•°♡彡✰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅʏ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ✰彡♡°•|〚נαмιℓтση мσ∂єяη ѕσυℓмαтє αυ〛

✰𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠✰

{Third Person | Focus ~ Alexander}

Despite Alexander's expectation—being that he wake up in the loving arms of his husband—he awakened exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. He shivered and felt around the other side of the bed, but it was only a slight dip resided there. He sighed and seconds later, realized that that his left nostril was clogged. He rolled over and slowly stood up, immediately obtaining a headache. His vision blurred heavily, black dots clouding for a few moments before his vision returned to his normal state. Alex began to walk, but his knees had gotten weak. So, he tried to stretch out his stiff limbs. When he arched his back to release tension, he stretched a bit too hard  and hurt himself. It just seemed like everything was going wrong today. Alexander slowly walked down the stairs and made his way into the kitchen.

Silence filled the hollow house as he sat on a stool facing the island. There was a small sticky note that rested by the fruit bowl. Alexander picked it up and scanned the words in red ink, reading them silently.

Morning Darlin'!

Me and Philip went out to the store, but you were sleeping, so I didn't wanna wake you. Your breakfast is in the mircowave, and please don't try to make anything by yourself, the kitchen has already suffered enough. We'll be back soon.

~Love Thomas

The short letter made Alexander smile, especially the nitpick at his cooking skills. He was never the type to cook, not really fond of the combination of work and heat. He was still trying to make for the time he nearly food poisoned his own son. He got up and shuffled towards the microwave and opened the door to a plate full of food. He placed the plate on the table and grabbed a fork from out of the drawer. He sat back down, stabbing his scrabbled eggs and stuffing some into his mouth. The food was nice in his opinion, but it felt so weird. Philip wasn't sitting down beside him, talking about the weird dream he had last night, Thomas wasn't staring in confused just like he was, trying to help Philip decipher his own cryptic dreams. The Virginian wasn't rambling on about how much of a pain in the ass his coworkers are either. He just felt so lonely.

Usually he would kill for day without chaos, but it felt irregular without all of all the weirdness. Maybe it was just because he was feeling sluggish and tired. A few moments later, Alexander heard the door knob jiggling, following by Thomas  coming with a couple of brown bags in his hands, Philip coming in behind him with two small boxes. "How you accidentally stuff two boxes of donuts under your shirt?" Philip shrugged. "I dunno, it just happened to show up there when we were leaving, and I didn't even notice it." Thomas sighed. "Philip you can't just.." He trailed off, knowing that he would only resort to denying everything, so he put the subject to the side. The both of them dropped their bags off in the kitchen. Philip sat next to his father, spinning on the stool. "Hey Pops."

"Philip, what did you do?" The ten year old threw his hands into the air. "I didn't do anything! They just appeared out of nowhere!" Thomas walked over to Alexander, tucking his hair behind his ears, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Morning sweetheart." "Morning." Immediately after to responded, Alex shriveled his nose, took a deep breath and sneezed. He shook his head and sniffled. "You okay?" "I don't think so. But I felt just fine yesterday.." Philip smirked. "I know what will make you feel better.." He slid the two boxes of donuts towards him. Alexander opened one of the boxes and picked out a glazed donut, taking a bite and smiling. "That does kind of make me feel better." Thomas raised his eyebrow. "So your happy that your son stole?" "I didn't say that, I'm happy about the donuts. You should try one." The Southerner shook his head.

"When I was growin' up-" Philip interrupted him. "Dad, please no. Nobody wants to here your old 'Back In My Day' stories." Thomas crossed his arms, mumbling. "I would wanna hear my stories.." Alexander—amused by Thomas' complaining—snickered. It made him even more joyful, seeing how happy his family was making him without even trying. All the more reason why he would put up with the chaos, every single day. "That's not funny, I'm actually hurt. My stories are fun." Philip walked over to his father and hugged his waist. "I'm sorry, I bet your stories are really good." Thomas patted his back, smiling. "Awe, that so-" "I just don't wanna hear them." The sentence wiped every bit of the smile off his face. Philip began to laugh at his facial expression change, but had an epiphany, thinking over the word story.

"Speaking of stories, could you tell me the musical love story thingy you guys were taking about yesterday?" Thomas ruffled his hair into a more of a frizzy mess. "I wouldn't be able to tell this story without the man who play a big part in the story.." Alexander rolled his eyes at the cheesy pun. "Okay. But this is a pretty long story so we should probably move over to the couch." The three of them walked over to the cushioned couch, sitting down and getting comfortable. "You ready?" Thomas asked. Philip shook his head rapidly.

"Alright. Here we go."

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This was edited by future JamiltonStoryWriter, the original chapter was utter garbage and made me physically cringe so like. Yey.