to understand at his own pace. If it’s not digestible on the first explanation, he rephrases until something sticks in Charlie’s brain.

“There’s no shame in ignorance, Charlie. It’s not a bad word.” It’s the first time since Elementary school that he can remember someone being this patient with him. Ironically, he doesn’t feel like a child, “You didn’t know before, but you know now. You learned something. We should all strive to know more at the end of the day than when we started it.”

As they’re heading back to his office, Science Bitch tells him that he feels like he’s constantly learning from Charlie too. His beard suddenly feels too warm on his cheeks.

It’s strange getting to know someone new after spending the past three decades of his life with the same group of people. He doesn’t feel trapped at the bar. He doesn’t feel like his friends are only his friends because of the circumstances they’ve found themselves in. On days when he loves the gang, he loves them hard. But his friendship with Science Bitch is just so fundamentally different from anything he’s ever gotten from the gang. He’s been afraid to admit that he craves something other than the rough and tumble.

When Charlie imagines Science Bitch’s brain he pictures rows and rows of filing cabinets, a stark contrast to the blobs of color that occupy Charlie’s mindscape. Among those neatly organized files is a specific folder reserved just for Charlie facts. As if every thought Charlie has casually mentioned in conversation was carefully tucked away for later. Science Bitch tells him things he heard throughout the day, something he went over in class that morning, or a little factoid he read while surfing the internet, that reminded him of Charlie.

The other day, he jumped up the second Charlie’s sneakers turned the corner into his open office, and enthusiastically began telling him all about a World War 2 carrier pigeon named Paddy that he read an article about. A neat little amalgamation of Charlie’s interest in birds and the bar.

“I thought it’d make you smile,” Science Bitch admits sheepishly, pulling an article up about the bird’s many accolades while Charlie leaned over his shoulder to look.

Charlie likes smiling and The Scientist makes him smile.

He can’t complain that he’s been entirely neglected by the Paddy’s gang. He and Frank are still roommates after all. They’re still grown men who share a pull-out sofa bed and sleep ass to ass most nights. Frank still spends time with him, watching whatever predominantly white action film with minority bad guys Frank suggests. They order take out and drown the alley cats out with the sound of kung fu foley work and gunshots.

Charlie asks Frank one night, soy sauce dipping down into his graying beard, “Hey buddy, do you think I’m stupid?”

The question catches Frank off guard. He’s practically falling off the front of the couch, all his attention on the gratuitous sex scene beginning on screen. “Wha-?” He whips around towards Charlie who’s meekly digging at his noodles with a fork. Frank leans forward to pause the movie on an up-close breast shot, “What are you on about? ‘Course you are, Charlie! You’re dumb as bricks!”

“Well I'd argue bricks were a pretty smart invention,” He mumbles sheepishly. “They’re useful for a bunch of stuff, so..” His thought falls off. He twists the noodles around his fork, getting frustrated when he spins too far and the bite unravels down the other side.

Frank’s eyes narrow, “Don’t tell me this is about that college shit, Charlie. I’m not losing you to this shit too!”

Charlie groans in frustration and tosses his half-eaten noodles on the coffee table in front of them. The box lands on its side, causing a few strands to slide out onto the wooden surface, “No, man, I just- ... Did you go to school?”

Frank shakes his head vigorously, appalled by the idea. “I paved my own way! No way I’m paying to let some dick hole tell me what to think and how to think it because he was told by another dick hole what to think and how to think it! That’s how indoctrination works!”

Charlie opens his mouth to speak but Frank raises a stubby finger to cut him off, “Hey, We’re not doing this okay. You may be stupid, but that’s just how we like you. You don’t need to go changin’ nothin’ for no one.”

Charlie looks down to the floor where a pile of unwashed clothes sits within kicking distance of his feet, reminding him of a certain shoulder-slumped college professor. Frank's words go in one ear and out the other. “Yeah, Yeah, Okay. Promise it wasn’t ‘bout that.” He reaches forward to grab his noodles, scooping the strays back into their paper container, “I was just thinking.”

Frank pats him roughly on the back, “See! That there is your problem! People gotta start thinkin’ less!”
Charlie nestles back into his slouched sitting position and continues slurping on his noodles as Frank resumes the movie. For the rest of the night, Charlie has a hard time thinking about anything but the clothes strewn on the floor next to him and what his favorite scientist would have to say about Frank’s advice.

-

The incident that kicked off the unlikely friendship between the two doesn’t weigh on Charlie much anymore. If he’s being honest, besides the occasional whiff of chemicals he gets while rolling out of bed and tossing a shirt over his head, he’s kind of forgotten it was ever something he was worried about. Science Bitch never called him up in distress, begging him for any crucial information he may have about the disappearance of a beloved lab chemical and the smell has since faded from his clothing...mostly. He says mostly because if anything, it’s made them smell a bit better. Looking back, Charlie is grateful for the whole situation, despite the tooth-grinding distress it may have brought him for a bit. Without it, he wouldn’t be where he is now – his practically disintegrating Vans kicked up on Science Bitch’s desk as he puts all his concentration into tossing cheddar snacks up into the air, attempting to catch them in his mouth.

Science Bitch is passively doing some grading while Charlie periodically updates him on recent gang happenings, in between chewing his cheese snacks of course. The sound of the Scientist’s blue pen marking out incorrect pop quiz answers cuts between Charlie’s messy crunching.

Science Bitch’s lunch of choice is a vending machine granola bar paired with a bottle of the school’s finest overpriced water. Charlie tosses a cheese cracker up and knocks his head back to catch it, missing fantastically. The cracker bounces off the center of Charlie’s forehead and skitters across the desk to land in Science Bitch’s eyesight. He looks up at Charlie over the rim of his glasses and his bottom lip curls in, suppressing a laugh.

Charlie blinks profusely and swiftly reaches forward to retrieve the snack. He flips it over in his mouth and tries to find the train of thought he lost from several minutes ago, “Apparently the bar is ‘too gross’ and Mac’s gay club friends don’t wanna have their meetings there anymore. Which sucks cause I don’t know how often I'm gonna get to see Mac anymore!” His hand blindly crinkles around the plastic bag to grab a handful of cheese-covered squares. “They’re moving it to the library, which is ridiculous cause Mac’s still technically banned for life from the episode of Project Badass we needed to film there.”

Science Bitch nods along, capping his grading pen and leaning back in thought. “Well, if you feel like you aren’t spending enough time with Mac and you know what time the club meetings are, you could always attend one with him. I have a few students in that group and, from my understanding, they’re a very inclusive bunch.” He clears his throat and fiddles with the cap of his pen, “In fact, back when I was in university, I was actually part of my school’s own group of that sort. We were never exclusive to LGBT+ members. I’m sure allies are welcome unless things have changed significantly since-”

“You’re gay?” The words are out of Charlie’s mouth before he can practice using his filter. He bites down hard on his tongue. Even he knows that’s way too personal of a thing to just demand from someone, point-blank.

The scientist recoils slightly, not as though he’s hurt or offended by the question, just shocked by the blatancy of it. His hand goes up to loosen his tie. He swallows hard, “Um, Yes, Sorry I- I thought it would be okay to mention since you talked about Mac being gay and-”

Charlie cuts him off once again, “No, dude, I’m not homophobic!” He practically shouts, dropping his feet from the desk and scooching forward in his chair. “I just didn’t know is all...With Mac, you can tell immediately cause it’s like, it’s all he ever talks about, but you’re..” Charlie watches Science Bitch brace himself. Charlie finishes, “..I just didn’t know.”

