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Downstairs, the music fades as Alex finds his way to the second floor. Does he know who’s home he’s in? Absolutely not, every house party is the same. But Alex can’t really find it in him to care enough about who’s halls he’s wandering.
The walls are the same depressing 2014 yellow that every other house in Evergreen has. Alex drags his hand against the drywall as he shuffles down the hall, eyes glazing over the framed family photos. Honestly, he’s shocked there aren’t more people upstairs using the bedrooms. He’s been lucky enough to not have to see someone bending their partner over any and every flat surface downstairs tonight. Maybe they’ve matured since the last time he was at a party, final year and all.
There’s a final room at the end of the hall by the bathroom, Alex assumes it’s the guest room. Judging by the fact that the door closest to the stairs was locked and the one across from it had actual decor on the outside. The door is cracked ajar, yellow lamp-light spilling from inside. Alex opens it the rest of the way, the overgrown wood fighting the plush carpet.
He enters, pushing the door partially closed behind him. He stops, someone’s already in here. And he contemplates leaving, finding a different empty ass room to sit in and complain to himself about the migraine forming at the edges of his skull. But he recognizes that permanent, uneasy tense in their shoulders.
“Tyler?” He asks quietly, watching the other boy jump in response from his place on the floor beneath the window.
He turns around, visibly relaxing as he makes eye-contact with Alex. Tyler sighs, his hands fidgeting with something in his lap that Alex can’t see over the bed. Alex gets closer, putting a hand down on the strangely fancy dresser and leaning his weight onto the piece of furniture.
It’s a book, in Tyler’s hands. Worn, black leather held gently in his palms like it’s something fragile. Like Alex isn’t meant to be seeing it — like no one is meant to see it.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Alex tries not to sound judgy. Knows technically he should know who’s supposed to be ‘watching’ Tyler tonight or whatever.
Tyler clears his throat, looking down at the binder in his hands, “It got loud and I lost Clay, so—“ ( Clay, it’s almost always Clay).
He trails off, looking back down at the book. His fingers trace over the bound leather, like he’s yearning. Like the book is something sacred, like a child in his arms.
Alex nods towards Tyler’s lap, “What’s with the binder?”
“It’s, uhm—” He swallows, jerkily looking back down at the book, “S’a photo album.”
Alex doesn’t even know who’s house he’s in and Tyler has the family’s photo album? Maybe Tyler isn’t doing as much better as he thought.
“I used to know this kid.” Tyler says, opening the book. He turns a few pages, the laminated paper crinkling beneath his fingers, “I mean— obviously, he’s still here. But like, in the fourth grade, I knew him better I guess.”
Alex nods, grunting as he slides down the dresser until his ass hits the floor (his leg is burning ). He watches Tyler turn the pages, his pupils shrinking as he stares at the faces — one face in particular. Alex can’t say for certain he recognizes the kid. Hell, Liberty’s got thousands of students that have known eachother since diapers. Alex has only been here since freshman year and the first girl he met is dead, so…
“Like you were friends, or—?”
Tyler’s laugh is a little jarring to Alex’s ears, bouncing around his eardrums and into his skull. He shakes his head, thumbing over a certain photo, “He used to beat me up on the playground. There was a little corner the teachers couldn’t see from where they supervised.” He says it like it’s casual, like this is a normal story everyone has their own version of (though Alex supposes in this town, they probably do ).
“ Oh. ” Alex can’t find anything else to say. Really, what are you supposed to say to that?
A sigh, and another page turn. Tyler turns the book around. There’s three photos, the kid — no older than twelve — holding up what looks like a science project proudly. Another, with the kid in front of his parents. His father has a hand on his shoulder, his mother kissing the crown of his head.
The third one makes Alex’s chest feel a little tighter. There’s two children, the same little boy who’s life they’re intruding on, and a taller, lankier boy to his right. With those loose curls that fall over his forehead. Their arms are hooked around each other's shoulders, grinning wide at the camera.
“Ty—”
He shakes his head, pulling the book back toward him momentarily to turn the page again. He turns it back to Alex, more photos of the kid. They’re different, though. More homelike.
The kid dangling from a tree branch, swinging high on the swing set, knee deep in the lake, tons and tons of candid photos. In some of the corners, Alex can see a little blurred thumb in the corner of the lens, like the hands that held the camera were inexperienced. New to photography.
Tyler sighs, closing the book and pushing it off to the side.
“You took those photos.” Alex says, stupidly, “I thought you weren’t friends?”
Tyler shrugs, “Typically I wouldn’t call the people who beat me up friends. He was a family-friend, I guess. Our moms were friends.”
