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Too dark. Again.
The conical flask boasts a beautiful magenta, vibrant and striking. Yet despite its beauty, the colour was a harbinger of every chemistry student's worst nightmares.
Magenta was very different from pale pink—the perfect shade of balance and a marker of experimental success.
But alas, each swirl of the conical flask was a shattering of Clorinde's hopes and dreams that this trial would be the trial to yield three concordant results.
Oh, how wrong was she.
"Man," Navia, her lab partner—her very pretty lab partner, if she may add—grieves as a small pout forms on her lips. "I for sure thought this would be the one!"
Clorinde's lips press into a thin line as she mentally berates her mind for the inclination to kiss the pout away. She was here to identify acids, not pine over her lab partner.
Focus, Clorinde!
"Sorry, Navia. I should've paid closer attention."
She was paying attention. All she had to do was twist the stopcock shut once streaks of magenta began ripping through the unknown. That is, until her asshole of a best friend, Wriothesley, started wiggling his eyebrows at her from the next bench over, causing her to take her eyes off the apparatus for one second.
The thing with titrations is that they were greedy. They were an incessant child who required your utmost attention. Time was money, as they say, and spending even a fraction of a second distracted could lead to all your efforts in setting up the trial becoming futile, your reaction time too slow as you miss the titration's narrow end-point, leading to inaccurate results.
Lesson learned—she was never going clubbing with Wriothesley ever again. She still cringes at the fact that their last outing ended with Clorinde spilling her heart out to him about her crush on the blonde and sobbing on the streets about how Navia would never love her back because she only got a ninety-one on her last report.
Because of her drunken mishaps, Wriothesley began bringing her crush up whenever he got the chance due to the amusement he finds from her 'self-imposed misery' that she insists on inflicting on herself because she was 'too chicken to confess.'
Never again. Never.
"Don't worry about it, Clorinde," Navia beams, her smile impossibly bright after Clorinde's fuck up. "I can refill the burette while you clean the conical flask?"
Clorinde nods her head. "Easy—I can do that."
"Perfect!"
And thus begins Clorinde's walk of shame to the lab fume hood, the bright magenta liquid on full display for her peers to observe and think, 'Looks like someone's staying back today.'
Their assignment was simple: there were five unknowns (A, B, C, D, and E) for them to identify based on their concentrations. Perform the titrations for each acid, record the results, calculate their concentrations, and then match the letters with their corresponding acids on the task sheet.
(Don't ask her what the point of this was. The scenario on the task sheet said something about an irresponsible student only getting an hour of sleep and mislabelling the acids or something like that—Prof. Alice likes to keep things interesting.)
The problem? They were only on their second unknown, and there was less than an hour left in their allocated lab time.
This was unbecoming of Clorinde. She was well-respected in the chemistry department and had a killer academic record, too. She would hate for something like a crush to interfere with her regular proceedings.
A slight frown persists on her lips as she unceremoniously dumps the spoiled analyte into a bucket for chemicals too dangerous to be poured down the drain, her mood dampened from the dwindling time.
This frown deepens into a scowl as the familiar notes of chestnut and smoky wood reach her nostrils, the aroma so potent that there was no need to waft the air to discern its presence.
"One day you're going to catch on fire 'cause of that stupid cologne," Clorinde grumbles under her breath as she spares the newcomer no glance, continuing her equipment cleaning.
A chuckle laced with mischief floats through the air, causing Clorinde to steel herself from an impending round of teasing. "How's Navia, Clorinde?"
She knew exactly who this newcomer was. She didn't even need to look up to know about the shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
Clorinde rolls her eyes, an expression of her rising irritation as snickers tumble from the newcomer's lips. "How's the lawyer from The Oratrice? D'you find out if he's real yet?" She shoots back with a glare. The flush of red rising to his cheeks almost makes her laugh out loud. Almost.
Wriothesley scoffs beside her, the slosh of liquid reaching her ears as he dumps his analyte into the bucket. Her mood sours even more when she notices he manages to titrate the coveted baby pink hue of phenolphthalein, her fingers twitching to pull her hair out in frustration.
His lab partner, Tighnari, probably did all the work.
"He is real."
"Sure."
"He is! "
Clorinde could only scoff—for his sake, she sure hoped this Neuvillette was who he said he was.
She shuffles to the sink adjacent to the fume hood before her mind trails back to Navia. She quickly glances back to her workbench to check on her lab partner's current activities, only to find Navia staring back at her with a subdued expression—her brows furrowed with a slight frown on her lips.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Clorinde whips her head back to the sink, like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar, as she reaches for a squeeze bottle containing distilled water, heat rising to the surface of her cheeks. In her haste, the squeeze bottle misses the flask and shoots onto the table instead, leaving a mess for Clorinde to clean.
