Hello! Fun fact, as I'm writing this, its my birthday. Guess how old I'm turning?

By the way, I'm going to be in Washington DC this February so, if any of you guys live over there and wanna hang out, hit me up. Obviously we'd have to skype first and stuff American people honestly fascinate me and I really want to meet you guys. My story stats say most of you live in the United States and there have to be some of you in Virginia, Maryland or Washington. PM me!

By the way, L.E Rae, an author and one of my readers, reviewed on here and gradually we started talking and became friends. We've met up and she's going to come stay at my house in the Spring. Just goes to show, I guess.

Also, hit me up if you're also a Brit. The internet is full of Russians and Americans, I want to know that some of my people are here.

Heythere: Thanks so much! It mean a lot to hear all this.

Anonymous Person: I've been doing French for eight years now, and I love it! Sorry, what is the song called? Je ne sais pas? And yeah, he is a grade A asshole.

Lily Pauls: I'd be happy to. Hit me up!

YouAreAlmostOutOfMilk: God, it's hardly a piece of literature, but it's nice of you to say so. Well, I guess you'll see.

Guest: Are you talking about the French or Spanish? I do speak French, but very little Spanish.

Guest: Well, 'va te faire foutre' literally means 'go make yourself come', actually. Kiss my ass would be something like 'embrasses sur mon cul', though obviously 'fuck off' is the most sensible translation. Saying kiss my ass literally in French just isn't very common.

Guest: Thanks so much!

Cgmofofer: Cheers! Ooh, spacious and inconsistent updates, getting a little passive aggressive there. Are you British too?

Fuest: You write like my friend talks and her name starts with an 'F', so I thought you were her.

Trigger warnings: drugs, alcohol, mentions of unhealthy relationships, migraines, mentions of suicide/ overdoses, mention of rape.

Enjoy, then.

John showered at Louis' house that morning. He shampooed the smell of weed from his hair and scrubbed the dried drool off his cheek. The steam was thick on the glass walls of the shower around him and he couldn't help but feel as though he was stuck in some high pressure chamber, some autoclave. His skin was pink with the sheer heat of the water and the confusion and movement of everything in and around him was almost too much to bear.

He could steel feel the drug in him. His eyelids were heavy and his head hurt, inside his skill thick and soupy, almost as though his thoughts were wading through strong currents. Yesterday evening their eyes had been red and bloodshot but normally a few hours sleep would cure that. John thought he probably looked alright.

Everything other than his physicality, however, was far from alright. Francis had flirted last night, kissed him last night, touched and teased him. He remembered it all through a smoky haze, whether this was drugged memory or the actual smoke they'd been engulfed in, he wasn't sure. He couldn't make sense of anything that had happened. Had he come on to Francis or had Francis come onto him? Had Louis been paying much attention, had he encouraged it? His remembrance of last night was slipping away through his fingers just as he grasped for it.

Louis had left some sweatpants and a t-shirt on the towel rail for him. They were both a little small, Louis being rail-thin from the somewhat appetite-impeding drugs he took, so the sweatpants hugged him uncomfortably in places and the shirt stretched over his shoulders and chest.

Francis stood in the hallway waiting to use the shower. His hair stuck up in places and his grin was lopsided and dopey, John was all too strongly reminded of their post-drunken, post-sex mornings months ago, when Francis was warm again and they'd drink coffee together in sleepy, comfortable peace.

His dad had texted him overnight, while he'd been, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world.

Dad (seven hours ago): We need to have a discussion about curfews, John. Come straight home from school this afternoon.

John winced. That wasn't good.

He and Louis chatted half-heartedly over breakfast, a bag of potato chips each, too tired to make much conversation. The other teenager was far more blasé about doing drugs the night before school and, as John was throwing his empty foil packet in the trash, Louis reached into the cupboard above the sink for a bottle of vodka.

"Louis, you're not-"

The teenager poured about two shots worth of the spirit into a glass and knocked back the liquid with an unaffected air about him, indifferent to the look of utter incredulity on John's face.

"Helps me get though that shitshow."

John chewed on his lip cynically and leant against the counter.

"Do you drink every day?"

Louis wrinkled his nose, "not... not really. A beer after school maybe, liquor only on the weekends."

John raised a cynical eyebrow, "you've already broken that rule."

Louis gave a glumly acquiescent sort of shrug and turned away just as Francis entered the room. His hair was wet but still managed to hold its curls, much darker than usual and dripping water down the back of his t-shit.

"John, are those Louis' clothes?"

John blushed, fingered the material of the shirt between his thumb and forefinger, "yeah."

The teenager smirked, "I like what they do for you, almost make me want to- well... Louis, I'm feeling something a little stronger than coffee this morning. Care to provide?"

John watched, utterly bemused as Francis tipped about a shot's worth of vodka into a mug and filled the rest with some of the steaming coffee from the percolator. He took a sip, exhaled forcefully with his mouth wide open, as though the taste repelled him, then downed about half the thing with closed eyes.

"That's not good for you, Fran."

John eyed the bottle of vodka warily and shook his head as Louis picked it up and extended it towards him.

Francis laughed, "you sound like... I don't know, like 'not you'."

Louis ruffled John's hair, there was a sort of filmy, glassy quality to his eyes that John hadn't noticed before. Was it a souvenir of all his wild nights, beers and vodka flowing, people putting acid on their tongues like candy?

"Let's just get to school. I, for one, am dying to meet this bad boy John's been hanging around."

John started at his friend for a few moments, silent. Francis wanted to come to school? Why else would he have willingly woken up so early?

