Archive of Our Own ^beta

Amongst the chaos of the party, Henry’s finally found himself in as quiet a moment as he’s going to get, standing at the bar with Alex, and it’s this tiny sliver of relative stillness that allows him to finally feel it. He can tell now that it’s been brewing for a while; the tightness in his chest, the effort it takes to breathe, the pounding of his heartbeat that he can feel behind his eyes and through his whole body, the tingling beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

While it echoes the usual anxiety he feels at these events, this is… different. 

Alex slides a glass of water over to Henry before downing his own and ordering another whiskey, and Henry drinks his water slowly, trying to force his lungs into action between sips before Alex catches on that something’s wrong. Henry doesn’t even know what that something is, much less how he might explain it. For the first time that night, he hopes that Alex will disappear back into the fray and forget all about him.  

His heart is fucking pounding; it’s not even particularly fast, just violent and loud and so fucking overwhelming. He closes his eyes and rubs absently at the top of his chest like it might dislodge the tightness, and under his fingers, he feels—

“Oh,” he says without thinking. 

“Hm?” Alex says.

Henry shakes his head, though he’s not sure if Alex is even looking at him to see it. But then Alex is putting his drink back down untouched and shifting all of his intense focus to Henry.

“What’s up?” 

“I—Nothing.” 

A corner of Alex’s mouth pinches, his eyebrows slumping into a frown. “H, come on. Talk to me.”

Despite their public friendship, and even the texts and late-night calls, Henry is keenly aware that it’s still rather superficial, that the way they exist with one other is still somewhere in between their public façades and their genuine, private selves. There’s still a certain… detachment. A detachment that he’s desperately been trying to maintain in a futile attempt to protect his heart. He just hopes that it’s enough to keep stubborn, curious Alex from pushing and—

“Henry?”

Alex knows Henry’s trans. There’s no way he doesn’t. The whole world knows. But it’s never even come up between the two of them, so how is Henry supposed to explain the heavy, hazy dread and tightness in his chest, his throat, his whole body, that he’s spiralling because he’s been wearing his binder all day and his body has decided it’s had enough, that it’s finally too much.

Now that he’s conscious of it, though, of the source of the tension, the creeping feeling that far, far too closely echoes anxiety, Henry can’t think of anything else.

He meets Alex’s concerned eyes and says, “I need to get out of here.” 

Alex draws back and Henry swears, reaching out but not knowing whether he’s allowed to touch, and his hand hangs in the air between them before he swallows thickly and brings it to his chest, rubbing at the seam of his binder.

“I’m—” he chokes out, “Anxiety attack?” It’s… not quite the truth but not quite a lie, and it gets the point across. 

“Oh,” Alex says, “Shit, okay. Do you want—I could get Pez or Shaan or—”

Henry grabs Alex’s arm and says, desperately, “No, I need—” I need to get out of here. He turns, searching for the exit, letting go of Alex and beginning to push through the sea of people as soon as he spots the door. He doesn’t know where he’s going beyond that, just that he needs to get out. 

He’s in a hallway, and Alex is beside him, trying to guide him to breathe, and Henry almost wants to laugh. He is anxious, that’s for sure, but that’s not the problem. It would be far easier if that were the problem. But Henry knows that breathing—properly, in a way that might remotely do anything to calm him—will be impossible until he gets the fucking binder off, which he absolutely cannot do right now, and Alex is right there, witnessing everything, starting to panic a little himself, and Henry can’t fucking do this.

“Fuck—!” he says, pressing his hands into his eyes.

“Henry,” Alex says a little desperately. “Shit. Fuck. I—Can I touch you?”

Henry shakes his head quickly, but that just makes him more lightheaded and he has to hold onto Alex’s arm to steady himself anyway. And, oh, that actually helps. He closes his eyes, scrunches his face into a frown, gets his other hand on Alex’s other arm and just… lets the contact ground him. When he feels Alex tentatively crowd in a little closer, all Henry can do is give a jerky, encouraging nod, and Alex’s forearms turn under his hands so he can gently hold onto Henry in return.

“Okay,” Alex murmurs eventually, letting out a long breath of his own, “That’s better. Keep breathing.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t fuckin’ apologise to me, man. It’s weird. Also, like, totally unnecessary.”

“Thank you,” Henry says instead.

“Ugh,” Alex groans, laughing. “That’s even worse.”

