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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 months

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Mayor Attorney - The Risk of Truth

With plans to rise to higher positions in life - you wanting to prove yourself as a lawyer and Damien expressing interest in local politics - there are some things that are considered more dangerous than they would be to the average person. The biggest risk was that of following your heart.

Luckily, you have a friend who has been through something similar with your crush’s sister.

But will that be enough for you to risk the friendship you have with the one you love?

Word Count: 1,887

"You know, you really have to do something about it."

There was a finger firmly poking your arm, which you tried to ignore as best as you could. You had made the mistake of sitting beside Mark, you had to suffer the consequences. Getting up and walking away would bring him as much satisfaction as you snapping a denial. You had to give him no response at all. Then, hopefully, he would get tired and leave you alone.

"I'm serious. You and Damien have been dancing circles around one another. One of you needs to stop before you both regret it. What's the point of life if you don't grab it by the horns and enjoy it?"

You didn't respond. Not just because you were trying to give Mark no reaction, but also because you didn't have a good answer beyond feeling unworthy. You looked out to where Damien was. William had grabbed both twins and dragged them toward the baby grand piano so they could try playing one of their old duets. When they had refused, William had insisted on performing instead. Damien was in a flurry trying to urge William to not hammer the keys with his hands, but the trained eye could see amusement.

It was a nice change. The world of politics and the world of law were not nice places to be in. You had to keep your guard up at all times, you explained, and Damien moreso. He had plans for his future. He wanted to be the Mayor. He had to play every note correctly to give himself the best chance possible.

That included you needing to keep your distance.

"Keep your distance?" Mark repeated quietly, and you slapped your hands to your mouth and you realised you had accidentally murmured that final thought out loud. "He's not some being to be put up on a pedestal, and you know that better than most. If you ask me, keeping your distance is the wrong choice. What have you got to lose?"

You didn't answer, instead throwing him a bewildered look. You had so much to lose! Not just your plans for your professional life, but a large portion of your personal life would be gone in a puff of smoke, never to be seen again!

"I'm serious. You've been through thick and thin together! He's not going to drop contact with you because of this."

Like Mark had to worry about, you grumbled while crossing your arms. Mark was already married, and had that relationship long established before he reached stardom!

"I’m married to his sister, remember?" There was a cheeky grin from the Actor as he countered, "So if anyone knows what you're going through, it's me. And trust me, Celine is much scarier than Damien."

Despite your intention to sulk and ignore Mark, something about that sentence piqued your curiosity. You turned toward him and asked what he meant. Mark chuckled and rested one arm on the back of the couch. He knew he had caught your full attention. Now was his time to shine.

"Damien and Celine are remarkable. You know as well as I do that they could effortlessly change the world if they could overcome the obstacles before them. When I was a teen, I spent a full week trying to ask Celine out on a date. Every time, I was interrupted, but one of those times was by some guy in our year who also liked her." You leaned forward, engrossed in the story. Damien had told you that Celine had a charm that drew anyone to her side. You didn't believe it until now. "She turned him down flat. Not just that, she tore him to shreds for assuming she'd feel the same. I didn't think I'd ever see someone flee with their proverbial tail between their legs before that."

You shrunk in on yourself as Mark shared his memory, the supposed reality sinking in. With eyes on your fidgeting eyes, you asked why he would share that with you. It was only reinforcing that your feelings were wrong.

"Actually," Mark's voice calmly interrupted your growing panic, "I shared that with you to show the difference. Damien isn't like that. He lets people down gently, and he usually has to deal with people who see his handsome features and little more. Everything looks effortless, but he's got these quirks. I'm sure you've seen that before, right?"

You nodded. It looked so easy on Damien's part to politely reject a date with someone, but you could see how his posture tensed up. When he obtained the cane, the grip tightened on it just a little more. The smile was somewhat forced, but it passed under the radar of anyone who saw it.

