Il Ritorno

Il Devoto

"Can feel yeh staring at me."

You stiffen, and a hot flush erupts over your chest. You open your mouth to say something, but any potential excuses evade you.

Alex cracks open his left eye, the corners of his lips kinking into a smug smirk. He's laying on the bed to your left, his stomach pressed flat against the mattress and his cheek squished against one of your fluffy pillows. You're on your back, your head turned towards him—you'd wanted to study him while he slept, and you had hoped that he would remain unconscious long enough to allow you the opportunity.

Of course, things are never that simple.

"Wasn't staring," you mumble bashfully, though the both of you know that it's a blatant lie.

"No?" Alex muses, his irises glazed with drowsiness. You can't help but to notice the deep octave of his voice, and his tone sends shivers down your spine. "Could practically feel yeh burning a hole through m'head, love."

"Piss off." You deliver a half-hearted blow to his side, but it does no real damage. Alex simply chuckles before letting out a quiet yawn and rolling over. You gasp loudly when half of his body bulldozes over your own, and you push lightly at his shoulders as you try to wrestle him off.

"What're you doing?" you hiss, but there's a smile pulling at your lips, "Stop it!"

"Just checkin' the time," Alex replies gruffly, but you can hear the amusement in his words. He casts a glance over at the alarm clock standing on your nightstand and hums when he sees that it's nearing seven in the morning. When he peers over his shoulder, he notices the first few orange rays of the sunrise peeking through your window.

"You're insufferable," you groan when he finally turns over and pulls his weight off of you. Alex cocks an eyebrow, placing his head in his palm so that he can keep himself slightly elevated.

"Weren't sayin' that last night, y'know."

You gulp. You hate him. You really, truly, hate him.

Except...you don't. Not even a little bit.

"Shut up," you say, rolling over on the bed so that he can't see the embarrassment morphing your features. Alex just snickers lowly, shifting closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. Your breath hitches in your throat when he presses his body firmly against you, and you can feel something hard and unyielding nestled snugly against your bum.

"Don't be like that, now," Alex scolds, but you know that there's a stupid grin on his face. He brushes your hair away from your back before planting a steady kiss to the nape of your neck. His fingers drum against your stomach over the material of your nightgown, and you shiver when you feel his hand begin to trail south.

"We can't," you whisper quickly, catching his wrist with shaky fingers. As much as you want to feel him again—really feel him—you know that Tommy and your parents are sleeping in rooms just down the hall. If your noises don't wake them, then the sunlight certainly will—either way, the situation can only end with your father taking the barrel of his pistol to Alex's head.

Alex releases a soft moan of protest, and you hate the way the sound travels right down to the apex of your thighs. He lays his palm flat against your mound, the only thing separating your skin being the fabric of your nightgown (your panties are still discarded somewhere on the floor). Despite your previous objections, you bite harshly on your bottom lip and keen upwards into his touch. He chuckles victoriously.

"'S cute, how much you want me," he tells you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. His index finger dips between your legs, and you reflexively clamp your thighs around the digit, preventing him from going any further.

"Stop," you warn, but the breathlessness of your voice lets him know that you don't mean it. Alex nips teasingly at your earlobe, and you purse your lips together, feeling the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight when Alex blows out a warm sigh.

"Will yeh at least kiss me, then?" he asks. You peer over your shoulder, meeting his inquisitive yet hopeful eyes.

"Haven't brushed my teeth yet," you say, your tone small and subdued. Alex just shakes his head, and before you know it, his hand is gripping tightly to your hip. You gasp quietly when he pulls you over, your back now flat against the mattress as he clambers on top of you.

"Alex!" you giggle, muffling the sound with your palm. Alex just grins boyishly at you, his knees on either side of your torso so that he can keep you boxed in underneath him.

"Don't care about some bloody bad breath," he says, and then he's tugging gently on your wrist. You allow your hand to fall away from your mouth, and Alex smirks arrogantly as he leans down and smears his lips against yours.

He really doesn't care about the quality of your breath in the morning. He doesn't care about the fact that your hair is tangled and ratty, and that your eyes are still squinting up at him drowsily. He doesn't care that your reflexes are a bit slow from having only been awake for a short period of time, and he doesn't care that your voice is slightly raspy from sleep.

He loves you, despite these things. He loves you because of them.

A low hum resonates in your throat as you slowly loop your arms around Alex's neck. You subconsciously arch your back up into his chest, and he cradles your face with one of his hands. A moment later, you're dragging yourself away from him, gasping out for air while he chuckles.

"It's not my fault," you say, inhaling deeply, "How the hell can you hold your breath for that long anyways?"

As soon as the question leaves your mouth, you both stiffen. Alex gulps and tucks his lips into a fine line, and suddenly, the pillows behind your head become significantly more interesting than your eyes. You sigh and squeeze your eyelids shut, your lips curling down into a scowl.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "I wasn't thinking."

A beat of silence passes before Alex clears his throat.

"'S okay," he murmurs, rolling off you, "Don't worry, 's okay."

You open your mouth, seconds away from blurting out a few more apologies, but Alex just smacks his lips against the corner of your mouth to keep you quiet. You give him a soft, regretful smile, and he returns it while thumbing gently at your cheek.

"I need to tell yeh somethin'," Alex starts. His eyes are trained on your torso, though when he looks back up at you, you're shocked to see turbulent vulnerability in his gaze.

You nod, encouraging him to go on. Alex takes and deep breath and opens his mouth, but then a loud creaking sound echoes through the house. Your eyes widen, and Alex sits up straight, his heart pounding erratically. Footsteps patter down the hall, growing terrifyingly loud as the person passes by your bedroom door. Judging by the weight of the treads, you assume that it's Tommy.

You're proven right when the footfalls move past your room, and then the bathroom door shuts softly (your parents have their own washroom attached to their bedroom, so there's really no need for them to step outside into the hall).

As soon as the lock clicks into place, you and Alex scramble up out of bed. He searches the floor for his abandoned t-shirt, finally finding the material discarded near the foot of your dresser. You usher him over to the door, hissing at him to move quickly.

"Hurry up!" you whisper, beckoning him with rapid movements of your hand.

Alex nearly trips over his own feet as he tugs his shirt over his head—you briefly mourn the fact that you can no longer see the toned skin of his torso. He stumbles over to you, seconds away from colliding with the door, but thankfully you're able to catch his arm and pull him back. You place your index finger against your lips before leaning forward and pressing your ear to the wood of the door.

Tommy's still in the washroom. If he goes downstairs and realizes that Alex isn't laying on the couch...you don't know exactly what will happen, but you know that it won't be good.

This is your only chance, really.

"Be careful, okay?" you tell Alex quietly, beginning to turn the knob on the door. He nods; his eyes are shimmering with panic, but he still ducks forward and brushes his lips against yours chastely before slipping out of your room. You swallow heavily, finding the brief contact to be comforting.

You watch as he tiptoes down the stairs, surprisingly silent for a man who's just over six feet tall. When he's out of sight, you close the door softly, leaning back against the wood and blowing out a sigh of relief.

Too close, you think to yourself, gnawing harshly on your bottom lip, Too fucking close.

~*~

"Think your mum would fancy us bringing home fettuccine? Always tellin' me that she wants to explore Italian cuisine, she is."

"Why not?" you hum, scanning the aisle for long, thick strands of pasta packaged in blue. You give a faint, triumphant whoop when you find the product resting only a few feet away. Alex follows you as you rush towards the display and grab a few bags from the shelf. A lopsided smirk stretches his lips when you turn around to deposit the pasta into the small shopping cart that he's pushing.

"Thanks for coming with me," you tell him shyly. Alex's smirk grows into a grin, and you suck your lips into your mouth nervously. He's just so damn attractive—his smile makes your heart do somersaults beneath your ribs, and you find it extremely inconvenient.

"Wanted t'be with yeh," Alex says nonchalantly.

He peers past your head before glancing over his shoulder, realizing that there's no one else occupying the aisle. You step back when you see the mischievous glint in his eyes, but you're not fast enough. He lurches forward, his lips just grazing against yours in a half-hearted attempt to show affection. You gasp, nearly tripping over yourself as you press your palms against his chest and push him away.

"Alex!"

"C'mon, love," he protests, snickering, "'S barely anyone else here."

"You're mad!" you hiss, but you can't stop your mouth from curling up into a bashful smile. Alex just cackles; his left eyelid drops down into a playful wink, and you can't help but to put a hand to your cheek (of course, your skin is hot).

"Gotta live a little, darling," Alex teases, "'S important to—"

"Alexander?"

Alex freezes, his words fizzling out. Your brows knit together, and you squint over his shoulder to find whoever has cut into your conversation. Alex turns around slowly; he prays that you don't notice the way his throat bobs in agitation.

The man is short, standing at about five and a half feet—you might grant him a few more inches if you're feeling generous. His hair is gray, though he's not balding. He leans on a wooden cane for support, a shopping bag clutched tightly in his other hand. His brow is furrowed, and there are deep-set bags beneath his eyes. His eyes...

His irises—despite the sallow, sunken state of the rest of his face—are bright and attentive. They're green, the colour of sea foam frothing wildly against rocks. There's something eerily familiar about them, but you can't seem to put your finger on it.

"Alexander," the man croaks out again, his lips parting in awe. Alex is stiff, the muscles in his back rigid as he stares stonily at the stranger. You're confused, gazing between the two men and not quite understanding why Alex has turned so cold.

"Alex—," you start softly. You lay your hand on his forearm, but then the man standing in front of you speaks again.

"You're alive."

"Yeah," Alex says tightly. From where you're standing, you can see the veins in his neck protruding, and the way something in his jawline twitches furiously. Your hand tightens on his arm, and you squeeze gently in hopes of bringing him back to you.

