14. Isaiah
Isaiah
February, Oxford
“Are you alright?” Amara asked, bumping his elbow as they walked through town to find some lunch.
“Just a general sense of impending doom,” he replied.
Amara pushed open the door of their usual cafe, a small, tucked-away place that catered more to local shop workers than students.
“Nothing new, then?” She smirked. A short queue snaked its way towards the door, and they parked themselves in it.
Isaiah wasn’t sure how he could even begin to explain. It wasn’t just the thesis. It was the situation with Green. It was something in the way Flash had asked for a private session to talk. Everything felt like it was teetering on a knife-edge.
“Weird day at my uncle’s last week,” he said.
The shock and devastation on Green’s face was hard to get past even now, and it felt easier to talk about than to explain the unhealthy attachment he’d cultivated to a man who paid to watch him wank.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. Think I may have crossed a line. ”47
“What does that even mean? Crossing the line?” Amara asked.
He rolled his eyes. He could almost see the arguments and counterpoints forming in her head. Her brain was a fascinating place.
They got to the front of the queue and ordered. Isaiah paid and grabbed their table number before she could protest. “I’m about to dump a boatload of issues on you, least I can do is pay for lunch.”
“True.” She plucked the number from his hand and made her way to a corner table.
Isaiah stopped to fill two glasses of water from the over-styled brass tap on the far wall, then joined her, sinking into the perfectly worn wooden chair.
“You mentioned you got the hot doper’s ban reduced,” she said. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“Can we not call him that, please?”
Amara smirked. “Why?” she asked, the picture of innocence. “Is it an incorrect statement?”
Isaiah glared at her. Their food arrived. He took a huge bite of his Ploughman’s sandwich as he tried to find the words for what had happened.
“He came into the office to sign papers,” he said.
Amara just nodded. She’d make a damn good therapist if she weren’t so committed to being a lifelong academic. “And how did that make you feel?” she joked.
Isaiah threw one of his chips at her. She caught it and ate it.
“I’m trying to be serious,” he said.
“I know. It’s unnerving.”
He ploughed on, undeterred. “My uncle had me bring out the papers, and I may have said some unflattering things about him on the way down the corridor that were overheard.”
He took another bite of his sandwich as he waited for her reply.
“So? It’s not like you hadn’t made your opinion of him clear before.”
“This was different,” he whispered. “The look on his face, Mar…” That image of quiet devastation on Green’s face seemed to have permanently implanted itself in his brain. “He didn’t argue, he just looked at me like I’d taken away every reason he had to carry on.”
Amara chewed thoughtfully, watching him over the rim of her glass. “You know, there’s the whole moral philosophy argument around intent versus impact.48 You might not have meant to—”
“Spare me the Intro to Philosophy lecture.” Isaiah groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s like we’ve gone back to first year. Intent versus impact, really?”
She smiled, undeterred. “I’m just saying, harm doesn’t vanish because it was convenient at the time.”
“Yeah, cheers, that’s wildly comforting.
” He stared down at his plate like the pickle might offer absolution.
“I didn’t even say anything that bad. Just…
dismissive. Like he was a nuisance. But when he looked at me…
” He stopped, jaw tightening. “He just folded in on himself, and then he ran off without even a second glance the moment he could.” Isaiah exhaled hard through his nose.
“And I stood there with my stupid papers and monogrammed pen, like some smug little gatekeeper of his future.”
Amara’s expression softened, the teasing edge dropping away. “You’re not responsible for the entire narrative of his life, Zay.”
“No, but I didn’t have to be the villain of the week either.” He pushed his sandwich crust around the plate. “The worst part is I don’t even hate him, not really. This year has been fucked, and maybe for a second, I enjoyed it. Being the one who got to judge.”49
Isaiah blinked down at his half-eaten lunch.
Amara nodded slowly. “Okay. That’s the interesting bit.”
“Oh my god,” he muttered. “You’re unbearable.”
She grinned. “You love me.”
The bell over the cafe door jangled.
Isaiah didn’t look up at first. The place was busy; doors made noise. He was still stuck on the mess in his head over Green, over what Flash wanted to talk about, over how the department would respond to his proposal. But Amara went very still.
It was subtle, just a pause in the way she reached for her drink, but he knew her. Isaiah turned his head to follow her gaze. And the world tilted, just slightly. Today? Really? It had been months since they’d had to interact, and Isaiah was certainly not complaining.
