Hey, I can only really say sorry for how long it's been... I'm not quitting the story, or even taking a break, I've just been a little busy. I'm writing loads, and hopefully I'll be a little quicker from now on.
I'll respond to reviewers with accounts via PMs
Chilazon: Great! If you have an account you can long in on, that would be cool! I could PM you.
Caps Lock guest: thanks! You are very sweet, that means a lot!
ElizaPhillip: Thanks!
Wow: aww, thanks! Don't worry, I'm not gonna pass up on opportunities for nice, juicy angst. Don't worry.
Anyway, this chapter contains four different languages. My goal these days is to add as many in as I can, I love languages. It should be fun! I don't speak German or Spanish, though, so if there are errors, hmu, I'll correct them.
Trigger Warnings: Suicide subject matter, mentions of abuse, parent leaving/ abandonment, class issues, smoking.
Alexander's face retained the pink blush John's words had caused even after the boy had left the ward and retreated down the corridor with Hercules.
He smiled at Martha and George as they moved further into the room, shifting more upright and folding his hands neatly on his lap.
"Hey, how you feeling?"
Martha's tone was light-hearted and kind, though undoubtedly pervaded with some degree of concern. George's expression seemed to mirror these feelings.
"I'm alright, much better than last night."
George smiled and nodded at Lafayette, who was still perched on the edge of the chair he'd dragged over to Alexander's bedside.
"I'm glad, anyway, I think Gilbert told you, Martha's added your brother to her contacts of FameTime. You can call him whenever you want."
Alexander nodded, the blush he'd been sporting dying away slightly and his posture stiffening noticeably. Lafayette surveyed him for a moment and bit his lip, a cut opening up there from where he'd been biting at the dried skin.
"Est-ce que tu veux l'appeler ce soir?"
Do you want to call him tonight?
The fact that only Alexander and Lafayette understood the language broke down the barrier that Alexander had put between himself and the Washingtons. He didn't have to feel forced into deciding anything only because they were there, he could talk to Lafayette freely.
"Je ne sais pas, qu'elle heure et-il en Londres?"
I don't know, what time is it in London?
Lafayette counted under his breath for a moment, ignoring the slightly baffled looks on his parents' faces.
"Uh, environ neuf heures le soir. Il est probablement être chez lui."
Uh, around nine at night. He'll probably be at home.
Alexander shrugged, looking slightly ill.
"Je ne sais pas. C'est puéril, mais je suis stressé."
I don't know, it's childish, but I'm nervous.
Lafayette shook his head and watched Alexander pensively for a moment, as though considering him.
"Il faut juste que tu serres les dents, il va s'inquieter si tu ne l'appeler."
Just bite the bullet, he'll worry if you don't call.
Alexander sighed and nodded, fiddling with his bandage, sliding his finger underneath the first layer and pulling absently.
"Okay then, I'll call him now I guess."
Martha nodded and from her bag took out her iPad, turning it on and bringing up James' contact. She'd added it that morning and texted the man to tell him Alexander would call sometime in the next day or so.
Martha handed him the iPad, which he took hesitantly, with both hands. Lafayette got the impression that this was the first time in a while that he'd been trusted to hold technology so expensive.
He didn't have a phone, or iPad, or anything like that, normally in his free time he'd read or write. Lafayette thought he'd raise the issue with his parents sooner rather than later.
"Do you want us to wait somewhere else? We don't have to be here."
Alexander looked very much like he'd like to accept this suggestion, but he said nothing, seemingly torn between getting what he wanted and his self-sacrificial tendency to bear discomfort rather than offend people.
Lafayette answered for him, almost smiling, knowing what his brother wanted but was too polite to say.
"I think that's a good idea."
Alexander looked pointedly at Lafayette, nodded and then spoke to him again in French.
"Rester avec moi."
Stay with me
The French teenager nodded and translated quickly to his parents, Alexander looking away, embarrassed and feeling a little like a difficult child.
"That's alright, we can go downstairs, maybe if you want to introduce us later, Gilbert can call us up."
Alexander nodded and smiled awkwardly at George, who'd spoken, drumming his fingers, which still bore faded inkstains from a few days ago, against the side of the iPad.
The two adults stepped back out of the room and Lafayette shifted closer towards Alexander, so as to hold his hand more comfortably.
Lafayette opened FaceTime and showed Alexander how it worked, who'd never used it before. It was relatively simple, so Alex had no excuse to spend longer than they had to looking at the app rather than actually calling his brother.
