#then after lunch i go to physics and fuck up my graph enough to get gravity = 2

[ad-astra-per-aspera-1389]

The difference between Big Sciences and Little Sciences is so funny to me. I'm taking chemistry and physics at the same time, and I'm an astronomy major, and so far it's been:

biology, chemistry, computer science, etc. : if you're even 0.00001 off from the CORRECT answer then it's WRONG

physics and astronomy: hmm...yeah that looks like enough 0s on the end. you've got enough numbers. that's close enough, who gives a shit

[mydramaspace]

Part 3: "Are you really that oblivious?" In which everything floods out into the open.

If you're new here, you can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here! :')

Part 3. Posted on 7 May 2021.

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Sometimes, you feel like your entire life is going to be a series of duck-and-hides from people you know. Because that is what you have been doing ever since you ran out from the cafeteria a week ago when you saw Joo Hyuk looking at you. Min Hyuk has been trying to contact you everyday, but you've ignored every single one of his texts and calls, and have hardly left your room. Yes, it is unhealthy to eat only slices of bread for breakfast, lunch and dinner each day but desperate times call for desperate measures and you know for sure there has been no person more desperate than you for a while now. But today, you will have to step out. You will have to brave the world, and confront anything that needs confrontation. But that's okay, you've got a solution for that: headphones, loud music, and power walking. No one would dare approach you if they couldn't see you power walk your way past them. One can only catch you if they see you, haha!

Even as you step out into the street, you know your plan is the stupidest thing you've ever thought of, and you've done many stupid things, including but not limited to thinking fuck meant a variety of fish. You duck your head, put on the most fast-paced music you have and begin your walk of shame to the administrative office to drop off your test results. Walk of shame indeed, your answers on that test will be enough to give your examiner second-hand embarrassment for most of his life.

Your mind must be playing tricks on you because everywhere you look, you keep seeing Joo Hyuk. Or so you think, because it is never actually him. He wears a lot of the same fandom shirts for some game that a lot of boys at your university wear too. Capitalism has really made life difficult for everyone on the planet, and you finally agree with every anti-capitalist argument you've heard till date. Capitalism is making it difficult for you to walk a few meters without flinching every time you see a t-shirt that reminds you of Joo Hyuk. You're so busy keeping an eye out for him, you forget about the other annoying brat who's on your tail. Min Hyuk.

And Min Hyuk grabs your hoodie and drags you all the way to the classroom upstairs. You struggle, throw a tantrum, almost like you're crying for your life because who knows what sort of nonsensical things he's gonna feed into your mind at this point. You resist until he lets you go in front of the classroom, both of you breathing hard, and whack him on his head. Hard. "Ow! That almost makes me regret helping him." Min Hyuk glares at you. "Help? Help who?"

"Why don't you find out genius?" You shoot a dirty look at him and walk into the classroom, only to come to a dead halt. Joo Hyuk is standing there, his back to you, and on the board in front of him, is a graph and many many equations. A laugh strangles its way out of you, and then you're laughing loudly, clutching your stomach. For a moment there you thought, no, you hoped, he was going to confess that he likes you. Foolish foolish thought, Y/n. Min Hyuk must have snitched to him that you're struggling with your Statistics revision, and being the good best friend he is, Joo Hyuk has stepped forward to help.

You are so embarrassed, you want to fling yourself off the cliff that is a few kilometers away from your campus.

Joo Hyuk jumps, startled by your laugh. When his eyes land on you, his entire body relaxes, and you realize how painfully him that gesture is. Well that is what best friends are like around each other right? Completely at ease. That's what your mind is saying, the logical, rational way of thinking. The way that will not end up in you hoping for something more, then being disappointed and then crying yourself to sleep again. But your heart...you heart is saying something else entirely.

"You're here!" It's as if his entire being lights up on seeing your awkward wave and he excitedly grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you to stand in front of the board where all the equations begin. You know, I'm really not in the mood for stats now, of all times. Maybe you should say it out loud. Maybe you should tell him, for once, and safeguard yourself from the hurt you know is going to consume you the minute you realize it's not the confession that your heart is hoping for.

"Joo Hyuk I-" your sentence is cut off when you realize how close Joo Hyuk is standing to you. Your back is almost touching his chest, and you can feel the heat emanating from his gray sweatshirt, smell that ocean-scented detergent he always uses on his clothes, and feel the hairs rising on your hand, your ears going red, and the throbbing of your heart. You can see the smudges of chalk dust all over his face, and the lights overhead sparkle in his eyes like star dust. And his eyes are on you. "You what, Y/n?"

"I-" Words seem to have fled your mind.

"You can tell me later. First, take a look at the board."

"I'm not in the mood for a math lesson, y'know?"

"Okay, but it's not a math lesson."

You cut a quick glance to the board and scoff. There are plus and minus symbols all over the place, and similarity indexes scribbled hastily alongside a graph chart. "Okay fine, it's a stats lesson. But I'm not in the mood for that either."

"Really? Did you take a proper look at the first equation?" You roll your eyes but take a look, curiosity stemming through you. "The mode equation?" You wonder out loud, and Joo Hyuk voices an affirmation, and that's when you feel the warmth spreading all over your arm. You turn sharply, to see his hand over yours, a piece of chalk tucked into your fingers. You look at him, hardly breathing, hardly hoping because these things only happen in fiction. How can this be happening to you? No, he's just helping you out that's all. Nothing more. Nothing-

"Look at it properly, Y/n, please." He guides your hand to the equation, the feel of his rough calloused palm against the back of your hand sending shivers running through you. "See what it says?"

All sense, all coherency, all your English words have deserted you when you most need them. "The what now?" And he laughs looking at your expression, and its a laugh that rumbles through his chest into you like a physical hug of comfort and you want to wallow in it forever, you don't want this moment to ever end. "The formula for the mode of my thoughts."

That snaps you back. The mode of his...thoughts?

"Your thoughts?"

You've never been so grateful that he's taller than you. Because this, standing with him, feels like heaven. And even if he never confesses to you, you'll take the memory of this to your grave, relive it a hundred times in life and even more so in death. So much more that you're determined to be called the ghost of reliving in whichever place all people go to after they die.

Joo Hyuk's laughter gets happier, and you slap your free palm across your mouth, horrified that you said all that out loud. "But, Y/n, I am confessing. Or at least I'm trying to, but you're not cooperating." He grins at you like everything is alright in the world, like he hasn't just dropped a verbal atomic bomb on you just now.

