The clock reads 00:01 am. It is now officially the 24th of December, Christmas eve and I have not heard from Sam since the hockey incident, with the exception of a text that had read:

In truth, I had said text me if you need anything, but this was a little cold.

I've never had Sam be this angry at me, for this long and it's very disheartening.

I scroll further on my laptop, my eyes scanning the new information and I jot down the details of another apartment that looks affordable. The chances of Sam returning to his normal self seems to decrease with every day that passes, but I'm trying to take my mind off it. I nibble on my lip anxiously, glancing at my phone which is yet again void of any messages.

I sigh and rub my temples gently. The time on my laptop now reads 1:46am and I groan, thinking of all the time I am wasting worrying.

I could just go over there tomorrow, ask to hang out. But what if he doesn't want me there? That would be humiliating. He's probably not even asleep yet, he could be out though?

I push my laptop off my lap and strip off my shirt, deciding that the only escape I will get from my overactive thoughts is sleep. I brush my teeth and swap my contacts for my glasses, exhaling in relief as I do so. I walk to the hall to switch off the light when a curious bang echoes from my door. I watch it silently, several horrible horror-film scenarios leaping to the forefront of my mind. Helpful.

A pathetic, weak tapping ensues and I grab my hockey stick. I traipse forwards and take a deep breath, grasping the handle tightly before yanking it open.

A wasted Sam, dressed in nothing but red and white striped boxers, with matching knee length socks, woollen hat and round glasses slumps through the now open doorway.

"Where's Wally." I blurt, watching him sprawl across the floor.

"Here I am!" He announces, although muffled by the floor, flinging his arms up in a surprise motion.

I sigh heavily and nudge his feet inwards, closing the door behind him. I abandon my hockey stick and place my hands on my hips as I assess the mess in front of me. Part of me wants to take him downstairs and forget that this entire escapade ever happened, because he surely won't remember in the morning. The other, selfish part of me wants to keep him here, where I can keep an eye on him. It's been so long since we've spent any time together and I'm still quite unaware as to why.

I huff to myself and bend down, scooping my arms beneath his knees and under his arms. I pluck him up gently and move towards my bed. Sam hums in my arms and slumps his head back against my shoulder.

"Missed you." He mumbles and I smile properly for the first time in weeks.

"I missed you too." I state, nudging my bedroom door open with my foot. I go to place him on my bed but he shakes his head vehemently, clinging to my arms. I sigh but adapt, shifting his weight and walking over to my wardrobe instead. I raise a knee to help balance him as I root around, finding a spare pair of joggers and a t-shirt.

I throw them over my shoulder and kick the door closed, shifting so that I'm holding him firmly again. I place him down, successfully this time, and pull the shirt over his head, guiding his arms through the holes like a toddler.

I take off the glasses and his socks, before helping him guide his feet through the trousers. I stand up, breathless from the effort of dressing him and he laughs.

"Do I take your breath away, 'Lias?" He slurs, his head tilted to the side and a sly smile on his face.

"Frequently." I mumble, thinking of all the times I've had to chase, carry or care for the imbecile in front of me. For a moment I also, inadvertently think about how genuine his smiles are, and the twinkle in his eyes whenever he laughs.

He giggles to himself and I roll my eyes. I tuck his hair away from his face and he leans into my palm like a puppy.

"You're going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow, buddy." I state and he nods, appearing a little more sober at the thought.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles and I feel my shoulders deflate a little.

"Me too." I reply, his eyes closing of their own accord.

I lay him down, tucking the covers around him and he shifts onto his side, inhaling deeply against the pillow. I place a bowl next to him on the floor and a glass of water on the table, along with 2 paracetamols.

"Hey, 'Lias?" He mumbles, stopping my retreat.

I turn and look at him, his face peaceful and his eyes battling to remain half-open.

"Yeah?" I say softly, waiting for his response.

"Love ya." He whispers, almost inaudibly. A smile slowly pulls my lips upwards and I chuckle lightly.

"Love you too, Sam." I say, flicking out the lights. He exhales loudly and mutters something incoherent before slipping into sleep.

I tuck myself up on the sofa, like many nights before, and note for perhaps the thousandth time that it is far too small for me to ever be vaguely comfortable.

My eyes close easily though, despite my discomfort, for my mind is at ease for the first time in weeks.

_

I wake up at 8 on the dot and stretch, falling from my makeshift sofa bed as I do so. The familiar crook in my neck has returned with a vengeance and I traipse to the shower feeling very sorry for myself.

The warm water helps to ease my muscles and I feel the slightest bit better afterward. I pull out my spare clothes from my hockey bag, not wanting to disturb Sam, carefully replace my glasses with contacts and grab my keys and wallet. I decide to walk the extra 4 minutes to an organic café, where everything is more expensive and comes in recyclable packaging.

Overall, it's nice, and I pluck out the last bacon sandwich as I stare perplexedly at an 'organic super-seed muffin'. I wonder what makes it 'super', cause it sure isn't the seeds.

I order a coffee for Sam and hand over the sandwich, deciding to go with the tried and tested raspberry and white chocolate muffin over the super-seed nonsense. I'm not sure what Sam would do if I presented him with a 'super-seed' muffin, but the thought is amusing.

