Chapter Text
Alex stared down at the diploma George had just handed him and didn’t quite know what to do now–how to feel, even.
He had made it. Graduated a year early, after months of extra work, endless hours spent in the library, chiseling away at essay after essay, and now… it was over and done with.
He was no longer a highschool student.
The expected rush of euphoria stayed out, and a queasy sense of anxiety took its place.
What… what was he supposed to do now? Look for a job? Apply to colleges?
Leave?
That had been part of the plan once, in the very beginning, and then it hadn’t been, because he refused to leave John, and then- for a brief, weightless moment so many months ago, it had seemed like a possibility again.
Until Henry fucking Laurens had had to come in and give John that cursed ring.
“You look very somber for someone who just graduated highschool, son,” George said, and Alex snapped his head up, shoved his bleak contemplations aside.
“Sorry, I- I’m a bit overwhelmed, is all,” he said, and a smile softened George’s sceptical expression.
“That’s fair. I hope you’re proud of yourself, Alexander; finishing early alone is a feat, but to do it with those grades- you’re a very smart boy. It was a privilege to have you.”
Alex ducked his head, bashful. Proud was an overstatement, perhaps. He was… not disappointed.
“Sir, please,” he mumbled, glancing up at the man and hoping he wouldn’t comment on his embarrassed blush.
“There’s no more need for Sir, Alex,” he said, voice soft, eyes even softer, and a lump formed in Alex’s throat. “I’m not your teacher anymore.”
“Guess so,” he croaked, fiddling with that fucking diploma he thought he’d wanted.
George paused for a moment and regarded him, searching, considering; Alex swallowed under that heavy gaze.
“I know you want to steer clear of the celebrations,” he began. Alex nodded, hoping he wasn’t about to try and convince him to join after all. He would feel stupid and out of place in that ceremony with no one there who cared. “but, well. I have something I would like to tell you, and here is perhaps not optimal. Would you like to come home with me for lunch? You know Martha is always happy to have you.”
Well. He hated to be a bother, but it wasn’t like he had… any sort of idea what to do now. George at least sounded like he had a plan.
“Thank you, George,” he said, a bit meek. “I’d be happy to.”
George dropped him off back at home that afternoon.
Lunch had been- probably the most pleasant thing he’d gotten to do in months. Martha really was always happy to have him; she was so effortlessly sweet, chatting away to fill Alex’s awkward silences, telling him how amazing what he’d accomplished was, that George had always been so happy with his progress, that he should be proud of himself.
Alex finished two helpings of meatloaf with potatoes and veggies–not that he’d asked for that second one, Martha had just put it on his plate, as she had learned to do when he’d been working for them over the summer–and he’d honest to God had to choke back tears at the care and attention.
He tried not to remember what it felt like to have a mom too often, but Martha had been dead set on mothering him, and Alex had done very little to discourage it.
He missed his mom terribly.
George dropped him off, after. He ruffled his hair before he got out, told him with a smile to think about everything he had relayed to him, and Alex promised him he would as he let the car-door fall shut.
As if he’d needed the reminder.
The things George had said spun around his head, crowded his brain until no other thought could take hold, nothing but the fact that he had already been accepted into a college, all the way across the country.
An old military friend of George was a professor in New York, and he had connections to the people handling admissions, and apparently a couple of his old essays, a copy of his diploma, and the fact he had graduated early had been enough for the man to extend not only a spot to study there, but also the possibility of a full-ride scholarship.
“Jon wants you to come in for an interview, at the very least, but he likes your chances.”
In New York.
All the way up north.
When John was just about to get engaged.
To someone who wasn’t Alex.
...it just really wasn’t fair.
When they met by the creek the night after, John came rushing up to him, yanked him into his arms, lifted him a good few inches off the ground, and spun him around a couple of times.
Alex squealed and giggled and playfully slapped his shoulder, demanding to be put back down, and for the fleeting moments when the world was nothing but a whirl of darkness and stars and John’s laughter, it felt like everything was alright.
John set him back onto his feet, his smile disarming and eyes bright, and kissed him.
“I’m so proud of you, baby. You’re so smart, God, all the work you put in, it really paid off, didn’t it? My beautiful boyfriend graduated a whole year early,” he said, just beaming with pride, and kissed him a few more times for good measure.
Alex pulled back and just stared, gobsmacked.
He was John’s boyfriend? John had… he’d never used that word before, just as Alex hadn’t, because it had seemed inappropriate, almost. Like the term was reserved for normal people, and John and Alex just existed in an in-between sort of space that didn’t have the right for such labels.
But now was not the time to contemplate that; he needed to tell John about what George had said.
“John, we need to talk,” he said, already blinking tears from his eyes, and John sat down with him, an appropriate look of trepidation spreading over his features.
The silence hung long and heavy between them after Alex had finished his explanation.
Being with John had never been uncomfortable before, and yet here they were.
“That’s… a lot, Alex. It’s big. It’s an amazing opportunity, and you should think about it. Really consider it,” John said after what could have been either ten minutes or an hour.
Alex’s breath caught in his tight throat, and he tentatively reached for John’s hand, squeezed it; a leaden weight dropped from his heart when John squeezed back.
“I won’t leave if you don’t want me to,” he whispered, watching the half of John’s face he could see for a reaction.
John just closed his eyes and let go of his hand, fumbled his cigarette case from his pocket, and lit a smoke. He took a drag and offered it to Alex, who accepted and passed it back without a word.
“Of course I don’t want you to leave. You’re- you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, sweetheart,” he said, still not looking at him, watched the ash drop from the tip of the cigarette instead. “But I can’t ask you to stay for my sake. This is your chance at a better life-”
“Maybe it’s not, though,” he cut in and scrambled closer until there was not a whisper of space left between them, wrapped his arms around John, and hid his face and his tears against his shoulder. “I- I don’t see how a life without you could be better in any way.”
Another brief silence settled, broken by the small sigh that left John’s lips with a cloud of smoke.
He wriggled his arm out from between their bodies and wrapped it around Alex, held him as he finished his cigarette.
They didn’t talk for the rest of the night, just clung to each other, John’s chin resting atop his head, Alex crying quietly into his shirt, his hair slowly dampening with John’s silent tears.
Alex woke to loud, metallic bangs and yelling outside.