"You're what?"

He pulls you gently to the graph, one hand still enclosed around your hand with the chalk pressing into your palm. You clutch it tighter, almost unable to believe that this is actually happening. "Take a look." he lets go and steps back, and you step back too, almost in reflex, to get a good look.

And your breath leaves you in one breath.

Because on the graph, you see your name multiple times. "Wait, you do know what mode is right?" Joo Hyuk sounds panicked, and you would have smacked him if you weren't so inexplicably happy right now.

"Yes. The element that is repeated the most number of times. So if this is a mode of your thoughts..."

"It means I think of you the most every day of the week, every hour of the day, most of the minutes of the hour, because I do spend some minutes thinking of when to do my laundry sometimes and then I need to think of feeding my dog and I-"

You don't let him finish the sentence and fling yourself at him, enveloping him a tight hug. "You're such a dork." Your voice is all wavy because of the emotions threatening to consume you. Happiness, surprise, happiness, surprise, love. "Is that in a good way or a bad way?"

"What do you think?" You demand, unable to believe how oblivious he's being.

"Well, about 50% of researches online say it's a negative connotation, and the remaining 50 are divided in their results and I don't know which one I believe frankly because most of their data is skewed and their data sets rarely match the published-"

"Oh my god, it's a good thing you dork!" You press your lips to his, effectively silencing him. It takes him a good moment to kiss you back, but when he does, it's enough to make the world slip beneath your feet.

But that's okay because he grabs onto you, and you're very sure you will not be letting go of him too. And in the corner of the board, in the teeniest letters ever possible are the words I see sparks fly, whenever you smile.

xxxxxxxx

A/n: I had the biggest grin on my face while I was writing, cause ahhhhh these two nerds <3

Hope you liked this haha!

[hermannsthumb]

Lo and behold, HERMANN is the one with a long list of hunky ex-boyfriends (and it drives Newt a little nuts)

a req sent in by @k-sci-janitor and filled TIMELY ENOUGH on their BIRTHDAYYYYY 🎉🎉🎉🎉 s/out to them for discussing this fic concept w me months ago and also today 👀

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It’s a relief to find out Hermann is gay. It’s not even because of Newt’s weird, repressed feelings for the guy—though he admits it’s equally a relief to know that he’s not barking up the wrong tree entirely. The thing is that Newt’s really not sure what he would do if Hermann wasn’t. Hermann has the distinct honor (displeasure?) of being Newt’s only friend in the Shatterdome, after all; this means aside from usual friendship duties (sitting with Newt at lunch, listening to him complain about his day, allowing himself to be dragged along to bars and movie theaters when they finally have a second to breathe), he’s also the person Newt goes to with tales of his romantic conquests (not that he has any), requests for dating advice (not that Hermann has any), and reassurances that whoever Newt has his eyes on that week is hot enough for him (could they ever be?). It’s just, like, easier to do that kinda shit with someone who would also be (hypothetically) eyeing up and dating dudes, if Hermann ever managed to take the stick out his ass and relax long enough to do stuff like that.

Hell, Newt would be first in line if he ever did. As it is, he just has to settle on knocking knees with Hermann under the mess tables and—for lack of a better phrase—checking the latest batch of ranger hopefuls out. Newt doesn’t normally go for the tall, built, and athletic type, but Shatterdome transfers are usually the only way he can score a date, because all the seasoned personnel know to avoid the weirdo biologist in the basement by this point. There’s a war on; desperate times call for desperate measures. Newt hopes at least a handful of them are desperate.

“He’s kinda hot, don’t you think?” Newt says under his breath to Hermann. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at one of the new ranger trainees in line for soup behind them. He has dark hair and a nice smile, and—more importantly—Newt’s sure he’s been making eyes at their table for the better part of five minutes. He’s one of the latest batch that has only just arrived two weeks prior, and the smallest batch by far. Not many people are enlisting in the PPDC these days. Bad for the state of the world and Newt’s libido.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

“The guy behind us,” Newt says. “No, don’t be obvious about it—”

But Hermann turns, conspicuously, so (deciding it can’t get any more awkward than it already is) Newt sighs and turns with him. The dark-haired ranger notices: his smile hitches up an extra centimeter, and he winks.

At once Newt feels his ego swell. He winks back. “Still got it, dude,” he crows to Hermann, and is just rising from his chair to swoop into action when he realizes something; the ranger was not making eye contact with Newt. He was—and is—making eye contact with Hermann.

Hermann scoffs. “Oh, please,” he mutters to Newt. “If he thinks that’ll get him invited over again—”

But the ranger is abandoning his spot in line and jogging towards them, smoothing down his hair as he goes. He’s brimming with a palpable mixture of excitement and anxiety. “Hey, Dr. Gottlieb,” he says. “So, uh, last week was pretty fun?” It’s an invitation for approval, one which Hermann ignores in favor of jerking his shoulders noncommittally. The ranger presses on anyway. “It’s cool to see you. Haha. I, uh, just wanted to make sure you have my email, in case you want to get together again.”

“I have it,” Hermann says.

An awkward tension settles between them. Newt clears his throat in hopes of diffusing it, and the ranger’s eyes dart over to him. “I’m Newt,” Newt says. “Hermann and I work together.”

“Cool,” the ranger says. Disinterested. “Anyway, Dr. Gottlieb, I’m free whenever, so?”

“Yes, I’ll certainly email you,” Hermann says. He picks up his dinner roll and begins to spread butter over it, not bothering to look up when he adds “Lovely to see you again.”

The guy nods, and hurries back over to his friends, who begin debating something with him in hushed voices. Twice the group glances back at Hermann. Hermann’s—uh—friend seems to be blushing. Hermann begins to butter the other half of his dinner roll. “What the hell was that about?” Newt says.

Hermann sets down his roll and furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“That,” Newt says. “Who was that guy?”

“Oh,” Hermann says. “Him.” He rolls his eyes, and to Newt’s alarm goes pink in the cheeks. “We had a, ah, a date, I suppose you could call it, last week. He turned out to be a bit rude, actually, not the very, er, courteous sort. Attentive. Or at least not as courteous as I like. You know.”

“I don’t,” Newt says.