When Henry feels he’s as settled as he’s going to be under current circumstances, he carefully uncurls his hands and releases Alex’s arms. He opens his eyes, quickly glancing up while he absently tugs at the bottom edge of his binder through his shirt, and Alex’s face clears with realisation. Fuck. 

“It’s… been a long day,” he offers before Alex can start asking questions.

“What do you need?” Alex asks, “Do you want to go change?”

“No,” Henry says quickly, looking back in the direction of the party. “No, I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not,” Alex says, and Henry wants to snap and snark but he’s just so tired, and then Alex is talking again, far too calmly and rationally, saying, “C’mon, I’ll take you upstairs, and you can change and relax, and I’ll even leave you alone if you don’t want me to stay, okay? But I really think you should—”

“All right,” Henry says, just to get Alex to stop talking. “Christ. All right.”

Alex nods and lets out a shaky breath, which Henry… really doesn’t have the energy to understand. He takes Henry’s hand and they head upstairs and to Alex’s bedroom, where they squash into the small walk-in closet together.

“So. What do you need? T-shirt? Layers? Hoodie? PJs?”

“Er.” Henry hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He’d only—reactively, thoughtlessly—agreed to coming back here to get Alex to stop his concerned rambling before it got out of hand. He wasn’t thinking about what would inevitably have to come next.

“You’ve got broader shoulders than me,” Alex continues as he starts poking through his things, “but I like oversized sweaters and things so I have some stuff that’ll fit you.”

“I’m also taller,” Henry offers.

“We’re the same height!” He looks up at Henry and sighs. “Shut up.”

“We used to be the same height,” Henry allows, “But you can’t expect to survive on coffee and sheer stubbornness and not expect it to stunt your growth.”

“I—” Alex looks sideways at him. “You may have a point, there.”

Henry manages to smile, which seems to please Alex a great deal, so he decides it’s worth the energy it drains from him.

Alex ends up tossing a few options at him and he casually adds boxers and socks to the small pile in Henry’s arms like this is all normal. “D’you need anything else? I could, uh… Do you need…”

Henry stares at him blankly. He’s tired and achy and anxious and he thinks his brain has fallen asleep on him because Alex seems to assume that Henry should know what he’s getting at, but he really, really doesn’t. “Whatever it is, just say it,” he says, “It can’t be worse than your floundering.”

Alex huffs and gives him a little smile. “Sorry. Do you need, like, a sports bra or something? I can grab you something from June’s room or I could take you there so you can—”

“Oh.” That makes sense, actually, though Henry hadn’t even thought of that. “I’m fine, actually. Thank you. I, er. I’d prefer… without,” he says clumsily. “Unless you’d be uncomfortable or feel strangely about—”

“No, no, man. You do whatever’s comfy. I just wanna give you all the options so we can make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be right now.”

Henry inhales deeply and pushes it back out in a soft huff. “All right. Thank you.”

Alex grins. “Cool. So. Options—Did you wanna have a hot shower or something? Would that help? Or you can just change if you want. Obviously. I’m not gonna, like, force you to take a shower or anything—you actually still smell great, even though I smell like alcohol and sweat—but I just thought—”

Henry feels himself sort of frown and grin at the same time. Alex is… really fucking something.

He catches Henry’s eye and ducks his head. “Sorry. Fuck.” Alex laughs nervously and says, “I think I’m n—Never mind. Uh. I’ll just… show you the bathroom and you can do whatever.”

Alex leaves him in the ensuite with a towel and the pile of clothes and Henry leans back against the door with a quiet thud. He takes a few shallow breaths before deciding it’d be better to get it over with. Though it’s not visible when he splays his fingers to check, he feels the slight tremor running through his hands as he fumbles with his tie, and he squeezes them into fists as if it might do anything more than leave indents in his palms from his nails. He shrugs out of his jacket and shirt next, and when he peels his binder over his head, the sheen of sweat on the skin underneath pushes him into the shower with a grimace.

Henry puts his back to the hot stream of water and stretches slowly. His back cracks in more than two places, and he rolls his shoulders, closes his eyes and finally takes some full breaths, trying to focus on and take stock of his body rather than give his mind freedom to wander. The tangible, physical squeezing in his chest is slowly fading into a dull ache, but the remnants of anxiety linger, settling into a foggy haze in his head and through his body. His back and ribs will likely be sore for a while, but it’s manageable and worth it. And he’s fucking exhausted, but that’s not a particularly unusual feeling either.

The embarrassment and shame threatening to surface get shoved back firmly and defiantly; there’s no room for that between him and Alex, not anymore, and there’s certainly no room for it in Henry’s head. He’s worked hard for this.

