Chapter Text
Fortune tellers tend to have zero scientific evidence to back up their claims aside from the tarot cards they draw or the lines they read from the palms of their customers. Unlike extracting and analyzing samples from a fully geared laboratory, these tellers often hand out their spiritual findings from their tiny coffee tables by the sidewalk or in the privacy of their house, decorated in everything that anyone would find in the witch section of a costume store.
All their raving five star reviews online tend to be fabricated by their family members and friends; reciting how life changing the experience was and how some even found the love of their lives in a matter of just weeks. And, even with the obvious review fishing that these places do, many lost individuals still show up.
Seriously?
It’s really not that hard to go sign yourself up for therapy if you need guidance. Or, better yet, spend your time doing anything but getting your ‘vibes’ checked out by an absolute stranger—who also most definitely looked through your social media page before your reservation. How else are they able to make these so-called ‘scarily’ accurate predictions?
You know all of this is true, and you stand by it. Yet, here you are, anxiously tapping your heels against the cobblestone pavement at the crack of dawn on a Monday morning, staring wide-eyed at the purple wooden sign above the small store front.
What you should be doing is catching the train to work. Just last week, your manager sent out a meeting invite on what’s supposed to be your next anticipated project. She hardly mentioned any details regarding the assignment, which is unusual for someone as detail oriented as her, so you should feel nervous and should’ve prepared some talking points for today. But here you are, feet planted in front of a psychic shop. Your eyes are currently glued in on the storefront’s elegant, golden cursive writing. The sign states the name of the place: Garden of Recollection .
With large purple rose bushes on either side of the entrance, paired with two well loved hanging pots attached by the door frame, the name really lives up to it. Behind the windows lay an equally aesthetic pricing frame with the listed services: palm reading, chakra balancing, love spells, tarot cards, and aura cleansing.
Prices vary per service, with palm reading being the cheapest and love spells being the most expensive and the most popular of the bunch. You could nearly feel your eyes bulging out of their sockets when you see the listing sitting at 500,000 credits. That price alone costs more than some of the machines you use in the lab. There’s absolutely no way people are willing to spend their whole entire life savings on a generic affirmation.
Surely no one can be that lonely in life.
“What can I offer you, little lamb?”
You nearly jump from your spot, hair sticking up from the back of your neck at the sudden intrusion. Whipping your head around, you're immediately drawn to the woman’s unconventional attire and her enchanting beauty. Dressed in various shades of purple, she wears a body forming dress, arms laced up with mesh gloves, and a sheer veil draping behind her long, voluminous locks. Her eyes seem permanently half lidded, as if she had just woken up. Her lips are slightly curved upright, head tilted as she carries a tote bag to the side.
“I, um,” you chew the insides of your cheeks.
The mysterious woman hums in content as she drinks you in. Air stops in your throat and suddenly you forget why you’re even planting outside the store to begin with. It’s only when she’s grabbing a pair of keys out of the bag that you realize she’s the owner of the said establishment.
You immediately side step away from the mini stairwell, warmth blossoming your cheeks. When you finally find your words, it comes out meek and croaky from disuse. “I’m, uh, good. I was just looking around, that’s all.”
She blinks, then hums again. “I see.”
The woman struts past you. She doesn’t turn to look at you when she opens the door, but you do hear her giggle behind her palm. The door is then propped open by a four foot stone owl statue, something that looked like it belonged in one of your mom’s garden field collection. After a few minutes, the small fairy lights and indoor lighting of the store turns on and the woman reappears in your sight once more. Her sly expression never changes as she does a final up-down observation of you.
The woman leans against the doorway, hand cupping the side of her cheek. “Sure I can’t offer you anything, sweetheart? You’ve been wandering out here for a few days.”
Oh crap , you mentally want to shoot yourself in the foot. Somehow the thought of security cameras were nonexistent because of course she would review her own storefront’s footage if there’s an active stranger constantly pacing around. Though, from the looks of it, the woman seems completely unphased and comfortable watching you check out her store like a total creep.
You pick at your cuticles. The feeling of both embarrassment and anxiety festers in your limbs as you vaguely recall your mother’s words. “You do, uh, love readings, right?” Of course she does, idiot, you want to slap yourself as soon as the words come out.
She giggles. “Last time I recalled, yes, yes I do.”
You bounce back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Then,” you clear your throat, “do I have to make a reservation for one, or…?”
You’re never the type to explore this side of… whatever the hell this is. Background built on just scientific foundation and all, it’s hard to even understand how any of this works. You’ve definitely overheard your roommates talking about birth charts and astrology before, apparently there’s some mathwork that goes into it. One time they even tried to ‘manifest’ for your dream partner, but all you could think about is if you were going to wake up to a demon by your bedside with all the candle burning that went into it.
This is more or less a similar concept, just with an odd price tag attached to it. Plus, being the only daughter to an aging mother who’s way too invested in her daughter’s very single love life, nothing is off the table to appease her worries. At the very least, by doing this she’ll die down with the constant check-in calls and stressing.
“A bit new to fortune telling, aren’t you? You seem to have your doubts about the practice.”
Your hands shoot up, waving around frantically. “N-No, no, no! Nothing against your practice at all! It’s—It’s just… My mom recommended your studio. Says it’s the best in town. I, um, I think she mentioned you set up one of her family friends before?” A small lie, but you didn’t want to offend the fortune teller more than you already have. Afterall, she’s already caught you stalking around her studio for the past few days.
She presses a finger against her glossy lips and winks. “Classified client information. Though, yes, it seems I do have a fairly successful track record,” the woman smiles fondly. “Since you’ve been prancing around here for a while, I’ll offer you a free reading—please do think of it as simply a trial run if you happen to have any apprehension against it.”
Your eyes widen at the suggestion, mind fully prepared for something entirely different such as a restraining order. “That’s, um, very generous of you to offer. Are you sure?”
