[ There's a sound near to a growl, as much as a human could make, and it's only a beat later that Alex realizes it's coming from himself.

But by that time, he's already twisted a hand in the collar of Neil's shirt, closed the small distance with a violent rush, and pressed their lips together in an act more aggression than affection.

It's not romantic. It's not sweet. It's pure and simple need and instinct, wrapped in a package of frustration and confusion.

As soon as he realizes it, he's stopped, pushed Neil away and down, and is fighting the urge to do damage in some way. To release everything through some simple glorious violent act. ]

I don't do relationships. I don't do fucking boytoys of the hour. I don't waste my damn time out in nowhere for no goddamn reason. I have better things to do. I have a fucking job, more than one, if you already forgot. But I'm here, you angst-ridden spoiled brat.

And if you keep treating me like I'm taking this lightly, I won't be.