a/n: writer's block is terrible and i hate it. so please forgive this! i just got back from seeing The Perks of Being A Wallflower and i'm really inspired to write something about high school and this story doesn't fit but i needed to update, so.

It was hard stirring into consciousness when he had previously been submerged in a dreamless sleep. Toris's room was filled with light streaming through the windows - he groaned and buried his face back into the pillows. A few minutes later his brain flooded with frenzy as he realized that if the sun was up then he was late; he threw the covers off of himself and practically fell out of bed. With his stiff legs he limped down the hall and into the bathroom that he and Alfred shared.

There were always several 'constants' around Alfred's house. Every morning he left his glasses by the sink, and on the days he had time to shower he would fold the towel and leave it by the sink. But now none of that was there. All of the towels were still neatly hung up, and Toris grabbed one as he closed the door and started to undress. Alfred's glasses weren't abandoned by the faucet like they usually were, and to Toris this seemed unsettling.

He tried not to think about yesterday as the hot water cascaded down his back. His fingers combed too roughly through his hair as he finally gave up and started to cry. Toris could feel the water trickling in between and sliding over the tough skin on his back and that made him choke out an audible sob. What am I doing? He whispered to himself. It felt like there was a crack in his chest, and the pulsing flesh beneath it stung horribly, and it only got worse as it felt like it spread up his neck and over his skull. It hurt. At times like this he was convinced that it would always hurt, and even if it didn't - it would always ache.

He was still crying as he finished washing his hair, and he cried as he scrubbed the sleep off of his skin far more roughly than what was necessary. He felt rubbed completely raw by the time he was done, and his chest was sore from crying. He shut off the water and stood there as it dripped off of him; he covered his face with his hands. What were you doing, little myshonok?

The thought had a voice of its own, and it sent fear racing to his core. The thought of Ivan questioning him, or even worse, punishing him - made him want to scream. He got out and toweled his hair dry, and then the rest of his body. Toris wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbed his clothes, and opened the door out into the hallway - where the air was much colder and chilled his skin.

When he got to his room he closed the door and locked it. He dug through his dresser for fresh clothes and put them on as fast as he could; all the while his bones felt like ice, and every time he blinked his eyelids played back the previous night's events. Alfred's soft lips on his own chapped ones. The way his hands pulled his hips forward and closer. How soft and pleased his eyes looked whenever Toris let out a gasp. It was hard to snap out of; but he had to.

He slipped his apron over his head and tightened it around his waist.

The clock above the bed told him that it was 9:46 and that in itself was enough to fill him with fear and adrenaline. If he had been at Ivan's house that would have been enough to cause a breakdown right then and there - and Eduard would have been ready to take his place. Toris had to remind himself that this was only Alfred, and yesterday they had had some form of misunderstanding and that it would be okay. Everything was going to be okay. This would be a normal week just like every week before it.

He felt internally fragile as he stepped out into the kitchen and found that there was no one there. The imaginary barriers in front of his eyes that were holding back tears felt weakened, and he was sure that the moment Alfred walked in he would shatter into a million pieces like a cracked mirror that was waiting for that one stray pebble to send it crumbling.

Eventually a developed routine washed down over him and he began making scrambled eggs and toast. He made a cup of coffee and set it on Alfred's side of the table. The smells hit his noise and made his stomach feel weak with hunger; so he made a similar breakfast for himself. Toris set the table with silverware and sat down in his own chair, quietly waiting for Alfred to finish getting ready. It was going to be a late day for the both of them.

Alfred stumbled into the kitchen wearing a formal shirt and pants that he had made an attempt to put on properly; but he had probably been half-asleep during the process. He slid into the chair across from the brunette and began to shovel his breakfast into his mouth rhythmically. He started on his coffee just as Toris lifted his fork to take his first bite. For the first time that morning, Toris felt oddly at ease.

"What time do you think we'll have to leave?" Alfred asked this almost out of nowhere. Toris paused, bewildered.

Oh right. The conference. "I'm not sure. Noon, probably."

"Hey, Toris."

"Hm?"

"Are you all right?" Oh no, Toris could feel the tears start well up behind his eyes. They stung and it hurt to even look at Alfred.

"I'm fine." he choked out.

"Are you sure?"

And then, all of a sudden, he wasn't fine. He wasn't fine, again. His lungs felt like they were filled with lead and his cheeks grew hot and the tears were practically pouring down his cheeks and he sat there for a minute; unaware of what he was thinking or feeling and he only knew that he was reacting. He and Alfred stood up at almost the same time, their chairs sliding loudly on the wooden floor.

Fight or flight had never been kind to Toris, and this was no exception. Strong arms wrapped around his waist and held him still as he tried to walk away, away and out - towards the front door. Toris was hyperventilating and he could feel his airways restrict. He hated acting this pathetic. He was a strong person, but placed in this particular situation he cracked under pressure. Eventually he stopped trying to run away and realized that Alfred was talking to him.

"I'm sorry, Toris. Please try to breathe. It's all okay and I'm sorry." Toris choked back another sob before he let most of his weight fall back to Alfred's chest. The blonde was breathing slowly and Toris desperately tried to match it. Alfred just held him in place, kept him steady, and place his chin on his shoulder. It felt like Alfred was curling around him. He grabbed on to Alfred's wrists and simply felt them underneath his fingers, and for some reason this soothed him, rooted him back to reality. His rasping breaths grew softer as Alfred's hands found their way to his chest and pressed him closer, "Breathe like I do." he had whispered.

At first it was difficult; because the rapid rise and fall of his chest didn't even come close to the slow in-through-the-nose and out-through-the-mouth thing that Alfred was doing. Toris swallowed back one of his sobs and sucked in air through his nose and forced it out of his mouth; it hurt. He did it again, and again, and one more time until he could finally actually breathe.

Toris pursed his lips as Alfred's lips met the line of his jaw for a brief second.

"Thank you, Alfred."

"I'm really sorry." His voice was soft and assuring and sincere.

"You didn't do anything, I was being stupid."

"I provoked it."

"I'm not going to let you blame yourself," Toris turned around to face Alfred. He probably looked meek to the other. But he didn't care. A bunch of thoughts were nagging him and he and Alfred were just standing; much too close, and not the way a housekeeper and house-owner should be standing. So he started babbling about mindless things.

"You need to pick out a tie, and you need to find a tuxedo jacket that isn't too big for you, and we need to get there on time otherwise Francis won't leave us alone about it, and-"

"Is it all right if I kiss you?"

A weak smile graced Toris's lips and he stood on his toes to lean forward. Alfred's hand caressed his neck and the other pulled his body closer and he felt himself start to melt. They moved in a pull and push rhythm, and it felt good, and right, and soothing. Toris really couldn't stand it. He knew what he was getting himself into; and he decided that right after this - they would be done. They wouldn't talk about it. Toris's eyes closed even though Alfred's remained half-lidded. And for a while, it was great.

Great until Toris pulled away and left without saying a word; just hands lingering and a small, apologetic look. Great until Alfred needed Toris to fix his tie, and straighten his jacket, and great until they got out of the taxi and walked up to the door of the conference building with their manila folders in hand. They didn't speak, and they didn't touch, and if Toris was going to be honest with himself; it was so much worse than he had imagined it.