“You know,” Hermann repeats, with more force on the know. His pink blush spreads down his neck. “In the—coupling—sense.”

“You hooked up with him?” Newt says, too loud. A few heads swivel in their direction, including Hermann’s quote-unquote date and his friends; Hermann whacks Newt in the shin with his cane, clearly mortified.

“Keep your voice down! I don’t want the whole bloody Shatterdome to know, do I?” Hermann hisses. “Yes, I had sex with him. I do occasionally take time to enjoy myself.”

Newt stares at Hermann in amazement. Hermann hooks up? Hermann hooks up with hunky guys? Hermann hooks up with hunky guys and then ghosts them? “I didn’t know,” Newt says. “That you…did that.” Months and months of talking about his shitty love life to Hermann and Hermann has never once bothered to volunteer information of his own. Newt always just assumed Hermann had put his emotional (and physical) needs on hold for the sake of the war. Apparently not.

“You never asked,” Hermann says. “Is it important?”

Yes, it is. Newt shakes his head. The rest of their dinner is quiet and without any further interruptions. It’s also without their usual bickering, though, which makes it feel oddly lonely, and when Newt gets back to his bunk that night, he can’t help but wonder what else he hasn’t discovered about Hermann yet. Or, really—what about Hermann’s love life he hasn’t discovered yet.

A bouquet of flowers arrives for Hermann at the lab a week later. Newt is the one to take the delivery, Hermann being too absorbed in his calculations and boring graphs, and also because Newt is harboring a secret hope they’re for himself from a secret admirer. No such luck. To Dr. Gottlieb, the heart-shaped label proclaims in pink cursive, and a few sentences of the sappiest attempt at poetry Newt’s ever seen follows. Love, Pedro. Newt smirks through a suffocating wave of jealousy, whether to be the one giving or getting the flowers he’s not sure. “Hey, Hermann,” he calls across the lab. “Your boyfriend getting persistent. Want me to stick these in water for you?”

Hermann grumbles something, then says “Boyfriend?”

“From the mess the other night,” Newt says. “The uncourteous one.” Newt double-checks the note. “Pedro. His heart is yearning for you, Hermann. Listen to this—”

But Hermann scoffs loudly before Newt can even start on the poem. “Don’t be daft,” he says. “That wasn’t Pedro. That was Jason.” He scribbles over something on his chalkboard and starts again on the line below it. “And Pedro is hardly my boyfriend—it was only dinner.”

“Dinner?” Newt squeaks.

“And drinks,” Hermann says.

“You’re seeing another guy?” Newt says.

Hermann finally turns around. “Does it matter if I am?” he says.

“Yes,” Newt says. “No? I don’t know?”

“I’m a grown man, Newton,” Hermann says. “I date. You ought to try it yourself—it does wonders for the nerves.” When Newt is clearly still unsatisfied, Hermann sighs. “I met Pedro on an errand to LOCCENT last month, and I found him charming. You’d recognize him—you actually, er, caught us in a bit of a compromising position the other night. Remember?”

Newt frowns. He hasn’t caught Hermann with anyway in any compromising situations recently—the only thing he can think of that could be considered remotely embarrassing is when he stepped out into the hallway the same time Hermann’s physical therapist did, and they ended up bumping into each other. But that was—oh, God, Newt’s an idiot.  “That was him?” Newt says. He just assumed anyone stopping by Hermann’s room after work hours would be there for physical therapy, okay? And there had been a lot of…noise. Well, he’s not going to think about that now. “But he was so hot! Do you only date, like, hunks or something?”

“Really, Newton,” Hermann says. “You’re making yourself upset over nothing.” The corner of his mouth twitches up. “Though one of my old ex-boyfriends did become an underwear model…”

“Dude,” Newt says, and before he can help himself, blurts out “Shit, maybe I should start going to the gym.”

Hermann gives him a strange, searching look, and Newt immediately clamps his mouth shut in horror. He’s really gotta start working on his brain-to-mouth filter. Or at least work on not sticking his fucking foot in it every five minutes. “As I said,” Hermann says, cryptically, and turns away (apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Newt), “you’re making yourself upset over nothing. I hardly find the need to limit myself to ‘hunks’.”

“Uh,” Newt says. “Right.”

Whatever that means.

[poppo911]

You’ve Got Mail! (Chapter 3)

Read it on FFN here

Word count : 3000-ish

Chapter 3 – Troublemaker(s)

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To : All contacts

From : Christopher Vinther

Subject : Money Proposals

All teachers and staffs,

Please refrain from making unnecessary requests for money. Any unanticipated proposals submitted within the next two weeks will be denied. With, or without the Principal’s signature.

With the triennial accreditations ahead, a decent portion of the institution’s annual budget will be allocated for its preparation. Your understandings and supports would be truly appreciated.

Regards.

Okay, enough with the formality.

Seriously though, up to twenty six thousands centz in less than a week? What the hell! Why should I give you guys money for a shitload of pasta I did not eat? Or desks I did not break nor use? Go on destroying this school’s infrastructures and it will eventually close down even before we reach the accreditation terms.

Which means there would be less problem for me, now that I think about it.

P.s Dearest Miss Riza Hawkeye, if that lovely student of yours is keen enough to break a fire extinguisher, just like what he did last semester, I will grant you some cash just enough to refill it with lemonade iced tea. They can also put out a small fire, right?

Stay greedy for money,

Christopher Vinther

Staff, Treasurer

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Riza Hawkeye

From : Miles

Subject : Re: Money Proposals

It’s alright, Ms. Hawkeye. He also said that to me last semester when I was Edward’s homeroom teacher.

Suck up to Mr. Grumman a bit and the expense will be fully covered by the institution. You of all people would know better about his… peculiar taste.

Been there done that,

Miles

Teacher, Physics

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Roy Mustang

From : Heymans Breda

Subject : Alphonse Elric is surprisingly lovely

Before you take this mail’s subject the wrong way, I mean Alphonse is a caring, obedient student loved by his classmates, in contrast to his elder brother. Plus point, he also managed to achieve perfect score on my math pre-test.

You were right, though—three days into this, and I don’t think being a homeroom teacher is that bad.

Chess during lunch break?

Heymans Breda

Teacher, Mathematics

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Heymans Breda, Roy Mustang

From : Jean Havoc

Subject : Abort mission (continued)

So long story short,

I came to her as she was reading an online newspaper (in Dutch, my best guess) while sipping her coffee. Then I took a seat beside her. And then she eyed me curtly—hell, I hadn’t even said a thing!

