“And The Rest Is (World) History.” Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Twenty-Seven

[videokilledme]

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"And The Rest Is (World) History." Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Twenty-Seven

[music]

Bianca kept trying to contact Alex for more than a month after his accidental confession. At first it was texts (which he didn’t read, though he watched the number steadily rise until he couldn’t stand it any more, and tapped on the icon and her name before immediately closing their message history out again) as well as in person. She tried partnering with him in Tae Kwon Do class, only to have him ask to work with the instructor instead, purportedly because of his broken hand. She tried to sit with him for meals at the cafeteria, which didn’t work at all, because after her first attempt, Alex seemed to stop visiting the cafeteria entirely. She tried to catch him outside a few times, before or after class, and once she even showed up at the radio station after his show; but after half a dozen or so failed attempts, she stopped trying to catch or corner him in person, probably to keep from feeling like some kind of stalker.

She didn’t stop texting him though. Not completely.

At least, not at first. But after one month turned into two turned into summer break, her messages became more and more infrequent, until she sent him one last, final message in the middle of summer (which he also didn’t read), then stopped texting him completely.

This time, Alex didn’t even have the heart to open and close it quickly; instead, that brightly-colored circle with the number one in it glared at him accusingly whenever he glanced down at his phone to check the time or text Jess (who he hadn’t told about the fall-out with Bianca) or look anything up online.

But regardless of how painful a reminder it was, he couldn’t bring himself to erase that one final, lingering bit of evidence that once, he’d had someone in his life who he had considered a real friend.

---

While Bianca had given up after a few months, clearly resigned to giving Alex his space since he obviously didn’t want to talk with her, Connor hadn’t had the decency to do the same. The lanky Asian-American had called and texted him constantly, and hung around outside his classes, the radio station, and the music store relentlessly. He’d even shown up at Alex’s house a few times, earning a raised eyebrow from Bill as he took in Connor’s stylishly preppy outfit, along with his carefully-tousled hair, his Stepford-perfect white-toothed grin, and his painstakingly manicured nails.

Alex turned him away every time, refusing to so much as speak with him or really even look at him, other than to glower up at him before stalking off or shutting a door in his face. It wasn’t until he called into Alex’s radio show one night during the last week of school before summer break that they actually had a conversation--and Alex looked daggers through the sound tech window at Chisomo when she patched him through. But while he could’ve simply cut Connor off and gone to a commercial while he read Chisomo the riot act for pulling a stunt like that, his professional pride was at stake. So instead he decided to tear into Connor on-air, which proved to be very therapeutic, since Connor’s call-in “question” was, of course, about what had happened with Alex:

“So, there’s this guy I know, my friend. And I kinda accidentally did a shitty thing to him, and I’m really sorry about it, but that doesn’t make it any less shitty.”

“Oh, yeah? What did you do, exactly?” Alex replied, and it was honestly pretty impressive how he injected a note of curiosity into his words, and kept out every trace of the frigidly-cold anger clearly visible on his face.

“I was chatting with him, and...kiiiiinda asked him a sensitive question about the person he was secretly in love with...”

“Let me guess, the person he was in love with overheard, and it suddenly wasn’t a secret any more?”

“Bingo!”

“Well, regardless of how that person reacted, let me start by saying: yeah, that was an incredibly shitty thing you did. That isn’t the kind of thing a friend does--news flash, but friends aren’t supposed to be shitty to each other. Honestly, if I was your friend, I wouldn’t want to have anything to do with you. I assume that’s your question, right? How can you fix this and be friends with him again?”

“Bingo again, haha! Wow~ That’s impressive, it’s almost like you’re psychic or something~”

“It was low-hanging fruit, but sure. I’m amazing, I know,” Alex deadpanned, rolling his eyes despite knowing that only Chisomo would be able to see him doing it. Hopefully his withering tone would make it apparent to everyone who heard him how unimpressed he was with Connor’s stupid flattery. “Anyway...I don’t know if you can fix it. Sometimes when you break something, it’s broken for good. That’s why you have to take care of things you value, instead of treating them like crap.”

“...Yeah, I know.”

“Clearly you don’t, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

Connor made a pained noise on the other end of the line, and Alex felt a hot, brief flash of triumph in the midst of his wintery hostility.

“So, what happened with this person this guy was secretly in love with?”

“...It...didn’t work out. At all, from what I’ve seen. I don’t...I don’t think they’re talking any more.”

“Riiiiight...so tell me, then...what makes you think that you deserve to be this guy’s friend any more? Haven’t you already done enough? Haven’t you had enough? And, I mean, unless you’re planning on wrecking more of this guy’s friendships or potential relationships or whatever, what’s in it for you? Why do you want to be friends with this guy so much? So much that you’re willing to push past this pain that you caused him, and try to force your way into his life again?”

A heavy silence was the only answer he got in response to that blistering tirade of questions, but after giving Connor a moment to come up with some kind of answer and getting nothing in response, Alex kept going.

“It’s just selfish. You’re just being selfish. Honestly, it doesn’t matter if you still want to be friends with this guy, because you vetoed your right to any sort of friendship with him when you did what you did. Accident or not, you had to have known that someone might overhear, and you pushed the issue anyway. So--give it up. Let this go. If that guy wants to be friends with you at all any more--and really, I don’t know why he would--then that’s up to him. So, here’s what you should do, if you have any sense of decency in you: you apologize one last time, tell him that you still want to be friends, tell him why you still want to be friends, tell him that you’re going to leave him alone now but he’s welcome to contact you at any time if he does want to talk...and then you’re gonna do that. You are going to leave him alone. Until he contacts you, you’re not gonna so much as like one of his posts on Flitter or Immedigraph. The ball is in his court, and he’s the one who gets to decide if you stay friends. And until he does, if he ever does? You. Are. Done. Got it?”

The unmistakable sound of a wet sniffle broke the silence, and Alex’s icy mien thawed just enough for him to gape at the soundboard in front of him with disbelief. There was no way that Connor was crying--or maybe there was, he was an actor, after all, and after seeing him play leading roles in two campus productions, Alex had to grudgingly admit that he was pretty talented. So maybe he was crying...but there was absolutely no way that he was crying honest tears rather than manipulative ones.

Quickly muting himself, Alex hissed out a long, angry sigh from between clenched teeth. God, it’s so like him to pull shit like this. He clearly didn’t listen when I told him to stop being shitty. Not that there’s any real shock there.

“Hello?” Alex prompted, unmuting himself. “Still there? Crying isn’t much fun to listen to on the airwaves, so if that’s all you’re gonna do-”

“You’re right.” The words were muffled, spoken through audible tears, and there was an impressively real-sounding tremor in them as Connor went on, “You’re right about...about all of this.”

“Yeah, I know. I usually am. That’s not news.”

“Earlier--before, I mean--you asked about what’s in it for me, about why I wanted to be friends with this guy so badly, right?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, sensing a trap--more like seeing exactly where this was going, really--but unable to find a graceful way to avoid it, save one, though he knew Connor too well to really expect it to work. “What, you wanna make some kind of big, public on-air declaration of that? Isn’t you having a big mouth what started this whole thing in the first place? Quit while you’re behind, champ.”

“This is different though-”

“Is it?” Alex interjected, “is it really? Is this what your friend would want, or is this just what you want? I mean, does this guy even listen to my show?”

