//TW: swearing\\

Alexander

I reached for Thomas's hand, glancing over at him just to affirm that he was there, that a being as wonderful as him hadn't faded into the mist as wonderful things so often do. He continued quickly scrawling down the notes, his lips quirked into a determined, dedicated frown as he etched down every word Professor Washington said before it disappeared from the air. I smiled softly to myself, drinking in the sight of him, and returned back to my own set of notes. Thomas's fingers squeezed around mine, and my heart soared in my chest like an unrestrained bird, feeling the wind and the sky for the first time in quite a while. It was inexplicable, the things he did to me and all the little ways he made me feel. I'd never felt before the way I do whenever he so much as glances my way, one of those soft and knowing smiles lighting up his face, and subsequently, the world around him.

I lingered in the moment for as long as I could, savoring the way his fingers intertwined with my own. I clung to the gentle touch of his skin, some innate desire deep inside of me wishing I had any right to have its comfort, its warmth. But the sad truth of it was that I would never deserve it, and I would never deserve him.

The sharp tolls of the bell cut through the air a moment later, drowning out Washington's finishing words. I set my pen down in welcome relief as the rest of the class hurriedly set to packing.

"God," I said, struggling to be heard over the sudden chaos the room had found itself thrown into. "As much as I love writing, I forgot how much I utterly despise hand cramps."

"Yeah?" Thomas said with a soft smile, neatly closing his notebook and setting it inside his bag.

"They're the worst!"

"They are," he agreed absentmindedly as his gaze slowly wandered elsewhere. I frowned, following it to the same person it had landed on at least a dozen times in the past two hours. Thomas's fingers tightened around mine, clinging to me as if I could offer him the smallest hint of protection. And if that's what he looked for, if that's what he needed, I would give it to him.

The boy at the front of the room moved slowly, methodically, as if nothing in the world was wrong. He gathered his things together and stood up. Even from where I stood, I could see his gaze raking over the room, until it finally met mine. Chills traversed down the length of my spine as he held me underwater with his cold, stiff eyes burning with a hatred unmatched by anything I had ever seen before. It was somewhat subdued by that calculating look, but only somewhat. There was only so much one could do with one of the strongest, most instinctual feelings, and pressing it down is certainly not one of them.

To be honest, I didn't give a shit. I held his gaze in an unspoken challenge, daring him to say something. Daring him to finally unmask himself and reveal the monster inside to the rest of the world. James could hate me and frankly, I couldn't have cared less. But it was the moment he turned to Thomas that got to me.

James smiled. He fucking smiled at Thomas, as if he had any right to, then turned and disappeared out the door without a backwards glance, becoming just another amorphous shape in a sea of them. I bristled, my tongue already forming a slew of insults and defenses just for Thomas, but he spoke before I had the chance.

"He'll...he'll be waiting for me," Thomas said softly, glancing down at the desk. Something hard passed across his gaze, a truth neither one of wanted to acknowledge. It was so unfair, how cruel this world could be sometimes. It was a garden of ice and frost, forever damaging the beauty it could have held in the spring. There were no flowers, no stubborn thrivers even in the cold. There was nothing but that endless, incessant cold drowning out the sunlight, drowning out any chance of hope. We had nothing in the wake of that cold, clammy fear. "He always is."

"Well, this time, you've got me!" I teased softly, nudging him with my elbow just to hear that laugh once more. I would trade anything in the world for it. "I'll totally kill him for you if you want."

"No, that's okay. The last thing I need is for you to get arrested," he returned, his mouth easing into that beautiful smile I always longed to see. People always praise the beauty of fantastical, far-off places resigned to myth and legend, but I never understood it. Why waste our time trying to imagine something that can never be brought to our reality? The most beautiful things are the ones we find right here, and there was nothing sweeter, nothing more perfect, than Thomas's smile.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Then I'd have to find a new friend. I'm too awkward for that."

"You're not awkward, you're amazing," I returned. In response, his gaze darted away, lips pressed tightly together. Somehow, he's even more adorable when he's flustered.

