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The moment Henry lays eyes on the curly-haired boy across the room, he knows.
“I’m gonna marry him,” he whispers, his drink clutched tight between his fingers. Pez doesn’t quite sputter, but he does choke on his next breath.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m gonna marry him.” Henry gestures at the man leaning against the bar, grinning so brightly it puts the mirrorball to shame. Pez’s eyes follow his gaze and his brows climb to his forehead.
“Darling,” he says gently, “I’m pretty sure Alexander has a girlfriend.”
The corners of Henry’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t let that get to him. He takes a sip of his drink, letting the warmth spread in his chest. A smile spreads on his face.
“Sounds to me like they haven’t tied the knot yet.”
Alex is… fine.
Considering everything, in fact, he’d say he’s perfectly fine. He’s in the third year of his college which, admittedly, isn’t easy but at least he’s settled into a routine with his group of friends, he finally has himself a single so he doesn’t have to share his room with anyone, his classes are difficult but they’re on stuff he cares about, and he has a long-term girlfriend of six months, long enough that she’s on a first name basis with all of her parents. It’s a picture-perfect life and Alex knows it—he’s completely fine with it.
And yet, if anyone asked, he doesn’t know if he’d say he’s happy.
He swirls the last dregs of his drink in his glass before he downs it, the whiskey burning his mouth on the way down. His eyes skim around the room—the party is already in full swing but Elena hasn’t shown her face yet. Alex imagines her in her dorm room with her friends, painting each other’s faces and pulling their dresses as high as they’d go. Elena has always been confident in herself and Alex loves that about her, yet he doesn’t quite like how far she takes the concept of being fashionably late.
It's been thirty minutes and Alex is already considering getting his third drink, even though he feels a slight buzz in his mind from the earlier ones.
A glass sliding in front of him on the counter drags him out of his mind. “Thought you might need some water,” a smooth voice says, quiet, yet it pierces through the loud music like it was made for Alex. There’s a hint of a British accent almost lost in the slur of alcohol but Alex clings to it as he raises his head. There’s a flannel in shades of blue stretched across the man’s chest, such a contrast to the tank tops and sports jerseys around that it immediately snags his attention. He follows the pattern up to a pair of strong collarbones and a stronger chin, full red lips, and finally cerulean eyes gazing down at him, framed by long blonde lashes. The boy nudges the glass of water closer to him. “Unless you want a hangover,” he continues, in such a dry tone Alex suddenly feels like laughing, “though I don’t know if two glasses of whiskey are enough for that.”
A short chuckle escapes Alex’s lips. “You know that because you were watching me?” he asks, a brow arched. To his credit, there’s only a faint blush that climbs up the boy’s cheeks. He shrugs instead, arms crossed over the counter and finally meets Alex’s deep brown eyes.
“Maybe,” he says, so unabashedly Alex has to laugh again. It’s inadvisable, but he wraps his fingers around the water cup anyway, tilting his head to search the man’s face.
“And how do I know you didn’t put some drugs into this to drag me into your house?” He knows the lilt of his voice—he knows how he sounds when he’s flirting and how he’s like when it’s a friendly conversation. He reminds himself that he has a girlfriend, yet he’s watched Elena shamelessly flirt with so many people that he doesn’t have it in him to feel guilty.
Impossibly, the man’s lips twitch into a smile. “I do hope I don’t need any sort of drugs to convince anyone to come home with me.” Long lashes cover the blue eyes but Alex finds them anyway, dancing with a million stars in them, and his heart stutters in his chest for the first time in months.
Oh, Alex thinks, taking the lines of the man’s face, there you are.
He forgets about Elena for a moment as his face mirrors the man’s smile.
Henry.
The man’s name is Henry, and Alex learns three things about him in quick succession.
- He’s a senior English major who already has a book deal with some fancy publishing company from what he’s written while suffering through a full workload. If Alex wasn’t impressed, he would’ve called the man crazy.
- He’s very, very gay and very unapologetic about it. Alex finds the pride flags plastered all over his Instagram page and notices the rainbow pin on his backpack the next day, and he can’t quite explain it but it fills his chest with a warm feeling.
- He’s unabashedly flirting with Alex, and he’s not being very coy about it either.
Alex notices it first at the bar, when Henry tries to buy him a drink after he makes sure his cup of water is completely drained. It hurts his chest to say no—Henry is beautiful, and in another life, in another timeline Alex thinks he would’ve taken that offer. “Sorry,” he says instead, offering an apologetic smile, “but I have a girlfriend.” He tries not to think about how forty-five minutes in, Elena still isn’t here, when the man in front of him has laid all his feelings at Alex’s feet.
He expects Henry to nod and leave. Instead, Henry searches his face before he shrugs and settles on the seat next to Alex, a tentative smile on his face. “I believe I can buy you a drink as friends, right?” he asks, and Alex… Well, Alex can’t exactly say no unless he wants to spend the rest of the night all alone until Elena shows up with her squad of friends.
