Work Text:
0.5.
Walking along the edge of the rooftop, Zach feels more alive than he has in a long time.
Alex is behind him and Zach can practically feel the nerves bouncing off of him, sparking through the space between them. He thinks for a second, Maybe I shouldn’t have brought someone who attempted suicide a year ago to a rooftop, and then he shoves that thought down because if he thinks about it too long he’s going to lose it.
He says instead, as he puts one foot carefully in front of the other, “You have to let go of the shit you can’t control, or it will kill you. You have to make yourself forget.”
He hears Alex scoff behind him. Zach’s bad leg is starting to ache, dully.
“Am I helping you to forget?”
It’s quiet for a second, and if not for the sound of Alex’s footsteps against the concrete, Zach would wonder if the boy disappeared. Then he hears what he thinks is a laugh, harsh and uneven, and Alex gives a strangled, “Yes.”
“Good,” Zach says, and because this is most certainly stressing Alex out, he hops down from the ledge. Starts to turn back toward Alex, ready to say...something that he immediately forgets because all of a sudden he’s watching Alex stumble, watching his arms windmill in a futile attempt to find his balance, watching his eyes blow wide as he pitches sideways. “Oh, shit, shit -”
Zach darts back over to the ledge, grabbing at Alex’s jacket. Alex’s hands scrabble for purchase on Zach’s shoulders, his fingers clutching so hard at Zach’s shirt that his nails dig into his skin. Zach yanks him back down from the ledge, letting Alex fall into his arms as they stumble their way onto steady footing.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Alex’s hands shake against Zach’s hips, his eyes still bright with fear and panic but also something like relief. All Zach can think is, At least this time he’s glad not to be dead.
For some unknown reason, the thought makes him laugh - probably because he’s a complete mess right now and because Alex almost just died and because he’s fucking hysterical - but he huffs a wheezing sort of giggle and his fingers tighten around Alex’s shoulders.
He doesn’t know what changes, in this moment, but somehow he blinks and Alex is looking at him in this strange, indiscernible way for two, three, four seconds and then Alex is kissing him.
Oh.
And in the midst of the shock, of the surprise and confusion, Zach melts into the kiss.
Alex’s lips taste like sweat and the weird pomegranate lip balm he insists on using. It’s sort of...nice, in a way that Zach can’t even begin to understand, doesn’t even want to understand.
He pulls away.
“Um -”
Alex’s expression shifts immediately, a completely different type of panic setting in. “Shit - shit, I’m sorry -”
“No!” Zach half-shouts. He is distantly aware that, however not-weird he’s trying to make this, it is still weird. He hates that it’s still weird. He hates that he can still taste pomegranate, and he hates that he doesn’t mind. “Alex, no, seriously, man. Look, um…”
He steps toward Alex, who’s turned away from him, and touches his wrist with a careful hand. Alex turns back to him, and the look in his eyes is something that Zach never wants to see again.
“I don’t…” Zach starts, and as soon as he does, that final spark of hope fades from Alex’s face. And he shouldn’t, there’s no fucking reason to, but Zach still feels like shit for it. “I mean, I’m not into guys. Girls, I -”
He’s grateful that Alex cuts him off because he doesn’t know where he’s going with the rest of that sentence anyway. “I - I know, I know.”
It’s because Alex just looks so...small. Like he’s actively trying to fold in on himself, to make it so that Zach can’t even look at him anymore. Like he’s scared. Or embarrassed. Or...ashamed, maybe. That’s why he feels so shitty about rejecting him, because it seems almost like Alex needs this. Like this was Alex asking for validation, for someone to say hey, it’s okay, and Zach didn’t do that.
(He thinks he’s been there before, and then he buries that thought too.)
Tries to give Alex what he needs in a way that doesn’t make his chest hurt and his stomach twist. Says, “Listen, man, you know I care about you, right?” and still feels inadequate.
Alex is nodding though, measuredly, distantly.
“No matter what, always,” Zach says. He bends down just a little, leans closer to Alex, trying to make sure he really has his attention. He knows Alex gets way too caught up in his head sometimes. “You hearing me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I -” Alex doesn’t pull away from Zach’s hand, per se, but he does step back, just enough that Zach’s hand falls back to his side. “I should go.”
And Zach could let him, he could, and maybe then the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away.
But no, he can’t, because of course he can’t. Of course he can’t let Alex walk away when he still looks like he’s kicking himself over one kiss. Because he knows that if he lets Alex leave, then his words will become meaningless in the boy’s head. Because no matter how many times he says I care about you, it wouldn’t mean shit if he starts treating Alex differently.
And anyway, he wants to hang out with his best friend.
“No, come on.” He slings an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “We’re hanging out tonight, seriously.”
He walks them back toward the edge of the roof, this time staying away from the ledge. Alex comes with him easily, though he doesn’t lean into Zach’s side the way he usually does when Zach touches him like this. He misses it, for that half of a second before he can tell himself to stop being stupid, the feeling of Alex automatically tucking himself comfortably under Zach’s arm as if he’s never even considered not doing that.
That half of a second passes. Alex remains that tiny bit distant from him.
And Zach pushes that down too, right along with the rest of the shit his brain keeps handing him, leans forward to look over the edge that Alex almost fell from and laughs - that’s all he seems to know how to do when shit happens anymore - because this isn’t about him, anyway.
(Alex huffs a quiet, only slightly awkward laugh, too, and Zach catalogs it as progress.
Baby steps, he thinks. Baby steps.)
1.
Zach can see the exact moment when he loses Alex’s attention, but what he’s not sure of is what stole it.
“Dude, dude, whoa, where are you going?” he asks, standing to follow the boy as he starts toward - something or other.
Alex glances back at him and his eyes are bright with something that’s oddly reminiscent of the way Alex looked at him on the rooftop. Before the kiss. “Ditching you. You’re kind of cramping my style.”
It doesn’t hurt, really, because Alex is very obviously joking, but some little part of his brain still says that someone’s...beating him, even though there’s no fight. And for what? For Alex’s attention? For top spot on his priority list?
(Part of him is starting to wonder if he ever had that top spot, but even now he knows, rationally, that it’s a ridiculous question.)
“What?” Zach says, voice going comically high-pitched. “Are you serious?”
Alex’s eyes keep wandering to the other side of the gym. No matter how hard Zach tries to follow his gaze, he still can’t pinpoint what the hell he’s looking at.
“Yes,” Alex says when he looks back at Zach. “You will be fine. Go work that...Dempsey magic.”
(There’s a split second in which Zach considers saying, The same Dempsey magic that made you kiss me?
The split second passes.)
“Oh,” Zach says instead, because despite the fact that he’s drinking straight whiskey at a school dance, he does occasionally think before he makes decisions. “You mean a little of this Dempsey magic?”
He gives a little salsa-esque shuffle in place, grinning as Alex snickers at his antics, throws in a smooth pivot-turn. Is acutely aware of the moment in which he once again loses Alex’s attention. Tries again to look toward the other side of the gymnasium and pinpoint what could possibly be interesting enough for Alex to not even pretend to care what Zach is doing. Again, he comes up short.
But he lets Alex walk away, off toward the entrance of the gym, and Zach dances instead over to Clay and Ani, calls them lovebirds and has to remind himself to laugh along with them as the whiskey continues to burn a hole in the middle of his chest. He shimmies his shoulders at Ani to keep the laughter going, grabs Clay’s hand and makes a big show of twirling him.
All the while, his eyes linger on Alex. Zach watches him wade through the crowd, weaving through a sea of guys in button-down shirts and girls in short pastel dresses, until he reaches a boy with a camera hanging around his neck - Winston, he’s pretty sure. The new kid from Hillcrest.
Which - unbelievable. Ditched by his best friend for the rich, stuffy new kid.
He really is spiraling, isn’t he? If even his best friend is picking some random guy over him, he really must be doing something wrong.
The sad thing is, he thinks rock bottom’s still a long way off.
Clay and Ani are still dancing around him, but Zach can’t stop watching Alex. And he sees it, then - sees Alex shift back and forth on the balls of his feet, sees him smile at Winston with that look, the one that reminds him so much of how he’d looked on the rooftop. Sees Winston smile back at him and pinch the fabric of Alex’s jacket sleeve, sees them walk together to the gym doors, sees them laugh as they slip out of the dance.
And he thinks, Oh.
His head hurts. Whatever song is playing, it’s unnecessarily loud, and the alcohol running through his system isn’t making it any better. Clay’s dancing is getting steadily more ridiculous, and it’s getting to the point where Zach wants to tell him to stop dancing like such a white boy.
Zach has no idea what is wrong with him.
Because he’s not angry. He has no right or reason to be angry. He doesn’t own Alex, the boy doesn’t belong to him just because they’re best friends, but -
But in the midst of everything, Zach thinks that being the person Alex was most likely to ditch someone else to hang out with was one of the very few constants he still had. And as happy as he is for Alex, as much as he’s glad that Alex is figuring things out and that he’s got someone to do that with - a boy who seems to like him back, a boy who’s capable of liking him back - he’s still…
Still.
Still what?
Still, maybe, just the tiniest bit afraid of the prospect of not being the most important person in Alex’s life anymore, family notwithstanding.
Because he knows, yes, that dating someone doesn’t automatically make them your most important person, but he also knows that it can. Especially in high school. And he knows that if he’s no longer Alex’s most important person, then he won’t be anyone’s.
And with the way things are going for him, he doesn’t know if he can handle that.
1.5.
He thinks, perhaps, that sitting alone in an unmoving boat that’s settled uselessly on the shore of a campground in the middle of a school trip is a metaphor for something. He doesn’t care to think about what.
2.
“Talk to me, come on,” Zach says. His delirious sort of amusement has faded - along with his buzz - rather quickly and rather violently, into pure concern. “What the fuck is going on, man?”
Alex gives a quiet sob from beside him, and Zach’s chest aches in accordance. And in the moment, he looks so much like the boy that Zach used to know.
The one who did crazy, reckless shit like going ninety miles on a municipal road or falling into a pool in the middle of a party. The one who let people hurt him because he didn’t care enough to make them stop.
The one who was hurting in ways that Zach couldn’t fix, couldn’t change, couldn’t even begin to understand. The one that Zach wanted so badly to help that he rearranged his life around him, tried to do anything and everything in his power to heal him, even when it seemed like Alex was trying his damndest not to let him.
That boy is still here, Zach knows, but he’s different now. It’s like that boy and another theoretical version of Alex that didn’t say things like I don’t even know what okay is anymore and didn’t let Zach convince him to drink whiskey on a rowboat in the middle of a lake have merged together and found some sort of common ground. Progress.
(Zach wonders sometimes, usually around 3 AM when his brain is too muddled from sleeplessness to know what coherency is anymore, if some part of what was wrong with Alex transferred itself to him. If it saw Zach trying so hard and yet still failing and decided this would be a good way to help.
A problem shared is a problem halved, after all.
God, it’s such a shitty mentality, but it’s the only one he seems to have.)
“Shit’s so fucked up,” Alex says.
Automatically, Zach shoots back, “Yeah, you think?” and then winces.
Alex seems to barely hear him anyway, too busy wiping away the water that’s trying to drip into his eyes and then pulling his legs to his chest to rest his chin on his knees. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there and lets the tears roll slowly down his cheeks.
If this were anyone else, the look on Alex’s face would definitely scream, I don’t want to talk about it, but Zach knows Alex way too well to not see how he’s practically begging for someone to ask.
Zach bumps his knee against Alex’s. “‘Lex, hey. What happened?”
Alex glances at him, eyes glassy, and says, “That’s a new one.”
“Hm?”
“‘Lex’. It’s new. Or, at least, new for you.” Alex sniffles. “No one’s really called me that since middle school.”
Zach nods slowly, shifts a little to face Alex better. He can’t tell if this is a good thing or bad. “Do you...mind?”
With his cheek pressed into his knee so that his face is tilted toward Zach, Alex shakes his head as best he can. “No. No, it’s - it’s nice. You should keep it.”
He smiles at Alex, letting the moment settle in the air before they have to come back to the problem at hand - whatever that is. It dwindles quickly.
Zach exhales. “What can I do, ‘Lex?”
Alex gives him a sad smile, and for a minute, he actually just contemplates. His gaze wanders a little, settling somewhere in front of Zach, before he meets his eyes again and says, “A hug would be nice.”
That, he can manage.
Zach puts his arms out, gives a joking little shimmy as he waves Alex in. As ridiculously as he can without losing even an ounce of sincerity, he says, “C’mere, baby.”
Alex gives something between a laugh and a sob and scoots forward to lean into Zach’s chest. Zach wraps his arms around him, one tucked carefully around his waist and the other draped over his shoulders, and his fingers find their way into Alex’s hair, tangling into the strands at the nape of his neck while Alex’s twist into the back of Zach’s soaked t-shirt. Zach knows that tears are being added to the mix, but he can’t feel them anyway.
For a while, they just sit there. After a minute, Zach abandons pretense and just starts carding his fingers through Alex’s hair, while Alex somehow ends up halfway in Zach’s lap.
Alex’s knee is digging into Zach’s thigh, and his hair is in Zach’s mouth. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, all wrong angles and jabbing limbs, but Zach doesn’t mind.
It doesn’t matter how uncomfortable things get. It’s Alex.
He thinks he’d walk through fire if it meant Alex would be okay. If it meant he was doing everything in his power to help his best friend.
Alex sniffs once, twice, three times. Says, muffled in Zach’s shirt, “You know, I think this is the closest I’ve gotten to having normal people problems in a while.”
Zach snorts into Alex’s hair. Tightens his grip and hums quietly. “Tell me about it.”
Alex taps his fingers against Zach’s back, but doesn’t say anything. Zach counts the beats - two, three, four, then another set of two (he recognizes it as one of the songs Alex likes, presumably something by Joy Division, but he’s not sure which one) - and then asks, “Do you need to move? Is it a problem that I’m touching you so much?”
Alex is sort of iffy about being touched, Zach’s learned over the years. He’s gotten better and better at figuring out when Alex is and isn’t okay with contact - the tapping is usually a good indication - but this time, there’s a lot of contradicting evidence.
Zach thinks that at heart, Alex is a pretty tactile person. But he thinks Alex’s need to do things by himself, his need to be capable and independent, beat out the tactile part of him in junior year and the conflict still hasn’t balanced out.
“Oh, uh - no. No. Just, can we -” Alex pulls away, running a hand through his hair as he does, and shifts so that his back is to Zach. “Do you mind if -”
“Whatever you need, man,” Zach says, and he knows that he means it, maybe more than he should. He lets Alex settle himself between his legs and lean back against Zach’s’ chest, wraps his arms loosely around Alex’s waist.
Alex sighs, wiggling a little so that his head rests against Zach’s collarbone. Zach’s much more comfortable now - there’s still lake water dripping from his hair but he no longer has a knee in his thigh and the air just feels a bit less thick somehow - and he thinks this is one of their favorite things about his and Alex’s relationship. All those unspoken rules of guys’ friendships have just never applied to them, and it’s especially nice since Zach has always been a pretty touchy person.
(And if he especially likes being able to hold Alex like this, it’s nobody’s business but his own.)
“You know that new guy?” Alex says quietly, looping the fingers of his left hand around Zach’s wrist. “Winston?”
“Sure, yeah. He hangs out with Tyler, right?”
“Yeah,” Alex answers. Pauses. Shifts. Takes a deep breath, and then, “We were kind of...seeing each other? I guess?”
And he knew - not really, but. He knew. What he doesn’t know is how he’s supposed to feel about it.
(Fine, his brain supplies. Why wouldn’t you be?
I don’t know, he responds. You’re supposed to tell me.)
The feeling in the pit of his stomach is...is. Is.
Is…reminiscent of the feeling he remembers from that night on the rooftop, but different somehow. Harsher, somehow. Tighter, like the feeling has grown hands, fingers, that have buried themselves in his stomach and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until they couldn’t squeeze any harder.
Maybe it’s just him being over-protective of Alex - which, yes, even he can admit he is. It’s the simplest explanation as to why he already wants to bite Winston’s head off before he’s even heard anything about him.
Zach swallows, hopes Alex doesn’t take his tension as rejection. As a way of saying continue, he just says, “Okay.”
Alex doesn’t seem perturbed. “We, uh - it wasn’t really a...a thing. It wasn’t official. We weren’t dating, really, we were just...it was casual, you know? We were figuring things out. I was figuring things out.”
He pulls his legs back up to his chest, says, “I’m still figuring things out. And I - the thing with Winston…”
And oh, Zach hates this boy. Whatever he did, however he managed to make Alex cry, Zach hates him for it.
“What happened, Alex?” he asks, measuredly gentle.
A beat. Then, all in one breath, “I found out from Clay that he’s just here to get information about Monty and he was using me and I’m a fucking idiot.”
Alex sucks in a shuddering breath, and for a second, Zach thinks he’s gonna start crying again, but he just breathes an equally shaky exhale and tightens his grip on Zach’s wrist. Zach’s head spins.
Jesus. Alex really just can’t catch a break.
Zach closes his eyes, tucks his face into the juncture between Alex’s shoulder and the back of his neck. Feels Alex’s free hand reach back and card into Zach’s hair. Thinks, This is why people think we’re dating, isn’t it? and then, For fuck’s sake, shut up.
“I’ll kill him,” he says. Alex snorts.
“Maybe don’t,” he replies. “S’what got us into this mess to begin with.”
Zach huffs a surprised laugh and Alex starts snickering along with him. They’re both borderline hysterical, giggling over something that is so blatantly not funny, and it’s so incredibly ridiculous that it at least cuts through the tension of the moment.
The laughter fades. In its place, Alex’s tapping starts again.
Zach puts a hand on Alex’s back, carefully holding him in place as he scoots back. Alex goes with it easily, turning around to face Zach again. They resettle, setting themselves so that their shoes touch. Alex continues his tapping, this time on Zach’s knee, but it’s much less anxiety-driven now.
Zach matches him, doing his best to mimic the pattern that Alex’s fingers are rapping away, and says, “Alex. You’re not an idiot.”
