//TW: swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of past abuse\\

Alexander

An earsplitting pain throbbing in the back of my head followed me with every movement I dared to make on that awful, bright morning of misery and despair. Sunlight attacked my vision, hardly warded off by the thin curtains, as though it only existed to make my life even more miserable. And it wasn't snowing anymore, so there was no lasting impression to cushion the blow of the business of the outside world.

Life is pain.

Stifling a groan, I forced myself to sit up. "Shit. Fuck this. Fuck everything," I muttered out in half-coherent sentences as I stumbled over to the kitchen and started a fresh batch of coffee, perhaps the only thing strong enough to keep me from committing mass murder this early in the morning. The night before was nothing more than a mess of sharp flashes just barely strung together, but even if I had no idea what happened, I was pretty confident in my assumption that this was all John's fault.

Yeah, I'm gonna blame him completely.

Entire lifetimes could have gone by in the time it took for my coffee to fucking finish brewing, but the warmth of it sliding down the back of my throat, soothing and bitter, provided a small semblance of relief. Small. Pitiful. But better than nothing.

It'd have to do.

I took a sip and found a seat at the table, my phone carefully placed in plain sight. I smiled, knowing exactly who had left it there for me to see, scooped it up, and poured through whatever demanded my immediate attention. With a frown, I noted the time. It was much later in the morning than I would have liked, but I suppose I had no right to complain after acting like a total dumbass the night before.

If you wanna be stupid, you've gotta be tough.

I glanced up at Thomas's door, but it was closed, revealing nothing. I frowned, setting my phone flat against the table. He was usually awake by now, softly humming as he painted or read or did all the normal things he liked to do in the morning, still wet from the shower he took every morning.

"Thomas?" I called, my head pounding with protest as my voice lent some life to the otherwise silent room. And I got no reply at all, which was great. Take that with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "Thomas!"

I don't know what happened last night at all, but I do remember Thomas. He was faint and hazy and like something from a very distant dream, but I could pick out a few specific things that stuck out like a sore thumb. Painfully loud like something you couldn't take back. It was more what I remember hearing rather than seeing. The sadness in his tone, the longing hidden behind his words, even if the exact syllables and meanings had been carried away by the wind.

I picked up my phone, trying to return to a blissful ignorance that was easy to take refuge in. It didn't work. Worry clawed at me and had no intention of ever leaving me alone.

"Shit," I growled out loud, horrified to acknowledge the thought slowly creeping up out of the darkness, the parts of me I tried my best to push aside and ignore. But I still had to ask myself the question anyway.

Did I do something?

Oh god did I do something to drive him away? Fuck fuck fuck what if he's hurt or crying and I'm not there for him and he's not okay?

It was all a blur. A messy, incoherent blur that left so much space for things to fill the gaps. Horrible things. Perhaps it wasn't as real as I thought it was but that small inkling of a notion did nothing to alleviate the worry.

I set my phone flat against the table once more and let out a deep breath, forcing my hands to stay still as the coffee worked its magic. Slowly, the numbness of sleep drifted away, erasing every trace of last night except for one obvious, uncontrollable hangover. And I tried not to wonder about Thomas. It wasn't healthy to worry about things that didn't need worrying about. I think.

That's what Aaron says but he's usually full of shit so it's hard to take anything he says seriously.

Just as I was investing all of my time trying to not worry about Thomas and where he was and what he was doing, the front door opened and he entered quietly, head down and lost in thought. He closed the door softly behind him and stepped into the room unheralded, every movement carefully planned.

"Oh, hey!" I said, leaping to my feet and wincing as the world rushed up around me. "There you are. Where'd you go?"

Thomas's head jerked up at my voice. He clutched the strap slung over his shoulder tighter, mouth moving but no words coming out. I searched his face but saw no signs of physical harm, so that at least was good.

"Thomas?" I questioned softly, hating the way my voice trilled.

"Sorry," he said, barely loud enough to hear even in the silence of the room. I waited for him to say more, but his eyes fell back to the ground as he hurried past me.

I watched him retreat for a moment, too surprised to do anything, and only then did I notice the black case slung over his shoulder. The realization flooded through me with a small sense of relief, but it was escaping just as Thomas did.

"Hey, wait, hold on a second," I said, reaching out and grabbing his arm. Thomas's body twitched, and then stiffened like he was a statue overseeing an overgrown garden. Although his back was to me, I could imagine the horror flashing by in his gaze, the same look I had seen too many times before. But I had never been the one to cause that horror before, and it was a feeling so crushing I couldn't fully comprehend it. Mumbling an apology, I let go of him, and my hand seemed a lot emptier than usual, now that I had nothing to grab onto. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Thomas. I'm not an idiot."

