Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

November 23rd, 2011

My dearest.

When we first met, I was just waiting for my death. I wasn't really living. I thought that at any second, I could-- no, that I would-- die. And honestly, I didn't care. Sometimes, I welcomed the thought. Death seemed better than everything happening in my head.

You didn't know that. How could you? I hid it so well. I smiled, and I laughed, and I put on a show. I played along, but I wasn't happy. I hated myself. I don't quite hate myself anymore, but I still can't figure out how to love myself either.

But you, oh god, you, I can't stop caring. No matter how hard I try to forget I think about you every day. I wish I didn't feel this lonely without you. I wish I could live. I've tried so hard to stop loving you.

I can't.

November 30th, 2011

You.

I can't bring myself to pen your name today.

It hurts too much to remember.

I'm sorry you'll never hear me say this. I should have said it before it was too late. But I love you. Dear god do I love you. It's been so long, but I can't seem to stop thinking about you. You've become a part of me, in a way. Like I wouldn't exist in the same way if I didn't miss you.

I must admit that I live in my memories now. They're all I have left. My memories, my nostalgia, my regret. I wish things were different. I wish things didn't have to end.

I love you. I still do. I always will.

December 1st, 2011

Why did I let go? God I was so fucking stupid. I think that at the time I knew it would hurt, but I didn't know just how much it would hurt.

How could I ever have known? How lonely I'd feel without you. How pathetic and worthless everything would seem. It wasn't always like this. At first I was fine. I pulled myself together, somehow. But now... Now it all just seems like background noise. A pastime. Everything is just busywork I do that doesn't mean anything because I don't have you to share it with. I never thought I'd be this lonely.

How could I have known how empty I would feel?

December 19th, 2011

Of course no one would guess it now, but I was a coward when we first met. I faded into the sidelines out of fear. I lived in the shadows. Even when people tried to pay attention to me, I would figure out how to vanish.

Your light was infectious.

How cliché it sounds, saying that you drew me out from the shadows. You know I wouldn't say that if it weren't true. You know how much I hate being cliché. But if I never met you, if you had never wound your way into my heart and stayed there, I wouldn't be who I am today. I would probably still be that shy, depressed kid, all alone. But when you smiled, I came undone. You shouldn't have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. I don't want this. I don't want to hurt so much. But you took me and you changed me and now I can't forget you. I wish that I could.

January 3rd, 2012

I believe that what I miss most about you is our intimacy. We were intimate in the tiniest of ways. You knew me, all of me, and you loved me both despite and for all my shortcomings. And I knew you, more than you knew I did, and I love you for it all. I knew every flicker in your eyes and every subtle change in posture, I knew everything about the way you interacted with the world. And I'm scared that if we ever meet again, I won't know you. That if I saw you, I wouldn't be able to recognize the person I knew so well. I'm terrified that I might pass you in the streets and see your eyes and not notice our past reflecting in them.

Even more so, I'm terrified that I'll never have that again. That no one will ever be able to know and love me like you did. I'm scared because, well, you know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself from particular emotional attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. Basically, you know just how deep my issues run. In fact, you don't even know it all, because there are parts of me I never opened up to anyone. I would have shown you those sides of me. I trusted you.

I've never trusted anyone before.

March 29th, 2012

I hate myself for loving you.

I hate myself for missing you.

It's been a bit since I've missed you enough to write. But now it's back just like before and god I miss you so much its like a hunger growing in me like a tumor. My self hatred just keeps growing inside of me, like cancer, and I think that you would have the answers. I expect you would. But all I am to you is a ghost. Nothing more than a memory.

Do you even ever think of me?

I hope you don't.

No matter how painful it is to think about you not missing me, I don't want you to be in as much pain as I am. Because it's a physical sensation, missing you. And it feels like death itself.

March 30th, 2012

I miss you.

May 4th, 2012

You always made me forget how unhappy I was. I don't think I realized that, not until now.

Knowing this just makes missing you even worse.

June 17th, 2012

Sometimes, I can go a week without thinking of you. Then out of no where, I'll be lying in bed, or in my math class, or writing, and I'll remember the shape of your mouth. And I'll lose my sleep thinking about the beauty of your smile. I'll get distracted by the memory of your voice. I'll stop working when I hear the echo of your laugh.

July 29th, 2012

I keep thinking that I miss all of the most painful things about you that I could miss, then I remember some tiny detail about you, and I feel like I'm getting stabbed.

August 25th, 2012

It's been over a year since we've talked. I don't know why I just realized that.

I should be over you by now.

God, why do I still miss you?

October 28th, 2012

It's your birthday today.

I wish I could be there in person to tell you that I love you.

I never thought I could, I'm just young and stupid. So of course I thought this was just a simple crush but fuck it I haven't been able to go more than ten days without missing you. If this isn't love then I don't know what the hell would be.

November 1st, 2012

I'm moving.

And I promised myself that this is the last letter I'll write.

Why do I write these? I'm never going to send them. You're almost definitely never going to read these. This is just pointless.

But I can't make myself stop?

I blame you. I blame how much I miss you. I blame myself for being overly codependent and for being so lonely and just... Pathetic.

This is the last time I'll write.

-- Alexander Hamilton.

P.S.

I'm sorry.

---

October 16th, 2012

Dear Alexander,

I miss you. I miss everything about you. I miss how warm and safe you made me feel. I miss hearing your voice change when you got excited talking about something you love, because even if I had no idea what you were on about, I loved hearing you talk. I miss seeing you smile, just that tiny little smile no ne was meant to see, the one that I knew was completely real because as soon as you noticed it you'd wipe it off your face. And as creepy as it sounds I miss the way you smelled; you were so familiar in a way I can't begin to explain, and your scent reminded me of all my favorite memories.

And I missed the chance to know what you would taste like, and I hate myself for it every goddamn day.

But no amount of missing will change the truth. I wish I could. I just want to see you again. You probably don't even care. It's been so long, I doubt you really remember me. Adieu.

Yours.

J. Laurens.

Chapter Text

La première réunion est une coïncidence.

The heat was unbearable.

Growing up in South Carolina, he could take it, but since he spent the last few years of his life in cold, rainy London, his body didn’t know how to react. Sweat was clinging to him, especially his chest. There it stuck to his tight sports bra and heated him up even more, since the air never cooled his skin.

He was lying on his back in a park. He felt his cheeks heat with shame when two teenage girls not much younger than him whispered as they walked by. He knew they could tell he was homeless. Even if plenty of others spent their time picnicking or napping in the sun, you would know what he was when you saw the tattered bag propping up his head. It was stuffed with clothes, everything he managed to grab before his parents shoved him out the door.

“I won’t tolerate this behavior, Jacqueline. No girl in this house will think she’s a boy.” He could still feel Mrs. Laurens’ hand gripping his shoulder once she pushed him out the door. The bag he had hastily shoved food, clothes, and money in knocked the breath out of him when she threw it at his chest. He stumbled back from the force. “You can come back when you’ve learned your lesson. Madda, take her to the gates.”

Madda gave him a forlorn look and gently took his elbow. “It’s alright sweetheart. She don’t mean it, you know that.”

He stared at her, wide eyed, numbness and terror battling in his chest. “What am I going to do? I didn’t think she’d…”

Madda frowned and gently patted his cheek. “You’re a smart boy. You’ll be ok.” Despite the panic and pain he felt, he found himself smiling when she called him a boy. “I’d help you more if I could, believe me, but she’d have my head if I went against her.”

His stomach didn’t growl. By then it had learned to stay quiet. He hadn’t been on his own much longer than two months, but his body had already adjusted to the constant hunger.

When he sat up, his head swam and he thought he would fall back down again. He pressed a hand to his forehead, but took it back away, as it was just as hot and sticky as the rest of him. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small bag of coins.

One, two, three, thirteen, there’s a dime, and a quarter that’s good. I have thirty eight. He felt sickness rise in his stomach when he saw that he had emptied the pouch into his hand. This isn’t even enough money to buy a bag of chips.

He leaned forwards and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, breathing deeply so he wouldn’t cry. He didn’t have anywhere to be alone. He had lost the privacy to cry.

“Just get your shit together.” He breathed sharply, whispering to himself. “Just get up and get some water. The water fountains are free, thank god. Then just…” he shuddered. “Keep begging.”

God, what have I been reduced to?

“Excuse me?”

Great.

“Excuse me sir,” He looked up when he heard that, a pleasant shock running through that when the stranger referred to him as ‘sir.’ The stranger had a soft face, and looked at him with barely masked concern. “How… How old are you?”

He looked back down and mumbled “Seventeen.” In a low voice, hoping that he sounded masculine.

“You’re…” He looked away from the stranger, shame making his throat swell. He chewed the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t snap at the man. He couldn’t start trouble. “Here,” He looked back up when he saw the man dig something out of his pocket. He help out a crumpled five dollar bill. “Here, take it. It’s hot as fuck out you should get some cooler clothes or something.”

“I can’t…” Why are you refusing him? Just fuckin’ take it.

“Just take it, alright?” The stranger thrust it out again, and didn’t break eye contact until he took it. The stranger seemed to relax when he did, like his conscious could rest.

“I can’t take a stranger’s money.” He said, even after the bill was in his hand.

The man sighed. “Alexander.”

“What?”

“I’m Alexander. What’s your name?”

“Jacqueline,”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” He yelled, shaking as he stuffed the small bag with supplies.

“Well what do you want me to call you?” His sister stood in the doorway to their shared room, her eyes wide with fear. He knew she didn’t want to hurt him, but right then his world was on fire and every word hurt.

“I…” He felt like he would throw up. He hadn't chosen a name. He just knew he wasn’t ‘Jacqueline.’ “I don’t know.”

“I don’t have a name.” He said after a moment’s hesitation.

The stranger blinked in confusion. “What?” He shrugged and looked away, shame making him fidget. “So you're a John Doe.”

“Um,” He blinked. “Sure?”

“Well, John Doe, now we’re acquainted.” He smirked victoriously. “So you can’t feel bad for taking somethin’ from a stranger.”

This guy is the friendliest person I’ve met in fuckin’ years. John smiled at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded and waved it off. “Yeah just… I hate seein’ people like me down on their luck. So just… Yeah.” He bit his lip, then walked off hurriedly. John watched him go, then stood. The dizziness he felt reminded him that he desperately needed food.

John sighed when he saw that once again he was the only person of color in a room filled with white people. “Ok, the fuck? Someone tell me why there’s just one person of color in a class about black fuckin’ history?”

“Jacqueline!”

“Shit.” He turned to see the teacher enter the room after him.

“Jacqueline. Watch your mouth. It isn’t very ladylike to say such vulgar things.”

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was unaware that I had to be ladylike here. Strange that the actual rule in this fine establishment is that profane language is prohibited for everyone, and yet you say I shouldn’t say ‘fuck’ ‘cause it’s ‘unladylike,’ which would imply that it’s perfectly fine for a male to say the exact same thing.” He felt himself begin to smirk at her enraged face. “So if you’re gonna tell me to watch my mouth tell me that it’s unscholarly or some bullshit like that ‘cause I don’t give two shits ‘bout bein’ ‘ladylike’ miss, and I don’t give a fuck ‘bout bein’ polite.”

“Go to the principal’s office!” She yelled, pointing furiously at the door.

“Wow really? I would’ve expected you to have a witty rebuttal, miss.” He heard someone snickering at his blatant backtalk. “I mean, I would’ve figured you to be the type who’d handle a rebellious student with finesse, not pure brute--”

“Get out before I call security.”

“Oh wow.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh yeah, of course, cause clearly I need to be manhandled by fuckin’ security officers, ‘caused quite clearly the mouthy brown kid’s violent and dangerous.” She picked up the phone on her desk and quickly called for security. “I mean, I’m not even five feet tall yet, and I’m ten fuckin’ years old, but I mean, I must be a total thug, ‘cause I’m just so threatening!” He yelled over his shoulder as a guard came up behind him and began to pull him to the office.

Less than ten seconds later he was waiting in the main office. When he sat down, he saw a second student around his age waiting as well. He slid down in his seat like the petulant child he was, then turning to the kid to his right. He was sitting cross legged and hunched, picking at his pants as he waited.

“Who’re you?”

“Alex.” He turned and leaned on his palm. “Alexander.”

“I’m Jacqueline, but people call me Jack.” He sat up in his seat and looked at Alexander. “Why’re you in here?”

“Got in a fight.” He shrugged. “Some fucker called me a fag, so I punched him in the face.” He watched John with a silent challenge in his eyes. “I’ve been waiting since homeroom.”

John grinned. “I like you.” Alexander looked at him with shock. “I got in a fight with my sexist and racist teacher. Who the fuck let a republican teach black history?” The secretary glared at him as he raised his voice. “I mean, that’s just fuckin’ stupid!”

“Dude, this school’s whiter than our founding fathers.” He high-fived John. “Kudos to you.”

“Thanks dude.” John smiled widely at him, happy to have finally found someone who shared his worldviews. “I’ve got a feeling we’ll get along well."

Le deuxième est le destin.

It was dark that night, and John found himself walking the lengths of the city streets with no real purpose or direction. He was barely awake,  but he was terrified of falling asleep in the dark. The paranoia prickled under his skin, and the hairs on his arms stood, even though it couldn’t have been less than seventy degrees out. His heart skipped a beat and a lump grew in his throat when he heard a shout.

“I told you to get the fuck away from me!” A part of him wanted to run and save himself, but he ran towards the panicked voice anyways. “Just back off or I’ll call the cops!”

“You’re drunk, sweetheart, no one’s gonna believe you.”

“S-- shut up!” When John got closer he saw a girl in a blue party dress and stiletto heels stumbling away from someone he couldn’t make out.

“Hey!” His voice cracked when he shouted, but he cleared his throat and went closer, trying to hide his fear. “She told you to back the fuck off!”

“Aw, look, the dykes are stickin’ out for each other.” The man leered, but began to back away.

“I’m not a girl!” John turned away from the man as he scoffed and walked off into the darkness. He offered a hand to the girl, who was stumbling and pressing a hand to her mouth. “Are you ok?”

She nodded, hesitating for a moment. “My sister’s just been gone a few seconds…” Her voice was slightly slurred, and John could smell the scent of alcohol on her skin. “‘M fine, he didn’t touch me… I’m fine…”

“You should call the police.” He’ll try that again if no one stops him.

“I can…. I’m f…” She waved him off, and almost fell over.

“Holy shit Eliza!” John turned to see someone else come out of the club just down the street, an arm wrapped around someone who had passed out. “Hey, who the fuck are you?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt your friend here I just--”

“Angelica,” The girl’s voice was oddly defensive. “She’s fine she’s jus’ tryin’ to help…”

John flinched when she called him she, and the other, Angelica, seemed to notice. “I’m not… I’m John.”

“Ohhhhh noooooo.” Eliza whined, and sloppily hugged him. “I’m sorryyyy.”

“It’s, um, it’s alright, are you ok?” John awkwardly pushed her off him.

Angelica took her arm. “Sorry about my lightweight sister. Now, could you explain what the hell happened here?”

“I heard her yelling, and saw some guy tryin’ to come onto her. He didn’t touch her, he ended up runnin’ off.” Her eyes widened in horror as she turned to her sister, who was barely conscious.

“Oh my god…” She whispered. “I only left her for a second I swear…” She shuddered. “I’m really sorry, I really don’t want to have to ask this of you, but could you help me call the cops? I don’t have any hands.”

He nodded, then hesitated. “I… I don’t have a phone.”

She looked confused, but began to reach into the small satchel that was slung over Eliza’s shoulder. “Here, use hers.”

John nodded and took it out of her hand so she could hold up her friends. He dialed, a sense of surreal fear washing over him when he realized that he was calling the police on someone.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I, um, I’m calling to report an attempted sexual assault.” He bristled when the woman on the line sighed at him.

“You say it was attempted?”

He sneered at her patronizing voice. “Yes.”

“So, nothing actually happened?”

“What the fuck do you mean by that? Just cause he didn’t get away with it doesn’t mean he won’t do it to someone else!”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t investigate this without more evidence. If anything physical did happen, we might be able to help you.”

“What the fuck kinda bullshit system is that?” John looked at Angelica apologetically when he realized she was looking at him weirdly. “We can’t even make a goddamn report?”

“You can try to make a report if you go to the nearest station, but you don’t have enough to warrant an investigation, I’m sorry, but that’s just the way--”

“Well fuck you!” He hung up and quickly gave Angelica the phone so he wouldn’t break it out of frustration. “Said there’s not enough evidence to warrant an investigation.”

Angelica seemed to swell with her rage. “What the fuck?” She hissed. John felt the need to step back, even though he knew her anger wasn’t directed at him. Angelica took a deep breath and closed her eyes to try and calm herself. “Ok. Ok. I can’t deal with this now. Thank you for everything, seriously, but I’m just gonna take these two home and deal with this tomorrow.”

“Are you gonna be alright?”

She looked slightly offended by the question, then greatful. “Thanks, but I’m calling a friend to pick us up.” John nodded awkwardly, then began walking away.

He tried to walk off his anger, tried to let it go, but he couldn’t. The more he tried not to think about the shit policy on sexual assault, the more he just kept hearing the phone attendant’s last words.

“That’s just the way it is.”

He stopped walking and balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax himself. His muscles were tense, as if his body was preparing for a fight he didn’t have.

Just let it go John. You can’t change anything. He tried to tell himself to stop, but he started walking in the direction of the only police station he knew of. You won’t achieve anything by yelling at the cops. You’ll just get yourself in trouble.

He felt like his body was being set on fire, his enraged adrenaline warming him up. He kept walking faster and faster, fueled with frustration. How dare they be so incompetent? These people are supposed to protect and serve, but all they do is make excuses? They can’t just let this shit happen without taking action!

“Hey!” He slapped the counter when he got to the station’s waiting room. “Hey, y’all gotta answer for this shit!”

“Can I help you?” The attendant seemed bored as she gazed at him.

“Yeah! Fuckin’ tell me why the hell your policies are so fucking shitty--”

“Have you been drinking?” She didn't seem to care about anything he was saying.

“What?” He glared at her, becoming even angrier when she dismissed his words. “Don’t you dare ignore what I have to fucking say! I am stone cold mother fucking sober! And even if i was drunk off my ass my points would still be relevant!” She picked up her walkie talkie. “Hey! Fucking listen to me!”

“If you don’t calm down, I’ll have to call out some officers to subdue you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He was breathing heavily and had begun to shake from his anger. “You can’t actually be serious right now!” She spoke softly into her walkie talkie. “Unbelievable!” He threw his hands up. “Unbe-fuckin’-lievable! You don’t even care! You don’t give one singular fuck! What the fuck has this nation come to? You can’t just do nothing--”

“Excuse me, could you please calm down.” A police officer came out from behind the counter.