He blinks at the bottles and little pots on the narrow shower ledge and reaches blearily for the body wash, and all at once the steam smells like him. Like Alex. Of course it does. Henry closes his eyes, tips his head back and breathes it in, deeply and fully, lets it wash through his lungs, settle his nerves, sink into his skin, tether him to where he is.

And, somehow, it’s enough.

He steps out of the shower, dries off quickly, avoids the mirror. Tries not to think about the emotions that are surely showing in his face, or the way his body looks with nothing to hide the parts he doesn’t much like. He feels comfortable enough in his body, all things considered; his largest grievance is the way other people see and treat him because of it. He manages to pull on Alex’s boxers and a huge lacrosse jumper before the rest of his energy just… dissipates, immediately and entirely. He slumps onto the bench and lets his eyes fall shut, and he begins reciting the first page of Dorian Gray in his head to keep himself from spiralling.

A light knock sounds on the door and Alex says, “Hey. You all right in there?”

“Yeah,” he croaks. Then he clears his throat and says more clearly, “Yes. Sorry.” He decides that he should stand up, finish getting dressed and get out of Alex’s way, but his body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. He manages to make it to his feet, at least, and then he takes a shaky breath and sighs when he can’t seem to progress any further with his plan.

“H?”

“I’m fine, sorry,” Henry says tiredly. He rescues his phone from his wrinkled suit and tucks it into his waistband before shuffling over to open the door.

Alex is leaning into the jamb and twisting his lip thoughtfully as he fidgets with the corners of his phone case. He stands up a little straighter as his expression eases into a relieved smile, and he shuffles a half step back so they’re not right in each other’s faces. He very quickly looks Henry up and down, grins, and says, “Interesting choice.”

Henry scrunches his face up and huffs. “Got tired.”

Alex nods placidly. “You comfy like that or d’you want some help?”

Henry’s instinct is to scowl, refute the assumption that he’s some sort of helpless damsel or useless mess, but Alex looks so open and genuine, like he would honestly, nonjudgmentally, help Henry into his trousers if he needed it. Instead, Henry frowns, confused and unsettled, and mumbles, “I’m fine.”

“Cool,” Alex says. “Did y’want me to call anyone for you?” 

“Right, sorry,” Henry says. He straightens his back and lifts his chin as he sucks in a breath. “I suppose I’ll have Shaan come collect us so I can get out of your way.” 

“What? No,” Alex says, “No, I just meant to, like, let them know that you’re okay or have them bring you your stuff or whatever. You don’t need to leave. Unless you want to. But… I dunno. I’d like it if you stayed.”

“Oh,” Henry says. “I thought you’d want to get back to your party.”

Alex sways back a little and gives Henry a warm, mellow smile. “Nah,” he says, “I’d rather be here, actually. If that’s all right with you.”

“This is your room,” he says as he lifts an eyebrow.

“Stellar observation, Fox.”

Henry’s eyes narrow tiredly and he sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, and you know what I mean. But I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you need, or you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to; you can call Shaan or I can set you up in another room for the night. Or we can both stay here.” He shrugs, not at all expectant or assuming. “It’s up to you.”

While Henry did notice that Alex stuck unusually close by him for most of the night, he’d thought he’d been making it out to be more than it was; Henry had never been to one of these New Year’s parties, so who was he to presume that Alex didn’t always stay close to the people he actually knew? But Henry also knows that Alex loves and thrives on the energy and atmosphere of these events, so surely he’d rather be downstairs dancing than babysitting the exhausted mess of a person he’s been forced to befriend.

He shifts his feet and searches Alex’s face. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be down at the…” Henry’s eyes drift away from Alex’s and slowly down his body, only now noticing that he’s changed out of his suit and into black jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, and he smells faintly of coconut rather than the—not entirely unpleasant—whiskey and sweat that clung to him earlier. “Oh.”

Alex’s mouth twitches into a smile. “I used June’s bathroom,” he says. “Didn’t wanna go back if you weren’t gonna be there too.”

“Oh.”

Alex tilts his head to one side and laughs. “Come on,” he says, curling a hand around Henry’s wrist and gently tugging him out of the doorway. “Go get comfy.”

Henry tentatively shuffles back into the bedroom while Alex ducks into his own bathroom for deodorant, but he’s not at all sure what he’s supposed to do. Get comfy, he’d said? Henry’s frowning over at the sofa when Alex returns with raised eyebrows and a kind smile.