The room goes quiet for a few moments, save for the sounds of office phones ringing and teachers chattering in the halls outside. Charlie ducks his head, trying to catch Science Bitch’s downturned gaze, “Sorry I brought it up, man. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

The scientist quickly shakes his head and meets Charlie’s eyes. “I’m very secure in myself, Charlie. I have been for a couple of decades now. I’m out of the closet in both my private and public lives. It wasn’t something I was ever intending to keep from you.” He rocks back in his chair, setting his pen down and crossing his hands over his stomach, elbows braced on the chair’s armrests. Charlie wonders if the distance put between them is purposeful, “Not that it’s anyone’s right to know, per se, but your friendship is very important to me. I’m glad you know now.”

The tight-lipped grin he offers is traded for a giant toothy Charlie grin, albeit a few missing teeth here and there. Science Bitch’s shoulders drop back down to their usual position, reassured by Charlie’s blinding smile, the tension easily rolling off the curve of his back.

Charlie watches Science Bitch finish up the last of his grading, briefly overlooking the remaining answers before shoving the quizzes into a neat graded stack. Charlie’s eyes follow him as he stands and carries the stack over to its respective cabinet, his slim fingers clumsily trying to keep the papers from escaping his hands.

The idea of Mac and Science Bitch having anything in common just doesn’t make sense to him. They’re the only two out gay men he knows and, despite the problematic undertones, Charlie can’t help but imagine them together. Being gay and romantic. The image that pops in his brain is of two frayed wires, that should touch by no means, sparking upon contact.

Mac’s pride is in your face. Loud, rainbow, and shirtless. Covered in body glitter with a cape on display. Charlie’s not knocking it off by any means. He loves seeing Mac like that. It’s such a departure from the solemn Mac who feared the world and consequences from an unloving God, carrying the truth around with him like the ankle monitor Charlie wore the summer before their senior year.

His point is that he can’t imagine the lanky man currently rifling intently through layers of manila folders in anything but his big goofy ties and ill-fitting button-downs. He tries to imagine him shirtless but gets the immediate urge to cackle out loud. Not because he thinks the sight is humorous. Mostly because accompanying the image are frustrated grumbles from The Scientist saying that it’s “much too cold out here for this.” And also partly because he doesn’t know how to feel about what he’s just thought up. It’s too intimate.

He wipes his sweaty palms against the rough fabric of his ripped jeans and shakes the sight from his brain. Suddenly nervous that The Scientist could sense his silence and will call him out on his invasive thoughts, he blurts out yet another tactless question, “Uh, Do you have a boyfriend?”

Science Bitch is facing away from Charlie but he can still see that the standing man has frozen in place, his fingers caught somewhere between the S and T files. There’s a moment of hesitation before his voice responds, an octave higher than usual, “No, no boyfriend. Not involved. Quite single.” He clears his throat with the shutting cabinet and makes a hurried 180 back towards his desk. The Scientist’s steps stutter in front of the bookcase, eyes briefly scanning over the shelves before moving back to Charlie. He chuckles like there’s a joke only he’s in on, “Holding out blind hope for something silly, yes...But no, no one to currently share the glamorous salary of a teacher with.”

Charlie’s head cocks to the side in confusion, watching Science Bitch sink back down in his desk chair. It’s not that he expected Science Bitch to have some dude at home that he’s kept hidden from Charlie this whole time. It just doesn’t feel right. It’s shocking. There's no reason his brain can conjure up that this guy shouldn’t have someone in his life, holding his hand before bed or sharing half a sandwich with him. Y’know, coupley things.

“Huh?..” He scratches above his ear. Charlie desperately grabs onto a follow-up question that won’t make his stomach feel wrung of acid. “What do you teach, anyway? Science, yeah, but there's different kinds of science, right?”

Science Bitch also seems pleased by a change in the line of questioning, relieved in fact. He nods and gestures to his office’s wall decor. “I’m a bit of a mixed bag actually. A few different introductory level biology courses. Cellular and molecular, organismal..” His pointer finger travels to various sides of the room, pointing out each of his ornaments. Some vintage biology prints, framed with care and browning at the edges, showing off mushrooms and creepy crawlies. An educational poster comparing and contrasting prokaryotic versus eukaryotic cells.

Personally, Charlie is a fan of the large, detailed, aquatic ecosystem illustration for its use of bright colors and little crabs. Charlie recalls his first and only time visiting the ocean and wonders if Science Bitch would ever sit in the sand and collect shells with him.

Charlie follows Science Bitch’s gesturing hand over to a stack of textbooks sitting in the corner of his desk, adorned with the human brain. “Occasionally, they have me teach psychology in the summer months. Hence, our unfortunate meeting.”

Charlie leans in, raising an eyebrow and pressing his fingertips together with intrigue, “Now do any of those involve space. Any insider secrets about...” He casts a tentative look over his shoulder to rule out the threat of prying ears, “..the third kind?” He motions vaguely upwards and into the distance.

“Are you asking about aliens, Charlie?”

Charlie scoffs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I’m trying to protect your livelihood here, man. I’m not sure what the level of top secrecy is around space stuff!”

Science Bitch rests his chin on crossed hands and matches Charlie’s forward posture. “Unfortunately, space exploration wasn’t covered in-depth in any of my degrees, but it certainly is interesting.” He breathes out a short amused laugh, “I did grow up on Star Trek, however, and find it all a bit fascinating as well. I’ll have to loan you some of my books on the subject.”

“Not like I could read ‘em anyway. Just lemme know when the government starts asking you to dissect alien dicks or something..” Charlie tries not to let his disappointment show too much, “I hope they’re out there. It’d kinda suck to be the weirdest guy in the universe, huh?” He laughs but it falters into something resembling a whimper.

Science Bitch takes a second to respond, just staring at Charlie with narrowed eyes while he picks at the desk’s peeling wood grain. “Charlie, I’m going to be honest with you,” He feels like a student about to get lectured. “I find that the only times I'm not thoroughly enjoying your company is when you’re talking down about yourself.”

Charlie’s head perks up.

“You aren’t like everyone else and frankly that’s refreshing. Everyone I'm around all day is so stuffy and uptight.” Science Bitch grips the front panels of his lab coat, “Science is stuffy and uptight. Granted, maybe I am too. You aren’t. And when I'm around you I don’t feel like I have to pretend to have it all together. I look forward to moments like this in my office where I get to watch you drop crumbs all over my rug. I know I'm going to have to vacuum them up when you leave, but I don’t mind because it’s you. Frankly, Charlie, rooms don’t look complete to me anymore if the floors aren’t covered in crumbs.”

The worn fabric of Charlie’s sleeves catch against his work-worn palms. Science Bitch shuffles across from him, breaking off a piece of his granola bar and shoving it in his mouth as if to stop himself from rambling. His eyes fall from Charlie down to his lap.

Charlie wants to chase his gaze down, grip the sides of his thin face, and pull it back up to meet him. People don’t look at Charlie like that, let alone talk about Charlie like that. The feelings it elicits are pop rocks deep in his stomach. “Aw, man...I don’t know what to say.” Charlie’s mouth sits open in a dumbfounded smile, “I’m not good with words but like..touche, dude. I like you a whole lot more than I ever thought I would.”

He’s thankful that whatever he said was enough for Science Bitch to reel his head back up to look at him, “Well then it appears we’ve both been surprised by one another.”

They share an appreciative smile before Charlie dampens the moment, stealing the remaining half of Science Bitch’s granola bar to rob it of its chocolate chips. They fall back into a comfortable silence for the rest of lunch, Charlie happily munching away on the leftover snacks and getting his fingers messy with chocolate.

