Hello nerds, thanks for so many reviews, I never expected this story to take off like it has!

I'm going back to school this week, which means updates will be a little more sporadic. They'll still be more than once a week and if I don't manage to, I'll let you know. Don't worry though, I love this story and really want to continue it.

These last few chapters have been quite sad, and to be honest, it's not getting much better. I'll always do trigger warnings though, feel free to message me if I've missed a trigger warning that could be necessary.

Trigger warnings: minor physical child abuse, emotional abuse, unhealthy eating behaviours, self hatred, references to homelessness, homophobic slur, anxiety, mentions of self harm, obsessive/ compulsive behaviour.

George rolled over and pressed the silencing button on his alarm clock, yawing and sitting up to stretch. Waking early came naturally to him, the years of military service in his youth had taught him to rise without complaint.

Martha groaned slightly and opened her eyes, still only half awake.

"Shall I start breakfast?" He asked, knowing she'd probably want another five minutes or so to properly wake up.

Martha nodded and yawned, rolling over to face the window and watch the sunrise fill the room with a sweet, Botticellian pink that promised winter's arrival.

George pulled on a sweater and made his way to the kitchen, tapping some jazz notes onto the counter top as the kettle boiled.

He stewed the tea bags in the boiling water for a minute or so, watching the rich brown slowly diffuse into the cup.

He opened the bin and dumped the tea bags in, about to close it when he noticed something.

He looked closer into the bin and felt a sick feeling twist in his stomach. Thrown in there recently, maybe the last thing to be, was an empty box of bandages underneath one of the tea bags and even worse, a few cotton pads that seemed to be stained with blood.

George shut the bin quickly and dropped the spoon in the sink carelessly, his heart beating too quickly for comfort.

But he and Martha had been so careful, taking the razors, keeping an eye on the kitchen drawers...

He couldn't jump to conclusions though. Maybe Martha had cut her hand cooking? But she would have told him... Gilbert was clumsy, he was always tripping and dropping things, maybe this had been him?

He absently poured milk into the tea and picked up the mugs, sloshing the drink down the side of the cup in his distracted state.

He finished breakfast quickly, it was rather sub standard compared to what he could normally make, but it would have to do. There was no time to make a new one.

Martha came down a minute later, her hair out naturally today, in her work clothes.

He put the tea down in front of her and sat down in silence, tapping a few more jazz notes, unsure how to bring up the situation.

Martha being Martha, noticed this change instantly. She leant back in her chair and watched him shrewdly.

"Everything okay George?"

He shook his head and took a sip of tea.

"No, there's something worrying me that could concern Alex."

Martha leaned forward slightly and raised an eyebrow, telling him to continue.

"There's an empty box of bandages and some bloody cotton rounds in the bin."

Martha put her tea down and sucked on her teeth, eyes closed for a moment.

"How to we know it's not something more...innocent?"

George shook his head and shrugged.

"It could be, I don't know, I just think it's a little concerning."

Martha rubbed her face tiredly and looked slightly older than she was just for a moment, worn out and worried.

"Is he up yet? So you think he's going in today?"

George split his toast into quarters absent mindedly.

"No, he's not awake yet. I think Gilbert is though."

Martha stirred her tea slowly.

"We were going to leave him at home alone if he didn't wake up for school," she took a sip and winced as the liquid scalded her tongue, "but I'm now thinking that's not a good idea."

"I could work from home. Most of today was going to be writing a debate and doing paper work anyway."

Martha pursed her lips.

"You don't have any meetings?."

George shrugged and finished the last of his toast, "none I would go to if I were actually in the office."

They finished the meal in silence, already tidying away when Lafayette walked in to the kitchen, his hair, unusually, down for once.

"Maman, do you have time to help me with my hair?"

Martha sighed and smiled, reaching into a box on the kitchen table and grabbing a comb and some hair ties.

"I can do the twists leading into a ponytail. I don't have time to do them till the end of your hair."

