Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider nor any of the characters affiliated with it.

To Be a Butterfly

Tom wasn't sure when he began to notice all the little things Alex did. There was always Alex's annoying habit of teasing his lower lip when he was worried or stressed, and it always made Tom's heart flutter uncharacteristically. It made him feel like he was some kind of girly creature, like a unicorn, prancing in a field of sunshine and daisies.

He hated it.

Alex was always good at football, but Tom hadn't truly appreciated the way that the sweat seemed to glisten on Alex, lighting him up like a Greek god in the sunlight. His well-defined muscles rippled underneath his shirt, which clung to his frame as he flopped to the ground, panting. The grin on his face was particularly blinding, and Tom flopped down beside him, dazed.

The feeling of having his sweaty best friend beside him, laughing at some joke that Tom had spewed, made him feel like flying. He laughed too, glancing at Alex, just to catch another glimpse of him and his beautiful smile. Tom really hoped he didn't look like an absolute creeper.

When he got home, Tom still couldn't shake the feeling like he was soaring up in the clouds, where the air was thinner. He sunk into his bed, light-headed and with a giant smile stretched across his face. Perhaps this was what birds felt like, up in the sky.

Tom was always in a bad mood whenever Alex was gone. He never knew how long his best mate would be away, where he was, and whether or not Alex was safe. Tom knew the answer to that. Alex was never safe. Not anymore.

Tom sat by himself at lunch those days, solemnly staring at his phone. He wanted Alex to call – willed it, even. But he knew that his friend was on a mission, fighting bad guys while picking up fit chicks on the way. The thought depressed him, and Tom quickly shoved the thought out of his mind.

On days like these, he was cold and moody. His mind was blank and barren of any of his usual joy. If seasons had feelings, he would be melancholy winter, he supposed.

Tom didn't understand his feelings as he waited for Alex by the door of his hospital room. He understood some of them, such as his prominent relief and happiness at his friend's safety. Another part of him was sad as he watched the blonde-haired teenager slowly push himself towards Tom in a wheelchair.

Alex didn't meet Tom's eyes as he passed by, panting slightly from the effort of wheeling himself to the doorway. He didn't protest as Tom took his position behind Alex and pushed him, gently, forward.

Alex was only a shadow of the teen he was seven months ago. That Alex had been healthy. He was well-fed, strong, and alive. This boy that sat in the wheelchair was none of these. Alex was smaller and shriveled. His hands shook in his lap, and his eyes were haunted, even more so than before. He looked sad, and it wasn't hard to tell why.

Where Alex's legs had been were now empty space. Tom had been told that the teen had been caught up in a blast. Some kind of grenade, they said.

He didn't care what Alex looked like now, Tom thought fiercely as he helped Alex into the car. He was still Tom's best friend, and there was no way Tom would let him go. That dead, haunted look in Alex's eyes? Tom would be the one to heal him. He'd be the one to relight the fire in Alex's eyes.

Still, Tom felt the hopelessness that Alex seemed to emit. When Alex looked at him, Tom felt like a ghost – a mere specter of the physical world. He wondered sometimes if they were all ghosts to the former spy. Were they all dead to him?

Tom wasn't sure what changed in the next couple months. He just knew that Alex was changing, albeit slowly. The small twinkle of life had rekindled in Alex's eyes, and Tom was pleased to see that his friend was becoming more and more like his old self.

He realized it one day, as Tom was helping Alex with his missed homework. Their hands happened to brush together, and Tom felt a jolt of electricity run through his whole body.

It wasn't uncomfortable at all, but his stomach fluttered uneasily, in the best possible way. Heat rushed to his face as he tried to identify the feeling that was fluttering in his stomach. He had felt it before. Tom was sure, but he'd only felt it when he was with pretty girls and wanted to get their numbers.

It hit him then. The heat on his cheeks, the feeling in his stomach. He liked Alex. A lot. And he liked him as more than a friend.

Tom wondered silently, pointedly looking down at the homework, if that was how butterflies felt all the time. Tom was most definitely a butterfly, judging by the fluttery, flowery feeling in his stomach.

Maybe if Tom had looked up once more, he would have seen the delicate blush that coated Alex's cheeks and the radiant, knowing smile that Tom loved oh-so-much.

A/N: Hello all! It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, I've finally finished midterms, so yay! I still have tons of schoolwork, though. I can't wait for the summer...

So what's new? Anything fun/exciting/notable? For example, I didn't fail my midterms (yay!), got asked to prom (I hate high school), and am (hopefully) getting a new violin! I'm feeling like deleting some stories and doing some vigorous editing. And feeling like changing my pen name. I'm not sure what to do with life.

ANYWAYS, I hope you liked! It's a bit different from all the other stuff I post. Kind of poetic. Idk. Drop a review! Love y'all!

-Alice (for more or general weirdness, follow me on twitter at dalekchung)