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When the power goes out, Alex and Henry are sitting in their living room watching the latest fantasy show to hit Netflix. Alex has his feet in Henry’s lap, and his head pressed up against the side of the couch. One of Henry’s hands is burning a hole through the thin spread of Alex’s pajama pants where it’s resting on his shin. Everything goes out like a flash of lightning, but it takes a moment for it to really register that they’re left lying in the dark.
When it does, Alex sits up, the backs of his calves pressing into the firm weight of Henry’s thighs. He tries not to think about that, though, even as Henry’s hand tightens around his calf. The moon’s shining through the window, so it’s not like they’re blanketed in total darkness, but when Alex looks at Henry, and Henry looks at Alex, the shadows drifting over his face, it feels as if all the light has been sucked out of the world entirely.
Henry blinks, and the white of his eyes glint beneath the moonlight. “Did you forget to pay the electric?” He asks.
Alex wants to be offended by the accusation, but he pauses, uncertain; checks his mental banks. “No,” he says eventually. “I paid it on Monday.”
Henry pats his leg. “Up. I’ll check the breaker.”
Mournfully, Alex pulls his legs out of Henry’s lap, and watches as he straightens. He tilts his head; Henry’s so fucking beautiful, and so softly pale, and its like the moon is casting a spell over his skin, all soft light and careful shadow. Alex wants to follow after him, chase the wake of the shadows caressing his skin. But best friends and roommates don’t press their lips into one another's skin; no matter how spellbound they feel looking at them.
Alex tucks himself up against the side of the couch as Henry disappears down the hallway. Forces his racing heart to calm; even if it’s been unsettled all day by their casual intimacy. The moment he got home from work, and Henry pinpointed the way the dredge of the day weighed him down and pulled him onto the couch for decompression time, it’s been like this. He hasn’t known he’s in love with Henry for long, and now that he does, it’s like his every touch, or look, or word is laced with some kind of drug that slips into Alex’s veins and sends his head spinning and his heart pounding.
He runs a hand through his hair, and Henry returns.
“Not the breaker?” Alex guesses.
Henry shakes his head. “Afraid not. Must be an outage.” He heads to the kitchen and opens their tiny pantry. “Have we still got the candles Bea gifted us last year?”
“I didn’t regift them,” Alex says, pushing himself up from the couch and following after him. He hates being apart from him now. Even if it’s just several feet of distance keeping them apart; ever since he realized Henry’s always near, always touching him—a realization that came on as suddenly and recently as the whole ‘ fuck I love him’ of it all—Alex has found himself longing for him whenever he isn't. “They should be in there.”
He watches as Henry, despite being tall enough to touch the fucking stars, goes up on his tip toes to search the top shelf of the pantry. The motion stretches out his back muscles and thighs and ass, and if Alex didn’t know better, he’d think the moon’s being paid for the careful highlighting of those muscles. Alex swallows, crossing his arms in front of himself. How had he gone so long without realizing how beautiful he is?
He’s known he’s beautiful, obviously.
But it took four years of living together, and bumping into Henry coming down the hallway in nothing more than a towel, soft rivulets of water drifting down his skin, for the thought to hit him like a ten ton truck. And hit him, it did; nearly a month to the day.
He takes in a shaky breath as Henry drops back to the ground, his back muscles relaxing as he emerges from the pantry with several candles.
“Found them, then,” Alex chirps, his voice tight.
If Henry notices the tension in Alex’s voice and shoulders, he doesn’t say anything. In fact, if he’s noticed anything at all since the Great Revelation , he hasn’t said anything.
Which is part of the frustration.
Because Alex doesn’t think he’s being inconspicuous. In fact, he thinks he’s being rather obvious, despite all intentions to otherwise ignore the newfound desire to jump his best friend in, on, or around any available surface. It’s not that he wants Henry to know, because by all accounts, this is entirely one sided; it’s just now that Alex knows, he finds himself not only leaning into Henry’s touch more, but actively seeking it out in ways he doesn’t think he did before.
But then, when he’d gone to Nora, horrified and still reeling after the hallway fiasco, she’d laughed in his face and said, “Duh.” So, while he’s noticing his actions more now, he’s not entirely certain any of them are new. As if his body was all in on loving Henry long before his brain ever caught up.