He opened Martha's contacts and pressed on James' name, squeezing Lafayette's hand and holding his breath.
It rang for barely five seconds before James answered, his face appeared on the screen, patchy and blurry at first until the camera adjusted and the picture came into focus more clearly.
To Alexander, he had and hadn't changed. It was strange. His hair, which had been down past his ears when they'd lived in Nevis, was now shaved at the sides and longer at the top. His face, though it seemed older, looked fundamentally the same. Dark eyes and tanned skin, like Alexander, with the same sharp cheekbones.
James however, Lafayette noticed, didn't share Alexander's nose. His friend's nose was defined and slightly pointed at its tip, whereas James' was wider. But, apart from that, they looked very much like brothers. Their features similar in the way Hercules' were to Hugh, not identical, but bearing a relatively strong degree of resemblance.
James' face was set anxiously, his jaw tight and his brows furrowed. He was sat in what looked like a bedroom, behind him an oasis poster and a chest of drawers. It could have been his room at home, or where he lived on campus at UCL.
Alexander paled and his stomach tightened painfully, a familiar feeling of panic-pain blooming in his chest, like something heavy had been placed upon it.
"James."
James' expression seemed to morph through a vast array of emotions in a very short space of time. At first, his eyes were blown wide and his mouth open in slight shock, then, his face softened and he looked as though he was about to smile, finally, his expression settled into concern as he took in his brothers pallor, dark under eyes and hunger defined cheekbones.
"Alex..."
There was a moment of silence and complete stillness in the room, Lafayette sat out of the view of the camera, still holding Alex's hand.
"Hace tanto tiempo..."
It's been a while...
James spoke, breaking the silence and smiling slightly at his younger brother. Alexander nodded and a grin split his face, his eyes softening and the pain in his chest loosening.
"Hablas español con un acento británico."
You speak spanish with a british accent.
James shrugged and grinned, rubbing his jaw where stubble was growing, something that must have started in the last few years since Alexander had seen him.
"¿Cómo éstas?"
How are you?
Alexander shrugged and bit his lip, looking down at his bandaged arm and the tube of his cannula, feeling at once very self-conscious. He was sure he looked pitiful. Skinny, ill, clad in a hospital gown, unable to even fucking breathe alright on his own.
"Vivo."
I'm alive.
It sounded a little like a joke, the way he spoke, the timing, but neither of them laughed. It wasn't really very funny.
"I'm sorry I don't call. I'm sorry we lost touch."
James spoke in English then, his British accent stronger now, though his vowels clipped by something similar to the accent Alexander often slipped into himself. It was Spanish sounding, with vague French-Caribbean intonations.
This accent was more obvious in James than it was in Alexander. Lafayette thought it was probably due the latter being forced to assimilate better into American society to survive, his accent obviously following this assimilation, as it was quiet subtle.
If Alexander hadn't mentioned before that he'd grown up speaking three languages, Lafayette might not have noticed that he'd had an accent.
"Yeah, I am too. I mean, I don't blame you. I've been difficult to get a hold of. I don't have a phone."
James grinned then, shaking his head and scratching the side of his nose, bemused.
"You have an American accent, it's weird."
Alexander shrugged and glanced at Lafayette next to him, his face considerably more relaxed than it had been merely a minute prior.
"You have a British one, that's way stranger than mine."
James smiled slightly and titled his head, watching Alexander curiously, with possibly even a trace of pride in his expression.
"Your English has gotten really good. Martha sent me a picture of that thing you wrote, it was... It was— I mean, it was horrible," he admitted, wincing slightly, "but it was beautifully written."
Alexander looked down at his lap and coughed awkwardly, shrugging and unnecessarily adjusting the cannula at his nose, which seemed to have become a habit in the past few days.
"Thanks. My Spanish and French have gotten rusty though, I don't use them as much now. Well, with Lafayette."
James frowned a little and tilted his head again. It wasn't a habit he'd had when they'd lived in Nevis, maybe he'd picked it up form a friend. Some people did that sort of thing.
"Lafayette, he's my foster-brother. He's actually here."
Alexander held the iPad slightly further away from his face and the French teenager came into view, smiling broadly and holding his hand up in a wave.
"Hey, I'm Laf."
James smiled politely and nodded, raising his hand in amiable greeting. He made eye contact with Alexander again and furrowed his brow slightly.
"¿Es lindo? ¿Te tratan bien?"
He's nice? They treat you well?
Alexander nodded quickly and smiled at Lafayette, who wore an expression of polite bemusement.