"I don't think you're an idiot," he insisted.

"Look at me?"

Thomas sighed, his shoulders drooping, and he turned around. The words in the tip of my tongue died the second I saw the look flashing through his eyes. The reservation, the fear. He stepped backwards away from me, and never had a couple of feet seemed so large, so unbridgeable. I swallowed, falling back into my seat, and nodding to the one across from me. "Please sit?"

Thomas set his violin case on the floor gently, like it was a precious piece of glass that could break at any moment. He fell into the seat across from me and folded his hands together, where he directed all of his attention.

"What's going on? Did somebody say something to you?"

"Everything's fine, Alexander."

"I know that look, Thomas. Come on, I'm serious. Do I have to beat somebody up? You know I'll do it, too."

"I'm fine," he insisted, not even conceding so much a smile at something that usually made him laugh softly.

"You have to tell me. Well, I mean, you don't have to do anything," I managed out, cursing my own stupidity as I backtracked. "But if something's bothering you, I'd like to help."

"Nothing's bothering me." A moment passed, then he rose from the seat. "I'm sorry. I'm being selfish. Let me make you breakfast, okay? It'll help with the hangover."

"Wait, Thomas, I just want to—"

But he hurried towards the kitchenette before I could get the rest of my words out, and they fell on deaf ears. Biting back a sigh, I took another long sip of coffee, but it wasn't as satisfying as it had been three minutes ago.

"How do you like your eggs?"

I'd like them to listen to me when I speak.

"Whatever's fine."

"Okay," he said, setting to work. I tossed my head back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to fight back any mounting frustration beginning to take root in my mind. It wasn't good for anybody.

"Was I bad last night?"

The clattering in the kitchen stopped for a moment, so brief that I thought I had made up its respite. "What do you mean?"

"You just mentioned the hangover, so I thought...well. I'm sorry, I don't usually drink that much. Not enough to get drunk. I should have been more careful but I just wasn't thinking."

"It's alright, really. I'm not going to call the police or anything," he said, forcing out a choppy laugh, but it was enough to coax a smile to my face.

"Hey, I'll be old enough to drink in less than a month."

"If you say so."

I stood and stepped over to where he was working, bringing the coffee with me because I doubt I could live a second longer without its wonderfully bitter and caffeinated embrace. Truly, how did one go every hour of the day without the magic of caffeine?

Or maybe I'm just dramatic when hungover. Whatever.

I leaned against the counter and watched Thomas as he worked, swirling the eggs around with a practiced ease. His smile was small but at least it was existent. Baby-steps, right? So I clung to that smile, hoping I could make it flourish into something more.

"So you had your first lesson this morning, right? I'm assuming that's where you were."

Thomas nodded.

"Awesome! How was it?"

"Oh, it was good! Nice little girl, about ten. I forgot how much I liked teaching. And playing the violin. So both are a plus."

"You like teaching?"

Thomas shrugged. "James used to say I like hearing myself talk. He's probably not entirely wrong."

"That's what people say when they don't appreciate the gift your voice is. Don't let him take that away from you."

Thomas said nothing.

I carefully watched his face for any clues or falters that might let me in. "But I'm happy you had fun."

"Yeah."

I drummed my fingers against the mug, wincing as a silencing took over. An unfair silence. An oppressive silence. And it felt like I had to say something, or I would lose. Lose what, I'm not entirely sure. But I would lose.

"How often do you think you'll be doing them? The lessons, I mean."

"As of right now, it's just Thursdays and Fridays at 8:00, but hopefully, soon, I'll be able to work more as I get more clients." He made a face at the word and shook his head, smiling sheepishly.

I mock-pouted. "Aww, but then I'll hardly see you. You're not going to leave me, are you?"

The spoon he was using to beat the eggs landed against the kitchen counter with a significant clatter exclaiming its fall. Time froze all at once, splintering up into tiny fractures unable to tell a cohesive story. And Thomas stood there for a long, awful moment, something dark lingering in his gaze, before muttering a quiet apology and returning to his task like the slip had never happened at all.

"Thomas?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, not even looking at me.

"What's going on?"

"It's nothing to worry about."

I don't know what I had seen in that split second of weakness, but I knew I did not like it at all. Thomas turned and poured the eggs onto the pan greased with melted butter, hiding his face from me.