It works. Alex blinks once before craning his neck to look down at your face. You're peering up at him with wide, nervous eyes, and he puts a hand on top of yours to reassure you. "'S okay, love," he mumbles, his thumb drawing comforting circles along your knuckles, "Let's—let's just go, yeah?"

"All this time..."

Your head snaps to the side when you hear the stranger with the memorable eyes blurt out the words. Alex grinds his teeth together, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from you so that he can focus back on the older man standing in front of him.

"What?" Alex asks, his voice dangerously low, "What is it?"

"All this time," the man repeats, his eyes full of amazement, "I thought—thought you were dead."

"Well, 'm bloody not." Alex's lips curve down into a deep scowl.

"Alexander—"

"C'mon, Y/N," Alex grits out. He spins on his heel, finding your hand and gripping it tightly. You stumble forward in surprise, reaching for your small shopping cart so that you can tug it along. Alex grunts, shaking his head and glaring at you sternly.

"Leave it," he tells you, his tone harsh, "Leave the fuckin' food."

You release the cart, but only because you're so shocked. He's never spoken to you like that before.

Alex leads you out of the grocery store, your hand still clenched tightly in his. You want to protest (you think he might be cutting off blood flow to your fingers), but you can't seem to find your voice. He only frees you once the two of you reach the car, stomping over to his side of the vehicle and wrenching open the door. He slides into the driver's seat and slams the door shut—the force of the action rattles your bones.

You say nothing as you quietly slip in beside him, playing anxiously with your fingers while he pulls out of the parking lot. You swallow down the lump in your throat, your toes curling in your shoes. Alex's knuckles are a ghostly white on the steering wheel, and his back is stiff against the seat. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, your eyes on the road and your hearts pounding erratically.

"Alex," you finally whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You desperately hope that you won't regret opening your mouth. "Who was that?"

Alex grumbles nonsense under his breath, gnawing fiercely on his bottom lip. He doesn't look at you, choosing instead to keep his gaze trained on the car driving in front of yours. Several long moments pass, the silence drawing out almost painfully, and you begin to accept that he's not going to share anything with you.

But then Alex lets out an unsettled sigh. That same muscle in his jaw makes a reappearance, ticking rapidly as he flexes his fingers against the wheel.

"M'father," he grunts out, gritting his teeth nastily, "Was m'fuckin' father."

~*~

He hasn't touched upon it since.

He can't bring himself to do so. He knows it's not fair to you—you deserve the truth. You've been nothing but supportive and kind since you'd first offered him a place to stay. Everything about you exudes warmth, from the way you chastely kiss him goodnight to the bashful yet knowing smiles you give him across the table during dinner. You're worthy of his honesty—you ought to know.

But he can't.

He likes to think that he's returned to his normal state. The first few days had been painfully awkward—you'd tiptoed around him, casting nervous glances his way and speaking slowly to avoid any rocky subjects.

Alex had allowed this nonsense to continue for a bit, until he just couldn't stand it anymore. He missed you.

He'd snuck into your room the third night, silently slipping inside. You'd been surprised (he hadn't come back since that first morning, when the two of you had nearly been caught), but he'd shushed you with a long, bruising kiss. You kissed, and kissed, and kissed, until he'd successfully lulled you to sleep with the ghost of his lips still on yours.

(He'd crept back downstairs afterwards, not wanting to try his luck. Staying in your bed for the night was too risky.)

And that seems to have done the trick, because you're finally treating him like an ordinary person again.

Though, of course, all good things must come to an end.

The five of you are sitting at the dinner table—Alex, you, Tommy, and your parents. Tommy's in the middle of an absolutely riveting story (at least, everyone else seems to think so—Alex is more interested in the way you're brushing a strand of hair behind your ear). Your gaze is trained on your brother as he rambles on about how the mail boy had nearly toppled off his bicycle while delivering the morning paper earlier that day. Apparently, Tommy had seen the whole thing from the porch.

Alex thinks that he may be exaggerating a bit, his tone a bit too flamboyant to be entirely truthful. Still, he keeps his mouth shut.

You place your foot gently atop on of Alex's, and he nearly chokes on his meatloaf. He peers up at you with eyes that contain both affection and astonishment. The both have you may have exchanged silent, knowing looks across the table before, but contact has never been initiated.

Until now.

Tommy says something that makes you laugh, and Alex blinks himself out of his stupor, trying his damnedest to pay attention. A part of him is terrified that the adoring glances he casts your way are painfully obvious, but a bigger part of him is unable to stop.

Christ.

He loves you.

"Mortified, he was!" Tommy grins, and Alex really, truly tries to listen. "Looked like a ripe tomato as he rode away!"

You laugh, stifling the sweet sound with your hand. Alex wishes that you wouldn't. Your giggles are one of the few things that make him genuinely happy.

Just then, there's a loud, sharp knock at the door. The noise is startling, and it makes your mother jump in surprise. Her fork slips from her fingers and clatters against her plate.

"Lord," she mumbles, chuckling a bit at herself. She starts to push back from the table. "I suppose I'll go see who that is."

"Please," Alex blurts out, standing up abruptly, "Let me."

"Oh," your mother's mouth quirks up into a confused but grateful smirk, "Thank you, dear."

Alex tries for a smile, nodding at your parents and Tommy. He chances a glance at you, and finds you staring at him with a puzzled look on your face. He has no time to analyze your expression, though—not with the way that his feet carry him quickly out of the dining room.

When he opens the front door, he's surprised to find a police officer standing on the porch.

"Evening," Alex says slowly, his brows knitting together, "Can I help you?"

The officer clears his throat, removing his cap and pressing it against his chest. Alex can't help but to notice the large baton hanging from the man's belt. For a moment, he wonders if maybe the policeman has accidentally wandered up to the wrong house—maybe he's made a mistake.

The next words that he hears quickly squash that theory.

"I'm looking for an Alexander King."

"I—," Alex's fingers go numb, "That's me. 'S there a problem, sir?"

"Mr. King," the officer continues, breezing past Alex's question, "I'm here to let you know that your father is currently being treated at Saint Thomas Hospital. It appears that he suffered a heart attack earlier this morning."

~*~

Alex hadn't been himself when he returned to dinner. Your father had wanted to know who had knocked at the door, and Alex had simply brushed it away quietly. "Jus' some bloke with the wrong address." This hadn't fazed your family—Alex was usually quite discreet at dinner—but you could tell that something was off. It was made even more clear that he was struggling with something when he kept his gaze lowered to his plate for the rest of the meal (because despite his subtle glances towards you, you were no fool).

He's acting now the same way he had when the two of you had run into his father at the supermarket. The realization makes you groan—you'd just gotten him back (figuratively) and you don't want to lose him again by having him retreat into himself. You want him to be able to confide in you and trust you with his secrets.

That desire is what prompts you to creep downstairs at night, balancing on the balls of your feet and avoiding the squeaky floorboards in your path.

When you peek into the living room, you find Alex sat on the couch with his head in his hands. The sight makes your heart ache—most nights, he usually lays sprawled out, his arms slung lazily behind his head as he waits for you. Seeing him so obviously anxious makes you frown; you've witnessed how bad it can get.

A small part of you wonders whether you should even bother approaching him.

The thought brings a frown to your face. Of course, you're going to approach him. You've come this far, anyways.

"Hey." The word is scratchy as it leaves your lips. Alex looks up quickly, his hands falling to rest on his knees. There's an alarmed look on his face, but it softens once he recognizes you.

"Hey," he replies, his own voice just as hoarse.

You shuffle in the doorway of the room, playing nervously with your fingers and scuffing your feet against the carpeted floor. Alex tilts his head to the side, observing you quietly for a long moment. The seconds drag out like molasses, making the blood thunder in your ears.

Finally, Alex is the one to break the silence.

"Aren't y'gonna come over here?"

"Do you want me to?" you blurt out, though your tone is still quiet. Alex's brows knit together, and his plump lips curve down into a scowl.

"'S that s'posed to mean?" he asks, his voice tainted with a hint of incredulity, "'Course I do."

"Okay," you merely whisper, and you drag your feet forward so that you can come near him. You stop only once you're in front of him, your knees brushing against his bent ones. Alex spreads his legs wider, reaching for the hem of your nightgown and gripping it in between his fingers. He gives you a faint pull, and you obey his silent command.

Finally, you're situated where he wants, and he wraps his arms around your midsection. He leans forward, turning his head to the side so that he can nuzzle his cheek against your stomach. You look down in shock, your hands reflexively landing on his shoulders.

You'd expected for him to be stony and quiet. Maybe he would have even gritted his teeth and requested that you leave him alone.

You hadn't expected this.

Alex's squeezes his arms gently around your body, sensing your stiffness. You exhale softly, forcing yourself to relax. Your hands move from Alex's shoulders to his head, and then you're twining your fingers into his soft hair. He gives you an appreciative grunt, letting his eyes drift closed as you scratch your nails soothingly along his scalp.

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes, with him supporting most of your weight as you lean into him and play with the loose curls atop his head. His hair is nothing like how it had been when he'd first returned from war. He'd had it cut short at the edges (nearly shaven, if you're being honest) and the strands at the crown of his head hadn't been long enough to coil properly.

It's healthier, now. Loose and full and free.

His hair has come so far.

Has he?

"Alex," you finally mumble, letting out a shaky breath. You pray that you won't regret starting this conversation. "What happened?"

"What d'yeh mean?" His muffled reply comes from deep within his chest.

You frown, pulling back and tugging softly at his curls in admonishment. Alex cranes his neck so that he can look up at you, placing his hands protectively against the backs of your thighs. You fix him with an unhappy glare.

