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33
“Want to run down to the Cutty Sark and back? I know it’s longer than our usual route, but it’s a nice day, and we can take it easy.” Elliot crouched down, adjusting the laces on his trainers while I did some warm-up stretches.
“Yeah, okay.” I threw him a smile as wide as I could muster up. The past two weeks since Liam and I had mutually agreed to call it off had dragged by in a haze of numbness. I kept telling myself that it was stupid to be so affected by everything that had happened, when we’d never been together properly, but this fucking idiot, aka me, had gone and fallen in love with him.
It hadn’t escaped the attention of our housemates either. They seemed to be tiptoeing around us both. I’d been spending a lot more time in my room, or at the library, or hanging out with friends from my course or the running club.
Elliot saw straight through me, of course. But being the good friend he was, he didn’t comment, just lightly squeezed my shoulder as he straightened up.
We set off on our run at a slow and steady pace, our legs easily carrying us through the quiet streets. Sunday mornings were my favourite time to run. London woke up late, relaxing through the weekend, and in the early hours, I had the city to myself. It was something I didn’t think I’d ever get used to—passing so many iconic landmarks without tourists thronging around them, but Elliot never batted an eyelid. Sometimes I felt like it would do him good to slow down and appreciate what we had. I knew he’d only applied to LSU because of Ander, but there was so much to appreciate here.
We ran in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts, until we reached Greenwich and turned left, running past the National Maritime Museum, and eventually ended up in front of the Cutty Sark, next to the Thames. The museum ship loomed over us as we collapsed onto the low wall that ran alongside the path.
Elliot sank down next to me, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That last mile was brutal. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink last night.”
“Same.” I sighed. Last night had been… After two weeks of self-exile from anything social, I’d been forcibly dragged to the student union with Travis, Kira, Preston, and Kian. I was third-wheeling it…or was it fifth-wheeling it? Either way, I was the only single one in the group. They’d done their best to include me, but the last straw had been when I saw both couples holding hands.
It was something so fucking simple, something that they probably took for granted, but it was something that I suddenly wanted more than anything. Someone to hold my hand. To be with me, openly. A boy I could tell people, “Yeah, he’s mine.”
But after Liam, I wasn’t interested in anyone else. I needed to get over him, and I knew I would eventually, but in the meantime, I had to deal with the knowledge that these feelings wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. I was trying my hardest to focus on the fact that I was here at uni to get a degree, not that it helped.
I told myself that everything else had to be secondary to the goal of getting my degree, told myself that I’d get over Liam, but it still hurt so fucking much. Every time Liam and I crossed paths in the house, every time our bodies accidentally came into contact, every time his eyes connected with mine, for that fleeting moment, I was reminded of what we’d had. What we could have had together.
“How are things with Liam?” Elliot voiced the question that I’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask.
I thought back to yesterday morning. He’d been keeping me at arm’s length anyway, but yesterday, he’d come into the kitchen and actually initiated a conversation with me over breakfast. It had made me feel so happy that he was talking to me that it took me a minute to realise that the way he was speaking to me was different. Our closeness, the easy way we had of talking to each other, was gone, like it had never existed.
“He treats me the same way he treats Damon.” Somehow, my words came out sounding more or less normal, but Elliot wasn’t fooled.
“Shit, Noah.” He stared at me, compassion in his eyes. “You love him, don’t you.” There wasn’t even a question in his voice, only resignation.
I threw my head back, staring up at the soft greys of the sky above me, breathing in the London air that held a hint of salt from the river. Exhaling deeply, I clenched my fists, attempting a semblance of composure, before I finally admitted it.
“Yeah, I do.”
Elliot’s sharp intake of breath cracked the silence that had fallen between us after my soft admission.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
Yeah. So was I.