Lafayette groaned and poured himself some coffee and a bowl of cereal, sitting down and tucking in while Martha started on his hair

George looked him up and down as he ate, scanning him for any cuts that could explain the bandages and cotton rounds in the bin. There weren't any, at leat no visible ones, and Lafayette was wearing a tank top.

George walked back upstairs and changed, passing Alex's door on the way and stopping for a second to listen for signs that he was awake.

There was no light under his door and the room was quiet, so George assumed he was still asleep.

He walked back downstairs to see Martha twisting Lafayette's hair tightly against his head. Lafayette was scrolling through his phone absently, occasionally smirking and tapping on the screen.

"Has John replied?"

Lafayette looked up and nodded.

"Yeah, but he said the same thing that Alex did. Just that Lee, Frederick and Seabury were there and Lee threw coke at them."

"Talk to him about it at school, ask him what's going on. There's something Alexander's not telling us."

Lafayette nodded again and winced and Martha tugged sharply at his hair.

"Maman! Tu me fait mal!"

Martha rolled her eyes and continued twisting the hair nimbly, fingers working quickly and gracefully.

"I could be getting into work earlier now, catching up on emails, but I'm helping you. Don't complain."

Gilbert grinned, unable to turn to his mother he sighed.

"I love you too."

Martha smiled and patted his head, relaxing her grip a little to make sure she didn't tug too hard. George smiled at this scene of gentle domesticity and finished his coffee, worries about Alex still at the forefront of his thoughts.

oo

John groaned and rolled over onto his side, wondering desperately if there was time for five more minutes in bed.

He dressed quickly and threw a disgusted glance at the discarded clothes next to his bed from the night before, still stained dark with coke.

He regretted what he'd said to Alex the night before but still felt a sharp, twisting anger at him for telling Lee. Of all people to casually chat to about your male date, Lee!

Part of this anger was perhaps unjustified, John hadn't spoken to his father since he'd come home and a small but bitter part of him maintained that this wouldn't be the case if it weren't for Alexander.

He changed slowly, dragging on jeans a hoodie, his go-to outfit when he couldn't think of anything better to wear.

He walked downstairs and checked the coast was clear before heading into the kitchen to start breakfast. He had no desire to run into his father, he'd been in bed by the time John was back from the cinema and hadn't even seen his face yet.

John unplugged his phone from the charger and scrolled through the texts from Lafayette.

Lafrançaise (yesterday): John, what happened? Alex seems upset.

Lafrançaise(yesterday): He's not leaving his room, qu'est qui ce passe?

çaise (53 minutes ago): Christ, what's going on?

Lafrançaise (20 minute ago): I know you can see these texts...

John's stomach lurched with a feeling that was murky and unidentifiable, was it satisfaction that Alex was affected by this or was it guilt for the same reason?

He typed out a quick response.

John (just now): Lee was there, acted like an asshole and threw coke on Alex and me.

He didn't want to talk about the argument, what he'd said to Alex, what Alex had said to him.

"Oh yeah? Your father walked out didn't he? Not like he ever made an honest days work."

"Why don't you just panic or something. It's all you ever seem to do anyway."

John put his head in his hands and groaned. He had been mad at Alex, he still was mad at him, but did he have to make it so personal? Using Alex own trauma against him, he was disgusted with himself.

Even more sickening however, part of him still thought he had deserved it. Maybe it had been how Lee had called them fags, how much it had reminded John of his father. Maybe part of him blamed Alex for this.

John brought his breakfast into the living room and sat down on the sofa, still looking down at his phone. When he heard a voice in the doorway he jumped and nearly spilt burning coffee on his lap.

"John."

He looked up and felt his stomach sink when he met his father's eyes.

"Dad."

His father raised an eyebrow. "Have a good time last night? I'm guessing you didn't, by the way you slammed the front door."

John winced, remembering his rage the previous evening.

"I guess."