Henry hums thoughtfully, and pulls open the junk drawer, digging through it for a moment, before saying, “Aha!” It’s barely a sound, but it’s so delightfully british sounding, that Alex has to roll his lips to avoid smiling at it. He holds up a lighter proudly between them. “We have light!”
“Does it work?” Alex asks.
Henry’s long, lithe fingers slide down the handle of the lighter, one pressing down ont he button, the other holding the trigger. A burst of flame explodes from the end of it, and Henry, now lit beneath the light of the fire, as if he couldn’t be any more fucking beautiful, smirks smugly at Alex. “Does it work, he asks,” Henry mocks. “Ye of little faith.”
Alex rolls his eyes and reaches out for the candle. “Alright,” he chides. “Give me the lighter before you set us on fire.”
Henry’s brow quirks, but he does as he’s asked, and Alex holds out his other hand for a candle. “I find it funny,” Henry murmurs, as Alex turns on his heel to head back into the living room, “That you think I’m the one likely to set us on fire.”
Alex rolls his eyes, and Henry must sense it, because there’s a soft chuckle from behind him. As he leans over to set the candle on the coffee table, Henry walks past him, running a hand over Alex’s back as he goes. Alex freezes beneath the weight of his hand, forcing himself to take in a strong, steady breath as he lights the candle. He looks up from beneath his lashes as Henry sets the other candle on the other end of the table, holding his hand out for the lighter.
Wordlessly, Alex hands it back to him. Watches the light from the candle reflect off of his face and eyes. He’s like a painting come to life; the flame flickers, and it’s a snapshot of poetry every time Alex blinks. He’s a fucking rembrandt; he’s michelangelo. He’s every beautiful piece of art stolen and hung in a museum. Alex can’t stop staring, even as the second candle flickers to life, and Henry looks up at him.
“What?” Henry asks.
Alex forces a smile, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he mutters. “I just don’t know what we’re going to do for the rest of the night. No electricity? No internet? How will we survive?”
Henry rolls his eyes at him and takes the spot on the couch that Alex vacated. “Easily,” He says. “We’ll keep each other company.”
And, god help him, Alex’s heart sings at the sound of that, filling his mind with an abundance of ways in which they can keep each other company . He flops down on the couch sideways, pulling his legs up and crossing them beneath himself. “Alright,” he says, shoving all thoughts of what he wants to do away. “What are we going to do? Are you going to tell me a story?”
“Oh, you expect me to do all the work, do you?”
No, Alex thinks, he’s got plenty work he’s willing to do, if Henry would just let him.
“Well,” Alex says, smiling tightly.”Come up with a better idea, then.”
Henry watches him, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards. The candlelight is dancing around the room, a soft silhouette bargaining with the moonlight coming in from the window. “We could play a game,” He finally says, voice low. “Something stupid.”
Alex tilts his head. “Something stupid?” He echoes. “What, like, truth or dare?”
Henry raises an eyebrow. “If you dare .”
Alex can’t help the laugh that comes at that. “You’re a joke,” he says, pointing. “I can’t stand you.”
“Right,” Henry replies, “I definitely believe that,” he says in a voice that relays that he absolutely doesn’t believe it at all.
Alex does his best not to read too far into that. He pulls out a pillow from behind himself and throws it at Henry’s face; Henry catches it with ease, shooting Alex a look over the top of it. “Truth or dare,” Alex says, looking down at the couch between them and not at Henry’s forearms as he pulls the pillow to his chest and clutches it against himself.
Henry hums thoughtfully. “Truth,” he says.
Alex looks back up at him. “What’s wrong?” He asks. “Scared I’m going to make you do something you’ll regret?”
“Please,” Henry tuts. “As if I’ll regret anything more than I regret moving in with the likes of you.”
“Oh, funny.” Alex reaches for another pillow to throw at him, but Henry’s long, lithe arm comes out and gently yanks it from his hands before he can. “Hey!”
“Violence is never the answer,” Henry says, solemnly, as he drops the pillow to the ground beside the couch. “Ask your question.”
Alex has to think about what to ask him. They know everything about each other at this point; every fault, flaw, habit, heartbreak. Every thought—well, hopefully not every thought, because the past month, Alex’s mind has been racing with thoughts Henry doesn’t need to be made aware of.
He must take too long to think it over, because Henry huffs out a puff of air, and says, “Any day now, darling.”
And, okay, look.