He hid his face in his pillow as he gathered himself, trying to prepare for whatever his father was doing now, and peeled himself out of bed; did his best to ignore the insistent nudge at the back of his head, reminding him that this could be over soon. That he could get a job somewhere in town while his father, unaware of his recent graduation, assumed him to be in school. Save up some money. Get on a train, make the long journey up to New York, interview for a scholarship.
There was another resounding bang, and a deafening “Fucking piece of shit!” from outside.
Alex heaved a sigh and trotted downstairs, out through the open front-door, and stopped at the top of the steps.
A dull pounding took residence behind his forehead as he surveyed the scene–his father, leaning against the front of his car that shouldn’t even have been allowed on the road anymore with how many pieces tended to fall off it, the hood balanced precariously above his head on a wobbly stick.
For a very brief moment, Alex wished for the stick to snap, for the heavy hood to come down in his father’s head and cave his skull in.
He shook himself, horrified.
“What’s wrong with it now?” he heard himself ask as he descended the stairs and made to join his father–well, he stopped a safe distance away, prepared to duck out of the way in case a wrench would come flying at his head.
“Fuck if I know,” dad spat and pushed himself off the car, scooped a crowbar Alex didn’t contemplate any further off the dusty ground, and knocked the stick away.
The hood crashed down with a horrible, ear-splitting noise, and Alex winced.
His father chucked the crowbar, watched it bounce off the housewall with a clang, and just stood for a long moment, chest heaving.
“Well,” he said at length. “No work, I suppose. Wonder how long I can pull a no-show before the prick fires me.”
Dad stomped past him and up the steps, grumbling under his breath, apparently content to lose another job after just a few weeks in.
Alex was getting sick and tired of it all.
“So, you’re quitting again?” he said, only realising what had just come out of his mouth when his father stopped dead in the doorway and turned to face him, murder in his eyes. “Sorry,” he amended–not quick enough, not earnest enough, and dad strode back over to him. “I’m sorry, dad, I don’t-”
He was cut off by a hard slap across the face. His cheek stung and throbbed painfully, and he dug his teeth into his lip to keep the tears at bay.
“You sound just like your useless whore mother,” he hissed, and then he was gone again, slamming and locking the door behind himself-
Leaving Alex out in nothing but his sleeping-clothes, his feet bare, and his face wet with tears.
He did his best to forget about the whole engagement ordeal most of the time–his few hours spent with John were still the highlight of every day, and he couldn’t let that nasty, nagging sense of doom ruin them.
Maybe he had… done a bit of a too good job repressing it, though.
Alex knew something was off as soon as John came into view.
He sat in the grass, knees bent, face inexpressive and eyes far away; Alex expected to see the faint glow of a cigarette, but to his mild surprise, there was none. It scooped a pit into his stomach, because John smoked when he was upset, that was what he did, what he had done even before they’d grown close, what he had been doing the night they first met, even.
John hung his head as he came near, didn’t meet his eyes, not even when Alex sat next to him, shifting to get comfortable.
“What’s wrong, John? Do you want-”
And that was when the smell hit him.
Alex reared back and scrambled a foot backwards, the tears in his eyes fueled by disbelief and grief and-
Betrayal.
“You’re drunk,” he choked, answering John’s slow, cloudy gaze with one of his own, charged with accusation. “You’re drunk.”
John let out a long breath and rubbed a hand down his face. A humourless laugh burst from behind his fingers.
“Yeah. Yes. I don’t suppose you would kiss me like this?”
Alex threw his head from side to side in a very aggressive no and glanced away, biting his lip, trying to hold back his unreasonable tears.
“Figured,” John said and heaved a sigh. A short pause followed, uncomfortable tension mounting in the air between them, and for the first time since that first evening, Alex wanted to be away from John.
“Oh,” he went on softly, shifted to get his knees underneath himself, but didn’t come any closer yet, just watching for a moment. “No. No, no, baby, don’t cry, I didn’t mean- please. Alex, I wasn’t- I never want to make you cry.”
He was rambling, words quiet and desperate and not entirely himself, and Alex’s heart hurt so bad.
Despite his unease, he didn’t move when John did; let him come nearer until they were close enough to touch.
“Can- can I hold you, baby?” he said, regarding him with those big, sad eyes, words so soft. Maybe it was the fact that he looked guilty, like he realised just what he had done and regretted it, or that he still respected him enough to ask even like this, or just the fact that no one else had ever managed to make him feel as safe and wanted as John so effortlessly did-
He threw himself into his arms, horrible, putrid smell of alcohol be damned.
John wrapped his arms around him and held him close, rocking both of them back and forth, whispering sweet nothings to him, pressing kisses to the top of his head on occasion.
The ache in his chest soothed bit by bit–he didn’t seem different. John wouldn’t hurt him like dad did, never.
“What- why?” he whispered against the steady heartbeat underneath his palm.
A slow in- and exhale swelled John’s chest, and he put another kiss to his hair before he answered,
“I proposed today.”
The air in his lungs turned into sand, and Alex sat in the arms of the person he loved more than anything in this world, suffocating.
“She said yes, of course,” he went on, voice quivering with a raw mix of emotions Alex couldn’t hope to put a name to, not in the state he was in. “She- she was. So happy. So happy. She cried right there on that fucking bench, and so did I, and she thought I was happy, too, but-”
John sobbed quietly, a sound of nothing but desperation and a trapped hopelessness. Alex blinked, and his cheeks were wet with tears as well.
“God, Alex, how- how do you lie to someone for an entire life? How am I supposed to-” he broke off and slapped a hand over his mouth, chest heaving with his grief, eyes unfocused behind the curtain of tears.
“How can you be lied to for an entire life,” Alex croaked, thought about Patty, that stupid, oblivious girl he wished he didn’t hate, imagined what she must be thinking, what she must be picturing her life to be like with John at her side, and he ached.
“God, I can’t, I- I can’t-” he broke off again, sobbed into his hand–snapped his head up.
Wild eyes found Alex’s, and a moment later, two overly gentle palms framed his face between them.
John wiped at his tears probably without even thinking about it, let out a shuddering breath; Alex fought the urge to recoil from the disgusting smell that still clung to it.
“Alex, baby, sweetheart, I- I need you to tell me this is what you want.”
Alex blinked, uncomprehending and more than a bit bewildered, the tears still streaming steadily down his face. “What?”
