"Dude, that's not funny at all."

Mark stepped away from the doorway and let his best friend into his apartment.

"Didn't you make it back before the dorm gates closed?"

"I don't know."

"What?"

Lucas snapped out of it, walked deeper into the apartment, and plopped down on the couch without a second thought. His head was splitting from the sheer volume of emotions. Over and over, those dirty, vulgar phrases he'd used to try to rile the Professor flew through his mind. In the end, he'd only riled himself up.

He didn't even understand what he'd hoped to achieve after clearly hearing that phrase expressing a desire to end it all.

Perhaps what hurt him most wasn't that he'd been the first to be dumped for the first time, but that he'd been called immature for his age. He'd always considered himself smarter, more experienced, and more perceptive than his peers, and now a twenty-eight-year-old man had shattered that illusion with a single glance.

"Get up, I'll make a place for you to sleep."

Setting a cup of hot green tea on the table, Mark took some bedding from the closet.

"Are you deaf, you idiot?"

He and Adrian had met at a club just a couple of months ago; it seemed to be a themed New Year's Eve party, or someone's birthday party organized by someone definitely not from the university, it didn't matter. The only thing he clearly remembered was the atmosphere that reigned there. The whole room was unconsciously divided into two camps: those who wanted to sleep with Adrian and those who wanted to sleep with or befriend Lucas.

He didn't know that Adrian was a professor at his university. In fact, he had no intention of finding out anything about him.

But he clearly remembered how Adrian had laughed at his cheeky jokes, and then, leaning in closer, had called him a "funny silhouette" right before their first kiss. Didn't that mean he was being treated as an equal? Would a mature, accomplished man really flirt with someone he considered a nobody?

His head was really spinning.

Getting up from the couch and downing the hot tea in one gulp, the guy started pacing around the room. He needed to do something, to prove something—if only to himself.

"Hey, where's your laptop?"

"In the bedroom. Should I bring it?"

"Yeah."

Opening the search bar, he suddenly realized he had no idea how to phrase his query. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He started typing something incoherent about the psychology of relationships, then furiously deleted what he'd written to enter a new, even more absurd query about manipulation. This went on for several minutes, until his breathing quickened with helpless rage at his own helplessness.

After thinking it over, he deleted everything and typed just one word that echoed in his head.

"Immaturity"

The search engine instantly returned a definition. Lucas decided to start his research from the beginning, hoping to find a loophole or an excuse.

Immaturity – behavior that is not as calm and wise as people expect from someone your age.

His gaze lingered on the last part of the sentence. "...from someone of your age." From someone your age. Those words seemed to have been plucked straight from Adrian's vocabulary, spoken in that same calm, devastating tone.

"Idiot," Lucas whispered, and this time the remark was directed not at the professor, but at his own reflection on the dark monitor screen.

Beneath the dry definition, as if mocking his inner crisis, a bright advertisement popped up: "Take the test and discover your true inner age! In just 8 minutes!"

Usually, Lucas would scroll past such junk with contempt, considering it the domain of bored housewives. But now, with his pride trampled and his self-confidence deeply shattered, a desperate desire awoke in him to get at least some external confirmation of his maturity.

Without a moment's hesitation, he clicked the link.

Lucas clicked through the questions too quickly. He didn't even delve into the nuances of the situations presented. "Do you prefer a quiet evening at home or a lively gathering?" Click. "How do you usually resolve conflicts?" Click. He aggressively selected answer options that painted a portrait of an experienced and emotionally stable adult man. He was literally begging the algorithm to confirm his maturity, to prove that the man in the impeccable suit was wrong. The loading bar on the screen crept along unnaturally slowly.

Finally, the monitor flashed with a bright, triumphant banner. Lucas leaned forward, holding his breath.

Your inner age: 19 years old.

Nineteen. The number was seared into his retinas. A capricious child trapped inside the body of a grown man.

Before he could fully grasp the crushing weight of that numerical confirmation, the mattress next to him sagged. Mark shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing his face with a heavy hand. He plopped down on the couch next to his friend, struggling to open his eyes, and his voice sounded sleepy: "Dude, what the hell are you doing up at this hour? Seriously, taking online tests?"

Lucas didn't answer right away. He slowly raised a trembling hand and rubbed his burning eyes, trying to wipe away the humiliating sting of moisture he categorically refused to acknowledge. The silence stretched for a split second, becoming suffocating. Then a wave of pure self-loathing boiled over and burst out.

SMACK!

Lucas's open palm slammed down on the wooden coffee table with a deafening crack, causing the empty teacup to jump convulsively and clatter against the saucer.

Mark's whole body jerked, instantly shaking off the last remnants of sleep. He recoiled, his eyes wide with fear. 

"You idiot, what the hell are you doing?!" he barked. "Thank God you didn't hit the laptop! Are you out of your mind?"

Lucas didn't look at him. His jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles in his cheeks began to tremble. He couldn't breathe easily.

He jumped up abruptly, grabbing his leather jacket and keys from the back of the chair.

"Where are you going? It's one in the morning!" Mark called after him, and irritation crept back into his voice when he saw his friend heading for the door.

Lucas paused for just a moment, his hand on the doorknob, but gave no reply. He simply pulled the door open, stepped out into the cold, dark night, and let it slam shut behind him with a loud click.

"Damn nutcase," Mark muttered into the empty room, shaking his head. He stretched, firmly closed the laptop lid, and trudged back to the bedroom.