When Thomas finished packing, I offered him my hand again to help him to his feet, before making our way down to the front of the class. I strayed close to him but not too close, painfully aware of each step I took. It would have been so easy to press myself into his warmth and to stay there with him forever. I don't know what was stopping me.

Thomas woke a swarm of butterflies in my stomach with every smile and brush of skin against mine and every mere glance, and the cursed insects simply refused to return to their dormant state and leave me alone.

I was about to say something to him, ask a random question and get a random opinion simply to hear the natural soft cadence of his voice, when another voice called for him, completely cutting me off. I stopped in my tracks, words still half-formed on my tongue, and turned to face him.

"Thomas, would you mind staying behind for a second?" Professor Washington called from his desk, glancing at the door as if waiting, watching. "I need your help sorting papers."

Thomas perked up immediately. He smiled and stepped over to Washington's desk. I followed, of course, because there was nowhere he would ever go where I wouldn't. I'd follow Thomas through hell and back a thousand times and do it simply so I could be with him and share every last moment.

"Hey, Thomas," said Washington, either not noticing me or not caring that I was there. His voice was gentle, casting Thomas that same look I must have given him thousands of times. Like he was fragile, delicate, seconds away from breaking. "Why don't you sit?"

Thomas obliged happily, pulling up a chair and falling into it as if it was a routine the two of them had practiced hundreds of times before. Washington pushed a stack of papers towards him, and he began to sort through them without a sound. And I watched, my tongue heavy in my mouth as words refused to form, so unsure of what I was intruding on.

"How was your break?"

"It was actually, uh, really good."

"Oh, yeah? James wasn't...?" Washington trailed off, leaving the intention behind his words up for us to decide.

"Yeah, umm. It's a long story, actually." Thomas ran his hand through his hair, then glanced over at me. His shoulders softened as he beckoned me forwards.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Searching his expression for an answer, I joined the two of them. "You're not grading stuff, are you?" I asked despite it only being the first week back.

"So what if I am?" Thomas returned, crossing his arms in mock-indignation.

"You can't do that! You're in this class! That's like, some real favoritism there!"

"Alexander," Washington said. I'm sure he wasn't trying to be threatening but he was just naturally a very intimidating person. It would be admirable if it was directed at me. "Are you really trying to tell me how to run my class?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Oooh. What does it feel like to not be the favorite anymore, huh, Alexander?" Thomas teased, lightly prodding me in the ribs. The flash of fear and unease from earlier was completely gone. I couldn't have been more grateful.

I scoffed. "Oh my God. Have you still not gotten over that yet?"

He shrugged, leaning backwards in his chair with a soft expression that completely contradicted the gentle teasing of his tone. "What can I say? I'm petty. I've given you a ninety-four on something once, you know. Simply because I know how much you hate it."

"You're a ghoul!" I returned, crossing my arms, vaguely aware of Washington studying every movement, every small interaction. "I mean, what kind of monster hands out ninety-fours? It's the worst grade ever. It's one point below a high A! Like, you can't be bothered to push it up to a ninety-five? God."

Thomas laughed softly, his hand enclosing so gently around mine. My skin tingled where he brushed against me, no doubt more work of those nefarious butterflies. And when he spoke, it sounded as if he was offering me the entire world just for the two of us to share, even if it was for the smallest request. "Sit with us. Please?"

"Well, how can I say no to that?" I said, placing my hand on the desk.

"Don't," Professor Washington said, watching the two of us as if had lost our minds.

I faltered at his tone, the smile dropping from my face. Thoughts swarmed my mind, uneasy, unhappy thoughts, and I risked Thomas a quick glance. What was Washington thinking? That I would hurt Thomas even more than I already had? Did he know just how unworthy I was? Did he know of all my failures? "Don't—don't what?"

"You're going to sit on my desk. Don't sit on my desk."

I relaxed, face heating up at the sudden foolishness of all those stupid thoughts. "Oh, whatever. You love me and you'll let me do it anyway."