“Tell me you want me to do this. I’ll- I’ll do it for you. I’m doing this for you, for us. Come on, baby, say it, please,” he said, intense gaze searching his face. He was still crying as well. Alex sniffled.
Several too quick heartbeats passed by in tense silence, filled by only their heavy breathing and the distant sound of a car misfiring.
He swallowed. “This is not what I want,” he whispered and flinched at how brutal it sounded.
John stared, eyes wide and empty, and shook his head from side to side slowly.
“I’m. I’m doing this for us. For us, to keep you safe, I- Alex. Please.”
Alex responded by shaking his own head, gripping John’s wrists gently, lowering his hands back down.
Their hands stayed intertwined between their knees even as he forced his tongue to form the words that had been simmering under the surface for so long; always undeniably there, at the edge of his consciousness, but never so present Alex couldn’t look the other way.
He chose to bring them out into the light now. It was time.
No matter how much he didn’t want to.
How much it hurt.
“You’re not doing this for us, John. You’re doing this because you’re scared of your father,” he said, and John dropped his head until his chin rested against his chest, crying quietly, clinging to his hands.
“A- aren’t you? You should be, Alex, you should be,” he said and glanced up at him from under glistening, sticky lashes, eyes red-rimmed and so lost Alex wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms and hold him until they had managed to chase all of each other’s bad thoughts away.
He didn’t answer. Instead, Alex freed one of his hands and brought it up to John’s face, gently brushing away his tears.
“We could go,” he said, soft and only the slightest bit hopeful. “Run away together, to- to New York, maybe, start a new life in a big city where we can disappear in the crowd and no one will give us a second thought. We… we could be happy.” His breath hitched and he closed his eyes, knowing from the gut-wrenching expression on John’s face what the answer was going to be. “God, I’ve never been happy before.”
“Alex…” he began, but Alex didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t think he could take what he would see. “We can’t. We wouldn’t get anywhere, we- we don’t have any money, sweetheart, I don’t- my father doesn’t even give me money for gas anymore. He sends my uncle with me, has him pay, he doesn’t- this is everything I have. Here. You. He knows I wanted to leave, probably. He knows. He told the children, I think, they haven’t been looking at me the same, either, and-” He sobbed; made no further attempt to finish that sentence.
Alex’s heart had broken so often over the past ten minutes, he didn’t know how he was still sitting there, whole and alive and breathing.
He felt like he shouldn’t be. He felt like he was already dead.
“Okay,” he croaked, drew his hand back from John’s face, freed his other from the tight grip of his fingers. “Okay.”
Alex didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He had tried again and again to get John to take the leap, after John had claimed he would do anything for him, anything at all, except the one goddamn thing he needed him to do.
He didn’t know how he was supposed to go on like this, if he even could.
With John married to some girl, Alex stuck in the tiny community college in town, both of them withering away, trapped in this fucking town with its prying eyes, watching as the other got worse and worse, fading and fading and fading day after day-
I love you, he wanted to say. I love you so much, so much it hurts, so much I can hardly breathe sometimes.
“Promise me you won’t drive home like that,” he said instead, ignored the pang, the crack, the stab and twist of his heart when he pushed himself up onto wobbly legs, John following his movements from wide, scared eyes.
“I walked here,” he rasped.
Alex took a quick half-step backwards when John reached out for him. Struggled not to burst into tears again right then and there.
“Good,” he said and turned, clapping a hand over his mouth when John let out a horrible, heart-wrenching sob behind him that made him want to go back, hug him, kiss him, reassure him everything would be alright.
But Alex channeled all his willpower into walking away, into not turning back, into shutting John’s voice out, trembling and cracking and dying around a call of his name.
Alex kept walking, and he only let himself break down once the door to his room was closed and locked behind him, and he was alone.
He leaned his head to the wooden beam to his right and glanced over to his side when the porch-steps he sat on creaked softly.
George settled next to him with a drawn out sigh, offering a small grin when he caught Alex staring. He had found him earlier that evening, wandering around town without aim–because Alex couldn’t even bear the thought of going near the creek so soon after- just after–and after a playful remark, that couldn’t quite mask his worry, about why he looked so utterly exhausted when he didn’t have anything to do but relax right now, George had told him in no uncertain terms that they would be having him over for dinner.
Alex didn’t have the energy to put up a fight, not even for propriety’s sake.
George hummed next to him, thoughtful, eyes sharp as he scrutinised him. “I had hoped a proper meal would make those bags under your eyes fade at least a little bit. Is something bothering you, son?”
Just the meager scraps of the life he had left, crashing and burning around him. Nothing too bad.
“I’m… having a hard time making a decision right now,” he admitted despite himself and straightened his slumped posture, unconsciously scooting a bit closer to George as he did.
Something about the man just compelled him to talk. Perhaps it was the fact Alex knew he would listen, or that he looked genuinely concerned for him.
“Ah,” George said with a tiny smile, understanding in his eyes. “College?”
Alex nodded, averting his eyes and staring down over the rolling fields below instead. It wasn’t the whole truth, but-
Maybe… maybe George could help?
“I- I’m a bit hesitant to leave, to be honest,” he said, heart hammering wildly against his sternum. “Because, um. I… have someone, sort of.”
“Oh,” George said, and when Alex chanced a glance over at the man, he was regarding him with raised brows. “Well. This might sound like a very ‘old man’ thing to say, but Alexander… you’re seventeen. I know this is hard to grasp when you’re fresh out of highschool, but this isn’t all there is to life.” He put a hand to his shoulder and squeezed softly, made Alex meet his gaze dead on. “A highschool-romance is all nice and good, but there’s a very good chance that you won’t end up marrying that girl. I wouldn’t want you to risk your future like that for someone who’s more of a possibility than anything else, my boy.”
Alex sucked in a breath and did his best to remain neutral at the mention of a girl.
“It’s, um. I know, George, I do know that, but it’s just… more complicated. H- her father doesn’t approve, and we’ve even-” he paused and blinked up at George, debating if it would be wise to tell an adult about his apparent plans to convince a young girl to leave her family for him. George squeezed his shoulder again, encouraging. He went on in a near whisper, “We’ve talked about… leaving. Running away together.”
A brief silence settled, and George raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you think that would be wise?”