"You're coming in?" His voice was low, and his eyes could focus on everything but Francis' face.

When he responded, John could almost conjure hurt into his voice.

"Yeah. I thought it might be fun. I haven't seen Johannes or Charles in ages."

A while ago, Francis and Johannes Müller had had something. John couldn't ever put a finger on it or find words to explain it without hesitating and shaking his head. He only remembered that, before he knew Francis personally, everyone had referred to him as 'Müller's Francis' and the two had been almost inseparable.

They ate the rest of the potato chips for breakfast and put away the vodka. Francis cleared the ashtray in the living room and Louis poured the last of the weed from the grinder into a new baggie, stuffing this into his pocket.

He had to text Lafayette. He couldn't walk into school with his ex-boyfriend and the school druggie without having some sort of explanation first.

John (just now): Francis is back in town & coming to school tday. We hung out last night w/ louis. dw it's nothing. Don't tell Alex all that shit about us. Kay?

He waits for a reply as they're walking to school, Louis blinking in the bright sun, dilated pupils absorbing too much light, stinging them.

Laf (just now): Merde prk? I'll not tell Alex that shit cos YOU gotta soon. Sort this out, John. See u in homeroom.

He sounded like a disappointed parent.

They walked to school in chilly sunlight, leaves caught in their air and John, in his slightly weed-scented jacket, felt dizzy with all the movement around him.

It was easy to slip away from Francis and Louis at the gate. Francis was immediately swarmed by a crowd of junior and seniors, people he was friends with before he left last year. John slipped past his friends, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

Homeroom was quiet. Loads of people had gone to find friends or see what the commotion was about outside. Alex and Lafayette sit by the window, their French carried to where he stood. It was quiet but quick, the kind of French they spoke together that they knew John could barely keep up with.

Alex was wearing one of Lafayette's shirt's, it was a forest green thing that came down just above his butt. John found his eyes straying to that particular spot, his fingers clenching in his pocket. Alex looked better today. His skin was clear and bright, his hair curlier than usual and freshly-washed.

He walked over to where they sat, their conversation dying as they came nearer.

"Hey."

Alex looked up and smiled at him, the movement of his lips was a little half-hearted, however, and Lafayette didn't even bother with the pretence.

"Sit down. Tell us more. Why did you not tell us you were going to hang out with him?"

John groaned and leant against the edge of the desk beside Alex, their shoulders and thighs touching.

"I didn't think you'd approve, I'm sorry! I just- I heard Louis was hanging out with him too and I wanted to go."

Lafayette clicked a pen restlessly and twirled it between his fingers.

"He knows about Alex, right? He doesn't think you're single, does he?"

John shook his head, "don't worry," he tries a smile at Alex, "'course I'd tell him about Alex."

Lafayette sighed, "okay. At least there's that. Let's just get through the next few days, it'll be awkward, but we can stay away. Yeah?"

John nodded, Alex watching them both, seemingly slightly confused.

Lafayette stood up, "I said I'd see someone in the cafeteria. See you guys in English."

Alex turned to John as their friend disappeared out the door of the room.

"The way you talk about him, he could be... I don't know, Ultron or something."

John and Lafayette, upon hearing Alex had only ever watched the first iron man in badly dubbed Spanish, had sat him down one weekend and made him watch about ten of the seventeen films.

John laughed, his arms found Alex's waist and together, they leant into the wall, heads resting beside each other on a display board.

"He's not. We're no on great terms, as exes go, but we talked a bit yesterday and things should go okay if we just be civil to each other."

Alex nodded and, before John could do it himself, kissed him quickly on the cheek.

John laughed and reciprocated, blushing furiously. The thing about his relationship with Alex was that there was no big power imbalance. Sure, John was taller and stronger, but Alex could be so fiery and confident, he outshone even John's most passionate and emotional. It wasn't like it had been with Francis, John letting him steer and push in whatever direction he wanted.

The sit beside each other in homeroom and Alexander, upon seeing Eliza walk into the room, pulls her into a tight hug.

"I was so worried about you Alex, you look so much better!"

Eliza's eyes were lit up with relief and, though John knew Alex had been dreading returning to school, he could tell his boyfriend's mood was greatly bolstered by seeing Eliza again.

"John, did you hear, I'm sure you did, but Francis is back in town for a little while."

John did his best not to grimace and nodded, forced a smile. He was sure everyone expected him to be overjoyed.

"Yeah. We hung out yesterday. He's doing well."

Eliza smiled, though it seemed a little strained. He knew she could tell he wasn't all too happy that Francis had come in today.

Alex had retreated from the conversation and was reading the last of the book they were studying in class. He's missed most of the course but what they'd read an analysed in about two weeks, he'd done in four days. John knew, with a stab of pride and incredulity, he'd come out best in the test.

"He's okay, right?" Eliza whispered to John, watching Alex through a few strands of dark hair over her face.

John wrinkled his nose and shrugged, "he could put on some more weight, and he didn't particularly want to come back today, but he's better. Definitely."

Eliza seemed conflicted, "he doesn't know about all the stuff people have been saying, does he?"

John sighed and looked at his feet, "no. I'm hoping I won't have to explain."

Eliza nodded, "I've been trying to set everyone straight when they mention it to me. I just said he was ill or something, don't worry."

Alex looked up from the book.

"I can't believe they did me like that."

John furrows his eyebrows, his heart thumping.

"Got me thinking he was going to come out of that okay, but nope. He's dead."

John laughed in relief when he realised Alex was talking about the book. He and Eliza shared a glance and the girl leant forward, swiped Alex's notes off his desk. She glanced over them, smirking slightly.