It’s on his fifth drink that he finally sees Elena’s brunette head and red dress, and he’s entirely too drunk to regret hiding in the shadow of Henry just so he can have a few minutes of peace before she eventually drags him away.
Alex’s life is fine. His relationship is fine, really. Except sometimes he wonders if there’s something more to life than that—if there’s something more to a relationship than passionate kisses and unanswered texts.
The chair across from him creaks and Alex finds himself looking up to meet the familiar blue eyes from yesterday. “Hi, Alex,” Henry offers shyly, gaze flickering across Alex’s face. “May I?” There’s such a hope flickering on his face that Alex can’t quite say no, no matter how inadvisable he is. He drops his backpack on the floor to make Henry space on the table.
“You’re an early bird, huh?” he asks with a lopsided grin. Henry meets his eyes for a second and mirrors his smile.
“Well, not as much as you, it seems like.” His tone is dry but Alex hears the joke behind it anyway and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips. He doesn’t tell Henry that the only reason he’s up is because Elena kicked him out of her room in the morning using a hangover as an excuse, even though Alex doubts she took one sip of alcohol in the first place. He doesn’t tell Henry that Elena doesn’t want to be seen in the mornings when her hair is a mess and her face is makeup free, and the best way to appease her is just to leave when she asks you to.
“I brought you coffee,” Henry says, taking him out of his thoughts. A cup slides along the table in front of Alex, and even from a distance he smells the cinnamon wafting into the air. He arches a brow.
“With cinnamon.”
Henry pauses. “That’s how you take it, right? You told me last night.” And, well, Alex is sure he did—his memories are a bit hazy but he remembers the adorable frown that appeared between Henry’s brows as he tried to reconcile the dark taste of coffee with the spicy undertones of cinnamon. He’d clenched his fists under the table just so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and smooth those lines, to feel the smooth skin under his fingertips. “I tasted it, actually,” Henry says now, clutching his own cup between his fingers. This time, Alex arches both brows.
“And your verdict?”
“It’s…acceptable.” A fleeting smile appears on Henry’s face when Alex barks out a laugh. It’s a goddamn lie but he doesn’t call Henry out on it. It doesn’t quite matter—his cup is warm, the black liquid swirls with specks of cinnamon, and the taste of it is just right on his tongue. He thinks of Elena, who pursed her lips whenever he asked for cinnamon in his coffee as if it was a personal offense, who never bothered to get his order right even if a pinch of cinnamon and one sugar isn’t quite as complicated as her long Starbucks order that’s noted on Alex’s phone.
It isn’t quite that hard to remember, he thinks, as he looks at Henry. If you care at all.
“Thank you,” he whispers, taking a sip with closed eyes so he can pretend for a second that he’s home and it’s his father’s atole he’s holding between his fingers. He swears he can feel the grin on Henry’s face without even looking.
“Of course.”
Elena wrinkles her nose when he eventually makes his way back to her room.
“Is that cinnamon?” she asks as she dusts her cheek in a faint blush. She doesn’t need the makeup at all to look beautiful, but Elena loves it and Alex admires her skills when he can barely put on nail polish without smearing it all over his fingers. He doesn’t mind the hours she spends in front of a mirror if that’s ultimately what makes her happy.
Yet as he eyes her long nails pressed against the end of a brush, all he can think of are pale hands and chipped nails wrapped around a coffee mug, full lips curled into a smile, and bright blue eyes that look at him like he matters.
“Can you throw it out, babe?” Elena coos, not even looking away from the mirror. “You know cinnamon isn’t good for my skin.” She paints her lips red and purses them as if she’s checking each crevice, and that’s the moment Alex knows. He puts the cup aside and reaches for her fingers, tugging the lipstick away before she can object.
“Elena,” he says, guiding her to her chair. “I think we should break up.”
June is absolutely delighted when she first hears the news.
Alex winces at her scream from the other side of the phone, and then winces again when she somehow pulls confetti out of somewhere and pops it as if she’s celebrating something. “Fucking finally,” she yells, and Alex thinks maybe it’s a little bit inappropriate but he laughs anyway.
“Didn’t know you hated her this much,” he deadpans as if he didn’t hear June complain about Elena during every single phone call. June rolls her eyes and crosses her legs as if she’s not even bothered by the accusation.
“Well, she treated you like shit, so.” And Alex can’t even argue with that.
Liam is more subdued in his reaction, but he offers Alex a small smile. “I’m glad,” is all he says, and really that tells Alex all he needs to know. Fine, he thinks, was enough for him six months ago, riddled with exams and homework and classes without a moment of spare. He thinks he’d like to try being happy for once.
It’s Nora that stares at him with narrowed eyes. “What?” Alex asks, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s not like I dumped her over the phone or something.”
“Yes, well, thank you for your service.” Her voice is dry but Alex can almost hear the amusement behind it. Nora isn’t a big fan of phone breakups, but she’s even less of a fan of Elena and Alex thinks she wouldn’t have been quite so mad if he did simply call her. “I’m just wondering.”