Ollie stood just inside the door, scanning the room in that absent, distracted way he always had, like he’d walked in mid-thought and forgotten why. His hair was shorter. He’d shaved. He looked good, though. Annoyingly good.
Beside him was Matt. Because of course he was. They’d always been attached at the hip, even before Isaiah realised how literal that was.
Matt was leaning close to a girl Isaiah didn’t recognise, his hand on the small of her back; not the same one as last time he’d seen them on campus. She was laughing at something he’d said, bright and easy.
“Oh,” Amara said quietly.
Isaiah’s mouth had gone dry. “You have got to be kidding me.”
He looked down immediately, suddenly fascinated by the grain of the wooden table.
“Do you want to go?” Amara asked, already shifting as though she could physically block the line of sight if required.
“No,” he said, too quickly. Leaving would be worse. “It’s been ages, we’re fine.”
“Fine? You don’t look fine.”
“I’ve got bigger problems right now than my cheating ex, Mar,” he snapped. “The department’s small; I’ll need to get used to seeing them. Besides, it’s a cafe. I’m allowed to exist in cafés.”
“Groundbreaking take.”
He shot her a glare, then risked another glance.
Ollie’s eyes had landed on him, a frown marring his face. There was a flicker of unease mixed with something more complicated that Isaiah didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to decode.
Ollie said something to the others. Matt followed his gaze, and for half a second, their eyes met. Matt narrowed his eyes but looked away first. Isaiah’s hands were suddenly very interested in the remnants of his meal.
“Breathe,” Amara murmured.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re vibrating.”
“Correct.”
Ollie disentangled himself from the group and started over.
Every step felt like a countdown. They hadn’t actually spoken since that day, not properly.
Isaiah forced his spine straight, arranging his face into an expression he hoped passed for neutral.
Ollie stopped at the edge of the table, hands tucked into his coat pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “Hey,” he said.
His voice was the same, but Isaiah found he didn’t really feel anything at hearing it. Not longing, not lust. Not regret. Just mild annoyance that he had to deal with this instead of focusing on the real issues.
Isaiah looked up. “Hi.”
“How are you?” Ollie asked.
Months of silence and that’s what they had. “Fine. Busy.” Isaiah nodded like this was a tutorial check-in. “You?”
“Good. Yeah. Good.” Ollie gave a small, awkward smile. “Classes good?”
“Mostly. Epistemology refuses to die.”
Ollie huffed a soft laugh. “Classic.”
A brittle silence fell between them. Up close, Isaiah could see the faint crease between Ollie’s brows, the one that showed up when he didn’t know what the right version of himself was supposed to be.
“Submit your DPhil proposal?” Ollie asked.
Isaiah looked past him. “Yup,” he replied, popping the P as obnoxiously as he could.
“Great.”
“You remember Amara,” Isaiah said suddenly, gesturing.
Amara gave Ollie a polite, assessing smile. “Hi.”
“Of course,” Ollie said. “Nice to see you.”
Amara hummed in response.
“How’s Matt? Did he not want to say hello?” Isaiah asked. Amara kicked him under the table.
“Erm, he’s good. Yeah, working closely with Dr. Schmidt on something new.” Ollie ran a hand through his hair. “New girlfriend again. She’s nice.” His smile was brittle.
“Oll, if…” Isaiah started, genuinely impressed by his own altruism.50 Maybe he could earn back some of the karma points he’d lost on Chris Green if he helped Ollie, because seeing him like this was more depressing than he would have expected.
“Anyway,” Ollie interrupted, rocking back slightly on his heels. “Good to see you.”
“Yeah,” Isaiah echoed. His chest felt tight. “You too.”
Ollie nodded once, like he’d completed a social obligation, then turned back toward his table. Isaiah watched him go, the noise of the cafe rushing back in around him.
“Well,” Amara said softly. “That was deeply British.”
Isaiah let out a shaky breath. “Deeply fucking awkward is what it was.” He laughed. “Now, can we get back to my actual problems? These sarnies were expensive, and I need to get my money’s worth of your advisory time.”
“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Now tell me about your thesis. I thought you were going with the safe one? ‘The Myth of Clean Sport: Autonomy, Consent, and Coercion in Elite Athletics.’ We spent hours workshopping that title.”
Isaiah shrugged apologetically. “My heart wasn’t in it after the whole thing with Green last week, I guess. And, well…”
“The other one spoke to you more.”
“It did.”
Amara smiled. “Then it’s worth the risk. Honestly, I think Schmidt’ll be surprised, but she’ll go for it.”