//TW: attempted suicide, self-harm, self-hatred, swearing, abuse\\

Thomas

I stared up at the gray, monochromatic ceiling, surrounded as I was by the incessant beeping and the cold, unloving metal of the hospital machines. What a strange color, gray. With so much potential to be so many different things, and yet it manages to be the bleakest thing in existence, a funeral dirge of its own kind, a color for all those who had tried to be something brilliant and burning and beautiful, and failed so spectacularly that their fall wasn't even memorialized, their names forever fading into obscurity. It could have been a canvas to be painted on, to be filled with a new world and a new time, but instead, they ruined that all with the solemn, under spoken tones of a neutral gray.

I stared up at the ceiling and wished it would disappear, so I could touch the open and limitless sky. So I could fly, sweeping over forests, both of trees and of stone and marble, and leave this world behind for the one that waited me just beyond. So I could feel the wind running through my hair and drifting down my body as I soared, liberated from the tethers keeping me trapped in this bed, in this room, under a gray, boring, incomplete ceiling.

My gaze flickered down to my bare arms, exposing the slashes that marked my skin. I stared at them, wondering what would have happened if the knife had just gone a bit deeper, torn open a major blood vessel even sooner. Part of me itched to run my fingers down the cuts stitched together with an experienced grace, but I was simply too exhausted to move. A weariness settled down in my bones, a weariness that weighed like statues of fallen soldiers and lost kings.

I let out a breath, leaning my head back against the cold, metal frame of the hospital bed, though there wasn't anywhere else to go. I was just as trapped here as one of the machines, the only thing separating us being the fact that I had a beating, breathing heart.

My stomach rumbled, another note in the one-instrument band that was the heart monitor, keeping its steady rhythm diligently. God, I despised that noise. I just wish it would stop, so I could be free from having to listen to its intolerable beeping.

It was official.

I hated hospitals.

The noises that all pile together despite their remarkable quietness, the smell of disinfectant barely concealing the underlying rotting stench of death, oh, and the colors? The colors of pure neutrality, refusing to take a stance, refusing to offer me any feeling besides utter detestation? How could anything thrive here, how could anything want to fight for its last few breaths, when there was nothing but that foreboding omen hanging so thick in the air?

I would have cried, if I had any tears left in me. But the sad truth of it was that I had used them all up and dried them all out, and all I could do now was stare up at the ceiling and wish I could just leave and never ever have to come back.

There are voices in my head.

Voices that scream and remain silent.

Voices that demand a thousand different things, all contradicting each other in every way possible.

Voices that just want everything to come to a halting end until the last stars flicker out of existence once and for all, almost as much as I do.

There are voices and they will not be silenced; they will scream and scream until they have what they want, until they are satisfied with the way they have left me.

I despised them with every bit of me.

I'm so sick of hospitals, of this empty void filled only by the noises, of James and his inability to finally let me have what I wanted, of everything.

And I'm really tired and I want to go home.

Too bad that'll never happen. Because home is where the heart is, and I can promise you that my heart does not lie with James. I think we all know where my home is. I'd like to go home.

God, I need him right now. And that made me hate myself even more, the way I craved for his existence like some stupid lonely animal without somebody to live for. I need his arms wrapped around my body, his warm lips pressed against my ear, promising me things he could never accomplish, and I shouldn't have been so naive as to actually trust the things he whispered when we were alone. For that is the best time to lie: behind closed doors. Because who else could hold you accountable?

Certainly not me.

I despised myself even more for how much I wanted Alexander, for how willing I was to put him in harm's way just so I could have a few moments of relief, of some little sensation that bordered on happiness. But I needed him nonetheless, ached to feel the swelling of his chest against mine as he slept peacefully, unaware of the millions of times I woke up in the middle of the night and thanked whatever spirits watched over us that I was there, with him, and that it had not just been a wonderful dream.

The monitor keep beating, reminding me of how alone I was. The sound of my heartbeat filled the air, but it was not the one I wanted to hear.

I could hardly move even my hands without feeling some tremor of pain rocket through me, reminding me of my failures and everything he had done.

Why couldn't he have just left me alone? Why couldn't he have been content with all that he had already taken? Why did he have to take this to?

Why, why, why?

Why do I keep asking questions, expecting some answer that may actually satisfy me? There is no logical solution; we are way past that point.

