Chapter Text
Justin sits quietly in his spot on Bryce's sofa. A half empty bottle is sitting between his legs, held loosely in one hand. Some type of alcohol, he knows, although he can't quite remember which. It's not in the original bottle, just a plastic one; one that can easily be stashed in a school bag, taken out in public and go unacknowledged.
He's barely drank any of it. His mind is blurry enough, his thoughts swirling in a whirlwind and he can tell the alcohol won't quiet it. If anything, getting drunk right now seems almost worse. His mind will trail to things he can't control, things he's not ready to think about. Like why the hell he's still in this house, and why the hell he isn't high.
Like bleach blonde hair and septum piercings, a steak dinner and a bedroom where he felt like he could sleep without losing his mind.
He takes another swig from the bottle in his hand, letting the liquid burn as it slips down his still aching throat. The hood of his letterman jacket tucked up around his neck and the drunkenness level of the other boys have prevented any of them from noticing the bruises; or at least, prevented them from mentioning it.
The absence of the one boy who would probably notice and say something about it both calms and frustrates Justin. He knows he'd rather not talk about it, urges himself to believe he's glad no one else has.
But another part of his mind is telling him otherwise. If one of them mentioned it, maybe he could think they actually cared.
His eyes trail over to Zach, sprawled on the ground next to one of his basketball teammates. The only person in here he'd still consider his friend enough to hope he'd care.
But the tall boy has avoided him the entire night. Averting his gaze every time Justin looked at him, not uttering a word to him once since they came in.
Zach hadn't spoken to him much, lately. He certainly no longer responds to his texts.
Justin's eyes burn and he shakes his head, forcing his gaze—and those thoughts—away. A familiar name mentioned next to him drags him back into his surroundings and his ears perk, listening to Monty and Bryce speak next to him.
“You know what Standall said to me the other day? I'm not ‘man enough’. What the fuck?”
Monty's words are slurred slightly, probably due to the three beers he's consumed in all of the fifteen minutes he's been here; and when Justin thinks, he's sure he can recall a bong being introduced at some point, can recall passing up the offer himself.
Which means he's drunk and high, and probably so is Bryce. And now, they're talking about Alex.
Justin feels himself agreeing with some of Monty’s words because, what the fuck?
Bryce gives a laugh and tips back his own beer, and Justin's hands tighten around the bottle. “How can you not be man enough for fucking Standall? Girliest fucking dude I know.”
And Monty throws his hands up in agreement, voice coming out exasperated. “I know, right? I don't get it.” He pouts, and Justin is certain at that moment. He's definitely drunk, and I definitely didn't imagine that bong, either.
Justin takes another sip of his drink, expecting that to be the end of the conversation, when Bryce speaks again.
“Hey, if he wants man enough I'll show it to him. I bet Standall gets fucking loud.”
Monty just shakes his head and downs the rest of beer, laughing slightly at the words, but Justin feels his blood start to boil.
His vision goes red, and the next thing he knows he's on his feet. His hands find Bryce's collar and drag him up with him, shoving him against the pool house windows.
“Jesus, Foley, what the hell is your pr-”
“Stay the fuck away from him,” Justin spits at him, shoving him against the wall again.
Realization dawns on Bryce's face. Slowly, his lips pull up into a smirk. “Don't worry, Justy. I can share. In fact, you can have him first. Then whenever you're ready I'll show him what a real man is.” He reaches up to grip Justin's shoulder, eyes bright. “What's yours is mine, right?”
That's when Justin snaps.
He swings at Bryce's jaw, satisfied at the slight pain that explodes in his knuckles as his fist makes contact. He finds himself throwing the larger boy to the floor, and lets his fists find purchase again and again, his hands turning red with both the other boys blood and his own.
Arms wrap around his shoulders and he fights against them, still throwing punches before jabbing his elbow into whoever's holding him. Monty’s voice rings in his ear, telling him to calm down and his heart beats faster.
The image of a similar scene flashes through his mind, but it's Monty throwing the punches as a boy bleeds underneath him. A boy with bleached hair whose face grows bruised and bloody under Monty’s hands, while all Justin can do is watch.
Alex.
He twists around and this time it's Monty he swings at, but the angle makes it awkward, leaving the punch weak as it hits the boy's chin.
It's enough to make him release Justin and stumble back, giving him a worried look as his hand reaches up to touch his face. Justin fumes, his chest heaving and fists clenching at his sides as he whirls back to Bryce. He's managed to drag himself to his feet but Justin moves to descend on him again, until hands land on his shoulders.
“Justin, stop.”
Zach stands in front of him, his eyes understanding but pleading with Justin to calm down. Ever the peacemaker.
“Why the fuck should I?” He explodes. He flings his arm out, pointing to Bryce as he screams at them. “He deserves everything he gets now. Why the fuck shouldn't I hit him? I should fucking kill you!”
He directs the last part at Bryce as he lunges for him again. Zach stops him, pulling him back and wrapping his hands around his biceps.