A nervous chuckle ripped from his throat, and he shook his head. “Not at all. But. It would probably be our only chance.”
“Oh, Alex,” he said with a sigh and let his hand slip from his shoulder, got up for a moment, and came back just a few beats later, a small box clasped in one hand. “I really don’t think running away would be right, son. You are so young- why not go to college, stay in contact, see how you feel once you’ve graduated. If she loves you, she will wait.”
Alex swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat–if they just had that kind of time-
No. He wasn’t worried about their feelings fading with the time and distance of that separation, he just knew he couldn’t do it without John.
John was what had kept him going, who had held him through his tears, soothed away the aches left on both his body and soul by his father, who had given him all the good times and had made the bad bearable.
John saw him for who he was, past all the facades he had built and as more than just a body, and for some nebulous reason, he still loved him despite it all.
The thought of going into the unknown and leaving him to fend for himself in the process, shackled to a girl he only just tolerated, his father breathing down his neck every minute of his life, made him sick to his stomach.
Alex knew he was so strong, but even John had his limits, and he’d been meeting them more and more frequently over the past few months.
He didn’t want to imagine what might become of him if he left him behind.
“I know,” he said quietly, deciding to let the topic fizzle out. It wasn’t like this was doing him any good, anyway.
“Now, don’t look so sad, Alexander,” George said, and Alex looked back up. “I know it’s hard. Growing up always is. But I think you would regret staying more than you would leaving in ten years’ time. Think about it.”
He flipped the box in his palm open and shook out a cigarette, then offered the carton to Alex.
Alex blinked, dumbfounded, and pulled a cigarette out as well, accepted the lit match George handed over once he was done with it.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” he said and let the match drop away, crushing it under his heel to make sure it really was out.
George huffed a laugh and glanced at him with a humorous glint to his eyes. “I don’t.”
He arched his brows in question, watching George blow out a breath of smoke.
“Don’t tell Martha,” he said. Alex chuckled and turned to watch the sunset, for some reason charmed by that simple request.
They had been married for so long, loved each other so deeply, and yet George had to sneak cigarettes behind his wife’s back; not that Alex believed for even a moment that Martha wasn’t aware of that little secret.
“I won’t have to,” he said with a slight grin and took a drag himself. “She’ll smell it on you.”
He thought about John, his scent, how there was always a hint of cigarette smoke mingled with it, even when he stepped fresh out of the shower. It was comforting, almost. To bury his nose in John’s jacket, draped around his shoulders, inhale the faint smell of smoke, and feel entirely enveloped by his warmth, inside and out.
“I always smell it on him, anyways,” he added, a bit wistful.
It only hit him what he’d said, what he had revealed, after it had lingered in the empty space between them for a good few moments.
His breathing picked up in spite of his honest effort to keep calm, and he sat, frozen, terrified that George would start yelling any second now, grab him by the back of his shirt, drag him through the house, out the front-door, throw him down the steps, tell him to stay the fuck away and never even think about coming near him or his family again-
“She’ll pretend she didn’t notice,” he said. A hand settled on his head, gently ruffled his hair, retreated again.
Alex’s heart returned to its normal rhythm gradually, and the tremor in his fingers subsided; he shed a few tears of relief.
George didn’t notice; if he did, he didn’t comment.
A few days later, his luck ran out, and Alex stumbled straight into John and Patty in the middle of the goddamn town.
It was the first time they saw each other since that night, and Alex’s throat closed up around the semi-friendly smalltalk they were forced to make.
Patty was talking, he noted duly, but he didn’t hear a word of it. His gaze was locked with John’s, the only thing he could see him, all the freckles he had kissed and caressed and nuzzled, his tired, honest eyes, the way his brow creased with pain.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” he said into a lull in the rather one-sided conversation. Patty gave him a look that told him it wasn’t even remotely on topic. “I’m sorry for- I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Alex swallowed and gave a single nod. “Thanks,” he croaked, trying not to notice the way Patty held onto John, both her arms slung around one of his, the hand that held that fucking ring resting on his bicep, positioned just so that Alex would notice it.
A bitter taste spread over his tongue as he remembered that stone glinting in the moonlight, how John had slid it onto Alex’s finger without a second thought, the way the warm metal had felt against his skin when John had brushed his thumb over it.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t, why did she get to wear that stupid ring when John didn’t even want her, when he wanted him, when the only thing the two of them wanted was to be together?
He blinked the tears from his eyes and said a quick goodbye, hurried away before John could ask him to meet up, as Alex knew he’d wanted to do from the longing look in those beautiful eyes.
He hadn’t seen Gil since graduation, and he was surprised just how happy he was to see him again when he came running up to him on the street one day, almost tackling him backwards into a cramped alleyway.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said, hands braced on his bent knees, panting to catch his breath. “Shit, Alex, I- are you okay?”
Alex opened his mouth and closed it again, frowned back at his friend. “Am I okay?”
“Yeah, you know,” he began and straightened, wiping a hand over his sweaty brow. “With the engagement and all that.”
The reminder slammed into his battered heart like a sledgehammer and drove all the air from his lungs.
“Oh. Is- did he tell you?” he said and cleared his throat.
“Not exactly, no. And trust me, I will be having a word with him about that, but- everyone knows, basically. It’s the talk of the town–you know, when a Laurens gets engaged, that’s big news.” He finished with an uncomfortable shrug and cut his gaze away, peered out the narrow opening of the alley. Gil heaved a sigh and came a step closer, taking him by the shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes. “Are you okay?”
Alex sucked in a breath that somehow didn’t make it into his straining lungs.
“Take a walk with me, Gil,” he croaked and bounded ahead, trusting him to follow.
He led them out of town and to an overgrown, long abandoned orchard. It was one of the places he used to go, back before he met John, before he started spending every available minute at the creek with him, and he gulped in the earthy air, smiling a bit to himself when they stepped behind the treeline.
“Great, now that you’ve brought me out into your little murder-forest, are you going to answer the question or what?” Gil said and crossed his arms, leveling him with a disgruntled look Alex could see straight through–he wasn’t really annoyed with him. He rarely ever was; but he did have an image to uphold.
“‘m not doing too hot,” he admitted quietly. Gil dropped his arms back to his sides and took a quick step towards him, his sour expression giving way to honest concern.