Were, past tense. Alex clears his throat, remembering the reason he’s here was in fact not to dig up Tyler’s elementary school trauma. He leans over, digging into his pocket until his fingers find the small plastic bag in his jeans. He pulls it out, two pre-rolls sitting at the bottom.
He grabs one, closing the bag back up and stuffing it into his pocket once more. Alex hisses as he moves again, reaching for the lighter in his back pocket.
“What happened to your cane?” Tyler asks quietly, folding his hands in his lap. Like a child. Like someone waiting for instruction.
Alex fumbles with the lighter, holding the joint between his lips as he fails to get the lighter to fucking light — running out of fluid, “Got rid of it.” He mumbles, the flame flickering over and over.
Finally, the damn thing lights. Alex whispers out a proud (and muffled) ‘yes’, dropping the lighter and holding the joint between his thumb and forefinger as he inhales.
“Did you come up here just to smoke?”
He pulls the joint away, turning opposite from Tyler to exhale. Turning back to Tyler, he shrugs, repeating Tyler’s earlier words, “Was loud.”
Tyler begins to fidget with his hands in his lap, stumbling over his words the same way he does every time he gets defensive — embarrassed, “I— I was just asking cause, like, people are smoking down there too.”
His swallow following is loud enough for Alex to hear, following the sound with his eyes as he follows a path up Tyler’s throat. Alex licks his lips, “Yeah, but they’re all passing around a bong.”
The other boy nods, pressing his lips together and staring down at his lap, legs crossed. And then it clicks.
“Have you ever smoked? Like— anything at all?”
Tyler looks up, eyes wide. He licks his lips, eyes not quite meeting Alex’s (though they’re looking somewhere on his face), “ No. ” He admits quietly, “My parents would smell that shit immediately, I’d be dead.”
Alex holds the joint out towards Tyler, “Go home with someone else tonight. Stay with me, I can take whoever’s shift it is.”
Tyler shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the joint and back up at Alex. Alex smiles, tries not to seem pushy. The idea that Tyler’s been going to these parties since they met and he’s never smoked feels off. Feels like something Alex needs to fix. Tyler smiles back, his stupid awkward smile.
He reaches forward, hand shaking visibly as he gently takes the joint between two fingers. He lifts it to his lips, inhaling like he’s afraid. He holds the thing like it’s poison, like Alex is tricking him.
Alex laughs as Tyler coughs like he’s hacking up a lung, “Don’t hold it in, it doesn’t do anything.”
Tyler curls his arm over his mouth as he coughs, face turning red. Alex takes the joint back from him, giggling. He reaches over to pat Tyler’s leg like it’ll do anything.
“That was—” Another coughing fit, “That was fucking awful. ”
“You’re just not doing it right.” Alex snorts.
“No, seriously,” Alex can see Tyler hiding a smile as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “that stuff smells like ass too. I don’t know why people enjoy smoking.”
Alex takes another hit from the joint, closing his eyes and leaning his head back until it hits the dresser. He exhales, blowing the smoke upwards. He opens his eyes, watching through his peripherals as Tyler recovers from suffocating himself. Tyler runs his hands down his stupid sweater vest, fixing the parts where it wrinkled when he leaned over to die.
“Here.” Alex says quietly, “I have an easier idea.”
He leans over, pulling his knees up so he can sit on his legs to crawl over. It stings like hell and he’s gritting his teeth, but Alex will be damned if he doesn’t get Tyler high tonight. Shittily, he shuffles closer to Tyler on his knees before aborting directly in front of him because:
A: Tyler has a very recently developed hatred for touch.
B: He has not explained his oh so brilliant plan out loud.
Tyler stares at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. He doesn’t move away though, Alex takes it as a win. However, if he doesn’t fucking move soon, he’s going to collapse. Alex can feel himself shaking on his folded legs.
“Are you okay—?” Tyler frowns.
Alex’s voice is hitched as he speaks, legs threatening to give out beneath him despite the fact that he’s already on the floor, “You heard of shotgunning?”
Hesitantly, Tyler nods, as if he’s unsure. His brows are curved into a V, staring between Alex’s eyes like he’s gauging if this is a joke, “Like, the joint?”
(It’s now that Alex is realizing using terminology relating to guns was probably not the smoothest way of going about this.)
“Yeah.” Alex coughs, clearing his throat awkwardly as he shifts his weight on his hips, “ Sorry, I just— I don’t know, I thought maybe it’d be easier for you.”
They fall silent, Tyler just kind of staring at Alex. He presses his lips together, expression uncomfortably blank. Alex feels his face heat up, mortification maybe. Just as he prepares himself to back out and spend the next week begging people to take his Tyler shifts instead, Tyler says, “Okay.”
“What, uhm,” He swallows, loud — wet, “how would we…?”