John's father smiled slightly.

"So you won't be seeing Alexander anymore?"

John stayed silent at this, eyes set firmly on that elephant pin.

"I'm glad, maybe next time you can take a girl in your year. I hear Senator Schuyler's daughters are charming, from a respectable family too."

John looked up at his father confused.

"I'm still gay, you know that right?"

John's father scoffed dismissively, waving his hand.

"I thought you'd say that. Give it time."

John stood up and felt his face grow hot, feeling resentment bloom in his chest.

"No. I like boys dad, one bad date isn't going to change that!"

John watched his father's eyes narrow in anger as his son's voice rose to a near yell.

"I suggest you listen carefully to what you're saying John."

John closed his eyes tight and let out a deep breath.

"Stop trying to fix me. God, this isn't the 18th century dad."

Henry Laurens's jaw twitched and his eyes were livid.

"How many times have I told you," his voice climbed to a yell, "not to curse in this house!"

John balled his fists and seethed, "I just need you to accept the fact that I. Don't. Like. Girls!"

John's father closed his eyes, looking almost pained and turned around to the bookshelf behind him. He slid a bible out of its place and flicked through it for a moment, breathing heavily. He evidently found what he was looking for and thrust the book into John's hands.

"Read it. Out loud. Leviticus, chapter 20, verse 13."

John raised his eyebrows and felt his stomach clench. When it came to this kind of crap, it was best to comply with his dad.

"If a man lies with a male as with a woman,"

Fuck, he knew this passage. His breath caught in his throat and he looked up at his dad, his expression frustrated and indignant.

"You can't be serio-"

"Read it."

John gulped and looked back down at the book.

"Both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them."

John felt sick. His stomach was like a cage of butterflies, angry and desperate to get out. Or like that floating feeling you get in an elevator when you move up too fast.

"Do you understand John?"

His father's tone was condescending and sanctimonious. John felt a sudden surge of hatred towards him that he'd never experienced before.

"Firstly, I'm not 'laying' with anyone, I'm fifteen. Secondly, I don't give a fuck."

John stared straight into his father's face, his eyes daring, full of defensive rage.

Slap

The sudden sting of pain across the left side of John's face sent him stumbling to the direction in which he'd been hit. He clutched his cheek in shock and looked up at his father with a mixture of horror and bewilderment.

Henry Laurens was shaking his hand casually in mid air, as though he was the one who'd been hurt.

"You'd best get to school, you'll be late otherwise."

John felt tears sting his eyes at his father's tone. Not a touch remorseful, just cold in the way that expected to be obeyed immediately.

He didn't need to be told a second time. John sprinted up the stairs, crashing into his bedroom and immediately throwing open his drawers. He grabbed at the carefully folded clothes and stuffed them into his school bag, shoving in his sketchbooks and pencils a second later.

On the landing he almost knocked his sister over in his haste.

"John... what are you doing?" She rubbed her eyes sleepily and yawned, her fringe fluttering with her breath.

"Martha, I'm gonna be gone for a little while okay, I'll see you soon."

"What happened to your face?" Her dark eyes were wide and she looked so young. Too young to be the second oldest...

John slid past his ten year old sister, not wanting to answer her question and sprinted back downstairs, running into the kitchen and grabbing his phone charger. After a split second of deliberation he stuffed some food and a bottle of water into his bag too. Just in case he couldn't find anywhere to couch surf. The bus station might later propose its self as a viable contender for shelter.

He looked around the house for the last time and in a split second of rage, picked up a vase that one of his father's republican friends had bought. He flung it to the floor and watched the china smash on impact before stumbling out of the house and down the driveway to school.

oo

When Alex finally awoke, he noticed three things.

Firstly, the cuts on his arms were stinging painfully. It appeared he'd rolled over during the night into an awkward position and the skin had been pulled, causing the cut to open and bleed more freely over night.

