Chapter Text
The remnants of summer hang languidly in the air, humid air oppressive as students move heavy boxes into their temporary home for the next nine months-or-so. Never the most athletic in her high school career, “lifting” and “Test Tube” don’t exactly go hand in hand. Even as much as moving the boxes from the trunk of her car to the utility cart–which she had cleverly thought to bring as to minimize how much carrying she’d be doing–left her brow dripping with sweat. She wheezes, finally dropping the last box onto her cart. Her shoulders ached gently from the exertion. With a final exodus, comparable to the journey of Odysseus, she thinks, Test Tube collapses upon a mattress that’s more akin to a gym mat than a true bed. She groans, limbs feeling like undercooked spaghetti more than a sensible composition of muscle, nerves, and bone. She really needs to get around more.
Really, she’d love to set up her mini-lab space, but she could barely get up. She whines, cheek pressed against a mattress likely crawling with the last resident’s bacteria. She should’ve sprayed the thing down, or put a darn sheet on. Oh well, it’s been done. She lies, aching for who knows how long. The only reason she gets up is to ease the pain in her back that somehow edges out her sore lack of muscles. Darn you, back pain. Darn you. With a groan, she gets to her feet and shuffles to the tower of boxes she’s made.
She whips out her utility tool, flipping it to a boxcutter before slicing open neat lines of tape. Despite these boxes being used for countless things over the years, they’re in surprisingly good condition. And Test Tube intends to keep them that way. No sense in wasting money on boxes if you already have decent ones. Sustainability, and whatnot. She opens up the box, finding bedsheets, blankets, pillow cases… Everything she needs for her bedding, really. She works in silence, her internal monologue doing enough buzzing in the background for a lifetime. She struggles to get the corners tucked away under the mattress, having to turn the sheet a quarter turn to get it to properly fit. She runs over her future schedule over and over in her head, engraving it like deepening grooves of a river. She tosses one side of the top sheet into the air, whipping out the air from beneath it so mostly covers the bed. Of all things, making the bed was never something of great importance to her. Besides, bacteria grows in dark, moist environments. Yeah, best not to, in the long run…
Box after box, opened, broken down, stored away. Each minute another item is placed intently, the perfect room set-up (something both rational and possible to achieve) finally coming to fruition. She finally collapses into the office chair she’d brought, the cylinder propping up the seat creaking as her momentum causes her to spin slowly in her place. She ought to lube up that turning mechanism. That squeaking will drive her cuckoo bonkers if she doesn’t. She spins the rest of the day and scoots closer to her computer–oh, she needs to remember to get the parts to upgrade this junk–opening it to her color-coded calendar. Her eyes skim the blank spaces. Plenty of time to run some errands tomorrow. She’d love to go out right now while she’s thinking about it, but she’s antsy about meeting her roommate for the semester. She should be here any moment after all!
She sighs, typing up a note for her tomorrow-self, opting to move to the living room to meet this… complete stranger… Errghhh… This whole rooming-with-a-completely-new-person thing has been the only thing truly looming over Test Tube. Sure, she always gets a funny bout of nausea before a new class, but she always gets the swing of it. But talking? To another person? Golly, that’s a whole other ballpark, and she’s never played sports ball.
She sits on the futon in the living room, graciously provided by the University. She really isn’t a clean freak, she likes to think at least, but she has to steer herself away from thinking about what heinous things have possibly occurred on this couch. The uncertainty is the problem, it’s one thing for it to be her couch, it’s another entirely to be one used by strangers. She’s going to add cleaning supplies to her shopping list. Seriously, bacteria is a normal part of life and all, but there’s probably so many disgusting things lingering- Oh she’s going to be sick can she STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS? She promptly stands, far too quickly, making herself dizzy for just a moment. She’s a mess, this couch is a mess. She doubts the ability or amount of care of the University staff–she knows horror stories–to properly clean a whole freshman university classes’ semester of filth. She brushes off her pants and washes her hands. Pacing is fine. Who needs to sit, pacing is fine!