“No I won’t fucking calm down until someone answers for this mother fucking bullshit! ” At that, the officer grabbed his arm to lead him to the holding cells. “Hey you let the fuck go of me!”

The officer turned to face John and gave him a patronizing smirk. “You’re under arrest for public disruption.”

“That’s not a fucking thing!” The officer tried to grab his shoulder to turn him around, but acting on instinct, John punched him hard in the face. The officer fell to the ground, cursing loudly and cradling his cheek. “Oh shit….”

“That’s it!” John immediately put his hands on his head when another officer approached him. “You are under arrest for aggravated assault of a police officer! Officer Lee, are you alright?”

The man waved the second officer away. “Don’t worry about me, Seabury. Just put the fucking delinquent in the immigrants’ holding cell.”

John had to take a deep breath when he heard Officer Lee speak, shoving down the hatred and irritation he felt at the words. He let himself be led by Officer Seabury without any resistance, although that didn’t keep the officer from using an unnecessary amount of force to shove him in.

“Fuck!” He yelled, resisting the urge to punch the wall. He didn’t need a broken hand on top of everything else. He started to lightly bounce in place as he paced the length of the jail cell. His legs burned, telling him to roundhouse kick the wall hard enough to crack it, but he needed to maintain some sort of civility.

“Could you not?” He turned when he heard the heavy french accent to see someone sprawled out across the bench, their head in someone else’s lap. “I ‘ave a killer ‘eadache.”

“Sorr--” John stopped talking when he saw the man he met who gave him five dollars. “Alexander?”

He looked up, eyes widening in surprise when he recognized John. “John Doe. What are you doing here?”

“I uh…” He looked around the room to avoid eye contact. “I punched a cop.”

“Whoo!” The drunk frenchman threw a fist into the air, almost hitting Alexander in the face. “Zhat’s why we’re ‘ere too!”

John raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Alexander nodded. “Yeah, well, we kinda got in a bar fight, and I accidentally punched a cop. In my defence he was a fuckin’ bastard, so…”

John couldn’t help but snicker at him. Alexander looked up, seeming a little hurt at first, then laughing slightly as well.

“Well, John Doe, since we’ll be here all night we might as well get to know each other.” The frenchman shifted as Alexander leaned forwards, resting his chin on his palm. He looked at the bench adjacent to him, gesturing for John to sit.

John hesitated, looking at the dingy metal bench with disgust. “My realist says yes but my hypochondriac says no.” Alexander laughed at that, and John managed a small smile. “I don’t trust prison cell benches to not give me some sort of infection.”

“Jail.” Alexander said, right as the sleepy frenchman muttered something sounding like ‘es valé’ which confused John, because he was French, not Spanish, and although he was drunk that didn’t seem like a very natural transition.

“Wait, what?” He blinked at Alexander when he processed what he said.

“It’s jail. We’re currently in jail, not prison.”

“Is there even a difference?”

As soon as he saw the way Alexander’s lips turned slightly upwards at the question, John regretted speaking. “Why yes, my dear John, there is a difference, quite a large one in fact. Jail is a temporary place used for minor criminals and holding, while prison is for sentences. You would never go to prison for a parking violation, but you might end up with a night in jail. Basically, prison’s for when there’s concrete evidence that the person has committed the crime and they’ve been sentenced. Someone can be held in jail while they’re on trial, but not prison.”

John bristled slightly at the somewhat patronizing tone, but brushed it off and attributed it to a mixture of fatigue and the alcohol he could smell on Alexander. John opened his mouth to ask him why and how he even knew that.

“So, come here often?” Ok what the FUCK, John, that was NOT the PLAN here.

Alexander snorted. “Smooth.”

“Oh shut up--”

“I’m normally on the other side of the legal matter, though.” He straightened up in pride. “I’m gonna be a lawyer.” A pang of jealousy hit John as he broke eye contact. “Well, I’m just starting college this year, so I guess I can’t really talk big. But I swear to god, John Doe,” He grinned, wide and confident, a glimmer of terrifying determination in his eyes. “The world’s gonna know my name.”

“I swear to god Jacky, the world’s gonna know my name. The whole goddamn world will know who I am.” John watched Alex as he bounced, biting his lip in an excited grin. “This is it! This is the first step!”

“Then everyone will know who you are.” John couldn’t help but grin as his friend practically vibrated from excitement.

“They’ll know who we are, Jack. You know I couldn’t of done any of this without you.” He stilled, smile faltering ever so slightly. “Seriously. I wouldn’t be here today without you.”

John tensed, sensing that Alex was talking about more than his writing. He grinned wider and nudged him, using humor to deflect the growing tension. “Damn fuckin’ right. You’d crash and burn without me.”

Alex kept smiling at him for a moment before turning back to the computer screen. John moved a little closer to peer over his shoulder, holding his breath as the mouth hovered over the send button.

“This is it Jacky.” Alex breathed. “When they read this they’ll know… They’ll all know… That I’m worth it. This, this is my chance to prove myself. No one’s gonna look down on me now, Jack. They’ll know exactly what I’m capable of.”

John watched the way his eyes glimmered as he spoke, enraptured by the wonder and ambition in them. His eyes traced the curve of Alex’s mouth as he spoke, feeling sick with guilt as he watched his lips move and form words his brain wasn’t quite picking up. He felt his heart skip a beat as he immediately looked back at Alex’s eyes when he began turning to face him.

“It’s my shot, Jack.” John felt his breath catch in his throat when he realized that they were so close, he could feel Alex’s breath against his cheeks. He was whispering then, a rare occurrence, and his words felt special, intimate, like he was the only one who would ever hear them. Like he was the only person who would ever get to see Alex like this, so full of childish hope, his naivety intact. John felt as if he was the only person who would get to see Alex with his guard down, letting someone in. He wanted so badly to lean in and shut him up with a kiss, but the fear of losing Alex was paralytic. So he would wait. He’d let himself sit and suffer, keeping himself from acting on his attraction.

He wanted to keep Alex in his life, and if that meant that he would feel  the pain of longing every time they made eye contact, then so fucking be it.

Alexander was a terrifying presence, John learned. They talked through the night, as John barely kept himself on his feet. He learned that Alexander was a slytherin and a capricorn, that his friend’s name was Lafayette, and both of them spoke French and Spanish fluently. At that John slipped into Spanish, relishing the look of pleased surprise on Alexander’s face as they spoke. Then he learned that Alexander was half Puerto Rican, but was raised in the south, as his father had connections to a rich white landowner. John learned that Alexander hated speaking about his father, through the little twitches of discomfort whenever the subject was mentioned. So he’d deflect the conversation instead, and he learned that Alexander’s laugh was silent, just his shoulders shaking and his face contorting into a barely restrained smile. And John learned that he wanted to see that laugh again so, so badly.

As they watched the sun begin to rise through the prison bars, John learned that Alexander could stay up for freakishly long amounts of time without caffein (his record was sixty-eight hours before he caved and drank a frappuccino), and that he didn’t always realize that he was whispering the lyrics of a song to himself. And Alexander learned that John used to wake up before dawn every day to get to the gym before his classes in high school, and that he liked the quiet. Alexander has never liked the quiet before. He said he needed the noise. If he didn’t have noise, he’d get lost inside his head.

John learned that conversations at dawn in a dead silent jail were the sort of conversation you would carry with you forever. He learned that it was frighteningly easy to confide in this enthralling stranger.

He learned that he missed Alexander’s easy conversation less than an hour after they parted.

And he learned that Alexander was sneaky, and that he had somehow slipped a crumpled business-card-like paper into John’s bag.

Alexander

Intern, summer 2015

John frowned, as there was no listing of where he was interning, or how to contact him. He turned it over, not really knowing what to expect to find. He smiled softly when he saw shaky, rushed writing. A note.

You can find me at the central library coffee shop any given day from noon - two. I’m willing to buy you a smoothie, they’re to die for. :) -- Alex.

John realized he was grinning absurdly, and quickly pursed his lips to collect himself. He found a spot under a tree in the park after using the local gym’s bathroom and shower, and felt the stress seep out of his muscles as he fell asleep in the shade.

It was summer in South Carolina.

John was dozing, arms wrapped around Alex’s middle. Alex’s hand was lazily playing with John’s hair where his head rested over Alex’s heart. John liked to hold him like this. He liked to hear Alex’s heart beating.

The grass tickled his ankles and he shifted, well, twitched, away. He moved so his legs were tangled with Alex’s, and tried to bury his face further into Alex’s chest. He felt Alex’s chin press against the top of his head as he shifted so they were lying closer together. Alex was turning a little onto his side, and John felt his arms tighten a little around his middle so he couldn’t let go. Alex ended up just moving enough to pull John closer, tucking John’s head under his chin. They settled into the new position, and John felt himself begin to slip into a deeper sleep.

He figured that this was the sort of moment he would miss the most. Not the moments when they were laughing and shouting on the top of the garage complex across from Alex’s house, setting off illegal firecrackers, nor the moments of sweet victory as they won a fight, adrenaline making everything hyperreal as Alex leaned in to wipe off the blood on John’s split lip, making him swallow, hoping that Alex would lean in to kiss him. He never did. He didn’t think he would even miss the moments at four in the morning, sitting cross legged on Alex’s bed in complete darkness, whispering secrets they knew would never see the light for day, as much as he would miss this.

No, it was the moments like that one, when they were asleep in the summer sun, hair wet from running their heads under the hose before running into the field behind John’s house and finding a nice spot to lay down. For a while they would stay awake, looking at the clouds, playing little games, making up stories to tell. Then they’d grow tired as the sun reached the center of the sky, their skin damp with sweat, the heat worse when they were pressed together but neither seemed to care because it was worth it just to feel the other pressed up against them. It wasn’t sexual, but it was intimate. They weren’t speaking, but they felt as exposed as if they were spilling their hidden desires to a crowd. The air was heavy with cicadas and unspoken want.

It was John’s last summer in South Carolina.

The gravity of the knowledge would slice its way into conversations. It would blanket them and cover them and swath them in cloth barriers so they were pulled into separate worlds. Distance was growing between them, and neither had moved. They only said it in the dark of night, when there was the silent promise to never repeat, but they knew that being split apart would kill them. That when John left, a part of him would be stuck behind. That Alex would shut himself off to the world. They’d be hollow.

Alex was the sort of person who faced these truths with open eyes. He stared straight into the ugly abyss, and he didn’t flinch. He braced himself for the impact of the storm, knowing that he could only be swept away if he looked away, if he turned away, if he showed his back, his weakness, his vulnerability, and that if he never did, if he never let his guard down, no one could hurt him.

John closed his eyes. He would close his eyes and refuse to let the void claim him. He would hold himself still, stubborn, never opening his eyes to reality. If he closed his eyes, if he never saw it coming, it wouldn’t hurt as much. It would end faster. It would be over and he could fight it but if he opened his eyes he knew he would never come back. If he closed his eyes, he could forget it ever happened.

His hands closed around fistfulls of Alex’s shirt. He held the material in a death grip, so hard his fingers began to ache. His thumb brushed Alex’s back. He ran it over the knobs of his spine, counting one, two, three vertebrae. He could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric.

He felt Alex curl just a little more, pulling him just a little closer. His hands were on the base of John’s neck and in his hair, holding him. John felt Alex tilt his head down and pressed his lips to John’s forehead. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a promise.

I won’t forget you.

La troisième fois, ils fouillent les unes les autres.

John set his fat ipod in the speakers on his bedstand and shuffled his playlist. He moved slowly, not wanting to do what he had to.

Slowly he rose up off his bed, muttering lyrics without really processing them. He started pulling clothes out of their drawers, meticulously folding them. He hated packing. He hated leaving.

“Petrified of who you are and who you have become, you will hide from everyone, denying you need someone to exterminate your bones.”

He froze, fingers stilling as he folded his last shirt. After a second, he snapped back into reality, as he set the shirt atop the others in his box labeled ‘clothes.’ He swallowed the growing nausea he felt as the song continued.

“Friend, please remove your hands from over your eyes for me. I know you want to leave but friend, please don't take your life away from me.”

His hand shook as he pressed the skip button, cutting off the song. The words hung in his head, heavy like the tears building in his eyes. His hands curled into fists as his mind clouded with loops of ‘it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair.’

He didn’t want to leave.

When John woke, it was already too late to see Alexander. He had slept until seven, and the library was already closed. He started wandering around the city, wondering what he could do to make money. Not knowing where else to go, he headed for the twenty-four hour gym as the sun began to set over the buildings in the distance. He stripped, quickly changing into his other outfit. He had the locker room to himself, so he ran his clothes under the sink and washed them with hand soap. He put them into the dryer he knew was for swimsuits only, then hung them in the tiny locker he owned, letting the remaining dampness dry.

There were a few other people in the main gym, and he began to slowly exercise. He didn’t have anything else to do. He stretched, making use of the nearly empty yoga room. He liked the simple, meditative trance that it put him in. It helped him think about what he could do to live, really live, instead of just survive.

He kept moving through the night, but with a few hours left til dawn, he had to leave and wander the city. It wasn’t quiet. It was bright, and loud, and beautiful. When he walked down the city streets he could pretend to fit in. He could pretend to know who he was, he could pretend to love himself. If he lived in the romanticized lights surrounded by laughter, no one would know how lost he really was. They were all as lost as him.

He fell asleep in the park again the next day, waking up around eleven. He never would get used to being as nocturnal as he had become. The hours passed in a haze, and suddenly it was eleven fifty-five, and he was standing outside the library doors. He knew he was early, but he didn’t care. He found the coffee shop quickly, smiling when he saw Alexander looking at the case across from the barista. He was chewing his lip, seeming to be very absorbed in an intense deliberation between turkey pesto and tomato mozzarella. John cleared his throat.

Alexander turned, squinting like he was offended by the interruption, but his face softened when he recognized John. “John Doe! You’re here. Sorry for the face, I thought you were one of those passive-aggressive suburban moms, you know?”

“Oh, I know.” I grew up with one. “I don’t blame your face, they piss me off too.”

“I think passive-aggressive suburban moms piss off everyone, including themselves and their friends, they're just too passive-aggressive to realize it.” He finally chose the turkey pesto panini and straightened. “So, you’re here to take me up on that smoothie?”

John shrugged sheepishly, subconsciously hunching a little and making himself smaller. “I feel bad ab--”

“Nope.” Alexander cut him off, popping the ‘p’ sound like a cocky quasi-anarchist high schooler. “You don’t get to protest. No arguments. You’re cool, I wanna get to know you. Let me do this for you.”

He maintained defiant eye contact with John until he caved under the intensity of his stare and shrugged. “Fine.” He still felt guilty, so he asked for the smallest size. Alexander, recognizing what he was doing, rolled his eyes and got John the medium instead.

“Hey, don’t give me that look.” Alexander mock-glared at the barista, who he was obviously familiar with. John wondered just how many people he knew in this city.

“What look? I’m not giving you a look.” He was obviously giving Alexander a look, a tiny smirk and half-cocked eyebrow. His eyes flicked briefly to John and his smirk widened, before going back to the register and he took Alexander’s money.

“Shut up Jimmy-James,”

“Literally no one calls me that,”

“Whatever Jimmy-James. You can shut your damn mouth and keep that look off your face, you don’t know what the hell you’re on about.”

The barista, Jimmy-James, mocked him and waved him off. Alexander rolled his eyes and led John to the gooshy chairs in the shop. On the far wall, there was a huge bookcase filled with tattered old books for sale. Alexander turned pointedly away from the barista as he prepared their drinks and warmed the sandwich, facing John.

“So, Jimmy-James?” John raised an eyebrow as Alexander’s face heated.

“Shush. His name’s James, ok? It’s not a stretch.” John rolled his eyes fondly. “Don’t give me that John Doe! That’s just rude!”

“Fine, fine. How do you even know him?”

“Oh, his boyfriend’s my arch-nemesis.”

John took a moment to process his words as James set their drinks down on the little circular table between the chairs. Alexander began to eat his panini, oblivious to the fact that what he said was very far from normal.

“Your… Your arch-nemesis.”

He shrugged. “Ok, so, that’s a bit of a long story. So he’s dating this dude Thomas Jefferson who let me tell you is a complete jackass, like sure I guess his morals aren’t too fucked up at least but he’s just so irritating? Like? I didn’t think someone could be so insufferable until I met him. But ok so we both intern at the same place and god he just brags and brags and brags about being the captain of his collegiate debate team and how he’s doing all this fancy ass shit and how he’s gonna make a name for himself or whatever.” Alexander waved his sandwich around to punctuate his points. “And like, ok, so, sure it’s cool that he gets to do all this shit but it’s not like he really had to work for any of it. He got into that college cause his dad’s a professor there, well, he says he had to work just as hard to get in as anybody else but we all know that’s bullshit. And like all of those things he’s doing? He only gets the opportunity to do them cause he’s rich and privileged.

“He just? He bugs me. A lot. And believe me, when I start college, I’m gonna tear that dude apart. I’m gonna be in the same one as him, by the way. But we already get into a ton of fights and he’s so fucking rude sometimes but only to me so everyone but Laf and Hercules and this adorable kid Philip all think he’s this sort of saint. Even our fuckin’ boss thinks that! And he’s a really cool dude! But anyways we’re always getting into arguments and shit and he’s always trying to tear me down, luckily I always kick his ass, but yeah, that’s basically why he’s my arch-nemesis.”

“Wow.” He shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich, which he’d neglected in favor of his rapid speech. “Where do you work? Your card didn’t say.”

“Oh. There’s this place called the SAGA Center.” He seemed to get a little defensive as he spoke. “The Sexuality and Gender Alliance Center. There’s a part of it that’s basically a place for queer people and chill allies to hang out for a few hours a day. It’s pretty awesome, there are like games and shit, and sometimes we have like movie nights and shit. It’s basically this place for people to be able to be themselves, which is so cool cause like, nothing like that ever existed when I was growing up and it just feels so good to be able to see these kids who face such fucking shitty situations come in every day and just, smile. They can relax and be themselves and honestly that’s just, that’s just so good to see.” Alexander had a soft smile on his face as he spoke, and his care for the kids there was obvious.

“That’s really cool.” Alexander looked slightly relieved to hear him say that. “I wish I had something like that growing up. I was raised in fucking conservative mc whiteville.”

