Warning-disordered eating, depressed thoughts, mild abuse.

He didn't want to do this.

He couldn't be doing this.

Yet here Alex was, with his head hanging in the toilet for the third time this week.

He leaned forward and retched again, bile burning his throat.

"Alex?"

Shit.

Laf's voice sounded concerned, worry laced with hesitancy.

Alex got to his feet and wiped his mouth, then opened the stall door and stepped out. He knew he looked like shit- flushed face, watering eyes, dark bags underneath his eyes.

"I'm fine," Alex said, and began washing his hands. "I've just been feeling crappy for the past few days, and today I just felt really nauseous.."

He trailed off as Laf's eyes narrowed.

He didn't believe him.

"Don't tell John," Alex said quietly.

Laf frowned and opened his mouth, but Alex cut him off before he could say anything.

"Please, Laf. He has enough to worry about right now."

Laf seemed torn. He watched Alex carefully before sighing. "I won't tell John." Alex visibly relaxed. "Yet."

Now it was Alex who was watching.

Laf thought for a second before holding his hand out. "Give me your phone."

Alex dug into his pocket and unlocked his phone, then handed it to Laf, who typed something in before giving it back.

"There. I put my number in." Alex looked at him curiously.

"Next time you feel like this...call me. We can do something. D'accord?"

Alex slowy nodded. "Thanks."

They walked back to the commons, both silent. Alex sat down at the table and pulled out a granola bar out of his bag, obediently taking a bite. He could feel Laf's eyes on him, carefully watching out of the corner of his eye.

Alex finished his bar and cracked open his History textbook, keeping his eyes on the words instead of looking up at his friends.

The words were slightly blurry, and his throat was still burning a little bit. He stared at the paragraph for a bit before turning the page, trying to appear normal.

Everyone was studying, since midterms were bearing down on them, like a fire-breathing dragon ready to pounce.

Thanksgiving break started tomorrow-kicking off with John flying back to South Carolina. He was not looking forward to it...

"Just don't go," Alex had said, and John turned around. His suitcase was open on his bed, clothes neatly arranged with textbooks on top. "I have to go," he said "If I don't...I just have to go, okay?"

Alex nodded, seeing John's expression. He got up and hugged him. "I'm going to miss you so much."

John wrapped his arms around Alex, "I'm going to miss you too. But it's only for four days."

"Four days is too long."

"It'll be fine," John reassured him, "My grades are good, I'm doing what he wants, and he doesn't know about you."

"About me?"

"That we're dating, Alex."

"Oh, yeah."

"It'll be fine. And I'll call you when I can. I'll just write it off as making sure the turtle is okay if he asks."

Alex sighed, "I still don't know if I can keep that thing alive for that long."

John rolled his eyes and dug in his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. "I made you a list of things to do for him. And Charlemange is not a thing, he is a beautiful majestic creature."

"That likes to eat textbooks."

"Yeah, that too. Don't let him near your book shelf."

John pulled on his coat, zipping it up. It was snowing outside, the first snow of the year, and Alex was half-heartedly hoping that the snow would cause John's flight to be delayed. But since it was only lightly coming down, he figured that his wish wasn't going to come true.

"Phone-where is my phone?" John muttered, patting down his pockets. Alex rolled his eyes and reached over, grabbing John's phone off of his desk. "Here," he said, and handed it to him.

"Thanks," John said, and his hand lingered on Alex's. He tightened his grip and pulled Alex in closer, until they were inches apart. John leaned down and kissed Alex, who felt like his knees were going to give out. He pulled back a little and looked up into John's eyes, whispering, "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I know," John murmured, and he leaned forward again-

The door burst open, hitting John in the back and sending both him and Alex crashing to the floor. Alex scrambled for a hold on the way down, reaching out and grabbing at his bedspread, which slid off the matteress and engulfed him and John, who hit his head on the bottom of the bed.

"Jesus Christ," John muttered, and he sat up, causing the comforter to fall back onto Alex. Alex clawed the blanket off of himself, gasping for air.

Laf and Herc were staring down at them from the doorway. "Why were you standing in front of the door?" Laf asked, and John glared.

"Why can't you ever knock?" he countered, and rubbed his head. "God, that hurt."

Alex tried to untangle himself out of the comforter and stood up, then promptly tripped and fell on his face. Laf snickered.

