& — For how easily he may dismantle his defenses when he is alone, Alexander is quick to rebuild these walls when faced with company — even if this company presents itself as his husband, sliding to sit at his side with a blanket. Even so; there are facets of himself that he feels no safety in explaining. There are stories he can never tell, there are things that serve no meaning to the life he has built for himself now; pride becomes synonymous with neglect, growth becomes synonymous with abandonment. John is right; it could be worse — it could be snowing. His mother would hate that, yet she, too, would probably marvel at it all the same ( like his first winter here, all wide eyes and terror and amazement, all at once — a dissonance, a paradox ). His brain still swirls and swirls, images and sounds and the feeling of the blanket now spread across him just like that night, like lying in bed with his mother who stopped breathing five minutes ago, and what will he do? What could he do, but sit there and live two lives at once; he is the boy now orphaned, he is the husband now exposed as an emotional whirlwind — he is breathing still, inhale sharp, breath determined. He was fine, like he said, but now they’re so close, and now he can feel the warmth of a body next to him, and the blanket over them, and everything is so close, the world closing in on him, the memories washing over him, the —
“I — said I was fine,” he tries to say this with some bite, but the effort is futile, tone coming off more as a plea than any sort of malice; he moves away from his husband, just a bit, just to break the physical contact, but the gesture isn’t as smooth as he imagines — it is desperation, it is fear, it is get off of me, get off, get off — breath is still sharp, in. Out. In. Out, and he hates feeling like this, all weak and broken and unsure of himself. He sets the candle down in front of him before stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket, where he starts to run his thumb over the smooth lighter, over and over, over and over. Grounding methods; remember where you are, Alex. Remember?
John has lived with Alexander for years - he’s learned to read him better than most people have, and he knows, immediately, he’s made a mistake. Everything about Alex’s demeanor screams get away, and John does his best to subtly shift away. It hurts to see him like this - he knows, deep down, that whatever’s got him this deeply stressed out is nothing he can fix or help with. It’s a deeply ingrained thing with responses that are almost involuntary at best.
He pulls the blanket back gently, curling it under his own legs and freeing Alex from it. The action puts more space between them, and he can only hope that helps Alex somehow. “Okay. ‘M sorry for pushin’.” It’s sincere, but the concern still bleeds through. “It’s the middle of the night, Alex. Do you wanna stay out here? ‘Cause it’s warmer inside, man.” He tries to keep his tone light, but he knows that he sounds tired and stressed and concerned. “It’s up to you. But if you’re gonna be out here, can I at least give you this blanket?”
