My Engineering and Design class ends, and I stretch as I get up. I scoop up my things into my bag and head for the door. Professor Balestra is an excellent teacher, even if she lacks the friendliness of Professor Armol. She is clinical and factual, and doesn't believe in sharing personal anecdotes or talking about herself. This is probably what I would be like as a teacher. Not that I would ever choose teaching as a profession. Engineering is my last class of my current semester, which means it's almost time for my shopping trip with Violet. This won't be as painful as our last outing, but it is an unnecessary social situation. I could be doing homework, or a million other things, instead of this.

I have an hour to kill before I'm supposed to meet her in front of the administration office. I'll go back to my apartment, drop off my stuff, and make lunch before I meet her. I'll tell her that I was too hungry to wait for her. Turning to the left out of the classroom, I run into someone I didn't think I'd ever see again. Waxed and curled moustache above a lip ring, it's Sy. He's got a long-sleeve white band tee underneath a faded blue jean vest. Misfits. I don't know that band, but I'm also not that into music. He's got black pants with the bottom third of each leg torn off, making them basically capris. Checkered high-top sneakers with long white socks cover his feet. He spots me and waves. I've been discovered.

"Hey, Eryk, how's it hanging?" Sy asked, happily.

"Not much. Just had my last class for the day, and I was going to go home to make lunch," I answered, trying to match his enthusiasm.

"I knew we'd run into each other again. Fate has a way of bringing people together and all that jazz. If you're hungry, we could go to Crimson; I have another two hours till my next class," he suggested.

"Sure," I said. I don't have a real reason to refuse. It still accomplishes my goal of not having to eat with Violet.

Crimson is one of the university's dining halls, and supposedly the nicest one. Like the room I have Ethics in, Crimson is an Artistic Architecture building—a circular, four-story glass building with a twist on the open space concept. The eating areas are built in a rising spiral on the perimeter. It's a gradual curve, and there aren't steps, so it's handicap accessible. Every twenty or so feet, there is a large platform where booths, tables, chairs, and couches are. The ground floor is full of raised tables, and all the different kitchens are located there. They have a surprising spread of options. There's Asian, and not just sushi or fried rice. They offer Thai food and feature a fantastic soup and sandwich combo, which includes pho and a banh mi. Italian cuisine is represented, and not just the Americanized version. East African, Mexican, Brazilian, and more are available.

"What are you thinking of getting? I love the lamb kebabs with tzatziki sauce. It's MWAH, absolutely delicious," Sy said.

I've never been here. Everything I know is from other people. We go through the entrance to Crimson, and I get to see the place that so many students adore. It's big, much bigger than I imagined. Each different cuisine has its own little window with a counter, similar to a food court. I should get something light if I'm going to be walking a lot later.

"I'll probably just get something from wherever you're getting yours from," I answered.

"Fantastic, it's over there," he said, pointing at one of the shops.

"Hey, how are you guys doing?" The girl at the counter asked as we walked up.

"I'm fantastic. How are you doing?" Sy answered excitedly.

"I'm fine, thanks," I said, less excitedly.

"Hell yeah, love the energy dude. What can I get you guys?" She asked.

"I'll have the lamb kebabs with tzatziki sauce, hold the mushrooms," he said.

"I'll get the spanokopita as is," I said after reading the menu sign. Sounds good enough.

"Got it, the total is fifty-five seventy-nine. Are you going to use dining dollars or a card?" She asked us.

Sy reaches into his front left pocket, then the right, and then smacks his hands off the back pockets. He keeps checking all the pockets, looking panicked as he realizes he doesn't have his wallet. Sy turns to me, an anxious, embarrassed look on his face.

"Dude, I'm so sorry to do this. Especially since I planned on treating you to lunch, but I'm pretty sure I left my wallet in my room. Is there any way you wouldn't mind?" he started to ask.

"Don't even worry about it. It's not a big deal," I said as I tapped my card against the sensor.

"All set, you're number sixty-three."

I sign my name and step away from the counter. There aren't any people waiting behind us, but I still walk over and take a seat at an empty table. Sy seems really uncomfortable about me paying for his food. Does he come from a poor background? Maybe money was the root of certain problems in his life. He sits down opposite me and gets his phone out.

"What's your Venpayzel? I'll send you the money now,' he said urgently.

"I lost my phone last night. I'm actually going shopping later on to get a new one. Besides, don't worry about it," I responded.

"I'll give you my number, and you can text me your account name so I can pay you back. Please. I know I'm being a weirdo about this, but I have a thing about owing money," Sy said awkwardly.

"Ok. Say no more. We all have our hangups. For what it's worth, I wasn't doing it to make you owe me."

"I know. You're a good guy, Eryk. This is my own shit. Plus, if I have your number, it'll make it easier to get you that grilled cheese I promised you finally," Sy said, smiling as the tension fades from his face.

"You're talking a big game about this sandwich; you better not disappoint."

"I only disappoint in the bedroom, and I don't plan on cooking for you in my bedroom," Sy declared seriously. His face is steel, his eyes are intense, and his moustache and upper lip are only slightly quivering as he attempts not to laugh at his joke. He breaks before I do, but I quickly join in. His money hangups are odd, but he is more tolerable than the Cape friend group. I'm not in the market for any new friends.

Stolen story; please report.

"Order sixty-three is ready," the worker called out.

"Sit! I'll grab the food," Sy said as I went to stand up.

Sy comes back with our food on a tray. The lamb kebabs are glistening with marinade and have deep grill marks on them. The vegetables accompanying them are bright and fresh. My spanakopita are triangles, instead of the more typical squares when they're made in bulk. The outer crust is crisp and golden brown; the plate is full of flakes from all the little pieces that have fallen off. I bite in, and the inside filling of spinach and feta mix perfectly with the onions, garlic, and dill. As I bite into the piece, the pastry falls apart, and the filling falls on my shirt. Great. I wipe it off, but it still leaves a large, greasy stain. The two of us finish our lunches without talking, which is how I prefer my meals to be.

