Human || Lams (Completed)

Paint Me in Trust

Alex had never liked his poetry.

And no, he wasn't looking for attention or trying to get pity by saying so- he just didn't.

But John. John had given life to his poetry. Given them a purpose, a reason. And when he didn't feel like writing, he would see John and suddenly a million thoughts would flood into his brain and the only way to release them was to write. So he always carried a blue pen in his pocket, and would write them on his arm when paper was unavailable. The poems faded when he took a shower or scrubbed them off for more room, but words would reappear as he wrote more on the remaining markings- pulsing.

Music was another escape for him. His biological father had left a violin behind before escaping to wherever he was now, so when he turned nine, he did jobs around his hometown in the burning hot summers to afford lessons from the lady down the street.

He'd never been particularly interested in dating for that reason, spending more time playing the violin or daydreaming than making friendships. Sure, he found people attractive- he'd even dated a girl at the very beginning of Junior year, enjoyed the affection and cuddling, but when she leaned in for a kiss on the day of prom, he'd panicked, pushed her off of him and stayed at home with a rented suit. He'd never found someone he could say he'd marry with pride; spend a life together. Until he'd become friends with John.

Ha, he thought, Funny how all of my thoughts have about him as of late. It's like he's in my brain. But really, he was in a sense.

John was someone he trusted, someone who understood what it was like to be the new kid looking for friends, and could help with that. He'd let John see a part of him, and he'd responded with nothing but interest and kindness.

And his face. Oh boy. Tan skin and freckles, a distinct facial structure framed by dark curls that tumbled down his shoulder. Inspiration.

Variegated petals 
fall from your curls, 
shaken by the wind, 
coming from when you don't close your door. 
Once given a life from your energy and flare, 
yet you always let them tumble, 
from your once so vibrantly adorned hair.

Sloppily written; another free verse where the rhythm faltered as Alex's mind let loose and grew less precise. He'd slip that into John's locker tomorrow.

Anyway, where were we?

When Alex shared his poetry with John's curious eyes for the first time, he felt something indescribable. He spent the next day googling quizzes on “How To Know If You're Gay For Your Best Friend” and eating garlic croutons straight out of the bag.

When he had just finally accepted his fate of being hopelessly in love with John, he devised a plan. With the beginning of Senior year approaching and the chances of splitting up to go to different colleges getting even higher, he realized that the chance of never having even a taste of a life with John was going up with them.

In his mind, it seemed logical: Lie about having a crush and never being in a relationship before, and ask for some form of practice in a way. In return, he'd sneak poems into John's belongings. Then maybe, just maybe, John would fall in love too. Even if he didn't, at least Alex would know what a life with John being his would feel like.

Yes, he felt guilty when John actually agreed to pretend to be in a relationship with him. But no, he wasn't going to stop it any time soon. Did that make him selfish? Probably. After all, he was misleading John, who probably saw him as one of the most trustworthy people in his life. Alex always wanted his trust, but now he was completely undeserving of it.

So here he was, walking home with his friends as they talked about Hercules' birthday party, John's hand in his, the other occupied by his violin case. The party was in a few days, and Alex was having to prepare himself for large crowds since Lafayette took it upon himself to invite everyone in school.

They reached Alex's street while their friends were arguing about the movie they had been watching that lunch. He waved them goodbye (not that anyone noticed, with the exception of John) and began the trek to his house at the end of the culd-de-sac, throwing on his earbuds to play a somewhat quiet song from the Panic! At the Disco album, Pretty. Odd. for nostalgia, slowly lifting the weight of the day's stress off of his shoulders.

A/N

911 yes hello

I have no personality so I usually don't write these for the wattpad versions of my books but h e y ?