"Of course you'd say like the exact thing out teacher did. You literally phrased these notes the exact same way he did and you weren't even in class with us."

Alex shrugged, "I didn't want to be behind. John's been bringing me homework."

The bell went for first period and John got to his feet, holding out a hand to help Alex up. Over the past few weeks, Alex had suffered multiple migraines and been dizzy often. Sometimes he'd stand up and clutch the wall, or someone's arm. He'd described it as someone waking you up by shining a flashlight in your face.

"Thanks," Alex pulled himself to his feet, winced slightly, and picked up his bag. Then, they made their way to first period. History.

John had a feeling Francis would be in this class. Louis and Johannes were, so it was likely they'd stick together throughout the day. Sure enough, when he and Alex walked into the classroom, his voice rang out the loudest. He was surrounded by about half a dozen people, all his and John's old friends from last year. He looked up they entered, his eyes slightly watery and overly bright from the vodka he'd had this morning.

"Jack!"

John felt his heart jump and walked over, he couldn't help smiling. Frances grinned at him and nodded slightly to Alex, who was watching Francis curiously, almost warily.

"Et-il ton copain?" His face had light up with glee, lost interest in the people around him.

"Ouais, mais il-"

But Francis didn't let him finish. He stood up, his eyes on Alex, and stepped a little closer.

"Mais il n'est pas ce à quoi je m'attendais. Oh, il est mignon, hein? Son visage, cette jolie petite coiffure. À t'entendre on dirait qu'il était plus, uhh, robuste. Un mauvais garcon, quelque chose comme ca."

Oh, but he isn't what I'd expected. He's cute, though. His face, that cute little hairstyle. You made him sound... tougher. A bad boy, something like that.

John cursed internally. He'd never said this, in fact, Francis had assumed this and he'd tried to correct him. In the corner of his eye, Alex was bright red, touching his tiny ponytail self consciously.

"Tu l'as dit, mais, il parle français!"

You said that- but, he speaks French!

Francis stopped, looked between Alex and John with narrow eyes, then tilted his head back and laughed loudly.

"Alors, ca m'est égal," he looked away from John and walked nearer Alex, looking him up and down with a smirk.

Oh, well that doesn't matter.

"Il t'a mentionné. T'es de Porto Rico, pourquoi tu parles français?"

He mentioned you. You're Puerto Rican. How come you speak French?

Alex frowned defensively , "T'es Américain, pourquoi tu parles français?"

You're American. How come you speak French?

Francis laughed and shot John a glance, "he makes a good point. But I grew up in London and Geneva, so really, I often feel quite European."

Alex looked at his feet, "my mom was a bit French."

Francis smiled, "well, I'm sorry for that rather awkward introduction. I think I expected different."

Alex smiled slightly and stepped a little closer to John, whether this was protective or nervous, John wasn't sure.

"Well, I'm sorry if I didn't live up to my reputation, or whatever you had to go on."

He nudged John in the side with his elbow and then turned away, walking steadily towards the desks at the back of the classroom.

Francis raised an eyebrow quizzically, watching Alex walk away shrewdly before turning to John.

"He's cute. Didn't think you went for that."

John shrugged, when he spoke his words became more cutting than they had sounded in his head.

"My type isn't just people like you, Francis."

He could have sworn he'd seen a flash of hurt in the other teenager's eyes but chose to ignore it, he shook some hair off his face and stepped a little closer to Francis.

"Listen, I really like him. Really. We were high as fuck last night and you broke up with me, so let him be, okay?"

Francis squared his shoulders in an offended sort of way, not used to being spoken to with any degree of bluntness or rudeness from John, he was easily shaken in that regard.

"You're not as blameless as you'd like to think, John. Just remember that the next time you and your boyfriend are-"

John cut him of with a warning stare, he was excruciatingly aware of Alex's gaze on them and felt his heart rate pick up uncomfortably.

"Fran, let's not argue, okay. Just leave him be, okay, we can talk more later."

And with that, he stepped back and turned towards Alex. Smiling widely, he slid into the seat beside his boyfriend and pulled out his school things.

"God, I love History, but there's just-"

"He doesn't like me."

John looked up, his dark eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion.

"Francis? What makes you say that? Well- he's my ex and you're my- my boyfriend, but-"

Alex wrinkled his nose, "I can just tell. But it'd be awkward if we just got along like best-friends, I guess."

He shrugged rather fatalistically and, sticking a bobby pin between his lips as he retied his hair, smiled half-heartedly at John. He pinned back the shorter strands of hair around his face back and winked.

"He's hot though, to tell you the truth. And he speaks French. Damn."

John laughed, though the subject was quickly making him uncomfortable. Alex had flipped to the page they were working on in the textbook and was underlining the date in his copybook.

"He- yeah."

"This is the point where you reassure me that I am too, isn't it?" Alex quipped.

John bit his lip, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile and his eyes did an up and down of Alex's body.

"I though that went without saying."

Alex laughed and John, under the table, placed a hand on his knee, only for a moment.

Alex froze, if only for a second. It was a strange quirk, a souvenir from a certain foster father, but anyone putting their hands on his legs only brought him back to the horrible time he had spent with Mr. Elliot being touched and used like a piece of meat.

But John's hand had moved and his attention turned to the textbook barely a second later, leaving Alex wide-eyed, staring unseeing at the page in front of him.

He hated these little moments. The tiny flashes of remembrance that permeated the wall he'd built up between himself and the incident with that man. He remembered so much of it and so little at the same time. He remembered the colour of the underwear he was wearing but not the time, nor he date it had taken place. He remembered minute, excruciating details of how it had felt but couldn't recall what he'd had for dinner a mere hour before.