"You know, sometimes I wish you were somebody else's problem."

"Hah. Don't we all?" I said, pushing a stack of papers aside and throwing myself on top of Washington's desk. He looked like he wanted to kill me in the moment but if he had truly craved my death, he's had plenty of opportunities to ensure it considering I've known and subsequently bothered him since high school.

"You can be my problem, if you want," Thomas said, glancing up from his stack of papers he was sorting through.

"I already am your problem."

"Very true. Oh! And, uh, we're friends now," he added to Washington, whose expression of mild confusion turned into one of genuine surprise.

"Yeah? When did that happen?"

Thomas shrugged, glancing down at his hands. I watched them tighten around the papers and subconsciously reached forwards, taking one in my own. "Over the break. Umm, he helped me leave James."

"Oh! Thomas, that's absolutely wonderful."

"Wait," I said with a frown as those same old fires deep within my chest ignited. "You knew? And you didn't do anything?"

Washington opened his mouth to speak but Thomas got there before he did. "It's more complicated than that, Alexander. I'll tell you later. Could you please hand me that stapler, though?"

"What, you can't staple things with your mind?"

"No. I'm sorry. But unfortunately, I'm not telekinetic."

I mock-scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Come on, Thomas. Get with the program." The smile returned to his face and the world righted itself, balancing out nicely. "Ooh, can I have that?" I asked before taking a mint right out of Washington's hands without waiting for an answer.

"So, you two are friends now? And there aren't any...stupid arguments?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far. But I know, it's crazy, right?" I said, popping the mint into my mouth and handing him back the wrapper just for the sake of being annoying. Washington looked as if he wanted to slap me. Thomas looked as if there wasn't anywhere he'd rather be in the world. "But what can I say? I guess, deep down, I'm really just a great person."

Washington rolled his eyes, but it was clear he was trying to work down a smile.

"What, you don't believe me?"

"All I'm saying is that you wouldn't have to say it if it were true."

"Well I say lots of things all the time about all sorts of stuff. This is not the exception, trust me."

"You're definitely one of those people who like to hear themselves talk."

"You've summed up my entire personality perfectly."

Thomas slid his other hand in front of his mouth, trying to hide his laugh. I wish he wouldn't. He had such a pretty laugh, and pretty things deserved to be shared with the world. I wanted everyone to see it, just so they could feel that same spark of joy, that rush of excitement, that glimmer of pride that I did whenever I succeeded in coaxing that tinkling, beautiful song out of him.

"Well, anyway, Thomas, I trust that Alexander's much nicer to you than he is to literally everybody else?" On the surface-level, it was just another one of those quick and witty comebacks, but looking deeper, and it was impossible to miss the warning that edged along his voice. I withered under the scrutiny, especially because I deserved it. No matter how many times Thomas said he forgave me for what I said to him the other week, those awful feelings of guilt and terror still stuck to me, wrapped tightly around my chest like heavy chains in their own right. I didn't deserve his forgiveness. I didn't deserve him.

It was the most fundamental truth in the world, the simplicity that I didn't deserve Thomas. But then again, not even the stars and the sky deserved Thomas. Nothing did. He was amazing in his own different way and belonged to a world much greater, much more magnificent than our own.

I opened my mouth to answer, to confess, to expose every short-coming and every failure, but the words dried and cracked on the tip of my tongue, so Thomas answered for me.

"Of course he is," he said softly, every fragment of it genuine and long-lasting. Something in my heart bloomed, a flower in that garden of winter, poking out between those thick layers of snow and frost. I tightened my grip around Thomas's hand, only remembering I was holding it when he squeezed back. It felt good. I don't think I've ever depended on or craved somebody's touch as much as I did when it came to Thomas. "Alexander's wonderful."

No, I'm a fucking idiot, is what I wanted to argue. But when Thomas glanced over at me, eyes wide and admiring like I was the moon itself, I couldn't bring myself to speak. I don't know what he saw in me but for a moment, when he graced me with his full, unwavering attention, I felt like I was a person worthy of him and his...