As always, the lunch period comes to an end with polite goodbyes and a silent agreement that Charlie will be here, same time tomorrow.

“I was wondering..” Science Bitch starts as they step out into the hall, pulling his keys out of his pocket to lock his office door. “Since the bar won’t be busy on Thursday nights anymore, would you like to come over for dinner? No pressure, of course. If not this Thursday then we can plan something for the future. I’ll be cooking so don’t worry about bringing anything or paying.” He turns back toward Charlie, hopeful and assuring, “I just- You can meet the cats if that's a bargaining chip. I feel like we eat lunch together so often that a change of pace might be welcome.”

Charlie tilts his chin back, weighing the question, “Hm...Would milk steak be on the menu?”

Science Bitch blinks, “Milk…Steak?”

“Steak boiled in milk,” Charlie says matter of factly.
The taller man gives an amused head tilt. “Well that’s quite straightforward,” He chuckles and tucks his keys back into his lab coat pocket. “I’ll tell you what, I'll do some milk steak research and see what I can come up with.”

Pop rocks.

-

It’s a couple of days later that Charlie’s anxiety weighed feet are stomping their way through the front door of Paddy’s Pub. Mac and Dee are set up at one of the bar tops towards the center of the room. They say nothing to him as he enters, engrossed in their bickering, “Dee, it’ll take like ten minutes tops and then you can go back to stalking people half your age or whatever the fuck you’re doing.” He has a handful of flashcards that he’s extended out to Dee and an open textbook taking up most of the table, tabbed and highlighted to hell.

“Stalking?!” Dee scoffs, locking her phone and tucking away whatever incriminating tab she may have had open. “I’ll have you know that I’m an avid supporter of our school’s theatre program and I’m simply showing that support by looking into what bitch-” She stumbles, “-I mean, what talented, beautiful girl got the lead in the fall production.” There’s a flyer clutched in Dee’s left fist. Her eye twitches.

Charlie drags himself past them and throws himself like a used bar rag into one of the seldom cleaned booths. He kicks his legs and pushes himself up the seat till he’s situated, facing out at Mac and Dee with his back up against the wood paneling and grime-covered brick.

“Charlie, would you please stop thrashing I’m trying to study over here,” Mac tosses over his shoulder, looking back at Dee with an exasperated eye roll. He has a pair of wire-framed reading glasses perched sophisticatedly below the bridge of his nose and has swapped out the usual sleeveless tank or Hawaiian for a Philadelphia Community College sweatshirt.

Charlie sulks in response, an unoccupied hand sadly picking at the gray gum stuck to the booth’s table.

Mac has been preoccupied with midterm preparations for the past week, foregoing any adrenaline-filled activities proposed by Charlie in favor of library cram sessions. Mac’s also in the process of getting his political career off the ground. The college’s Pride club is already in the beginning phases of council elections for next semester. Mac has recently announced that he plans on running for treasurer and then using his position of power to weasel his way to the top. He admits that he’s not entirely sure what a treasurer does but he knows it involves holding onto lots of money and he’s not afraid to play dirty.

Dee on the other hand is still under the impression that she is coasting. Sure, she’s been dropped from two of her classes for refusing to meet deadlines, but “that’s cool” because she “didn’t actually need those anyway.” She goes back to aggressively tapping at her phone screen, muttering under her breath about the rock bottom standards of this school’s theatre program.

“Studying is for losers who don’t have faith in themselves to accomplish anything,” Dennis proclaims as he makes his way out of office. He is carrying a stack of freshly printed papers with him as he walks up to Dee and Mac’s table. “You can get catchy life lessons like that and more when you attend The Dennis Seminar.”

The crumpled flyer in Dee’s hand is swiftly taken and tossed over Dennis’ shoulder. Before she can register its absence, Dennis has replaced it with his very own, poorly photoshopped advertisement. “Apparently, I overestimated the reach of the internet. Sometimes we must dig down to our roots and remember that for centuries, humans taught through face-to-face interaction. If a self-righteous evangelical lunatic can show up to a college campus and get dozens of kids to listen to him, then I demand a crowd.”

Dee tosses the flyer right back onto the stack in Dennis’ hands without sparing it a look. “Dennis, no one’s gonna show up to hear some random guy give sexual assault pointers.”

“Full offense, Dee. You’re simply not the demographic here.” Dennis splits the stack in two, taking half and dropping it onto Mac’s open textbook with a thud. “Mac, pass these out to every guy with a perceivably low fat to muscle ratio you see.”

Dennis looks around for anyone else he can hand flyers to and spots Charlie sulking in his corner booth, a collection of old gum compiling on the table in front of him. “Charlie, your sadness is unsettling.”

“Yeah, are you good dude?” Mac resigns to not getting any studying done right now, closing his textbook with the flyers still trapped inside, and shoving it away into his backpack.

“Is this about The Waitress or something?” Dee cuts in.

The nerve that strikes Charlie is visible, he groans and pulls his back off the wall, sitting up with annoyance. It’s bigger than a waitress problem. The problem itself is that he doesn’t have a waitress problem.

Dennis shakes his head, a chiding tsk-tsk behind his teeth, “She’s old news, bud. You’ve got to get over it at some point.”

Charlie waves his arms out in front of him, a big frustrated motion to quiet Dennis. “No! It’s not about her! I mean-... It’s not not about her but-... It’s not her!” He tries to clarify but the looks on his friends' faces are even more confused than before. Charlie yells in defeat, pushes himself to his feet, and ignores the concerned calls of his name as he beelines for the basement stairs. He needs a distraction and he’d much rather sit with the rats or practice reading the cleaning supply warning labels than explain his feelings.

He actually would tell the gang what was wrong if he had the words for it. Charlie’s bad at explaining his thoughts in the same way that he’s bad at playing Scrabble. You give someone a bunch of letters and tell them to make a word out of them and you’ll get a word, no problem. Charlie’s still stuck on telling the individual symbols apart from one another.

He can tell you the facts of the situation. He and Science Bitch were on a walk, they passed the waitress’ coffee shop, and Charlie didn’t give a fuck. He couldn’t care less. It surprised him in a way he wasn’t expecting. He guesses that’s what makes it a surprise. So much so that he had to stop in front of the coffee shop’s door, feet skidding to a halt underneath the neon open sign. He needed to make sure this wasn’t just some delayed response, that the urge to reach forward and throw the door open or hold binocular hands up to the big front window to look inside wouldn’t overcome him eventually. It never did.

“Oh, were we stopping for coffee?” Science Bitch had asked, stopping a few steps in front of Charlie once he became aware of his absence beside him. Charlie shook his head, a feeling akin to relief coming over him, “No...Let’s get ice cream.”

So they did. They got ice cream and Charlie told Science Bitch all about his theory that every ice cream shop in existence has a backroom portal that leads directly to the North Pole and that’s where their products come from.

“Does that mean all Italian restaurants have portals to Italy?” Science Bitch asked, ignoring the physics of the assumption. Of course not, Charlie insisted. Obviously, Italy doesn’t have North Pole magic.

Once seated with their chosen flavors, Charlie decided to open up to Science Bitch about the girl he used to be really into. He emphasized the ‘used to’ bit. He told him, chocolate ice cream dripping off a sugar cone and onto his knuckles, about how humungous the feelings he had for her used to be and how he never knew what to do with them all.

Science Bitch set his cup of ice cream down to pass Charlie some napkins, “Well then I hope she knows how lucky she was to be an object of your affection.”

It was like someone flipped the scrabble board and Charlie lost all the letters he was just beginning to familiarize himself with.