"Don't," you say quietly, shaking your head, "Don't lie to me, please."

And despite the polite plea at the end of your sentence, Alex doesn't think he's ever seen you look so stern. You're cross with him, he realizes with a jolt. He knew that you probably wouldn't buy into his oblivious façade, but to see you react in a way that's so different from your everyday temperament makes his lips part in shock.

"I—," Alex squeezes his eyes shut and groans, concealing his face into the material of your nightgown to stifle the sound. He sighs, pressing his forehead against your hip and gathering his thoughts. Your fingers haven't resumed their previous movements in his hair, and it makes him pout—you're punishing him.

"He had a heart attack," Alex finally grits out. He feels your body stiffen against him, and he pulls back to take a proper look at your face. Your eyes are wide with panic.

"Who?" you demand. Alex swallows heavily, and it's then that it clicks in your head. "Your—your father?"

He simply nods. A soft sound of pity leaves your lips, and before Alex can blink, you're dropping to your knees in front of him. You throw your arms around his neck and bring him into a crushing hug. Alex returns the gesture, squeezing you tightly and burying his face into your shoulder. His eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears, but he just clenches them shut, willing himself not to break down.

He doesn't even know why he's upset. His father had never been a model figure. For most of Alex's life, he had simply made him feel inadequate. Alex had never been enough—strong enough, fast enough, brave enough.

So why the hell is he about to cry?

"It's because you're human, Alex," you tell him.

You pull back, and Alex realizes that he's voiced his thoughts. He stares at you—your eyes are shining with unshed tears, and your nostrils flare as you inhale deeply. You hastily push a few strands of hair away from your forehead, scratching your temple quickly. There's a lump in Alex's throat that he can't seem to swallow down.

How are you able to sound so firm and demanding, and then become overwrought with emotion a mere moment later? It baffles him, and he swears that at that moment, he falls a little bit more in love with you.

He opens his mouth to tell you just that, but you're faster.

"Are you going to go see him?"

Alex freezes. After a few long seconds, he takes his bottom lip in between his teeth and shakes his head. "I—I don't think so."

"Why not?" you ask softly. There's nothing venomous about your question, but Alex has grown frustrated. He doesn't know where these turbulent feelings have come from, but he's suddenly angry. Angry, and anxious, and he needs an outlet.

And you're...

You're right here.

"Were yeh not listening jus' now?" Alex snaps. You recoil, your eyes widening at his biting tone. Your lips part in surprise, but Alex can't seem to stop himself. "He was a shit father, Y/N. Why would I wanna see him?"

"I don't—I'm sorry," you say quickly, "I just wanted to—"

"Wanted t'irritate me?"

"What? No!"

"Really?" Alex releases a low, humourless laugh. "Because you're doin' a fuckin' fantastic job."

"I'm sorry," you repeat. You reach forward to place your palms against each of his cheeks, but Alex leans away from you, glaring at you ruthlessly. "I just thought—because he's your father—"

"You thought wrong," Alex hisses. He stands up abruptly from the sofa, making you teeter backwards. You nearly fall onto your bum, and you reach a hand out to steady yourself. Tentatively, you turn around, watching as Alex paces back and forth. His teeth are clenched together, and he's running his hands through his hair restlessly.

"Not everyone can have a perfect fuckin' life, Y/N," he grumbles, growing more agitated by the second.

At his words, you scowl. You slowly rise to your feet, pointing at him and fixing him with an annoyed expression.

"Now, hold on," you begin, "That's just wrong. My life isn't perfect, Alex."

"Could've fooled me," he grunts, turning away from you. Your frown only deepens, and you force yourself to take several long, profound breaths. You don't know what's gotten into him, but you're sure that he doesn't mean all these things he's saying.

He's probably just stressed.

You hope that he's just stressed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask.

Alex whips around to face you, and you feel like crying.

His eyes are wild and furious. There's absolutely no trace of the man who kisses your knuckles, who caresses your cheeks softly, who looks at you with such a tenderness that it would make the petals of a flower green with envy. His nostrils are flaring dramatically, and his lips—the soft, plump lips that you love to feel against your own—have warped into a vicious snarl.

"It means," he sneers, "That you're too fuckin' naïve. The world is a bad place, Y/N. People lie. They cheat. An' you can't seem to get that through your thick skull."

He turns away, shaking his head. "'S a wonder you've managed to get by fo' this long."

Your tears are flowing freely, now. You sniffle, placing your palms against your cheeks and trying to wipe away every droplet in one attempt. It proves to be futile, however; several more leak out and cascade down your face.

"I'm going back to bed," you say shakily. You push past Alex, who is still breathing heavily.

You're about to step into the hallway, but then Alex speaks up again.

"Of course," he says, "Run away because y'know I'm right. Yeh just don't wanna believe it."

You swear that flames lick at your heels, and your vision goes red. Without a word, you spin back around, stalking over to the broken man in the middle of the room. You lift your arm, your fingers pressed together tightly. Rage boils in the pit of your stomach, crawling higher and higher until it reaches your throat.

You're practically choking.

Alex flinches in preparation for the strike, but he doesn't close his eyes. In those fleeting milliseconds, you can truly see him. His irises are pleading with you, but they're not asking you to stop.

He wants you to hit him, you realize.

He wants you to prove him right.

That's what makes you pull yourself together at the last second, and you stutter to a stop. A pregnant pause follows, broken only when you sniffle again and wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand.

"I get what you've been through," you say quietly. Your arm drops back to your side, and your shoulders slump. You glare at Alex with so much anger, it's a surprise that there isn't steam pouring from your ears.

"But I'm not a bad person. And if you can't see that—," you shrug, clenching your fists at your sides, "—then I guess there really is no damn hope for you after all."

~*~

"Didn't think you'd come."

Alex shrugs. "Neither did I."

He and his father stare evenly at each other. Outside the room, he can hear quiet chatter and nurses bustling around in the hallway. Carts and trays clatter as the women bring dinner to the bedridden patients in the wing. Alex nudges the door closed, and the noise is muffled now that there's a firm barrier separating him from the rest of the hospital.

"How are you?" his father inquires, and Alex nearly snorts, because shouldn't he be asking that question?

He doesn't respond, choosing instead to look around the small room that his father has been confined to. There's nothing that stands out to him. The walls are beige and bare; there's a single nightstand next to the bed, which holds the tray that's carrying the same, customary food handed out to every patient. Strangely enough, his father's dinner doesn't look too disgusting—Alex might even deem it appetizing.

"How'd they find me?" Alex asks. He's studying the walls of the room, even though there's no decorations adorning them.

"What do you mean?" his father asks, his brow furrowing.

Alex rolls his eyes. "The hospital. The police. How'd they know where I was?"

His father doesn't reply, choosing instead to fiddle with the blankets that are pooled around his waist. Alex narrows his eyes but doesn't press the issue. His father has always had ulterior motives—he's never truly been honest and forthcoming.

Alex is used to it.

"I thought you were dead," the man in the bed speaks up.

Alex grits his teeth. "Yeah. Y'already told me. Don't yeh remember, William?"

His father blinks when Alex addresses him by his first name, and Alex fights back a smirk. A small, sinister part of him feels smug. It always feels good to throw someone off, to disrupt their comfortable lifestyle—especiallywhen that person has made him feel like dirt for most of his life.

William clears his throat. "Why didn't you come back home?"

At that, Alex chuckles. "Are yeh seriously asking that question?"

"Yes."

"Why d'yeh think I didn't? Can't blame me for not wanting t'be around someone who treats me like shit."

His father doesn't respond. Alex sighs in annoyance and shakes his head. "Besides," he says, though he's talking more to himself now, "'M twenty-four. 'Bout time I found a place o' my own."

"You're right," William nods.

Alex glares at him. "Don't try t'get all chummy with me now. Only reason I came t'see yeh was to get my mind off other things."

"Like what?"

"'S none o' your business, is it?"

Like you.

Alex shakes his head again, grunting quietly. He shouldn't have come. He knows that it was a stupid fucking idea. But he can't stay locked up in that house anymore. He can't stand seeing you every day and having your fight from several nights ago echo constantly in his head. Every time he closes his eyes, all he can envision is the way tears littered your cheeks, the sheer anger in your eyes, how quickly you had fled from the room afterwards.

It's killing him.

"This is ridiculous," he mutters, "I shouldn't have bothered."

What had he been thinking? He knows that he's rash, impulsive, thoughtless. But this...this has christened his recklessness and raised it beyond whatever he's done in the past. He's so dense.

He casts another glance at the boring, beige walls of the room. They seem to be mocking him now. He wonders if he could get himself enlisted here as a patient, though he doesn't know if the doctors would be able to solve his problem.

Has anyone found the cure for a broken heart?

"Alexander, wait," William blurts.

Alex turns to face his father with a bored look on his face. William reaches underneath the several pillows that are keeping him propped up. There's a faint jingling sound when he produces a set of keys. "At least...," he rubs his forehead with one hand and holds out the keys with the other.

Alex lets out a short, humourless laugh. "Yeh can't be serious."

"I am," his father replies. Without another word, he tosses the keys, and Alex catches them reflexively. "They're keeping me here for a few weeks, anyways. Something about...monitoring cortisol levels. It's rubbish, if you ask me."

Alex snorts.

"You're really just gonna let me back in? Not worried I'll steal somethin'?"

"I trust you," his father says simply. He shrugs his shoulders. "And hopefully you'll be able to say the same about me, one day."

Not likely, Alex thinks. A part of him is itching to utter the words out loud, but instead he just looks up, meeting his father's eyes for the first time since he'd stepped into the room. A pair of identical irises stare back at him, framed by wrinkly eyelids and deep-set bags.