"Exactly!" Mark quietly agreed, glancing over at the group by the piano to make sure neither of you were catching their attention. "I knew you'd see the clues as a lawyer. Actors are also masters of interpreting body language. And from what I've seen? He's the most relaxed around you. In fact, having you there undos any tension that has formed. The smiles he gives you are, frankly, unlike anything I've ever seen. It's like he wouldn't care if the whole world vanishes except for the two of you."

You shake your head, about to argue, when Mark leaned forward and placed a hand on your arm. "He feels the same way about you as you do him. I promise you that. I wouldn't lie about something like this. Ever since we were kids, Damien always seemed so lonely to me. The expectations that were always there meant he… well, I'm sure he's told you all that already. He trusts you so much. And if you know Damien as well as I do -"

Trust isn't something he shows frequently, you finished softly. Mark hummed in agreement. At that, Damien's head turned from the chaos of what was going on. You locked eyes, and you couldn't stop the hint of a smile tugging the corners of your lips. In return, his own expression softened into a warm smile that you had seen countless times before, but still made your heart fumble over itself.

Mark's hand moved from your arm, and it prompted you to glance at him. You barely acknowledged the nod before you rose to your feet and crossed the room to where the rest of the group were until you were beside Damien. Quietly, you asked if you could talk to him privately. Somehow, he knew from the look in your eyes that it wasn't something he should be worried about, and he agreed without hesitation. You could tell he had an idea on where to go, and so you opted to let him lead the way.

William, who had no context for why the pair suddenly left, began to rise from his piano stool, only to have both Mark and Celine put a hand each on his shoulder to hold him in place.

"What? Can't a man join the conversation?" William huffed.

"Not this time, I'm afraid. This a private matter," chuckled Mark.

"One we've been trying to set up for weeks," Celine added. When William gawked at the married couple, she tutted. "Honestly, Colonel. Did you not realise they're both in love with each other?"

"They are - oh." William slumped under the light pressure as the pieces began landing in place. "You know, now you say it, it does seem pretty obvious."

—

"Mark didn't say anything offensive, did he?" It was Damien's first question as soon as he stopped walking. He had led you outside toward the bandstand. This was the place he liked to go to when thinking. You immediately told him that nothing bad happened, and that you were simply overthinking.

"That doesn't sound good at all. Did Mark make it worse?" You shook your head. "Good. I'm always telling him to be nicer to you. He means well when he teases, but it's hard to properly gauge it when you don't know him well enough. I would have marched right back in there and given him a very stern talking to otherwise. Finger wagging and all."

The nerves were still firmly in place, but the mental image of Damien scolding Mark like a disappointed parent would a child made you snort. Judging by the way he grinned at you, making you laugh was the plan.

He was always doing that, wasn't he? No matter how bad things were, Damien was always there to help you through it. Then, when the roles were reversed, he never tried to lie and pretend everything was okay, like he would with others. You had always felt the friendship you two had ran deeper than normal, and how the bond you shared was strong.

Beating around the bush would do you both a disservice. You cut to the chase and asked if he was free on Tuesday.

"No. I have a job at my father's law firm." His face lit up with amusement as you scrambled to clarify after work on Tuesday. "Ahh. In that case, yes. Yes, I would be free. Has something happened?"

This was your last chance. You could back away and make it platonic. But would that be worth the struggle of carrying these feelings?

You took a slow breath and explained that everything was fine. You simply wanted a chance to go out and have a drink somewhere. Together. Just the two of you.

Damien raised an eyebrow, ready to give another smart comment, when he abruptly stopped. He blinked once, and then a second time. "On a date?"

This was it. The rejection you had feared. You saw the confusion on his face. Did it mask the betrayal he undoubtedly felt? Was he buying himself time to give the rejection he never expected? You weren't supposed to act out like this. You were supposed to be the close friend who would never -

"I'd love to."

Your distressed thoughts crashed into the wall of Damien's acceptance. Now it was your turn to blink owlishly. He… wanted to go. On a date? With you? And he wasn't angry?

Damien glanced aside, rubbing the back of his neck with a weak chuckle. "If I may be honest, I've been wanting to ask you that same question for some time now. I… Didn't want to ruin what we had but, you know, Life is Ours to Choose. You can't imagine how relieved I am to think you might feel the same."