“Hey, same.” Alexander laughed dryly. “I moved to New York a few years ago, though. Hey, didn’t you say you were like what, seventeen?” John nodded hesitantly. “Well you could come, if you want to. It’s a free drop in space for eleven to twenty one year olds. There aren’t even a lot of rules or anything thank fuck cause if I had to try to censor myself hot damn I’d be fired in a day-- just basically don't disrespect anyone and other than that you can do like, anything. There are other parts of the SAGA Center too of course, but that’s my favorite. But there are also like, resources for queer homeless youth to get them places to stay, and like, connections to child protective services if someone needs that, then one day a week they have free STD testing for anyone, and there’re like lists of trans-friendly doctors and such and it’s basically like, such a cool place.” Alexander finished his miniature sermon with an eloquent scramble for words.

There are resources for queer homeless youth to get them places to stay.

Places to stay.

I can get off the streets.

Alexander was already off on something else, and John blinked, trying to catch up on what he had been saying. He kept thinking about what he had said, that they helped get people off the streets. Alexander had finished his sandwich and was now waving his cup around, eyes wide as he explained whatever it was he was talking about to John. He kept trying to tune in, but found that he couldn’t help but get distracted by the excited gleam in his black eyes, and occasionally found that his eyes had dropped down to watch his mouth move.

Stop it.

“--Cause I was bounced between a bunch of foster homes as a kid, like not my whole life, but just like for the past couple years of it. My dad left when I was super little, like a year after he and my mom took me into America, and when I was twelve my mom died. Not even after that though, cause I had a cousin who I stayed with. But my cousin commit suicide, which is why I had to move to New York. They thought that they found some like aunt or something, but there wasn’t actually anyone there, so I was just placed in the foster system. But since I’m openly bi and I lived a lot of my life in South Carolina, then in fuckin’ foster families, I know what it’s like to be looked down on for who you are and it’s like the best feeling to get to see kids who are constantly treated like that learn to trust people and to be themselves, honestly. I--”

John felt his eyes begin to widen, but made sure that he looked normal before Alexander could look back at him. Gears were turning, and suspicion was growing inside of him.

“And I had this friend Jack, who I’m ninety-five percent sure wasn’t actually a girl like everyone said they were but I wouldn’t know for sure cause they had to go to London for fucking boarding school in highschool and since we didn’t have like cellphones we couldn’t keep in touch, but anyways--”

Alexander.

He was from South Carolina.

His father left, his mother died.

Jack.

His heart sped up and his head felt like it was filling with hot blood, even though he knew he wasn’t turning red. His grip on his cup tightened and his breath came faster. His pulse thumped harder when he realized that this was his Alexander.

Oh.

Chapter Text

A few days after meeting Alexander for coffee, John found himself outside of the large white building with ‘The Center’ written on the side. The much smaller sign on the door said it was the SAGA Center, so he knew it had to be the right place. He drew in a breath, mentally reprimanded himself for stalling, and pushed the door open.

There was a front desk to his left, staffed by two people, a friendly looking woman who smiled at him upon entrance. He hesitated, his heart sinking into his anxiety like it was being swallowed by quicksand, before going up to the desk. He wasn’t prepared to talk about his… Situation.

"Hi!" The woman said, smiling widely. "I'm Adrienne. Are you here for the youth program?"

John detected a slight French accent as she spoke. He shook his head. "Um, no. I uh, I heard that you..." He cleared his throat. "I heard that you help homeless youth."

Adrienne became serious, but still looked welcoming as she nodded. "Alright, that's Pierre's department. Follow me?"

John did, clutching the straps of his backpack like a lifeline as he went deeper into the unfamiliar territory. She knocked on a door that was slightly ajar, and after a few seconds a small man with pale blue hair and nose ring opened it. “Adrienne?” Is it just a coincidence that everyone who I’ve seen here so far has a French accent or is this some sort of conspiracy? The French agenda. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He looked between her and John.

Adrienne opened her mouth then looked at him in confusion. “I’m John.” He said, realizing he never introduced himself.

She nodded. “He’s here to talk about getting off the streets.” Pierre nodded and opened the door fully, welcoming John in. Adrienne walked back to the front desk, leaving John to sit in the swivel chair Pierre wasn't occupying.

"I'll close the door if you want, or keep it open, that's up to you."

"Um, I'd prefer it closed." Pierre nodded and closed it before picking up a thin pad of yellow lined paper and pulling a black pen out of his pants pocket.

"I hope you don't mind me taking notes. I'm only doing this so I can keep a good record of your situation so we can best figure out how to help you personally." John nodded. "Now, what is your situation?"

John hesitated for a long moment. "I don't really know where to start."

"That's alright. I just need to know some things about you, and what’s going on with your life. For starters, how old are you?"

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen in October."

"Ok," Pierre wrote that down. "What's your family situation?"

“You can come back when you’ve learned your lesson. Madda, take her to the gates.”

"I’m not allowed back."

Pierre nodded, and John realized that must be something he was used to hearing.

"They don't live in New York, either. I came here since someone I grew up with always told me how in New York you can be a new man. I just needed to get out of where I was, too." He anticipated Pierre’s next question. "South Carolina."

"Do you have any relatives outside of South Carolina?"

He shook his head. “None that I know of.”

"That makes things easier. It would be extremely difficult for them to try and claim you back, since they both kicked you out and live in a different state."

John looked up, not expecting his response. Pierre was watching him with a tiny smile, and John realized then that these people would actually take care of him. They were already figuring out what he needed. They cared.

"So, how are you living right now. Like, are you in a car, a hotel, or are you..."

"The streets." John said quietly. "I sleep in the park during the day."

Pierre nodded solemnly and John saw him underline something he had written.

"Are you opposed to living with a someone you don’t really know?"

"What?"

"Well, one of the ways we get people off the streets is by setting up a roommate system. Are you opposed to that?"

John shrugged. "That depends on the person. I wouldn't be adverse to that situation, I used to be in a boarding school, so," He laughed humorlessly. "But I would want to know some things about the person beforehand. Like how they would feel about..." He trailed off, vaguely gesturing to his chest and body.

Pierre seemed to understand. "I get that.And we can do that for you. Now, are you employed?"

He winced and shook his head.

"We can talk about setting up a job for you. We don't have any paid openings here at the moment, but we have some contacts. We can probably find you a job soonish. Obviously it's still gonna be hard with the shit economy and all that fun stuff but we'll at least be able to get you something to help you co-provide with your roommate. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah." Pierre smiled at him. "Is that... All?"

"Well, I'm gonna go over what I have here and think about who would be the best roommates for you, and then sometime in the next couple of days I would like to meet with you again and introduce you to the person I’m gonna put you with. But yeah, that's it for now, but, I don't want you on the streets. We have a halfway home that's managed by some of the people working here."

"A halfway home... What's that like?"

"It’s sorta like a temporary foster home. Basically it takes in kids with issues with their family and things, and gives them a temporary place to stay.  It's designed for when someone's like, kicked out of their house for a few days. Our halfway home is a bit different though." Pierre's long-winded speech pattern reminded John of Alex, and how he would ramble for minutes at a time, barely ever pausing for breath. Pierre also managed to pack in a fuckton of information into a tiny amount of time, and left John feeling a little like he was left in his dust.

"Ok..."

Pierre wrote something down on a small index card he took out of the holder on his desk and handed it to John. "This is the address. You can go there tonight. They provide dinner and breakfast. And you'll have a bed."

John looked at the tiny card in his hand, wondering if any of this was actually real. He felt trapped in a dream, like he would wake up at any moment and be under the tree in the park.

But he wasn't waking up, he was standing and smiling at Pierre, nodding when he asked if he could give John a hug, and leaving. John left the building, stepping out into the sun and standing there stupidly as it sunk into him that he was genuinely ok, that he had somewhere to go that night, that he was going to have an actual home sometime in the near future.

He smiled, it slowly spreading until his grin split his face.

---

The halfway home was loud and bright.

Light poured out of the windows, as did music. John could hear indiscernible chatter coming from inside, and laughter, occasionally. Someone shouted, and he heard feet run to the door before it opened to reveal a young boy.

"Yo, there's a new one!" Heads popped up from around the corner as the boy shouted over his shoulder. "Hey, I'm Philip."

"John." He stepped into the house, and instantly people swarmed around him. They were of all different ages, but seemed to all be teenagers. They began to pepper him with questions ranging from 'where are you from' to 'why are you here' to 'how old are you' and one question that made him stop in his tracks.

"John Doe?"

Ok, seriously, how the fuck do they keep running into each other?

"Alexander." He swallowed nervously. He hadn't told Alexander who he was, and didn't really know how to act around him, knowing that oh my god, it's his Alexander, and John hasn't seen him in years and god he just wants to wrap him up in an embrace and kiss his stupid face.

"You know him?" Philip stood protectively in front of Alexander, arms crossed, petulant.

He straightened when he realized he was zoning out. "Yeah, we've met a few times."

"He's the one from the library, I mentioned him." Philip's eyes widened with Alexander's words, and he smiled at John.

"Oh, you're that one." John wondered what the hell he meant by that, and was slightly intimidated by the cheshire smirk on his face. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

Alexander sighed. "Don't mind him. Kid's overprotective." He looked at John. "So, you're here."

" You're here." John raised an eyebrow, the realization fully dawning on him that Alexander Hamilton was in a halfway home.

He winced. "Yeah, I suppose I am."

"Why?"

"Why are any of us here?" He shrugged. "Bad luck."

"I just hate to see people like me down on their luck."

"So, what are you--" John trailed off when a somewhat familiar woman stepped out from behind Alexander. She wore her hair in a bun and looked tired, but smiled none the less.

"Hi, I heard that there was someone new. I'm Eliza." She smiled and stuck out her hand, which John shook. "I'm sorry, have I seen you before?"

“I told you to get the fuck away from me!” A part of him wanted to run and save himself, but he ran towards the panicked voice anyways. “Just back off or I’ll call the cops!”

John's eyes widened when he recognized her as the drunken girl who he had helped get away from a creepy fuck outside of a bar.

"We met a few nights ago." He murmured. "You were drunk."

Her eyes widened. "That was you? "

"Christ almighty, are we all just gonna have a fuckton of freak encounters over and over again?" Alexander through his hands up and Eliza swatted him with the washrag she held. Alex mumbled something that sounded like “Seriously, it’s supposed to be a big city.”

"Language, Alexander. Don't be crude." She ran a hand through her hair when he pouted at her. "You're right though, this is definitely weird." She laughed. "You've met Angelica then? She runs this place with me."

"Yeah." He shifted awkwardly. "So, is there anything I need to do, or..."

Eliza shook her head and waved him into the living room. "We're about to eat. We go over the rules every day before dinner, so just come join us and you'll hear them."

After a few minutes, something close to forty people crowded the room. The woman he recognized as Angelica stood in the center, watching them gather. After a flighty kid drifted into the room from the second floor, she cleared her throat. "Alright, most of you know the drill by now, but we've got a fresh face so I'm still gonna go over the rules. No fighting, you can have arguments and debates, but you can't fight. Don't bring any trouble with the law here. We can't afford to have police on our asses. Stay in your own beds. Doors close at dark. Don't be late for dinner, or you'll miss it.  You can't stay more than twenty consecutive hours, and you can't come back more than four days in a row. Don't be a jackass, and be responsible for your own shit. We aren't maids. That's about it. Peg's done with the food, so go wash your hands."

John followed Alexander to the first floor bathroom and waited in line as everyone washed their hands and went to get their dinners, feeling out of place and awkward. He didn't like not belonging. Everyone here already knew each other, and sure, he had met Eliza and Angelica and he knew Alexander pretty damn well but that didn't mean that they knew him. Alexander didn't know who he was.

Tell him.

How? How the fuck am I supposed to be like 'oh hey guess what I know who you are cause we grew up together and you're pretty much the most important person to me that I have ever met but you know whatever, crazy coincidence, right?’

Something tells me that wouldn't go over very well. It's hard to guess how Alex would react to that.

John realized then that that's what was terrifying him the most. He couldn't predict how Alexander would react to finding out who John was. He didn't know him well enough now to guess what he would do. He had been without Alex for years but so much had changed and now he couldn’t say he knew him.

All of his worst fears were confirmed with that realization.

They didn’t know each other. The knew each other, past tense. John knew Alex when he was a middle schooler, but now he was going to college and for fucks sake Alexander didn’t even know John’s gender.

John swallowed and took a huge drink of water, plastering on a smile he hoped didn't look too fake, and listened to the conversation to pretend he was just as ok as everyone else.

It was a lie.

---

“John…” John shifted on the thin cot he was stretched out on. He turned to face Alexander, the low light reflecting off his face a painful reminder of what he looked like as a child, less than a foot away from John, so close he could kiss him…

No. God, just stop this, just, stop. Can’t you tell? He’s forgotten you.

“Yeah?” They had to whisper, and John cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t crack. The cots were scattered around the whole house, and he was in the living room with Alexander. The kid from earlier- Philip- was sleeping on the small couch.

“Am I… Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Alexander shifted, propping himself up on his elbows to look John in the face. John bunched up his thin pillow to support his chin as he watched Alexander speak.

“I don’t know I just… I feel like I’m making you uncomfortable. Am I being too forward or something?” He looked down, shame heating his face. It was the first time John had ever seen him too ashamed to meet someone’s eye. “I’ve been told that I come on too strong.”

Whoever the fuck told him that, I will find them, and I will punch them in the fucking face. John reached out, gently tapping his shoulder. It was about all of the contact they could manage from the distance between their cots, but it was enough for Alexander to look up again.

“It isn’t you. I’m not uncomfortable, I’m just awkward. This is all new to me. So,it’s not you, I’m just this way with everyone.”

Alexander frowned. “That isn’t very reassuring.” John shrugged and looked down, picking at a stray thread on the edge of his cot. “Why? I’m sorry I don’t want to pry but… You haven’t said anything about your childhood.”

That’s because you’re pretty much everything important that ever happened to me in it.

John shrugged. “I lived out of state.” Well, it’s not a lie. “When I came out my parents kicked me out of the house. Said I couldn’t come back until I admitted I was wrong.” Alexander made a small angry noise, and John shushed him so he wouldn’t wake the others. “I’ve been on the streets ever since, which sounds way more dramatic than it really is, it’s only been a couple months.”

“That didn’t answer my question.” John raised his eyebrows at Alexander’s stubborn look. “Sure, you told me your backstory, but that doesn’t say anything about who you are as a person. It doesn’t say anything about how you deal with people.”

John couldn’t help but smile, touched that Alexander noticed. He felt special, even though he knew that that’s just how Alexander is with everyone. Freakishly perceptive, like, borderline psychic, honestly. You’re nothing special. He doesn’t even know who you are.

“Alright, got me there.” He studied the shadows on Alexander’s face from the soft glow of the large alarm in the corner near them. His eyes drifted away as he reminded himself not to be weird. “Really I… I’ve never been close to anyone. There was one person that I trust but that…” He looked at Alexander, meeting his eyes directly, searching for a sign of recognition. “Fell apart.”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft. “I get that. I had a friend like that… Jack, I mentioned them. Everyone always thought they were a girl but I just… Couldn’t see it. It just seemed wrong to think of Jack as a ‘she’ you know?”

John felt a swell of emotion fill his chest, and he blinked fast so he wouldn’t tear up. A lump was growing in his throat, constricting, painful.

“Yeah. I think I know what you mean.” He coughed when he realized his voice was raspy from the lump in his throat, and turned onto his side, looking at the wall. “I’m tired. We should sleep.”

Alexander seemed a little confused when he agreed, doubtlessly wondering what the hell provoked the sudden change in John’s personality. He wasn’t exactly sure how to articulate that Alexander did nothing wrong, god, he did everything right and that’s why John felt a tear roll over the bridge of his nose, because he knew. Alex could tell. He knew.

And he still thought of him. Still brought him up in conversations about childhoods.

If Alex was my childhood, then maybe I’m his.

God snap out of it and get off your high fucking horse. You’re the needlessly codependent one here, not him. Alexander has always been independent, completely fine without you. He’s nostalgic, maybe, but he isn’t… Longing.

John shuddered and wrapped his thin blanket tighter around him, even though the halfway home was hot from the summer sun shining in all day. When John dared to look back at Alexander he saw that Alex was wearing booty shorts and a tank top to combat the heat, and was stretched out like a star, already passed out over his sheets.

John bit his lip to keep himself from fucking cooing over the sight. After all, in some ways Alexander was the same person he had always known. He felt fond memories coming back to him, of sleepovers in similar summer heat, when they’d wear as little as possible and sweat all night, but still curl up next to each other. Alex would always spread out across the whole bed. John didn’t care, because there was just enough space for him to curl up against Alex’s side.

Ok, thinking about it now, we were pretty fucking gay. At least, we acted super gay. I don’t think he really felt that way… I mean, he was always clingy and affectionate to anyone he was ok with being around. I just happened to know him best. It’s not like he loved me.

John watched Alex’s chest rise and fall, his blanket slipping onto the floor. He wanted to get up out of his cot and curl up next to him, just to feel his heart, to hear it beat under his head…

Stop this. For fucks sake, you don’t matter to him, not now. Not this you. He only likes the memory of you. If he still wanted to be around me he’d… He would know me. But he doesn’t.

John turned back around and curled up, holding the blanket to his chest. It was nothing like what he wanted, but it had to do. He couldn’t have what he wanted. He couldn’t have who he wanted.

In the backseat of the ‘car’ (really it was a fucking mini limousine and his parents were just snobs) John was holding his knees to his chest. Mrs. Laurens glared at him in the rearview mirror, and he put his feet down, resorting to tapping his knee erratically. He felt Alex put his hand over his, steadying it. He turned and saw Alex looking back at him with concern.

"Are you gonna be alright?"

John sucked in a breath and turned his hand so he was holding Alexanders. He wanted nothing more than to kiss his knuckles, to kiss Alex, just to be able to say he had. Just to know what it felt like. That would be enough.

"I don't want to go." He whispered quietly enough that his mother couldn't hear him speak. "I can't believe they're making me go all the way to fucking London..."

"Hey," Alex tilted his face up so John's eyes met his. John's heart sped up, thinking for a moment that Alex would kiss him, then his hand dropped and his hopes fell. "Don't be sorry. You're gonna be in London, for fucks sake. That's worth it."

John hesitated.

"Is it though?"

What the hell is worth not being around you?

"Of course it is. Don't be stupid." Alex flicked him. "You'll be in a whole different country and see all these amazing things, do be sorry about that. Just make sure you write about it and send me pictures."

John laughed softly, remembering the numerous disposable cameras Alex had demanded he bring. "I will."

He didn't.

When they arrived at the airport, they walked in silence. Dread grew in John's stomach as they approached the gate, and when they got to security, he had to say goodbye to Alex. There was a woman from the school he was being sent to waiting for him on the other side of security so Mrs. Laurens could just hand him off and take Alex back to his cousin.

