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Twenty more minutes. That’s all he had to do. Twenty more minutes, then he would sit up, walk out the busted door of this shitty bar, and go home. That’s what he always promised to himself. Wait a little longer for Hunter or Wrecker to resurface, and when they inevitably didn’t, leave himself the second their grace period ends.
Tech hated bars, for multiple reasons. First, they were expensive. It was his first year as an adjunct professor and he wasn’t making enough to justify putting down $200 in one night for drinks mixed by a freshman and subpar bar food. Second, they were noisy. The music was put on the highest setting to drown out the crowds, which still wouldn’t be tolerable even if they played good music. Third, they had too many people. The sign next to the bouncer clearly read “No More Than 200 Occupants Allowed”, and by Tech’s rushed head count, they were well over that legal limit, among others. It was impossible to move between the clusters of people without someone shoulder-checking him or spilling a drink on the shoes he just cleaned. He barely had enough room to look at his phone comfortably, much less have a conversation with someone. Which led into the final issue.
This one was more abstract.
He was never quite sure what to do . It was a bar, of course, so consuming alcohol was the baseline for participating, but Tech never really liked the taste of alcohol, much less the physiological effects of it. So, no alcohol. That meant he was completely sober, surrounded by at least 324 inebriated, sweaty people. Well, someone had to be sober enough to talk. People would come in an out of the bar corner where Tech sat to get drinks or use their phones, but that didn’t really help him in the conversation area. He tried striking up with some people, but between the noise and his own discomfort, he could barely hold a few sentences with them before they eventually drifted off to friends or a date. As it turns out, no one going to bars actually wanted to discuss the newest research done into dark matter, concerning the usage of galaxy cluster’s “shadows” to track the gravitational pull. He wasn’t sure exactly what people talked about at bars, but judging by Hunter’s activities during and after their nights out, he figured it was sex. Another dead end for him.
Tech stirred his drink, a virgin moscow mule that the bartender had not-so-subtly scoffed at when he placed the order. The lights coming from the main dance stage reflected off the ice cubes, muddling together into a rainbow of neon green and electric purples. The pounding bass from the speakers felt like a thick layer of wool surrounded him, trapping his arms and legs and muffling all his other senses. If someone tapped his shoulder, he didn’t notice. He kept his eyes on his drink and tried not to think about the last time this bartop was disinfected.
The night was edging on longer and longer, and Hunter still hadn’t come back for their hourly check-in. Hunter promised he would actually do it that night, though the same was said for the past few nights. The last Tech had seen of Hunter, he was dancing with a girl to a song about “getting low”, which they both appeared to be inclined to do later. Tech never understood how Hunter did these things. Not from a judgemental perspective, but a sociological one. Hunter always knew what to say, how to act, where to go. Ten minutes at a bar and he’d already be talking to a girl. He didn’t buy them drinks like in movies because he knew that could appear as predatory (Tech had to learn that the hard way), he didn’t elbow his way into conversations like most assholes did, and he didn’t actively seek anyone out. To be frank, Tech wasn’t quite sure what he really did. He didn’t do anything. He just… existed. He was himself, and that was enough.
It was hard for Tech to not feel like he was missing something in comparison.
Well, of course he was missing some things. A full head of hair, to start. The build of a football quarterback, a questionably tasteful face tattoo, a smokey-but-smooth voice. But even if Tech had all those things, even if he didn’t appear to be exactly as nerdy and introverted as he truly was, it still wouldn’t matter. There was just something different about him. Something internal, an innate, likely genetic difference of such minute proportions that just happened to reverberate out into his entire personhood, creating the now overwhelmed, overstimulated 25-year-old.
The ice in his drink melted. The flavor was now watery with a hint of lime and ginger ale.
…
How long had he been sitting there?
—
Tech’s blood ran cold. No, it stopped circulating between his arteries and veins completely. Though it was hard for him to discern faces and voices amidst the noise and music, he could tell hand signals clearly. And Hunter had just pointed a girl in his direction.
If he doesn’t die trying to get drive-through Taco Bell tonight, I’m going to kill him myself.
This wasn’t the first time Hunter had tried “helping” Tech get out there. Tech never dated outside of a few isolated first dates that he refused to speak of even years later, and Hunter was always trying to get his little brother to meet more girls, though the results rarely ever produced more than painfully awkward conversations to add to his ever-growing list.
