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John had never viewed one particular place as home. Not the family home back in Charleston where he had spent the majority of his childhood. Not his stuffy High School bedroom in the European boarding school his father had shipped him off to for his ‘rebellious’ teenage years. Not even his current dorm room at Columbia University, New York, although he supposed it was the place he had felt most at home in his life.
No, for John home was a feeling. The feeling that manifested itself in him when he drew, painted, created. Home was the feeling of getting lost in a world that was entirely his own, full of loud, bright pinks and purples. Pastel blues and greens, warm reds, oranges, yellows. Home was a world of color so vastly different from the landscape of greys his childhood blurred into in his mind. A world void of his father’s critiques and expectations. A world where John was free, and happy, and home.
Spending his days in the whirlwind of rainbow that was being an art student gave John all of these things – and was a world away from the drab dreary court rooms his father had in mind, which was merely a bonus.
Squinting against the harsh July sunlight, John glanced up at the building ahead of him, comparing it to the miniature Low Library taking form in his sketchbook, its towering white columns and authoritative, imposing aura muted by his soft diluted watercolors. Luminescent sun spots danced across the page where he swirled his brush in the jar on the step beside him, the clear water becoming tainted with smoke-like spirals of pale grey. He was about to dip his brush into his palette once more when a shadow obscured the light from his page.
“Woah. Dude – you’re good! Like actually fricken’ good!”
Upon looking up to the source of the compliment, John found himself facing a stranger. But maybe stranger wasn’t the right word. Because those wide, excitable eyes seemed a familiar shade of deep mahogany brown, a color that made John feel safe, that he trusted – that gave him the feeling of finding something he didn’t even know he’d been missing. Intelligent eyes as bright as his smile and as warm as the honeyed hue of his skin. Kind eyes that John could revel in forever. His gaze moved away from those eyes, to the heavy bags beneath them and the delicate crinkles around them caused by the wide, warm grin on the man’s face. One look at this boy had John awestruck, falling fast; falling hard, with no signs of slowing.
The stranger continued to talk.
“I mean, obviously you’d have to be good to get onto the art course here – but most of them are like ‘eh’ good whereas you’re like, super fricken crazy good! Awe man, you are so talented, I wish I could paint like that but art has never really been my forte – much better with words, they’re a medium I can get to grips with – I’m Alex by the way, Alexander Hamilton.”
He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and proceeded to kick over the jam jar by John’s side, sending the murky water cascading over the white steps. He leapt up, meeting Alex’s eyes again, and stifling a giggle that caused the panic in them to morph into – fondness?
“I’m so sorry – I’m a clumsy idiot, my body and mind move at two completely different speeds…not like that you cheeky bastard!” Alex exclaimed as John’s eyebrow quirked suggestively. John giggled again, a dusting of rose flooding the skin beneath his freckles, and Alex’s lungs forgot how to function again. He was taken in, completely and utterly, by this boy – this soft, gentle boy with a solar system of constellations scattered across his cheeks and knitted jumpers that made the matching sea green of his eyes glitter just so perfectly and long curls that were scooped back in a loose bun held in place only by a pencil. For once in his life, Alex was speechless, for there were no words good enough to pay tribute to this boy.
“Mon Chou, we only know one bastard, and that is your good self. So what is the actual name of the man you abandoned us to run off to?”
Feeling a weight across his shoulders, Alex looked up to see his two friends had caught up with him.
“Hey Laf, Herc; this is…I’m sorry, I didn’t actually get your name? Or your anything in fact, I don’t think I’ve actually shut up long enough for you to speak.”
“I’m John. John Laurens.” John smiled, reaching out a hand to Alex which he took, clutching it tightly. All too quickly the warmth from John’s hand was lost as it fell back to his side.
“It’s good to meet you, John. This is- “
“Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette;” the tall, curly haired man removed his arm from Alex’s shoulder to bid shake Johns hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you John Laurens.”
John tried not to laugh at Alex, who with a look of exasperation rolled his eyes before continuing.
“As I was saying before I was interrupted: everyone calls him Lafayette, or Laf for short, because honestly who has time to say that pretentiously long- “
“Hey!”
