Chapter Text
If Lafayette thinks he can beat Alex just by having Hercules help him cheat, he’s sorely mistaken. Betrayed by the rest of his so-called friends and left to fend for himself, Alex knows exactly when Laf’s next Two is coming out of that deck.
Four more cards. Three more cards. Two more-
The door to the apartment opens, screeching horrifically in that way that always makes him cringe. A round of gasps and Laf’s triumphant laughter has him smacking his hands down on the floor indignantly, almost growling.
“Cheaters!”
“Not even!” Peggy laughs, “The universe is just in our favor.”
The door screeches closed. “Um. Hi”
“Hi, John,” the group choruses from where they’re sitting in a circle on the floor.
John, Alex’s roommate, is... adjacent to Alex’s group of friends. They all like him well enough, and in another universe, they probably could’ve been close friends. Only, the guy is a blatant homophobe. In the first month or so of their living together, he’d said something way out of line under the guise of worrying about Alex’s soul. Alex nearly left then and there, but he hadn’t said anything since, just got twitchy and weird about anything too queer.
Still, he’s kind, in the most genuine will-not-hesitate-to-help-a-stranger way, and funny when he wants to be, so he floats pleasantly on the outskirts; they chat, greet each other, and John and Alex work well as roommates, but they never really invite him into any of their games, and he never really invites them to... church. (Or whatever it was he does when not at work).
“Spoons again? I don’t get it - y’all are always cheating. Where’s the fun?”
“That is the fun,” Peggy says.
“Because all of us are cheating,” Eliza continues for them, giggling, “The game stops being about being fastest and starts being about lies and deceit.”
John rolls his eyes fondly and retreats towards his room. He pauses briefly at the doorway to toss something in Alex’s direction. “Think fast!”
The bag of chips smacks him in the face and lands in his lap before his hands can come up to catch it. A glance down confirms what was already known: it’s a bag of Utz - pretty much the only thing Alex will eat on his bad days. Today isn’t a bad day, but… he’s grateful.
“Another round?” Angelica grins viciously. No matter how many times she loses, she’s always convinced she’s a shoe-in for the next round.
“You guys go ahead,” Alex tells them, “I should study.”
This is received with a round of boos and egging from the Schuylers to take a break!, but he ignores them. It isn’t like he’s abandoning them, he’s still involved in the joking and conversation. Just. Also working.
He buries himself in his writing, head snapping up when he hears someone say his name. “What was that?” Well… maybe he isn’t participating. Whatever, his work is more important.
Eliza rolls her eyes at him. “We were talking about John.” Alex straightens and she laughs. “Exactly.”
“Exactly?”
“We were just saying,” Laf jumps in, sounding for all the world like he’s trying to save the conversation. What had they been saying? “That our John seems to have been less chatty lately, non?” Hercules makes a face at this that assures Alex that that wasn’t what they were talking about - something he could’ve guessed without all of the odd behavior, because that wasn’t true at all.
John had been as happy and ‘chatty’ as ever, the proof was literally open (wait, when did Alex open the Utz?) in his lap. It was also the less interesting part of Laf’s statement.
“Our John?”
“Of course that’s the part he noticed,” Angelica mutters.
“Well, who else’s John would he be?” Laf says reasonably, looking like the cat that got the cream for a reason Alex is sure he doesn’t want to understand. “He has no other friends, not that I know of.”
Alex opens his mouth. Closes it.
“Exactement.”
Something clangs from inside John’s room. Everyone turns to the source of the noise, Alex rising to go check what was wrong, halted by John’s voice carrying out through the door, which is… odd. The apartment has its (many, many) faults, but poor sound proofing is not one of them. And it isn’t like John to yell.
“What is he saying?” Peggy asks eagerly.
Hercules crawls closer to the door, but the voice has already died down.
“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Eliza asks.
“No!” John shouts. “No, sorry, just don’t...” and the voice trails back down into incomprehensible.
“Can’t make anything out,” Hercules says, returning to their little circle.
“Maybe it’s-”
John bangs his door open, eyes wide and breath surprisingly ragged for someone who couldn’t’ve done anything more than a bit of aggressive pacing. His eyes snap up.
“Alex.” His voice cuts through the air like a bullet. “Can I borrow your car?”
“My car!?” That car might as well be his bride, Alex loved it so much. Green so minty you want to lick it with a white interior and soft brown accents, an open trunk that he personally attached enough seats in fit eight, classic 70’s style, brown wheels that he works his ass off to replace when they pop - it’s a beauty. Alex lived out of that car before he moved in with John, and was known to defend it rabidly; he rarely let anyone in it, and when he did there were rules - lots of them. All of his friends (and John) knew this. Nobody borrowed his car, nobody had even suggested it before.
John nodded dumbly.
“Why on earth do you want to borrow my car?" He tries to make it clear in his tone what a ridiculous request it is, but John’s brain doesn’t seem to be working.
“I need to get to South Carolina.”
Alex blinks, looks around, glad to see that everyone was wearing equally incredulous expressions. “...No.”