Alex keeps his gaze focused on Zach’s knee, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he frowns. “Sure feel like one.”
The sand in Zach’s shirt is starting to itch. He ignores it.
He gets it, he does. He knows it’s easy for Alex to convince himself of things like this - that it’s his fault when people screw him over. That he should have known, expected it, because in his head, there’s no reason that anyone would want him just because.
But as it turns out, Alex is wrong about a lot of things, usually about himself.
Zach holds his free hand out to Alex, who glances at it, then up at Zach, then back down before setting his hand, albeit a bit hesitantly, in Zach’s. They do this sometimes, hold hands as a sort of grounding thing - it feels different this time, oddly, but Zach ignores that too.
“Alright, dude,” Zach says. “I’m gonna need you to really listen to me for a minute, alright?”
“Okay.”
“It is not your fault that Winston screwed you over.” He doesn’t even mean to, but when he says Winston, it comes out like a curse. “You’re not an idiot for not expecting everyone you meet to be out to get you.”
“I know. I - rationally, I know. S’just…”
“...Just?”
Alex sighs, chewing on his lip. “It’s, it’s just...I never get this back, you know? Like - it doesn’t matter that I know he’s using me now. He still got to be so many of my - my firsts, with a guy. It’s not even like I was that into him, but...I never get any of that back. No matter what, I just - I never get those firsts back.”
Zach remembers his firsts. All of them - most with Hannah. Most of the important ones, at least. And he knows that even with everything that’s happened, though there are plenty of things about his relationship with Hannah that he would change if he could go back, he wouldn’t trade all of those firsts. And he knows that he would hate it too if he’d had all of those firsts with someone who turned out to be such a dick.
He nods, squeezing Alex’s hand. “Yeah, I get that. But your firsts just...they aren’t as important as you think, man. I mean, think about it - you have a set of firsts with everyone. You’ll have plenty more, and no one can take that away from you.”
Alex’s expression twists, and Zach immediately wonders if he said the wrong thing. The tapping on his knee speeds up. It’s starting to drive him just a little crazy.
He most definitely fucked this up, he realizes when Alex’s eyes well up with tears again. Alex tilts his head skyward, clearly trying to blink back the tears, and when he can’t, he pulls his hand out of Zach’s and swipes agitatedly at the rogue couple of tears that trail down his cheeks.
And then Alex says, “But what if this is the only time that someone wants me?” and Zach thinks he might cry too.
He wishes it was surprising that Alex could say that, could think that, about himself, but it’s not. It’s not, because he knows exactly how skewed Alex’s perception of himself is, exactly how horrifyingly low his self-esteem is.
So he believes it, yes, but he still knows that it’s high on the list of ridiculous shit that Alex’s Depression Brain says.
“Alex,” Zach says softly. “Sweetheart.”
It’s new, too, and a little weird to say, but it works to get Alex to look at him again. “I know that this is gonna be hard for you to believe, but - Alex. Of course someone else is going to want you. Of course they will. And you know how I know?”
“How?”
“Because I want you.” The words sit weirdly in Zach’s stomach, bouncing around as if they’re trying to find the proper place to rest. Like they’re not quite sure where they belong.
(Zach’s not sure he knows where they belong either.)
He keeps talking. “I want you, alright? And I know it’s not - it’s not the way you mean, but I do. Want you.”
The more times he says it, the more incongruous it feels. He adds that to the growing list of things he’s ignoring right now.
“Aww,” Alex murmurs, sniffling. “You’re sweet.”
“I know.” Zach grins at him. “And so are you. S’part of why you’re my best friend.”
Alex smiles back. It feels a lot less sad this time.
And then the smile fades into this fond sort of look that Zach’s pretty sure Alex only ever gets for him and Alex says, “Hey, thank you.”
“For what?” he asks, because judging by his tone, it’s not just for this conversation.
Strangely, Alex’s cheeks flush pink. “For - I dunno, just - I know it wasn’t exactly your choice, but it’s one first that Winston doesn’t get to have so...thanks for being my first kiss with a guy, y’know? And for being so cool about it after.”
He wants to be cooler about it.
He has no idea what that means.
“No problem, man,” he says. His voice sounds weird to his ears, but Alex doesn’t seem to notice.
Alex smiles again, skin still stained a splotchy pink. Then moves to stand, withdrawing the last of his and Zach’s contact when he uses the hand that had been tapping on Zach’s knee to push himself up in the sand. He holds out that hand for Zach to take. “We should probably -”
“Right, yeah,” Zach says, and doesn’t know why this ending feels so abrupt. Or, really, why he minds. He takes Alex's hand and pulls himself to his feet. Holds on for just an extra second to make sure he has Alex’s attention when he asks, “You good, man? Like, really good?”
“Yeah,” Alex replies. Zach can’t stop watching the color slowly fade from his cheeks. “I’m good.”
And Zach doesn’t know what it is about this moment, about hearing the words I’m good from the mouth of one of the most deeply scarred people he knows, that sends him spinning, but all he can think as he follows Alex back toward the campsite is, I’m not.
2.5.
“I have a boyfriend,” Chloe says, and Zach feels...nothing.
He feels nothing.
He thinks it’s the worst part of it all. Because all he wanted, all he’s been wanting this whole damn time, is to feel something. Something other than anger and fear and hurt and the burn of liquor down his throat. Something good, something solid, something that doesn’t make him want to dig his fingers into his chest and pull out his heart so perhaps he can replace it with one that pumps blood less bitter than his own.
He’d thought - hoped - that kissing Chloe would do that. So many people had told him, last summer when he and Chloe had been spending so much of their time together, that they seemed like a couple, that they should just get together already, and maybe...maybe he wanted to see in himself and Chloe what everyone else saw in him. But not because he actually liked her like that, not because he actually wanted her.
Because he wanted to want her. Because he wanted her to be the answer to a question he’s refused to even ask himself. Because he wanted a solution to the problem that is him. Because he wanted it to be easy.
But it’s never easy, is it?
“I should’ve told you,” Chloe is saying. And Zach loves her, he does, but not in the way that he wishes he could. But he does love her, and as he stands there with her giving him that look, that I love you but not in that way look, he wonders if it’s the same look Alex saw from him on the rooftop. Wonders if Alex hurt then as much as Zach hurts now, though surely in a different way, and hates that he’s the one who hurt him.
He remembers that feeling from the rooftop, the one that had settled in the bottom of his stomach. That feeling is absent, now, along with all the others.
He remembers, too, the taste of Alex’s pomegranate chapstick, and he thinks he liked it better than the blush pink lipgloss Chloe is wearing. Why he’s even making that comparison, he doesn’t know, but as he chews on his bottom lip and catches that little sugary hint of lipgloss, all he can think of is pomegranate.
Zach tells Chloe that he’s happy for her. Declines her invitation to meet up on the steps some time, because for some reason he just doesn’t know how to not be a shitty person anymore. Downs the rest of his drink and tells himself that he’s fine, that everything is fine.
And then he gets into a car with Clay Jensen, and everything is most definitely not fine.
3.
“You are a goddamn nightmare, so please -” Zach’s hands shake. Or, well, his cast-less hand shakes. He can’t quite tell if the other is trembling along with it or not - “Please just stay the fuck out of my life. Forever.”
The hurt is evident on Clay’s face, but Zach is so far past the point of caring. This isn’t something that he can do anymore, being around Clay, being friends with Clay. Not after the latest bullshit that Clay has put him through.
He doesn’t want to be an asshole, but there are boundaries. There are lines, and Clay has crossed all of them.
Zach has priorities, after all, and at this point, Clay is absolutely nowhere on that list.
(Zach’s not really sure how high he himself is on that list either, but it’s at least higher than Clay.)
He leaves him standing there, limps away on his shitty leg and curses the day he ever met Clay Jensen.
He’s so busy seething that he doesn’t notice Alex coming over to him until he feels a tap on his shoulder. It makes him flinch, just a little, because he’s a complete shitshow, and Alex winces in sympathy.
“Hey, man,” Zach says, once he’s recovered. He uses his good hand to spin the dial on his locker, swearing under his breath when he fucks up the combination. He’s still not processing things all that well, concussion and all, and with that on top of having to use his non-dominant hand, his fine motor skills aren’t exactly at their best.
Alex pushes him aside, gently, with the hand that’s still on his shoulder, and takes his place in front of the locker. Expertly inputs Zach’s combination as if it’s his own, and, at Zach’s baffled look, says, “You told me the combination while you were high on pain meds, no prompting or anything. They gave you the good shit, those first few days.”
Makes sense, he figures. He doesn’t remember the first few days in the hospital well enough to dispute it.
(He remembers some things.
The anger. The incessant questions from his mom. His sister crying. The flashbacks he’d had, the panic attacks, about when his dad died - some of them, at least.
Being surprised that Alex had visited, knowing his history with hospitals. Watching Alex try to hide how badly his hands were shaking from being there. Having Alex sit with him for hours on end while the TV played shows Zach didn’t even know the names of, while nurses shuffled in and out of the room, while Zach drifted in and out of consciousness.
The rest is hazy.)
Zach hums. “Well, thanks.”
There’s an awkward sort of shuffle, in which they both try to sidestep around each other but end up moving the same way once, twice, three times, before Alex murmurs, “Jesus fuck,” and grabs Zach’s backpack out of the locker.
He doesn’t offer it to him, instead just slinging it over his shoulder along with his own like Zach used to do for Alex - he was the only one Alex let carry his stuff without protest or complaint, and it always made him feel some weird kind of special - and Zach doesn’t bother asking for it. Just thanks him again and starts toward their shared first class.
They fall into step together, and this time it’s Alex who has to slow down to keep in time with Zach.
He thinks, How the tables have turned, just as Alex says aloud, “Ah, how the turn tables.”
Zach snorts, laughs into his hand as Alex grins at him. Thinks of vodka mixed with whiskey and a hint of tequila, thinks of sympathetic nurses and IV lines and I’m sorry to tell you this but, thinks of broken bones that will heal and broken hearts that will not.
He stumbles on his bad leg. Alex catches him easily, saying nothing as he helps Zach right himself, and continues walking, but now with his right arm hooked carefully through Zach’s left. They limp down the hallway together, slowly, other students shifting out of their way as they pass, and Zach says, “Y’know, if you came over to tell me to cut Jensen some slack -”
“I didn’t,” Alex says. His arm tightens around Zach’s.
“Good.”
They keep walking. Zach’s knee throbs dully, and he wonders how bad it would be if he doubled up his prescription pain meds.
He won’t, because he only has so many pills and he’d rather deal with the dull ache than run out and be left with the non-so-dull pain, but the longer he’s on his feet the closer he gets to saying fuck it. After all, what’s a little liver damage in exchange for a painless existence?
Not much, he thinks. Maybe there’s something to be said about short-term solutions versus long-term problems. Or maybe he’s just remembering the saying wrong.
As they’re turning the corner to head into the science wing of the school - first period physics, one of the worst decisions Zach has ever made - Alex says, “I punched him in the face when he told us what happened.”
Zach stops, turning to stare at Alex, who gives him a look somewhere between carefully casual and faintly sheepish. Someone bumps into him as they pass, throwing an apology over their shoulder and making Alex pull him, still ever so carefully, toward the wall.
“Seriously?” Zach asks, and it’s only a little incredulous. He’s surprised, in a way, because despite the number of fights Alex has managed to get involved in, he’s not actually the violent type. But he’s also not surprised at all, because violent or not, Alex has always been impulsive. And short-tempered.
(And fiercely protective of the people he cares about, the ones he let into his life. Really into it.)
Alex lifts his chin. “Yeah. I, uh - dislocated his jaw and everything. So if you think his face looks a little off, that’s why.”
He didn’t. Hadn’t noticed, in the midst of his almost blinding anger, but now that he thinks about it, Clay’s jaw did look a little crooked.
Zach snorts again - a loud, ugly sound that draws a surprised laugh from Alex - and then they’re both laughing, doubling over in the middle of the science wing with their arms still tucked around each other. They almost bump their heads together multiple times, and they actually do, once, but it just makes them laugh harder. Alex untangles their arms to press a hand to his mouth, muffling his giggles, and in this moment Zach is struck by how distinctly happy Alex looks.
His eyes catch on the ring Alex is wearing - it’s the one Zach got him, months ago, when it’d been exactly a year since his attempt. Alex had told everyone not to make a big deal out of it, that he didn’t want or need it to be a thing , but Zach was still dead set on commemorating Alex’s recovery somehow. He’d seen it online, when he was up late and curious about the relationship between semicolons and suicide survival, a simple black ring with a semicolon engraved in it. He’d bought it at 12:47 AM, months before the anniversary even rolled around, and left it for Alex when he stayed over the night of the anniversary along with a note that simply read, I love you. I’m grateful you’re alive. - Z.
After a while, Alex had switched from wearing it on his right ring finger to wearing it on a chain around his neck, said he was less likely to lose it that way, said he preferred necklaces over rings anyway. Zach hadn’t noticed it in the hospital, or even once he was home and Alex spent every possible minute at Zach’s house, but he’s moved it back to his hand now.
Alex sees him staring. His other hand comes up to fuss with the ring, twisting it around and around on his finger almost self-consciously, and he says, “I, uh - shit was weird while you were out. This was like...a reminder, I guess, that you were still kicking, you know? Or some weird mismatched sort of solidarity thing, I dunno. Either way, wearing it around my neck wasn’t cutting it.”
He gets that.
He’s never mentioned it to Alex, but he has his own version of a ring too. Tattooed on his upper back, just below his left shoulder blade.
Zach gives Alex what he hopes is an understanding smile (thinks it probably just looks tired, but goes with it anyway). Slings his good arm around Alex’s shoulders and feels Alex lean into his side, automatically, like he always does.
(Like he didn’t, that one time on the rooftop, which. Extenuating circumstances.)
Alex is staring at him, an odd look on his face. “Hey, uh - are you okay? I mean, that’s a stupid question, but I have to ask.”
Zach knows what he’s asking, knows that it’s not about his leg or his arm or his concussion. Knows that the answer is certainly not yes - at best, it’s a firm maybe - but he squeezes Alex’s shoulder and says, “Yeah, man, I’m good.”
They start walking again, still in perfect sync, and Zach counts their steps - two, five, seven - until the lump in the back of his throat fades enough for him to say, “I missed you, man. I know you spent, like, every possible second at my bedside - speaking of which, you should work on your bedside manner, it’s kind of shit - but I still...I missed you.”
There’s layers of meaning underneath the words I missed you, bits and pieces of I missed seeing you outside of either a hospital room or my house and I missed being anywhere that wasn’t a hospital room or my house. If the look on Alex’s face is anything to go by, he hears them all.
“I missed you too, Zach,” he says back, and something - an indiscernible, indescribable something - about the way he says Zach’s name, about the way his eyes shine as he looks up at him, makes Zach’s chest ache.
3.5
It’s not that he’s suicidal.
He thinks, perhaps, that he might not have cared as much as he should if the car crash had killed him. Either one of them. But as far as he knows, that doesn’t make him suicidal. It just makes him tired.
And he is. So fucking tired. Of all of this.
Of the worry and the anxiety and the constant looking over his shoulder. The lack of sleep and the racing thoughts that are only quieted with liquor. The voice in the back of his head that whispers to him every now and then, the one that says This could be over if you just… The one that Zach has never quite figured out how to ignore.
But no, he’s not suicidal. Suicidal is a strong word, one that means tired of being alive but in a way that runs much deeper than Zach’s. In a way that makes a wonderful boy like Alex, an incredible girl like Hannah, decide that enough is enough. In a way that Zach tells himself, every morning when he wakes up, is not the same as what he felt just hours before when it had just passed 3 AM and he still couldn’t sleep.
If the car crash had killed him, it would’ve been almost like...poetic justice. So ironic that he survived one car crash just to ultimately die in another.
It wouldn’t be suicide, then, no matter how okay with it he might’ve been. It would’ve been a tragic accident, something that played on the local news for a day or two, maybe three if he was lucky, and then it would be forgotten by most.
And maybe the by most part is what’s keeping him from veering into what he knows is truly suicidal territory. Maybe the thought of his sister, of his mom, as pissed as he is at her, and of Alex and Justin and Jess and Tony and Charlie and even fucking Tyler, who he’s still never liked or really trusted, is what’s kept him from crossing that line. Forgotten by most means exactly that, and he’s not sure he could ever forgive himself for creating another round of pain and grief and trauma for everyone he cares about.
Whatever it is, it’s got him tied, still, to the world. To his home and his family and his friends. To fucking Liberty High School for another five months, and then, hopefully, to UCLA. To living, he supposes - or really, to surviving.
Whatever it is, it’s got him hoping he can continue to drag himself through the days and eventually he’ll forget how much he hates it. How every day feels like a week and every week feels like a month because all his feelings have gone so numb that by now he barely recognizes that time is passing. How the only saving graces are his sister’s smile when she beats him at Just Dance and Justin’s excitement when he hits a new milestone in his sobriety and the way Alex laughs when Zach does something just stupid enough to be funny but not quite stupid enough to be a problem.
He thinks Alex has saved him just as many times as he’s saved Alex. If not more.
(There are moments, when it’s pitch black outside and Zach’s still wide awake, that he wishes that Alex would stop saving him. That Alex would stop doing that thing where he’s just so good for no fucking reason and making Zach want to stay alive just for him.
He never lets himself think about that when it’s light out. Because those are the words of someone who’s good and truly suicidal, and maybe Zach is but only in the dark. Only when there’s an excuse he can make about sleep deprivation and insomnia, even if he’s the only one even asking for an excuse.)
It’s not that he’s suicidal. It’s just that, when it comes down to it, he can’t honestly say he wants to be alive.
4.
The lockdown starts in fourth period.
Zach’s sitting beside Alex in their shared English class, trying and failing to follow Mr. Bonovan’s lecture on Hamlet. His good leg won’t stop bouncing, and he thinks his pain meds are starting to wear off, all of which is much more attention-grabbing than whatever the English teacher is saying.
He leans over to Alex. “Do you know what the hell he’s talking about?”