Alex tries not to roll his eyes. “Oh, no.”
“I’m wondering,” she emphasizes with a glint in her eyes, “whether something happened that made you finally do it. Or rather, someone.” Nora isn’t even subtle when she looks over his shoulder and a smile stretches on her face. Alex doesn’t have to turn around to see who it is.
“Hey,” a smooth voice says and Alex swears his heart jumps in his chest. He looks up to meet Henry’s smiling face. “Would you mind it if I joined you two?”
Alex doesn’t even have a chance to get a word in before Nora answers. “Absolutely not.”
“Does she not like me?” Henry asks with wide eyes when Nora leaves abruptly in the middle of lunch, offering a little wave and a knowing look shot at Alex. Only the presence of Henry stopped him from returning it with a middle finger.
“What?” Alex tears his eyes away from Henry’s lips and instead searches his face. “Why?”
“She just left after I came, so I thought…” Henry wrings his fingers together over the table and finally meets Alex’s gaze. “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything to offend.”
Alex snorts, simply because Henry has no fucking clue how off base he is. “Oh, no,” he says, a smile flickering on his lips, “you didn’t, trust me. She just…” Wants me to date you, he thinks, but he can’t quite say the words. Not yet, not when he’s sure Henry would say yes. The wound Elena left behind is too fresh, even if Alex wasn’t in love with her in the end. “She just had somewhere to be. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Impulsively, he reaches to squeeze Henry’s hand. “No one can hate that pretty face of yours.”
Alex loves the flush that climbs up Henry’s cheek a little too much for his own good.
Henry:
Breakfast?
I know this place that makes really good breakfast burritos.Alex:
say fucking less sweetheart
Henry doesn’t drink coffee, yet the next time Alex crashes into his room for a study session, there’s a fancy coffee machine sitting on top of the counter. The scent from the fresh brew has already filled the air, and if Alex tries hard enough, he thinks he can even smell the cinnamon wafting in the air.
“You have a coffee machine,” he blurts out, watching a pretty shade of pink dust his cheeks. He buries his nose into his iPad and twirls his pen, refusing to look Alex in the eye.
“You like coffee,” he points out, scribbling over his iPad as if he’s trying to distract himself. “I thought it was my duty as a host to provide that to you since you’re here every day anyway.”
“Oh.” Alex lets his backpack drop to the ground. A smile tugs the corners of his lips. He doesn’t point out that coffee is free in the open kitchen and instead throws his arms around Henry from behind, pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek. “Fucking love good manners,” he jokes, squeezing Henry tight before he lets go. It’s fucking adorable how much Henry flushes from such a simple touch.
“My… My pleasure,” he tries, voice still shaky. His eyes find Alex’s, a million questions behind them, yet all Alex can do is watch the blues dance under the dim light of the room, the blonde tufts of hair that falls over Henry’s forehead, and how fucking real it feels. Henry is real, so goddamn real it threatens to knock the breath right out of Alex.
He doesn’t quite remember feeling so present whenever he was with Henry.
“I’m glad you like it,” Henry offers shyly, and a smile tugs at Alex’s lips. It feels more genuine than anything he could’ve given Elena.
It’s you, he thinks but doesn’t voice it. Of course I’ll like it. “I do.”
“So,” Alex says, picking his words carefully. The book is clutched tight between his fingers. “Maybe you were right.”
Nora looks up and arches her brow. “I usually am, but about what specifically?”
Alex picks at his nails and huffs out a breath. It’s scary, to utter the words, but he does it anyway. “About me and Henry.” He pauses. “You were right. I think… I think I like him.”
He expects Nora to make fun of him. Instead, she smiles. “Good,” she simply says, turning back to her work. “He’s perfect for you.”
Alex has only known Henry for a few weeks, but maybe, he thinks, that Nora isn’t entirely wrong.
“Isn’t your girlfriend upset that you’re spending all your time with me?” Henry asks the next week, and that’s when Alex realizes he doesn’t know.
He puts his notebook down, words already blurring on the page, and stares at Henry across the desk. He looks entirely unassuming, hair fallen on his forehead in soft waves to cover his eyes, but Alex sees it—the tension around the corners of his mouth, the gaze carefully focused onto his notes, the shoulders pulled taut against the chair. A smile flickers on his lips.
Henry is so goddamn obvious with his crush it’s almost refreshing. With Elena, it was always about playing hard to get, about chasing each other, about the push and pull until Alex looked down and saw scraped knees and bleeding palms. A part of him used to like that, but now he realizes just how much he ached for stability. How much he ached for someone to love him, and to feel grounded in that love.
“We broke up,” he says softly, trying to hide his smile behind a sip of coffee. Henry’s pen clatters on the table.
“What?”