So yes, it’s about The Waitress. But, no, it’s not really about The Waitress. It’s more about The Scientist’s reaction to The Waitress. Charlie’s reaction to a lack of reaction to The Waitress. Most importantly, it’s about the half-hour that Charlie thought he existed without a persistent pull in his stomach towards someone and the half-hour since he realized that the pull simply changed directions.

-

That pull lands Charlie at the stoop of a brown brick row house on a drizzly Thursday night. Courtesy of October, withered leaves crunch under the nicest pair of shoes he owns, as he shifts back and forth on his feet. Tall, wooden shutter windows frame each side of the worn, dark green door, and Charlie feels like he’s being stared at by the warm glow illuminating from behind the curtain-covered glass. He doesn’t let himself think too much before taking another step up to the welcome mat and tapping out a rhythmic knock. There’s a muffled shout from inside. Charlie can’t parse what was said but it sounds vaguely British with a pleasant lilt, easing any underlying nerves Charlie had about misreading the color-coded directions The Scientist had printed for him, complete with pictures of landmarks and street signs Charlie would need to turn at.

There’s a hurried shuffling behind the door followed by the metallic clicks of a lock turning before the door opens inward, bathing Charlie in light and revealing The Scientist.

An involuntary chuckle leaves Charlie’s chest as he draws his eyes over the lanky man in the doorway. Despite the frequency at which the two see one another, Charlie’s never seen The Scientist outside of his work attire. Usually, he’s just coming from a lecture or heading off to one while he spends time with Charlie in the interim.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. When he pictured the evening in his head, he imagined a kitchen filled with test tubes, The Scientist in his lab coat, and a boiling pot of milk steak rolling steam through the room. Charlie usually doesn’t have a bar uniform, unless Dennis is doing some theme tweaking as an experiment to rake in more cash. The idea that people might have different attire outside of their jobs is something that just doesn’t occur to him on a daily basis, so it catches him off guard.

The Scientist recoils slightly, nose scrunching with insecurity in response to Charlie’s laughter, “Oh, it’s not that bad is it?” He looks down at his outfit, straightening out the cuffed sleeves of his cardigan.

It’s not wildly different than what Charlie’s used to seeing him in, just not as stuffy. He’s still wearing a button-up but it’s thinner and not so starch stiff. Buttoned only up to his sternum instead of all the way under his chin, showing a little bit of his chest and the angles of his collar bones. He’s fussing over his cardigan, sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. He’s wearing jeans, if you can believe it, and if Charlie were even slightly more aware of clothing brands and the significance they hold he’d be floored to learn that the neat-looking boots adorned on The Scientist’s feet are in fact, Doc Martens.

Charlie shakes his head enthusiastically. “No! Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you!” He reassures, little laughs still caught between his words. “You look cool! I’m just used to your big ties.” He mimes tightening a tie at his neck and The Scientist’s expression morphs back into the smile he had when he first opened the door.

“Oh, I see. Yes, I do have quite the collection of those.” Charlie notices The Scientist has a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder like those fancy television chefs do as he pulls it off and begins wringing it nervously in his hands. “I try to get a new one for myself at the end of every month, sort of as a reward.”

Charlie rocks on his heels, stuffing his hands in his warm pockets. “A reward for what?”

The Scientist thinks on it momentarily before shrugging, “Oh...Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that we deserve one, I suppose.” The Scientist looks past Charlie and out onto the rain-slick street reflecting the orange glow of the street lamps and becomes suddenly aware of their presence on the porch. “Oh, gosh! It’s getting colder by the minute! I’m so sorry, please, come inside.” He pushes the door agape and moves out of the way, motioning Charlie to step through the threshold, “Make yourself at home. I’m preparing dinner, but feel free to snoop around all you’d like.”

Charlie steps inside, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on one of those fancy door hooks. He wishes he had a top hat and monocle to take off too, it seems fitting. In the well-lit home, Charlie can see that The Scientist’s hair is also uncharacteristically not superglued to his head today. Product-less and a little fluffy, still incredibly silly-looking. Charlie turns around to face the room, breathing in the scent of dinner that’s wafted its way over to the entrance hall, bright and herbaceous. If Charlie had to put it into his own words he’d say it smells like spicy grass, not like the kind of grass that’s prickly and hard to sit on in shorts, but the kind of stuff that people make candles out of.

The Scientist steps around Charlie and leans over to pluck some stems from a few of the many plant pots sitting on the window sill beside him. The plants wrap around the room, dotted about on shelves and surfaces, acting as bookends and centerpieces.

“You’ve got a full-blown garden in here, dude,” Charlie remarks as he follows the English Ivy vining up the brick wall, into the warm-toned living space, “Why do you have so many here when you’ve got room at your office?”

The island separating the living room from the kitchen allows Charlie to walk about and ask nosey questions to the cooking scientist. “I’ve taken a couple of them with me to work but they do much better here. Perhaps my stress isn’t good for them,” He replies, most of his concentration being put towards mincing garlic cloves.

Charlie senses the ease of the room; not a lab manual in sight. Compared to his office, even the room’s clutter feels purposefully placed. Throw pillows in artful disarray and a couple of cat toys strewn under the coffee table. Charlie’s eyes light up and he almost strains his neck as he quickly turns his head to spot the pets. He forgot cat meetings were part of this deal. It’s not even remotely why he accepted The Scientist’s invite, but it’s far from a disappointment.

Charlie doesn’t have to look long, suddenly feeling a furry brush against his clothed ankle. He looks down just in time for the familiar-looking dusty gray cat to meow up at him, raspy and curious. Charlie crouches beside it, a thread snapping as the knee holes of his jeans stretch, and holds out his hand for the little guy to nuzzle. Not even a few seconds later he’s knocked in the head by the tail of another. This one with a tortoiseshell coat and more youthful-looking. It sits on the couch side table, whipping its tail back and forth in Charlie’s face, big moon eyes staring up at him.

“These cats are a lot nicer than the alley ones,” Charlie calls over his shoulder, grabbing the younger cat as he stands and flips it over in his arms, cradling it while he pets its tummy. “You do not wanna pick those guys up. Honestly, I think they’re government experiment cats that were just dumped behind my apartment. They can probably smell blood or somethin’.”

The Scientist scrapes the garlic from the cutting board into an oiled pan and looks up at Charlie, smile immediately tightening into a hopelessly fond expression. “Already found my boys, I see.” He walks around the counter and scoops the older cat into his arms. “You and Franklin are meeting for the first time, but you and Alan have quite the history together. I wasn’t planning on adopting any animals, but the department wasn’t quite sure what to do with a cat in a plexiglass box.”

“Oh yeah! I thought I recognized this guy!” Charlie sets Franklin down, letting him bound across the couch and over to a cat tree shoved in the corner of the room.

Alan is much older now, dark gray fur gone a dingy white around the face and back, much frailer looking than when Charlie first plucked the most docile of the cats from the alley pack and smuggled him into a lecture hall.

“Did you adopt the spider too?” Charlie looked up at The Scientist hopefully.

The Scientist chuckled and shook his head, scratching behind Alan’s ears, “No, no, no, unfortunately, I wouldn’t be the best home for tarantula care, but it did find its way to a loving home.” He set Alan down, who immediately plopped himself down on the plush rug for a nap, and proceeded back towards the kitchen, Charlie in tow.

Charlie notes a hallway off the living area heading to what he can assume is probably The Scientist’s bedroom. He ponders what it’s like to live in a place with more than one enclosed space, to be able to walk from your bed to your couch and not have to fold one up to get the other. He compares the little room he has with Frank to the home he finds himself in, astounded that despite owning cats, The Scientist’s house smells less like cat pee than Charlie’s. It smells like herbs and lemon and all the fancy cleaning products Dennis says the bar can’t afford. It smells like The Scientist.