"We were coming over to say goodbye," Herc said, and John got up slowly, making sure that the comforter wasn't going to attack him again. He reached down and helped Alex up, then turned to Herc and Laf.

"I'm gonna miss all of you. Please make sure my boyfriend doesn't kill my turtle," John said, gesturing to Alex, who frowned.I won't kill him," Alex protested. "Probably."

John pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. "Okay, I have to go or I'm going to miss my flight." He leaned down and gave Alex a quick kiss, then grabbed his bag off of his bed and hugged Laf and Herc. "I'll call you when I get to my dad's house." John grinned at Alex and his friends, then headed down the hallway, turning at the stairwell.

Alex watched him go, feeling like the next four days were going to take forever.

He turned around and found Lafayette and Hercules watching him. Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I'm going back to my room...I have to work on an essay..." Alex shuffled back into his room slowly. "I'll see you guys later, okay?"

He shut the door.

Alex plugged in his earbuds and sat down at his desk, then opened his laptop. It was quiet-a little too quiet. He already missed John, and the room felt emptier without him.

Alex cracked his knuckles, doing the stero-typical move that all writers do in movies. He always found that hilarious, because he rarely did that.

-page break-

Alex sat back, blinking. His eyes burned a little, and when he looked at the clock he realized why. He had been writing for almost three hours.

He got up and stretched, then turned to the little coffee maker that he had gotten from Goodwill. It really was small-it only held about four cups at a time. But Alex loved the thing-and he loved it even more because he got a tiny thrill of rebellion every time he used it. Why? Because it was totally illegal to use in his dorm.

Oh, well. He'd risk it.

Alex sighed and closed his laptop. He really needed to go and get something to eat. He hadn't eaten breakfast, since he'd been caught up in John leaving.

And now he was about to miss lunch-unless he could sprint to the cafeteria, which closed in two minutes. And was all the way across campus.

The coffee shop was his only option. Hopefully there wasn't any Jeffersons lurking.

Alex grabbed his jacket and a hat and switched off the coffee maker. There was no point in making any if he was going to be getting some in a few minutes.

It was freezing outside, in his opinion, but the other students seemed to be used to it. Even after four years in the States, Alex was determined to never get used to the stuff. It was freezing, wet, and somehow took absolutely forever to melt.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, pulled on shoes and made sure he had his keys. If he got locked out, there would be no John to open the door for him or lend him his extra key.

Before closing the door, Alex checked his phone for any texts. None-but maybe John was just too busy.

Right?The snow was coming down heavier when John's plane touched down. It was pretty, but still thick. John stared out the window of the plane, a small feeling of dread growing in his stomach. He tired to reassure himself: it was would different this time. It would be better this time.

You say that every time.

The plane slowed to a stop, and John unbuckled his seat belt and reached up overhead, where his carry-on was. It was the only piece of luggage he usually carried. It was small, and light, and usually fit everything he needed. Plus it was easier to carry if he needed to leave quickly-which had happened before.

He walked out of the terminal and scanned the crowd, looking for his father. Henry Laurens was easy to spot-always neat, always precise, always business-like. And always very, very cold.

His dad was standing near one of the corridors that led to the elevators and stairs. He was, like always, dressed in a suit, with his iPhone in his hand, a bluetooth speaker clipped to his ear. His face was a mask-a carefully crafted mask, the perfect mix of passive emotions put together specifically for him and then plastered onto his face.

John walked up to him slowly. He had learned from years of experience not call out, or, God forbid, make his presence known.

Henry glanced up, then went back to his phone. "Ah. Jonathan. Yes, Clara is waiting outside." He turned and pressed the button for the elevator.

The ride down was silent-as was the ride back to his house, while their driver-Clara-carefully manuevered the snowy roads.

"It's really starting to storm," John said tenatively from the backseat, and his father grunted, not even looking up from the phone in his hand.

John stared out the window. God, he already missed Alex so much. His missed his friends. He knew that if they were riding with him they'd be having a constant stream of chatter-the perfect mix of arguments and conversation.

He checked his phone. Nothing from Alex, or Laf, or anyone.

Well, he couldn't call now. His dad would kill him, literally and figuritavely. And then Henry would have to murder poor Clara too, for witnessing John's death.