"Thomas," I said softly, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"It isn't important."

"Did somebody do something to you?"

"No."

"Was it James?" I spat out the name as if the mere mention of him would bring him lurking through the door, the shadow of a monster trailing behind him. He didn't deserve to even have his name cross Thomas's thoughts, but I had to know if that asshat somehow managed to hurt him again.

You would think, after a while, he would have realized there was nothing left for him. Thomas was no longer his, nor would he ever be again.

"No. It wasn't James. Can we just let it go?"

"Did I do something?"

"No!"

But judging by the way he exclaimed the single, simple syllable, I had hit the nail right on the head. I took a step backwards, my hand falling to my side as a million unwanted thoughts swarmed in my mind. A flare of panic shot through my veins, harsh and sharp and rendering me useless. I couldn't even move my mouth, too consumed in the horrors my mind spun.

"What did I do?" I demanded, the words just barely choked out.

"Nothing," he insisted stubbornly, once more not looking at me. Perhaps that was a good thing. I was terrified of what I might find there.

"Thomas, goddammit, what did I do?!"

Thomas froze as my yell cut through the air. A thick silence drifted down on the two of us like a heavy layer of snow, and not the fun, whimsical kind. The kind that chilled you to your very core. The long, horrible anticipation was broken only by the eggs sizzling away in the pan. Blinking, Thomas turned back to them.

"You didn't do anything, Alexander," he said softly. "It was probably my fault."

"Don't say that."

"You were drunk. It's okay. You didn't know what you were saying."

"That's not an excuse at all. If I hurt you, Thomas, you have to tell me. I have to make it right."

Thomas half-smiled up at me, giving me the briefest glance. I had no idea if it was genuine or not, but it felt real. So either it was, or he had just become an expert at faking that complete and utter warmth, that way that made the rest of the world seem trivial and dull compared to the splendor of that look in his eyes.

"It's okay," he said softly, turning back to the eggs. "I doubt I could be mad at you if I tried."

"Oh? Am I just that wonderful?" I meant it wryly but Thomas laughed softly, a noise like the song of chimes dancing in the wind echoing through a silent valley.

"You could say that."

I took another sip of coffee as Thomas finished with the eggs and scooped them onto a plate. He dug a fork out of the drawer and offered them to me. I accepted with a snort of amusement, nodding towards the table as a signal for him to join me.

"I should probably clean—"

"I'll take care of it when I'm done. Come sit with me."

"It's no problem—"

"It's only fair. You cooked, I'll clean. Please?"

Thomas sucked in a breath and returned to the table, gracefully falling to the chair still next to his violin.

"What did I say to you?" I asked carefully, feeling my face heat as Thomas looked down at the table, tracing the patterns of the wood with his index finger. "I want to know. So I don't ever hurt you again."

"You didn't hurt me."

"Still. I bothered you, didn't I?"

"Well, yes, but I'm just being too sensitive."

"You're not being sensitive for being upset," I insisted, the sudden urge to reach across the table and grab his hand rising through me. But I kept my distance.

"Alexander, really."

"Please tell me."

"You don't have to worry."

"But I do worry! And I will until I know what I did so I can focus on fixing it!"

Thomas's shoulders fell, and he conceded with a soft sigh. He was quiet for a moment or two, obviously struggling, and that just made it so much worse. But he finally spoke, and I wished he never had. "You made me promise that I would never leave you."

It took a moment for the words to fully sink in, but once they did, the knot in my stomach only tightened. They lingered through the air, tearing through me as I processed their distant meaning.

Whatever I had said to him last night had just been words. But they were words that left their mark, words that had clawed and dug and torn apart without mercy, without any sense of stopping. They were monsters with their own sets of razor-like teeth. They were the cruelest things in the world, hellbent on destroying everything we had precariously built up.

They were words I'd never be able to take back, no matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did to amend them. They were out in the world and that was it. They could not be undone.

"Oh, Thomas," I breathed, hand in front of my mouth in fear that I might say something else that would further divide us. "I'm so sorry. I never should have—I should have been more careful—I didn't mean that, okay?"

"Alexander. It's alright. Like I said, I'm being too sensitive. It's not the end of the world."

"You're not being too sensitive!" I almost yelled. Thomas edged a bit away from me, and I forced my shoulders to relax. "I know how much your freedom means to you. And I also know how you've been denied that for so long. I never want to be the one responsible for holding you back. Whatever I said last night, I didn't mean it. And if I made you promise me something you didn't want to, I have no right to hold you to that."