“Typically, I would sit close and have to touch your face.” Alex cringes as he explains, watching Tyler visibly hesitate, “I don’t have to though, I could probably do it without. You don’t even have to smoke, I was joking when I was forcing you.”
He feels a little silly trying to frantically make sure Tyler knows this is all on him. He doesn’t need to do anything he doesn’t want to, there’s always a choice. No matter what the answer he receives is, Alex will comply. And he needs Tyler to know. The whole world could know, he fears. Fears that it’s so obvious how much he’s willing to give to everyone but Tyler. There’s a reason Jessica calls him to take Tyler when she’s decided she’s had enough.
(And it’s not just because she’s trying to keep up the faux ‘we can keep being friends even though we’re not together anymore’ schtick.)
“Uhm, you can touch me.” His voice is a little uneven, careful, “But just let me, like, set the pace.”
Alex’s nod is maybe a little too quick, “Yeah, man, of course.”
He turns, remembering where he’d set the joint by his hip before making the idiotic choice to crawl towards Tyler. His eyes widen in panic as he picks it up, a small hole burnt into the carpet.
“ Damnit. ” He sighs, staring at the black mark like it’ll disappear if he asks nicely enough.
Hopefully they own this house rather than rent it.
Finally, Alex takes the weight off of his legs, recrossing them and scooting across the carpet like a child until his knees are touching Tyler’s. Their faces aren’t close by any means, Alex has gotten closer to Justin than this. But there’s something so simple about it, so casual. It’s an almost sweet taste in the back of his throat.
“I’m gonna take the hit now.” He warns softly, making direct eye contact with Tyler. He’s giving him a chance to back out, to change his mind if he wants. But Tyler nods, hands neatly, tightly folded in his lap.
Alex brings the joint back to his lips, taking a long, slow drag. He lowers it, leaning forward and silently hoping Tyler gets the message — he does. The meet in the middle is a little awkward, Alex isn’t sure what to do with his hands if not grabbing Tyler’s face. They’re a little too far apart and Alex’s neck stings with how far he’s craned himself into Tyler’s space.
But as he blows the smoke into Tyler’s lungs, eyes closed and lips warm, he likes being able to hear the other boy breathing. He tries to keep himself pressed against Tyler, their lips connected with nowhere for the smoke to escape.
Tyler pulls back first, if only a little bit. Alex opens his eyes, a little embarrassed that Tyler’s already staring at him. He backs up a little, giving Tyler space.
“Was that okay?” Alex asks,with less breath than he would’ve liked.
A nod, Tyler’s voice is a little higher-pitched as he responds, “ Yeah. Yeah, that was okay.”
“Do you wanna try again?”
Listen, Alex doesn’t need to be shotgunning weed with Tyler right now — with anyone, really. He could go home to escape the party, it’s not like he’s being held hostage. But he enjoys Tyler’s company more than anyone else in the group in all honesty, and something about his consistent wide-eyed stare has Alex’s brain craving more.
“Sure.” It’s almost a whisper, barely lisp’d at the S.
So they do it again, Alex taking a long drag and pressing as close as he can get with their knees knocking together to exhale the smoke into Tyler’s open mouth. And again. And again, until Alex feels like he’s ran a marathon and Tyler’s stopped being the one to pull away first. If Alex were a little higher, less logical, he’d say Tyler’s started chasing his lips as he pulls away to breathe.
Tyler’s hands are hovering above his lap, like he’d started to make a specific movement and aborted it half-way there. Alex goes to lift what little is left of the joint back to his lips but Tyler makes a sound almost like a word. Like he’d started to say ‘stop’ or ‘hold on’ but instead what came out was a choked muddle of vowels. Alex cocks an eyebrow.
“You can, uhm, touch me. ” He says, each following word quieter than the last.
Alex swallows, “ Okay. ” His eyes drift down to Tylers wringing hands for a moment, “Are you sure?”
Tyler looks at him like he’s stupid. Like it’s the worst thing Alex has ever uttered in his presence. His response is simple, easy, “ Yeah. I trust you.”
(It’s almost synonymous to a different set of words. Alex flinches at the idea of Tyler saying them instead.)
“Okay.” Alex sighs, rubs his sweaty palms anxiously over the denim on his thighs, “Gonna sit in your lap, is that okay?”
Tyler grants permission like it’s breathing. It’s simple, like a habit, a hobby. Like he’s taking a photo — the action programmed into him. It’s just a nod, a brief one. Alex almost wants to tell him it needs to be verbal. He needs Tyler to say it outloud, if only for his own peace of mind. But he knows Tyler will stop him. He’s stupidly timid and rarely speaks more than seven words at a time nowadays. But Tyler knows what he wants and how he wants it, and Alex knows this. So he chooses to trust Tyler in the same way Tyler trusts him.