But I'm so sick of sitting in this uncomfortable bed doing nothing but dreading what's going to happen when I go back to James. And I had already read all of the books that he had brought me. Twice.

I blinked, wishing to feel something other than this permanent nothingness that had seemed to settle in my stomach like the most unrelenting of winters.

I closed my eyes, bathing in the darkness, and wished I never had to open them ever again.

Of course, that ended far too soon.

A soft knock resounded on the wooden door, bringing me back to the present, back to the tiny little hospital room when my mind was already a million miles away. "Mr. Jefferson?" asked one of the really nice nurses. I liked the really nice nurses, they were only trying to help. None of this is their fault. "You have a visitor."

"Okay," I managed out, the single word taking almost all of my strength. I didn't dare hope. I knew exactly who it was, for nobody else knew my location except John, and I'm sure he's already moved on from this terrible day. Not that I blame him.

I wish I could do the same.

She stepped inside, keeping it just narrow enough to where I couldn't see who waited on the other side of that door, that last barrier. The nurse eyed the tray still sitting on the table, just as she had left it except marginally colder. "You really should eat," she advised, casting me a warm smile that was almost enough to melt the vines of ice that had taken root in my heart. Almost enough, almost but not quite.

"I'm not hungry," I returned, returning with what I hoped was a polite enough smile of my own. "But thank you, I appreciate it."

"Regardless, you should eat. With the amount of blood you've lost, you need sustenance."

I nodded, my hands curling into fists tight enough to where my fingernails dug into my skin, hopefully breaking the surface, hopefully spilling more. I thanked her, gazed down at the ground, and tried to fight back the tears that bubbled up in the corners of my eyes.

"Anyway," she said, perhaps sensing that there would be no reasoning with me, perhaps deciding to leave it for later. "There's a young named James here to see you. Should I let him in?"

"He can come in," I said without hesitation. Because I knew that if I didn't let him in now, I'd be in so much trouble later. Not that I wouldn't be already, James will probably hurt me once we're alone.

Is it sad that I've come to expect it now? Is it sad that such a horrible thing has become so commonplace? And yet, I slightly long for it, just to feel something. If pain is the last thing that can root me to this world, then I'd gladly take it in droves.

Maybe there's no point in trying to fly away, not anymore. It's a daydream, a desire but nothing tangible. Maybe when I finally die, I'll be able to feel that quick sensation of flight before greeted by that solemn nothingness.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you."

The nurse gave me one last brief look before pushing the door wider and allowing that figure waiting on the other side entrance to a world he had no right to be apart of. And yet he came, his presence destroying the last comfort I could find in the emptiness, and I bit down on my tongue to suppress the anxiety building up into a imperfect house of cards so close to caving.

"Tommy!" James exclaimed, running to me and engulfing me in a hug. I felt my heart speed up in my chest as he touched me. His fingers dug into my back like claws. "I missed you so much! Are you okay? I was so worried!"

And those few words melted whatever doubt the nurse retained as she stepped back into the doorframe, giving the two of us one last look. That's all we needed. One look, and you would think that we were happy. That we were always meant to be. One look, and never anything else, because there's nothing ever hiding just beneath this false fabrication of happiness.

The nurse laughed. "I'll give you two a moment alone."

Please don't leave me alone with him.

James hugged me tightly until he was sure the nurse was gone before letting go and asking, "You didn't tell anyone, did you?"

The mask dropped so easily, it still astounded me, dashing that fleeting, persistent hope that he won't be as bad as I think he will be, that his cruelty was a mere thing of the moment. That he will turn around one day, and treat me with the love I so desperately needed to be treated with, just to feel like I am human.

But the mask dropped and the words he uttered left chills spiraling down my back, freezing whatever else remained. There was only fear with James. No anger, no sadness. Just that blanket of fear that so completely coats everything else.

"No," I lied, my grip tightening on the blanket. If he found out I had just lied to him, I'd be dead. If he found out I told someone, I'd be dead.

I'm dead either way, aren't I? It doesn't matter what I do.

He relaxed. "Good." Then, he smiled. "So we're ready to put this whole... Alexander... thing behind us?"

"I—" I began, finding it so hard to speak, finding anything I could say dying in my words. I turned away from him, just so I didn't see the look he fixed me with.

"Thomas?"

Again, I couldn't answer him.

James sighed, drifting backwards. His hand found mine, clutching tightly. "You have no damn right to be mad at me, you understand that, right?"

"I know."