He buried his face in Alex's soft hair, not minding the greasiness one would expect from a pubescent child. He clutched Alex so hard he was scared he would hurt him, but Alex was holding onto John just as tightly. He felt himself tear up, and he tried to blink it back, not wanting to cry. It didn't matter that no one would make fun of him for it, like he knew they would with Alex when he felt his tears hit his shoulder. After all, he was a girl and girls were allowed to cry. They were expected to.

He pulled back, bitterness making him bite his lip until it started to bleed. Alex didn't look much better than John expected himself to look, and neither said a word for a full thirty seconds.

"Goodbye." It was choked. John wanted to say more, wanted to tell Alex so much. He wanted to say that Alex would achieve everything he wanted, even if that magazine rejected his letter and the teachers not-so-subtly hinted that he should drop out of school to work and 'support his family' cause he was a poor brown kid and this was South fucking Carolina. He wanted to say that Alex shouldn't wait for him, should move on and find other people to love. John wouldn't stop loving him, but he wanted Alex to be able to be ok without him.

Of course, he didn't manage to say any of that. He just stood there, watching Alex nod, watching his throat move when he swallowed, his mouth opening when he tried to speak and shutting just as quickly. Then he turned, dropped Alex's hand, picked up his bag and stepped in the line. Mrs. Laurens, who was typing on her blackberry instead of watching them, immediately took Alex away.

John went through the motions to get on the plane, hearing the woman who had come to escort him talk but not really registering what she was saying, presumably something about writing letters to people that he would miss. They sat next to each other on the plane.

He heard her refer to Alex as his boyfriend, and for the first time since they parted, he spoke.

"He's not my boyfriend."

She made a soft 'oh' and nodded, like she understood how he felt. He doubted that she did. She never knew Alex, how would she know how painful it was to be without him?

God, it hasn't been more than an hour and you're already a fucking mess. You're falling apart, and it's barely been any time at all since you saw him.

Pathetic.

He turned up the volume on his music, letting it fill his ears with such loud noise that it hurt. He wanted to be distracted, and he needed the music to keep his mind off of Alex.

It didn't help. Every song reminded him of Alex. They would dance together to all of Funhouse, and they would sing 19 just to see who could pull off Adele’s voice better (John, it was always John). They would play card games while The Idler Wheel played and fall asleep listening to Solitude Standing. Everything was tainted with Alex, Alex, Alex ,and John couldn't get rid of him.

He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

He kept the music on, and let himself turn cold without Alex there.

"Jaqueline?"

"Jack." He turned to the woman (what was her name?) and took off his headphones. He had no idea how much time had passed. "People call me Jack."

She hesitated, her fake smile looking tense and strained. "What about Jacky?"

He stared at her, and figured that was as close to what he wanted that he would get. He shrugged and nodded.

"Alright, Jacky, the flight attendants are coming around with dinners. Would you prefer the chicken lasagne or the vegetable one?"

He sneered thinking about either one. He loved pastas, sure, but airplane food? Hell no.

"Can't I just eat later?"

She frowned and gave him a Stern Mom(tm) look. "We have a strict policy enforcing regular eating habits. If you don't have either you'll have to eat junk food."

"Sound like a solid plan to me." He had to actively try to keep himself from smirking when she sighed. She didn't talk to him again until the plane landed and she told him that they would wait until it was cleared to get off.

The drive to the school lasted just under half an hour and John was struck by just how compact everything was. In South Carolina, you could drive half an hour and be on the other side of your own property.

The school was a classic victorian mansion, right in the middle of the city. He had expected it to at least be on the outskirts of town, since it was a boarding school, but it was across the street from a tiny convenience store and next to an apartment complex.

He had never been in a big city before. He couldn't help but wonder at the busyness of it all.

When the taxicab pulled up, another woman ran out of the mansion and down the steps to help him bring in his luggage. She introduced herself as the head of the teachers, and took him to meet his roommate.

"Martha, your roommate is here." When he stepped in, a pale girl in a babydoll dress with smooth dirty blonde hair looked up in surprise. He felt awkward and out of place, with his curly black hair and dark, freckled skin. Everyone he had seen so far had looked at him like an oddity, and he supposed he was, to some extent.

He hated being new.

"Martha Manning." She stood and held out a hand, which he shook firmly.

"Jack."

She raised an eyebrow. "Jack?"

"Her real name is Jacqueline Laurens." He sneered at the introduction the woman gave for him. Martha nodded, seeming to understand.

"Everyone calls me Jack."

"Ok... Jack." She must have picked up on how much he hated being called Jacqueline.

"Make sure she knows the rules of housekeeping, Martha." She nodded at the woman, as she left the two behind. John moved to the unclaimed side of the room and started unpacking. He didn't have much, just two bags. The rest of his things would be shipped to him before the end of the month.

"So, where are you from? I don't want to seem rude just, you sound and look different."

He winced imperceptibly. "South Carolina. America."

She nodded, standing by her bed, watching him unpack. The room stayed silent until they were called to dinner.

John already hated it.

He just wanted to go home.

---

Alexander’s bed was empty when John woke to the sound of an obnoxiously loud beeping coming from the alarm. Some others had started getting up already, but everyone else was just waking up, like him. He knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to claim the bathroom to change without waiting in line forever, so he decided to eat first. He tried to forget how much his dream still shook him. He hadn't thought about the day he left in a long time, and now the memory left him feeling defenseless and weak. He felt vulnerable.

He was one of the first people in the kitchen, and didn't really know what to do. There wasn't any prepared food like there was the night before, and it seemed that people were just grabbing things. He wasn't sure what he was and wasn't allowed to take.

He tapped the arm of someone who seemed to know what was going on. The person turned around, and John noticed that their shirt read 'they them theirs' in big black letters. It was eye catching, and John assumed that it was probably referencing to them. He wasn't entirely sure though, since he didn't actually know much about gender. Martha had helped him google things when he first came out to her, but the information they had found was vague and varied enough that he didn't find it very helpful.

"Um, what's the deal with breakfast?"

Their eyes widened. "Oh, you're the new guy. I'm Peggy, I’m in charge of the food. Just, grab something within reason. Not much, just enough to get you started, like yogurt or toast or something, you know?"

He nodded and went to the basket of fruit next to the fridge, picking out an apple. He felt weird just taking it, but no one seemed to care at all.

He smiled, and ate it, waiting for the morning buzz to die down. Most people left, but about ten stayed behind, chatting, some playing an intense game of BS. After he changed, he didn't really know what else to do, since the SAGA Center didn't open until one pm, and he had time to kill. He sat on one of the chairs by the people talking, watching them and waiting for the opportunity to interject himself into the conversation.

"Hey, John, right?" He didn't actually have to, since the little kid sitting to his right turned and looked at him.

"Yeah."

"Nice. I'm Theo. Xe/xem/xyrs pronouns. What are yours?"

John looked at Theo, shocked. He didn't really know how to respond to someone asking him his pronouns. Xe could probably tell he was surprised, and waited patiently.

"He/him..." He said, looking between Theo and the others in the group. They nodded and the person to John's left spoke.

"I'm Maria. She/her/hers." She looked to the girl next to her, who brushed her hair back behind her ear self-consciously before speaking. "Kitty. She/her/hers."

The last one introduced himself as John, but said he was content with going by his last name, Jay, to avoid confusion. John thanked him.

"We do that at the center." Maria explained after everyone introduced themself. "We just say our preferred name, pronouns, then like how our day's been. Sometimes there's also a question of the day to answer. It's good for new people, or someone coming out. It's easier to just introduce yourself with new pronouns than going to the people you care about independently and saying it, you know?" He nodded.

"So ok, wait what were you saying?" Theo looked at Maria once she finished explaining the introduction.

"Oh yeah." She turned to John. "Basically I was explaining why I'm worried about Alexander."

He frowned, concern bubbling up inside of him. He had to remind himself that he wasn't close enough to really know Alexander, and couldn't let the others catch on. "Why, is something wrong?"

"Probably." Jay shrugged. "He's been..." Jay paused, trying to find the right word.

"Subdued." Maria supplied, and Jay nodded. "Like, I noticed it cause normally he hits on me in a kinda joking way. Mostly he just hits on me to keep people from trying to hit on me, which is how we met. I was trying to get away from my shitty ex who was at this party we both went to, and he pretended to be my boyfriend."

"It was very romcom." Kitty said sincerely.

Maria rolled her eyes. "Anyways, after that he sorta took to mock-hitting on me. But he hasn't in the past couple of days which is honestly just, out of character."

"And he's been quiet." Jay said. "He always talks with me about writing, since we both love writing, but in the past couple of days he hasn't been talking non stop like he normally does which should be nice but is actually really worrying."

"He keeps zoning off. Philip mentioned that." Theo looked down when xe mentioned Philip. "He's always been a daydreamer but he's acting weird."

John's breath was shaky, and he hoped no one could notice. It's me, he thought, it's because he knows who I am.

"When did this start happening?"

"Around three days ago." Theo looked to the others, who nodded at xem in agreement. "Probably last Friday."

John sucked in a breath. "Ah."

That was when we had coffee. That was when I... When I realized who he was. Did he recognize...?

No, he didn't. He would've said something, right?

"I personally think he has a crush." Maria said, pressing a hand to her chest. "Think about it. We've never seen what he's like when he's around someone he genuinely wants to date. Like, sure, he has awkward sexual tension with some people but it isn’t a sincere desire to be in a relationship. Like with Aaron that's more 'angry sex if you want but I don't really care' and Laf's just super gay with everyone."

"Hercules, though." Kitty nudged her.

"Pff, seriously? Nah. Herc's aro, remember?"

"Doesn't mean Alex doesn't like him."

"Ok, true." Kitty smirked when she agreed. "But he'd be over that by now, I bet. The closest I've ever seen him like this was when he talked about some chick he grew up with. I mean he never said it, but he was starstruck."

John blinked in surprise. Some chick he grew up with? Unless Maria was talking about someone he knew in highschool, which she very well might be, there was no one else he could think of that fit the description.

"Person." Theo corrected. "Alex said that they were DFAB but he didn't think they really were a girl, you know?"

"True, sorry memory ghost person."

Apology accepted.

John ran a hand through his hair, having trouble believing that any of this was actually happening. For fucks sake this was supposed to be a big world, how the hell did he end up in the same city as his Alex?

"What do you think John?"

"Hmm? Umm..." He knew what it would've meant five years ago, but a lot can change from middle school to college. "I don't really know him very well, but it seems like somethin's up. He's probably worried about something."

"Nah." Maria waved him off with a laugh. "Don't wanna sound condescending but he is never worried. Ever. Which is worry ing because he should really learn how to take better care of himself. But yeah, I've never seen him worry about something. He got stressed, sure, pissed, constantly, but he's more vocal when he's like that. He's never been worried before."

John wanted to say that he knew Alex was worried because he was probably the one worrying him, but he held his tongue. It wouldn't help anything to let these people in on his secret, even if they seemed trustworthy. He still wasn't sure what he was gonna do with the realization that he was with his Alex several years after they had last seen each other. He wanted to tell Alexander, but he didn't know how he would react. Especially now that he had kept it from him...

Fuck, you're stupid.

You could've told him when you knew. He probably would've been fine. now he'll just hate you for lying to him. He's gonna hate you.

John took a deep breath and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart.

Not if he never knows.

Chapter Text

"Yo John, you going to the center today?"

"What?" John looked up from the book he had taken off one of the shelves when Maria spoke. He noticed the others were all standing and getting their stuff. "Yeah."

"Sweet, wanna ride with us? I've got a car, we can probably squeeze you in the back."

He shrugged and nodded. "Sure." He stood and slid a scrap piece of paper he saw on the floor into the book, hesitating for a second before one of the others-- Peggy, he remembered-- told him that he could take it to finish just so long he brought it back. Angelica would have his ass if he stole or damaged it. He nodded, assuring them that he would not get on Angelica's bad side, he liked his ass, it was one of his best features, thank you very much, and followed Jay out. Theo and Kitty were waiting by the car as Maria started it. Some of the others who had stayed behind piled into a minivan that seemed to belong to Peggy, except for two, who walked off together to god knows where.

He was stuck in the back with Jay and Theo, because they were the smallest three. Luckily for him, Theo was even smaller, and xe had to sit in the middle.

It took a surprisingly short amount of time to get to the center, and once again John felt anxiety buzzing in his fingertips.

It's gonna be fine, he told himself. I mean, how bad could it be?

His question was answered when he stepped into the well-furnished basement and was immediately greeted by someone shouting "Hey, You’re the one I met in jail!" and pointing at him.

John groaned and ran a hand over his face as the tall frenchman-- the tall one who was passed out on Alexander, he remembered-- approached him. The first thing he thought was; 'great, now everyone knows me as 'jail guy,' fucking fantastic.' His second thought was, 'wait what the fuck, why is everyone here fucking French?'

He rubbed the back of his neck as the group he came in with turned to him and stared. "Uh, yeah. Hi. I'm John."

"So I've heard." The french guy leaned against the wall and crossed his legs, looking at John with an unreadable expression. "Alex has mentioned you."

"Has he?" Now he was getting nervous. More nervous, that is.

"Laf, stop being an asshole to the newbie." He turned at the rough voice behind him (finally, someone who wasn’t French), wondering who defended him. He was about to introduce himself to the other (weirdly tall, seriously, he was like the shortest one there) guy when someone from the other side of the room shouted "A new person? Act natural!" And dramatically threw their leg up in the air, all while playing Mario Cart and never once looking away from the screen. It was kind of impressive, in all honesty.

The guy next to him sighed dramatically, and John got the feeling that he had to deal with this kinda thing all the time.

"Hercules Mulligan. That asshole's Lafayette." He gestured to the French guy, who looked wounded as he dramatically pressed a hand to his chest.

"Hercules, how rude. I happen to be delightful."

"No, you’re a fuckin’ asshole."

"Well vous êtes une pomme de terre avec le visage d'un cochon d'inde." John felt his eyebrows rise, hoping he heard correctly, and wasn't just imagining that Lafayette called Hercules (seriously, was that his actual name? Incredible.) a ‘potato with the face of a guinea pig.’ He takes back anything bad he’s ever thought. The French were amazing.

"Fuck you, you know I don't speak French." Lafayette shrugged with a smug smirk. John kept his mouth shut, not wanting to ruin the possibility to listen in on future French conversations, which was probably a really rude thing to do, he realized, but he didn't really care.

“Are you two neglecting your responsibilities yet again?” A dull, monotone voice came from behind John. He turned, seeing (finally) someone his height. “Aaron Burr. I’m part of the staff here, as are those two,” he pointedly glared at Hercules and Lafayette. “But they seem to be poking fun at you instead of giving you the tour, like they’re supposed to.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” John didn’t want to get on anyone’s bad side, especially since he got the impression that they were friends of Alexander.

“See Burr, we’re being perfectly civil.”

He rolled his eyes at Lafayette. “You just called Mulligan a potato with the face of a guinea pig, Lafayette, you might want to alter your definition of ‘civil’.” Lafayette’s face paled as Hercules turned to him with a low ‘what?’, and Burr beaconed for John to follow him. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

It was two more days before he met with Pierre again. He pursed his lips together as he walked back to his office, pausing just before he rounded to corner when he heard a conversation.

“You two seem like a great match. It’s a tiny apartment, but it’s got two rooms and a small living room and kitchen area. It is by the train tracks, though,”

“I don’t care. I’m in.” Holy shit, was that-- “As long as my roommate’s not a complete, dick, of course.”

“He isn’t.” Pierre laughed. “You two’ll hit it off I-- oh, hi John.” Pierre smiled at John when he rounded the corner. His breath caught in his throat as the person he was talking to turned around and his suspicions were confirmed.

Alexander’s eyebrows shot up. “John Doe?”

Pierre looked between them. “You know each other?”

“Yeah--”

“We keep meeting.” John forced himself to mirror Alexander’s smile, even though his excitement was mixed with anxiety. He wanted to run away and take Alex by the hand at the exact same time.

“Ha!” John grinned, lowering his hand. The taller boy was holding his nose, which was probably broken, obviously shocked that John had actually hit him. He looked up, enraged, and John felt the glow of victory begin to leave him. “Oh shit. Alex--”

“Yeah.” Alex grabbed John’s hand and quickly pulled him away. John’s heart beat faster, and he couldn’t blame it on the adrenaline from the fight. The two raced down the blocks, taking turned whenever they could to try and lose him. Alex didn’t drop John’s hand until they were practically on the other side of town, in front of a convenience store neither had been to before as the sun began to set.

“So worth it.”

Alexander was smiling at him, the soft curl of his lips at odds with the mischievous glint in his eyes. John swallowed, wondering what he was thinking. He felt weak, pulled back into Alex’s bubble. He was already feeling like himself again. He hadn’t felt like his veins pumped caffein instead of blood since the summer he left. He felt his fingers twitch with desire, wanting to do something. He wasn’t sure if that something was reaching out to Alexander, or if it was sketching his features like he had done so many times from memory, or if what he wanted was a good fight. He thought it was probably a mixture of the three. John licked his lips without thinking, and for a second he thought he could taste the heady South Carolina air; the musk of sweat and hormones, with the constant sting at the back of your throat from the tobacco plants.

New York tasted different. It tasted like smoke and sweat and cooking food. To John, it tasted like a new beginning.

The apartment was small, and the walls were thin, and they only had a few outlets, but it was more than John could’ve hoped for. So sure, the place permanently stank of weed thanks to their neighbors, and sure they’d still struggle to make ends meet, but it was a home and John couldn’t believe it was real.

The rooms were small, small enough that both of them could fit into the walk-in closet in his parents room. (Now that he thought about it, the whole place could probably fit, his parents were rich assholes.) His bed was nothing more than a thin futon mattress on the ground, but it was comfortable enough to sleep in, and that was all he needed.

He couldn’t help but feel bitter when he thought about how much his requirements for a home had dropped.

They ate takeout and cheap meals they could throw together in ten minutes, and neither ate more than two meals a day. Their house slowly filled with snacks, and some drinks, and then an old, shitty couch Alexander had found outside one of the houses he was cleaning. He had revealed to John that that was what he did; cleaning. He left the apartment every day from six to noon to scrub the floors of expensive penthouses, then he’d wake John up and they’d eat, then head to the library, then the center. After Alexander went to sleep (well, said he went to sleep, knowing him he was probably sitting up all night writing), John would head out to his job. It was cheap, and tedious hard, but it paidworked. He would walk the streets at night with a tiny toolbox, fixing the lights that had burnt out. Then he would get back, stay up working on their shared laptop (that Alexander left out after midnight), spending an hour or two on an online college before falling asleep just before dawn. Just rinse and repeat, and they had a routine.