His father shoots him a small, barely-there smile; Alex tightens his grip on the key that he knows will unlock the front door to his old apartment.

"Maybe," is all he says.

~*~

Upon arriving home from the library, you find Alex hammering a loose bolt into one of the floorboards on the porch.

You brace yourself as you climb up the front steps, subconsciously holding in air and trying to look as impassive as possible. Alex has his back turned towards you, and just when it seems like you might be able to get by unnoticed, you trip up the final stair.

An abrupt yelp tears its way from your throat, and Alex whips around in surprise. His green eyes widen when he finds you on all fours, your head hanging in humiliation.

"Christ," he says, his mouth warping into a concerned frown, "Alright, there?"

You don't respond, instead choosing to push yourself up and dust off any dirt on your dress.

Alex sucks in a harsh breath between his teeth. "You're bleedin', love."

Sure enough, when you peer down, you find an angry scrape on your right knee. The cut doesn't appear to be drastically deep, but there are droplets of blood gathering along the surface of your skin. You sigh in annoyance, bending down so that you can get a closer look at the injury.

"Damn it," you mutter to yourself.

Alex sets his hammer down on the floor, climbing to his feet. He's wearing black sandals, a pair of khaki shorts, and a white tank top that—to your dismay—shows off his biceps. You grit your teeth; how are you supposed to stay angry with him when he looks like the human embodiment of a deity?

"Think your dad's got a kit in the shed," he tells you, though the two of you refuse to look at each other. You keep your gaze trained on your knee, and Alex seems to be more interested in the front door.

Once again, you don't offer up a reply. Alex sighs, giving you a stern look and pointing his index finger at you. "Don't move."

He disappears inside—he's heading for the backyard, you assume—and you roll your eyes.

But you stay.

"Stupid idiot," you mumble, berating yourself. Of course, you had to slip. Of course, Alex needed to be there. Of course, he couldn't just let you be, but rather had to go off and fetch you some supplies.

You hobble over to the porch swing on your left, easing down onto the wooden bench and wincing when your knee bends too far. With a heavy breath, you shift your leg up so that it lays flat along the rest of the seat. You brush a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and grip the strap of your purse, pulling it off your shoulder and setting it down on the ground.

After a few minutes, Alex returns. He's slightly out of breath, clutching a small, white, plastic container in his hand. For a moment, his brow furrows as he looks around, wondering where you've gone. Then, he catches sight of you sitting off to the side, and he blows out a sigh.

"Sorry," he tells you, walking over, "Had t'find the keys to the shed. They were hangin' in the kitchen."

"It's fine," you say quietly.

Alex kneels in front of you, flipping open the latches of the first-aid kit. He places it down beside him, rifling through a box of bandages and a small packet of cotton. Finally, he pulls out a tiny bottle of disinfectant, unscrewing the lid and marvelling at the design of the product.

"'S got a dropper?" he whistles, "Impressive."

You can't help but to chuckle, and Alex smiles softly down at his lap.

He's missed your laugh.

"C'mere," he says, reaching for your leg. You shift around so that you're facing him. Alex's hands hold onto your calves as he places your foot against his thigh; he hums in satisfaction when you're able to stretch your knee out properly. He leans forward, pulling out a few tissues and dabbing away the blood that's obscuring your scrape.

After that, he hovers the dropper above your skin, squeezing it a few times. You hiss when the disinfectant lands against your injury, the burning sensation making your stomach flip anxiously. The liquid begins to fizz and bubble, but Alex simply leans forward, blowing cool air against your knee to counteract the pain.

Alex digs through the first-aid kit again, pulling out the box of bandages. From there, he produces a small strip. He rips through the paper with his teeth, peeling off the protective plastic layer. You watch with parted lips as his brow furrows in concentration. His fingers are gentle as they smooth the material over your knee, and he's careful not to apply too much pressure.

"Thank you," you mumble.

Alex peers up at you and shakes his head. "'M not done yet."

Confusion causes your forehead to crease, and you're about to question him, but then he leans forward. You clamp your mouth shut as he presses a soft, feathery kiss to your skin, right over where the bandage covers your graze.

"Alright," he smirks, pulling back and looking up at you with mischievous eyes, "Now 'm done."

"Good to know," you say dryly. A faint, wry smile curls your lips.

Alex chuckles softly, but the easy, peaceful moment is fleeting. Seconds later, he's gazing at you with so much intensity, it makes your skin crawl. He clears his throat, scratching sheepishly at the nape of his neck.

"Went t'see him today."

You stiffen.

Alex swallows down the lump in his throat, not sure of how you'll react. He watches you intently, studying the way your eyes flit around and your lips part around silent, fragmented words. It's like you're trying to pinpoint a sufficient response.

"Really," you finally choke out. Though it's not a question, Alex nods anyways.

"So," you start, "You get mad at me for suggesting it...but you still follow that suggestion."

Alex groans. He presses his forehead against your uninjured knee, squeezing his eyes shut. "I know," he tells you, cursing under his breath, "I know."

You don't say anything. Alex peeks up at you; his brows knit together when he sees you looking down at him expectantly. Your arms are crossed, and one of your eyebrows is cocked higher than the other.

"What?" Alex asks, his lips curving down into the smallest of frowns.

"I'm waiting for an apology," you say simply, shrugging.

Alex smirks, shaking his head incredulously. He tilts forward again, aiming a bit lower so that—this time—his lips meet your shin.

"I'm—," he sponges a trail of harmless pecks up your unscathed leg, "—really—truly—sorry."

"For...?" you prompt, angling your head to the side.

A low chuckle rumbles deep in Alex's chest. He shuffles forward on his knees, slowly lowering your scraped leg so that he can eliminate the distance separating the two of you. He presses his lips to the inside of your knee before gradually inching upwards. Your breath catches in your throat when he spreads your legs apart slightly, nestling himself in between. He's attacking your inner thigh with soft kisses now, and you humour him for a bit until he begins edging your dress upwards.

Your hand shoots out, and you place your palm flat against his forehead to tame him.

"For...?" you repeat.

"For bein' a bloody twat," Alex admits, craning his neck towards your hand and nipping teasingly at your wrist. "'M sorry, love."

You stare at each other for a long moment, gazes glued together. Your heart is pounding in your chest, so loud that you're afraid he'll be able to hear it. The sun is beginning to set, bathing the neighbourhood in a muted, peachy glow. There are still dragonflies buzzing around, but the faint chirping of crickets hiding in the shadows hints at the looming threat of nighttime.

Alex offers you a small, helpless shrug. His bright eyes gleam with hope, and he gnaws on the inside of his cheek.

You bury your fingers into his hair and sigh quietly.

"Good."

You weigh your next words carefully in your mind. A part of you wants to say them, but another—larger—part is far too bashful. You glance down at Alex, who's got his cheek pressed kittenishly against your leg. His eyes are closed in bliss as you run your nails lightly against his head. You blow out a silent sigh, deciding to bite the bullet and just come out with it.

"I'm going to leave my door unlocked tonight," you murmur quietly.

Alex's eyelids slowly flutter open. At first, he's a bit disoriented, fixing you with a puzzled look. But then, he fully processes your words, and his eyes widen.

His face splits into a smile.

~*~

The house is silent as Alex creeps up the stairs later that night. He's holding his breath, balancing on the balls of his feet to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible. All his senses appear to be heightened; his eyes focus on the shadows dancing along the wall, and his ears are perked as he listens for even the smallest hint of movement.

It's raining outside. The patter of drops against the windows is calming, and the occasional rumble of thunder makes everything seem just a little bit livelier. Alex is grateful, because the noise helps to drown out the faint sounds of his vigilant footsteps.

After several long, cautious moments, he's standing in front of your bedroom door. He doesn't bother knocking—the noise would surely give the two of you away. The door creaks slightly when he nudges it open, and he winces.

You're laying on your side, facing away from him. For a minute, Alex simply watches the way your shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath. He shuts the door softly, clicking the lock in place—just in case.

He pads over to your bed, and you peer over your shoulder, shooting him a soft, sleepy smile.

"Hi," you breathe.

Alex slides underneath the duvet, wrapping one arm around your midsection and snuggling in close to you. He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, sighing in relief—he's back where he belongs.

You turn around, resuming your original position. Alex's breath hitches in his throat when you arch your back and accidentally nudge your bum firmly against his crotch. He stiffens, and you snort tiredly. Your body vibrates with a silent laugh, and Alex pinches your hip in a chastising manner. The sharp tweak of pain only makes you giggle even more.

"Minx," Alex grumbles. He can't see your face, but he knows that you're smirking.

He continues to litter feathery kisses against your shoulder, taking pleasure in the way that you squirm in his hold. It's only when he pulls the collar of your nightgown to the side and bites down lightly on your bare skin that you let out a faint whine, leaning away from him.

"Stop," you moan.

Alex snickers. "But I like the way y'taste."

"It's just skin," you scoff quietly, turning over so that you can face him. He grunts when your elbow accidentally knocks him in the ribs, and you murmur a gentle apology, pressing your lips against his in a silent request for forgiveness.

Alex hums into the kiss, smiling faintly as your mouths detach with a soft smacking sound.

"Lips taste good," he tells you, "An' so does your skin."

His face splits into a devious grin. "Think I like the taste o' your cunt best, though."

You gasp, your eyes widening until they reach their limit. Alex wants to laugh, but he holds it in favour of shooting you a cool, self-assured smirk. He's expecting you to berate him, to whisper furiously at him with skittish eyes and a nervous twist to your lips. It's something he's used to.

He's surprised, though, when you squeak quietly and lean forward, burying your face into his chest. An astonished chuckle echoes deep in the back of his throat, and he reflexively winds his arms around you.