The woman made her way across the bar, somehow effortlessly avoiding other people and not stumbling through the way Tech normally did. She was pretty - medium length hair and wearing a short black dress. He could feel his blood come back to life, unfortunately also making his face feel very hot.
“Hey, Tech, right?”
In the moments Tech was contemplating the ways he could get away with murdering Hunter, she had squeezed her way next to him at the bar. She was practically shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He could feel the way her skin gave in connecting with the flannel button-up he had on.
He blinked a few times, trying to register her voice as directed at him through the sea of noises and music that overtook his senses. He knew she was talking to him, but her words blended with the rest of the atmosphere so quickly that he could barely understand what she was saying.
The woman laughed awkwardly and tried to push on. “So, your brother told me you’re a professor! What do you teach?”
She was practically shouting to get her voice anywhere, but Tech was able to discern “professor” and “teach”, two things he knew he could talk about. Maybe this could be his way in!
“Oh, yes. I am a professor of physics at the University of Vermont, and I currently teach courses on nonlinear dynamics, computational physics, and statistical mechanics. However, the research I’m conducting is focused on creating computer models designed to use concepts built upon by relativity to track and attempt to estimate particle disruption in neutrino emissions, which actually have a significant impact on how we-”
“Ohhh, cool, cool,”
“It is very ‘cool’. We’re currently in the second stages of development for a model that-”
“So you like, have an office and everything?”
The music suddenly seemed much louder than before, and Tech felt the collar of his shirt pull too tightly against his neck.
“Well, yes, I do,”
He adjusted his glasses which had just been knocked ajar by someone passing by. He heard the sharp clinking of glass and ice as someone nearby dropped their glass, and the DJ yelled out some incoherent babble before switching songs to one that was even louder .
“Maybe we could head back there later?”
The bartender was yelling orders to someone in the back, who yelled back in how many minutes they would be up. 30 minutes for chicken wings seemed excessive for the quality of food they were serving. A man behind him was laughing boisterously, and stepped back into Tech, causing him to stumble forward and grab onto the bartop to stable himself. The bartop was still sticky, likely from the last drink that was spilled, and there were no hand sanitizer dispensers in this building. He had a bottle in his car, but getting out the parking lot would require-
“Hey, I asked if you wanna leave? DO you?”
Getting snapped back to reality was worse than his hypothetical journey to his car. At least his car was quiet. The woman lightly grabbed his shoulder, and he involuntarily jerked back in surprise.
“I-I am flattered, but I do not partake in those activities.”
It was the first real verbal communication he could actually fully hear that night, and it was the woman’s laughter. She was laughing. He answered, didn’t he? Did she require more information?
Tech subtly pulled away from her touch. “I don’t-”
“‘Those activities?’” A mocking tone was not always easier to discern than a suggestive one.
That's what he just said. Why was she still laughing?
“I do not. I don’t feel sexual attraction or have any desire to.”
His heart was beating faster than usual, out of a fear response or due to the strobe lights in the other section he wasn’t sure, but it was clear this interaction was not panning out. He had rarely ever been propositioned before, and never so directly. Dates he could easily brush off, though looking back he suspected that not all of those people were being sincere, but directly asking to engage sexually? That was bold, and not a situation he had prepared for beforehand.
Tech tightened his grip on the side of the bartop, feeling his head suddenly feel much lighter than before. Someone had taken out a cleaning solution for the spilled drink, and it was an atrocious artificial orange scent. He tried to use scentless cleaners as much as possible, but the market was very clearly biased towards those who wanted a shitty lavender imitation filling their home. Honestly, it wouldn’t even be that hard to make his own cleaner, as white vinegar and baking soda already-
“Okay, no judgment!” She threw up her hands like she was respectfully backing away, though the chuckle in her voice and the way her eyes remained trained on his face told him otherwise. He had seen similar expressions before, mostly by assholes in school who asked him questions about his robotics projects. They didn’t actually want an answer.
The woman maneuvered out back towards the main floor and Tech stood still, not quite as sure as to what exactly happened.