Connor gave another sniffle and then his voice cleared somewhat, becoming quiet but even and steadfast, as serious as if he were being sworn in at court. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that he’s never missed your show.”

Clever bastard, Alex thought with an inward growl. He needed to remember not to underestimate Connor, because as stupidly as he behaved 95% of the time, his grades had been excellent (except for World History, anyway), and he’d also hosted a live radio program for the better part of three years. He was every bit as quick on his feet, verbally speaking, as Alex was, if not more so.

“All right, but that still doesn’t answer my other question, which is even more important: is spouting off about what you like about him and why he’s important to you on a live radio program what your friend would want?”

“No, probably not. He’s a pretty private person.”

“Well then-”

“-But,” This time it was Connor who was interjecting, cutting Alex off, “this guy is also super stubborn, and he’s pretty isolated, too. He doesn’t let people get close, and he doesn’t trust what people say much. So because, as the old saying goes, ‘actions speak louder than words’...here I am.”

“Ummmm...you do realize that you’re still just using words if you talk about it on-air, right?”

“Right, but it’s also kinda an action, since I called in and everything and am telling a lot of people that I was a dick and did a shitty thing but also I’m really sorry for it.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, but it doesn’t sound like you’re gonna listen to my advice here--I mean, why would you, it’s not like you called in to my radio show and specifically asked for it or anything. And since the only way to stop you would be to cut the call, which I don’t think the rest of the listeners would particularly like...go ahead, then. Say whatever it is you wanted to say to this guy, if you’re really so sure that he’s listening.”

There was another moment of silence from the other end of the line, and Alex could easily picture Connor drawing himself up, taking some deep breaths and getting ready to put on this newest role. That was all it was, Alex was certain. Connor saw all of this as a game, and Alex was nothing more than a favorite toy that he’d finally broken but still wanted to play with for whatever reason.

“...Listen. Don’t touch that dial, bud. I mean, if you’ve heard this much, I guess you wouldn’t turn this off now, huh? Anyway...for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t fix things or change things, so it’s probably not worth much, considering what I cost you. But...I’m a friendly guy, I know a lot of people. All I have to do is pick up the phone, and I can have plans for the night--hanging out with the guys, a hot date, even just a quick booty call, whatever I’m in the mood for. But...those people all just want something from me. They want the fun, funny me. They don’t really know me, because I’ve never let them see the real me, but...they don’t want to see behind the mask. They’re fine with who I’m pretending to be. But you...”

Connor gave a wry, almost pained-sounding chuckle, and Alex scowled, narrowly resisting the urge to jump in and tell him to stop bragging about his popularity and just get to the point already.

“...You weren’t charmed by that mask. You...heh, you didn’t want anything to do with me, really, despite how much I tried to win you over with my jokes and lighthearted personality. And so...that’s why I let you see who I really am, at least a little bit. You’re the only person I can be honest with. Even if you hate my guts most of the time--which I’m pretty sure you did, even before I accidentally wrecked things with your other friend--you’re still important to me. At least your feelings are aimed at the real me, instead of my mask...which makes you special. Probably the most special, out of all the hundreds of people I know. And...I don’t wanna lose you to a stupid shitty thing I did without thinking, and without meaning to. I don’t deserve another chance, but...I’d like one. Give me a shot at making this up to you. I’ll do my best. I promise.”

Alex had to mute himself again right at the start of that part of this--what, friendship confession? Or was it something less? Maybe something more?--to keep from scoffing audibly or otherwise interrupting. “Yeah, I do hate your guts most of the time,” he’d said aloud, speaking only to himself and the empty room, “and the rest of the time, it’s just solid indifference.” He kept going, commenting on everything Connor said, snorting in ungraceful disbelief when the alum said that Alex was important to him. “Riiiight, that’s why you’ve always acted like an asshole around me. That’s why you invited me out, then abandoned me during that stupid house party. Because I’m important to you. And ohhhh, I’m special. Wow, what an honor. I’m special to the Connor Katou.”

It was hard to fight the urge to take off his headphones entirely when Connor asked for another chance--part of Alex wanted to throw the whole headset across the room, regardless of how expensive he knew it was--but instead he pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a drawn-out sigh, then unmuted himself before the silence could stretch too thin.

“...That all? You finally done?”

“I think so.”

“Dramatic. I don’t know if that was more of an apology or some kind of weird confession. Out of curiosity, how exactly do you plan to make it up to this guy? And don’t say ‘introduce him to some hot chicks,’ because that is 1) garbage, and 2) a lie, and you know it.”

“Heeeey, what’s this, what’s this? Can YOU see through my mask, too, Mister Alex Ace? Have I found a new friend to replace that old one, if he doesn’t come around and forgive me?”

“Heh, don’t hold your breath on that one, ‘bud.’ Or do, I guess--the world will appreciate the resulting quiet when you pass the hell out. All right, time to move on to the next caller--but first, a word from our sponsors.”

Muting himself again, Alex pushed his headset back off his ears, letting it settle around his neck as he turned another pointed glare through the glass towards Chisomo. Leaning over, he pressed a button on the console: the private line between the broadcasting studio and the control room.

“Thank you so much for that, Chisomo. And here I thought you didn’t have any more use for Connor than I did, that we were an anti-Katou-bullshit team. What happened to our united front?”

On the other side of the glass, Chisomo merely shrugged, looking as composed as ever. “It is my job to screen the calls, to be sure they will be interesting. That certainly qualified, since I am fairly certain that you are the friend he was speaking about, are you not?”

Alex’s glare went even flatter, a bit of a snap entering his tone. “It’s also your job to keep people from outright harassing me, and I’m pretty sure that qualified. Especially since you know I didn’t want to talk to him.”

“Is that so? In that case, I apologize.” Chisomo didn’t look away, and she certainly didn’t look any more repentant than she sounded, which wasn’t very. “However, it is clear that certain matters have been weighing on you for the past few months. If you do not wish to speak of them, that is your prerogative. But when those matters overlap with your professional life, such as it is, then it is something that you must handle, one way or another. I am not your secretary, nor am I your bodyguard or bouncer. Connor wanted to speak with you, about you. I believed that it was past time that you allowed him to do so. Therefore, I connected the call.”

Alex wasn’t certain if his face had gone more red or pale by the end of that calmly matter-of-fact lecture, but he did know that his glare had grown slightly resentful.

“Didn’t know that you were the on-staff psychiatrist. And I get that you were trying to do what was best for the station, but...no personal calls on-air for me again, okay? Or next time, I’m gonna go straight to a commercial break, and have a little chat with Dr. de Forest about it later.”

Still unruffled even by that very pointed promise to get her in trouble with the professor, Chisomo nodded her acceptance. “Understood. Moving forward, I will keep that in mind.”

Leaning back, Alex let go of the button, then paused, reconsidering. After a moment, he leaned forward and pressed it again, his eyes still hard and sharp but his glare decidedly less intense. “...Since you’re so determined to be involved here, I’m gonna ask your opinion about something. All that stuff he said just now was a load of crap. He’s got some kind of mind-game or something going on here that I don’t understand. Some sort of weird motive that I don’t get. Otherwise, he’d fuck off already.”

“That is a fair assumption, yes.”