“Do you… do you want to talk? I mean, I’m probably not much of a help here, but I could listen?” he offered, tentative but so genuine it brought tears to his eyes.
Alex shook his head, breathing deeply.
“Can you just sit down with me for a while? And hold my hand, maybe? I promise I won’t infect you with the queer,” he said, a bit choked up, trying to go for a joke but not quite getting there.
Gil smiled and dropped down into the foliage, patting the ground next to him in invitation. Alex settled with a strained chuckle and couldn’t help but sniffle when his friend took his hand and twined their fingers together without hesitation, squeezing gently.
“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” he said, thumb stroking back and forth over his knuckle. “If it was infectious, I would have already caught it.”
Alex snorted a laugh and leaned his head to Gil’s shoulder, letting the stupid jokes and easy comradery soothe the rawness inside his chest just a little.
Saturday rolled around, and Alex was about to leave. He didn’t know where he would go yet–the creek was out of the question. John could be there; or even worse, he could not be there.
Perhaps it would be just another night of walking. That could do him good, he reckoned, give him time and fresh air and silence to make up his mind on some things, really think about if he should give up that childish dream of New York and stay where he was. He knew he both could and would, but… maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe George was right?
Leaving John was off limits, though. He- he could try again to convince him. Alex would convince him, he just needed to come up with a plan first-
A job? He could get that job, he would need that anyway if he was going to leave, and then they would have money, and they could go together.
Yes. That would work. It had to.
He descended the stairs, his heart hardened with new resolve, when the door to the living room swung open, and his father stepped out, planting himself in front of the door.
“You’re staying here tonight,” he said.
Alex froze on the second to last step, a foreboding, sinking feeling rooting him to the spot.
“Why?”
Dad shifted his weight, unbothered and at ease. For some reason, that did nothing to settle his nerves.
“‘Cause I need the car fixed,” he said as if that explained just everything, and motioned for him to go back upstairs.
Alex remained. His gut told him something was terribly amiss, his instincts screaming at him to leave as long as he still could, but then his father’s eyes darkened with budding anger, and he scrambled back up the stairs before he had a chance to hurt him.
He locked the door behind himself and sat on the edge of his bed, a queasy, fluttering feeling in his belly making the bile rise up his throat.
Dad needed the car fixed. What did that have to do with him? Did they need an extra pair of hands? Surely they wouldn’t be attempting any repair-jobs in the middle of the night, right?
Alex swallowed when low voices drifted up the stairs–dad’s friends. He crept over to the door and pressed his ear against it, attempting to make some sense of the situation, but he couldn’t separate out any words.
He could tell that it was just one other person down there, though, which was… unusual.
The stairs creaked, and he stumbled back from the door, waited with bated breath–it was a single pair of steps coming up, he could tell, and they were heavier than his father’s.
His breath stuck in his throat when the doorknob was wriggled from the other side, and he glanced around the small room, panic quickly overtaking whatever had been left of his rational mind.
There was nothing he could use to defend himself, nothing at all, the room was bare apart from his tiny dresser and nightstand. Alex turned, forced the old window open, and peered down.
He wasn’t sure if he would be walking away from that drop, and he wasn’t keen on finding out.
A deep voice grumbled something outside his door, there was some shuffling, some fumbling, a quiet click that Alex couldn’t place at first, but then the door was pulled open, and he let out an involuntary squeak.
The man stepped into the room as if he owned it, closing the door behind himself, and Alex stood, his lower back pressed to the windowsill, breath coming in quick, little bursts that left him lightheaded.
He knew that face, that grin, that dirty, shit-eating grin.
“Dad?” he called out, voice trembling and so quiet his father probably wouldn’t have heard him even if he’d wanted to.
“Don’t worry, he won’t disturb us,” he drawled and stepped closer.
Alex pressed himself to the windowsill until the edge of the wood dug painfully into his tender skin, trying to retain the distance between himself and that man, but it had no use.
“You’re a very pretty boy, you know that? So grown up,” he muttered to him, voice low, the grin finally dropping; not that the expression that took its place was any better.
His eyes raked over him hungrily, dark with- desire? Alex shook his head and scrunched his eyes closed, swallowing the sour bile back down.
“Don’t,” he whispered. It was meant as an order, but came out as nothing but a weak, desperate plea. “Don’t touch me. Please.”
“Sweetheart, I’m gonna do way more than just that,” he said, and Alex ripped his eyes back open, now brimming with angry tears, because that disgusting asshole had no right, no right to call him that, that was what John called him, and he wouldn’t let him defile it.
“Don’t you fucking call me that,” he growled, but his barely contained fury garnered nothing more than an amused snort from the man.
Everything happened so fast after that.
The man grabbed him around the waist and threw him onto the bed as though he was nothing more than a ragdoll. Alex banged his head against the wall, his vision swimming, and he just lay there for a second, dazed and disoriented.
A weight draped over him. Large, stifling. Trapping.
One of his thighs was wrenched to the side, a cruel, rough hand dipped underneath his shirt, lips brushed the shell of his ear, hot breath sending repulsed shivers down the length of his body.
“Be a good boy now, Alex,” the man whispered. A hand clamped down around his thigh, fingers digging into tender skin, leaving bruises, Alex could feel them forming, spreading out from under those revolting fingers, spreading, spreading like the dirt underneath his skin, the mud that pushed through his veins with every pump of his heart, the sewage that leaked from his eyes- no, those were tears.
He was crying.
“Don’t,” he said and attempted to pry his fingers off, shoved weakly at one broad shoulder.
The pounding of his head ebbed away bit by bit, vision clearing, and from one split-second to the next, everything snapped into focus for Alex.
He realised what was happening with a flash, and he screeched out an ear-splitting, “No!”
Alex dug his nails into the hand on his thigh and clawed at the man’s eyes. He reared back with a hiss of pain and a low curse, grabbed him by the hair, and yanked, making him cry out.
“Little bitch,” he huffed and tightened his grip. Alex sobbed, his scalp was on fire, it felt like he would pull his hair out by the roots- “Just be a good whore and stay still.”
Alex reached blindly out to his side, fingers brushing desperately over the worn wood of his nightstand until they found something. He struggled to get a grip on it–book, it was a book, an old, cloth-bound one–just as the man leaned down again, covering him entirely, pinning, crushing, forcing him to be still under his bulk, holding him by the hair.
