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Alex is in love with his best friend. That much he has come to terms with in the two years since he met John as a freshman. Flash forward to their senior year, and not much has changed. They still share answers on homework, still occasionally cheat off of each other on quizzes (but never tests). They still go out for ice cream every Friday night even in the dead of winter. John waits for Alex to get out from rehearsals so they can walk home together and Alex shows up to every single one of John’s soccer and baseball games that doesn't interfere with his rehearsal schedule. They still play video games together on Saturday nights.
Alex is in love with his best friend, and there’s nothing to be done about it.
He hates that people assume they’re together, just because they’re both queer and best friends and probably touch each other more than best friends typically do -- they’re always hugging, draped over one another, or holding hands, or sitting on the bus smushed way closer than they need to be. They’ve always had that dynamic -- they’re both physical people. Deep down, he knows that it doesn’t really bother him. It’s just -- snapping at somebody when they make that assumption is easier to deal with than the sting of knowing that he can never have that. He can never have the one thing he wants most. It sucks. But he lives with it. He'd rather live with his stupid fucking unrequited love than lose his best friend. He's not an idiot.
It’s a Wednesday morning, and Alex is in the music room, working with Laf, trying to finish their original play before the end of class so it’s done and they can stop worrying about it. It’s a short musical, only about fifteen minutes long, based off of a news story Alex stumbled upon awhile back and found incredibly fascinating. He’s periodically plunking out a few notes on the piano, stopping every now and then to scribble down a few notes in the margins of his notebook. He’s so close to being done, he just needs to finish this last song-- and that’s when it happens.
Over the loudspeaker, the dean’s voice rings out. “All students and staff, locks, lights, out of sight. Columbus High School is now in lockdown.” Laf, sitting in the corner typing furiously, slows his fingers as they hit the keys. Turns to Alex, who has dropped his pen and is looking back at him with wide eyes.
The teacher, Ms. Manning, turns from her desk. “Alright, gang. Pack up quickly.” She takes a few strides towards the door, peeks outside before locking it, pulling it shut behind her and pulling the shade over the window shut. “I wish I could tell you that this was a drill, but I don’t think it is. Usually I get notified before this sort of thing. Please stay calm; go into the corner like we do for drills. You may take your phones out, text your loved ones if you desire, but remain quiet.” She turns off the lights.
Alex stands up from his position on the piano bench, backpack clutched in one hand and notebook, pen, looseleaf staff paper in the other. “It’s not a drill.” It’s not a question. Lafayette takes his hand and pulls him to the corner farthest from both the door and the windows.
“No, it is not a drill.”
They sit on the tile floor, huddled together, squashed into the corner together surrounded by classmates. A hush falls over the room as the reality of what is happening crashes over them like a tidal wave.
Alex clamps down on Lafayette’s hand.
“John,” he says. “Where’s John?” voice getting smaller, shaking, breathless. Lafayette squeezes back.
“The art room, mon cherie,” he says. Gentle. Kind. Warm. Calm. “He was working in the studio this block, something about adding to his portfolio, that is all I know.”
Alex scrunches his eyes closed, keeps his hand gripping Lafayette’s, digs his phone out of his jeans pocket, types out a text to John.
Where are you?
It doesn’t deliver. Alex prays that it’s his fault, that he had his phone on airplane mode or some shit.
He checks. There’s nothing wrong with his connection.
He types out another text.
I’m getting worried. Please be safe.
It doesn’t deliver.
Alex, frustrated, tries a third time.
Please respond.
No answer.
He begins hyperventilating, drawing the attention of several of his fellow students. Lafayette pulls him into his side, glaring at the gawking classmates.
“It will be okay,” Lafayette whispers to Alex, rubbing circles on his back. He is not sure of this, but Alex has tears streaming down his face, and now is not the time to be crying.
Alex is unsure of how long they sit there, in the darkened music room, huddled into a quiet corner, waiting for it to be over.
Ms. Manning clears her throat. “I have news,” she says. Everyone turns to look at her. “The principal just sent out an email. ‘There was a gunman who entered campus this morning at 10:17 AM,” she says. “He entered the visual arts studio and began shooting. We have lost four students. The perpetrator has been detained.”
As she says this, the loudspeaker blares once again. “The lockdown is now over. Please await announcement about parent pickup.” “Those of you who walk home may leave now,” interjects Ms. Manning. “All assignments are suspended indefinitely.”
Alex buries his face in his hands. He feels completely numb. Lafayette looks at him, concerned. “Call Lin first.”
Alex pulls his phone out with shaking hands, can barely type in his foster father’s number. Lafayette does it for him.
“Alex? Oh, thank God, I just got the call from school, I was just about to call you. Are you okay?” Lin doesn’t bother to say hello.
Alex heaves out a sob. “I’m okay, physically. I can’t find John, he won’t answer my texts. He tightens his hold on his cell phone. “Laf’s gonna walk me home, I know you’re busy today.”
Lin sighs. “Are you sure, Alex? I can come get you, I swear.”
Alex smiles at the kindness of his newest foster dad. “Yeah, it’ll be okay.”
“See you soon, buddy,” replies Lin, before he hangs up the phone, undoubtedly getting back to work.
Lafayette makes to leave but Alex stops him. “Wait,” he says. Alex unlocks his phone again, goes to his contacts. Alex calls John, the boy he’s loved for three years, his best friend. He prays that the last time he ever sees him will not be with a bullet in his head.
