The two men left to go to the carnival after a tiny bit of fun that surprisingly lasted only thirty minutes. Upon their arrival, the event was packed and loud, thousands of bodies jumping up and down to the musicians and singers atop the ginormous stage. Lights of all colors blared, shooting in all directions as the smell of weed and alcohol wafted into their nostrils. And the people—spiked hair, leather jackets, pointed studs, giant heels, black nail polish, fingerless gloves, Gothic makeup, hair of many colors, and so much more. It intrigued them.

Thomas told Alex that they should go into to the massive crowd of people going crazy at the music playing on the stage of performers (who appeared to be going equally as crazy). Even though it seemed chaotic, it also looked fun. And this vacation is all about fun, isn't it?

"How about we meet at the bathroom when this band's done playing?" Alex asked quickly, an arm around Tom's waist as he grinned to ear to ear. He was practically itching to get into the crowd and fuck shit up.

"Sounds great. But, can you promise me something?"

"Sure."

"Don't get your ass drunk or high or bruised up, darlin', and I won't. I want you to be safe 'cause you're kinda small." He chuckled and nudged him gently. "Deal?"

"Deal."

"Okay, I'll hold you to it. See ya." Thomas planted a chaste kiss against the smaller man's cheek, then immediately disappeared into the sea of thumping people.

And so there he was, alone for once. It felt liberating, in a sense. He didn't regard it, though. Swiftly, he ran in a different direction into the crowd, sneakily stepping past all of the tall, thin bodies. Easy. Sometimes, he adored be as short as he was.

Jumping along with the people, he looked to the stage of thumping performers. They were all skinny men in dark clothes and pale makeup and would probably terrify anyone in a dark alley. He smiled. This was the life.

"D-E-A-D!

She's my graveyard baby!

D-E-A-D!

She's my horror queen!"

Throughout the whole show, Alex could only understand a few words that the singer—whose name was apparently Chris, as a girl had yelled at him in between a song, "Fuck me up, Chris!"—sung. The young Hamilton bursted out in laughter at that. This was the most fun he'd had in the entirety of his trip!

After maybe two hours crept by, Alex's mind suddenly jolted in realization. Where was Thomas? He glanced at the stage. The singer was saying something about how glad he was to be in Bali and how he hoped everybody enjoyed the show. Yep, the long performance was definitely over.

With tired legs, he decided to make his way to the public bathroom—which wasn't easy in the slightest. He continuously got lost, forcing himself to restrain his steps because of how dark and crazy everything was—another band was playing into the night, and the lights were swiveling in every direction, going on and off every millisecond, like a sickening strobe light.

This absolutely sucked.

Eventually, though, the short man found the bathroom outbuilding that was next to a sizable statue of an angel that'd been spray-painted. In sloppy, dripping letters, it read: YOU CAN'T KILL ALL OF US and WE ARE ALL ALONE and LEARN BABY LEARN OR BURN BABY BURN!

How charming, he sarcastically thought while passing the vandalized angel. Now standing in front of their meeting place, he checked the men's bathroom for his lover. Not there. This might take awhile, he reminded himself. With all of that weed and alcohol in the air, it might be inevitable that Thomas could be smoking or drinking right now. He wouldn't put it past him.

At some point, Thomas did end up meeting Alex at the public bathroom.

However, it was forty-five minutes later.

And Alex was not happy about it. Not one bit. All memories of Thomas' violence seemed to disappear and reappear with suppressed anger. He puts up with so much shit—including literal abuse—and just this once, Thomas can't show a sliver of sincerity or appreciation by being on time, at least?

Standing there in the hues of the strobe light, Alex's wrath only grew and grew until—

"Aye, Lex," he heard a slow voice say from beside him. Whipping his head around, the Caribbean Islander glared at Thomas in the night's inky darkness.

His eyes were bloodshot, and the man even had to lean against the bathroom's walls to stand up straight. Alex narrowed his eyes, anger bubbling up inside of him.

"What took you so long? I've been waiting for, like forty minutes!" he whined. "And you went and got yourself drunk! Thanks for the 'love,' Jefferson."

Instantly, he regretted his statements. That was the last thing you say to a drunken man—especially if he happens to be Thomas Jefferson! He gulped.

"Let's… let's…" he slurred, searching for the correct words. "Let's go into the bathroom so the people… the people won't hear."

"What?"

"Just… c'mon." Thomas put a hand softly against Alex's back and pushed him along as they walked into the empty room with three stalls and sinks. There were no urinals or anything like that, which was honestly strange. Could this possibly be the woman's room? Maybe that's why it smelled of perfume (and marijuana).

He watched as Tom grabbed a folding chair from the littered floor and propped it against the door handle—nobody was getting in or out. Sluggishly, he turned 'round to face Alex with an indifferent expression.

"So… so why're you mad at me?"

"I just told you! You left me to wait for forty minutes while you were out drinking!" Alex crossed his arms, the ringing in his ears continuous.

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and slowly walked towards his lover, desperately trying to remain balanced. "I forgot."

"I can tell that you did."

Once Jefferson's glassy eyes twinkled in wrath, Alex knew that he'd taken it too far—which wasn't very far at all, in his opinion.

"What's your problem, Lex? Why'd you turn into a fucking bitch all the sudden?" This wasn't a shout, but Thomas had definitely raised his voiced considerably.

"I don't know, Thomas. You tell me."

Unfortunately, for Alex, that was the last straw.