The Leaves Were Falling

The Dead Don't Cry

tw//implied $uicid3, mentions of d3ath

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There was a breeze.

It was gently blowing on the grass, as green as the leaves that are glued to the branches above. There was a faint sound of chirping birds, the song finally finding place among the slight ruffle of clothing.

He opened his eyes, finding his head laying on John's chest, it was warm. He lifted his head, smiling as he found hooded eyes looking back at him.

"I'm dead." He said, not a question, yet not a statement.

"You are," John replied, tone as soft as the moss by the stream. "As am I."

He felt himself swallow, gripping the fabric beneath his fingers the slightest bit tighter, afraid to hold on and afraid to let go.

"Are you real?" He felt his eyes sting, yet there were no tears. The dead don't cry, his mother had said once before, as she looked out the frosted window. "Or are you me?"

John sighed, propping himself up on his elbows. Alexander watched as his hand fell from the warm chest onto the grass, tears yearning to break free from their confines, but they didn't. The dead don't cry. A hand pushed his chin up, forcing him to face the blues (clear, Johns' eyes were clear once more) of the others' eyes.

"I'm real, Alexander." He felt himself laugh, tipping forward so his head was buried in John's chest. His John, his John was real and here and seemed so alive. A warm hand placed itself on the small of his back, tipping both of them down into the green grass.

The Sun shone down, the red of his hair being highlighted didn't bother as much anymore. John loved red, and John was here. Surrounded by the green and blues of the nature that bordered them, no red to be found on the ground.

The leaves had fallen, but now they were back on the branches of the trees.

The leaves had stopped, so had the tears.

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Well, that was a ride. If you couldn't tell I have become ✨invested✨ in the Hamilton Fandom once again