She wears a path into the apartment carpet, dipping in and out of her room, then into the living space, and back. At least she scored a dorm with her own room, she functions best when she’s able to get away from other people for extended periods. Her truly perfect working conditions would be miles underground in some secret laboratory, but that’s only a fantasy, unfortunately. And, hey, if nothing else, she can escape her roommate if they turn out to be crazy, or worse, extroverted.
It’s only after her hundredth-or-so loop around her self-made track that she realizes she’s been pacing for far too long. Where is her roommate? She nearly allows herself to get giddy, what if they dropped out and she’d get the apartment to herself??? But then she realizes there’s a mile-long waitlist, and one person would just get replaced with another, potentially more insane person. She drags her hands down her face. Why couldn’t she be a savant at talking to other people, it would make everything so much easier. A whine tumbles from her throat as frustration briefly bubbles over. This is silly, she shouldn’t be worked up about something this silly. Deep breath, inhale, exhale, the shebang. It’s alright, she’ll just start working on something, and maybe her mystery roommate will be here by the time she wraps up. She slinks back to her room, and presses the power button on her computer. She sits down, back naturally hunching over her workspace like a gremlin. She catches herself, straightening up. She ought to be wearing her posture corrector, but it won’t make much of a difference. She opens up the last program she had been working on before the move. Finally, she can get to work-
“‘Yeeeelllow???” A call from the door in the living space gets to her as the door bumps against the door stop. Darn. Just as she got started working, just as she finally felt normal about the whole living with a stranger thing! Test Tube yelps, quickly closing the code editor and jumping out of her seat, wait– Ah, gee, dizzy! She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.
“Uhm, hi!” She calls back as the brief vertigo subsides. She peeks out into the living room, another involuntary noise jumping out of her as she sees the pile of bags in the living room. She only heard the door open once. Had this person carried all of this stuff in here in one trip?! She swallows down some anxiety and tries to find her voice, only ending up with some bewildered sputters.
From behind the mountain of suitcases and totebags, a girl with a bright smile pops up. “Heeyyy! Test Tube, right? Testyyy… TT… Tube-o? Tuberino.”
Test Tube’s bites down on her inner lip, not enough to break skin but enough to feel some grounding pressure. Her stomach falls. Oh jeepers… Her roommate IS an extrovert! Mayday, sound the alarms, abandon ship!!! “Ohhhhh, haha… Yeah, that’s my name. Err, Test Tube is my name. Not those, other ones, but um.” She remembers to smile. Good first impressions, right? Manners, Test Tube, manners. “Sorry, you are?...”
“Lightbulb! Or Lighty… Lighto works I guess. Not a big fan of Bulbo, maybe not that one.” She hums, tapping her chin as she attempts to recall some, likely, self-appointed nicknames. “Oh! And this is Baxter!” She grins, picking up a fishtank.
Test Tube tilts her head, not seeing anything inside the tank. “Umm… so, Baxter is a… Fish?... I assume?...”
“Huh? No, he’s a… Oh geez, where is he?” Lightbulb sets the fish tank down, looking through her pile of belongings. A stack of precariously placed bags nearly topples onto Test Tube, making her brace herself for an impact. “Oh, are you scared of crabs? Sorry, I didn’t know?” … What.
Test Tube opens her eyes seeing a crab in the palm of Lightbulb’s hand. She stutters, trying to process the absolute chaos radiating from this girl. “Huh? No, I, no, your crab–Baxter? Baxter is…” Deep breath, exhale, inhale, wrong way, et cetera! “He’s fine. I’m just… Worried that your bags might fall over! Do you… Need help putting them away?...” She’s trying so hard, so very hard not to run away and lock herself in her room until the next morning where she can escape this hellish unpredictability.
“Now that you say that, I guess all this stuff is really leaning tower-y. Like pizza!”
