Starry Eyed Disease

Tutoring Alastair has been easier than I initially expected. We've basically finished working through the material from the first test by Thursday. With one final review session on Friday, Alastair is ready to retake the first test by the end of study hall. As the bell rings, signalling the start of first-block lunch, I begin to pack up my study materials and books, but Alastair grabs my arm.

"Wait, don't go."

I'm a little bit hungry and Ellie will be suspicious if I don't show up to lunch, but… I sit down close to the warlock anyways. He rummages through his bag until he finds a protein bar. "Here. Eat this," he says, passing it to me, before settling into the space between my legs. He pulls his guitar into his lap and rests his back against my chest. "I wanted to play something for you."

From my vantage above him I can see his cheeks darken, and I'm sure he can feel how my heart takes off racing, physically and metaphorically.

"Ok," I croak. I take a steadying breath, but I should know better than to do that near Alastair by now. His clean lavender smell, like a meadow just after rain, slams into me. I feel my wolf surfacing, pushing me to pull him closer, touch me, cover him in kisses.

"Down boy," he chuckles.

"You're making it very difficult to keep my 'just friends' promise," I admit.

He inhales deeply and hums. "Sorry," he breathes in again and nuzzles into my chest. "You just smell so nice."

I choke on my own spit at his words. He looks up at me with amused curiosity.

"You don't know what you just said, do you?" He quirks an eyebrow in response. "Please, just, spare my poor heart. Ok?"

He nods. "Fair enough." When he withdrawals from my lap, everything in me wants to pull him back, but I resist the urge and remind myself of our boundaries. Alastair isn't ready for a relationship, even if we both have admitted to liking each other.

I still don't fully understand that. Why does he like me? I don't have particularly low self-confidence and, just based on the fact that there even is a "Cameron Berkley Fanclub", I think it is safe to say, I'm a decent-looking guy. (Although I suspect the human girls' obsession with me is at least partly due to them thinking gay couples are cute.)

But, by Alastair's own admission, he's had a crush on me since third grade. I would have been in fourth at the time, maybe nine- or ten-years-old? In fourth grade I was… different. I still had long hair. I was short, shy, and really the textbook definition of an omega.

I don't think Alastair likes me for my looks. I mean, what nine-year-old thinks about the attractiveness of their crushes anyways? But I really can't remember even talking to the guy before last month. Sure, we were both prominent figures in the supernatural community, so we were aware of each other. When his mother would come to pack territory for council meetings, sometimes I would see him with her. I suppose Alastair has the power to be more observant than the average person, so maybe he saw something he liked… but what exactly did he see in me?

My idle thoughts are broken by the beginning of the new song he wants to play me. He doesn't sing this time, just plucks, beats, and strums. The melody is a waltz I think. It is light and playful, so different from the mournful tune I heard the day of my last heat. I curiously watch as he occasionally strikes the neck of the instrument, creating a bell-like sound which rings through the halls. I love how he layers effects and sounds to create this rich, full music.

When he plays the last chord, I clap lightly and he blushes deeply. "I like that one. Did you write it?"

He nods. "I think I'll write lyrics to it eventually, but I'm still working on it."

"And will you sing it for me once it's finished?"

He groans. "What is with you and this obsession with hearing my clumsy attempts at song writing?"

"Obsession? That's offensive. Makes me sound like I'm crazy. I prefer to think of it as an addiction. Really a disease if you ask me."

"Wow, Cam. Way to make a guy feel good about himself: saying liking his music is a disease."

"Yep, except it goes way deeper than just liking your music. Starry-eyed disease. Unfortunately there is no cure and the doctors say it is a lifelong affliction."

"Sounds terrible. Remind me to bring you flowers when you're hospitalized."

"No hospitals, please. Werewolf super-healing is a bit difficult to explain to nurses, but the flowers would be appreciated. Just make sure they are lavender."

His head snaps to look at me. "Lavender?"

"Yeah…" I flush slightly at my slip up. "It's um… what you smell like. And it reminds me of your eyes," I tack on quickly.

"Really?"

"Well, right now your eyes are more violet, but when you're using magic they become this light bluish-purple—"

"No, not that." He waves his hand in front of his face. "What did you say about my scent?"

"That you smell like lavender?" I squeak, hoping that Alastair didn't understand the implications behind me attributing a particular smell to him.

"That's… interesting…" He looks lost in thought for a moment, apparently not really paying attention to the minor internal freak out I'm having. "Addy had this theory that my connection to someone became stronger when they ingested lavender."

"Really?" I keep my voice light, trying to sound uninterested. Thankfully, Alastair doesn't seem to be paying attention to my emotions too closely right now. "That's weird." I remember her saying something about that the first time we met, but just chalked it up to Addy being Addy.

"Yeah. There was this fad she was really into, like, three years ago? The Shake Stop down on McKinney Street had this special lavender cheesecake flavor that she loved. But she stopped buying them when she noticed her block was weakening." He chuckles at the memory. "She was convinced it was the lavender. Swore up and down about the statistically significant changes in her success rate on the days she drank the shake."

I relax as he talks. I love it when he talks about her. He gets this far away look in his eyes and sometimes a sad smile on his lips. I want him to feel comfortable telling me stories about her. Even if she's gone, she meant a lot to him and still influences him. I want him to know that he doesn't have to hide around me.

When his smile turns down into a small frown I lean over to hug him. "It doesn't feel real yet, does it?"

"No. It—it really doesn't."

"Sometimes I wonder… what if? What if things had been different?" I chance a look at him, worried I might be probing too much.