Actually. Tagliatelle. Fuck.

He took a slow, deep breath and pushed his pencil tip into his paper until it broke. This made him feel better.

When the bell went for break, he and John headed for the canteen. Normally, he, John, Lafayette and Hercules hung around at the edges of the crowd, sitting at their table and finishing last minute homework, eating and laughing. A few people approached Alex as they walked to the canteen, mostly well wishers asking if he was alright but a few people he'd barely laid eyes on before, wondering where he'd been for the past three weeks.

John steered him clear of that type and they reached the canteen eventually, where Lafayette and Hercules were chatting politely, though their expressions seemed strained, to Francis.

Francis and Lafayette had gotten on quite well for a little while. Before Francis and John's embankment into the world of drinking and sneaking out of their respective houses late at night, they'd been fairly average fourteen year olds - convinced they were far more intelligent than the majority of their peers and teachers, disdainful of their day to day life and sick of waiting until age eighteen to finally become independent.

They'd sit in louche little fast food restaurants and talk longingly about leaving Virginia, about leaving the three mile perimeter they spent every dragging day in. Everyone had admired Francis for having lived in Switzerland, having been to a boarding school like something out of an 19th century novel, and he'd lived up to the expectations that had come along with this. Lafayette's childhood in Paris seemed practically cosmopolitan compared to the Virginian suburbs, despite the fact that eleven year-old Lafayette hadn't done much more in his day to day life than go to school, argue with his friends and play video games the same way they all did then. John's French, basic and halting when he was a young teenager, had so quickly become nearly fluent around his European friends merely because it seemed like escapism to be able to, though language, be more than the son of a wealthy suburban Republican.

But Lafayette hadn't, and still wasn't, the type that turned to expressly forbidden things out of sheer boredom. He gagged at the taste of alcohol and couldn't justify sneaking out of windows at night to smoke around some bonfire. Hercules, being the mature and guiding force of the group, had refused to even try any of the things Francis and John had let themselves be swallowed by.

Quickly, they'd drifted apart. Francis and John one way, Lafayette and Hercules the other.

John and Alexander slid into the seats opposite Hercules and Lafayette, and Francis turns around.

"Ah, les tourtereaux," he grinned at them, showing perfect teeth. John, unfamiliar with the word, assumed it was some slight tease and said nothing, though Alex's face was a little pink.

"I was just catching up with Lafayette," Francis smiled at them, prompting Hercules to roll his eyes. Over Francis's shoulder, to Alex, he mouthed 'in French!'

Alex stifled a laugh and Francis regarded him curiously. Alex didn't like the way Francis looked at him. He had a disconcerting way of making you feel as though you were having a loud conversation in a quiet room or holding up a line of very impatient people.

He looked away awkwardly and pulled a book from his bag, resting his chin on his elbow and opening to his bookmark - something John had made him over the summer, a hand-painted image of the four of them he'd drawn from a selfie Lafayette had taken for his Instagram.

"That's sweet. John did it?"

Francis was stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at Alex's book. Alex smiled slightly and made affectionate eye-contact with his boyfriend.

"Yeah. He's good, right?"

Francis laughed and raised an eyebrow at John over Alex's shoulder.

"Yeah. He's always been good with his hands."

John kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the floor, red to the tips of his ears. Alex, evidently unaware of the double-entendre, returned to his book.

Francis drifted away then, there was crowd of Juniors at the opposite edge of the hall calling his name, Alex recognised one rather thin, weedy looking boy he'd seen occasionally sleeping in the library. He shared with Alex a hollow-cheeked sort of look but unlike Alex, his eyes had a slightly glassy sheen to them, as though he was drunk.

"Who's that kid?" He leant over to John, whispering this in his ear and gesturing to the Junior in question.

"Louis," John grimaced a little, "an old friend."

Alex nodded slightly, still watching Louis, and leant back in his chair.

"Alexander!"

Alex jumped at his name being called out loudly from over his shoulder. Turning quickly around, expecting Lee or George or someone equally detestable, instead he was met with the elegant and authoritative figure of Angelica, Eliza's older sister.

He tried a smile, though truly she made him nervous. She was extremely intelligent and though not boastful about it, not shy either. It didn't help that she was beautiful, too. Her figure was very feminine, a sharp contrast to Eliza's slim, androgynous form. She had shrewd, glittering eyes and wore more makeup than her sister, today choosing a lipstick that made the colour in her cheeks seem even brighter.

He blushed slightly and stood up, unsure how to greet her.

"Hey, nice to see you," he stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced at John, who was watching him with slightly raised eyebrows.

She smiled and Alex was relieved to find it genuine.

"You doing okay? You've been ill, right?"

Alex nodded, tugging awkwardly at the fabric of his ill-fitting jeans and shrugging.

"Yeah, I'm doing fine now though. I honestly couldn't wait to get back."

Angelica laughs and looks him up and down.

"I've always been the same," she said kindly, before pressing on, "anyway, Alex, the debate team is starting up this term and Eliza said it would be exactly your sort of thing. The team is full right now, if Jefferson ever gets back, that is, but we're holding trials and stuff soon. If you can argue well enough, maybe you'll make the team."

Alexander blinked, once. He hadn't been aware his school had a debate team, though in all fairness, he'd never looked very hard. He'd been on the team at his last school all Freshman year and, the year before that, captain of the one at his middle school. Debating was- used to be, his thing.