“And this is Hercules Mulligan.” The even taller figure who would certainly have seemed opposing if it wasn’t his warm, wide smile nodded, hovering by Lafayette’s side. John smiled back.
“It’s great to meet you all.”
“No need to ask what you’re majoring in,” Lafayette remarked, gesturing to Johns abandoned sketchbook, still open at the half-finished painting. “May I see?”
“Oh yeah, sure, here” John stuttered, scooping the book from the white steps at his feet and passing it carefully to Lafayette, trying desperately not to look too anxious as he begun to leaf through the pages.
“So, uh, what are you guys majoring in?”
Hercules opened his mouth to speak, but before he managed to form the words Alex had already answered.
“Herc is taking a course in fashion design and textiles, aiming to go on and work in costume production on Broadway which would be so damn awesome, and Laf, like myself, is studying History and Politics whilst on exchange from France.”
“Y’know,” Hercules spoke, his voice deep but with vibrant, warm undertones “you wouldn’t think me a Lafayette were grown men who could actually speak for ourselves half the time would you?”
The three of them laughed, John being unable to help noticing just how cute the way Alex’s nose scrunched up in indignance was, as he slapped Hercules arm grumpily.
“No need to be mean, I was just answering John’s question, and besides- “
“Alexander, as much as I find your bickering hilarious, if we do not hurry we are never going to get a table in the canteen” Lafayette turned to John, handing him back over his sketchpad. “These are really very good – you have great talent.”
“Thanks, thank you.” Alex couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly fond over how adorable John looked with his small smile and rosy cheeks flushed with pride as he hugged the book tightly to his chest.
“Now, will the Mr. John Laurens be joining us for lunch?” Laf enquired, raising one quizzical eyebrow at John. Glancing at his watch, John grimaced before meeting Alex’s hopeful look with one of apology.
“Unfortunately I have a class to attend. Some other time?” Lafayette nodded, smiling, before he and Herc turned and begun to head towards the canteen building, already discussing what they hoped would be on the menu today. Alex lingered on the steps in front of John, looking mildly disappointed but eyes still sparkling, smile still etched on his soft pink lips.
“I hope to see you soon, John.”
John watched his retreating back as he ran to catch up with Hercules and Lafayette, who were already half way across the green. Sighing, he swallowed, looking down at his shoes, and promptly glanced back once more to catch Alexander laughing, head thrown back and mouth wide with a beautiful grin that could out shine the sun itself.
“I’m so pathetic.” John groaned aloud to himself as he bent to gather his things, before striding off towards the art block, the musical sound of Alex’s laugh still ringing in his ears.
***
The library was almost dead post exam season as John pushed his cart overflowing with textbooks past the study stations that only a few weeks ago had been packed out, his eyes scanning the signs until he found it; Aisle B: Modern History. “Mr. Blue Sky” blasted through Johns headphones as he rounded the corner, squinting against the sunlight that streamed through one of the libraries many bay windows illuminating row upon row of books. Pushing back the pale lavender sleeves of his fine knit sweater, he reached for the first book, turning it in his hands to study the reference code on its spine. So absorbed was he in his work he failed to notice the figure behind him until they had placed a hand on his shoulder.
John started, and bit back a curse as he promptly dropped the aforementioned book on his toe. Spinning around, his face melted into a grin and he removed one earbud, the throbbing pain in his foot paling into insignificance as he found himself faced with a skinny-jean and tank top clad Alex, the same bright eyes he’d met only a few days prior smiling out at him from underneath thick, heavy brows, hair pushed back from his face by a pair of sunglasses that perched atop his head.
“John Laurens. I would call it fate if I believed in such a thing.”
“Hey Alex!” John chuckled as he crouched down to pick up the book, taking time to smooth out the rumpled pages in attempt to hide his reddening cheeks.
“Y’know, you don’t have to put those away; I’m pretty sure they hire some poor sod to do that for us.”
John smirked as he rose, and turned to Alex, tapping the blue librarian lanyard that hung round his neck.
