Chapter Text
The bar was loud, far louder than Emmrich had anticipated. He adjusted the gold chain around his wrist before clasping his hands neatly on the table. His eyes wandered over the crowd of bodies pressed together at the bar. The music, all bass and beat, seemed designed to override thought, to strip away the layers of one’s identity and reduce them to primal instinct. He sighed quietly.
“Relax, Em,” Strife said, slinging an arm over the back of their booth. His tone was amused, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of fondness. “You look like you’re about to lecture someone on cellular synapses.”
“I assure you, Strife, I have no intention of lecturing anyone tonight,” Emmrich replied softly, his clipped, melodic voice almost swallowed by the din. He adjusted the brooch pinned to his perfectly tailored velvet blazer, a soft lilac tonight, a choice he had debated for far too long before leaving his room. “Though I must admit, I fail to see the appeal of such an environment. It’s… overstimulating.”
Strife laughed, throwing his head back in a way that earned him a few glances from nearby tables. “That’s the point, my dear Emmrich. You’re supposed to let go. Try it sometime.” He gestured toward the crowded bar. “Why don’t you get us another round? It might help.’”
Emmrich’s eyes flicked toward the bar, a hesitant furrow creasing his brow. He hadn’t stepped foot in such a place in decades. His evenings were usually spent in quiet libraries, wine glasses glinting under soft lamplight, or in lecture halls where every word he spoke was carefully chosen, amplified by a microphone so that even the students in the back row could hear him. He wasn’t made for this cacophony of noise and motion.
But Strife’s expectant look made him sigh again . He stood, smoothing the front of his high-waisted trousers. His golden rings glinted under the flickering lights as he adjusted his tie.
Strife smirked. “You’re overdressed, by the way.”
“I dress as I always do,” Emmrich replied, his tone almost apologetic. “Besides, I find the notion of dressing down rather unappealing.”
With that, he stepped out of the booth, weaving carefully through the crowd.
When he reached the counter, he cleared his throat politely, waiting for the bartender to notice him.
“Can I help you?” Asked a young woman, towel slung over her shoulder, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. Her black hair framed her face, accentuating sharp eyes that seemed to take him in all at once.
For a moment, Emmrich faltered. “Ah, yes. I was hoping for two glasses of, hmmm, something not too… overwhelming.”
Her smirk deepened. “Not overwhelming, huh? That’s a new one. Most people just ask for whatever’s the strongest and cheapest.”
Emmrich blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her bluntness.
She tilted her head, studying him as she leaned a little closer. “Amaretto sour?” she guessed with a playful voice. “You look like an amaretto sour kinda guy.”
“I beg your pardon?” His voice, soft and formal.
“It’s just the first fancy drink that came to mind,” she said, shrugging, though the grin never left her face. “No offense, but you don’t exactly blend in here. You seem more… I don’t know, refined. ”
Emmrich hesitated, then nodded slightly. “You’re not wrong. I don’t frequent places like this.”
“Didn’t think so,” she replied, crossing her arms as she leaned back. “So what’s the story, then? Slumming it for fun?”
“Not exactly,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile touching his lips. “I’m here with a friend.”
“Let me guess.” Her eyes narrowed, glinting with mock suspicion. “He dragged you out to loosen up, didn’t he?”
“Quite.”
She laughed, and the sound was warm and disarming. “Well, you’ve got that ‘distinguished professor’ vibe down pat. I’m guessing you’re more comfortable in a lecture hall than, well, here.”
“An astute observation.” Emmrich’s lips curved into a faint smile despite himself. “Though I assure you, I am perfectly capable of carrying a conversation, even in such an environment.”
“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow as she stared at him, clearly intrigued. “What do you teach?”
“Neuroscience,” he said, his tone brightening with enthusiasm. “It’s a fascinating field, really. The complexity of the human brain, the intricate network of neurons, there’s a kind of poetry in it.”
Her eyebrows lifted, a flicker of something, surprise maybe, crossing her face. “Neuroscience eh? I hear that’s an intense subject. Like… brain scans and stuff, right? MRI machines and, what is it, synapses firing?”
