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It had been a long day.
A day full of people who hated him and snapped at him and hissed cruel words under their breath. A day full of people who’d never understand him, people whose comments he usually tuned out without much trouble, whose insults he generally brushed off without giving them a second thought.
It had been a day full of little memories popping up here and there, memories he usually kept securely under lock and key, flashes of his childhood that no one had ever seen.
Alexander was tired, he was hurt, he was angry.
And he was scared.
He hated to admit it, but he was. Because those memories, those flashes, they were the pieces of him that were the most vulnerable. The things he still couldn’t think about without wanting to break down crying out of pure terror.
Touches. Someone else’s skin on his. Hands in places that they should not be .
It was worse, really, than the pain. It was worse than being beaten black and blue and bloody. It was worse than anything, because it took something from him, something that had always been his, and he’d already had too much taken from him. It left him vulnerable, exposed, open, dirty, tainted, worthless .
Most of the time, Alexander was fine.
But some days—the worse days—he wasn’t. Some days it was all he could do to just breathe , to keep himself from screaming, from lashing out, from curling into a shivering ball and squeezing his eyes shut and staying there. Some days all it took was one touch, the brush of someone else’s arm against his, for his mind to be thrown back to years ago when he was crying, crying for it to stop, when all he could smell was sweat and alcohol and all he could taste were his own salty tears and oh god it hurt .
And today was one of those days, and Alexander was trying, trying so hard to keep it together.
And Jon… well, Jon wasn’t exactly making it easy.
“Hey Alex,” he said in a warm, sing-song voice when Alex walked through the door at the end of the day. “And how are you this lovely evening?”
Barely suppressing a groan, Alex mustered an almost-smile (it was really more of a grimace; simply moving the muscles in one’s mouth did not necessarily constitute a smile) and said, “Fine.”
Jon’s brow furrowed just slightly, and there was concern in his eyes, and honestly Alex just wanted to be left alone, but— “Hey. You seem a little off. You okay? Tired?”
“Yeah.” Alex hung his jacket on the coat rack and turned away from Jon. He needed a moment by himself. Probably several moments by himself. He headed for the bathroom, but Jon—and god knows Alex loved him, but not in that instant, because in that instant Alex wasn’t sure he had the strength to love anything at all—Jon stopped him, reaching out to gently grasp Alex’s wrist.
Alex bristled at the touch, hating himself for how much it terrified him for just an instant. Skin. Sweat. The taste of salt. “Please, no, stop, let me go, please— ”
“Alex, babe, come on. What’s wrong?” And Jon’s voice was nothing but concerned and loving, and Alex knew that, and he knew he shouldn’t hold this against him, but that didn’t change the fact that he was angry and afraid, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was snapping at Jon.
“Just leave me alone,” he said, in a tone that wasn’t loud, wasn’t furious, but it was brittle and harsh, and Jon drew back for a second, looking just slightly hurt.
“Alex, I’m just trying to help,” Jon said, and he was stepping closer again, and oh god no please don’t touch him, please, no, don’t . “You can talk to me, you know that.”
And then Jon tried to pull Alex into a hug, and that was the breaking point.
“NO!” he screamed, and a wave of absolute panic crashed over him and he shoved hard and suddenly Jon was stumbling back, stunned, and Alex was backing away, too, his fists raised defensively, his breathing coming hard and fast and shallow.
“Don’t touch me,” he was saying, his voice betraying his fear. “Don’t touch me.”
And Jon didn’t move, only sat there, stunned, and Alex took a shuddering breath that turned into a sob halfway through, and then he was on the ground, curled up, shivering and sobbing and choking on his own spit and tears.
And then Jon was beside him. Not touching him, just beside him, just there , and for a long time they stayed like that. Just Alex curled up on the ground crying and Jon there beside him, counting to ten over and over again just like Daniel had showed him. And Alex didn’t realize until that moment just how badly he needed that.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…
They went through the numbers several times, and Alex focused on them, breathing with them, eventually uncurling himself and lying flat on the ground. Finally, after what could’ve been seconds or minutes or centuries, he had calmed down just enough to take another deep, gasping, shuddering breath and say something.
“I’m sorry,” he said. There was a beat of silence.
Jon’s reply was so soft that he barely caught it.
“For what?”
That took a little more thought. Alex lay spread-eagled on the ground, staring at the ceiling. Finally, he managed a reply.
“Pushing you. And… this.”
