Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 19: Essays

//TW: swearing\\

Alexander

I reached for Thomas's hand, glancing over at him just to affirm that he was there, that a being as wonderful as him hadn't faded into the mist as wonderful things so often do. He continued quickly scrawling down the notes, his lips quirked into a determined, dedicated frown as he etched down every word Professor Washington said before it disappeared from the air. I smiled softly to myself, drinking in the sight of him, and returned back to my own set of notes. Thomas's fingers squeezed around mine, and my heart soared in my chest like an unrestrained bird, feeling the wind and the sky for the first time in quite a while. It was inexplicable, the things he did to me and all the little ways he made me feel. I'd never felt before the way I do whenever he so much as glances my way, one of those soft and knowing smiles lighting up his face, and subsequently, the world around him.

I lingered in the moment for as long as I could, savoring the way his fingers intertwined with my own. I clung to the gentle touch of his skin, some innate desire deep inside of me wishing I had any right to have its comfort, its warmth. But the sad truth of it was that I would never deserve it, and I would never deserve him.

The sharp tolls of the bell cut through the air a moment later, drowning out Washington's finishing words. I set my pen down in welcome relief as the rest of the class hurriedly set to packing.

"God," I said, struggling to be heard over the sudden chaos the room had found itself thrown into. "As much as I love writing, I forgot how much I utterly despise hand cramps."

"Yeah?" Thomas said with a soft smile, neatly closing his notebook and setting it inside his bag.

"They're the worst!"

"They are," he agreed absentmindedly as his gaze slowly wandered elsewhere. I frowned, following it to the same person it had landed on at least a dozen times in the past two hours. Thomas's fingers tightened around mine, clinging to me as if I could offer him the smallest hint of protection. And if that's what he looked for, if that's what he needed, I would give it to him.

The boy at the front of the room moved slowly, methodically, as if nothing in the world was wrong. He gathered his things together and stood up. Even from where I stood, I could see his gaze raking over the room, until it finally met mine. Chills traversed down the length of my spine as he held me underwater with his cold, stiff eyes burning with a hatred unmatched by anything I had ever seen before. It was somewhat subdued by that calculating look, but only somewhat. There was only so much one could do with one of the strongest, most instinctual feelings, and pressing it down is certainly not one of them.

To be honest, I didn't give a shit. I held his gaze in an unspoken challenge, daring him to say something. Daring him to finally unmask himself and reveal the monster inside to the rest of the world. James could hate me and frankly, I couldn't have cared less. But it was the moment he turned to Thomas that got to me.

James smiled. He fucking smiled at Thomas, as if he had any right to, then turned and disappeared out the door without a backwards glance, becoming just another amorphous shape in a sea of them. I bristled, my tongue already forming a slew of insults and defenses just for Thomas, but he spoke before I had the chance.

"He'll...he'll be waiting for me," Thomas said softly, glancing down at the desk. Something hard passed across his gaze, a truth neither one of wanted to acknowledge. It was so unfair, how cruel this world could be sometimes. It was a garden of ice and frost, forever damaging the beauty it could have held in the spring. There were no flowers, no stubborn thrivers even in the cold. There was nothing but that endless, incessant cold drowning out the sunlight, drowning out any chance of hope. We had nothing in the wake of that cold, clammy fear. "He always is."