Leaves, Seasons, and Dead Trees (BxB)

2. - The Law of Guilt

"Is it courage or faith to show up every day?
To trust that there will be light always waiting behind?"

- "Six" by Sleeping At Last -

*****

Tyson

The air in my apartment clings like damp wool, thick with the residue of yesterday's run-ins with Samuel. Twice, no less. It smothers the room, crawling into my skin, making each breath feel like swallowing lead.

Even sleep was a joke last night. I thrashed between the sheets, limbs tangled, mind gnawing at itself. Now the mocking clock blinks 10:24 AM, and I'm still rooted here, motionless and unshowered. Even the idea of a jog — my usual escapade — feels laughable when Samuel's presence is still thrumming in my skull, sapping away any remnants of energy I had left.

He's not just a person to me anymore; he's a vortex that drags me under a whirlpool of regret and shame. It's not even anger. Hell, I wish it were that simple. If anything, it's a deeper, more rancid disgust. The sight of him, breathing, moving, existing in my vicinity, like staring at my own reflection through a cracked mirror, jagged edges cutting into the pretense of who I think I've become. He's a living reminder of the wreckage I caused, the scar I ignore but can't deny. I tell myself I've grown, evolved, but that glaring omission remains: I never faced the hurt I stamped into him.

There's no denying it. Every self-improvement, every late-night reflection, every "better person" speech I give myself feels like a fraud every time Samuel's face resurfaces. I haven't touched the wound I left in him. Haven't reckoned with the damage, the hurt I poured into someone who once mattered more than anything. Yet here he is, haunting my present, empirically tangible, unavoidable. I thought time would drown it, but here I am, dragged back to shore by nothing more than his name.

And the weight of that truth? It presses on me now, a slow, grinding realization that grates against every shred of so-called progress. And I ask myself: am I really any different, or have I been living in a self-fulfilling prophecy of delusion? I've pushed Samuel to the fringes of my memory for years, treating him like a ghost. A reminder of who I once was, but nothing more.

Now, knowing he walks the same halls as me, sits in the same buildings, breathes the same air, visits the same spaces... it warps everything. The demons I thought I'd buried claw their way up, wearing his face. This isn't closure. This is unfinished business.

And maybe, just maybe, I've been lying to myself all along.

The sharp buzz of my phone slices through the quiet, severing my train of thought. I reach for it, and Foster's name flashes on the screen. I tap the answer button, pressing the phone to my ear.

He forestalls. "Hey, Ty."

"Hey, Foz." My voice drags longer than anticipated.

"Look, um..." He pauses. "You missed your morning jog. Again."

A sigh escapes before I can stop it. "Yeah, I know."

He hesitates, silence stretching until he ventures into territory we're both averse to exploring. "You sure everything's...you know, okay?"

I slap my forehead hard, the sound cracking through the room. "Yeah, yeah, I'll try to move on from that."

A hum vibrates through the phone, his doubt lingering in the air. "Okay, bro. Just... remember I'm around if you need to get shit off your chest, yeah?"

"Yeah. Thanks," I mutter, the gratitude slipping through clenched teeth. I scrape myself off the bed, absently clawing at the itch creeping along my scalp. "Is there, uh... anything else?"