#alex.thread

“we were never going to work out anyway, right?” avoiding eye contact, but the sad smile on his lips is for them. “sometimes i think we would’ve been a lot of fun.” 

the space between his ears hums loudly, mimicking the bass sounds in the bar he’d just left overlaid with frantic rambling. above the noise, a voice that isn’t alex’s own. it’s softer, though thick with emotion, and familiar, like a homing beacon. he trips over himself fumbling out of the rideshare, tosses a frazzled thank you over his shoulder before traipsing the perilous path to the door. it’s been weeks. as in, alex has had weeks to practice what he’d say when he finally found the balls to show up on oliver’s stoop. but when alex raps his knuckles against the door, his head is still swimming from one too many drinks, and any script he might’ve had a few hours ago is lost to the wind. still, alex knocks, louder now. he must look deranged, sweaty and wired, a belated realization behind his wild eyes. when the door finally gives way under his incessancy, the first thing alex can manage is, “i need to talk to you.”