Charlie thinks about the stack of dirty dishes beside his hot plate, stuck together from days of filth. He thinks about his dusty wall decor, his stained curtains, the pile of floor clothes he still hasn’t washed, and well..it doesn’t make him feel confident. Charlie can’t help but think that The Scientist wouldn’t like him anymore if he saw the unthinkable filth he currently lives in. He would never consider letting Charlie live here with him. His thoughts catch him off guard. The mere insinuation that he wouldn’t be living at his apartment with Frank unsettles him. He loves Frank. He loves that apartment. He’s loved them both for nearly twenty years now and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. So, why is it that the more he weasels around this little home of Science Bitch and his cats’ that he can picture himself going to sleep and waking up here?

He lingers right where the wood floors transition over to traditional checkered kitchen tile, a gallery of framed photographs catching his attention on the wall to his right. A collection of photos ranging the years of The Scientist’s life adorn the section of wallpaper, a few gaps filled out by certificates and plaques. A desaturated photo shows a boy holding hands with his mother, splashing around in puddles on a cobblestone street. A couple of photos over, a painfully awkward teenage graduate, looking less than enthusiastic to be having his picture taken. Multiple photos seem to be from his twenties; years spent pursuing his scientific studies at university, a drunken group photo of friends with their arms wrapped around one another, a shot of a younger version of the reclusive man he knows now, proudly brandishing a rainbow flag in a crowd of parade-goers. Charlie scans the wall for more recent photos but comes up empty, a large gap of his life missing from the collage.

“I’m not a very savory cook. I like making sweets mostly. Pastries, cakes, etcetera,” The voice belonging to the photos interrupts from behind him. “I’m a man of my word and I did my milk steak research as promised. Surprisingly, not much came up, but I did stumble across a few recipes for milk-braised beef that I thought might be a nice substitute. You will eventually have to make me this elusive milk steak since no one on the internet seems to have a clue what it is. I’m even more intrigued now than I was before.” He nods to Charlie before picking up a yellow onion and beginning to peel back the papery outer layers.

“Oh! Let me!” Charlie launches himself into the kitchen, taking the onion from The Scientist’s hands and rolling it over in his own. “I’m immune to onion fumes!”

Charlie takes his station at the cutting board while The Scientist mans the stovetop. He messily chops the onion up into uneven bits, some chunks noticeably larger than the others. “I didn’t know you baked, though! You’ve got so many hobbies. Science, teaching, baking, plants...That’s so cool, man. I could never do that much stuff.”

The Scientist leans against the granite countertop, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders up bashfully. He shakes his head as he speaks, “I am far from cool, Charlie. Thank you, but I promise you have much more going on than me.”

Charlie’s face pulls together in frustration. He sets his big knife down and turns towards The Scientist, his hip leaning against the counter like he means business. “You don’t like talking about yourself,” He says suddenly, causing The Scientist to gawk. “Anytime I compliment you, you always push it back onto me. I wasn’t talking about me! I was talking about you! I like talking about you!” The Scientist raises a pointer finger, indicating he’d like to speak, but is shut down instantly by an impassioned Charlie. He sulks like a scolded dog, “You took the chance to get to know me and that’s something people don’t do a lot! That’s really important to me and makes me want to know stuff about you too...”

The Scientist seems to take in what Charlie’s said, eyes flickering over the floor as if he’s thinking. He waits till he’s absolutely sure the louder man is done before he speaks, “Alright, Charlie.” He uncrosses his arms and holds them out by his sides. He smiles defeatedly, “What would you like to know?”

Charlie asks him questions while they finish preparing dinner. Silly questions. Light-hearted ones that only Charlie could find importance in. Things like, “What tiny animal do you wish you were?” and “How many fingers do you wish you had?” and “What’s your favorite ghost?”

Charlie makes himself comfortable, sitting up on the kitchen island while The Scientist waits for the food to cool before beginning to plate it. Charlie’s gaze makes its way back to the wall of photos just outside the kitchen. Photos in which The Scientist’s sharp angles look like buffed-out curves and the massive smile he adorns doesn’t look forced.

“I saw your college pictures over there,” He gestures with a head nod.

The Scientist’s head falls in his hand, “Embarrassing..” He mutters, rubbing at his temples.

Charlie shakes his head in vehement denial, “No, You look fun as fuck!”

The Scientist bats the compliment away, his cheeks going pink. Charlie continues, “Where are your friends from those pictures? You know all about my friends but I don’t know anything about yours! Who’s your best friend?” Charlie begins to rapid-fire, getting excited.

The Scientist holds a hand out and rests it on Charlie’s shoulder, looking back towards him glumly. There’s a pause before he speaks, “Well, I don’t stay in contact with many friends from school anymore. Sometimes people just lose touch. Perhaps I did something wrong or I wasn’t the friend they wanted.”

Charlie chews the inside of his cheek, silently berating himself for not thinking that might be the case before asking. The Scientist plates their food as he speaks, “If you’d like to know, I would say it’s fairly obvious that my best friend is...Charlie, it’s you.”

Charlie’s brows pop up in shock, “Me?” He thinks of The Scientist as one of his best friends too, but it’s still surprising. Part of him thought that maybe The Scientist had some super-secret cool science friend group that did things like end world hunger and find the cure to cancer.

“Yes, Uhm...This is quite embarrassing..” The Scientist stops plating and sets everything down. He takes a deep breath and rolls the sleeves of his cardigan up further on his forearms, “Before you started visiting me regularly I was...very lonely. I had driven away a lot of people in my life who cared for me by being a-”

“-bitch?” Charlie finishes.

The Scientist blinks, “Yes, Bitch.”

“Science Bitch.”

His eyes crinkle in delight, “Sure, why not?” He looks past Charlie and over to the wall of photos. His gaze lingers on them like he forgot they existed. “I don’t feel lonely anymore, Charlie. I know codependency doesn’t make for a healthy friendship, and I certainly don’t want it coming off that way, but you brighten my day exponentially. I’m very happy to have you in my life and I’m constantly worried I'll ruin this somehow.”

Charlie takes a bite of the mashed potatoes while The Scientist isn’t looking. “We can be codependent if you wanna!” He assures, words muffled by a mouthful of food.

The Scientist turns back toward Charlie and chuckles, “You shouldn’t want to be that emotionally reliant on someone.” He gets the hint that Charlie’s getting impatient and finishes plating their dinner.

“But if we’re both codependent then it just cancels out,” Charlie insists. “That's science, right?”

The Scientist passes Charlie a plate which he takes happily, hopping down from the counter and almost losing his balance on the landing. The Scientist rests a hand on the small of Charlie’s back to steady him. He draws his hand back and clears his throat, “Who am I to argue with science..”

Dinner is no milk steak with a side of jelly beans, but it’s up to Charlie’s incredibly high culinary standards. They finished eating a while ago, their plates and silverware stacked up at the edge of the table, forgotten several conversations earlier as they each poured themselves a drink.

Charlie’s downing the last bit of his beer as Science Bitch rifles through his bookshelf, running his finger along the spines of each book till he finds what he’s looking for. He makes a pleased noise of accomplishment and tugs the book he was in search of out of its section on the shelf, carrying it back timidly to the table where Charlie’s sitting.