“So...why the hell do you want me to talk with him? I barely considered him a friend in the first place--he made it really difficult for me to want to be his friend with the stupid shit he pulled and all the constant garbage he spewed. Why should I even consider giving him another chance?”

Chisomo’s eyes flickered over to the countdown clock and back pointedly, but even so, she didn’t rush her answer, brief as it was.

“Curiosity. Perhaps if you speak with him, he will give you some answers to all of those questions you have about him.”

I’m not that curious, Alex wanted to growl at her, but there wasn’t time. The commercial break was ending, and Alex had more callers to talk to and more advice to dole out. I really don’t care why he’s so determined to stay my friend...do I? he found himself wondering over the next commercial break. Half a year ago, he would’ve said no, and would’ve been certain that he meant it. But the past two months had been...decidedly strange, to put it mildly, and not a little painful without Bianca’s constant bright presence at his side.

If he was completely honest with himself, he was lonely.

That wasn’t a feeling that he was used to caring about, but Bianca had changed him--for the better, he’d thought, but in the wake of the devastation that had resulted from her unexpected, seemingly absolute removal from his life...well. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Connor was full of shit, and Alex didn’t believe for a second that he was really and truly sorry about any of it, accident or not. But...he was someone to talk to, one of the few people Alex knew who wasn’t firmly on Bianca’s side of things, who wouldn’t hate him on principle for what had happened.

...Any port in a storm, huh? Well...I guess just...giving him a chance to make it up to me might not be completely terrible, he finally decided, albeit reluctantly, so when the last commercial break of the night was over, he launched back into things right away.

“All right, I think we have time for one more caller--ah, and also, shitty friend guy, if you’re listening, I have a message for you from your friend. He says that you’re right, you don’t deserve another chance, and he isn’t for sure giving you one, but he’s willing to talk and hear you out about all this. So...hooray for you, I guess. But really, if you don’t listen to ANYTHING else I said tonight--please, don’t do shitty things to your friend anymore. All right? All right. Next caller!”

---

Not five minutes into their meet up to talk things out, Alex was already regretting his decision to give Connor any sort of second chance at all.

Alex had chosen the place, a Sundollars in downtown DC located well away from campus, and Connor had promised to pay for whatever he wanted, which had left Alex sorely tempted to order one of everything off the menu just to watch the current ‘starving artist’ and former theatre major squirm. But judging by his clothing, which was high-quality as ever and likely brand-name to boot, that probably wouldn’t work: leave it to Connor Katou to be a disgustingly wealthy trust fund kid.

Not that he’d ever admitted as much. Alex just had his suspicions, from all sorts of little things Connor had said and done over the last two years.

Still, none of that explained how Alex had somehow found himself crowded against the wall in one of the most quiet, privately out-of-the-way booths this Sundollars had to offer. He hadn’t even known those booths were there, and had actually shown up 15 minutes early in the hopes of getting to choose their seats, but to his annoyance, Connor had been waiting for him already, beaming and reaching out to drape an arm across his shoulders, only to catch himself and pull back at the last minute, offering an even wider (and faker, in Alex’s opinion) smile instead as he made a sweeping gesture and said “Right this way, sir!” before leading the way to his lair.

Five minutes later Alex was all but trapped, with Connor’s knee bumping into his every so often in a way that set his teeth on edge. One probably-not-accidental bump later, Alex had had enough, and said so.

“Connor. You’re crowding me. I had a hard time convincing myself to see you at all, and quite frankly I don’t want you this close to me, especially when I’m still angry at you. This isn’t a date, and I’m not one of your legions of sighing fangirls. Go sit on the other side of the table, dumbass.”

Connor started trying to pull his face into a ‘kicked puppy’ look, but had to give up on seeing the glare Alex was giving him, unable to school his expression into anything other than the wide, impish grin that had taken over.

“All right, all right! Sorry, you can’t blame a guy for hoping, can ya?”

“Right now, I can blame you for plenty of things, Connor. So let’s get right to the point.”

“No more foreplay, fine, fine.”

Alex’s mouth went thin, and if one of the staff hadn’t come out with their order right at that moment, he likely would’ve slid out of that booth without another word and never spoken to Connor Katou again.

Unfortunately for Alex, he was blocked in, so he decided to give Connor a chance--not that he thought it was much of one, really.

“...Here’s the deal, Connor. You know I heard your ‘apology’ on-air the other night, and even though I still think you’re full of shit and didn’t mean half of it, if that, I’ll accept it. So. Since you avoided answering my question about how you’re planning to fix this when I asked you on the radio before, I’m gonna give you until I finish my coffee, and then I’m leaving. If by some miracle you’ve made things up to me by then, or have convinced me that you might be able to somehow in the near future...then okay. We’re still…’friends.’ But if not…” Alex gave a careless shrug that would’ve made Chisomo proud, letting his words trail off meaningfully.

“If not, we’re done, huh?” Connor said, picking up the conversational slack, and he looked surprisingly serious for once.

Still, when he didn’t say anything else for a long moment, Alex raised an eyebrow and took a meaningful sip from the paper cup of (still too-hot, really) coffee sitting in front of himself. That spurred Connor into action--or into speaking, at least. Setting down his own cup of coffee firmly after taking a quick, thoughtful drink of his own, Connor leaned forward across the table, dark eyes intense and locked onto Alex’s. Fighting the urge to flinch or lean back, Alex let his other eyebrow join the first, clearly unimpressed by Connor’s attempt at...whatever he was attempting to do, maybe take control of the space somehow. He did twitch just noticeably when Connor rested a hand flat on the table close beside one of Alex’s--but though it was a near thing, the Carrington alum didn’t actually make physical contact this time.

“Come visit me in New York City.”

A moment of silence stretched between them before Alex blinked, his expression shifting from skepticism to disbelief as he finally found his voice. “...What?”

“Come visit me in New York City!” Connor repeated, this time more eagerly, eyes glinting with something like excitement. “It’ll be great! I have my own apartment and everything. Nothing super fancy, but it’s nice enough, and I can show you around the Big Apple itself.”

“Connor-”

“The City So Nice, They Named It Twice!”

“Conn-”

“Capital of the World, The City of Dreams, The City That Never Sleeps!”

“CONNOR.”

That shut him up and got his attention, even while Alex kicked himself for suddenly sounding way more like Bill than he’d ever wanted to.

“What, man?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? This is your plan to make things up to me? Inviting me to come visit you--to come spend more time with you some place that’s hours of driving through hellish traffic away from here, when I’m already regretting coming to see you at a place just 20 minutes from my house?”

Connor held up a finger, and Alex fell silent, taking a long pull from his coffee with an intentional, pointed slurp. Connor waited for him to finish, then smiled even wider, fighting through a chuckle as he said, “You don’t get it, huh? I’m offering to show you around the city--to take you to all the best places to visit and eat and everything else--and pay for everything while you’re there. Getting to hang out with me is just a bonus.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed slightly in consideration, his own gaze steady on Connor’s face, though what he was looking for, he wasn’t certain. Connor’s smiles were always fake, always hiding something, and now wasn’t any different. Still...whether he liked it or not, it was a pretty tempting offer. Bill hadn’t had any interest in visiting New York City himself--he’d been before, he said, and once you’d seen one big city, you’d seen them all--and while Alex could’ve taken a bus in to the city, it was a few hours away, and staying in NYC itself overnight was expensive. That didn’t stop Alex from wanting to visit, but it certainly had stopped him from actually visiting, regardless of how temptingly the Apollo Theatre, or Radio City Music Hall, or the Main Drag Music shop, or countless eateries, museums, and historic sites twinkled in the near distance--and now, they were suddenly within reach. All of those things cost money, which wasn’t something a scholarship student like Alex had any particular abundance of. And yet here Connor was, offering to let him see all the sights, give him a free place to crash at night, and foot the bill for all of it, too.