Hunter had told her that Tech was a professor. A decent start, as his work did consume the majority of his life. He gave it gladly. She had asked about his office next. Unclear, though based on the setting this interaction was taking place in and the general social etiquette of men and women speaking in low-lit bars, he could’ve anticipated where this went. He wasn’t very good at social queues. Then, when he answered directly and succinctly, she found amusement in it. Enough to laugh for 13 seconds uninterrupted. She seemed even more entertained by his assertion of the truth behind his words, which was also confusing. People are upset when others lie, why was she not appreciative that he was telling the truth? He knew it was somewhat socially divergent for a 26-year-old man to have never had any relationships or sexual encounters, but it’s not like he really wanted them either way. And if this was the introduction to a long-term relationship, wouldn’t the other party prefer he be upfront about his boundaries? That’s what was always emphasized in everything he was taught about relationships, communication and honesty. He was always honest, but no one took his honesty as sincerity.
Another hand on his shoulder. His nervous system lit up like a fuse radiating out from his arm, where the bartender had tapped him.
“Hey, buddy don’t beat yourself up. Or do. Just don’t stand there and keep other customers out.”
Tech’s feet were planted solidly on the ground, meant he had been staring out into the distance while other customers, customers who didn’t want to order just one non-alcoholic drink, were waiting for him to move.
Hunter would come get him.
Would he?
A quick scan of the room around him proved null for any bandanas or face tattoos. His older brother, lost in the crowd, or not even there to begin with.
The embarrassment that filled Tech wasn’t foreign to him. The walk of shame from the bar to his car, or more commonly, however many blocks to his apartment, wasn’t either.
It was particularly cold on those nights.
—
It really didn’t make much sense outside of upholding tradition to be attending a retirement party for a Dean he barely spoke to more than twice, but Tech wasn’t very keen on shaking the boat two years into his research position.
As one of the youngest, well, second youngest professors, seeing people retire from their positions were just more doors being created for him to walk through. They’d had long, successful careers, and now it was his turn.
Hopefully.
The thing about academia and the university gauntlet was that a lot of networking and job-securing were made through small talk, five minute interactions, emails over multiple months, and in the suspected case of some of his colleagues, charisma over actual talent. Tech was more than qualified for his position - if anything, he was overqualified, and his level of technical skill could easily land him a private research grant. As he learned early on, though, it wasn’t just talent that got you ahead.
He wasn’t complete- ough!
“Tech, we’re heading out to the next one! We’ll see you there right?”
A large, sweaty palm was planted firmly on the top of Tech’s back. He hated the dean of engineering. Thank God he was on his way out.
“Yes, I’ll be there shortly. Don’t wait for me.”
“Wasn’t plannin’ on it!” Called sing-songy from the exit to the bar. Most of the staff was buzzed, tipsy, loose, however they wanted to call it. Drunk. Tech figured that they wouldn’t notice if he didn’t show up to the next bar, so he could just wait out the last few lingering people and walk home.
Tech straightened out his shirt and took a sip from his drink. A virgin Manhattan. He tried to order it as quietly as possible, but the idiotic kinetics professor next to him overheard and produced approximately 5 minutes of jeering. Typical, but he still felt a light stinging deep in his chest. They’d bar-hopped to three different locations by this late hour, and Tech didn’t have a chance to tidy himself up once. His hair felt oily from running between streets downtown and trying to keep up with a group of all-too eager academics campaigning to get drunk on a Thursday night. The barstool he sat on shook periodically from his leg tapping against the bronze ledge at the bottom of the bar table. Sconces flush against the wall provided the only light, which gave barely enough for him to make out who was still left inside. A few people dotted the bar, but it looked like the vast majority had already left. He could make his run for it.
“Hey.”
Oh, not again-
Oh.
“Juno?”
“I’d hope you’re not already too drunk to recognize me.”
Tech scoffed, “I wouldn’t dare jeopardize my dignity for a night of half-conscious ‘fun’.”
Juno leaned against the table, allowing a very light smile to grow on her face at his pointed comment. She’d never seen him drunk, but she guessed he was probably just as articulate as he was sober.
“Everyone else seems to disagree with your list of priorities there. They did all leave, too.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, all of them. Except for me. Which is why I’m here.”
“Clearly.”