"Sí, Sí, son buenas personas. Lafayette es genial, es amable."
Yeah, yeah they're good people. Lafayette is great, he's kind.
James nodded and Lafayette watched Alex, his face screwed up in concentration, evidently having picked up on his name being said in the conversation.
Alexander fell silent then, picking at a now bleeding hangnail and biting his lip. James was silent too, either thinking of what to talk about next or having nothing to say to his brother.
"Me prometiste que no volverías a hacer esto."
You promised me you wouldn't do this again.
James' face was more serious now, and though Lafayette did not understand Spanish, through Alexander's reaction and the tone in which his brother had spoken, he could guess what might have been said.
Alexander lowered his head, gazing intently at his fingers and biting the inside of his cheek hard, feeling his eyes prickle.
"Lo siento, lo siento. No puede evitarlo. No sé lo que quería, Lo—"
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. I don't know what I wanted. I'm—
He broke off and took his face in his hands, taking deep, sharp breaths and falling silent. James watched his brother anxiously, his stomach twisting in concern and his arms itching to embrace Alexander.
"Està bien. No estoy enojado, me siento cupable. No pude ayudar."
It's okay. I'm not I angry, I feel guilty. I couldn't help.
Alexander shook his head, his face still held in his hands.
"Vives en Londres. No podrías haber hecho nada."
You live in London, you couldn't have done anything.
James sighed and shrugged, pulling a blanket from off camera next to him and draping it over his shoulders.
"Supongo... Maybe we should speak English now, for Lafayette."
I suppose so.
Alexander wiped at his eyes, which were shining slightly, hurriedly with the palms of his hands and nodded, his mouth twitching into a self-depreciative smile.
"Sorry, yeah. I should introduce you guys properly."
He let Lafayette move closer and held the camera as far from him as he could, allowing his foster-brother to be shown wholly in the frame.
"Yeah, so Lafayette's lived with Martha and George for nearly five years. He's from Paris but his English is really good."
Lafayette smiled and squeezed his foster brother's hand, the slight nervousness he'd felt about meeting a member of Alexander's biological family had died away.
"What about your family, the Devrons, right?"
James nodded, his smile growing slightly and his posture loosening. This subject was much easier than the one they'd just discussed.
"Yeah. We're all doing good, I'm in my first year here at UCL. Economics and Business. Liking it so far."
Alexander smiled and leant back against the headboard of his bed, clearly also more comfortable with the course of conversation.
"Virginia is good too. Can't say I don't miss New York. I'd like to go back, under better circumstances, you know."
James frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. This prompted Lafayette to wonder exactly how much Alexander had told his brother about his previous foster families, whether James knew about all that Pace had done, or the Johnsons, or the Harveys— was it?
"I thought you liked New York."
Alexander backtracked quickly however, laughing nervously and looking at the corner of the screen, rather than his brother's face.
"I do, I do, you know, I just miss Katherine. Loads of foster homes, shitty state schools..."
James looked as though he wanted to persue the subject, his mouth opening a fraction, perhaps to say something. Then, he seemed to change his mind; all in the space of about a second. Instead, he pulled at a loose thread of the blanket and changed the subject.
"How long have you been in hospital?"
"Uh, like five days, but I've only been awake for two."
James nodded, his eyes were still focused on where his hands pulled at the loose thread. Then, he looked up at his brother
A flash of colour and static moved across the screen, but there was no mistaking or missing the shine in James' eyes.
"Estoy muy contento de que estés bien. Realmente te extraño."
I'm really glad you're okay. I really miss you.
Alexander smiled, wishing that James was there for him to embrace. Alex was the sort of person who liked hugs, naturally. Over the last few years he'd learnt to fear people touching or coming too near him, but in the arms of those he trusted, he didn't feel fearful, or agitated, just safe.
"I do too. I think we should try to meet up one day. Con suerte un día pronto."
Hopefully one day soon.
James nodded vigorously and smiled, dropping the corner of the blanket he held.
"Vamos a hacer que suceda."
Let's make that happen.
Lafayette was following the conversation ardently, moving his eyes back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis rally. Alexander though the constant, irregular lapses from English to Spanish were enough to throw anyone off. Especially if neither of the aforementioned languages were the listener's first.
Alexander shot him a glance, taking in his increasingly desperate expression and at once feeling guilty for not paying more mind to the French teen.
"Sorry, Laf. English or French from now... Sorry."