“You’re looking at him. The poor sod, that is.” In a marginally apologetic manner, Alex grimaced.
“Sorry – but can you deny it? Tell me honestly you’d rather be in here stacking shelves than out there enjoying the sun?” John shrugged, just smiled softly and gathered a few books up into his arms and wandered down the aisle, Alex at his heels – watching as Johns slender, delicate fingers scuttled over the faded spines, gently slotting the books into their designated spot. John handled each book reverently, with care Alex had never exhibited to any of his own textbooks, many of which were dog eared, with cracked spines and wrinkled pages from where they’d been dropped in the bath, often times more than once. Of course even in the smallest, most mundane ways John was still perfect.
“So, I guess if you work here you could probably help me then?” Alex enquired, leaning gently against the shelf, still basking in admiration of this boy, this boy whose golden skin practically radiated a warm, sun-like glow; whose athletic frame cowered behind baggy jumpers and faded denim. Jumpers – even in July.
John hummed in acknowledgment, turning away from the shelves to face Alex.
“I’m researching LGBT+ history – any recommendations as a starting point?”
Alex noticed a brief flicker of surprise in Johns expression as he registered Alex’s words, but quickly it was gone, replaced instead by a thoughtful look. He turned back, squinting closely at the books once again, before surveying the shelf further, eyes raking over title after title, meticulously searching.
“Hmm. Well, if you’re looking for something that’s more of a, I guess, general overview of LGBT+ history, then I would recommend this one.” John reached up to the top shelf, his jumper riding up above the waistband of his jeans just enough to let Alex know that Johns freckles were not limited to his cheeks, before he pulled an obscenely large book off the shelf and held it to Alex, who barked out a laugh.
“Completely Queer.” He read aloud.
“Just like me.” John chuckled, before his eyes widened in shock, pink flushing his cheeks, biting his lip when he realized what he’d admitted.
There was a beat of silence as John’s eyes remaining fixed firmly on his hands, suddenly paying exceptionally close attention to the loose skin around his left thumb his nails began to deftly pick away at. Alex swallowed, then probed, gently.
“Is that how you identify then? Queer?”
The fear and anxiety reflected in John’s large green eyes made Alex’s heart break just little bit as John finally dragged his eye line up to meet Alex’s once more.
“Yeah. I know some people don’t like it, but for me it just seemed to fit you know? I didn’t like Bisexual, Pansexual, they felt too, rigid? I guess? I don’t know – I kind of buy into the whole idea that sexuality and gender are a spectrum, and as such it felt weird trying to define something that is so fluid and unique. You get me?”
Alex nodded, smiling warmly at John and reaching out a hand to grasp his shoulder.
“Of course I get it; that’s fine. It’s completely fine, John.”
John smiled weakly back, the tension visibly draining from his muscles, shoulders unfurling from their hunched shield like position as he leaned into Alex’s touch. All too soon the contact was lost, and already John yearned for it to return, the weight feeling grounding, comforting.
“Why are you researching all this stuff anyways?” John queried, meandering back to his cart to seize yet another textbook. Alex broke out into a wide, mischievous grin.
“Actually, it’s for the colleges GSA; I’ve just been made president; our first meeting is going to be looking at LGBT+ icons of the past.”
Alex struggled to hold back his laughter at the look of dumbfounded shock on Johns face as he spun back around to face him.
“Didn’t I mention? I’m hella freaking gay.”
Laughter finally spilled out of him as he watched John groan, slamming the textbook against his forehead to hide his face, or more specifically, the pink flush that was rapidly flooding the golden skin beneath his freckled cheeks. He lowered the book just a little, to let smiling green eyes peek out from over the top of the pages, staring at Alex in utter disbelief.
“I’m such an idiot. And to think I was scared about my slip up, geez – I mean, why else would you be interested in queer history?”
“It’s fine, I mean y’know – I guess it’s good you don’t make assumptions based on how flamboyant some people are. That being said” Alex spluttered, “I am literally the gayest person I know how did you not see it.”