“What do you need?”

Henry opens his mouth but all that comes out is a shaky sigh. He avoids Alex’s worried frown and tries again, manages to get out, “Floor?”

“Floor,” Alex repeats slowly.

Henry sits down heavily on the rug and falls back to lie down with his knees bent and feet planted solidly on the floor. He slides his arms up along his sides and stretches them up past his head to open up his chest and shoulders, then lifts them into the air above his face before letting them splay on the floor at his sides. He closes his eyes and takes some deliberate, deep breaths, and after a few moments, he feels and hears knees hit the floor by his hip. A hand curls around one of his own as Alex shifts and settles in to sit beside him, and their clasped hands end up resting on Alex’s crossed shins.  

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” Alex quietly says from above him, “What can I do? How can I help you?”

“Stop being so nice to me,” Henry mumbles, “It’s weird.”

“Your accent’s annoying and I hate you.”

Henry hums. “Better.”

“Yeah, well, I was lying.”

Henry wrinkles his nose. Then he lets his mouth curl into a lazy smirk. “So… you think the accent is sexy and you’re secretly in love with me?”

Alex chokes out a laugh and shoves his fist into Henry’s shoulder. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

Henry cracks his eyes open and smiles. That’s better. He uses his free hand to pull the hem of his jumper up past his hip to take out his phone, and Alex makes a noise beside him. Henry shifts his focus from the screen and over to Alex, but he’s very intently looking into a corner of the ceiling, teeth biting into his bottom lip.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Alex says. He clears his throat. “What’re you doin’?”

Henry frowns and goes back to his phone. “Texting Pez. First thing he’ll do when he notices I’m missing is check his phone and call me. If I get ahead of it, he won’t have to worry for long.”

“This kinda thing happen often enough that you have a system?”

Henry shrugs against the floor. “Not exactly this kind of thing, but I suppose, yes.” He sends off the text and tucks the phone back into his waistband, looking up at Alex again.

“We’ve been gone a while,” Alex says with a frown and an annoyed huff directed toward the ceiling, “He should’ve noticed already.”

Henry raises an eyebrow. Having Alex be so protective of him is… a strange mix of completely bloody weird and actually very bloody nice. “He’s been looking forward to getting to know Nora and June,” he says, “I told him I’d be okay with you.”

Alex’s gaze snaps back to Henry’s face. “You did?”

Henry nods. “And I was. Am.”

Alex blinks and turns away again. He clears his throat thickly and says, “How do you feel about stealing ice cream from another kitchen that’s not yours?”

Henry squints up at him. “I feel… like it means I have to put trousers on,” he says.

Alex snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well, you don’t have to.”

“There are three hundred people downstairs, as well as a not insignificant number of staff and security,” Henry says flatly. He sighs. “Ugh, you’re horrible. Go get me some bloody—” He wrinkles his nose. “—sweatpants, then.”

Alex does, and he drops them and a pair of socks onto Henry’s chest. “The floor gets fuckin’ freezing out there,” he says defensively when Henry looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Henry wriggles the joggers on while still lying on the floor and Alex sits back down to pull socks over his own feet before he huffs and does the same for Henry. He drags a finger up the sole of Henry’s foot when he’s done, and Henry nearly kicks him in the face before Alex stands back up with a laugh.

“This is so weird,” he says, sticking out a hand to pull Henry to his feet.

“Not quite how I imagined the night going, no,” Henry agrees.

They make it to the kitchen without running into anyone except a lone Secret Service agent who doesn’t even bat an eye at the sight of them. Alex grins at her as they pass and he tells Henry that her name is Amy, that she’s the president’s favourite, and that her unfortunate dog-naming skills are on par with Henry’s.

Alex grabs bowls and spoons after pointing Henry bodily toward the freezer to pick his flavour of ice cream, and they each fill their bowls far more than they should be allowed. They hoist themselves up onto the counters, Alex on the island and Henry opposite him, tucked into the corner with his knees pulled to his chest.

Henry can feel Alex watching him, but he’s not sure he wants to face whatever’s playing out in Alex’s expression. He gets through half of his ice cream before giving in and meeting Alex’s eyes, and he cannot for the life of him read what he sees in them.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Alex says.

Henry hums and lifts an eyebrow. “Is it a good one?”

“Maybe?” Alex says. He pokes at his ice cream and eats another spoonful, looking carefully at Henry. “I was gonna kiss you at midnight.”

