Aurora Borealis (All time low, Jalex)

V: Don't be my Enemy

Alex didn't want to get out of bed the next morning. He had his covers pulled completely over him, so that his head was hiding underneath. He couldn't bear to acknowledge any of the shame or embarrassment that he felt, and if he got out of bed, he knew he'd be forced to. It was safer in his comforting shelter of blankets and sheets, though even his covers felt gross and filthy. But again, he refused to even acknowledge that, for fear that it would confirm all of the previous nights activities. He felt absolutely mortified and ashamed of himself. He couldn't believe that he had let himself act so shameful and heedless, and he never wanted to face himself or Jack again. And it wasn't only his mental state that was failing him that morning. He was now facing the physical consequences of his actions from the night prior. His head pounded mercilessly, his muscles were completely stiff, and his whole body ached. He felt like his bones had locked themselves in place like hard rock, and when he tried to make any movement at all, his pain only worsened.

Jack felt fine, safe for a small headache and a bit of nausea. Surprisingly, he had been able to control himself and didn't drink into oblivion. He left Alex's apartment later that night, feeling quite satisfied with himself. Before he exited the apartment, he wrote on a notepad his number, along with a little message for the younger man. Jack couldn't deny that he was curious about Alex. He couldn't stop thinking about that day his dog attacked Zack, and how he had apologized profusely and seemed so nervous and frantic. He appeared so friendly then. But to Jack, he acted like he was repulsed by him. When the older man entered a room, Alex would act like he'd rather be anywhere than there. It seems that the brunet just couldn't tolerate Jack's presence at all without alcohol. In fact, if there was alcohol involved, clearly it was a much different story.

Society as a whole can perhaps agree that alcohol makes a person behave unnaturally. Drunkards do things they wouldn't normally do sober — they act so out of character. However, the wanderer thought differently. He thought that a drunk man was an honest man. Alcohol didn't poison the brain; it liberated it. Liberated it from all of society's rules and laws that were suppressing the person's true nature all along. And so, using that logic and his own aphorisms, Jack came to the conclusion that Alex does like him. His mind, under the intoxicating influence of alcohol, had freed him from any restraints and all of his apprehensiveness. It had freed him to a blurry night of mindless sex, meaningless pillow talk, and sweet, sweet liberation. Yes, Jack concluded. That was it. Alex was suppressing his feelings and, in a moment of weakness, had indulged.

Suddenly, Jack couldn't wait for next Saturday. He knew he would get to see Alex again, and that thought excited him. He couldn't explain why he was so interested by the young artist, but he did know he wanted to discover everything there was to know about about him. He wanted to uncover all of his secrets. He wanted to unveil his past. He wanted to know all of his fears, all of his pet peeves, and all of the things that made him happy. He wanted to be exposed to what made Alex the way he was. He wanted to be savvy about the younger man. Jack always got what he wanted.

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Sooner than expected, Saturday came. Alex was overly excited about it all. It had been so long since he'd showcased any of his artwork, and he was eager to start up again. Alex was there promptly at 9:30, making sure that every painting was hanged the way it was supposed to be, and taking a few moments to step back and admire his own work. In a sense, he was glad he took the year off; it gave him the opportunity to focus solely on improving his art, rather than being stressed about commissions and costumers.

The doors opened to the public at around 10 in the morning. People came and went, observing Alex's soapstone sculptures, as well as his hanged paintings. The carvings sold quickly, which was quite typical when it came to selling art. Sculptures typically sold more than paintings, but Alex didn't care much for that. As long as he could make a living doing what he loved, he would be happy. 2 hours had passed, and the artist spent most of it worrying about Jack in the back of his mind. He hadn't seen him, thankfully, since the night that they hooked up. And when he found that the man left his number on a sticky note, he folded it in his palm and threw it in the trash bin next to his bed. He was praying on the idea that the older man had forgotten about the show, as Alex had initially suspected he would. But his luck was cut short when he saw said man walk in, his friend Zack by his side. The brunet cursed internally, and turned to hide amongst a small crowd of people.