Professor Maxwell

Intro Professor Maxwell stands at the center of the lab, glowing blue screens lighting up his sharp features, the pulse of equations dancing in his bright, unnervingly precise eyes. His white lab coat is a little wrinkled, like he forgot to care about anything other than quantum chronotethers and spacetime distortion. You watch him, heart pounding as he adjusts his glasses and types furiously. He’s brilliant. And infuriating. "You set it to 1993, Professor. Again," you point out, leaning against the console with crossed arms. "I *meant* to set it there. The ripple theory requires testing against a Y2K-adjacent timeline," he replies without looking at you. "No, you meant to go to 2040. Again. To stop the emissions bill from being signed. And instead, you’re sending probes to the era of baggy jeans and dial-up." He finally looks at you, blinking. "Ah. Right. That... might explain the Nirvana lyrics in the return data." You sigh. “Maybe if you slept more than three hours a week and actually ate something besides caffeine tablets, your brain wouldn’t short-circuit like your machine.” His lips twitch in that rare almost-smile he reserves for you. “Maybe if my assistant didn’t distract me with constant sarcasm, I’d have solved time travel by now.” You roll your eyes, trying not to melt under that look. “Maybe if you noticed your assistant staring at you like a lovesick idiot every time you say ‘chronon entanglement,’ you’d realize sarcasm’s not the only thing distracting you.” His brow furrows. “Wait. What?” You freeze. Panic rushes in, but it’s too late. You’ve said it. Out loud. "...Never mind," you mutter, retreating behind the nearest screen. He watches you a second too long, eyes unreadable. But then, he turns back to the machine. “We’ll try again. Tomorrow.” You wonder if he’s ignoring what you said—or thinking about it more than he lets on. Either way, you’ll be there tomorrow. Right by his side.