Alex? Alex is a man made of very little self restraint. In the baking pan that compiled the parts of his personality, restraint had to have been left out, because he has to physically stop himself from swooning at darling as if Henry hasn’t called him that since the first week they lived together. He reaches for the pillow on the floor and plops it in his lap, fiddling with a string sticking out from the zipper.
“Truth is so boring,” he manages to say, ignoring the urge to uncross his legs and throw himself across the couch into Henry’s arms. He reaches up and scratches at his eyebrow. “I can’t think of anything to ask you because I already know everything.”
Henry scoffs lightly. “There’s plenty you don’t know,” he says.
Alex scoffs right back. “Yeah, okay.”
“There is!”
Alex narrows his eyes at him, crossing his arms over the pillow. “Oh yeah?” He asks. “Like what?”
Henry sits up straighter, shuffling backwards into the arm of the chair and fiddling with the pillow. “I can’t think of anything off the top of my head,” he says in a way that makes Alex think there absolutely is something on his mind that he’s not in the mood to fess up to. “But there are most certainly things you don’t know.”
Alex scoots closer to him. “You’re a dirty liar.”
“I most certainly am not.”
He points a finger. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I think we should play something else.”
Alex laughs, “Oh, no,” He says. “You said truth. You have to give me a truth. Let’s hear it, Fox. What don’t I know about you?”
Henry’s jaw clenches, his grip on the pillow tightening. His gaze trips down to the space between them, and Alex watches the way the candles cast shadows beneath his lashes. As he blinks, they yawn long over his cheeks. Alex wants to reach out and caress the skin beneath them. He wants to move in as close as he can, breathe Henry in like he’s the only oxygen left in the room, and press himself into his skin.
He thinks he’s always wanted to. He may not have had a name for the longing before, but now that it’s there, bold and bright at the forefront of his mind, he knows that it’s always been there. Every time his gaze caught on the beauty mark by Henry’s mouth, every time it danced over his cheekbones. Every time he imagined reaching out and brushing the errant strand of hair on his forehead away. It’s always been there. It’s always been a part of this; of them. His love for Henry is as much a part of their friendship as everything else he feels for him.
The only difference between then and now is that then it hadn’t killed him to keep his hands to himself. Hell, there’d been a dozen times where he had reached out and brushed Henry’s hair aside. It never mattered because it never meant anything to either of them. He could still do it, now, but it’s different because it matters to Alex, and it doesn’t matter to Henry. Now, he keeps his hands to himself, because the act of reaching out feels too much like the catalyst of an avalanche.
“Perhaps,” Henry murmurs. “We ought to just go to bed.”
Alex raises his eyebrows. “As if either of us are capable of falling asleep right now.” When Henry doesn’t reply, Alex frowns, pressing his hands into the couch and leveraging himself forward. Just enough that their knees touch in the center. “Come on. What don’t I know about you?”
His knuckles turn white from how tightly they’re clutched around the pillow. And just like that, a little switch in Alex’s head is flipped and gone is the casual lighthardedness of the moment; gone is the selfish desire to give in to his feelings. All that remains is concern, because this isn’t Henry.
“Henry?”
“This was a stupid idea.”
Alex blinks. “Why?”
Henry shakes his head and looks to the ceiling; Alex tries not to stare at the exposed column of his throat, the thick tendons delicately laid out before Alex’s greedy eyes. “I had something in my head,” He says, blinking rapidly. “Only now that we’re here, I’m not sure I can do it.”
“Whatever it is," Alex murmurs, tentatively reaching out and placing a hand on Henry’s knee. “You’re safe with me. I won’t judge you or anything.”
Henry laughs, a scorned little sound that comes out choked off and unintentional. He drops his chin down, his gaze falling to Alex’s hand on his knee. “It’s not judging me that I’m worried about,” He admits, quietly.
“Well,” Alex says, trying not to panic. “You’re not getting rid of me. What was it you called me last week? A parasite? It’s gonna take more than a deep, dark secret to extricate yourself from me, lemme tell ya.”
“Big word,” Henry murmurs. “Extricate.”
“Oh, shut up.” Alex shoves his knee before pulling his hand away and plopping it in his lap with the pillow. “Seriously, Hen. Whatever it is? You can tell me. That’s what best friends are for. You don’t have to invent a blackout and offer up a game of truth or dare to talk to me.” He’s going for lighthearted, but Henry’s shoulders slump.