"I- yeah? I've debated since the eighth grade," he laughed, "I- I'll come along. When's the next meeting?"

Angelica smiled gratefully and pulled her bag off her shoulder, rummaging though the side pocket. She pulled out a leaflet and handed it to him.

"November the tenth. Bring John, he was good last year."

Alex nodded, a warmth blooming in his chest he hadn't felt since the crisis with Francis had begun this morning.

"Thanks," he beamed up at her, "thanks loads."

Angelica smiled again. She waved to Hercules, Lafayette and John before turning on her heel and hurrying from the canteen, out the double doors opposite them.

So far, discounting the awkwardness between himself and Francis, Alex's day had started decisively better than he'd expected. Of course, some people continued to pester him about his absence, but most were either apathetic towards the situation or merely concerned.

Of course, the second he had thought this, his luck turned.

He was walking to English when someone fell into step beside him, a Junior. They were only a little taller than him with dark red hair, nearly brown, and a handsome profile. Alexander recognised him from the canteen earlier, he'd been one of the guys in the group Francis had moved to after talking with them.

"Alexander, right?" He asked, looking the younger teenager up and down critically, with a small smile.

Alex frowned and nodded, sudden apprehensiveness dawning in his chest.

"Can you tell me where you got it? I know you probably hate the stuff now, but- help a guy out, you know?"

Alex looked up at the teenager, bewildered, and shook his head slowly.

"Sorry, I haven't any idea what you're talking about."

The boy laughed quietly, still walking alongside him, "come on, my friends and I need some molly for a party and everyone said to ask you, I-"

Alexander stopped.

"Who said that?"

The boy raised an eyebrow.

"It's not a secret."

Alexander stood there for a moment, bewildered and, all at once, horrified. Molly? Fucking molly! The fucking amphetamine people took in the backs of shitty clubs?

"I can't help you. I don't do that shit," he grit out, starting to push past the boy. But he persisted, grabbing Alex's shoulder and holding him back.

"Nah, come on, man. It's chill, I'm not gonna snitch. Look, knowing people like you, I'll pay you extra, I'll give you seventy for five grams, come on. That's -"

Alex pushed the boy's hand off his shoulder forcefully and stepped away, his brows tightly knitted and his chest heaving.

"Fuck you."

He barely had time to see the confusion and anger burst on the other teenager's face before he spun around and jogged up the hallway to class, his heart pounding.

The way people had been talking to him all day, the way they'd been looking at him; it all made sense. He'd been so used to that brand of wary pity and fearful but self-righteous tone people took with him, he hadn't noticed when it had turned up a notch or two. The looks in the hallway and cantine hadn't fazed him, back in Freshman year, this had been common. But it wasn't because he had kissed another boy in public or even because he was a skinny, ill looking foster kid.

It was because someone had got it into their heads that he was a druggie.

He slid into a seat beside John in the middle of the English classroom.

"Did you know?" He asked quietly, his eyes pricking painfully and his hands clenching nearly involuntarily under the table.

John turned to him, confused until he took in Alexander's expression.

"I-"

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

John's eyes dropped to the desk and Alex threaded his hands into his hair and tilted his face to the ceiling, letting out a deep sigh.

"God, it's not the worst people'll have said about me, but fucking molly, God. Even if I was gonna deal drugs I wouldn't deal that shit."

John laughed quietly and Alexander rolled his eyes, still irritated.

"Go all natural, the mushrooms and the weed, maybe?" John tried, laughing through his words.

Alex shrugged, "I'm just... Some dude came up to me asking to buy some. I said no, obviously, so he said he'd pay me extra, 'knowing people like me'."

John grimaced and Alexander shrugged, tugging at his dark hair and watching the other students file in and sit down around them.

"Did you know the guy?"

Alex shrugged again, "he hung out with Francis today. Really dark red hair, pretty good looking."

John winced, "sounds like Johannes. He's alright, really, once you get to know him but-"

Alex straightened up, "but what? To everyone else he's a racist, self-important asshole?"

John shrugged, his face pink, and opened his English book. The conversation was over and Alex still felt betrayed; as though everyone had been laughing at him behind his back this whole time, and the joke had only gotten funnier now he had discovered it.


At lunch, he picked miserably at the pasta George had prepacked him that morning. He was aware Lafayette was watching him but couldn't ring himself to eat just to please him. He'd lost his appetite and this pasta had long gone cold.

"Hey, do you want some of this baguette, I'm seriously not going to finish it," Hercules offered. He was sat opposite Alex, half a bacon, avocado and egg baguette unfinished in front of him. Alex sighed quietly, shrugged and pulled it towards himself.

Surprisingly, the baguette was delicious. He hadn't enjoyed much food recently, it all seemed to taste like cardboard, but this he could stomach. He'd always liked avocado, these days it was a trendy hipster thing but it had always been a staple in his mom's cooking, in much Latin American cooking, actually.

"Thanks, Herc," he muttered, pushing back his sleeves and taking another bite.

"No problem, avocado just tastes like green to me anyway."

John laughed and his arm pulled around Alex's waist under the table, tightened somewhat. He leant in and pressed a kiss to Alex's cheek, his lips were soft and his hair tickled Alex's temple.

But Alex just yawned and looked back down at the baguette, took another tiny bite.

He just wanted to go to bed. He wanted to crawl underneath his duvet and sleep, surrounded by warmth and quiet and darkness. He was sick of everything about this place already.

He got through last period with his chin in his palm, staring out the window. It wasn't like he'd never used the painkillers in Pace's cupboard to put himself into a stupor for a little while, knock himself out when the pain was too much. And a week ago, he'd taken something like seventy pills and chugged half a bottle of scotch.