Alex, who Zach had thought was dutifully scribbling notes, sits up straight so Zach can see his open notebook. It’s covered in half-finished doodles of music notes and planets and tiny guitars. “Mostly, yeah. Haven’t really been able to focus today, though.”
Zach nods, catches the words analysis and essay and gives up entirely. Puts his good arm on the desk, tilts forward to rest his head on his forearm, and closes his eyes. Feels Alex’s hand settle on his back, rubbing gently up and down along his spine.
“Did you even read the book?” Alex asks.
“‘Course I didn’t, man. I’ve been high on pain meds for three weeks.”
Alex snorts, his hand shifting up to the juncture between Zach’s neck and shoulder, gently pressing at the knots in his muscles. Zach sighs, lets himself relax into it, because he really just doesn’t have it in him to care how it looks to other people right now. Alex has switched his pen to his left hand and is still absentmindedly doodling, even as Zach can feel, too, Alex’s eyes on him.
It’s nice, in some fuzzy, faint type of way. Alex is strangely good at this, and even barring that, there’s something about just...having Alex’s attention, being something that is capable of holding Alex’s attention regardless of the lecture, of the doodling. Of, Zach thinks, most things.
He’s grateful for it, for something as tangible as Alex’s watchful eyes and cautious fingers on him. Because even though he can’t, really, of course he can’t, he’s always felt somehow capable of carrying in his hands the lingering feeling of merely being the person someone as simply and genuinely good as Alex pays attention to.
And then, just as easily as it came, he loses it.
The intercom blares. The English teacher quiets.
“Code Red. This is a Code Red, full lockdown.”
Zach misses the rest of the announcement. He’s much too busy watching the way Alex’s eyes go dark, the way the pen slips from his fingers, the way his other hand moves from Zach’s shoulder to his wrist.
Code Red means lockdown. Lockdown means active shooter. And active shooter means…
“Alright, everyone, stay calm. I need three of you to barricade the door. Turn all of your phones off, stay low, and stay hidden.”
Alex stands. Pulls Zach up with him, drags him by the wrist - his good one, thankfully - across the room, pulls him back down behind one of the desks in the back of the room.
Zach’s ears ring. His head pounds.
There’s so much noise. The announcement is still going over the loudspeakers, and there’s the scrape of chairs and desks across the floor as the other students drag them in front of the door.
There’s so much noise and it’s all Zach can process.
Alex slips his hand from Zach’s wrist and into his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tight. Zach glances at him, vision spotty, tinted gray around the edges. Blinks hard, once, twice, and squeezes back.
And then it’s quiet. Everyone’s sat down by now, huddled under desks and windows, and the crying has yet to start. It’s sure to come soon enough, the tears and the panic and the shaking, but for now it’s quiet.
Somehow, it might be worse.
Zach pulls his knees to his chest, and feels -
Feels -
Feels?
Does he? It’s a little hard to tell when all his brain wants to focus on is the silence and the too-tight pressure of Alex’s hand in his.
He does. He knows he does. It’s dimmed, muted, drowned out, but it’s there. The fear.
It sticks in his chest, fluttering in his throat, and he’s gagging, choking on it, shoving his head between his knees as he tries not to vomit on Alex’s shoes. Alex is saying something, voice frantic, trembling, but he can’t make out the words because all there is, all he has in him is fear.
The problem is, it’s not the right kind.
He knows it right then, as Alex tries to talk him down from what he probably thinks is a panic attack, that he is so incredibly not okay.
Because the fear is there, yes, but it’s not for himself. It’s for Alex and Justin and Jess and Tony and Tyler and hell, even Clay, but not one ounce of it has been allotted to himself.
He could die right here right now, on the floor of his English classroom with his best friend sitting next to him, at the hands of an active shooter during the second school lockdown of his life after surviving a roll-over crash just weeks ago (along with the drive here with his mother just this morning), and he doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care.
If the shooter got into this classroom somehow, he would fight tooth and nail, but it would be for Alex. And he would be grateful, all too grateful, if he died in the process.
Okay.
So he’s suicidal.
Fantastic. Lovely realization to have in the midst of an active shooting.
“It’s, uh -” Alex starts, and then stops to clear his throat when his words come out croaky. Adjusts his grip on Zach’s hand, shifts to press into Zach’s side. “It’s probably just a drill.”
It’s not, and Zach knows they both know that. If it was a drill, Mr. Bonovan certainly wouldn’t look so scared.
He doesn’t point that out. Doesn’t see a reason to.
This is so fucking ridiculous. It’s just one thing after the next after the next - at what point does shit stop happening?
Not so surprising, then, that he’s...well. Fucked up.
“‘Lex,” Zach murmurs, pressing his cheek into the top of Alex’s head because as fuzzy as he feels right now, he knows he wants Alex as close to him as possible. He knows, as he sits with this boy noticeably trembling against him, that he’d do anything - anything - to keep him close.
Alex inhales. Moves from under Zach’s cheek to run his free hand through his hair. Says, “Yeah?”
Zach hadn’t actually planned this far, and he doesn’t even know what’s going to come out of his mouth until he opens it. Until the words, “What if it’s Tyler again?” come out of his mouth.
And he hates himself for it as soon as he says it because Alex exhales then, slow but shaky, in that way he always used to when he was trying to hold off a panic attack.
Good going, dumbass, Zach thinks, and yet now that he’s said it he can’t stop talking. “He’s been off lately and I mean - I don’t even like the guy, but even I’ve noticed, and -”
He’s talking too fast, and the words don’t even feel like they’re coming out of his mouth, like they’re coming from his own brain. He swears someone else has to be speaking because even he can’t possibly have become enough of an asshole to keep going on about Tyler while Alex is freaking out beside him.
And yet he can’t fucking stop talking.
“- what are the odds of having two different school shooters at the same school within two years? What if Tyler snapped and -”
“Zach,” Alex says, strained.
He shuts up, clamping his mouth shut so hard his teeth grind.
Slowly, measuredly, Alex says through gritted teeth, “It’s not Tyler. It’s just a drill.”
He’s trying to convince himself as much as Zach, that much is obvious. Zach should re-up his pain meds, thinks it’s about that time, but to do that he’d have to let go of Alex’s hand and if he doesn’t have Alex to ground him he’ll end up popping the whole bottle.
Shit.
No one needs another suicide, attempted or successful. No one, least of all Alex, should have to go through that again.
He doesn’t want to want to die. If he could have any one thing, it’d be simply the desire to live. The desire to survive.
What would happen to his friends if he eventually snapped and downed one of the bottles of pills in his room? To his sister? Would it just be another added layer of trauma that everyone would eventually learn to shove down and compartmentalize or would it be the thing that finally pushed people over the edge?
Would May and their mother lose those last remnants of family that they’ve all clung to since Zach’s dad died? Would his death be the last straw for Justin, sending him into a spiral that leads to him relapsing? Would yet another suicide, his best friend’s suicide, take Alex back over the edge?
Maybe he’s overestimating his own importance to those around him.
He doesn’t think he wants to find out.
He can’t find out. Because if he turns out to be right, there’s no way he could ever forgive himself.
Alex asked him, just earlier, if he was okay, and he understands now that he needs someone to know he’s not.
So Zach makes a decision, one he’s been weighing for weeks, months, maybe even years.
“Alex,” he says, choked, hoarse, and undeniably desperate. Alex looks at him, eyes bright with fear but still focused enough that Zach knows the near-panic has settled for now, and hums in question. Zach would give anything to never have to see this look on Alex’s face again, but he will. He will, and he’ll be the one to put it there.
Zach swallows hard, hates himself more in this moment than he thinks he ever has, and says, “If we - if we get out of this alive, there’s - there’s something I really need to tell you.”
Alex blinks at him for a moment - Zach can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to stay grounded enough to process Zach’s words. Gives a choppy, off-kilter nod, and opens his mouth to say something Zach never gets to hear because the words are lost to the sound of gunshots.
The whole class jumps. Someone in another room screams. One of the boys sitting across the classroom gives a single awful sob before pressing his hand to his mouth.
“Shit fuck Jesus fucking hell,” Alex swears, violently, his grip on Zach’s hand tightening so much he’s practically crushing Zach’s fingers. Zach barely notices, much too aware of how Alex’s breathing has sped up. “N-not a drill. Okay.”
Another gunshot - pop. Alex flinches harshly against Zach’s side. His breathing is teetering dangerously back toward panic attack territory.
This is really happening.
“Christ, okay,” Zach says, voice surprisingly steady. He feels detached, distant - he and Alex are opposite sides of the same coin, apparently, when it comes to anxiety responses - but if nothing else, at least it’s tamping down the fear enough for him to try to talk Alex down. “‘Lex, hey, listen to me. Just focus on my voice, alright?”
Alex makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. It’s the only indication that Alex even heard him.
Zach just keeps talking, because amid all of this he’s forgetting the panic attack strategies he’s learned over the years. “You’re okay, Alex. Everything’s gonna be fine, you just need to breathe. Just - just focus on me, okay? Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to and listen to my voice, that’s all you need to do.”
“I did this,” Alex chokes out. Somehow, impossibly, his grip gets even tighter. “I - I - Zach, I d-did this. I ruined e-everything.”
“You didn’t,” Zach replies automatically, even as it takes him a minute to actually catch up and remember what Alex is talking about. “This isn’t your fault. I promise you, ‘Lex, this is not your fault. Breathe, sweetheart.”
Mercifully, Alex does. He inhales harshly, breath hitching, and then holds it - because apparently Alex still remembers at least one of his coping methods - for a few seconds before exhaling. Repeats once, twice, while Zach rubs his thumb along the back of his hand, and eventually his eyes start to clear again.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Another violent flinch, but thankfully Alex’s breathing doesn’t pick up this time. He squeezes his eyes shut, face twisting, and Zach wants to scream, wants to shout from the rooftops to anyone who’ll listen that Alex does not deserve this, that no one has ever deserved the shit they’ve been through less than this boy sitting next to him, holding his hand.
Zach looks at him. Traces the curves of his face, the hollows of his cheeks, the cut of his jawline, wanting to memorize the exact angle of his chin, the specific shade of his hair, the precise lines of his mouth. Thinks if Alex’s face is the last thing he ever sees, he would be okay with that. Thinks if he dies at Alex’s side, fingers intertwined perfectly, as if their hands were made to hold each other’s, he wouldn't really mind.
Then he thinks, Oh, and all at once, it hits him.
He is most definitely not straight.
Which, okay. Another fantastic revelation to have in the middle of a school shooting.
It makes sense, in some ways that Zach is willing to think about and around a million ways he isn’t.
His reaction to the casual homophobia from the football team, always a vaguely nauseating feeling that ran much too deep to just be allyship. The blatant lack of discomfort he’d felt when Alex kissed him on the rooftop. The way his stomach used to flutter, just a little, when Scott Reed would compliment him during baseball practice. And, most of all, the way he’s looking at Alex right now. The way he always just wants to have him and for Alex to have him in return. The way his world has come to orbit around this brave, incredible, beautiful boy.
And god, Zach wants him. He wants to hold his hand as they walk down the hall, he wants to fall asleep together and wake up to Alex’s bedhead and morning breath, and he wants to be his. He wants to be Alex’s, in every way imaginable. He wants him so badly, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do with that because it feels like he’s just opened a floodgate and there’s so many new feelings - or newly recognized feelings - that he doesn’t even know where to start.
So he shelves it. Decides he’ll process it later - if he’s still alive later - because holy shit, he cannot deal with this right now. He can think about how much he wants to kiss his best friend after the active shooting that’s currently going on around him.
(He hopes he hasn’t fucked this up already, without even knowing there was something to fuck up. He hopes he didn’t miss his chance when he pulled away, that night on the rooftop. He hopes he had a chance to begin with.)
“Zach,” Alex rasps, and Zach feels bile rise in his throat. “Please keep talking.”
He does. Swallows down the searing nausea, talks about everything and thinks about nothing, and does his best to breathe.
4.5.
It’s a terrible, sickening series of events - the intercom blares. The principal informs them that the whole thing was a drill and the gunshots were blanks fired by police officers. Clay Jensen finally snaps, steals a gun from an officer, yelling and waving it around like a madman, and ends up getting knocked out and carried out of the school. And the whole school collectively decides to ditch the rest of the day.
Zach limps out of the school feeling like there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to process this.
But he can’t even worry about that right now because he’s got so much other shit bouncing around in his head, shit that’s gradually made its way to the forefront, shit that he knows he has to deal with now lest it just spiral even more than it already has.
Alex is still holding his hand, but now it’s clearly more for Zach’s sake than his own, since he’s got his right hand settled between Zach’s shoulder blades and his left held out for Zach to clutch so Alex can carry some of his weight. Zach’s grateful, especially since he only just re-upped his pain meds a couple minutes ago and they haven’t kicked in yet. He’s not sure he’d still be standing if not for Alex.
They walk, slow and quiet, down the entryway. Zach’s assuming Alex will drive him home - the tables really have turned - because he’s certainly not willing to call his mom to pick him up, especially after the shitshow they’d had just that morning when Zach almost lost it because apparently being in the passenger seat of a car is a trigger for him now. Alex seems to be on the same page as they head toward the parking lot.
Someone calls, “Alex!”
Alex’s steps stutter as he turns, Zach twisting around with him. Charlie is standing a little ways away, looking disheveled and stressed out but also...determined, Zach thinks. To do what, he doesn’t know, though.
Alex hesitates, glancing between Charlie and Zach like he’s silently asking for permission to leave Zach alone. Zach nods, releases Alex’s hand and immediately misses it, tells him, “Go on, I’ll wait.”
He gets a tired smile in return before Alex moves to meet Charlie. Zach immediately misses the press of Alex’s fingers on his back too, and feels, all of a sudden, acutely, unexplainably alone.
Watching Alex walk away, Zach notes the way his fingers tap against his thigh, clearly an unconscious tic per usual. Zach can feel himself trembling too, and he knows he can’t go home tonight. He'll lose his shit if he does. He thinks he might shake apart if he’s left on his own for too long, and he wants so badly to see if laying in Alex’s arms would bring sleep back into his reach.
He starts to take a step, intending to head the rest of the way down the driveway, but as soon as he puts his full weight on his bad leg, he has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out. His knee throbs, a searing pain splinting up his leg, and he’s just so tired of this, so tired of having to deal with one horror story after the next. He sits down right where he is, only bothering to scoot out of the way of the students still pooling out of school so that he can stretch his leg out in front of him and use his good hand to massage his knee.
The people who walk by him seem not to really even notice him sitting there. Zach can’t really blame them, though - he looks at a few of their faces as students walk by and each and every one of them just looks so deeply haunted that Zach doesn’t want to look at them either.
He looks at Alex instead. It isn’t exactly better, what with the recent revelation that Zach is trying really hard not to think about - he can’t yet, because he’s very aware that his other mid-shooting realization needs to take priority and if he strays even slightly away from that, he’s going to lose the courage he needs to tell Alex just how not okay he is - but it’s at least more familiar.
So he watches Alex and Charlie. And while he is vaguely curious why Charlie needed to talk to him this urgently, he’s really just...chasing the easy sense of comfort, of assurance, that always seems to radiate off of Alex. He wonders if it’s something everyone feels, something that Alex just has (or, maybe, something that he is ) or if it’s something only he feels. He sort of hopes, in some inexplicable way, that it’s the latter.
Charlie looks agitated, flustered. Stressed. A little desperate, maybe, in a way that reminds Zach a lot of his current self. Counter to Charlie’s obvious anxiety, Alex just looks confused and sort of nonplussed.
Then Zach blinks and Charlie and Alex are kissing.
And shit. Shit.
He missed his chance. He took too long to figure his shit out, to realize that holy fuck , he’s into Alex. And he knows it’s not his fault, knows that everyone has their own...path or journey or whatever, but it still…
Hurts. It still hurts.
It’s this layered sort of hurt, too, because first there’s the surprise, then the disappointment, and then the anger - not at Alex, of course, but at himself - except he can barely even process it because there’s so much anger at himself already present. And he’s gotten to the point where he feels almost numb, so deeply desensitized to so much of the shit that goes on in his head, which is yet another problem in itself.
This feels very much like the sort of moment, the sort of feeling, that would make most people cry, but Zach ran out of tears a long time ago. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried - be it happy tears or sad, angry or empathetic, scared or grief-driven. His body has long since stopped letting him.
That’s okay. If he starts crying now, he might never stop.
He looks back over at Alex, who’s got his hand on Charlie’s upper arm now. Zach’s throat tightens, almost painfully, as he watches Charlie laugh at something Alex said.
Charlie glances in Zach’s direction - Zach promptly ducks his head even though he’s got no real reason to be worried about Charlie seeing him stare - before saying something to Alex, something between a smile and a smirk on his face. Alex huffs a laugh in return, one that Zach can’t hear but that he feels all the same, one that buries itself in his chest like a hatchet and twists and twists and twists until he feels like he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore.
And Zach knows, then, that he can’t tell Alex how he feels. He won’t, because he sees now that in the months between now and that kiss, Alex has moved on. Gotten over whatever stupid little crush he had or found a way to phase Zach out of his abiding sexuality crisis. Or maybe, probably - because really, he’s never quite been able to shake that little bit of confusion as to why Alex even wants to be around him as much as he does - he’d never actually liked Zach that way and the kiss was just...a kiss. An adrenaline-fueled, post-near death experience kiss that stemmed from confusion and anxiety and the mere fact that, according to Alex, Zach was the first person he wanted to tell anyway. A kiss that, in the end, meant nothing.
He needs Alex too much to ruin their friendship for this.
He understands, now, what it was that he felt when Alex talked about Winston. What he didn’t feel when Chloe told him she had a boyfriend. What he can’t stop feeling now, as he sits and stares and still doesn’t cry, not for lack of wanting but for lack of ability.
But if Alex has moved on, then so will he.
He wishes he could just tuck this realization away, put it back where it had laid dormant for so long. Because he knows that he won’t tell Alex, that he can’t , for fear of ruining the healthiest relationship he’s ever had, and it’d be much easier to ignore his feelings if he could go back to when he didn’t even know they existed.