John laughing was what did it, what pushed Alex past the point of no return, propelled him straight past Crush-Ville into Infatuation City. His freckles seemed to dance on his skin with each wave of giggles, his eyes creased up delicately, and his entire body seemed to let go, allowed itself to relax from its usual tight, restricted, carefully planned movements. This was carefree John; happy John, and god damnit Alex wanted more of him, wanted to be the cause of this happiness always.
“How soon can you escape from here? C’mon – we could grab a coffee; I know a place.”
John stole a glance at the clock on the wall, weighing up the number of books he had left to stack.
“Give me fifteen minutes? Twenty max?”
Alex beamed.
“Perfect. My treat. I’ll wait outside.”
And with a wink that rendered John only slightly weak at the knees, Alex set off down the aisle, already pulling his phone out to compose a message to Lafayette ranting about just how unfairly amazing John Laurens was.
***
From their window table in the upstairs of what, Alex had assured him, was the best local coffee shop in all of downtown New York, they had a perfect view over the streets below that were buzzing with busy shoppers; but even with his secret penchant for people watching, the hustle and bustle did nothing to distract john from the boy with such animated expressions and wild gesticulations that sat in front of him. In the half hour they’d been sitting there, John had concluded that, if uninterrupted, Alex could rant about any given topic for an indefinite amount of time, from what the importance of studying history was, to whether blueberry or chocolate muffins were better; a trait that on anybody else would surely have been annoying but somehow, this boy with bright, dancing eyes made it endearing.
“Hey, snap!” Alex exclaimed mid-conversation, catching Johns arm in his hand, pulling their wrists side by side. Adorning his honey hued skin was a tight band of multi-colored embroidery thread, the overlapping threads matching perfectly the colors of the beaded bracelet that hung delicately round Johns own wrist; a rainbow.
“Aha, yeah,” John bit his lip and smiled as Alex fiddled with the bracelet, trying to ignore the tingle where Alex’s fingers ghosted over his skin.
“I bought it from this little bead shop when I was on summer break once at home in Charleston. Don’t think I’ve actually taken it off since that day; it’s always been there, like a way to visibly show an otherwise invisible part of me – a silent fuck you to my parents too, I guess.” He paused, taking a deep breath as Alex shot him a quizzical look.
“I’m from Charleston, South Carolina. It’s not well renowned for being the most, liberal, place shall we say; my parents were no exception unfortunately, especially my dad. I don’t bother me so much anymore, but it used to. Also why I was perhaps expecting a slightly more – volatile – reaction when I outed myself to you.” He chuckled softly, trying to push the threatening sadness to the back of his mind.
Alex merely nodded, brows knitted together, and John noticed that even though he was done examining the bracelet, his fingers still rested on the back of Johns hand, tracing circles into the freckle-littered skin. He felt his breath catch in his lungs, heart suddenly beating faster, harder. Faltering, he pulled his hand back to interlock with his own fingers, staring at the rim of his coffee cup to avoid the flicker of disappointment that crossed Alex’s face, and trying not to regret his action instantly.
“Where did you get yours from then?”
Alex smiled fondly at the band on his wrist, spinning it round to play with the knotted thread.
“My first pride. Laf took me – he’s Bi – and it was just incredible. One massive party; rainbows everywhere you looked, not a single person there without a smile on their face. Everyone there was just being so authentically themselves; it was refreshing y’know, to be in an environment where for once you didn’t have to worry about censoring a part of yourself.”
“It sounds amazing,” John commented as he raised the cup to his lips to take a small sip of his coffee, grimacing as he swallowed the now cold bitter fluid, his expression drawing a chuckle from Alex. “I’d love to go to one someday. I’ve always imagined it to be awesome.”
“You’ve never been to a pride parade before?” Alex asked dumbfounded, watching as John wrapped his hands protectively round his mug, as if trying to will some of their warmth into the cold liquid it contained. John shook his head.
“Nope. Never had the opportunity to, or had anyone to go with.”
