Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 18: He Smells Like Roses

//TW: swearing, self-hatred, implications of suicide\\

Alexander

"Hey, Alexander. I'm back."

His voice rang clear through the morning stillness, followed by the click of the door behind him. I lifted my head, watching him as he stepped in casually and slid the violin case down from around his shoulder, setting it neatly in the space it had suddenly come to fill whenever it wasn't in use. I didn't mind. I liked having it there; I liked being able to see it whenever I glanced at the door. It was just another reminder that Thomas was real, that it hadn't all been a dream.

Thomas paused in the doorway briefly, and I drank in the sight of him, wondering what I had ever done to deserve somebody like him to have walked into my life. And not only that, he had become a permanent part of it. My own little piece of happiness.

And I had been moments from completely fracturing that, from watching little shards of everything we had built scatter along the floor. I had been moments away from losing the best thing in my life, and it was all my own damn fault.

"Hey!" I said, trying my best to fix a smile that seemed adequate enough as I set my notebook down and rose to greet him. My intent had been to write, to escape to a sea of familiarity and comfort, but instead, I had found myself etching a single question over and over until my hand hurt, and even then, I forced myself to continue just to feel anything but that mounting dread that built and spread and corrupted with every dragging second where his warmth and his presence wasn't pressed against mine. 

Is Thomas alright?

Those same three words, over and over again, filling the entire page in a messy, cramped scrawl. A question that had consumed every thought I had whenever I wasn't directly basking in his glorious light. My fingers clenched into fists and I tried to remember to breathe, but what would the point even have been?

It seemed like the smallest of things I could have done. The smallest of punishments I could have inflicted, to force myself to write that burning, devouring question over and over again until I felt like I was going to spill my insides out onto the carpet.

He was here now. He was safe, and tangible, and real. That was all that mattered. "How was the lesson?"

"Lesson-y," he returned, taking a small step backwards as I approached just to keep the space between us. Frowning, I held my distance, my stomach squirming as that small flash of fear coupled with uncertainty danced through his eyes. However brief it was, it still sent a pang of guilt coursing through my body, just at the knowledge he was still trying to his distance. I understood, of course. I didn't blame him in the slightest.

"Oh, yeah?"

Thomas laughed to himself, folding his arms neatly around his waist. "Kids are a great idea in theory, but in practice, they're little nightmares."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault," Thomas returned nonchalantly. I stepped away from him, fumbling for something to say. I always had something to say. And now, there was just nothing. Every time I tried, it just didn't seem good enough. Every word that I planned and every message I tried to get across fell so flat so quickly and I had nothing left to hold us together.