The woman lifts her head from her palm and gives you a dazzling smile, fully expecting an answer to that degree. Perhaps that’s what she’s used to hearing from first time customers. “Certainly. I’ll do what I can to provide any answers that you may seek. They call me Black Swan.”
“Black Swan…” the name dances strangely on your tongue. You have to admit, it’s a good stage name for a practice like this. Even if it might be a scam, at least you can ease into the play.
Black Swan yawns before pushing off the doorframe, gesturing you to follow with a gentle wave. “I’ll make it fast and efficient for you, cutie. I see that you’re a researcher at the IPC Experimental Station, so we’ll make sure you’ll make it to work on time.”
“Oh, wow, you’re good at—”
“Your badge,” Black Swan points at your obvious name tag clipped to your breast pocket with a warm giggle, “I’m not a mind reader, don’t worry. Just observant.”
Heat blossoms on your cheeks. “R-Right…”
The building, if you could even call it that, feels more like an antique store rather than an actual business. With small astrology-themed trinkles and soft, yellow lighting engulfing the area, you feel as if you’ve automatically transported back in time. The walls are splashed in a sea of blues and whites while indigo curtains drape from window to window. In the corner of it all is a wooden table with a stack of various cards and stones.
“Seems as if fate has led you straight to me, if I have to say,” Black Swan muses as she guides you straight to her desk. She graciously pulls out the chair, drumming against the dark frame slowly and silently urging you to sit. An offer that somehow you can’t find yourself refusing. “How has the journey been? I feel as if there’s something weighing you down. Shoulders slumped, exhaustion riddled across your face… I can offer a little divination for you.”
“My love life,” you suddenly blurt out. Might as well try and get the thoughts out of the way while you’re here. “Work’s been a little stressful with multiple projects going on. I barely find the time nowadays to cook for myself but thankfully I have decent roommates that look after me—or maybe they just don’t want to eat whatever I manage to cook… Um, either way, my mom firmly believes that at this age I should be in a relationship or even engaged at this point. And normally I wouldn’t care but it doesn’t help that my best friends are currently getting married, I’m their assigned maid of honor. I see love everywhere but also not feeling it for myself. Everyone else around me more or less thinks the same way, even if they’re not saying it directly to me, but—”
Feeling self-conscious, you stop yourself and sink further back into the dark velvet seat. You feel something solid wedged inside your chest, and realize that you’ve said way too much to a stranger. Black Swan didn’t seem to mind the chatter, but it also seems like her mind is elsewhere. You watch in mesmerization of how she plays with the tarot cards in her gloved hands. Royal blue cards, back embellished in gold starry detailing, dance and twirl between themselves as she meticulously shuffles them in her hands.
She then begins humming a tune you’re unfamiliar with, a melody that can only be described as whimsical, only stopping when three cards scattered face down onto the table. Setting the rest of the deck to the side, she arranges the cards in front of you before flipping them over.
Ten of Cups. Wheel of Fortune. Lovers.
Your mother has been a fanatic with these sorts of things for quite some time. The office space in your childhood home had a section dedicated to all things spiritual and books on enlightenment. Through some rummaging and brief conversations in passing with your mom, you can name the cards that are currently laid out—but unable to provide any substance to what they might mean.
Luckily, that’s why Black Swan is here.
“Ah,” she clicks her tongue suddenly, and you’re not exactly sure what to make of the smile that stretches across her face. “Lucky you. It seems like you’ll come across fate with them again.”
“Again?” you blink. “As in, like, I’ve already met them before?”
“Grand futures tend to stem from grand pasts,” Black Swan simply explains, as if you could understand any of what that means. “Though, rest assured, dear. I see that this path forward will be well taken care of. This individual is attuned with their surroundings. Emotionally perceptive. A charmer in their own unique ways. Patience is crucial and I see that there will be plenty of room for self-growth for both of you.”
Someone whom you’ve already met before. Yeah, that doesn’t sound ominous at all. Not really helpful either. And it surely doesn’t narrow it down to a list that your brain can possibly conjure up. Looking back, you’ve only had a brief relationship in high school that lasted a few months and another one in university that lasted up to a year. But none of those men spark any immediate interest.
“I-I, uh, wow, that’s really unexpected to hear,” you really don’t know what to make of this information.
It’s all fake at the end of the day, and you know that most of these ‘readings’ are curated to what the average person wants to hear. However, there’s something about the way Black Swan looks at you, her once sleepy, doe eyes are now sharp and full of energy. And somehow it ends up making her words sound a little bit more believable and real.
Maybe your one true love is actually the cashier you see ever so often at the grocery store. Perhaps it’s that charismatic barista at your favorite coffee shop. It could even—
“Would you like to spend 100,000 credits on a further analysis?”
Oh, right. At the end of the day, it’s still a business.
You fidget with your fingers, trying to come up with a vague answer. Declining outright might come off as too harsh. Agreeing would be hurting your already drained bank account. So you end up with, “Maybe another time?”
Black Swan giggles warmly. “Of course. Store’s always open at the crack of dawn if you have any inquiries. Though, given you’ve already seen the hours posted multiple times, it shouldn’t be any news to you.”
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
“Sorry,” you say while badging into the meeting room, “I didn’t expect my morning errands to—”
You pause. That’s not your supervisor sitting at the table. Instead, a terribly familiar face comes into view, and out of habit, all the muscles in your body tense. Distinctive dark purple bangs, broad rigid shoulder blades, a bored expression plastered on his sharp angled face. That ridiculously dense textbook he’s seemingly breezing through sits in front of him as he’s taking notes in his large, yellow legal notepad. It’s almost as if he’s some sort of old fashioned figure that’s too good for a normal notebook. The man doesn’t even bother looking up when you set your belongings across from him.
“ Veritas ,” you bite back a frown. “Lovely to see you here.”
That might as well be the biggest lie you’ve said all year round. Veritas Ratio, often known as Dr. Ratio from the interns and associates in his office, is head of the company’s physics department. A well modeled individual who just happens to have eight PhDs under his belt, has had papers written on him before, and even subbed in for one of your college professors when he was a graduate student at your university. He also just happens to be—
“How long are you going to stare?”