But he can’t, of course, and so he’ll deal.
He’ll deal, because that’s all he does lately anyway. He’ll deal, and he’ll keep his mouth shut all the while, even if it ends up being the thing that kills him.
(He thinks it might kill him.)
5.
The walk to the parking lot is quiet. Alex is entirely lost in thought and Zach is all too focused on trying to remember how to put one foot in front of the other and pretending his chest isn’t painfully tight.
He wants to reach for Alex’s hand, wants to lean into him and have Alex squeeze his fingers in return, but he won’t. Can’t, because he can’t erase the idyllic picture of Alex kissing another boy and feels like it’s wrong to hold his hand now.
He wants Alex to reach for him instead, but at the same time he doesn’t. Because if this is life now, if he’s meant to settle into a world in which he is silently in love with his best friend because he’d rather be quiet than alone, then he needs to take a step back.
(A small step, but a step nonetheless.)
He doesn’t really know how to do that, but he’ll figure it out.
They find Alex’s car in the front of the lot, only a few spots down from the handicapped parking section, almost like he’d known he’d end up taking Zach home and deliberately made the distance between the school and his car as short as possible. It seems automatic when Alex steps in front of him to open the passenger side door, when he waits beside the car, leaning against the top of the door, as Zach fumbles his way into the seat.
Zach has to reach over himself to grab the seatbelt with his left hand, tugging it across his chest and twisting to try to click it into place. Alex doesn’t offer help, just watches him struggle - Zach feels strangely grateful for it and wonders if this is what it was like for Alex, too.
When the seatbelt finally clicks, Alex gives him a wry smile. “Your place or mine?”
“Yours,” Zach says, immediately. He feels safer there.
Alex nods once and swings the passenger door shut, heading around the front of the car to climb into the driver’s side. His limp is more prominent than usual, Zach notes, just enough to be noticeable. It tends to happen at moments like this, when he’s stressed or pissed off or, like now, still coming down from a panic attack.
“Are you okay?” he asks, carefully not looking at Alex, carefully not watching him turn the car on and shift it into gear. Alex is quiet, right hand lingering on the gear shift, as he pulls the car out of the parking spot and onto the road.
Zach has to look at him now to make sure he’s still here and present and alive, because he’s concerned and also a little (a lot) traumatized and neither of them have the best track records with cars.
(He does not notice how messy Alex’s hair is, tangled and disheveled from dragging his hands through it so many times, and he does not notice the muted but still visible flush in Alex’s cheek or the sheen of sweat on his forehead or the specific way in which his jaw clenches as he considers the question or -
Fuck.)
Zach pulls his gaze away, focuses instead on the loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt, twisting it around his finger and letting it go. Rinse and repeat.
He wonders if Alex heard him. Doesn’t know how he wouldn’t have, but wonders all the same as the silence lingers for two blocks, then five, then at least eleven. Zach loses count eventually.
By the time Alex answers, Zach has almost forgotten the question. He can still hear the awful sound of gunshots ringing in his ears. He can still feel the ache in his chest from the series of too fast, too cruel revelations.
They come to a stop at a red light. Zach feels like he’s suffocating.
Alex doesn’t look at him as he reaches out to curl his fingers around Zach’s wrist. He squeezes gently.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay.”
Once again, Zach misses his hand when he pulls it away. He rests his head against the window and lets his eyes drift closed.
He’s not asleep when they pull into Alex’s driveway, doesn’t know how he’ll ever sleep again, but Alex still shakes his shoulder after he puts the car in park, saying, “C’mon, man. I don’t know if anyone’s home or not.”
Getting the seatbelt off is infinitely easier, and Zach manages to slip out of the car with minimal pain. Alex is already at the front door, digging his keys out of his pocket to unlock it. He holds it open for Zach.
Zach steps out of his shoes as soon as he passes the doorframe, setting them neatly beside the doormat because he may be on the verge of a complete mental breakdown but he’s not a heathen. Behind him, Alex does the same.
From another room, Alex’s dad calls, “Alex? Is that you? Why’re you home so early?”
Alex winces, swearing under his breath. He glances at Zach. “Okay, uh - you can just go up to my room, I’ll be up in a minute and we can talk, yeah?”
Zach nods, watches Alex hesitate for just a second before steeling himself and heading into the living room. Once he’s gone, he starts the careful, exhausting trek up the stairs. Hears Alex’s weary voice say, “Hey, Dad,” and feels the ache in his chest tighten.
He counts the seconds it takes him to limp his way up the stairs - a frustrating one-hundred and fifty-two - and make his way to Alex’s room.
He sits on the edge of the bed and stares at his hands.
And stares.
And stares.
And stares and stares and doesn’t think because if he thinks, he’ll lose the already slipping grip he has on reality and if he loses that, he’ll just be stuck drifting along with no tether, no anchor. Just a blank face in a blank world.
He doesn’t want to be blank, but he also doesn’t want to feel, because feelings haven’t been good to him lately either. He doesn’t know how to do both.
Can he do both?
His hands are cold. They won’t stop shaking.
He almost jumps out of his skin when Alex’s hand touches his shoulder, forcibly yanking him back into the present. Alex promptly pulls his hand back, apologies written all over his face, and Zach registers the sting of his own fingernails in his palm.
He uncurls his hand. Alex sits down beside him.
“I said your name,” Alex says, still an apology. Always an apology. “Twice.”
Did he?
“Sorry,” Zach murmurs. His head is spinning, just a little. Slowly. Like a merry-go-round, rather than the windmill it normally feels like. Or maybe like a washing machine - like his skull is the washing machine and his brain is going round and round inside it.
Alex frowns, and Zach hates it. It’s a bad look on him - not in that it makes him look bad, but in that it makes him look sad. Or, more so in this case, worried. Stressed.
“S’okay, man.” Alex sighs, long and low. His eyes are a little distant but he’s here. “Are you staying tonight?”
“Yes,” Zach says, automatically. He can’t go home. “If that’s okay.”
Alex kicks him in the ankle, light enough that it’s more of a nudge than anything. “Of course it’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t go anyway.”
He thinks he hears something in his words, in his tone, something that says please don’t go, but it’s probably his own head. Projecting.
Zach nods, even though Alex isn’t looking at him. Presses the heels of his hands into his thighs and slides them up and down, a grounding technique he picked up from Alex - and, by proxy, through Alex’s therapist - and follows Alex’s gaze to the note that’s stuck onto the dresser mirror, written on the fancy stationary he’d stolen from his mother’s stash.
I love you. I’m grateful you’re alive.
Alex must have put it up while he’d been in the hospital. He wonders if it’s like the ring, a reminder of Zach’s continued existence, or if it’s about the words themselves, a reminder of Alex’s reasons to live.
Normally he wouldn’t ask. Or maybe he would, he’s not present enough to know what another iteration of Zach Dempsey would do in this moment.
This iteration, though, asks, “Was it hard for you? When I was in the hospital?”
He doesn’t know why it feels so important for him to know this. To know if three weeks without him at school, without him available to text or even to call for the first two, was as hard for Alex as Zach knows it would have been for him if the roles were reversed.
Zach genuinely thinks that being the one in the crash, being the one who spent a week and a half in the hospital and then another week and a half on bedrest at home, was easier than watching Alex go through it would have been. Watching Alex in pain hurts more, he thinks, than being hurt himself.
Alex still doesn’t turn. The question doesn’t really seem to surprise him, almost like he’d been waiting all this time for Zach to ask - or like Zach is teetering on the edge of delirious and doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.
Which. The latter, he knows, is true.
Rubbing the comforter on the bed between his fingers, Alex exhales, slow and controlled, his breath whistling through his nose. There’s a good four inches of space between their legs, a distance that feels, to Zach, carefully calculated, even though he knows it’s not. There’s no reason for it to be.
Nothing’s changed.
Nothing’s changed, except Zach has realized something he kind of wishes he hadn’t, something he kind of wishes he could go back to not knowing. Because now that he knows it, now that he has it, he doesn’t know where to put it.
He can’t give it to Alex, so he just has to hold it. But it’s heavy and his shoulders are already aching under the weight of his suicidal ideation.
Alex says, “Yeah. It was weird not having you around all the time. It felt like I was missing something, you know, but not - not just like I was missing my best friend. It felt like I was missing...a part of me.”
He’ll shift some of the weight of that then, let Alex carry a little bit of the burden like he did for Alex way back when.
He moves closer, erasing that four inches between them in one swift motion, and twists and tilts so he can rest his forehead on Alex’s shoulder. Presses as close as he can, not even caring if it’s weird or uncomfortable or obvious, and lets Alex wrap his arms around his waist and hold him so he doesn’t shake apart.
He is still shaking. But he is held together tightly enough that all of his individual pieces cannot break away from each other.
They are trying to, even now. They are trying and failing and it’s making him feel like he’s vibrating at a million different frequencies all at once and he doesn’t even know which one is right.
But Alex is holding him and Alex is solid and steady and possesses only one, maybe two, frequencies, like people are meant to, and Alex sounds like he’s crying when he says, “Zach, what’s going on?”
The not knowing is worse. Zach knows it is because he’s been the one who didn’t know. He’s been the one who spent so long not knowing that when he found out it hurt more than he ever would have thought possible and he can’t do that to Alex.
(Knowing will hurt him too, says Zach’s brain.
I wish I’d known, Zach snaps back, then, Fuck you. You’re the reason I’m in this mess.)
“I’m not okay,” he says, muffled in Alex’s shirt. Alex runs his hand up and down Zach’s spine, but otherwise doesn’t move. “I’m not okay in, like, any sense of the word, and I - I don’t know what to do. Alex, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
Alex’s other hand finds Zach’s hair, fingers gently scratching at his scalp. He’s tense, noticeably, but he still manages to keep his tone soft, soothing, placating as he says, “Okay. Alright. It’s okay if you’re not. We can figure it out, just - tell me what’s wrong?”
Zach shakes and shakes and shakes.
Alex leans back, just enough to look him in the eyes, and he is crying, his lashes wet with tears. He cups Zach’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, and he whispers, “Zach, hey. Sweetheart.”
He smiles as he says it - a small, sad smile as the word sweetheart falls out of his mouth, discordant, conflicting, against the tear tracks along his cheeks. Zach knows immediately that all it would take for Alex to get him to do anything, everything, is just to call him sweetheart.
“Talk to me,” Alex murmurs. Zach reaches up with his good hand to wrap his fingers around Alex’s wrist.
It’s so quietly intimate, so terribly gentle, and Zach knows this is the opposite of what he needs to be doing, the clear opposite of taking a step back, but he can’t make himself pull away. Because he wants this, and it’s not even about Alex - it is , but it isn’t. It’s about being held and being comforted and consoled and close to someone, whether it’s Alex or someone else.
It’s nicer, though, with Alex.
Zach closes his eyes, because he knows that if he has to look at Alex during this, he’ll never get the words out.
“I think I need help. I’m not okay, I - I think I’m depressed. Like, clinically. I just - I’m a mess, Alex. I feel like shit all the time and I can’t sleep and I feel like I always either think too much or can’t think at all and the only thing that makes it better is drinking and I - I just -
“I think I’m suicidal,” he says, and the weight lifts, but only just. “I just - I’m trying not to be. I swear, I am, but I - Alex, I don’t know how to stop. I don't know how to fix this, I can’t fix this by myself. I can’t.”
He hates how desperate he sounds, but he is. Desperate.
Because he doesn’t want to live but he also doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to live but he wants to want to.
He wants to be okay.
Alex’s hands slide to the back of Zach’s neck, and he leans in to touch their foreheads together. He’s quiet for a moment, just inhaling and exhaling in that steady way he does when he’s trying to pull himself together. His breath fans across Zach’s nose, making him shiver.
“You don’t have to,” he says eventually, gentle and quiet and serious. His voice is as soft as his hands on Zach’s skin, and Zach needs him, now more than ever, to never let him go. “You don’t, okay? I promise, Zach, you don’t have to do this by yourself. I’m here, alright? I’ve got you.”
“Alex,” Zach pleads. “Stay. Please.”
Alex doesn’t point out the fact that they’re in his room, in his own house. Just says, “Of course. Of course I will,” and stays.
“How long have you felt like this?”
“I don’t know. Months. Since the beginning of the school year, maybe. Or since last summer. Or - I don’t know. Maybe since...since Hannah? Or since my dad. I don’t know. It’s just gotten...gradually worse.”
“On a scale of one to ten -”
“Eight. Most of the time.”
“Have you told your mom?”
“No. And I’m not - I can’t. The last time I tried to talk to her about shit like this, she basically told me I wasn’t allowed to be depressed. I can’t deal with that again.”
“Would you - do you want me to talk to my parents? I mean, my dad’s a cop and my mom’s a nurse, I’m sure they could help somehow. Maybe one of them knows a therapist you could go to without telling your mom.”
“I...I don’t wanna…”
“If you’re gonna say you don’t want to be a burden or something, don’t. My parents love you. They’ll want to help, especially after everything you’ve done for me.”
“...Okay. We can talk to your parents.”
“Good. Good, that’s- that’s a good step.”
“Right.”
“...Okay, I have to ask - are you - do you think you’re -”
“Breathe, ‘Lex.”
“Shut up, I’m supposed to be comforting you right now.”
“I know.”
“Just - are you in danger? Like, are you a danger to yourself?”
“I...I don’t know. No. Maybe. I don’t - I -”
“Hey, breathe.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t - I don’t want to die, Alex. I don’t, I promise, I just - I just want it to stop hurting. I just - I don’t want to die, Alex, you have to believe me. Please believe me, I - I can’t -”
“I believe you. Zach, hey, it’s okay, I believe you. It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay.”
They end up both sleeping in Alex’s room, curled up back to back, because Alex doesn’t want to let Zach out of his sight and Zach doesn’t really mind.
He’s not doing this taking a step back thing very well, but he figures there’s extenuating circumstances. He’ll work on it.
After the minor panic attack Zach had earlier and the awkward dinner with Alex’s parents, they’re both so drained that they’re in bed by 10:00. Zach can feel Alex breathing behind him, every inhale making his back press gently into Zach’s, and he’s grateful for it, for something to remind him that Alex is still here.
He still can’t sleep, though. He’s thinking too much and feeling too little and it’s making him feel a little like he’s floating outside of his body, which apparently is not conducive to sleeping.
Zach shifts, trying to at least get more comfortable, as if he actually believes that will help. It won’t, but he doesn’t know what will.
He hears Alex sigh beside him, tired but not quite exasperated, and stops, feeling a bit like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Zach,” Alex says. “Are you okay?”
It’s a terrible question, and they both know it. Neither of them mentions it.
“Yeah,” Zach answers. It’s sort of true. “Yeah, just...can’t sleep.”
Alex hums and Zach feels the vibration of it along his spine. “Do you need anything? I mean, can I - can I help?”
You help, Zach thinks.
“If you have a cure for thinking too much, then yeah, sure.”
It actually earns him a small laugh, one that feels like much more of a win than it should. There’s movement behind him, the bedsheets shifting, and Alex sits up and reaches for his phone on the nightstand.
“I dunno about a cure, per se,” he says, “but I do have a sleep playlist that might help.”
He doesn’t wait for Zach’s approval, not that he wouldn’t have given it, just goes ahead and starts the playlist. Soft instrumental music floats through the air, a quiet guitar melody that actually does make Zach’s brain slow down, just a little.
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
He can’t actually see Alex well enough to know if he smiles at him, but Zach hopes he does. Because he’s a mess who clearly doesn’t know the meaning of taking a step back.
Which, fine. Maybe it’s just a bad idea all around, because it won’t work. Not in that it wouldn’t theoretically help him get over Alex, but in that he’s practically incapable of not fucking gravitating toward Alex in any context, any space that they’re together in. He thinks it goes both ways, hopes it does - at least he’d feel a little less tragically pathetic then - but even if it does, it wouldn’t really mean anything.
There has to be a better way to go about this, but he has no idea what it is. And frankly, he’s too tired to figure it out.
“Zach, I can literally hear you thinking.”
Fuck.
“Sorry,” he says, and he really does mean it. Usually the only person he’s keeping up with this is himself. “Sorry, I just -”
“Can’t stop, I know.” Alex shifts so he’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m not mad, dude. I don’t care if I don’t sleep at all tonight, I just want you to get some rest.”
Alex is trying to kill him. He’s sure of it. Or drive him insane. Or make him turn around and kiss him right here and now at ten-something pm in Alex’s bed.
He doesn’t do that. He asks, “How do you do it? How do you get through every day feeling like this?”
He’s always sort of wondered how Alex does it. Not so much how he deals with the worst days, the ones filled with yelling and crying and staring at nothing, because Zach has been there for plenty of those. But how he deals with the other days, the ones that aren’t terrible but aren’t good either, the ones that feel like they just drag on and on in this sort of everything’s okay except it’s not because I’m not space. Because he’s been there for plenty of those too, but those days aren’t the ones that are helped with a myriad of coping mechanisms or through venting or hitting things. Those are the days that just happen, the ones that are just there, and those are the days Zach has no idea what to do with.
Alex hums again, only just audible over the music. He’s silent for a minute, musing, and then, “You have to find what you’re living for. The things you like - hobbies, music, whatever - and the people you love. Find the shit that makes you feel good and stay for those. Think of all the people you care about and stay for them. And then eventually...you learn to live for yourself.”
“Have you?” Zach whispers, like anything louder will break something fragile in this moment. “Learned to live for yourself?”
“For the most part. Some days, it’s harder than others. Some days I drag myself out of bed and work my ass off just to get through the day because I know my parents need me to. Or because - because you’ll worry if I don’t. Because I know that you’ll be waiting for me to meet you at your locker or coming to pick me up, and I know it’s better for you when I’m at school. I know you’ll miss me if I’m not, even on the days when it’s harder to believe that. So I get out of bed for you and my parents and Jess and Tyler and all the others and then I relearn how to do it for myself.”