“Maybe a good fuck will help calm you down, hm?”
Alex’s panic spiked, and he acted on instinct alone, without thinking about it; he ripped his leg up and slammed it right between his legs. The man let go of his hair, knocked off balance by the blow, and cursed him out even though Alex didn’t hear a word of what he said over the rushing of his own blood in his ears.
He scrambled up the bed to press himself against the wall, grabbed the book with both hands, and smashed it into the side of the man’s head with all the strength left in his shaking body.
The force of the impact sent him reeling, and he toppled off the bed with another cut off curse and a sickening crunch when his temple connected with the corner of the nightstand.
Silence descended.
Alex sat there, panting, his breathing too fast and lungs somehow still empty, staring down at the unmoving body on the ground with wide eyes.
A steadily growing puddle of something dark crept out from underneath the man’s skull, dark and slow and thick, and Alex shook his head, blinked, cried, choked on a scream.
He fumbled the drawer of the nightstand open and pocketed the few coins he had stowed away there, shot off the bed, threw open the door, and almost fell down the stairs in his haste to get out.
The door to the living room opened just as he was slamming the front-door behind himself, and he didn’t wait, didn’t stay, just dropped the book he was still clinging to-
And ran.
Alex’s lungs were close to bursting when he rounded the last corner onto the street that would get him out of town, out to the creek. He hadn’t even meant to go there, it had just... happened.
Every step burned; in his legs, his eyes, his chest, his throat.
He was crying. Sobbing. Hysterically, he could hear himself through the fuzziness pressing in on his ears, the panic that held him in an iron grip and urged his exhausted body forward.
Alex couldn’t stop, though. He couldn’t, what if his father found him, what if he took him back, what if- if he, if he left him to that man again, he wouldn’t be able to get out a second time, he wouldn’t-
The phone-booth stood out like a beacon in the empty street.
He stumbled over, yanked the door open, and collapsed into a little heap of sobbing, quivering flesh, pressing himself into the dirty corner and making himself small. Just in case someone came looking for him. They wouldn’t see him, all hunkered down in the dark booth.
Alex curled into himself and cried into his folded arms.
He was dirty. Nothing but a pile of filth, nothing but a whore, just like dad always said.
He wanted his mom. He wanted George, he- he wanted John.
Alex raised his pounding head and slid one of his hands down the length of his thigh until he reached his pocket. The coins were still there; he hadn’t lost them in his mindless flight.
John’s number bounced around inside his burstingly empty skull, but- if he called, there was no guarantee John would answer. He’d never called that number before, he just had it in case of an undisclosed emergency situation.
What would he do if Laurens took the call?
...there was no one else, though. He didn’t know George’s number, and he refused to call him like this, anyway, sobbing in a phone-booth and lost to the world.
Alex reached up and carefully unhooked the handset from the cradle, tucked it between his head and shoulder, slipped the coin into the slit, and dialed.
The monotone beeping as the call attempted to connect was deafening.
He breathed deep and slow as he waited, the tension high enough to snap him apart, prepared to slam the handset back into the hooks and hang up should Henry Laurens answer, when-
The call connected.
“Laurens residence?”
Alex sobbed with relief when John’s smooth voice sounded from the tinny speaker.
“John,” he said and pressed the handset even closer to his face, as if he somehow could absorb John’s presence through it. “John, thank God, fuck, I- I need you, I need you so bad right now-”
“Alex?” he said, obviously surprised, and then went on way lower, so low Alex had to focus on calming his heaving sobs so that he could hear him. “Hey, hey slow down-”
“Can’t,” he cut in and glanced out the cracked glass of the booth, a part of him still expecting to see his father appear from around the corner to drag him back home by his hair. “Can’t, I can’t, I- I’m so scared, John, please-”
“What- sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
The petname from his lips took a bit of the sting of... earlier occurrences away, settled over his upset soul like a soothing balm.
“I can’t- can’t, I just, I can’t, it’s- can you say that again?” he rambled away, fully aware he wasn’t making any sense, wasn’t giving him any answers, but just hearing his voice made everything a bit better.
“No, I-” He took a deep breath, gathering himself, and Alex hurt. Everything hurt, he just wanted John, wanted to have his arms around him, wanted to feel safe. “Can you calm down for me?” he said softly, soothingly. “Come on, baby, deep breaths.”
Alex did as told, grateful for any kind of direction, any instruction to follow without having to think. Thinking wasn’t good right now. Thinking just brought back that grin, that weight, the crack of a skull in his dark bedroom.
“John,” he said, considerably calmer than before. “John, I- I’m calling from a payphone, the one by the intersection-”
“Where are you?” he interrupted, the concern building–Alex knew what that tone meant. At this hour? You’re out there alone right now? “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Baby-”
“Not hurt. Not- not hurt. Well, I mean… a little hurt. Head. Head hurts,” he mumbled, sniffling quietly. “Doesn’t matter. Can you come? Meet me by the creek? I don’t want to stay here, I can’t.”
“By the creek?” he repeated, but he knew he was just doing that to process, not because he needed him to confirm. “Okay, okay, I’m on my way. Stay there, do you hear me? Don’t move, I’ll come get you.”
Alex let his aching head drop against the cool glass in his back, crying quietly to himself from the sheer relief that flooded his whole form.
“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, John, I love you. I love you so much,” he whispered. It felt so good to say those words again–he couldn’t remember the last time he had gone this long without telling him that.
“Yes, love you, too, Alex. Bye.”
“Bye,” he said and fumbled to hang the handset back up.
John would be there in no time at all. He would make it better, he would protect him, he would kiss him and hold him and love him even though he didn’t deserve any of it.
Alex swallowed, and with a last nervous glance around, pulled himself up to stand, and left the booth behind.
Watching John make his way up to where he sat was like watching the sunrise.
Alex tried to keep himself together, he really did, but then John was there and he could see his face and the concern etched into his features, and Alex burst into tears again.
“Aw, baby,” John cooed and sat beside him. Alex forced his eyes open at the subtle crinkle of cloth, but he realised what he was doing when stiff, heavy fabric settled around his shoulders, smelling faintly of smoke and John.
His jacket. He had brought his jacket in the middle of summer, just for him, just because he knew Alex liked wearing it.
He loved him so much.