Of course I was confused. After a few seconds of intense glaring, she told me, “Speak.”

So I did. I introduced myself—a little bit stuttered there coz who on earth can sit through her piercing blue eyes and stay collected?

Her response?

“Spit it out clearly. I don’t have all day to listen to your blabber.”

“Jean Havoc. P.E coach. Nice to meet you.”

“And?”

“Wha—err, you’ve got nice curves, there.”

The following events were a blur, and suddenly, I was laying on one of the beds in Knox’s room. With a cold ice pack on my crotch.

Yet Miles, who had spent years teaching in North, said that I’m apparently ‘lucky enough’ for getting ‘just that’. Well, luck my arse.

I repeat—abort mission. Those bada-boom breasts do not worth your (and your offsprings’) life.

Jean Havoc

Coach’s Aide, Physical Education

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Jean Havoc, Roy Mustang

From : Heymans Breda

Subject : Re: Abort mission (continued)

If stupidity could be expressed in graphics, yours would be graphs of exponential function y = 2^x when the base is greater than 1—smooth, continuous, and increases without bound as it approaches positive infinity.

Heymans Breda

Teacher, Mathematics

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Tim Marcoh

Cc : Yoki, Buccaneer

From : Roy Mustang

Subject : Who on their right mind refilled the chem lab’s fire extinguisher with expired lemonade iced tea???

A small-combustion-went-wrong and when we tried to put it out, it was fckn lemonade iced tea inside! Good heavens we installed automated water sprayers in the entire buildings last year in case of fire. (None was injured, fortunately.)

I’m going to make a formal request for a thorough inspection.

Drenched in water for the second time this week,

Roy Mustang

Teacher, Chemistry

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Roy Mustang

Cc : Buccaneer

From : Tim Marcoh

Subject : Re: Who on their right mind refilled the chem lab’s fire extinguisher with expired lemonade iced tea???

Sorry for the inconvenience,

I believe there has been no reinstallment for any of our fire extinguisher units recently. And considering that the last inspection was right before the winter break, whatever happened here afterwards, chances are it took place during the vacation, if that is even possible.

And yes, please proceed with the inspection. I will let the Principal know.

Regards,

Tim Marcoh

Staff, Head of the Laboratory

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Heymans Breda

From : Jean Havoc

Subject : Spring breeze had never felt this hot

Holy fuck bro, have you seen Ri’s outfit today? Mustang’s gonna regret this for his entire life if he missed the view!

Covertly admiring that suave thigh from afar,

Jean Havoc

Coach’s Aide, Physical Education

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Jean Havoc

From : Heymans Breda

Subject : Re: Spring breeze had never felt this hot

(You just never learn from past mistakes, huh?)

Beware. Ms. Armstrong could bust your nut. I bet she could do no less.

Can’t find myself disagree, though. Just make sure you don’t get caught by anyone. I mean anyone—that guy could set your ass on fire and make it looked like a small lab accident.

Heymans Breda

Teacher, Mathematics

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Roy Mustang, Tim Marcoh

From : Buccaneer

Subject : Re: Re: Who on their right mind refilled the chem lab’s fire extinguisher with expired lemonade iced tea???

Right away, Sirs.

Buccaneer

Staff, Head of Security Personnels

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Alex Louis Armstrong

From : Maes Hughes

Attachment : Elysia_photos_collaged .jpeg

Subject : Permission request for not attending your class

After a looong day of works, at last, I present you, A COLLAGE OF ELYSIA’S PHOTO COLLECTIONS! LOOK AT HOW CUTE SHE IS, ALEX!! Thee art mine life, mine every breath, little angel.

Anyway, I’m requesting permission for one of my homeroom student:

Windsor, Amadea (class of 2015)

for not being able to attend your P.E classes at least for the next two weeks due to an unfortunate accident leaving her with sprained ankle. In the mean time, could you give her written assignments instead? Thanks, Alex.

Which reminds me, have you seen Roy this morning? I know he will be busy in the lab today, but he’s not one to miss Sciezka’s Free-Brunch-Wednesday especially when quiches are involved!

I’m gonna spend the rest of the day being stuck here in my desk grading the kids’ essays. So if you managed to meet him, please inform him that today, for the first time in forever, Rizzie wore a high-slit pencil skirt to work today—bet you my monthly paycheck that he’d be way more than elated.

My heart belongs to Gracia Hughes but—deeeemn dude, those long, slender legs.

P.s The gossips regarding your sister are getting out of hand! I mean knocking Jean Havoc out in one kick? Come on!

Gracia’s hot hubby,

Maes Hughes

Teacher, English Literature

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

.

.

To : Knox

From : Alphonse Elric

Subject : Medicication Request from Mr. Mustang

Good afternoon, Doctor Knox. I am Alphonse Elric from Mr. Heymans Breda’s class.

I was making my way to the boy’s restroom when I saw Mr. Mustang rushing to one of the stalls with drenched outfit and massive nosebleed. Miss Riza, whom he had been talking to only a few seconds before, admitted that she knew nothing beside his unfortunate water sprayer incident. He also won’t tell me the cause of his nosebleed, and told me to contact you instead to ask for some medications for him.

Does it have something to do with his beet-red face, Doctor? Since I did not see any signs of head trauma nor recent rigorous physical activity.

Best regards,

Alphonse Elric

Student, Class of 2017

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Alphonse Elric

From : Knox

Subject : Re: Medicication Request for Mr. Mustang

There’s no cure for his current nosebleed. Just tell him to shove some fabrics up his damn nostrils and stop thinking of inappropriate images of a certain coworker of him.

Coincidentally, your brother is here in my room. You might want to pay this brat a visit and give him a long-ass lecture as well.