But he'd never even smoked weed, he and Rob hadn't tried any of that stuff. They'd gone to one party for Spring Break, had just enough beer to get tipsy and gotten bored. They'd hung around the snack table, eating chips and seeing how many marshmallows they could fit into their mouths. Alex smiled to himself as he remembered stumbling into a tiny spare room and making out with him, giggling and shushing each other as the party went on around them.

He'd have been so happy that year if it hadn't been for Pace.

When the school bell rang, he hastened to find Lafayette so they could go back to the Washingtons' - he was itching to write something and curl up in bed with a book, do anything but think about John and Rob and what everyone was saying about him at school.

But Lafayette, popular as he was, stopped every other yard as they walked out of homeroom. Alex, knowing about twenty people in his year and no more, stood, tapping his foot behind him and waiting for him to finish.

"Oh! I just need to tell Courtney she-"

"God, Laf, I'm going, I'll see you later."

"Mais j'ai le clé, connais-tu où-"

But I have the key, do you know where-

Alex started to walk away, exhausted and fed up, "sous le pot de fleurs, l'un plus lointain a gauche."

Under the flower-pot, the one furthest to the left.

He walked glumly off campus, his hands in his pockets and his bag heavy on his shoulders. Most of the time, he regretted everything he'd done that night three weeks ago, and what he'd tried to do with a bottle of iodine most recently. On days like now, however, he wished he'd done it differently - better.

No one was in when he twisted the slightly muddy key in the lock and kicked off his shoes haphazardly in the hallway. He liked being here all alone. The house was so large, with endless spare rooms and studies and unnecessary bathrooms. He liked to wander around, running his hands over the shining wood and marble surfaces and lying on the unnervingly soft rug in the study, letting his eyes drift over the titles on the book shelves and the beautiful prints on the walls.

But today, he merely hung his coat on the back of his chair, made himself some hasty instant coffee and curled up with a book George had recommended last week, while he was still of school and bored out of his mind.

He read until he heard the front door click open and a clumsy set of footsteps in the hallway downstairs.

"Alex! Are you up there?"

He let out a lazy sound of affirmation and footsteps scampered towards him, eager and childlike. Lafayette burst into his room and threw himself down onto the bed, his expression apologetic.

"I'm sorry about that. I can get... distracted."

Alex shrugged and put down his book, "it's alright. I'm just tired."

His friend regarded him in vague concern and shifted hesitantly closer, as though unsure whether this would exacerbate the tension between them or relieve it.

"Is it Francis? Because he will be leaving soon anyway."

Alex shrugged and shook his head after a moment's thought, "no. It's just going back is hard. I know I whined about how bored I was but... I don't know, I just need to get back into a routine. Then I'll be okay."

Lafayette nodded sympathetically, "I get it."

He slapped Alex's bed as though to punctuate the conversation and sprung to his feet.

"Je vais faire du thé, tu veut du café ou-"

I'm making tea, do you want coffee or-

"Une tasse de café, ouais merci," Alex finished for him with a small smile. Lafayette grinned and bolted from the room, his footsteps thrumming cheerfully along the polished wood staircase and along the hallway downstairs.

A cup of coffee, thanks.

Alex flopped back against his pillows, hand limp over his half open book, and sighed a heavy sigh.


Alex had begun to recognise the subtle and preliminary signs of a headache rather well over the past few weeks and was horrified to wake up the following morning with the familiar shimmering, heat-hazed vision he had come to associate with an imminent migraine. He stood up slowly, trying to blink away the blur as though it were tears, but as he dressed it became so permanently fixed in his vision that even squinting or peering at objects through half-closed eyes, tricks that usually worked, quickly rendered themselves as useless.

There was a terrible pressure in the air too, something thick and suffocating in the movement and shifting of the space around him. There was no real pain yet, that would creep in later, only a vague sense of fullness or swolleness in his head - the imagined swelling and pulsing of blood inside his skull that made his temples ache hotly and the backs of his eyes burn.

He sat in the kitchen glumly, watching an expensive vase on he dresser opposite him warp and tremble as though reflected in choppy water. Would coffee help? He was sure he'd read somewhere that coffee could either aid or exacerbate the pain of a migraine, only he couldn't be sure if there had been a distinction made in regards to telling which one applied when. He forced down two slices of toast under Martha's watchful eye and began to scour the living room in vain for the book he'd been reading last night. It was dark in the living room and it didn't occur to Alex to turn on a light or pull open the curtains, he merely felt around fruitlessly in the dark for nothing.

Lafayette was, of course, as loud and amiable as ever. He all but bounced into the hallway beside Alex, nearly tripping over an untied lace in the process, and announced happily that he'd heard they'd have a substitute teacher for Chemistry that day and could hope to get some homework done that period. Alex murmured along to his chatter as the began their walked to school, scuffing his shoes against the concrete and blinking away from the pale light of the November sun.

John was quiet that morning too, he put a discrete arm around Alex's waist under their desk and read the book Alex had gotten him for his birthday. Alex, though he had a book of his own out in front of him, could hardly make out a simple sentence. The book itself was tedious and dry, but he was having trouble even making out short conversations and comments. He had stared at the words so long that eventually, they transformed into illegible forms he had no hope of reading - the footprints of birds in sand or the scatterings of fly footsteps in ink.

"Did you do that Chemistry sheet?

Alex looked up, startled by the interruption, as though he'd just spoken in Mandarin.

"Huh?"

John laughed, "the chemistry sheet, Alex, have you done it?"