"So, I wanted to apologize again for what I said at the party. It was insensitive and wicked shitty. I only knew about it because I had read about it, and before I knew it, I was thigh deep in my esophagus," Sy apologized, as he finished his meal.

"All is forgiven. It's tough for people to hear about it because very few will experience such a tragedy in their lifetime. I don't blame you for the awkwardness."

With my eyes half closed, I smile at Sy, projecting warmth. Anything to get him to stop talking about it and apologizing repeatedly.

"You are truly a helluva dude, Eryk."

"I know."

Lunch with Sy ate up more time than I expected. I had no time to go home and change, so I'm wearing the grease-stained gray shirt, and I still have all my class stuff with me, too. I really did not want to be lugging around my laptop, papers, and notebooks. Having all of that, plus the messy appearance, might allow me to get out of doing extra shopping with Violet.

I walk through campus, the cool fall air blowing my growing hair onto my face. Scheduling a haircut is on my to-do list, but I haven't found a stylist or a barber yet. Tall trees stretch high, reaching for the sun. The ground is covered in a blanket of red and orange leaves as the time until the trees are barren approaches. The crunch of the dried foliage is just barely audible over all the students walking and talking across the grass that makes up the majority of the quad. The rest is crisscrossing flat stone bricks that cover the heat pads below them. It's a callback, a pale imitation, to the cobblestone streets New England cities used to have. I stick to the stone pathways as I head toward the center, where a statue of the University's founder is. It sits on a raised spiral platform, surrounded by an expansive, deep fountain filled with submerged sculptures. The crystal clear water makes it possible to still see all of them, with the sunlight and occasional ripples distorting the images wildly.

Violet is sitting on the edge of it, staring at the plaque beneath the statue. Henry Montgomery. There is a quote of his below his name. Many mistake the artist and the engineer as diametrically opposed professions. They are not; they are merely different lenses with which we view the world, and only when they overlap can we truly see. Violet looks like she's dressed normally, like she would if it were the full friend group. Jean shortalls over a black and white striped sweater with grey running shoes, and her black purse hangs from her shoulder. She has a pair of gold earrings on; the left one is a sun, and the right one is a moon.

"Violet," I called out to her.

She turns around and jumps off the fountain to come over to me. She stretches her arms out for a hug, and her grin tells me I once again don't have a choice. I can't help but second-guess and overanalyze her actions when Maria turned out to be such a shit show time bomb. If Violet is lying about everything being okay, I could end up getting a knife pulled on me again or worse. Rolling my eyes, I walk over to her and accept the hug.

"I'm so excited! You never want to go shopping with me," she said.

"I don't want to go shopping with you. Not because of you, but because I just don't really care for it."

"I'm going just to ignore that you're being a stick in the fucking mud. Shopping can be very cathartic, and besides, you could use some color in your wardrobe. It feels like everything you own is some version of gray. Like you're wearing a gray shirt with gray pants. Wait, what's on your shirt? Did you get that on me?" Violet asked, checking the front of her clothes.

"Oh, I had lunch with someone earlier, and I got some of it on myself. Lunch went longer than I thought, so I didn't get a chance to go home and change," I said.

Violet's eyes narrow in suspicion. I probably didn't need to be so vague, but she isn't owed any details.

"Who'd you get lunch with? I thought we were grabbing lunch?" She asked, irritation leaking into her tone.

"Just a friend, someone you don't know. I was hungry and ran into them randomly after class. They asked if I wanted to go to Crimson, so I did. Sorry."

"Fine, don't tell me. I don't care. But you gotta change before we go out, I can't be seen with you looking like that," she said, putting on an aristocratic sneer.

"Oh, we just can't have that. Whatever will the neighbors think? They might mistakenly believe our house has fallen on hard times, and that's just absolutely unacceptable," I joked. "Alright, I'll run home and change, and I'll meet you back here in like an hour."

"Nope. I'm going with you. Otherwise, you're going to say you forgot or got caught up in something. You can't escape me that easily."

"What? I would never."

"Sure," she said, dragging the u out. "Lead the way. I don't know where you live."

"Alright, let's go. I don't want to be out all night," I acquiesced.

What's the worst thing that could happen?

"I didn't know you lived in Regal Residences; are you secretly loaded?" Violet whistled as we stood outside the front of my apartment building.

I wouldn't say I'm rich; I'm certainly well-off, and money has never been a concern of mine. However, my civilian self is poor compared to my Cowl persona. I'm able to wield millions as Nobody, and our wealth will only grow. Eryk and his bank account will be limited to more normal amounts.

"You didn't ask. My dad is a very successful architect, and my mom's life insurance helped him make some very good investments. We're well off enough that I can afford this place, and I'm not worried about finances too much. But it's not like I could just drop out and never work again," I said.

Violet winces at the mention of my dead mother. The dead mother always seems to bum people out. It didn't bum me out.

"Sorry, I really put my fucking foot in my mouth," she sighed.

"Funnily enough, you're the second person to tell me that today."

"Good to know that your lunch date is as much of an ass as I am," she joked.

Even now, she's still attempting to coax information out of me through natural conversational routes. She's as sharp as she is strong. If I could still care or love, she would make an acceptable partner, friend, or possible rival. Powerful, intelligent, motivated, and violently cruel in pursuit of her ideals.

"Yeah, you and Sylvester are both terrible. Are you coming up or do you want to wait down here in the lobby?" I asked.

"I can't wait to see your apartment, I'm sure it'll be chock-full of personality and color."

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