You're Mine

Porcelain Hearts

John woke up late on Sunday to find his roommate was missing. Probably avoiding him. He sighed heavily and made some coffee. As he sat on the couch, he turned on the TV to drown out his thoughts and sip his drink. He ended up gripping the porcelain mug a little too tight and staring blankly at the TV as the colors flashed and the sound grew less intense. The mug began cracking as he grit his teeth and dug his nails into the couch.
The next thing he knew, his lap was soaked in scalding liquid and his hand had shards of porcelain stuck all in it. His expression softened as his eyes trailed to his hand just in time to see blood blossom from his palm. He could only laugh at it as tears broke from his eyes.

"What am I doing? He hates me. He hates me. He hates me. What am I doing?!" He slammed his already wounded hand into the coffee table and screamed. But not from the physical pain. No, he couldn't feel a thing.

He thread his fingers through his hair and curled up onto the couch, sobbing.
"Alex, Alex, why? Why'd I have to do this to myself? Why can't you just... just love me."

Several hours passed and that was all John did. He didn't even bother to clean up his now dry pants or the crusting blood on his hand. The door to the dorm swung open at exactly 4 o'clock in the afternoon. He didn't look. He kept his gaze on the floor and did his best to stop crying.

Alex's laughter sounded from just outside the door like he opened it and turned away for a finishing statement. He walked into the room, smiling widely. Until he saw John.

"John!" He gasped and rushed over to him, "John what did you do?"
John couldn't make himself respond. He just sat and stared at those familiar green eyes with a hole in his heart. Alex examined his condition.
"Are you in shock or something? Your eyes are wide and your skin is a lot paler than usual. You didn't even lose that much blood. John, you need to get cleaned up. Come on."
Alex took John's undamaged hand and led him to the bathroom. John sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the floor.
"Now where is that- oh here it is. Don't worry John. Whatever happened, it'll be okay," Alex smiled down at John who tilted his head slightly to fully look at Alex.
"I thought you hated me?"
"No," he shook his head, almost laughing at the thought, "I don't think I could ever actually hate you, John. We just... can't be together because of what you've done. I just can't... I can't love you, John." Out loud, anyway.

Alex left the room as John hopped into the shower. He went to clean off the couch and the table that had blood stains on it. 

The second he came face to face with the mess of blood on the table, he began sobbing. 

"Why do I cry so much? I can't... can't love him! He's a monster! Pull yourself together, Alex. Jesus Christ. Clean up. Stop crying. Stop it. He'll be out any minute."

As he got around to cleaning up the shattered porcelain on the floor, John sighed and stepped into the room, "Hey, Alex. I really... really appreciate what you're doing. I'm just... I am upset about you. I know you don't like me. Maybe not even as a friend anymore. I just want to tell you that I am sorry, Alex. I'm sorry for being like this. For killing those people. For betraying you like I did. You forgave me and I screwed up. I know words can't substitute for lives but I am sorry, Alex. And no matter how you feel about me, I'll always love you. I love you, Alex." He stared at Alex's back as he sat eerily still on the floor. John only sighed again and turned to leave the room. Alex waited for the sound of a door shutting before he allowed his sobs to become audible. 

He dropped the porcelain pieces and rubbed his hands over his face, crying John's name. He must've not heard. After he regained his composure, he finished cleaning and lied on the couch, thinking. How could I possibly love him? I need some reason. I can't just decide that it's all good suddenly, no. I need an actual logical reason. Because, frankly... I can't live without him.

"Alex. Alex! You're going too fast! I'm still a beginner!" John laughed and rapidly pressed every button on the controller.
"Sorry, dude," Alex laughed, "not my fault you suck!"
They shared a laugh as their multiplayer match ended. TURTLES: 1   HAM: 46
"How are you so awesome at this game?!"
"At least you got one!" Alex laughed.
"I accidentally threw a grenade at you! I guess it does still count, doesn't it?"
"For sure. With more practice, you could probably easily surpass me."
"Are you offering me practice sessions? How kind, good sir!"
"But of course! Anything to help you improve your combat skills! Lesson number one: always be prepared for a sneak attack!"
"Is that a forewarn- AH!"
Alex launched himself at John and they tumbled onto the floor. Alex found himself laying on top of John, both of them giggling insanely. John was the first to realize what exactly was happening and he turned tomato red. Alex felt his face heat up as well. He wasted no time. He took John's face in his hands and leaned in. Closer and closer, until-

"Alex. Alex!" 

"Hm, what?" he bolted upright and turned dark red as soon as he saw John. Was I really dreaming about him?

"We're gonna be late. Get dressed."

He reluctantly got up and decided to skip showering to save time. He threw on fresh clothes and layered on deodorant and cologne. When he was ready to walk out the door, John had already left. We have first together, you can't run. 

John ignored Alex throughout theatre and took to writing a script instead. Alex noticed that it seemed to be a love story. Between two guys. Who were roommates. And one of them was a psychopathic murderer whom the other character seemed to hate. The other character was described in detail as an amazing writer with flowing brown hair and... hypnotic green eyes. John caught Alex's eyes trailing his words and when their eyes locked, John directed his attention back to his work almost immediately. Yet, he hesitated. He didn't want to look away. Neither did Alex. But John had thoughts that Alex hated him truly now. If only he could say he didn't. If only he could make everything all better. But he can't. Not yet.