Secondly, his entire body stung and felt tender and sore, particularly the sensitive points in the crook of his elbow. Damn that burning shower and his obsessive need to clean himself of the events of last night.

Thirdly, it was light out. Far too light for it to be his usual waking time.

Alex sat up hastily and looked at the clock. It was nine thirty.

Shit.

He clambered out of bed and started frantically picking up the stationary strewn around the room, shoving it into his pencil case. He stepped on a pen and it rolled, sending him crashing to the floor and hitting his leg painfully against the chair at his desk. He stood up quickly and winced, pulling off his pyjama bottoms and shirt, changing into jeans and a fresh tee shirt with impressive speed.

He paused for a second, hearing quick footsteps on the landing. Alex pulled on his hoodie to hide the bandages from prying eyes and knelt down to shove books into his school bag.

oo

George opened his laptop and typed in the password, immediately clicking into the news to update himself on current events.

It was vital he kept up to date with politics and with the coming nominations for the primaries, he was nervous about being knowledgeable enough on recent political affairs. He had just clicked into an article on the Trump administration's foreign policy when he heard a loud crash sound from upstairs.

Without a second thought, he was out of his chair and sprinting up the stairs. He slid to a halt outside Alexander's room and knocked frantically at the door.

He could hear the teen inside cursing, George doubted he could even hear the knocking over his own monologue of expletives.

Fearing he was hurt, George pushed open the door anyway and found Alexander knelt on the floor, shoving school books into his bag.

"Alexander, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Alex looked up and George winced. This might have been a cruel observation to make, but he was a mess.

Alex's complexion was blotchy and pink, especially incarnadined around his eyes. His eyelids were swollen and puffy, underlined with dark circles. It was painfully obvious he'd cried himself to sleep. He was hastily dressed in a creased hoodie and jeans that hadn't even been zipped or buttoned up yet.

"Alex..." started George again, his concern piqued.

"I'm so, so late! George, I'm really, really sorry, I overslept. Oh God..."

He continued frantically stuffing books into his bag and eyeing the room wildly for anything he'd missed.

"Alex!" George's voice cut through the room like a knife, halting the teenager in his tracks.

"It okay, it's okay." He reassured him, "Martha and I let you sleep in. We thought you'd need a day off after last night."

Alexander looked at him incredulously.

"I can't just miss school! I'm going to be so behind on my classes, there are two essays due in today! I have to speak with Monsieur Grants about my test and I have to catch up on science, if I don't go in I'm going to fail Christmas, then I'll fail end of year's, and then finals, and then I can't go to university, oh God-"

George stared at the boy in shock.

"Alex!"

The teenager halted his frantic rant and stopped, a hand clutched in his hair and his eyes panicked.

"This only serves as more reason to stay home. You need rest."

Alex collapsed onto his bed and put his face in his hands.

George hastened to sit down next to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Alex, it's okay."

Alex groaned and shook his head.

"Look, one day at home isn't going to kill you. You can catch up with homework and rest some more. Martha and I are worried about you."

He felt Alexander give a small chuckle at that statement and frowned, what was so funny?

Alex looked up at him then through red rimmed eyes.

"Aren't you working toady?"

George nodded, "I am, but from home."

Alex sighed and took a few deep breaths with his eyes closed.

"I can still go in. I've only missed-"

"No."

George's voice was steady and assertive, his hand on Alex's shoulder for a moment felt grounding rather than restraining.

"You need rest Alexander."

Alex rolled his eyes ever so slightly and stood up, shrugging George's arm off his shoulder.

"I'm going to start some homework then." He said rather coolly.

George stood there in the bedroom for a moment, unsure what to do and confused at the sudden mercurial behaviour.

Alex was still thumbing through the text book so George turned and left the room silently, bewildered.

Alex sat down at his desk and put his head on the textbook, taking a few deep breaths before picking up his pen, a sheet of paper and starting to write.

oo

Lafayette made his way to the yard outside the second the bell rang for break. He'd not had a class with John all morning and hadn't had the opportunity to talk to him yet.

