29. Alexander
ALEXANDER
James Jobson loved the sea. And Alexander loved everything that his father loved, so Alexander also loved the sea.
Alexander still loves the sea, even two near-drownings later. That’s why, when Ophelia told him about a door on the bottom floor that leads to a hidden cove, he all but ran downstairs.
That’s where he is now, breathing in the salty air from the water lapping up to shore. He watched the sun set over the horizon earlier, but it’s long gone now, replaced by the cold light of the moon.
Maybe his lack of ocean-induced trauma is strange, a testament to every other fear his childhood managed to instill in him—it would be absurd to let a few run-ins with the sea overshadow years of self-loathing and mommy issues!
—but thank God for that. Alexander doesn’t know what he would do if he no longer had the sea.
It’s the only place where he truly feels his father’s spirit anymore.
Probably because it’s the only place he ever saw the real, unfiltered version of his father in life, too. Only when mist from the waves settled over them could James Jobson be who he really was: a nerdy, technology-obsessed, witty, atheist king of a Catholic country.
And somehow the sand and the ocean sounds and his father’s soft voice made Alexander more himself too—like they welded together all of the hundreds of iterations of his personality to make him something more than just good company. Something almost real.
Miriam Helena, on the other hand, hated the sea. And Cain hated everything that his mother hated, so Cain also hated the sea.
He probably still does, though he was perfectly willing to use it as a weapon against his only brother. His only family, anymore.
There was a time when they liked each other, Cain and him, but Alexander can’t remember when it stopped. Just that, at some point, midnight sneak-outs to watch the stars ended. Morning runs around the grounds ended. Playful bickering in the halls ended.
But he also remembers the day after their father died, when he ran down to the beach, tripping over his own feet.
He sliced up his hands falling down the last flight of jagged, wooden stairs, but he let the open wounds mix with the sand anyway.
He sat in the gentle waves and sobbed, emotions heightened from all of the wine in his system.
And then, suddenly, there was Cain, right next to him. Not saying anything, not even looking at him, but still there. They watched the waves for hours.
God, he misses Cain so much.
He just wants… he wants to go home.
A light pinging sound from his ring pulls him out of his thoughts. The alarm he set for eleven ten. He knew he’d lose track of time when he came out here, but he didn’t want to miss tonight’s meet-up with his friends.
They decided a few days ago that today, the day after the Trials, they would meet in Alexander and Zeno’s room at a quarter past and do nothing together after so many days working non-stop.
He scrambles up, pulls his shoes on, and jogs toward the door. He’s eager to get there for two reasons. One, he can’t wait for a relaxing night with his friends. Two, he hasn’t seen Kallias all day—not at meals or in class—and he’s starting to get worried.
He knows he’s not Kallias’ keeper, okay?
But he’s also definitely established that he has huge, more-than-friends feelings for the guy, and he can’t help but be put off by his absence.
So Alexander takes the steps two at a time and when he bumbles into his room at eleven sixteen his friends are already huddled on the floor, laughing with each other. He smiles at them, then scans the room.
“Where’s Kallias?” Zeno asks, beating him to the punch.
“I thought he’d be here.”
“We thought he was with you.”
Alexander, you’re not his keeper. You’re not his keeper. You’re not his keeper.
“I’m gonna go look for him,” Alexander says, because he’s weak for Kallias and, keeper or not, he needs to make sure he’s safe.
Ophelia stands and picks up her shoes. “Do you want our help?”
“No, no. If something’s actually wrong he’d prefer it just be me.”
“Okay. But come back and tell us when you find him. We care about him too,” she responds, sitting back down.
He wishes Kallias could hear her. Kallias seems to think that their friends don’t consider him anything more than an extension of Alexander, and maybe that’s how he sees them too.
But Kallias is sort of overwhelmingly lovable once you get to know him, and Alexander’s friends have fallen to his charm.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Alexander walks three doors down to Kallias’ room—probably the best place to start—and knocks twice. When that doesn’t work, he tries his usual ‘banging incessantly’ tactic. Two minutes and multiple bruised knuckles later, he can confidently say Kallias isn’t in there.
Which is bad, isn’t it? What if he’s in trouble? What if he’s—No! This is ridiculous. Because there are plenty of other places he could be. He doesn’t spend that much time in his room anyways. So where else?
The Library? He should try that next. And if Kallias isn’t there then he can start freaking out. Because if he isn’t there, chances are he’s dead somewhere or he tripped down the stairs and broke his neck or he fell off the cliff or he jumped off the cliff or he…
Once he bursts into the Library, his anxiety a live wire, all of his worries fade away. Because there’s Kallias, curled up on a beanbag and covered with three different blankets he probably pulled from the top shelf of the back wall.
Alexander approaches him slowly and stares at how perfect Kallias looks when he’s sleeping. His face is blank, and not the forced apathy he uses during the day, but true contentment.
