Archive of Our Own

i. midnight rain

On July 9 th , at 1:58, rain starts beating down on the benches of the park, and Alex lies in the middle of it, grass digging into his skin, staring at the clouds.

There are no lights in the distance, nothing from the stars, from the moon, the entire world. Lightning beats down onto the ground in intervals—it’s loud in Alex’s ears—but he doesn’t wince; he keeps staring at the same spot in the sky, eyes covered by the glasses perched onto his nose, vision blurring inch by inch as water collects on the ground below him.

On July 9 th , at 1:58, Alex lies down in an empty expanse of space, and across the road lights flicker in his house, his parents’ loud voices carrying in the wind.

Footsteps interrupt his train of thought. They’re wet against the dirt, bright white against the darkness. Be careful, Alex thinks, though his lips are entirely too cold to utter the words. You’ll get your sneakers dirty. But the person walking towards him doesn’t care; the shoes are already flecked with dirt by the time they stop near Alex’s body, and then slowly he joins him on the ground, hand sneaking to find Alex’s hand between the blades of grass.

“Your hands are cold,” Henry whispers. Alex wets his lipsto warm them up,his voice disappearing into the quiet night air.

“I know.” He feels blue eyes watching him carefully but he doesn’t turn, focusing on the the rain that’s beating down on them, grounding himself with the feel of his boyfriend’s palm wrapped around his. Henry’s hands are just a tad larger than his, and they feel solid against his skin when nothing else feels real. “You’re gonna get cold, too,” he says, without looking at Henry Despite his words, he can imagine the smile stretched across his boyfriend’s face as he feels the fingers of his free hand ghosting over Alex’s freezing skin.

“I’m bundled up quite well.”

“You’re gonna get wet.”

“I’d like to stay anyway, if that’s okay.”

Alex turns to him then, blinking against the raindrops in his eyes and finding Henry in the dark. His features are washed out and blurry, but still the most beautiful thing Alex has ever seen. His palm lingers on Alex’s face, his thumb running gentle circles across Alex’s skin, warming him up until the rain doesn’t quite feel so cold in his bones. They should go back inside, he thinks. He should sneak Henry into his house to warm up, throw themselves into the shower. Turn on the lights so they can see each other properly.

“They’re fighting again,” he whispers instead. Henry’s eyes are sad.

“I know, love.” His thumb trails down Alex’s cheek, finding the dimple at the corner of his lips. “I have a taxi waiting for us,” he offers, “if you want to stay over.”

“How much extra did you have to pay for them to wait?”

Henry’s lips quirk into a smile. “Worth it.” His bottomless blue eyes find Alex’s again, and no matter how hard he tries to fence his heart behind walls, he knows he’s falling in love.  He remembers just a few years ago, his mom and dad dancing in the kitchen, laughter bouncing off the walls, and replaces their faces with his and Henry’s in his memory. He thinks of them spread out on a picnic table, and when he looks up, it’s Henry by his side. He thinks of his first memory ever, at age four, skipping down their street, one hand clasped in his mother’s, one hand in his father’s.

Their yells echo again, and Alex winces, looking back at the sky. The rain hasn’t let up yet, but Henry doesn’t push him; he waits patiently, fingers cupping his face, for as long as Alex needs, until tears begin to mingle with the raindrops and it’s impossible to tell which is which.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers finally. He doesn’t dare look back at Henry.

“I know. I want to.” There’s a pause. “Mum made us hot chocolate.” It’s an olive branch, a gentle offer, in case Alex wants to take it. His vision blurs but Alex doesn’t wipe away the wetness, letting it wash over his face, lips trembling under the cold and the pain. He wonders how long it’ll take Henry to drop his hand. How long it’ll take his smiles to turn to sneers.

He turns back to his boyfriend and squeezes his hand. “Okay,” he says, watching Henry’s face light up under the bright flash of lightning. He smiles and tugs Alex up—there’s his arms, and then his lips, stealing the softest kiss from Alex, lashes tickling Alex’s cheekbones as he pulls back.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “The taxi charges by the minute.”

Alex lets himself be dragged. The voices of his parents follow him all the way to Henry’s place.

ii. picture perfect, shiny family

A white rectangle dangles in front of Alex’s vision.

He blinks from his reverie, turning around to find Henry leaning against the lockers next to his, a smile playing on his lips. And there it is, that rectangle card—an invitation, if Alex isn’t mistaken.

“You,” Henry says teasingly, his voice exaggerated like he’s talking to royalty, “Mr. Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz, are cordially invited to the Fox-Mountchristen residence for a three-course Thanksgiving dinner next Thursday.” He lowers the card, a grin playing on his lips, and Alex can’t quite help the snort that escapes his lips.

“You made a fucking invitation for me?”

“It’s a very serious event.” Henry tries to sound serious, too, but there’s a shine to his eyes Alex knows too well—a glimmer of happiness, a light that only comes when he’s looking at Alex and something slots into its rightful place. Alex takes the card and cradles it close to his chest, pressing the feeling it gives him into the folds of his mind so he can remember this—the one good thing that’s happened to him—when it inevitably slips from his fingers.

“Black tie?” he asks now, shutting his thoughts away, and takes the invitation. Henry’s grin widens.

“If I say yes, will you actually wear a suit for me?”

“Absolutely fucking not.” He gingerly takes the card from Henry’s hands, tracing the golden letters, a knot tight in his chest. “But I should probably stay home.” He doesn’t want to, not when it’ll be his parents bickering, June shut away in her room, and a ruined dinner ending in tears, but it’s a family tradition. Every year, his family sits around their stupid table and eats their stupid turkey, and Alex can’t bear giving up yet another one of the things that was special about his family. He just wants to keep pretending everything is fine.. “I’ll see you after dinner?”

Alex expects disappointment on Henry’s face, but he just smiles. “I’ll be counting down the hours,” he whispers, and steals a kiss from Alex’s lips before he disappears. The invitation to Henry’s stays, Alex’s lifeline to the other side of town, a house with happy memories and warm dinners.

I’m coming, Alex texts Henry three hours before midnight, tears blurring his vision as he waits by the street for his Uber. It’s okay if you don’t have dinner. I’ll just sit with you guys. He tucks the phone into his pocket and squeezes his eyes shut, his parents’ voice still ringing in his ears.

“Go,” June had whispered when Alex winced for the first time. “I’ll deal with them.” Back from college for only a weekend, and she’d already shouldered the weight Alex couldn’t, her face set in hard lines as she returned to the dining room. Alex slipped out from the window, called an Uber, and texted Henry.

Fifteen minutes later, he gets out in front of Henry’s house, and then there’s Henry standing in front of him. He’s practically a beacon of light with his dusty blonde hair and bright blue eyes, beckoning him close until Alex is tucked under his chin.

“I’m here,” he whispers—nothing more, nothing less—and it’s the most perfect thing he could’ve said.,Alex squeezes his eyes tightly and clings onto Henry until he doesn’t feel like sobbing.

He pulls away from Henry’s arms. “Sorry I came on short notice,” he mumbles. “I don’t… I don’t really need food, just thought—”

“Hey.” Henry squeezes Alex’s hands in his before he wipes his cheeks with his sleeves, palms pressed on the warm skin. “I gave you an invitation for a reason, love.”

Alex finds Henry’s eyes through the tears. “But you thought I wasn’t coming.” There’s a conspiratorial smile then—and it’s one Alex knows all too well. 