It didn’t even begin to make up for losing Bianca, but it was still a generous offer, one that sounded too good to be true. Alex was certain that there was a catch, that Connor had some ulterior motive, some other reason for doing this that had nothing to do with making up for accidentally wrecking his relationship with Bianca...but for once, Alex didn’t want to see the truth. He wanted to visit NYC, and if he had to put up with Connor for a few days to do it...well, he could probably handle that.

Who knew, it might even be something like fun.

“...I don’t think much of that ‘bonus,’ but...” Alex hesitated for one final instant, sensing some sort of trap but not knowing what it might be, not even certain that he cared that there was something else going on at all with such a tempting offer being dangled in front of him. “...Okay. I’ll work out my schedule with Dr. de Forest and Keiji, and...you let me know when works for you, too-”

“Any time, really,” Connor answered immediately, with a nearly manic over-eagerness that had part of Alex deeply doubting the wisdom of accepting this offer. “Damn, I can’t believe you actually said yes! I can’t...hah, that’s great!”

Connor reached out, resting one hand on the table again, excitedly patting the faux-wooden surface beside Alex’s hand--though this time he made fleeting contact, the tips of his fingers briefly grazing against skin in a way that was likely not unintentional. It wasn’t a particularly good sign, the fact that he was already creeping back into overfamiliarity like that, but Alex dismissed it, simply moving his hand away as he took another long drink. By his estimation, he had about a third of his cup of coffee left, which gave Connor five, maybe ten more minutes at most; Alex’s mind was already wandering to all the places he wanted to go, all the things he wanted to see in New York City, leaving him distracted and slightly more permissive than usual.

Those minutes passed quickly enough, and soon Alex was pushing out the door to step into the gloomy, overcast late-spring day. He’d turned down Connor’s offer of a ride home, content to walk and take the bus, and even when it started drizzling during the walking portion of his trip home, he didn’t regret turning down that offer.

The weight of his phone in his pocket, bumping against his thigh with every step, was a reminder of the texts he was certain Connor had already sent...and he also couldn’t help thinking of the scores of unread texts from Bianca as well. Some part of him wanted to read them, wanted to hope that what she had to say wasn’t just a lot of anger, disgust, and betrayal...but even now, even after he’d somehow, somewhat made up with the catalyst of their separation, he was too afraid. It hurt not having her at his side, but reading those messages, actually seeing the words that said that she didn’t want to be around him any more, that she couldn’t trust him, that she hated him...that pain would’ve been unbearable.

Alex knew enough about psychology to be able to trace that fear back to his childhood--specifically his regular displacement from his friends and peers every time Bill had to relocate their family for his job, and even more to Gemma’s abandonment of them both. He was on the borderline for avoidant personality disorder--a lot of those characteristics had sounded distressingly familiar--but knowing that had turned out to be far less than half the battle. If he really wanted to, he was certain that he could get some on-base counselling for free, but...up until a few months ago, he’d been doing better. He’d been making friends with Bianca’s friends, albeit gradually, and he’d been growing more social. The job at the radio station helped a lot too, forcing him to interact with people, but it also just showcased his main issue and his MO: acting snarky and prickly so no one could get close, keeping everyone at arm’s length and pushing them away before they could decide to push him away instead-

His thoughts were interrupted by a passing car splashing through the gutter, sending a wave of water his way that only narrowly missed drenching him, and Alex turned his focus on getting home safely, once again pushing aside more serious thoughts about his personal issues.

He was fine like this. He’d made it through nearly half his life relying on himself more than anyone else, and it had worked out well enough so far. Being alone wasn’t that bad. He’d gotten used to it before; he could get used to it again.

---

New York City was everything that Alex had hoped it would be.

Connor had paid for a particularly nice bus ticket, and the first day of summer break had found Alex riding into NYC in something approaching style. Despite the fact that he was arriving around 6:00 in the morning, Connor hadn’t kept him waiting at the bus station either, and had cheerfully slung Alex’s modest duffle bag of clothes and necessarily toiletries over his shoulder before leading him off into the city. After a quick stop by Connor’s apartment (which, despite him saying that it wasn’t anything fancy, was still a lot more extravagant than anywhere Alex and Bill had lived over the years), they’d hit the streets, and Alex had been so caught up in the excitement of visiting a new place that he hadn’t even minded Connor’s usual teasing behavior. For his part, Connor was an excellent tour guide who seemed to know exactly what sort of spots Alex would enjoy the most, and by the time they finally reached their last stop of the day, a coffee house/diner close to Connor’s apartment that served great desserts, Alex was exhausted but far happier than he’d been in months.

Sadly, that happiness was short-lived, and of course Connor was the one to ruin it.

“So,” he began as he reached over to snag a generous forkful of Alex’s key lime pie without asking, then slid his own plate of German chocolate cake into easier reach for Alex, as if it was something they’d done countless times before (it was not). “Today was fun-”

“Yeah, it really was,” Alex admitted through a low, surprised chuckle, and though he waved away the offer of trying some of Connor’s dessert, he was in a good enough mood to forgive Connor for taking some of his own without asking--he was paying for everything after all, and in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a big deal.

“But,” Connor went on, and Alex paused in the middle of forking up another bite of pie on catching an odd tone in that word, “something feels...a little off with you.”

Alex stared at him blankly for a long moment, then meaningfully turned his attention down to his dessert, every bit of that pleased sense of near-contentment slowly draining away. “ ‘A little off’?” he inquired after the silence had stretched between them long enough to be uncomfortable, sounding more than a little sardonic. “Hmm, I think most people think that’s pretty normal for me, but that’s not what you mean. So. Tell me what you do mean.”

Connor gestured with his fork--rude, and potentially dangerous, but nothing Alex hadn’t seen from him plenty of times before--making little circles in the air in Alex’s general direction. “You’re just...not the same. I mean, you’ve always been pretty closed, but sometimes that would slip, and I’d get to see something honest. Or I’d needle you until you finally snapped, and you’d open up and tell me what was really going on. I know I was an ass with the whole party thing, but that conversation we had afterwards...I think about that a lot, you know?”

“I didn’t before. Do now. Not sure why that’d stick with you particularly, though. I don’t think much of anything I said then got through to you enough for you to remember it.” Alex paused to lick away the traces of pie stuck on his fork before taking another dig at both his dessert and his so-called friend, finally looking up at Connor once more, his tone blunt and unamused. “You kinda get a bad case of ‘goldfish brain’ when it comes to not being a dick, you know?”

“Okay, just a minute-”

“No, you wait a minute. I don’t remember everything I was angry at you about that night, but I do know that you still don’t even try to respect my boundaries any more now than you did back then. In fact, you might’ve gotten worse. So what part of that conversation was so meaningful to you, exactly?”