"Good." He let out a huff of air, assessing me with his cold gaze. And then, to add insult to injury, he softened and leaned forward, letting his fingers caress my cheek as if he had any right to. "Listen, I know you're upset with me. But you have to move on, Tommy. I promise I'll make everything okay again, alright?"

"I...you—"

It was as if I hadn't spoken, the way he plowed forward. "It's going to be okay, Tommy, I promise. You'll get out of here, and everything can go back to normal. You'll forget Alexander, and I won't ever have to hurt you again. You'll do as I ask, and we'll be happy together. Doesn't that sound nice, Tommy?"

I nodded, my entire body trembling as the world swayed around me. God, I was so hungry.

"Can I get you anything? Chocolate? Ice cream?

I felt sick inside, but I forced a smile to my face. "That would be nice," I lied. That's the third lie I've told in the past hour. Of course, if James ever finds out I've lied to him, he'll hurt me. Can't say I don't deserve it, but what can I do? I really am a lying, cheating whore, aren't I?

"So, Tommy, are we willing to put this whole... Alexander thing behind us?"

"Yeah," I said. "Let's put this whole Alexander thing behind us."

James reached forward and cupped my face in his hands, his lips connecting with mine.

I yielded myself over to him, allowing him to take what he wanted because the story never changed. It was the same ending, no matter what I tried. No matter how hard I fought or how I tried to escape, in the end, I was always going to end up in this same position, James's fingers digging into my back, biting hard on my lips just to reaffirm the true order of things.

He gripped me tightly, cementing me forever as his prisoner.

Then, all of a sudden, his phone went off.

I blinked as James pulled away. Hardly sparing me a second glance as if I meant nothing to him at all, he dug his phone out of his pocket and answered it. His brow furrowed as the voice on the other end drifted through my ears; I could vaguely make it out, but not enough to discern any particular words. James rolled his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line, and mumbled his agreement every now and again.

Perfect timing.

I sat still, clutching onto the blanket for all the good it did. My gaze darted to James's other hand, laying pressed flat against the mattress, and part of me wondered how it felt. If his skin was as smooth as I remember it being, his warmth no longer a thing of distant memories that have long since flooded my dreams. My fingers itched to reach out and touch it, to find him in whatever cave he had been trapped in for so long. The real James. The one who cared, the one who never forgot to remind me how much he loved me. The one who had been mine.

Finally, James bid the person on the other line farewell and hung up.

"Is everything okay?" I asked softly.

"I have to go."

"G-Go? Go where?"

"Sudden meeting just popped up." He sighed, moving his other hand further away from mine again. "I better go and handle it before it grows out of hand. I'll see you later, okay?"

And something inside of me took control, some desperate, half-starved need to rekindle the embers of our broken relationship, revive the dying flowers of what we had once been. Something inside of me that, for just a split-second, ached for him. His coldness, his anger, everything. I needed him simply because I needed somebody, and he was there. I needed him and I needed whatever remained of our love because I could not sit back and watch something else be destroyed, not again.

"Wait!" I pleaded, my hand shooting out and wrapping around his arm, holding him in place. And then, I asked him something I never thought I would say, something I never thought I would have wanted. "James, please stay with me. I...I don't want to be alone."

And for a moment, I thought he would concede. I thought he would put his phone away, block out the rest of the world, and pretend that we were alright. That we were still in love the way we once had been. I thought he would sit by my side and tell me stories of far off worlds the way he used to, just to spark my imagination. Just to strengthen our bond. I thought James would stay and we could sit and pretend there was nothing else but us, and that we just needed each other.

And James pulled his arm away.

"You have got to be kidding me," he said, laughing a broken, tired laugh. "After everything, and you're still trying to trap me in your shit?"

"James—"

"You got yourself into this mess, Thomas. You're going to deal with the consequences. I'm sorry, but this is just more important than you. I'll see you later."

I fell silent, drifted backwards, and closed my eyes so he couldn't see the tears. His footsteps against the tile floor echoed across the cramped, empty corners of the room. And then, he was gone, as though he had always just been a figment of my nightmares. He closed the door behind him, leaving me forever separated from the outside world, from the grace of human touch. He was just a dream. A being always in my peripheral.

And the second he was gone, I burst into tears.

They came uncontrollably, forcing themself through me as I tried my best to strain against them. I was fighting a fight I could not win for so long, and I was exhausted, and the sobs won because they simply always did. I cried into my hands, draining whatever strength I had left, wishing I could be more than the sad mess that I am.

