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Cassius sat at the cafe table and stirred his coffee. The cream — just a dash — swirled around the edges. He took out the spoon and rested it against the saucer. He didn’t want to get the table dirty after all.
Will looked at him with rapt attention, his eyes glued to Cassius. Under Will’s gaze, he felt small. They had sat in silence for over ten minutes. Neither tried to address their previous conversation or the fact that Will had paid for Cassius’ coffee. No, that wouldn’t do.
The paying made this seem like something it was not. Their meeting was simply a gathering, a more relaxing and charming moment that distracted them from the horrible parts of life.
Like how Cassius officially flunked college, or Will’s revolting anthropology class.
“Why don’t you hate me?” The question hung in the air. Cassius couldn’t tell who was more shocked: Will at the question posed or himself at daring to speak.
“Hate you?” Will took a sip of his tea — hibiscus with two packets of artificial sweeteners. “I couldn’t ever hate you, even if you did put me through a bit of Hell.”
The heat of the coffee permeated the ceramic of the mug. It was a bit unbearable, but Cassius kept his hands cupped around it. He needed this. “I find that hard to believe.”
Will leaned over the table just enough that Cassius felt claustrophobic. “Look, Brooks got inside your head, and although I wished he hadn’t, he did. You weren’t all yourself after he came back.”
Cassius pursed his lips. He wanted to agree, to say that it all was because of Brooks, but part of him adored the power of the presidency. He enjoyed the power that came from sitting in that chair and watching as the club rallied around him.
He pushed it deep within his chest, far away from the parts of himself he let show. Those thoughts should, could, never be shared again.
“I thought you were a humanities major. You sound awfully similar to a psych student at the moment.” The joke landed with a thud.
“The humanities teach us a thing or two about people — you should know all about that.” Will grinned and took another sip of his tea.
Cassius followed suit, if only because his body was weary from the day, and he didn’t want to appear sluggish in front of Will. He wanted the other to see him in too shape, better than he had been before — before Brooks — back when they weren’t so close it caused a pit to form in Cassius’ stomach.
So many things had fallen apart when the club started again, but he had been so blind. “It seems I have no major anymore, just,” Cassius signed “a depressing amount of loans and acquired credits I hope I can keep.”
Will didn’t laugh, but his grin didn’t falter either. “You could always try publishing your work, it might take a while to see some reward for it, but I think there are people out there who would enjoy it.” He shrugged. “I know I do.”
Cassius nearly choked on his coffee. A nervous smirk danced across his face. “I’m, um, well I — I’m not sure if people, if they really want to see that.”
Will’s brow furrowed. “What makes you say that, you’re an excellent writer.”
He shook his head and stared bullets into his drink. “It’s just,” he waved a hand, “Maybe there are some things better left unshared.” The last thing Cassius wanted to admit was that most of his poetry was about personal matters. Very personal matters. He was sure if he went digging he would discover odes and sonnets written about Will that he hadn’t realized was the case. The rest of the world didn’t need to see that.
“It’s just an idea.” Will leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his stomach. “Who knows what you’ll do now, there’s an endless arena of opportunities.”
Cassius rolled his eyes, though a faint flush formed upon his face. “I’m sure that’s exactly what my parents will say.”
“They might be happy to have you back.”
“They might wring my neck for getting kicked out.”
The air grew stagnant once more. Cassius wished he could eat his words, stuff them back into his mouth and swallow them down. There he went ruining it all again, taking the wonderful distraction he was gifted and turning it into a time of mourning his future self.
The bell above the door rang. People shuffled in and out of the cafe. They chatted at tables and baristas brewed overpriced concoctions.
Cassius looked up properly for the first time; he met Will’s eye. “I’m sorry for putting a damper on this whole thing. It was extremely kind of you to bring me here.”
“That’s what friends are for, Cass.”
Friends.
Cassius let the word wash over him like a cold shower. That’s what they were, friends, just friends. If there was any lingering sense of more it was one sided and was best to be forgotten about. “Right, of course.” He released his cup. The tips of his fingers were tinged red. Superficial burns. “I’m glad I have a friend like you through all of this.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue.
He wanted to spring from the table and beg Will to take the word back, to bundle it up and toss it into the trash. Cassius’ realization had been sudden, overwhelming, all consuming. In the matter of an hour he recognized a hole in his heart that he was sure only Will could fill.
But friends.
At least then he would still have the other by his side in some form.
“Do you want to come over this weekend?” The question, like before, sprang from Cassius before he could catch it. “I mean, only if you’d like, you don’t have to. I’m sure there’s a million-“
“Yeah.” Will sounded a bit breathless. “I’d love to come over.”
“Really?”
Will nodded. “Really. It’ll be a nice break from dorm life for me. Plus I’ll get to spend more time with you.”
Cassius choked on his own stupidity. “Alright, well, how does Saturday sound? I can pick you up from the train stop in the morning?”
Will traced his finger along the rim of his cup. “Sounds like a date.”
If only it was.