Keye has been rumpled and disorganized lately. He's been coming in too late, but too late is twelve thirty as opposed to four AM.
Today he came home on time, though, and is now sitting on the couch, twiddling with his guitar and staring dazedly off into space.
He's depressed, sure.
He had a rather rocky encounter with the boy who did unspeakable things to him, his girlfriend broke up with him shortly afterwards, and just to put a cherry on, he is failing English.
Of course he's depressed.
The look on his face is one of dejection, predictably enough. But that's mixed up in and almost swallowed by confusion.

He chews his bottom lip and thinks that Alex probably has the answers. He usually does.

Alexander always has the answers. And when he doesn't, he makes them up. Shame on him.

"You're home early," he comments. This is not necessarily a bad thing, given that he worries when Keye goes out and doesn't come back in until midnight or later.

He's a tad preoccupied himself, having encountered a young lady--whose name he neglected to get--who had a run in with Azrael at some point or another. It makes him think of thinks he knows and things he doesn't know about the god of death.

He sits down on the couch.

"What's on your mind?"

"Yeah, I got bored of being out." He sighs. His guitar emits a soft, pained squeal.
"Lotsa stuff. Taryn broke up with me, you know. I'm bummed."
More than bummed.
But...

Something is gnawing at his mind. He can't quite express it yet, but it leaves him with mingled guilt and relief. And this, once he can figure it out, is what he wants Alexander to answer. Until then, he'll talk about the things that happened that are making him feel this way. Or are making him realize he felt this way. Or could. Or...
Something.

Blink.

"Why did she do that?"

There's nothing wrong with Keye that a few years of therapy and loads of medication won't cure... Actually, skip the medication. He has a bad history with that kind of thing, doesn't he.

"I'm sorry."

"Because..."
Deep breath. It makes sense, but he doesn't like to say it. Who likes to air unflattering opinions about themselves?
"I was emotionally exhausting."
A hint of a smile.
"It's okay. I mean, it's not, it sucks. But I'm not mad."

Pause.

"Oh. Oh, I see."

Yes, Keye, that means you emotionally exhaust Alexander too. But he's not going to throw you out because of it.

... I think his opinion of Taryn just went down a few notches.

"You're sure you're all right?"

"Um, no."
He tips his head to one side.
"I mean. I think maybe I went crazy. Or I'm sick. Or maybe I'm a horrible person."
This not said with the self-loathing you'd usually expect from Keye. Just confusion and a bit of fear. He's earnestly trying to work it all out in his head, but his head's always been a little muddled, and is not the best place to work things out in.

"What did you do, Keye?"

Worry!

When Keye goes a little crazy, it tends to be messy, and not good for Keye. (Or for Alexander's sanity, for that matter. The amount of grey in his hair must have increased exponentially since he started caring for the boy.)

"Nothing."
Shrug.
"Well, actually..." and he pulls something out of his pocket that was once a book, but a large section of the corner is now just charred lump. "I set this on fire. But then I ran it under the sink."
Yes.
That probably is why the kitchen smelled of smoke a few days back.
"But that's all."

...

Alexander is amazed.

"This is going to sound callous, son, but... I'm glad that's all you did." He touches Keye's hair, gently.

"You're getting better about that, it seems."

Keye grins faintly, liking the sound of 'getting better.' But his troubled expression returns quickly.
"Yeah. That's good I guess. But I...I feel really weird. And I'm not sure I'm cool with it."

"Weird how?"

Alexander is being phenomenally patient. I think Keye's been good for him that way. He can't just snap his fingers and murmur a spell and solve this.

"Like...I...dunno..."
He frowns heavily at his hands, thinking...how to say it.
"It's like...when I'm normal and stuff, and something...bad happens...it's like being in the bottom of a well or something. I mean, not just the bottom of a well, but the bottom of a well where it's all cold and water and someone put the lid on so it's dark, and you know no one passes by there and there are fuckin' snakes down there and shit. And I...d-...I don't...know."

Alexander attempts to understand this.

"... you feel like that now?"

"Nononono." he waves his hands in the air, shaking his head.
"That's how I usually feel."
If he felt the other way, he'd be sobbing or possibly bleeding by now.
"But now everything's all weird, and I'm not sure everything's all...okay inside."

Pause.

"I believe that's good, Keye. There's something to be said for dealing with emotions in a normal fashion."

... Alexander would know this how?

"What?"
That whoosh was the sound of what Alexander just said flying over Keye's head.
The boy has no concept of normality.
"But...but it doesn't seem quite right. I mean, it's not...fair." That wasn't the word he was looking for. "I mean, I don't...I'm sad. I am, I'm really really sad. And I'm mad and upset from other things. But I don't feel down in a well, and I'm not sure that's right, because...I mean, doesn't that mean I care less?"
He stares pleadingly at Alexander, his good eye glinting.
And it's almost tragic that this is so confusing for him.

"No. It means that you're not going to die because one thing went wrong." And Alexander is, selfishly, very glad of that. It really drains him when he's trying to keep Keye alive through multiple suicide attempts.