I fork over £15 with a distasteful frown, wondering if it might be altogether cheaper to just learn Alice's schedule so I can actively avoid her that way instead. The cashier is far too smiley for the morning and I'm glad that when she opens her mouth to speak to me, she suddenly has a change of heart and shuts it again.

I take my, very overpriced, things and leave, unsure as to whether I'll receive a warm welcome from Sam or not. Leaving to get him breakfast had been automatic, I hadn't even thought about not doing it.

I stroll up the stairs of our building, almost tipping over Sam's coffee, which would have been an absolute disaster, and up the stairs to my dorm. I juggle the cup and bag as I fumble to get my keys.

I put them in the door but it swings open without my turning them. I glance up suddenly, greeted with Sam, who looks terrified to have been caught.

"Uh, hey! I gotta get going, I've got, uh loads of stuff to do. Sorry." He says, taking the coffee and the bag from my outstretched hands and jogging down the stairs, still wearing my clothes from last night.

I watch him go, my chest feeling inexplicably heavy, and turn back towards the door, dumbfounded. I walk in and slowly shut the door, still comprehending what just happened.

I run a hand through my hair and glance at my bed, which is surprisingly neat and well-made. It's as if he was never here at all. I sink down onto my bed and look around, everything in its usual place.

I lie down on my side and decide that I'll try and fix things later. I'll apologise again.

My body and mind feel exhausted and I am not in the mood to answer my phone, which begins to buzz against my leg. I sigh and wriggle it out, groaning aloud when I read the caller ID.

"Hey Dad." I mumble, having pressed answer based purely on the fact that he'd keep calling if I didn't.

"Hello Elias, how're things?" He asks monotonously and I roll my eyes.

In many ways my dad and I are very alike, although I'd like to think I'm a little less robotic. I have to have some of my mum in me, somewhere.

"Things are good, how're you?" I ask politely and he sighs.

"Good, I'm in town and I'd like to get breakfast." He states and my jaw drops slightly, although I pull myself together quickly.

"Okay, where should I meet you?" I ask and he blurts the name of a familiar little restaurant not far from the dorms.

"Alright, I'll meet you there in..twenty minutes?" I ask and he confirms, swiftly hanging up.

I groan at the prospects of awkward conversation, my mood only brightening slightly at the thought of a free meal. I change into jeans, a clean t-shirt and sweater before leaving, dragging my feet unwittingly until the restaurant comes into view. I'm about to enter when I notice the little jewellers shop opposite and I duck into it, reassured that I have five more minutes to meet my father.

I wander around and quickly select the item I want, detailing to the little man behind the desk my exact wishes. He nods and tells me he'll finish the job within an hour. I thank him and cross the street, prepping myself internally for the social struggle I'm about to experience.

My father's profile is visible through the window, his back ramrod straight against the chair, his appearance immaculate and his gaze fixed on his phone. No change, then.

I walk in and situate myself in the chair opposite. It takes a moment, but eventually he looks up, recognition flitting across his face.

"Merry Christmas, Dad." I say awkwardly and he clears his throat.

"Thank you, you too. How've you been?" He asks, purely a formality and no genuine interest.

"Good, thanks. What're you doing here?" I ask bluntly.

"Business. Sam's family has invited me over to celebrate tomorrow, although..." He trails off, glancing at his calendar but I leap at the chance.

"That's great, Dad! You should go." I say with a soft sense of finality and he sounds surprised.

"Really?"

"Definitely, it would be rude not to." I insist and he hums in response.

"I suppose it would be, Ok, I'll have to phone Camila and let her know. Do you mind?" He asks, somewhat fondly and I smile.

"Not at all." I respond, gesturing to go ahead with my long fingers and he stands up quickly, walking outside.

I shake my head, entirely not surprised at his behaviour. I glance at the menu and order for him and I, already knowing what he'll have decided on.

He returns 10 minutes later and I raise an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I ran into Sam. He seemed quite frantic, how is he?" My father asks, a little more genuine now and I frown.

"He's fine, what was he doing around here?" I ask and my father only shrugs. If it is always as irritating as that when I shrug, then I feel immensely sorry for Sam.

"Shopping, I presume. I think he was wearing your old high school jersey." He states, glancing up from his phone, looking quite baffled. I, on the other hand, am not all that surprised and I don't bother with an explanation.

I sigh just as the very well-timed waitress places our meals in front of us. My dad looks up fondly, our previous conversation forgotten, and nods in approval.

"You always were a good judge of character, Elias. Good to see that hasn't changed." He states, picking up a fork and digging in. I glance at my own plate and nod. We eat in silence, not really having anything else to speak of. My father asks about my course, I ask about the business, although neither of us is interested in the answers we receive.

He pays the bill and one very stiff hug later, we part ways. Presumably until Easter, although hopefully longer.

My father is a workaholic, he was an incredible father when I was young; nurturing and inspiring, but grief changes people. My dad needed the distraction when my mother died and work provided one all too well.

I remember to pick up my final gift, paying for it quickly before heading home, trying desperately not to dwell on the crumbling relationship between my father and I.

Nowadays we're two ships passing in the night.