Alex winced slightly, finally able to make out his friend's words, "no. I haven't."

Lafayette, from a few feet away from them, called, "Alex! I told you, there's a sub today!"

Alex took a moment to comprehend this before exhaling slightly and giving a small, curt little nod.

"Yeah, you told me. Sorry."

John eyed him with vague concern for a brief moment before turning back to his book and squeezing very gently at his waist. So Alex returned to his stupor, the ringing in his ears and the warbling, beating sound in his head like a thin sheet of metal being struck resumed once again.

The throbbing started during Chemistry. His head had ached dully all during homeroom and the backs of his eyes had stung from the bright, florescent lighting and sun where he sat by the window, but he hadn't been properly in pain yet, not at least until first period. The pressure inside his head seemed to intensify by a tenfold and closing his eyes, he could see the bright spread of veins throbbing across his eyelids. He felt as though someone was trying to break out of inside his skull with a sledgehammer.

Francis was in Chemistry that morning. It wasn't difficult to get into the high school he no longer attended. He was still recognised and liked by all his old teachers and, with the school having well over one thousand students, it was difficult for teachers to notice an extra student hanging at the back of the lunch hall or in a large Chemistry class.

He sidled over to John and Alexander a few minutes before the teacher entered the room and crouched down in front of their desk, resting his elbows over Alexander's book and staring up at them with a grin.

"Morning. How are les tourtereaux doing today, then?" He asked with a small grin, drumming his fingers carelessly against the desk and meeting Alexander's eyes. The teenager looked tired, his eyelids were heavy and his complexion was grey and ashy. Francis had thought him exceptionally cute yesterday, but now he looked about halfway into his grave.

John smiled, though the movement was slightly terse and strained, "good."

Francis raised an eyebrow, "car le petit a l'air mort."

Because the little one looks dead.

Alex looked up, as though startled, only vague recognition of being the subject of Francis' comment showed in his expression.

"What?"

John watched his boyfriend for a moment with a small frown, "je pense qu'il est fatigué. C'est tout."

I think he's tired, that's all.

Alex seemed to come to himself and forced a smile, "ouais, c'est ca. J'ai sommeil."

Yeah, that's it. I'm sleepy.

Francis shrugged and reached up a hand to push some of John's hair from his face, "how long have you two been going out?"

Alex was staring off into space again, so John deigned to reply for them both.

"Uh, since late-summer. So... two months?"

Francis nodded lazily, "cool. And you guys have- you know- by now, right?"

John went a dark shade of read and turned to shoot Alex an apologetic look, but he was staring in the opposite direction, not listening to a word they were saying.

John lowered his voice to an angry whisper, "no, we haven't! And I don't think that's nay of your business anyway, seeing as you broke up with me a year ago!"

Francis laughed, "how are you being so patient? God, when we were together it took what, three weeks-"

John hit him hard on the shoulder, "God, I like him enough to wait for longer than barely two months."

Francis shrugged, "you've changed, then."

John sat back in his hair and regarded the blond teenager coldly, "I think your recollections of our relationship are very different to mine."

Francis shrugged again and leant away from the desk, about to turn and walk away. Then, with a final glance at Alex and a slightly raised eyebrow, he stopped.

"I don't even know the kid, but he looks like he's about to drop dead. I'd watch him, if I were you. Oh, and don't misconstrue this for worry, John, there's no need to, it's not."

With that, he strode back across the classroom towards Johannes and Louis, who were playing hackey-sack with an ice-pack.

Alex continued to stare down at his book, he hadn't turned the page once since he'd opened it.


That lunch time, they all sat around their usual table in the cafeteria. Everyone was yelling and laughing loudly and the noise was making Alex's head throb like it was being drilled into.

"Have you eaten?" John's voice, rather than his words permeated Alex's thoughts,

He looked up, incomprehension and discomfort clear in his eyes as he stared at John.

"What?" His tone was nervous.

"I was wondering whether you'd eaten, but- Alex, are you alright?"

The teenager smiled, big bright and false.

"Yeah, yeah. Just couldn't hear you over," he waved his hand to indicate the noise and them. His eyes were still unfocused and pained.

It was when they sat down someone quieter, John's idea that Alex had greatly welcomed, when John realised what was up.

Alex had been suffering through migraines regularly for the past few weeks. Sometimes, John would come around in the morning and Lafayette would answer the door with a whispered hello. All the lights upstairs were turned off and it would only be in the late afternoon when Alex would trod sleepily downstairs with a bowl he'd washed in the bathroom sink.

Alex had confided in him that the migraines probably had little to do with the overdose itself and more to do with the stress that had followed it. As of yet, he was still technically a suicide threat and hadn't been prescribed any medication that could alleviate some of this stress.

He sat opposite John in a chair in the geography hallway, his eyes closed and his body tense.

"Alex, you know it's not going to get any better. You should go home."

Alex clutched the sides of his face, deep lines cut into his forehead and around his eyes.

"I'm just- If I hadn't stressed so much over all this, none of this would be happening."

John said nothing, he stood up and drew the blinds shut. The squares of harsh sunlight, arranged in slanting columns on the floor, were extinguished.

"I'm just-just mad at myself."

John said nothing, merely rubbed Alex's shoulder in a manner he hoped was warm and comforting. Alex sighed again and John wondered if he'd done something wrong.

"If I hadn't done it, they'd be able to give me some sort of pill. At least something for this, at least painkillers."

John didn't have anything particularly appropriate to say, so instead he picked up Alexander's hand where is sat, limp, by his side and pressed it to his lips.