Knox

Staff, Physician

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Edward Elric

Cc : Maria Ross

From : Riza Hawkeye

Subject : Detention Notice

The student Edward Elric will be detained during the lunch break on March 8 from 12:00 p.m until 12:45 p.m for the following reason(s):

- Mocking someone based on their racial features

- Being engaged in a physical fight resulting in mild injuries for both parties

Signed,

Riza Hawkeye

Teacher, Biology

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Ling Yao

Cc : Maria Ross

From : Riza Hawkeye

Subject : Detention Notice

The student Ling Yao will be detained during the lunch break on March 8 from 12:00 p.m until 12:45 p.m for the following reason(s):

- Intensely mocking someone based on their physical features

- Being engaged in a physical fight resulting in mild injuries for both parties

- Trespassing into the Curtis’ kitchen, consuming half of the prepared pasta and taking the rest of it home on Monday, March 6th 2017 (evidences were collected during the ongoing thorough inspection by the security personnels)

Signed,

Riza Hawkeye

Teacher, Biology

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Lan Fan

Cc : Maria Ross

From : Riza Hawkeye

Subject : Detention Notice

The student Lan Fan will be detained during the lunch break on March 8 from 12:00 p.m until 12:45 p.m for the following reason(s):

Encouraging a physical fight by being actively involved in it

Signed,

Riza Hawkeye

Teacher, Biology

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Riza Hawkeye

From : Maria Ross

Subject : Re: Detention Notice

Things are getting out of hand. Got a plan in mind?

Just got summoned to the Principal’s room for the first time in months,

Maria Ross

Teacher, School Guidance Counselor

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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.

To : Riza Hawkeye

From : Eugene Grumman

Subject : To my beautiful granddaughter

My precious Queen Rizzie,

You know I support every choices you make in life, as long as you’re happy with it. That includes not majoring in organic chemistry (much to your father’s dismay), living on your own, and also teaching in the school I lead.

It saddens me to say this, but today, I couldn’t say I approve your choice of articles of clothing. Sure, they are still within the rules, and your friend Rebecca had been wearing even more revealing outfits for more than I care to count. It’s not that you look horrible in them, Honey—it’s the exact opposite. And such thing could make us men delighted, in a certain way. But no, when it comes to you, I am anything but delighted.

In the future, could you please do your old grandpa a favor and avoid wearing such clothing at all cost, both within and outside work environment?

Because I am the principal. And you will do as I say.

Lots of love,

Eugene Grumman

Principal

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Solf Z. Kimblee

From : King Bradley

Subject : Warning

Is there any reason for you skipping works for two days in a row without any notification? Are you that eager to become jobless?

King Bradley

Staff, Head of Administrative Affairs

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Alphonse Elric

From : Riza Hawkeye

Subject : Introduction

Hello, Alphonse.

I’m sure I had entered your class once before, but in case you forget, I will introduce myself first. My name is Riza Hawkeye, and I teach biology. I got your mail address from Mr. Breda, your homeroom teacher.

Don’t worry, Alphonse. I only write to tell you that I would like to discuss a few things with you regarding… your brother.

Could you please meet me after school at the teachers’ room on the third floor? My desk is at the far left (if your back is facing the hall) near the windows.

Thank you very much.

Regards,

Riza Hawkeye

Teacher, Biology

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Alex Louis Armstrong

From : Olivier Mira Armstrong

Subject : All those East City chickens are getting under my skin

Now I understand your reason for being the family’s disgrace despite having the same blood as mine running through your veins. Surrounded by these idiots doesn’t come without consequences after all.

First, that guy from the Administration Affairs who thought it was funny to joke on my first name since it is, apparently, a ‘masculine name of French origin’. If that means my name is way more masculine than the unmanly squeak he let out as I slammed his desk, I’m fine with it.

Grumman’s far-fetched goofiness is not something I like to deal with, but his secretary—Cataline? Caitlyn?—is way worse. Someone’s got to teach her proper manners to interact with someone who’s her senior by a couple of years. How did she make it to that position, anyway? Or does that old man got a disgusting affinity to low-cut blouses?

Don’t even make me start on that fuckin blond whose mouth was uglier than his face. Boy had to be reminded that his balls are not big enough to approach a stranger that way. I just wasted my two minutes I could better use for breathing peacefully yesterday.

Also that bespectacled technician who won’t let me have my bandwith yet. If only he worked faster and stop saying that lame you-just-arrived-here-today-ma’am-there’s-no-way-I-can-set-it-up-for-you-in-less-than-a-day excuse while trembling visibly as he entried my data, I would’ve had it by now. Using my smartphone for internet makes me less productive than normal.

I kinda see that old man’s reason to transfer me here—so that the accreditation board (mainly ran by the Armstrongs, yes) will ignore the fact that his school is lagging behind. Behind the North, at least.

And the worst of all—I now have to share an office with that guy? You heard my story about when I was one of the board’s members in the last triennial accreditation. The one where I got into a heated argument with a Xingese-looking teacher. Heck, I can’t even recall what we were arguing over—what I remember is his displayed ‘politeness’ during the bargaining. It was a fckn accreditation, Alex. And he conceitedly tried to make a concession. Do I also have to remind you that he did NOT do it the ‘clean’ way? Well maybe his ‘charismatic’ smile could woo most girls whose brains are smaller than their compact powder cases—but for me? It only made me want to punch him in the jaw. His smug face had been contaminating my mind ever since—and now I also have to learn that his name is Roy Mustang. And share a goddamn teacher’s room with him.

Summary: Stop making me ashamed by telling people that we’re siblings. I’d rather keep that one as low-key as possible.

Olivier Mira Armstrong

Teacher, Dutch Literature

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

Sent from mobile

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To : Maria Ross

From : Denny Brosh

Subject : I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just happened to be there

Do you know that Ms. Riza could be so… persuasive? I was collecting some files from the teachers’ room and accidentally (well not so accidental, I did do my job slower on purpose) overheard her conversation with a freshman. Didn’t get what they’re talking about, tho. I just knew that Edward was involved. Are they trying to blackmail that kid? Heaven knows.

Anyway, I have done making the recaps of last year’s senior students’ grades. Would you like me to print it out for you or just the softcopy will be fine?

At your service,

Denny Brosh

Staff, Administrative Affairs

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To : Rebecca Catalina

From : Riza Hawkeye

Subject : Your skirt gave me more trouble than Edward did

See? I told you it would be better for me to wear that you-so-called ‘boring’ trousers!

Riza Hawkeye

Teacher, Biology

East Amestris Senior High School | 75 Sycamore Lane, East City

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To be continued

Yes, Mustang’s infatuation to the biology teacher is something that everyone knows. He’s only too afraid to admit that to himself lol.