“We broke up.” It’s barely been a few weeks, yet Alex doesn’t feel the ache in his heart when he says those words. He keeps his eyes on his notebook, unseeing, as he continues. “She wasn’t really the one for me, so I didn’t see a point in dragging it out.” Alex scribbles down something on the paper, though he has a feeling it’s complete nonsense. He doesn’t even care to correct it. It’s only when Henry speaks that he lifts his head.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That she wasn’t the one?” Immediately, there’s a flush on Henry’s face, but he doesn’t take the question back. Alex feels the corners of his lips twitch. He puts the highlighter down, pushes his textbook away, and says one thing.
“She didn’t know how I took my coffee.”
There’s always a pot of coffee brewing in Henry’s room when Alex comes over, and a scent of cinnamon wafting in the room, like a home made just for him.
“Thanks, baby,” Alex whispers when Henry wraps his sweater around his shoulders, the smell of clean linens and grass strong on his nose. His fingers clutch the warm fabric to his body.
There’s a flush climbing up his cheeks. Alex grins. “What?” he asks even though he knows. Henry, he’s noticed, has a fondness for pet names, and baby is on top of that list.
“Nothing.” Henry clears his throat and attempts to step back, but Alex is there, holding him loosely from his wrist. When Henry’s eyes flicker up, Alex finds the stormy blues taking in every inch of his face. “Nothing,” he whispers again but it’s softer now, and he doesn’t try to hide the lie.
Alex reaches up to leave a quick peck on Henry’s cheek. “If you say so,” he murmurs, and there it is again. The flush, all the way up to the tips of Henry’s ears and disappearing into his shirt. Alex promises himself that one day, he’ll get to trace it all the way down to wherever it goes underneath the thick fabrics. “Thanks for the jacket.”
Henry’s eyes twinkle. “Any time, love.”
Love, Alex thinks, rolling the word in his mouth, Henry’s voice ringing in his ears. Love.
It’s four letters, such a simple word, yet it feels entirely too profound for what it is. Alex stares at his phone, a picture of him and Henry bright in the darkness of the room. He clutches Henry’s sweater tighter against his body. Love, he thinks again, and this time he lets a smile spread on his face.
Love. It fits into the lines of Henry’s face, into the small space between them, into the place Henry’s temple presses against his and the crook of his side where Henry holds him tight. It fits into his heart, every nook and cranny like it was made for him, a simple key to a lock Alex didn’t even know existed. Love. It should be scary, with how big it feels, and yet Alex realizes for once that it doesn’t have to be.
Not when it feels so very real.
Alex’s feet are bare against the carpet as he rushes through the halls of the dorm.
It’s not late enough that people complain about the noise, but he still gets weird looks from people—though, he thinks, it might be half because he almost crashes into three walls trying to round the corners.
Henry’s room is on the second floor, at a corner far from the courtyard and most of the noise in the dorms. Alex stops to catch his breath for a few seconds before he knocks on the door, so featherlight he isn’t even sure Henry heard it, but a few seconds later the lock is turning and Alex holds his breath.
“Alex?” he whispers, voice groggy from sleep but beautiful nonetheless. Henry is beautiful, so goddamn beautiful even with sleep-mussed hair and circles under his eyes that Alex finds himself grinning before he can even get a word out. Henry’s eyes flicker to his lips before he can manage to get another word out. “What are you doing here?”
Alex doesn’t answer. He takes Henry’s face in his hands, drinking in the small hitch in his breath, and pushes his hair back until there aren’t any barriers between their faces. Henry doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but his gaze flickers all over Alex’s face like he’s trying to memorize every dip and crevice. Alex smiles and lets his own gaze fall on Henry’s lips.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, letting his thumb brush over Henry’s lower lip. Henry makes a wounded noise at the back of his throat.
“You… You came all the way here at 1 am to kiss me?”
Alex looks up, meeting the bottomless blues he loves so much. His lips kick up into a smile. “Is that a problem?” He doesn’t quite expect Henry to say yes, exactly—it isn’t like Henry has been secretive about his crush—but he also doesn’t expect to be pulled into a crushing kiss, Henry’s body fitting into the crooked edges of his perfectly. Alex closes his eyes and lets himself be swept off his feet, fingers dug into Henry’s soft hair, teeth snagging at the edges of Henry’s lips with every swipe of his tongue. And for once, it doesn’t feel wild that he’s allowed this.
It makes perfect fucking sense.
“Hi,” Alex whispers in the morning, Henry’s face merely inches apart from his. A smile overtakes Henry’s face.
“Hi, love.” He pushes Alex’s messy curls back to press a kiss to his forehead, and then his cheek, and finally his lips, red and swollen, and yet Alex doesn’t mind at all. He clings onto Henry and smiles into the space between them before there’s none, before Henry is hovering above him and their legs are tangled together and Alex thinks, with Henry’s face in his hands, that he could get used to this so easily.
He pulls Henry down when Henry tries to pull away and steals five more minutes.
“Henry and I are dating,” he announces at lunch on a table full of their friends. He’s holding Henry’s hand under the table, and only thanks to that he feels the grip tighten around his fingers.