“The other day at work, I was hunting something down in the school’s library and came across this. It made me think of you.” He sets the book down on the table, the front cover facing downward, and sits carefully back down in his seat, trying not to spill his glass of wine. “I was going to check it out but didn’t enjoy the idea of having to eventually return it. So, I went and found a copy at a local bookstore.” He nods at Charlie to go ahead and flip it over when he’s ready, eagerly sitting on the edge of his seat.

Charlie’s beer bottle clinks against the stack of dishes as he sets it down and pulls the book towards him. Charlie flips the book over and gets the gist pretty quickly. Looking up at him is a book about birds, the title splayed across the front in big bold letters, framed by action shots of birds swooping and posing.

“It’s an ornithology book. Specifically, a book about birds native to Pennsylvania. I thought the layout was very navigable and enjoyable to look at. I know you struggle with dyslexia and the blocks of text the book does have are bold and formatted well.”

Charlie listens to him describe why he chose the book and is honestly only half-listening. He flips through the pages, his eyes getting stuck on every photo for several seconds before moving on to the next. “You got this for me? You just saw this and thought about me?” Charlie asks, running the pads of his fingers over the glossy pages.
“I figured we can go bird watching soon. It’ll be a good guide.” Science Bitch takes a smug sip of his wine. “I think that’d be nice.”

Charlie looks up from the book to Science Bitch, who is looking back at him over the brim of his wine glass. He feels like pliable mush. He’s fully convinced that if The Scientist stood up, walked over to him, and pressed the heel of his palm into his shoulder, he would simply liquify. “This is like the nicest thing ever man..”

The Scientist sputters his drink a bit and brings his napkin up to wipe at the corner of his mouth, “Oh, really? I- Uh...Good.” He awkwardly cleans up the bit of wine he got on the table, “I’m happy that it could make you happy.”

Charlie looks back down at his gift, flipping it open and closed, liking the weight of it in his hands.

Science Bitch stands up and gathers their dirty dishes and Charlie’s beer bottle, careful not to make the clinking of the dishes too loud as he sets them in the sink. “Well..” The Scientist starts, “If you’d like, I'd love to hear a bit about what birds we might be able to find right in our backyard.”

Charlie thinks he can feel the woodpecker on the front cover making a hole in his chest.

An hour later they both find themselves sat on The Scientist’s couch, plush and worn with age, easy to sink into and hard to roll yourself off of. While Science Bitch finished up dishes, Charlie tossed himself back onto one of the throw pillows and opened up his book. Science Bitch listened to Charlie read off what he could, only interjecting to correct any pronunciations he was struggling with, but enjoying hearing the man piece it together himself. Eventually, he joined him, kicking his boots off on the way and unraveling the sleeves of his cardigan.

At some point, Charlie crawled into his current position; laid on his back with his feet up on the couch’s armrest, book clutched in his arms and his head in Science Bitch’s lap. The man looking down at him, listening to him blabber about bar stories and other failed business ventures doesn’t seem to mind. They find their way into a conversation about their teenage years after Charlie tells The Scientist about a disastrous high school reunion. They compare their similar school experiences, both being outcasts who got teasing names thrown at them from across lunchrooms and were shoved against lockers on multiple occasions.

“Do you think we would’ve been friends if we knew each other then?”

The Scientist snorts, “Absolutely not.” The hope on Charlie’s face falls with dejection. The Scientist notices and clarifies for him, “You wouldn’t have wanted to be my friend. I was an uppity little prick. Thought I was better than everyone in my graduating class.”

Charlie squints between Science Bitch and the cap and gown photo on the wall, trying to imagine what his teen self’s first impression of him would be, “I dunno, man, you look kind of cool!”

The Scientist hums, “I’ll agree with you there. I’ve never quite gotten the hang of fashion as I had then. Did you know I used to wear eyeliner? I had an ear-piercing too.”

“Dude! Me and Mac would’ve thought you were the coolest ever!” He exclaims while looking up at Science Bitch, mentally trying to superimpose the punk look onto him. “One time we tried to give each other ear piercings with an apple behind the bleachers. There was like, so much blood! I passed out!” The awkward laughter tumbling from Science Bitch’s chest is loaded with concern, but he doesn't ask any questions.

Alan jumps up on the couch, tottering his way across Charlie’s legs and onto his belly. He presses his paws into the pudge under Charlie’s shirt before settling on him. Franklin is also snuggled against Charlie, cornered in the warm space between The Scientist’s thigh, Charlie’s upper arm, and the back of the couch.

“Look at that...They love you..”

Charlie lifts his head up so he can see Alan’s scraggly form, “You think so?” Charlie reaches over to drop his book on the coffee table before pulling Alan further up his abdomen, “Hey, little man.” Charlie whispers fondly, getting a rumbling purr in response.

The Scientist stares down at him dotingly. “Hard not to...” He murmurs between them, not bothering much to fumble around and recover from the escaped thought. Charlie relaxes his head again, fully resting it back on The Scientist’s leg while he pets the cat on top of him.

Charlie feels movement on the sofa behind him, The Scientist’s hand moving from where it was propped against the armrest and down towards Charlie’s head. He starts lightly playing with Charlie’s hair, twirling the tiny curls in his fingers and breaking up the knots formed throughout the day. Charlie lulls his head back further, leaning into the touch. He sighs out in relief and flutters his eyes open to look up at The Scientist.

The unanticipated adoration behind his smile leaves Charlie a bit dumbstruck. He wants to say something, or rather feels like he needs to say something, but the words get caught in his throat. The Scientist drags his eyes away from where they were meeting Charlie’s and down his face, past his freckled cheeks, until they settle below his mustache. The hand in his hair moves down with the movement of his eyes, following the shape of Charlie’s profile till it cups Charlie’s cheek, running a thumb gently over a bearded patch of skin. Charlie’s hands still where they’re petting Alan. He tries to remember the last time someone touched him this tenderly; this earnestly.

Science Bitch opens his mouth and starts to say something, “Charlie, I-”

His words are cut off by a retching sound from his left, which very suddenly leads to Alan throwing his dinner up, smack on the middle of Charlie’s shirt.

“-Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry.” Science Bitch shimmies out from under Charlie, apologizing profusely as he stands, his hands out and ready to jump into action but his brain still recovering from the surprise. “Bathroom! I will be right back, wait here!”

He hustles around the coffee table and down the hall, leaving Charlie alone on the couch in his vomit-covered shirt. Charlie sits up partially, leaning back on his elbows and staring down at the wet slop coating his shirt. His face is hot with embarrassment.

For months, Charlie’s been playing half a duet. For a brief moment, The Scientist joined him in the melodious tune. A very brief moment before the piano strings snapped and the notes went sour.

It was enough though, for Charlie to hear it all put together. The Scientist likes him. He raises one hand, running it over the side of his face and down his beard where The Scientist’s hand had just been. Soft. Real. Charlie likes The Scientist too.

The Scientist comes rushing back into the room, towels in one hand and a shirt pulled from his closet in the other, words of remorse still tumbling clumsily from his lips.“This is humiliating. He hasn’t been taking well to his new medications and it’s been trial and error with his diet. I thought he was stomaching it this time. Genuinely, Charlie, I am so sorry.” He crouches beside the couch, taking one of the towels and using it to clean up the bulk of the mess, handing an already damp one to Charlie to clean himself off as needed.

“Nah, it’s no big deal,” Charlie shrugs off his shirt, pulling it over his head and balling it up so the mess won’t spread anywhere else.

