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Eddie Castile had definitely not been drinking tonight. He definitely hadn’t started with some leftover vodka from Mr. Nagy’s not-so-secret stash. He most certainly hadn’t traded his second-nicest cologne for a bottle of tequila that was questionable at best. And he definitely hadn’t used the back staircase and broken a lock to get onto the roof so he could look at the clouds/drink in peace.
The vodka bottle had gone quickly and had Eddie coughing like his throat had caught fire. The tequila hadn’t felt much better going down either. Now, Eddie lay stretched out like a starfish, trying to decide if he could suddenly see the planet’s rotation better than ever before or if he was drunk enough that the entire sky was spinning.
The answer, of course, was that Eddie was horrendously drunk. He hadn’t been this drunk since Mason’s sixteenth birthday party when he had learned what “chugging” was. Eddie had spent most of that party with his head uncomfortably acquainted with the dorm toilet. But he hadn’t been alone. Mason had rubbed his back while Eddie had made noises he didn’t even know he could make.
Mason.
Though that night remained blurry at best, Eddie couldn’t forget how Mason’s hands on his back had felt.
Sure, Mason had touched him hundreds of times. High fives, fist bumps, sparring during practice, too many impromptu wrestling matches to count. But when Mason had rubbed his back, Eddie knew this touch belonged in a separate category. The kind of category Eddie kept in a special, private section of his heart.
Mason had thought nothing of it, of course. He had never brought it up again. But Eddie was unable to stop thinking about it. Sometimes, in the silence of the day when the campus was asleep, Eddie could almost feel those hands rubbing soothing lines across his back.
Eddie couldn’t help but feel pathetic. Weak.
Eddie was a man of logic. He organized, planned, and calculated. He thought before he acted and made pro-con lists for his big decisions. When it came time for novice training exercises, the other students looked to him to plan out the attack strategy. But he couldn’t logic his way out of this.
In fact, Eddie resolved, he’d sit on these feelings until they faded or he died. Mason was his best friend.
He had no claim on Mason, but Eddie couldn’t quite make his heart believe that. Every time Mason gazed adoringly at Rose, something in his stomach shriveled. He was only mollified by the fact that Rose obviously didn’t return Mason’s crush. She was an equal-opportunity flirt and always had been. Mason, however, misread her casual flirting as interest. Eddie knew better.
Eddie was one of the top-ranked novices at Saint Vladimir’s. He was smart, fast, and serious about his responsibilities. Most notably, he was observant.
Which is how he’d come to discover Rose’s crush on Dimitri.
It hadn’t been surprising, really. Plenty of people found Dimitri alluring. If Eddie was honest with himself, he could see the attraction. Even though Eddie preferred redheads with big blue eyes.
What was surprising to Eddie was the look of longing on Rose’s face when she thought nobody was looking. The face of someone who had had a small taste of love and never forgotten it. The face of someone who still carried a torch for a love that no longer had a heartbeat.
The same look, Eddie mused, that he probably had right now. As he picked apart the vodka label, Eddie remembered the freckle right behind Mason’s ear that was almost invisible unless Mason was fresh from the shower with his hair slicked back.
Eddie buried his face in his jacket and screamed.
Eddie Castile certainly wasn’t drunk, hadn’t been on the roof, and wasn’t currently breaking into the girl’s dormitory.
It wasn’t hard to find Rose’s room. The girl’s dorms were mostly empty anyways, but he recognized the beat-up sneakers outside her door. They’d kicked his ass enough times.
He knocked three times, maybe four. It was hard to keep track when your brain was swimming.
The door swung open to reveal Rose, dressed in a baggy tee and running shorts. She looked at him curiously.
“Evening,” Eddie said, a goofy smile on his too-hot face. “Can I come in?”
Rose’s hair was down for once, a halo of curls. A halo, he thought, fit for an angel. Rose, the girl he’d his first swear word from at age seven, an angel. The thought made him giggle.
Rose looked at him with an expression somewhere between amusement and confusion.
She stepped aside to let him in anyways.
When she gestured for him to sit in the desk chair, Eddie instead chose to lay on the shaggy carpet. The world spins slower against the floor, he reasons. Something about physics. His inner ear or a stable surface.
Rose chooses the desk chair. He can feel her eyes on him. A true mark of restraint, he thinks, that she hasn’t asked him anything yet.
He tries to braid the shag carpet pieces but probably ends up tying the ends in knots instead.
“I know I’m not really supposed to be here,” he tells Rose and Rose’s carpet. It smells a little like feet. He wrinkles his nose.
“Oh good,” she says dryly, “At least you’re not that drunk.”
Eddie opens his mouth to say he’s not drunk, but that feels like a lie big enough that Saint Vladimir himself will open up a pit straight to hell for him. Rose would appreciate him being direct.