"Shall we go to the front office and call George and Martha before the worst of it comes?"

Because John knew if Alex didn't get home soon, there was a good chance he'd be sick at school. He needed the dark quiet of his room and lots of water. So he and Alex walked to the office and, while Alex sat on one of the sofas, head in hand, explained the situation.

George and Martha were very understanding, of course. It was George who took an early lunch to drive to the school and collect him, talking quietly to John before leading a pale, hunched over Alex to the car.

Alex slid into the back seat with his face in his hands and, immediately, curled up against the far wall of the car. He was nauseous and dizzy, even the distant sounds of cars and wind around him hurt so badly. He just wanted quiet.

They drove in total silence, but the rushing of the freeway beneath them and the hum of the engines was deafening and every time the car jerked over a bump, Alex had to hold back vomit. George helped him out of the car when they'd parked, Alex keeping one hand over his eyes, the other holding George's arm to maintain balance. He felt stupid and weak and pathetic, but knew he'd be in school puking his guts out right now if he hadn't called them.

As they stepped over the front porch and the darkness of the empty house greeted Alex, he opened one eye and broke away from George. Stumbling erratically like some half-starved beast, he fell into the bathroom and threw up the lunch he had so painstakingly forced himself to eat.

Afterwards, he wiped his mouth and, not willing to attempt the long climb upstairs to his room, he fell onto the sofa in the dark living room. George, moving quietly around him, began pull the curtains as tight as they could go and flicked off the dim lamp in the corner off the room. He unfolded a blanket on the end of the sofa and laid it over Alex carefully.

The teenager mumbled something like a thank you and George rested a comforting hand on his shoulder for a moment, before turning and walking quietly from the room, closing the door with as little noise as possible behind him.

It was impractical to keep Alexander in the living room all afternoon long, as eventually Martha and Gilbert would come home and the downstairs half of the house would be noisy and bright, the living room needed for the television, the bookcase and the stack of mail George had placed on the sideboard earlier.

Alexander was asleep when George pushed the door gently open and moved to stir him as he slept, eyebrows furrowed in pain and his skin hot to the touch. He blinked dimly and confusedly when George tapped him on the shoulder, looking up at his foster father with little more than bleary half-recognition.

"Gilbert will be home soon, you should go to bed."

Alexander blinked again, rather owlishly, and began to get to his feet. George reached out to steady him but Alexander shook off the hand he placed on his elbow and lumbered out of the room, one hand covering his eyes from the light of the hallway and the other groping like a blind man for the wall.

George watched him as he disappeared past the balcony at the top of the stairs, heard his irregular, heavy footsteps as they moved into his bedroom and finally the creak of a bed.

George picked up his phone and called Martha, she answered after about thirty seconds.

"George? Is he alright?"

George sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "yeah, yeah, just another migraine. I'm sure they're not pleasant, but he'll be fine in the morning."

He heard the ruffling of papers and the clicking of a pen, "how do you think we should ask him?"

They were talking about this again.

"I don't think we should do anything... Just approach him with it sometime, let him see how he feels about it."

"Gilbert can't know before he's made a decision about it, he'd get too excited."

George laughed quietly and strode towards the kitchen, opening his work laptop and plugging it into his charger by the wall.

"I agree entirely. But what do you think he'll say?"

"He'll probably just be confused. Really, as he's fifteen, we're adopting him so we won't receive any more payment for having him, and so he's recognised legally alongside Gil. Maybe he'll think it's pointless, seeing as he turns eighteen in less than three years anyway."

Martha made a small, thoughtful sound, "possibly. It's his choice, really."

George hummed quietly in agreement, "well. I think we'll wait until the Christmas holidays, don't you? So he'll not be too overwhelmed with schoolwork to think about it."


John desperately wanted to visit Alexander after school. He hated seeing Alexander in pain, especially when he was completely helpless to do anything but worry over him. Unfortunately, as his father was still furious at him for spending the night at Louis' place and not asking him (his father, John thought, probably suspected he and Louis' relationship was more than just friendly) so he was grounded for the next week.

The first thing he did when he got home was text Lafayette to hear how Alex was. Alex had confided in him that his migraines actually had little to do with the pills he had taken and much more to do with the stress he put himself under. It hurt John to think that Alexander was under so much stress that in manifested in physical pain and, that once more, there was very little he could do to alleviate nay of this other than trying to treat Alex as though he was normal, sane and mature. If there was one thing he knew his boyfriend hated, it was being fussed over and initialised.

John (just now): How is he? asleep?

Lafayette (just now): Asleep, yeah. He'll be alright in the morning. Come around and walk us to school?

John (just now): If I can leave early without my dad thinking I'm off to do cocaine at a gay orgy.

Lafayette (just now): Wow

John (just now): i know. he honestly thinks that.

Lafayette (just now): Well, if you can get time away from all those orgies, come around tomorrow.

John (just now): fuck you. I'll be there.

He tossed his phone down onto his bed and sighed, pushing his hands through his hair and staring up at the ceiling. If Lafayette wasn't concerned and could actually see how Alex was doing, everything was probably fine. If there was one person who fussed more over Alexander than John did, it had to be Laf. It actually breached the boundaries of being friendly sometimes and, like Hercules, they often teased him for being such a mother hen.

He lay on his bed, watching the ceiling and listening to the sounds of his siblings playing in the next room. Alex would be alright. He just needed Francis to fuck off back to Syracuse, or wherever he was living, and people to stop listening to the stupid rumours about his boyfriend. He and Alex were in a good place, and he didn't want anything to threaten that. He wouldn't let anything threaten that.