The domesticity frightened John as much as it made him feel safe. Their idle chatter at noon, the quiet, trivial discussions every night, the system they had where Alex would do all the cooking if John kept the place clean, it was flawless. They had a system. And it terrified him.

What if Alexander found out? What if he figure it out? What if he stopped one night and realized that their familiarity with each other was just a little too familiar, and realized that John was Jack?

Tell him.

“John?” He looked up from his plate, realizing that he was staring at his forkful of omelette intensely. “You ok?”

He looked at Alex and nodded. Tell him. Tell him tell him tell him. “Yeah, I’m fine. ‘S nothing, just my class.” Fucking idiot.

“Oh? What about it? You’re taking marine bio and visual arts, yeah?”

He nodded. “And criminal law, just ‘cause that one was free and seemed interesting. Which is what I was thinking about, actually. If someone killed someone and burned the body to destroy evidence, and accidentally killed someone else in the fire, would they be charged with both murders?”

“Yeah.” Alex nodded. “That’s felony murder. If you commit a felony and accidentally kill someone you’re charged with both the felony and the murder, since it’s a foreseeable outcome you should’ve accounted for. So, if someone robbed a bank and held hostages, and one of the hostages had a heart attack or went into diabetic shock or something and died, they would be charged with murder as well as robbery.”

“Why and how do you know this? You don’t start your classes for two more weeks haven’t even started your classes yet.”

Alex shrugged as he stood to put his plate away. “I’ve already read all of my books. Attendance isn’t a grade so as long as I can pass my tests and assignments I’ll pass my classes. That way I can work during school hours.”

John nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. But are you seriously planning not to go to any of your classes?.”

“Nope.” Alex leaned against the sink and gave him a cheeky smile. “Not if I don’t have to.”

John rolled his eyes. “Your teachers are gonna hate you.”

“Probably.”

It wasn’t until he was screwing in a lightbulb that night that John remembered that he was supposed to tell Alex.

And now he would just hate him more.

John looked up from his book at the sound of the door slamming. His eyes widened when he saw Alexander storm in, throwing his bag to the side and immediately removing his jacket. He stood quickly when he noticed a growing red stain on Alexander's white shirt.

"Alex, fuck, what the hell happened?"

"It's nothing John. I'm fine." Alexander winced as he said it, so John made him sit on their tiny couch anyways.

"Don't be a little shit. What happened?"

“I’ll have you know I’m a very large and obstinate shit, not a little one, thank you very much.” Alex sighed. "Some guys jumped me. Tried to mug me. I fought 'em and got away, obviously, but they kinda," He winced again as he lifted his arm to show the tear in the fabric and the blood beneath. "They kinda stabbed me a little."

"Shit," John breathed. "Hang on."

"John, it’s not bad,"

"Don't fight me." He said, going into the kitchen and getting the tiny first aid kit they had stowed away and the bottle of vodka he had pretended not to notice Alexander stash behind the coffee. "You need that cleaned and dressed or it'll get infected, even if it isn't a bad cut."

Alex rolled his eyes, but he complied when John told him to take off his shirt. He was right, the cut wasn't too bad. It wasn't deep, but it was bleeding enough to make John concerned frown. He sat down on the couch next to him and poured some of the vodka onto a washcloth, trying not to act weird as he pressed it against Alexander's skin. He hissed at the contact, but other than that neither made a sound. Alex watched as he cleaned it up and applied gauze to the cut. When he was done taping it onto his skin, he hesitated a second before pulling back and looking at Alexander. His eyes were trained on John's hands, which were lightly stained with a bit of his blood.

“How do you know how to do this?”

“It really isn’t hard.” I learned from patching you up so many times after a fight.

“Still.” Alex was looking directly into his eyes.

John shrugged. “Got in a lotta fights as a kid.” It isn’t technically a lie. Even if it feels like one.

A moment passed before either spoke.

"Do you have any other wounds?"

Alex started shaking his head, then stopped. "Just some bruises on my back."

"Can I see them?" A small nod. Alex turned so his back was facing John. John saw the dark purple bruises across the small of Alexander's back, and lightly pressed the area around them, glad to find that they weren't badly inflamed. His gaze traveled up Alex's spine, resting on the broad expanse of his shoulders. His eyes widened at the ink on his left shoulder blade.

Without thinking, John reached out to touch the tattoo. His fingers lightly traced the outlines of the rose petals; one flower yellow, one lavender, one white, one yellow with red tips. He realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back like he had been burned.

"You can touch it. I don't mind." Alex's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"What is it?" John asked, knowing the answer.

“Roses.” John turned, squinting at Alex.

“What about ‘em?”

“Remember when your mom realized you were sneaking out to see me, and you fell into the bush?”

John nodded. “I still have the scars.”

“I was thinking.” Alex turned, looking directly at John. “We should get tattoos together. When we grow up. Roses.”

John puzzled over how he thought of it. Roses were a symbol of people keeping them apart, of people hurting them. Roses weren’t good things to them.

But something about the poetry they held had John nodding with a smile. “Ok. I’m in.”

There was a detail John didn’t know Alexander would get. It was a tiny black turtle in the center of the roses, no bigger than his thumbnail. Seeing it made John's heart hurt.

"My friend. I've mentioned them. Jack." Was he imagining the change in Alexander's voice, or was there something there? "When we were kids we made a promise to each other to get matching tattoos. Jack would get theirs on their right shoulder blade, and I'd get mine on my left. Roses."

"What do the colors mean?" He was genuinely curious with that question. He didn’t remember anything beyond ‘yellow for friendship.’

Alex stiffened, and John could tell that he was going to lie.

“Nothin in particular.”

John made a soft noise to make Alex think he believed him, even though he didn’t.

It was a night like any other that year. It was Sunday, it was late, and John was supposed to be asleep, but as soon as he made sure the door was locked and his lights were off, he slipped on his converse and opened his window. He swung out and balanced on the sill as he pulled it back down, slipping a ruler under it so he could open it again but no one could tell it was ajar. He hopped off the edge, fear seizing his body when he saw that the ground he was used to landing on wasn’t there. Instead, there were rose bushes lining the perimeter of the house.

Falling from the second floor always hurt a little, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He had mastered the ability to land on his feet silently, distributing the shock so his joints didn’t get hurt. But that night his fright sent him slipping prematurely, and he fell down, landing hard on his back. He cried out in pain before slapping a hand to his mouth, sobbing once more as his arm moved.

John laid there, still, for another minute, before slowly picking himself up, pain shooting through his body. His shirt was ripped and bloody, and it was bad, he could tell. He didn’t try to take the thorns out, just got himself out of the bush and onto the ground.

Walking hurt, but he could take it. He snuck around back to get his old bike that he said was lost in the creek when really it was hidden for nights like these, and mounted it, wincing with every step there. It hurt like fuck to ride his bike but he knew it would be worse if he tried to walk to Alexander’s house.

He threw his bike to the side when he got there, and knocked on the door. Alexander’s mother opened the door, eyes widening when she saw the state John was in. The light was low, but he knew he must’ve looked like hell. She ushered him in quickly, and called Alex down.

Alex’s eyes widened when he saw John’s tear-streaked face. “Shit, Jack, what happened?”

His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps, as he saw Alexander’s mom turn to the kitchen, saying something about getting him water.

“Alex, why don’t you take Jack upstairs, we have a first-aid kit in the bathroom. Jack, honey, I’ll bring you some water and aspirin in a few minutes.” Alex nodded and led Jack up to his room, disappearing for a moment to get the first aid kit out from under the sink.

“Jack what…” Alex started taking out his things as his mom set the water and aspirin on the bedstand. John thanked her quietly. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” John whispered. “But when I went out my window there were rose bushes beneath it. I didn’t see them until I was already out there, I couldn’t go back in I fell I--”

“Shh, shh,” Alex took John’s face between his hands, and even though everything hurt, John felt a flutter in his stomach. Alex touched their foreheads together, and John licked his lips without thinking, wishing Alex would kiss him. “Inhala, Exhala.” John followed his instructions. Alex knew, somehow, since John had never told him, that Spanish was calming to him. Alex spoke it with a smooth, low voice, and John felt himself calming down.

“Bueno. Now, let’s clean those cuts, yeah?” John nodded, and turned around. He pulled his shirt over his head, wincing as it pulled at the thorns still in his back. He was in too much pain to be shy, even though all he had on was his thin white bralette. “Jack, there's a thorn…” He felt Alex touch a patch of inflamed skin, where a sharp pain shot through him. The thorn was stuck under the strap of his bra. It was pushing it further into his skin.

John nodded wordlessly, and reached behind himself to unclasp it. He took it off of himself, heart speeding up. It wasn’t from fear, but rather from want.

But of course, nothing happened. It was naïve for him to think anything would. Alex slowly pulled each thorn out of him with tweezers, dropping them into the glass John had drained. Once it was full, he looked around for a second before sighing and taking off his own shirt to collect them in. John swallowed, and his hands tightened where he held his shirt. Alex started wiping off the blood, and slowly disinfecting the cuts. John felt his back muscles twitching away from the alcohol swabs involuntarily.

“Could you…” Alexander lightly tapped his arm, and John nodded, lifting it so Alex could clean the cuts on his side. When he finished sticking a bandage over the cuts, Alex sighed and sat back. John put his arms back into his bralette, but he winced when he tried to move his arms back. “Here, let me…” Alex took it from him and clasped it.

“Thanks.” He whispered. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“How are your legs?”

“Not bad. Just a couple, and I don’t think they’re deep. My jeans were too thick for the most part.”

“That’s good.” Alex stood and started cleaning up. He went into the bathroom and must’ve just dumped everything there because he was gone for less than a minute. Neither of them spoke when he returned, but they both somehow knew that John wouldn’t be sleeping on the spare bed that night.

What felt like hours later, when both were still awake under Alexander’s soft sheets, John asked a question.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

He breathed heavily before continuing.

“How do I know it was her?” He swallowed. “My mother. I know that it was her who put the roses in. I don’t know how I know it but I just do. But why would she…” He broke off, choking up. “Why doesn’t she love me?”

Alex pulled his head back to look at John. “Hey,” He tilted John’s head up so they could make direct eye contact. “She isn’t your mother.” John knew he was right. She wasn’t even his mother biologically. She hated him, probably because he was the living proof that his father had an affair with the woman she had hired to raise them. “She doesn’t get to love you. She isn’t allowed to pretend to love you.”

“I know I just…”

“I know.” He pressed a small kiss to John’s hairline. “Listen. She doesn’t have to love you. Because I’m gonna love you enough for her.”

John found himself too shocked to say anything. Instead he pressed his head into Alex’s collarbone and nodded, willing himself not to cry.

He fell asleep to the feeling of Alexander’s hands running through his hair.

John's hand stilled, flat against Alexander's back as he remembered. He didn’t realize that he was covering the yellow and white roses.

"John?"

He snapped out of it.

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright? You got really quiet there for a moment."

John felt the tension on them, heavy like a blanket of snow. "It's nothing. I was just thinking. That's really nice. The story behind the tattoos." He slowly took his hand off Alexander's back. "When did you get it?"

"The day I turned eighteen. It was something I had been planning for years, you know. I didn't have a lot of money but I saved it up. And I had drawn out the design as best as I could, so I could just go in there and get it done." John smiled softly.

I've been planning it for years too.

"What?" He looked up at Alex, who had turned around, wondering if he had spoken aloud. "Did you say something?"

John shook his head. "No."

"Huh. I thought I might've heard you." Thank god. Alex pulled on his shirt and stood, picking up his bag and going to his room. John tried not to let his disappointment show. "Thanks for patching me up."

He paused at his door and turned to look at John. "Hey, do you miss anyone? From when you were growing up?"

Now's your chance. Come clean, he'll know who you are you can be happy again. God, you could have him again. He'd be back in your life for real.

But he would hate me for lying.

He always hated lying more than anything else. Said that even if he really loved someone he wouldn't forgive them for betraying his trust.

He wouldn't forgive me. Not now, not ever.

I can't tell him. I can't let him know.

John looked down, swallowing. He couldn't look Alex in the eye.

"No." He whispered.

Chapter Text

They were lying down side by side on the floor of John’s bedroom. Three small bowls were next to Alex, and there was a gallon bag full of sugarcubes on top of a poster board. (“What the fuck is the purpose of having these anyways? They’re for horses.” “They’re also for tea, you uncultured swine.”) Alex popped a sugarcube into his mouth as he watched John over his shoulder as he sketched on a piece of graph paper. He pulled back after a second, tapping the pencil against his lip, before nodding contentedly.

“Alright, so we have the front of the castle. The towers can go on either side of the board with the gate in between them. Since we’re making it three dimensional we can have the gate slide up and down like in The Princess Bride, you know? I was thinking that we could have all of our information stuff under the gate, so we can slide it up for the presentation.” He tapped each part of the diagram as he explained it.

Alex grinned at him. “You’re a fuckin’ genius.”

John flipped his hair melodramatically. “Damn right I am.”

“So I should start dying all the cubes, yeah? And you’ll be sketching the thing on the poster right? Cause you know I have no artistic talent.”

John rolled his eyes but nodded. “It’s a learned skill, not a damn talent.” He muttered. If Alex heard him, he chose not to listen. John began sketching out where the towers and gate would go on the board, listening to Alex humming along to the music as he dipped sugarcubes into the bowl of grey dye. John wondered how long it would be before he got bored and poured the dye into a huge bowl and dumped all of the sugarcubes in it at once.

Two-thirds of 10,000 Angels later, Alex groaned in frustration and stood, running downstairs to get one of the salad bowls. John laughed to himself as he heard Alex fill it with water and pour in the dye mix. Before the song was even over he could see Alex rushing up the stairs with the bowl in hands.

“What?” He shook his head and turned back to the poster as Alex set the bowl down and dumped in the sugarcubes. “What was that face for?”

“What face?”

“Don’t be a little shit, Jack.” He laughed when Alex pouted, which only made him pout further.

“‘S nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing Jack, you were giving me a face!”

John set down his pencil and raised an eyebrow at him. “This is my face, dumbass.”

Alex sneered-- well, he tried to, he was pouting too hard for it to hold any malice. “You’re rude.”

“Yep.” John smiled to himself as he finished outlining it. Alex started taking the sugarcubes out of the dye and laying them out on a spread of paper towels for them to dry. John turned to his iPod in his speaker as a song started playing, grinning excitedly as he recognized it. “Alex, come on, it’s our song.” He stood and pulled Alexander up to dance around the part of the room where they weren’t in danger of knocking gray dye all over John’s (unnecessarily and pretentiously expensive) carpet. Alex laughed, letting himself be pulled up.

“Baby, baby, black and blue, time sure took a toll on you--”

“What'cha what’cha gonna do tomorrow?” They sang the lines back at each other, letting the obnoxiously loud music fill them.

“Oh, the world has got’cha down, cry your heart out on the ground.” Alex took John’s hand and spun him, laughing. “Give me strength to pick you up and keep you from dying.” He dipped John, who let out a surprised shriek, but didn’t fight him.

“Give me strength and give me love, I can never get enough.” By then, their dancing had turned into nothing more than excited jumps. “All I want is someone that will--”

“Never stop trying.” They sang in unison. They both slowed down, starting to get winded, but kept ‘dancing’ together as the song continued.

“Baby, baby, black and blue, time sure took a toll on you.” Later that night, Alex would ask John could be practically shouting and still have the voice of an angel. John would blush and look away, changing the subject.

“What’cha what’cha gonna do, tomorrow?” John laughed at Alex when his voice cracked, and Alex ever so eloquently stuck his tongue out at him.

“I don’t wanna see you cry, gotta make you realize,” Alex stopped, chest heaving, watching as John kept dancing, his back turned, oblivious that Alex was staring at him. “You’ve got more to give me than your--” John turned around and hesitated for a second, eyes widening when he saw Alex staring at him. He stuck his smile back on his face and finished the line without a break. “Sorrow.”

They both turned when they heard a knock on the door. Alex went to open it as John dove over his bed to pause his music. Madda was smiling at them when the door opened. “Come on and wash your hands, lunch is ready.” They nodded and followed her out.

John smiled to himself when he noticed Alex humming Black and Blue under his breath.

“Hey hey hey John, hey John, hey, hey John, John, John hey, wake up.” John groaned when he heard Alexander knocking (read; banging) on his door.

“Christ Alex, I’m up, I’m up.” He sat up as he heard Alex walk away. He rubbed at his blurry eyes, fighting the urge to curl up under the covers and go back to sleep, when he heard that Alex’s footsteps were coming fast against the hardwood floor of their tiny apartment. He frowned, wondering why he would be moving so quickly, when he was supposedly just making food, and not fighting a fucking ninja.

John tied his hair in a sloppy bun and shuffled out into the living room, making a beeline for the bathroom to wash off the gross feeling he had upon waking when he stopped. Alex was next to the sink, cutting thick slices of bread. (“We’ve had nothing but sandwiches this whole week, can’t you make anything else?” “Shut up and eat it, John Doe.”) He had earbuds in, but the music was loud enough that John could hear it from a few feet away. He was swaying back and forth, and John wondered for a second how badly that hurt his wound, but he was distracted when he placed the song.

“There’s a big door with a little window, and the big world is peekin’ through. Lay your head down on my pillow, I want to take care of you.”

John froze for a second.

“I didn’t know you were an Edie Brickelle fan.”

Alex startled at the noise, obviously not hearing John walk out. Of course, how could he hear, if his music was that loud.

“Yeah,” He was turning red, a flush spreading across his face. “I listened to her a lot as a kid, so I guess it’s just sentimental.”

John nodded stiffly and turned, shutting himself in the bathroom and locking the door with shaking fingers. He turned the shower on and stripped as fast as he could before breaking down in the shower and hoping the water was too loud for Alexander to hear him crying as he slid down the wall to the cold ground, sobbing into his fingers.

“Hey, John,” He turned, curious, when he heard Aaron’s hesitant voice. “I have to ask you something.”

He cocked his head. “Ok. Shoot.”

Aaron cleared his throat and looked away. “Do you want to talk out in the hall?”

John nodded hesitantly, following him out with growing apprehension.

“What is it?”

Aaron sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. John supposed that was the best substitute for running a hand through your hair if you didn’t have any. “This is weird to ask, but when have you last been to a doctor?”

John relaxed a little, still confused, but less nervous. “It’s been a while. Not since I was in London so, a few months, I guess.”

John panicked for a moment when he mentioned being in London, but if Aaron noticed it, he didn’t comment. (Then again, could John really expect anything else from him?) “Ok. You should see a walk-in clinic, just to get a check-up on everything. This normally isn’t my department,” John guessed that much by how awkwardly he was handling everything. “But it’s really important for transguys to stick to the care needed for our biology, you know? It’s really uncomfortable, but necessary. Have you…” He trailed off, flustered.