Henry’s foot slips off the counter and his leg falls to dangle against the cupboards as he stares across at Alex. He manages to keep the looming giddy smile at bay, but it’s a battle he just barely wins. “What.”

“I was gonna ask first! Not just—” He frowns and pouts, ducking his head and stabbing at his ice cream again. “But I couldn’t figure out how.” His eyes flick over to the clock and Henry’s follow. It’s 11:46. “Would you—How would you have felt about that?” 

“Just—First, forgive me, but I have to be sure,” Henry says in a rush, “You’re not… straight, are you?”

“No,” Alex says quickly, looking up and steadily meeting Henry’s eyes, “God, sorry, no—I’m bi. You’re all good there. You were actually, uh… You kinda helped me figure that out. The whole, y’know—” He waves his spoon through the air. “—liking guys thing.”

Henry grins and tilts his head down to hide it, but when he glances up through his lashes, the absolute pride in Alex’s expression tells him he’d seen it. “Oh,” Henry says.

“Yep.”

Henry can feel the hopeful tension in the space between them, and the intensity of Alex’s thoughts as they no doubt rush through his mind at full speed. And yet they each quietly go back to their ice cream until they’ve both scraped their bowls clean and no longer have a tangible, justifiable distraction from their conversation.

“So. Thoughts?”

“Oh,” Henry says, looking back up at Alex. “Right. Well, I…” He frowns as he tries to remember what Alex’s specific question was. “To be quite honest, I likely…” He inhales and holds it for a few seconds too long before letting it out in a rush.

“Would’ve said no,” Alex fills in kindly. 

“No,” Henry says quickly. “Well. Not precisely. I…” He wets his lip and pouts thoughtfully. “I suppose I wouldn’t have said yes,” he concedes. “Not in those circumstances. And not without a conversation first.” 

“Oh,” Alex says. The corners of his mouth slowly ease up into a teasing smile. “Is this a conversation?” 

Henry gives him a dry look. But, slowly and very cautiously, he says, “It could be.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nods firmly. “Only… not here?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just—” Alex jumps off the island and takes Henry’s bowl from him before side-stepping to the sink. He tosses Henry a tea towel and washes their dishes, passing them off to Henry as he goes. Henry absently dries them while he watches Alex, feeling something ease in his chest, feeling some of his years-old anxiety finally pulling back.

Alex fills the kettle next, flipping it on before reaching into a cupboard for two mugs, setting them down beside Henry’s thigh and dropping an infuser in each. Alex had once asked Henry to narrate the calming process as he made himself a cup of tea during one of their late-night-early-morning phone calls, and it appears he remembers it well. He measures loose-leaf Earl Grey into the infusers, pours the water and checks the clock, and his brows pull into a focused little frown when Henry distracts him by kicking lightly at his hip.

“Finally realised the superiority of a good cup of tea over coffee at all hours of the night?”

Alex looks up from where he’s batting weakly at Henry’s ankle, grinning widely. “You’re lucky I’m too happy to argue with you right now.”

They slip back down the hall to Alex’s bedroom, where Henry hovers awkwardly, feeling unsure of himself and what comes next. Alex bumps their hips together.

“Is the floor, like, a thing for you?” he asks, “Does that help?”

Henry shrugs one shoulder and nods, and so they settle in together on the carpet, leaning against Alex’s bed and turned halfway toward one another. Henry puts his mug down at his hip and tentatively reaches out, and Alex slips his fingers through Henry’s, letting their hands fall to rest on Henry’s thigh.

“Enough people in this world don’t see me for who I am,” Henry says, “and it would—” He frowns and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, looks at Alex and decides he can do this. He takes a deep, shuddering breath through his nose, pushes it out through his mouth and says, “It would have shattered me if for a moment I believed you were one of them.

“It’s not—It’s not at all that I think you’re the kind of person who would—” He purses his lips and gestures awkwardly with his free hand, and Alex nods his understanding. “—especially not with who your parents are. But you and I have never even acknowledged my being trans before tonight. I couldn’t know with any certainty how you felt about it. And I was under the impression that you were straight.” 

Alex wets his lip and nods thoughtfully. “So if I’d asked to kiss you at the party and we couldn’t have this conversation properly…” he says slowly, “you would’ve assumed that I didn’t see you as a man. As you.”

“That… likely would have been my first instinct, yes,” Henry says. “But to be clear, that’s not your fault. You’ve always been incredibly respectful, even when you hated me; you’ve never given me any indication that you’re not accepting of who I am. And I shouldn’t have made assumptions about your sexuality.”