Extremely arrogant and narcissistic. The main source of your academic and professional pain. From what you’ve gathered since university, he’s never started a conversation with a proper greeting.
At the mere sight of him, your bones feel as if they might shatter if you tense up any further. The loathing is so strong and visceral that it’s almost too tangible. Really, it’s hard to believe that someone as distinguished and smart as him could have such an ugly personality. Holding a conversation with him is the equivalent to that of an overbearing parent’s hour long lecture on how to cross a road. Except, no matter what you say back, he’ll just tell you that you’re wrong every time.
Your eyes immediately snap towards the whiteboard at the end of the room. One side of it is marred with cylinder diagrams and thermodynamic equations. You pretend to be very engrossed in that instead of the man across from you. “Don’t be flattered. It’s still Monday morning, you know?” Not everyone is a functioning robot like you.
“I didn’t say it was flattery,” A page turn and some scribbles. “A Monday morning for a meeting that you’re thirty minutes late to. Perhaps you need a new phone if your alarm and work notifications are doing a poor job.”
Your jaw instantly locks and the feeling of an impending headache soon manifests. “My sincerest apologies. Some of us have other obligations outside of work. You know, like friends and family emergencies?” A slight lie. There’s no way you’ll tell him of all people that you were seeking divine advice for your non-existent love life. Though, knowing that Black Swan stated that you’ll meet your potential soulmate soon, it feels like a major victory point against him.
“Understandable. But I’ll have you know that you should manage your time properly. I was under the impression that working as Ruan Mei’s assistant meant being more… put together, to say the least.”
You catch the implication: You’re sloppy and lazy. I’m busier and better than you because I’m more important.
“It was an urgent matter, if you have to know,” you immediately retort, chest flaring from bubbling annoyance. “Matter of fact, I had urgent matters after another. I woke up at seven this morning and completed my morning mile run before—”
“Oh, I’m positive that the world would implode if you didn't track your above average pace in.”
It’s a five minute mile average, you fucking asshole. You’re probably just annoyed that I beat everyone at the company’s summer olympic event last year. The words sit at the tip of your tongue. While it would be satisfying to say them out loud, you swallow them down. It’s still a professional setting, you remind yourself. Any nosy executive could easily walk by and make a lousy complaint to HR about your vulgar language and verbal harassment towards the beloved ‘treasured’ scholar.
So, instead, you squeeze at the table for some grounding. “What does the physics department even have with us?” You finally direct your sight back to him. And he’s still not bothering giving you his attention. Whatever, it’s not like you really need it. “And, frankly, it doesn’t even look like you even want to be here.”
He finally glances up, glasses tipped down just the slightest so you catch the red-golden glint in his eyes past his bangs. “I suppose that’s something both of us can agree on.” Veritas shuts his textbook shut and pulls out his phone, frowning at the screen. “I’ve got experiments to run at noon, so the faster we get to the root of the issue the better.”
“Don’t bother asking me. I don’t even know why we’re here in the first place.”
“Right,” he scoffs, “Ruan Mei choosing not to entrust you with the details sounds very fitting. Maybe you should’ve thought ahead.”
Wait, did he just roll his eyes at you?
You imagine your blood boiling, its steam rising and scorching you from the inside. “You don’t even interact with our group, you fu—”
The high pitched beep from the sliding doors shut you up quickly but it doesn’t do a good job dissipating the obvious thick tension. Your head snaps towards the entrance, eyes settling on a tuft of blond hair and the scent of warm cologne.
“Woah, there,” a sultry voice enters the room, followed by a low whistle. “A bit too early for tension, don’t you agree?”
“Aventurine,” Veritas narrows his eyes. “This room is occupied. I don’t have time to fool around, right now.”
“Not even a ‘good morning’?” The blond rolls his eyes but doesn’t hesitate to plop down in the empty seat next to Veritas. The taller man shifts his unimpressed gaze to him, mouth curving downward slightly and Aventurine takes no note of this—or rather, is purposefully ignoring it all together. “Newsflash, I know . I’m one of the presenters for today, Doctor.”
Now it’s your turn to be confused, and a bit worried for that matter. “Wait, does this have to do with sales?”
You don’t know much about Aventurine, having only seen him through numerous online town hall meetings and sometimes annoying Veritas in passing. In terms of the company hierarchy, he’s currently the Assistant VP in the sales department and has a knack at smooth talking according to the many shareholders. But, other than the occasional waves and Mondays, am I righ t, he’s never gone out of his way to make himself known to the other company departments. If it doesn’t have to do with meaningless gossip and marketing, then Aventurine isn’t interested.
At the very least, you’re not the only one that’s late.
“Oh, it has everything to do with sales,” Aventurine’s eyes glint with a hint of mischief. That only spurs the feeling of anxiousness inside of you even more. Veritas stays quiet, deep in thought. Aventurine takes this moment to probe at the obvious thickness in the room. “But before I go off, did I accidentally interrupt a lovers’ quarrel, by chance?”
You scrunch your nose at the thought. “As if I would ever be seen with a person like him. He has the emotional intelligence of a wet towel.”
Veritas scoffs. “If that’s your main concern about me then surely the rest is fine,” a flip of a page and—damn, he’s already gone back to reading? He really has no shame in tuning everything out.
“My, my, you guys are practically married,” the blond whistles as he kicks his loafers up, resting them onto the wooden conference table. Hands splayed behind his head, Aventurine shifts his eyes between you and Veritas. “He talks about you, y’know?”
You immediately narrow your eyes. “Oh? Like what?”
Veritas subtly jabs his thumb into Aventurine’s side, causing him to wheeze. “Don’t make it seem like it’s alluding to other things. I complain about everyone, you included.”
Your brows perk. “Sounds like you’re obsessed with me.”
Veritas huffs. “Quite the opposite, but if your imagination wants to believe that, then so be it.”