John nods, apparently expecting this (so he isn’t completely out of it), and pulls out his phone. “That’s okay. I can get there by bus in three days if I get tickets fast enough.”
“Hang on a second,” Angelica says, always the first to regain consciousness after a big shock. “Why do you need to take an impromptu trip to South Carolina?”
John’s previously focused expression goes blank. “Family emergency,” he says curtly, words chopped.
Huh. John’s family doesn’t come up often - Alex had honestly assumed he was as origin-less as himself until he broke down crying once, drunk, sobbing about how badly he missed his siblings. And now he’s - what? Going home? It’s probably a big emergency.
Well.
“How long does it take to get to South Carolina by car,” he states more than asks, very quietly.
“Quoi?” Laf hisses.
“Thirteen hours, give or take.” John doesn’t break eye contact with him.
“And you’d just be there and back?”
“Are you seriously considering this?” The words are accusatory, but Eliza sounds more curious than anything else.
“I could be back by tomorrow night, if I brute-forced it.”
“Not happening,” Alex snaps, “Nobody drives my car sleep deprived. Nobody drives my car.” He stands up, points at John. “I’ll take you.”
There’s a litany of protests from the people on the floor, but the magnitude with which John sags with relief solidifies his decision. Already bustling to his room, he tells John to get packed for the trip.
Maybe if he grabs his things frantically and efficiently enough, he won’t have time to think about how he’ll be missing some very important classes or about how he won’t be able to write at all while he’s driving or about how- well. He doesn’t have time to think about it. (His laptop goes in his bag anyways; he’s sure he’ll find time at some point.)
“That’s all you’re bringing?” The messenger bag slung around John’s shoulder was small, too small to fit even a computer. Honestly, Alex can’t think of something he would want to bring that would fit in that bag and not in his pocket, but he supposes he’ll find out.
“Well, it’s not going to be very long,” John mutters.
“Right.” Alex nods and turns to his friends, all of whom are wearing expressions too smug to be applicable to the current situation. The Schuyler sisters are doing that thing where they have an entire conversation in raised eyebrows and tilted heads, which makes Alex feel like he’s really missing something. “You guys can stay, if you need, so long as you make John pay for it if you set the house on fire.”
Our John, Lafayette mouths at him, and Alex ignores him. Driving him doesn’t prove anything, he’d do the same for anyone who needed the help.
(No he wouldn’t. Not even for a friendly coworker, or the nice barista he says hi to every morning. This is a favor he’d reserve only for the people currently in his living room. But he’s trying very hard not to think about the implications of that.)
((John would. John would drop everything for anyone. Not thinking about that either, though.))
The weight of his backpack once he slings it over his shoulders really presses in the reality of what he’s doing, but John’s tight shoulders and furrowed brows are desperate enough to stop him from doubting his decision. “Ready?”
John relaxes the tiniest bit and nods. “Thank you.”
Shouldering his way past him to the front door is the only way Alex can manage not to think about how small and weak those words had sounded.
When they’re situated in the car, both of them having sent off the appropriate emails to employers and, in Alex’s case, teachers, and Alex has picked his keys up off the floor (he made the mistake of asking John where they were which resulted in a think fast! and regret), Alex finally ventures into the dangerous territory. “So what sort of… family emergency are we talking about here?”
Looking at John isn’t really an option once they’re on the road, but the sharp breath he takes in is plenty audible.
“Nevermind then,” Alex rushes, “we can just...” he tries desperately to think of something they could talk about, but it doesn’t come.
They drive for about five minutes in incredibly awkward silence before Alex’s patience wears thin. “So what did you bring, in that tiny little bag?”
“It’s not tiny,” John protests, but he’s pulling it up onto his lap so Alex figures he’ll tell him, “it’s a completely regular sized bag.”
“It is tiny. T-I-N-Y. Did you even bring any clothes?”
Silence.
“Exactly!” Alex laughs. “That’s what I thought. So what’s in it?”
“I’ve got…” he trails off so Alex throws a glance over to what he’s pulled out.
A light brown, clearly well-loved stuffed rabbit is hanging by the arm from where he’s holding it, almost like they’re holding hands. The fur, which was probably once soft, looks coarse and matted from use, it’s got a dark stain on its stomach which is hidden well by its general discoloration, and the spots that are supposed to be plump - its stomach, the ends of its limbs - have been squished thin. One of its buttoned eyes has gone a little loose in its socket.
Biting the inside of his cheek barely stops Alex from saying something like oh my god, or that’s adorable, or why on earth would you bring that?, but it does. There’s a gentleness that’s required here, that much is clear from John’s tone of voice. “Does it have a name?” He asks as kindly as he can.
“She’s Moby.” And that tender, fond voice all but forces a smile onto Alex’s face.
“Moby?”
“Moby.”
Pulling onto the road that will take them out of the city, Alex feels a lot better about the three-or-so days ahead of them.
Their silence doesn’t feel so awkward any more, especially when John in his periphery pulls Moby close to his chest and plants a kiss on the top of her head. At some point, without him really realizing it, Moby is sitting in between Alex’s legs, long bunny ears draped over his thigh.