“But you still have to keep yourself safe,” Alex says. “I get it. We never talked about it. And I’m sorry; I could’ve done better to make sure you knew—I should have actively supported you. But you believe me, yeah? You know that I—Actually, can I show you something?” He slips his hand free from Henry’s and then stands up and heads toward the desk, looking back to ask, “You came out when you were eighteen, right?”

Henry nods, a little wary. 

“I was seventeen and repressed and I’d lived in Republican Texas my whole life and I’d never met a trans person before, at least as far as I knew.” He opens his first desk drawer, pulls something out without having to look for it, and walks back over to sit beside Henry again. “It was only a few months later that I realised we’d both be at the Olympics and that we might meet, and I didn’t wanna get anything wrong, especially not to your face, so I started writing down…”

Alex offers Henry a folded piece of lined paper, slightly worn along the creases. Henry cautiously takes it and begins unfolding it at Alex’s encouraging nod.

Prince Henry

• Full name: Henry James He has so many fucking names??
• Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor (Did he choose to have that many names?? Did he always have that many names?? Don’t check!! You don’t need to know the old ones!!)
• Official title: His Royal Highness, Prince Henry of Wales
• Henry is the son of Arthur Fox and Catherine F-M-W
• He is the younger brother of Philip and Beatrice
• Apparently he’s now third in line for the throne instead of fourth because the monarchy hates women?? Poor Princess Beatrice???? At least they recognise him as a man, I guess (post rage-research update: apparently they’ve thrown out this rule for royals born after 2011, so that’s something)
• Which is good, because Henry is a man
• Henry uses he/him/his pronouns and masculine terms
• I might get to meet His Royal Highness Prince Henry at the Rio Olympics
• Henry’s an asshole.

“It started as practice for your name and title and pronouns and everything,” Alex says as Henry continues reading, “but I was overthinking it and I actually got the hang of it right away. And the list sort of… spiralled.”

• Mom won. Seeing him fucking everywhere now
• Henry’s still an asshole
• But now he’s fucking taller than me
• He looks so fucking uncomfortable at these events, like he thinks he’s above learning about human fucking rights or something
• Caught his stupid polite smile slip when he thought no one was looking and maybe he’s just sad?
• He’s such a fucking dick!!!!
• His face has changed. He looks more like his dad now
• Princess Beatrice caught me staring at Henry and she winked???? What does that mean?
• Henry caught me swearing to June in Spanish and he just fucking stared at me. He’s probably fucking racist like his family
• Everyone’s always fucking comparing us. They can’t seem to decide what’s more shameful, me being brown or him being trans
• Might strangle him at this stupid wedding though. Why do I have to be there again??
• We fucked up. He’s my bestest fucking friend now!!!! Fuck.
• He steals ice cream from his guests??
• But he looks more like himself like this. It’s kinda nice
• He has very incorrect opinions about Star Wars (likes Return of the Jedi best?? The fuck??)
• And he has some fight in him after all (and he’s strong????)
• He’s also like, a huge nerd and reads everything
• His ties are fucking boring. Rebel a little, man!!
• He somehow managed to calm me down when I called about the fucking turkeys
• And he’s actually funny??
• And like… really easy to talk to, actually
• His voice is all deep and rumbly late at night (it’s nice. hope it makes him happier)
• He’s still mean to me but like, not in a bad way??
• I might want to kiss Henry (I might be bisexual)
• I’m bisexual (I want to kiss Henry)

Henry… doesn’t even know where to begin. He reads the list twice before looking back at Alex, who’s found a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt to fidget with while he waits. He’s looking down at the paper in Henry’s hands and chewing one corner of his bottom lip, and he must feel Henry looking because he releases his lip and looks up with a smile that’s almost shy.

Henry takes a steadying breath and supposes he should start at the beginning. “You… practised this,” he says. “And then I…”

“Snubbed me at the Olympics? Yep.” Alex grins, but it sort of crosses with a grimace, and they both wince.

“Christ,” Henry says. He sighs and gives Alex a tight, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. It was—On top of everything, it was my first big event after coming out and changing my appearance, and—and—”

“I know,” Alex says softly, “And your dad was gone and you hate public appearances at the best of times. I’ve forgiven you for that already.” He flicks the piece of paper and they both look down at it again. “I’m showing you this so you can see that even back then, I wanted to get this right for you. I see you as you, Henry.”