“Good thing I forgot to tell my parents about that tiny fact, then,” Henry says. Alex sees it on his face, though he’d never say it out loud, that Henry didn’t forget. Not that he would have, with his meticulous calendar and countless reminders lighting up his phone. He simply didn’t tell his parents, just in case Alex needed them. He didn’t say anything, ready to be the villain if necessary, just to offer Alex an alternative.

I don’t deserve this, Alex thinks wildly, squeezing Henry’s hands in his. I don’t deserve him. I won’t get to keep him. Yet he doesn’t run away, not just because he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go, but he can’t turn his back to Henry, not now, not yet. His heart might end up shattered at the end of it all, but for one wild moment Alex thinks it’s worth it; if it means he gets to see Henry smile like that, even just one more time.

“Join us?” Henry whispers, taking Alex out of his thoughts. “My parents have been asking about you.”

And Alex only needs one word. “Okay.”

iii. all the life i gave away

The headphones are expensive, but Alex buys a pair anyway, testing them through the blaring music from the speakers in his room, staring at the ceiling until he can’t quite hear the lyrics through the padding.

“Alex!” The voice reaches him through a haze. A pounding on the door; he sees the frame shake more than he hears it. “Alex, cut the fucking music down.”

He does.

“Are these new?” Henry asks next morning, fingertips brushing the edge of the headphones where they rest around Alex’s neck. He tenses but doesn’t move away, shrugging instead, picking at the food in front of him.

“Needed something to help me focus.”

Henry’s eyes peer at him, concern shining in their blue. “Right,” he says; he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t push either, dropping his hand onto Alex’s thigh. It’s a solid weight, grounding in its familiarity, loving in how much Alex aches for it—part of him wants to push it away but he stays there instead, pretending for just a few seconds that Henry will never stop holding him like that. Won’t stop touching him like that.

He forces himself to swallow down another bite before he gives up on the whole thing. “Let’s go somewhere this weekend,” he blurts out instead, lifting his head. Henry has a brow quirked.

“Like… Around town?”

“No, like, away.” He picks at the edges of his nails, a nervous tick Ellen’s best attempts couldn’t get rid of, and releases a breath. “Like, let’s drive to Dallas. Stay there for the weekend. Just… Be away from here for a little bit.” His voice is shaky; he bites down on his lip, hard, to keep the tears at bay and stares at Henry with pleading eyes so he doesn’t ask too many questions, so he gets why this is so goddamn important for Alex.

His brows are still furrowed but he nods anyway, moving his fingers away from Alex’s thigh. They find his palms, untangling his own fingers before he actually cuts into his own skin and holds them in the space between them. “Okay,” he says simply, no hesitation. “Is there… Is there a reason you want to go away?”

Alex gulps and looks away. “It’s my parents’ wedding anniversary,” he whispers.

A year ago, on the exact same date, they were yelling so loudly that June had snuck him out of his room and took him around town until they found a McDonald’s with a working ice cream machine. A year ago June was there as a buffer, cracking jokes and poking Alex until he laughed, until the ice cream actually tasted sweet and the smiles didn’t feel too forced. Now, June is on the other side of the country, Alex is all alone, and he doesn’t know if he can bear being in that house alone with his parents if their yells will echo every single wall again.

Henry’s grip tightens around his hands. He tugs Alex close, pressing kisses on his knuckles, and smiles. “Dallas it is, then.”

Henry makes a hotel reservation and refuses Alex’s payment. “A gift from my parents,” he says, and then huffs out a laugh. “They’re happy I’m finally doing something crazy with my high school years. They were a tad disappointed I’d rather stay in and read my books.” Alex doesn’t know if it’s a lie or if it’s true, but he doesn’t question it, and Henry seems content on that.

He sneaks out of his room Friday night, a backpack slung over his shoulders. Henry’s waiting a block away in his mom’s car. His smile widens when he sees Alex, pulling him into the safety of his arms, lips pressed on his curls.

“Hi, love,” he whispers, and for one moment everything feels right in the world. He soaks in it for just another second before he steps back and clears his throat, trying to get used to the idea of letting Henry go even when he wants to cling on. Their days are numbered—he doesn’t know by how much, but he prepares himself even now, prepares for the day Henry won’t smile at him so sweetly, won’t hold his hands so gently. “Ready?”

Alex clears his throat and tucks his hands in his pockets. “Yeah,” he whispers; the car is a convertible, so he jumps onto the front seat, throwing his backpack to the back. Henry joins him—one hand is on the wheel, and then the other comes to rest on Alex’s thigh, drawing gentle circles, blue eyes flickering to him whenever he stops at a red light. Alex doesn’t look back, but he doesn’t push the hand away either, doesn’t have the heart to keep Henry at arm’s length when his proximity feels so right.

“Hey.” Henry’s voice cuts through his thoughts. He turns to him, feeling his fingers pry Alex’s open, a smile on his lips. “No overthinking this weekend, okay? We’ll have the time of our lives.”

And Alex lets himself believe it.

Henry invites him home on Sunday. Instead, Alex kisses his cheek in front of his house, offers him a shaky smile and steps back.

The house is entirely silent when he slips into the room.

iv. all the love we unravel

June is back for Easter.

She brings some energy to the house that’s been dead for the last few weeks, not even Ellen and Oscar’s yells bouncing around the walls. Alex had spent most of his time locked in his room, headphones over his ears, the only flimsy connection to the outside the texts he shared with Henry, when he had the energy to pick up the phone.

Henry was concerned. There was no way around it. After the second, third, fourth date cancelled or postponed, after the barely there smiles he offered him in school hallways, after the texts that went unanswered for so long, Alex could hear it in his voice whenever they talked, could see it on his frown whenever Henry met up with him by the lockers. “Hey,” he whispered once, fingertips brushing Alex’s elbow. “Everything okay?” And Alex had lied through his teeth because he didn’t quite know how to explain to Henry that his parents’ marriage were practically over, didn’t know how to make him understand when he never had to question his own family, when the unconditional love he saw in front of him was exactly something Alex didn’t know how to give.

“Yes,” he’d said with a smile. “Just tired.” And he’d let Henry kiss him, his fingertips framing Alex’s face, one lingering memory for when he loses it.

June is back for Easter, and when Ellen calls the two of them for a serious talk in the dining hall, he already knows what they’re about to tell him. It’s not a secret to Alex that they haven’t slept in the same bedroom for months—that they haven’t been a proper married couple for almost a year. And finally, the breaking point.

“We wanted to tell the both of you when we were all in the same room,” Ellen says. Alex doesn’t look at her, hands fisted on his lap, staring at a stain on the wooden table. Wonders if he’d have to scrub it hard later just to get it off. “Your father and I have been…going through a rough patch recently.”

June snorts at Alex’s left. “Recently. Right.”

“June.” Ellen sounds tired—so goddamn tired, circles under her eyes, blue eyes dimmed under the weight on her shoulders. June shuts up but her arms are crossed and her chin is set in a hard line, and Alex knows her well enough to know she’s trying her best holding her tongue. She’s angry—furious, really, more than upset, and Alex understands only now that she’s seen this coming ages ago, that she’s wanted it to happen longer than Alex spent convincing himself that yelling across a hallway at each other was simply a rough patch in his parents’ marriage. June knew what was coming, but she didn’t dread it. She’d been looking forward to it.

“Your father and I are getting a divorce,” Ellen continues. Her voice is completely devoid of emotion, as if she’s spent all the energy she already had trying to keep the marriage together and she’s done. “I know this will be a rough time for all of us, but this is the best decision for both of our mental healths. I don’t…expect you to understand it completely, but I was hoping we could have an open and honest talk and see if we can figure out a way to approach this as a family.”