The teenager grinned awkwardly and shrugged, "If you want to speak Spanish, that's okay. This is your time."
James shook his head, shifting and crossing his legs beneath him. He didn't know Lafayette, but if he was Alexander's friend and had earned that boy's trust, he must be a pretty good guy.
"Its cool. Old habits die hard, eh? I'm sure you understand"
Lafayette smiled and inclined his head, watching Alexander. The teenager's eyes were on Lafayette while he was speaking, but every few seconds they'd flit back to the screen. Where James was, as though trying to make sure he was still there, that he hadn't left.
Alexander couldn't seem to believe James was actually there, he almost wanted to pinch himself, to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
"Have you... Have you heard from... Uh... Our father at all?"
Alexander asked the question slowly, tentatively. His eyes were lowered to his hands in fear, though when he had finished speaking, they flitted back up momentarily to watch his brother's expression.
James looked away and shrugged, his jaw tight.
He bit his lip hard with a sharp, white incisor and sighed. Lafayette felt as though he was encroaching upon a discussion he should not be a part of. Gently, he touched Alexander's arm, prompting the boy to break his gaze off James and turn to him instead.
"I- I... Si vous voulez l'intimité je vais partir."
If you would like privacy, I will leave
Alexander hesitated slightly, torn. Not between what he wanted and being polite as before, but between opening up something painful to his friend or keeping it between himself and his brother.
"Je ne veux pas m'imposer si tu n'es pas confortable..."
I wouldn't want to intrude if you're not comfortable.
Alexander glanced at James, who looked at his lap and spoke in rapid Spanish, a few short words.
"Me sentiría más cómodo si se fuera."
I would feel more comfortable if he left.
Alexander's eyes softened from his previously ambivalent expression and he nodded at Lafayette.
"Désolé. Je vais t'appeler bientôt."
Sorry. I'll call for you soon.
Lafayette nodded and stood up from where he was perched on the chair, smiling kindly one last time to Alex before leaving the room.
"Our father... I don't know much, Alex. I called the man he worked for a few years ago, I found the company's number online, they said he didn't leave any details with them apart from that he was going back to Puerto Rico."
Alexander frowned and bit down hard on his cheek, his expression was irritated.
"You bothered to call about him?"
James furrowed his eyebrows and responded back with equal reproach, folding his arms.
"You bothered to ask me about him."
Alex sucked his teeth and said nothing, looking away from the screen and towards the large window to his left. James continued then, his tone weary.
"Our grandparents, his parents, died a few years ago, so if he was living off them he's either still there now or he went to the States. He never seemed super tied to Puerto Rico, I can't imagine he'd stay if he didn't have to."
Alexander huffed and folded his own arms reticently. He blew a stray strand of hair from out of his eyes and itched where the hair had fluttered against his nose.
"Je m'en fiche. He could be in Timbuktu for all the fucks I give about him."
James rolled his eyes and raised one eyebrow, a trait Alex hadn't inherited. He was glad, he thought it was from their father.
"Don't act like you're not at least curious as to what he's up to now."
Alexander sucked his teeth again and threw his hands up in exasperation, fixing James with an incredulous stare.
"That man treated us like shit for two whole years before he did us a favour and fucked off. Did he think to send any money back to support us? No. Did he ever even call? No. Did he ever regret leaving? Probably fucking not."
James dragged his teeth across his lip and shook his head, his expression stoic.
"You swear too much. Anyway, whatever you say, blood matters. I don't say I even forgive him, but knowing where he is and why he left would give me some closure."
Alex took a deep breath, repressing the urge to raise his voice and let the irritability that had been bubbling so close to the surface lately, boil over the top. He wasn't completely successful.
"Yeah, closure. That's what we need." He tipped his head sarcastically and scoffed, his fingers clenching into subconscious fists.
"Hmm, yeah, that's what mom needed. Not food, not money. Not medicine when we were both fucking dying, no. Closure."
James sighed and unfolded his arms, pulling the blanket tighter around himself and shaking his head, aggravatingly, again.
"Maybe you don't remember, Alex. But I do. Mom needed something from him, anything. It would have helped."
Alexander narrowed his eyes and sat up in his bed, his voice came out hissed and low.
"I remember it fine, James. I remember being hungry and I remember there being leaks in the roof when it rained. I remember it being his fault, and I don't want anything to do with him."
James shrugged and looked away, folding his arms.
"I just... He could be dead and we wouldn't even know. He could be in prison or... I just... I want to know."