Connor heaved a deep sigh, setting his fork down to rub his face with both hands; Alex put his own fork down as well, crossing his arms over his chest and pushing back from the table as he looked on expectantly. For another long space of time, neither of them said anything. He’s trying to figure out how to come at this, Alex surmised grimly, mouth going thin with displeasure. Looking for some sort of angle, something he can say to try to get on my non-existent good side.

Finally Connor gave another heavy sigh, letting his hands drop to the table in front of him, folding them loosely around his mostly-empty coffee mug. “Look...I know this all goes back to what happened with Bianca.”

“Not all of it, but that sure didn’t help your position, no.”

Connor actually flinched a bit at that, his mouth pulling to one side in a rueful grimace. “...I really am sorry about what happened,” he picked up, continuing on a little more softly, enough so that he almost, almost managed to sound genuinely contrite. “I know you’re still mad about it, and I also know you haven’t talked to her since that day--not that you really talked to her on that day either.”

Alex hadn’t so much as twitched, still keeping that stony-faced stare locked onto Connor, the muscles in his jaw visibly clenching, a pre-emptive response to whatever bullshit the would-be actor was getting ready to spout this time. “...Yeah?” he managed after working for a moment to push down the rising surge of anger, though this time it was cold and calculated, not hot and impulsive like it had been that day everything went to hell. “So...what’s your point. I assume you have one, if you brought all of this up.” You’d better have one, if you brought all this up, the frosty glint in his eyes made it clear he was actually saying, and for once Connor seemed to take the hint.

“I was just...well, since you can’t bring yourself to say anything to her, I thought that maybe I could-”

“Stop.”

“But-”

“No. You’ve already said enough. More than enough, if you’ll remember. I don’t want you anywhere near her.” Or me, really, but beggars can’t be choosers right now, I guess.

But Connor clearly wasn’t ready to stop, or give up on this particular idea. “But if it’s my fault--and it is, we both know it--then I should be the one to fix it!”

“You can’t fix it.” The words snapped out of Alex with a vicious heat, low and forceful enough to make Connor jolt back in his seat; but just as quickly as it had come, that heat was gone, replaced with the usual matter-of-fact arctic chill once again. “Weren’t you listening to what I said on the radio the other night? Sometimes things are just broken, and there’s nothing that you can do except move on with your life.”

Connor’s jaw dropped at that. “Buh– but you love her, don’t you?”

“What does that have to do with-”

“If you love her, why aren’t you willing to fight to stay in her life? You should– dammit, Alex, you should be beating down her door, or- or-”

“Or what, stalkerishly standing outside her dorm room window with a pair of computer speakers attached to my phone, blasting some sappy love song until campus security comes to get me? Embarrassing myself by trying to take the Jackson Challenge? Blowing up her phone with texts about how sorry I am and how much she means to me?”

“Yeah, dude, any and all of those and more! If you really love her-”

“I do. And that’s why I’m taking myself out of the equation. Because I actually care about her feelings, and she deserves better than me, and honestly...” Swallowing hard in a mostly-successful attempt at keeping his voice from wavering, Alex pressed onwards, “...Honestly, I’m not strong enough to handle being rejected by the person I care about the most. So...it ends with me. Ending it. So that she doesn’t have to.”

“Alex, she liked you! As a friend, if nothing else! Do you really think Bianca was gonna-”

“Connor. We’re done talking about this. Understand?”

“No, we’re not done talking abou-”

“We’re done talking about this, or we’re done,” Alex clarified, raising his voice just enough to talk over Connor, chin tipping up pugnaciously. “And if you don’t stop trying to talk to me about this, I’m going to block you on my phone,” he added, and for Connor, what made that threat so truly awful was the tone of voice he said it in. It was calm, utterly matter-of-fact, as if Alex wouldn’t have to think twice about cutting the single line that joined them, as if he wouldn’t feel even the tiniest twinge of pain from the separation, wouldn’t ever so much as glance back; an icy-cold promise, not a threat.

Releasing a heavy breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Connor shrugged helplessly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, all right. Not much room for argument there. You win…” He paused, waiting until Alex got up to return his plate to the counter before adding, solely for his own benefit: “...Or did you? Did you really...”

By the time Alex returned to their table, Connor had wiped away all traces of the slyly pensive smile that had been playing around his mouth, offering instead his usual, wide, goofy grin as he bolted down the rest of his cake (“Hey Alex, watch this! Two bites!”) before heading out onto the streets again, guiding his blue-haired guest back to his upscale apartment.

It was late enough and Alex was tired enough that all he wanted to do was take a shower and crash on the couch. Connor would probably want to watch something though, and that was fine with Alex; but he was definitely too tired to put up with what he found on exiting the bathroom, which adjoined the single bedroom. Connor was stretched out seductively on his bed with the covers turned down, clad in only a pair of boxer-briefs. He’d turned out the overhead light, lit the candle on his bedside table, and he gave Alex a toothy smirk as he patted the bed beside him invitingly in a way that, yet again, Alex wasn’t certain was completely in jest.

Conversely, Alex was fully dressed, wearing one of the ratty band shirts and equally-ratty but comfortable pajama pants he always wore to bed, and he just rolled his eyes at the display as he continued to rub at his damp hair with a hand towel.

“Hey, Alex~ Hey, if you want, I thought that maybe we could-”

“Hell no. You’re too touchy-feely as it is, when all our clothes are still on. Remember what I said about boundaries?” Looking deeply wounded, Connor gave his best attempt at puppy-dog eyes, but Alex just snorted and headed into the living room. “Yeah, didn’t think so. I’m good on the couch, thanks.” Connor squawked something after him, but Alex had already closed the door on him, muffling it pretty well.

The couch wasn’t the most comfortable thing he’d ever slept on, but it was better than the floor, and definitely better than waking up to find Connor’s hand down his pants as a ‘joke.’ ...Maybe this friendship thing really can’t work with Connor, he thought to himself as he tugged the thin, decorative blanket off the back of the couch and wished that he’d thought to bring a pillow and sleeping bag from home. That sort of thing isn’t funny, but Connor can’t seem to understand that. ‘Boundaries’ doesn’t seem to be a word in his lexicon...and if I can’t trust him not to do something as serious as molesting me in my sleep, and for nothing more than a good laugh...what am I even doing here?

It was a good question, and not one that Alex really had an answer to. He’d wanted to see the city, it was true, and he’d wanted to stop thinking about how much he missed Bianca. And while he’d gotten to do both of those things today, with the promise of doing them again over the next week or so...now that he was here, now that he’d really talked everything out with Connor again, this time on Connor’s home turf...it all just felt a little empty. Someone who clearly had some other secret reason for wanting him around and who just as clearly didn’t care about his thoughts or feelings wasn’t any sort of substitute for his (former) best friend, regardless of how thrilling the location might be.

...I’ll give him one more day. Then, if he’s still being as awful as he was tonight...I’m out of here.

It was a comforting thought, and the inner peace he felt on settling on it let Alex drop off to sleep more quickly than he had in months.

---

That night, Alex dreamed about Bianca again.