I cried for what felt like centuries, wishing for everything to just end, desperate to open my eyes and find myself in a new world with new rules, a new destiny waiting for a simple boy who should have died years and years ago. I cried and I cried, until a sweet, soft knock I knew by heart and never thought I'd hear again resounded against the wood. My breath caught in my throat as my chest filled with a hope that sing through me—a hope that would tear me to pieces should I be wrong.

But a voice drifted through the room, the sort of siren's call you cannot let yourself believe in fear of all it is going to do to you.

"Thomas?" came his voice. His beautiful voice, the very one I was hooked on like a drug, the very one I clung to like it was my last life raft saving me from a miserable death drowning in a freezing sea.

I couldn't let myself believe it. I had tried so hard to wean myself from his love and his voice and the very core essence of who he was and I could not let myself fall victim to his sweet call again.

And yet, I couldn't help myself.

"Thomas?" Alexander's voice repeated, filled with a million things that words could never say. "Can I...can I please come in?"

"Yes."

The door drifted open, and there he stood, the exact same figure I had seen a mere night before. Alexander took one step inside, closed the door quietly behind him, and stopped. I swallowed down all that was building in my throat and forced myself to watch him, to meet his gaze and suffer through the torrent of hatred, of realization.

But he keeps surprising me.

Alexander rushed forwards, and before I knew it, had his arms around me.

"Oh, God," he whispered, his mouth against my ear. "Oh God, are you okay? Thomas, when I heard—I was so worried—I—I—"

"Alexander!" I said softly, pulling him away and trying not to wince at the flash of pain that erupted at his overbearing touch. "Hey, it's okay! I'm okay!" I brushed away his tears with my thumb, offering him what little smile I could manage.

"I—I'm so sorry! I should have been here for you—I—John told me you were in the hospital and I got here as soon as I could and I'm so fucking sorry—I—"

"Hey, hey! Alexander, it's not your fault," I whispered, cupping his face. "I'm okay, I promise. Are you?"

He nodded, clutching my arms tightly. His entire body trembled against me, but I pulled him closer. "I'm so sorry," Alexander repeated. "I—is there anything I can do?"

"Just you being here is enough," I answered, unable to hide my laugh. I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against his, and breathed in the wonder of his warmth and promised every last receptor in my brain that I would never deprive myself of it ever again.

He nodded, holding me close. "Sorry, I didn't mean to...well, how are you doing?"

"Honestly? I'm exhausted. But I'm better now that you're here. You?"

"I'm not the one lying in a hospital bed," he returned, his hand finding mine. He squeezed tightly, and it was as if an entire world sprung to life in my chest, brought back from the brink of death by his joyous spring that chased away a bitter winter. "But I guess I'm tired too."

"Can you...can you stay with me?"

Alexander slid backwards, peering into my gaze as if truly seeing me in a way barely anybody else did. "I...I never had any plans otherwise, Thomas." His gaze drifted downwards, and his frown only worsened. "Oh," he whispered upon seeing my arms. "I—I don't know what to say."

"That's alright," I returned, my voice equally soft. "Neither do I."

Alexander softened, wrapping his arms around me once more. I shifted, so he wasn't pressed against my stomach, and let my body sink against his chest, finding comfort in a place I never thought I'd see again.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Last night. After...well, after I left you on the roof."

"You've been here since last night?"

I nodded, the thought of it too sickening to merit words.

He slid backwards, his eyes torn open by a black hole. "Have you slept since then?"

"Have you?" I returned, and to that, he did not respond. I sighed, leaned back against the hospital bed, and tapped the empty spot next to me against my better judgement. I should have turned him away, but I couldn't and I never would be able to. Not now, not ever.

Not with all that he has done to me, turning me into the boy of starlight I become when I feel the feather-light brush of his fingers against my skin, however fleeting he is. Not with the way he lingers in every dream I have, that bright smile my very last source of hope. Not with everything he is to me.

"Come lay with me," I murmured, holding my hand out to him.

Alexander glanced at me. "Are...are you sure?"

"If you are."

His shoulders slumped, but in perfect contradiction to his momentary hesitation, a smile split his face. Alexander took my hand, and I pulled him down so that he was laying next to me. His soft laugh filled the air, kicking off his shoes as he curled his arms around my body. "You should try and get some sleep," he whispered in my ear, and if I closed my eyes, I could almost picture us surrounded by the world I had left behind—my room, my plants, my Alexander. The most perfect home I've ever known.

