Leaves, Seasons, and Dead Trees (BxB)

16. - Any Other Sunday

"And all I knew is there was fire in the room
It got cold too soon"

- "Hollow Drum" by Laura Welsh -

*****

Samuel

Nearly three weeks have slipped by since Stacy boarded that Amtrak train bound for Missouri, dragging me along for the ride to Monteverde Glen Station at her behest. Tyson, with his quick hugs and heartfelt goodbyes that made my tail twitch with emotions, reminds me that he's still someone's loved one. Maybe not my ride-or-die anymore, but he still means the world to someone, like Stacy or Foster. And, begrudgingly, I find some solace in that knowledge.

And as sweet as that day was, somehow, a part of me was saddened too.

On that day, Stacy probed Tyson about his graduation plans, to which he revealed that this semester would mark his swan song. Once he ticks off all the boxes, he'll be bidding adieu to Hoovensguaard. Sitting shotgun in Tyson's car after we parted ways with Stacy, I was lost in thought there. I only stare out the window in silence on the journey back to my dorm, the weight of his impending graduation hung heavy on my mind.

Further proddings unearthed that he wrapped up his internship in the sixth semester, with his papers and thesis sorted earlier this year, right after Denver. Recently, he even managed to bow out of his ABA term ahead of schedule, cutting ties nearly two years into a stint that demanded double the participation, originally slated to end in August. With ABA obligations out the window, now, Tyson's left juggling with his remaining courses and his football commitments.

And yes, somehow, it saddens me. A part of me, at least.

Tyson's dedication to law has been unwavering, from his greenhorn days to now. Looking back, he's been a complete legal eagle, much like I am about music. And to think he takes Political Science? Even back in middle school, he'd rattle off court cases out of nowhere like bedtime stories at times when we hung out, much as I'd memorize compositions taught by my old music teacher, Ms. Brigette, and her maestro husband, Mr. Irving.

It felt just like yesterday when our paths first crossed. Yet, here I am, surrounded by friends in the library, buried in our assignments, and still finding ways to hate him... somehow.

This morning, Alfonso, Poppy, and I agreed to do our assignments together with Matty and Quinlan in the library, though Elodie didn't join since she finished ahead of us. But sitting here, instead of venting about the frustration of last March's midterm with my friends or commiserating over our current workload, I'm still lost in my reverie. Memories of Tyson's relentless efforts to earn my forgiveness flood my mind.

From his tender care when I fell ill before Christmas, footing the bill from his own pocket, to our spontaneous road trip to Denver on New Year's... From his comforting presence during my panic attacks to his unwavering gentleness at my snarky jabs...

...and I still want to hate him. Somehow.

Alfonso elbows me gently, his deep cognac eyes piercing mine. "Sam, you good?"

I straighten, stretching my limbs. "Just a bit worn out, I guess. Been glued to this chair for almost two hours and I've only managed to write... 326 words!"

"Yeah, well, when you chose Hamlet, that's bound to happen. Thank God I went with A Midsummer Night's Dream." Alfonso grins, looking satisfied as he peers at his laptop screen. "I mean, who wants to analyze a brooding prince's existential crisis, right?" He finishes with a chuckle, and I force a bitter smile.