June laughs, and Alex is glad for it because it startles him out of his thoughts. He tries to blink his tears away. “We haven’t been a family for fucking years, Mom.”

“June—”

“No.” June leans forward, palms pressed over the table. “No, you don’t get to spin this around as if you guys gave a goddamn shit about our mental healths when you were yelling at each other every single night. You don’t get to pretend that this hasn’t been a long time coming and you’ve drained Alex and I of everything we have in the process.” Her voice shakes, and it’s the only indication that she’s maybe more affected than she lets on. That this isn’t a simple signature on a document for her. “Did you know that Alex bought noise-cancelling headphones just because it was too overwhelming for him?”

Tears return. “June,” Alex whispers, but he doesn’t look up, and he’s not even sure if June hears it. She barrels on.

“He begged me not to leave for college just so he wouldn’t be so goddamn lonely. So he had someone to drive him to McDonald’s late at night for ice cream for a little escape. I almost gave up on my college dreams because of you. So don’t fucking talk to me about mental health because you sure as fuck don’t care about it.”

June’s breathing hard. She doesn’t look at Alex, but he feels his parents’ eyes on him, feels the shock splashed on their faces. He keeps his chin ducked. “Alex,” Ellen whispers, her hands entering Alex’s vision, reaching out as if she can hold onto him if she just tried. “Is that true?” A tear slides down Alex’s chin, dropping onto his hands, and it’s what startles him out of his reverie.

“You’re too loud,” he whispers, and then… “You were too loud.” He looks up to find pain splashed on Ellen’s face, to find Oscar’s eyes fixated on a spot above his shoulders. He pushes his chair away and stands up with a creak. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Alex!” His name trails after him, but he doesn’t stop. The door clicks behind her. Locks. His phone buzzes with messages, Henry’s ringtone echoing around the walls. Alex doesn’t answer. He slips under the covers of his bed, curls up in a ball, and for the first time that week he lets himself cry.

The new Marvel movie comes out this Friday, would you like to go together? Henry’s first text reads. The phone lights up next to Alex’s head on Monday morning, and he opens his bleary eyes just to look at it before he closes them again, letting it go unread.

Alex? the second text reads. It comes a few hours later. June has left a plate of food just a few minutes ago, and Alex looks up from it, the bites souring in his stomach. He doesn’t finish.

Everything okay, love? It’s only forty-three minutes this time. Alex pokes his head out of the blanket and looks away from the movie on his laptop screen. His throat knots around the answer. No, he thinks. Everything’s wrong. But he doesn’t send it.

Can you please say something? I’m starting to get worried. Another twenty-seven minutes. Another time, Alex might’ve been annoyed at the insistence. Now, tears fill his eyes, heart aching to reach through the small screen and hold Henry close. He grips the phone, staring at the messages when it pings again, the rare times Henry sends multiple messages at the same time. Even if it’s just a word, please, I’d just like to know you’re okay. Please, love.

Please.

Alex has to put the phone away so he’s not tempted to answer. He returns to the movie, unseeing, as silent tears stream down his cheeks. He turns off his phone.

There’s a rattle at the window.

Alex blinks blearily and pulls the blanket to stare at it, trying to see through the small slit between his curtains. A few seconds pass without a sound; he thinks he must’ve imagined it, eyes finding the screen of his laptop again, but then there it is. Another rattle, and another in quick succession, like rocks hitting the smooth surface. There’s a fourth, and despite the knot in his throat Alex forces himself to stand up and go to the window, throwing the curtains open.

The night is dark, but it’s impossible to miss Henry standing at their yard, shrouded under the moonlight like a fairytale prince. Little pebbles are clutched between his fingers but he doesn’t throw them again; he doesn’t move either, keeping his eyes on Alex, the line of his jaw set into a tight line. Alex wants to open the window and climb down just so he can throw himself in his arms, wants to run away and hide under his bed, wants to feel Henry’s warmth and push it away at the same time. Eventually, he grabs his hoodie and unclasps the window, gingerly climbing down the top of the porch, dropping in front of Henry. He tucks his hands into his pockets and refuses to look up, keeping his eyes focused on Henry’s shoes. Untied, with the hems of his sweatpants curling up like he put them in a rush, like his appearance was the last thing he could think of before leaving the room.

“That’s it?” he whispers now, voice loud in the quiet night. Alex winces but doesn’t let it show. “You don’t answer my texts all day, you turn off your phone when I try to call, and you won’t even look me in the eye?”

Alex curls his fingers into fists, nails digging harshly into his skin. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says; his voice is still, hiding the warring emotions behind them, covering the lie behind a flimsy armor Alex is barely holding together. I’m sorry, he means, even if the words don’t come. I know I fucked up. I should’ve responded. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Except his mother’s face swims in front of his vision, the resignation and exhaustion shining in equal force, and he can’t. Not even if Henry looks broken now.

It's infinitely better than the image of a future where it’s the same resignation Henry has on his face as he shrugs. As he says, We just don’t work, and Alex is left alone to break apart without anything to hold onto.

“Alex.” Suddenly, the distance between him and Henry melts, gentle fingers wrapped around his wrists. “Alex.” Henry’s voice is soft, so much softer than he deserves, like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a light at the end of a tunnel trying to coax him out. “Look at me, please. Alex.” His thumbs find Alex’s pulse points, a gentle, loving pressure like nothing Alex has felt before, and tears spring into his eyes all over again, falling in fat droplets, hidden only in the darkness. He blinks them up now, meeting Henry’s through his lashes, the blue irises capable of breaking them apart if he only wanted, and the knot in his throat threatens to overwhelm him.

“Talk to me,” Henry pleads, and Alex doesn’t have the right words to explain the swirl of emotions in his gut.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Henry stares at him like he’s been slapped, and somehow that’s worse than the anger. Somehow, it’s worse than Henry laughing at his face, dropping his hands, yelling at him. That, Alex knows. But Henry’s face looks wretched, and Alex doesn’t know what to do with that, how to deal with the hurt he’s never seen from his parents. “You don’t mean that.”

Alex bites the inside of his cheek and forces his tears back. “I do.” His voice is quiet but he’s sure Henry hears it because there’s a frown between his brows, there’s his nails digging into Alex’s skin, and Alex is sure it’s coming now—the anger. The yelling. He sees it in Henry’s eyes, the frustration bleeding out into his expression, and he braces himself for it, for the same voices that used to keep him up at night, the same words he heard echoing around his house.

“What happened?” Henry says instead, so softly, and it’s like whiplash, tearing Alex out of his thoughts. He stares.

“What?”

“Something happened.” It’s a statement and not a question. His hands tighten around Alex’s wrists, and then slowly tugs them out so he can lace their fingers together, hovering in the space between them. “Alex. What happened?” He’s gentle now, no hint of his previous frustration left on his face. Alex suddenly wants to cry—he wants to cry, to scream, to hide in the crook of Henry’s neck and spill everything. Spill his fears just so Henry can cradle them between his fingers and hold them safe. So he can maybe, just maybe trust him not to break his heart.

“Does it matter?” he chokes out instead, pulling his hands away. Henry’s face twists painfully but he doesn’t reach out again. “You texted me and I didn’t respond. You had to come all the way over just to see me. Isn’t that enough?”