"I can't," I returned, shifting so that I was pressed against him, but the pain wasn't much more than I could bear. The sound of my heartbeat played out on that wretched machine filled the air, and Alexander cast it a swift glance.

"I'm terrified to ask what happened," he whispered.

"And I'm terrified to answer."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not as much as being away from you."

And not as much as knowing that if I ever step into your life again, you're going to be the one in pain.

But I didn't dare say that out loud.

"Then come back," he said, adjusting me so I was laying against him, so he could better slide his arms around my waist, the way things should be.

"I want to."

"Then do it!"

"You know I can't."

Alexander sighed, tossing his head back to look at the ceiling. I watched him through my eyelashes, gripping onto his shirt in fear he was an apparition that would disappear the second I gave him any more thought.

"I miss you," he whispered.

"I miss you too."

And the silence between us worsened, and though our bodies were pressed together, only centimeters apart, it was like we were in two separate worlds. For we did not understand all we wanted to, we did not see the things that way that we were supposed to.

"Tell me something about you that nobody else knows," Alexander said suddenly, and it was just enough to end the accursed silence.

"Something serious or something silly?"

"Something silly."

I smiled. "Well...I slept with a stuffed animal until I was fifteen."

"Really?" Alexander said, glancing down at me. He grinned, running his fingers through my hair. "No way."

I nodded. "He was a small parrot that I got at the zoo when I was like, five? His name was Parroty."

"Parroty," Alexander repeated, his laugh lighting the entire room. There was no way I could survive without it, and yet, I needed to learn to. "Remind me to never let you name your children. And nobody else knows? Not even..." He didn't finish the thought. Good. Don't let the few moments we send together be corrupted by that.

"Nobody but you and I. He was my source of comfort, you know? Made it so much easier to fall asleep. I still kinda wish I had him, sometimes. Just a familiar face."

His grin softened, the rough edges giving way to something more peaceful, the perfect snapshot of a moment I ached to hold onto forever. Here in his arms was like a safety I had never known, a haven I had left behind. He was so warm and soft and gentle in all of the right ways, so wonderful that I would have been perfectly content to fall asleep right here and never wake up.

"Now I have to tell you something?"

"No," I said, playing with his shirt, thinking over my request. "Can you do something for me, actually?"

"What's that?"

"Can you sing to me?"

Alexander was quiet for a moment. I let go of his shirt, slipped a ways away, but not too far. Not to where I was deprived of his warmth. "You don't have to—"

"I've never sung before anybody else before. And I don't think I'm all that good, anyway, I—"

"Don't ever let them take away your voice, Alexander," I said, gripping his hand and squeezing it tight. "That's how they win."

He softened, conflict flashing through his beautiful, brown gaze. "I'll sing for you, Thomas. If that's what you want."

I settled against him, releasing a breath deep within me that left me feeling clearer, more whole. Alexander wrapped an arm around me, his gaze searching and unsure, and opened his mouth. I sighed in content, letting the warmth of his body soak up into mine, which was colder than a corpse, and closed my eyes.

A soft melody swept through the air, unsteady at first, but as the notes blended easily together, creating their final masterpiece, it gained confidence, gained its power and its unspoken elegance. I opened my eyes at stared up at him, my breath taken away for the second time in twelve hours, but this time by something considerably better.

Alexander's fingers tightened around me as he sang, soft and sweet and slow. He painted a picture of requited love, of falling stars gleaming through the sky, of a world where glass didn't break so easily and blood nourished forests when it spilt. He created a sanctuary filled with starlight and the mournful symphony of the nightingale, a sanctuary where tendrils of ivy snaked around every surface and the forest was blooming with the most innocent flowers.

He created a place where we were free. Free to hold one another, free to stand with our backs to the world without fear of being run through with the blade of a poison-tipped sword. Free to bask in the sunlight, untroubled of those who saw, and free to kiss in the moonlight, where expectations no longer held us. We were free to fly, free to experience the world with one another. I was free to love him, and the rope that bound my heart no longer tethered me to the rocky cliffs.

His lullaby echoed through my ears, a relic from another age, sung in a bittersweet, lilting French. I hung to every word, their meaning not lost on me but not as important as the meaning hiding behind them, the meaning he poured into his words even as he stumbled and corrected himself.