It made sense, really. She’d been in his thoughts near-constantly ever since they’d become friends, and she’d been on his mind even more since Connor had outed him and he’d broken off their relationship; just because he’d put physical distance between them didn’t mean that he wasn’t still emotionally compromised by the whole ordeal, or that she wasn’t wrapped around--or, at this point, more like woven into--his psyche more than a little. In fact, now that he was trying extra hard not to think about Bianca, it seemed like he was thinking about her more than ever. Having her show up in his dreams like this was par for the course.

Up until now, aside from that one instance in the past, those dreams had all been pretty innocent: hopes and fantasies mingling with fragments of memories all melting together into dreams of sharing coffee and snacks at the library, of laughing over a movie or TV show in her dorm room, of cuddling on a couch together over holiday breaks, hands clasped together comfortably.

It all started innocently enough this time, too. In his dream, he wandered out of his room around noon on a weekend, still rumpled from sleep...and there was Bianca, standing in his kitchen in what she’d clearly gone to bed in, making coffee as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she hadn’t overheard his true, traitorous feelings for her. As if he hadn’t run away from the whole situation like the coward he was.

“Hey sleepyhead,” she said, greeting him with a particularly warm smile and pouring him a cup of coffee. “I was starting to think you weren’t ever going to wake up. Did I tire you out that much last night?”

If he’d had any doubts before that he was dreaming, they were gone now...but the sight of her standing there, golden hair mussed and down around her shoulders, wearing nothing but her underwear and one of his oversized band shirts, tugged at his heart nonetheless. He knew he should change the dream, shift it into something else, anything else...but instead he found himself unable to look away from Dream-Bianca, drinking her in hungrily.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning a bit and tilting her head inquisitively as she slid the coffee mug over to him.

Alex tried to speak, and found that even his dream-self was too overcome with emotion to get words past his throat immediately. “...Nothing,” he croaked out after a moment of effort, his voice low and thick, and in the way of dreams, the distance between them was suddenly gone without either of them having moved through it, and he was pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Nothing is wrong, as long as you’re here.”

Dream-Bianca laughed at that (just like he knew the real Bianca would have, and he couldn’t blame her, that statement was hella cheesy even if it was absolutely true), but she returned the embrace, strong hands rubbing across his upper back and shoulders soothingly...and then maybe not quite so soothingly. Alex didn’t pay it any mind, content to just close his eyes and press his face into her shoulder, clutching her to him and breathing in her familiar scent: some light, flowery lotion, the clean smell of laundry detergent, and the barest hint of Icy Hot.

“I miss you,” he murmured, wishing that somehow the depth of feeling carried in those words could reach the real Bianca, wherever she was. But just like the rest of this, that was also nothing more than an impossible dream.

“Miss me? I’m right here, silly,” Dream-Bianca chuckled, and Alex knew for certain then that he wouldn’t be able to find it in himself to force the dream to shift, period. He would never have this, anything like this, in reality; a dream was the most he could ever hope for. He might never even be able to talk to her again, much less hold her like this or...

Screwing his eyes closed even tighter, he clutched her to him, his breathing going a little ragged. He wanted this--wanted her--wanted their friendship back, wanted her constant warmth and comforting presence beside him again so desperately–

He was too wrapped up in his own longing and self-inflicted misery to notice that Dream-Bianca was shifting in his arms; then she brushed her hand over his cheek, her fingertips grazing his jaw as she pulled back from him just slightly. Alex gave a bleary double-blink, staring up into her face with poorly-restrained anguish written across his own--why was she moving away, why couldn’t he keep her close even in a dream, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t–

Before that jumble of thoughts could become anything truly melodramatic, Dream-Bianca did something that made his mind go completely blank: tilting his chin up, she smirked down at him, skimmed the pad of her thumb across his lower lip with an easy sort of familiarity, then leaned in to press her mouth against his. Alex’s eyes went wide, his whole body stiffening as he inhaled hard, but the pressure against his lips didn’t ease, and the warmth of her mouth, her hands, her body pressing against him was a step beyond captivating, and he didn’t--couldn’t--pull away this time. Instead he closed his eyes and kissed her back with every last bit of held-back, pent-up passion that he’d pushed down and hidden away for more than a year, letting himself get lost in the tidal-wave feeling of it all.

Somewhere in the middle of that mind-numbing kiss, the dream shifted again, and this time Alex wasn’t certain that he hadn’t subconsciously done it himself, though he had precious little capacity for rational thought at the moment, all things considered. He and Bianca were a tangle of limbs and not much clothing in the already-messy sheets of his bed, a subtle hint that, at least in this particular dream world, this wasn’t the first time they’d enjoyed each other’s company.

It’s just a dream, he told himself as he boldly slipped a hand up under her shirt (his shirt), and Dream-Bianca gave an encouraging hum against his mouth and arched into his touch, her fingers digging into his back, pulling him down on top of her. It all felt so intensely real that Alex broke off the kiss with a low gasp as their hip bones bumped together just shy of painfully, and both of them shifted slightly, leaving Alex completely on top of her, caught and cradled between those smooth, muscular thighs.

“B-Bianca, I don’t know if-” he began, feeling himself start to tremble with a sickening whirl of nerves and curious anticipation, but Dream-Bianca wouldn’t have any of that.

“What are you so afraid of all of a sudden?” she said softly, and his chest ached at the concern shining in those unforgettable sea-green eyes as she gently reached up to cup his face with one hand, brushing a short-nailed thumb across his cheekbone.

Alex swallowed hard, hyper-aware of the feel of her skin against his own, the warmth of her, her body’s perfect meld of lean muscle and soft femininity pressing close against him in all sorts of interesting places. This was a dream, he knew that, and yet this time the vivid detail of it all was...almost daunting, somehow. “N...nothing,” he managed to get out after a moment, though Dream-Bianca wasn’t fooled by that any more than the real one would’ve been.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she murmured, looking almost shamefaced, more than halfway embarrassed and a little contrite. “I mean, we already have done this, but...I might’ve come on a little strong before, and if you’re regretting saying yes and think it’s a mistake now that you’ve had time to think-”

“No,” he interjected hurriedly, not wanting to see that guilt on her face when he was the reason that any of this was happening at all, dream or not. “No, I...I could never regret saying yes to you. I...”

Even in a dream, an intimate dream like this where it should’ve felt easy and safe to say, it was still nerve-wracking to admit just how deep his feelings went...but at least here he knew that if it didn’t go over well, he could shift the dream and fix it.

“...I love you, Bianca. I’ve been in love with you since our sophomore year. I just...your friendship was so important to me, I didn’t want to risk losing it or ruining it somehow, since...I didn’t think you could ever feel the same.” Turning his face into her hand, he pressed a slow, almost reverent kiss to her palm, then looked back down at her. “...Honestly, I’m still afraid. Even now, after...”

After I already lost you in real life.

But Dream-Bianca pulled him out of that painful line of thought by reaching up with her other hand and cradling his face, her smile bright and warm as the noonday sun.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Alex. I don’t regret this either...” She shifted beneath him, and Alex choked on a gasp at how intimate it felt, at the knowledge that there was nothing between them now but their underwear. “...And I want you again. Right here-” Another subtle movement of her hips that had him drawing in another sharp breath- “-And right now.”