Henry’s eyes search his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I hurt you.” His voice is small, and Alex hates it, but he can’t quite stop it from shaking either. “I pushed you away. There’s no coming back from that.” He tucks his hands under his armpits and looks away, squinting at the stars, counting them down in his head, counting the constellation so he has to push his tears away, just so they don’t blur his vision.

“That’s not true.” Henry shakes his head; his movements are jerky, as if it causes him pain just to force it. “Don’t say that. It’s not… It was just one day, Alex.”

“But it wasn’t.” Alex laughs but even that sounds hollow to his own ears. He’s tired—so goddamn tired, swaying on his feet; his eyes are bleary from staring at the sky, his hands are cold even under his armpits, and he wants to sleep and never wake up but he forces the words out instead just so Henry hears it, just so he knows. “You’ve been dealing with my bullshit for weeks. All those nights I texted you because my parents were—” His voice hitches. He barrels through, skipping to the next sentence. “Driving to Dallas, standing in the fucking rain, me crashing your Thanksgiving. It was… It was bound to come to this.”

Henry’s eyes are piercing, but Alex refuses to look. “Come to what?” he whispers—nothing close to the yells Alex is used to from his parents, but no less painful.

“The breaking point.” The words feel like a bomb, considering how quiet they are. “We were always going to end up here.”

There’s a pause. Alex braces himself for Henry to explode, but all he does is shake his head. “No.”

Alex’s nails painfully dig into his palms. “Henry—”

“No, I can’t—” He steps forward again, reaching for Alex’s body, but Alex is pulling back before he can, curling into himself further, eyes firmly fixed at the sky. Henry’s hands drop to his sides, trembling so badly even in the darkness, even looking away, Alex can pinpoint them. “Alex,” he pleads, the name like a prayer on his lips, and a part of Alex’s hearts breaks off right then and there. “You can’t mean that.”

The words taste like poison. “I do.” Henry is silent again, the distance between them stretching with each passing second, and Alex has to dig his heels in so he isn’t tempted to collapse into Henry’s arms. The moon is bright in the sky, blocking out some of the constellations, but he counts them anyway, filing in his head, fitting each one into its rightful place.

“So this is it, then?” Henry’s voice feels entirely too small. “We’re… We’re done?” That one word, the final word, is shattering, but Alex just closes his eyes. His body is completely hollowed out by the time he manages to answer.

“I guess we are.” He doesn’t look—not when he hears Henry shift, not when he hears his footsteps recede, not even when a car starts at the road. He doesn’t move until the headlights disappear, and then he peers into the empty space, still looking for the familiar sight of his love as if by some miracle he’ll be here, hoping against hope for a second chance even knowing this is for the best. Yet the yard is empty, the moon is still shining onto him, and Alex is utterly, completely alone.

He doesn’t bother going back to his room before he curls on the grass and cries.

v. all of me changed

Alex doesn’t leave the bed.

The only indication of passing time is the sunlight streaming through the cracks in his curtains, and the plates of food June brings him, concern shining in her eyes. “Eat,” she insists, not taking no for an answer. “I’m not leaving until you have something inside you.” And Alex does, not really tasting any of it, but his stomach stays full, cups of coffee line the bedside table, and he stays under piles of blanket, staring at his computer screen without processing any of the moving shapes on it.

“Shouldn’t you be back in LA?” he asks June on Thursday morning, three days after they’ve been given the news, three days since Alex broke things off with Henry. June’s expression breaks as she sits next to Alex on the bed, gentle fingers moving clumps of dirty hair away from his face, and smiles.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me.” She puts a bowl of oatmeal next to Alex, waits for him to finish it before she kisses his forehead and leaves, and Alex wonders if his parents would even have realized he wasn’t getting any food if she wasn’t here.

There’s no doubt she’s missing classes. Yet Alex doesn’t fight her, doesn’t tell her she can leave because he doesn’t quite know if he’d survive without her. He doesn’t know what he’d do if she wasn’t there.

It’s on that night, after the sun sets and Alex absentmindedly turns on the light, that the door opens again. He doesn’t pay attention—it’s June, it’s always June, no doubt bringing dinner—and instead burrows further into the blanket, watching yet another season of Grey’s anatomy, until a shape significantly larger than June steps in front of the bed. Pale fingers wrap around his iPad and puts it aside, and then there’s the familiar face in his sight of vision, watching him with a mix of concern and care, the blue eyes and blonde locks reminiscent of an angel that descended earth from heavens.

Alex’s breath hitches in his throat. “Henry?” he whispers; his voice is cracked, but if Henry hears it he doesn’t show it. A sad smile tugs at his lips.

“Hi, love.” His fingertips find Alex’s face, pushing his hair away so he can cradle his cheek under his palm, and Alex has to shut his eyes so he doesn’t crumble into sobs right then and there. It’s the endearment, slipping so naturally from his lips, as if Alex didn’t completely ruin everything. It’s his eyes, framed by long lashes, watching Alex with a kind of caring he doesn’t deserve. It’s his touch, so soft yet so grounding, as if he doesn’t care that Alex hasn’t showered in days, as if he doesn’t care the last time they saw each other, Alex dropped his glass heart and let it shatter on the ground.

“You’re here,” Alex chokes out, blinking his eyes open. And Henry is still there—miraculously, he’s still there, still holding Alex, still smiling. His fingertips trail down his cheeks now, cradling Alex’s face like he’s something precious, holding him like he maybe hasn’t ruined everything between them.

“I’m here,” he repeats, finding Alex’s eyes again. Alex doesn’t quite know what he sees, doesn’t know how he reacts because the tears come then—they fill his eyes, thick and large; they drip down his cheeks, sticking to the grime and sweat covering every inch of his skin, tracing the same lines Henry followed merely minutes ago. “Alex.” The name is soft on Henry’s lips yet still reverent, cradled between his lips like it means the entire goddamn world for him. He shifts but he doesn’t go too far. The bed shifts under his weight; Alex feels him settle on the slim space between his body and the edge of the bed, feels his arms wrap around him like a warm blanket, and then suddenly he’s sobbing, face pressed into the crook of Henry’s neck, hands fisted around his clothes so he doesn’t dare move away. He’s sobbing, and for the first time that week Henry is there, holding him, and it feels right. In the sea of wrongness, under the crushing weight of it, Henry’s arms around him feel right and Alex clings onto it, clings onto his love and cries, and the pain doesn’t feel quite so unbearable. So insurmountable.

“I’m here,” Henry whispers again, and again, lips pressed to his forehead, and it’s enough.

Henry manages the one thing June couldn’t the entire week.

He coaxes Alex out of the bed with sweet words and gentle touches, getting him up to his feet and into the shower. Gentle fingers undress him piece by piece, making a pile of clothes in the corner, and then he tugs Alex under the spray of warm water, never letting him go for even a second. Another time, Alex might’ve cracked a joke, but he’s entirely drained, Henry is holding him up, and at that moment, nothing matters more than soaking Henry’s presence, for however long he has it.

Henry cleans him up, fingers massaging his stiff muscles, hands moving the loofa gently over his skin to wash away the buildup of grime from the last few days. He stops only when he faces the array of hair products lining the shelf. “Uh,” he says, meeting Alex’s eyes, “I might need some guidance with all of that,” and a quiet chuckle escapes Alex’s lips, the first laugh he’s managed all week, and it’s like a weight has lifted off his shoulders.