“Or you just don’t want to admit it,” you shoot back.
“This might come as a shock, but perhaps not everything centers around you,” he retorts, just as fiercely.
“Don’t make me sound so arrogant when you’re the one—”
Another distinctive beep from the door goes off and sounds of heels hitting against the floor echoes throughout. The words don’t make it out, instead they’re burned and buried deep within as you watch your supervisor finally step in, hands occupied with research proposals and a blue thermos.
“Ah, lady of the hour,” Aventurine charmingly greets her. You catch the hint that he’s just glad the argument didn’t go further than it needed to be.
“Cold brew machine is out of service on this floor, so I had to make a quick run. I see that everyone else managed to make it while I stepped away,” Ruan Mei brings the thermos to her lips, humming in content. She then slides into a seat at the end table, nodding in acknowledgment of everyone present in the room, before plugging her laptop into the projector.
The Intelligentsia Guild logo briefly flashes across the screen as she types in her credentials. The projection then shifts over to a lengthy powerpoint presentation, but Ruan Mei skips over a majority of it and hovers over the last five slides in the deck of fifty. It’s a bunch of business and science jargon mixed in with company rendered images, something you know that Ruan Mei can’t stand. Meaning that this powerpoint deck was sent from upper management, because if your supervisor would have created this presentation, it would’ve been boiled down to seven max. Though, within the sea of words and colorful slogans, two managed to stand out: Genius Society.
“I’m sure you’re all familiar with Madam Herta’s track record so I won’t go into too much detail about what this concerns,” Ruan Mei starts in her usual monotone voice. “As you might know, last week I attended a science conference in Belobog and met up with some of my former colleagues and was informed that they have an opening by the end of their fiscal year. They’ve managed to get enough funding after recruiting last year's candidates and saw promising change and innovations.”
She switches to the next slide deck, and several names pop up in a list, yours included. “Being a past member of the Genius Society, I’ve placed my recommendations and the people you see up here are going to be involved in a last minute, highly classified project. If you’re able to present this to the executives at our gala by the end of the year, then you’ll receive a chance to be admitted to the Genius Society. Do I make myself clear?”
When everyone is quiet, Ruan Mei motions a hand over to the blond. “Aventurine, mind taking over?”
“On it,” he saunters to the projector and swiftly plugs in his laptop. A screensaver of several cats briefly pop on the screen before a marketing graph takes over. “If either of you get a chance of being in the Genius Society, well congrats, that’s basically celebrity status right there. Future clients will be more likely to work with a company that’s affiliated with a prestigious organization such as them. You two will do the fancy experiments and come up with the prototypes, I’ll do all the talking as needed.”
Veritas drums his fingers against the table, his pen twirling in the other. “A quick clarification: there’s two people working on this project but only one open position, is that what I’m hearing?”
“Unfortunately, that’s the case,” Ruan Mei answers, tone coated in a hint of rare sympathy. “It’s a highly selective process based on their funding and your talents. Hundreds of scholars and scientists like yourselves had applied in the past and only a fraction of that fraction only got to be considered. Still, I wouldn’t let this information deter your motivation and focus from the task at hand.”
“Thank you for that,” Veritas rubs his chin in thought before adding, “To save them the trouble, I’ll draft up my resume shortly after this meeting and send it right on over.”
“Excuse me? What was that?” You can barely keep your anger hidden.
“What?” He manages to look indifferent when he replies, “It’s clear enough that I’ll be the one selected. You may run the assays and protocols but I’ll be the engineer behind everything. There’s higher value in that regard.”
You feel your mind shut down on itself. Resentment simmers through your veins like acid, and you try to control yourself by twisting your fingers in your lap, but nothing helps. You can only gape at him, unsure if this is his twisted idea of a joke, if you’ve misheard. Surely he’s not going to disregard your own achievements and credentials in your career just because he’s obtained more than the average.
You mutter something unrepeatable under your breath.
“Care to share?” You can almost make out the smugness in his voice.
You chew the insides of your cheek. “Nothing. Just thinking about the potential outcomes. You know, thinking ahead and all.”
Veritas rolls his eyes at the obvious jab. “I have no issues with multitasking, unlike a certain person.”
Ruan Mei clears her throat before taking a long, audible sip from her mug. Her facial expression is flat as always. To the untrained eye, many would fall under the assumption her only mood is stoicism, but being her assistant researcher for these past five years made you pick up on her subtle changes and their notions. Twirling her hair between her index finger is a signal of approval. Right brow raised means she heavily disagrees with something. If she’s seen wearing heels, it usually signifies a major work-related event.
Right now, Ruan Mei’s black heels are swaying back and forth from where she sits and there’s just the slightest crease above her brow line.
“ This ,” she says slowly and gestures with a hand, dancing in the space between you and Veritas, “shouldn’t be an issue, correct?”
You swallow hard, waving your own hand in dismissal. “It won’t be. We’ll be best friends by the end of it.” Anything to get recognition, even if it means working with the most conceited person on the planet.
Veritas simply crosses his arms, looking out the window as if he’s bored, but his tone is determined and confident. “I’ll do my part just fine.”
“Maybe a company outing to a rage room might help,” Aventurine cuts in. Veritas throws him a displeased look, which makes him build on to his statement, “Or spending company funds to an all-inclusive resort for more bonding and less corporate capitalism.”
Ruan Mei, surprisingly, is twirling her hair. And maybe you should feel a bit delighted that she’s showing any sort of positive emotion, and a chance at a company paid vacation at the end of this, but all you feel is impending humiliation.
“Due to the high severity of this project, we’ll have to conduct biweekly check-ins. I’ve already prepped a meeting series that occurs once every other Thursday after lunch. Judging from both of your work ethics, I see that completion of this shouldn’t be an issue. Does everyone understand that?”
Everyone nods.
“Very well,” Ruan Mei taps a finger to her lips before pushing herself off the seat. “If there are no questions left then I’ll give everyone back their time.”