Pretty sure each places have their own rules, but here in my place, that kind of relationship between civilian coworkers is allowed as long as they are not placed in the same ‘unit’ or structural positions that would allow them to practice favoritism (for example, in fact, some of my college lecturers are married to each others). Of course I don’t mean to paint every places white with this, but let’s just assume that here, in East Amestris Senior High School, such thing is not against the rule! XD I do apologize if there’s anybody bothered with this matter…

Aaaand also this fic got more royai I initially planned. Should I apologize for that, too, being a royai trash I am?

Starting a fic is a thing. Keeping it interesting for several chapters is a whole different challenge. Your thoughts would be very appreciated for my improvements—reviewreviewreview! Do tell me if there’s any character you find OOC, or too inappropriate, or such.

Thanks for reading!

[mayardsale]

"I guess this is my retirement party," I laughed, understanding the extremity of my statement. "I had no idea at the age of 34 that my complete lack of motivation would allow me to enjoy life at this level," I'd finish. Each interview was a thorn in my side I needed to remove to get through the evening. My contract was simple and Van Hoy wanted the press to have full access. When I was the Director of Analytics all I had to do was keep my team focused and manage the interviews of the Beta1000. ByMySide hadn't launched and we were a rogue band of misfits on campus. Though I knew nothing about analytics, I knew how to keep folks out of our camp, so they made me their leader. When we shaved our bodies like the Beta1000 to make them feel comfortable in the lab, they knew we were special. Van Hoy knew we were an insane group, but we were the catalyst that was going to make his dream a reality. Van Hoy was obsessed with love and data. After his first wife passed away at 25, he wrapped himself in his work that was gaining noteriety. His fourth wife left him because his data became too famous. She also loved the pool guy. Apparently he initially agreed to put up with their extra-curricular activities until he found her straddling pool guy's face atop his desk of freshly printed divorce analytics. Data should not be forced to take part in such vulgarity. Van Hoy came up with the idea of ByMySide while building a data analytics framework for the Dutch government to find terrorists. "Make love, not war!" was his pitch to investors. Seed money went in to research for five years, but nothing struck a nerve until Elsa entered the picture. Elsa rewrote the testing protocol with a sensitivity toward human interaction that previous data sets were missing. Her cold demeanor was just the attitude necessary to believe that holding hands should be turned into numbers like everything else. Interview questions and DNA were foundational numbers, but lust was the signal of future compatibility. My team trusted Elsa, so we built the HoneyMoonSuite. HMS originally stood for HourMinuteSecond because of our data collection system. A reflective, recyclable, ingestible "paint" could be applied to our test subjects, the Beta1000, to be viewed in the absence of light. The subjects could not speak, but everything else was allowed in the dark. The subjects had to remain in the room for an hour, felt a vibration from the floor every minute, and had to be touching each other somewhere every second. Elsa was adamant about the touching. That physical contact defined long term compatibility. Some subjects simply held hands. Others took advantage of the anonymity and explored boundaries they hadn't prior to joining the Beta1000. Everyone had been tested for any infectious diseases and their diets were regulated for their first seven days in the program - their last four days being spent enjoying the HoneyMoonSuite. Our cameras would record their every movement, temperature, moisture content, oxygen intake, and whatever else you could think of. Our analytics team was obsessed with every nuance of that room and the data they could map. They wanted absolute control over the furniture specs - height, material, weight, firmness. Even though the room was completely dark, the color of the pillows lead to a 2 day offsite. Because I was brave enough to take that $25000 expense report to the finance department, they made me their leader. Though 'brave' may not have been the right word, considering the recent divorcé running the accounting department had a crush on me. Though our cameras couldn't reproduce visual images of the interactions, the graphed spectrums was mathematical pornography that had my analytics team constantly horny. Only our team could tell the difference between a 20 second French kiss and an 8 minute anal episode through the graphs. You'd think after the first week the team would be numb to the romantic interludes, of which only a small percentage were actually X-rated, but they were like two dozen horny teenagers, giggling at every graph that crossed their monitors. "I don't think 2457 was expecting cum in the face so soon, but she appears to have no problem with it," Sharon eagerly read from two red parabolas floating on her screen. "And . . . now . . . she . . . is . . . licking . . . it . . . off," she finished her play by play with the spirited enthusiasm of a varsity cheerleader. That said, the team was highly sensitive to our Beta1000. We all went through the interviews, DNA testing, and metric scans in order to know what each participant was going through. We wanted to feel their experience. After the first day tension in the HoneyMoonSuite, Elise tossed out the idea of our entire team going hairless to make the Beta1000 feel less like gerbils in a cage. The next morning all 24 of the engineers, nurses, and analyst showed up to work completely shaven. Apparently I didn't get the memo, so they forced me into the prep room, stripped me naked and shaved me head to toe. We were that kind of close. Elsa had predicted we would be that close and primitive, though Van Hoy ignored her warnings. "We need real people taking real data so they can see the emotion. Love is not 1's and 0's. Love is ecstasy and jealousy." But I'm not sure how much love Van Hoy would have appreciated our analytics team had he witnessed our full collaborative effort. While the coupling between the Beta1000 was rare, the diagnostics of our system was daily. In the beginning the sex simulations were all fabricated with gestures and sugar water. As the team grew closer and their knowledge of Elsa's equipment increased, the simulation became less simulated. We weren't certain what couple made the first jump from simulation to reality, but we know who we give credit to. Sarah and Elliot were calibrating muscular contraction numbers when Elliot couldn't regulate the frequency. The measurements weren't mathematical. They were random. They were human. When Sarah exited the HoneyMoonSuite Elliot casually asked Sarah to place the unused monitor back on the shelf, which she politely obliged. Their eyes both opened wide as she realized his deception and he realized hers. If she hadn't been using the monitor, she must have created those muscle contractions and moisture increases another way. Without missing a beat Elliot entered two real Beta numbers into the system, stripped naked, and handed Sarah the spray. She sprayed him head to toe and repeated his actions. The system would log their activities as Beta1000 participants, but they could place the data with anomaly readings that Elsa would ignore - essentially discarding the results. They would have gotten away with their diagnostics if they wanted to. Instead, they shared their data the next morning during our breakfast recap. Though quite common for a Beta Coupling - kissing, cunnilingus, rear entry, orgasm, orgasm, rest, reverse cowgirl, orgasm, backrub, kiss, rest - we all knew the data was bogus. Beta1355 & 5003 were both physically sickened by oral sex. We had to clean the Suite three times due to their lunch making a return visit. Elliot and Sarah used those numbers because they wanted us to know we could all get away with it. My entire team took advantage. Sometimes they'd act out what Betas would do if they were ever paired. Sometimes they would just be themselves. But they would always cum. Blue diamond. Red diamond. Hers and his. I was deathly afraid that Elsa would catch us, but she was too busy monitoring the full set of data to notice the extra pairings. In the end, 2538 Beta Couplings were all Elsa needed to develop an algorithm that predicted "TrueLove" for the ByMySide app - with an error of less than 1%. "Did you ever try the HoneyMoonSuite?" a lanky editor from the Post enquired. "I could not manage the team fairly if I was enjoying certain activities with some that others could not provide, could I?" was my soundbite. My team was never asked this question because they'd returned to their normal lives after testing was complete. Now that I was in marketing and preparing for the launch, Elsa and I were the only insiders who knew what had happened in the HoneyMoonSuite - on or off the record. So when we decided to bring back the 30 TrueLove Beta - those that were compatible based on ByMySide - I was the point person on catching the 30 individuals who'd left our campus one year ago. They'd all grown back their hair and were eager to return to campus. The original agreement they all signed kept them from attempting any communication with the other Beta1000. We had a few rule breakers, but nobody leaked the process. The world only knew that we were asking questions and taking blood. The HoneyMoonSuite was now part of the launch and that clearly drove people's interest. I interviewed each returning Beta to make sure they were comfortable being part of the launch. The data was anonymous so everyone would be questioned on holding hands and blowjobs with strangers. A few were nervous, but they were all just as game as the first day they shaved their eyebrows. They were unaware that they'd been selected for the reunion based on their compatibly scores. They simply were there to have a good time. "I'm pretty certain I fucked the guy waiting in the lobby," said 1264 as she entered the green