It’s beautiful. Everything about Kallias is. But he thinks he prefers awake Kallias, with his cute permanent scowl and his striking black eyes.
Alexander crouches next to him and pushes some golden hair out of his face. “Kallias. Kallias, gorgeous, wake up.”
Kallias’ eyes squeeze together, and then he cracks one open like a cat. When Alexander reflexively smiles at him, Kallias sits up and rubs his face with his hands.
Alexander thinks he sees something purplish under his right hand, but he doesn’t look too closely.
“What are you doing here?” Kallias asks, not unkindly, still adorably groggy from sleep.
“I could ask the same of you. We’re meeting in my room tonight, remember?”
“What?” he says, tilting his head. Then his eyes find the pearly windows where moonlight drifts in, and he jolts all the way awake. “Shit, Alexander, what time is it?”
“It’s eleven thirty.”
Kallias shoots up to standing and starts packing up his bag, pulling on his shoes, and fixing his hair all at once with a string of curses flowing out of his mouth.
“Whoa, whoa. What’s happening?”
“I’m late. Forms, I’m so late.”
“Late for what?” Alexander stands and pulls Kallias’ bag away from him.
“I don’t have time for this,” he snaps, reaching for his bag when Alexander takes a step back. “Forms, Alexander, don’t be a child.” Kallias snatches the bag back and stalks toward the exit.
Alexander rushes to stand between him and the door.
“I can’t do this right now, okay? Get out of my way.” He shoves past Alexander, but before he can get all the way into the stairwell, the torchlight illuminates the purple mark from earlier and Alexander yanks him back by his shirt.
A thin, dark bruise extends from his right temple to just below his eye.
When Alexander raises a hand to gently touch the wound, Kallias goes still. “What’s this?”
“It’s a bruise, it’s nothing.”
“Did someone hit you?” Kallias leans near-imperceptibly into the touch and meets Alexander’s eyes.
“Alexander, please,” he whispers. Alexander’s not sure what he’s asking for. He doesn’t think Kallias knows either.
“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
Kallias shakes his head. “I don’t need a hero,” he says, letting Alexander gently hold his chin.
Alexander sighs. “I just want to help you.”
“I’ve been dealing with him since I was ten. I’m used to it by now,” Kallias says, somehow charged and flippant at the same time. Right when he finishes the sentence, his eyes widen and his lips clamp shut.
“Who is ‘him’?” Alexander asks.
Kallias pulls away, far enough that Alexander’s hand hovers between them, empty. “No one. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You don’t get to do that,” Alexander responds.
Kallias laughs sharply. “Who are you to decide what I can and can’t do?”
“Someone is hurting you. Let me help. Please. I’m begging you to let me help.”
Whoever is doing this to Kallias is real now. He’s here somewhere and Alexander needs to find him and make him pay. He’s not a violent person, but right now it’s coursing through him like fire in his veins.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kallias says, walls falling back into place one by one until Alexander can hardly tell that there’s anything behind his eyes.
“Kallias—”
Kallias hoists his bag higher onto his shoulder and walks out the door. He scales the stairs quickly, like Alexander would let him just leave this behind.
“Kallias, wait. What the Hell? Where are you going?” he shouts, jogging to catch up. He reaches for Kallias’ arm, but Kallias shakes him off.
“Leave me alone. It’s not your business.”
“What if I want it to be? Look, I have been trying to follow the clues you leave for me, but I’m done pretending I don’t see what’s happening to you.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then where are you going? Then who is he?”
“Nothing is wrong, Alexander, would you just leave it?”
“No.”
“You have to trust me,” Kallias barks. When he stops on their floor and turns to look back, he’s more visibly upset than Alexander has ever seen him.
How can I when you won’t let me know you? is on the tip of Alexander’s tongue, but he holds it in. Because that isn’t true, is it?
Sure, he doesn’t know how Kallias grew up, how he got to the Academy. But he knows what Kallias’ smile looks like in the dead of night. He knows every twitch of his brow. He knows more about Kallias than anyone he has ever met. He knows him well enough to know he has secrets—too many of them.
“I do trust you.” Alexander leans against the entrance to their floor. “But I’m also worried about you.”
The anger seeps from Kallias’ face until nothing but apathy is left. “It’s not your concern.”
“Then whose is it? Because you don’t seem concerned for yourself.” Kallias turns to continue ascending the stairs and Alexander shouts from their hall, “Someone has to fucking care about you!”
“Goodnight, Alexander,” he hears reverberating against the staircase’s walls.
The message is clear in Kallias’ tone: This is over.
“Kallias,” he calls, more sad than angry. His tone is clear too: I don’t want it to be.
It feels remarkably like déjà vu.
When he gets back to his room, everyone eyes him curiously.
“Did you find him?” Ophelia eventually asks.
“Yes,” Alexander replies, not elaborating. The expression on his face must speak for itself because no one bothers him for the rest of the night.