Uneven {Lams}

Chapter Five

John Pov
I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and heard Alex muttered, "For fucks sake."

"You open a cut?"
I asked.

"Mhm,"
He hummed, though it sounded strained.

After we fought those guys we went to class, and didn't have time to patch ourselves up which gained quite a few stares because our knuckles were spilling red and our faces didn't look much better.

But anyway, Alex really got the worst of it considering he was a bit hungover and already received some rough treatment the night before.
I, on the other there hand, stood my ground relatively well and rarely was on the ground.

I closed the medicine cabinet, sighing as I hopped up and sat on the sink counter next to Alex.

"Gimme your hand,"
I said.

He held his hand close to me as I said, "This is gonna sting."

"I know, I know, just get it over with."
He told me:

I shrugged a bit, pouring disinfectant on a cloth and holding it on Alex's knuckles.

He groaned, his eyes screwing shut.

"Told you it would hurt." I muttered. "Shut up Laurens," He hissed.

I rolled my eyes.
I took the cloth off his hand and wrapped it in bandages.

"Other hand,"
I hummed.

He sighed, scooting a bit close to me so I could reach his hand. I repeated the same actions, Alex's eye twitched and his jaw clench before I put the bandages on his hand.

He clenched both of his hands in fists, doing it few times before he muttered, "Thanks Laurens."

I pat his shoulder, hopping off the sink. "Anything for you Hamilton." 

He nodded a bit, touching his cut lip but shook it off, hopping off the sink with me and walked out of the bathroom.

I sat down on the couch, glancing to Alex as he walked to his room. That glance turned more into a stare.

I get very confused when people tell me I'm going to hell for being gay, because I really feel like their overlooking all the reasons I'm going to hell anyway.

Does it concern me that when I die I could be spending an eternity in never ending torture? Yes, It does.
But that honestly doesn't sound much different from what I go through everyday.

I mean, I live with Alex for Christ's sake, so believe me, I have been through hell.

But I gotta say, living with Alex has its perks. He's not that bad of a guy when you really get to know him.

At first glance, he's an asshole. I mean, who's not?

But Alex is one of the best men I have had the honor of meeting.

And can I just add that when he rolls up the cuffs of his jeans that looks on fucking point. It really compliments his calves so I gotta hand that to him.

Oh and he also looks fucking so badass shirtless and wearing tank tops which is pretty fuckin cool. The pierced ears only add to that level of badass.

I sighed, wiping my nose which felt sore after a fist was rammed into it only a few hours earlier.

I sprawled out on the couch, yawning. My hands were wrapped in bandages and I couldn't help but think well shit, now Alex and I match.

I flipped onto my chest, stuffing my face into a pillow. I wanted to be a fucking doctor not a lawyer.

But no, Pops just gotta show the world his son is a good man. Not that I'm not a good man, but we gotta prove it to everyone. I don't hate me dad, no, I just don't particularly like that he sometimes can control my life without me really realizing it.

I groaned, sitting up and trudging to my room. I closed the door behind me and looked at my bandaged hand.

Fighting those guys was worth it.
You can't catcall a girl.
It ain't the gentlemen thing to do.

I ran a hand through my hair, walking to my desk and plopping down.

I propped my feet on the desk and grabbed a sketch book and started to draw shit. I found myself drawing the three assholes Alex and I fought earlier and it didn't look too bad.

I can't say I regret it either.
I know for a fact Alex doesn't.

I tossed my sketchbook back onto my desk and took off my jacket, leaving me in just a worn out blue tank top that I think I got sometime in Junior year of college?

Can't remember.

I don't know if people still call it Freshmen and junior and senior and all that in college since getting a law degree takes so fucking long but it sort of makes sense  to me so I'll continue to call it that until someone corrects me.

I remember when I met Alex in high school that he would stutter.
All the time.

He was really outgoing and pretty fucking funny but stuttering was a big thing for him.

Four years later and the only time he stutters is if he is literally being choked. Don't ask me how I got this knowledge. I don't like remembering that.

And no, it wasn't like one day he woke up and was like oh shit!
The stutter is gone!

No, it took a while.

He wasn't necessarily anxious and he never let it handicap him, but it gradually got better. I honestly think he got speech therapy or something but he never talked it about much.

I get why though.
I mean, I wouldn't.

I wiped my nose, sighing. I had homework and an essay due by Thursday and had to be submitted by midnight.

I didn't want this.
But who wants homework?

I miss my family while I'm off at school but I get to see them over holiday which is nice. I write my dad letters every now and then because he has no clue how emails and texting works.

So.
Letters.

I always try harder to make my handwriting on point when I write to him because I know he'll nag me about it if my handwriting is shitty but I still love him, you know?

I sighed again, picking up my sketchbook again and continuing to draw.