You hastily agreed. You admitted your fear of losing him because you wanted to be selfish. Such a thought had Damien sigh. "I thought I told you that you needed to make more choices for yourself. I would have been proud of you, regardless of how I felt."

So it's a date?

"It's a date." He leaned forward just enough to place a feather-light kiss on your forehead. "But may we talk about this in the garden? The circus is watching us."

You didn't need to check behind you to realise what he meant. When you agreed, he carefully took your hand in his and led you down the steps. This was not a conversation privy to onlookers who may want to crash it with some dramatic celebration.

#writersofmark #who killed markiplier #mayor attorney #damien the mayor #wkm damien #selfshipping #actor mark #(Mark is a good wingman)#wkm celine #wkm the colonel #wkm era before the affair where everything is good #and it's before Damien begins to work on running for mayor #mutual pining

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theknightmarket · 9 months

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"It's just not easy."

In which Damien finally decides what to do.

[This is the second part to 'What if I Just Sit Here and Die', a request from my lovely anon, Alexandrite! I hope you enjoy it!]

TW: anxiety, possible panic attack (?)

Pages: 12 - Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

If someone had told a younger Damien that, in a year, he would be sitting in his normal classroom, in his normal seat with his normal peers around him, he would’ve been confused as to why they were telling him this. However, should they have continued on to say he would be sweating through his cotton shirt, his pen slipping out of his clammy hands and steam practically seeping through his collar - only because of the fact that he was sitting next to someone who said some nice things to him, spoke to him in a kind tone, was pretty damn handsome and/or beautiful themself, and risked a penalty by making jokes about the professor? He’d blush, just as he was in that moment, and ask, “Well, how will that moment end?” And the someone will laugh, shake their head, and say, “You’ll both be forced to clean the classroom for the next week.”

Presently, Damien was barely paying attention to the words of the professor. He was going on about something about the relationship between the government and the public, but he was more focused on the stray mutterings of the person next to him. You, who occasionally leaned over to whisper a joke or comment that had him stifling a laugh, generously spent your time entertaining him instead of listening to the lecture. In truth, it probably benefited neither of you in the long run, but Damien couldn’t deny that this was the most fun he’d ever had in a lesson before. He was learning just as much, anyway, so it didn’t make a difference. Not to him, at least.

To the professor, who was barely managing to stay on track with the incessant whispering that kept stealing his attention, it made a lot of a difference.

“Is there something you two would like to share?” he asked, making you freeze with your upper body halfway out of your new seat. Your mouth hung open, and Damien’s eyes met yours with a flurry of silent emotions. Horror, sympathy, and then resolve. He hadn’t a clue what you were planning, but from the way you slowly reared back and looked to the man at the front of the classroom, he had faith it was going to be good.

“Sorry, sir, I’m just slightly confused on how this can be allowed while following the privity of contract.”

The professor’s expression matched Damien’s own, a pure slate of shock, before the older man’s drifted off into confidence.

“Well, in this scenario, neither party has obligations imposed on them in the technical sense…” He continued his chatter, but Damien was not focused on that yet. He was more taken by you relaxing back into the hold of your wooden chair, the complete relief when your lie passed through your lips like every other breath. He didn’t know whether he should have been impressed or worried, but he settled on a mixture of the two.

“How did you do that?” he wondered aloud, trying to keep his voice low enough that it flew under the radar of the professor’s new tangent. Still, there was evident awe in his tone, a thing that you couldn’t stop a blush rising along the ridge of your jaw at.

You exhaled lightly. “Learned to—” and when you saw that he was still looking at you, you amended, “—if I’m going to be a district attorney, I’m going to have to lie on command.”

Despite the scathing remark about the integrity of the legal system, Damien blinked at the implication. “Really? The D.A?” It wasn’t that he didn’t think you could make it – in fact, he was certain that you’d end up in the newspapers with that title if you set your mind to it –, but he was more amazed that you had your mind made up so sure. There wasn’t a glimmer of hesitation in your words or your face, and Damien marveled at it.