Alex unfolded his arms and tilted his face upwards slightly, as though trying to stop tears falling down his cheeks. This, evidently, didn't work so instead he hid his face in his hands and shook his head vigorously.
"No! James! Has he ever come looking for us? I could have died! Twice! I could be dead right now, and would he know? Would he care? No!"
Alexander's voice broke then and a gasp caught in his throat, sending him into a violent coughing fit, his throat burning and his head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool, thick and hot and scratchy. He felt pathetic, weak, stupid.
James cursed under his breath and shook his head quickly, watching his brother in fear and he tried to gather himself.
"Alex, mierda, no, come on. Don't say that kinda stuff, let's not argue," he paused as Alexander coughed again and bit his lip tentatively, "are you... you okay?"
Alexander nodded and wiped hurriedly at his eyes. Whether the tears there were due to his coughing fit or some other emotion, James wasn't sure. Alex looked back up at his brother then, a weak grin plastered across his face.
"Just like old times, ey? Sorry I'm such a fucking mess... It's probably all these meds they've put me on."
James laughed and watched Alexander fondly for a moment, then shook his head slowly.
"You swear a lot. Bad habit to get into."
Alex shrugged and played with his bandages again, off the side of the screen however, so he didn't draw James attention to them.
"Do kids in London not swear then?"
James grinned and shrugged, glancing towards the door of the room he was in.
"My roommate, Cyril, he does. A lot. Maybe he'll be back soon. I don't know, he was going to get drinks with someone."
So he was in his dorm room then. Alex guessed it was alright, for student accommodation, albeit a little bare. Though, James hadn't had time to move in properly yet. He'd been there for just over a month.
"Speaking of, are you dating at all? Got a girlfriend? Boyfriend...?"
James coughed awkwardly and shook his head, running a hand through his hair sheepishly.
Alex supposed it was normal enough for siblings to talk about this stuff, but he'd never really had that opportunity with James. He'd had been about fifteen when he'd left for England, he'd never shown any persuasion towards romance of any sort before that, and Alex had only been about twelve.
They'd missed the time frame in which that sort of stuff happens for the first time, that made things awkward now.
"Nah, no girlfriend. As for boys, I don't really swing that way."
Alexander nodded, falling silent and clenching his toes tightly, his throat constricted and dry. Perhaps it hadn't been wise to ask, he was sure he was going to get the same question now.
"Uh... You're nearly sixteen. What about you?"
Alexander attempted to deflect the question with another cough, but James raised one eyebrow incredulously, not buying his distractions. He broke off lamely and shrugged.
"I uhh... There's someone... I guess."
James cracked a grin and tilted his head curiously, sitting up a little straighter.
"What's her name?"
Fuck. Alexander clenched his toes a little tighter under the blankets and laughed nervously. He'd just have to bite this bullet.
"John."
James' eyes widened and his mouth formed a small circle of surprise, evidently knocked a little speechless.
"So you're gay?"
Alexander shook his head, feeling his nails dig into the skin of his palms. It was a bad habit; he was going to have scars there one day.
"No. I'm bi. Swing both ways, fucking newton's cradle, if you catch my drift..."
James nodded slowly, looking away and fiddling with the blanket again.
"That's chill. I have some friends that are bisexual too. And you really do swear too much."
Alexander sighed in relief and grinned, holding a hand up to his forehead and laughing breathily.
"Thank God. Didn't know what to expect."
James smiled and held up a hand, waving it dismissively.
"I'm cool with that stuff. London's a progressive city. Mum and dad are too."
Alexander nodded and grinned again, he felt as though a huge weight that had been sitting on his chest had been lifted.
"Do your foster parents know? What would they do if they found out?"
James suddenly seemed concerned, scared, even. Alexander supposed he had reason. Virginia as a state didn't have the greatest track record for being progressive.
In fact, if Alexander's extensive knowledge on legislative history was correct, and he was sure that it was, homosexuality had been illegal in Virginia up until 2003.
"They don't know, no. But Lafayette is like me, bisexual, and they know about him. I'm sure they'd be cool about it."
James hummed in approval and nodded, opening his mouth to say something but being cut off.
There was sound of a door opening in the background and a man's voice called out in greeting through the room.
James turned around to face the source of the noise; a tall, almost gangly looking young adult with a mop of dark, curly hair and large, circular glasses. He looked a bit, to Alex, like a hipster Harry Potter.
"Hey, I'm FaceTiming Alex. Wanna say hi?"
