wed.

Pretty sure John's a pyromaniac, but what else is new

**Mentions of Schizophrenia*

. . .

Though John's body was exhausted from the day, his mind wasn't exactly too keen on going to sleep. He stayed up humming and, when Alex fell asleep, matching his breathing with Alex's till he fell asleep sometime in the early morning just before the first traces of sunlight creeped into the room. He slept for a good two and a half hours. There were no nightmares or tossing and turning. In fact, the most John moved was to roll on his side and throw his arm over Alex's waist, which caused Alex to gasp awake and nearly have a heart attack. But Alex just sighed and closed his eyes; his thumb ran over John's arm as he tried to go back to sleep.

When John woke up, he turned in the bed and opened his eyes. He blinked at the sunlight hitting the plain walls and wondered why Alex didn't have any curtains and then rolled on his back. John's head was fuzzy as it usually was when he woke up after an awkward sleep. It wasn't an awful sleep, it was just awkward. His arm was tingly from being positioned weird and he noticed his pillow wet with a little bit of drool. Sighing heavily, he pushed himself up and reached over, grabbing his bag. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it open, staring at the flame. His mind was turning slowly, trying to wake up; his thoughts were sluggish and disoriented to the point where his eyes crossed and his saw a double flame from his lighter. After almost setting the sheet on fire, he finally got out of bed and walked downstairs. 

Alex was at his usual spot at the table, sipping his coffee. John noticed the pill bottle Alex was staring at. He seemed to stare through it though, lost in his own thoughts. 

"Goodmorning," John said softly.

Alex's eyes were still fixed on the pill bottle. He took a long slow sip of his coffee. "You're a schizophrenic."

John's face heated up and he shifted uncomfortably. His cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment. The lighter, still clutched in his hand, slipped between his fingers and fell to the ground. "You went through my bag," he said, more shocked than anything.

"Yeah." Alex turned the bottle in his hand. "You're a schizophrenic," he stated. His lifted his gaze to John, who was, as always, staring at the ground.

John reached down and picked up the lighter before finding his spot on the ground to stare at again. "You went through my bag," he stated, still shocked. Back at his apartment, his stuff was free reign with his roommate. But his bag, his bag was his. And he felt violated and nervous and some form of anger bubbled in him. Mostly, though, he was shocked.

"Yeah, obviously. You're taking Clozapine, so you're schizophrenic, yes? You didn't think this was, like, important to mention to me?"

"I'm not a schizophrenic." John's hands clenched to fists.

"Clozapine. It's to reduce schizophrenic episodes and reduce suicidal--"

"I know what it does," John snapped. "I take it everyday. Believe me, I know what it does." 

"So, I mean, how are you not a schizophrenic?" Alex looked amused now. He was teasing John, and enjoying himself. He set the bottle down and tapped the lid. "I noticed you had quite an impressive collection of drugs, Laurens. What was in there, other than the Clozapine? I think I saw Xanax in there."

"I'm sorry," John muttered a bit sarcastically. "You went through my stuff to see what pills I take?"

"Yeah, yes. I've answered that. I'm entitled to your stuff because you're living in my house." Alex rolled his eyes and tossed John his pill bottle.

There was a pause as anger bubbled in John. "Stay the fuck out of my stuff," he muttered. He tried to sound harsh, but it really just came out as broken.

Alex cocked an eyebrow, but was overall silent. The fact that any curse word could come out of John's mouth shocked the both of them just a little. John crossed his arms and finally looked up. Alex chuckled and stood. He pointed to the door. "Get the fuck out of my house, fucking psycho bitch." 

John blinked, but turned on his heel and quickly walked upstairs. He pulled on some pants, slipped on his jacket, and then grabbed his bag. Lighter clutched in his hand, he didn't spare Alex a glance as he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Alex sipped his coffee and shook his head. "Man, that boy sure can make a dramatic exit." He grabbed his phone and clicked on a contact. It rang a couple of times before picking up. "Hey, I'll be there in fifteen. I wanna talk to you about something."

The rest of the day, Alex didn't think much of John. He went to work, despite Maria scolding him about working the day after his wedding. She asked about John and Alex just shrugged, uncaring. Thomas sat on the edge of Alex's desk since he apparently didn't believe in chairs and talked endlessly. Alex nodded and hummed along, not really listening, but the sound was comforting.

When Alex returned home late that night, he did his evening routine, and it wasn't until he stepped out of the shower that he noticed John wasn't back. He figured John would turn up and ask to sleep there. Alex shrugged it off and walked downstairs, pouring himself a glass of wine, before making his way back upstairs and closing himself into his office.

...

Alex poured Thomas a glass of wine. It was two days after John had taken off when Alex called him a psycho bitch and told him to beat it. They were sitting outside on Alex's back porch. Thomas was staring out at Alex's pool, watching it glisten against the pool lights.

"Top me off, too, Mon amour," Laf mumbled, lighting a cigarette.

Alex poured some more in Laf's glass and then set the bottle aside and sat down. He grabbed one of Laf's cigarettes and leaned over, letting Lafayette light it for him.

"So," Laf said, snapping the lighter closed, "What is going on with you and John?"

"Oh, he took off," Alex said, puffing his cigarette. "He was a bitch to me, so I told him to fuck off. I can't deal with that."

"You're married," Laf pointed out.

"To be fair, you did go through his shit. I mean, I'm not too happy that you've left me to deal with this and, if this does get out to the press, god knows what story I'll have to make up, but you did go through his shit. I don't blame him for leaving." Thomas shrugged and sipped his wine. "But," he set down his glass, "You better get him back soon." 

"Maybe it's time for a divorce," Alex suggested.

"Oh, yeah, totally. That'll be good for you. Alexander Hamilton divorces husband after one week." Thomas announced, causing Laf to chuckle. "Don't be fucking ridiculous," Thomas snapped.

"He's a good guy, Alex. I can tell." Lafayette reached over and touched Alex's hand. "Call him, text him--"

"No, nah, I can't text him."

"What? Why?" Thomas asked.

"He told me that I can't. I dunno. He's some fucked up person. But he was always fucked up. All the way back to elementary school." Alex waved the smoke away and then scuffed the cigarette.

"Fine, whatever. Call him then. And maybe apologise. You owe him that." Lafayette held Alex's phone out to him. "Call him."

"I'll call him later. Hit me up with another one." Alex stuck another cigarette between his lips and leaned over.

"Promise you'll apologise?" Lafayette asked.

"Fuck. Whatchu want? Me to pinky swear? I promise. Now light my damn cigarette."