Why did life have to be so complicated? So painful?

I wanted nothing more than to travel back in time. To when I had been like five. When my worst issues were running out of candy and my toy race car being in the wrong colour. Though back then, those things had felt like the end of the world.

When I had turned eighteen, I had been happy about finally being an "adult". Now I wanted to hit eighteen-year-old me over the head and tell him that being an adult wasn't fun and that he definitely wasn't an adult yet.

I was twenty-four now, turning twenty-five in not too long, and I had never felt less like an adult.

Because an adult had control over their life.

An adult knew what direction to go in.

An adult dealt with issues. They didn't avoid picking up their phone.

Over a week had gone by since Cameron had told me to get out of Errol's life, and I had followed his order. It was the right thing to do. Errol's life would be much less complicated without me in it. He would have a better shot at happiness.

It was hard to deal with, however. It felt like he occupied every single one of my thoughts. Every time I exited school, I thought I saw him. Every time I caught the scent of food, I wondered what Errol would be cooking that evening. And when it rained, I imagined sitting outside, but under a roof, with him and a cup of tea, listening to and watching the rain.

I even dreamt of him. Never any dreams I remembered the content of, I just knew he had been in them.

It was so bad that even Dereck the bigot made me think of Errol, made me wonder how Errol would react if he ever heard any of Dereck's offensive remarks.

But I stayed strong. Didn't let my impulses decide. I didn't call back.

I tortured myself by listening to the messages he had left me over and over, though.

"Call me, will ye?"

"Did I do somethin' wrong? If I did, ye gotta talk to me about it."

"Alasdair, ye can't keep ignorin' me like this."

"Are ye tryin' to punish me or what?"

"I miss ye, Alasdair."

I would listen to the messages and fantasise about calling him back. Or just fantasise about him being there with me. That we were laying on my bed together, telling the other about our day.

But since that wasn't possible, I would lay down in bed after torturing myself with the messages for long enough. I would hug my pillow and cry. Or lay there not knowing what to do or feel.

It was Friday. Yet another horrible feedback seminar to suffer through. Dereck made biting remarks about my story again, but I didn't even find it in myself to internally scoff at him. Didn't find it in me to feel incredulous at Kenna's continued insistence there was something romantic going on off the pages between my two main characters.

I just hummed at their feedback, and scribbled some words in my notebook in an effort to get their feedback down for later editing.

"Are you alright?" Kenna asked after the seminar.

"Aye. All good," I answered, but wasn't surprised by her raised eyebrows. My answer had sounded fake even to me.

"Did you and Errol have a fight? I haven't seen him in a while," she asked next.

My mouth dried up. "No. We haven't." Technically not a lie.

"Is he not well then?"

"Why are you assuming I'm upset because of something to do with him?" I had rounded on her, and my words came out somewhere between an angry yell and a plea.

She gave me half a smile. "Because it's quite obvious how much both of you care about the other." She walked off, leaving me to stew in shame over having yelled at her and for being so transparent.

I didn't linger on it, though. It wouldn't do me good. It would only lead to unnecessary spirals. So I walked the long corridor alone.

Outside, the sun peeked through the clouds. It had been raining for the past couple of days, so that sunshine felt like the last blessings before the depressing Scottish autumn weather would completely take hold to make way for winter.

A bit away from the entrance, Kenna had stopped by a person. A person I would spot even in a room filled with a million people.

I froze, and for a second considered going back inside before he noticed me. But then Errol met my eyes.

He said something to Kenna, and she looked over her shoulder at me before answering him. He gave her a smile and then made his way over to me.

I just stood there, waiting. My legs were numb, so they wouldn't have been able to carry me anywhere, even if I had wanted to.

"We really need to talk," Errol said when he reached me, and before I could agree or disagree, he had taken my hand and started leading me away.

We walked to the place which felt like ours. The park. A safe space for difficult conversations.

"Why haven't ye called me back?" Errol asked the moment we sat down.

"Been busy," I answered while picking dirt from under my nails.

"Don't lie to me, Alasdair. Especially not with such a ridiculous lie."

