“You’ve got a college degree. What are you doing here?”
I heard that oh-so-familiar voice, coming from a stranger I knew too well.

He stood leaning against the doorframe of the shop with that air of superiority he always had, polluted by a stifled genuine curiosity.

I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to see his face. I kept my attention on the gadget I had just finished fixing, screwing the top back on with a tiny screwdriver.

“Can I help you?” I spoke flatly, my usual edge of customer service cheer nowhere to be found.

He said nothing in response. He didn’t move toward me or shift positions, but I could practically feel his sharp eyes cutting through my skull.

“If you aren’t a paying customer, I’ll have to ask you to leave my shop,” I said with more irritation than I had intended. His presence was suffocating, antagonizing. I still couldn’t look at him.

“…Arthur.”

My entire body twitched when he said my name. Against my will, my head snapped up and I was finally face-to-face with my former lab partner.

“What do you want?” My voice wavered slightly when I saw the hurt hiding behind his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was sadness, anger, confusion, or something else entirely. I held firm, pressing my mouth into a thin line.

“…What are you doing here?” He repeated, softer. I looked back down at the counter.

“What do you think? I’m running my shop. What are *you* doing?”

“When did you start running your own business?” He asked, completely ignoring my own, albeit sarcastic question.

“Oh, you know, only since you decided to sell my life’s work to those soulless pigs running this city–”

“I think you mean *our* life’s work, Art.”

“I was the only one who actually wanted to use our research for its intended purpose; to do some real good in the world.”

“It *will* do good, I made sure of that–”

“They are making *weapons*, Ben!” I shouted, slamming my hands down on the counter. The children’s toy I had been fixing jumped at the force and rolled to the floor with a clatter. I knew it had broken again.

I could feel my cheeks searing hot as they always did when I got angry. And I was angry. I thought I had every right to be.

“…I know,” Ben murmured so quietly I wouldn’t have heard what he said if it weren’t for the cramped and cluttered space we both occupied that seemed to keep sound trapped in the room.

“I know they’re making weapons…” he elaborated, grimacing in shame. Regret looked foreign on his handsome features.

“…I didn’t think it would go this far. They told me it was precautionary, in case things got out of hand. I never thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

I took a deep breath, then another. The old me would’ve rushed to console him, telling him mistakes were practically required in our line of work and not to dwell on it for too long. But he had changed, and so had I. This wasn’t a setback on a project, a breakthrough that just wouldn’t come. It was a breach of trust and a breach of morality itself.

“Weapons cannot be unmade, and they are *always used*,” I locked eyes with Ben, his remorse clashing with my indignation, “I told you that, but you didn’t listen. You never listen until it’s too late. That’s why I left.”

“Arthur–”

“Go, Ben,” I spat out in a dark voice, turning away so he couldn’t see me blinking back burning tears, “go back to your big, shiny government laboratory, sell all your ideas out to the gold-toothed oafs on the council, and forget about me, okay?”

I counted a whole thirty-two seconds before I finally heard the pleasant tinkle of the doorbell chime. I waited before the cold rush of air from outside dissipated into the heat of the shop before I moved. As if nothing had happened, I pulled another dysfunctional contraption off of the shelf behind me and poured all of my concentration into putting it back in order. I desperately needed something I knew how to fix.

The toy stayed on the floor, broken and forgotten.