Henry folds the list back up and drops it into his lap. “I believed you already,” he says. “I had to ask, and I think I needed to hear you say it, but I believe you. I trust your word. You’ve never given me a reason not to.”

Alex picks up his mug and sips his tea, watching Henry. “Was there more?”

“I suppose I… I would want to know what a kiss means—if it means anything.” He frowns and unfolds the list again, starts reading from Henry’s an asshole. “I… don’t know what this means.”

“It means I have a gigantic fucking crush on you, you asshole.”

“Oh. What?” He looks down at the list with a dazed smile. “Since when?”

Alex plucks the list out of his hands and quickly skims it. He hands it back over and says, “Since the ice cream. Maybe earlier.”

“Since the—” Henry feels the page crinkle in his hands so he carefully sets it down on the floor, still scrutinising it. “What?” he says quietly.

He feels Alex shrug. “You were wearing pyjamas. And you needed a shave. It was cute.”

“You—But that was months ago.” Henry looks up finally, into Alex’s soft brown eyes, at his open, vulnerable smile.

“Yep,” Alex says softly.

“Ask me.”

“What?” Alex says, scrunching his whole face into an adorable frown. Then, all at once, his expression clears and makes way for a pleased smile. “Oh. Are you sure?”

Henry nods. “Ask me.”

Alex twists his body and reaches out to gently take Henry’s jaw in his hand. He leans in close and asks, “So, how long have you liked me?”

Henry shoves him back. “Arsehole!”

Alex falls against Henry as he laughs, all bright and joyful and teasing. “You didn’t specify! How was I supposed to know!”

Henry shoves him away again and pulls him closer all at once. “You knew, you fucking menace.” He laughs, takes a breath, gets his arms around Alex to tug him into his side and says against his temple, “Since the Olympics.”

Alex freezes. He draws away just enough to look Henry in the face and says, “What? No. No fuckin’ way.”

Henry smiles sheepishly. “Afraid so.”

“Sweetheart,” Alex says desperately. He brings his hands up to cradle Henry’s face, and Henry closes his eyes and leans into the touch, slides his hands up to cover Alex’s. His forehead knocks into Henry’s. “Kiss me.”

“Is that a question or a demand?”

“Both? Please, baby.”

Henry tilts forward and presses his lips to the corner of Alex’s mouth. Alex lets out a surprised noise, followed closely by a choked whine, and he turns his head in an attempt to meet Henry’s mouth properly just as Henry draws away.

“Just…” Henry says breathlessly into the scarce space between them, “I…” His eyes feel hot and suspiciously wet as he leans in again and slots their mouths together. It’s gentle and easy, and could almost be described as lazy if it weren’t so careful and purposeful and… like a confession; a declaration; a surrender to a deep, intentional yearning.

Alex’s fingers brush away Henry’s tears before he registers they’ve escaped, and Henry pulls back with a shuddering breath.

“What’s… Why the tears?” Alex asks softly, stroking Henry’s cheekbones with his thumbs.

Henry lets out a wet laugh and says, “I love you.”

Alex kisses him. He’s crying too now, salty tears that end up in Henry’s mouth just as much as his are surely in Alex’s. Henry smiles against his mouth, chases a tear halfway up Alex’s cheek with his tongue before he’s shoved back, Alex groaning despite the surprised, delighted smile on his face.

“I love you back, you fucker. You fucking asshole. I’m so in love with you that I—” He cuts himself off with a laugh and a few more tears, and says, “I’ve never fucking felt like this before. I’m fucking terrified, but I fucking love you. Do you believe me? I need you to believe me.”

Henry kisses him. “I… wondered," he admits carefully, "With the—when you started calling every other night? I could feel that you trusted me to—that you knew you could call me and let me talk you out of your anxiety and into bed.” He sucks in a breath, smiles and adds, “I believed you when you left your party for me, put socks on my feet and remembered how to make my tea.”

“You knew?”

Henry shakes his head and kisses him again, and, against Alex’s lips, he whispers, “I’d fucking hoped.”

“Baby,” Alex says, “Henry.”

“Can I—Tell me where I can touch you,” Henry asks between kisses.

Alex smiles against his mouth and fumbles to drag Henry’s hands where he wants them, one into his hair and the other to his waist, and breathlessly returns the question.

“Anywhere,” Henry says, “Everywhere.”

Alex pulls back with raised brows and warm cheeks.