“Let me fucking go, Dempsey! Why the fuck are you still here?”
Zach glares at him. “Me? Why are you?”
Justin's jaw clenches, and he looks him in the eye. “Maybe if you answered my texts, I wouldn't have to be.” He sees Zach falter slightly and he shakes his head, taking a step closer and shoving the taller boy's chest. “Alex is supposed to be your friend.” He shoves him again. “You're the one who should be hitting that asshole.” And again. “You should fucking help me, not them!”
He takes a step back, still breathing heavily. “I get why you wouldn't do it for me. But not Alex. He deserves better than all of this. All of us. Just like Jess.”
He turns away from all of them, walking straight for the door. “All of you just stay the fuck away.”
~^~
He collects his bag from the porch on the way out, and starts walking. He doesn't think about where he's going, doesn't need to; he knows where his feet will carry him.
It’s late, he knows, and when he reaches the house, all the lights are off. Except for one.
He sets the strap of his bag firmly over his shoulder as he stands in front of the tree at the side of the house. With the adrenaline still running through him, he starts to climb.
He's three quarters of the way there when the pain in his hands finally registers. His knuckles are raw and open from the fight, and now his palms are scratched and cut. Fuck Standall and his second storey bedroom.
He makes it to the window and he leans forward on the branch, bracing himself against the ledge. The curtains aren't pulled, and he finds the boy easily. His back is towards him as he sits slouched on his bed, head hung forward.
Justin's heart gives a pained squeeze at the sight, but also lifts slightly, in time with his hand that moves to knock lightly on the window.
The blonde looks over his shoulder, and his eyes catch Justin's. They widen slightly, but other than that, his expression gives away no other thoughts he has at the sight of the brunette hanging outside his window.
He opens the window and Justin slides through, lifting his bag off his shoulder. Alex is wrapped up in his arms before it even hits the floor.
Justin holds the other boy to his chest, dropping his head to his shoulder and pressing his face against his skin before allowing himself to let out a sob.
Alex stands frozen against him, but the gut wrenching sound brings him back to his senses, and his arms immediately come around the crying jock. He wraps an arm around his back, lifting the other to cradle the head still buried in his shoulder.
Justin relaxes, leaning into him and tightening his hold. The tension from before bleeds out of him, along with the adrenaline, leaving him shaking in the smaller boy's arms. Alex doesn't say anything, doesn't ask any questions, just holds him silently and Justin has never been more grateful.
“Bryce is a dick,” he mutters it to the blonde's shoulder, voice muffled against his shirt.
Alex holds him tighter.
“I'm so sorry,” he speaks again after a moment, voice quiet and thick from crying. Alex cards his hands through his hair, shushing him, but he shakes his head vigorously. “Everything's so fucked up, and you shouldn't have to be a part of it. I'm so sorry, Alex.”
“Don't be,” the blonde says softly. “I'm on the tapes. It's my fault I'm a part of this.”
But Justin's shaking his head, hands twisting in the back of the boy's shirt. “You know that's not what I mean.”
There's silence for a second. Then, “I know. Don't be. I get it.”
This time Justin pulls himself away, but he only gets so far with Alex's hand still cradling his head. His own have dropped to his sides, and he looks down at them, brushing his thumb over the dried blood on his busted knuckles.
“I should've done something,” he whispers. “Anything. I should've done something, I could have stopped it, or-” he chokes, feels more tears streaming down his face. Alex brushes them away softly. “It's my fault. I didn't do anything. I didn't stop it.”
He looks back up again, expecting to find disgust and anger in Alex's eyes, but the younger boy just nods. “I know.” His hand trails down Justin's face until his fingertips rest lightly on his neck. His eyes follow, and his gaze hardens slightly. Then he murmurs again, softly, “I get it.”
His eyes fall to the jock's hands and he lifts them in his own, examining them. “What happened?”
The memory of not even an hour ago rushes back into Justin’s mind and he has to resist the urge to wrap Alex back up in his arms—to remind himself Alex is here, he's safe, he's fine. To tell himself it'll stay that way, that he won't let Alex get hurt. He won't let him down, not like he let down the others. Not like Jessica, or Hannah.
Instead, he shrugs. “Bryce is a dick,” he repeats his earlier words.
Alex raises a brow at him. “Well, yeah.”
He knows the younger boy's waiting for more of the story. Waiting for an explanation as to why Bryce being a dick this time led to his blood and tears.
He can't bring himself to give one.
Alex starts to walk away after a quiet ‘wait here’, and he grabs onto his wrist. Blue eyes look back at him, and a soft hand comes to rest over his. “I'm just getting stuff for your hands. I'll be right back.”
He pauses for a moment, then nods, peeling his fingers away from the boy’s wrist. Alex slips out the door quietly as the brunette seats himself on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the covers. He lets himself sink into the mattress, his muscles going lax with relief at just being back in this room.