“What, don’t think I could handle it?” you laughed back.

“N-no, I just, well, um—”

“I’m joking,” you replied quickly upon hearing him start to fumble his words. “I get it. Bit of a lofty ambition, but I know that if I finish this course and get the degree, there is a position waiting to be filled at Seriva’s Law Office.” You pulled up one finger. “From there, I’ll work all the cases I have to, until I get a job at the Bolitz court.” Another finger. “Defense attorney for the state, court judge, probably get fired once or twice, and then, eventually district attorney of Los Angeles.”

By now, you had all five fingers on one hand in the air, as if your plan were just easy steps. It was something Damien couldn’t begin to fathom, but it must have been so great that it overrode his facial functions because the next words out of your mouth were, “What about you?”

What about him?

What could he say to you? What did you want to hear? If he lied to you, pretended he had everything planned out, or even a semblance of an idea, would you know? There were so many uncertainties that he couldn’t plot, and only a small amount that he could guess the answers to; you probably wouldn’t look down on him if he admitted the truth, but he wasn’t all that willing to take the risk. The last thing he wanted was to lose a potential friend, especially you, though there was no way he could make up something as detailed as your plan was in such little time—

“I haven’t thought that far.” His mouth had gotten tired of waiting for his brain to catch up, apparently, and it went ahead with spilling the truth. He couldn’t back out now, not when you were looking at him with that expression, so he continued, “I have no clue, and it has been killing me that I don’t.”

For the split second that your mouth remained closed, Damien looked at your face, and used one of the skills that he was most proud of. He’d used it on his parents to avoid an argument, his guidance counsellor to get out as fast as possible, his extended family when they asked when he was getting married. He read your expression with bated breath and was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. You looked surprised, but not in a oh-my-God-how-could-I-talk-to-someone-so-immature way. The tilt of your head and the quirk of your lips showed you were simply surprised, and that was all. No disgust or horror present! Damien was somewhat embarrassed by how his heart sped up a bit when he recognised it.

And how it skipped two beats when you replied, “Hey, if you ever need an ear, I’ll be around.”

With that, you turned back to face the professor, who had still not run out of the fuel that you had chucked onto his flames. You listened intently, even though every sentence was punctuated with ‘this won’t be on the exam but…’, while Damien watched you, equally as intent. The rapid fluctuating of his heart was dying down, and its withering gave way to a small comfort nestled deep in his bones. An unfamiliar sensation, but not one that was unwelcome. In fact, it was entirely encouraging – prompting him to tune back in when the professor got on track and scribble down a few notes. Notably, concepts that he could understand.

The pride only lasted as long as it took for the both of you being caught chatting again – which was in the midst of another unnecessary talk, for context – which landed you in hot water. That someone didn’t lie.

As it turned out, your offer of someone to listen to were needed quicker than you thought. Barely a full day had passed by the time that you were sitting at the desk in your doom room, fiddling with a pen and trying to underline the important information in your textbook without outright underlying the entire paragraph. It was a tough and stubborn read, like wading through mud, and picking out useful aspects was even more so; clumps stuck to the words, hidden roots held them down, and you were quickly finding yourself hoping for a reason to take a break.

The answer to your prayers was at the door in the next thirty seconds. Just as you had taken your reading glasses off to smear a hand over your eyes, you heard a frantic knock ill-disguised as a casual one. You briefly tried to remember if you had messed up in any way for the small amount of time you’d occupied this room, but the question came with a blank answer – so, with little else to do, you got up from the desk and swung open the door.

Th sight of someone distinctly not administration greeted you. You weren’t in trouble, that was good, but a frown made its way onto your mouth regardless.

“Oh, hey, Damien,” you started, taking in his concerning state, “are you okay?”

His bowtie was pulled out, and his jacket was nowhere to be found, leaving him in just his dress shirt and pants at your door. Even his collar button was undone, which, in the rest of the world, might not have been deemed outrageous, but you’d only seen him in business settings before. This was a jump you weren’t expecting to make so soon.

