Anemoia

They corral them all up in this classroom silence, low murmurs and the occasional hushed chiding breaking up the sentence of monotony that their individual afflictions have earned them. They wallow in their labels as though they are comfort blankets that swaddle them gently and keep them safe. No one here is any different from the other. They’ve all been fucked over, fucked up, or just plain fucked by someone they once loved, and while most of the guilty parties are running free, these poor bastards pay for the cost of someone else’s sins every single day.

Yes, they are pathetic. Rejects of a society they never fit into. Nothing like Alexander. Nothing like Elias. They are another story altogether. They could change the world if only the world would allow it. But the world is afraid. Society is afraid. They claim to save their lives by stealing them. Alexander has too much to accomplish to be trapped here.

He’s counting seconds. They took away the clock, took away the loud “tick-tock” of the old, practical decoration. What they don’t know is that Alex has his own, internal clock. It ticks away constantly, eating down the minutes and hours and days until he is free. He misses not a count. Death or liberation are all that he lives for. That, and Elias.

Who, at the moment, is separated from Alex, as he has been so often in the past following stints of “bad behavior.” Only, this time, Elias is not alone. He is with the man whom Alex blames for his imprisonment, and, if Alex knows Elias at all, the other man is apologizing to the one who put him here, asking for forgiveness for a crime he never committed. He is probably begging him to take him back. And, God, Alex hopes the man refuses. God, he hopes Elias comes back.

“Alexander? Please stop breaking the crayons. You aren’t the only one who wants to use them.” Alex pauses, hands slowing to a stop as he hesitantly considers the broken bits of wax between his fingers. They don’t allow him any pencils or pens. They don’t trust him not to jam them directly into his ugly blue veins.

“Fuck off.” He glances up toward where the clock once was, annoyed when he is reminded of its corroded absence.

“How long until visiting hours are over?”

“Five minutes.” The woman sighs, exasperated both by Alexander’s innate hostility, as well as his remarkably alarming preoccupation with time. In fact, he had been one of the deciding factors in the choice to do away with the generic and tarnished timepiece that once hung, encaged, upon the tiled wall.

“Think you can manage to refrain from acts of delinquency until then?”

Alex snaps another crayon in two - no one uses Mango Tango all that much, anyway - expression chillingly neutral as he stares back at her.

“Have it your way. I'll be mentioning this to the doctor.” She shakes her head, dark curls swaying to and fro, before stepping away to look after one of the other crazies locked up in their glorified cage.

“Elias is a big boy. He can handle himself.”

“Did I fucking ask you?” He doesn’t bother looking up from where his gaze has fallen, focusing on the pale light of the late afternoon as it claws hideously at the dull silver grates marring the view of the outside world.

“Oh, right. Pedophiles like you don’t like being reminded that their victim isn’t really a kid.”

“I’m not fucking with you today, Jimmy. Take a seat.” No. What would Elias say? Be patient, Alexander. Let it go.

“Of course you aren’t. I’m a legal adult.” Goddammit. Alex finally looks to see the man's shit-eating grin and immediately regrets it.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He and Jim got along most days. What was it the guy had? Dissociative identity disorder? Hell, maybe this wasn’t even the real Jim talking. Did that mean that the rules didn’t apply? That this isn't someone Elias considers a friend?

“I mean...” And now Jim - or whoever - is close. Too close. Leaning down and speaking into Alex’s ear like he’s done it a million times before. If that weren’t enough to set Alex off, what he says certainly is.

“How hard did your daddy have to fuck you to leave you this fucking broken?”

None of Elias's warnings work. The phantom words fade away, crashing forgotten to the ground alongside the bits of colored wax that fall when Alex rises, chair toppling over as his pale fingers find Jim’s throat. He pushes him hard into the nearest wall, previously dull eyes now bright with a storm of emotion, heart pounding in his ears when he pushes words through gritted teeth.

“I told you to shut your fucking mouth.” Fingers squeeze harder, he gains a slight thrill of satisfaction from the panicked look in Jim’s eyes.

“Fucking asshole.” He hears the faint sound of the doors buzzing in the distance, the pale green security light illuminating the dirty tiles and casting a halo around Jim's reddening face. Before the light fades, he feels strong hands gripping his arms, another set upon his torso...

The orderlies are pulling him off of Jim. When he resists, a sharp kick to one of his pressure points earns the man his freedom. Alex turns, instead, to fight the men that now hold him. His sharp tongue is dulled by undiluted rage, utterances of annoyance and protest amounting to little more than angry grunts.

It doesn’t take long until he feels the familiar bite of a needle, some drug administered by some nimble nurse, and he is falling limp, his thoughts, naturally, of Elias, before he falls into his chemically-induced stupor.

Three days. They don’t allow him clocks or windows or even wake-up calls, but Alexander is certain it has been three days since he was locked away. Three days since he has last touched Elias's warm body or heard his delicate voice.