Science Bitch’s eyes go wide before he averts them, blindly holding the clean top out for Charlie to take. Once he feels Charlie pull it out of his hands, he picks up the dirty shirt and towels and begins carrying them out of the room, “I’ll wash these..“

Charlie nods, standing up and pulling the flannel The Scientist handed to him over his shoulders and buttoning it over his pale skin. It’s not as big on him as he expected, maybe longer than he’d prefer, especially where the sleeves end at his fingertips, but it’s soft and well worn. It’s hard to find a good flannel that isn’t either too stiff or rough to the touch. This one has been loved to the point of being threadbare, the fabric thinning at the elbows.

“Thank you,” Charlie calls out to The Scientist who’s still around the corner before sitting back down on the couch.

The man’s head pokes out from behind the wall to make sure Charlie’s done changing. “Wonderful, you’re decent.” He chuckles, painful in its awkwardness. He steps forward into the room but stops short at the coffee table, not moving to join Charlie on the couch or be any closer than he currently is. “It’s getting late, Charlie.” His demeanor change is abrupt. He looks everywhere but at him, such a departure from the rest of the evening where Charlie felt like he was never not being looked at adoringly, “Perhaps you should get going.”

Charlie winces like he’s tasted something bitter. He has the urge to crumple in on himself but raises himself to his feet anyway, “Right..Uh...Sorry?”

The Scientist shuffles back a few steps, leaving ample room between the two of them, “No need to apologize. It’s just getting cold out and the later it gets the less pleasant your walk home will be.”

Charlie ducks his head to catch Science Bitch’s gaze, to at least look him in the eyes while they say bye, but he’s met with nothing but avoidance. He solemnly drags his feet to the door and pulls on his jacket.

“I’ll give you your shirt back when I see you,” He mumbles, pausing before turning the doorknob “I’ll see you soon?” It’s a question, not a statement, and Science Bitch hesitates to answer.

The Scientist clasps his hands behind his back, “Yes, of course. Bye, Charlie.” He doesn’t take a step towards the entrance to send him on his way, just gives him a curt nod and heads back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up.

Charlie walks himself out onto the concrete steps leading down to the sidewalk. He stands there for a moment, distraught, looking back at the home’s big window eyes. Being thrust from the warm glow of Science Bitch’s home out into the brisk, dimly-lit streets of Philadelphia makes him feel like he’s jumped into the deep end of a pool without adjusting to the water. Charlie shoves his hands in his pockets and stomps extra hard on leaf piles all the way home.

-

Despite not having any classes to teach on Fridays, Charlie can usually still find The Scientist holed up in his office, creating lecture notes or grading lab reports, door open and patiently awaiting Charlie’s arrival. Charlie would waltz in, already launching into a story from the past 24 hours since they last saw each other, before shutting the door behind him and dropping himself into the seat across from Science Bitch.

He realizes now how stupid it was of him to hold onto the little hope he had that today would be just like any other Friday, standing aimlessly in the hall outside of a closed office door. He can see through the bordering window that the lights are off, and the unaltered room shows no signs of Science Bitch. He’d have left Charlie a note if he was just stepping out for a bit, to let him know he’d be back shortly and to not wander anywhere. Something like ‘Please, Charlie. I don’t want to get called down to the administrator's office again.’

Charlie mopes his way home, briefly contemplating the left turn off the campus that would take him towards The Scientist’s house before deciding to spare himself the mortification.

Charlie spends the weekend falling back into his old routine. It’s not hard to get back into the groove of things as the bar requires constant upkeep – there’s grout to be scrubbed and leaks to be fixed with another box of extra large bandaids. It’s the same as it’s always been. He wakes up still high from the pitiful night before and staggers to the bar where he spends the bulk of his day doing Charlie work. The gang drinks their way through close together and he goes home to repeat the process. There’s only one thing missing, and sure that thing preoccupies a large portion of his mind and respects him in a way he’s been unknowingly craving for years, but it’s only a couple of hours of his day gone. This doesn’t stop him from sulking his way around the bar, languishing in the office for hours on end until Dennis begs him to take this whole emotion thing somewhere far away from him.

Monday is particularly rough. Weekend plans between him and Science Bitch were usually decided on Friday before they went their respective ways. Weekdays were set in stone. Charlie hasn’t missed a Monday with Science Bitch since the start of the semester. And sitting at the bar today, watching the clock tick through and past lunchtime is agonizing. Everyone’s taken notice of Charlie’s downcast state, but Mac in particular drops the hustling college student act for a bit to give him some company. They’re having a drink while Charlie recounts the events of Thursday night, explaining how they unfolded from when he walked through the door to when he was ushered out. Mac listens, nodding along attentively and adding in a hum of understanding here and there.

When Charlie finishes speaking there’s a moment of silence before Mac summarizes his thoughts, “This dude sounds fucking fruity.”

Charlie groans, slamming his head onto the cool bar top.

“That’s like, really gay, Charlie,” Dee interjects from a few seats down. She’s a mirror image of Mac from only a few weeks ago, textbooks and scribbled notes laid out in front of her chaotically. Unfortunately, Dee has discovered that actions have consequences and the work she refused to do at the beginning of the semester is coming back to haunt her for midterms. Currently, she’s attempting to finish six chapters of homework before midnight, “I really don’t have time for this, but I'm invested now. What’s the problem here?”

Charlie turns his head towards Dee, his face still smushed against the laminate, “After his cat threw up, he wanted nothing to do with me! That’s the problem! We didn’t even talk about what happened, he just wanted me gone!”

She tilts her head, puzzled. “If cat vomit bothers this guy so much, then why was he trying to hook up in the first place? You smell like shit most of the time, anyway.”

“Was there anything else that happened before or after that would have freaked him out?” Mac asks, rubbing Charlie’s upper back in an attempt to be comforting.

Charlie thinks hard, shutting his eyes and going through the memory in his head. He remembers the initial apologies, The Scientist leaving the room once to grab towels and then again to put his shirt in the laundry room, but his demeanor didn’t drastically change till after Charlie finished changing.

Charlie lifts his head suddenly, causing Mac to pull his hand back in surprise. “I changed my shirt. He gave me his to put on.” In fact, Charlie’s still wearing it, having found comfort in the garment.

“He gave you his shirt?” Mac lets out a prolonged whistle, “Phew, he’s down bad.”

Dee rolls her eyes, “Come on, Give us something more helpful than that, Charlie. He can’t only be attracted to you when you’re wearing months-old dirty laundry.”

Charlie’s eyes widen slowly in realization. The only thing he's been wearing is months-old dirty laundry. Dirty laundry from the pile on his floor that got soaked by a suspicious liquid nearly 2 months ago.

“Dee, you genius!” Charlie abruptly hops off the stool and makes a mental note of the time. Science Bitch should be halfway through teaching his last class of the day right now, but if Charlie rushes he can make it to the college in time.

Mac scoffs and tosses a glare in Dee’s direction as Charlie expeditiously races out the door, “All you did was insult him.”

Dee shrugs, “It’s motivation.” She smirks before picking up her pen and getting back to work.

-

Hands grasped around the very breakable glass flask, Charlie rushes through the halls of Philadelphia Community College, dramatically veering around oncoming packs of students. The Scientist’s office was a bust again, however, this time Charlie spots some undisposed snack wrappers left on the desk giving him hope that he hasn’t left for the day.

Charlie scampers from lecture room to lecture room, poking his head in unwarranted, inside multiple lecture halls. He even checks the lab that the chemical originated from, bursting in and scaring a teaching assistant half to death. He’s on the brink of giving up, leaning against a brick wall and stopping to take count of all the classrooms he’s checked when the door to his left swings open and students begin emptying out.

“Is he fucking kidding? Does he think this is the only class we have to study for?” He hears one of the passing students complain to their friends as soon as they’re out of the room's earshot. They shake their head in disbelief, “That bitch...”