Emmrich’s lips twitched with amusement. “That’s a simplistic way of putting it, but not entirely incorrect. Neuroscience is the study of the nervous system, including the brain, yes, but also the spinal cord and peripheral nerves. It’s a field of vast complexity and depth.”
“Oh, sure,” she said breezily, “like how the left brain is for logic and the right brain is for creativity?”
His academic instincts kicked in. “Actually, that’s a common misconception,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “While certain functions may localize to specific hemispheres, the brain is far more integrated than that. Both hemispheres communicate constantly through the corpus callosum. The idea of a strict left-brain, right-brain dichotomy is largely a myth.”
She paused mid motion, her fingers grazing the stem of a bottle as her head tilted just slightly. A flicker of something playful crossed her face, but it softened quickly. She reached for two glasses and set them down with a soft clink.
“Well,” she said, pouring the drinks, “there goes my trivia knowledge. Guess I’ll have to study harder for the test.”
The corners of Emmrich’s mouth twitched, his usual composure giving way to something lighter. His laughter was soft, almost private, like a sound not meant for the chaos around them. “If this were a test, I’d say you’ve shown an admirable effort thus far. I’m impressed by your curiosity.”
Her gaze flicked up, catching his. “Curiosity’s easy when the subject’s interesting.” Her tone was light, teasing, but something in her eyes lingered. “But I’ll take the compliment. Coming from you, that feels official.”
He tilted his head, studying her with interest. “You seem to know more about neuroscience than the average bartender,” he said. “Though I suspect you’re deliberately keeping me on my toes.”
She arched an eyebrow, setting the bottle down. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m fishing for a bigger tip?”
Her words caught him off guard, and he stiffened, his expression tightening as though he’d stepped on a social landmine. “No—I mean, absolutely not—I wouldn’t suggest—”
She cut him off with a laugh, warm and low, her hand waving dismissively. “Relax,” she said, her smirk reappearing. “I’m just messing with you.” She slid the glasses toward him, her fingers brushing the rim of one before retreating. “Maybe I am fishing for tips. Or…” She let the word hang, her eyes narrowing slightly with mock consideration. “Maybe I just like how you talk about it. You were right, by the way, you are a good conversationalist.”
Emmrich blinked, startled by the ease with which she flipped the moment back into playfulness. He hesitated, his grip tightening briefly on the glass before relaxing. “I’m beginning to doubt that,” he said quietly, a faint warmth rising in his chest despite himself.
“You are,” she insisted. “You’ve got this… passion about it. It’s like, when you talk about neuroscience, your whole face lights up. Makes me want to learn more, even if I probably won’t understand half of it.”
The sincerity of her words tugged at something in his chest. He wasn’t used to such candid praise. In his classroom, his students were often too nervous or too indifferent to offer such remarks.
“Well,” he said, his voice softening as he reached into his wallet. He withdrew a fifty dragon bill, sliding it across the counter. “I appreciate that.”
The bartender picked up the bill and quickly tucked it under the register. She counted out his change, a neat stack of singles, and slid them back across the counter toward him.
His hand met hers as he reached for the bills, their fingers brushing briefly. The touch was fleeting, but enough to flick her gaze up to his.
“Though I’m sure you’d understand far more than you give yourself credit for,” he said, voice calm as he studied her.
Without a second thought, he returned the bills to the counter. His fingers pressed gently against the stack, sliding it back toward her in the same motion he’d used before. He didn’t speak, but the intention was clear.
Her smirk faltered for just a moment, posture shifting as her fingers hovered over the money.
“Maybe I’ll test that theory sometime,” she said finally, her voice lighter now, a playful lilt returning as she gave him a quick wink.
Before he could gather a response, a familiar arm slung around his shoulders. Strife, his face flushed and his movements clumsy, leaned heavily on him.
“Emm… buddy, I thought you got lost,” he slurred.
Emmrich straightened, his instinct to help overriding his embarrassment. “Excuse me,” he said to the bartender.
She waved him off, her grin lingering. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
As Emmrich guided Strife back toward the booth, he found himself glancing back. She was still there, leaning casually against the bar, eyes meeting his for a brief moment before she turned away.