//TW: domestic violence, physical abuse, self-harm, panic attacks, swearing\\

Alexander

Bruises.

When his scarf slipped a little while he was looking up at me, that was all I could see. The trail of new and fading bruises running up and down his neck, clashing against the warm, brown skin. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the collage they created, a sick painting that didn't belong. They burned into the back of my mind, and as I tried my best to focus on the lecture, they were all I could see. The bruises marring his flesh, the colors of pain, the colors of fear. I had to force my eyes anywhere but him. I had to force myself away from staring at him and unlocking the secret the bruises posed.

And there was something about his eyes, when he looked at me. So fearful, so cautious. Like a wild animal, caught in the headlights, the touch of death drawing dangerously close with each moment that passed.

My fingers curled around the pen tightly as I watched the second hand on the clock slowly tick by, something I hadn't done in years. But I had to talk to him again, before he disappeared altogether.

Why was he acting so strange?

The only time he smiled was when I complimented the drawing of the bird. Truly smiled. Dropped his barricades and let that smile poke through. It was such a shame to let such a wonderful smile go to waste. What I wouldn't give to see it again, even if it was just for a moment.

And I saw the way he flinched when I raised my hand—why the fuck had he flinch when I raised my hand? Another memory I couldn't purge from my mind, the sight of him recoiling as though waiting for a strike.

My foot tapped against the ground, bouncing wildly as I waited. Washington was finishing up, but he really was taking his time, wasn't he? It felt like every second I wasn't talking to Jefferson was a second wasted. And I couldn't stop myself from glancing over every now and again. His head was bowed, staring intently at the page of notes in front of him, but his fingers clutched the sticky note as tightly as they could. As though it was his lifeline, his savior. I glanced back at the clock, and Professor Washington finally drew the lecture to an end, wishing us all a good weekend and whatever shit he usually did.

I crammed all of my stuff in my bag without any sense of organization and shot to my feet, but somehow, he was already gone. My eyes scanned the flurry of the class before spotting him at the front, pulled aside by his boyfriend. I could see their lips move just enough to where I knew they were talking, but I had no idea what about. But judging by the way James gripped Jefferson's arm, he wasn't happy. His expression was guarded, but the way his fingers dug into Jefferson's arm revealed more than anything else could, especially when coupled with Jefferson's uneasy wince, his scared countenance. It filled me with such an inexplicable rage, a hatred that burned hotter than a fire and brighter than the sun.

But that was always the thing with James. He was a silent person, and even when the two of us were friends before, it was impossible to know where you fell with him. He was quiet by nature, but always watching. I hadn't known him well enough to know his tells, but the way he grabbed his boyfriend, the way his plastered-on smile wavered when Jefferson tried to defend himself? It sent alarm bells echoing in my head.

I inched closer, trying to stay unnoticed, but as more people cleared out of the room, that became harder and harder. I finally managed to get close enough to make a guess at what James was saying.

"I don't ever want to see you talking to him again, you understand?"

I froze, my heart dropping. Jefferson nodded, never meeting James's eyes. How could you, when they were cold enough to send that ghostly chill winding its way up your spine even in the unbearable temperature of a classroom heated as far as it could go? James opened his mouth to say something else, but Jefferson hurried past him. I winced as he disappeared in the crowd of people rushing through the hallways, making me marvel at how such a tall and noticeable person could become nothing more than another face in the crowd in a matter of seconds.

Heat traveled up the back of my neck, and I turned just in time to see James watching me. He smiled, nodded, and rolled his eyes as if to silently complain about Jefferson and his behavior. As if we were of the same thought, as if I could sympathize and understand him.

I faltered, unsure of how I should have responded, and in that slight minute, James turned away from me and strolled out the door.

"Everything alright, Alexander?" Washington asked, and I realized I was the only student left in the room.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I hissed in return, still too intoxicated by the sight of the bruises cascading down Jefferson's neck and the thrumming of my heart with the urgency of talking to him. I hurried away from the room just as Washington wished me a good day, focused solely on finding Jefferson before James did.

I searched the sea of people for the tall man, but he was already gone. James was nowhere to be found, either. Hissing a curse under my breath, I practically sprinted through the halls, but I had no idea where he could be or if I was going the right way. Nothing else mattered. Not the hesitation beginning to take root in my stomach, not the people I slipped between as I ran through the hallways. All that fueled my movements was the single overpowering desire to see him again, just to confirm that what I saw had been real.