“I’ll help you,” he says hoarsely and takes Henry’s hand in his, squeezing a bit of shampoo on his palm. Their eyes meet and Alex holds it for a few seconds, a flimsy connection now strengthening by the second like an invisible string is wrapped around both of them. Henry’s fingers curl around the dollop of shampoo and start massaging it into Alex’s hair, and as Alex melts into the feel of it he thinks, for one wild moment, that maybe they’ll be fine.

He presses himself into Henry’s body, accepts his warmth and love, and lets his brain shut down for just a few minutes. All he remembers is this—fingers tangled in his curls, lips burned into the slope of his shoulders, palms pressed against the nape of his neck, and Henry’s scent, something grassy and earthy underneath the shampoo and body wash like a cozy sweater wrapped around his body.

A towel is around his shoulders when his mind returns to his body. He blinks up to find Henry’s eyes, glimmering with the droplets still clinging to his lashes, smiling down at him like Alex is a marvel to stare at. “Hey,” he says, tucking a curl behind Alex’s ear. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” The word escapes his lips in a hoarse whisper and he forces himself to clear his throat. “I feel… I feel kind of like a human again.”

Henry chuckles and squeezes Alex’s waist, tugging him close until Henry’s bare chest is pressed against Alex’s, until there are merely inches between them. “There you are, my love.” The words, so simple in hindsight, worm their way into Alex’s heart, nesting in the hallowed corners until the lights are flicked on and it feels more like a home. “June brought dinner. Are you feeling up for it?”

Alex peers up at him between his lashes. “You’re not gonna take no for an answer, are you?’

“No,” Henry says, and Alex swears he sounds cheeky about it. “I’m not quite below spoon-feeding you.” Alex chokes on his next breath, but he’s smiling, the unused muscles on his face finally stretching once more, and he can’t be mad about it. Not too much.

Henry helps him get dressed and wraps his hair into a towel before his curls become a frizzy mess, and even lays another one over their laps on the bed. “I will eventually force you to actually change the sheets,” he says as he smooths the surface, “but I am still not letting any food stains get on it.” There’s this little wrinkle between his brows that Alex finds absolutely adorable, grinning inadvertently before Henry even places their plates on the surface. His eyes find Alex’s. “What?”

“Were you, like, a housewife in a previous life?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Do shut up, love.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Alex.” He pushes the plate between Alex’s fingers and essentially shuts him up. “Eat,” he instructs, and Alex does half because returning to real life means he now feels somewhat hungry, but also half because Henry is watching him and it’s worth it to see the glimmer in his eyes whenever Alex takes a full bite and manages to keep it down.

“I’m sorry,” Henry says when Alex is half done and pushing his food around more than actually putting it in his mouth. “About your parents.” And if Alex had any appetite left, it disappears there, the fork clanging on the plate when he drops it.

He doesn’t look up at Henry. “How did you know?” The question slips, though he thinks he knows the answer already. June hasn’t missed lunch for Alex once this week except that day. It’s not a stretch to think she might’ve gone out there on a mission.

“June came to see me.” Henry frowns and clears his throat, staring at his own plate. The food is barely eaten. “Don’t… Don’t be mad at her. She was just worried about you and she thought maybe I could help. She didn’t know we were broken up until…” Henry’s voice trails off, and Alex has to count in his head so he doesn’t cry for the millionth time that week. He’s done enough of that, for the two people who didn’t even deign to knock on his door and check up on him the entire time he didn’t show his face. “That’s what you were talking about on Monday, isn’t it? When you said we would always end up here. You didn’t… You didn’t really mean us.”

Alex lets out a laugh, but it doesn’t sound humorous at all. He picks apart a piece of chicken into as small pieces as possible before he manages to look up, meeting Henry’s eyes in a way he couldn’t a few days ago. He deserves this now—deserves his honesty, his openness, after carving time out of his day to take care of Alex when his heart was no doubt broken. “I was terrified,” he whispers. “I’ve been terrified. Since… Since you asked me out. That it wouldn’t last.” Tears fill his eyes, regardless of how much he tries to hide it, but this time it’s Henry who reaches out to wipe it away. His hand stays there on Alex’s shoulder, a grounding weight, and Alex manages a small smile of gratitude at the gesture before it slips away. He looks down at his lap again and shakes his head. “I’m the worst parts of my parents, Henry. I’m loud and obnoxious and messy and overthink the stupidest stuff. I pretend to be brave but it’s all an act so people don’t see that I’m broken, so they look at me and see someone they could be friends with. I snap and make harsh decision and I just… I hurt people, and I thought… I knew it would become too much for you. Eventually, it would become too much like it became too much for my parents.” He falls silent for a moment, staring at his food without really seeing it. Then, he lets the words slip. “I couldn’t risk it, so I left first. I broke your heart first so you wouldn’t have the chance to break mine. I’m… I’m sorry.”

He expects Henry’s hand to slip away. Instead, he moves his fingers up, tracing the line of Alex’s collarbone all the way up to his chin, letting them hover over his cheekbones like he’s cataloguing every single reaction. Alex can’t help it; he looks up, meeting Henry’s eyes through his damp lashes, watching a smile stretch on his face.

“I like that you’re loud and obnoxious,” he says, tucking a stray curl under the towel and adjusting the line. “I like your voice. I like listening to your rants, even if it’s about American politics I’ve got no clue about. You…help me think about something outside of myself. Get me out of my own head.” His palm covers Alex’s cheek, wiping away the final tears, eyes focused on his lips. “I like that you’re messy. I know I might act annoyed about it at times, but then I find your hoodie on my floor because you forgot it or your notebooks scattered on my desk because you left in a rush and it’s just a reminder of you. I can be too pristine at times and you just… You add personality to it. Remind me exactly who I am, even when I’m sitting in a squeaky clean room. Though I would not mind taking a tad bit better care of your personal health.”

Alex lets out a choked laugh. “Noted,” he says dryly, and then Henry smiles too, one of his genuine smiles, and Alex knows he’s not lying. Every bit of what he said, every word, they’re true, and Alex cradles them close to his chest, letting it fill the cracks in his heart in golden lines.

Henry wraps his fingers around Alex’s plate and puts it aside so he can take Alex’s hands in his, thumb brushing over his pulse point. “Alex,” he whispers, so reverently, so lovingly, that all Alex can manage is stare back, to take in the sight of his brilliant blue eyes he’s fallen so hard for despite his best efforts. “You’re not too much for me.”

Tears threaten Alex’s eyes again and at that point he’s tempted to get his tear ducts removed because it’s becoming ridiculous. He blinks them away and stares at the ceiling, feeling his lips tremble under his teeth. “I know.” And it’s true. Despite his insecurities, Alex doesn’t doubt Henry’s words. “I’m… I’m just scared you’re going to change your mind.”

Henry reaches up to capture a stray tear from Alex’s cheeks. “I can’t promise you one hundred percent that I won’t.” It’s a soft confession, and somehow Alex is glad for it—it’s infinitely better than an empty promise he can’t keep, infinitely better than stitching Alex’s heart together with falsities only for it to eventually fall apart. “But I can promise you that right now, right here, I know that I want you, with everything that you are.” With gentle fingers, he tugs at Alex’s chin until they’re eye to eye again and Alex can see his smile. “I can promise you that right now, I love you, and I will do my bloody best to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

Alex’s breath hitches in his throat. “Say it again,” he breathes, balling Henry’s t-shirt around his fingers. Henry arches a brow.

“That I’ll make you happy?”

“You fucker.” Henry chuckles, and it’s such a beautiful sound that Alex can’t quite be mad at him. He takes Alex’s face in his hands, tracing the lines of his cheeks, and finds Alex’s eyes again.