"You're too much," you mumble. Alex's mouth twists into a small, confused frown when he feels your knuckles flutter hurriedly against his chest. He pulls back, looking down and nearly choking on his own spit when he sees that you've undone the first two buttons on his flannel pajama shirt.

"Love...," he says slowly, not able to discern your intentions, "What're yeh—?"

"You said I could have my fun 'next time'." You remind him of the first night he had been in your room, and Alex swears that his heart skips a beat.

He remembers. You had run your fingers along his shoulders and his chest, marvelling at the way the skin fit over his muscles. His cock had plumped up so much that it was embarrassing—he had just wanted you. That's why he had knocked your hands away, a half-hearted promise of "next time" pouring from his lips. Your body had been calling to him, and he simply couldn't ignore it.

"Is it 'next time'?" you ask, peering up at him timidly.

You thumb open the last button on his shirt before sliding your palms against his bare stomach. Alex swallows heavily as you smooth your hands up the length of his torso, pushing the soft material of his flannel away from his shoulders. He sits up quickly, yanking the fabric off and tossing it over his shoulder, paying no mind to where it lands.

His eagerness makes you giggle.

You beam when he climbs on top of you, his movements messy and uncoordinated. He's grinning like a fucking fool, but he doesn't care.

Why would he care, when he has you looking up at him like he hung the moon and all the stars in the galaxy? Why would he care, when you're tilting your cheek into his hand and arching your back up so that you can get closer to him? Why would he care, when you keen happily against his lips as he kisses you?

Alex tugs the duvet over your bodies, and after a few minutes, everything is warm. Your hot breath puffs out against his chin and cheeks, and everywhere your fingertips touch, you leave a searing path behind. A thin sheen of sweat has begun to form along his hairline, and there's a palpable, unmistakable heat emanating from where you've got your pelvis pressed against his thigh.

You let out a wet gasp, pulling back and sucking in a deep breath. Alex cups your jaw with one hand, keeping the other flat against your pillow so that he can hold himself over you. He watches as you lick your lips, and then you hum appreciatively.

"You taste like toothpaste," you say, snickering quietly.

Alex chuckles and shakes his head. His eyes meet yours, and a silent agreement passes between the two of you. A faint groan leaves his lips when he slumps to the side and splays his body out dramatically. You roll your eyes at his antics, lifting his left arm so that you can shuffle closer and cuddle into his chest.

You plant your lips firmly above his left pectoral, over the spot where his heart is thumping wildly beneath his ribs. Alex wraps his arm around you and kisses the side of your head, delighting in how the scent of your shampoo fills his nose.

The two of you are quiet for the next few moments. Alex stares up at the ceiling of your bedroom and listens as your breathing gradually starts to balance out. You're not asleep just yet—he can tell by the way you sigh into his skin—but you will be in another minute or so.

He can feel his opportunity slipping away.

"He gave me the keys t'my old apartment," Alex mutters. "My father."

And suddenly, you're wide awake.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Alex merely nods. You're both silent for several seconds.

"He trusts you?" you finally ask.

Alex shrugs. "Seems so."

"Are you...," you hesitate, gnawing tentatively on your bottom lip. Alex peers down at you and raises his brows, prompting you to continue. You lift one shoulder shyly. "Are you going to go?"

He lets out a gentle sigh, his hand coming up to rub at his eyes. Eventually, he nods. "Reckon I ought to. 'S where I grew up, y'know?"

"I know," you whisper. You grunt, shifting onto your stomach so that you can face him properly. There's uncertainty and anxiety brewing in his irises, and his lips have curved down into the smallest of scowls. You reach out, smoothing your thumb over the crease that's formed between his eyebrows, and then you cup his face tenderly.

You place your other hand on his sternum, drumming your fingers absentmindedly as you speak.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

A low, surprised chuckle fights its way past Alex's lips. He looks at you with disbelieving eyes and cocks his head to the side. You bite fiercely at the inside of your cheek, rethinking your words. Does he think that you find him weak? Does he think that you don't believe in him?

"What?" Alex asks.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you try to make amends. "If you don't want me there, I understand. It's none of my business anyways, I'm sorry for—"

He cuts you off immediately, placing his large palm against the back of your head and surging upwards so that he can press a bruising kiss to your lips. Your startled squeak ricochets through the air, but Alex just smiles against your mouth. You moan happily when he deepens the contact, making you unsure of where he ends, and where you begin.

"Want yeh there," Alex breathes, pulling back with a slick gasp. "I do."

"Yeah?" You purse your lips to suppress a smile, but it doesn't work. Alex gazes at you tenderly, stroking his thumb along your cheekbone.

"Yeah."

"Okay," you whisper, ducking down and planting a chaste kiss to his collarbone. You suddenly remember that you've planned a small trip tomorrow, and you add, "Is it okay if you pick me up at the library, though? Then we can head straight on over."

"Sure," Alex hums. His brows knit together for a moment, and he taps your chin with his forefinger. "Wait, weren't yeh already there today?"

You hesitate, choosing your next words slowly. If Alex notices your sudden prudence, he doesn't comment on it. You gulp inaudibly, sounding out your response with great care. "Yeah. I've just—I've been reading up on a few things, that's all."

"Anything I'd fancy?" Alex jokes. You force out a laugh, hoping that he won't recognize the artificiality of your smile.

"No," you lie, grimacing as you lay your head down on his chest. "Nothing at all."

Alex merely hums, shrugging nonchalantly and letting the conversation drift off into silence.

He wakes up in a cold sweat later that night, whimpering and thrashing around wildly. You have to shake him vigorously until his eyes finally snap open. When he recognizes you, he lets out a wet sob, gasping for air and sitting up straight. You lean your head against his shoulder, rubbing your palm along his back tenderly.

"'M sorry," he hiccups, shaking his head sadly. "Jus' felt so real, y'know? 'M so sorry—"

"Don't apologize," you whisper, your words fluttering onto his skin. You sit behind him, spreading your legs on either side of his body and engulfing him in a tight hug. You can feel him quivering when you press your forehead against his spine, and you try to blink back your own emotions.

Alex continues to shake in your arms, and you squeeze your eyes shut, a single tear trailing down your cheek.

You definitely need to read up on a few things.

~*~

"You alright?" you turn to Alex, peering up at him shyly through your eyelashes.

He grunts in response, keeping his gaze glued to the apartment door in front of him. "'M fine."

You hesitate, but eventually just nod and face forward once more. The door is nothing special. Dark wood framed by more dark wood, with a slightly-rusted bronze knob and a matching plaque displaying a faded inscription: 4B.

The two of you stand there for a few more seconds, a heavy silence blanketing the atmosphere. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, and then Alex snaps out of his tranquil stupor, muttering a curse under his breath.

"Bloody ridiculous, this is."

He surges forward, slotting one of the copper keys into the lock on the knob, but you put a hand on his arm before he can push the door open. "Wait!"

"'S wrong?" Alex asks, stepping back and spinning around so that he can face you. You play with your fingers, feeling your face heat up with embarrassment. Alex places his large palms on your shoulders, squeezing softly and repeating (with a bit more vigour behind the words now), "'S wrong, love?"

"Just—," you break off, sighing quietly. Alex's forehead has creased in confusion, and you're not quite sure how to convey what you want. Instead of bothering to trip over your sentence (and make a fool of yourself), you simply step forward, cupping his face in your hands and delivering a profound kiss to his lips.

Alex feels a bit of the tension in his body melt away as soon as you invade his space. He doesn't know what it is about you that puts him at ease, but nevertheless, he's grateful for it. You kiss him, and suddenly it's like nothing else matters. All petty stressors flee from his mind; the only thing he can think about is how soft your mouth is, and how you whimper happily whenever he places his hand against the side of your neck to keep you steady.

"I'm here for you," you mumble, pulling back only an inch so that you can get the words out.

Alex presses his forehead to yours, squeezing his eyes shut for a mere moment. His hands are clammy, and his heart is pounding erratically beneath his ribs. The frantic pace betrays the cool, unbothered façade behind which he's been hiding. He draws out the next few seconds, well-aware of the fact that he's stalling, but you don't criticize him for it.

You're just there. If he needs a hand to hold, if he needs someone to listen, if he needs a pair of arms to hug him, you're there.

And you don't seem to mind.

That's why he turns away from you, nudging open the door with one hand and gripping your fingers firmly in the other. You've got no time to question him—he's tugging you inside with only the smallest pull of his arm, and then you're standing in the front entrance of his old apartment.

You never leave his side. You're with him as he pads into the kitchen, the living room, the small dining room where he and his father used to eat stoically. You grip his hand with both of yours as he stands in front of the mantel of the fireplace, studying the pictures that sit above the cold, ashen wood. You squeeze his fingers reassuringly as he walks down the hallway, trailing his palm along the wall unthinkingly.

He stiffens dramatically when he opens the door to his old bedroom, and you let go of his hand as he makes his way inside.

It's odd.

He'd expected the furniture to be dusty—for a thick, veiled smell to hang in the air. But everything is clean and pristine, like the room had been kept immaculate in his absence. His duvet is tucked neatly into the crevices of his mattress, and his dresser is polished. Even the picture frames along the walls are spotless.

"He was hoping you'd come back," you say softly.

Alex turns to face you, an enormous lump forming in his throat. He tries desperately to swallow it down, but the attempt proves to be futile. You watch him with sad, tender eyes—he hates it.

He hates it.

"Don't look at me like tha'," he grits out, shaking his head.

Your eyebrows knit together. "Like what?"

"Like—," Alex tugs frantically at his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, "Like 'm broken!"