Zach’s eyes burn with tears that he knows he still won’t shed, and he swallows hard around the lump in his throat.
He wants to say, I’m living for you too. You and my sister and Justin. Sunday breakfasts with May and Cherry Coke and all the dolphins I’ll get to study in marine biology. Basketball, even though I can’t play, and helping Justin with his math homework when he doesn’t want to deal with Clay and the way that you smile when that one song you really like plays. I’ve been living for you the whole damn time.
Instead he says, “Could you - would you mind if -”
He doesn’t even have to finish. Alex rolls over further, so he’s facing Zach now - Zach’s breath sticks in his throat as Alex drapes one arm over his waist and stretches the other out just above Zach’s head, wordlessly pulling him close and twining their legs together.
Alex exhales against his neck. Zach carefully slips his fingers into Alex’s, trapping them between Zach’s sternum and his hand.
Alarm bells are going off in Zach’s head, but they’re much too quiet for him to care.
His brain is quiet too. And he can feel, because Alex’s arm is tight around him and his left leg is settled between both of Zach’s and his torso is a firm line along Zach’s back. It’s grounding. Steadying.
Alex whispers, “Are you good now?”
Zach squeezes his hand. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He’s asleep within minutes, and it’s the first decent night’s sleep he’s had in months. He still wakes up four separate times that night, but each time he drifts off faster.
5.5.
Zach almost doesn’t answer when the phone rings.
He’s been ignoring his friends’ calls for weeks - except Alex’s. He always answers for Alex - at this point, so why stop now? As much of an asshole as it makes him feel like, he’s not exactly keen on moving from the spot on the bed where he’s been for the past hour and a half to grab his phone from the nightstand just so he can listen to Justin bitch about Clay or moon over Jessica again.
But maybe it’s the sheer fact that he hasn’t done anything or spoken to anyone all day - except Alex, once again, who’s spending this Saturday with his family but still found time to call - or maybe it’s just some innate Justin Instinct that makes him reach blindly for his phone. He smacks his hand against the nightstand until it lands on the phone that’s still blaring Bang Bang by Jessie J - apparently he left his ringer on and apparently letting Justin pick his own ringtone was a terrible idea because the boy has terrible taste - and brings the phone to his ear.
“What do you want.” He doesn’t even mean to make it sound so rude, but his voice is hoarse from disuse and no longer seems to care about his intentions.
Justin, though, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t see fit to call Zach on it.
Instead, Zach just hears Justin take one, then two, then three harsh, whistling breaths through the phone. It’s enough to make Zach sit up. “Jus?”
“Um -” Justin’s voice wavers, wobbles, wilts in a way that Zach has only heard from him once before, long before all of this. “I - Zach, can - can you-”
Zach’s already out of bed, for what he thinks is only the third time today - he’s been a little better these past couple weeks, with Alex trying his best to help him, but the bad days still outnumber the good ones. He tugs a sweatshirt over his head and an old pair of sneakers on his feet and heading downstairs. “Justin, hey, where are you?”
There’s silence for a moment, a much too long moment in which Zach wonders and worries and slips out the door.
“I’m - I’m in my - ”
Zach thinks, Please don’t say it.
“- old neighborhood.”
Dammit.
He’s already pulling his mom’s car out of the driveway, ignoring the fact that he is very strictly not supposed to be driving with a broken arm and two torn ligaments in his knee, and he says, “I’m on my way, alright? Can you meet me at the end of the road where your old house is or do you need me to come find you?”
“I’ll meet you. Just - just hurry? Please?”
“Of course, man. Do you need me to stay on the phone?”
“No, I’ll - I’ll be fine. Don’t get into another car crash.”
“Asshole,” Zach shoots back. The reminder doesn’t send him spinning this time. “I’ll see you in fifteen.”
Justin climbs into the passenger seat looking like death warmed over. Zach is keenly aware of how much the sight reminds him of the junior year version of Alex.
“Hi,” Justin says, voice quiet and small. He pulls his seatbelt on and then curls up in his seat, putting his feet up in front of him and leaning against the car door. Zach can’t see his face from this angle, but what he can see is Justin kneading at the skin between his thumb and his forefinger, the way he always does when he’s anxious or antsy or…
Craving.
Shit. Zach doesn’t know how to deal with this.
He remembers, though, what Alex told him once when he was...fretting, about not knowing how to help him. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just ask me what I need. I might not actually know - hell, I probably won’t - but it’s... just having someone ask is nice.
(Maybe the fact that he bases almost all of his crisis decisions on Alex is a problem, but that’s a question for another day.)
He should probably make Justin drive home, but somehow it seems like Justin would be worse off at the wheel that even he is and he doesn’t want to deal with his passenger seat issues right now anyway, so he just starts driving. Stares straight ahead and, to the battered boy sitting beside him, says, “What do you need right now, J?”
Justin glances at him, and the surprise is evident on his face. Has he ever been asked that before? Zach doesn’t know. He wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t.
At least his face is clear of the scrapes and bruises that Zach had grown used to seeing him with.
“I - I don’t -” Justin shifts in his seat, shoulders hunched, and Zach can see the exact moment when he pivots, the exact moment when he seems to process it all. “Distract me? I don’t - I don’t care what you talk about, it doesn’t matter, just - talk.”
“Okay. Well, uh - okay.”
He’s never been particularly good at just talking, but he’ll figure it out. “So I - have you ever seen Queer Eye?”
Maybe not the best topic to pick, but he’s stuck with it now. Justin shakes his head.
“May’s been making me watch it. It’s this show where these five queer guys - well, one of them just came out as nonbinary, so four queer guys and a nonbinary person - but basically, they go and spend a week with someone and teach them about self-care and help build their confidence in themselves and shit.”
Justin is most certainly not following, that much is obvious. He’s actually shaking a little, and Zach isn’t sure if he’s been shaking the whole time and he just didn’t notice or if Zach is actually making it worse.
Either way, he switches tactics. “Okay, how about - I can tell you about the time when Clay and I almost got arrested at that college party! Did he actually tell you about it?”
“No,” Justin says through gritted teeth. It’s snappish, irritated. “I don’t want to talk about Clay.”
Damn. Sore subject. “Okay, okay, uh -”
And he has no idea what possesses him to say it, other than perhaps the mere fact that the words have been stuck in his chest, sitting firmly on his lungs, and trying to claw their way up his throat for god knows how long now, but somehow the words fall out of his mouth.
“I think I’m in love with Alex.”
Silence.
Long, anxiety-inducing, dragging silence.
Zach thinks, This might be how I die, and then Justin looks at him and says, “Alex...Standall?”
Jesus. He survived a roll-over crash for this.
Zach’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and he’s - nervous, nauseous, afraid. His heart might very well beat out of his chest, but Justin’s paused in his fidgeting and his eyes are cloudy when Zach glances at him (before he realizes how terrible of a move that is for his stomach and for his driving anxiety), but with confusion and surprise instead of fear and panic and the haze of addiction that Zach has long since learned to recognize.
“Do we -” His voice cracks. Zach clears his throat and tries again. “Do we know another Alex?”
Justin snorts quietly and says, “No, I s’pose we don’t.”
Zach gives a nervous laugh that sounds awful even to his own ears. His knee aches.
And aches.
And aches away while he waits for Justin to say something, anything, more because he certainly doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say now.
Thirty seconds pass. A minute. Two minutes.
Then, abruptly, Justin says, “So you’re…?”
Zach starts to speak, and in the moment he really does think he’s ready to just say it, to let the words fall into the open like they did just moments ago, but as soon as he opens his mouth, he chokes.
His mouth snaps shut, teeth grinding and jaw clenching.
Damn.
He tries again and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is an odd, strangled sort of noise that he’ll never admit to making.
Justin laughs at him. Just sits there in the passenger seat of a car Zach is expressly not supposed to be driving and laughs at him, but it’s not in a way that makes Zach feel like he’s actually making fun of him. More in a way that says I’m your friend and I love you and that’s why I’m laughing at you, and Zach realizes then that he really, really misses this.
“Zach, dude,” Justin says, and he sounds...stable, relatively so. Which means Zach is at least doing something right. He touches Zach’s shoulder once, careful to avoid the sling on his arm, before pulling back to run his fingers through his hair. “Can you pull over for a minute?”
He does. Justin unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts to face Zach, sitting criss-cross in the seat.
“Zach,” Justin says again, as if he’s trying to drive it home. “Look, I - I’m kind of a mess right now - and also, it’s me - so I’m sure this isn’t gonna be the best speech ever, but just listen to me for a minute, alright?”
“Okay.”
Justin cards his fingers through his hair again. Zach wonders vaguely if that’s another one of his nervous tics.
“I know things with - with the sports teams at Liberty and the fucking awful culture of it all probably doesn’t make you want to - to come out to anyone who was involved in that. And I know that I was. I know that I haven’t...I haven’t been the best friend or the best - ally, or whatever - or the best person. And I’m -”
Justin sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. He can’t seem to stop moving.
“I’m sorry. For all of it, I really am. If I ever...made you uncomfortable or made you feel like shit with all the stupid jokes and the shitty insults, I’m sorry.”
Zach’s chest aches, but in exactly the opposite way as it usually does.
“I don’t care if you’re into guys, man,” Justin continues, so blatantly earnest. “I mean, I - I care, because it’s you and I care about you, but I don’t - it doesn’t change anything, alright? If you’re gay or - or bi or - what was that thing you said earlier? Non-something?”
“Nonbinary,” Zach supplies, voice croaky. He doesn’t bother explaining what it means.
“Yeah, that. You being into guys, whatever that makes you, it doesn’t make a difference to me. You’re my best friend - after Clay, I guess, but he’s being a dick right now anyway - and that’s not gonna change because you’re into boys.
“Now, you being into Alex -”
Zach smacks him with his good hand, but he’s laughing. Justin laughs too, catching Zach’s wrist and just holding it. He just stares at Zach, fingers loose around his wrist, until Zach meets his eyes, and it’s the closest Zach has felt to Justin in a long time.
Maybe they can get back to where they used to be. Or, preferably, somewhere better.
Justin tightens his fingers around Zach’s wrist, just barely perceptible, and says, “You hear me, yeah?”
Zach nods, because he does. He really does. And this time, when he opens his mouth, the words finally come out.
“I’m bisexual,” Zach says. And then again, “I’m bisexual.”
Justin grins, squeezing his wrist and then letting go. “Okay. Thanks for telling me.”
Zach smiles back and starts the drive back to the Jensens’.
(Halfway through, Justin turns to squint at him, looking vaguely impressed. He says, “Solid distraction, man.”
Zach laughs his ass off, Justin soon joining in, and they spend the rest of the way laughing at each other and fighting over what music to listen to. As soon as the words Call Me Maybe come out of Justin’s mouth, a suggestion he’d never make in front of anyone else - likely even Clay - Zach decides that Justin is much too comfortable with him.
He doesn’t mind enough to do anything about it.)
+1.
In the end, as all things do, Zach’s resolve crumbles as soon as he sees Alex in a suit.
They’d agreed to go to prom together as friends ages ago, so long as neither of them found another date. And since whatever Alex and Charlie’s thing was (Alex mentioned it only once, joking about how at least he’d gotten to reject someone once, but by then Zach was so committed to never telling Alex how he felt that all he did was make some dumb joke back and get his ass kicked at Call of Duty because he couldn’t pay attention after that) didn’t last long, both of them are “tragically single”, as Alex had put it, when prom rolls around.
Which is why Zach is now standing on Alex’s porch in an itchy suit and a blue bow tie that Alex had claimed matched his own suit jacket perfectly - because Alex is like that. If he’s going to do stupid high school shit like prom, he insists on going all out. It’s why Zach is holding the gaudiest, most obnoxious corsage he could find - because he’s like that - in one hand and an equally garish boutonnière that he couldn’t figure out how to put on properly in the other. It’s why Alex’s mom answers the door, yelling for Alex over her shoulder before smiling at Zach and pulling him inside. It’s why he’s standing in the Standall’s entryway, trying to tamp down his nerves enough to make small talk with Alex’s parents, when Alex emerges from the living room.
And god. Zach does not know how to handle this.
The thing is, Alex always looks beautiful. It’s because he is - beautiful, that is, and radiant and charming and lovely - but there’s a difference, Zach finds, between Alex’s simple, everyday, incidental beauty and the way he looks now.
It’s indescribable. Unbelievable, almost, how completely fucking stunning this boy is, how effortlessly mesmerizing. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Zach doesn’t drop everything and kiss him right then and there - how did he not know he was bi, god - because he never wants to see anything or anyone again. He just wants to look at Alex in his fitted suit and tie, with his hair swept to one side and a crooked half-smile on his face.
(His tie does match Alex’s jacket, he notes, though that feels completely and entirely irrelevant now.)
Someone is talking. He thinks it’s Alex’s mom, fussing over Alex and saying something about pictures, but Zach barely hears any of it. Alex says something to his mom, kisses her cheek, and then he steps toward Zach and all Zach can think about is how the blue of Alex’s suit brings out is eyes and how his side-swept hair frames his face and how stupidly, irrevocably, irreparably in love with him he is.
Alex reaches out to pinch the fabric of Zach’s jacket sleeve between his fingers, and he’s looking at Zach in a way that he has no idea what to do with, his smile endearingly (cruelly) soft now.
He asks, “Is that for me?”
Zach thinks, Yes. I’m yours, please let me be yours. He comes embarrassingly, horrifyingly close to saying it out loud before he realizes that Alex is pointing at the corsage in his hand.
Jesus. Get it together.
“Yeah,” Zach says, and hates how rough his voice sounds. He clears his throat. “Yeah, you, uh - you said you wanted to commit to the corniness, so, y’know. Corsage.”
For fuck’s sake. He can’t even talk like a normal person now.
Alex takes the corsage box from him, fingers brushing Zach’s. He opens it carefully, that damned smile still settled on his face, and bursts out laughing.
It’s this awfully tacky monstrosity, a horribly dyed rainbow flower in the middle and a bunch of fake leaves and baby’s breath and silver beads around it. He had to order it online to even find something this glaringly tasteless, especially in rainbow colors, but it was worth it just to make Alex laugh this hard.
“Oh, it’s terrible.” Alex pulls the corsage out of the box, looking it over with this ridiculous sort of glee. He glances back up at him, says, “Zach, I can’t believe you’re gonna make me wear this.”
Zach snorts. “You don’t have to.”
Alex shakes his head, already slipping the corsage onto his right wrist. “No, I’m gonna. Does your boutonnière match?”
“Kind of.” He’d spent another two hours or so searching for the closest match he could find. “Couldn’t find a real match online, but I got the closest thing I could. Couldn’t get it on, either - my arm was acting up.”
“Oh, here,” Alex says. He moves a little closer, plucks the boutonnière from Zach’s hand, and takes hold of the lapel of Zach’s suit. He’s so close now that Zach can smell his apple scented shampoo, can feel static bouncing off of Alex’s fingertips, even through his suit jacket. And Zach knows he’s staring, knows he’s probably being glaringly obvious, but he can’t stop. Alex deftly pins the boutonnière and steps back. “Alright, done. Looks terrible!”
It does. Zach grins. “Perfect.”
When they finally turn back to Alex’s parents, Zach realizes that yes, it absolutely is obvious, but perhaps not as much to Alex as it is to Alex’s parents. They’re watching the two of them with these looks , these so deeply knowing looks - Alex came out to his parents a couple weeks ago, so it’s not exactly surprising that they might be reevaluating a little - and it’s just so clear that they know.
Which, okay. He doesn’t have the energy to unpack all that right now.
So he doesn’t. He stands with Alex against a wall - then another wall, because apparently the lighting is wrong against the first one - and he puts an arm around his best friend and smiles and lets Alex’s parents take picture after picture. Pulls faces, holds up bunny ears behind Alex’s head, shifts positions whenever Alex’s parents tell them to, until they’re finally let out of the house.
Zach was, thankfully, cleared to get behind the wheel three weeks ago (the fear of being in cars while other people are driving has yet to fade, but it’s not even top ten on his priority list), which means he’s driving while Alex picks the music. He assumes Alex will just put on their shared playlist, the one they curated when they realized that there is, actually, some overlap in their music tastes, the one that’s just entitled zach has taste sometimes. He knows he was right as soon as Hozier’s Jackie and Wilson starts playing.
Alex hums along, bopping a little as he fiddles with the volume. He keeps glancing at the ridiculous corsage, a tiny smile perpetually settled on his face, and Zach’s actually sort of glad that he’s almost incapable of looking away from the road when he drives now because if he looks at Alex he’s surely going to lose it.
It goes on like this. Jackie and Wilson leads into My My My! by Troye Sivan, into Amy Winehouse’s You Know I’m No Good. They’re both quiet all the while, aside from Alex flipping between humming and singing under his breath, until Imagine Dragons’ Second Chances comes on and Alex goes silent.
They stop at a red light. Alex starts tapping his fingers against his thigh.
There'll be no forgiveness for all that you've known.
Oh these days, oh these days get heavy.
Shit. Zach should really take this song off the playlist.
It’s too late for that, clearly, so instead Zach just wordlessly offers him a hand. Alex glances at it, then at Zach - looks confused for a moment before his gaze drifts to his own fingers, erratically drumming away, and says dully, “Ah. Right.”
Belatedly, Zach realizes that he really did not think this through, because now he’s holding hands with the boy he’s hopelessly, tragically in love with on their way to senior prom while their custom-made playlist floats around them. But he can’t take it back now - and really, he doesn’t want to - so he just keeps his eyes on the road as Alex sets their joined hands on his knee, his ridiculous corsage tickling Zach’s wrist. And Zach is in love with him, he is, but he also just...loves him. In all the possible ways, with everything that he’s ever had in him. Loves him more, loves him harder, than he ever thought he could love someone, and it hurts , because he loves him so much that it makes his heart ache, but it’s also soft and comfortable and right.
He thinks, perhaps, that he was made to love Alex. That every little piece of him - heart and mind, body and soul, all of it - was crafted with Alex in mind, built for no other purpose than to love this one wonderful tragedy of a boy, this beautiful whirlwind of a person.
