Orphanage AU: Lams

Chapter 21: Lunch

What an engaging chapter title amirite?

---Alex's POV---

I flipped on the air conditioning as I walked in, carrying lunch. John was sitting at a small round table with cushy chairs around it. Handing John his lunch tray, I asked quickly if the food was okay.

"Oh, yeah, better than okay. I don't eat food this good often." he responded gratefully, taking a large bite out of his sandwich.

"No? Is your family- er-" I wasn't certain how to put is your family poor delicately.

John's expression darkened and I remembered belatedly not to talk about his family. "No, we're just, I mean our servants could cook but my mother-" he broke off and stared at his sandwich.

"Nevermind," I interjected hastily, deciding food quality was not a very beneficial subject to pursue. John had already mindlessly devoured half of his croissant sandwich. Scrambling for something to say, I inquired, "how'd you eat your sandwich so fast?"

Bad idea. John flinched and flicked his eyes up fearfully at me through his eyelashes. Shit. Another masterful attempt ends with disaster. What was it about food that he couldn't talk about? Maybe it was best to avoid food period.

"You ate just as fast," he pointed out defensively.

I blinked. I had. It was such a normal thing for me I hadn't even realized, a habit originating from when I was young. When my biological father left us barely any money, we were often driven to theft, devouring food as soon as we stole it so as not to get caught with it in our hands. Later food became so scarce for me that I often ate it quickly because I couldn't help it. After that I ate quickly because the faster I ate, the more time I had to work, the more time I had to work, the more I'd get paid. It was a key part of surviving on your own. I was on my own, when I was 12 my mother- Fuck. Not now for heaven's sake.

"Guess I'm hungry today," I explained finally. It rang so false, Evan would be able to tell it was a lie. John didn't question it. Thank heaven for his understanding. Desperate to change the subject, I remarked, "I'm glad we're eating inside. It's a bit too hot today to be outside, although I'll take sun any day." Over a storm. Anyday.

John sent me a queer look and suggested hesitantly, "If you're hot you could take off your sweater." Right. So that was something I probably shouldn't have brought up.

I fought the urge to absentmindedly trace my needle thin scars, straighter than anyone I knew, on the inside of my wrist. I suddenly felt like a freak, my skin crawling. "I'm- I'd rather not. I'm not hot." I lied hopelessly.

"Alex, I-" John looked alarmed at overstepping my barriers.

"I'm fine." I cut him off sharply, flinching at the sound of my harsh voice in the air. The coldness in my voice wasn't the crispness of winter air, it was the bone aching cold of a storm-

I pushed away from the table abruptly and hurried out the door. Muttering something about rounding up the kids, I got the hell out of there.

---John's POV---

It was lunch. All the kids except for the really little ones were in the cafeteria right now. There was no one for him to round up. And the lunch bell wouldn't ring for several minutes.

Obviously, he had left to escape our conversation. In other words, he'd left to escape me. Well fudge. I didn't want to be clingy or annoying, so I stayed in my seat, sinking into it as I leaned into the soft cushions.

He'd asked about my family and cooking, which brought memories of Father preventing me from cooking (forcefully) to Mother having to cook, usually too hurt to prepare any advanced foods. Then he mentioned how fast I ate, which I pushed back at him in alarm. To my utter relief, confusion, and dismay, he stopped stumbling into my trigger subject and I began to trip past his boundaries.

I told he ate fast, which he reacted badly to. Then he said he liked eating inside because it was hot out and I told him he could take off his sweater. Believe me, I was not a stranger to qualms about taking off clothes. Blame Father. Not only for the bruises, sometimes he did worse. But long sleeves? It didn't take a genius to figure out that he had cut at some point.

I wanted to mend the conversation, take back what I said, or somehow make up for how upset I'd made him. But before I could say anything Alex was gone.

The bell rang, sounding much more mournful than it did this morning. I mindlessly ran through the names and faced Alex had pointed out yesterday during recess. Standing up slowly, I picked up my lunch tray and sighed, picking up Alex's as well. His ham and cheese crêpe was untouched.

Sulking a bit, I went to my classroom and taught the rest of the afternoon with a lot less cheer than I had this morning.

OK, a bit short, but I finally managed to a bit tension through. Admit it. Yes, I'm a bit proud.

Also, if you have any constructive criticism for me to improve my writing PLEASE tell me in the comments or DM me. I'd really appreciate it.

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