“Alex,” he hisses, a flush already climbing to his cheeks, but he doesn’t argue. Alex offers him a small, secretive smile and squeezes his hand back, showing what he can’t put into words. You and me, baby, he thinks, searching Henry’s face. That’s all that matters.
“Fucking finally.” Nora’s voice takes him out of his thoughts. She hasn’t even lifted her eyes from her food, but she shoots them a glance anyway that shows just how fucking tiring it was to watch them circle each other for weeks. In Alex’s defense—if she’d listen, of course—he didn’t think it would be nice to start dating Henry after breaking up with his ex literally on a whim, no matter how much of a crush he developed on the man. Alex shoots her a glare, but he doubts she sees it before she’s munching on her curry.
“Wait,” June interrupts, sitting up in her seat. “Wait, y’all weren’t already dating?” Her eyes are on Alex, and he has to belatedly admit that even the bright lights of the cafeteria can’t hide his blush. He shrugs, burying his face in his own curry and refuses to face June. “Wait.”
“June, darling, did you really think it would take these two less than two months to realize they had the hots for each other?”
“Wait.” June swings around to turn to Pez, hair half out of her bun. “But they spent literally every waking minute together. I just thought they weren’t that into PDA.”
“Actually—” Alex tries, but he has to shut up when Henry elbows him on the side. A snort leaves Nora’s lips, but she’s entirely too focused on the crossword on her phone to say anything about it. June stares at her, and then at Alex, mouth dropped open as if she just had her entire worldview crumble into dust.
“You’re telling me,” she starts, and Alex already wants to hide, “this whole time I was teasing you about being shy with your relationship, you weren’t even fucking Henry behind closed doors?”
Henry spurts out his drink at the choice of words and Liam, appropriately, hides his face in his hands as if he wants to simply disappear from the scene. Alex meets his sister’s gaze and offers a sheepish shrug.
“Um. No?”
All in all, Alex doesn’t quite blame Henry for hiding in his hair, or June for not talking to him for the better part of the day until Alex showers her with chocolate.
“Stay,” Henry whispers at night, fingers trailing over Alex’s sides. Alex squirms in his lap just so he can look over his shoulder and arch a brow.
“I’d assumed that was a given,” he deadpans, and a smile blooms on Henry’s face. He dips down for a kiss, lips slotting together perfectly, and Alex already starts planning on where he’d put his stuff in Henry’s room just so he doesn’t have to leave. He thinks there’s enough space in the corner of a closet to at least fit his pants.
“Stay tomorrow.” Henry presses his forehead against Alex’s and holds him tight to his chest. “And the next day. And the—”
“Yes.”
Being with Henry is easy, and for once Alex doesn’t feel like he’s clutching onto a relationship that’s slipping from his fingers every single moment they’re apart.
It’s the mornings when he wakes up in Henry’s arms, a stuttering heart under his ear. It’s the kisses pressed against his hair, the gentle fingers untangling the knots before Alex can even get a comb through the strands, the arm wrapped around his body like a makeshift blanket and holding him so goddamn tight that Alex feels safe for the first time in his small world.
It’s the toothbrush he now permanently keeps in Henry’s room and the shelf Henry spared for his skin-care products, even if it means they have to stack some to fit everything in the small cabinet behind the mirror. It’s the sweatshirts they share, the inch of bare skin around Henry’s ankles whenever he steals one of Alex’s sweatpants, or the jacket he wraps around Alex’s shoulders whenever it’s cold outside and Alex hasn’t spared a glance outside.
It’s the little kisses and the big ones, it’s Alex’s back pressed against a wall and his legs wrapped around Henry’s hips, it’s Henry on the floor as Alex hovers over him because they’re both entirely too lazy to climb up to the lofted bed. It’s the hugs, with Henry’s shoulders covering Alex’s until the rest of the world doesn’t matter, and the hugs with Henry’s face hidden in the crook of Alex’s neck because he’s too overwhelmed to keep eye contact. It’s holding hands, and secretive smiles, and the blonde lashes that frame the bright blue irises Alex loves so much. It’s rare that he gets to see them in full, but he appreciates every single second of it, picking out every shade until he has a palette branded in his mind.
It's the lunches they share with their small group of friends, and the lunches they take to their room when Henry needs a moment of silence or Alex needs a moment just with him. It’s the late night study sessions, with Alex’s legs draped over Henry’s lap, a warm blanket tucked around the both of them, and Taylor Swift playing through the speakers because no matter how much Alex claims he’s not a big fan of her music, he’s a big romantic at heart and has cried to many of her songs. It’s the hands clasped in between them, and the way Henry’s legs press against Alex’s, and the blonde hair fallen over his forehead, so bright even under the dim lights of the room.
It’s the shared twin bed and the weighted blanket and the way Henry’s heart beats underneath him when Alex is draped over his body, face hidden in the crook of his neck so he can fall asleep to the scent of him. It’s the shared alarm, and the way Alex always complains even if he has a 9 am class, and the kisses Henry presses in his hair to wake him up.