John shifted a little, feeling awkward as well. “I, yeah, I, ok. I haven’t seen a doctor in a really long time so I probably should--”

Aaron seemed to relax. “Yeah, good. The children’s hospital nearby has free general health check-ups for anyone under eighteen, so you might as well make the most of that while you can. They also have free STD and STI testing, too. I’m pretty sure they also give out like, condoms, and pregnancy tests, and things like that too to anyone who needs it. But you should, you should go. Cause something could be going on that doesn’t present itself as a problem until it’s too late, you know?” John nodded. “I should, I need to go back I have, um, paperwork.” John nodded and let him leave, feeling sorry for him. It must have been really stressful to talk to someone about things like that.

John leaned against the wall and tipped his head back. He took a breath, counting to ten, committing everything to memory before readying himself to go back into the center. A thought hit him right as he put a hand on the door, making him turn back around and sit on the bench outside the door, hands folded under his chin.

I hadn’t even thought about that. I haven’t thought about going to a doctor… I haven’t even thought about…

Dread sank in his stomach.

I hadn’t even thought about periods. He swallowed. I don’t think I’ve had one since I came back.

He took another deep breath, trying (to no avail) to keep himself from panicking. He put his head in his hands as he started shaking softly, willing himself not to cry.

He was drunk. The girls at the boarding school had coaxed him into joining them at a party thrown by one of the frat houses at a college nearby. John felt uncomfortable in his form-fitting blouse and push-up bra, but he did it to humor them. There were only a few days before he graduated and returned ‘home’ to South Carolina for the first time in four years. Even if it made him sick to think that everyone there would think of him as someone he wasn’t, he knew it wouldn’t follow him past that night.

So John went to the party. So he let himself challenge the cocky college kid eyeing him up to a drinking competition. So he laughed with the others when he outdrank the poor boy. So John let one of his college friends whisper in his ear and guide him down the hall. His brain was hazy and everything smelled like tequila and axe body spray, and he wasn’t really thinking about the hands on his body. He was just laughing at nothing and smiling against the boy’s neck, drunk off his ass and thinking about nothing other than wanting to feel something.

So he didn’t think about anything the next day, when the nausea hit him twofold, and he got out of the stranger’s bed and slid his clothes back on, all while the boy still slept. So he had tried to forget the night, because even though he had wanted it then, he didn’t want to remember it later.

The temporary fix for his emptiness gave him something much more permanent to fill the void.

“John?” He flinched when he heard Alex call his name, but let him sit down next to him. “John are you ok?”

He felt Alex reach out to touch him hesitantly, and leaned into his hand as it slowly rubbed his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” He mumbled. He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t ok.

He wasn’t fucking pregnant. Stop thinking about it. It isn’t fucking possible.

“John,” There it was, the warning tone John remembered from the nights when John was too scared to voice how he really felt. Alex knew when he was lying.

I can’t keep lying to him.

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” He pulled his head out of his hands and looked at Alex, swallowing hard when he was met with wide, concerned eyes. He would never get used to the intensity of all of Alexander’s attention being focused on him .

“Ok.” Alex let his hand drop and shifted to face him head-on. “Do you wanna talk at all?”

He thought for a second, then shook his head. “I just… I’m gonna take a walk. I’ll see you later, Alex.”

Alex nodded as he stood, not looking back as he shuffled up the stairs and out the center. He wandered down the busy streets, no real direction in mind. He found himself outside of a convenience store, wondering if he had meant to go there all along.

He felt bile pushing at his throat as he picked the small box up off the shelf, barely speaking to the cashier as he bought it. It was small enough to slip into his pocket. He tried not to think about it, but it felt like it was burning hot, branding him.

“Dude, why’d you make these cubes pink?” John raised his eyebrows at the array of colors Alex created. “And purple? Blue too? Dude, everything is grey, it’s a castle, not a fucking unicorn.”

“Yeah, I know, shitwad.” Alex rolled his eyes and nudged John. “But I re-read the assignment, and it said that we had to have flags too. So I figured that we should put on the bisexual flags, cause hey, even if we’ll rank the lowest for class popularity-- which let's be real here, we already knew we would-- we have technically met and surpassed all of the requirements, so we’ll have to get a perfect score.” John grinned at him.

“Our teacher’s gonna hate us.”

“Jack, she already does.”

Two weeks later, they stood triumphant at the front of the class while the judges (volunteering parents with mediocre-at-best casserole recipes and eyes that seemed to bore through your very soul) handed them the first place award. Their craftsmanship, effort, and ingenuity had clearly outranked all of their opponents.

Later that night, they broke into their history teacher’s classroom to pull out the ranking sheet for the popularity award.

They were last.

John closed his eyes, swallowing down the shame and misery boiling inside of him. It was positively humiliating, collecting his own piss in a cup. But John wasn’t even thinking about that. He couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think of anything past the panicked haze of fear that came from dipping the stick into the cup with shaking fingers.

Five to twenty minutes.

He sat down on the closed toilet seat, feeling exhaustion weigh heavy on him as he tried not to stare obsessively at the thin stick in the cup. He had woken up early (for him anyways, let’s be real here, it was eleven thirty, but hey, the graveyard shift was a bitch) so he could take the test while Alex was out working. He couldn’t handle the stress of Alex knowing he thought he was pregnant, not if it was negative.

But what would he do if it wasn’t negative?

He shook his head and pressed his hand against his temples, trying to massage the thoughts out of him like they were nothing but a bad headache.

I’m not pregnant. I can’t be pregnant. I’ve just not had my period because of malnourishment. Yeah. I remember reading that a sign of undernourishment was someone’s period stopping. I was homeless. I wasn’t getting enough food. So my period stopped. Nothing more.

But you haven’t been homeless in a while, and it still hasn’t come.

He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. He looked around the tiny bathroom as if doing so could make him forget about the tiny nagging voice in the back of his head.

It’s been like ten minutes by now, hasn’t it? Check it.

He looked at the floor, putting his head between his knees to breathe. He felt like he was going to vomit, the sickness and fear filling every cavity in his body and threatening to spill out onto the floor. He blinked hard as his vision began to blur, cursing both himself and the tears he felt prick the backs of his eyes.

It’s been long enough since the party that I would’ve noticed a baby bump. I’m not pregnant. I can’t be pregnant.

He looked down at his stomach, feeling it. He didn’t exactly have a rock-hard abdomen; his stomach had grown soft from his newly-reliable eating schedule, but he hadn’t put on a lot of weight. All of the weight he had gained was from Alexander’s (amazing, not that he’d admit it) cooking, nothing more. Certainly not a goddamned baby.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. Don’t be fucking ridiculous. Of course you’re not fucking pregnant, that’s practically impossible. Don’t be illogical.

He stood, his anxiety focusing itself on the problem of why his periods had stopped, if it wasn’t for a pregnancy. He looked into the mirror, frowning at his acne and making a mental note to buy some sort of face wipe for it, before looking down at the cup. He sucked in a breath and picked the thin stick up out of it.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t get enough air.

He blinked and looked at it again, letting out the hysterical laugh that bubbled up inside him.

Pink.

It was as pink as the sugarcubes Alex dyed for the bisexual flag in their seventh grade history project.

It was as pink as the roses Mrs. Laurens put under his window.

It was as pink as the blanket he was swaddled in at the hospital he was born in.

Pink means pregnant.

He clutched the edge of the sink, breathing heavily. His head felt light, and his eyes were having trouble focusing as the world around him spun. He felt like his life was spiraling out of control. For all intents and purposes, it was.

“I can’t be pregnant.” He mumbled. “I’m not. God that party was three fucking months ago I can’t be pregnant I would’ve…” He swallowed and set the pregnancy test stick down on the sink, backing away from it as if it would infect him (it didn’t, it just proved an existing ‘infection’) . He poured the cup of urine down the toilet, resisting the urge to lean over it and puke. The world was jarring and too sharp, hyperreal. It wasn’t real.

He swallowed nothing and stumbled out of the bathroom, sitting at the table and opening the laptop. He pulled his knees to his chest as he began researching, trying to find out if it was possible.

‘False negatives are semi-common within the first couple of weeks, but false positives are very rare,’

‘The first trimester ends around the thirteen week mark, which is when you should start to show--’

‘By week twelve your uterus has started expanding to compensate for the baby, which means less pressure on your bladder and less trips to the bathroom!’

‘Your vision may blur from time to time due to fluid retention, but make sure to tell your doctor anyways, as it could be a sign of something else going on.’

‘Your skin will change too somewhere between weeks 4 and 8, giving you that pregnancy glow! Some of you may experience an outbreak of acne instead, however, which is just as natural--’

He closed all of the tabs and shut the computer down, struggling to breathe. He pushed the laptop away from him, breath coming faster and faster until his head started to swim. He pressed his hands against his ears and looked down at the table. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe--

“John?” The voice was hazy, and even though it was right in front of him, John could barely see the door opening. “John, are you ok?”

He tried to stand but his head was too light and his stomach dropped. Oh, actually, he was dropping. He was falling down to the floor, and the world was fading out of his vision, and there were shouts and feet by his head, and he couldn’t breathe.

John was twelve when he came down with a nasty case of bronchitis. He barely remembers it, only that it was in early January of seventh grade, not long after the infamous history project, and that Alexander had ditched the whole first week and a half of their second semester to stay by his bed and keep him company. He remembers how happy he was to be moved out of the hospital and into bedrest at home-- something about needing the room for other patients, he didn’t care, he was just glad to be out of there. The food tasted like plastic, and they didn’t allow Alex to see him for more than a few hours at a time.

He does remember that when he woke up the first morning after his initial collapse, there were two yellow roses on his bed stand, accompanied by a can of Arizona tea and a tiny pyramid of three sugarcubes, one purple, one blue, and one pink.

Chapter Text

For his thirteenth birthday, Alex bought him a little notebook. It was brown, the leather cover plain, and his mother criticized it for being a poor man’s gift. John flipped her off when she turned around and opened the cover, the smile already gracing his lips widening as he saw the note Alex left. It was written in blue ink on the inside cover. It was legible, which was unusual for Alexander, even if it was easy to tell he wrote it. He felt Alex hold his breath as he ran his fingers over the cover, worn soft. It was faded in places, and the copper clasp that locked it had little stains where there used to be rust.

“It’s beautiful.”

He heard Alex let out his breath and turned to him, looking at him for a moment, wondering how the fuck someone could be so incredible, so beautiful, so intelligent and witty and thoughtful. Alex was watching him back with a soft look in his eyes John couldn’t place. John launched forwards and tackled him to the ground, wrapping his arms around Alex. After the initial surprise, Alex’s arms wound around his waist and pulled him closer.

“I love it.”

In middle school, John had an unfortunate streak. Each year he somehow wound up in the ER within the first ten days of January. In sixth grade, he fell and almost broke both wrists. In seventh, it was bronchitis. In eighth, well… They didn’t really talk about that year. After all, he just tripped down the stairs.

Point being John was no stranger to the emergency ward. He was all too familiar with what it felt like to wake up to a worried nurse flitting between him and whoever was nearest. He knew exactly what it felt like, exactly what to expect, but that didn’t make it any less painful.

He wasn’t truly uncomfortable until he felt his skin scratch against the hospital gown. He frowned, feeling nothing more than his one-size-too-small sports bra and baggy sweatpants on under it. He knew that the nurses had to take his shirt off to make sure he was still breathing or whatever, but that didn’t make him hate it any less. The blankets felt soft, but at the exact same time they were scratchy and irritating where they rubbed his bare back. He shifted and sat up, opening his eyes, then immediately squinting because damn it was bright, and he had a killer headache.

“Here.” He squinted and turned to the voice, accepting a can of sprite. His eyes widened when he tasted it, and turned to actually look at Alexander.

“Thanks.” His voice was hoarse, and he hoped Alex assumed it was from fainting, not the real cause.

Alex shrugged and looked away. “You were always thirsty when you woke up in hospitals,” John felt horror and sickness swell in him exponentially, and he was breathing, but his lungs constricted with each inhale and felt like they were on fire. “Jack.”

“How’d you…” His voice cracked. The monitor above his bed told him that his heart was beating too fast. “How long have you…”

“Your scars.” Alex looked down, but his eyes lingered on John’s side for a second before dropping to the ground. “From the roses.” John swallowed when he heard the monitor beep faster, faster, always faster. His heart was racing. “I… brought you some.” Alex reached behind him, taking two yellow roses off the bedside stand. If it weren’t for the obnoxious beep beep beeping of the monitor, John would’ve sworn that his heart stopped. “I should-- I have to--” Alex stood and let out a strangled sound as a worried nurse came into the room, summoned by the incessant beeping of the monitor, the displaying heart rate barely beneath two hundred. He ducked out of the room, and the nurse started fiddling with the monitor, hovering around John’s bed.

He felt a tear run down his face. He felt the soda can bend just a little beneath his fingers from where he was holding on too tight. He felt his lips quiver and turn cold. He felt a seizing hiccup shake through his body, silent.

He felt lonely.

“This dream isn’t feeling sweet; we’re reeling through the midnight streets, and I’ve never felt more alone, feels so scary getting old.”

“Christ Jacky,” Martha looked up from her book, exasperated. “All you’ve been doing since you got here was listen to that song on repeat. Like I get it, you’re pissed you had to leave your boyfriend, but could you at least wear headphones?”

John looked up, breaking out of the trance he was in. He paused the music and pulled out his headphones.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

Martha rolled her eyes. “Sure he wasn’t.”

John didn’t humor her with an answer, just slipped on his headphones and turned back to his notebook. He was drawing Alex. He didn’t even need to look at a photo, he knew his face so well. He knew every laugh line, every wisp of baby hair, every fleck in his eye, every expression he knew. In the drawing, Alex was smiling at him. John felt heavy with longing as he looked at it, wishing more than anything that he could go back.

“You're the only friend I need. Sharing beds like little kids and laughing 'til our ribs get tough, but that will never be enough.”

That will never be enough.

Alexander came back in seventeen minutes later, not that John was counting, of course. (He was.) He had a small bag of mini oreos in his hand, and John’s mouth went dry again.

“Couldn’t find any sugarcubes.” Alex laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know why I thought a hospital would have any.”

John was hit just then with the full realization of just how in love he was. It was followed with the full realization of how much he fucked up.

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah. Why didn’t you--”

“Not about that.” John swallowed and looked down at his clenched fists as Alex sat down and looked at him expectantly. His voice was tiny and weak, barely more than a whisper. “I’m pregnant, Alexander.”

John felt like he could hear Alex begin to panic.

“What?” He whispered.

“I don’t know how I didn’t know god I’m so stupid how did I not-- I just-- I didn’t even notice that my periods stopped and god I don’t know how I didn’t fucking realize that there's a fucking baby inside of me but there is one and I’m just so-- I just--” He started hyperventilating, and what little composure he had shattered. He sagged forwards, sobbing into his hands. His whole body shook.

He didn’t expect Alex to touch him, to pull John’s head into his chest and run hands through his hair. He did, though, and John wrapped his arms around Alexander. For a second he was mortified that he was clinging onto his plain black tee, but he was just so fucking scared, and his fear won. He needed Alex. Alex felt safe. And John didn’t feel safe right then.

“I don’t know what to do.” He whispered into Alex’s chest. “God I’m just so scared I--” He broke off, shaking too hard to speak.

He felt Alex put a hand on his back, rubbing it softly. He wondered why the fuck he was still around. John had lied, he had lied over and over and over again, and now he was pregnant, but Alex was still there.

“Let’s just go home, yeah?” Something inside of him he couldn’t name grew when he heard Alex use the word ‘home.’ He knew it wasn’t a word Alexander used lightly. “Let’s just get you home for now, then we can figure this out.”

John nodded and pulled back, wiping his face, not looking at him. “Ok. Ok yeah.” He shivered. “Why aren’t--”

“We’ll talk about that later.”

“But I lied to you, over and over I just kept lying--”

“Later.” His voice was still soft, but it held a razor’s edge. “Please, just, can we please just talk about this later?”

There was something desperate in Alexander’s voice that had John nodding. “Ok. Later.”

Alex went to check him out of the hospital as John dressed himself and cleaned off his face. Before he put his shirt back on, he looked down at his stomach. It was barely visible, but there was a tiny bump, something that could easily be missed, something that could’ve come from an all-you-can-eat buffet. He yanked his shirt down over his stomach. He couldn’t stand to see it.

John was surprised and a little alarmed to see Hercules waiting for them when he got to the main room. He had gotten to know Hercules a lot better over the past couple of weeks, but he still wasn’t exactly someone he’d expect to be waiting.

“Oh shit, good John, you’re ok.” Hercules breathed a sigh of relief. “Shit, what happened? Alex just called me and said he needed me to take you to the hospital but he didn’t know anything and you weren’t waking up and just… God, you’re ok.” Ah, so he was our ride here, I guess that makes sense. “And between this and Cato I nearly had a heart attack I swear to god--”

John frowned, alarmed. “Wait, what happened to Cato? Is she ok?”

Herc stopped his frantic pacing and looked at him, weary. John didn’t know Cato very well-- dude was quiet as hell-- but from what he had seen, the two were really close. “I don’t know.” Hercules admitted. “Cato just sorta up and vanished the other day-- which you know, isn’t exactly uncommon, she always just goes to Israel’s place for a few days and forgets to tell me, but when I went to Israel’s place he wasn’t there, and his neighbor said he hadn’t been in since the day Cato left.” He swallowed. “Neither have returned my calls.”

John felt his blood run cold with dread. “Could they be on some sort of getaway or something?”

Herc shook his head. “I guess it’s possible, but she would’ve told me.”

“Told you what? Who?” Alex walked up, and the three started going down to Herc’s car.

“Cato’s gone.” John said. “Israel too.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “What? Since when? Herc? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Since Tuesday.” Alex slid into the backseat next to John. “So what, four days? Yeah. Four days. I didn’t tell you ‘cause I don’t want to make a big deal out of this--”

“Make a big deal out of it? Herc, two people are missing. God you need to report them missing, they could be dead for all we know, they’ve been gone for four days--”

“I can’t report them missing.” Hercules said sharply. “I can’t. Cato isn’t… Cato isn’t exactly documented, I can’t report her.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’d be deported.”

John sucked in a breath. “What about Israel? Can you just report them?”

Herc shook his head. “Same kinda thing. I don’t really know what the deal is with Israel, but I think his dad’s in some sort of criminal ring or something--”

“Jesus fuck.”

“And I know he isn’t involved at all but the police wouldn’t think that.” Hercules untied the bandana around his head and retied it anxiously while they waited at a red light. “So, I can’t. I would if I could, but I can’t.”