The two shared deadpan expressions, blank faces just barely concealing the glimmer of amusement behind their eyes. To an outsider they sounded like two people with a long and complicated history, but they had only known each other for a year at most. In that year, they’d become inseparable, ironically as they continued to proclaim detestment for the other. Mutual teasing came with mutual respect.
Tech propped up his chin with his fist, closing in another two inches towards Juno’s face. She infuriated him.
“So what exactly are you doing here, if not to become horribly inebriated while arguing about the ethics of international air space use with me?”
They had a silent agreement to keep their extra-professional affairs outside of public spaces. Extra-professional meaning their hours-long arguments on Reddit that had become a nightly ritual more than anything else.
It was Juno’s turn to goad him on.
“If I wanted to do that, I’d message one of your lackeys that keeps downvoting my replies, considering they likely have the functioning capacity of a middle-aged STEM professor drunk off of his fifth margarita to be taking orders from you.”
“Wait, what? Someone has been downvoting you?”
Tech’s expression shifted from playfully defensive to genuinely confused. Juno felt the change in the way he picked his head up by an inch, the same way he did when she told him about the harassing messages she’d received a few weeks earlier.
He didn’t send anyone to her. Fuck, of course he didn’t.
Something tugged lightly at her heart (around the left pulmonary, if she was correct, which she was) and the dim lighting combined with the grimey tabletop reminded her that they were, in fact, in a dirty bar at 11 p.m. on a weekday. This was no place for their intellectual discussions to occur. Or Tech’s odd, but well meaning, expressions of genuine concern for her.
She felt his leg stop tapping. It had been tapping the entire time and she just now noticed the lack of motion reverberating out from his seat. On top of that, he had been fiddling with the cuffs on his shirt, trying to conceal his wrists against the sticky tabletop. Nothing was comfortable. Nothing was right. He looked horribly out of place, and no one else seemed to notice.
“Just- whatever, we can deal with that later. Do you want to get out of here?”
“G-get out? Where would we go?” His eyes widened, briefly taken back to a past encounter in a bar that ended badly, using a similar pretense.
Juno tilted her head slightly, detecting that he was suddenly apprehensive. Did she do something wrong?
“The internet cafe doesn’t close until 3 in the morning. If you want to, you don’t have to, you just seem not really… busy with anything, and you also look fairly uncomfortable sitting here, and I know you don’t drink so I don’t know how much fun being in a bar is for you.”
Tech’s eyes relaxed, hand already reaching for his wallet to close his tab.
“I would enjoy that very much, actually.”
The walk outside was chilly, but Tech was no stranger to late-night walks home from bars. However, he did those alone, and usually followed another broken promise from one of his brothers. Never with someone he agreed to leave with. Not Juno.
They kept pace with each other, going back-and-forth on which of their colleagues they thought would get the most wasted that night. Three bars by 11 p.m., and four more to go. By their calculations, at least 46% of their department would be calling in sick tomorrow.
The light from the internet cafe blanketed the street in a light, ocean blue. Tech and Juno were well beyond regulars at this point, nearly considered part of the rotating staff. The pair found a two-seater table, next to the window. A cold brew with soy milk and dark-roast espresso sat edge to edge with each other, reflecting light off of the laptops in front of them.
Tech took a sip from his drink, lightly drifting his gaze up from his coffee towards Juno, who was busy logging into the laptop. The stark-white screen illuminated her face in a way that was… aesthetically mesmerizing for him to watch. He could never turn his eyes away from the way the light curved around the bridge of her nose, blending into her temples and graying hair. If he had any actual alcoholic drinks that night, he might’ve been bold enough to say she was pretty.
“Seriously? You’re quoting a fucking Vox article? That is borderline insulting.”
He quickly put his drink down, refocusing on the thread in front of him.
“If you actually read the article, you’d know that it sources out multiple pieces of international law that I currently do not have access to due to my five-day library database ban. It is unorthodox, but it works well enough.”
Juno looked up, taking a second to subtly appreciate his expression whenever he quirked up one of his eyebrows. The light from his screen lit up his glasses, but his stupidly-large eyes were still apparent behind them. She liked looking into them more than she’d ever dare admit.
“For your karma’s sake, it better.”
The steady click-clack of keys filled their corner of the cafe, flowing in-sync with the cars bustling outside. The night was cold, but they were warm.