Henry rolls his eyes, looking up at Alex with an easy smile, all tender and fond and loving. “Touch me…” he says softly. He drags Alex’s hand under his jumper and up his side to rest high on his ribs. “…just to touch me. To be close. Not to—”

Alex’s apprehension clears, fingers flexing against Henry’s skin. “I get you. I can do that.” He shakes his head and says, “I want to do that.”

They kiss and let their hands wander languidly and mostly innocently, until Henry accidentally finds a ticklish spot on Alex’s side and he flails, managing to knee Henry in the stomach and knock over both of their half-full mugs of tea.

“Fucking fuck,” Alex mutters as he scrambles to his knees.

Henry just laughs, giddy and disbelieving, and Alex stares at him incredulously when Henry dives to save Alex’s Prince Henry List before either of their phones—which he also rescues all of two seconds later, not that that apparently matters to Alex.

“I’m having this framed, you bloody menace,” Henry says when he catches the look on his face. “I can replace our phones.”

Alex opens and closes his mouth around an irresistible crinkly smile that he’s clearly having trouble wiping off his face. He shakes his head and turns—still grinning brightly—toward the ensuite in a petulant strop, returning not a minute later with a towel and without his joggers. Henry freezes, and Alex gleefully takes the opportunity to toss the towel in his face.

“We’re both covered in tea,” he says, laughing as Henry fumbles the towel, “Go take your pants off.”

They sop up the tea, Henry takes his own tea-stained joggers and socks off, and they settle into the sofa together, curling into one another like they belong there.

“So,” Henry says, turning his head against the cushion to look at Alex. “You’re secretly in love with me?”

Alex grins. “I also totally think the accent’s sexy.”

Henry kisses him past their smiles and immediately, his phone buzzes from the coffee table. “I should check that,” he mumbles.

Alex lets him go, though it looks like it pains him greatly to do so. Henry leans in to kiss him again before feeling around for his phone and checking his texts. He hums and looks up at Alex.

“Is it all right if Pez drops by quickly? He says he’s heading to bed soon.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll text Cash and have him sort it out.” Alex grabs his own phone and starts typing before twisting his lip and looking back up. “Does he wanna stay here tonight? So you can be close by each other? I can get someone to set him up down the hall.”

“Oh, er. That’s… thoughtful of you. I’ll ask.”

They each send off their texts, looking over at each other with amused, awkward grins in the interstitial quiet while they wait. Henry’s phone buzzes first.

“Er…” Henry says.

“Everything okay?”

“Apparently,” he says slowly, “Pez has already been invited to stay.” He looks up at Alex and tries to hide his smile. “By your sister.”

Alex scrunches his nose up.

“And Nora,” Henry says.

“Ugh!” Alex says, laughing, “I don’t need to know.” He lets his own phone fall onto the floor and reaches out for Henry. “Come back here and distract me.”

“Charming,” he says dryly, looking thoughtfully down at his phone. “Maybe I should have Shaan take me to the hotel after all.”

“No,” Alex whines. “I’m sorry, baby.” He folds his hands in his lap and says, “Please come back here? I miss you.”

Henry sighs. He shifts down against the cushions, hauls Alex on top of him and says, “I’m right here.”

“Too far away.”

“You quite literally could not get any closer.”

“Too far away.”

Three firm raps land against the door and ring out across the room.

Henry raises an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

Alex groans and drops his head against Henry’s sternum. “Does Pez really have to see you if he’s staying the night? Can’t he wait till morning?”

A louder, faster, more eccentric series of knocks lands against the door and Henry laughs.

“He can and will bother us all night until he’s seen for himself that I’m all right.” He cocks his head, looking down at their tangled bare legs with a grin. “Although… Could I interest you in making him squeal like a toddler who’s been allowed ice cream for dinner?”

There’s a thump and a quiet shush on the other side of the door and Alex’s mouth curls into a tempting smirk. “June and Nora are with him. This could be fun.”

They slot their legs together more purposefully and Henry guides Alex’s hand back under his jumper and up to his chest, and they very quickly lose themselves in a series of kisses before the knocking starts up again and doesn’t stop.

“It’s open,” Alex growls between messy, eager kisses, getting his mouth back on Henry’s before the words are all the way out.

The door clicks open and three sets of feet stumble in, bringing with them a jumble of overlapping voices. Two horrified shrieks and one delighted squeal later, the door slams shut and they’re alone again.

Alex sighs dreamily, gazing down at Henry. “I fucking love you,” he says.

“I fucking love you too, darling,” Henry says.