where's my mind / poetry, oneshots etc.

meadow / lams

this is a long 'un

tw: homophobic slurs, mentions of/abuse

alex sighs, glad to finally be out of the house. james is asleep, so he'll be ok for a couple of hours.

the twelve year old boy strolls down into the meadow: a place he can think and a place that he can relax in. he likes looking at the butterflies and apples and trying to describe them in his head (or on paper, on the rare occasion he remembers to take his notebook) and, if peter's out for the night, stay until sunset just to gaze in awe at the sky.

on this particular spring day, there is another boy in his meadow, sitting cross-legged under the shadow of a tree. he has a sketchbook on his lap.

alex decides to join him.

"hi," he greets, plopping himself down next to the freckled boy. "i-i'm alex hamilton."

he winces as he says it, expecting the boy to laugh and insult him, because everyone knew alexander hamilton, the illegitimate bastard, orphan, whoreson.

but, instead he looks up and gives a shy smile. "john laurens." if he knows about alex, he doesn't let it show.

"s-sorry for asking, but laurens, as in the mayor?"

john forces a smile. "yes."

john laurens, to the say the least, is breathtaking. alex immediately falls for his scruffy hair and wide green eyes and dear lord those freckles were to die for.

"do you... come here often?" alex asks, slightly intimidated by the boy's gorgeousness and shuffles away slightly.

"no, not really. henry's out of town for a few weeks and i'm meant to be looking after my brothers and sisters, so we came here for the day." he shrugs and looks around for his siblings, and sees them a few hundred metres away, making daisy chains.

"oh. i love it here. it's always so peaceful."

"it is lovely." john agrees, gently scratching his pencil up and down the paper.

alex's mama used to say that you should never ask someone what they're drawing, because it could be very personal to them. but his curiosity gets the best of him and he blurts out the question, wincing as he does so.

"oh, it's just a hummingbird." john softly. "they were my ma's favourite animal."

"my favourite animal is a lion!" alex remarks, and blushes when john giggles.

"mine is a turtle."

there's a silence before john asks, "why do you come here, alex?"

alex bites his lip. no way was he going to tell a stranger the real reason, but instead rants about the trees and wildlife and how he loves to think of words to describe it all.

"that's really cool," john smiles.

***

a week passes, and alex traipses down the dirt path to the market, where peter had sent him to pick up some potatoes for their tea tonight.

saying he hates the market is an understatement. it's cramped, crowded, busy, humid, loud, dirty, bustling, smells weird, and pretty much everyone there hates him the same amount as he hates them.

alex squeezes his way through the crowd, cringing at all the venomous taunts people spew as he does.

of course the stand that sells the potatoes is near the end, and he's so close when he accidentally bumps a large, bot-bellied man who immediately sends his stomach squirming.