I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I want you to be happy above all things. And if that means leaving New York, then that's fine. If that means finding solace somewhere else in the world, you have every damn right to pursue that, and I will never even try to take that away from you."

Thomas was quiet for a long moment, mulling over what I had said. He didn't look at me, and for once, I think I was okay with that. I couldn't bear him seeing the shame that I felt burning on my cheeks. I didn't want him to know just how awful I was, because if he found out the truth, would I still be the only one he smiled with? The only one he clung to like the world was falling apart?

"It's not a big deal," he said finally, offering me that gorgeous smile of his.

"It is for me," I said, stabbing at the scrambled eggs and popping the fork into my mouth. "Shit."

"Is...is something wrong? Do you want me—"

"This is really good."

Thomas's gaze dropped back to the table, but I could easily tell that he was trying to hold back a smile. I wish he wouldn't. I liked to see him smile. "They're just eggs."

"Yeah, but they're good eggs."

"Well, I'm glad you like them."

I nodded, shoving even more into my mouth and temporarily forgetting everything I should have known about etiquette.

"So, tell me more about the lesson. Was she new at violin? What was it like? Did it pay well?"

Thomas laughed a little, leaning forwards in his chair, but his eyes lit up as he detailed everything he could. I listened in rapt attention, head resting on my hand, even long after I finished my eggs. Nothing else in the world mattered as long as Thomas was here with me, warm and soft and familiar in all the right ways. Who could want anything more when he was the only thing that made this world less dull, just the way he was?

"So, about rent...?"

I sighed. "This is unavoidable, isn't it? You're just gonna keep pressing me over and over until you get what you want."

Thomas shrugged, brushing the hair out of his face, that smile never withering. "Perhaps."

"Damn you and your infallible determination. Alright, how much do you make?"

"$40 every half-hour."

"Dude, that's actually really good. Maybe I need to find a new career. Okay, so how about $120 a month?"

"That's so little, though, don't you think?"

I held back a sigh, fumbling for an answer. "No, I don't think."

"$300."

"$200. And a song every night."

Thomas frowned, his stone-like guard faltering for the briefest of moments. "A song?"

I shrugged. "A song. I love listening to you play. It's beautiful, you know. Your music is probably the most gorgeous thing I've ever heard in my life. All the songs you play that I don't deserve to hear."

"I'm not that good!" Thomas said, hiding his laugh behind his hand. I leaned forwards, grinning with every ounce of laughter I could get out of him.

"Don't be modest! You're amazing, Thomas."

I know I didn't do a good job of expressing how I felt, but I tried. It just wasn't worthy of words, all the ways in which his music was so wonderful. It was something he had been able to create, a piece of himself so vulnerable that I was the only person alive who had seen it. He opened himself up through his music, expressing so many feelings too complex to be spoken, but the notes he produced managed to capture just so well.

When he played, I felt what he poured into the music. I felt the joy, the hope, the freedom soaring through my heart. And if I could manage to find a way to indulge myself with something as precious and beautiful as his music, I would take that chance in a heartbeat.

"I like listening to you play," I said, lamely, lacking the capability to put everything I truly thought into coherent sentenced. "Your music is beautiful. It's like something from a world a thousand miles away, like something made for gods and not men who'll take any chance to ruin something they know they don't deserve. It's like moonlight, distant but wonderful. And you always look so happy and free whenever you play, like you completely invest all of yourself into it." I took a breath, face warm for reasons I assumed were related to the hangover and the pain still pelting my head. "I think you're really good, and I'd love being the one you shared it with. It would mean everything to me."

Thomas stared firmly at the table, his eyes wide as if he couldn't fully process what I was saying. To be fair, I didn't have a good handle on it myself. I swear I could see him trying to hold back a smile, but it was a battle he was rapidly losing.

"Are you okay?" I said with a soft laugh, finally reaching across the table and letting my hand touch his. It was brief and it was fleeting but it was perfect all on its own. I set my hand down, our fingers millimeters apart, so even the slightest shift would end with our skin brushing and me lost in another time, another place with the only thing that matters being his warmth and his attention focused on me and only me.

"Nobody's ever said that to me before," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"I'm just being honest," I said with a shrug, sitting back in my seat.

Thomas beamed at me. And finally the world stopped spinning around me, even if it was for the smallest of moments. "Well," he said, his smile so full and revealing. "A song every night it is."

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"You have to eat. Even if it's just fruit or something. You have to."