"I'm not!" you insist, rushing forward. You cup his face in your hands, trying urgently to make him understand. "I don't think you're broken, Alex, but I'm—I'm only frustrated! Why can't you ever just let me be here for you?"

"'S not your problem," Alex says, stepping back. Your arms fall limply to your sides, and you watch with parted lips as he swerves around you, stalking back towards the door of the room. Your mind is reeling, and your fingers are tingling with anticipation.

Say it.

No. You shouldn't; he's already so tense, and your words will undoubtedly make him explode. How are you even supposed to approach the subject? Should you be tentative, or just come out with it right away?

You shouldn't. You shouldn't, you shouldn't, you shouldn't.

But you've never really been good at controlling yourself.

"I think you should see a therapist."

Alex freezes.

A long, painful moment of silence follows. Your nostrils flare anxiously, and you clench your jaw to keep yourself from whimpering. Alex turns around slowly, his eyes alight with a furious hue of rage. You want nothing more than to step back, to cower into yourself until you eventually wink out of existence—but you don't. You keep your feet rooted to the floor, not moving at all, even when he glares daggers at you.

"'Scuse me?"

"I think you should see a therapist," you repeat, your voice slightly shaky. You clear your throat, forcing yourself to pronounce each word and fake the confidence lacing through every syllable. "I've been doing some reading, and there's this thing—people call it 'shell-shock'. It's seen in most soldiers that come back from—"

"'M not goin' to a fuckin' shrink!" Alex bellows. Your mouth twists into a deep scowl at the volume of his voice.

"Would you just listen to me?" you cry, stomping up to him. You point your finger at him accusingly. "You've been getting worse and worse! The nightmares aren't going to just magically disappear! If you would just talk to someone about it, I'm sure they could help—!"

"So that's wha' this is about, then?" Alex demands. A vein in his neck strains frighteningly. "Y'think I'm mad? Y'think I'm fuckin' loony?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what is it? None o' your business, this is! Why're yeh so hellbent on—?"

"Because I love you!"

That shuts him up.

You're crying now, angry tears streaking down your face. You wipe vehemently at your cheeks, sniffling quietly. Alex's jaw is locked, a muscle in his neck twitching. You swallow heavily, gripping the hem of your dress in your fists and balling the material up to keep your hands occupied.

"I don't know what your problem is," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "But I can't be with you if—if you're not even going to try to make things better. I'm not your fucking punching bag."

Alex exhales at your words—that's the first time you've cursed in front of him.

It's the first time you've cursed at him, too.

"Y'don't know...," he says lowly, looking down at you with steely eyes, "Y'don't know what it's like."

"Then help me understand," you beg. You purse your lips to keep him from seeing how much they quiver.

Alex just shakes his head. He steps to the side, leaving a clear path to the doorway. You peer up at him with watery, pleading eyes, but he doesn't meet your gaze. He's staring fixedly at the floor, his hands clasped behind his back and his cheeks red from his previous outburst.

He opens his mouth, and the single word that leaves his lips makes your heart break cleanly in two.

"Leave."

You sniffle again, straightening your back and releasing the fabric of your dress from where it's crinkled in between your fingers. A soft sob escapes your lips before you can quell the sound, but you just swipe at your teary eyes with the back of your palm.

"Fine," you say coldly.

And then you're gone.

~*~

Alex moves out of your house the next day.

You stay locked up in your room while he packs. Under normal circumstances, you would join him and Tommy downstairs and ensure that he doesn't forget anything.

But your circumstances are anything but normal.

You can hear Tommy's chipper voice float up the steps, followed by Alex's low, indistinguishable mumbles. They're nearly done—Alex doesn't have many possessions, seeing as most of his things have been kept at his apartment. You mourn the fact that he won't be sleeping downstairs on the couch anymore; there had been something comforting about his presence.

"Think she's upstairs," you hear Tommy say, and then the steps creak as he ascends to the second floor, "I'll get her."

Immediately, you curl up and squeeze your eyes shut. You balance out your breathing and shift your leg slightly just as Tommy cracks open your door. He shuffles faintly before whispering, "Y/N?"

When he's met with no response, he sighs quietly and closes the door. You hear him amble back downstairs, and then he's informing Alex, "Sorry mate, she fell asleep. I'm sure she wishes you all the best, though."

There's a heavy grunt, and then the front door opens. You open your eyes and slowly slide out of bed, creeping over to your window and peeking down at the lawn from behind your curtains.

Alex pops open the trunk of the car, hauling his small suitcase inside. Tommy's standing on the driver's side, leaning up against the open door. He says something, his mouth warping into a sly smirk, and Alex laughs. Your chest tightens painfully at the sight of his smile.

Tommy slides into the car, and a moment later, the vehicle rumbles to life. Alex shuts the trunk, twisting a key into the lock to ensure that it's sealed. He walks over to the passenger side of the car, pulling open the door.

And then he looks up, his gaze trained intently on your window.

It lasts only a second, but it feels like a century. Your eyes meet his, and you swear that your heart stops. You inhale sharply before pedalling backwards, the action robotic and curt. There's a burning sensation that's pricking at your eyes, and you blink quickly to keep yourself composed. You count to twenty in your head before approaching the window once again and—despite your better judgement—peering outside.

But the car has vanished.

And it's taken Alex with it.

~*~

"How long?"

"Another month or so. I almost died, Alexander. They don't make light of those things around here."

Alex nods, sitting back in his chair and lacing his fingers together. His eyes drift and land on the needle hooked into his father's forearm—the sight makes his toes curl.

The hospital isn't as busy as it was during his previous visit. It's quieter, with low mumbles outside in the hall and the occasional squeaking of a wheelchair as nurses roll patients down the corridor. Alex is still tense, but he won't deny that he feels a lot more at ease now compared to the first time he'd stepped into the building.

He's sitting next to his father, for one thing. William is propped up on a few pillows, his skin sallow and pale. There are deep bags circling his eyes, and his lips are dry and chapped. When he lifts his hands, they shake violently. Alex almost feels bad for him.

Almost.

The only thing that hasn't changed is his eyes. They're bright and alert, carrying years of experience and pain. Alex hates that William's irises are an identical match to his own. It reminds him of how similar they truly are.

"So," William clears his throat, straightening his back, "I have to ask. Who's the bird?"

"Wha'?"

"The girl, Alexander. The one you were shopping with. Who is she?"

"She's not a bird," Alex grumbles, looking away. The naked, beige walls of the room are suddenly much more interesting than whatever his father has to say.

"You like her, then?"

He shakes his head. His father frowns in confusion, and Alex just mutters out, "Love her."

William is the first person he's told, and he hates that the universe seems to have derailed his plans in such a cruel way. You haven't spoken to him in days. He hasn't seen you at all since he moved out of the house. He's been living alone, and the first person to whom he's revealed his feelings just happens to be his estranged, unyielding father.

Alex groans. Whatever is out there—God, the cosmos, or some other unknown deity—seems intent on making him miserable.

The only things keeping him sane are those three words you had shouted at him. He also hates that he wasn't the first one to confess his devotion. He hates that you hadn't been able to wait, that you'd blurted it out in a hot, fiery moment of intensity and emotion. And he hates—he bloody hates—the fact that he's clinging to that, praying desperately that you still love him even after your devastating quarrel.

"Does she know?" his father asks, and Alex is yanked from his thoughts. He looks up with muddied eyes, blinking rapidly and shaking his head.

"No," he says quietly, his throat dry. "We're—we're not really talkin' right now."

"Why?"

And Alex doesn't know why he's saying these things. He doesn't know why he's baring his soul to the man who had hurt him so badly. All he knows is that he's so damn alone, and he can't keep things bottled up anymore.

"She wants me t'see a shrink."

He expects for his father to laugh, or gasp, or become defensive. But when he looks back up at him, he's met with pursed lips and pondering green eyes that are lost deep in thought. "Ah," William sighs, nodding solemnly. He doesn't say anything else, and Alex's eyebrows knit together. He leans forward slightly, cracking his knuckles anxiously.

"What?" he asks, his voice a bit sharper than it should be. William chuckles.

"Let me guess," he muses, a wry smile twisting along his pale lips, "She suggested it, you got offended, and then you lot had a falling out."

Alex narrows his eyes, his shoulders tensing at the accuracy of the presumption. "How'd you know tha'?"

"'S exactly what happened between your mother and I," William says. His eyes grow wistful, like he's reminiscing on a fond memory. "You were so young. I got back from the Great War, and I was having some trouble...readjusting, I guess. Your mother was adamant about me going to see someone."

"I didn't know that," Alex says blankly. His father merely chuckles again, his shoulders shaking with the action.

"'Course you didn't," he smiles, "That's because I listened to her. Put my damn pride aside and went along with it, even though I thought it was all rubbish."

Alex stays silent, and William continues. "And I actually got a bit better. Things were going swimmingly. But then—," he pauses, letting out a rattled sigh, "—she died. And you...you know what happened to me after that."

"Yeah," Alex croaks out. He knows.

He and his father reside to sitting in silence. Ten minutes pass before soft snores are escaping from William's mouth, and his head leans towards the side as he sleeps. Alex sits back in his chair, gripping his chin with his fingers and not realizing how tightly his teeth are clenched together.

He's not damaged. He's not a charity begging for more attention. He's not broken.

I listened to her. Put my damn pride aside and went along with it, even though I thought it was all rubbish.

Alex sighs.

~*~

Alex is a damn fool.

He should have listened to the radio in hopes of catching the daily forecast. He should have decided not to go outside after having seen the pale gray clouds blanketing the city. He should have shot down the small voice in his head that taunted him with unfair jabs at his courage and his masculinity.

It's just a little bit of rain. The tube is only one mile away.

He needs to see you.