“I love you,” he repeats, properly this time, those three words buoying Alex’s heart. Tears return, but he doesn’t fight them.

“I love you, too.” The words are choked but they’re enough for Henry. He blinks, and then his face brightens with a wide, crooked grin, fingers tightening around Alex’s face, and Alex can’t keep himself away anymore. He wraps a hand around the nape of Henry’s neck and tugs him into a kiss, teeth clashing into each other’s, but Henry doesn’t move away. He melts into it—his entire body wraps around Alex’s, pulling him into his lap, a safe cocoon Alex never wants to let go of, and they kiss, they kiss, they kiss until both of their lips are swollen, until the dinner is cold and forgotten, until Alex can smell his own shampoo in Henry’s hair when he buries his face to the crook of his neck. They kiss, the shared love tangling around them, and Alex closes his eyes and for just a moment lets himself imagine that maybe this one thing, this precious thing he has doesn’t have to end. Maybe he can have it and keep it, and at the end of the day, his heart will be cradled in Henry’s hands instead of on the floor, shattered into pieces.

He inhales shakily and squeezes Henry’s middle. “I’m thinking I might need to go to therapy,” he whispers. Henry lets out a shaky laugh, but he relaxes, muscles turning into goo under Alex. He presses a kiss to the nape of Alex’s neck.

“I think that’s a good idea, love.”

And Alex feels safe.

After Henry slides out of his arms, after he kisses Alex in the bed, and then again by the front door, stealing one, two, three, four before he steps out, after his car disappears in the distance, Alex climbs up the stairs and finds June in her room, tablet propped on her lap and laptop resting on her sheets.

He joins her on the bed, legs crossed underneath him, and June drops everything. “Hey,” she whispers, a furrow still permanently placed between her brows. “Everything okay? I… I heard Henry came.”

It speaks volumes that June even waited this long to ask instead of knocking on his door and demanding answers. Speaks volumes that even now, she’s threading carefully as if she’s walking on glass instead of drilling him with questions. And just for that, Alex loves her all the more.

“I think… I think it will be,” he says finally, staring at his hands. His voice is unsure, but his heart keeps beating in his chest regardless, he keeps loving Henry regardless, and for once he embraces it. “He told me he loved me.”

June’s lips curve into a smile. “Can’t believe you ever doubted that.” Her voice is sarcastic but there’s an ache behind it, a silent acknowledgement that passes between them that they never quite got to witness what real love looked like. Alex tries to smile shakily before he ducks his chin again, running his fingers through his hair. Finally, it’s clean and dry, and the curls feels nice and smooth between his fingers, the scent making him think of Henry’s fingers lathering the shampoo between them.

“Thank you,” he says now because June deserves it. “For talking to him. I don’t know what…” His voice trails off, but he thinks June knows because her arms are around him in a second, holding him tight to her chest. Alex closes his eyes and melts into her embrace.

“You don’t ever have to thank me,” she whispers. It’s a goddamn lie but Alex doesn’t argue—doesn’t want to, when this hug, this closeness, this love shared between them when they don’t have their parents, feel perfectly enough.

+i. sunshine

“I need help,” Alex says before he even takes his seat on the armchair, throwing his backpack down, and ignores the quirked brow Dr. Luna sends his way.

“I do believe that’s the reason we’re doing these sessions, Alex.”

“No, like—” Alex huffs out a breath and narrows his eyes. “I need, like, your opinion. Not-currently-in-crisis-but-imminently-going-into-one-so-you-have-to-help-me-because-I’m-paying-you kind of opinion.” He stares at Dr. Luna with wide eyes and pursed lips, and no matter how much the damn doctor teases him on a daily basis, all he offers is a laugh now. He takes his own seat and brings his tablet over his legs.

“What did we talk about slowing down?” Dr. Luna teases, and Alex rolls his eyes. It’s a running joke at this point—Alex tends to speak quickly when he’s excited or stressed, and Dr. Luna jokes about breathing exercises and meditation he only half follows, and they go back to square one next session anyway, with Alex’s mind running a mile a minute. He knows Dr. Luna doesn’t actually mind it, not unless Alex is actively stressed, but he rolls his eyes and settles into a breathing pattern anyway.

“I need your opinion,” he repeats, voice carefully paced now, even as his heart beats against his chest. He presses a palm to his pocket just to feel the weight of the small box, but he doesn’t take it out yet, meeting Dr. Luna’s eyes instead, wondering if he looks as much of a mess as he feels just then. “It’s about Henry.”

Dr. Luna’s smile softens. “He’s doing well, I presume,” he says, and despite his stretched nerves Alex finds a smile stretched over his own lips. His fingers curl around the small box in his pocket.

“No, we actually broke up yesterday,” he deadpans, voice completely dry, “and I’m devastated so I need you to like, really up the ante in the session.”

“Alex.” Dr. Luna looks completely unimpressed. Alex grins, relaxing into his seat.

“He’s fine. Great, actually. We’re trying to figure out if we can convince his parents to let me join their vacation.” Such a normal sentiment, even though it sometimes feels like a marvel, even months later. The first few sessions with Dr. Luna, even the mention of Henry set him on edge, teeth clattering together as he tried to keep his fears tucked inside his chest. He’d faked smiles, lied through his teeth about his happiness, talked about their planned dates and the flowers dotting every single surface of his room and the sweet kisses they shared without shaking the belief that eventually, it would all crumble and he’d be left brokenhearted. It took Dr. Luna a lot of coaxing and a near complete mental breakdown to get Alex to confess all those fears—to put the poison out into the world, to voice the thoughts eating at his brain, until he looked up with tears clinging to his lashes and pleaded with the doctor to make it right . Dr. Luna looked sympathetic, even if his words weren’t exactly what Alex wanted to hear.  

“I don’t really have wand to wave and fix everything, Alex,” he’d said, holding Alex’s trembling hands between his fingers. “But I am here to help you, even if the road won’t be smooth, until you feel like those pestering thoughts aren’t too overwhelming. Can you let me do that?” And Alex had nodded, partly because he didn’t really have a choice but to go through, but also partly because deep down, he did trust Henry, trust his love, and he was entirely too desperate to fully believe in it.

Months. It’d taken months, but now, Alex meets Dr. Luna’s eyes, and there’s no doubt in his mind that Henry loves him. There’s no doubt in his mind that they’re long-lasting, that both of them will fight for what they have, even when things get hard, even when the obstacles feel insurmountable.

“It’s our six month anniversary today,” he continues, lips curved into a smile. Dr. Luna arches a brow. “Don’t you fucking make fun of me for that. This is, like, the longest relationship I’ve had. I get to celebrate it.”

Dr. Luna’s eyes are positively sparkling. “I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“Right.” Alex allows himself another second to glare before he takes a shaky breath. He trusts Henry—he does, with his entire heart—but that doesn’t mean this next part, this next step, doesn’t terrify him to death. “I got him something. It’s… It’s stupid, really, but I just… I just wanna show him that I believe in him. In us.” He bites down on his lip, and then slowly takes the box out, fingers shaky around the smooth surface. Dr. Luna’s brows climb to his forehead and Alex realizes his mistake in about a second. “It’s not an engagement ring!” he says quickly, trying to peel off the lid. “It’s not—I swear to fucking god— it’s just a charm.” He practically rips the lid off until silver gleams under the lights of the room, shining over the smooth surface of a key. Dr. Luna leans in to peer at it.