If that’s the case, then maybe he can find that line, the one that sits between loving someone by accident and loving them on purpose, and maybe he can find a way to cross it.
When they arrive at Liberty, Zach pulling carefully into a parking spot in the back of the lot, Alex makes no move to get out of the car.
Zach glances at him. Expects wariness, scepticism, half-expects Alex to back out and tell Zach to just turn around and take him to an arcade or something - and he would, without a second thought. Instead, he’s met with a disturbing mix of sadness and what he thinks is fear.
“‘Lex?” He squeezes Alex’s hand. “Are you -”
“What if something bad happens again?” Alex interrupts, and Zach would swear he blinks once and Alex goes from vaguely nervous to on the verge of panicking. He pulls his hand out of Zach’s, seemingly unconsciously, and runs it through his hair. “I mean, we - we don’t exactly have a good track record with dances. It was - with Tyler last year and - and then the shit with Clay last semester, I just - I don’t -”
Zach catches his hand again, this time holding it between both of his own. Alex looks at him, eyes wild, and Zach really should have expected this - he’d had the same mini-breakdown just days ago, after all - but Alex had seemed so gung-ho on this idea of a normal senior prom that Zach had assumed he was fine.
Which, as everything seems to, has come back to bite him now. Typical.
“Alex,” he says, gently, soothingly. “I need you to breathe. Everything’s going to be fine, okay? We’re gonna go to prom like normal kids, and we’re gonna dance and drink shitty punch and have fun. Someone will inevitably spike the punch, and then you won’t let me drink it anymore - which, thanks in advance for that. And we’ll make fun of all the drunk people and you’ll critique everyone’s outfits like you’re Tan from Queer Eye and some random people we barely know will get crowned Prom King and Queen and it’ll be good , ‘Lex. It’s gonna be so good, okay?”
He’s acutely aware of how close they are, of how soft Alex’s hands are in his, of how the blue in Alex’s suit compliments his eyes. And of how Alex is looking at him, now, like Zach is the only thing keeping him from falling off the deep end.
It feels like a capital-M Moment, like that climactic scene in a coming-of-age movie where the main character and their love interest finally kiss. It feels like something big just has to happen right now, because Alex just looks so fucking fond and he’s so fucking beautiful and he makes Zach feel warm and fuzzy and all those other cliches.
But Alex looks away, sniffing quietly, and the moment ends.
In one swift motion, Alex pulls his hands away, unbuckles his seatbelt, and slips out of the car. It takes Zach a second to catch up, but as soon as he does, he follows.
They meet at the front of the car. Zach offers him an arm. Alex gives him a tight smile, touches Zach’s elbow once, and steps in front of him. He reaches out, fingers finding Zach’s bowtie and carefully straightening it out, so close that Zach can feel Alex’s breath against his jaw. His collarbone tingles under Alex’s touch, a gentle hum of electricity running from Alex’s fingertips into his skin.
Zach’s frozen, standing stock-still as Alex moves from his presumably straightened bowtie to brush a couple stray strands of hair off of Zach’s forehead. His eyes roam Zach’s face for what feels like hours before he steps back and murmurs, “Better. Now we can go.”
And so they do. Alex loops his arm through Zach’s, blissfully unaware of what he’s doing to Zach, and they head, together, into their senior prom.
When they walk into the gymnasium, Zach immediately wonders if the prom committee was thinking in the same vein as Alex was, because their senior prom is quite possibly the corniest, cheesiest, most cliche prom possible.
There’s a mini Eiffel Tower on a stage in the back of the room. The floor has been made to look like cobblestone pathways. There’s arches and fairy lights everywhere, lit up city skylines stenciled along the walls, a giant block-letter Paris sign settled in the gymnasium entryway - as soon as they walk past it, Alex starts laughing so hard that he doubles over, forcing Zach to pull his arm away so Alex doesn’t yank him down with him.
It is hilarious, how well the prom committee managed to play into Alex’s - and by extension Zach’s - hopes for their senior prom. Zach has to practically drag Alex out of the entryway because he can’t stop full-out cackling in the middle of the doorway and the people who have come in behind them are giving him irritated looks that Alex hasn’t even noticed.
“Zach,” Alex wheezes, swatting at Zach’s arm. Zach huffs a laugh and gestures for him to continue. “Zach, dude, I can’t - it's Paris. They really - it’s fucking Paris.”
He’s not really sure how Alex even managed to not already know the prom theme - it’s been plastered all over the school for the past month and a half, after all - but he supposes Alex has had better things to worry about lately. Zach’s glad he’s getting a kick out of it though. It makes being here as Alex’s date - platonic or not - just a little less daunting.
And besides, it is pretty funny.
“C’mon, ‘Lex,” he says, once Alex’s laughter has started to die down enough that he knows the boy will actually hear him. He puts a hand on Alex’s shoulder, then when Alex finally straightens up, lets it slide down to the small of his back to gently push him forward. Spots Jessica standing at the snack table with Estela and guides Alex toward them. Alex goes easily, still giggling a little, and tucks an arm around Zach’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit jacket.
They’ve been like this lately, even more so than usual. Ever since Zach’s...confession, Alex has been, essentially, holding onto him as if he’s afraid Zach will disappear if he lets go. And Zach lets him, because he thinks that Alex might be right and because he loves the feeling of being someone Alex wants to hold. He’s going to lose it eventually, if Alex keeps up like this, but he thinks he might just have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.
Some mid-tempo song Zach doesn’t recognize is reverberating throughout the gym - he catches sight of Tony standing on stage in front of his usual DJ set-up and waves with his free hand when Tony glances their way, headphones settled over his ears. Tony grins and waves back.
“Hey, guys!” Jess bounds over as soon as she sees them. Alex lets go of Zach - Zach misses him immediately. He keeps it to himself - to give Jessica a tight hug. When they part, Jess moves to give Zach a quick kiss on the cheek. “You two look nice.”
“So do you,” Alex replies, effortlessly sincere, and he’s right, she does look nice. She’s wearing a fitted black dress with a silver belt around the waist, a slit running up the left side of the skirt, and her hair falls perfectly down her shoulders; the most important thing, though, is that she looks happy. Radiant, really. It’s a good look on her. “Where’s your date?”
“Uh…” Jess looks around, scanning the room for Justin. “He’s…around here somewhere - oh, there he is. He’s with Clay.”
Zach does see Alex glance at him when Jess says Clay’s name and he does see Jess wince, minutely, when she says it, but he brushes both of them off. He’s fine - well, not quite. His therapist says he still has plenty of post-traumatic stress to work through surrounding Clay and the crash, but he’s dealing, at least, and he’s far past the point where he can’t even hear Clay’s name without snapping.
Estela has drifted off by now, likely to find Tyler. Zach already feels weirdly uncomfortable, standing in the gym with Alex at his side as the entire senior class dances like fools to shitty pop songs and grinds on each other like the stupid horny teenagers they are. And then Alex tucks himself back into his side and Zach instantly relaxes.
Which is, perhaps, a little backwards - generally, holding the boy you’re quietly in love with, especially when you’re also a boy and your school is full of widespread homophobia, would make someone more uncomfortable instead of less, but, well. Here he is.
Jess is staring at them with that look, the same damn look Alex’s parents had before they left, and there’s a long, long moment in which Zach can feel himself starting to panic, but Jessica just says, “Did you pick out Alex’s corsage, Zach?”
He nods - Alex holds out his arm so Jess can look at it more closely, Jess snorting into her hand as he does. “Yeah, I did. Took me ages to find something ugly enough for my Alex.”
Why can’t he stop saying things? Jesus.
He’s saved, though, from having to say anything else by Alex, who leans in to say in his ear, “Can we go dance?”
His breath tickles Zach’s ear, ghosting along his jawline. Zach shivers.
They say goodbye to Jess, who peels off to go find Justin, and Zach lets Alex lead him onto the dance floor. Whatever was already playing bleeds into the opening trill of Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, a cheer going through the room as it does, and Alex only lets go of him after they’ve ducked and weaved their way into the middle of the dance floor.
And then they’re dancing. Alex really just goes for it, jumping and spinning and swinging his hips, and Zach does his best to match him, barely even registering what’s going on around him. People bump into him and step on his feet and yell far too close to his ear, but he ignores all of it easily, because all he knows, now and always, is Alex.
He’s so fucking in love and it burns and thrums and vibrates in his chest, but it also just sits. In his chest and in his rib cage and in his fingertips. It just rests there, quietly wistful and gently listless. He feels it when he inhales, he feels it when he exhales. He feels it in the palms of his hands. Has it and holds it and in a way, despite the ache, wants it.
They dance their way through three, four, five songs. Other people find them at points and join the mix - Tyler and Estela hang around for a bit before peeling off, Ani comes by to say hi and compliment their suits before flitting away, Jess finds them again with Justin in tow this time and they end up dancing in a group, bouncing around and twirling each other and laughing like idiots. It’s nice, as it turns out, and wild and sweaty and fun, and Zach has smiled more in these last twenty minutes or so than he has in ages. Part of which he knows is due to how brightly Alex has been grinning this whole time.
As Janelle Monáe’s Make Me Feel fades, some slow song Zach doesn’t recognize starts up. Justin and Jessica easily pair off, pulling each other into a slow dance, while Zach shifts on his heels and looks to Alex.
Alex isn’t looking at him. He’s looking instead toward the stage, eyes just a little cloudy - Zach runs through the last few minutes in his head, trying to puzzle out whatever might’ve triggered Alex, and comes up blank.
“Hey,” he says, loudly enough to be heard over the music but quietly enough so only Alex does. “You alright?”
He’s not sure what caused it now, of all times - it hasn’t even been a full half hour yet - but he’s not surprised that Alex would space a little. He’d sort of expected it, really, had gone into this night wondering how best to make sure Alex actually had a good time, so he can surely handle this and get them back on track.
Alex blinks, gaze slowly shifting back to Zach. There’s still another three seconds before Alex actually seems to recognize him, during which Zach waits patiently, and another four or five before he says, dazedly, “Hm?”
Zach exhales, counts five, six, seven to steady himself. “I asked if you’re alright, ‘Lex. You spaced for a second there.”
“Oh.” Someone brushes behind Alex, who tenses at the unanticipated contact before refocusing again. With the slow song still playing, the floor has thankfully stopped vibrating along with the bass in the speakers. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, I just - I need some air.”
Zach wonders if there’s any correlation between Alex’s sudden need for air and the timing of the first slow song of the night, then promptly buries that thought.
“Sure,” Zach says. “Do you want me to come with?”
Alex considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, I - I’ll be fine, Zach, you can stay here. I’ll just be a minute, okay?”
He tries not to be disappointed. He fails, miserably, because he can’t help but feel like his prom date (slash best friend slash…) is ditching him, but he does try. “Okay.”
Anyway, he knows that Alex isn’t ditching him. It’s just his shitty brain trying to tell him otherwise.
He’ll wonder, later, if Alex could see that little lingering bit of rejection-based anxiety - or, maybe, could just sense a need for reassurance, just like how Zach can usually sense his. He starts to go, turning on his heel and heading toward the gymnasium door, but he only gets about three and a half steps in before he turns back around.
Zach doesn’t get the chance to ask why, because Alex just walks back over to him, raises up on his toes, presses a lingering kiss to Zach’s cheek, and slips away.
His hand flies up, automatically, to his cheek, fingertips brushing his skin where Alex’s lips had been. He thinks, Shit fuck Jesus motherfucking hell, then, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, How the fuck did I not know I was bi?
And once again, because he’s a dick, Justin is laughing at him.
Zach turns, affronted and a little scared for that half-second before he remembers that Justin already knows. Jess has drifted off - Zach spots her across the dance floor with Ani - and Justin is just laughing in his face.
“Really?” he says, and, horrifyingly, his voice cracks halfway through. Justin’s laughter cuts off, his expression quickly shifting from amused to concerned.
“Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t -” Justin grimaces, reroutes. “Are you okay?”
“I -” Zach’s cheek tingles. His eyes are starting to burn, and it’s so fucking stupid because he decided he’s okay with this, he wants to be okay with this, he is okay with this, but now he’s standing alone at his senior prom and he’s stressed and confused and hurting, as much as he’s tried not to be. “I, uh -”
He and Justin have gotten a lot closer over the past few months. A couple long talks were had - about Zach’s mental state, about Justin’s frayed relationship with Clay (which has improved greatly since Clay’s stint in the mental hospital), about Justin’s addiction and Zach’s alcohol abuse, about Zach’s newly discovered sexuality and Justin’s fucked up relationship with sex itself - and by now, they’re closer than Zach thinks they’ve ever been. If nothing else, they’re definitely close in a different way, because frankly, they’re both very different people now.
So it’s no surprise that Justin knows exactly what he needs, grabbing him by the wrist and wordlessly leading him out of the gymnasium. Zach lets him, blinking back tears as he follows Justin through one of the school hallways and into an empty classroom.
As soon as Justin lets go, Zach sits down directly on the floor, leans back against the wall, and closes his eyes. Hears Justin shut the door behind them and settle himself carefully on one of the desks.
He says, “Zach.”
Zach shakes his head. Folds his arms across his knees and drops his head into his arms. Says, “Not yet, man. Just - give me a minute.”
Justin goes quiet. There’s a little bit of shuffling, probably Justin texting Jessica to let her know where he is, but otherwise nothing.
So he sits and he breathes and he thinks about the feeling he gets in the hollow of his chest when Alex looks at him with those eyes and he finally lets himself cry.
The tears that he’d buried so deep, far too deep for him to find until now, finally fall. They soak into the sleeves of his suit jacket, Zach fully aware of how damp the fabric is getting and not caring nearly enough to move. He just sits there, on the floor of a school classroom, and quietly cries.
Christ. He’s a fucking mess.
He can feel Justin’s eyes on him, still, and he hates this, he hates crying in front of people. It makes him feel itchy and self-conscious, makes him feel seen but in the worst way possible. But he doesn’t have it in him to care right now, especially not with Justin, because he’s just so damn tired and he doesn’t understand because he was getting better. He is getting better. He’s been in therapy for three months now - Alex’s mom, it turned out, did know someone who did pro bono work for traumatized kids - and it’s good. It’s helping, even if he did have a panic attack when the first time she referred to his drinking as alcohol abuse and he did have to make Alex to sit up with him until almost 3 AM when she told him, point blank, that he was depressed.
He’s been doing well. He doesn’t want to die so much anymore. He hasn’t had a drink in a month and a half. He actually answers his friends’ texts and calls, most of the time. He’s still depressed, that much is obvious, but he’s working on it.
And yet here he is, crying over a boy.
(It feels wrong, somehow, to diminish it like that. To reduce Alex - strong, brave, incredible Alex - to just a boy. But in the end, that’s what he is. A boy. One that Zach loves and one that Zach wishes he didn’t.)
He doesn’t know how much time passes - a minute, ten minutes, four hours - before Justin speaks up again, but eventually he says, “Zach. You’re self-destructing.”
He looks up, vision blurred through the tears. “What?”
“I - not to sound like my group therapist,” Justin says, despite having slipped into what Zach has dubbed his therapist voice, something that’s normally reserved for talking Clay down, “but this is - this is a pretty textbook case of self-destructing, man. You just replaced drinking with...having this secret and then making yourself feel like shit for keeping it.”
Zach stares at him. Sniffs once, twice.
Think back to all those little moments where he wanted to tell Alex and didn’t. Thinks about one particularly rough night spent at Alex’s place and about Nothing you could do or say would ever make me look at you differently and about how he knows it’s true and yet still refuses to let go of this thing that’s been eating at his insides for who even knows how long.
He says, quietly, “Oh.”
Justin snorts, derisive and yet sympathetic. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’”
Does this still count as getting better? He’s replaced one thing with another, yes, but isn’t the replacement at least...less harmful?
Granted, almost anything is less harmful than borderline alcoholism, but still.
Before he can slip too far, Justin is already moving to sit beside him. He bumps his shoulder into Zach’s. “Dude, quit thinking so hard. You’re not, like, backsliding or some shit. You’re just figuring things out. Learning shit - or unlearning it, I don’t know. Either way, it’s not something to freak out over.”
Zach makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Little late for that, but thanks.”
Justin bumps his shoulder again, but this time it’s practically a full-body shove. Zach tips sideways, automatically hitting back at him as he straightens back up, laughs as he calls Justin an asshole and as Justin flicks him in the temple.
Zach wipes at his face with his sleeve. Wonders, vaguely, if Alex has gone back to the gym yet, wonders if he’s looking for him.
“So...” he says, voice hoarse. He sniffles again, clears his throat, starts over. “So what do I do?”
He doesn’t know why he’s asking. It’s not like he actually expects Justin to give him an answer, he just...wishes someone would.
Justin sighs, shifts to sit with his legs folded underneath him, and he gets this weirdly pensive look on his face, like he’s contemplating something much bigger than Zach’s love life. It’s times like these, little moments like this, that remind him just how great of a friend Justin is, when he’s actually here and sober. Zach’s grateful to have him - he always has been, but more so for post-Bryce Justin, the one who finally stopped acting like a showboating douchebag even though he’s never really been one.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” Justin answers. He sounds regretful. “It’s your decision, Zach, you have to make it. All I can say is just...do what makes you happy.”
Do what makes you happy.
What makes me happy?
“I dunno what that is, man, but - at a certain point, especially with all the shit we’ve been through, you’ve gotta start doing the shit that makes you happy. Clearly the world’s not gonna do it for us, so you’ve gotta do what you can to make yourself feel good. If not telling him will make you happier, then don’t tell him. But if you’ll feel better, if you’ll be happier, not having to keep this secret, then you should tell him.”
It’s sound logic. The only problem is that he doesn’t know which one would make him happier.
He tells Justin so. Justin frowns.
“Dude. Have you - have you even told him that you’re bi?”
“I -” Zach shifts uncomfortably. Wraps his arms around his stomach and grits his teeth as he says, “No, I - I haven’t.”
“Why not?” Justin asks, and despite the fact that there’s absolutely no judgement there, just harmless curiosity, Zach still feels vaguely defensive.