She’s the first one to step out of the room, quickly making her exit without another waste of breath. Veritas follows suit, tucking his heavy books and research papers between his arms as Aventurine unplugs his devices from the port.
It’s not until Veritas is nearly halfway out the door when the shorter male speaks from across the room. “In a mood for some lunch together, Doc?”
“I was hoping to get started with this project as soon as possible,” he says before focusing in on you.
Your skin crawls under his stare and you clutch your belongings close to your chest. “If this is your way of asking me to join you then you better work on your people skills more. Plus, I thought you said you had experiments to run at noon?”
“The interns can handle those just fine,” he shrugs. “This is more career pivoting, to say the least. Meet me at the food hall and bring your laptop. We have plenty to discuss on how to move forward with the project.”
Aventurine groans by his side. “Wait, so you are grabbing lunch—just not with me? Am I not part of this little project, too?”
“Ruan Mei said both of our work ethics, implying the only scientists in the room,” Veritas slides over a sneer. “Your lack of scientific input wouldn’t be useful. Just eat by yourself.”
“Oh, boohoo, you’re quite the charmer.”
If it were anyone else, Veritas would’ve been easily on their shitlist. His brash and brutal way of ‘socializing’ isn’t for the weak. Good thing Aventurine seems to be used to it, because he’s still smiling and grabbing his belongings as if the other man didn’t just tell him off. You wish you could be as carefree as Aventurine lets on, but your face is ridiculously honest.
“If now is a bad time then we could always reschedule,” Veritas adds. There’s a hidden challenge in his tone.
You straighten up. Making yourself look bad in front of him is one thing you can (potentially) live with, but planting implications that you’re unprepared in front of others is completely unacceptable.
“I can make time,” you tell him with newfound confidence.
Veritas stares. He shows no outward emotion, and somehow that makes it worse. “See you then.”
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
There’s an ache building in the back of your skull.
Not a painful, sharp ache. But a slow, pulsing, and dull ache that you’ve gotten familiar with back in undergrad. One that would only reappear during one-on-one with a man known as Veritas Ratio. It had been years since you'd last spoken to him in close proximity like this, laptops and notebooks sprawled out on the cafeteria table. Fifteen minutes into the hour lunch break and your screen is already covered with ten open tabs of research papers, experimental diagrams, and a bunch of rejection notices from Veritas.
“You’ve already suggested this before,” he says, voice bored.
You blink at him while maintaining the dim fire from within. “Okay, then what are your thoughts on this setup?” You pull up a quick draft of another operating procedure. One that he quickly dismisses with a half-sneer of disgust.
“I don’t agree with it. There’s too many variables involved that can impact the final results. We have to minimize human error at all costs.” Veritas scribbles something down into his stupid notepad. Now sitting closely next to him at the lunch table, you realized that his handwriting is awfully illegible. You wouldn’t be surprised if he created a brand new script just to keep his thoughts to himself.
“Then,” your fingers drum against your laptop’s keys as you try and grasp for another new idea. It seems like either Veritas is extremely hard to work with or… wait, there’s no other alternative. Out of desperation, you throw together another bastardization of a pitiful experiment outline for the nth time and present it to your gracious partner. “How about this?”
He frowns. “Did you even read the source material?”
“We literally just got placed on this project less than an hour ago,” you need another cup of coffee, and maybe a promotion. “So, no , I haven’t read the source material.”
“Then don’t bother drafting anything. It won’t be sufficient or on par.”
“Well, if someone already read it, how come I haven’t heard anything coming from your end?”
He shrugs and bites into a forkful of his veggie packed salad. Because of course someone like Veritas would be both extremely fit and a raging health nut. You can only stare in annoyance when he proceeds to pull out a protein shake from his bag and takes a sip out of it. Ugh, that tiny bottle holding a whooping 30g of pure protein? Now that’s gotta be a science experiment on its own.
You snap your attention back to your own untouched meal platter and grimace at the vast contrast. Both in color and the lack of visible greenery. Well, it’s fine, really. Your morning commute was a complete mess and now you’re glued onto a career make-it-or-break-it project that you’re not even sure if your partner is willing to contribute. So, just for today, two slices of room temperature pizza will have to do.
“As such with my own students, I’d prefer to hear your approaches first before adding any needed adjustments.”
A prompted eye roll. “Last time I checked, this is a collaborative group project, not a silly classroom assignment. If you’re honestly serious about this, then you would’ve thrown some suggestions around.”
“Maybe you’re too ignorant to understand this, but never in my life have I taken things not seriously,” he narrows his eyes.
Oh, just great. Is this the part where he goes off on a tangent and brag about his rewards and efforts?
“This is getting us nowhere,” you nibble on your bottom lip, brows threaded together in a mixture of concentration and grievance. The heat inside of you flares hotter, nearly destroying the last bits of your logic and sanity in the short amount of time that you’ve been with him. All you want to do right now is wipe that resigned look off his face and switch your damn meals.
“ No way! ” A sharp voice rings through the room. Your heart skips a beat over the sudden familiarity and your spine stiffens. “Is that who I think it is?”
Brisk, sharp footsteps make their way towards your table. Just over the top of your laptop screen, your eyes are unfortunately able to make out a tall male figure with a messy mop of blue heading your way. Letting out a small screech, your hands fly up to hide your mortified expression as you try and find coverage in the security of the monitor.
“No, no, no,” you begin murmuring. “Why is he here—I haven’t seen him since—oh, for fuck sakes—”
Hearing your name rolls off your ex’s tongue so naturally shatters the thin veil of safety your laptop pathetically provided. Sampo, who hasn’t looked like he’s aged or changed at all since you’ve last spoken over four years ago, smiles ear to ear as he makes eye contact. “Since when have you worked here? It’s been so long!”
“O-Oh, hey there…!” The words sound so painfully forced that even Veritas' brows rose in mild concern. “I haven’t seen you since… never mind—I didn’t realize you work here.”