It was a cool day, the bite of an October breeze made its self known to Laf as soon as he stepped out of the warm school building.

The trees hadn't yet lost all their leaves but many hung partially bare, like skeletons with bony limbs twisting outwards, reaching for something with curled fingers and gnarled veins.

He could see the sharp outlines of Hercules and John under the tree, sat on the now sparse and dry grass.

He drew closer and dumped his bag down at the roots of the tree, turning to John and Hercules, ready to interrogate his friend on the events of the previous night.

Instead, when he turned, he saw Hercules with a large arm clutching John's shoulder tightly, wearing a stormy expression. John's face was like stone and his left cheek was slightly purple, a clear bruise marring grey against his tanned skin.

"Merde! Jean! Qu'est qui s'est passé?"

Shit! John! What happened?

John sighed and rubbed his face, wincing as he probed the bruise with his index finger.

"My dad."

Lafayette collapsed onto the grass next to John and gaped at him.

"He's never hit you!"

John shrugged this time, and leant further into Hercules.

"We had an argument."

Hercules grit his teeth and let out a breath through his nose.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

John nodded again.

"Yeah."

He sat up a little straighter and some colour came back to his cheeks, the kind of pink someone goes when they're angry.

"He realised the date last night hadn't gone great so he just assumed I was fixed or whatever, that I wasn't gay."

Lafayette felt his stomach turn but he said nothing, internally thanking the fact that he'd been given a foster father who was so supportive.

"I told him I was still gay, one date wouldn't change that. He got mad and made me read some bible passage. Leviticus or whatever. I called his bullshit and he hit me. I grabbed my stuff, put it in my school bag and smashed his stupid vase. I'm not going back there."

Lafayette frowned.

"John, were will you stay? We have room at our house if you need it."

John shook his head. He was not going back to Lafayette's house. Not when Alex was there.

"My dad doesn't like Mr Washington. You know how he is."

Lafayette narrowed his eyes at this, the animosity between their fathers had never stopped John before. What had changed? Surely now that John had left he wouldn't give damn.

Hercules spoke up, "John, I have room at my house. If you don't mind the couch, until we can find something better."

John nodded, hand still resting on his cheek and his eyes absent.

"Where's Alex?" He asked suddenly, sitting up and looking around as if expecting to see him.

"He didn't come in today. Maman et papa wanted him to rest because of last night."

John felt that strange, murky feeling grip him again, still not sure how he felt about this. He supposed he could be glad he didn't have to face Alex yet.

"Hang on, what happened? I wasn't the group chat last night. Fill me in."

Hercules looked from John to Lafayette, who shrugged.

"To be honest, I don't know what happened either. John?"

Lafayette looked at John with an eyebrow cocked.

John coughed and looked at his hands.

"My dad called halfway through and told me if I kept going out with boys he didn't want me in the house, then at the cinema we were sitting right in front of Charles Lee, Samuel Seabury and George Frederick."

Hercules drew in a breath, his eyes wide.

"What happened next?" He asked, horrified.

"Lee was talking to Alex, calling him a fag, we stood up and Lee threw coke on us, I punched him in the face and we left."

Lafayette frowned.

"Are you sure that's all? "

Hercules looked at Lafayette strangely, "what do you mean Laf?"

Lafayette thought for a second.

"Alex normally puts up with Lee and George. Last night was different, he was really upset about something."

John cleared his throat, suddenly angry again.

"We had an argument after we left the cinema."

Hercules and Lafayette looked wide eyed at John, who elaborated.

"Lee said that Alex told him about our date. He obviously showed up because he knew we'd be there. That was Alex's fault."

Hercules looked confused.

"Why would Alex tell Lee that?"

John scoffed.

"He's always talking about something. Christ, the dude has no brain to mouth filter."

Lafayette scowled.

"Stop it. Not when Alex isn't even here to defend himself."