“I-,” he immediately stopped himself. One hand flittered up to his cuff to adjust it before he spoke again, “-no, no, I’m not. I’m worried, and stressed, and scared and…” he trailed off in his panic, the worry trapping itself in his head.

You couldn’t leave him outside like this. From the looks of it, this wasn’t his first time in such a state, but this was his first time coming to you, and you weren’t going to mess this up.

Setting a plan of action in your mind, you planted your hands on Damien’s shoulders, seemingly shocking him out of his thoughts with a jolt. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

He followed your simple instruction well. That alone was good, so you took the time to dip into your room again, not noticing the brief flash of deeper panic that shot across his face. It only lasted until you reemerged with two jackets, but it was there.

A beat up, old truck was your best shot at leaving campus. You’d taken the keys one night after a party with your friends. You hadn’t a clue who it really belonged to, but it was now yours, and it wasn’t as though someone had come to retrieve it. So, yours now.

And what a spout of good luck it had been. Gesturing Damien into the passenger seat, you heaved a sigh of relief. Walking all the way to your little spot would have been a horror story waiting to happen. He climbed in without any hesitation, which would have been appreciated in any other circumstance. Now, it made you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. By the time you’d buckled yourself into the driver, you’d decided that you didn’t like numb Damien.

Multiple attempts were made to tease a reaction out of him. Humming music you’d heard on a gramophone recently, picking up conversation topics out of the bottom of your brain, literal teasing. None worked, aside from getting a few polite chuckles out of him or a nod, so you did the one thing you’d been told not to do from day one; you put all your eggs into one basket and pressed down on the gas pedal.

In general, Damien never knew what he was doing, but this moment was special; for once, he hadn't really thought about his actions. He didn't sink onto his chair by his dorm window and stare longingly out at the students who actually knew what they were doing. This time, he'd acted on instinct, and an unfamiliar one at that. It was an impulse, embarrassing to him, that had drawn him to your door. To you, who in turn, had driven him in your truck all the way to a local lake. He hadn't payed attention to where you were headed during the journey, but, when he heard the sloshing of water against a bank, he had clocked you were in some place unknown to him. He forced himself to look at you when you guided him to a rockier side of the body. You, who he knew, who walked to the edge of the lake, who he trusted, who kneeled beside him with an armful of rocks.

“Take some,” you spoke, as if this were an entirely normal interaction on your end.

And, as if this were an entirely normal interaction on his end, he did. When he had secured two or three medium-sized rocks, the one in his left-hand dripping lake water onto his skin, he managed to ask, “What?”

You didn’t answer him, instead taking a second to lay some more in a pile between the two of you – though, the light-hearted grin on your lips eased his concerns for your mental health and brought a similar one to his own.

You filtered through the remaining ones in your arms, trying to find the best shape and texture. Damien didn’t know what you were looking for specifically, but he sat still, patiently, and watched you smooth a thumb over one of the finalists in your strange competition.

“You know, I’ve always loved rocks,” you commented while tripping to your feet over the sandy beach, “No clue why. Maybe I was a penguin in my past life.”

Now standing straight, you trot to the shoreline and wind one arm back, like a pitcher would for a big game. The concentration on your face was a sight to behold, the little adjustments of your form to get it just right a true spectacle. Damien dared not move a muscle for fear it would jostle your focus.

You shifted to the left, and then to the right, and then four steps backwards. You breathed in the crisp, night air.

And then promptly chucked the stone directly into the water with no skip to be seen.

“Dammit.”

The panic from earlier was beginning to dwindle; a tiny spark of fear that had rushed through him like a match to a gas leak was but a flicker. The hooting of owls this late into the night was common, but he had never been conscious enough to listen to them, whether it was because he was asleep or because he was thinking too much. Here, the flood of problems was traded for the sound of the lake’s water batting against sand. Damien found that he liked this more.

A few splashes and then a proud yell shook him from his pondering – he needed to stop – and then you turned to look at him. Rock in one hand and gesturing with the other, you called out, “Well, are you doing this or what?”