But he was gone.

I cursed and ran my fingers through my hair, gazing around at the remote corner of the building I had found myself in. A staircase stretched up to the next floor, with only a few unrecognizable faces traversing it to catch the golden beams of the florescent lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. To my left sat a water fountain and two doors, each bathrooms. The water fountain was marked by a layer of dust, signaling its disuse. Nobody came by here. Nobody would notice if someone rushed past.

If I was shaken and hurt and confused as much as I thought Jefferson was considering everything that had happened in the span of an hour and a half, this would be the perfect place to go, where nobody could hear me crying.

A hesitance I absolutely hated planted its seeds of doubt in the back of my mind, binding my wrists and holding me back. But I worked myself up to push open the door and slip inside the bathroom, nonetheless. I blinked, adjusting to the darkness to the point where I could identify the outlines of a few jagged shapes. But it wasn't the things I saw that mattered to me.

It was the things I heard.

Stifled sobbing. So quiet, that if you weren't particularly listening for it, you would never have found it. But as I stood still with only my own breathing and the pounding of my heart to distract me, I could definitely piece out the almost silent, choked sobs.

"T-thomas?" I asked, the name foreign but soft on my lips. Had I ever called him by that, or had it always just been Jefferson? Thomas was a thousand times different, deep and sensual, a connection I didn't deserve.

The noises ceased altogether, but he was still there. Still tangible, still real. Not just a figment of my imagination, as I perhaps would have liked to hope. "Thomas, can I turn on the lights?" My voice didn't sound like my own, as solid and unmoved as it was. Because on the inside, I was cracking.

"What are you doing here?" came the soft whisper in return. Somehow, his voice was clear even though it was quiet, untouched by the sobs I knew were on the tip of his tongue.

"Can I turn on the lights?" I repeated.

"I-I guess."

I felt the wall for the light switch, and a sudden, ugly glow filled the room. I squinted to adjust, but found the shaking man sitting on the floor, curled up. The sight of it absolutely crushed something in my chest, and I found that I couldn't move my legs, despite how much I suddenly found myself wanting to step over to him.

"Hey. Is everything alright?"

I sounded like an absolute idiot, with that single sentence. A blind fucking idiot who couldn't see the obvious answer written in blue and purple and red across his face. There were more bruises and even more cuts, previously hidden behind makeup that had been washed away by violent tears.

He smiled, and for a moment, it was so convincing that I almost fell for it and its easy-to-believe lies. It would have been a lot more simple to just take his answer for face value and leave him in the dark, return to my dorm and wait until my next class and let everything return to the way things had been only two or so hours earlier.

But he smiled only with his mouth, and it was nothing compared to the silent begging in his eyes as he gazed at me. "Yeah," he said, and I found the lie for what it was. "I'm alright." He wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, taking more of the concealer with them.

"What happened?" I whispered, the words scraping against my throat. I dropped to my knees and crawled forward until we were at the same level, a few feet apart.

"Nothing," he responded, far too quickly, edging away towards the wall. "I'm fine. Really. I promise." The words came flooding out, a thousand excuses that fell apart when you held them up to the light. "Please, just...leave me alone."

He glanced around the bathroom, searching for somebody. But we were alone, and James was nowhere near either of us. His hands trembled as they wrapped around the frayed strap of his bag, as though simply holding onto it would be enough to save him.

"Hey, whatever it is, you can talk to me, okay?" I said softly, brushing my hand against his. He flinched away, the mere touch burning him, and I mumbled an apology and returned my hand to my side.

"You should leave," he breathed, a startled, panicked look glazing over his eyes. His fingers twitched, pulling at the long, tight sleeves and pinching his skin. Something broke inside of him, and a flicker of fear fought its way past the easy-going facade. His breathing quickened and his fingers moved nervously, dancing across the neck of an invisible instrument.

"What did James say to you?" I persisted, because I was too fucking stupid to know when to quit.

He gasped for breath, trying to find a purchase on the world around him, clawing at his arms. "Nothing! I-I'm fine, okay?" he stuttered, pushing himself away from me, and that was precisely when the dam broke, releasing the flood of fear and panic. "Just leave—just leave me alone," he managed to choke out before the sobs took control.

