Day 6342: Because your smile warms me from the top of my head right down to the tip of my toes.

0725 hours.

There he is.

There he is again.

Okay, tell me, who returns to the same café four days in a row to sit in the same seat and drink the same drink?Excludingme, I mean. But I'm an exception. At least I don't return every day in the same body. Everyone needs a little variation from time to time and my variations are just... a little more extreme.

My honey-eyed stranger is using a velvet handkerchief to dab gently at the corners of his mouth when I look up from the little dent on the table I had been staring at. The white and blue cloth has an embroidered "B" on it. I might have let my mind linger for a bit on what that letter might represent.

Today, his normally perfectly-gelled hair has far less product, his tie is slightly loosened, and his hazel eyes rest under a frustrated brow as he fumbles with the lid of his coffee in the most adorable fashion. When the loose curls fall into his eyes, he brushes them away irritably, absorbed in a war of sorts. Only aftermultipletries (in which I am really, really amused by), he finally manages to get the cover off. Then there is the addition of what is, in my opinion, far too many shakes of chocolate powder to his coffee. He takes a tentative sip, then lets out a satisfied smile.

I choke on my coffee, coughing and sputtering as the liquid goes down the wrong pipe in my body. Just what the hell wasthat?

0913 hours.

Matthew walks down the pavement, footsteps sounding softly on the ground. He has both hands tucked in his jean pockets and a thick, warm scarf wrapped around his neck. Around the corner, two giggling teenage girls are staring him down, talking in high-pitched squeaky noises which make my skin crawl. I stare at them uncomfortably, but Matt seems at ease with himself, if not completely clueless.

It is old news now, for William Jones to experience a fluttering sensation somewhere in his stomach whenever Matt is nearby, but he is not allowed to freak out, no matter who stands in front of him. That is what his dad had always taught him. So I watch Matt's approach from the corner of my eye, keeping up William's cool facade. He's dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, but he might as well have stepped out of the front page of a magazine. William's subconscious seems a little disgruntled about that.

Except for a quick exchange of curt nods, neither of us gives any sign of greeting or recognition. I drag myself away from the comfortable slouch against the wall and begin walking. He follows, falling right into step with me as we had thousands of times before.

1238 hours.

It is a windy afternoon. I drag my feet along the sidewalk, kicking little pebbles along the way. Neither of us is talking. The fallen leaves are doing a jiggly sort of dance in the wind before our eyes as we let silence preach its sermon. He sighs for the umpteenth time since we began walking.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" I repeat, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes," he replies curtly. "I'm sure."

Our conversation lapses into the gentle rustling of leaves and constant howling of the wind once more. We settle onto a park bench, lost in separate worlds. I can feel the heat radiating from his body just inches away from my side, and William wishes with all his heart there was something he could do to will his best friend back from the world he's lost in.

"I'm sorry," Matt says, so suddenly that I start, momentarily panicking that I had voiced my thoughts aloud. My heart is jumping excitedly at the closeness of his breath, from his face just a little way from my own.

"Don't be," I tell him, willing my overexcited heart to stop pulsing erratically. "We all have our days."

"I'm just so in love with her, you know?"

I nod dumbly. I don't, but I don't know what else to say.

He sighs again. "We should get going. You shouldn't be wasting a Saturday watching me mope around."

"It's fine," I shrug carelessly. "I have nothing better to do anyway."

"No," he gets up and begins walking. "You have a thousand and one things to do. Don't try to tell me otherwise, Will. I know you."

I get up reluctantly and trail after him. The walk to the bus station is completely quiet. It's as if the birds are mourning the part of William's heart that dies a bit more each time Matt says he loves her. We parted ways as usual. Me, walking quickly up the bus to grab William's favourite window seat. Him, waving from afar with a grin. Today, that grin is strained. I smile back at him.

But Matt doesn't know that the smile stops as soon as I turn away from him. He doesn't know that the bus ride home is always a blur of tears. He doesn't know that the world always sways whenever he's around. He doesn't know William at all.

1436 hours.

The sky is so blue, the sun so bright, the clouds so white. Cars rush by, eager to reach their destination. People walk by, laughing and chattering away in faraway voices. The walk home is so cheerful; it feels as though they're mocking me.

Pulling away from William's troubled heart and subconscious, I find myself in a daze. Before I even realise what I'm doing, I have a cup of coffee in my hands. The café is buzzing with customers, and there are no kids from my school. It's perfect. I take a window seat, tapping my fingers with no apparent rhythm on the table while I sip my coffee.

"Hi, may I sit here?" a familiar voice asks.