Sampo sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “Neither did I, but this is my first day so I’m still making waves.” His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and, whether it’s on purpose or not, he flexes his forearm muscles. “Didn’t expect to see someone I know, though.”
Your chest burns, as if his words have squeezed out unwanted memories and peeled the flesh from your skin. But no matter what the circumstances are, you can’t let it show. “Small world, I guess…”
“Mhm,” Sampo simply smiles.
“You’re intruding,” Veritas says simply, like he’s observing.
“Did somebody say something just now?” Sampo, deliberately or not, drowns out Veritas’ question and slides into the space beside you with a glimmer behind his downturned, cat-like eyes. The man also disregards the way you shrink back, goosebumps littering up your arms, as he casually peers over your laptop screen. “Hard working as always, even after all this time! Whatcha got going on here? Lots of diagrams happening all over your screen.”
“Sampo…”
Veritas rapidly taps his pen against the table in a harsh tempo. One, two, three. One, two, three. By the fourth repetition, he interjects before Sampo further invades the contents of your laptop. “You’re intruding on our work,” he repeats. “Who are you?”
Your heart speeds up. “He’s—”
“An old friend,” Sampo cuts in and answers dismissively, hand clasping firmly on your shoulder. “Hey, speaking of which, do you remember our old days during college? You were always on top of clubs and exams. I, uh, what did you study again? Psych? Or was it literature?”
Goosebumps litter your skin at the contact. Lightly revolted from it, you twist away from him, scooting closer to Veritas, who just looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. Your eye twitches. “ Neurology . It was neurology.”
He snaps his fingers, eyes shooting up as if it was on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, sure, that was gonna be my next guess anyway.” If Sampo happens to notice your discomfort, he ignores it. “Say, haven’t you heard? Bronya and Seele are engaged now.”
“You say that as if I’m not their best friend and maid of honor,” you deadpan. A beat and then you blink. “Actually, how did you even find out? They haven’t even announced—”
“Gepard,” Sampo replies easily.
“Ah,” your mouth goes dry.
Composed, rigid, and ultimate rule follower Gepard. You’ve known him since high school and both of you have a mutual understanding of your shared disdain towards Sampo after the break up. It’s not like Gepard gave out the information willingly, either. Knowing your ex, there’s a high chance that a form of blackmail was somehow involved or an extreme case of badgering. Seele must’ve extended the invitation to Sampo just to get him to stop pestering the other man. Though, you can’t help but to feel slightly betrayed that this is how you found out about it. You make a mental note that a support group will be needed after this.
“It’ll be a great time,” he insists with a laugh and another half ass explanation. An explanation that you don’t even bother to pay attention to. Your mind is currently weighing ten times its mass and you just know that a vein is threatening to pop out of its place right now.
Go to your safe space , you quickly remind yourself.
You breathe, chest rising and slowly falling as your mind starts wandering. You’re no longer trapped in the cafeteria, listening to your ex and his meaningless updates. Instead, you’re in the safe security of your dream home.
A small cottage out in the countryside that you’ve brought in full when you were promoted to head investigator in the company. Your parents are living happily in a new house and your mom stops prying into your love life. Your husband is—as Black Swan mentioned—a patient, kind, self sacrificing man that will go lengths for you. You’ll have frequent picnics out in the open field, spend your date nights reading in bed, and have homemade breakfast everyday. By this point, your career will be at its pinnacle and bonuses will start rolling in like it's nothing, and traveling to a new country every year will be the norm instead of a blessing.
It’ll just be like that, and you won’t feel the need to rely on anyone else but yourself. You’ll do everything within your means to give the life that you deserve. Do so much that you won’t be able to feel disappointed if things don’t go your way. So, if it means having to deal with interacting with your ex and working with Veritas for a few months… then so be it.
It sounds simple enough, but the more thought put into it, you feel the built up pressure from earlier crushing your skull.
Sampo’s grating voice dies down in the middle of the conversation and he pauses besides you. “What? Too shy to answer?”
You jump, imagination sourly ruined when he taps your shoulders. If the project was on discovering multiverses, then you would have no issues working overtime for the rest of your life. At least you’d be happier elsewhere. “Too shy to answer what exactly?”
“Be my date to their wedding, of course!”
The way he says it so confidently, as if you weren’t broken up four years ago under bad terms, makes your brain jitter over itself. “W-Why the hell would I want to do that ?!”
You’d rather give him permission to name your newborn than be within six feet from him, though you’d never voice that aloud.
“Mhm? Why wouldn’t you?” Sampo is genuinely confused. Then taps a finger to his chin, the corners of his lips are curved in their usual sly manner. “I need a plus one. You need a plus one. I have a car and you need a ride. Public transit can be iffy—takes way too long. And , if you happen to need more convincing, I’ve grown plenty from the man I used to be. Wouldn’t this be the best of both worlds?”
“The fact that you assumed I’m in need of a date is crazy,” you frown, feeling now self-conscious that Veritas is hearing just about everything humiliating about your love life. Thankfully, out of habit, he appears to be irritated that your so-called collaborative session is interrupted rather than looking too interested in your personal details.
Your eyes shift down to his notepad. Veritas is currently scribbling down random patterns and shapes, possibly out of frustration, and he fixes his jaw. A clear sign that he wants whatever this is to be over with already. You couldn’t possibly agree more.
“Well, hate to break it to you, but I’m already in a relationship with someone else,” you announce out loud, suppressing a grimace.
Sampo stops mid sentence with a loud gasp. “Eh? You are? With who?”
“He’s…” you pause, mind scrambling to find the right words. “He’s very private about this type of stuff. It’s not my business to tell—but I am taken, just to emphasize.”
“Oh, don’t be so coy,” Sampo scoots closer. “Who is it?”
“It’s not your business to know,” you roll your eyes.
“Well, if you’re planning on bringing him to the wedding then wouldn’t everyone in the party have to know eventually?”
Ah, crap, he’s got you cornered there with that one. You make a conscious effort not to look too panicked. An even more conscious effort to look overly confident. “We’re keeping it super lowkey. People won’t find out until after we arrive at the bridal party.”