"Trouble in paradise?" Wriothesley quips as he notices the commotion, his eyes darting back and forth between Clorinde and Navia.
"I will smack you."
"Clorinde, Clorinde," Wriothesley tuts, his voice laden with mock disappointment. "That would be against the lab rules."
Rule number 7. No horseplay!
With her conical flask thoroughly cleansed, she pivots to face Wriothesley one last time. He stares at her expectantly, his head tilted to the side as remnants of a smirk are on his lips. Clorinde, meeting Wriothesley's gaze, can't help but return a wry smirk as her hand's grip around the squeeze bottle tightens. A jet of distilled water splashes onto Wriothesley's safety goggles, dripping onto his pristine lab coat and causing dark splotches to paint the fabric.
A surprised yelp escapes Wriothesley as he raises a hand to shield himself, his previous smirk completely wiped off his face. Clorinde, suppressing a laugh, raises an eyebrow in feigned innocence before walking back to her bench, ignoring the faint callings of her name.
Thank god the TA was preoccupied with helping Itto clean broken glass.
Navia seemed lost in her thoughts as Clorinde drew near, a distant expression etched on her face as she stared out into the lab.
"I'm back," she announces, breaking the silence as she sets the flask on the bench with a loud clink. The abrupt sound seems to snap Navia out of her trance, blinking rapidly as she refocuses on the present, her eyes darting to meet Clorinde's.
A brief flicker of surprise crosses Navia's expression before a warm smile appears in acknowledgment of Clorinde's return, her eyes sparkling as they reflect back an ocean. Clorinde wanted to drown in their cerulean depths.
"Hey," Navia responds, subdued, with a hint of her usual vigour absent.
How long was she gone? Clorinde's eyes flick to the burette to see it filled to the top, noting Navia's relaxed posture. Stupid Wriothesley and his stupid words. Navia was probably pissed at her considering how behind they already were.
"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting," she apologises profusely, a sincere eagerness to set things straight with her crush.
Navia waves her off with a flick of a wrist. "Don't be silly." Her words carry a casual tone, attempting to downplay Clorinde's concerns. "You and Wriothesley seemed to have a nice chat."
"Wriothesley?" Clorinde echoes, her eyes flicking to her best friend on extinct.
And just like she predicted, her hypothesis was proven valid when she noticed Wriothesley slacking off on the side while Tighnari was writing notes across a piece of paper. Typical.
"He was just being a pain; don't mind him," she reassures Navia, her tone tinged with annoyance and amusement.
Navia responds with a noncommittal hum, scepticism not lost in her eyes. "If you say so."
"I do say so," she replies, using a pipette to transfer thirty-five millilitres of 'Unknown B' into the flask, then places it under the burette.
Their interaction leaves a lingering sense of uncertainty despite Navia's acceptance of her apology. There was something more to what Navia was presenting—Clorinde just couldn't put her finger on it.
Navia positions herself opposite Clorinde, her hand ready to swirl the flask. "Eyes on the prize this time, Clorinde," she muses with a playful smile, flicking her gaze up to lock their eyes. "Don't wanna stay here too long."
Clorinde could only nod dumbly, rendered speechless as she was unsure how to respond to Navia's remarks.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
As Clorinde twisted the stopcock open, it was as if the laboratory fell into a hushed silence, pierced only by the hiss of the titrant as a jet of liquid poured out the burette.
The clear liquid mocks her as wisps of pink begin to bloom in the solution. But she couldn't stop yet; the gamble was not over. She allowed two more seconds before she stopped the flow, the flask a deceptive shade of pink.
However, as Navia's swirls become more vigorous, the solution snaps back into its colourless state.
"Maybe a couple more drops?" Navia's question lingers, a hint of uncertainty colouring her expression. She brings the flask closer to her eye, trying to discern any subtle nuances in the colour.
"A couple more wouldn't hurt…"
The air was charged with the shared hope that each subsequent drop would bring them closer to the delicate shade they eagerly longed for. Every drop fell to the analyte tauntingly, each ripple of colour teasing its final destination. One lapse of judgment, one careless mistake, could lead to the straw that breaks the camel's back, causing Navia and Clorinde to waste even more time and stay much longer than needed.
And then, it happened.
"Stop," Navia calls out. "Stop—" She repeats, this time more frantic.
Clorinde makes haste in twisting the stopcock shut, praying to Celestia above that she wouldn't have cost them another mistake. The current colour was a tantalising pale pink, their goal—the perfect state of balance. Yet Navia and Clorinde knew very well that despite their best efforts, their water in the desert could simply be a mirage, and this whole thing could turn upside down at the drop of a hat.