“Hey, now,” he said, softening his voice as much as possible, and gently drew Alex into his arms. He latched onto him immediately, clung to him like his life depended on it–and maybe it did, maybe it did–and buried his face against his solid, warm chest, listened for his heartbeat, and just cried for a few minutes.
John was safe. He would be safe with him, John would never let anything happen to him, he wasn’t like dad, he would protect him, he loved him.
A big, gentle hand rubbed up and down his back, a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he was entirely surrounded by his familiar, comforting scent. It would be alright. Alex would be alright with John.
“My poor darling,” John mumbled into his hair and pressed a few kisses to his scalp. “What happened, Alex? Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I-” he broke off and swallowed thickly, his tongue lame with the poison he was about to spit off it. “I’m… I hit my head. It’s fine.”
“Your father?” he asked, the words carrying a resigned sort of compassion, a quiet ‘I know what it feels like but I wish you didn’t’. Alex shook his head and moved back, only far enough he could look John in the eyes without strain.
His hands came up at once, wiping at both fresh and long dried tears. John kissed his forehead, his temple, his nose, and Alex’s heart warmed.
“He, um. The car broke down again,” he said, watching the confusion on John’s face. He knew he needed to say more than that, but he didn’t want to. “Dad- I think he rented me out to get it fixed.”
It sounded oddly banal, now that he’d said it out loud like that. Almost reasonable.
John stared in silence. The moments stretched on, and he didn’t say anything, just looked at him, blinked, shook his head.
“I… I hurt the man. I hurt him. I think I might have killed him. He- he hit his head,” Alex went on, itching to fill the horrible silence.
“Good,” John said. His voice shook with something Alex had never heard from him before; it was like anger, but deeper. A consuming kind of fury, a raging inferno, something that would have made him shrink back from any man who wasn’t John. “If you didn’t, I will.”
He pulled him close again, touching him with such care, soft and feathery, reverent.
“I love you,” he whispered to him, kissed his hair. “I love you, Alex. You’re so amazing, so strong. Perfect. I love you.”
Alex closed his eyes and listened to the steady stream of sweet words; bundled up in John’s jacket and cradled safe and sound between his arms, the world almost seemed okay again.
“Alex, I think Martha knows,” John said after what had most likely been several hours spent in each other’s arms.
They sat side by side, Alex’s head on John’s shoulder, sharing a cigarette.
Alex just exhaled a long breath, too drained to have a real reaction to that.
“Why would you think that?”
John heaved a sigh and took a drag of the cigarette, the ash glowing bright red for a moment before it dimmed back down, and he passed it to Alex.
“She heard the call. I don’t know how much of it, but at the very least the end, and she’s not as stupid as I would like her to be,” he replied, turned his head, and pressed a kiss to his hair.
“Hm,” Alex hummed, honestly not very interested in Patty and whatever the fuck was going on with her–at least he thought he wasn’t, until his tired, sore eyes caught on a lone figure in the dark landscape, headed right towards them. “Shit, John-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he hissed and sprung to his feet, Alex close behind after he’d put out the cigarette. “The girl can’t give us one fucking night-”
Patty stopped just short of them, her face hard like he’d never seen it before, expressionless like a stone-bust. John stretched an arm out to his side and ever so gently ushered Alex back a bit, shielding him.
Her eyes, glinting wetly in the moonlight, followed their every movement, and she snorted.
Alex wondered what she must be thinking. What she thought was happening here–Patty probably thought herself the victim, and she was, sort of, but Alex doubted she realised just how much he and John had suffered as well.
“Martha-” John began, low and calm and already apologetic.
“Shut your mouth. You-” she cut in sharply, but broke off. Alex grabbed onto John’s arm and lowered it carefully back to his side, stepped forward to be level with him. Sick of hiding. He was sick and tired of it all, and he wasn’t in the fucking mood for Patty’s breakdown after the hellish night he’d had.
Her eyes glistened with tears; John stiffened next to him.
“You- you’re cruel, John Laurens. You’re a cruel man,” she hissed and wiped a hand over her eyes. Despite his distaste for her, something inside Alex twisted painfully at the sight of her tears–it wasn’t her fault, after all. He could put his deep dislike of her aside to recognise that simple fact.
She didn’t choose this.
They had done this to her.
“I’m sorry,” John croaked, voice breaking on the last syllable, and Alex slid one of his hands down his arm and laced their fingers, squeezing sofly to give him some comfort. John hadn’t chosen this, either. He’d never wanted any of this. “I’m sorry, Martha, I never meant to hurt you-”
Patty huffed a bitter laugh, and John fell silent. “You meant to hurt someone. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been some other poor girl, am I right? God, you’re- you’re disgusting.”
John swallowed and looked away, guilty. Alex squeezed his hand again. John squeezed back.
“I- yes. Yes. But- I needed to protect us. My father-”
“I don’t want to hear it!” she shrieked, and Alex flinched, pressed himself closer to John. John held his hand just a little bit tighter in response.
A brief silence fell, heavy and loaded between the three of them, almost stifling in its density.
Patty hissed out a harsh breath and forced the ring off her finger, threw it at John–it landed at their feet, glinting up at them. All of a sudden, it didn’t seem as mocking anymore as it once had.
John’s eyes were locked to the stone when he spoke, “You should keep it. Sell it, maybe-”
“I don’t want it,” she said, a sneer distorting her delicate features. “I don’t want your money. Give it to your whore. I hope you'll be happy together until both of you fags end up dead in some ditch.”
Alex would have stumbled a step back had that not also meant letting go of John, and he fixed his gaze firmly to the grass under his feet, eyes filling with tears for the fiftieth time that night.
She was right; he was a whore. But- he wouldn’t get John killed. Never, they were too careful for that. They would protect each other.
“Don’t act like a scorned lover, Patty,” he said then, voice croaky and wet with unshed tears, just because he needed to take some of the control back here. Needed her to know that she wasn’t the only one who had suffered from this, that Alex had hurt just as badly, and he had no one to yell at. “I’m not the ‘other woman’ in this situation–you are.”
“Alex…” John mumbled gently, thumb brushing over the back of his hand in tender sweeps. “Don’t do that, baby.”
Patty stood there, shoulders drawn up to her ears, fists balled and shaking at her sides, murder in her eyes.
“Another word from you,” she pressed out through clenched teeth, staring right into Alex. “and I’m going straight to the police to turn you in. Both of you.”
