Heal the Heart

30.

The University needed to do something for people like me who ran from block to block for classes. For starters, develop a bus route that actually reached its destination at the specific time. And have a separate line at the cafeteria, so my lunch wasn't always restricted to unripe fruit and half-peeled vegetables.

I was stuffing two apples in my bag when I spotted Tristan at the exit. He gave me a sharp nod and continued walking in, his coat flapping behind him as his long strides took him further and further away. I stood there like an idiot staring at him stand in the queue.

Don't do it. Don't fucking meddle.

I should walk away. I had class in fifteen minutes in a block that would take me twenty minutes to reach. If I wanted to be present, I had to gear up for a marathon at... right about now. Also, Beck didn't tell me to play middleman.

On the other hand, he didn't tell me to not play it, either. I hated seeing Beck like this. I hated the way his mood would change considerably when Tristan ignored him, or when Beck described practice and Tristan's name popped up, or the early mornings when Tristan would sneak in and Beck would pretend he didn't hear him. Losing a best friend was like losing a limb. It took a whole lot of crying and adaptability to learn how to live with the repercussions. This didn't have to be the end of them. My redheaded genius had a lot of advice to dish out, but seldom followed his own words.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I decided to ditch class, and head face first into quicksand.

"Hi!" I plopped on the chair. The stale coffee I had picked up as a last-ditch effort to make this conversation seem a little natural and totally coincidental sloshed from the edges of the paper cup. "Mind if I sit here? There aren't any other seats available."

He was mid chew as he looked at all the billion empty tables and chairs around us. Of course, the fucking cafeteria wasn't crowded when I needed it to be. He swallowed. "Sure."

I took a sip of the coffee. My gag reflexes told me to spit it back in the cup. I was in a daring mood, so I swallowed. "I realised we never got a chance to talk. I'm Neil, by the way."

"I know," he said and dropped the sandwich he had barely made a dent in on the paper plate. "I've only been introduced to you like four hundred times."

Twice, man. Just twice.

"Look, bro. Nice talking to you, but I need to run."

Fuck it. Enough of easing into conversation. "How long do you think you can keep running?"

He rolled his neck, chewed on the inside of his cheek. Honestly, he looked like he wanted to toss the table at me. "I've got three months left till I'm done with this place. I think I can hang on till then."

"Dude! You've got three months left. Don't you want to make things right?"

"What do you mean? Things are already right."

"Sure. That's why you sneak in at six every morning. By the way, you're not as sneaky as you think. You've lived there for almost four fucking years, and you still don't know the position of your fucking coffee table."

"Bro, you stay over every night?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. Beck usually—Okay, stop changing the topic."

"Fine." He spread his palms on the laminated table and pushed himself up, abandoning his lunch. "This is none of your business, so back the fuck off. Get me?"

I raised my hands in surrender. "I know it isn't." I too stood up, though not quite matching his height. "I care about Beck. I care about him about him a lot. You do too. I'm guessing that's why you wanna cut off all contact. You think he's better off without you. Is it... Is it guilt? Because Beck has forgiven you. He doesn't hold you to—"