He tucks his knees under himself again (one day this movement will be the last and he’ll crumble to the chronic pain he’s stuck with for the rest of his life) and scoots himself forward until his thighs bracket Tyler’s. He tries to relax, not wanting to put all of his weight onto Tyler. The guy is way taller than him but he’s also a fucking twig (not that Alex can really speak on that) (fucking twink).
Tyler’s hands float awkwardly, looking away from Alex’s face now inches from his own. Alex can feel Tyler’s breath on his face, soft, short puffs against his skin.
“You can put your hands on my hips, if you want.” He offers, “Just, like, be careful.”
The way Tyler looks at him is indescribable, staring like Alex is something to be really listened to. Alex has to force himself to swallow and look away. His hands tentatively move to rest on Alex’s hips, barely even touching him. Alex laughs, a huff of breath really.
One hand moves slowly — so fucking agonizingly slow — to cup Tyler’s cheek. Grabbing more of his jaw, really. Getting a good grip to be able to guide them together. He brings the joint to his dry lips between his first two fingers rather than his thumb and forefinger, inhales, pulls it away. Joint still in hand, he mimics the same placement as his other hand on the opposite side of Tyler’s face. He closes his eyes, tilting his head slightly and pressing his lips to Tyler’s in the same fashion as the last few rounds.
He keeps their mouths crushed together this time, never wants to feel away from Tyler. They’re touching at every possible point, thighs, chests — their fucking lips. Alex holds Tyler in place until he feels the other boy begin to squirm beneath him. He pulls away, chest heaving. When Tyler opens his eyes, his pupils are blown wide.
Tyler’s mouth smacks as he opens it to speak, “What happened to your cane?” He asks again. Alex wonders if he even remembers the first time.
Alex realizes his own mouth is horrifically dry. He sighs, shaking his head, the pads of his fingers pressing into Tyler’s neck subconsciously, “Got rid of it.”
Tyler frowns, “Why?”
“I don’t know, it just—” Alex groans, hopes Tyler knows he’s not annoyed with him, “It made me feel fucking useless. No one wants to fuck the guy with a leg brace and a cane because he failed at fucking killing himself.”
He doesn’t like the face Tyler’s making when he finally looks back.
“Sorry.” He says, “Just, still pissed about Jess I guess.”
“It’s okay.” Tyler’s fingers tighten around his hips (Alex will tell himself it’s an accident).
“I don’t know why she always goes back to Justin.” Alex grits, voice gravelly, “He’s such a fucking piece of shit.”
“Why do you keep going back to Jess?” Tyler asks, like asking ‘how was your day?’. Like his doctor asking how the headaches have been. Like his mom asking what he wants for dinner. It startles Alex enough for his hands to release their grip, sliding further down Tyler’s neck. In turn, Tyler shudders beneath him. A full body thing that starts where Alex’s hands glide against his skin and ends where Alex is straddling his thighs.
Alex doesn’t have an answer for him. Instead, he opts for pressing his thumbs into Tyler’s throat and watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
For a final time, he brings the joint to his lips. Alex takes the last drag before crushing what's left in his fingers. He drags Tyler back into his space, slotting their lips together again — maybe a little rougher than the last however many times. It’s not a kiss, but God does Alex want to drag his teeth across Tyler’s jaw. Wants to taste his skin.
When he pulls away, Tyler chases. He catches himself, face flushed. Alex can feel his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Before he can move to push it back, Tyler does so for him. His fingers graze the scar and it takes all of Alex’s will-power not to flinch.
“You grew out your hair ‘cause of that, right?” He asks, tilting his head to stare at the scar. It’s scrutinizing, wondrous. He’s not judging.
“Yeah.” Alex’s voice cracks.
“I liked your blonde.” Tyler says, “I mean, your hair was clearly dead and the toner was patchy. But I liked it.”
( I liked you, Alex hears.)
Alex’s cotton-mouthed swallow makes himself cringe, “ Thanks. ”
Tyler looks directly into his eyes again, face suddenly serious. It scares him for a moment, like Tyler’s going to projectile vomit all over him. Instead, he says, “I tried to kill myself.”
Shit. Alex’s heart drops to his fucking ass. He’s not really sure what to say. Not quite sure why he’s being trusted with this information. Wonders if he needs to tell Clay and Tony about this.
His hesitation is obvious enough for Tyler to speak up again. He shrugs, too calm, “I couldn’t do it. I was too scared, I think. I dunno.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” Alex finds his voice, shaky and hesitant, but found none the less.
Tyler smiles, “Me too. Wouldn’t be able to do this with you.”