“Well,” Alex paused, smiled at John thoughtfully, “You’d always be welcome to come with us; me, Herc and Laf that is. We make a routine of going together – we’re actually meeting up next Monday to make placards and prep for it; if you’re be interested…” he trailed off, shooting John a hopeful look, shrugging as if to say, what harm could it do. He was thankful to be met with a wide, grateful grin.
“I’d love to – that would be awesome. If you’re sure the others won’t mind?”
“Of course not,” Alex smirked, “You won Laf over with your artistic talents – he’s a little bit obsessed with art, especially of buildings, he loves architecture – and Herc adopts pretty much everyone under his wing like a mother hen; it’s actually endearing. They won’t mind. Here – let me get you the directions to Laf’s room.”
They chatted a few minutes more as Alex pulled up the details, discussing logistics, timings, location. And this time, it was Alex who found John’s hand resting atop his own, as their eyes met, the gratitude, warmth, happiness reflected in Johns eyes plain.
“Thank you.”
“It’s no problem.” Alex smiled, trying to ignore the dusting of pink he was sure had arisen on his own cheeks.
***
Three sharp knocks echoed down the corridor. John lowered his fist, nibbling on his lip anxiously as he hovered outside Room 213, Floor 7, Hawthorne block, Eastside of campus. He’d checked, and double checked, with Alex that this was the right address, but even still doubt niggled away at the corner of his mind, a small voice pestering away, until suddenly the door was opening, the warm yellow light from inside flooding the dingy hallway. Alex stood in the doorway, beaming.
“John!” Before he could respond, John felt himself being pulled into a bone crushing hug.
“Hello to you too, Alex.”
A few beats passed before he was released at last from Alex’s vice like grip. John allowed himself to be pulled forward into the room, taking in his surroundings. The layout was not too dissimilar from his own; a desk and shelves took up one wall, with a bed against the other, on which Hercules was sprawled out, laughing at a quip from Lafayette, who was settled in a nest of paper which took up the limited floor space. Both Laf and Herc turned to greet him, smiling invitingly.
“Laurens! At last – you brought the paint I trust?” Laf asked.
“Yes!” John replied, as Alex pulled the carrier bag from his hands. “As well as – “
“Popcorn!” Alex exclaimed excitedly, pulling the packet out of the bag, letting the paints drop to the floor with a clatter, at which John sighed exasperatedly. Alex’s puppy-like excitement however quickly faded to disappointment.
“Sweet and salty?” He shot a disgusted look at John, who smiled, shrugged.
“I like it.” John replied defensively, ignoring the despairing sigh Alex emitted.
“You have terrible taste.”
“Well, I guess that explains why I’m hanging out with you.” John winked, smiling cockily as he seized the popcorn back from Alex, tearing it open and offering it to Laf.
“Touché.” Alex grumbled, slumping down onto the desk chair, ignoring Laf and Herc’s laughter. John settled himself on the floor opposite Lafayette, who immediately launched into a long winded spiel regarding his plans for the placards.
The hours passed by, the muted pastels of dusk outside the window soon fading to the deep navy blue of night. Alex, strictly instructed to stay away from the placards by Laf, deemed far too excitable to be trusted, contented himself by lazily tossing popcorn into Herc’s mouth, much to Laf’s dismay (“Those crumbs are going in my bed!”) and studying John as he worked. He watched the way his delicate pink tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he focused on laying each brushstroke meticulously within the text outline Laf had sketched out, one by one the placards coming to life, each sporting a different message in rainbow shades of acrylic paint. He watched the way Johns eyes lit up with interest during deep discussions with Lafayette about artists Alex had never heard of, or with a passionate spark when he engaged in a heated debate with Mulligan over the true definition of the word feminism. He watched the way Johns nose scrunched up when he giggled, hand clapped across his mouth, freckles seemingly laughing too atop his coffee-colored skin. He watched John, and all his intricacies, and slowly fell for him harder with the reveal of each adorable antic.
“You could try being subtle, y’know.” Lafayette commented when John disappeared to the bathroom, leaving the trio alone in the room for a moment.
‘Hmm?” Alex responded.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about mon chou; your feelings towards the dear Mr. Laurens are obvious even to Mulligan.” Behind him Herc nodded in agreement, shooting Alex a sympathetic glance.