room. "How can you tell?" I asked. "I don't know. We had lunch once before we were all separated. I wanted him so badly. And I only had sex once in the suite. I think it was him," she offered as her confidence shrank midsentence. Yes, she only had sex once in the HoneyMoonSuite, but 1264 (or Goldilocks, as she was knicknamed by Yali & Garesh) was notorious for her neverending handjobs. Aside from her activity with 9760, she never removed her standard uniform. If her partner were male - as all partners were not guaranteed to meet sexual preferences, leading to some long handholding or some awkward curiosity explorations - she'd immediately remove his shorts, examine his length and girth, then give him multiple handjobs until their hour was up. For some reason, 9760 was the length & girth she was hoping to find - not too big, not too small, not too skinny, not too wide. Oddly enough, no orgasm. From either Beta. "I can't tell you what happened a year ago, but I do hope you enjoy tonight's dance. You've seen the itinerary, but the last dance will give you the opportunity to find your soulmate," I explained. "Do I already know her?" 8796 asked during his interview prior to meeting the press. "You may. Your interview scores, physical testing, and additional activities helped us select your invitation this weekend. Before we let the press have hold of you, we wanted to make sure you have not already made contact with any of the other testers since leaving campus," I pushed. "I wish," 3365 laughed during her interview. "At first I wanted to, but I didn't want to jeopardize my stock options or weekends like this one here. I admittedly fucked every guy I could for 3 months trying to relive the HoneyMoonSuite, but it wasn't the same." This was an interesting answer considering she only held hands in the HoneyMoonSuite. "Are all of the Beta1000 here?" she asked. "Not everyone is here this weekend," I answered. "But we hope those of you who made the journey are willing to enjoy the fun. Any further questions?" "How will we know whether we found our true love?" asked 1065. "Only you will know that answer," I teased. "ByMySide does not offer guarantees. We let the data speak for itself. Now go have fun and I'll see you at the dinner." After that interview the Beta30 got their chance to mingle with the press and tell their stories. Some were eager to share every little detail, but they all held back a little because they believed that one of the other testers was their future mate. Even 2154, a man who very much satisfied 3 women and 2 men in the HoneyMoonSuite, dodged every question served to him with regard to the sexual exploits that were rumored. "I just remember that the lasagna was superb," he'd spout. At 6PM everyone was dismissed to ready for the dinner and the dance. I took the time to memorize the actual names of the Beta30 so we'd feel more human. Elsa was happy referring to them by number, but I wanted this visit to be more personal. They were no longer lab rats, they were our brand ambassadors. The dinner was too long. Van Hoy gave a toast and thanked his team profusely - especially Elsa and myself. But everyone wanted to get to the dance. They wanted answers. They wanted love! Finally we were escorted to the ballroom entrances. All personal belongings were taken and sorted. Men and women were separated and then given their pants, button up shirt and sandals. The Beta erupted in laughter when they saw this dressier version of the uniform they had to wear during their testing days. "Will we be shaving as well?" bellowed 4786. Dressed in their uniforms, everyone danced to the DJs mix of everything from country to dancehall. With 500 people on the dance floor, the press weren't sure who was who. Even the Beta weren't sure. And then the music slowed and the lights dimmed until it was completely dark. Except for Beta. Printed on their shirts near their heart was the ByMySide logo. "Those of you who came to find love, please enter the center of the dancefloor," the DJ announced. "The rest of you, move to the side and have a seat." While those of us without the logo spread out and sat on the floor, we watched 30 logos hover below the dimly glowing logo etched into the ceiling. The DJ announced, "Your hour begins now." Then he started a mix of their favorite love songs, the vibrations from the bass shaking the floor. We somewhat expected what happened next. The testers began to circle each other without speaking. Some danced, while others just paced. Then the first 2 logos fell to the floor. And then another pair. Soon most of the logos appeared to be seated, but the intensity of the glow-in-the-dark logo eventually faded to black. "I think they're making out," giggled a reporter. "Can we make out?" asked another reporter. "I think they're fucking!" another reporter shouted. "Can we fuck?" yet another. "This is one big HoneyMoonSuite!" was heard in every corner of the ballroom. And then you could sense all around you that many had discovered the condom stored in every pair of pants. The orgy had begun. The spirit of the weekend and the anonymity of the moment had given everyone the chance to experience a little free love, even if true love weren't in their cards. Just like the HoneyMoonSuite, there were no complaints. People found partners that were looking for a shared experience. Those that just wanted to hold hands, held hands. Those that wanted to suck someone's dick, found a suckable dick. I could hear some of the action, but Elsa could monitor the activity in the room given the tons of data we'd already collected and the HoneyMoonSuite spray that coated the insides of the clothes we placed them in. Always read the fine print. The DJ chimed in every ten minutes so everyone was ready to clean up at the last song. The lights began to slowly rise, enough to notice the old ladies walking around the room with wicker baskets collecting any items that needing to be disposed of. They also handed out new uniforms to those that found their current uniform unsuitable for the rest of the evening. Most reporters were in simple and relaxed positions on the floor, though most of them had a guilty smile on their face. There was plenty of chatter and conversation around the nearly 500 folks. There were a few that were still naked, half-naked, and one couple in midcopulation when the lights began to glow. Though they realized they were now giving a live sex show, they had no plans of ending early. Fortunately for us, the old ladies all huddled around them. Exhibitionism is one thing, but 'in front of 8 grandmothers' is no one's fantasy. The reporters were so occupied with their own exploits that the lights were fully lit before they realized that the Beta30 had only sit down and held hands. No sex. Not even a kiss. They had paired off in couples, sitting next to or across from each other. Some were smiling ear to ear. Some were crying. They were all matched. Well, almost all. As Elsa had predicted, 3425, 7650, and 1082 were not a couple, they were a threesome. Which left 1409 by herself. While the reporters tried to sort out the Beta30 and themselves, the old ladies were replaced with young men serving fresh glasses of water and assorted exotic fruit. The reporters found themselves focused on questioning the Beta30 while Van Hoy and I headed out to view Elsa's data. "Nobody's perfect, Elsa," Van Hoy shrugged as I laughingly read the data about the reporters activities. "Wife #5?" I said allowed as I glanced at the data. "I simply interviewed her pussy, my friend," Van Hoy responded. "Speaking of interviews," I explained as I returned to the dancefloor to retrieve our testers. The mass of reporters surrounded 1409, questioning how she felt about not finding TrueLove. I motioned to the DJ and he made the announcement regarding breakfast interviews the next day. Reporters happily took the hint and headed out to possibly continue the hour they'd just experienced. I interviewed 1409 first because I was as curious as the reporters about her current state of mind. We settled into my office overlooking the lake. "I'm okay, I guess. I didn't really think this process would amount to much, but seeing the others connect like they did makes me a little sad inside, I guess. Two of those guys were in my group and they were so pessimistic about the entire thing. They tried to fuck every girl they could in the HoneyMoonSuite. Maybe I should have, too?" she pondered. "You didn't?" I asked as though I didn't already know the answer to my question. "I made out with two and fucked one," she flatly stated, still confused by not finding love. "He felt familiar and it just happened." "If it makes you feel better, none of the people out there were in the HoneyMoonSuite together," I assured her. "That's just another set of data points we use." "But I also broke a rule," she quietly replied. "I told him my name." She began to melt in front of me. "Did I not find love because I cheated? That would really be fucked up." "Well, had you said your name during a session our mics would have picked it up and my staff would have gone through a protocol to have you removed," I coldly explained as her eyes met mine with disbelief. "You would have been immediately escorted from campus and legal action would have been taken. Your data would have eliminated from the servers and you would have had no chance to be here. None." "Fuck you," she cried, as though I had poured salt into her wound. "I know what I felt and I fucking know what I said. The fact that he's not fucking here is bad enough without being told that I'm making this shit up. I told him my fucking name and I hoped he'd tell me his or find me at lunch or . . ." "Risk his opportunity to find true love?" I interrupted. "Because you shared a moment that our system somehow missed? Because you thought your connection was more powerful than Elsa's algorithms? Because my team would have had to risk their jobs to cover your mistake? Because you couldn't control your heart?" She gathered herself and stopped the tears. "Besides," I continued, "your name isn't Smith." She froze with a mix of relief and fear. "You know I'm telling the truth, don't you?" she begged quietly. "Don't you?" "We could get into a shit load if trouble if . . ," I began to explain. 