There’s a reason why he hasn’t told him, but it’s not one he’s proud of. Or really wants to say out loud. Because he knows exactly how stupid and self-sabotaging it is, and yet he’s still doing it.
He chews on his lower lip, running an agitated hand through his hair, and he says, quiet and stilted and sad, “Because I’m scared that if he knows I’m into guys, he’ll know I’m into him. ”
As soon as the words fall out of his mouth, something in him breaks. It cracks and splinters and fractures and shatters, and he knows, then, that he can’t do this anymore.
He has to tell him, because it’s killing him not to.
Justin sees it. It’s clear from the way his face shifts, the way his expression softens into this sad, sympathetic look, the way he slips his hand into Zach’s and doesn’t let go.
“Zach, man.” Justin squeezes his hand. “You have to know that Alex would never let something like this ruin your friendship. Even if it’s not the same way, man, Alex loves you just as much as you love him. You know that, I know that, everyone and their fucking mother knows that. If anyone’s going to be those high school friends who actually stay friends after high school, it’ll be you two.”
He knows. They’ve talked about it, even, about staying friends after Liberty - they haven’t fully figured things out, what with Zach set to go to UCLA in just a few months and Alex not yet sure what his post-graduation plan is, but they know that regardless of the logistics, the plan has always been and will always be to stick together.
“I know,” Zach murmurs.
“And you know that I’ll be here too, yeah? If you need me?”
“I know.”
“Good. Now can we go back to prom? I need to find Jess, and you need to find your man.”
Zach laughs, more out of surprise than anything else. Hums his assent as Justin uses his free hand to push himself to his feet, and he lets Justin pull him up by their joined hands before letting go.
When they walk back through the gym doors, Justin pats him on the shoulder, wordless but reassuring nonetheless, and leaves to find Jessica. And Zach straightens his suit jacket, adjusts his ridiculous boutonniere, and heads in search of Alex.
He finds Alex sitting at one of the tables along the edges of the gym, having a surprisingly non-heated discussion with Winston.
Alex’s back is to him. Winston has yet to notice him, too invested in whatever he’s currently saying.
As much as he wants to interrupt, as much as he thinks that if he puts this off much longer he’ll either lose his nerve or just fucking explode, he’ll wait. He knows that, no matter what he says, Alex is still a little hurt about all of this and that he’s been searching for some sense of closure. If that’s what this is, Zach’s not going to be the thing that ruins it for him.
“I never meant to hurt you, Alex. I didn’t even know you were...involved,” Winston is saying. Zach doesn’t mean to listen - really doesn’t want to, actually, but moving pretty much anywhere means ending up back on the crowded dance floor and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.
All Alex says is, “Okay.”
“I just - I don’t want you to think that this was all fake - that we were fake. ‘Cause it was never fake, Alex. Not then and not - not now.”
Now?
“I - what do you mean, now?”
Zach’s hands automatically curl, clenching into fists, because what the hell? Winston fucks Alex over like he did and then wants to do this right now?
He misses whatever Winston says next, too busy seething, but what he does hear is Alex’s next words.
“I, uh - look, man, I’m sorry. And I’m not just saying that, I - I really am sorry about...all of this. And I believe that you actually liked me. But I can’t do this, okay?” Alex runs a hand through his hair with one hand, rubs at the back of his neck with the other. “We’re not right for each other. There’s way too much...history. I liked you. I probably always will, in some way. But I don’t want to be with you.
“Maybe at some point, we can be friends. Or at least friendly . But for now, I - I’ve moved on, Winston, and I think you should too.”
Winston nods slowly and a sad smile crosses his face. For a long moment, he’s quiet.
Then his eyes drift over to Zach, who tenses automatically but holds his gaze until Winston looks back at Alex and says, “I think your date is waiting for you.”
Alex looks over his shoulder, easily finding Zach, and relief immediately flits across his face. He smiles. “Hey, Zach. Where were you?”
“I, uh -” He’s not prepared to suddenly be involved in the conversation. Zach shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels. “I was just talking to Justin, s’all. You feeling better?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Alex nods at the seat next to him, and his eyes are pleading. “Sit?”
Zach doesn’t. He steps forward and puts a hand on Alex’s shoulder, but instead of taking a seat beside him, he holds his other hand out. “Dance with me?”
The speakers have just started playing Hozier’s Work Song, the first few lines drifting through the air. It’s a slower song, one that Zach knows only vaguely but remembers as one that’d made him think of Alex the first time he heard it, and Alex’s brow furrows as he registers the melody.
Alex tilts his head. “To this?”
His resolve shakes - along with his hands - but doesn’t crumble. He nods. “Yes. To this.”
Alex looks down at his hand. Then up at him. Then back at Winston, just for a second. Then returns to Zach.
His eyes flit over Zach’s face, confusion still painted in the creases of his forehead, and whatever he’s searching for, he seems to find it after a moment. He places a tentative but steady hand in Zach’s and lets himself be pulled to his feet.
“Sure,” he says, and the weight of his hand in Zach’s is so much different than Justin’s. “Let’s dance.”
Zach leads him through the gym, leaving Winston sitting alone at the table. They weave around people, ducking past all the paired-off couples until they find a corner of the gym with enough room for them to comfortably face each other. There’s a split second of hesitation, and then Alex steps just a tiny bit closer and loops his arms around Zach’s neck, hooking one wrist over the other and lacing his fingers together. Zach sets his hands, lightly, on Alex’s waist.
They sway back and forth, slowly making a circle like they’re on an invisible axis. It’s much smoother, gentler, more fluid than the last time they danced like this together, that night in Alex’s bedroom when he still needed a cane to walk. Alex’s face has smoothed out, his eyes soft now as he moves with Zach, and wow, Zach really did not think this through either.
All he can think about is how damn pretty this boy is. How close they are right now, slow dancing at this ridiculously decorated prom. How Alex is only a couple inches shorter than him and he could easily bend down and...
He looks away, focuses instead on the Paris sign across the room, just above Alex’s left shoulder. Or tries to, at least - his eyes keeps flitting around on their own accord. He’s nervous, on edge, and he can’t look at Alex because that only makes it worse but apparently he can’t focus on anything else.
So it goes, for a minute or so. Zach is acutely aware of the fact that he’s slow dancing with a boy in front of the entire senior class, but he cares...a lot less than he would’ve thought. Maybe his nerves are too caught on the fact that he’s slow dancing with Alex to be all that worried about all the people around them, or maybe he’s just too damn tired to care.
Halfway through the song, Alex’s arms tighten around him. Zach looks at him, then, and he’s met with discomfort and a little bit of what Zach thinks is disappointment.
Alex stares down at his feet, forehead creasing once again. Zach’s fingers tighten on Alex’s waist in concordance.
Before he can ask what’s wrong, Alex says, voice stuck somewhere between small and strained, “Zach, if - if this is some weird way of trying to make me feel better or something, you don’t - I don’t need you to. I’m fine, and it’s - frankly, it’s kind of embarrassing.”
Zach blinks, stomach twisting. “What?”
Alex glances up at him, thinly veiled disbelief painted across his face, then makes an odd, strangled noise in the back of his throat and looks back down. “Dude, you keep looking around like you’re scared someone’s gonna see you dancing with a boy, and it’s - it’s fine, I get it, but I really don’t need you this just because you’re the only guy here who will.”
Zach really needs to have a word with whoever allowed him to speak, because while his brain is still trying to process Alex’s words, his mouth is saying, “Winston would.”
Alex steps back, arms falling to his sides. Zach winces.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Shit,” Zach murmurs. He shakes his head, holds up his hands with his palms toward Alex, who wraps his arms around his stomach and shrinks away - it’s almost imperceptible, probably would be if Zach didn’t know him so well.
I’m an idiot, Zach thinks. I’m a massive fucking idiot.
Then, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like his therapist, No, I made a mistake. That’s all.
The principal says from the stage, voice echoing through his microphone, “Alright, students! It’s time to announce this year’s Prom King and Queen! Can our nominees make their way to the stage?”
“I - I’m sorry,” he says, almost yelling now to be heard over the applause that erupts in the gym, stumbling over his words. He didn’t even vote for Prom King and Queen. “I didn’t mean - I shouldn’t have said that. And that’s not - Alex, I swear that’s not what this is.”
Alex’s stance relaxes, but only just.
It’s gonna be fine, he tells himself. He squares his shoulders, steels himself.
“Can we...go somewhere?” he asks, and the words come out easier than he thought they would. “There’s something I really need to tell you, just - not here.”
Alex stares at him, and for a second Zach thinks he’s going to say no. But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t - the tension bleeds out of his body, finally, and his arms fall back to his sides. There’s an odd look in his eyes, still, one that remains even as he says, “Yeah. Of course.”
Zach brushes it off, because he already has way too much too handle without adding another potential issue on top of it, and it’s Alex who takes Zach’s hand this time, loosely linking their fingers so he can turn and lead the way out of the gym.
Zach follows him, just as he always does, and he thinks maybe he’s found that line.
Now he just needs to cross it.
It’s when Alex leads him into the same classroom he was just in with Justin and closes the door behind them that Zach realizes he has no plan whatsoever.
It doesn’t exactly bode well for him, but it’s not like he usually has a plan for...anything, really. He’s gotten used to flying by the seat of his pants by now, has gained more than enough experience in the delicate art of winging it to be pretty good at it.
Alex lets go of him. Sits down on one of the desks in the front row and leans back on his hands, legs swinging through the air. He nods to Zach. “Floor’s yours.”
Zach inhales. Holds. Exhales.
He can do this. He has to be able to do this.
He’s handled so much shit over the past three years, been through things way scarier and way more potentially life-threatening than any high schooler - any person - should have to go through. This is nothing in comparison, because this is his best friend and because, even with the hurt and the fear that’s come with, this - the feeling that tugs at his chest when he looks at Alex, the quiet affection, the gentle reverence - is still the thing that people dream of, that they write poems and songs and stories about. It’s still love.
It’s love, and despite the long list of things that have ultimately fucked him over, love has never betrayed him.
Love is ugly and messy and painful, but love is also beautiful and stainless and healing.
Love, he knows, has two sides, and what you get depends on which way the coin falls.
So, standing in front of Alex in an empty classroom while their senior prom unfolds just steps away, Zach flips the coin.
“Okay,” he whispers to himself, and then to Alex, “I’m going to say something important right now, and I - I need you to just let me get it all out before you say anything, yeah?”
Alex straightens, fingers shifting up to the front of the desk and curling over the edge. He nods. “Okay.”
And for once, Zach doesn’t think. The words have been trying to fight their way out of him for ages now, anyway, so he doesn’t need to think. He just has to open his mouth and let them come out.
“So the thing is,” he starts, and then stops and takes a breath. His eyes still can’t decide if they want to stay on Alex or look away, ultimately compromising by settling on Alex’s chin. And then, feeling vaguely like he’s speaking through a sort of film, he says, “I lied.”
Alex’s eyebrows furrow.
Still waiting, praying, for this to somehow get easier, Zach barrels on. Thinks of I mean, I’m not into guys, and says again, “I - I lied. That night, on the rooftop.”
He doesn’t even want to try to decipher the way Alex is looking at him now, would probably misread it anyway. The tips of his fingers are starting to go numb.
“I didn’t know I was lying when I said it.” His voice tilts dangerously into the realm of desperation, and he hates that he sounds like he’s asking for forgiveness. “I didn’t - I told you I wasn’t into guys, and I - I thought that was true.”
The words are coming more quickly now, but it’s less like they’re flowing and more like they’re tumbling out, fighting with each other to make it into open air first. He doesn’t think he could stop now if he wanted to.
He can’t even look in Alex’s direction anymore, because the completely fucking dumbstruck expression on his face is going to make Zach throw up.
He talks to the ceiling instead. Thinks maybe he should have done this another time, should have practiced in the mirror first, should have written fucking note cards so he’s at least have some idea of what the hell he’s saying.
To the ceiling, he says, “It wasn’t. True, I mean. I - I didn’t know then, but I’m - I’m...bisexual. Yeah.”
It’s only when he hears the words come out of his mouth, like he’s listening to a recording of himself instead of saying it in real time, that he properly registers the fact that he’s just come out for the second time in his life. And it’s only now that he lets himself look at Alex, who, conversely, hasn’t looked away from him once.
Alex, who’s staring at him with wide eyes. Alex, who has stopped kicking his feet and instead has them pressed flat on the floor. Alex, who opens his mouth, then closes it again, as if he’s not sure whether or not he should say anything.
Then, true to form, he says, “Can I - are you done?”
Right. He’d told him not to interrupt.
Zach nods jerkily, hands shaking at his sides. He twists his fingers into the fabric of his pants, hoping to quell the trembling. Instead, all he succeeds in doing is making it even more prominent because now he can feel his fingers knocking against his thighs.
Alex moves to stand up, gets halfway to his feet before he stops abruptly. Belatedly, Zach realizes that it’s in response to his own unconscious flinch.
He starts to apologize, but Alex waves him off, settling himself on the desk again, and Zach clamps his mouth shut. He’s stuck somewhere between wanting to put off the other half of this confession for as long as possible and wanting to blurt everything out at once, and so far neither side has won. He thinks, though, that if he waits much longer to say what he needs to say, he’ll lose his nerve and then he’ll be back to square one.
(Or maybe it’d be square two, then, since he has at least come out now.
Baby steps are fine when you actually trust yourself to make it to the end goal that way, but Zach’s pretty sure this is the kind of goal that is better reached with one big leap.)
“Zach -”
“Wait, no, fuck,” Zach cuts in, and it’s much too loud and just a little too frantic. Alex startles, and Zach would apologize for that too but his mouth has already started on one path and he doesn’t know how to stray from it. “I’m not - done, I’m not done.”
He’s not doing this right. His heart is practically beating out of his chest, and his breathing is starting to pick up - he can feel himself veering toward panic, and he has to force himself to fucking breathe because he wants to do this right, he has to do this right.
“Zach,” Alex says. His voice is distant to Zach’s ears. He still doesn’t move, staying perched on the desk, even though it’s obvious that he’s itching to. “In for six, hold for seven, out for eight.”
Zach obeys. Counts out his breaths - three, four, five times - and presses the heel of his hand into the hollow of his chest, closes his eyes and lets himself focus only on dragging air into his lungs until the burning slowly subsides.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long for him to breathe easily again. And when he looks, once again, to Alex, his best friend is watching him with both concern and something oddly akin to pride in his eyes.
Zach runs a hand through his hair. It’s steady this time - steady enough, at least.
Gently, measuredly, Alex says, “I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but...Zach, whatever it is, you can tell me. Whatever it is, I’m with you.”
I’m with you.
Whatever it is, I’m with you.
Zach thinks of hospitals and clasped hands and near-death experiences. Of rooftops and high school parties and traumatic brain injury-induced temper tantrums. Of locker rooms and physical therapy and 7 AM rides to school. Of slow dances and mutual aid and hysterical laughter. Of nightmares and late night phone calls and failed birthday parties. Of dinners with the family and violent video games and sleepovers. Of alcohol abuse and sleep-deprivation and tapes. Of reasons why and reasons why not. Of bonds forged in fire and trust built amidst chaos. Of friends turned family. Of heartbreak slowly, carefully, painstakingly turned into hope.
Thinks of I want you and I’m with you and says, “I’m in love with you.”
A confession, finally given.
(A weight, finally lifted.)
Alex stares at him. His face is blank.
Now that Zach has started, now that he’s put those words out in open air, it’s like he’s free to put the rest of it out there too. Like those five little words were all that was blocking all the other shit that’s been sitting in his chest, lying in wait until he could find a way to let it go.
Finally, finally, the words flow.
“Alex,” he says. Then again, no longer wrought with anxiety but instead tinged with desperation and something like relief, “ Alex. I’m in love with you. And I didn’t - I didn’t know. For a long time, I didn’t. I don’t know how long. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know when things changed, but I - at some point in all this, Alex, I fell in love with you. Like, stupidly, hopelessly, only-happens-in-movies, head over heels in love with you.
“I just - I needed you to know. I need you to know, Alex, because I can’t - I can’t keep pretending that I’m not. It’s killing me.” He’s rambling now and he knows it, but he can’t stop. He breathes a watery, trembling laugh, smiling despite himself. “I love you. I love you, and it’s - it’s okay. If you don’t feel the same. I just had to tell you.”
It’s then that Alex’s expression finally falters, shifting from blank to completely fucking bewildered in a matter of seconds.
“What?” he chokes, loud and incredulous and all the things Zach would not have expected him to be.
And Zach doesn’t know what to do with this. He stands there, opening and closing his mouth like an idiot, because he doesn’t even know what question Alex is asking, much less how to answer it.
He’s saved from having to, though. Alex’s gaze drops to the floor and for just a second his eyes show nothing but absolute, deep-seated horror before he whispers, “Oh my God,” and buries his face in his hands.
Which Zach doesn’t exactly know how to deal with either.
“Oh my god,” Alex says again, muffled by his hands. “I’m so stupid. I’m so fucking dumb, oh my god.”
Zach blinks at him. He has no idea how they got here.
“I - you’re...not?” He’s beyond confused, but it’s almost automatic, trying to reassure him even when he has no fucking clue what’s happening.
Alex’s shoulders are shaking, and Zach feels like Alex’s horror has rubbed off on him now. Except Alex moves his hands from his face to run them through his hair instead, and he’s not crying, thank god - he’s laughing.
What the fuck.
“What the fuck,” Zach says, dully.
“Sorry, fuck - I’m sorry, I’m not - I’m not laughing at you, I swear.” Alex finally looks back up at him, and there must be something wretched in Zach’s face because the laughter cuts off as soon as their eyes meet. And then they’re just staring at each other.
The seconds tick by - seven, eight, nine - and Alex visibly cycles through at least six different emotions, none of which linger long enough for Zach to recognize.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.
Alex lands, finally, on something between regret and reverence.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.
“Zach,” he says. “I thought you knew.”
I thought you knew.