“That is beautiful, Alex,” he says; his professional expression cracks just slightly, eyes glimmering bright. “What’s the meaning of the key?’

“It’s… It’s a copy of mine.” He tugs the chain around his neck and takes out his own key, letting it lay on his palm. The charm is slightly different—the surface is smoothed, the edges not as precise, but it matches Alex’s key as closely as possible, with only one big difference. You are my home, writes on one side of the charm in sloping cursive letters, the best handwriting Alex could manage with shaky fingers, and in the back their initials wrapped around each other, one Alex settled on after a week of back and forth with June on different design ideas. A replica of his home meant to go around Henry’s neck, resting right above his heart just like Alex’s childhood home key rests above his, meant initially just so he never forgets but now an integral part of him. He lets out a shaky breath and clicks the box closed. “I want him to know he’s my home, and that I’m his. I want him to know that I’m with him, a hundred percent.” He allows only a split second of silence before he meets Dr. Luna’s eyes and looks at him pleadingly. “Please tell me that’s not stupid.”

Dr. Luna laughs. “You didn’t even give me a chance to speak, Alex,” he says gently; not really a complaint, but Alex shuts his mouth anyway, pressing the box above his heart. “I think it’s a beautiful charm,” Dr. Luna continues, hands clasped over his lap. “And I think the sentiment is beautiful as well. But can you tell me why you think it’s stupid?”

Right. Fucking therapists. Can’t even give one proper, straightforward answer to ease Alex’s frayed nerves.

“I don’t want it to be…too much,” he whispers, and then winces at the wording. It’s the same phrase he used all those months ago, when he tried to cut his ties to Henry just so he wouldn’t find out what heartbreak felt like. The same words Henry turned on its head and held him like he was exactly enough, even when his brain went a mile a minute, even when he was too loud, even when he couldn’t shut up for a goddamn minute. Too much. And it’s the same, after all those months, but Alex manages a shaky inhale and closes his eyes, trying to count in his head so he doesn’t feel two seconds from a panic attack. “I’m overthinking.”

He swears he can hear the smile in Dr. Luna’s voice. “You said it, not me.”

“I just—” Alex runs a frustrated hand through his hair and stares at the ceiling. “He loves me. I know he loves me. It’s just…hard sometimes.” Admitting it leaves a bitter taste in Alex’s mouth, but Dr. Luna is smiling when their eyes meet. For once, he doesn’t scribble in his notebook.

“That’s how progress works, Alex. Ebbs and flows, ups and downs.”

Alex lets himself take a few breaths. “I know,” he whispers, and it’s the truth. He knows it now—knows to give himself some slack, some time to improve instead of expecting everything at once. He forces a smile on her face and clasps the box tight between his fingers. “I think he’s going to love it.” He’s not entirely sure of it, but now that he’s out there it wraps around his heart like ivy, keeping it safe from the doubts creeping in.

Dr. Luna smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And it’s that simple. The doctor’s pen scratches over the notebook before he looks up again, his face soft under the yellow light.

“What are you planning to do with him?”

Henry is waiting in front of Dr. Luna’s office when Alex gets out, and immediately tears threaten his eyes. “You fucker,” he whispers, basically flying down the steps until he’s standing in front of Henry. The only reason he doesn’t fling his arms around Henry’s neck is that there’s a large bouquet of roses clasped to his chest, the petals tickling his chin, and as much as Alex loves him, he doesn’t want to crush the delicate things between their body. His fingers hover over them anyway—they’re impossibly soft, like freshly cut from a garden, and Alex hates Henry, he hates him so much because he feels like crying all over again and he’s already broken his promise of a tearless anniversary. “You absolute fucker.”

Henry grins, dropping the bouquet just enough that Alex gets a peek at his neck. “Happy anniversary to you, too, love,” he says softly. There’s something so marvelous about the way that word rolls off his tongue, the way his warmth wraps around Alex. He takes the bouquet from Henry gingerly yet he doesn’t look away—his eyes, glimmering blue under the sunlight, is infinitely more beautiful than any bouquet of flowers he could’ve gotten, than any gift he can bestow even though, to give Dr. Luna some credit, it is a little bit ridiculous to celebrate a six month anniversary. Yet Alex wasn’t even the first to bring it up—it was Henry, with his cheekbones dusted in pink, holding Alex’s hands between them like he doesn’t know the hold he has around his heart, asking if they could do something special.

“It’s a tad ridiculous,” he’d said, just as Alex started grinning so widely he’s sure multiple people in the coffeeshop thought him crazy. “But it is… It is kind of the best relationship I’ve had. I rather thought we could celebrate it.”

“First of all,” Alex had said, squeezing Henry’s hands, “yes, absolutely, just so you don’t overthink because you tend to do that. Wanted to put it out there.” Henry had scoffed, but he didn’t argue. “Second of all, I fucking love you. I’d celebrate literally any goddamn day that I get to have you.”

There’s this thing about Henry’s flush, Alex had discovered then for the millionth time, where it spreads in splotches all over his cheeks and nose. It’s adorable, and Alex had kissed him, and kissed him again until all the red melted into his skin, until Henry closed his eyes and lost himself in Alex.

He kisses Henry now, careful not to crush the flowers. “Happy anniversary,” he whispers with a grin, Henry’s cheeks pinched between his fingers. Adorable. He’s fucking beautiful and adorable and Alex absolutely can’t get enough—most days, he simply wants to crawl inside Henry’s ribs and make himself a home right next to his heart, warmer than any home he’s ever known.

Instead, he grabs the flowers from his hands. “These are fucking beautiful.”

“They better be. I spent a fortune on them.” Alex makes a face. It’s not a secret Henry isn’t exactly poor— meaning, his dad is a famous actor, his house is a three-story mansion, and he has more money than Alex knew existed until he walked into his bedroom that fit a king-sized bed and a full L-couch and still leaving enough floor-space to five ceiling-high bookshelves and a whole ass gym setup. “I know it’s a lot,” Henry had even said, cheeks dusted pink, before Alex managed to collect his jaw from the floor. “Just… I think my parents felt bad after my siblings moved out that I was lonely. They wanted to pamper me.”

It's one hell of pampering, but Alex can starfish on Henry’s bed and still leave enough space for him to comfortably sleep whenever he stays over, so he didn’t complain. He’s not complaining now either, when his fingers wrap around the dozens of roses and bring them to his nose. The scent wraps around him—he closes his eyes and chases it, chases it to Henry’s beating heart, to the jar of dried petals in his room, to the flowers pressed against the pages of his books. “Thank you,” he whispers when he opens his eyes. Henry’s are right there, meeting him with a secretive smile, fingers drawing absentminded circles on the back of Alex’s hand. “I didn’t really get you anything.” The box feels heavy in his pocket but he bites his tongue. There’s time for that. There’s space. And it’s the fancy restaurant that’ll make his wallet cry, it’s the table set in the garden, it’s the candles lit up in the night sky.

“Impossible.” Henry’s husky voice takes Alex out of his thoughts. His heart jumps as he arches a brow.

“I think I’d know if I got—”

“Impossible,” Henry repeats, tugging Alex close. “You’re here, aren’t you?” He grins, and it’s so goddamn sappy Alex hates him, hates everything about it, about the crush of petals between them and the curve of Henry’s lips.

“I hate you,” he tells him, trying not to melt in Henry’s embrace. His grin only widens. “I hate you so much, oh my God, stop acting cute—”

“I’m not acting cute.”

