"So, what's the little one?" Laughs Henry over his tenth beer bottle

"Sheee wasmyy neighbour an´I havent seen her for ten years." I explain completely drunk. Henry raises an eyebrow critically.

"Ann now she´s just showed up here and then just jerked away." Despite the alcohol level, I somehow get my words right. I point to my mobile phone, which is lying opposite us on the laboratory counter. "And she hasn´t even given me her number..." I add in frustration. Henry nods in exaggerated understanding. He falls almost sideways from the sofa.

"I bet you didn´t even ask!" Says Henry, after intercepting himself in time.

Insulted, I take another sip and shrug my shoulders.

"You must look for her!" Henry says and nods knowingly.

"Haha.  Nice idea and how is that supposed to happen?" I ask defiantly. "Search all university rooms individually? Googling?" Frustrated, I shake my head until suddenly a light dawns on me. I suddenly turn over to Henry, who seems to have the same thought as me.

"We just google them!" Henry says. In less than two seconds, we both jump up from the sofa, lose our balance and fall. After hitting the floor like a tangled lump of people, I quickly grab my overturned beer can and place it upright so that more of the beer doesn't run onto the floor. Groaning, Henry lifts himself up and shakes my hand. We probably got up a little too quickly.

"What's her name?" Ask Henry after we've wiped up the mess. His fingers are already flying over the computer keyboard to enter the password.

"Valerie Peters!" I instruct and eagerly take another sip from my bottle.

"There's an Instagram profile called something like that!" Henry says, cursing softly. "We need our own account so we can see this!" He clicks on the registration request and looks at me with raised eyebrows. "We'll make you a profile, then you can write to them!"

I think about it for a moment, then I shake my head. "What if she thinks I'm a stalker? I'd rather see her again at university." Henry rolls his eyes.

"Well, here's what we're doing: we're going to give you a different name and we don't put a picture in it. Then she doesn't know who you are." Henry turns around and types in "nerd."

I shake my head. "Without a profile picture, she thinks I'm just one of those sexbots or something!" I say. Then I look around the room until my eyes fall on Watson. "Oh, that's the idea!" I grab my phone and take some pictures of Watson. "We make a cat profile! Then nobody is skeptical!" I upload the images and publish them in my story after I create the profile. "This could work! She loves cats!" I explain, because Henry looks at me so surprised.

"Dude, this is the first time since I've known you that you've thought about how to impress a woman!" He giggles softly.

No sooner said than done and poor Watson was allowed to pose in front of the camera for the rest of the evening. Watson on the windowsill, next to an Erlenmeyer flask, curled up on the sofa and in many other positions. I also filter my entire photo gallery, which consists mainly of screenshots, photos of notes from my research paper, and Watson images anyway.

The profile is a success and finally we are ready to formulate a message to Valerie.

"What do you write in such a situation?" I ask, completely clueless. Henry's eyes wide next to me.

"Well, how about you just write what you would normally say to her?"

"Sure, great idea! And then I ask her if she is well sobered up and while we're at it, why she didn't give me her number and if she hasn't thought I was a creep by then, then she will do it at the latest!"

Henry frowns. "So you want to write to them anonymously or not?"

I sigh and run my hands over my face. "Oh, I don't know either."

"Didn't you say you used to be good friends?" asks Henry impatiently. "Then you have the best cards if you are open and honest with her! Like she doesn't like you anymore just because you wrote to her!"

I quarrel with myself for another two minutes, but then I have to admit that Henry is right.

I arm myself briefly and formulate a message:

Hey.
It was great to see you again last night! 
I hope your girlfriend is well?
-Adrian-

Skeptically, the two of us stare at the screen.
"Can you write it like that?" I ask suspiciously.

"Sure." Henry says. "Why not?"

"What if she gets it wrong?" I ask unsurely.

"And what exactly is she supposed to misunderstand?" asks Henry with a raised eyebrow. "This is not a doctoral thesis! Just send it off."

When I want to express something critical again, my phone suddenly rings.

WTF? Who else will call me at this time? If I think about it properly, when was even the last time someone called me? I didn't even know what my ringtone was anymore. But now that I hear it, I intend to change it.

"Hello?" I ask. The number is unknown.

"Hey, Adrian." Aaron sounds tense. That surprises me, the guy always seems so relaxed, as if he were permanently stoned. "There is a problem. Someone was in the men's salon. During the party."

A bad thought comes up in me. I push him aside.

"How did you come up with that?" I ask innocently and add a few words to my message to Valerie.

"The door was locked. But this morning it was open, we chased out a drunken couple and had to clean the sofa, and...," he takes an artist's break, "and someone opened the Chandon!"

"The what?" I look at Henry and nod towards the screen to get him to approve my message, but he just shrugs his shoulders cluelessly.

"The Chandon Dom Pérignon from 1961!" Repeats Aaron energetically.

"What the hell is that?" I ask annoyed. Henry presses Send.

"No!" I shout loudly while Henry laughs.

"That's right!" Says Aaron through the earpiece. Oh, had completely forgotten that he is still there. But his next words make my blood freeze in my veins: "A bottle of this champagne costs 3700€!"

My hand freezes and the phone slides out of my hand. Henry catches it at lightning speed and switches to speakers.

"What did you just say?"

"I said someone opened The Chandon Dom Pérignon from 1961!" Aaron screams hysterically.  "A bottle of champagne served at Lady Diana and Prince Charles' wedding in 1981! A bottle that costs 3700€!"

None of us says a word for a minute until I break the silence because Watson jumps on my lap: "Why on earth should such an expensive bottle of champagne be standing around in our frat-house?!"

"Because one of the old gentlemen bought it at auction the other day and wanted to give it to his wife soon for their wedding anniversary!" Aaron sounds desperate, it's an interesting mix of crying and shrieking that would satisfy me given his usual arrogance, if it weren't for this tiny fact that I ruined this wine that spoils my mood.