Alexander shrank back a little and forced on his face a polite smile, desperately pushing some hair behind his ears and pulling the blankets of his bed further around him so his hospital gown was covered.
The teenager, Cyril, moved towards James and flopped down next to him on the bed, peering close at the screen and watching Alex intently, as though searching him for something. Alexander shot James a confused glance, prompting the older boy to laugh and shrug.
"He always does this when he meets new people. And when he's drunk."
Cyril rolled his eyes and pushed James playfully, breaking his disconcerting stare and grinning.
"You two look alike. But different noses. James showed me a photo of you, but you're older now."
Alexander smiled awkwardly and nodded, fiddling with his bandage again.
"The one in central park, right?"
James nodded and Cyril grinned at him, his cheeks were slightly red in a way that suggested he had been drinking, and Alexander was sure that if he was in the room with James, they might be able to smell the alcohol off him.
"What are you studying, Cyril?"
Cyril grinned and withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, taking one between his lips and smiling.
"You have an American accent— James, you have a light?"
James nodded and monetarily fell out of view, stretching towards his left and returning a second later with a dark blue lighter.
"I'm doing a major-minor course, Politics and Mandarin."
Alexander raised his eyebrows, his eyes widening slightly.
"That's cool, difficult though."
Cyril shrugged and stood up, moving off camera and towards what Alexander hoped was a balcony or window. Smoking indoors was pretty disgusting, also probably against flat regulations.
"Do you smoke?"
Alexander didn't know if he really cared whether James did or not. He knew it was bad for a person's health but then again, so was cutting yourself and overdosing. He wasn't exactly one to talk.
"Nah," James grinned and rubbed the shaved side of his head again, sheepish looking, "I just facilitate Cyril."
Alexander grinned and from somewhere off camera, to the left of James, Cyril's voice called out, ever so slightly slurred.
"You're the worst friend!"
James laughed and shrugged, his eyes alight with mirth. His conversation with Cyril was so easy, so natural. It reminded Alexander of how John and Lafayette interacted.
In fact, Alexander felt better than he had all day. Well, perhaps not better than when he had kissed John, but he thought this at the very least drew even.
"Parece... excéntrico."
He seems... eccentric.
James chuckled and shrugged, throwing a fond glance in the direction of his rather inebriated friend.
"El está borracho."
He's drunk.
They lapsed into silence then, though it wasn't an uncomfortable one. Both boys surveyed each other for a few moments, revelling in the sight of the brother they hadn't seen in over two years.
Alexander, finally, felt it appropriate to break the silence.
"Martha and George said they might want to meet you. What do you think?"
James hummed his approval and nodded, then threw a glance in the vicinity of the window, where Cyril was evidently stood, still smoking.
"You nearly finished? I might meet my brother's foster parents so maybe you should piss off downstairs for tonight."
Cyril made a mock offended noise from the direction of the window and Alexander heard his stumbling, irregularly falling footsteps draw closer. The teenager walked past James and withdrew a cable knit jumper from the wardrobe behind them, pulling it over his head and shaking out his dark curls haphazardly.
He grabbed a set of keys from on top of the dresser and tossed them in the air, only to catch them with a fumbling hand.
"See! Not that drunk."
This cigarette still hung lazily from between his lips, half-smoked and glowing bright gold at its tip.
"Please, I'm surprised that cigarette hasn't made you go up in flames. Someone should stick a flammable sign on you."
Cyril laughed and hopped a few steps over to where James sat. He leant down closer to him and exhaled a large puff of smoke into his face, laughing as his friend screwed up his face and coughed violently. James waved away the smoke, irritated, and flipped his friend off.
"Night, asshole."
Cyril raised a mock flirtatious eyebrow and returned the sentiment.
"Night, asshole."
With that, he stumbled from the room.
Alexander let out a low whistle and watched the spot where Cyril had disappeared from a moment prior.
"Now I know why London's known for its drinking."
James smiled and shrugged off the blanket from around his shoulders, standing up with the iPad and walking in the direction Cyril had been smoking. He sucked his teeth angrily and rolled his eyes.
"He didn't close the window and it's like 0 degrees out."
Alexander twitched his lips into a smile and furrowed his brow.
"What's that in Fahrenheit? You've become way too British."
James grinned and reached a bare, tanned arm out to grasp the handle of the window, swinging it quickly shut and retreating back to the warmth of his bed.
"Like 31-ish degrees."
He laughed as Alexander winced, shuddering, and nodded his agreement.
"I know, it gets hella cold, but I like it here. Really diverse, feels like home. I haven't met any Nevisians but a fair few people from the Caribbean."