I glanced up at him and expected him to look upset. But if anything, his furrowed brows were worried.

"Is it cos of what happened while we were in bed the night we went to the pub?" Errol went on. "Are ye upset with me because of it? Or do ye feel awkward an' embarrassed? Do ye regret it? If ye do, then don't. I know ye. An' I know nothin' of what happened means..."

"No!" I exclaimed. "It's not cos of that."

Heat rose on my cheeks just thinking about it. But I held his gaze firmly to properly convey I didn't hold any regret over it. I wasn't sure why, but it felt important for him to know. It would have otherwise been easy to use as an excuse for why I was being distant. I could have used it even further as an excuse to end our friendship.

But I couldn't do that. I didn't want to tarnish a moment during which I had been so at peace, so at home, by lacing it with things I didn't feel.

"Then just tell me what happened." Errol's voice was a plea. So unlike his usual self. He wasn't my Samwise Gamgee at that moment carrying me up Mount Doom. He wasn't Superman swooping in to save me. He wasn't even the quietly observing Nick Carraway.

At that moment, he was Oliver Twist asking me for some more.

"I... I... I've really just been busy," I lied again.

Errol snorted. "Really, Alasdair? Are ye really gonna keep lyin' to me? Aren't we past that by now? Haven't we been friends long enough to be truthful towards each other, even if what we have to say will hurt?"

My previous apprehension and anxiety flew out the window as I jumped from my seat to stand in front of him.

"Truthful? Really? Do ye wanna talk about bein' truthful? Then when were ye gonna tell me Cameron is yer boyfriend?"

Errol's eyes widened before narrowing. "Who told ye that?"

"He did!"

"When?"

"A little over a week ago."

"An' what more did he say?"

"He..." I stopped myself as I realised I had been about to tell Errol everything. "Nothin'," I changed my answer to.

Errol didn't say anything. Didn't press me to tell. He simply reached out. Took one of my hands. Held it with one, while he with the other drew circles on the back of it.

I bit my lips to hold back my tears while staring at the ground. But the longer the silence stretched, the clearer it was that Errol had no intention of leaving without understanding, the harder it was to keep it in.

"He told me to get out of yer life. That I only contribute with misery to it. That bein' my friend is destroyin' ye."

Errol let out a sigh, and when I looked at him again, he gave me a gentle smile.

"Will ye sit down again?" he asked me, and I followed like a dog would its owner.

Errol wrapped an arm around my shoulders and I leaned on him. Soaked in his presence and comfort while our fingers intertwined.

"First of all," Errol started, "Cameron is not, never was, nor ever will be my boyfriend. Yes, he an' I have hooked up several times. But I've always made it perfectly clear to him that we are just friends an' the sex is nothin' more than sex. Secondly, don't ever think ye only contribute with misery to my life, cos that's as far from the truth as ye can come. If anythin', bein' with ye makes everythin' that is hard easier."

"That's not true. I've hurt ye," I refuted.

"No. Ye didn't."

I straightened myself again to glare at him. "Now who's lyin' again? Ye can't say I haven't, cos we both know bein' around me used to cause ye pain."

"In some ways, yes." He pressed on the side of my head for me to lean against him again. I did as he wanted. "But even when that was the case, ye've always still had a talent for liftin' my mood without knowin' ye do. Before I left, I tried to stay away from ye several times, but I never managed because just seein' ye makes me smile. So don't stay away from me. Not cos someone else has said I'll be better off without ye. If I ever feel like that, I'll tell ye. Alright?"

I had my eyes closed, scared my tears would roll if I opened them. "But ye went eight years bein' in love with me an' hurtin' cos of me without tellin' me. How can I trust ye won't do the same again?"

"I won't. If I feel those emotions reemergin', I'll let ye know."

I wanted to trust his words. Wanted to trust what he felt, what was between us, was only friendship.

But I couldn't because it felt like it was something else.

Scared of everything like I was, though, I chose to ignore that. Chose to remain oblivious, and decided to believe the words I knew weren't true.