“I didn’t invent a blackout ,” He says, looking up at him, and there— there’s a hint of Alex’s Henry in his eyes. “You’re such a menace, do you know that?”
Alex grins. “Yeah?” He says, “But you’re stuck with me. So, I think that makes me your menace.”
Henry’s mouth falls open slightly, and Alex cringes as he realizes what he’s said.
“Are you?” Henry asks quietly. He swallows, licking his lips before adding, “Mine?”
Alex stares at him.
And stares.
And stares.
And stares for so long, evidently, that Henry decides he has an answer to the question that still doesn’t quite make any sense in Alex’s head. “Sorry,” He murmurs, looking down with furrowed brows. “I—“
“I,” Alex interrupts, “think we know I’m your best friend.”
Henry’s jaw clenches. “Right,” he says, looking up at him.
“But,” Alex continues, fisting his hands in the pillow, mind racing with possibility, and cursed hope. “Is—is that what you were asking?”
It takes a moment for Henry to reply; all the while, like the roots of a tree, possibility stretches, an expansive pallet of maybes coursing through Alex’s mind. He doesn’t dare believe, not without the actual words, but that doesn’t stop him from wondering. “What else could I have been asking?”
Alex blinks at him. “You tell me. Your game, your rules.”
Henry’s eyes wander over him. They flicker back and forth between Alex’s before dancing over his skin. Alex feels the weight of their gaze like a hand caressing his skin. Everywhere Henry’s eyes touch, Alex feels. He exhales shakily, but doesn’t say anything. Leaves the proverbial ball in Henry’s court, because this is his game. Whatever’s happening, it's on his terms. If—if this is what Alex thinks it is, he’ll act accordingly. But not until he has confirmation.
Until he has confirmation, he’s sitting still as a statue, trying not to tremble beneath Henry’s gaze.
“You,” Henry finally says. “Have been acting . . . different. Lately.”
“Have I?”
“I’ve noticed.” The words are carefully clipped.
Alex swallows. “What have you noticed, exactly?”
Henry’s head tilts to the side. “When you look at me,” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Alex’s eyes fall to follow the movement. Henry inhales quickly. “Your eyes wander.”
Feeling a little faint, Alex says, “Do they?”
“Sometimes, I swear—” He breaks off, shaking his head.
“What?”
Henry’s eyes snap back up to Alex’s. “Sometimes,” he repeats, his voice thick. “I swear, you look at my lips. ”
A tremor makes its way down Alex’s spine. Henry doesn’t look disappointed, or angry, or disgusted. He looks—god, he looks interested . “And if I do?” Alex asks a little breathlessly.
“Why?”
He could tell him. He could spill it all right here right now. A part of him feels like it’ll be alright. The part of him that is scared to lose his best friend, though? That’s the part that replies, his confession curled up in his gut, aching and scared to be released. “I think you’re the one who offered up truth,” he says.
Henry nods, the movement pausing mid-motion before continuing. “You’re right,” he says, carefully clipped. “I did.”
Alex watches him. His gaze slides down to look at the candles on the coffee table, his brows twitching together and his jack ticking side to side. He rolls his lips in, and then, finally, looks back up at Alex, with something like determination glinting in his eyes. “I used to think you’d run if I said anything,” he starts. “And I—the idea of risking this is abhorrent. But, I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t feel the way I feel, and I certainly can’t pretend that I don’t see the way you’re looking at me.”
A thousand questions.
Alex has a thousand questions.
“How—” He starts, his voice cracking. “How do I look at you?”
Henry’s eyebrow twitches. “I believe it’s your turn,” he says. “Truth or dare?”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I said everything,” Henry replies. “Truth or dare?”
Alex narrows his eyes at him. He’s not going to choose truth; he can’t risk it, either. He can’t put it all on the table and potentially watch Henry walk away. He can’t. He won’t. So, he chooses, “Dare.”
Henry blinks at him. Slowly, he picks up the pillow and drops it on the ground next to him and meets Alex’s gaze; steady; determined. “I dare you,” he says. “To kiss me.”
Alex is still for exactly three seconds. Each one a moment of processing; the words, Henry’s face, the distance between them. He goes to shift up, to lean in, but pauses, his hands pushing down into his knees, preparing to leverage himself forward. “If I do,” he says, quietly. “Will it mean something?”
Henry’s mouth opens and closes a couple times. Then, soft, he says, “Only if you want it to.” He swallows, and then adds, somehow softer, achier; not quite pleading, but desperately needing . “Please tell me you want it to.”