And repeat.
It’s on a random Thursday afternoon that Alex gets a call from Liam.
“Hey,” he says, and even just from the tone of his voice Alex knows something is wrong. “I just wanted to check in to make sure Henry is doing okay.”
Alex freezes, staring blankly at the doors of the cafeteria stretching in front of him. “What?”
“I know we’re not super close, but I just thought I’d ask—” Liam continues, as if Alex wants to listen to the stupid excuses for the stupid phone call. He tightens his grip around the phone.
“Liam, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, and that, at least, shuts Liam up. There’s a beat of silence before he speaks.
“You don’t know?” Alex wants to scream, but he somehow manages a quiet no. Liam is silent again before he says the words that pierce Alex’s heart like a knife. “He left the class crying a couple of hours ago. I don’t know what exactly was wrong but he wasn’t doing too good.”
Dinner forgotten, Alex spins on his heels and makes his way to their dorm before Liam can even finish his words.
He should’ve known, he thinks, as his feet beat on the pavement, matching the rhythm of his heart. He hasn’t seen Henry all day since that morning, and while that isn’t too surprising—even if Henry doesn’t say it, Alex knows he needs his alone time to recharge every now and then, and he respects that—he always, always texts even if it’s just to tell him he’ll be in his room or that he’ll be doing work in the library. They’ve known each other for five months now, and Alex can count the number of days Henry disappeared without a word on one hand, with fingers to spare.
Yet his phone has been silent all day, his texts were left unanswered, and Alex didn’t even question it, so sure in his relationship with Henry. So goddamn sure Henry wouldn’t leave him hanging that he didn’t consider why he wasn’t answering.
Stairs. He climbs two at once, gripping the railing so tight the metal digs into his palm. It’s only been a few times, but Alex wonders now whether Henry needed him back then too, when he disappeared without a word. Whether he was the one that left Henry hanging, when he needed Alex the most.
Henry’s door is locked when he makes it there, but Alex doesn’t stop, knocking lightly on the surface just in case Henry is sensitive to the noise. There’s no answer, but there’s an ache in Alex’s heart that tells him Henry is behind that door, an ache that tells him not to leave Henry alone when he needs someone the most.
“Baby?” he whispers, palm pressed against the wooden surface of the door. He strains his ear but all he hears is silence permeating through the walls, so fucking loud it makes him want to scream. “Can you open the door, Hen?” he asks instead, keeping his voice just barely audible, just enough that Henry can hear him. He waits, heart in his throat, and when there’s no answer his stomach bottoms out. Gulping through the nausea in his chest, he presses his forehead against the wooden surface. “It’s you and me, right?” He’s so quiet he isn’t even sure Henry heard it, but he doesn’t dare speak louder, doesn’t dare breach the one boundary Henry set. “I’m here, baby. Just you and me. Whenever you want to.” He presses his lips together, hope slipping through his fingers, until—
“It’s unlocked.”
Alex’s fingers curl over the surface. He gives himself a beat just to make sure he heard it right, and then he pushes the door open with shaky hands, eyes flickering around the dim room he’s gotten to know so well. The only light comes from the bedside table, the small mood light that barely illuminates even the walls. Alex notices the toed-off shoes on the ground, the backpack thrown in one corner, papers spilling out of it, and feels a knot build up in his throat. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw Henry’s stuff on the floor, let alone thrown there like he couldn’t quite bother putting them away. His eyes flicker to the couch then, tucked under the lofted bed, and the knot grows. Henry is there, though he’d be hard-pressed to recognize him if he didn’t know. He’s buried under his weighted blanket with only his toes peeking out, the outline of shaky shoulders and heavy headphones visible on top, and Alex has to fight the instinct to wrap him in a hug, to hold him until he’s okay.
Instead, he closes the door behind him, tiptoes to the couch, and sits on the floor in front of him, a few inches away to give Henry space if he ever needs it. “I’m here,” he whispers, searching the blanket as if he could see Henry’s face if he tried hard enough. “I’m here if you need me.” And he waits, legs crossed, arms over his thighs. He waits with tears brimming in his eyes and heart palpitating against his ribs, waits until Henry is ready, waits for a signal from him so he doesn’t do more harm than good.
There’s a movement then, a hand peeking out from the blankets. Tears spill down his cheek, but Alex lets Henry clasp his hand tight, hovering in the space between them—not the most comfortable, but he thinks they’d need a fucking forklift to move him from this small bubble, a dozen soldiers just to separate their hands. Henry squeezes, and he squeezes back, letting his tears fall on his clothes, yet he doesn’t wipe them away, just in case the movement bothers Henry. He’d stay there forever, he thinks, if that’s what Henry needed.
He'd give himself a fucking arthritis if Henry wanted to hold his hand forever.