His expression is stormy and unreadable. "No point in wishing you could change the past, Cam."

"You don't ever… have those thoughts?"

He looks away from me, and I can almost see the walls rising back up around him. "No."

I nod and pull away. He is still hiding parts of himself from me, but that's ok. I can wait. "Thanks for telling me that story," I decide to change topics, avoiding the grief lurking beneath his surface. "I like hearing about her."

He smiles at me. "Thanks for listening. You're a good listener, Cam. With music… and with people."

"Well, probably not as good as you are," I tease.

He laughs, but his response is still a self-deprecating whisper. "There is a difference between listening and hearing. Sometimes... I worry I don't listen enough."

"Well… I can't speak for everyone else, but when I'm with you, I certainly feel understood. Even in the way you try to push me away," I bump his shoulder to show I'm teasing. "You show how much you listen to me, how well you know me."

Alastair looks morose, and I can't catch his gaze to show him my smile.

"I'm— I'm sorry about that," he whispers. "Not just for ignoring you this past month, but even before that. The things I said."

"Hey, don't be. I get why you did it, and I want you to take all the time you need. If I ever become a burden again or it's too much, just let me know and I'll give you space."

"No. Don't say that. You're really not a burden, Cam." He bites his lip and finally looks at me. "You're actually— You're my—" He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. "You're my best friend. My only friend really."

At his admission, my heart twists. It can't decide whether to fly upwards into the clouds or fall into anguish, so it just contorts painfully. "Well, let me put those best friend, superstar listening skills to good use. Play me another song?"

He smiles, nodding, as he pulls his guitar into his lap. We spend the rest of lunch with me munching on the protein bar he gave me while contently listening to his music.

During precalc, I channel all my mental energy into remaining calm and focused. I want Alastair to have the perfect mental environment to retake his test. When the final bell rings, our eyes are drawn together.

An enormous grin is plastered on Star's face.

"Did it go well?" I ask as I approach his desk.

"I think so. Thanks to you."

I beam at him, feeling giddy.

"Same time, same place next week?" he asks. I quirk my eyebrow at him, confused. "For my tutoring sessions?" he clarifies.

My heart falls just a little bit at his words. Next week. Two whole days without seeing Star. We went a whole month not speaking to each other and before that a whole lifetime. Now after just one week together, I feel like I'm addicted to him, and two days without him sounds unbearable.

I'm broken out of my self-pity by Star's laughter. "Don't be so glum!" he chuckles. Can you believe it? He's laughing at me! Laughing at my misery!

But then I'm laughing. I'm laughing, because I'm unbelievably happy that he can laugh about my silly negative emotions. That for some reason, just for today, he doesn't feel burdened by them. Other teenagers leaving the classroom linger to stare at us giggling like hyenas. For some reason I find this even funnier and just as Star looks like he might be calming down, I burst into another fit. My cackling sets him off into barely contained snickering. His freckles pop as his face turns red trying to contain himself, which is just unbelievably cute.

I laugh some more and by now we are really laughing at nothing. My sides hurt as I try to catch my breath. At one point, I think I may actually have gotten all the giggles out of my system, but then Star—damn it—starts up again.

"What are we even laughing about?" he wheezes.

"I—I don't know," I wheeze back. "Bu—but this is totally your fault."

"My fault?!"

"Yes! Laughing uncontrollably is definitely a symptom of starry-eyed disease."

"Oh, Mother! Please stop! I'm going to die!" He smacks my chest and the mere fact that he never learns his lesson sends me doubling over once more.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth, pouting cutely. "Hey! That really hurt."

"Sorry! Sorry!" I gasp. "I'll not laugh—pfft—No more laughing." I flatten my cheeks and try to focus on calming down and definitely not laughing. "Ok. I think— pfft— I think I'm good now."

Nope. Alastair snickers and I smother another laugh.

I breathe out heavily.

Calm. I am calm.

Yes, I've got this now.

"Ok, this time I'm actually good." But I can't keep the smile away from my lips and neither can Star.

"Me too." He breathes out, mimicking me. "So good." Then he leans in to whisper conspiratorially as his eyes flash lavender. "Ms. Huang thinks she's pretty clever." I look over my shoulder to see our precalculus teacher giving the two of us a knowing smirk. "You tutoring me is all part of her master plan to set us up."

"Does she know about the Cameron Berkley Fan Club? Because all formal match making requests must be processed by the fan club president."

"Pfft. Dork. That is not a thing."

"Your ignorance never ceases to amaze me. You sure you're a telepath?"

"Shut up." He shoves me playful. "Come on, let's get out of here before she tries to talk to us about how 'tutoring' is going."

He tugs on my sleeve, leading me to the door, but before we leave I shout over my shoulder, "Hey, Cupid! It might help if you switched Star's seat assignment back so he's next to me again."

Ms. H blinks, then bursts out laughing. "Ok, Casanova!" she calls back to me as Star pulls me away while muttering:

"Oh Mother, help me."

When we step into the hallway, we just stare at each other, still grinning goofily. Neither of us are quite ready to say goodbye.

"Well…" Star begins. "I guess I'll see you on Monday."

"Yeah… Monday," I smile dreamily. I've never been more disappointed that it's the weekend or more excited for Monday.

"Bye, I guess."

"Uh huh."

"I'm going now."

"Ok."

"Seriously, I've got to catch my ride."

"Me too."

"So Monday?"

"Monday."

"In the chalk graveyard."

"Yep."

"Ok. Bye."

"Bye, Starlight."