“You -” Zach didn’t know. He thinks he might, now, hopes to a god he doesn’t even believe in that he does. Hopes, prays, that Alex is saying what he thinks he’s saying. “Knew what?”
And Alex’s eyes are shining, wet with tears that Zach never wants him to shed - because Alex deserves the world, he deserves dry eyes and bright smiles and love and Zach wants to give that to him so badly. He’d find a way to hold a star in the palms of his hands if only that meant he could offer it to Alex.
Please be saying what I think you’re saying. Please.
Alex reaches a hand out. Zach steps toward him and takes it.
Their fingers slot together. Alex pulls him closer.
“Zach,” he breathes. “I love you too.”
Time stops.
“Oh,” Zach whispers. His eyes are welling up too now - he loves him so fucking much, and it’s only now that his anxiety finally starts to settle. “Yeah?”
Alex nods, brings his free hand up to carding his fingers through Zach’s hair, sending shivers down Zach’s spine. They’re mere inches apart, and Zach can feel Alex’s breath ghosting along his jawline as Alex smiles this soft and wobbly and oh, so beautiful smile.
And there is nothing else in the world that matters. Zach’s world has narrowed down to Alex’s smile and Alex’s hands and Alex’s eyes and Alex, and he thinks he’d be perfectly okay with it staying that way.
In the dim light of this empty classroom, Alex leans in to touch his forehead to Zach’s. His eyes flutter closed, while Zach might never close his eyes again if it means he’d always get to see Alex.
“God, Zach.” Alex’s hand settles at the crown of Zach’s head, his fingers twisting gently into his hair. Of its own accord - Zach can barely even think, much less tell his body what to do - Zach’s hand finds Alex’s waist. “Of course I love you too. I thought you knew.”
He didn’t.
“How would I have known?”
(He wonders, though, if he should have. If maybe he could have pieced it together if he’d just allowed himself to try.)
Alex laughs, just a little. “I thought it was obvious. I thought it was way too obvious for you not to know. For anyone who saw the way I am around you not to know. I mean, I told Charlie I wasn’t emotionally available and you were his first guess! I thought you just didn’t say anything because you didn’t want to embarrass me.”
(Well, that explains the Charlie thing.)
He wishes he’d known.
But they got here eventually, didn’t they?
“I didn’t,” Zach says, fingers tightening on Alex’s waist. “Know, I mean. I - I didn’t.”
“Yeah, I see that now.” Alex grins, and Zach wants to kiss him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life because it’s all the same. The jokes, the teasing, all of it. It feels like nothing’s changed.
“Zach. Are you going to kiss me or what?”
Except that. But that one’s a welcome change.
Alex opens his eyes, and it’s all desire and longing and the spark of a challenge, one that Zach is entirely willing to take.
Alex’s lips still taste like pomegranate.
The kiss is soft and sweet, their lips slotting together like they were always meant to, and Zach melts into it, just like he did the first time. But there’s no fear or panic or stress - instead, the kiss is charged with everything they’ve wanted to say all this time. Alex nibbles at Zach’s bottom lip, and Zach groans into his mouth. Slides his hand around to the small of Alex’s back, and he presses closer, Alex settling his legs on either side of him.
It’s not fireworks, like it is in the movies. Angels don’t sing, snow doesn’t magically start falling from the ceiling, the world doesn’t stop spinning.
It feels, instead, like coming home.
“I love you,” Zach murmurs into the kiss, feels Alex smile against his lips and squeeze his hand.
Alex shifts his other hand from Zach’s hair to cup his cheek, brushing his thumb along Zach’s cheekbone. Zach leans into his palm and lets Alex gently tilt his head to deepen the kiss.
There’s nothing sexual about it. It’s all quiet affection and tender adoration, and Zach loves him, loves him, loves him.
He’s pressing weeks, months, years, maybe, of pent-up feelings into this kiss - their teeth clack when Zach hooks a finger into Alex’s belt loop and he thinks he might be crying again, but it doesn’t even matter because it’s Alex .
Zach breaks away, moves to press his lips to Alex’s neck. Alex makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and tugs at Zach’s hair as he trails soft kisses from the hollow of his throat and along his jawline.
“Go out with me,” Zach whispers in his ear, then nips at his earlobe. Alex whines, fisting the collar of Zach’s suit jacket, his legs tightening on Zach’s hips. “On a proper date.”
Alex giggles - honest to god giggles. “Dance with me at our ridiculous prom again and I’ll consider it.”
“Okay.” Zach doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he pulls back. Alex laughs again as Zach uses their still-joined hands to tug Alex up from the desk and towards the door.
He stops halfway to the door, dropping Alex’s hand just to cup his face and kiss him hard one more time, Alex giving a surprised noise that fades quickly into a contented sigh.
Zach pulls back again, plants a quick kiss on the tip of Alex’s nose that makes his face scrunch up. And then he offers his arm to Alex, who looks dazed for a moment before he blinks a little and tucks his hand into the crook of Zach’s elbow.
And once again, they head to prom together.
Alex stands no closer to him than he normally does, holds him no tighter than he normally does, and yet it feels different somehow. Maybe it’s the fact that Alex is still smiling, even as he looks straight ahead, or maybe it’s the fact that Alex’s cheeks are still flushed red and his lips are still kiss-swollen - whatever it is, it makes palpable the shift in their relationship.
The shift is small, though. From best friends to, presumably (hopefully), boyfriends, from I love you to I’m in love with you. It’s different, sure, but at the same time, it’s still just Alex and Zach.
It’s always been Alex and Zach, and Zach fully believes now, with everything out in the open, that no matter what might happen between them or what might change, it will always be Alex and Zach.
Alex stops in front of the gym doors.
Zach glances over at him - gets caught up, for a second, on watching Alex bite his lower lip - and frowns when he notes the familiar crease between his brows. “What’s wrong?”
Alex is quiet for a moment, still worrying at that damn lip. He pulls his hand back from Zach’s arm - if there’s a split second where Zach panics, it’s nobody’s business but his own - just to slip it into Zach’s hand instead, easily linking their fingers again.
“Nothing’s wrong, just -” Alex sighs, tapping his pointer finger against Zach’s knuckle. Zach lets him, patiently waiting for him to work out whatever’s going on in his head.
It’s about thirty seconds before Alex turns to face him and, slowly enough to be understood but quickly enough that there’s no room for interruption, says, “You don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go in there and dance with me and kiss me in front of everyone, as much as I want you to, because I know it’s sort of a huge deal. You’d basically be coming out to our entire grade in one go, and I don’t want to pressure you into doing that if you’re not ready.”
Oh. It’s sweet, actually, however unnecessary. Zach is beyond ready for this.
Zach brings their joined hands up to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of Alex’s hand.
“‘Lex.” He reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Alex’s ear, brushes his knuckles along his cheek. Alex leans into it, lips still quirked up. “I hear you, and I appreciate it. But I want to do this, okay? I can’t hide anymore. I’m in love with you, Alex, and I’ve already pretended not to be for too long. I’m not ashamed of any of this. I’m not ashamed of you, ‘Lex, so I’m not going to hide.”
Alex’s face twists, and Zach has no idea what he said wrong. He starts to backtrack, but Alex shakes his head and Zach stops and just gives him a minute to find his words.
Slowly, picking his words carefully as he goes, he says, “Okay. If...if this is just my anxiety talking, you can tell me, but - this isn’t like your relationship with Hannah.”
Zach blinks. “Huh?”
“Just - fuck, I just don’t want you to think you have to tell everyone that we’re -” He fumbles for a second, clearly unsure what he should call them. Zach nods, giving him the green light. “- together, because of what happened with Hannah. This isn’t the same thing. This isn’t just...telling people we’re together, it’s telling people that you’re not straight. It’s not just about our relationship, you know? It’s your whole life. You only just told me, and I’m your best friend. You just kissed a boy on purpose for the first time. This is big, and you don’t have to do all of it at once.”
He hadn’t even thought about that. He hadn’t thought about Hannah or about the shitty way their relationship ended or about how similar that situation was to this one.
The thing is, he didn’t make the right choice with Hannah because he was too scared to. Because he wasn’t brave enough to make the right decision even in the face of fear.
He’s still scared this time, but he’s much braver now than he was before.
“Sweetheart,” Zach says, and it feels different and exactly the same. Alex’s face flushes. “I know. I know it’s big and I know it’s new and I - I know, okay? And I want to. I really, really want to do this because you know what? I’m really fucking tired of living life in halves. I’m tired of not doing what I want to do, of not being who I want to be. Who I am. ”
He touches his forehead to Alex’s, lowers his voice but loses none of the fire. “Alex...Alexander Dean Standall. I am so damn tired of not being with you. So let them all see it. Let them all fucking see that I’m at prom with the most amazing boy I’ve ever met. Let them see that I landed the most beautiful, most incredible person in this stupid school. In this stupid fucking town. I know who I am and I know who I love and it’s you.
“It’s always been you, Alex. I want them all to see that.”
There are tears in Alex’s eyes again, clinging to his lashes. He pulls back a little, cuts his eyes up and to the right and blinks quickly, cheeks stained a splotchy red, before he tilts forward to bury his face in Zach’s shoulder.
“Zach,” he whines. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”
Zach grins into Alex’s hair. “It’s all true. I want this, Alex.”
And then, because he’s cheesy and in love, he says, “So...will you go to prom with me?”
Alex gives a surprised laugh, and instead of answering, he just steps away and pulls Zach by the hand, once more, but this time Zach follows him into prom instead of out of it.
Alex turns to face him as soon as they walk through the gym doors, smiling at him as he walks backwards, either not caring if he bumps into people behind him or trusting Zach not to let him. He maneuvers through the crowd, occasionally glancing over his shoulder but mostly keeping his eyes on Zach, until they once again come to an open space.
He keeps their hands linked, holding them at shoulder level. Takes Zach’s other hand and sets it on his waist, then puts his own free hand on Zach’s shoulder.
This time, there’s more of a waltzy lilt to it, more of a playful back and forth. They’re closer this time, Alex resting his chin on Zach’s other shoulder. They sway back and forth, sometimes gently and other times super dramatically because it wouldn’t be them if they didn’t.
Zach twirls Alex, gently pushing him out and away and spinning him under his arm before pulling him back in, making him giggle again - a sound Zach wants to hear again and again and again.
Alex kisses him once, quickly, like it’s a stolen moment. Like he’s still uncertain, like he still doesn’t know if kissing him right now, right here is okay, and so when he starts to break away, Zach moves his hand from his waist to the back of his neck and kisses him harder, longer. Slots their lips together and kisses him like it’s his life’s mission, like it’s his one and only dream.
He hears, from behind them, “Oh, finally!”
Justin is absolutely beaming at them, Jess smiling softly at them from beside him. He feels Alex stiffen, but he must see something in Zach’s face when Zach glances back at him that makes him relax.
“He knows?”
Zach nods. “Yeah. I told him a little while back. Long story, actually.”
When they step away from each other, Zach’s immediately pulled into a hug by Justin and Alex by Jess. He hears Jess murmur, “I’m proud of you,” and smiles, then catches, “Oh, did you tell him yet?” and files it away.
Justin holds him tight - it’s another one of those new things they’ve found since talking things through - and Zach can feel him practically vibrating with secondhand excitement. “Congratulations, man. I’m glad it worked out.”
“Me too,” Zach says. “Me fucking too.”
He ends up hugging Jess next, with his arms around her waist and her hair in his mouth. Her hug is entirely similar to and entirely different than Justin’s, safe and friendly and familial in all the opposite ways, and Zach thinks they really have to hang out more.
Over her shoulder, he watches Alex and Justin look awkwardly at each other, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Justin sticks his hand out for Alex to shake. Alex stares at the hand, then up at Justin. Snorts, shakes his head, takes the hand and uses it to pull Justin into a hug. Jess leans back, but leaves an arm around Zach’s shoulders as she twists to watch Justin and Alex.
“Look, man, I just -” Alex huffs, clutches the back of Justin’s jacket. “I don’t like you.”
Justin’s face scrunches up. Zach and Jess both wince.
Alex just keeps talking. “I don’t like you, but I care about you. A lot. I know we’re not close and we probably never will be, but I do want you to know that. I’m still here if you need me, no matter what.”
Oh. Jessica practically coos at them.
Justin’s voice is tight when he says, “Thanks, Alex. I’m here for you too, okay? Anything you need, I’ve got your back.”
When they part, both of them are teary-eyed. It’s quite possibly the sweetest thing Zach has ever witnessed.
Jess moves back over to Justin and Alex back over to Zach, Jessica setting a hand on Justin’s shoulder while Justin’s arm snakes around her waist and Alex tucking himself back into Zach’s side. There’s a final goodbye, a last congratulations, and then it’s Alex and Zach once more.
Zach kisses the top of Alex’s head, asks, “Tell me what?”
The music changes from some random wordless melody to Lauv’s I Like Me Better, a song Zach has always sort of associated with Alex, even long before he realized he was in love with him. Alex leans back to look at him. “You heard that?”
“Yeah.”
Alex hums. He’s quiet for a moment, then, “Okay. Okay, well - I was gonna tell you tonight anyway, when you stayed over - you are still staying over, right?”
“Right.”
“Great,” Alex says, and he takes Zach’s arm and moves them over to the snack table, off the dance floor. He looks weirdly nervous, but also really excited.
“Okay, so...” Alex is clearly trying to hold back a grin, as if he thinks it’s gonna give away the surprise, even while his eyes portray an underlying anxiety. “You know how I hadn’t really figured out what I was doing after graduation?”
Zach nods. “Yeah.”
“And obviously you know that you’re going to UCLA in the fall.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I may have...applied? To UCLA?” Alex says it like it’s a question. Zach is not processing. “And I may have been waitlisted? And then I may have gotten an email that said that I...got in.”
What?
“What?”
“I got in,” Alex repeats. He takes Zach’s hand and squeezes. “Zach, I got in.”
Zach stares at him. And stares and stares and pictures college with Alex, college with his best friend slash boyfriend. Pictures holding hands in the quad, studying together in the library at one AM, sleeping in the same bed with no parents around to ask questions.
“Oh my god,” Zach says. “Oh my god, Alex. ”
They’re going to college together. They’re going to college together.
Zach hugs him tight, arms around Alex’s waist, and fully lifts him off the ground, spinning him round as Alex laughs and laughs and kisses him from above, cupping Zach’s face in his hands. It’s not even so much a kiss, their smiles much too wide for it to be a proper kiss, but it’s the best kiss Zach has ever had.
He sets Alex back down, carefully, and he can feel eyes on them but he couldn’t care less. Zach loves him so much.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, even though he doesn’t much care about that either. Alex could have just showed up at UCLA and said he was Zach’s roommate for the year and he would have loved him for it.
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” Alex shrugs, vaguely sheepish, and shakes his head. “Or mine. It was such a long shot, I - I didn’t think I’d actually get in with my shitty grades last year.”
But you did, Zach thinks. I always knew you could.
Alex rocks back on his heels, and his eyes drop. The anxiety - embarrassment? - starting to creep back into his posture, he says, “And also, I didn’t…want you or my parents or anyone to think that my whole plan was just to - to follow you to college. It wasn’t. I had - options. Like, only a couple, because the whole idea of planning for my future still doesn’t...sit right sometimes, but I did have options.”
Zach knows this. Not because Alex actually told him much about any of them - he clammed up so many times when the topic of the future was brought up that Zach learned to avoid it - but because he knew Alex would figure it out in the end. He always does.
He also knows that Alex isn’t telling him this because he thinks Zach needs to hear it, but because he needs to say it, so Zach lets him.
“I applied sort of on a whim, and it was mostly because you were applying and I figured, if all else failed, it would at least be nice to...still have you with me. But afterwards, I did a fuck ton of research, and Zach, it - UCLA has a music therapy program. A good one. And it’s close to home, but not too close, you know?”
He does. He’d had the same thought.
Alex has mentioned music therapy a couple times before. Once, offhandedly, when someone on a TV show they’d been watching together was talking about their college major and another time, the one that had made Zach wonder, when he finally managed to convince Alex to play the guitar for him. Alex had been practicing almost incessantly, trying to relearn how to play with his hand no longer at one-hundred percent, but he’d refused to play in front of anyone until he deemed himself good enough.
He’d played one of those bittersweet songs he likes - a slower, softer version of Let’s Fall in Love for the Night by FINNEAS. Zach had looked it up as soon as he got home and listened to it on repeat for the rest of the night. When it became clear that Zach wasn’t going to make fun of him, was just going to watch him in a sort of quiet awe that should’ve tipped both of them off, he’d started to sing along under his breath. His voice was hoarse from crying earlier that day, when Zach had said something wrong and sent Alex spiraling, but he was smiling and his voice was lovely, still, and he was happy.
“That’s perfect for you, Alex. That’s so perfect.”
Alex smiles, coy and crooked and teasing. “Plus, going to college together doesn’t sound so bad. We talked about keeping in touch after graduation, this just seems...easier.”
Easier, in this case, means so many things.
Less complicated. Less stressful. Less painful.
(Perfect. Destined. Life-saving.)
“I love you so much,” Zach says, and kisses him again. Wants to kiss him forever. Wants to have him and hold him and love him for as long as he possibly can and then even longer after that.
He’s always just wanted to be Alex’s, and he thinks maybe he always has been.
“I love you too, Zach. God, I love you too.”
Over Alex’s shoulder, Charlie catches Zach’s eye. Zach nudges Alex, nods to Charlie, and as Alex looks back, Charlie just gives a wordless thumbs-up. They both wave at him, perfectly, stupidly in-sync, and Charlie flashes them a grin before drifting off.
When Zach looks at Alex again, Alex is already staring at him, and everything in his eyes screams pure fondness, affection, adoration. When he looks at him again, he’s met with the pretty brown eyes of his best friend and the bright, beautiful smile of his boyfriend, and he knows.
Zach knows, in this moment, that he loves him on purpose. He loves him because he knows him and he knows him because he loves him, and all of it, every single moment, every single feeling, was on purpose.
It took a lot of steps to get here, but it was worth it in the end.