Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 6: Stress-Baking

//TW: swearing, self-harm, mentions of abuse, PTSD\\

So was anybody going to tell me Daveed is in the upcoming Pixar movie or was I just supposed to find that out on an article about Harry Styles as Prince Eric in the Little Mermaid myself?

Alexander

"How's Thomas settling in?" John asked as we trekked up the staircase to my apartment, taking a swig from the cup of hot chocolate he held with a firm grasp. At this point, Thomas was the only thing anybody could seem to talk about, and I wasn't quite sure how that was supposed to make me feel. There was always a hesitance to my response when it came to questions about him, as though I was afraid I'd answer incorrectly. I didn't want to speak for him, or anything, especially not after he had his voice taken from him for so long. "Is he doing alright, and everything?"

I sighed, running my hand through my hair as I always did when words weren't enough to express my frustration. It didn't seem right, to reduce everything Thomas had been through to a simple, one-worded answer. There were so many things I couldn't explain, so many things that just didn't make sense if I couldn't go on for hours about the simplest little things. But I answered as honestly as I could, because that's one of the few luxuries I had around John that I couldn't find with anybody else.

"He's very jumpy, you know? He's constantly trying to make me happy. And he always asks my permission before doing things, and I have to make sure I'm never speaking to him at a voice above my normal tone, or he thinks he's screwed something up. And he isn't eating very much. And, on top of that, he's so fucking insistent on paying rent, even when I've told him not to worry about it."

We passed a window, revealing the endlessly gray sky ripe with the looming threat of rain. The clouds seemed to be taunting us, always planning but never acting on what they conceived. Thomas seemed to love the rain, however, in a way I couldn't understand, let alone describe. But the way I found him when I came home from my internship yesterday? All curled up on the couch reading a book worn by use and time? It was honestly one of the only times he had looked safe. Comfortable. Like there was nothing else in the world that could even touch him, as long as his eyes could depend on the unwavering shape of the letters thick against the page.

Reading and sketching. Those seemed to be the only escapes he had. The only time he could really lose himself to another reality. The only time he could actually let go of the crushing weight of the real world.

And when I had found him, curled under a heavy layer of blankets, all I could do was grab a notebook, join him, and write.

I let out a long breath, forcing my shoulders to relax as John nudged me gently to pull me back to the present, out of the comforting memory. When I glanced over at him, the little quirk in his eyebrows said a lot more than his voice could have.

I rolled my eyes at his suggestion, feeling an unrelenting wave of shame flow to my face. "I know, okay? I'm being patient with him, I promise. I just...I don't know, I'm really worried about him."

"Are you making him eat?" he asked, to which I had to shake my head. "Well, maybe you should start with that, and the rest'll just work itself out, you know?"

"Maybe." I sighed, but I was quick to find a change of subject. "Oh, did I tell you what Maria said to me this morning?"

"No, what?"

"Well, apparently, Eliza straight up told her that she'd go on a date with her if she asked. And she actually asked me what she meant by that."