I stared at Alexander as he sang, awestruck by the boy who I somehow got to even notice me. I'd never understand what I did to deserve him, what made him look at me the way he had in those cramped corners of the bathroom those four months ago.

John was right.

I'm so stupid for never seeing it sooner.

It was rather jarring when the song met an abrupt end, and the world he had spun with the beauty of his words dissolved like sugar poured into water. Alexander's face colored a slight red, he offered me a crooked smile ripe with embarrassment. "S-sorry," he managed. "I...uh, I forgot the rest of the words."

"That was beautiful," I murmured, sitting up.

He stopped, his eyes widening. "You...you liked it?"

"I loved it."

"That was the song that my mom...well, I told you about that, didn't I?"

I nodded, reached forward, and grabbed his hand. "You have a beautiful voice, Alexander." And despite it all, despite where I was and who I was and everything that existed in the world outside our cramped little hospital room, I grinned, pressing my head against his rising and falling chest. I pushed myself closer to him, eliminating the distance in fear of what resided inside it. "You're amazing."

Alexander laughed, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against him, soft enough to where he didn't hurt me. I'm not sure if he knew or not, but I appreciate his tenderness all the same. "Nope, Thomas. That's all you."

"Doubtful."

"Is not."

"Yes!"

"No!"

I laughed, curled against him so my face was buried in his chest, and gazed up so our eyes met. He smiled down at me, brushing his thumb through my hair, and sighed. "I'm glad you liked it."

A yawn pulled itself from my mouth. "Ugh. Promise you'll wake me if I fall asleep?"

"Sure," he said, in a tone that made me think he wouldn't do so at all. But regardless, soon the world began to blur around me until he was the only thing I was aware of—his warmth and his solidity and his honeyed voice as he sang yet another lullaby, this one not as momentous but equally gorgeous. It wasn't hard to cave to the embrace of sleep, especially not with him here, urging me on, and certainly not with how right everything inexplicably felt, as long as I was here, wrapped up in his arms.

I never wanted to leave. I never wanted this to end.

I wanted to be Alexander's until the end of time itself.

My dreams began to carry me away to a distant shore where Alexander sat with me, right by my side, his arm hooked around my waist and his lips pressed against my ear. We laid in the sun-soaked sand, bodies pressed together, the hospital a long forgotten memory. The people we left behind were ants, measly ants who didn't matter any more. The stars shone above our heads, beautiful blips of light, and it was just us, just us, just us—

"If you wake him up, John, I will kill you."

"That's not fair."

"Shut up, would you?"

Voices flitted in and out of my dream, and no amount of burying my face into Alexander's body could make them go away. I gripped him tighter, hoping to chase them off, but to no avail. But he hugged me back, and I felt so safe, so warm, so happy.

"Let him be, guys."

"I'm literally not doing anything!"

"I was talking about you, you idiot!"

"Oh. Sorry, Angie."

I let out a soft groan, letting my eyes fall open to take in the light. Ugh, light. Why couldn't everything be as perfect as the darkness of a brilliant night sky? Where there is no oppressive sun overseeing everything?

"Nice going guys," snapped a French accent I recognized but could not place. "You woke him up."

"Hey, it's okay Thomas," Alexander murmured from a lot closer, running his fingers through my hair. "You can go back to sleep."

"Thomas!" John exclaimed, bubbling over with excitement. I flashed him a smile and raised my head, much to both Alexander and Lafayette's unspoken annoyance. "We brought you ice cream!"

"What flavor? There's a correct answer."

"Mint chocolate chip?" Hercules answered, checking the label.

"You're my new favorite people ever," I murmured, still caught in sleep's overly warm embrace. It was unfair, how sweet the trappings of the dream realm were. And it was equally unfair how soon I had to leave them.

Regardless, I sat up, my knee still pressed against Alexander's side so I never had to return to a world where his touch was in absence, and gave them my best attempt at a lazy, careless smile. There was only so much I could do, and I doubt they fell for it, but they all returned it with ones of their own, easing into the room with a practiced familiarity that made me so inexplicably happy. If I had any tears left inside of me, I'm sure I would have cried a little out of the pure, animalistic joy of seeing my friends all here.

"You told Alexander," I said.

John held my gaze, obviously unashamed of his betrayal. "I did," he returned, rigid but not harsh. There was a sadness to it, something unexpected.