John rolled his eyes and Lafayette stared at him. He knew how much John liked Alex; he'd seen the looks he gave him when Alex wasn't watching, the looks that they gave each other. He could only put this behaviour down to the fact that John was going through a tough time with his dad.

"You should go to the medical for that bruise. They have shit for that stuff."

Lafayette stood up abruptly, prompting Hercules and John to follow him hastily.

While John was in the bathroom in the medical room, Hercules put his hand on Lafayette's arm.

"I never said Laf, but I like your hair."

oo

Alex's pen flew furiously across his paper, scribbling line after line of words. His head was so full of swarming ideas and phrases that he was having trouble making his hand keep up with his rapid thoughts. An essay for American politics about the evolution of racism had quickly turned into a seven thousand word essay on the mass incarceration of racial minorities in America.

His face was leant close to the paper and his pen was loosing ink, he pressed down harder, explaining his opinions on the involvement of corporations and businesses in state and federal legislation.

The pen snapped.

Alex cursed as a large blob of ink settled over his latest word and dropped his pen to the side, snatching at a tissue to dab at the stain.

The work was not so ruined that he'd have to rewrite it, but that last sentence would have to be crossed out and redone.

He looked up at the clock and started a little, it was twelve thirty. He'd been writing for three hours.

Alex went to his window and opened it, allowing the fresh air to blow into his room. It was stuffy and dark in there, he was sick of it.

He heard footsteps on the landing at turned to the door. There was a quick knocking to which he called out, "Come in!"

George opened the door and stood before Alex.

"You haven't eaten today have you?"

His voice was gruff and concise as usual, which Alex didn't mind. He'd rather that than someone who never said what they were thinking.

Alex shrugged and pushed his chair away from the desk to face George.

"I've made lunch, if you want you can bring your work down and do it while you eat."

"Okay." Agreed Alex. He picked up his paper and a new pen, as well as a notebook of blank, lined writing paper.

George had papers and pens strewn across the kitchen table and his laptop was open on a word document. He'd set out a sandwich for each of them and some coffee for Alex.

Alex ignored the food, wanting to continue his essay, annoyed that his streak had been broken by that damned pen.

He set the work out and began to write again, his pen moving rapidly across that paper in his sweeping, loopy handwriting.

After a while, he started to get back into the flow of his writing and the noise of the laptop keyboard clicking was drowned out by the scratching of his pen.

He forgot totally about the sandwich and coffee, which by now had gone cold. When Alexander wrote, he wrote. He didn't eat or chat or drink. The only way for him to concentrate properly was to lose himself in the work.

Another advantage of being such a fervent writer was that if he was thinking about whether a word made sense in the context he'd used it or if a sentence was running on too long, he wasn't thinking about John. He didn't have that burning feeling in the back of his throat he only got when he felt he'd disappointed someone. He didn't feel like crying or cutting himself if he was writing.

George looked up momentarily from his laptop and glanced at Alex's full mug of coffee and untouched sandwich. He took in the frenzied scribbling of his pen and smiled to himself, he was reminded of his college years. The all nighters and two day writing marathons he'd pulled in finals week.

"I never knew you were on for cold coffee." George quipped, smiling slightly.

Alex jumped and put down his pen, sighing when he felt his coffee cup. It was stone cold.

"Leave it, just eat the sandwich."

Alex picked up the sandwich reluctantly and nibbled at the crust, his eyes scanning over his writing.

"What are you writing about?"

Alex put down the sandwich.

"It's for American politics, about the evolution of racism in America."

George grinned. "The debate I'm writing is on counteracting modern racism."

Alex looked intrigued, leaning forward on his elbows with an absorbed look in his eyes.

"Is the debate for the Senate campaign?"

"Yeah, I'm going up against Lee or some other republican candidate in the next few months. I have to guess what kind of questions the moderator will ask and type up answers."

Alex made made to stand up, halfway out if his chair.