Gingerly, Damien rose from his seat on the dirt and joined them. The pair of you made quite the picture. You were trying to instruct Damien on how to stand, how to position his arm, how to angle the momentum. Along with giving him all the best tips to match your two-skip record, Damien could confidently say it was going averagely. You weren’t going to be entering any championships anytime soon, but your realistic lack of skill had no effect on how much fun you were having.

For the first time in a while, Damien was enjoying his time, and, for the first time in an even longer while, he wasn’t feeling bad about using his time for recreation. On most nights he took ‘off’, he’d sit on his bed, with a book in his hand, trying to keep his mind off of all the assignments he didn’t understand. With you manipulating his arm like a puppet, he didn’t mind. He assured himself that, if you were out with him, he wasn’t the only one ‘lacking behind’.

He broke out in giggles as he watched you practically drop another stone into the water in front of you. With as much an offended look you could manage, you pushed him to throw one himself.

Much to your chagrin, he beat your record. Such an accomplishment.

“The student becomes the master,” Damien joked.

“If this weren’t an actual rock, I would throw this at you.”

“Just joking!”

You continued on like that for the better half of an hour. The night got longer and colder, but it wasn’t enough to bother you. At this point, you weren’t sure what would be. Skipping stones with a friend was much better than doing it alone, you discovered. Your group in class were fine and good, you weren’t complaining, but you had… different tastes to them, and you weren’t about to drag all of them out to the lake to chuck stones until 3 in the morning. You had half the mind to propose you make this a tradition, but the other half told you that you didn’t know where you stood with Damien.

It was no secret to yourself or your friends that you liked the guy. He was sweet, he did his own thing, he didn’t take his life for granted. But were you friends yet? Did skipping stones together count as a friend-activity? Would it be presumptuous of you to call yourselves friends already? Seeming egotistic in front of Damien would be a nightmare for you. And why was that? You had no idea why you became so interested in his opinion of you so quickly. You were so bogged down with unanswerable questions that you hadn’t realized you’d quickly ran out rocks.

You took the out with fervor, rushing over to the pile you’d taken from and then heading back to lay them out from best to worst. Crouched down, you hadn’t expected Damien to start another conversation, so you were stuck in an unfortunate position of craning your neck upwards for the moment.

“How are you so calm about this?” he asked, a lighthearted tone but with an edge that hinted at something else.

Before answering, you clambered to your feet and dusted off your pants. “It’s not like skipping stones is illegal, right?”

“No, no that,” he laughed slightly, but it faded quickly, “I mean, how are you so planned?”

Now, that made you smile. “I appreciate that you think I am, but I’m not.” You jumped to finish your sentence when you saw Damien start to argue. “I just know how to get out of a slump.”

“A slump?”

A hum moved between your lips. “A slump, my friend—” you planted a hand on his shoulder, “—that’s what you’re in.”

As soon as you pointed this out, it was like a switch had been flipped. The corners of Damien’s smile laxed, his shoulders lost tension, and the bags underneath his eyes dropped. “It’s been a long slump, then,” he replied without much conviction, “and you said you know how to get out of one?”

You nodded, sending one last stone into the distance before focusing your full attention on Damien. You didn’t hear its splashes, only the sound of him sighing. “I think, right now,” you began, “you’re caring about the little things as much as the big things, right?”

He considered this for a second, until he nodded with a solemn expression, eyes downcast and darting anywhere but you.

Just that image made you swallow whatever pride you had left and decide very quickly to divulge your background to him. “I did the same thing in my first year. I’d originally planned to be on campus from the start to finish of college, but then I got it stuck in my head that I couldn’t because I’d made promises to do something that I wouldn’t otherwise be able to do. Pet sitting, or helping out with a relative, something like that…

“So, I stayed home. That wouldn’t have been so bad on its own, but assignments piled up and there was this one night when I would have to sacrifice all of my sleep, my food, everything healthy just to get this essay done,” you paused to inhale some of the crisp air. The night was getting darker, almost exactly as it had been the time you were describing. You continued, “And I did. And I felt horrible the day after, not only because I screwed over my whole body, but because I was still worried about it in the morning! Worried if I missed a citation, or I-I misplaced a comma.”