He decides that there is a God, then—a God that is unhappy with him. He's made it three quarters of the way to the train station when heavy droplets start to fall from the sky. There's no steady escalation—rather, the rain arrives in a wet crescendo. Soon enough, Alex is hiking his jacket up over his head and breaking into a light jog to find shelter.

The entrance of the station comes into view, and he's about to quicken his pace, but then he passes a familiar face and stops dead in his tracks.

"Y/N?" he yells over the loud, steady patter of rain.

You turn around at the sound of your name, your eyes widening when you recognize him. Alex can't help but to notice that you're soaked. Your hair is matted down against your head, and your dress is clinging to your body (he tries to ignore the fact that the material has become slightly transparent). You've got no protection from the weather, and your feet squelch in your flats when you step back.

"What are you doing here?" Alex asks.

"I came to talk to you!" you reply, increasing the volume of your voice as thunder rumbles in the sky. Alex looks up, his forehead wrinkling worriedly as he studies the dark clouds looming overhead. He lowers his jacket before approaching you quickly and thrusting it into your hands.

"C'mon!" he says, placing a protective hand on the small of your back. You grip the material of his coat and try your best to spread it out so that it can shield the two of you. Alex ushers you along, leading you back to his apartment building and cringing when his shoes squish soddenly.

By the time you're both standing in front of his door, you're positively drenched. Alex runs a hand through his sopping hair, trying to squeeze out any excess water. His fingers are slippery as he unlocks the door, pushing it open and removing his shoes immediately. You trail behind him, balling up the fabric of his jacket and gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

"Fuck," Alex stammers, shivering. He's much more fretful than he should be, but he can't help it. The only other time he's been this wet whilst wearing clothes was when he was fighting for his life on the outskirts of France.

"Cold?" he asks, spinning around to face you. You nudge the front door shut with your foot and nod shyly, your teeth chattering slightly.

"Take a shower," Alex says, placing his hand onto your hip and guiding you down the hall. "Don't want yeh catching pneumonia or summat."

"What—no!" you protest, digging your heels into the floor, "It's not my house, Alex. You go first."

"You're a guest," Alex says, frowning lightly.

You scoff quietly, muttering the words under your breath. "Not by choice."

His scowl deepens, and he clenches his jaw tightly. "Y/N," he says sternly, throwing his thumb over his shoulder and gesturing to the bathroom that's only a few feet away, "Get in the shower."

"No." You fold your arms over your chest.

Alex lets out a frustrated groan and rubs at his eyes aggravatedly. "So bloody stubborn," he mutters, shaking his head incredulously.

You simply shrug. "You used to like that about me."

"Who says I don't anymore?" Alex asks. His hands drop to his sides, and he grimaces. "Just 'cause you're through with me doesn't mean I don't still think about yeh every fuckin' second."

"Alex," you say quietly, avoiding his intense gaze, "Just get in the shower. Please."

"Either get in with me," Alex says, "Or I'm not movin', and we're both gonna stay here in these soggy clothes."

"Fine!" you exclaim, throwing your arms up in the air. You grunt, annoyed at his persistence. Why can't he ever just let you win? He's too proud—he thinks he always knows what's best. If he wasn't so damn endearing, you would have told him off a long time ago. Why can't he ever just listen to you?

Alex's eyes widen when you begin to undo the buttons lining the front of your dress. You mumble obscenities under your breath, your fingers working hastily to rid yourself of the garment. He's pretty sure he stops breathing when you peel the soaked fabric away from your body, revealing a matching set of undergarments and inches of glistening skin.

"What're yeh doin'?" He asks, his mouth dry.

You glare up at him. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Your eyes flick down to his shirt and trousers, and you lift one eyebrow. "Weren't you the one who said that we were getting in together?"

Alex has never moved so fast.

He practically rips off his clothes, only leaving the boxers that sit snugly on his hips. You watch him evenly as he turns around and makes his way into the bathroom. A moment later, the steady sound of running water reaches your ears.

"Oh my God," you breathe quietly, squeezing your eyes shut. You can't believe you're doing this. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

"Yeh comin'?" Alex calls from inside the washroom. You pinch your thigh and exhale shakily before putting on an unbothered front.

Alex turns around when you walk through the door, and you don't miss the way his gaze falls to your body. The hunger in his eyes makes you gulp, but you don't shy away—he's seen you like this before. You can handle him (you hope).

"Water's warm," Alex mumbles. You nod curtly, and then you reach behind your body to unclasp your bra. Alex's throat bobs when the cups loosen around your breasts, and you look away when you drop the material to the floor.

"What?" you demand, brushing your wet hair away from your face. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

And with a sudden rush of confidence, you remove your underwear as well.

"Fuck," Alex mutters. He squeezes his eyes shut momentarily, and you bite back a laugh. You're still upset with him, yes, but you can't deny how fun it is to toy with him. You step out of where your panties have pooled at your ankles, shooting him an expectant look.

"Your turn."

Despite the intense longing he feels for you, Alex chuckles. "Eager, love?"

"Don't call me that," you order quietly, your eyes falling to the tiled floor. "I'm not your 'love'—not anymore."

"But yeh love me." It's not a question.

You blink, inhaling sharply and feeling your chest grow tight. "Yes," you whisper.

Alex sighs, shaking his head. "Couldn't hold it in fo' just a little while longer, could yeh?"

"Excuse me?"

"'Cause now I look like a cheap git if I say it back! Fuck, love—," Alex grits his teeth, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, "Was gonna tell yeh the morning we almost got caught. But then all this bullshit happened, and I didn't think—"

"You love me?"

You're finally looking at him, and Alex has never seen so much emotion brewing in your eyes. Light reflects off your irises, and your lips are pursed tightly. Your eyelashes flutter prettily every time you blink, and your skin is still gleaming wetly from the rain.

"'Course I do," Alex says, his brows knitting together. "How could I not?"

"I—," you hesitate, sucking your lips into your mouth nervously. Eventually, you blow out an exhausted breath, your shoulders slumping dejectedly. "I hate fighting with you."

Alex smiles softly. "Me too. And—," he pauses for a moment, "I'm gonna go see a shrink. Already booked the appointment."

You let out a disbelieving laugh, your eyes widening. "You're serious?"

He nods, and you feel your heart swell with adoration.

You suddenly remember that the shower is still running, and you lift your chin eagerly. "Are we going to get in, or have you changed your mind?"

Alex's small smile spreads into a grin. He doesn't say anything, choosing instead to rid himself of his boxers—it suffices as a response, you decide. The two of you stumble into the shower, and you hum happily when the warm water splashes against your back. It's a welcome change from the cold, icy sheen that had been left by the rain.

"I love you," Alex says suddenly, and you turn around to face him. He's standing underneath the spray, his hair matted to his forehead. You step closer to him, fixing him with a tender smile as you push the wet strands away from his face.

"And I love you."

He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours—he's still unsure of where you stand. But when you grin and press your mouth firmly against his, he doesn't have to wonder. Not anymore.

It starts off innocent enough. Alex simply enjoys being able to kiss you again—he's missed it more than you could ever know. His hands cup your jaw gently, and you hold onto his waist, squeezing slightly whenever he nips playfully at your bottom lip. When he pulls away, you whine quietly and chase him, and he just chuckles lowly as he gives in to your wordless requests.

And then—just like that—something shifts.

Your kisses become a bit more frantic, a bit more profound. Your hands don't remain stationary, but instead roam up and down his back, feeling his muscles contract as he moves. Your lips part from his with a soft smacking sound, and Alex growls low in his throat when you release a needy whimper.

"Wait," he mumbles, looking at you through long, damp eyelashes. He's breathing heavily, his chest swelling with each inhale. "What d'yeh want?"

"What?" you breathe, curving your head to the side so that you can litter sloppy kisses down his neck. Alex curses softly, placing his hands on your shoulders and pulling you back. You pout cutely, and he feels his stomach coil with desire.

"What d'yeh want?" he repeats, his throat scratchy. "Y'gotta tell me what y'wanna do, love, or else...I won't be able t'stop."

"Then don't," you tell him, gripping his face between your hands and guiding him down for another passionate kiss. "Don't stop."

"Bloody—," he doesn't get to finish his sentence, because he's bruising your lips with his own, and he has no intention of slowing down. You whimper unabashedly when one of his hands finds your right breast, kneading the skin in his palm and pinching gently at your nipple. You arch your back into him, and he just deepens the kiss, a quiet groan echoing in the back of his throat.

"Need—," Alex pulls back with a damp gasp, "—need t'open yeh up f'me, love. 'M not small."

Sure enough, when you cast a glance downwards, you become privy to the state of his cock. He's hardened significantly, and with a jolt, you realize that you've never actually seen his prick. He's had his head between your legs and you've had your hand down his pants, but he's never been this bare in front of you.

"It's pretty," you say softly, because it's true. His cock curves upwards against his stomach, and it's flushed a light pink colour. A particularly thick vein runs along the tight skin, and the coarse hair at the base of his shaft has been trimmed neatly. Part of you wants to drop to your knees and take him into your mouth, but another part is aching to feel him fill you.

"You're pretty," Alex says, and you giggle at the compliment. He presses a pert kiss to your nose before cradling your stomach against his palm. "Don't wanna hurt yeh, darling. Wanna make it the best I can fo' yeh—just need you t'relax, alright?"

"Yeah," you breathe.

He starts off slow, encouraging you to spread your legs slightly so that he can cup your cunt. You gasp softly when he places a firm finger against your clit and begins to rub gentle circles against you. He bows his head, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking hungrily, and there's so much going on that you feel as though you might faint.

"Feels okay?" Alex asks, the words slightly garbled as he sponges kisses along your breasts. You nod frantically, your fingers reflexively tangling into his wet hair.