Alex isn’t sure how long it takes, but slowly Henry’s death grip around his hand loosens, the blanket falling back just enough that he can see the top half of his face. His breath hitches in his throat when he meets the bloodshot eyes half-hidden behind lashes, the tufts of hair fallen over his forehead, and the lips, trembling so much that Henry can’t contain it even when he bites down. And then there’s the sound—a desperate whine, so silent Alex barely hears it, followed by a shuddered breath and a silent sob, until Henry’s forehead is pressed against his knee and his face is hidden, until he’s bundled up so much Alex can’t even reach him. His fingers slide away from Alex’s, and that’s the thing that snaps Alex out of his thoughts.
He holds on, shifting closer before Henry can let go. “Baby,” he says, voice hoarse from trying to keep his own sobs at bay. “Hen, fuck—” A second of hesitation, and then Alex is on his knees, reaching for Henry so he can wrap him into his arms, fingers clutching at his shoulders over the weighted blanket. Henry is frozen in his arms long enough that Alex thinks he fucked up, until there are fingers clinging to the fabric of his t-shirt, until Henry’s face is buried into the crook of his neck. Henry clings to Alex, and Alex holds him back just as fiercely, allowing Henry the support he hasn’t been able to give for months.
For once, he hopes Henry feels just as safe as he made Alex feel.
They don’t talk that night.
Henry is utterly exhausted by the time he stops crying and curls up on the couch. Within minutes he’s asleep, still holding Alex’s hand, his face hidden in the crook of his elbow. Alex has to text Nora to get a proper dinner for him, but he absolutely refuses to let Henry go, even if it’s just to take a few bites of his food.
“You should rest,” Nora whispers before she leaves, but Alex’s answer is already at the ready.
“He needs me more.”
He eventually does fall asleep. It’s uncomfortable on the floor, with only his arm to use as a pillow, but Henry’s hand is in his, his soft breaths are audible in the small room, and that’s all Alex truly needs. He drifts into an uncomfortable sleep and only wakes up with the sun on his face and the distinct smell of cinnamon under his nose.
The first thing he sees is Henry’s bright blue eyes watching him. And then a cup of coffee, a warm burrito, and little strawberries cut in perfect halves, arranged perfectly on a plate. A knot tightens his throat before he even realizes he’s tucked under a blanket on the couch, nose pressed into the fabric of Henry’s pillow.
“I didn’t want you to get a creak in your neck,” Henry says quietly, putting the plate down on the coffee table just where Alex can reach it. His gaze is firmly focused on Alex’s chest as he continues. “You could’ve gone up to the bed.”
Even with those stupid twin beds colleges have, the thought of tucking into one without Henry by his side feels impossible to Alex. “You would’ve been too far away,” he says simply, offering Henry a tentative smile. Through his lashes, Henry meets his eyes again. The knot loosens the moment Alex watches the corners of his lips curl up.
It doesn’t fix everything, and Alex knows they have to talk about what happened, but for that moment knowing Henry is able to smile is more than enough for him.
The burrito is perfect, and the image of Henry drifts into Alex’s mind, reading from his Notes app so he doesn’t miss anything Alex loves on a burrito. There’s just enough sugar and cinnamon in his coffee and Alex already feels better after a few sips, just settled enough that he doesn’t think he’ll vibrate out of his skin if he sits still for a few minutes. His eyes find Henry’s face, illuminated under the sunlight, and that’s when he knows they have to talk.
“Henry,” he starts, and immediately there’s tension in his shoulders. He looks away before Alex can even read his face. “I just want to talk. If that’s… If that’s okay with you, too.” He leaves it there, an olive branch if Henry wants to take it. Henry’s jaw works, as if he’s thinking about it, before he answers.
“I never meant for you to see that.” It’s so quiet that Alex has to strain to hear it, but it makes his stomach drop regardless. He pushes his mug aside and joins Henry on the floor just so he can reach for his hands. His fingers slide through Henry’s when Henry doesn’t move away.
“Why not?” he asks, as gently as he can manage. His gut tells him to shake Henry, to make him understand he’s supposed to be Henry’s boyfriend and emotional support comes with the definition, but Henry is already curling into himself and the last thing Alex wants is to alienate him further. He squeezes his hands and waits, giving Henry whatever time he needs.
“You didn’t sign up for it.” Tufts of blonde cover his eyes when he ducks his chin. Alex has the urge to push them away, but it requires him to let Henry’s hands go, and he’s quite unwilling to do that either. Instead, he stays. “I know we’re dating and I know comforting each other is part of it but not…not like this. Not when I’m…” Henry takes a shaky breath and shuts his eyes tightly. “I’m autistic, Alex.”
There’s a beat of silence when Alex doesn’t quite know how to respond to it. I know feels too dismissive, even though he’d guessed from all he knows about Henry, yet he doesn’t think hugging Henry and telling him it’s totally okay is good, either. Fortunately, Henry doesn’t give him a chance to respond before he continues.