"It has nothing to do with the amount you care, but with the way you handle your sorrow."

"...oh." He'll need a little time to process that, but it sounds like it will make sense eventually, so he's willing to leave it be for the moment.

"Um...yeah. I burned the book 'cause I was upset...and I didn't know what to do. Nothing I could do would change anything. You...rembember that kid? The one who...who..." he stammers and has to stop. Surely Alexander knows. "Well, I saw him and I kinda tried to talk to him or...yell at him or something. But he just said he was sorry but he wouldn't listen. And there was this other guy who took him away like he was this wounded little angel, and I was so...so upset, 'cause I didn't think it was fair that he could go home with his friend and be petted and forget me, and I'll have marks forever. So I lit the book on fire, but while I was watching it burning...I had a thought. I thought I shouldn't be doing that, so I put it under the water. By the way, I'm failing English."
Keye half-hopes that Alexander won't notice that bit.

"I cannot do anything about that boy, Keye, as much as I would like to." As much as he would like to smash Logan again and possibly kill him this time. It would solve so many problems so neatly... Except there's the issue of that angel. Bother.

"... however, I can certainly tutor you in English."

"That would, um...is that allowed? 'Cause that would be really cool. If you have time, I mean. You don't have to. I mean, you won't like it."
He brushes his hair out of his eyes in order to look at Alexander, evaluate his reactions, figure out the 'right' thing to say.

Eyebrow.

"I might point out that I offered to do that long ago, and if you had accepted my original offer, you might not be failing English now."

Pause.

"That isn't an accusation."

Or it isn't intended to be, anyway.

"Ow, man. That stings." he grinned vaguely. "I didn't want to. I was, you know...worried. That, uh...you'd think I was slow."
He catches on to magic quickly, you see...but English is another matter entirely.

Sigh.

"Haven't we had this discussion before? Math is your strength, language mine, magic both."

He smiles.

"Come, tell me what the current assignment is."

And the current assignment is examined, and we shall assume that progress is made.

Keye is pretty much mentally exhausted by the time it's done, though. And because he feels that he's been tortured a bit, he is in the mood for revenge (in a humorous, light-hearted sort of way).
"I've tried my hand at writing a little poetry too, lately."
That isn't a lie. It's just that this particular poem (song, actually) was written by someone else.
He wants to play it.
He thinks it will be funny.

"Have you?"

Alexander is benignly curious.

"Do tell."

And Keye messes with his guitar for a moment and starts to play it.
It's a song about...well...
"I don't give a shit about the essay test
So let's skip it and get to the oral exam
I'm the bad professor
--that's a blow job reference
I'm the bad professor
I'm the bad professor
I'm a bad, bad man"

The rest of it runs along similar lines. And it's sung with a grin of pure evil.

Alexander blinks at first, listens for a moment, and his face grows increasingly stony. After a few repetitions of 'I'm the bad professor' and 'I'm a bad, bad man," he stands and starts towards his room, saying over his shoulder, "I am not impressed."

At all.

Oops.

He stops playing immediately, hugging his guitar close to his body, as if afraid that Alexander will turn back around and smash it to matchsticks (he remembers Lucinda).
"Hey..." he says softly, "it was just a joke."
It was, too. It was all in good (if immature) fun.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Yeah. Oops.

Alexander turns back, face still stony, but at least he isn't walking away anymore?

"A joke in very bad taste."

... and one that hit entirely too close to home.

Keye considers this for a moment.
"...yeah."
Come to think of it, it was in very bad taste. Very, very, even.
"I'm sorry."

Alexander nods his acceptance of this, but doesn't make a move to come back and sit with Keye.

"What gave you the idea to sing that song?"

He is annoyed. (And guilty, because Katrina... well. Anyway.)

"I just...I..."
He bites his lip.
"I was being stupid. I thought it would be funny. I didn't write it, by the way, I heard it. I, um...I'm really sorry."

There is a long pause.

"You are forgiven." Pause. "On condition you never sing that song again."

Hmph. Idiot boy.

"Okay."
He looks down, properly shamed. Notice that he doesn't loosen his hold on his guitar, though.
"Sorry. I won't. I know lots of better songs."

Alexander takes a seat on a chair, instead of on the couch. At least he's not disappeared into his room and locked the door.

"I'm not going to touch your guitar, Keye."

"I know."
He still doesn't let go, though there's no suspicion on his face. He does know. He just doesn't feel like letting it go.

Sigh.

"If you would like, you may sing one of those better songs for me."

"...okay."
Always happy to display musical prowess, he strikes a couple of thoughtful chords and begins a rendition of "Anyone for Tennis," which makes very little sense.
And Fate sets up the chessboard
While Death rolls out the dice
Anyone for tennis?
Wouldn't that be nice?

Is a single mention of Death enough to set Alex off, I wonder?

Alexander listens in silence, but he's turning inward and getting that expression on his face that says he's thinking about things he doesn't like to think about.

If Keye were at all observant, he might call it guilty, or regretful, or perhaps pained.

If he's not, we'll just call it cool and blank and shuttered.