What? Wait, no, does she mean? “Pisa?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said! Anyway, thanks for offering to help, Tube! I gotta get some more things from the U-Haul, but if you could start putting stuff in my room, that’ll be great!” She’s already walking away before Test Tube can stammer out a response. Okay, she guesses she’s a pack mule for her roommate. Excellent, definitely how she wanted to spend her evening. Moving even more junk and getting even more sore. She sighs. It’s okay, roommates do favors for each other! Probably… She imagines.
She starts with one of the top bags from the pile, hoping to keep everything from collapsing. She takes each bag, noodle arms wrapping around them as much as possible in order to be able keep a grip on them. Her back is going to kill her, twice over. She tries to be gentle, but ends up plopping the heavier ones on the gym mat-quality mattress in the vacant room. She pants, sweat beading on her brow. Golly she really does need to work out more, this is degrading…
By the time Lightbulb is back, Test Tube has managed two-and-a-half trips, hunched over the bags she’s managed to transport a whopping ten or so feet from where Lightbulb had previously placed them. In her defense, they’re packed full of god what have you. She’s snapped to attention by the sound of giggling. “Aww, sorry Tube-o. Didn’t think they were that heavy!” Test Tube watches in awe and perhaps some deep rooted fear as Lightbulb walks into her room with at least three bags in both hands. “I think I’ve got it now!”
“Gr-Great…” Test Tube manages a thumbs up, before quickly retreating from Lightbulb’s room, and into her own space. She breathes a sigh of relief, fingers prying the cotton of her turtleneck away from her skin so she could breathe easier. Not that her sweater was actually choking her or anything, but the sensation was getting overwhelming. Maybe she should start her nightly routine early. She starts to gather a set of pajamas and hygiene products in preparation for bed.
“Hey, Tuber!” Lightbulb bounds to Test Tube’s door, seemingly done with moving all of her bags into her space. She pokes her head into Test Tube’s room, looking around idly as she speaks. “Sooo, I knowww that I got here a liiiittle later than you probably expected, so you probably already ate. But I just wanted to let you know that my family sent a lottt of food with me. Like, a lot a lot. So, help yourself!”
“Oh, that’s kind of them.” Test Tube responds, setting her neatly folded clothes and bottles of skincare on the edge of her bed. The mere mention of food makes her realize that she had forgotten to eat dinner. Her focus is often a boon, letting her get work done quickly and efficiently, especially with her meticulous schedule. But when it comes to her other needs… She bites her lip, feeling a pang. “I’d hate to eat your food, though.”
“It’s really no biggie! You’d be doing me a favor, actually!” She laughs. “Mama packed extra in case you wanted some anyway. The fridge is pretty much full as we speak.”
Test Tube’s brows raise. Wowie, she wasn’t kidding by “favor,” if she’s not exaggerating at least, which she very well could be. “Well, golly, if you’re sure I’m not imposing…” She trails off.
“I’m more than sure! The sure-est sure-er out there!” She winks, before slipping away, leaving no further room for protest.
Extroversion aside, Test Tube is overall relieved by her roommate. Sure, she can already tell she’s going to be extremely loud and overbearing, but hey, that’s what boundaries are for. And besides, Test Tube has her moments of being too loud for her neighbors, they’re only human… Part of the whole college experience is to learn how to cope with unpredictability anyhow, isn’t it? So maybe this will work out! Golly, Test Tube, you really ought to stop worrying about these things… Easier said than done and all, but… She relaxes, shoulders falling back as she levels out. Yeah, a healthy dose of optimism.
She shuffles to the kitchen as Lightbulb continues her unpacking journey, playing some sort of 2010’s pop playlist. She doesn’t listen to the radio for music, so at least these songs aren’t too terribly overplayed… It just makes her feel like she’s perusing the groceries in a Wall-Mart–which she needs to update her membership card for, now that she’s thinking about it. Busy, busy… She opens the fridge, practically jumping back as she sees the dozen tupperware boxes that had been jigsawed into the fridge. “Golly!”