Love is not the right word but at the same time,
it's the only word that even comes a little close.

Maybe Thomas can help me learn what all of this is like. Maybe we can help each other learn. Maybe we can sit together in a field dotted with lazy starlight, exploring the truths behind this world and discovering exactly what made it the way it was.

"So what about you?" Thomas asked, the war raging inside my head lasting a split-second even though it felt like centuries of a bitter conflict. "How was your break? Oh! Did you get to go back to Virginia? How was it?"

"It was very nice. It snowed, actually, but it wasn't much of a sur—"

"Ew. Don't talk about Virginia. Let's talk about New York, because New York is unarguably a hundred times better."

"And you called me a ghoul," Thomas returned, shaking his head and peaking a single eye open at me as he did so.

"You are a ghoul!"

"Well, I try."

~•~

"So how long have you and Washington been...I don't know. Friends, I guess? Is that the right word?" I asked as we walked along the street, cars whizzing past us. It was one of those days where the sky threatened to storm and the scent of rain lingered heavily in the air, not odorous but still invading. Thomas had smiled upon seeing it, lifting his chin in pleasure as a breeze buffeted past the two of us and tugged teasingly at his hair the moment we stepped outside. I'm not sure why, and I doubt I'll ever know, but Thomas seems to love the rain.

I think I'm learning to enjoy it too, though, somehow.

"Oh, I don't know. It kinda started last year. I think he noticed that James was waiting for me, figured something was wrong, and called me back over to him so I didn't have to deal with him right then." Thomas sighed softly, stopping at the crosswalk until the light flashed green and we continued on towards our home. "So now, every time I see him, he just likes to check in on me. He doesn't, umm, exactly know all of it. Just that there's something wrong. I didn't wanna drag anybody else into it, you know?"

I nodded in understanding, my shoulders falling as I forced myself to tell him what I had been putting off for quite some time now. It seemed wrong, to pluck that joy away from him, and I hated myself for every last ounce I stole, but I'd rather have him prepared. "Umm, guess what I found out earlier."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, faltering at the resignation in my tone. "Did somebody say something to you?"

I laughed softly, my hand accidentally brushing against his before darting away and mumbling a soft apology. God, I wish that wasn't the extent of it. Just an collision here, a fleeting touch there. I wished I could reach for him and hold him and forget the rest of the world was watching, but we simply didn't have that luxury. There were boundaries, clearly defined limits of what exactly we should mean to each other. They couldn't be crossed, or at least, they shouldn't be.

But damn, it hurts.

Well, it doesn't really matter, does it?

"Did I tell you what happened on Wednesday?" I grumbled, risking a glance up at him.

Thomas shook his head in response, his eyes focused on me even as we walked. There was a certain light to them, one I couldn't describe. I blinked and turned away, feeling vines of heat bloom in my cheeks, and I prayed to whatever fucking deity or god that truly looks over us that I wasn't completely and utterly red. It wasn't fair. His simple glance should not be able to do that to me.

And yet it did and here we were.

"So in Political Theory we have to do this really long essay thingy that's due in a couple of months, right?"

Thomas simply nodded.

"Guess who I got grouped with," I huffed angrily, my fists clenching. "I didn't even get a fucking say in my two partners. At all. Believe me. I'd rather have gone for a pair of rocks than these two morons."

"I don't know," Thomas said softly, though judging by the tone of his voice, he did know. His smile dropped, eyes returning to the gray concrete underneath us. I grabbed for his hand and held on tightly, temporarily uncaring if the rest of the world was watching us, peering in on us, turning it into something corrupt and awful. Who cared what they thought, with their hushed mumbling and taunting refrains? Thomas was all that mattered. He was all that would ever matter.

"Well, one of them's John Jay. You remember him? Probably not. He's irrelevant. And dumb."

"Be nice," he reprimanded gently.