John slumped against the side of the car and looked out the window, watching the snow fall. It was gorgeous, but too cold. Just like his family.

"Jonathan. Posture," Henry snapped, and John quickly straightened up, mentally scolding himself.

You know better than that. You have to pay attention now. This is the type of behavior that gets you hit.

He felt the car turn onto a driveway-his driveway. Snow covered trees lined the gravel road, opening up to a beautiful gray mansion with more trees hiding it from the road. Senator Laurens wouldn't have common civilians gazing upon his masterpiece-this was only for the wealthy and the privileged.

The car rolled to a stop, and John opened the door and stepped out, gravel mixed with ice and snow crunching underneath his feet.

This was it.

He was in the lion's den now.

Alex stomped the snow off of his boots, then shut the door to his room. It really was freezing outside-barely thirty degrees.*

He set his coffee cup down on his desk and stripped off his coat and hat, hanging them back up on the hook on the door. He checked his phone again-silence.

Alex sat down at his desk and slowly spun around in the chair, finally coming to a stop in front of Charlemange's aquarium-or was it a tarraium? Alex didn't know, he never had had a pet.

The turtle blinked slowly at him, then took a slow bite of a piece of lettuce.

Alex checked his phone one more time. It had been a couple of hours- surely John's flight had touched down. Or what if the plane had crashed? What if the plane had crashed and John was hurt? Or worse, dead?

Jeez, Alex, calm down, he scolded himself. John's probably fine. Just busy.

But, just in case, Alex was going to call him.

John  stepped into his room. It was untouched, other than the occasional cleaning by the weekly maid. A queen-sized bed with a brown plaid comforter was in one corner, with a book shelf next to it (Alex would be proud).

His desk sat in another corner, facing one of the windows, which overlooked the driveway. John set down his bag and walked over to the window, watching the flurries drift down. He turned away and opened the doors to the closet, taking his clothes out of the suitcase and hanging them up or folding them neatly.

He heard footsteps pounding the floor of the hallway, and in a second his door was flung open. Three eager faces peered up at John from the doorway, and he grinned.

"Dad didn't tell us when you were gonna get here!" exclaimed Martha, and she bounced into his room. The second oldest of the siblings, she was fourteen, while Henry Jr. was twelve, and John's other sister, Mary, was the baby of the family at eleven. Mary and Martha flopped onto John's bed, and Henry sat in the desk chair, while John continued to carefully hang up shirts. If they were wrinkled, his dad would be pissed.

"So what's college like?" Mary asked, cocking her head. John shrugged, "Lots of tests, lots of papers. My dorm rooms' pretty small, but I kinda like it. And my roommate's cool." He felt slightly guilty. Alex was more than a roommate. But nobody could know that until much later.

As though she had sensed it, Martha spoke up. "Are you still, you know," she fiddled with her hands, "gay?"

John focused on the hanging shirts. "Yes," he said carefully, "but Dad doesn't need to know that."

The siblings all nodded. They knew this drill already- secrets were a well-kept promise between all of them. John faced his younger brother and sisters, carefully scanning for any signs of his father's wrath.

Sure enough, a light purple bruise was fading on Martha's cheek. He quietly walked over and lightly touched it, pulling his hand away when she flinched back.

"What happened this time?" he asked softly, and she shrugged. "I wasn't being quiet enough at dinner. It was only a slap, it could have been worse."John gritted his teeth. Martha was fourteen, too young to be dealing with this type of thing. They were all too young to be dealing with this.

John wished he was still living at home. When he had been here, it was him who took the brunt of attacks. He was always the one to jump in front of his siblings, always the one who took the punch, because otherwise it would be his baby brother and sisters who were getting bruised.

The speaker next to John's bed crackled. He hated that thing. It was loud, and annoying, and John was pretty sure the only reason his father had installed it was so that he could show it off to guests as a sign of wealth.

"Children, lunch is being served in the dining room." Henry's voice was emotionless. John internally sighed. He wasn't a child anymore. And anyways, while he was here, he had never been allowed to act like a child.

The siblings filed down the staircase, all silent. They came to the doorway of the dining room, which was probably the next biggest room in the house, other than the entry hall. The room held a table that could seat almost twenty people, which was great for when Henry hosted dinners.

There will be a part 2 cuz as usual I don’t have too many damn words in this story