Alex reached up and put a hand on Herc’s shoulder. “We’ll keep an eye out. Ask around.”

“They’ll turn up.” John didn’t know if he believed himself. Herc didn’t say a thing, just nodded silently. He didn’t say anything other than a mumbled ‘thanks’ when he dropped them off, either.

Walking up to their apartment, the horror from the car ride began to fade, replaced instead by dread low in his stomach, filling his whole body, growing just like the thing inside of him.

The apartment was a mess. The bathroom door was shut tightly, just as he had left it. The laptop was shut, half off the table. Alex went to push it all the way on before it could fall. There were papers scattered around, and a glass of water had spilled onto the floor. John realized that he must have knocked it over when he fainted. He felt like he was going to pass out again.

He sat rigidly on the couch, staring straight ahead as Alex silently got them both water. His mouth was sticky and dry, and his throat was raw with the anxiety burning inside of him. John noticed his fingers tapping erratically (to the tune of Black & Blue, but he hadn’t processed that), and forced himself to still them, even though he felt the near paralytic fear practically double inside of him in the absence of his outlet.

John was never good with emotional conversations.

Truth be told, he was fucking terrible at talking about important things. He clammed up and hyperventilated. He was thrown into a mental void where he kept thinking about how he was going to lose them he would lose them they would hate him things would never be the same nothing would ever be the same and he couldn’t function without him he didn’t know how to live after losing him again god he can’t lose him again he can’t lose him he can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t HE CAN’T--

“Hey, breathe.” His vision cleared-- when had it blurred?-- and he looked to his left to see Alexander staring at him, wide eyes transfixed on his, hand on his shoulder. “You ok?”

It took a second, but John nodded. Alexander let his hand drop, and John swallowed his disappointment.

“So, this thing--”

“We should talk--”

They both stopped and stared at each other, breaking into nervous laughter.

With the tension broken, Alexander let out a shaky breath and relaxed, just a little. He turned to John, who resisted the urge to pull his legs up against his chest. He didn't want to touch his stomach, he couldn't. The slightest bit of pressure made him feel nauseated, and even though he knew it was just his head, he couldn't shake the feeling.

"What do you want to do with it?"

John looked at him blankly for a second, wondering why he was even asking. "I have to kill it. I mean, we can barely afford to support ourselves, how the hell would--" He swallowed. "And that's if the pregnancy itself doesn't kill me. The sicknesses, the birth, fuck I can't-- I can't-- I can't do it I can't--" Alexander put a hand over his, gently circling his wrist with his thumb to calm John. "I'm seventeen, for fucks sake. I can't..."

"So you're getting an abortion?" There was no malice in his voice, no judgement. John was glad he didn't sound hateful. He didn't know what he would've done if Alexander looked at him with disgust. He would probably retract everything he had said to make him feel better, and that was the terrifying truth of how far he would go for Alex. He would ruin his own life just to make him smile.

John pulled his hand away. "Yeah." He looked down and clenched his hands together, fiddling with his fingers, popping each one. "I... I kinda have to, don't I?"

"If you don't want to..." He dared to look back at Alex. He regretted his decision when he was pulled into his deep eyes, staring at him, wide, kind, intelligent. He swallowed, his breath steady, but he would be lying to himself if he said it was from the stress. He knew that he was in love. It terrified him.

"If you don't want to get rid of it, John, we can figure it out."

That took away John's ability to think. He just stared at Alex, wondering what the hell he did to get him in his life. "Alex, I... I lied to you." Why are you fucking bringing this up?

Alex looked away, and John saw his jawbone shift beneath his skin, the telltale sign he was gritting his teeth. His expression was blank, and somehow John was more frightened of that than he would've been if Alex looked at him with disgust.

"I know." His voice was low and rough, and John moved just a tiny bit away from him. "I know exactly what you did. I trusted you, John." John felt his throat close, fear and regret and shame all swirling inside of him and stealing his ability to breathe. Jeez, by the way this day’s going, I should see a fucking doctor about that.

"Alex, I--"

"Don't--" He was pained as he turned away from John, shoulders tense.

"Don't what?" John felt histeria take over, his body going rigid as he leaned towards Alex, fear and grief and panic forming into misplaced rage. "Don't what, Alex? Don't fucking call you Alex? Don't pretend that I didn't do what I did? Don't fucking what?" His voice cracked and rose, sounding feminine again. He felt sick as he slipped back into the southern accent he hated so much.

"You lied to me!" He shut his mouth and flinched back when he yelled. Alex never yelled. He never yelled, not at John. Never at John. He felt a pang of something sharp and painful jolt through him, followed by the overwhelming urge to cry. "I fucking trusted you but you lied to me John, you kept fucking lying! I had to find out in a fucking hospital for god's sake! Months, John, fucking months. You had months to tell me the truth and you didn't. I--" He sucked in a breath and balled his hands into fists, jaw clenching as he struggled to compose himself. When he spoke again his voice was level and low, monotone in a way it had never been before. "I'm sorry, but I don't know if I can trust you right now."

He stalked into his room, door not quite slamming but jarring all the same. He left John sitting on the couch, eyes wide, mouth dry, struggling to breathe.

He had fucked up. He had fucked up a lot.

In his second year in London, John noticed that his notebook was running out of pages. Not yet, not quite, but he had only a third or so left. He slid an old photograph of him and Alexander in between two pages near the end, using it to mark his spot. He had sectioned off three pages he swore not to use for anything short of a life-changing thing.

He used the first one of the last few pages when he was about to start his last year. He wrote out a list of reasons he mattered. It was short, mostly consisting of names. It was all he needed. He turned to that page often enough that the edges of it became yellowed from sweaty fingers.

The second one was used when he graduated. He gave it to Martha. The two had become best friends in their years as roommates, but they both knew they probably wouldn’t stay in touch. It was too hard to when they lived in different countries. He drew a portrait of her smiling and holding a baby softshell turtle from a trip to an aquarium. He wrote a note on the back, telling her that he was going to come out, and he didn’t know where that would leave him. When he left, she went with him to the airport. She kissed his cheek and gave him a folded up note with how to find her, and instructions telling him to do so.

The last page was left unused.

Alexander didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the night. After three hours doing mundane tasks in the main room, John gave up on waiting. He locked the door silently after he went into his room. He looked around, feeling hatred and agony rise inside of him. He took the switchblade out of his bedstand drawer and ran it through the curtains in one long slash. The thin blue fabric fell apart under his fingers, shreds drifting to the floor as he brought his arm swinging down again and again. He gutted the pillows, ripping them open at the seams, watching with sadistic satisfaction as the stuffing drifted to the floor. He made no sound as he gouged deep marks into the dresser and the bedstand, but tears blurred his vision.

He stood in the center of his room, chest heaving, fingers white from how hard he was gripping the knife. The pain and anger began to seep out of him, replaced by exhaustion, and then by horror.

What have I done?

His bed was in ruins, the blankets town and mattress fucked up beyond repair. His clothes were scattered around the room, his alarm clock broken into pieces on the floor. The glass of water he had in his room was shattered, and he noticed too late that there were tiny pinpricks of glass in his legs. He leaned down, body numb, and pulled them out. He stepped around the shit everywhere to get to the main room. He silently slipped into his boots, even though he knew he wouldn’t wake Alexander. It was just passed time for him to get to work on the streets. He took out the last piece of paper in his notebook. His fingers drifted over it for a second, before he ripped it out with callous cruelty. He sat at the table, lit only by the tiny lamp that cast a weak yellow glow. He stared down at the paper, pencil in hand, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to say.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally scratched out a simple “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, J.Laurens.”

He left his set of keys on top of the note, setting it on the brown ring where Alexander would set his coffee every day. His heart was wrenching and seizing as he wrote the note, but everything stilled as he set it down. He was too tired to feel.

He felt numb and empty as he went back into his room. He didn’t feel a thing as he shoved pairs of clothes and his stash of rainy day money into his faded old backpack. He shoved the journal in last, and filled his pockets with pens. He knew he wouldn’t be able to lock the door, so he locked his room and opened his window. They were only on the second floor, but he still should’ve felt afraid as he climbed out. He didn’t.

He struggled to slide the window shut, fingers turning red, then white. He made it to the fire escape a few apartments to his left and sighed a breath of relief as he set foot on it. He quickly ran down the steps, and disappeared into the night.

Later, he would notice that the photograph had fallen out of his book.

Chapter Text

---

-Alexander-

“Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, was sorta hoping that you'd stay. Baby we both know that the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day. Crawlin' back to you.”

(Do I Wanna Know?-- Arctic Monkeys)

---

One month before John left South Carolina, Alexander made a promise.

John had fallen asleep— Alex was sure of it— he could tell the difference between him really sleeping and when he was faking it. They were in Alex’s bed at his house, and Alex couldn’t fall asleep.

He twisted John’s hair in his fingers, wrapping the strands around his fingers and tugging them gently, then running his fingers through his hair. It was soft. Alex wouldn’t forget how soft it was.

Into the quiet night, Alexander whispered a promise he would never break; “I swear, I’m never gonna forget you. And I’ll never stop caring about you. Never.”

Alex didn’t break promises.

So that Saturday after the fight, he wasn’t angry when he woke up. He hadn’t forgotten the night before; he hadn’t forgotten what John did, but for fuck’s sake, this was John and he wouldn’t abandon him for a stupid mistake. Even if it was a mistake he kept fucking making, one he knew would hurt Alex, one he could’ve stopped--

Alex took a deep breath, calmed himself down and shuffled to the bathroom. He groggily noticed as he showered that John had cleaned up the mess that was in there earlier. The hot water was cathartic, and he felt his mind begin to clear.

It’s simple. Just go to work, then when you come back, bring him something nice. A cupcake, maybe. A peace offering. Then just… tell him you don’t care about the lying. Well, no, he won’t believe that, and it won’t really be true, just…

He wondered how he was supposed to explain that he cared about the lying and that it hurt, it hurt a fucking lot, but he cared about John more. And he didn’t really forgive John, but he didn’t need to forgive him to trust him. Alex hadn’t been completely honest himself.

--- TWO MONTHS EARLIER ---

He kicked at the ground, sneering at nothing. How fucking dare Thomas motherfucking Jefferson say he didn’t know hard work? He was the one that didn’t know what hard fucking work was. Alex had been poor his whole fucking life! He had worked every goddamn day since he was fifteen! He only ever had one friend and then he was alone, so he knew fucking hardship--

He stopped for a second, thinking of Jack. He missed them. He missed them a lot. For fuck’s sake, it had been over four years, but he still couldn’t be mad without thinking about how Jack would look with squared shoulders and balled fists, ready for a fight. The two together had been unstoppable.

He smiled softly. Alexander noticed movement in his periphery and turned, nearly having a fucking heart attack.

There was a man lying on the ground with his head in his hands. He had long brown curls pulled into a loose bun, a familiar sight that stopped Alex’s heart. He could see that the man's face was covered in dark freckles, and he wondered what the fuck the probability of those genetic traits were.

It’s not Jack. Jack’s in London for Christ's sake. If they came back, they went to South Carolina, not New York. Plenty of Puerto Rican people have that hair and complexion, and tons of things could account for the freckles. It isn’t Jack.

Still, he found himself walking up to the Jack look-alike. His bag and clothes confirmed Alex’s suspicion that he was homeless. He was muttering something to himself, too quiet for Alexander to hear.

“Excuse me?” He didn’t seem to hear him. “Excuse me, sir?” He cringed internally, berating himself for using ‘sir.’ He had no idea what the person’s gender was, he really shouldn’t be making assumptions like that. The person looked up, and Alex was taken aback by the wide, watery eyes staring up at him. They were Jack’s eyes. They were the same shade of hazel; they held the same indignance.

Don’t be stupid. Hazel is a common eye color.

“How…” Who are you? “How old are you?”

Not-Jack coughed and looked down. “Seventeen.”

“You’re…” Alex took in a breath. Jack would be seventeen. Coincidence was one powerful fucker. He dug a crumpled five dollar bill out of his back pocket. Even if the stranger wasn’t Jack, Alex felt compelled to help. It was something in their eyes.

“Here,” he said, holding out the bill, watching Not-Jack look up with confusion. “Here, take it. It’s hot as fuck out, you should get some cooler clothes or something.”

“I can’t…” Alex realized that the “something” in Not-Jack’s eyes was something weak and small. Something that had resigned itself to this.

“Just take it, alright?”

Alexander mentally high-fived himself as Not-Jack took the bill. Still, Not-Jack protested, “I can’t take a stranger’s money.”

Alex sighed. He was relieved, but also sad. Jack wouldn’t have protested. Jack would’ve taken it and said something vaguely grateful. They were too spiteful to be polite to strangers. Jack would’ve had to go through hell and back before they broke to the point that they were so damn different.

“Alexander,” he found himself saying.

“What?” He couldn’t blame Not-Jack for being confused.

“I’m Alexander. What’s your name?”

Something flashed in Not-Jack’s eyes, and they looked distant. Like they weren’t there, just for a moment.

“I don’t have a name.”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, but relaxed his face when he saw how uncomfortable Not-Jack was. Ok, he thought, weird, but intriguing. “So you’re a John Doe?” Perfect, now he would actually know what pronouns Not-Jack used based on their response.

“Um, sure?”

“Well, John Doe, now we’re acquainted.” He smirked victoriously. “So you can’t feel bad for taking somethin’ from a stranger.”

John Doe smiled, and everything was worth it.

“Thank you.”

Alex felt his face heat up, realizing then that people didn’t normally do this sort of thing. The pure sincerity in John Doe’s voice made him bashful. He was never good at being complimented or thanked.

“Yeah just… I hate seein’ people like me down on their luck. So just… yeah.” He chewed on his lip and hurried off, the memory of John Doe’s smile fresh in his mind.

---

"You can touch it. I don't mind." Alexander held his breath, the weight of John’s stare making him repress a shiver. If he were a cliche person, he would have said his gaze burned. But he wasn’t. He hated cliches.

"What is it?" Alex focused when he heard John behind him. Cold fingers ghosted over his spine, and he bit his lip to stay still.

"My friend. I've mentioned them. Jack." He realized how weird that would sound. It was a cluster of roses, and he said it was a person. "When we were kids we made a promise to each other to get matching tattoos.” He hastened to explain, “Jack would get theirs on their right shoulder blade, and I'd get mine on my left. Roses."

"What do the colors mean?"

The yellow one was there to symbolize friendship–an obvious choice, given who the tattoo was for. The lavender was his moment of honesty, as the color was supposed to mean love at first sight. The white was because they were children when they first met, and it represented purity and youthfulness. The last one, yellow with red tips…

He stiffened, realizing just how perfectly poignant it was: friendship, falling in love. The flower meant more than Jack. The flower meant John, too.

“Nothing in particular.”

He heard John hum, and his palm flattened against his back. Alex arched it, moving just enough so the natural curve of John’s hand pressed against his spine in a perfect mold.

I’m totally fucked, aren’t I?

He cleared his throat. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright? You got really quiet there for a moment." I fucked up somehow, didn’t I?

"It's nothing.” Something in his voice made Alex think John was lying, but strangely enough, it didn’t frighten him. “I was just thinking. That's really nice. The story behind the tattoos.” John slowly took his hand off Alexander's back. "When did you get it?"

He smiled softly to himself. "The day I turned eighteen. It was something I had been planning for years, you know. I didn't have a lot of money but I saved it up.” Working his ass off through high school wasn’t just because he needed it, though that was true, but because he didn’t want to wait. “And I had drawn out the design as best as I could, so I could just go in there and get it done."

“I've been planning it for years too,” John whispered.

Alex was taken aback, wondering if he imagined it. "What?" He swallowed, heart beating faster. He was glad John– Jack, holy fuck, he has been Jack the whole fucking time– couldn’t feel it. "Did you say something?"

He swallowed as he waited for an answer.

"No.” Jack– John’s –voice would always sound a little strained when he lied.

"Huh. I thought I might've heard you.” If Alex had focused just then, he would have heard a tiny sigh of relief. "Thanks for patching me up.”

He stood and walked to his room, brain trying to process this new information. A part of him knew, a part of him had known since the beginning, but he hadn’t believed it before. He couldn’t deny it now.

"Hey, do you miss anyone? From when you were growing up?”

It took John a second, and Alex held his breath.

“No,” he replied. Alex felt his brain run out of thoughts, wondering why he said that. He swallowed and nodded, and went inside his room.

He wondered why he started crying that night, but a part of him already knew.

---

John wasn’t the only one at fault. They both made mistakes, even if John kept making his. Alex loved him too much to let that ruin it.

He realized as he dried his hair that he had fallen in love with John before knowing who he used to be to him. He silently laughed, partly bitter and partly amazed. He had fallen in love with the same person twice, without even knowing it. That was incredible, really; they had both changed so much over the four years–they weren’t anything like the people they used to be–and yet, here Alex was, heart in his throat as he dressed and went into the living room. Being in love meant that he bothered to eat, that he was twice as energetic than he was a year ago.

It also meant that the horror that filled him when he read John’s letter hit him twice as hard as he ever thought it could.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, J.Laurens.”

He had only heard someone talk like that, only read something like that, once before. He knew what it meant. He knew why John wrote it.

The paramedics wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He was numb as he watched them load the body into the ambulance. He knew it was no use; Alex found his cousin dead.

Alex’s cup of coffee split into large pieces when he dropped it on the floor. Hot coffee burned his legs, but he didn’t care. The door was locked. Of course it was. John wouldn’t let him in, not after what he said.

This is my fault.

He was verging on hysteria as he slammed his body against the door. Somewhere in the back of his panicked mind he remembered that he couldn’t break the door that way. He stepped back and kicked it as hard as he could, right next to the doorknob. The wood splintered. The second kick sent the door flying open to—

Nothing.

John wasn’t there.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t alive. He was just… gone.

He was gone.

---

Alexander ran a hand through his hair (again) and mussed it up even more, too frantic to care. He paced back across the length of their–his– apartment. He struggled to breathe as the phone call went through.

“He’s gone!” He half sobbed and half yelled into the phone.

“What?” Eliza’s voice was alarmed. “Who’s gone?”

“John! John, John, he’s– he’s gone Eliza! I woke up and he was gone I just–” he stopped moving and leaned heavily onto the table, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Ok calm down, Alex, please. Just breathe, tell me what happened. Walk me through it.” Eliza’s maternal instincts pushed through, as they often did with Alex, to be the calm in his storm.

Alex shuddered and took a deep breath. “We got in a fight last night. I– I said I didn’t trust him. I– fuck. This morning I found a note on the table...” He looked down at the paper and touched it. He rubbed the thick paper between his fingers, recognizing it as something from the journal he gave John all those years ago. He felt sick. “It sounded like a suicide note.” He whispered.

