Pretty Boy [bxb] | ✔️

Chapter thirty: Heartache is the worst pain

𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣

After the stress and emotions of today, my parents and I took the initiative to sit downstairs and discuss what was going to happen with the Alex situation while he sleeps for a few hours in my room. What's going to happen, of course, needs to be sorted out as soon as possible. Once Alex wakes up and is calm enough, I will tell him the plan.

So far, my mother is adamant that he will be staying in our house for as long as he needs, as long as he's actively looking for a permanent place to stay and isn't just staying with us because it's the easy option that was handed to him.

Before this talk with my parents, I chat about this with Alex after he felt less emotional. He already feels guilty for barging in on us and is desperate not to seem as though he's demanding to stay here because he didn't even ask to live here. He ensured me that we don't have to let him temporarily live at our place, and understands it if we offered out of pity and not because we want to help.

It wasn't out of pity, it was because we care, so I let him know of that. Even so, me saying that still didn't make him feel any less terrible about the whole situation.

His plan was to stay in a hotel until he found a permanent place because he wasn't looking to crash at any of his friends' houses, for the reason that he let me know of earlier, which was they don't care about each other enough. But it was also because he didn't think their parents would want some random guy to sleep on their couch for a however many day or weeks he would need to stay there.

His shock towards us properly wanting to help and not just kicking him out for being intrusive made me realise the actual lack of care he had in his life. Even though I've never witnessed what happens in his home firsthand, I do know that his surprise to even the most basic of care is down to the treatment from his dad. I can't say much about his mum, but I wouldn't be surprised to see her react in the same way as her son did.

My dad clears his throat and sits up, his hands clasped together in front of him as he looks at us questioningly. "So— so why is Alex living here, exactly? Nobody's quite explained it to me. Has he fought with his parents or?"

Mum and I share a look, and we don't need to say anything to know what the other is thinking. Concerning Alex's privacy and right to have him decide who knows, we come to a sort of psychic agreement that we won't go into any detail. Mum lets me speak.

I want to say that having a fight and walking out is an understatement, but I don't. Instead, I opt for saying, "Something somewhat serious has happened at home and he needs somewhere to live."