An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Alex.”
It’s the firm yet understanding edge to her tone, the underlying message of Don’t try to bullshit me, that abruptly gives Alex the ridiculous urge to burst into tears.
He doesn’t immediately say anything in response to the unspoken, almost admonishing, prompt. He simply blinks hard and maintains steady eye contact with the dregs of rum and coke in the glass in front of him. All that remains of the drink are a few shards of slowly diminishing ice, floating in the amber-tinged meltwater. Alex sends them dancing in a swirling circle with a poke of his straw.
“I’m fine,” he says, with a hilarious lack of conviction.
“I sometimes wonder if that’s ever been true, Alex,” she sighs.