-DISCONTINUED-ISH-Between the Lines, A Lams Fanfic-DISCONTINUED-ISH-

38~Fragile~38

TW: Crying, panic attack, self harm, and mentions of throwing up.

Wednesday: 7:18 AM

Alexander swayed back and forth, the soft sound of his mother's lullaby filling the room. He could feel the gentle breeze from the open window on his skin,

the curtains rustling slightly with each gust of wind. His hair, which had grown long and unruly, would sometimes hit his eyes, but he didn't bother to move it away.

Instead, he let it fall across his face like a curtain, shielding him from the world.

He curled up in John's outfit, the fabric soft and smooth against his skin. He rubbed the jacket, feeling the texture of the fabric against his fingertips.

He could still smell John's cologne on it, a comforting scent that reminded him of better times.

But the comfort was fleeting.

John was going to leave him, just like everyone else had.

He had pushed him away because he knew John would leave him first.

Yet the thought made his heart ache, and he felt a lump form in his throat. He tried to convince himself that he was fine and didn't need John or anyone else.

He thought he was independent, but it hurt so much that he hurt John. As he held the jacket, he noticed the way the fabric felt against his skin - soft and cool to the touch.

He could feel the weight of it in his hands, grounding him in the present moment. But suddenly, he felt his chest tighten, and his breathing became rapid and shallow.

He felt like he was suffocating like the walls were closing in on him.

Alexander was surrounded by John's scent, and he hugged himself tightly, his calves hitting the rug where he had previously cried about John.

He curled up into a ball, his arms wrapped around himself as if trying to protect himself from the world.

He felt vulnerable, deprived, and fragile.

He felt like a porcelain doll that could shatter at any moment.

Or a child who had lost his way.

Weak.

As he sat there, he could feel his emotions getting the best of him. He crossed his arms around his chest, and his fingernails dug into his skin, leaving red marks that stung.

He could feel the pain, but it was a welcome distraction from the emotional pain that consumed him.

He told himself that this was what happens when you're weak, and this was why you shouldn't get attached.

"I'm supposed to be independent," he whispered to himself, but the words rang hollow.

He knew that he needed John, that he couldn't face the world alone. But he was too proud to admit it.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He could hear the sound of the clock ticking on the wall, the rhythmic sound soothing in its predictability.

He knew that he couldn't keep thinking like this. He needed to talk to John and sort things out.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found John's name. With shaking hands, he pressed the call button, hoping that John would answer.

As he waited, he tried to keep his thoughts in check, focusing on the task at hand. But his mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and he felt like he was drowning.