“I’m not looking for pity or love or acceptance or whatever. It’s who I am, and that’s that. But I need… I need you to know that, so you know I’m not going to miraculously get better. I’m not going to get help and then get over it. I’ll always be sensitive to sounds and lights. I’ll never be able to wear fuzzy sweaters because the texture makes me feel like I’m going to suffocate, and I’m never going to be able to put on gloves because it makes my hands feel like they’re someone else’s. I’ll struggle to keep eye contact, I’ll have trouble with social cues, and I’ll… I’ll have sensory overloads. I’ll have to wear headphones and curl under a blanket and stay like that for hours. I’ll have days where I won’t want to be touched at all. I’ll have days where I have to be completely alone in the dark, and I’ll get mad at you because you’re encroaching in my space, even if you had no way of knowing I was having a bad day. And none of that should weigh on you.”
“Henry—”
“You couldn’t have known, Alex.” Henry’s voice is shaky; if Alex didn’t know him better, maybe he would’ve missed it, but he notices it in the turn of his vowels, in the way he presses their lips together, the way his eyes only focus on their clasped hands. He squeezes so he isn’t tempted to pull Henry into a hug. “I made sure you didn’t know. I wanted… I wanted you so badly and I thought if I just showed you the best parts of me you’d like me and I’d never have to find out that I’m not—” He doesn’t say the words, but Alex hears them anyway. A crack splits his heart in half.
“Henry,” he whispers, and this time, when Henry opens his mouth he doesn’t let him get far. His fingers hover over Henry’s lips, effectively stopping him, and he lets a smile spread on his face. “May I?” he asks; Henry doesn’t quite manage to make a sound but there’s a nod, and that’s enough. Alex lets his palm cover Henry’s cheek and tucks away the loose strands of hair behind his ear. The words come easily to him when he needs them the most. “I love you.”
Henry’s breath hitches in his throat. He doesn’t meet Alex’s eyes, but he doesn’t need to. It’s the little things Alex notices—the ones he’s always noticed—that matter. It’s the squeeze of Henry’s fingers around his, it’s the fluttering eyelashes, it’s the parted lips that tell a whole story. Alex doesn’t need to see Henry’s eyes to know what’s going through his mind, and he doesn’t need him to conform to some social standards just to appease him.
“And not because you hid your worst parts or you somehow forced me into it. I loved you when you remembered my coffee order as if it was the most effortless thing in the world, and I loved you when you got a coffee machine even if you don’t drink it. I loved you when you curled up on this couch on a corner just because it’s quieter and darker here, and I loved you when you invited me to your room anyway so I could exist in your presence. I loved you when you couldn’t shut up about Jane Austen and I loved you when you were too focused on your work to even talk to me. I loved you when you sought me out so we could cuddle, and when you needed your alone time. I loved you yesterday”—Alex captures a tear that escapes from Henry’s eyes—“when you were curled up under the blanket, when you held onto my hand, when you held onto me. And I love you now.” He brushes his knuckles over Henry’s cheeks so he can wipe his tears away and then pulls their clasped hands to his lips. Henry’s hands are shaky when Alex kisses his knuckles. “Nothing’s going to change that.”
Tears stream down Henry’s face and drop onto his collar. “You don’t know that,” he whispers in such a wounded voice it breaks Alex’s heart. He lets Henry’s hand go just long enough so he can settle on his lap, thighs on either side of his hips, palms cradling Henry’s face. Blue eyes flicker to his for a brief moment before they settle on his lips.
“Is this okay?” he asks. There’s a beat, but then Henry wraps his arms around Alex and nods. “But it’s not going to be okay every day. Sometimes you won’t want to be touched and you’ll need your own space.”
“Yes, well, that’s kind of what I said already.” There’s no venom in Henry’s voice and Alex finds himself smiling. He traces the lines on Henry’s face all the way down to his lips and rescues them from his teeth.
“And you were okay with me being here yesterday?” This time, Henry doesn’t hesitate. He nods. “Did I… Did I make it better?”
He takes longer this time, but then… “Yes.” His eyes flicker to Alex’s. “I liked… I liked holding your hand. It made me feel grounded.” It’s not even a big statement yet Alex’s chest tightens anyway and this time, he’s the one fighting back his tears, clinging onto Henry tightly.
“I loved being there for you,” he manages, cupping the nape of Henry’s neck so he can hold him close. “And I’d… I’d love to be there for you if you’d have me. It might not be perfect every single time and I know I’ll get it wrong but… I wanna have the chance to learn everything about you. The good and the bad.” He can’t help the last word that escapes his lips. “Please.” Henry’s face is completely unreadable, and Alex swears he can hear his heart crack with every missing breath, but he waits regardless. He waits until—
“Okay.” And then, a small smile.
He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so light in his chest.
Three months, countless late-night cuddles and morning kisses, and a handful of arguments and talks later, Alex finds himself watching Henry’s sleeping face one morning, and thinks back to that fateful night when he met Henry by the bar. It feels impossible, but he’s sure that if he returned to that moment, that one second he met Henry’s piercing blue eyes, he’d feel deep inside that he knew.
Through the ups, the downs, and everything in the middle, Henry is the one for him.