“Yeah – you’ve got it bad haven’t you?”
Alex bit his lip, combing his fingers through his hair.
“Yeah,” He sighed, “yeah, I have.”
“I don’t know why you sound so despairing Alexander.” Laf quipped, attention so focused on the placard he was admiring he almost missed Alex’s look of confusion. Laf rolled his eyes.
“It’s obvious he likes you too. He can’t keep his eyes off you.”
Lafayette’s remark still hung in the air as John walked through the door, grumbling about how extremely unfair it was that Lafayette’s halls of residence had apple scented soap as opposed to the bog standard chemical rubbish he dealt with. He caught the guilty looks exchanged between the trio, eyes narrowing into a suspicious glare.
“What were y’all talking about?”
“Oh just how awful your taste in popcorn is.” Alex remarked. Winced as the pencil John hurled across the room hit him square in the forehead. But even John’s violent tendencies did nothing to quell Alex’s adoration.
***
From that night onwards by some unspoken agreement the trio became a foursome, John quickly becoming included in group chats and day trips and study sessions. Although they did venture off campus occasionally, more often than not they found themselves in a tangle of limbs on Laf’s bed, watching some trashy TV show or movie for the simple pleasure of watching Alex, apparently now an aspiring film critic, rant about how awful it was for its entire duration. It became habit, too, for Alex to walk John back across campus to his dorm, a habit which started with the best of intentions, under the guise of making sure he didn’t get lost in the dark, but continued because honestly, Alex relished those late night conversations as they wandered across the moonlight washed paths, just the two of them as it seemed like the rest of the world lay suspended in a silent slumber.
John had been on edge all day. Some days were just worse than others – and this was one of those days, when he felt the surplus supply of energy thrumming through his veins, making him restless, making his heart pound and his stomach churn. The anxiety wrapped around his mind, clouding his judgement, making him feel small and vulnerable and one step away from falling off the edge and floating further away from reality than he already felt. He’d pushed himself to meet up with the guys anyway, but remained reserved, quiet, even around Alex, whose presence normally was enough to chase away any lingering anxiety to the far corners of John’s peripheral. But not tonight.
Alex had, as always, insisted on walking John home, mildly concerned by the shadow that had clouded Johns normally bright eyes all day. They arrived, at last, at John’s dorm door – the familiar, chipped white paint now clinical and scary, and all of a sudden John is shaking subtly and gripping his keys so tight his knuckles turn white. Alex is going to leave, and he’s going to be alone, and he’s going to feel so small and sad and alone.
“John? Are you okay?”
John inclines his head slightly, jaw tight, clenched.
“You sure?”
The tears begin to slide silently down his freckle littered cheeks, because no, no John really isn’t okay right now, and his heart is beating so hard its beating out of his chest, and his mind is like a stuck record with alone repeating over and over and over on replay. He is frozen, debilitated, zoned out.
“Okay let’s get you inside, c’mon love.”
As soon as the key is prized from his grasp, John is gnawing at his fingernails as he watches Alex fiddle with the lock. With a small click, Alex unlocks the door, nudging it open with his hip whilst propelling John gently but firmly over the threshold by the shoulders. He pulls the door shut behind them, before turning to look at John, feeling his heart clench at the vulnerable silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight that filters through the blinds. It was not just the wash of milky white light that made John look so pale however; all color had visibly drained from his face, eyes now dull and vacant and void of their usual spark, the only shine now being from the tears that spilled over onto his cheeks.
“John?”
John finally registers some response, slowly dragging his gaze up to meet Alex’s.
“What do you need?”
And suddenly John is closing the distance between them, launching himself at Alex with such velocity it’s a miracle he stays upright, but Alex just plants himself firmly in the ground and envelopes John in a hug, letting him bury his head into his chest and let out small, shaky breaths as he fists the material of Alex’s t-shirt.