Jon only shook his head.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Alex. Well—well, okay, maybe you should have let me know sooner that something was up, but that’s fine,” he said. “Alex, this is not your fault.”
Alex closed his eyes as tears continued to leak out of them. Yes it is .
They stayed like that for a long time, and the air was thick with tension, because Jon was waiting. And Jon wasn’t going to ask out loud, wasn’t going to try to force him, but Alex knew what he was waiting for.
An explanation.
He tried to steady his breathing. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Alex opened his eyes.
“After my mom died, I was in the foster system.”
He braced himself. No going back now.
Jon didn’t say anything. No “ I know” or “ go on” or “ I’m listening” . But he was listening. Alex knew he was.
“It… it wasn’t great. There were some bad homes I got stuck with,” Alex said, and once he’d started, the floodgates just burst open and everything came rushing out. “I got hit a lot. Some of them beat me really badly. I-I’ve still got scars from that—you know that, you’ve seen them. But that… Jon, that wasn’t the worst of it. Some people are just, they’re just really fucked-up, you know? And I—he—” Alex found that the words were catching in his throat, not wanting to come out, as he reverted to tears again.
Deep breaths, you’re fine, Jon’s here, you’re safe…
But he didn’t feel safe. Couldn’t feel safe. Because Alex had never talked about this before, and there was a reason that he didn’t.
The words lodged inside of his throat and he couldn’t seem to force them to come out, and for several seconds, he just lay there, breathing in quick gasps in between sobs, feeling the tears roll down his face. Jon sat there. Listening. Waiting.
Finally, the sobs subsided again, and he managed to speak again.
“He… h-he touched me. Like, y-you know. In that… way.” His voice was so small, so quiet, and he could hear Jon draw in a sharp breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to say the word. “And I… god, I’ll never forget it. It’s always in my mind, Jon, the way he… he… and I just, I don’t usually get freaked out by physical contact, not anymore, but t-today was just really bad, and when you… I-I couldn’t.”
Alex took in another shuddering breath.
There.
He’d said it.
And then, in a tone of quiet horror and something else that he couldn’t quite place, Jon whispered, “Oh my god. Alex, I had no idea.”
“Y-yeah, obviously you didn’t,” Alex muttered, and he didn’t mean to sound so angry, and Jon really didn’t deserve that, but he honestly didn’t care right now, because everything hurt . “I-I just… he never… I didn’t, I didn’t give him that. I gave that to you, I didn’t give it to him. He-he just took it from me. He didn’t have—he didn’t have the right to just—”
And Alex’s voice broke, and his breathing was becoming shallow and uneven again.
There was a long pause. Jon reached out and gently touched the pads of his fingers to Alex’s hand, and without meaning to, Alex grabbed his hand, clutching Jon like a lifeline. He realized that he was crying again.
“Alex.”
“H-huh?” Alex focused on the way Jon’s hand felt in his. To ground him. To remind him where he was. To remind him when he was.
“Next time, tell me.”
Jon ran his thumb over Alex’s knuckles and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “If this ever happens again. If you’re having one of those days—please tell me. I can’t—I can’t be here for you if I don’t know what you’re going through. And I want to know, Alex, believe me , I do. It’s awful, but… you don’t have to be alone like that anymore.”
Alex opened his eyes and turned his head to gaze into Jon’s eyes. They were so… they were just so genuine .
“Okay,” he said, and his voice was steadier now.
Jon smiled then, and it wasn’t a completely happy smile, because neither of them were happy right then. It was more of a life is shit but I’m here for you anyway smile. One of the best kinds, in Alex’s opinion, because in his experience, most people had a tendency to leave him whenever life was shit.
They took him, used him, left him. Dumped him in the streets like trash. Like all he was good for was his body—either that or the 25 bucks a day that his foster parents got paid.
But Jon... wasn’t like that.
“I love you, Alex,” Jon said quietly.
Because for whatever reason, no matter how bad things got, Jon never left.
And that meant more to Alex than he had probably realized up until that precise moment.
“Thank you,” Alex blurted suddenly. “For—for loving me. And not. You know. Leaving. When things go to hell, you always—you stay anyway. And that—that means—thank you.” He didn’t usually trip over his words, but in that moment, Alex’s emotions were just so big that he didn’t any words could effectively convey them.
“Always,” Jon said instantly, giving Alex’s hand a squeeze, and Alex felt fresh tears prickle in his eyes for an entirely different reason.
“And I—I love you, too,” he said, and he meant it with everything that was in him.
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