“Oh? You don’t trust me with that info?” Sampo desperately cries out. Of course, that has an absolute zero effect on you. When he notices the lack of attention he’s receiving, he continues and manages to strike something you’re unable to name. “Unless, you know, you’re faking it.”
Saliva gets stuck in your throat and you start coughing, fingers digging into your thighs. “Faking it?” Your eyes go wide. “Why would I even do such a thing?”
“Because I know you, little Miss Perfect,” Sampo leans back, arms crossed against his chest, not even bothering hiding how smug he looks. “Listen, if not me as your wedding date, I know another fantastic guy that I have on speed dial—your choice. C’mon, I think it’ll be fun for a little old school friend reunion.”
You cringe at the nickname, a term of endearment now turned into nothing more than a reminder of insecurities and the past. You begin picking at your food, noting the pool of grease seeping onto your tray. Looking over at Veritas, his eyes are occupied elsewhere, they’re bored and distant as he continues to tune out your conversation. The fact that he’s sitting in listening to your obvious struggles is terrible enough. Nothing seems to be going as planned for today.
And maybe this push is exactly what you need.
You take a deep breath. The air seems to congeal, and your ex’s presence starts to feel like an afterthought.
“You, um, remember Veritas, right?” The man beside you suddenly slams his knee against the table, you ignore it. “He was our Physics’ TA back in undergrad.” Okay, maybe this is the part where you should stop talking. But your mouth seems to have severed ties with your brain. In a rush, the words come flooding out, “He’s actually my date to the wedding, so I won’t be needing your services. No matter how much you try to sell yourself to me, thank you very much.”
Your ears flush and warm in ugly humiliation as confusion stains over your ex’s face, rightfully so. It’s then that Sampo finally acknowledges the presence of the rigid man seated next to you, as if he’s truly seeing the embodiment of Veritas Ratio instead of an amorphous figure. “ Him ?!” His voice comes out in a rare croak.
Veritas seems to share the same thoughts, but buries any visible trace of bewilderment as you give a fast, shaky nod. The scribbling in his notepad stops, and instead he digs into the pages with his pen. You can’t tell if that’s an improvement.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Sampo finally says after a pregnant pause.
Veritas tightens his jaw and gives you one of his cold, measured looks, silently screaming at you wishing it is a bad, godawful joke.
“Why would I joke about something like this?” Unfortunately, your pride takes over. “People change, Sampo. Isn’t that what you said earlier?”
“You’re telling me that he’s not a raging asshole like before? Actually, wait, why am I asking you? Hey—” and your ex has the fucking audacity to get up and poke Veritas on the shoulder, repeatedly, until he’s forced to turn and make eye contact. Sampo pays no mind that he’s face to face with a beaming death glare.
Panic claws its way up your throat. “Sampo—”
“How long has it been? Three, no, four years, right?” Sampo promptly ignores your obvious pleas. He gives Veritas’ shoulder a squeeze and leans in. “Do you know that she hates your guts?”
The line of his shoulders stiffen for a split second, faster than you could even blink, before it dissipates. “Does she now?” Veritas asks in a carefully measured tone. For some reason, it makes your stomach churn uncomfortably.
“Uh, yeah ,” Sampo practically emphasizes so much that his half-lidded eyes are now blown open. “Mondays to Fridays, during study sessions, at the dining hall—hell, I remember even on our dates she would constantly complain about you. It was all “He walks around with a stick up his ass”, and “I’m going to get everyone I know to rate his online tutoring services one star”! I’m not gonna lie, it got super annoying during midterms and finals week, and I’m surprised that you didn’t catch on!”
Your face is unbearably hot and scalding from embarrassment. You look over to him and… miraculously, Veritas stays silent. His jaw tuts out, nose pointed, but stays silent nonetheless. Sampo takes that as a cue to continue rambling, “On top of that, not to mention all the late night calls over how much she wants to punt your face into a wall. It’s honestly whiplash considering you two are now dating after everything. I mean, how does that even happen—”
“It wasn’t that serious,” you finally find the strength to interject, blood practically pounding against your ears. Your palms slam down on the dining table before you could even register the movement. It makes a loud, deafening sound, one that makes the surrounding tables pause their conversations and look over.
“ Enough .” Veritas’ expression darkens.
The sound of his voice jolts you. He sounds like a thousand miles away despite standing next to you. He calls out your name, voice more of a rasp compared to his usual blunt, even drawl. The way he says your name is like poison, like it costs him something. “Corridor. Now .”
You don’t get a chance to rebuttal when he stalks off. He doesn’t even bother glancing back to check if you’re following.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
For the second time today, you’ve listened to Veritas’ words.
It’s against your nature. The amount of times your body would physically shrink and coil over itself over his presence alone. From his jarring TA office hours back in university to catching even the glimpse of him at work. Now, following him down the path of a seemingly isolated hallway, you’re struggling to not run away and dig yourself a grave.
Your face feels utterly raw by the time he finally slows down, his back firmly pressed against the door that leads to the stairwell. From this length, you’re both a considerable distance away from the cafeteria hall and from any conference rooms. Meaning you’re at the mercy of his oncoming berating.
“Do you have trouble hearing?”
“Uh, no?”
His face pinches in visible distress and snaps his head towards the direction where Sampo had left. With a click of a tongue, a habit he often does when reviewing anything inadequate in his eyes, and he says, “Well, this only makes things that much more frustrating than needed. I don’t like repeating myself so I’ll only ask this once: in what world did you think that was an appropriate response?”
You knew what was coming but you still find yourself physically recoiling at the bluntness of Veritas’ words. In an instant, heat rises straight to your ears and suddenly it’s hard to find anything on your plate digestible. Your stomach folds over on itself and the sound of Veritas’ fingertips drumming against the table rattles the incoherent thoughts in your mind.