“What?! Is he ok?”

“He is, or, he’s alive at least, I don’t know.” Alex heard her relax. “But I went into his room to see if–if–but he wasn’t. He wasn’t there at all. The window was open. The widow was open, Eliza!”

“Oh god, ok. Ok,” she paused for a second. “I’ll tell Angelica, she can get her people to look for him, and Peggy’s with the kids right now so they can tell them. Just, sit tight for now. Try to think of any place he might be. And Alex,”

“Yeah?”

“John’s a smart man, he’ll be fine.”

“Before he was your friend he was mine, Eliza!” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, that was harsher than I intended it to be. I just…”

He could imagine her sympathetic nod. “I know,” she said. Her voice was soft, soothing. “Have faith in him. He was homeless for a while before he met you, he can handle himself.”

Her logic and rationality calmed his qualms. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Eliza responded. She sounded like she was smiling. “Now go, calm down.” She hung up.

Alex was still jittery from earlier. He felt a little better, but one conversation couldn’t alleviate all of his irrational stress and fear. There was something that he knew that could, though.

In times like these he turned to writing. When he was too stressed to be in the real world, he wrote stories. He had piles of longhand short stories, and countless more on his drive.

So, he would add to the pile.

He flipped his lined notebook to a new page and picked up a pencil.

This one’s for you, John .

---

-John-

“Love like a rain washing over everything, when I wanted you to leave, you would never let me be, and you watched me. You watched me. I closed my eyes and you made me see; I shut my mouth and you made me speak.”

(Cloud Cover-- General Ghost)

---

What the fuck am I doing?

The simple, obvious answer to John’s internal question would be that he was standing in a train station with a crumpled piece of paper in one hand and a quarter grasped in two fingers in the other. What he was doing was hesitating before feeding the payphone (which was harder to find than he had anticipated) and dialing the familiar number.

Of course, that wasn’t what he was wondering. He was thinking about the fact that it was just past dawn and he was phoning someone thousands of miles away after running out on his best friend. He was wondering what the fuck made him think it was a good plan, why the fuck he ever left. He swore he would never leave Alex again.

You fucking lied.

He punched in Martha’s number with maybe a little bit too much force. He held his breath as the phone rang.

She picked it up on the fourth ring.

“Hello? This is Martha M?” John breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know for sure that she would pick up a call from an unknown number.

“Martha, thank god.”

“Jack?” She sounded excited, and he could picture her leaning forwards. “Oh my god where are you?”

“New York,” he replied.  He heard her gasp in surprise, always one for dramatics. “And it’s John now, actually. Bit of a funny story.”

“Alrighty, got it. John. So John, why are you calling? Not that I don’t love to hear your voice, but--”

John interjected, “Yeah, I know. I’ve landed myself in a bit of a situation.” He cursed himself for letting his voice break.

“What kind of situation? ‘Cause so help me god I will fly out there for you--”

“We live in different countries, Martha.”

“And we both know that I can afford it and will do it if I need to.” That shut him up. Martha was right; both of their families could afford sudden transatlantic flights.

He sighed. “You don’t need to. I’m not homeless.” He whispered ‘anymore’ under his breath, hoping she wouldn’t hear, but also kind of hoping she would. “That’s actually what I’m calling about. I-- I fucked up. I fucked up big time.”

“John, John honey, what is it?”

He couldn’t help himself. He started crying. He felt like a fool, standing in a train station at a public phone at the crack of dawn, sobbing and shaking as he braced himself against the filthy wall. “It’s kinda hard to talk about. I--” He broke off in a sob, and pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady himself. The weight of everything was crashing down on him all at once, and he felt like he was drowning.

“It’s ok, love, you take your time.” Her voice was gentle, patient, and John wondered why he had waited so long to talk to her again. He needed her to ground him. “Hey, I forgot this at first, but you said you were in New York?” He nodded, then made a small affirmative noise. “Well you’re not gonna believe it, but so’s Mary.”

His eyes widened. Mary was always his favorite sibling. The youngest sister, the one who listened to him, the one who never questioned him and never said anything bad.

“I saw it on Facebook. She moved to New York a few months ago. I can tell you where she works, if you want.”

“P-please,” John stuttered.

“She works weekends at Starbucks on 120 Church Street. You can probably catch her today.”

He sucked in a breath, staring straight ahead, seeing nothing. He said something, but he didn’t really know what, then Martha was telling him to get a Facebook page and find her so they could talk again or else-- which she said in a theatrically threatening manner-- and he was hanging up.

“I can’t fucking believe this is my life.” He whispered.

---

Jack and Martha were sprawled out next to each other on the floor of their room, third year world history forgotten in favor of the Cosmopolitan magazine Martha snuck in. Morally, Jack hated it, as it was just a trap to make people feel like shit about themselves, but he had to admit that the quizzes and shit could be entertaining.

“So, ideal qualities in a man.” Martha wiggled her eyebrows. He rolled his eyes and laughed, but was honestly glad she was so ok with the whole gay transboy thing. He was lucky to wind up with one of the few chill girls at the school as his roommate. “Number one: which do you prefer; charitability, humility, honesty, or intelligence? Oh shit, that’s hard, go with two.”

“Honesty and intelligence,” he answered without thinking. “Relationships just don’t work without honesty, and intelligence is sexy.”

“I second that.” She laughed. “Ok, number two: what kind of gift would he give y-- ok this is stupid.” She threw the magazine behind her. “Really though, what would you look for in a guy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why am I the only one answering these questions?”

“Because ideal ‘guy’ doesn’t exactly apply to me.” She feigned nonchalance, but John could see her looking at him nervously.

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. Ok but, ideal girl?”

“Dolley Payne.”

“Aww, someone’s got a crush~”

“Shut your fucking mouth and answer the damn question, Laurens. What do you look for in a man?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically and pursed his lips to think. “Someone who knew me, I think. More than anything else, someone who knew me, like, when I need space, when I need to blow off steam, that kinda stuff.”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly, nodding to make him go on.

He sighed. “Someone who would, I dunno, keep things interesting. New. And I’d like to be the taller one in the relationship, but hey, I gotta be realistic here.”

“Some guys would be shorter than you.”

“Not many.”

“True, but whatever. Ok, weddings.”

“Really Martha?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes really, now answer the damn question.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He chewed his lip as he thought. “Something small. I wouldn’t want to tell many people. Not my whole biological family. I’d tell Mary though.”

“She’s your favorite, right?”

He nodded with a small fond smile. “She’s pretty great. She’s the only who ever bothered sending me letters. She’s always been amazing. Cute kid, and to make things better, she inherited my ‘fuck the system’ attitude, which believe me, was fucking hilarious to see on a ten year old. I never realized how tiny I must have seemed until she started acting like I did.” He paused and leaned back, homesickness growing inside of him. “I always thought that Mary would be one of my top three naming choices. For a kid, that is.”

Martha sat and shifted to lean against her bed. “What would your other name choices be?”

“Well, I’d want to have one masculine name, one feminine name, and one genderless name, so when I saw the baby I could choose whichever fit best. Mary, like I said. I thought about Alice, cause that’s just a nice name, but I’d prefer the name to have more of a personal meaning. So, for the neutral name, I’d go with Alex.”

“Cause of Alex Hamilton.”

He nodded. “Then for the masculine name I’d probably go with Marcus. It was a name I was looking at for myself but it just… It doesn’t really fit, if you know what I mean.”

Martha nodded. “Do you think Jack fits?”

“Sort of?” He sighed and leaned back against his bed. “It only mostly fits. Like it’s not completely me, you know? It’s just…”

“Good enough?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at her. “Exactly.”

---

The Starbucks was fucking packed. Not that John expected anything else, of course, it was a morning in New York City, of course every coffee shop would be full.

He saw his little sister as soon as he stepped in line. She was behind the counter, taking orders, as the other baristas made the drinks as fast as physically possible. She didn’t notice him, for which he didn’t blame her. He was glad about it, because he still didn’t know what to say. What do you say? What do you say when you see your sister for the first time in years? She wasn’t even there when he was kicked out, as she was off on a college tour. Being his father’s bastard child meant that Mary was only a few months younger than him. She had said something about taking a gap year after high school, and he assumed that was why she was here.

She looked so different from how he remembered her, but she was definitely his sister. Mary Laurens still had her perfect dirty-blonde curls and smooth, pale complexion, the same hazel eyes they both got from their father, the same small stature and indignant posture. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open when she saw John, obviously recognizing him.

He swallowed and looked her in the eye. “I’ll just have a tall iced green tea. For John. Mary I…”

She still looked dazed, but nodded and wrote his order on a cup. “Yeah. Yeah of course. I get a break in an hour.”

He sat down in a corner of the coffee shop with his drink and watched the people go in and out as he waited. After about one minute (he was never good with waiting), he pulled out his book. He was completely out of pages, but he still felt the need to write in it– something, anything. But no words came. So he flipped through it, reading his old ramblings, the accounts of weird dreams he’s had, notes of things to do, and random ideas he’d thought of, scattered in between countless drawings. There were drawings of animals, namely turtles and dogs, drawings of flowers and trees, and a few drawings of Martha, but mainly just drawings of Alexander.

He read an old letter dated October 16th, 2012.

Dear Alexander,

I miss you. I miss everything about you.

He flipped the page. After seconds of staring at the drawing after the letter, he turned the book around and pulled out a pencil. On the back of the letter, he began to sketch.

“Is that Alex?” His pencil slipped a little at the soft voice. Mary was standing next to his table when he looked up, then sat down across from him. He noticed upon closer look that she had a tiny stud in her nose, and he grinned. Her mother would throw a hissy fit over it, and he could just picture Madda smirking in the background.

He nodded. “How much do remember about him?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I remember having a massive crush on him when I started going to your school. I remember having to tell myself not to go near him ‘cause he was your friend, and everyone thought you were dating.”

He laughed. “We weren’t, actually. Dating.”

“But you wish you were.” She looked down when he stiffened. “Sorry. So, John?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. John. Surprise?”

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “Not really. I could totally tell. Not like I actually knew what trans was since you know, South Carolina, but I could totally tell you weren’t like who people said you were.”

He laughed softly. “That’s what Alex said.”

Her eyes widened. “You saw him again?”

He froze. Yeah Mary, I’m living with him. I don’t actually anymore, since he found out who I was last night after months of not telling him and hates me now. “Yeah… It’s complicated.”

She nodded. “I get it. But, you can tell me, you know? I’m your favorite sister.”

She was right; she was his favorite sister. She was always his favorite. Maybe it was because they were close in age, and she was just a grade behind (although not for long, since she must have skipped something in high school, much to Mrs. Lauren’s shagrin), or maybe it was because she always listened and never said anything to hurt him, but whatever it was, John needed to tell her. So he did. He told her every last detail, from being kicked out to running away just the night before. The more he told her, the more stupid he felt. He never told her about the pregnancy. That was something she didn’t need to know. He just lied and said he was in the hospital for dehydration, nothing else.

“I’m being really dumb, aren’t I?” He put his head in his hands and groaned. “I just– he hates me. He hates me.”

“Mhm.” He looked up to see her with an eyebrow cocked and arms crossed. No wonder she had left; there was no way her mother would want a sarcastic liberal around the house. That was supposed to be gone with John. “John,” she said, “you’re my brother, and I love you, but you’re being an idiot. This is Alex we’re talking about. Sure, he has serious issues with lies, but he’s not gonna throw away years of this. He loves you.”

“No, he really doesn’t,” he couldn’t keep the bitter words from slipping out of his mouth. After all, if he loved me, he wouldn’t have said those things.

“I will slap you.” He laughed a little as she dramatically pointed at the door. “Go! Go fucking talk to him! Go talk to him and start dating like literally everyone though you were back in middle school. He doesn’t hate you.” She glanced at the barista behind the counter, who was handling the near-empty shop perfectly well alone, but was still sending Mary warning glances. “My boss, on the other hand, will have my ass if I don’t get back to work. So fucking go.”

He stood with her and hugged her. She indulged him and waited for him to pull away first, then let him scribble his address onto the nearest surface, which just happened to be his coffee cup. She took it, and smiled as he left.

She was right. He needed to talk to Alex.

---

Mrs. Laurens was an intelligent woman. Everything she did was calculated, the outcomes weighed and assessed, everything strategized. It was what made John’s father love her, and it was what pushed him away. It was what made her the perfect person whenever John needed advice, but it was what made her a bad parent. She was too perceptive. It was unsettling, and she used it to her own benefit. John couldn’t trust her.

She had called him down to a family dinner, which wasn’t unusual. The children were always required to eat together. John suspected it had more to do with keeping up appearances than genuine care. That particular night was nothing out of the ordinary at first. They had amazing food (that Madda cooked, of course), and strained conversation. After an awkward silence, Mrs. Laurens spoke up.

“Jacqueline, dear,” she began.

“Jack.” He muttered bitterly, but turned to look at her.

“Jacqueline, we’ve decided to send you abroad for high school.”

John dropped his fork. “What?”

She folded her arms on the table and gave him a look. She knew he wouldn’t make a scene at dinner, not in front of his siblings. She knew that he wouldn’t drag them into a fight. He cared about them and wouldn’t sacrifice them; she was not that considerate.

“Your father and I thought it would do you good.” John turned to his dad who took a drink, very clearly trying to avoid the conversation. “You need a change of pace. You need to meet some good influences, and seeing another culture would give you a nice change of perspective.”

Ok, so, fuck the whole ‘not making a scene’ thing.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Jacqueline, language--”

“No, let me speak!” He cut her off. He was rigid in his seat, leaning forwards, fist balled tight on the table. “A change of pace? A change of perspective? Please, that’s a load of horse shit and we all know it!”

He heard Mary suck in a breath, and she gave him a look that he knew meant she agreed but wouldn’t get involved. The younger kids were watching with wide eyes, and John felt guilt accompanying his rage, but he couldn’t stop.

“This’s not gonna do me any goddamn good. You’re taking me away from my friends, from my family, you’re taking me away from everything and everyone I care about and you think that’s gonna do me good? And don’t feed me any of that fucking bullshit about seeing another culture to change my perspective, you don’t know jack shit about perspective! You’re white, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

Towards the end, John knew that he was saying things that he didn’t entirely agree with, but he just wanted to piss her off. He was distressed and pissed off, and under it all, he was trying not to cry. He was too overwhelmed to have a filter.

“Jacqueline, you calm down right now,” her voice had dropped dangerously. While it was still steady and she seemed calm, John felt fear fill him, and he shrunk in his seat. Her eyes were sharp and bore into him, and he couldn’t help but start to panic. Mrs. Laurens definitely noticed his change of demeanor, as she smirked slightly and resumed eating.

“You’re going to an all-girls Catholic school in Northern London. It’s a fine establishment. Expensive.” She made sure to look at him so he knew just how much she was doing for him. “It will do you good, Jacqueline. London happens to be a diverse place–” Mary snorted softly next to John. “And it’s sophisticated, elegant, which is, quite frankly, something you need. Don’t act as if this is the first time you’ve been away from your half-siblings, Jacqueline.” There she was, playing the ‘you don’t belong in this family’ card. “You’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. And as for your friend–” She took a long drink of her red wine and looked him directly in the eye. “Alexander is a bad influence on you. You don’t need to spend your time around someone like him, Jacqueline, he has no class. We are a part of high society, and it’s time for you to learn to act like it.”

He felt himself begin to hyperventilate, and he tried to calm down, to breathe, but he couldn’t. All he could think about was the way she fucking looked at him and called Alex a bad influence–called him uncivilized– and he felt rage swell in him exponentially. It took all of John’s self control not to leap over the table and strangle her, to scream every insult she deserved and stab her with the tiny fucking salad fork she was using so nonchalantly. Instead, he slammed his hands on the table, making a mental note to apologize to James for scaring him, and turned to run upstairs.

Hours later, he was starving, but too stubborn to leave his room. He had barely eaten, and when Madda knocked on his door with a cold plate of leftovers, he cried.

---

John’s heart kept skipping beats as he waited out front of the door. He had some sort of plan, a grand old entrance where he would burst through the doors and proclaim his undying devotion, but any delusion of grandeur died when he realized that he left his keys on the desk. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to gather the courage to knock. He raised his hand, but on a whim, he decided to try the handle. Despite him thinking the door would be locked (Alexander was obsessive-compulsive when it came to locks, so it was obviously something deliberate), the knob turned.

When he pushed it open, he was greeted with Alexander’s head snapping up (literally snapping, John winced at the sound) and looking like his heart had fallen out of him. He was sitting at the desk, piles of papers scattered around him, and he started tipping over his chair in his haste to get up and cover them. John’s eyes flicked over the pile of papers, wondering what the hell he was hiding. He looked back at Alex, and for a second they just stared at each other, not speaking a word. The silence was broken with the sound of the door falling shut behind John, making them both jump.

LIke that, the dam broke.

Words were pouring out of John’s mouth and he wasn’t entirely sure what they were, but he caught an apology in there somewhere, and maybe some sort of confession. He was babbling and Alex was going on about something too, and the whole thing was a mess. Just like the start, they both stopped, and the silence was jarring. Then they were crossing the floor and meeting in the middle. John wanted to speak, but with one look at Alexander’s eyes, all was forgotten.

Alex swallowed, and John’s eyes flicked down, partially to watch his throat, partially to avoid his earnest eyes. When he looked back, Alex opened his mouth, drew in a breath, and spoke.

“You–you know I don't blame you. I’m so sorry, John, I never should have said what I said–” he was interrupted by John.

“I never should have lied to you, Alex. You were right–”

“No, that doesn’t excuse it, I should’ve just–I don’t know. I don’t know, but I should have done something else.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it, eyes squeezed shut. John knew that face. He knew what Alex looked like when he was falling into a bad place, when he hated himself and felt overwhelmed with misplaced guilt, and he knew that the hands tugging in his hair weren’t just reflexive. John tangled his hands in with Alexander’s, pulling them out gently, and running them through his hair to calm him. Alex’s breathing slowed, and his face relaxed. He watched John’s face with wide eyes, only closing them when John lightly scratched his scalp. His hands unfurled at his sides, and John watched the stress seep out of his body in wonder.

God, I am so in love with this man.

He wasn’t thinking so much as he was acting on instinct and need, but his hands tightened in Alexander’s hair. He stopped stroking his hair, and instead pulled his head closer, pausing for just a moment with their faces mere inches apart, watching Alex watch him. After a second of hesitation and a buzz of anticipation at the feeling of Alex’s breath on his lips, Alex leaned forward and closed the gap. His lips were soft and worn from being bitten, and he tasted like chamomile. John savored every sensation, an unbelievable happiness filling him as he finally learned how Alexander Hamilton tasted.