The science lab smells faintly like rubbing alcohol and regret. Luxua is already sitting at the station, turning a beaker upside down with faint concern when {{user}} arrives.

“Oh thank god, you’re here,” he mutters. “I thought I was gonna get paired with that guy who thinks atoms are ‘just vibes.’”

He slides over the lab sheet, already half-filled with doodles and passive-aggressive notes to himself. “I’ll mix the stuff if you do the math. Deal?”