The two wait with baited breaths as Navia begins swirling the flask, hoping the colour remains in equilibrium. As the seconds pass, the colour remains unshakeable, holding its ground in a delicate balance that seems almost too perfect to be real. Once filled with tension, the laboratory now witnesses a moment of silent triumph where Clorinde and Navia came out on top.
They did it.
"Yes!" Navia exclaims as she holds up a hand for Clorinde to high-five. The sound echoes with a resounding smack, the stinging sensation on Clorinde's palm resonating with the thrill of success and vibrating to the excitement of having Navia's skin on hers. "Good job, partner!"
Navia's eyes sparkle with pride as the aftermath of her high-five lingers on her skin. She couldn't help but smile at the girl's infectious enthusiasm, a hot flush beginning to crawl up the sides of her neck at the sight of Navia.
"Thanks, you too," Clorinde responds sheepishly, tearing her eyes away from Navia's beautiful face as she stands on her tip-toes to read the meniscus' position on the burette. Clorinde breathes out a sigh of relief.
Their results were concordant.
"Thank god," she says under her breath, her words carrying a weight of relief as their trial was confirmed a success. She was getting her mojo back.
Two unknowns down, three more to go.
(Don't say anything about the fact that they had to perform a minimum of three trials per unknown—don't. Clorinde will probably start crying.)
Unable to contain her own grin, Navia playfully nudges Clorinde's shoulder. "I was thinking you were gonna bail on me again. Who would've known that the great Clorinde would have troubles with a silly titration?"
Caught off guard by Navia's comment, Clorinde's eyes widened as a brief moment of surprise registered on her face. Her mind races to devise a witty or teasing response, but she's momentarily at a loss for words.
Navia begins to laugh at her—laugh at her —as her eyes do a one-over of Clorinde's dumbfounded face. "I'm sorry, that was mean of me, wasn't it?"
"—No, no," Clorinde stammers, her stunned expression slowly morphing into a hesitant smile. Navia just called her 'great.'
"You're perfect."
"Am I?"
Clorinde's brain short circuits. Did she just say that? Archons, Navia probably thinks she's weird now. Clorinde braves to look at Navia's face, noting the sly smile that adorned her lips and the mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Oh.
She should just own it, right?
"Yes."
Clorinde was rewarded as Navia's sweet-sounding giggle filled the air, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. The butterflies in her stomach ran rampant as the tune of Navia's laughter became a cherished melody, echoing in Clorinde's ears with a sweetness she wished to endure forever.
Archons, she was in too deep.
A satisfied hum slips Navia's lips. "Seems like we're behind, huh?" Navia's eyes sweep the room as she speaks, causing a small grimace to form on Clorinde's face.
Her eyes land on Wriothesley's bench, and she sees the asshole finally helping, a look of pure concentration on his face as he eyes his conical flask intently, swirling the thing with the utmost precision. He and Tighnari were on unknown D.
She couldn't help the guilt that arose in her chest at the thought that she was wasting Navia's time.
"I'm sorry," she begins. "If I hadn't—"
"Don't apologise, Clorinde," Navia interrupts with a gentle smile, her eyes reflecting understanding. "Things happen."
"Sorry."
"What'd I just say?"
The ensuing apology dies on the tip of her tongue as she clamps her mouth shut.
"You're lucky you're cute, Clorinde."
Navia's words hang in the air as she turns her attention to the table on their task sheet, her pink pen with a fluffy pom-pom on its end gliding across the page as she recorded their results.
She was thankful that Navia couldn't see the effect of her words written all over Clorinde's face—her flushed cheeks, frazzled eyes, and hammering heartbeat that threatened to break free from her chest.
Taking a moment to compose herself, Clorinde covers her state of fluster with an awkward cough as she begins to set up the apparatus for the next unknown.
"Thanks."
Navia flicks her eyes from the paper, an amused smile tugging her lips. Clorinde wanted to die on the spot, perhaps by some divine intervention. If Navia didn't think she was weird before, she definitely thought she was weird now—She would hate to be known as Clorinde, Navia's weird lab partner. Then Navia would never love her back.
"So," Navia begins, her amused smile growing as she leans into Clorinde's space. The delicate fragrance of lumidouce bells invades her senses, causing Clorinde to be magnetised by the strong pull of Navia's outer shell. She was intoxicated, captivated by the floral notes—the scent was perfect for Navia. She hoped Navia wasn't able to sense her nerves, or the way her heart was fluttering uncontrollably.
"Seeing as we're probably gonna go over our lab time… How about we finish the calculations back at my place?"
Clorinde almost drops the flask.