thanks to smoltinypumpkinchild, my lovely editor
Alex is hopeless.
He knows he's bi. He's out to his foster parents, and they couldn't care less. Aaron knows.
But sometimes, he really does not understand the ways his sexuality works. Because, at least he thinks, it should be clear that you shouldn't fall in love with the single most unnatainable person in the world in the short span of two weeks.
Not only is John the single worst form of not single, he probably considers himself "Too cool" to hang out with Alexander. And while he knows this, Alexander is still very much laying awake at 3AM and thinking about him. He grumbles and rolled over, pulling his pillow close to his chest...
DING!
Who would be texting him at this hour? Lafayette, maybe? He hasn't given Lafayette or Hercules his number, so... Aaron?
[Butthead] there are two drunk idiots at my door
[hamsandwich] who?
[Butthead] it's the punk kids or whatever
[Butthead] the gay studs
[hamsandwich] uhh is john there
[Butthead] i think that's his name, yeah
[Butthead] he claims its jesus tho
[Butthead] he's here with his boyfriend
[hamsandwich] do u want me to come pick them up and drop them off somewhere or something
[Butthead] yes
Alexander sighs and pockets his phone, rolling out of bed and grabbing his coat to shoulder on over his pyjamas. He puts his glasses on and then walks outside to where his foster parent's minivan is.
He has a driver's license, he's eighteen. He's technically allowed to drive it.
He hops into the drivers side, plugging in the keys and beginning the incredibly short drive to Burr's house.
When he gets there, he sees precisely what he expects to: Aaron is standing in the doorway. Presumably, he's taken his binder off, as it's 3AM, and he's awkwardly standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Alex. Thank god. Take these two idiots to their houses," he says, turning around and walking back into his house. Alexander turns to the two, who are giggling and hiccuping.
"It's not even legal for you two to be drunk. You aren't 21. You're lucky I'm not calling the police." John's hanging off of Francis' shoulder, laughing way too hard at the threat of police. Francis is giggling too- and being uncomfortably handsy with John.
Alex pinches the bridge of his nose, composing himself.
"Both of you, get in the car." he grumbles, grabbing their arms and dragging them towards it, opening the backseat for them. He doesn't bother trying to persuade them into seatbelts- he knows it would be pointless.
"What's your address, Francis?" he asks, turning to him- Francis hands him his phone, which has his address as the lockscreen. That's fairly smart, Alex muses, in case the phone got lost, or if he was too drunk to even speak.
He starts driving, suddenly wishing he had noise cancelling headphones, because Francis is getting ridiculously handsy and John's squeaking every once in a while.
He rounds the corner around to where Francis' house is, then parks in front of the house long enough for Francis to crawl out of the backseat and sneak back into his house. John climbs forward and sits in the front seat and props his feet up on the dashboard, looking over at Alex. He swallows hard when he notices the dark purple bruises up John's neck, turning back to the steering wheel.
"I guess, i'll uh, just take you home-" Alex starts, about to take the brakes out of lock, but John grabs his hand to make him stop.
"Don't... don take me home," he slurrs out, Alex blinking in confusion. "Dad'll hit me if he sees I'm drunk," he manages, looking at Alexander desperately.
Alexander looks at him with alarm, sitting up and taking his hand off of the controls. A punishment for going out drinking would be fair, but hitting your child? And there's something wrong with your child fearing you would hit them- even while stupidly drunk.
"Your father hits you?" he asks, turning to look at John. John looks away from Alexander, instead directing his attention to the street lamp outside of the car. Behind the layers and layers of makeup and persona, there was a scared boy who was afraid of his own father.
"You can stay at my house for the night," Alex grumbles in defeat silently scolding himself. Surely his foster parents will hang him for this, he thinks, taking the brakes off lock and starting down the road back to his house. There are several long minutes before either of them speak, and when someone finally does, it's John.
"Thank you," he says, looking back at Alex. John fishes through his pockets, trying to find something, pulling out a tiny ziploc baggie and removing his peircings and dropping them into it. Alex guessed that they were probably uncomfortable- he'd take them off the first chance he got, too.
"D'you have makeup wipes?" John mumbles, glancing at Alex.
"There might be some in the glove compartment, but I'm not sure." Alex tells him, staring at the road ahead.
"L'right, I found some," John said, wiping off his face and then shoving the now-used make up wipe into his pocket. Alex, out of simple curiousity, turns to John, but unfortunately it's too dark to see his face.
He turns his eyes back to the road and parks the car in the garage, getting out of his side and then going around to John's and offering him his hand to help him out. John looks over at him and Alexander almost had a heart attack.
John's wiped all of the makeup off his face and removed all of his piercings- and Alex assumes that he's also taken colored contacts out, which he didn't know he had been wearing. John's face is splattered with freckles and his eyes are green- an absolutely lovely, deep green.
"You don't have freckles all the time." Alex accuses him, pulling him out of the car.
"I cover 'um up with concealer," John explains, looking at Alex. "Francis don't like 'em." Alexander squints at him, confused.
"Well, Francis is an idiot," he says, without quite thinking. John giggles, holding onto his arm for balance.
"Don' say that, 's rude."
"Well, it's true."
"Shhhhhhh," John says, putting a finger to Alex's lips hazily, unable to keep his hand stable.
"So what's with the covering up the green eyes?"
"No reason," John mumbles, but the way he looks away from Alex signifies that he's clearly lying.
Alexander decides to just leave it be- he's only known John a few weeks.
He helps him up the stairs to his room, John stumbling on the hardwood as Alexander pulls him along. He kicks open the door and sits John down on the lower part of the bunk bed.
"I'll get you some pajamas. Hang on," Alex says, turning around to face the drawer and combing through the pajmas to find a pair that might fit John. He silently curses his chubby form- there's no way that one of these will come close to John's size.
He finally just grabs a random pair and turned around to John, who had already discarded all of his clothes on the floor except his boxers.
John was certainly not ugly. The opposite, actually. He wasn't exactly muscular but it's clear he didn't fake injuries to get out of P.E. the way Alex often did, possibly even went to the gym occassionaly. Much, much unlike Alex. And he had way more freckles than Alexander had originally thought possible.
If Alexander had more money, he'd probably pay John to never put clothes on again.
John takes the pajamas from Alex rather quickly and pulls them on, Alex silently scolding himself for ogling him, then pulling back the covers for John to crawl in, then pulling up the covers to John's chin.
"Thanks again," John mumbles, rolling over and falling asleep.
Alexander climbs the ladder up to the top bunk and falls asleep on top of the covers, trying to somehow figure out what's going on with him.