I froze, my heart tasting sour and spoiled as it sprung into my throat. He tried so hard to keep me from seeing it, but here he was, completely vulnerable and exposed in front of me. And I had no fucking idea what to say or do, so I sat there silently, like an absolute idiot.

"Hey," I said softly, finally remembering myself and drawing away from him, so I could give him all the space he needed. "It's okay! I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Just breathe, alright?" It was all I could say that seemed appropriate enough, the only thing I could offer him in the moment. I set my hands flat against the cold, untouched tile and forced my body to relax even as hundreds of deafening thoughts screamed and demanded attention. He had to see that I was calm and relaxed. That I wasn't going to hurt him.

Fresh tears traced down his face, his head bowed and his breaths coming out in hysterical, short bursts. I slowly rose to my feet and wet a paper towel with warm water, doing my best to stay calm despite my shaking hands. "Here," I said, offering him the paper towel. "Breathe, okay? Just breathe."

"I'm sorry," he got out between deep breaths, and fuck, with the way his fingers dug into his skin, I was so worried he was going to hurt himself. I reached forwards as slowly as I could, taking his hands and setting them on the tile next to him so he couldn't do any more damage.

In those few, short moments spent in the bathroom, years of animosity and indifference washed away, replaced by the undeniable and overpowering swell of concern crackling through my chest like an electric pulse. I sat with him for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, begging him to breathe before the panic attack fully grabbed a hold of him with its icy, tyrannical grip.

I sat with him the entire time, reminding him that he was still here, that I was here. And as long as we sat there together, I wasn't going to let anything hurt him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated again and again, once the last of the sobs had died as quickly as they had been born. His fingers curled against the ground, but thankfully, they stayed pressing against the tile. "I'm so sorry." He clung to the words like they were a prayer, a mantra.

"Hey, everything's okay," I promised, handing him the paper towel for him to wipe his tears away once more. "Look, I don't know what happened, but whatever it was, you have to tell somebody, okay?" It felt weak. Not good enough. But I was tripping over myself in my desperation to get through to him, and everything I said felt like it fell miles flat.

"Nothing happened," he said, his breathing now back under full control. And yet, he never once lifted his eyes to me, keeping them locked on the ground. "Nothing happened, and I'm fine. But thank you."

I opened my mouth to speak, wanting to say more to him, but my tongue seemed made of cement in my mouth. "What did James say to you?" I asked, treading on a beach of broken glass while hardly aware that my blood coated the sand.

"Nothing," he repeated, and it was final.

I drew away from him as he pushed himself to his feet, his entire body closed off from me. "T-thank you. I really—I really appreciate it. But, I really shouldn't t-talk to you anymore." There was something else he could have added, something else that remained unspoken. I watched him as he gathered himself together, trying to fix something that had been broken to shards.

"Hold on," I said, digging into my bag and pulling out a freshly ripped piece of paper and a pen. I quickly scribbled down my phone number and practically thrusted it into his hands, all before I really knew what I was doing.

Thomas stared down at it for a long time, his palm flat as he regarded the slip of paper. I bit down on my tongue, waiting for him to say something, anything, but he stood still.

"If something happens," I began, as slowly as I could as I reached forward and closed his fingers around the small slip of paper. "I want you to call me. I-I know there's only so much I can do, but..." I trailed off, hoping he could fill in the gaps for himself. Hoping I didn't have to voice the flurry of thoughts racing through my mind.

"Are you...sure?" he whispered, staring at the slope of the numbers now closed in his fist as though they would fly right off the page at any moment.

"Yes," I returned, immediately, the first thing I could say with the utmost confidence. I swallowed down the ball of fire burning in my throat and took a step forwards. "Please."

Thomas blinked, then opened his bag just enough to slide the slip of paper in. His shoulders softened as he looked at me, and after a very long moment that felt like an eternity, he smiled. Not a real, full beam, but it wasn't exactly fake, either. Somewhere in the middle, but it would have to do for now.

So many things popped to my mouth, so many words that tasted bitter and putrid on my tongue, but I let them die before they could ever fester and hit the air. True, there were so many things I could have said to him in that single moment, but I wasn't going to ruin this for both of us by saying something utterly stupid.

