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He hadn’t shown up.
The front-row spot he always monopolized was empty. Castiel couldn’t take his eyes away from it. It was nothing special, really: he’d do anything but pay attention in class. If staring at the chair his ‘sworn enemy’ - as Lysandre often referred to him - abandoned for the day was any more entertaining than listening to a lecture, he’d take the opportunity gladly. Castiel found himself daydreaming about Nathaniel’s frame. He was a good student, unlike him, he’d never turn back to give the other rows a glance. His golden stands of straight, disciplined hair was all he could really look at. How did he keep the color so intense? It couldn’t be dye. Castiel’s own hair was cheap box dye because he liked the specific shade of this brand. He doubted Nathaniel would have the gall to even consider dying his hair. His twin sister had the exact same hair color anyway, they were most likely natural blondes.
Nathaniel’s hair, albeit not having anything crazy to offer, was better than the rest. He had a boring sense of style - almost as boring as his sense of duty. Castiel couldn’t believe in his hellbent commitment of wearing a tie for school. At least he had stopped wearing those stupid gray and blue jerseys. He looked like more of an idiot. The last time he had seen him wear one of those was a little after his ex-girlfriend Debrah left school. It reminded him of the past. He was glad he had stopped wearing those. Maybe if he wore glasses and threw in some braces, he’d look like someone he could actually despise. Castiel pictured Nathaniel with thin blue frames. Too authoritarian. Kind of fitting. It straddled his face perfectly. He frowned. Did he really think about that jerk for so long?
The fact remained: it was just a silly daydream. Nathaniel hadn’t shown up. If he was here, his presence would already be known. Always raised his hand in class, so adamant about making his academic prowess be known. It made Melody swoon, it made Iris think about her grades. Castiel, it made him roll his eyes. He wasn’t the kind to start dialoguing with the teachers - unlike that dweeb who left for military school, what was his name again? No, Nathaniel kept it short and humble. At least it wasn’t dragging class on and on. Eventually, the bell rang, and he always took the time to pack his things neatly. When did such a messy kid turn into such a model of perfection? Castiel barely had anything in his bag and his locker, it was all a display of what a troublemaker he was. Torn up assignments, and discarded notes. The only thing he took great care of was Lysandre’s notebook whenever he found it and didn’t catch time to return it. Castiel could care, sometimes. But he’s not corny. God knew he wasn’t, despite the fact he looked edgy to most people. How was he supposed to show he cared without being corny?
⸙
Nathaniel Jacott was a bright boy. A bright face, a bright personality, with bright grades, and a bright future ahead of him. He beamed with a brightness akin to an angel. But as he walked through the doors of Sweet Amoris, it was as if his gleam had twinkled. He walked cautiously, as if he was lost. In reality, it took all of the strength he could gather to avoid passing out in the hallway. He opened his locker, sniffling loudly. It couldn’t be mistaken for cries: he was sick. Influenza hadn’t diminished at all, spring had only just begun. Last time Nathaniel had been so sick, it was when his dad forced him to walk home from school, under pouring rain, because he had ‘bothered’ him one time too many. It was maybe one, two years ago. His mind had grown to forget how humiliated he felt. But his body didn’t, as he would feel his pulse quicken every time he couldn’t spot his father’s black Maserati.
Neat rows of binders, copybooks, and textbooks awaited, and he rubbed his eyes with the frustration of a man who had tried to shake off his sickness for too long. He had only been permitted one day to recover. Most of yesterday was spent sleeping and drinking large amounts of water to ease down his fever. Nobody even came to visit him that day, their fear of catching the flu getting in the way of their frail compassion. This morning, a loud knock had been heard, with an equally disrupting “hurry up, you’re going to be late”. That’s right, nobody cared if Nathaniel was sick. Nobody cared about Nathaniel at all. He had a duty to fulfill. As he put his shirt on, he looked at himself in the mirror, his ill reflection staring back with puffy eyes. In a moment, he was slipping into his bright boy costume, and for a moment he realized the costume had long stopped fitting, but he couldn’t throw it away.
The class representative closed his locker in a swift motion. He was heading for history, which was a tolerable class. His teacher, Faraize, wasn’t too much of a challenge. He’d just do the bare minimum - surely they’d allow that for today, as opposed to his demanding father. He’d allow himself to avoid forcing his throat, and to close his eyes whenever the classroom’s lights blinded him. What if he had to sleep? He frowned, embarrassed at the thought. He never slept in class. Nathaniel grabbed a painkiller from the depths of his locker and swallowed it. He sucked it up like the uneasiness he felt deep in his core. After that, he closed the locker, with the sharp noise of metal hitting metal with force. Only then did he notice the red-haired jackass with a shit-eating grin on his lips.