It goes to voicemail.
“God dammit!” Alex whispers, more tears finding their way into his eyes and down his cheeks.
He calls again, and again. Four times. Nothing. Alex leaves four voicemails, all just variations of “good god please fucking be okay i can’t lose you”.
Lafayette holds him. “C’mon, let’s get you home.I promised Lin I’d get you there safely, right?” So, numbly, hand-in-hand, they walk out of the school building.
“I don't want to go home,” says Alex suddenly. “Can we go to Sprinkles?”
He needs a break. His favorite ice cream place is a welcome distraction.
They get inside and sit at a table, the one he always shares with John on their Friday night outings. Shared, the cruel voice of anxiety says. Don’t think like that, Alex reminds himself. But it’s difficult not to.
Lafayette comes over to the table with a cup of vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles for Alex, and a cup of lemon sorbet for himself.
They eat their ice cream in silence, drying tear tracks on Alex’s face as he spoons ice cream into his mouth with shaking hands. It does little to make him feel less terrified. Alex and Lafayette leave the parlor, Alex reestablishing his death grip on Lafayette’s hand, and walk in silence towards home.
Reaching the Mirandas’ apartment building, Lafayette releases Alex’s hand. “I’m going home,” he says, delicately. “Please call me if anything happens, if you find out anything.” He embraces Alex in a deep, tight hug, releasing him and walking away towards him home with the Washington’s.
Alex takes a deep breath in, digging out his ID card, letting himself into the lobby. Slowly, he ascends the stairs, rather than take the elevator. He feels as is he is in a limbo state -- not quite in reality. He notes somewhere deep within the recesses of his thoughts that he doesn’t want to be alone. He wishes Lafayette was still with him. Reaching his door, apartment B8, he pulls his key out of his pocket with shaking hands. He opens the door.
Lin is sitting at the kitchen table, papers spread out around him, laptop in the middle, headphones plugged in to listen to the latest rendition of the song he’s working on, cup of coffee that Alex is sure is cold sitting off to the side. He pulls off his headphones and looks up at Alex, a kind smile on his face. “There’s someone here to see you,” he says, pushing his headphones back onto his ears and again immersing himself in work. Alex slowly walks towards his bedroom. He opens the door, taking what to him feels like an eternity to turn the knob.
John fucking Laurens is sitting on his bed, phone in his left hand, the right pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering quietly to himself. He looks up at Alex as he walks in the door.
Alex promptly bursts into tears for the umpteenth time that day, and then, even more embarrassingly, flings himself onto the bed, immediately scrabbling for purchase of the front of John’s shirt, burying his face in the space beneath his chin, squishing himself down into John’s chest, allowing the point of John’s chin to rest on top of his head.
“Alex, I’m so sorry, my phone died, I forgot to charge it last night. As soon as we got out of the lockdown I plugged it in, Lin called me right away, I got here as soon as I could.” But even as John explains himself, as the guilt that he caused at least some of Alex’s pain, he stops making this situation about himself and starts rubbing circles into Alex’s back with smooth, warm palms.
Alex takes a shaky breath. “I thought... the art studio... you didn’t respond to any of my texts....” he barely gets this much out before a fresh wave of tears and heart wrenching sobs overtakes him.
Oh. “Guess today was a bad day to let my phone die, huh?” John tries. Alex cries harder. Oops.
Alex suddenly stops crying. He looks directly into John’s eyes, releases his hold on the front of his shirt with one hand, grabs John’s jaw. “I love you,” he says, tone serious.
John furrows his brow. “I'm sorry I scared you,” he says, earnest. “I love you too, man.”
“No.” Alex says, closing his eyes. Opening them, he looks at John through tear-sticky lashes. “I love you.”
There's a pregnant pause. John's hand ceases its movements on Alex’s back. Alex cries again.
He is not sure of the moment that it happens, but the next thing Alex registers is John wrapping his ridiculously large arms around him, pressing his lips to Alex’s. He freezes for a moment before he truly realizes what is happening. He opens his mouth to John, allowing him to slip his tongue inside. Alex lets out a little moan.
He pulls away, breathless. “We are SO discussing this later,” he says, diving back into to kiss John more.
The kiss heats up, and Alex ends up pinned beneath John, panting and hard.
They keep kissing, Alex’s fingers buried in John’s hair, until they’re not and are rather pulling at John’s shirt. In turn, John pulls his shirt off, dappling kisses all over Alex’s chest and neck. Alex lets out a whine as John brushes his fingers over his nipples, kissing them each once before returning his mouth to Alex’s and rolling his hips down.
Alex lets out a high pitched keen before he’s coming in his pants, John not far behind, reaching his release with a low grunt.
John pulls away, sex flushed and warm, still reeling from his orgasm, and rolls over the lay next to Alex, reaching for his hand.
“How long have you known?” he asks, panting.
Alex looks ashamed. “Since freshman year.”
John let’s out a frustrated sound. “Seriously, Alex? We could have been doing this for so much longer,” he complains.
Alex actually barks out a laugh at that, before his smile falls.
“I was terrified that I was going to lose you today,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper.
“But you didn’t,” says John. “I’m okay. I’m here. I’m in one piece. So are you. I love you,” he says.
Alex smiles and leans over to kiss John on the cheek. “I love you too,” he says. “So much.”