Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 28: It Might Be Nice...

//TW: swearing, trauma\\

Alexander

The gray light danced across his face, his eyes an emotionless vacuum as he stared out the window, lost to a world a million miles away. He sat perfectly still, refusing to even blink; it chilled my core how cold he looked. I wanted to reach out to him. I had to. But the divide between us was so remarkably great that it would take much more than just a few well-intentioned words to bridge it, and right now, words were all I had.

So I stared at the boy I promised to protect, watching him as he drifted further and further away from me.

Finally, I shifted, making as much noise as possible. I hated to snap Thomas out of his thoughts, to pull him away from whatever refuge he had found in the deep, tucked away alcoves of his mind surrounded by his own creations and promises to himself, but I couldn't live with myself if I scared him even in the tiniest of ways.

It didn't matter anyway; Thomas hardly noticed.

I pushed off the blanket and sat up. I reached towards him, then thought better of it last second, and left my hand hanging in midair. A sigh worked its way to my lips, but I forced myself to keep it down, to bury my frustration and unwelcome fear. When I finally broke the curse of silence, I made sure to infuse as much warmth as I possibly could into my voice, if only to melt the ice that had frozen around him, keeping him apart from the roses and the flowers I had grown to associate with him. It wasn't fair, how efficient a killer the frost is. How fatal its touch is, that sense of finality and lost sweeping over a desolate land and utterly destroying any life.

"Good morning, love," I said, and it just did not seem like enough.

Thomas spared me a quick glance, offered a half-formed smile, then turned back to the window.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, shifting over to his side and following his gaze. Raindrops slid down the glass silently, the usually comforting pitter-patter strangely absent. The sky was cloaked in a deep, apathetic gray as the rain poured, and down below, the streets were desolate. Thomas loved days like these: the absolute freedom and alternative possibilities presented as the rain fell. He loved the quiet, the mysterious new world. He loved the song of the wind and the rain and the birds after the storm.

But not today.

"Thomas?"

"Hmm?" he asked, eyes unfocused.

"Are you...are you okay?"

"Umm," he said, grappling for an answer to a question that was unfair of me to ask in the first place. Eventually he gave up, shrugged, and let his hands fall to his lap. "I guess not."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked. Every part of me longed to wrap my arms around him, to pull him closer and feel the gentle swells and curves of his body against mine. I wanted to hold him in that moment more than I had ever wanted anything else, but I had to fight down all of those instincts and keep my hands to myself so I didn't hurt him, didn't overstep.

"I guess I have to, huh?"

"Not if you don't want to," I whispered, shifting away to leave as much space between us as I assumed was necessary. He tensed at the tiniest movement, finally breaking his eye contact with the rain and turning to me.