Mostly Angst Lams One-Shots

Sourness of Vomit, Bitterness of Blood

TW: Suicide, blood, and vomit.

"Alex, I'm headed to work love," John called to his husband. Alex shot up from the couch and ran over to him, pulling him into a tight embrace and nearly knocking him off his feet.

"I love you, John. So, so, so much. Even I don't have the words to adequately describe how much you mean to me. No amount of flowery prose, nor metaphors, nor number of declarations of love can fully encapsulate my affections towards you," said Alex, his voice faintly shaky, his eyes a tad glossy.

"Alex, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because you only talk like that when you get emotional. Are you feeling alright? Do you want me to stay at home?"

"I'm fine, John, I promise," he said leaning down only slightly to kiss him. John kissed back, resting one hand on Alex's cheek. After a moment Alex pulled away.

"You should go or you're going to be late."

"Alright, alright, I'm going," John laughed.

"Oh, one more thing, after work can you go to the store and pick up some more eggs and milk?"

"Will do! Love you!"

"Love you too!" Alex waited until he heard the door shut.

"I'm sorry."

Despite Alex's reassurance, John couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't okay. No matter what he told himself, no matter what excuse Alex could possibly give, his actions that morning seemed, off at best. John's paranoia only grew as time past. By lunch, he was sick to his stomach with nerves and asked to leave work early, which he was granted.

"I'll just call Alex," he thought. "That should calm my nerves." He sat down on a bench, pulled out his phone, and waited for Alex to pick up. He listened to the phone ring as he tried his best to control his breathing. He waited, and waited, and waited, his anxiety growing with each and every noise. After nearly 10 minutes Alex still hadn't picked up, and John swore he was about to puke on the side of the road. His heart began to race, and his breathing became more erratic. "He must be busy at work," John desperately tried to reason with himself. "I'll stop by his office."

John speed walked to the building where Alex worked. In a clearer state of mind, he would have gotten a taxi, but panic clouded his judgment. After the half-hour walk/jog John was exhausted. He walked up to the desk lady, struggling to catch his breath.

"Excuse me, Could you please page Mr. Hamilton for me?"

"I'm sorry sir but Mr. Hamilton hasn't shown up today. We have no idea where he is. We haven't gotten a call, or text message, or anything. We even tried to call his husband. Did you have anything scheduled?"

John paused, taken aback. "I-wait. That makes no sense! He's not sick, and even if he was he would have called or asked me too. And I never got a call from you."

"Oh, so you're John! I'm sorry sir. I wish I could tell you where he was. If he shows up do you want me to tell him you were here?"

"Please. Thank you." He said, before leaving. He sat back down on a bench, trying to process everything.

"Alex would never not show up to work without a call. That doesn't sound like Alex at all!" John could taste the bile in the back of his throat, but swallowed it down and tried once again to regain control of his breathing. His hands had begun to shake too.

With nothing better to do, John decided to pick up the groceries and then go home. He decided again to walk, hoping that it might help him relax. Unfortunately, the short walk did nothing of the sort. He speed-walked through the store, avoiding looking at people so they wouldn't see how much of a wreck he was. He quickly grabbed a carton of eggs and a carton of milk, got in line, paid, and left in rapid succession.