"Thank you," I breathed, lowering my eyes. Alexander tugged me closer to him, resting his head on my shoulder and wrapping his arms so they fit perfectly around my waist, the way they were meant to.

"Hey, Thomas," Aaron said, marching over and finding a spot on the other side of the bed. "How're you doing?"

I shrugged, for it felt wrong to try and explain away all that bubbled deep down within me in human terms that failed to fully encapsulate just how I felt. "I'm...okay."

"He's in a hospital, you dumbass. How do you think he is?" Angelica asked, crossing her arms.

"Angie," reprimanded Eliza, and that was enough to get her sister's iron gaze to soften just a little.

"I don't know, Angelica. Unlike you, I actually like to make conversation and be a civil person," Aaron returned.

"If you two are going to fight the entire time, you can leave!" Eliza continued, casting me an apologetic glance.

"Eliza, let them be," said Maria softly, grinning at her girlfriend.

"Hey, you'll never believe what John did," Lafayette said, drawing my attention. His eyes conveyed a simple enough message, his slight nod to Alexander almost unnoticeable, and I shook my head, knowing exactly what he asked. Lafayette softened, then promptly launched into a fifteen minute long retelling of John's failures to interact with the cashier as a normal person would.

I hid my laughter behind my hand. Alexander must have noticed even as the others didn't, his arms looping around my waist and tugging me back towards him, just so our bodies touched in all the ways they were not supposed to. None of them asked the question I knew lingered in the back of all their minds, and I was forever grateful for just the short little respite they gave me from the painful truth of the situation. Instead, we talked about things that hardly mattered but mattered the world to me simply because they didn't. I listened to them tell me about their days, about their lives, all the while hoping that I'd never have to return to the harsh reality crashing down around us.

But that can only last for so long.

The door opened ages later, catching all of us completely unaware, as careless as we were. A voice drifted through the room, completely killing the joy floating through my chest. A silence fell around them, as if the world ended with his presence, with his return. "Hey, Tommy. I'm back. I'm so sorry for lea—oh."

James stood in the doorway, his face going terrifyingly passive as he took us all in. I shifted away from Alexander, but it was far too late. We had been caught in our crime, discovered and sentenced to hang. The bouquet of roses James held tight to his chest, a deeper crimson than the blood that had stained the wooden flooring of my bedroom, fell to the ground with a pitiful little thump.

When he spoke again, breaking the steely silence, his words came out in three sharp breaths, sending shivers down my spine as I slowly understood what was to come. "Are. You. Serious?"

"I..." I mumbled, hugging at my arms. My voice caught in my throat and promptly died, and all that came out instead was insufficient spluttering that made me sound even more of a child than I already was.

Alexander placed his hand on my arm, a simple action that chased away the frost biting at the edges of my heart. "Why can't you just stay away? You know you're not wanted, here," he hissed out, as dangerous as I've ever seen him.

"Get away from Thomas. Now."

I curled in on myself, staring down at my shaking hands. There was no rhyme or reason to why they trembled the way they did, just another instrument of infinite chaos.

"No, actually. I don't think I will."

"Thomas," James threatened, the mere way he said my name sending shivers down my spine. "Now."

"He's not yours to control."

"I'm not arguing with you, Alexander. I'm warning you what's going to happen if you don't get away from him."

I sighed. "Alexander. Please."

But he didn't listen. Because he never would. He never would trust me the way I needed him too, not if it meant backing down from a fight that simply wasn't worth it.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Alexander snapped, clutching me tightly as if I would disappear from his grasp if he didn't.

James scoffed, crossing his arms in utter disbelief. "You think I did this?" he asked, voice so scarily low. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if they were ghosts of my nightmares that would just disappear if I prayed hard enough. "You think I'm the reason he's in here?"

Right, because you had nothing to do with any of this. Not the broken ribs, not the litany of bruises, not the reason as to why I had hovered right over the brink in the first place.

"Oh, cut the bullshit."

"Fuck off. If it weren't for me, Thomas would be dead."

Alexander hesitated slightly, but pushed on regardless. "If it weren't for you, Thomas would be happy."

Yeah. Keep talking about me like I'm not here.

James's eyes widened, pinning me under their overly critical stare. A glare that suffocated the life from my lungs. "You didn't tell them, did you?" he asked.

I looked elsewhere, painfully aware of a thousand gazes suddenly piled on top of me. As if I needed any more attention. Any more judgement.