Alex is back in only a minute, a white first aid box in his hand. He sets it down on the bed next to Justin, opening it and picking out a few objects. Justin can't help but roll his eyes, because of course Alex has a fucking first aid box in his bathroom, and of course he's going to sit here and bandage up Justin's busted knuckles.
Of course Alex is going to take care of him, even after him coming here planning for it to be the other way around.
He's so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't realise Alex has started cleaning his cuts until he feels the sting of rubbing alcohol, and he flinches.
“Sorry,” Alex says immediately, voice still soft. But he's smiling slightly, gaze fixated on his task of wiping every inch of Justin's hands.
The brunette scoffs, kicking his ankle slightly with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah, you sure sound it, Standall.”
Alex's eyes flick up to him and away again, smile widening slightly. “What were you thinking about?” He asks quietly.
Justin allows himself to stare at him, then. He's still standing, crouched down in front of him, turning his hands over carefully in one of his, holding the cotton wipe in the other. His stance gives Justin a clear view of his side profile. The way his hair stands up on his head, the bleached colour almost white, a few strands curled over his forehead. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration over his blue eyes. Down over the curve of his nose, to his soft lips, still curled up at the corners. Just then, he bites the bottom one, tugging it gently between his teeth, and Justin tears his gaze away.
He clears his throat, looking to the side before looking at him again, to find Alex now staring back at him.
He realises he didn't answer the question, then thinks about how long he was just looking at Alex, and considers that maybe he did. He pushes the thought away and ignores the strange feeling in his stomach when he notices Alex is still watching him, deciding to turn the questions to the blonde.
“Why were you still awake?”
Alex rose a dark brow at him. “Shouldn't you just be glad I was?”
He's joking, Justin knows, just trying to avoid the question. Still, his gaze softens again. “I am.”
The younger boy looks at him for another moment, then his eyes are gone, focused on the bandage he's started to unroll. He reaches to lift the athlete's hand again, and gently starts to wrap the bandage around it. Justin watches in slight awe as the blonde folds the bandage perfectly, wrapping and twisting it across his knuckles before taping it in place. (He tries to ignore the fact Alex decided to tear the tape with his teeth. And the fact that he watched in slightly more awe as he did.)
Alex repeats the actions for his other hand and Justin lets himself think of the event that led him here. The fear and anger that consumed him at the thought of Bryce anywhere near Alex was enough to make him sick to his stomach, and he had never been so glad to have the boy close.
Then, the only thing he wants is to have him closer.
So when Alex drops his hand then proceeds to drop the tape back into the box, Justin sets his hands on his thin waist.
He planned to wrap them around him, to pull him back into a hug but he wasn't sure that's what Alex wanted, wasn't sure he was welcome too. But the blue eyed boy seems to get the message, and he droops his arms around the brunettes shoulder.
Justin wraps his arms around his waist fully then, pressing his face into his stomach. He lets out a sigh when the younger boy starts to comb his hand through his hair, hugging him closer until he's stood between his thighs.
“You don't have to go back,” Alex says, quietly, almost wary, wondering what effect the words will have.
Justin holds him tighter, his voice coming out at a whisper. “I don't have anywhere else to go.”
“Here,” Alex argues, immediately. “Stay here.”
He feels Justin's shoulders tense. “Your dad-”
“Loves you,” Alex cuts him off. “Or, he doesn't have to know.”
A thrill runs through Justin at the thought. At the fact Alex thought it. That Alex would do that, for him. He grins slightly, but then forces the feelings down, shaking his head. “He'd find out. Hate to break it to you, Standall, but he's a cop—and as great as I am, I can't turn invisible.”
Alex scoffs, flicking the side of his head. “Are you actually trying to make me change my mind?”
Justin wants to look up at him, but he really doesn't want to let him go until Alex does—and for the moment, the other boy seems just as content right where he is. So he tilts his head back with his arms still wrapped around his hips, and presses his chin against the blonde's stomach.
“No,” he tells him seriously, although he thinks Alex is a little amused at his new position, “I'd really like to stay here. Thank you.”
Alex nods, his cheeks flushing lightly. He brushes his hands through Justin's hair again, watches as the senior closes his eyes and leans into the touch, and feels himself flush more. He pulls away, saying, “You can just sleep on the bed. I don't have any blankets in here, and I don't wanna risk making anymore noise.”
Justin scratches the back of his neck, and mutters his agreement. Alex turns the lights out, and he hopes that's enough to hide the flush that's started to creep into his own cheeks.
He can only make out the other's outline now, but he can tell he's taking off his jeans before he slips under the covers. He mimics the action, kicking out of his own jeans and shrugging off his jacket, deciding to keep his own shirt as well.
He slides in on the other side, curling up under the warmth of the blankets. He can't help but smirk as he head sinks into the pillow.
“What, no more cuddles, Standall?”
He just catches the roll of shining blue eyes and the hint of a smile before the other boy rolls away from him, facing the wall with a muttered, “Night, Justin.”
His smirk slips into a grin, and he stays where he is, facing the boy's back.
“Goodnight, Alex.”