Alexander sighed, it contained a mixture of nostalgia and sadness.
"There were loads of Latino people in New York, loads of people from the Caribbean too. Here I only know John— He's Puerto Rican."
James grinned, nodding and smoothing back the hair that had fallen into his face.
"Now, your foster parents, what are they like?"
Alexander smiled and James took in his expression fondly, glad that Alexander had evidently been placed somewhere he had the opportunity to be happy. Or... At least had the opportunity to recover and be happy one day.
"Martha is... Martha's really kind. She makes you feel comfortable, you know? She's funny and smart and... She reminds me a lot of mom. The way she gives hugs so easily."
James bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, not upset, only slightly overcome. He grinned, his eyes shining bright and teary.
"And George?"
Alexander frowned slightly then and the warm, excited look in his eyes dimmed somewhat, replaced with a slight sense of agitation.
"George is... He's really kind too. He's smart, he loves his family. Just... We had this big argument last week, before everything happened. I don't know if things will be the same."
James leant back on his hands and frowned, his dark brows knitting together.
"Why did you argue?"
Alex laughed in a self-depreciative sort of way, a last-ditch attempt at adding some humour to the situation. It didn't really work.
"I got this offer to move up to eleventh grade glasses. George didn't think it was a good idea."
James tilted his head, surveying his younger brother in interest.
"Why not?"
Alexander sucked his teeth and grimaced, wringing his hands and lowering his head. James raised an eyebrow sternly and leant forward.
"Alex..."
Alexander sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It needed a wash. He made a mental note to ask Marian about that. God, he really just wanted a long, hot shower.
"Yeah... You know how I make bad decisions sometimes... This was one of those times."
James said nothing, not wanting to encourage any change in subject, watching Alex intently.
"I... George and Martha were worried about me I guess. I hadn't slept in a few days, eaten in a few more. They were right... I suppose, but I was tired and pissed of. I kinda just lost it."
James sighed, though in opposition to the weary and disappointed tone Alexander had expected him to take, he seemed instead rather sympathetic.
"Let's not... Let's leave that for another time. I want you to meet Martha and George."
His seat was empty again. It was the fourth day he hadn't been in. It got more disconcerting each time, to look over and expect to see his dark head bent low over a book or his face gazing towards the window, and then instead; nothing.
Eliza listened fervently for Alexander's name in the roll call, but the same thing always happened.
The teacher skipped from Halson to Harrison. Alexander's name was inexplicably left out, as though he had been erased from everyone's memories.
It happened in every class she shared with Alexander. His name was skipped, the teacher said nothing and no one seemed to notice.
Eliza was starting to worry now. The first day she'd merely been disappointed, she had been waiting to tell Alex about the book she'd just borrowed from the library, but his desk had been empty. She hadn't though much of it, she hadn't even noticed when the teacher had skipped his name.
But then Lafayette, John and Hercules had been away too. They were all friends, the four of them, their names all missing from roll call too. Keiran straight to Lopez, Laurens missed out.
Eliza tried to recall the last time she'd seen Alexander, the last time they'd spoken. It had probably been on Thursday last week, the day he'd apparently collapsed in maths class.
Eliza had heard about it from a friend, that Alex had gotten up to do a question on the board and had fainted. His dad had arrived later to pick him up and Lafayette had gone with him.
She remembered a few days before that, in English class, Alexander had stood up to leave when the bell rang and looked, for a moment, dizzy; like he might faint. He'd said he'd just stood up to fast, that he was fine. Eliza had believed him and brushed it off, but now, that was harder.
She'd noticed before that he was skinny, short too, compared to other the boys in their year.
She'd noticed when he'd started losing more weight, when, at lunch time, she'd see him retreating into the library to hide in his huge hoodie and work.
She'd noticed too when the circles under his eyes got a little darker. It was hard to recall a time when he hadn't been yawning or sleepy looking.
It would have been difficult not to spot these things, Alex thought hiding his face under curtains of hair and hoods disguised them, but they only really exemplified his rather ill-looking state.
But she hadn't said anything.
Eliza was Alex's friend, yes, but they were friends in the sense that they chatted about books and TV and teachers.
They didn't talk about anything deeper than what lay on a very surface level. She hasn't felt like she'd had the moral authority, if that made sense. She had though Lafayette or John would have noticed, would have helped him.
She didn't think Alexander would appreciate her calling him out on his appearance.
