Hey guys! Just letting you know that this chapter has mild homophobia and hints at abuse, so don't read it if you think it would compromise your mental health (It's not worth it for my writing!). And I might not be able to update a heap because I have exams coming up. There'll definitely be some fluff in the near future though!

- Petite frite out -

Madison's POV:

Lying awake in bed on Saturday morning, I thought to myself:
'It really is sad to think that every person you meet you will have to part with eventually. I mean sure, there are people on this earth like Hamilton where the goodbyes couldn't come soon enough, but there are also people who make you feel cared for, make you feel loved even. People who have seen the darkest and most terrible sides of you yet still believe that you are incredible. People that worry for you, people that occasionally suffocate you with friendship yet you still couldn't live without them. People who you feel would do anything for you, who will offer you second opinions but will never push their beliefs on you. People that remind you that not all of humanity is flawed, yet that in spite of and sometimes because of those flaws someone can be not just beautiful, but gorgeous. Stunning. Radiant. Perfectly imperfect. That we are all sculptures, constantly being reshaped by those around us while we reshape our peers, our enemies, our friends, our lovers, our teachers, even strangers we pass by on the street.'

Sure, Thomas was and is spectacular, but this was my weekend. As much as I loved the guy sometimes I felt the need to just take a break. If he needed me he wouldn't hesitate to text, and he didn't often need me on weekends, so I had the whole two days to myself.

He had the date with Angelica today but knowing the confident, flamboyant person he was there was bound to be a lack of complications. Or so I thought.

Finally deciding to pull myself out of my cosy bed I checked the time. Being 6:45 I was the earliest out of my family to wake. Walking downstairs, still a tad drowsy I founnd my phone connected to the charger cord with a missed call and four messages.

I guess that break would just have to wait.

Thomas- Angie cancelled late last night

She said she had a family emergency

Something to do with Eliza

She wouldn't elaborate

I texted back-

Is Eliza ok?

I'm so sorry

Want me to come instead?

Thomas- Yes. Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come all the same.

James- Nice Holmes reference. Sure thing :)

I grab a muesli bar from the pantry and briefly consider dressing. But he said come at once, right? The great thing about Thomas is that he lives only ten or so minutes walk from my place, so I sprinted to his house as fast as I could manage.

Jefferson's POV:

Ding Dong.

I heaved open the front door to my best friend, on my doorstep, in his pyjamas.

He really did come at once, didn't he? I didn't mention it as he stumbled over to reach for a glass of water. He may as well live here.

Madison's POV:

My pocket vibrates and I look down.

Mum- Where are you? Xx

James- At Thomas'. Slight girlmergency- will call later, won't be home later than 3 o'clock.

Is it a girlmergency if it's the guy who is having an emergency? That'd have to do for the moment.

Jefferson led me to the front door and we walked to the train station conversing, filling each other in on our Friday nights and Saturday mornings. From what I could gather about Angelica's reason for not coming to see the movie, Eliza had arrived home late on Friday with multiple bruises and a shallow cut to her neck. She was apparently very shaken up, and when Angelica, Penny and Philip tried to get answers out of her she would only respond with 'James'. Thing was, I had maybe seen her in the hallway twice at most, so it couldn't have been me.

I peered down as we descended into the subterranean depths where large, hulking metal machines rattled in and rattled out, taking civilians where they needed to be. Walking ahead of me Thomas tapped his card, taking me to the platform. I followed him, almost blindly, my mind wandering. I had no reason to be present, I had no reason to think about what was around me when it wouldn't do me any good.

The woosh of air as our train came speeding alongside the platform, then coming to a grinding halt was somehow very dramatic, almost dreamlike in its precision. Jefferson strutted onto the platform, reaching a hand out for me to take. As I slipped my palm comfortably into his I heard someone shout the f- slur at me and practically collapsed. The only reason I had joined Thomas was to somehow help my friend, the boy who had seen me stutter when I introduced myself to the class on the first day of school and who had taken me under his wing, who had decided that he would be there for me, that he would help me when things like this happened. I wasn't ready to be called the f- slur. Not today, not ever, especially not after I had fainted in art class in front of Hamilton, Lafayette and Mulligan. Steadying myself within the vehicle I gained a hug from my sympathetic companion, and heard him yell back- "That was my friend, you homophobic bigot!"

His embrace was so warm, so friendly, so safe, and I would have liked to have stood there in his arms for an eternity, for an infinite amount of eternities had there not been people watching us. Had we not felt like outsiders because our friendship of two months was stronger than some that had lasted years. So I slowly began to turn away, unravelling like a ball of yarn, tumbling away from Jefferson while part of me was still twirled around his finger. He kept me there, his subtle yet brilliant voice telling me to stop thinking and just be.

Neither of us got any hateful or rude comments exiting the subway, likely due to the volume and tone of Thomas' voice when he had become angry before. Something about me getting anxious really seemed to make him tick.

We wound our way around Manhattan, stopping at a new little French café, and Jefferson ordered us some food.

"Croissants? For breakfast?"

"James, croissants are eaten for breakfast all the time. You really need to do a better job of immersing yourself in French culture."

"Okay, okay. Je suis trés désolé, monsieur," (I am very sorry, mister) I added, giggling at how bad my accent was.

I felt really out of place in such a cool spot, and in my pyjamas no less. Around me there was an older student banging out an essay on their macbook, young waitresses serving pastries to twenty-somethings in light denim jackets and too many still life paintings to count. Trust Thomas to know about the new eating venue- he was always up to date on the trendiest spots in town. I was just thankful to be able to tag along with my friend and nibble at some tasty French food.