“Told ya, Testy!” Lightbulb calls from her room.
Test Tube shakes off the shock, grabbing the most accessible item she could find. She… Actually has no idea what this is. It looks good! She’s just… Picky is a gentle term. But she feels bad being choosy with free, gifted food–and truly, she doesn’t want to spend much time rearranging tupperware to reach items further back–so she spoons a little of it onto a paper plate and microwaves it. It has rice and chunks of meat and vegetables… Smells well spiced just from being heated up. She chews on her lip as she waits, before snatching the microwave door at the last second to prevent an unstoppable 10 seconds of shrill beeping. She carefully takes out the plate, before setting it down on the counter. She grabs a fork, mixing the dish together to try to homogenize the heat. Ah, there’s another project idea… making sure there’s no spotty areas in their microwave. Genius. She picks up a forkful of rice and veggies, taking a deep breath. Spice isn’t usually her friend, but maybe it just smells spicier than it actually is. Down the hatch.
She should have gotten water before she took a bite. Actually, no, water wouldn’t help. She should’ve had milk. They don’t even have milk in the fridge, but golly gee she should’ve thought about it. Her eyes water near instantly, and she tries to stifle a cough as a half-chewed bite stays in the front of her mouth. It’s delicious, but cheese and rice, she should have asked. Either her hubris or her foolishness got her here, standing over the kitchen sink, desperately cupping tap water in her hands because she had forgotten to grab a cup. The state Lightbulb catches her in as she hears the sound of distressed coughing is… Undignified, to say the least.
“Ohhh, I should’ve warned you… Mama makes her jambalaya spicy. Sorry, Tube-o!” She rushes over, patting Test Tube on the back as she downs several handfuls of water.
“It’s–” she hacks, “–fine… I didn’t think to ask…” She uses her wrists to rub her own spice-induced tears away, face red and covered with tears and tap water. The last thing she needs is capsaicin applied directly to her eyeballs. Lightbulb just stands there, awkwardly rubbing Test Tube’s back as she recovers from this entirely preventable embarrassment.
Once Lightbulb knows that Test Tube is for sure, 100% not choking on her mom’s jambalaya, she opens the fridge and pulls out a different tupperware. “Here, I’ll finish your plate. You like casserole?” She asks, holding it up for Test Tube to see.
“Um, y-yeah. That’s fine. Thank you.” Jeepers creepers, she hates every second that this whole dinner ordeal goes further. Curse your kindness, Lightbulb…
Lightbulb hums to the song playing in the other room, shaking her hips as she dances while fixing a plate of casserole, and tossing it back in the microwave. She steals Test Tube’s plate and fork–welp, okay, guess Test Tube needs a new fork–eating the rest of the jambalaya with no problems. Note to self, start working on spice tolerance. This is embarrassing.
The rest of the night, luckily, goes off without any further hitches. Test Tube thanks Lightbulb for the food, and insists that it was good, really, she just isn’t used to more spice than a moderate amount of black pepper, maybe a dash of cayenne on a good day. She further notes that she should get milk, because she cannot panic-chug tap water from her cupped hands like a horse eating from a slop trough again. Her errand list is getting long. Might as well get the other food staples while she’s out, not that she’ll need to be cooking much in the near future.
She shuts the door to her room and instantly slumps, energy at an all time low. She finally gets to showering and washing her face, and changing into her pajamas. Pajamas are a loose word, more like whatever oversized science-pun based t-shirt she has most accessible to her, and a set of loose shorts. She does her best not to flop into bed for the sake of her sore body, but she feels more akin to a sack of potatoes than a person at the moment. She manages to ignore the just-too-loud pop punk album coming from Lightbulb’s room, but it’s more exhaustion than her ability to block out the noise. She groans, pulling her blanket over her body, and trying to make herself comfortable in this new environment.
This is going to be a long semester.