“I… I don’t know,” you swallow. This is it, you’re going to plan your funeral right here. Because buying a plane ticket and starting a new life over is too costly.
Veritas watches you silently, red-golden eyes narrowing as if he’s expecting more of a proper, well-executed explanation. But nothing comes out. You fidget with your coffee mug and avoid his heavy stare, sorely regretting the last five minutes of events.
The man eventually gives you a scathing side eye. “Of course you don’t know,” Veritas’ words multiply the sticky feelings of queasiness in your system. You want to say I panicked, it’s not a big deal, get over yourself , but instead the words get stuck and you can only listen to what he has to say. “Hand me your phone.”
“What?”
“I just said I don’t like repeating myself,” he waits and gives you a look that reminds you of a stern mother. You eventually give in and reluctantly hand over your device. Any evidence of pride left is absolutely minuscule. He rapidly swipes over the keys, expression pressed as always, before handing it back.
Oh. He’s made himself a contact.
Still, you’re still unsure of what exactly he has in mind behind his heavy gaze. It seems like he’s read your concerns and fans a hand, sighing. “We should coordinate our work schedules. We've barely made any progress today.”
It’s almost scary how fast he shifts in conversation, as if he wasn’t the main subject of humiliation a few minutes ago. But he’s right, a painful reminder, and that this project is far more considerable and important than fretting over the sudden appearance of your ex. You jolt, hastily tearing your gaze away from his stern expression to look at your phone. “Eight o’clock on a good day. When do you get in?”
“Six thirty on the dot,” Veritas has the damn nerve to sneak in a subtle smirk, knowing that it’s not a normal time for most employees to arrive. “I don’t intend to change my schedule around, just for your awareness.”
“Then why even bring up the suggestion of coordinating?”
He adjusts his frames. “You’re adjusting to my schedule, not the other way around.”
Your face dims. “Getting up that early… no wonder you’re so insufferable in the mornings.”
“Should you be saying something crude to your boyfriend?”
“ Gah ,” shivers spike up your arms and your body fully retracts a good two feet away. Ratio is unphased by the reaction. “You’re… you’re not actually considering that part, right? I said it earlier, it was just a terrible act…”
But, despite saying all of that, you can already imagine the chaos that is of Sampo and his ways of sending a message out like a fucking newsletter. Assuming he’s still in contact with your old friend group, you can already see the incoming confused messages from the newly wed couple, Gepard, and basically everyone else from your hometown. And, well, the more you think about it, this is quite the hole that you’ve dug for yourself into.
He lifts a dark brow and looks at you, expectantly, as if he already read your thoughts. “Right, and you certainly didn’t have an issue letting your ex recite your concerning choice of words when you were insulting me. But go on. All that nonsense about obsession earlier, perhaps that was self-projection at best.”
“H-Hey—! I didn’t mean…”
Veritas sighs, his eyes sweeping the empty hall. “It was a poor attempt at a joke, don’t mind it.”
Somehow you find that extremely hard to believe. He’s not one to show emotion, aside from being composed and mild arrogance, but surely his pride was nicked from hearing everything that was spewed. Anyone would, right? Veritas Ratio isn’t immune to criticism, if those words could even count as that.
Your chest burns, and you expect another blunt retort, a kick to your own pride that’s already buried six feet under, but Veritas sits back. You clear your throat, awkwardly, and the words begin to squeeze their way outside. “Sorry,” you begin, “I… What I’ve said before and after was unnecessary and uncalled for. I just—” An exasperated sigh drags out between your teeth. “I was… too much of an angry person back then. I’m not sure if you even remember us being in the same class or whatever, but you’ve really got me going for my money back then. Regardless, I shouldn’t have let Sampo go off for as long as he did and drag you into… whatever my mess is.”
His red-golden eyes roam over your face, and the air in your lungs stills. The way he’s studying you—like he’s peeling back layers and absorbing every thought that’s ever been flickered across your mind, every impulse, every insecurity—it makes your knees terribly weak. “Do you need a partner to go with?”
You’re taken aback from his sudden offer. “I… Why do you ask?”
“It might be easier to knock things out as we go,” he says methodically, folding his arms across his chest. “We’re already going to be paired for nearly half of our work days together. I highly doubt we would need to carve out time to spend together on weekends to go over our progress. The end of the year gala is also months away, so we would need time spent for our presentation, as well. When is your friends’ wedding?”
He lists these things down as if they’re day-to-day chores. Veritas doesn’t seem to account that he actually has to go out of his way and dress up, pretend in front of you and your friends, and then… what? Dramatically break up afterwards? Still, it feels like someone splashed cold water over you. The warm, bitterness from earlier slowly fades. “In about two months…”
“Get it?” He scoffs, the angles of his jaw and shoulders are sharp. “Attending and performing this charade at one event shouldn’t be an issue. Plus, it’ll aid with whatever bruised ego you currently have. The faster we get this over with, the better our performance and results will be.”
Your heart pinches and your expression threatens to waver. He’s right, but that’s nothing new.
Knowing how everything has gone today, this offer could easily be a trick, or a trap. You’ve currently set yourself up for a lifetime’s worth of questioning from your inner social circle, possibly office gossip, and eventually have to mask yourself around family members if the inevitable photos and whispers come to surface. But, and it’s crazy, you have to admit: you’re tempted. And you’re tired. Tired of being treated like some child from your mother, being overworked and getting burnt out, and having to feel like you’re struggling to keep your head above raging waters.
So you step closer, and clear your throat for the umpteenth time. “I, um, hope you know what you’re signing up for…”
Veritas tilts his head, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his dark bangs cast over his delicate frames. “Are you insinuating that this game of pretend would be difficult?”
“No offense, but you don’t seem like the type to cry over a love story, more so pick up a romance novel for the fun of it.”
“A topic I’m unfamiliar with but not ignorant to,” Veritas studies your face for a long time. Long enough that you feel yourself growing self-cautious and uncomfortably warm. “Be on time tomorrow morning. I don’t want to stagger behind schedule.”