Alex wasn’t certain Bianca would ever really say anything like that, even in this sort of situation, but it was his dream, and it was at least partially what he wanted to hear from her, so that was what she said. Any sort of self-control, self-restraint, or self-loathing collapsed as she pulled him down for another kiss, this one even more hungry and needy than the first. He only broke away when he needed to breathe--funny that he would remember something like that in a dream, but for whatever reason that’s how it was--and after gasping in a few ragged lungfuls of air, he dropped his head and let his mouth find one of those beautiful, tempting collarbones. He had no idea why, but he’d found his eyes lingering there whenever the neckline of Bianca’s shirts had dipped low enough to reveal them--and somehow they often drew his eyes even more than the curve of her breasts (though nothing could pull his gaze away from her strong, shapely legs, save the threat of being caught staring). He’d wanted to press his lips to them, trace them with his tongue, let his teeth settle against them--and here in this dream, for the first time, he gave in to all three of those urges. Bianca seemed to enjoy having it done as much as he enjoyed doing it, sighing and arching up against him as he left damp skin and faint blood-bruises in his wake.

There was more that he wanted to do, more he wanted to see and touch and taste, but even though he had control of the dream, he was fighting with himself over it. Part of him felt like this was wrong, even if it was a dream, while another part knew that it was the best he was going to get, while yet another part didn’t care either way and just wanted to enjoy himself, and her. As a result, the dream felt choppier than usual, and after an especially bad stutter-skip, they were both fully unclothed, with Bianca looking up at him warmly, expectantly, almost pleadingly.

“Alex...Alex, please. I need you-”

Fuck it, he thought, pushing aside all his doubts and misgivings and guilt, and let himself have this.

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, everything and more he’d hoped for (which made sense, in a dream), and it was more than a little overwhelming. I love you, he panted into her shoulder, a broken confession that he repeated over and over in a ragged whisper, I love you I love you, oh God, Bianca, I love you so much, I can’t help it, I can’t stop I’m sorry I’m so, so sorry, I love you, please come back please stay don’t leave me please. But other than low moans and hungry kisses and grasping hands, he didn’t get an answer: even in a dream, even after letting things go this far (too far), Alex still couldn’t bring himself to twist the dream enough to hear her say any of it back.

It wasn’t like he’d ever get back what they had before--their friendship was probably over, largely due to how stubbornly he’d refused to engage with Bianca ever since that day. And so, selfish and maybe morally questionable as it was, he’d decided that might as well enjoy this, even if it was just a dream. Especially since it was just a dream.

A dream that certainly felt real enough...and that he could control.

By now that lingering sense of guilt had faded away, unable to stand up against the united forces of his desperation and his loneliness, his love and his lust and his longing, and while some part of him knew that it would be back later, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He already felt awful about everything he’d done to Bianca, and something like this wasn’t going to change anything; it could hardly get any worse at this point.

And so he let himself live out every passing fantasy he’d ever had about her, again and again, until both he and Dream-Bianca collapsed together, sweaty and messy and still tangled in each other’s arms. Bianca was smiling as she pressed a lazy kiss to his shoulder, and he found that he was doing the same as he buried his face in her hair, not caring one bit that it was sticking to his skin.

“...We should do this again,” Dream-Bianca murmured before her eyes fluttered closed and she slowly relaxed against him in sleep, and no matter how much he fought to change it, Alex couldn’t stop the tears running freely down his face as he held her close.

---

When he woke up the next morning, Alex felt physically refreshed, but the low-hanging cloud of guilt looming around him made it hard to enjoy that. He’d also (unsurprisingly) made a mess of himself, which he’d had to do his best to clean up with paper towels at the kitchen sink--the last thing he wanted was for Connor to wake up as he crept through his bedroom into the bathroom, an all-too-telling damp spot on the front of his pajama pants. (Connor finding him with his pants down in the kitchen wasn’t much better, but the lesser of two evils and all that.) After cleaning up somewhat, it was easy enough to hide the rest of the evidence with a quick change of clothes, rolling up the others and stuffing them into one of the far ends of his duffle to wash out when he got home.

Taking care of that sort of clean-up was actually a blessing, in that it was a distraction, albeit a temporary one, something to focus on instead of focusing on how thinking about that dream left him feeling sick to his stomach. It was just a dream, sure, so no one had gotten hurt, and in the dream Bianca had been more than willing. None of that was the problem. The problem was, he did generally have a fair amount of control over his dreams, and it wasn’t really respectful of him to let himself do those things to her when, in real life, she likely wouldn’t consent.

As usual, Connor only made everything worse.

“Soooo,” the tall Asian-American drawled on finding Alex hunched over a bowl of soggy, mostly-uneaten cereal in the kitchen, resting one hand on the back of Alex’s chair and leaning in just a little too close for comfort. Alex’s eyes flicked sideways to spit him with a glacial stare as he cringed away from the older youth, but Connor just grinned all the wider and moved to close the space between them again. “The walls are pretty thin here, and it sounded to me like you had a gooooood dream last night… Was it about who I think it was~?”

Alex’s mouth tightened, and he pointedly tossed his spoon into the bowl, not caring that he’d splattered the counter with milk.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Connor chuckled, a delighted, devious light gleaming in his eyes, and a wide, toothy smile pulling on his lips to match. “So, tell me about it. Did you pin her to the bed and leave her breathless and begging for it, or did she climb on top and-”

Alex let out a low noise of poorly-choked rage, the muscles in his jaw, neck, and arms standing out starkly, his knuckles flaring bone white. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he managed to grit out after a long moment of effort, but Connor just waved his objection away.

“Hey man, this kinda thing is, like, a time-honored tradition between bros. It’s just that you’ve never boned anyone, so you never had any stories to tell. I guess you still haven’t really boned anyone, but since I figure this is probably the best I’m gonna get, I’ll take-”

Without another word, Alex roughly shoved away from the counter, stalking across the room to the couch and his small pile of belongings. Connor had been leaning most of his weight on that chair, which gave an alarming wobble as the blue-haired student all but hurled himself out of it, and the startled actor had to give a comical scramble to maintain his balance.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Wuh‒ But you only got here yesterday morning! You’re supposed to stay most of the rest of the week-”

“If I stay here any longer, I’m going to punch you again, and this time I don’t know if I’ll stop...” Pausing a moment, Alex forced his fists to unclench, drawing in a deep, calming breath as he finished with a deceptive sort of placidity, “...And someone I really respect told me that I should take better care of my hands.”

Something about the younger man’s slightly absent tone set off warning bells in Connor’s mind, and there was a hint of ill-concealed panic and desperation as he scrambled to beat Alex to the door. As it turned out, he just managed it, thanks to Alex having to pause to grab his bag off the couch.

“Alex--hey, look, I’m sorry, okay?”

“So you’ve said, lots of times. Only, you never really try to do any better, do you? Which is a key component of actually being sorry.”

“I mean it though, really. I swear--I’ll swear it on whatever you want, I’ll do whatever you want to prove it to you-”

“Great. You can start by getting out of my way.”

