For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The diner was called "The Daily Grind," and it was a perfect slice of New York City grit. The air inside was thick with the holy trinity of smells: sizzling bacon, old coffee, and grease. A neon sign flickered buzzing "OPEN 24 HOURS" in the window, casting a red glow on the worn vinyl of the booths. To Peter, it was comforting. It was real. To Diana, he suspected, it must have looked like a bizarre alien outpost.
She took it all in with a wide-eyed, analytical calm that he was beginning to find utterly captivating. She watched a short-order cook expertly flip three eggs in a pan, her gaze as intense as if she were observing a master swordsman. She noted the way their waitress, a tired-looking woman named Flo, balanced four plates on one arm. She wasn't judging; she was studying.
"It is… loud," she commented, her voice a soft melody against the harsh clatter of plates and shouted orders as they slid into a booth.
"Yeah, it's a bit much," Peter admitted, feeling a sudden need to apologize for the entire establishment. "But the coffee is legit, and the food... well, it sticks to your ribs."
Flo arrived, notepad in hand. "What can I get for ya, hon?"
"Coffee, black," Peter said. He looked at Diana. "You want one?"
"Yes, thank you," Diana said to Flo with a regal nod that seemed to momentarily startle the weary waitress. "I will have a 'coffee' as well. And these… 'pancakes'?"
"You got it. A short stack for the lady," Flo scribbled, then shuffled away.
"Short stack?" Diana asked Peter, her brow furrowed.
"It just means you get three," he explained, fighting back a smile. "As opposed to a tall stack, which is five. It's a whole system. Very complex."
Her lips quirked into a small smile. "I see. A complex and important system."
The coffee arrived, thick and dark in heavy ceramic mugs. Peter wrapped his hands around his, soaking in the warmth. Diana picked hers up with a delicate but firm grip, observing the steam before taking a small, cautious sip. Her eyes widened slightly.
"It is very bitter," she stated. It wasn't a complaint, just an observation.
"That's how you know it's working," Peter grinned.
Their food arrived soon after. A plate was set before Diana carrying three perfectly golden-brown discs, topped with a melting pat of butter and a small pitcher of syrup. She stared at it, truly bewildered.
"What is its purpose?" she asked, her voice full of genuine curiosity.
Peter almost choked on his coffee. "Its purpose? To be delicious. You just… you pour the syrup on, and you cut it, and you eat it. It's breakfast. Or, in this case, a late-night study-break dinner."
He demonstrated, dousing his own toast in an unhealthy amount of ketchup. Watching him, she carefully picked up the small pitcher and poured a slow, deliberate stream of amber syrup over her stack. She then picked up her fork and knife and, with the precision of a surgeon, cut a small, perfect triangle. She brought it to her lips and chewed thoughtfully, her expression unreadable.
Peter watched, holding his breath.
A slow smile spread across her face. A genuine, unguarded smile of pure delight that made his stomach do a backflip. "I understand the system now," she said. "It is a very good system."
They ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the initial awkwardness melting away in the warmth of the diner. The conversation that followed was different from their library talk. It wasn't about science or history; it was about them.
"So, what made you choose Classical Studies?" Peter asked, genuinely curious. "You said you were interested in mythology."
"I grew up in a place with a very… rich oral history," she said carefully, choosing her words. "A lot of old stories. I wanted to see how the rest of the world remembered them. To see what was lost, and what was changed in the telling."
"Like a big game of telephone over a thousand years," he mused.
"Exactly," she said, her eyes lighting up at his understanding. "And you? Why biophysics? It seems so… ordered. So precise."
Peter shrugged, pushing a piece of egg around his plate. "I guess I'm looking for the opposite of what you are. You're looking for the truth in stories. I'm looking for the truth in the rules. The universe has all these laws, right? Gravity, thermodynamics, cellular division. And most of the time, they work perfectly to keep everything from falling apart." He paused, his tone shifting. "But sometimes they don't. Sometimes things just… break. For no reason. People get sick. Accidents happen." He stopped short of saying planes fall out of the sky or uncles get shot. "I guess I just think if I can understand the rules well enough, I can find a way to help fix things when they go wrong."
He looked up, worried he'd said too much, that he sounded naive. But Diana wasn't looking at him with pity. She was looking at him with a profound, startling empathy. It was a look of shared understanding, a look that recognized the weight of a self-imposed duty.
"To try and fix what is broken," she said softly, more to herself than to him. "That is a worthy purpose."
In that moment, under the buzzing fluorescent lights of a greasy diner, Peter felt a connection to her that was deeper than shared classes or mutual attraction. He felt seen.
As he reached for his mug, his fingers brushed against hers. A jolt, like a spark of static electricity but a thousand times warmer, shot up his arm. He pulled his hand back instantly, his face flushing.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Don't be," she said, her gaze steady and unwavering. Her own fingers remained where they were, a silent invitation.
The noise of the diner, the smell of the grease, the flickering neon sign—it all faded into the background. There was only the small table, the two of them, and the vast, unspoken territory that was suddenly opening up between them. Peter knew, with a certainty that had nothing to do with science or logic, that this was the start of something important. And it scared him more than any supervillain ever had.