⸙
“Look who’s back!”
“Ugh… Yes, hello, can we skip the banter for today?”
The red-haired teenager marked a pause.
“What? I’m not in the mood, Castiel.”
“I can see that. What’s up with you? Pollen is barely here yet.”
Nathaniel’s gaze fell away from Castiel’s eyes. As if suddenly shy, he huffed out. Breathing was especially hard with his congested nose. He wondered how someone like Castiel, who showed no care for the world around him, knew he had especially incommodating allergies. But then again, of course, he’d be aware of something that bothered him. Castiel never missed an opportunity to mess with the class representative. It wasn’t particularly bullying, more like an ongoing rivalry that had started in a park’s sandbox, and kept going in the corridors of Sweet Amoris. From snarky remarks to particularly mean threats, they’ve done it all, including Nathaniel getting roughly slammed against a locker after he’d suggested getting Castiel expelled. This one he regretted the most. It had revived the pain in his back, the bruises from the night before. Maybe that’s why he ran out of patience that day and almost got him thrown out. Nathaniel could be cranky after his father took the time to paint his back hues of blue and mauve. Silently relieved at the fact they barely interacted since he caught the flu, Nathaniel sighed heavily.
“No, that’s not it,” said the blonde. “I’m just sick.”
“Oh, ew. Why’d you come then?”
Because my stupid piece of shit father wants me to be top of the class.
But instead, he replied:
“Well, figured I already had enough rest in one day. No need to waste more time at home doing nothing.”
“That’s stupid if you ask me. Why don’t you milk it? That way you can catch up on work and stuff.”
With a roll of his delicate - and usually kind - eyes, he answered, with the same arrogance he usually reserved for Castiel.
“Unlike you , I don’t need to do that. I’m always up to date with everything I do. If anything, I’m already way ahead of you, actually. But that’s not really hard when you skip half the classes to do God knows what.”
Casitel’s eyes scanned Nathaniel. The day before, he was admiring his figure, wondering what could’ve been. Now he was here, exactly how he had pictured it. He was slightly taller, and mentally gave himself a pat on the back for this small victory. He didn’t expect to find him so visibly miserable. He sniffled after each sentence and cleared his throat with each breath. His face was flushed with what looked like the remnants of his fever. Castiel almost had pity on him, but he found pity to be kind of gross, and as much as he disliked Nathaniel, he couldn’t even fathom expressing it. It’s not like Nathaniel was a puppy he had to tend to. Castiel pictured Nathaniel with a leash for a brief moment. He quickly dismissed the thought, as waggish as it looked. His eyes stopped on the books Nathaniel was carrying to class. He snickered.
“Way ahead of me, uh?”
Nathaniel frowned.
“Correct.”
“Looks like you’re ahead of your timetable as well. We don’t have physics until tomorrow.”
The sickly boy’s face was crossed with confusion. It was only when he looked down at his school materials that he realized he was taking his Physics copybook to History class. A blush that crept on his face, his voice grew hoarse in embarrassment - and he hoped it could be mistaken for yet another pitch of fever.
“Come on. I’m not asking you to skip any more classes, I know you’d never have the balls to. You should at least head to the nurse’s.”
“I don’t need that,” he fought back, ashamed a boy he solemnly hated since kindergarten showed more sympathy than his own parents ever would.
“Have it your way. Just don’t sneeze on me or something.”
“Why do you care so much?”
Castiel’s heart skipped a beat at the question. It didn’t come from nowhere, it wasn’t incoherent. Why did he put so much thought into Nathaniel? Goody-goody, daddy’s boy Nathaniel? The bright boy of Sweet Amoris? Both each other’s shadow in a way, in an eternal cycle of detestation until their ways finally split, were they destined to never get along yet always understand the other? Why did Nathaniel’s absence always bring a hollowness, and never a relief?
“... I don’t know. It just sucks that you’re sick.”
“I thought you’d take the opportunity to be a pain, as always.”
“Not really. I play fair. Also, I got throat lozenges, if you ever need some.”
“How would you know I don’t have some already?”
“You sound like me after I smoke a cig in one drag.”
“Whatever. Okay, I’ll take them.”
Full of gratitude, Nathaniel finally glanced up toward Castiel’s angular features. He could barely reprimand the blush that burned on his cheeks when their gazes crossed. He convinced himself it was just another symptom of his flu. But as a sly smirk played on Castiel’s lips, he wondered if it wasn’t one of the symptoms of something else.
“Thanks, Castiel,” he finally said. He never saw himself utter these words with a tone other than the one of sarcasm. But he was glad he did.
He was glad he cared. And Castiel was glad he’d showed up.