I look up to see Rachel Berry sitting herself at my table. I raise an eyebrow, and hope my surprise isn't clear. "Why ask when you've already reached a decision?" is what I say although my insides are squirming. I meant my words to be hostile, but her smile widens. She'sweird.

"I'm Rachel Berry," she stretches a hand across the table. I take it hesitantly, and regret my decision almost immediately. Rachel is anything but unenthusiastic. "I work at the Bon Café. You were there this morning."

"William," I reply instinctively, flexing my right hand under the table. "I know—" I say before cursing myself with all the swear words I can think of in a flash. "Is there something I could do for you?"

Rachel doesn't seem to notice my lapse in composure. She just holds up that perpetual beam. It's beginning to be a little creepy. "It's nothing, really," she takes a sip of her drink. On her cup, her name written in cursive and a gold star sticker stuck at the end. It is just soRachel. I can only imagine the barista's exasperation. "I happened to notice that you were staring at the really cute guy in at Bon Café this morning and I wondered if—"

"—if I'm gay?" I raise an eyebrow. "My sexuality is none of your concern."

She rolls her eyes, "Come on, I have gaydads. I don't care if you're lesbian."

The corners of my mouth twitch involuntarily and I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

"He's here!" she ducks her head suddenly, whispering loudly. "Look over there!" she jerks her chin towards the counter where he stands, waiting patiently in the queue. He's in a different outfit from this morning: a blue blazer with red piping and a huge 'D' emblazoned on it. I should have known; he's a prep school kid.

"There he is," I hear myself say, "Dreamy as ever."—Rachel makes an agreeing sigh—"Wait, do you stalk him or something?" I stare pointedly at Rachel.

"I prefer the term 'actively persistent', if you don't mind," she says in a huff.

"Rachel—" I start, before an unusual sensation creeps over me. It feels...familiar. I haven't quite placed my finger on what's going on before she's tugging at my sleeve impatiently, "So do you want to find out or not?"

"Find out what?" I ask blankly.

"Whether he's gay or straight!" she hisses, rolling her eyes. "If he's straight, I call dibs!"

"And how exactly are you going to find out?" I ask, but Rachel is already flinging her hair over her shoulder and sashaying towards my honey-eyed stranger. I feel my jaw drop. "Oh my—"

"Hey," she smiles up at him.

"Hey, Rachel!" my stranger grins in return. "I didn't think I'll meet you here—"

His words are cut off as she presses her lips against his, kissing him. My time freezes for the longest moment before they break the kiss. I'm pretty sure William's jaw is permanently dislocated somewhere on the floor. A brief scan of my surroundings confirms that I'm not the only one guilty of staring. A handsome boy, a pretty girl; theyarea good match.

"Huh," he says, his eyes never leaving her face. Rachel looks expectantly at him and my stomach is slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean before he speaks again.

"Yep," the boy nods, his face slowly pulling into a wide grin. "Yep, I'm gay. Thanks so much for clearing that up, Rachel!" he smiles at her again, "Hey, do you mind holding my queue for me? I need to go to the bathroom," he pats her on the shoulder as thanks before leaving her and small audience in the café gaping after him.

I know I shouldn't, but I really can't stop laughing.

1945 hours.

[Incoming phone call]

"Hey, Matt," I say.

Silence.

"Matt?"

Silence.

"Uh... Matt?" I try again. "Hey, dude. Are you there?"

Then, a sob. It is the smallest of whimpers, and the most heart-breaking sound William has ever heard.

"Are you at home?"

"No," he whispers softly, his barely audible voice cracking at the end.

"I'll be there in five."

2001 hours.

Two boys sit on swings; one crying aloud, the other crying within. The whoosh of wind feels dead to William's ears. The cool metal chains under his fingertips burn. The crickets are having sing-off. His hour has begun.

"She's not worth it."

Matt shakes his head in reply, "She is."

"She cheated on you, Matt!" Will tries to control his temper. "She fucking cheated on you with three other guys! You did so much for her in the name of love and look where it got you? She dumped you! That fuckingslut!"

"Don't call her that," Matt says quietly.

"And pray, tell me why not?" he demands, his tone challenging a fight. "Which disgusting being has a boyfriend and still sleeps around like a fucking slut?Kristina Phelps, that's who."

"I said," Matt has a hard look in his eyes, his teeth gritted, "don't call her that."

"That slut has gotte—" Matt's fist strikes William's face before he could complete his words. The boy falls over onto the ground, cradling his bloody jaw in pain. I feel nothing, but if I was in control, I would have winced.