Sometimes John needs alone. Sometimes he needs to listen to sad piano music and sit and just be, alone. Sometimes he needs warm blankets and plushies and cups of tea and Disney. But right now he needed this – he needed to feel smothered, and grounded, and held by someone – by Alex – because god knows it was the only thing keeping him together, stopping him from shattering into a million tiny pieces that would take months to painstakingly piece back together. He needed to be here in Alex’s firm hold, needed to hear his fast heartbeat syncing to Alex’s own, reminding him he was alive and here and breathing, and that he was okay – that he wasn’t alone.
“Need you. Here.”
He felt Alex shift slightly, and whimpered, clinging tighter. Alex shushed him, pulled the pencil free from where it was tightly intertwined in Johns hair, gently twirling the loose curls round his fingers as they tumbled onto Johns shoulders.
“You’re okay darling. I’m not going anywhere” he whispered, the warmth of his voice washing over him like blanket.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You’ll stay?” John croaked, blinking up at Alex through long, dark eyelashes, eyes wide, glistening. Alex gave a small half smile, bringing his thumb up to flit across Johns cheek; brushed the remaining tear drops away, tucked an unruly curl behind his ear, admired how even in his state of utmost vulnerability John looked beautiful, was beautiful, always would be beautiful in Alex’s eyes.
“Of course.”
John relinquished his grasp only to step back and drop onto the bed. Alex allowed himself to be tugged down too, sliding behind where John was now curling up to pull him back flush against Alex’s own chest, wrapping one arm protectively across Johns chest and spanning his fingers over his rapidly beating heart, tracing calming circles around it in an attempt to slow its rapid tempo.
“You’re safe John. I’ve got you – it’s okay.” Alex murmed into Johns soft curls. With that, he felt John give out one last sigh, eyes relaxing and breathing slowing as he drifted asleep. It was only a few minutes of staring at the slow rise and fall of Johns chest before Alex also felt drowsiness weighing on his own eyelids, finally allowing the pull of sleep to silence his whirring, worried mind.
***
Alex quickly shut off his phone as it started buzzing at six thirty the next morning. Taking a minute to orientate himself, he quickly remembered the events of the previous evening, glancing to his side to take in the still sleeping John, whose arms clutched a large Stitch plush in a death grip to his chest. Relieved the boy seemed to be in a state of relative peace, Alex smiled softly, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. A rail filled with various jumpers in seemingly every pastel shade imaginable stood at the end of the bed, obscuring the door from Alex’s view as he sat up, carefully withdrawing his arm from where it rested over Johns waist and twisting round to plant his feet on the cold wooden floor, ignoring the stiffness in his legs from sleeping in thick denim jeans in the July heat.
As Alex pulled his socks on, he took time to properly take in John’s dorm room. His shelves were weighed down with books, some on art theory, but also several novels regarding politics, activism, social justice, interspaced occasionally by cacti, succulents and ivy whose tendrils trickled lazily over onto the desk. The wall beneath the shelves behind the desk had been converted into a long corkboard, which John had dangled fairy lights around before pinning various ticket stubs, postcards and photos to it, some of which Alex recognized from the outings they’d had over the past few weeks with Herc and Laf; the picnic by the riverside, the trip to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, the games night Herc had hosted the weekend prior.
Rising slowly from the bed, carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping John, he wandered over to the desk, ran his fingers over its smooth surface, taking in the overflowing pots of brightly colored pens, pencils, markers, the watercolor set that lay open, colors mingling together in messy splotches, the paintbrushes littered across a scattering of half-finished sketches that covered the desktop. One drawing in particular caught Alex’s eye. Sliding off the pens that partially covered it, he picked up the paper, breath hitching in his throat. He was staring at a picture of himself, undoubtedly; it was just a pencil sketch, but even the rough, rushed graphite lines had captured his likeness. Apart from it really wasn’t anything like him, because the version of himself grinning up from the paper looked ten times more handsome than Alex could ever hope to look – hair smooth, sleek, smile wide enough to expose the dimples that so often remained hidden, and eyes; sparkling, bright, inviting eyes staring out from under thick dark eyelashes, edges crinkling slightly in what Alex assumed to be laughter. He turned back to stare, shocked, at the sleeping form that was John, back facing Alex, curls fanned out on the pillow beneath his head, the morning sunlight illuminating the hundreds of different shades of golden that made up his caramel hair. This couldn’t possibly be how John, who was a picture of beauty himself, pictured Alex.
