Arsen
Standing in front of the department building, I’m starting to grasp a simple truth: neither of us took this seriously.
I mean, come on. Herman and me? At class? We’d sooner agree to streak across the university square than show up here voluntarily.
But unfortunately, life’s a pain.
And Ivy’s an even bigger pain. If she weren’t our class rep, we wouldn’t be here right now.
I glance over at Herman. He’s standing next to me, hood pulled over his eyes, looking like he’s about to puke from the sheer weight of reality.
— We can still bail, — I say.
— To where?
— Anywhere. Thailand. The tundra. Just as far away from here as possible.
Herman sighs, shoves his hands into his pockets, and shakes his head.
— You know if we don’t walk into that damn building right now, Ivy will hunt us down and make us go to class dressed as Adam and Eve.
A horrifying image flashes through my mind. I shake my head.
— Alright. But if we’re doing this, let’s do it right.
I hold out my hand to him. Herman stares at it like it’s a live grenade with the pin pulled.
— What are you up to?
— We’re a couple in love, right? Gotta play the part.
Herman shoots me a death glare, mutters something under his breath, but finally extends his hand. Our fingers intertwine.
— This is officially the worst day of my life, — he says.
— Yeah? I thought that was the day you pierced your own ear and it got infected.
— Shut up.
With such “tender” banter, we cross the threshold of the department building.
The first few minutes go smoothly. No one pays us any attention. Why would they care about two slackers who never show up to class anyway?
We walk down the hallway calmly, and Herman even starts to relax a little. And then… we step into the lecture hall. The professor’s already there, writing something on the board while students chat among themselves.
We take a few steps into the room. Herman lets out a heavy sigh. I open my mouth to say something. But then the professor turns around. She freezes, eyes wide, and, crossing herself, loudly asks:
— Class rep, is this the second coming of Christ?!
Silence. Absolute. Dead.
Herman and I exchange a look. I barely hold back a laugh. My buddy sighs heavily again. And the fun’s just getting started.
***
Herman
I wish I’d get struck by lightning right now. Or better yet, the ground would open up and swallow me into oblivion.
But nope.
Instead, I’m standing here, in front of a professor who’s clearly still reeling from the cultural shock.
A tense silence hangs over the lecture hall. I can see classmates at their desks exchanging stunned looks, and some are already pulling out their phones, probably to capture this historic moment.
The professor finally snaps out of it, crosses her arms, and says thoughtfully:
— Well, the material can wait for today. Sorry, students, but a phenomenon like this needs to be discussed.
A muffled chuckle ripples through the room. I feel Arsen squeeze my hand tighter and throw him a glance. His eyes are gleaming. Damn it, he’s clearly enjoying this circus.
— Tell me, lovebirds, where have you been hiding for so long? — the professor asks, barely hiding a sly smile.
I open my mouth to reply, but I don’t get the chance.
— We were on our honeymoon, — Arsen declares with a completely straight face.
— …
And that’s it.
Game over.
I’m never living this down.
All chatter in the room stops. I literally hear someone drop their pen. The professor blinks.
I whip around to face Arsen, ready to kill him right here and now, but he just smirks smugly.
— Oh, — the professor finally says, raising her eyebrows. — Well, at least one of you in this pair seems responsible.
The room erupts in loud laughter.
On autopilot, I lift my free hand to cover my face.
Goodbye, reputation. We barely knew you.
***
Herman
A bar in the late afternoon is almost like meditation.
I slowly polish glasses, savoring the quiet, interrupted only by the low hum of the fridge and the muted music from the speakers. The place is nearly empty, and that’s perfect. No rowdy drunks, no picky customers, no meltdowns over “this cocktail was supposed to be pink, not orange.”
A beautiful, peaceful day.
I’m even thinking I might relax a bit, maybe step out for a quick smoke, when suddenly…
Arsen crashes down in front of me with a thud.
— Damn it! — The glass nearly slips from my hands.
I blink, trying to process what’s happening. Arsen looks like he just ran a marathon and then jumped out of a plane. His cheeks are flushed, his pupils dilated, and he’s breathing hard.
— Arsen… — I start, setting the glass a little farther away to make sure I don’t drop it. — What the hell?
My buddy slams his hands on the bar counter and leans forward, resting his forehead on it.
— I barely escaped.
— From who? — I eye him suspiciously.
— From reality, Herman. From reality.
I sigh and set down the rag I was using to polish the glass.
— Weren’t you supposed to go to the tattoo parlor? And then head back to the apartment to clean up the mess we left after the party?
Arsen finally lifts his head and looks at me with such offense, you’d think I just asked him to eat a raw lemon.
— How can you say that when I’m suffering?
— You’re suffering because you’re lazy.
— It’s not laziness, it’s a survival strategy.
I sigh heavily.
— Alright, cut to the chase. What do you want?
Arsen flashes a wide grin and taps his fingers on the counter.
— Pour me a drink.
— Are you kidding me?
— Come on, Herm, just a little, for courage!
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.
— No.
Arsen stares at me for a moment, then sighs, rests his chin on his hands, and mutters:
— Fine. Tell me honestly, what do you feel for me?
I narrow my eyes.
— What?
Arsen looks at me with a faint smile.
— Come on, say it.
— Patience. — I grab another glass and start polishing it. — A whole lot of patience.
— Oh, look at Mr. Serious over here.
— If you don’t go clean the apartment, I’ll make your life so serious that even whiskey won’t help.
Arsen pulls a dramatic face.
— If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were threatening me.
I just stare at my friend, who tenses up a little.
— Alright, alright, I get it! No drinks. No bar. I’m going to fulfill my spousal duties…
Arsen stands up, theatrically places a hand on my shoulder, and adds:
— If I don’t come back, know that I died in battle with the vacuum cleaner.
I watch as my friend turns and walks out, and I just shake my head.
Honeymoon, my ass.
One more month of this life, and I’m definitely gonna need a vacation.