"Where is he? You know who he is. You know how he touched me. You know that I touched him. You have to tell me. You have to give us a chance," she pleaded. "Why did you say your name was Smith, Ms Washington?" I asked as though her pleas were pointless. She changed her demeanor from forceful to defeated. "I lied my way into the Beta group to prove that it was bullshit. A scam to take advantage of people's hopes and dreams," she confessed. "Are you a reporter?" I asked with a ton of questions to follow. ByMySide wasn't a public conversation until this evening's orgy. How did she know it existed? "My father constantly talks about being in love, yet will fuck anything that moves. Now he's selling a fucking dream about love to every person out there," she explains, staring at the investor folder on my desk. "I didn't want to believe he had a clue. He said he loved Mom but then he keeps falling in and out of love every fucking year. He's a fraud. A fucking fraud." Now I was frozen. "Who is your father?" I slowly asked, hoping she would say he was an angel investor. "Dels Van Hoy," she humbly stated, "is my father. My mother was Angela Smith. And Washington, DC is the capital of the United States," she laughed. I was numb. I stared through her like I was reading her DNA. Searching for any resemblance I should have seen before now. She saw that I was terrified. "Please don't worry. I won't tell my father. I just want to meet the guy I fucked. I just want to know if it was real. If he was real," she calmly explained. "Wouldn't you want to know?" "I would want to know, too," I agreed. "I would want to know how Elsa could put together two people based on a bunch of numbers and know that they would connect. Most of her pairings were intentionally negative, because she needed more data to support her positive results. But she found a perfect match. A match that my team wanted to test in order to confirm that the work they were doing was worthwhile." I got up from my desk and sat next to her, staring out of the window. She stared at me hoping I was going to help. "So I agreed to take the risk and let you meet your TrueLove, skipping all of the protocol Elsa had initiated," I continued. "I wanted it to be true for my team, but I secretly thought it was bullshit, too." Now, we were both staring out of the window. "I thought it was bullshit when the HoneyMoonSuite contained two people fucking each other like there was no tomorrow," I continued. "The data was as pure as my team had ever seen before the hour, but it became perfect with every caress, lick, thrust, and shiver. That's all they needed. But none of that meant anything to me. I'm not a data geek." We sat silent for a minute, still staring at the tall evergreens opposite our modern building. "And then it happened," I added. With a tear I couldn't see, she asked, "What happened?" "You told me your name."