A silence swept over both of us as we stood in that cramped bathroom meant only for one person, each unable to think of anything to say. Finally, Thomas took a deep breath and combed his fingers through his messy hair, an attempt to get it under control. I almost missed what he said next, too caught up in my own thoughts and the sound of the ventilation somewhere above our heads.

"Thank you."

I breathed in the words, taking them in as much as I could. I knew that I would never be able to fully understand what the things I had done in the few minutes we were here truly meant to him, just as I could never understand the things he had seen, the things he had been through. And part of me wondered, as ashamed as I am to admit it, if I even wanted to know. But I swallowed it back and flashed him the most genuine smile I could giving the circumstances.

"Any time."

And I meant it completely.

Thomas nodded, shifting his grip on his bag. There was so much more I wanted to say to him, but the chasm was too wide and the bridge too fragile. His fingers still trembled as he held onto his bag, and I figured if I tried to say anything else, he would fall apart once more.

"Well," I said, doing my best to keep an even, consistent smile. "I should probably be going."

"Right. Of course."

"I'm serious. You need something—anything at all—and you call me. Understand?"

"I understand."

"Good." I paused, leaving just enough time for him to say more. I don't know what I was looking for, but his silence was definitely not it. A frantic inkling surged in my chest. This couldn't be the last time I saw him, this couldn't be the last time I heard his voice or stood in his presence. Something in my chest was pulling me to him, something that wouldn't break. "Do you want me to, uh, walk you back to your dorm?"

Thomas continued to stare at the ground. "I appreciate it, Alexander, but I really don't think that's a great idea."

I nodded. "Well, then I guess I'll see you around."

Thomas offered me one last smile. There was so much left unsaid, but that smile seemed to whisper those fragments in the back of my mind. It wasn't a smile I knew I'd ever forget anytime soon.

I left him in the bathroom, as much as I hated myself for it, but what else was I supposed to do? He didn't want my help, and I couldn't force him to accept it.

Could I?

I walked through the now-empty hallways, my eyes darting every now and again to the clock signaling an hour and a half before my next class. My fingers drummed against the strap of my bag as I continued on, my footsteps falling against the impeccably clean tiled flooring, reflecting the light of the fixtures above my head. I focused on the patterns in the tile, just as I always did; it felt like if I looked at anybody else, the fine details I was trying to commit to memory would dissipate in the warm, still air, a whisper to be forgotten.

"There you are!" exclaimed a sudden, close voice, making me jump in surprise. "I've actually been looking for you."

I blinked, looking up. A jolt of unease cracked through me like a flash of lightning as I drank in the expression of the man standing before me. His smile was easy and complacent, his shoulders relaxed, but there was something in his eyes...

"What do you mean?" I asked, unable to hide the hint of aggression rising to my voice. But if he noticed it, he didn't so much as flinch.

"I just wanted to ask you a question or two," James said, shrugging my tone off as if it didn't matter to him.

I swallowed, stepping backwards to leave as much space between us as I could. "I'm sorry, but I have to go," I said curtly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that something about him unnerved me.

"What did Thomas say to you?" James asked quickly.

It took me a moment to process the question, a moment to realize he meant from before, during Washington's lecture. "Uh, why do you want to know?"

James's jaw locked, the first physical sign of anything different from ease and control. "What did Thomas say to you?"

"Nothing."

"I'm serious. If he said something, I have to know."

"He didn't say anything to me."

James stepped forwards, closing the space between us. He was a few inches shorter than me, but that hardly seemed to matter to him. "Listen, Alexander," he said, and his placid expression cracked, revealing a glimmer of something far different inside. "I know you mean well. And I appreciate it. But you can't trust Thomas, understand? He's a liar, and manipulative, and even if he doesn't know it, nothing he says is ever true. I love him more than life itself, but he's always turning things into something they're not. Whatever he's said to you, you can't believe him. It's for his own good."

My hands clenched into fists, aching to hit him, but he continued on.

"Trust me, whatever you do, it'll be better for all of us if you just leave him alone, understand? He's not your problem, and I wouldn't want you to worry about something that isn't yours."

I lifted my chin, daring him to continue. But instead, he stepped back and offered me a smile, one that was completely different from Thomas's in every aspect of the word. "You understand, of course?" 

"Oh, I understand perfectly."

~•~

Me: I'm probably not going to post on a set schedule any more, so no more sunday updates

Also me: so far has only updated on sundays