"Oh, fuck," Matt panics, kneeling onto the floor to pry away William's hand from his mouth, "Fuck... Fuck, dude. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to"—William barks out a gurgled snort—"punch you. Are you okay?"

"Just get off me," William pushes his hands away, spitting out blood onto the grass. The metallic taste of blood and corresponding vertigo makes him feel like doubling over to hurl. There are angry tears falling from the tip of his eyelashes, "Stop calling me over this kind of bullshit. You don't even care to listen about what the whole world tells you once it's something bad about thatwomanof yours. So why did you even call me in the first place, then? For comfort? For someone to tell you,oh she's not actually that bad.She still loves you? Did you really think I'll sit by you and let you mope around and eventually go back to her to get more chopped up? To come here just to be your fucking punching bag? Just what the fuck do you think I am?"

Matt just stares, wide-eyed and completely shocked by his friend's outburst, "I..." he trails off, unable to keep up a sentence.

William cuts him off. "It's like we're not even friends anymore! All you care is her, her, her! Do you even care about the rest of the world?"—he looks at Josh's blank face for a moment before running a frustrated hand through his hair—"Of course not, of course not. You're so confined in that world of yours; sometimes I'm jealous at how being so fucking ignorant pulls you out of all sorts of fucked-up situations," he tugs his blood-stained scarf off his neck and throws it at Josh's feet before he pushes himself off the ground and storms away.

"Dude, what's the matter? We punch each other all the time!"

"What's the matter?" William spins around in disbelief, exasperated. "If you still don't know what's wrong, you're a fucking idiot!"

"Well, I don't know! That's why I'm asking!"

"Yes, you don't know anything, do you? All you know is that prissy little princess of yours and how to make her happy. You don't fucking care about whatever the fuck's left in this universe! Guess what? I made it to the football team. Three weeks ago,dude. Three weeks! The whole fucking school knows and maybe even the whole town knows and my best friend is the only one who doesn't know!"

"Wh-what?" he stammers, a confused expression clouding his eyes. "You should've told me," his voice drops to a whisper, "I would have been happy for you."

"You don't know anything at all," William says quietly, in a tired voice. He is so, so exhausted, "You don't care about anyone else, you don't care nuts about the rest of the world. I quit, okay? I want out. This game of 'who goes insane first' between the two of us has got to stop. You're winning. You're always going to win and you don't need me, anyway. That is clear. Maybe it's time I've begun not needing you either."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just forget it," he turns around to leave, but Matt lunges forward to hold him back.

"Explain it to me!"

"Just fucking forget it!" William struggles against his grasp.

"Tell me so that I can understand!"

"You wouldn't understand!"

"Don't decide what I can understand and what I can't for me!" Matt jerks a thrashing William back towards himself, "Tell me!"

"I'm in love with you!" William screams at him, his chest heaving. Matt stares back at him in shock, hands going slack from their hold on William's shoulders. "I'm in love with you, youjerk."

"B-but... how?"

William blinks wetly, unable to look his best friend in the eye, "The whole world has known about my feelings for you for years. Am I really that good of an actor? I mean, even Ms Han knows and she's half-blind!" The tears are threatening to fall; whether it's the pain in his face, the jumble in his head, the tight knot in his stomach, or the sheer intensity of confessing his feelings for the first time, William can't tell. Maybe it's everything at once.

He can feel perspiration sliding down the side of his cheek and mixing with the blood. It drips down his chin and stains his shirt red. In the wind, it's as though his face is frozen stiff, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about his throbbing jaw or his swollen cheek. He doesn't care about anything else except spitting the truth out. It feels like pain-relief taken just to withstand another dagger dragging through his soul.

Matt is unnervingly quiet, quiet until he finally manages three words, "The geography teacher?"

"Yes, Matt—" William blinks away tears, "—of course. Of course that would be the only detail you deem important." He wipes the blood and tears off his face with the corner of his shirt. "It's okay. I was just leaving, anyway. See you... soon."

"Wait!" Matt calls hesitantly, his voice shaking, "Just... how long has this been?"

William laughs. He was punched by his crush tonight, but he didn't expect words to be a bigger blow than the punch. The situation is so cruelly hilarious that he knows if he stops laughing he will break down. Trust Matt to know all the right places to hit.

"Six years," he says through a strangled laugh. "I've been in love with you for six years."

Then without another word, he leaves. William Jones walks slowly, even though he knows that Matthew Fairweather would never come after him. A few minutes later, a little turn of the path ahead, he cries his heart out in the comfort of darkness.