"Ugh. It's not like he's smart enough to comprehend the differences between "nice" and "mean". He's a dumbass."

The corners of his mouth twitched up. "And the other?"

"You'll never guess," I said, rolling my eyes in an overly-dramatic way just to convince a smile back to his face. But there was no smile to be found. His hand dropped mine and his fingernails dug into the skin at his wrist. I reached for his hand again, trying to pull it away before he hurt himself. I think the very last thing I could take right now was him getting hurt. His muscles went loose the second my touch floated over his once more, and he gave in. I pulled him along, eager to get home before he broke down on the street for the entire city to see.

I'd defend him until my dying breath but I doubt Thomas would enjoy being watched and mocked and whispered about by a bunch of strangers who knew nothing of the hell he had to go through on a regular basis.

"Why won't he just leave me alone?" Thomas whispered. "I just...I can't do this, Alexander!"

"I know," I said. "It's okay. I'm here."

"It feels like the universe and everything in it is actively working to remind me that I can't escape him, you know that?" Thomas's voice went shrill with a panic that covered everything and simply refused to yield.

"Hey," I said, squeezing my fingers around his. "Everything's going to be alright, okay? I promise. I'm not going to let him hurt you again. Hell, Thomas, if he even looks at you wrong, just say the word and I'll beat him into a miserable little pulp."

"I don't want you getting in trouble."

"And I don't want you having to suffer silently."

The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he turned his head away from me before I could see. I let myself relax and squeezed his hand once more before dropping it.

"You know you don't have to worry about me. I'm an adult, right? I can handle it."

"You shouldn't have to just handle it."

Thomas didn't respond, and I sighed. As long as he knew what I meant, I suppose it would be okay. "Anyway, what's the project?"

"Ugh. I don't even know. Something dumb, I guess. But guess what? They want to come over to our apartment to work on it!"

Thomas stiffened slightly. "You said no, right?" he asked.

"I tried!"

"Oh."

"If you want I can—"

"No," he interrupted, focused on the ground in front of him as we walked along, finally turning into our apartment building. I pulled him along, eager to get home but dreading who might be standing before us. God, I could picture him waiting there, leaning against the wall like a predator with that fanged grin and those sharpened claws meant to destroy and rend and tear apart. "Like I said. I'll be fine. It's not the end of the world. I know how important your grades are to you and I would never—"

"Thomas, you're more important to me than my grades."

A blush fluttered up to his face and he looked away. His smile, soft and sweet, spoke volumes more than any words could ever try to. I hadn't said something groundbreaking, revolutionary, or even all that charming. And yet, he acted as if I had handed him the entire sky on a silver platter and promised him that anything he asked for would be his.

I don't know where the following thought came from but it suddenly popped in my mind, and I quite enjoyed the sweet sound of it.

I should buy him flowers one day.

Just to see how he reacts.

"I mean it," I added, nudging him softly.

And I was willing to do anything to make up for what I said to him before. Anything to finally rid myself of that reoccurring nightmare, of the entire world blurred and dressed in dull grays and violent reds, Thomas's lone figure standing alone on an empty bridge. Silent. Shaking.

Falling.

Breaking.

I shook my head, swallowing hard. I breathed in deep, caught the smell of his perfume, and allowed myself to relax. That simple fragrance of rose and jasmine was enough to ground me to this reality, to a world where everything—no matter what anybody tried to throw at us—would always be okay in the end.

"I know you do," Thomas responded as we stepped onto the elevator. "But, no, Alexander, seriously. It's alright. I can put up with it for a few hours at a time if I have to. Small sacrifices are easy to make for the people you care about."

I froze, head darting up as the words left his tongue and forever joined the air. "You care about me?" I whispered, and although I should have known and although he had proven as much a thousands times already, the admission still found something inside of me. It tugged at my heartstrings, adding itself as a note to a growing song. Something overwhelmed me in the moment. Something I didn't understand.

But it wouldn't be long before I did.