"Feels good," you say, allowing your eyelids to drift shut. "Really good."

"Brilliant," Alex chuckles, gazing up at you with glimmering eyes. "'M gonna try to add a finger, alright?"

You hum in affirmation, and Alex pulls his mouth away from your chest so that he can watch his hand move against you. He swears under his breath when he circles his index finger around your entrance, feeling the slick that's accumulated there. Your face heats up in embarrassment when he sends a wicked grin your way. "'S not gonna take long at all, is it?"

"Shut up," you eek out. You gasp when you feel him dip the tip of his finger inside of you, your hands flying to grip harshly onto his forearm.

"It's okay," you tell him when you see him open his mouth. "It's okay, I'm okay! Keep going, please."

Alex smiles. "So polite."

He stifles your whimper with his lips as he slides his finger into you slowly. Your walls clamp down around him, and he groans against your mouth. "Love," he chokes out, his voice laced with pain. "Y'gotta relax a bit."

"Sorry," you say, forcing yourself to unwind. "It's just...it's been a while."

At that, Alex's brow creases. "'A while'?"

You snort. "I've done this to myself, you know."

His lips part in surprise, and his eyes grow dark. "Fuckin' hell," he grits out, pressing his forehead firmly against your shoulder. "You'll be the death of me."

You laugh.

Alex begins to pump his finger gently, building up a steady pace. You pepper kisses along his neck, moaning into his throat whenever he presses down against your clit. After a few minutes, he nips teasingly at your earlobe. "Can I add another? Can I make yeh feel good, love?"

"Yes, please."

He's gentle when he slides his middle finger in to join. You exhale shakily, craning your neck up and puckering your lips. Alex chuckles, humouring you and kissing you avidly, his tongue licking into your mouth and his hot breaths spilling out against your chin.

"Wanna make yeh cum like this," he mumbles, "'Cause...I dunno if you'll be able t'cum on my cock, y'know? 'S your first time."

"Alex," you scoff, rolling your eyes teasingly, "You're rambling."

"Sorry." He grins. You're about to taunt him again, but then he curls his fingers forward, and your knees quiver. A high-pitched whine slips from your lips, and your walls pulse around him.

"Oh my God," you moan, tilting your head back. "Do that again."

He does do it again. And again, and again, and again. He prods that spongey spot inside of you and rubs his thumb against your clit until you're whimpering and releasing onto his fingers. Alex watches in awe as your eyes roll into the back of your head, and his mouth goes dry when you clamp down tightly on his digits. If you're that tight around his fingers, how is he supposed to handle you squeezing around his cock?

"Can you—?" you break off, trying to catch your breath. "I want you to—I want you, please."

"Okay, okay," Alex soothes you, pressing a feathery kiss to your lips. "Christ," he whispers, cramming his eyes shut. His cock is painfully hard, and he subconsciously wraps a loose fist around the shaft, giving a few half-hearted pumps. You watch him, chewing anxiously on your bottom lip, and he just reaches for your left thigh, lifting it gently so that he can wrap your leg around his hip.

"You're sure?" he questions one last time.

You nod quickly. "Want to feel you."

Alex groans, nearly tumbling forward once he processes your words. He angles the tip of his cock up, running the head along your folds a few times and relishing in the whine that leaves your lips.

"Stop teasing," you pout. He kisses you chastely, giving you a wry grin.

"Might burn a bit," he warns, the smile quickly slipping from his face. "Need yeh t'tell me if yeh wanna stop."

"Okay." You nod, and Alex lines himself up with your entrance.

Ever so slowly, he tilts his hips forward. You force yourself to relax as his tip slips inside, and for a moment, you don't even feel anything.

Is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he begins to push in a bit deeper, and you wince as you feel yourself spreading around him. He goes at a gradual, lenient pace, his eyes trained on your face to spot any hint of discomfort. It's really, truly sweet, and you suddenly are overrun by the urge to kiss him.

So, you do.

You keep your lips melded to his as he enters you inch by inch. The stretch makes your eyes water, and Alex kisses all over your face to try and keep you calm. "How far in are you?" you ask, closing your eyes.

"More than halfway." Alex's voice is strangled, cracking on the last syllable. He nuzzles his nose against yours, his warm breaths wafting out onto your mouth. "You're doin'—fuck—so good fo' me, love. So, so good."

"Yeah?" Despite your uneasiness, you open your eyes and give him a small smile.

He returns it, nudging his prick a bit further and nodding fiercely. "Yeah."

When he finally bottoms out, he gives you a minute to adjust. You swallow down the fat lump in your throat and exhale steadily, feeling yourself pulse around where he's buried to the hilt inside of you. One of Alex's hands is on your thigh, keeping it hitched up onto his waist; the other is stroking your cheek and brushing your hair away from your face.

"Is it good for you?" you whisper.

Alex squeezes his eyes shut for only a moment, his nostrils flaring dramatically. "Fuck, love—y'have no idea."

"Good." You smirk.

Alex chuckles, and the force of it causes his prick to shift a bit within you. You gasp when he brushes up against that special spot, immediately unspooling some of the tension from your shoulders. He looks at you with wide, panicked eyes, but you just trail your thumb idly against his cheek, patting his jaw appreciatively.

"That felt nice," you tell him.

He cocks an eyebrow teasingly. "An oddball, you are."

You giggle.

The two of you stay like that for another minute or so, poking fun at one another and snickering like children. You clear your throat, shooting Alex a small smile and nodding once. "You can move, I think. It doesn't burn as much anymore."

"Good, good," Alex rambles before he's securing your thigh a bit higher up on his waist. He pulls back, and his cock slides out of you slowly. A moment later, he glides back in, the fit slick and smooth. You bite your bottom lip, grinning up at him.

"I like it," is all you say.

Alex cackles.

After that, things are easy. He develops a stable, fixed pace, sliding into you with just the right amount of pressure. The unusual stiffness has seeped out of your body; you allow yourself to go lax as Alex loops your other leg around his hips and keeps you pressed firmly against the wall of the shower. The warm water sluices down against his back and wets his hair, but neither of you pay it any attention. Alex is kissing at your cheeks and your neck and your breasts, and you don't think you've ever been happier.

You're having fun.

"This is so nice," you say airily, planting a short kiss to his lips. "I really like it."

"Yeah?" Alex grins. He plants a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose. "You're so cute, love."

"Quit it," you giggle, but he just shakes his head.

"I will not," he says, faking offense, "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and I'll be damned if I can't tell yeh that every day."

"Alex," you whimper. You grip his face in your hands and press a bruising kiss to his lips. He returns it with just as much passion, his thrusts growing slightly sloppy when your walls flutter around him.

"Y'feel good," he chokes out, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "'M gonna cum."

"I want you to," you tell him, whispering the words as sultrily as you can. You kiss the shell of his ear. "Want to feel you cum."

"Love," Alex wheezes. He increases the speed of his hips only slightly, like he's still more concerned with how you're feeling rather than the state of his own pleasure. You find it dreadfully charming.

"I love you," you mumble, digging your fingers into his hair and yanking lightly on the sopping tendrils. "Cum for me."

"Fuck!" Alex cries out into your throat, his movements stuttering to a stop as he tenses. You gasp when you feel his cock jerk inside of you, and then he's pulling himself out and spurting hot ribbons of cum all over your stomach. He clenches his eyes shut, his lips forming around silent prayers and pleas.

"Fuckin' hell," he babbles, trying to regulate his frantic breathing. He presses himself tightly against you, not caring about the fact that his own release smears messily onto his abdomen. You smile when he squeezes your hips tightly, but his next words knock the air from your lungs.

"I love you, I bloody do. I love you so damn much."

~*~

"Alex?" you call out.

Alex lifts his head from the fluffy pillow, groaning as he slides out of bed. "'S wrong?" he replies, his voice croaky.

"Could you come here for a minute?"

He walks down the hall of the apartment, peeking into each room and moving on when he doesn't find you. He finally joins you in the kitchen, standing in the doorway and watching as you stare at the calendar that he's got hanging on the refrigerator.

You look good. Alex never thought he'd get to see you in only a pair of his boxers and a large, baggy sweater, but here you are. He walks over to you slowly, wrapping his arms around your midsection and chuckling quietly when you jump in surprise.

"You scared me," you murmur, and Alex presses an apologetic kiss to the side of your head.

"Sorry." He pauses for a moment before continuing, moving his hand down your body so that he can splay his palm out over your stomach. "Sore?"

"A bit," you tell him, though you shrug nonchalantly, "It's not the end of the world, though."

Alex smiles. "Why'd yeh need me t'come all the way over here, hmm?"

In response, you point to one of the small squares on his calendar. He's written down a few words in his messy scrawl, but it's clear enough for you to understand.

"Doctor Ryan Lawrence," you read out, biting down gently on your bottom lip, "Is that him?"

"Yeah," Alex says, resting his chin on the crown of your head. "Why? Did yeh think I was lying or summat?"

"What?" you spin around, shaking your head furiously. "No, of course not."

"I'm just teasin', love," Alex grins, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You lean into his touch, looking up at him with big, sympathetic eyes.

"I'm glad you're doing this," you say, "Thank you."

"'M not doin' it for you, darling," he says, but then he stops and rethinks his sentence. "Actually, I guess I ammostly doin' it for you. But who knows? Maybe there's somethin' in it fo' me too."

You loop your arms around his waist and hug him tightly. "I hope so."

Alex kisses your hair. "We're alright, yeah? We're good?"

"Yeah," you tell him, pulling back and giving him the brightest smile—he swears he's never seen anything like it. You smooth your hands along his back and gaze up at him with eyes that are filled with so much love, he doesn't know how to react.

"We're absolutely perfect."