“You’re being absolutely—” Here, Alex has to stop because Henry kisses him, essentially robbing him of breath and any sense, finally melting him into an actual puddle on a sidewalk in front of his therapist’s office. Rude, if you ask Alex, but he chases him when he tries to part anyway, pressing the flowers between them, a free hand finding Henry’s hair. “Disgusting,” he whispers when they finally press their foreheads together. “Fucking disgusting.”

Henry smiles. “If you say so.”

“I fucking hate you.”

Henry laughs. “If you say so.”

At that moment, Alex thinks, I’m gonna love this man for the rest of my life.

“Ready?” Henry whispers, fingers wrapped around Alex’s hand over his thigh, and Alex grins.

“Always.”

The first half of the day is planned by Henry. He takes a picnic basket from the car and tugs Alex to the middle of a park, underneath the shades of the trees, spreading a blanket underneath them. “I made chocolate-covered strawberries,” he says, taking out a small container. “They are… They don’t look great, but they taste good. I promise.”

Alex tries not to get emotional. Chocolate-covered strawberries, made carefully with Henry’s hand, with uneven layers of chocolate spread around them, are his favorite goddamn things in the world in that moment. “I love it,” he whispers, biting into a juicy one—then another, and then Henry’s lips, chocolate sliding between them, the container forgotten between them. Henry tastes sweeter than the strawberries, sweeter than the sugary chocolate melting in their mouths, sweeter than anything he’s tasted in life.

“Beautiful,” Henry whispers to his lips, and Alex flushes, trying to hide his face into the crook of his neck.

“You can’t just say that to me.”

Henry grins. “Beautiful,” he repeats. “So goddamn beautiful, you have no clue.” His fingertips follows the heat along Alex’s cheekbones, down to his pulse point, pressing down until he feels Alex’s palpitating heart under his own skin. “Am I allowed to say that?”

“No,” Alex says against Henry’s cheekbone, his voice muffled. Henry lets out a laugh.

“Okay, love.” His lips press against Alex’s hair, and even without his voice Alex hears the words. Beautiful, they echo in his head. Beautiful. Beautiful.

If his skin was lighter, he thinks, he would’ve been red as a tomato by the time they leave the park. As it stands, he holds Henry’s hand, he smiles up at his boyfriend, and at least he can say he isn’t quite as flushed as Henry gets when Alex’s lips trace his knuckles.

“I’m paying for this,” Henry says the moment he sees the prices in the menu. Alex looks up.

“Absolutely not.”

“Alex—”

“This is my part of the date,” Alex insists. “I planned it. I’m paying for it.” Henry opens his mouth to object, but he’s faster. “Please. Let me… Let me do this for you.” His eyes are wide, no doubt glimmering under the night sky. Henry purses his lips—he’s not happy about it, but he nods anyway, looking back at the menu, eyes skimming over the options. Alex realizes what he’s about to do before he even says the words. “You’re not getting a goddamn salad as a meal.”

Henry blinks. “I wasn’t—”

“Henry.” Alex meets Henry’s eyes, those beautiful sapphires he’s fallen in love with, and sees the fight slowly seep out of them. “Please.” It’s a simple whisper, but it’s enough for Henry—he settles for an entrée that’s on the cheaper side but acceptable, and doesn’t complain when Alex orders a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling cider for them, though his lips press into a thin line.

“You don’t have to, you know?” Henry says quietly when their waiter leaves. He’s the picture perfect boy from a rich family in his suit, he fits snugly into the image of the restaurant in a way Alex can never quite manage, but at that moment to Alex he’s simply Henry, and he holds Alex’s hands, and it would’ve been the same if they were in a McDonald’s, tucked into a corner booth, eating large burgers and greasy fries in the middle of the night because Alex’s house feels infinitely, utterly lonely without his father, June isn’t there to drive him, and Henry is all too happy to continue the tradition even if he has the kind of family most people only dream of. His fingers slide over Henry’s and tugs his hands close, pressing his lips over Henry’s knuckles.

“I know,” he says, and it’s the truth. The fancy penthouse restaurant, the candles, the stupidly expensive meals, it’s not so he can keep Henry. It’s not because he thinks this is the life Henry wants. But it’s a dream Alex had, to take Henry somewhere beautiful, to press their love into the canvas of the city, and this works. For just one day, Alex wants to pretend they’re on top of the world, and any amount of money he spends for it will be worth it. “Just go with me on this. I promise we can go to McDonald’s tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Henry says dryly. “And here I was hoping we could eat steak every night.”

“Fucker.” Even then, Alex is grinning, mirroring Henry’s face, and this feels right. This, right now, feels right.

They don’t let each other’s hands go until their dinner comes, and even then Henry’s knees bump into Alex’s, their feet slide along each other, like there’s a gravity between them that pulls them together, an invisible string tangled around every contact point so tightly it’d be impossible to separate. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at once and Alex holds onto it, stealing a bite of Henry’s food, letting Henry take a sip from his glass of cider after his is done, letting the tangles be. He doesn’t need to unknot them. He doesn’t need them cut.

“I lied,” he says once their plates are clean. Henry arches a brow.

“Should I be concerned?”

“No.” A beat. “Not as much as I should, probably, at least.” A furrow appears on Henry’s face. Before he can say anything, Alex is fumbling with the box in his pocket, trying to tuck it out. “I, um… I lied when I said I didn’t yet you anything.”

“Oh.” Henry’s face slackens. “You didn’t have to.”

“Well, yes, but you got me flowers after we literally talked about how we weren’t getting each other anything so you don’t get to talk.” He narrows his eyes just long enough to tug the box out, and then his entire universe narrows to that singular point. He inhales shakily. “I promised when we got back together all those months ago that I would… I would work on my self-confidence. That I would try to get to a point where I could look at you and wouldn’t think of all the different ways our relationship could fall apart.”

Henry reaches forward and takes Alex’s hand. “I’m not going to let that happen.” And when Alex meets his eyes, he believes it. There’s no doubt left lingering inside him.

“I know,” he says softly. “Henry, I know.” He smiles, a real one, and Henry looks so mesmerized watching him that he doesn’t even notice him flipping the box open until Alex presses it on his palm. “I wanted to get you something that symbolized that. That you are… You are my home just as much as our family house is, that I belong with you and I’m not afraid to say it out loud anymore. It’s not… It’s not much but… It’s a piece of my heart and I wanted you to have it.” He wraps Henry’s hand around the box and holds his breath.

The key, once it’s dangling from Henry’s fingers, looks entirely too fragile. Alex gulps and forces himself to bite his tongue so he doesn’t blurt something out that he’ll regret. “You don’t…” he says eventually when Henry is silent. “You don’t have to say anything. If you don’t like it. We can just forget—”

“No.”

Alex blinks. “What?”

“I don’t want to forget.” Henry’s eyes are glimmering with tears when he looks up. “Alex, I… I don’t ever want to forget all that you just told me.”

There it is again. The stupid knot around his throat. Alex gulps again. “It’s the truth.” He watches Henry’s eyes, bright under the moonlight; watches the necklace catch the light as his hands tremble. “You like it?” he dares ask, and Henry lets out a wet laugh. He stares at Alex like he grew a second head.

“I love you,” he says instead of answering the question, as if that isn’t answer enough. Alex hates crying, but for that moment he gives himself the space to do it. He lets the tears run. “Can you put it on?”

Alex does, fingertips brushing Henry’s bare neck before he leaves a kiss there. He wraps his arms around Henry’s waist and pulls him close, and as they watch the twinkling lights in the night sky, Alex believes in love once again.