“I need some help.”
“I figured,” she said, spinning back and forth in her desk chair. It’s making Eddie a little sick to watch. “It’s not like you’re the type to turn up here for a bootycall.”
“Eww,” he said. “No offense.”
Rose snorted. “You really know how to hurt a girl’s feelings.”
“Please,” he scoffed. “It’s not like you care about anyone’s feelings except Belikov’s.” Eddie clapped a hand over his mouth.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he said meekly.
“No, what did you just say?”
“Nothing,” he said, stretching it out nice and long.
“Eddie.”
“Nope.”
“Eddie.”
Her face is suddenly in front of his and he exhales in surprise.
“God, your breath smells so bad. Don’t breathe near any candles or you’ll set this whole place on fire.”
He narrows his eyes. “We aren’t even allowed to have candles. It’s in the student handbook.”
Rose smiles an I-definitely-have-candles smile.
“Don’t change the subject.”
Eddie rolls over to look at her ceiling. It’s easier to do this when he doesn’t have to look at her.
“How did you find out?” she asks softly.
“Best novice of the year, remember?”
Rose snorts and flops down next to him, half-on and half-off the rug. Her cool skin feels good against his too-warm body.
“I saw how you looked at him. I mean every girl looks at him, but you look at him like you’re mourning something.”
He feels her deep sigh against his ribs.
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I’m insulted, Hathaway. I’m trustworthy. I never told anyone about the time you shit your pants-"
“Alright, alright! No need to relive that. You’re right.”
“There was something.” She’s whispering now even though it’s just the two of them. Eddie has to shuffle a little closer to hear her. “We had something. But it’s over now. He’s with someone else.”
“I’m sorry.” There’s probably something wiser to say, but Eddie has never been so good at it. Battle strategy was one thing. Crying girls were another.
He stares resolutely at the ceiling and pretends not to notice when Rose wipes her eyes. Some dignity is perhaps the only thing he can give her right now.
“Why are you drunk today?”
Eddie closes his eyes. It's a fair question. He wasn’t really sure why he had picked this particular day to get so drunk. It was like there was this feeling deep inside of him, some darkness that needed to be let out.
“Same reason as you I suppose.”
“You’re in love with Dimitri?”
He laughs, which immediately makes his vision swim and reminds him he’s still very much drunk.
“No. There’s someone I can’t have.”
Rose inhales sharply beside him. He’s glad his eyes are closed so he doesn’t have to see her expression.
“Who?” Eddie suddenly wishes he could have the vodka label back so he could shred it. He settles for running his fingers through the shag carpet until they get stuck.
“Mason.” He feels the cold pressure of her hand on his wrist. She knows better than to hold his hand. If he doesn’t knot the carpet he’s going to fall apart all over this floor.
“I’m sorry,” she says simply.
There is nothing else to say at this moment, but it comforts Eddie to know someone else is standing at the edge of the chasm between what they want and what they can have. He knows, rationally, that guardians could date. Plenty of them hooked up, but it was always understood that these relationships didn’t last. It was rare for a guardian to get married at all, even less so to another guardian. If they guarded a charge together- like Rose and Dimitri- things got more complicated. They’d either be stuck on different shifts and never see each other or guard together and have to stay focused on the charge. Near guard and far guard. Together, but not within reach.
“This fucking sucks,” Rose says, and then they’re dissolving into laughter that hurts a little. They lay side-by-side on the rug, her hand still on his wrist. It’s the most comforting touch he’s had in a while.
“We should do this again,” Eddie says, breaking the silence.
“Preferably not on the carpet next time.”
“Well, I was on the roof before this.”
“Castile,” Rose tsked. “You gave me shit about candles and you were out here sneaking onto the roof? How dangerous.”
He doesn’t have to see her smile to know it’s there.
“Since when do you care about school rules, Hathaway?” She takes her hand off his wrist to shove at his shoulder.
“I am a morally upstanding-”
“You have a disciplinary record that takes up multiple file folders.”
“-Young guardian. I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
“I’ve seen it.”
He had, actually. Guardian Petrov trusted few people with that filing system, but Eddie was generally well-liked. When he had been late to practice last year, he had been assigned to alphabetize some of the novice files as punishment. It had been boring work but now, seeing Rose’s look of shock, it was worth it.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think we need to adjourn this meeting.” He began the slow work of standing up.
“Tired?” she teased.
“Going throw up in your trash can.” Rose made a face.
“Go, go, go!” She said, pushing him out the door. He went willingly, albeit a bit haphazardly.
“Next meeting is on the roof,” he called over his shoulder. “We start at 9 AM sharp.”
Her laugh followed him down the hallway.