Charlie perks up. He shoves his way past the crowd of twenty-something-year-olds, ignoring the less than polite comments tossed his way about his disregard for their personal space, and pushes into the near-empty room. The last of the students are filtering out as Charlie spots a familiar-looking shirt and tie combo, wiping a chalkboard clean, his back turned towards the door.

“I’M SORRY I STOLE YOUR LOVE POTION!” Charlie exclaims, at least having the decency to shut the door behind the last student.

The chalk eraser from Science Bitch’s hand clatters to the floor as he clutches his heart in shock, “Jesus Ch- Charlie?!” He turns to him, eyes wide and shaken up from the scare.

Charlie strides towards him, not letting The Scientist get any more words in, “I’m sorry, okay! I should’ve known better! I thought it was just gonna be something fun for me to huff! I didn’t know I was gonna drag you into it, dude! I’m really sorry!”.

The Scientist just blinks at him, mouth slightly agape as he tries to process what Charlie’s telling him. He’s coming up blank, slowly shaking his head, “Charlie, are you feeling oka-”

“No!” Charlie interrupts, his loud and hurried apology made heavy by his distress. “I should’ve known a while ago cause no one does that kind of stuff with me or for me, but it was just so nice and I liked it a ton! I liked you a ton! I still like you a ton of tons! It was too good to be true but I really wanted it to be!”

Science Bitch shushes Charlie, closes the remaining space between where they stand, and rests his hands on Charlie’s shoulders to soothe him. “Hey, hey, hey, let’s calm down…” He rubs Charlie’s upper arms and waits for his breathing to get steadier. Charlie looks up at him with weepy eyes, just on the brink of tears. They take a few deep breaths together and Charlie unclenches his jaw. “There we go...Now, walk me back. What on earth are you talking about?” His voice stays hushed as to not rile Charlie up again.

Charlie does his best to match Science Bitch’s intonation. “A couple of months ago, I stole this from your lab to see if it could get me high,” He pushes the flask into The Scientist’s chest as if he can’t bear the thought of holding it anymore. “It definitely did, but I accidentally spilled it all over my clothes. You don’t know it, but the reason you’ve been so into me is ‘cause I’ve been wearing love potion-soaked clothes for like two months now.”

Science Bitch fumbles with the Erlenmeyer flask as he takes it from Charlie’s unsteady hands. He processes what Charlie’s just said, rolling the glass container between his hands and observing the state of it. Once the information clicks in his brain he looks up at the misguided man, eyes going soft. “Oh, Charlie..” He frowns sympathetically. He carefully removes the stopper from the top of it and leans down to waft whatever odor still remains in the flask towards his nose. His face scrunches, “Well, you aren’t dead.”

Science Bitch sets the flask down on a nearby desk and faces back towards Charlie, caring very little about the missing contents. “Charlie, There’s no such thing as a love potion and even if there were, you certainly wouldn’t be able to find one in a community college’s student laboratory.” He takes Charlie’s hands, walking backward till he hits the teacher’s desk. He rests on it, bringing him closer to Charlie’s eye level as he explains something he’d desperately like for him to hear. “I’m aware that you have some traits that need to be warmed up to. You see yourself as weird and unlikable because other people have told you for a very long time that it’s what you are. You have to understand that I only see you through my own eyes, not yours, not other people’s. You have to believe me when I tell you that I don’t know how anyone, with a little bit of time to get to know you, could not come out positively enamored.”

Charlie sniffles, the feeling of thumbs rubbing against his knuckles keeping him centered. “But what about last week when you were super grossed out the second I took my shirt off and put yours on?”

Science Bitch laughs at the ridiculousness of the insinuation, “Oh my gosh, Charlie, I was mortified! I shouldn’t have kicked you out as quickly as I did, I apologize for that, but I was about to make a move on the man I've been ruthlessly pining over for weeks only to have my cat throw up on him! Seeing you in my shirt wasn’t exactly helping me avoid a complete meltdown, either.” Science Bitch glances over Charlie’s shoulder to make sure the door is still firmly shut, “Also, you have shoulder freckles and I simply didn’t know what to do with myself. Shirtless men don’t generally fluster me, but you are quite lovely to look at and-”

“Wait, So..You’re not being forced against your will to like me by the irresistible draw of a love potion?” Charlie probes again, trying to clarify this new information.

The Scientist tilts his head, a little bit of delight in his voice, “Darling, are you currently wearing any of these “contaminated” shirts?”

“Well, no but-”

“Then I am looking you in the eyes and telling you that I am very much making the conscious decision to pursue you romantically.” He pulls his hands back slightly, realizing he needs his own clarification, “If this is something you also want, of course.”

Charlie contemplates the idea of being the romantic pursuit for once, instead of the romantic pursuer. He takes The Scientist’s hands again and wonders why he wasted decades of his life chasing after….what’s her name? “Yeah, I do want that,” He admits to himself.

Science Bitch lifts Charlie’s knuckles to his lips and presses a gentle kiss against them. “Excellent. Now that that’s settled, I will see you tonight for dinner at my house again. You’re welcome to stay the night if you’d like. I promise no surprise exiles this time.” He pushes himself off the desk and stands to full height, keeping one hand locked with Charlie’s as he gathers the things he’s brought to lecture. “However, I am currently late to a department meeting and unfortunately those aren’t as skippable as I'd like them to be.”

Charlie hops in front of him as he’s leaving, “Only if I can cook for you this time! If we’re gonna be boyfriends then you’ve gotta try a grilled Charlie, okay?”

Science Bitch sharply intakes air and pulls his thin lips into a tight smile. “Simply can not wait!”
He presses a kiss to the top of Charlie’s head on his way out, but stops when he’s halfway out the door, leaning back in, “I’m begging you, in the fondest way possible, please wash your clothes.”

Charlie will momentarily consider it.

-

10:00 PM on a Friday
Philadelphia, PA

Bundled in their winter coats, the owners of Paddy’s Pub brace the December air for a ceremonious end-of-semester burning party. Mac, who’s trying to test the theory that frostbite is a myth, is circling around the dumpster fire dressed in a tank top. He’s too proud to admit he can’t feel his legs. He’s already grieving the loss of an election, tossing the last of his campaign merchandise into the fire. He also burns a pride flag to spite his ex-college friends. It’s only a hate crime if a straight person does it, he insists, when he does it’s just badass.

Dee glares into the flames, releasing 16 weeks worth of pent-up stress as her failed tests float up to the sky in the form of smoke. Dee decided she would not be returning to finish her degree at the Philadelphia Community College, or any college for that matter. She’s never giving those dicks money ever again, she decides, as she stares into the flames currently burning her psychology textbook. It’s only now that she remembers it was rented from the school and she will in fact have to pay for that.

Dennis and Frank sit back in fold-out chairs, laughing as they watch her struggle to dig the book's remains out of the fire. She grabs a charred portion and burns her hand in the process. They clink their pint glasses of celebratory beer, toasting in honor of the semester’s end and another scheme gone by.

“Everything works out beautifully,” Dennis leans back in his chair, indulging in the failure surrounding him.

Except, it wasn’t all a failure. Science Bitch stands with his arms wrapped around Charlie from behind, hands shoved inside the pockets of Charlie’s military-style jacket. This is nice and all, he thinks, but he’s highly anticipating the nature documentary he has queued up for when they get back home. Charlie feels a chin on his shoulder and warmth in the crook of his neck as he looks out onto his best friends of 30 years. Maybe his perception is a little skewed, but Charlie decides this is what love looks like to him.