Rather than creeped out, as Alex felt perhaps he should be, he felt an odd combination of disbelief, confusion, and overwhelming fondness, as he continued to stare around Johns room, smiling softly at the pile of Disney movies that sat beside the small television. Everything about the room was soft, gentle, calming; it was only after last night Alex final began to understand why John, who had proved several times over he could hold his own in any heated debate, still had an air of vulnerability around him, something that made Alex instinctively feel the need to protect and shield. For all his performance, John was fragile; strong, and brave, and determined too; but fragile, and delicate, and one trigger, one wrong move away from falling apart at any given moment. And maybe, just maybe, he could stop feeling guilty for these feelings. It was with Johns sketch in mind that Alex hoped maybe his own feelings of affection for John may not be at least entirely unfounded.
Thoughts still circling his mind, Alex crossed back to Johns bedside, grabbing his phone from the side. John was far too peacefully asleep for Alex to disturb him and keep a guiltless conscience – moreover he needed this rest. Panic attacks were not known for being fun or rejuvenating. Seizing one of the stray pens and a stack of post-its, Alex scribbled out a quick note, stuck it to the TV, and with one last glance at the still slumbering form, left the room with only a soft snick of the lock as the door swung shut behind him.
***
When John began to stir a few hours later, his mind was immediately flooded with memories of the night before. Jolting awake, he turned, but instead of finding the comforting warmth of Alex beside him as he’d hoped, he was instead met only with cold, crumpled, empty sheets.
Immediately, his heart started racing, mind accelerating to 100 thoughts per minute, the devilish voice taking no time to start up – of course he’s gone, you probably scared him off, who would stay once they’d seen you like that. Did you really think he wouldn’t realize how pathetic you are, that there’s be even a chance he’d still like you enough to be here-
It was only at the sight of the luminescent yellow post-it note stuck to the TV screen his racing mind ground to a halt, breath catching his throat, hope suddenly rising in his chest again. Dragging his comforter with Him, John crossed the room, recognizing Alex’s familiar chicken scratch as he read.
“John,
Sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye, I had an 8AM lecture. I’ve already called the office – stay home sick today, you need to rest. You wouldn’t work through the flu – this is no different. Just stay in bed, watch a film (Personally I recommend Tangled), drink tea. Take some time out – it’s okay, and necessary sometimes. I’ll be back after class. Promise. I’ll even bring take out.
Love,
Alex x”
John bit back a smile, the panic receding in waves, slowly ebbing away. He did still care. He did still like him. He was coming back.
It was okay.
***
Two weeks later, lower New York city is a sea of rainbow, the atmosphere an electric whirlwind of color comprised of dozens of tie dye shirts, hundreds of placards, thousands of rainbow flags in various forms and sizes. The steady beat of the samba band leading the parade forms a backdrop for the thrum of excited chatter from the ever-building crowds, people of all colors, creeds, genders, sexualities, joining together, a united body. Everywhere you look, people are smiling and laughing and embracing, embracing one another and embracing their true selves, masks and pretenses falling away for this one day where for once, no one is excluded or forgotten.
Two boys walk with this crowd. One has honeyed skin that glows in the July sunlight and has sparkling eyes that are ablaze as he chants loudly with the crowd and brandishes a rainbow placard, his t-shirt screaming more pro-LGBT+ slogans. The other, a mess of sea-green eyes and wild curls and freckles, giggles fondly as he is pulled along behind his boyfriend, rainbow stripes adorning his speckled cheeks and a pride flag sticking out form where it is skewered through his unruly bun, a pastel green sweater hanging loosely off his slight form. They walk, fingers intertwined, with a group of people who make them feel more accepted and whole and enough than they’d ever believed possible. And as Alex swoops down to capture Johns lips in a firm, sweet kiss, John knows he has finally found a place, or rather a person, he’d be happy to call home.