"Tell them," James snapped at me. "Tell them what you did."

"I..." I managed out.

"Tell. Them."

"What did you fucking do to him?" Alexander demanded again.

James ignored him, his gaze pinned on me as if I was the only thing left in existence. "Tell them what you did. Tell them how you let them down."

"I didn't..." I mumbled, pushing myself backwards.

"Thomas?" Aaron asked, his head lifting at the startling realization. "What is he talking about?" But he already knew. There's no way he didn't.

"What did you do?" pressed Angelica, shifting forward.

I shook my head, tugging at my fingers.

"Thomas?"

"Thomas!"

What did I do?

Did it matter anymore?

I wish I had succeeded.

I wish I wasn't here right now.

I wish I had fallen the way I was supposed to, instead of trying to make it quicker. I wish I hadn't given myself the opportunity to scream for help, to have a contingency plan. I should have thrown myself off that roof while I still had the chance, soaring through the sky one final time.

Why was it so loud? Their muttering, fueled by their incessant desire to know the truth, rang through my ears as though they were screaming. The noises kept building and building, overwhelming my senses. James pushed forwards, his mocking sneer hammering away at my fragile chest. I couldn't breathe, not with their presences pushing down on my lungs, constricting and binding and it was never enough I would never be enough everything would always move on without me and the stars would still shine and I would become nothing and nobody will remember my name as my body rots in the darkest part of the forest where there is no sun, no warmth, no life—

"I tried to kill myself."

Silence.

Uncomfortable, pressing silence, overcoming every obstacle, spreading evenly down on all of us. There is nothing but this is overwhelming silence that has claimed the world for its own. Nothing but the terrible knowledge of what lurks in the silence, the sudden resentment, the under shadowed fear, the realization that I simply wasn't worth anybody's time.

Maybe they'd leave me here in this hospital room, and never search me out again. Maybe they'll let me fade to the background, once more a distant figure overshadowed by a haze of unimportance. Maybe I'll finally die the way I want to, without leaving a mark on anybody. Maybe I'll be alone and sad and scared but who cares as long as no tethers are snapped, no hearts are broken?

Maybe I'll die, surrounded by nothing, the way I've always craved to.

I waited, waited for them to slowly trickle out the door until it was just me and him, and he would leave me too because he never stayed if he didn't get something from it. I waited to be alone, so I could cry again, without them around watching me. I waited for the end of the only good thing I had in my life, waited for the end of their wordless love and boundless support. I waited to be alone once more.

And then, "Thomas, you know what I just realized?"

I lifted my head, glancing up at John, who was offering me a smile I had no right to accept. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, but I pushed through anyway, forcing myself to gracefully accept whatever he said, whatever truth he uttered to expose exactly the kind of monster I was. I didn't deserve their love, I didn't deserve their time or patience. "What's that?" I asked, hating how my voice shook.

"You haven't seen the kittens yet."

"The...the kittens?"

"Yeah. Our kittens. You've never seen them, and they're adorable, and they would love to meet you."

"How do you know?" Lafayette asked.

"Uh, name one person on this planet who doesn't want to meet Thomas."

"Fair point."

"I'll skin them alive," Angelica said.

"You didn't have to go that far."

"Well, I did. So..."

"Wait, you guys... I..." I stuttered.

Alexander, as if remembering something he had forgotten, squeezed my arm in his grasp, his warmth sending shockwaves through my body, but they were entirely welcome. I froze at his touch, just as soft and gentle as it always was. And he didn't let go of me, didn't turn away. He kept me close, close enough to where I could feel his heartbeat in his chest, beating out a rhythm that harmonized with the machine.

"Yeah!" John said, turning to me and shrugging. "Trust me, they're adorable."

My eyes lit up. "What are you suggesting?"

Please let him be suggesting what I think he's suggesting.

"Well, when you get outta here, you could come to our dorm and see the kittens if you wanted. You all could come. It would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"You mean I get to come hang out with you guys and pet cats?"

"Is that a yes?" Alexander asked, grinning.

"Uh, yes!" I exclaimed, beaming. If there's one thing I loved, it's cats. Cats beat ice cream any day of the week. Well, except Fridays.

"Why did I even bother asking?"

I glanced at James, who promptly turned away, as if I was nothing at all.

It would be a lie to say that that didn't hurt worse than any pain shooting through me as I laid in that dreadful hospital bed.