"Of course," he said softly, as if my mere questioning confused him. Thomas blinked, pressing himself a bit closer to me, and for a breathless second or two, I was so sure he wanted to say more. His gaze held mine with the weight of all those silent things as they threatened to spill over into reality, into solidity. My tongue turned heavy and dry as I waited for him to continue, waited to learn exactly what he meant and exactly what he wanted to mean.

But the unspeakable tenderness of the moment faded as rapidly as it had arrived, and he turned away. "And plus, I was, um, quoting a book."

"Oh really? What book? Is it good? I need to read more, y'know."

"I forgot which one it was," he said awkwardly. "But yeah, it was pretty good."

I stared at him, lingering a second or two longer in case there was anything else. But he stared at the floor of the elevator and I drew back, letting out a soft breath. "Alright then. Well, anyway, are you sure? I'm sure I can find a way to arrange a meeting at the library or something."

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine. Don't worry about me."

"You know it isn't a problem at all, right Thomas?"

Thomas fell silent.

When we finally reached our apartment a few minutes later, two figures stood outside the door, waiting for us just exactly how I pictured them to be. Thomas stiffened upon seeing the shorter of the two, who just so happened to be scanning the hallway. A glimmer of a smirk flickered across James's face but he said nothing. Thomas's hand shot forward, wrapping around mine and squeezing tightly, as if that was the only thing left keeping him here. I winced at the sudden constriction but allowed myself to run my thumb across his palm anyway.

"It'll be okay," I said to him soothingly as we approached the two men standing in front of our door. Just the sight of James outside my home—our home—made my blood boil over. He was not allowed here. He would ruin it. He already almost had.

"Hey, Thomas." I had never so vehemently hated somebody's voice before. It was like every word he said was barbed, pointed, a weapon with the sole purpose of painfully tearing somebody apart limb from limb, so they could feel every last inch of agony screaming through them. I gripped Thomas's hand tighter, pulling him closer to me in an unspoken challenge. My glare never wavered from James's as I dared him to speak first.

"Hi," Thomas returned softly, eyes staring intently at the carpeting.

Jay coughed.

"Right," I said, regaining myself as I went to unlock the door, reluctantly letting go of Thomas's hand. I felt my breath catch in my throat when I opened it without having to insert my key.

"It's unlocked?" Jay asked. "You just keep your door unlocked?"

"Would you not? For like, twenty seconds, please?" I sighed, and turned to Thomas with the softest smile I could muster. "Thomas, did you...?"

"No," he said quietly, staring at the ground.

I reached for Thomas's hand but he pushed past me, entering the apartment without another word. He hugged his body tightly, as if retreating, escaping, leaving us behind. My body stiffened as I glanced behind me and stepped aside for the two of them to enter first.

James cast me a smile as he slipped past.

I wanted to punch him so fucking bad.

I stepped into the room and glanced around, only satisfied when I found Thomas leaning against the couch, arms folded as he strove to make himself as small as possible.

"Thomas!" exclaimed a voice out of nowhere, making him jump with surprise as a figure darted out of his room and straight towards him. Thomas stepped backwards, almost falling against the couch. "Finally, I thought you'd never get here."

"Wha—what are you doing here? How the hell did you—" I asked.

"Shut up. This isn't about you," Angelica said, risking me a glance. She stopped dead a second later, the smile draining from her face when her eyes landed on the monster masquerading as a human standing besides me. "What are you doing here?"

"What's going on?" called Aaron from before he emerged from Thomas's bedroom.

"How many of you are there?" James asked under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear it. He sounded pissed.

Good.

Aaron turned to ice the second he saw James. He stepped over to Thomas, who continued to look like he'd rather be anywhere in the world except for where he was.

"Hello, Aaron. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he returned, the words sounding like they were forced out. For once, I just wanted to see that cold, stony exterior break, and to let loose whatever fire lingered underneath. For once, I wanted him to snap, especially if it was at somebody as terrible as James.

"Glad to hear it. Have you—"

"Don't talk to me."