"Can I read it?"

George nodded, "but only if I can read yours."

Alex's face fell for a second and George was worried he'd overstepped a line. Then the boy shrugged and handed his foster father the paper.

They sat in silence for a while, reading eachother's work. Alex finished first, the document being shorter than his own. After all, it was a debate, not a speech.

George turned the page and continued reading, his eyebrows moving higher and higher as he read further and further.

Racism and modern day prejudices are almost invariable to the ones held in the formative days of our country. Intrinsic and ingrained into society still, the main difference lies in the form of these beliefs. From blatant hate groups like the KKK or WAR to the Obama birth certificate controversy, we cannot doubt that racism is alive and thriving across America.

Once we put aside useless and backwards ideas of respectability politics and oppression denial, we can start to think of solutions. This however, also proves its self difficult.

In the words of Albert Einstein, one 'cannot alter a condition with the same mindset that created it in the first place.'

In other words, solutions require thinking that transcends the mindset which caused and/or contributes to undesirable conditions...

George finished the essay a few minutes later and put it down, glancing up at Alexander with new respect in his eyes.

"This is exemplary Alexander, you've raised ideas I've never even heard vocalised before."

Alex shrugged, "your debate is good too."

George laughed, "I'm upset I'm not going up against you. Do you know how boring it is to refute the same repetetive points these republicans use all the time?"

Alex grinned slightly and sat back down, picking up his pen again.

"Put down the pen Alex, you need to eat something."

He thought he heard a small sound of protest from Alex's throat but watched as the teen took a few bites, chewing and swallowing slowly.

Alex really didn't want to eat. He felt he should be punishing himself for what had happened with John, for how much trouble he'd caused. Eating felt wrong and selfish to him right now.

He finished the first half of the sandwich and chanced a look at George. He'd turned back to his laptop. Good, he could stop.

The day passed in pretty much that same way. Alex got more writing done than he would have ever been able to do in school and temporarily forgot about John.

Martha and Lafayette came home at around half past four. Alex took this as a que to return to his room, George would log off soon and Alex didn't want to disturb anyone in the kitchen by writing there for another few hours. While he was gathering up his papers and pens, Lafayette sat down beside him.

"John said you argued yesterday."

He leant back in his chair and folded his arms, this blunt nature was typical to him. Maybe it was his very literal grasp of the English language and his tendency to phrase everything when speaking it in a very succinct way, maybe it was just his character, but when he was like this Alex knew he wanted answers.

"Yeah..." Responded Alexander, feeling it would be churlish to lie.

"Must have been some argument, neither of you will say anything about it."

"Gilbert, on en reparlera plus tard."

We'll talk about this later

Lafayette shook his head.

"Non, on en parlerons maintenant."

No, we'll talk about it now.

Alex scowled, frustrated by his foster brother's lack of tact and sensitivity.

"laisse-moi tranquille."

Leave me alone.

Alex stood up, his stationary in his arms. He looked away from Lafayette and walked out of the kitchen, leaving his foster brother sat alone at the table.

Alex didn't sleep that night, he shouldn't have been surprised. He wrote for another three hours until dinner, which he'd asked to be allowed to eat in his room. George had shown reservations about letting him, worried that Alex wouldn't eat, but he was eventually allowed.

Alex didn't eat, he shouldn't have been surprised. He left the plate on the desk next to his writings and ignored it, too busy and shameful to have it.

Alex cut himself again that night, he shouldn't have been surprised. He was more careful this time with the compass, this time the bleeding stopped quickly.

He took another shower, burning hot like the last one. He used the sponge again, scrubbing vehemently until his hands and elbows were chapped and pink, burning from the traction and heat.

When the water ran cold, he got out. Shivering in the sudden cold of his room, he threw on a pyjama top and hoodie before sitting back down at his desk.

It was going to be a long night.

Hey, link on my profile to picture of Daveed Diggs with hair like Lafayette's in this chapter.