Work Text:
The room was disgusting.
A thin layer of dust seemed to cover everything, beginning to build up in the corners of the furniture in dust bunnies. Clothes were scattered about the floor, as well as boxes of takeout, the empty plastic bags in which they came in and a small assortment of books. The only desk in the room could no longer been seen under the enormous pile of laundry which had yet to be washed, ironed, folded and put away. The bedsheets were half fallen onto the floor, only kept on the actual bed by the weight of a boy.
John Laurens lay on his bed, his back facing the atrocity of his room. He couldn’t bear to look at it, felt shame well in his chest even thinking about it. Shame was only part of what he felt though; he could feel his mouth was dry and tacky, his lips chapped, his hair was itchy with grease and he felt his shirt was sticky under his arms.
He was disgusting.
He pushed these thoughts away and tried to breathe in, one, two, three times slowly, before releasing his shaky breaths back out. He tried to focus on the wall in front of him, observing the small protrusions which gave his wall a strangely rough texture. He tried to focus on the bright blue colour of the paint which had chipped in certain spots, revealing the original beige colour underneath.
One, two, three times slowly, before releasing his shaky breaths back out.
He didn’t flinch or jump at the dulled knock at his door, his body did not seem to have the energy to be startled. When the visitor was answered with silence, a buzz emitted from John’s pocket. He pulled his phone out and stared at the screen.
>> Alex:
Come out, John.
John’s gut wrenched and he thought he was going to be sick. His phone buzzed again before he could type a reply.
>> Alex:
Or at least let me in.
>> Alex:
I’ve barely seen you in two weeks, not including in class
>> Alex:
And even then, you haven’t shown up since Monday morning’s class.
What day was it? John had lost track. On checking, it was Thursday afternoon, and his and Alex’s last class of the day would have had just finished an hour ago. John sighed, closing his eyes. He didn’t want Alexander over. He kicked himself silently for giving Alex the spare key, scolded himself for not trying hard enough to be his usual self, but he was just so tired-
>> Alex:
John. Please?
He peeled himself from the bed and stood, taking a moment to close his eyes and not fall over as his vision went spotty, his head reeling and pounding. He stepped over his mess and opened the door.
Alexander Hamilton stood in a frenzy behind the door, looking up mid-text. He took one look at John and sighed, his eyes softening and John thought he was going to be sick again. He turned and retreated into his bed, the weary if not forced invitation for Alex to follow unspoken. Alex did, not seeming to even notice the mess as his eyes remained fixed on John. He sat on the edge of the bed, John resuming his previous position of curling up and facing the wall.
A pregnant pause.
“You shouldn’t skip class. Finals are coming up, and-”
“Do you think I care about finals right now?” John’s voice was hoarse and he could taste the bitterness on his tongue. Another silence fell between them, until Alex huffed the sigh of a man who had made an important decision.
“Well, I guess not. But I know you care about our collective hatred for Charles Lee, and boy did he cop it today. He started it of course, trying to argue, in our Foundations of Economic Distributions unit of all places, that we should cut all funding towards the ‘dumb’ things like the arts and just give it to the military without question, even though that’s not how taxes work. So, I said…”
They spent an hour like this, Alex reciting to John any and all arguments that John had missed in his absence, John not making a sound but visibly relaxing as more stories were told. Alex ranted about Jefferson in their History and Political Thought class, he raved about the Winters Ball which was coming up in a few weeks, he filled John in on the latest gossip that Burr was caught in Angel’s Bakery holding hands with Theodosia, who everyone knew was dating that British exchange student and god, who would have expected that from Burr of all people!
Alex stopped halfway through his telling of how Lafayette ate an entire bagel in a single bite, rather than throw it in the bin when the librarian scolded him for having food, when John finally sat up.
His hair was awkwardly flattened on one side, his eyes heavy with exhaustion as he looked at Alex. He opened his mouth to say something, then broke.
Alex was not in the slightest surprised at this, taking John into his arms as if this were exactly the order of things, as if it was expected that John would sob into his shoulder at that very moment, as if anything otherwise would be strange and unheard of. He rubbed John’s back, pet his hair, rested his cheek upon the top of his head. He held John as he sobbed and shook and screamed his frustrations into his chest. His cry was ugly, splintered and rusted.
“I’m sorry,” John through gasped breaths, though he was not sure to who. Alexander did not respond, only continued to rub his back. Perhaps the apology was not meant for Alex, but for himself.
The small peaks of light which shone through John’s blinds were now dulled, tinged with an orange aura which could only signify a sunset. He pulled away from Alex, curled himself into a ball and closed his eyes. They stung in a way which John was all too familiar with and he knew they were puffy and red. Although he stayed silent, Alexander knew he was ready to talk.
“Did you relapse?” John nodded.
“Did you clean them?” John nodded again.
“So the rubber band didn’t work then.” John shook his head, despite it not really being a question.
“Why?”
John sucked in a breath and Alex hummed in understanding.
“He hasn’t spoken to me. I’ve texted and called, I even emailed him, both on his private email and through his secretary. He won’t talk to me. He was serious, he doesn’t care that I’m his son, he won’t…”
“John Laurens. My dearest, most gorgeous Laurens. Did we not discuss this before you decided to tell him? I thought you said you didn’t care. You knew he’ll avoid you for a few weeks as punishment, but he’ll come around.”
“I know, but I didn’t think…I wasn’t planning on it affecting me this much.” John’s voice went small. “At first, I was okay, but I started slipping. I could feel it. I started getting tired and irritable, I couldn’t stop scratching, I don’t remember my room getting like this but somehow it did and then I couldn’t just clean it anymore, I couldn’t stop scratching, Alex.”
“I know. We can fix this.” He motioned to the room, but John knew he meant more than his current state of hygiene.
“How?”
“We’ll figure it out. Let’s start together, yeah?”
John let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Alex smiled at him lopsidedly, and John felt something other than a painful numbness probing at his heart for the first time in two weeks. He couldn’t quite muster a smile just yet, but he knew Alex understood the substitute look he gave him.
Alex always understood, just like John understood the pleading look Alex gave when he had had enough, when his head was buzzing with words and fingers were twitching with energy but he just couldn’t stop. When he just needed someone to hold him down and mould his body back together after it had fallen apart, when he needed someone to pick and pull him apart when he seemed to have wound up into a dishevelled mess, when he needed someone to tell him that he was enough, the work he has done is more than enough. John understood, and Alex understood John just the same.
John stretched his legs out, took Alex’s hand and breathed in one, two, three times before releasing his calmed breaths back out.
“Yeah.”