They drag him from the dim room. They speak to him, instruct him. What they say, he isn’t sure. Partially because he doesn’t give a shit, but mostly due to the way the drugs they’ve pumped into him have slowed his mind. It's a harsh high, like being helplessly, terrifyingly inebriated, and even as Alex wants to fight the hands supporting him, even as he longs for the strength to run, he focuses upon Elias, terrified that he has left him.

Praying that he did.

Somehow, he makes it to his bed. Did they leave him here? He isn’t sure. The door opens and there is a hesitant silence, followed by the sound of the doorknob twisting. One of Elias's nervous little ticks.

“Hey.” Alex hates how tired he sounds, loathes how difficult it is just to push himself upright, to blink his heavy lids until he manages to focus on the man in the doorframe.

“Hey... it’s okay. C’mere.” He takes a deep breath, as though the stuffy hospital air can cleanse him of the unnatural substances that they pumped into his veins. He is about to say Elias's name, lips soft as he gathers the breath to speak, when the younger practically rushes him, closing the distance quickly, but keeping a minimal space between them, hesitant as always.

“How’d it go?” Alex whispers the question, head low as he fights the fatigue they’ve forced upon him in a quest for compliance.

“What?” Elias sounds confused and frightened, and Alex attempts a smile, shaking his head and tugging lightly at the hem of Elias's hospital-issued top.

“John.” His voice is even fainter, fingers shaking as they twist carefully into the pale fabric.

“Oh... oh.” Elias makes a sound that might be laughter, but he is always so quiet and careful, Alex can never be entirely certain.

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” There's a trace of bitterness in Alex’s tone, but he’s looking at Elias with pleading eyes, fingers holding tight onto the shirt as though it's his lifeline. And, in all honesty, it just might be.

“He doesn’t want you to run away with him and adopt babies? You tell him you were sorry? You don’t need to be, Elias. He should be sorry.”

“Alexander.” Elias's voice is so soft, so gentle. Alex immediately regrets his words, but he only grips onto Elias harder, willing him to stay.

“He thinks... he hopes that we can work things out. Once I’m recovered, of course.”

Fuck. Right. Of course he does. Elias is a fucking Adonis, anyone would be insane to let him go. Crazier than anyone in this fucked up circus.

“Recovered.” Alex repeats that word. He hates that word. He hates that Elias believes he’s sick. Diseased... or worse - that he is a disease. It's what society tells him, and what he believes. And Alexander will stop at nothing to prove otherwise.

“You aren’t sick, Elias.” He tugs a little on the fabric, just enough to keep him near.

“This world is sick. You, Elias, are the fucking remedy. You are what everyone should be. Good. Pure. True.” He twists his fingers a little more with every word, but really, he’s just focused on sitting upright, on breathing until it doesn't feel like a chore.

“Alex...” Elias makes that sound again, something like laughter, before bowing and shaking his head, shoulders slumping slightly.

“Hey...” Alex whispers again, bowing his own head and searching for Elias's eyes, needing that connection more than he needs air.

“I think he’s right.” He swallows down hard, nodding when Elias looks up at him, confused and curious.

“Maybe you should work things out. I mean, I think you’ll get out soon, but me...” No, Alex was going to be there for much longer. He couldn’t seem to curb his thirst for violence, however hard he tried, and that was going to keep him the hospital’s little pet project for far longer than he cared to admit.

“I thought you’d be gone.” The words slip out before he can stop them, and Alex finally loosens his grip. He hates himself for needing another person this badly, but, goddammit, he needs Elias. He needs him more than meds or doctors or fucking therapy. Elias is the only reason he gives a single fuck about living right now, and he doesn’t know what will happen if he loses him to someone else.

“I’m not.” Alex’s empty hand hardly reaches his lap before Elias's fingers thread through his own loosely, with a tenderness that matches that lovely voice of his.

“I’m here.” Alex looks up, meets Elias's eyes, and immediately feels more confident - more complete.

“And I’m sleepy.” This time, the laugh is evident, Elias's eyes bright and smile shy as he pushes closer into Alex’s space.

“I haven’t slept much... felt too empty in here.” He’s looking down bashfully, and Alex wants to pull him close and kiss him. Instead, he squeezes his hand and he pushes himself back onto his own bed, giving Elias a gentle tug forward.

“Every space is full when you’re in it, Elias. C’mere.” He tugs again and Elias comes willingly, finding his place at Alex’s side eagerly, clearly longing for the connection they’ve been deprived of for days.

“No more fighting, okay?” Elias's voice is already muffled as he buries his face into Alex’s chest, but the words are clear, and they hurt, but only as much as it hurts for Alex to deliver the lie that follows.

“No more fighting.”

He pushes a kiss to the top of Elias's head and pulls him closer, and he knows, as sure as he knows that he will fight again tomorrow, that whatever this is between them will end in disaster. And, most importantly, he knows that he really doesn’t care. He would trade a lifetime of sanity for a moment of this crazy, fucked up, unshakeable love. Every time. Without a second thought.