Chapter Text
Wade was doubting if grad school was a good idea. Not because he didn’t like science (he did, he loved science, it came to him like second nature, ADHD and all, he discovered how brilliant he was at it!) but he also knew that it was basically like killing yourself for less than minimum wage, with endless hours and very prominent injustices, not to mention the highly competitive environment. It definitely wasn’t a mix that guaranteed mental health or financial stability, but hey, everyone chooses their battles, and maybe this was the right one for him.
But with all honesty, Wade wasn’t sure what decision to make until he found himself being called by Stanford’s biology department for an interview and... encountering him.
A guy whose name he forgot to ask, but somehow changed his life when they managed to talk after Wade panicked and ran to the first bathroom he found—not because of anxiety, but because his long-expired contact lenses were acting up. How inconvenient!
Going back to the conversation, it all started when the guy spoke in a slightly incredulous tone, “Out of curiosity, is there a specific reason you’re crying in my restroom?”
Wade was surprised. He hadn’t noticed anyone entering the bathroom. He tried to open his eyes but failed, everything was blurry, and the only thing he could distinguish was the silhouette of that guy—someone tall with hazelnut-colored hair, dressed head to toe in dark clothes, with a flannel that somehow managed to look semi-formal. And... well, that was all he could make out.
“Your restroom? Unless you’re the owner of this university, I doubt this bathroom belongs to you,” Wade quickly responded. Witty comebacks were his thing, secondary to science—or maybe main.
“This is my lab’s bathroom,” the man protested. “Hence my confusion at you weeping here.”
SO RUDE.
But also, his voice—it was deep, absurdly deep, ATTRACTIVELY DEEP, sending a blush to Wade’s cheeks, though he would never admit it.
Who cared about that, though? He could only focus on the infernal burning he felt in his eyes; he’d rip them out if he could. “Ugh—sorry, I guess? I just—”
He was interrupted. “Seriously, are you okay?” A hint of concern was evident in the man’s voice.
Wade giggled at that. “Just peachy. These aren’t real tears. My contacts expired some time ago, so they were bothering me.” He shrugged. “I won’t keep crying here for long because I already took them out. The stinging should stop in a couple of minutes,” Wade stated as if that were the most normal thing in the world.
The guy grunted in response. “You put in expired contacts?” He sounded personally offended.
“Yes, and? They were slightly expired.”
“God... define slightly.”
“A few years?”
“YEARS? HOW MANY?” The guy totally snapped. This was unbelievable.
“Who cares? Expiration dates are for the weak,” Wade reasoned dramatically.
He received a short sigh—a snort. “Expiration dates are safety measures!”
“Contact lenses are so fucking expensive, though!” Was he really arguing with some random stranger?
“So are fucking EYES,” the man grunted back.
Touché.
Wade contemplated whatever his life was at that moment, unable to see any fixed point, dissociating slightly until he saw the guy’s figure slowly shift and extend his hand. Wade quickly took it, pulling himself up from the floor where he had been sitting.
“What are you doing here anyway? Don’t see an ID on ya’.” Oh man, this mystery guy was nosy, but Wade loved small talk, so he cooperated.
“I’m interviewing for a spot in the program. Don’t really know if I’ll get an offer, though,” he sighed in defeat before realizing he was still holding the warm hand of the guy who helped him—oopsie—could you blame him, though?
“Are you planning to enroll if you get an offer, then?”
“Maybe? I must say, the line between excellent career choice and critical life screwup is getting a bit blurry.” Why was he being so honest with this guy, anyway?
“Hmm, you’re clearly leaning towards screwup.” He sounded like he was smiling.
Wade giggled at that. “What tipped you off?”
The man tilted his head slightly, clearly analyzing him, then opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Wade interrupted.
“It’s just that… What if I’m not good enough?” he blurted out. Jesus, where was this coming from? Those were low-key his darkest secrets and insecurities. He just wanted an out, to express his concerns without them being brushed off—his friends always ignored his insecurities and just bluntly stated that he was good and dumb for thinking otherwise, but—he just needed to get it out. Even though he knew this guy would probably try to console him with empty words too. “Don’t give up! You must be really smart!” yadda yadda.
Which is why the response threw him off
“Why do you want to do it?”
“Come again? Do what?”
“A Ph.D.”
“Ah— I’ve always had an inquisitive mind, and graduate school is the ideal environment to foster that. It’ll give me important transferable skills—” he started with a stiff tone, almost robotic.
“god” The guy scoffed, loud, clearly amused.
“Are you making fun of me?” Wade got defensive.
“No, no, I promise you, bub, I’m not—just tell me why, not the stupid line you found in an interview prep book. Why do you want a Ph.D.?” His voice softened in a way Wade hadn’t expected.
“Oh—name’s Wade, by the way. Don’t call me bub. I want a Ph.D. because…” At that moment, Wade thought about his family, his history with cancer—the change he wanted to make in the world. Was it too strong of a story to confess to a stranger? Maybe it was worth it, but suddenly an alarm blared from the guy’s phone, and he yelped in surprise.
“Shit—I have to go.” He sounded rushed, quickly typing things into his phone before continuing. “Here’s the deal: I have no idea if you’re good enough, but that’s not what you should be asking yourself. Academia’s kinda hellish. What matters is whether your reason to be in academia is good enough. So, why the Ph.D., Wade?”
“I need to do research, discover things that have never been thought about, something I’m afraid no one else will discover if I don’t.” The words came out raw, exposing a part of him he wasn’t used to showing.
The taller man crossed his arms, listening to him, even though he had to leave already. That warmed Wade’s soul a little—trauma bonding over STEM trauma, yay! “The research I want to do is important to me,” he concluded after some seconds.
Wade was twenty-three and alone in the world because of… well, stuff. That same "stuff" had made him the protagonist of more than a few health scares, forcing his life to hit pause. So yeah, he didn’t want much free time and couldn’t care less about his salary. He wanted to go back in time. He wanted to be less lonely and scared. But since that was impossible, he’d settle for fixing what he could.
The other man nodded at that and cracked his neck before taking a few steps toward the door to leave.
He shouldn’t need reassurance from this random guy, but—still, worth a shot, right? He deserved it mid-existential crisis.
“Is mine a good enough reason to go to grad school?” he called after him before he crossed the door. The man stopped abruptly and turned around to look at Wade. He let out a soft laugh, and Wade could tell through blurry eyes that he was smiling warmly.
“It’s the best one.”
Hope blossomed in his chest.
It wasn’t until he left that Wade realized he had forgotten to ask his name, but the gratitude toward the mysterious guy only grew. A few weeks later, when the Stanford biology department extended him an offer, he accepted it. Without hesitating.