Standing next to you, Damien watched as your face was consumed by the memories. The look in your eyes was distant, but you weren’t looking over the water. It was as if the entire scene had disappeared, leaving only you behind, trapped in a fog. He’d gone through a night like that, and he knew the feeling well. It was the whole reason you were out there in the first place; worrying over something, getting it done, and then still worrying about it after the fact. He’d built his whole college-era around it.

The most he could do was offer a hand, both metaphorically and literally.

Damien’s hand coming to rest on your upper arm pulled your attention to him. A gentle smile that you mimicked on his lips, you couldn’t help but wonder how he got like this in the first place.

“But when I re-enrolled for this year, I thought about it more. I was actually writing the letter as I did, and I knew that if I did the same thing as last year, where I sacrificed my health for one assignment, I wouldn’t make it through. So, my solution was that I decided not to care.”

“What?”

You hummed in response to Damien’s mild shock. “That’s what my family said. The guidance counselor, too, and a couple of my friends. They acted like I’d gone and joined the circus. But it helped me. It was difficult at first; for the few months after we came back, I nearly broke my promise every week. Eventually, it got easier, and now, I’m exactly as you see before you.” You gestured to yourself as dramatically as you could handle after preaching your way of life.

Damien watched you for some time, to the point that you thought he’d run for the hills or call the guidance counselor back on you. It was only when he asked in a smaller voice than you’d heard him before, “What about the big things?” that you relaxed.

“The big things – family emergencies, big exams, twenty-five percent of my grade type of things – I’ll focus on. Don’t stress about the assault essay, but make sure you leave time for the finals. They’re the only things you’ll remember about the course, anyway.”

“You say that like it’s simple,” Damien chuckled.

“It is,” and you meant it, but you quickly amended at the distraught expression of your friend, “it’s just not easy.”

Reaching down to pluck a stone from the line-up, you finished your speech, “Takes a lot of practice to not care, so don’t expect to be an expert that fast.”

Your idea to continue skipping rocks was disrupted when Damien’s grip – which, unbeknownst to either of you, he had yet to remove – tightened. “And how am I supposed to start?” his voice took on a panicked quality, “I’ve already got myself too deep.”

Getting the sense that he was about to spiral, you refused to hesitate and, instead, wrapped your spare hand around his own. When you looked up, it seemed that Damien’s avoidant gaze was reserved for a shallower feeling of worry. The dread that you saw here meant he stared into your eyes directly, as if desperately trying to find the answer faster than you could say it.

“When we started skipping stones, what were you thinking about?” you asked. You tried not to notice how the corners of his mouth dropped even further with your seemingly cryptic question.

Still, he answered, “Whether you were legally sane or not.”

You shared a look of relief that Damien was stable enough to joke about the situation. “Ouch,” you muttered, “but that’s my point. You weren’t worrying about the course or the future or any assignments. You were focused on something that, to be honest, doesn’t matter. Because I doubt that you’ll remember this in a year. Not this moment, or the time you forgot a period in an essay or-or a lot of what you need to know for the exams. At that point, it won’t matter, so why care about it now?”

Despite your monologue being finished, you didn’t dare let go of his hand. You didn’t know whether it for his sake or yours, but you’d be going against your way of thinking if you said it really mattered.

“Of course, don’t go too far with it,” you spoke with a smile, “Care about the things that make you happy. Work won’t make you happy, so don’t care about it too much. Pay attention to who you are as a person, and you’ll be grand.” You didn’t want Damien to go from 1 to 100 in the next year, or, rather, 100 to 1 in the caring department. It was about striking the perfect balance and you were well up for being hit teacher.

When Damien nodded at you, having taken everything in, you allow yourself to slip back into the calm of the lake. It was a beautiful sight, and now you had someone else to share it with.

In your mind, this was the end of the night, and, as you began to aimlessly throw the remaining rocks in the general direction of where you took them from, you missed your new friend’s change in body language. It was subtle, but it was there – the straightening of his shoulders, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, the final breath of a cool night’s air. When he was prepared, he turned to you and met your eyes.