Thomas conceded with a smile and stood up, making towards the kitchen. I watched him leave, worried that if I took my eyes off of him for even a second, he would slip right through my fingers. But Thomas returned a few moments later with a plate of mangoes and watermelon, which he set to eating very quickly. He offered me one of each, and I savored their rich, sweet taste like I had never truly tasted them before.

And like so many times before, Thomas listened as I went on and on about the stupidest of things, bearing all of it with a smile and laughing even when the things I said weren't funny at all. I had no idea how much time had passed, just sitting in each other's company, until I checked my phone.

"Shit, it's already noon."

"Yeah. That's how time works sometimes."

"Ugh, I hate time."

"Tell me about it."

"Maybe we should run away to another dimension where time doesn't exist. Then we can spend the entire day doing nothing and absolutely fucking loving it. Sorry. That was unnecessary. I didn't need to swear."

"It's okay, I don't mind."

"I know, but you, like, never swear, and it makes me feel guilty."

"Yeah?"

"I guess you're just genuinely a good person. Which is cool if you're into that stuff."

"I don't think anyone's inherently a good or bad person, actually. I think people do good or bad things."

"Yeah, well, you're wrong. But rather than detail all the forty thousand reasons why you're a good person and stuff, let's get back to my plan where we run away from time itself and go to a world where we can do whatever we want because physics and science won't exist either."

"Yeah?"

"We can be like, worms or something. Would you still like me if I was a worm?"

"I don't think you could handle being a worm for very long."

"What makes you say that?" I asked with a frown.

"Worms can't talk. Nor can they argue."

"Oh yeah. Fuck that so hard. I don't think I'd be able to survive without talking!"

Thomas giggled, shifted, and our hands brushed against each other once more.

"So, uh, I know you don't want to talk about this stuff. And I really don't want to press you into something you don't want to do."

Thomas fell silent, shifted, and consequently drew his warmth away. I swallowed but forced myself to continue, as much as I hated being the one to take away something as wonderful and rare as his smile. I folded my arms, wrapping my fingers together as if mimicking his touch. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

"Is it about James?"

"Yeah."

Thomas nodded, staring back down at the table. "Okay. Go ahead. We talked about rent even though you didn't want to. It's only fair."

Says who? Who decides what's fair? Putting something off simply because I cannot handle taking more away from him when he already lost so much was not on the same level as being forced to talk about something that left both physical and mental scars.

But it couldn't be swept under the rug anymore.

I sighed, hating myself more for every second of happiness I stole away from him. "I don't want to keep bothering you, but have you considered pressing charges yet?"

And in that brief moment of silent indecision, something crossed his face. Something that froze me to my core. Thomas shook his head firmly and pushed himself away. "No. I'm not going to."

It was exactly what I was expecting but that didn't make swallowing his answer any easier. It scraped against my throat as it went down, leaving a disgusting, bitter taste in its wake.

"Why not? After all that he did to you, and you're not going to do anything about it?" Thomas didn't answer, so I pressed on. "I'm studying law! I'll be your lawyer, for free!"

"It's not the money that's the problem."

"Then what is?"

Thomas stared at his hands, as if they would give him the answer. As if they would make sense of the stupid world. "I just want all of this to go away. I've caused enough trouble as it is." His voice shook, and his fingers curled around each other, almost like they were breaking skin. I reached across the table and grabbed both of his hands in mine before I even knew what I was doing. All I knew what that I had to hold him. I had to let him know I was on his side. "I don't want to hurt anybody else. I don't want—I'm sorry, I—please—"

"Hey, Thomas," I murmured, squeezing his hands. "It's okay. I promise. Everything's going to be okay."

"Everything's going to be okay," he repeated, the breath catching in his throat. But he said it over and over again until his hands stopped trembling in mine, and only then did I let go of him.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think you're wonderful."

"Yeah?" he said with a soft, wet laugh.

"Yeah. And if you turned into a worm without any explanation, I'd still like you."

Thomas smiled. He was he first to break away, the first to let his hands fall to his side. I retreated quickly, unsure of myself and the warmth that flitted up to my face. The absence of his touch left the butterflies in my stomach desperate to crawl out, but once again, that wasn't something I would fully understand until much later.

"Wanna play me a song?"

"I'd be delighted."

Thomas unlatched his case, drew out the violin, and brought the bow to the strings, careful and methodical as if it had been done thousands of times before, but each time with a different result from the last.

And the most beautiful melody filled the air.