Late for Busmath

Why can't we give love, give love, give love?
'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word.
- David Bowie, "Under Pressure"

It's a college campus catastrophe. The last of the bad people have been gunned down. I wait for him in the bathroom like we agreed. He comes for me, like he promised. He doesn't look at me. He sits on the floor, catching his breath. "Water?" I ask helpfully, gesturing at the sink. He just sits there like he's thinking of something very, very important. "Maybe you'd like to take a piss?" and this time I gesture at the toilet. He looks straight at me, pulls me down to the floor and gives me a kiss.

Thoughts spin in my head. What have I done? What does this mean? Why did he do that? Does this count as cheating? Who am I cheating, exactly? I love him. This is lifetime karma. What year is it? I love him. Maybe we could run away and not commit the same mistakes. I love him.

It's my turn to just sit there and catch my breath and if I don't tell him I love him it's because I'm afraid I might be acting old-fashioned.

"Let's go", he says, "I'll be late for Busmath."

It's my turn to pull him to the floor for a kiss that not only makes him late for Busmath but for Comath1, Comstat, and all his very important courses.