James faltered, but his expression never broke. I dug my fingers into my palms until they began to burn with that slight reminder of pain.

"Oh, come on," he said, still in control but it was slipping fast. "We've been friends for how long and you're just going to throw that all aside for what? Him?" he asked, nodding towards Thomas, who glanced away, folding his arms. "How can you honestly believe him? You really think I'd just hurt him like that?"

"Of course I believe him you fucking prick."

"Why?"

"If you honestly expect me to want anything to do with you after the shit you've done to Thomas, then you're a bigger moron than you look."

Thomas smiled.

"I sense I'm missing something here," said Jay softly.

"Shut up Jay."

"Seriously? This isn't about you."

"So, umm, not that I'm not stoked you guys are here, but how did you get here? And why?" Thomas asked, his easiness almost enough to diffuse the atmosphere which grew tenser and tenser by the second.

Angelica held up a piece of thick, black rope, from which a golden key dangled. She swung it back and forth triumphantly. "John gave it to me."

"He does need to be more careful with that thing, wouldn't you agree, Thomas?"

I froze as the meaning behind the sugared tone sunk in. It left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I prayed I had heard him wrong. "W-what?"

"Oh?" James said, his frown sickeningly sweet. It was guise, a mask, hardly hiding the grin of a predator underneath it. "Did he not tell you?"

"He told me," Thomas said. "And it's fine. That's all that matters." He turned back to Angelica. "You didn't answer my second question."

"Right." And in a completely serious tone, she said, "Aaron and I are here for the boy."

"The boy—? Oh! The boy!"

"The what?"

"The boy, Alexander," Aaron returned. "Don't be dense." But judging by his shrug, he had no idea what either of them were talking about either.

"Just a heron Angelica had me paint for her," said Thomas. "What'd you wanna name him? Jason?"

"Don't tell them! They do not deserve to know about the personal information of the boy! Is he done yet?"

"I finished him last night."

"Show. Him. To. Me."

Thomas laughed. It was an easy, happy laugh, as if the rest of the world for once, didn't matter. As if the person responsible for stifling that laugh wasn't standing in the same room as us, watching everything with the sole goal of destroying it later. But even the worst of monsters deflated, the coldest of hearts melted, when met with such a gorgeous laugh; out of the corner of my eye, I saw James hurriedly look away, the confidence suddenly gone.

"Alright. Come on," Thomas said, leading the two of them away. He stopped in the threshold of his room, pausing to look back over his shoulder one last time. His gaze found mine, and despite it all, I relaxed. Smiled. Found a peace I didn't think I could. "Have fun. Don't kill anybody please."

"No promises."

"Blood is so hard to get out of tiles, Alexander." His smile met his eyes. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Yeah."

"Show me the boy!" Angelica exclaimed, dragging him along.

"Oh my God."

"Come on, you two," Aaron said, shaking his head as he ushered them into the bedroom and closed the door behind him with a hard click. The joy dissolved from my body, leaving nothing but a gaping void now that Thomas had fled to a whole other world, separate from mine. I didn't blame him—I never would. Not for putting his happiness first.

I did feel, suddenly and unbearably, alone, however.

"So we have to write twenty five essays, right?" Jay asked, as if we needed a reminder. Both James and I rolled our eyes at his stupidity. At least we'd have one thing in common.

That doesn't mean anything though. There would be no truce. No silent forgiveness. Not for him. Not after what he did to the sweetest person in the entire world, the one person who deserved to be loved and treated as if he was an angel fallen from heaven. I would continue to hate James with every bit of myself no matter what.

"That doesn't divide equally by three," Madison muttered.

"I guess one of us can write one more? That seems dumb though. What is this even about again?"

"Jesus, Jay, do you even pay attention?"

"Seriously."

Jay dropped his head. "Fine. Sorry."

"I don't trust you to do the extra one," James said, shaking his head in utter annoyance. "I'll write it."

Fuck that. I'll just write around fifty, just to piss off Madison.