John’s breath hitched, and he turned slightly, both his arms wrapping around Alex, pulling him closer.
Patty made another nasty sound in her throat and turned without saying anything else. They watched her leave, and the tension only drained from John’s form once she had disappeared entirely into the night.
“Well,” John said and cleared his throat, the word shrouded in very thin and shaky humour. “I guess the engagement is off, then.” He bent to pick up the ring, held it cupped into the palm of his hand. His gaze was thoughtful as he scrutinised it, eyes calculating.
Alex snorted an uninspired laugh, glanced into the direction Patty had run off to, then back up at John.
“What… what do we do now? I know you weren’t keen on leaving, but now that she knows… it’s too dangerous to stay, right?” Alex chose his words with care; he didn’t want it to come across like he was using this, this literal collapse of everything that had built up over the past year, to push his little daydream of running away on him.
It was just that it was very much too dangerous for them to hang around–Patty knew, and she wasn’t exactly Gil. She had already told them she wouldn’t shy away from going to the cops.
...and. Alex’s father. The man he’d left bleeding on the floor of his room.
“Alex, do you know how much this thing is worth?” he said, holding up the ring for him to see, an excited spark in his eyes that did not fit into the events of the evening thus far at all.
“What? No. No, I don’t- does it matter?”
“This could get us to New York twice over,” he said, a slow smile spreading over his features, lighting the night up like only he could.
“It… it could?” he said, staring at that golden band topped with a little stone, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.
“Yes! Yes, it could, I- God, I should have done this in the first place with this fucking thing,” he said, and before Alex could ask what he was talking about now, he dropped down to one knee in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.
He held the ring up, and Alex watched, perplexed.
“Alexander Hamilton, will you do me the honour and run away with me?”
Tears shot to his eyes before he had fully comprehended the question, and Alex stood there, crying from boundless and incomprehensible happiness for a change.
He dropped to his knees as well and threw his arms around John, tackling him backwards into the grass. Their laughter rang clear into the night, unburdened and light, and when Alex pushed himself up to kiss John, it felt like the very first time again.
They walked back to John’s car with their hands clasped, too giddy to care about the possibility of being seen. What did it matter now, anyway? They were leaving. Leaving this shithole behind, making a new life for themselves.
John unlocked the car and they got in, just sat for a moment–his smile slipped a little. Alex had an inkling what that could be about.
“I, um. Do you mind if we stop by my house for a minute? I… would like to at least leave a note for the kids,” he mumbled, blinking his misty eyes, and Alex leaned over and kissed his cheek softly.
“Of course. I would actually also like to leave a note for someone.”
“Perfect,” he said and forced a watery smile, then pulled open the glove box, and rummaged around until he found a pen, notepad, and small flashlight.
They took turns writing their notes, both of them choking back tears as they did. Alex could only imagine how hard it was for John to leave his siblings behind; he loved those children so much, and even though he had been the only one to suffer any injury at the hands of their father up until now, he knew there was no guarantee it would stay that way without him there to make sure it would.
His own note was addressed to George, mainly just thanking him. Telling him not to worry, that he was alright, and that he was going to New York.
The first stop was John’s house; or rather, around the corner from John’s house. He got out and walked through the yard, having said something about his sister’s room under his breath, and returned only two minutes later, cheeks wet.
Alex kissed his tears away.
Not even fifteen minutes passed before the car rolled to a stop again in front of the Washingtons’ short driveway.
Alex hopped out and hurried over to the front-steps, gravel crunching under his shoes as he went. He took a deep breath and paused for a moment, taking the house in for the last time, before he slipped the note through the mailslot.
Just as he was about to turn back, the door swung inward, and warm light spilled out onto the front-porch.
He froze and returned George’s mildly bewildered stare from wide eyes.
“...why are you awake?” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.
George blinked. “Why am I…? Son. What are you doing on my porch at two AM.”
Fair question, he supposed.
“Um. I just came to leave a note,” he said and gestured down at the slip of paper resting just a few inches from the man’s feet. “I’m leaving.”
“What, right now?” he said, so incredibly confused, and all Alex could do was nod his head and offer a sheepish smile.
“Yes, it’s- it’s a recent development. I’m going to New York, George!” he said, a bit of his giddy excitement shining through.
“So you are,” he mumbled, glanced down at the paper, back up at Alex. “And that’s your goodbye?”
“Well, it was supposed to be. I- I can do it in person now, though. Just. Thank you, George. Thank you so much, for everything. I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said and cleared his throat when it threatened to close up around the words.
George’s eyes softened, and he smiled. “It was my honest pleasure, Alexander. I will certainly miss you, but it’s great to see you spread your wings like this.”
“Thank you,” he choked, and George sighed, held out an arm in invitation.
“Come here, son,” he said, and Alex dove into the offered embrace without hesitation.
They lingered for a moment and separated all too soon, but John was waiting, and they didn’t have all night.
“I’m proud of you,” he said, gently touched his fingers to Alex’s chin, and lifted his head a bit. “Say hi to Jonathan for me.”
Alex huffed a wet laugh and nodded his head. “I will.”
“Hm.” George leaned a bit to the side and peered past him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that John Laurens’ car?”
“Umm,” he said eloquently, trying and failing to hide his blush. “Maybe. Yes.”
“Huh. Yeah, I can imagine that his father probably didn’t approve of you,” he said, and Alex’s embarrassed flush grew even hotter.
“George.”
“Right, sorry,” he chuckled and put a last affectionate squeeze to his shoulder before he stepped back. “Off you go, Alex. Look after yourself.”
“I will,” he promised and shot him a smile, then turned away and sprinted back down to where John was waiting in the running car.
He threw himself into the passenger-side and leaned over the stickshift to kiss John without a second thought.
They remained until the door had closed and the light faded again.
“Ready, baby?” John said, his blinding smile enough to light up both the dark car and all the voids left in Alex’s chest.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything,” he agreed, and John pressed a last lingering kiss to his lips before he put the car into gear and they sped off.
Soon enough, the oppressive lights of their tiny world disappeared from the rearview-mirror, and they left the painful past and all its bleak memories behind.
John and Alex would make a brighter future for themselves now, a happier one, without fear and pain and hurt.
And they would do it together.
Finally.
Together.