And He Was The Sun
A little present for my angst king, @bunny-yams!!! Please remember to comment and reblog if you enjoyed!
Sometimes, Alexander wondered if the universe was jealous of Thomas.
The way his dark eyes sparkled with new ideas, brighter than the North Star. The twinkling in his laughter to rival the glimmers of the cosmos. How each smile, each smirk, each devilish grin was so perfectly curved into constellations with those lips Alexander could kiss for centuries and still wish for more. How his hair would reflect each beam of light on a warm August morning, the curls refracting the glow into a halo, casting gold onto the nearly-black brown. In those particular moments, Thomas was the sun.
Each morning Alexander rose before the sunrise where Thomas awoke, palettes of pinks streaked the sky of Thomas’s small smile, that gorgeous smile that always seemed like it was meant for Alexander and only Alexander. They climbed out from the heavy cloak of sleep to greet the day day, and while Alex was typically groggy and tired, Thomas always seemed so perfectly set into the patterns of the morning, helping each sunbeam dance through the windows as he pulled open the blinds.
As the sunlit windows of morning shattered into shards of afternoon, Thomas stayed resolute in his path of day, working through and persevering despite clouds of anxiety and doubt in the sky of his mind. He would laugh out boldly, burning one if they stayed too long, or sit quietly and focus, content to be overshadowed and rained upon with new words from the promise of a better day soon to come.
Evenings were typically soft, gentle kisses on cheek, a hand and the wind tangling Alexander’s hair affectionately, Thomas laughing in that way where he forgets to contain himself and for once just allows the melody to play through. Each note of his laughter a new symphony, a revised chorus, a reprise of a nearly-forgotten song. Alexander wished more than anything to hear such wonder again, if only just once.
Nightfall was subtle, over before it began. The stars in his eyes connected complicated constellations, the names of which were so wondrous it is a mystery how they were lost to the gentle grip of time. Thomas painted dark blues and hints of violet across the sky with each kiss he pressed to Alexander’s face, silent promises of what the new dawn would bring as it burned the pieces it has strewn about during the night and emerged as a phoenix, rising from the ashes;
The universe must have been upset that such brilliance could shine from something other than their own sun and stars. So it had sent a supernova.
Bright lights, flashing in every direction. The sounds of metal crumbling to dust with each crackle of the crash. Fiberglass half-melted and nearly melted into the dark skin of the center of Alexander’s solar system. His halo was no longer gold, then, a sheet white airbag in its place, puffing out around him in effort to avoid the damage he would take from the impact.
And in a matter of time that seemed to pass far too slowly, Thomas had given up his title of the sun, in exchange for rule over the midnight sky.
He was laid out thin, too thin, on the hospital bed, his dark eyes closed and unable to light the stars he had always been so in control of. Curls of his hair tangled into heavy cloud weighing down over his face, and Alexander carefully reached over to brush them out of his eyes. He set the flowers down carefully on the bedside table that was always there.
Alex had chosen daisies this week. At first, he had wanted to throw every daisy ever grown into the bright fire of the supernova that had taken away his sunlight. But with time, he had grown to find a strange srt of comfort with the flowers. Each petal fluttered past his mind, unlocking memories he had tucked away neatly, in effort to slow the tidal wave of grief that had crashed over his mind, water spilling out the edges of his eyes.
Thomas had always made Alexander a flower crown when they went to the park together. Alex would protest that he was much too old to wear one, and Thomas would point out that someone so annoying must be a snobby, entitled prince that he had just so happened to fall in love with. And since Alex was a prince, he needed a crown. After a few kisses, Alexander usually relented and allowed Thomas to place the crown on his head.
But they couldn’t do that now. Not anymore. Thomas’s hands laid still by his sides, the bleached bedsheets stiff beneath him, and the teal robe covering his body so obviously not fitting for the ruler of the kingdom of dreams.
Gently, Alexander pulled something out of his pocket and placed it on Thomas’s head, smiling when he saw how it framed Thomas’s face. The little plastic daisies had been carefully braided together, into a beautiful, although fake, flower crown. Alex smiled and sighed quietly, reaching over and picking up his coat to pull back on. After all, it was a cold January afternoon, and after the first two years, everyone else had given up hope for Thomas.
Sparing a glance at the man in the bed, Alexander’s weak smile began to fade. Two years had passed by, two years of burning sunlight instead of the soft caresses of sunbeams that Thomas bended to his will.
Maybe he should give up. Alexander quickly shook the thought out of his head, closing his eyes tightly. No- Thomas just needed time for his mind to heal. But the idea stayed, lingering like a strong taste of candy that makes you wish you could brush your teeth to block it out. Thomas was gone. He wasn’t gone, as most people meant when they said such a thing. Thomas Jefferson was simply… Not there anymore. He had carved a small place into Alexander’s heart and left it there, somehow able to rest when Alex felt the pain of such an empty space each and every day he spent without Thomas.
Alexander bit his lip and tried to pull his gaze away from the sight of Thomas’s body, but found himself unable to. Because Thomas wasn’t going to wake up, no matter how long Alex waited. And somewhere, deep down, Alexander knew that. The thought had been there the whole time, creeping up on him as a mist until it began to rain heavily from his eyes.
And through his blurry vision, for a moment, just a fleeting second…
Alexander could have sworn that Thomas’s starlit eyes had blinked open.