Connor wavered in place, but didn’t move, still using his larger body to block the door. “Listen,” he started, then trailed off as he ran a hand back through his hair, making it stand up in crazy spikes--a nervous tell, Alex realized suddenly. “Listen...I know this is hard for you. That these last few months have been hard for you. And I know that I’m not making it any better. But it’s just, this is how I’m used to acting, you know? I’ve always been the ‘class clown’ type, I just added ‘bad boy’ to that once I got to college.” He was babbling now, his eyes going distant as words poured out of him unchecked, and Alex just stood there impassively and let it happen. “Jokes and stuff have always been my stock in trade, and even if they were a little mean-spirited, people were good sports and all because I ragged on everyone pretty equally, including myself. But I took it too far that day, I know that now, and...aw, hell, if I’d known that it would hurt you so much and that I wouldn’t be able to help you stop hurting, I never would’ve said what I said to get you to tell the truth about it all when I saw Bianca coming up behind you like that-”

“...Wait.”

“-Because you’re right, what kind of friend would--huh?”

“Before...you said before on the radio...and again when we talked in the coffee shop last week and in the diner last night...” Things were sliding into place for Alex, a deep suspicion suddenly and incontrovertibly confirmed, though his tone was soft and distracted as he finished going back over everything that Connor had said and done during the past few months, until he arrived at the obvious, inevitable answer: “...It wasn’t an accident. Bianca overhearing me...you saying what you did, when you did...you did it on purpose.”

Connor’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d just said--or rather what he’d just admitted to doing. What he didn’t do was deny it--and by the time he recognized that he should have, it was too late to do it believably.

“You did it on purpose?” This time it was a mystified, pained question, and the betrayal, the searching expression on Alex’s face was close to unbearable for the usually-flippant would-be actor to see. “Why? After all these months of--of harassing me to hang out with you, of saying that you’re my friend, how could you...why would you do something like that?”

“I‒I was just trying to help-”

“Bullshit.” Alex’s shock had melted away, his face hardening into deep-seated, slow-burning anger. “Like hell you were trying to help. Try again, Connor.”

The older boy flinched at the way his name was very nearly spat at him, but for once, he didn’t seem to have anything to say, didn’t have a ready smile or an easy excuse or any way to play things off and justify his actions...or rather, none that would mollify Alex’s temper. All Connor had was the truth, and he wasn’t ready to part with that, regardless of what it cost him.

But again, too late, he realized that Alex could read his expression and body language, that he could hear the truth in his lack of words.

“...You were jealous. Jealous of how close I was to Bianca-” Alex cut himself off, sudden understanding flashing across his face, startled disbelief tempering the previous fury in his tone when he continued, watching Connor carefully as he put forth his cautious conclusion. “...No. You were jealous of how close she was to me.”

That was the only thing that made sense--and it made a lot of sense. After all, Connor hadn’t stepped into the newly-formed gap between Alex and Bianca and attempted to comfort Bianca; he’d attempted to comfort Alex. As far as Alex knew, he hadn’t been in contact with Bianca at all. He’d only been there for Alex. Maybe he’d only ever been there for Alex. That only generated additional questions, but as Alex slowly talked through it, he found the answers easily enough, the pieces of this particular, painful puzzle snapping together cleanly, the picture they formed quite clear.

“...And how better to make sure we wouldn’t get any closer to each other than to ruin everything for me. To destroy that friendship--my only real friendship--right at its base. After all, if I didn’t have Bianca to spend time with, then maybe I’d finally have time for you. Is that it?”

It wasn’t really a question so much as an accusation, and Connor took an involuntary half-step backwards, swallowing hard as his gaze skittered desperately away from Alex. Judging by Alex’s reaction, that was the wrong thing to do. Glaring hard enough to heat metal, he took a half-step forward and squared off with the taller man, jaw outthrust combatively, ready and raring to fight over something this important, this life-shattering.

“I said, is that it? You wanted me to be alone again. You wanted me to be so low, so desperate for someone to turn to that I’d give in and turn to you, despite the fact that you know that I don’t really like you. Then again--you’ve always been very careful to make sure that I won’t like you, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question, and Alex’s initial flare of rage was dying down into cold, calculating fury. “Taking me to that party, leaving me on my own to go play around, texting me all the time, sending me all those unwanted half-naked selfies, hitting on every girl in sight as obnoxiously as possible--including Bianca. You knew exactly what I wouldn’t like, and that’s what you showed me, even if it isn’t really how you are. And don’t try to deny it--or don’t you remember that I know exactly what it looks like when someone is trying to push people away and keep everyone at arm’s length?”

Connor still couldn’t seem to look him in the eye for long, gaze flicking up and then darting away from the blue-haired student as he made an obvious struggle to find something, anything to say. Alex let him founder for a few seconds, then continued on, cold and angry and utterly unmoved by Connor’s distress.

“...Seems like an awfully long way to go for friendship, doesn’t it. But then again...you’ve never wanted friendship from me at all, have you?” There was no judgment in his tone, just clinical, distant curiosity with no accusation or even any real desire to know behind it. “Have you, Connor.”

Connor swallowed hard and stared down at his feet, dark eyes wide and full of something Alex had never seen in them before: fear. It was strange to see, but Alex couldn’t find any sort of softer feelings like pity, much less empathy, for Connor, despite how similar their positions could’ve been seen as from a certain viewpoint. And regardless of all the nitty-gritty details, Alex wouldn’t have been Alex if he didn’t call out this sort of unacceptable behavior.

“...Isn’t this a blast from the past. Just like my first taste of the call-in radio show life, huh? Although, unlike Mr. ‘Asshole in the Friendzone’, I guess I can’t fault you completely--you certainly haven’t acted like you wanted to be my friend. Ever.”

Connor flinched at those last two words, then gave a start when Alex planted his hand firmly in the middle of his chest and pushed him to one side with a surprising amount of force. Other than that also-unexpected punch in the face a few months ago, Alex hadn’t ever really gotten violent with anyone; the fact that he was now was startling enough to send the tall would-be actor stumbling to the side.

It was an interesting sort of irony, being on the other side of feelings like this, something that Alex couldn’t reciprocate even if he’d wanted to--which, considering who it was that apparently liked him as something more than a friend, he didn’t. Still, it was best to make his stance on the matter absolute, to ensure that his line of communication, at least, had been clear.

“...I guess I don’t know for sure what you want from me, though I think I have a pretty good hunch. And just in case I’m right, I’ll say it to your face right here and right now, even if it’s a little presumptuous of me.” Connor still wasn’t looking at him, but Alex didn’t flinch from looking right up at Connor, like a scrawny kitten staring down a lanky great dane. “I’m not interested in you, romantically or otherwise, and I’m never gonna date you, or do anything like that with you. You’re not my type in basically every conceivable way possible, and even if you were, you’ve already proven time and time again that you don’t deserve my trust, much less my friendship or anything else. Honestly...I’ve had enough.”

Something about how weary and defeated Alex sounded, coupled with the calm, cold ring of finality in his voice, spurred Connor into sudden action. “H-hey, let’s not get crazy here, okay?” he started, reaching out his hands placatingly, and soon words were tumbling out of his mouth almost faster than he could think of them. “Let’s go get some breakfast--or, or no, I’ll go get something for both of us while you chill here and decide what you want to see today, and then we can talk about all of this more while we-”

“Goodbye, Connor,” Alex cut in, pausing in the open doorway to turn a very distant, and very fake smile over his shoulder at his host...and from the final-sounding resonance in those words, former friend.

“Wai-”

But Alex didn’t wait. He let the door close behind him, striding with purpose back the way he’d come not 24 hours before, and Connor didn’t follow after him.


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