But now... Now, she regretted this, now she hated this state of expectancy, of not knowing. If Alexander hadn't been in for days, and the last she'd heard of him was that he'd collapsed, well, it didn't take a genius to put two and two together and infer that he was ill.
Obviously, this did nothing to mollify her anxiety.
So Eliza resolved to ask the teacher. It was afternoon homeroom, Mr. Werner had just walked in through the door and set his plastic thermos onto the desk.
Any second now, he would start the roll call. He did the same thing as every day, Alex's name was missed out and the teacher didn't even blink, just continued on until the Z names.
The bell rang and they were dismissed, students crowding in packs towards the door, chatting, laughing, pushing and shoving past each other.
Eliza hung behind. Mr. Werner looked up as she approached his desk, smiling warmly at her. He taught German, which she took, Eliza had been one of the few tenth graders not to choose French or Spanish instead.
She spoke Dutch, so it seemed quite sensible to take German. They were similar enough.
"Eliza, hey! How's that homework coming? Did you want to ask something about it?"
She asked and shook her head, hoisting her bag a little tighter over her shoulders and pushing some hair behind her ear.
"No, no, the essay's fine. I wanted to ask about Alex?"
Mr. Werner's smile faded a little and he tipped his head, a little confused.
"What about Alexander?"
Eliza bit her lip and took in a deep breath. If her teacher did know where he was, and could tell her, she wanted to brace herself a little.
"Well... You missed his name on the roll call— you have every day this week and he's not been in."
Mr. Werner looked back down at the slip before him and held it out to her, pointing at Alexander's name.
"His name's been crossed off by the office before it got to me, every day this week. I don't know where he is, I assume he's sick. Maybe his parents phoned the school?"
Eliza frowned, peering closer at where Alex's name had been crossed out in red pen, a thick line scrawled haphazardly over the box the tick should have gone.
"I can't say I know where he is, sorry Eliza."
She shook her head, looking up at Mr. Werner with a smile.
"Das ist okay. Thanks, I'll call around to his place sometime."
That's okay
Mr. Werner nodded, smiling and picking up his thermos. Eliza inclined her head and moved towards the door, weaving through chairs and tables as she went.
"Viel glück mit diesen hausaufgaben!"
Good luck with that homework!
"Danke Herr Werner!"
Thanks Mr. Werner!
Eliza pushed through the door and out into the corridor, pushing through crowds of students towards the exit. She had a plan now, she had a place to be. She was going to find Alex.
James thought Martha and George seemed alright. Better than alright, actually. They fit Alexander's descriptions well, from what he saw at least.
George was... economic with his words, but in the ten or so minutes they'd spoken, he'd complimented James on his choice of study, managed to get him talking comfortably about himself but also successfully pivot away from any potentially painful subjects about Alex, and had also kept Lafayette, Martha and Alex involved in the conversation too.
George seemed like a politician in multiple senses of the word, but not in an entirely bad way. James didn't generally trust politicians, but George seemed to regard this title as an after thought. James supposed he considered himself father and husband first.
Martha seemed amazing too. James thought that perhaps, given more time to know her, he might see the resemblance to their mother. She seemed very kind, but, like with mom, James could imagine that she was intelligent and confident too.
Cyril had, as James had so eloquently put it, 'pissed off downstairs', so James lay alone in the dark. Normally, the sound of Cyril texting at night or playing music too loudly through his earphones was annoying but now, James sort of missed it.
Seeing Alex had been great, it had filled the missing space in the life he'd just managed to piece together after the total collapse of his childhood. But it had raised so many questions too. Some, James wasn't exactly sure he wanted answered.
Why did Alexander never talk about New York beyond the few months he'd stayed with Katherine? Why was his arm bandaged? James had seen it, despite Alex's best efforts to tuck it under his blanket. Why did Alexander refuse to talk about his argument with George, despite the fact that it was clearly bothering him? If it was so obviously painful, than what had happened?
James flipped onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow, the suffocating warmth from the dorm heater seemed to wrap itself like an extra blanket around him.
The guys in the room near the boiler had turned it up to like thirty, or something crazy, and probably locked the boiler room door. It was infuriating, he'd have to talk to admin about it some time. Damn Brits and their damn inability to withstand the cold.
He kicked the covers off himself angrily and lay across his bed, pressing his face into the warmth of his pillow.
He could hear music thumping somewhere, distant across the building through the layers of plaster and brick and insulation. The steady beat lulled James to sleep, bringing him away from loud music, sweltering heat and worries about Alexander.