“Fuck,” Alex hisses. “Yes.” He doesn’t even wait for Henry’s response, before he’s pushing himself to his knees and flinging himself forward, his arms landing on Henry’s chest, Henry’s arms coming up around his back to catch him. He finds his mouth with ease; like his mind is on autopilot and finding his lips is like finding home.
Henry kisses like he does everything. There’s a purposeful intent to the movement of his lips; a cautious softness in the firm press of him, even as he pulls Alex entirely into his lap. Even as his hands slide up, one cupping the back of Alex’s neck, the other finding its way into his hair, weaving in through the curls. Alex inhales through his nose, dizzy with the scent and taste and feel of him, as he fists one hand in Henry’s pajama shirt, and brings the other up to cup his jaw, his thumb brushing over the beauty mark at the corner of his jaw.
When they pull apart for air, Alex inhales shakily, pressing his forehead into Henry’s and closing his eyes. He allows himself to take it all in through touch alone. The hand in his hair falls to the base of his spine, carefully kneading the skin there. Somebodies shaking; he doens’t know who, if it’s him or Henry or both of them.
Neither of them say anything for several moments; Alex tries not to think about his legs straddling Henry’s hips, the press of their groins. Tries not to focus on the feel of Henry’s chest pressed against his, where he swears he can feel his heartbeat through the fabric of their shirts; a hummingbird dancing to a tune similar to the one in Alex’s chest.
Henry exhales, shaky and short. Alex feels it when he licks his own lips.
“I thought I was going crazy,” Henry murmurs, his voice wrecked and crumbling. He pulls Alex in closer against himself. “Every time you looked at me I thought I was making it up because I wanted it so badly.”
Alex swallows, sweeping his thumb over Henry’s chin. “Definitely not imagining it,” he says. “I thought I was being at least a little subtle.”
“Christ,” Henry breathes, rolling his head so their temples are touching. “Why didnt you say something?”
“I think for the same reason you didn’t.”
Henry pulls back, just enough to look at him from beneath his lashes. “I didn’t want to risk losing you.” Alex nods in agreement, and Henry gives him a tight smile. “You’re too important to me.”
“ You’re too important to me,” Alex echoes in agreement, leaning back as well to look him over. “I thought I was in it alone.” He presses his hand flat against Henry’s chest, looking down at where it’s pressing into the fabric of his shirt. Imagines coasting his fingers along the skin beneath it, and glances back up at Henry. “Why now?”
Henry looks thoughtful, his hand sliding up Alex’s back, and then back down. “I couldn’t take it anymore. And—somehow. It felt safer, like this. With all the lights out.” Alex tilts his head, and he adds, “I was looking for those candles, and I just—felt you watching me. I realized we couldn’t go on like we were. I was dying.”
“Yeah?” Alex looks back up at him, his hand sliding up Henry’s chest and settling on his collarbone. “I was dying, too. You’re so beautiful, Henry. It’s honestly unfair.”
Henry chuckles. “Mm,” he hums, “You’re one to talk.”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes, I look at you and I forget myself entirely.”
“How so?”
Henry swallows again. “The things I want to do to you. . .” He trails off, shaking his head. “The thought of you consumes my every thought.”
Alex gives him a slow smile. “You should tell me,” he says. “The things you want to do to me.”
Henry’s eyes dart back and forth between his. “Oh, should I?”
“Or,” Alex’s eyes tip heavenward, as he wiggles in Henry’s lap. “You could show me. I’m so down for you showing me.”
Henry nods, leaning in to kiss him gently. Alex leans into the kiss, his eyes falling shut; he chases after Henry’s lips as he pulls away. “I do have to admit something,” Henry whispers.
“Hmm?”
“I’m, perhaps, hopelessly in love with you.” Alex blinks at him as he wrinkles his nose. “In case that weren’t obvious.”
Alex’s hand fists in Henry’s shirt. “Thank god,” he says. “Because it’d be really awkward if I were, like, the only one planning a whole ass future in their head right now.”
“A whole future?” Henry quips. “You should tell me about it.”
“Yeah?”
Henry nods, his hand slipping below the hem of Alex’s shirt. “Later,” he breathes, pressing his lips to Alex’s. “I want to hear about it. Later.”
Alex presses his weight into him. “Later,” he agrees, letting himself get lost in the kiss.