No panic. No fear. No worry. A stark determination took their place.

“Do you want to go on a date?”

On a Friday evening, at eight o’clock, a procession of thirty students snaked its way across the college campus, from the entrance gate to the auditorium. Normally, that place would be empty of any life, but, then, it was heaving with parents, friends, and staff. The ceremonies that followed were just as lively. A chorus group sang some classical pieces, followed by multiple professors wishing the graduating class of 1908 a farewell. A final address from the principal sent people into tears, until the presentation of diplomas overruled it with near-constant clapping.

But that didn’t mean everyone was suddenly fine. Damien himself found that trying to keep it all in was a fruitless effort after he watched his fellow classmates receive their scrolls of paper, not to mention how he had to ask someone for a tissue when you went up, shook the principal’s hand, and walked off with a wink in his direction. His heart clenched with pride, and he could barely look away as he watched you make your way to the second row of the audience. The seat you ended up in was at the tail end of the row, right next to Celine, who grasped your hand with a smile that you shared. Next to her was Wilford, who, upon noticing Damien’s staring, cast his own, knowing look. He looked away before he could do anything more noticeable, seeing, next to him, Mark. He’d assumed that, like most things, he wouldn’t be overjoyed to be where he wasn’t the centre of attention, but there was a hint of a smile and happiness in his eyes that told him he was playing it up, this time.

Damien took a breath in and then a breath out. Crisp air – his heart rate slowed down into a duller thud. It was his turn.

Four simple, difficult steps. He got up, he walked to the principal, he took the degree and shook his hand, and then walked off.

He had graduated college, you both had, and he couldn’t be more excited to pursue the next few years of his life.

Especially given the way that you two met up when everyone had filed out at the end.

There had been plans for the friend group – one that you had been made a member of ever since Damien told his sister what had happened that fateful night – to get a table at an old café down the street and celebrate. A little talk prior to going up on the stage pushed those plans back ever so slightly.

Rounding the back of the auditorium, Damien caught sight of you leaning casually against the wall. No staff would be around there while they dealt with the rest of the students, meaning you wouldn’t be herded away just yet. You could enjoy this quiet moment for at least ten minutes, and you were very much going to.

“Hi,” you whispered as soon as Damien came close enough.

His response was simple. “Hello.”

“You looked handsome up there.”

In the past year, he’d gotten better at schooling his expression in public, but he didn’t consider you to be in public at that moment, so his redness and smile were as blatant as the day you met.

“Around people thirty years my senior, I should hope so—” he wrapped his hands around yours, intertwining your hands, “—I’m proud of you.”

You pulled him close with that hand. “You’re proud of me? I’m sorry, but your graduation is the culmination of my outlook on life. I’m proud of you.”

Your only thought in the proceeding second was that it should never be said that Damien was not a romantic man when it came down to it, as he leaned just that inch forward to push his own lips against yours. Whilst all the kisses you’d shared before had been amazing in their own right, this one was combined with the product of two years’ hard work and a year’s practice in self-respect. The smiles you both wore were held aloft by the graduation ceremony, high enough in the air that neither of you felt any need to pull apart. This was the time for love, nothing else, because there didn’t have to be. Everything was over, and, as your mouths moved against each other in crisp night air, you were ready for a new start.

Nearing your faces turning blue from a lack of oxygen, it was time to pull away, but that didn’t stop you from rejoining when you had gotten enough breath. This happened a few more times, though they gradually became more pecks than full kisses; you didn’t know how much time you had left until you were ushered from the campus, but you weren’t one to let an opportunity to tease Damien go easily.

The both of you gliding to a stop, simply staring into each other’s eyes, you whispered, “So, my advice worked, huh?”

Damien’s response was immediate, if not accompanied by a slight flush, “Oh, be quiet, you.”

And, like most times, he didn’t deny that you were right, given that listening to you was the best decision he’d ever made - your relationship was proof enough of that.

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