Work Text:
[Henry]
“You’re late,” Richards says tartly the second Henry steps into the doors of the editing department. He looks down at his watch, barely five minutes past eight a.m.; which, to be honest, is the earliest Henry has ever arrived to work while still growing accustomed to the bustling lifestyle of New York City. He spent the last 30 minutes packed into the crowded Q train as if he were a fucking sardine, with absolutely no air conditioning or any kind of ventilation. And despite it being halfway into December, the subway still managed to make him feel like it was 80 degrees. Needless to say, Henry feels like he’s in the trenches.
“Yes. I am well aware of that, Sir. It won't happen again,” Henry musters up the best fake smile he can before walking over to his work best friend’s cubicle.
June is sitting at her desk, typing away vigorously at her desktop computer. To the right of the computer hangs a small collection of watercolor paintings on canvas, different from the abstract oil paint ones that were there last week. To the left of the cubicle wall is a new lunar calendar for 2024, that marks every full moon with a metallic gold print. Henry admires how personalized June makes her workspace. It feels homely and inviting, as opposed to the rest of the department. They’re stuck with a painfully minimalist aesthetic with bright white tiled floors and gray stained glass for office walls. Being in June's presence is refreshing.
“Good morning, June.” He says courteously.
June spins around in her office chair so fast that Henry is legitimately surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.
“Henry! Good morning, handsome.” Henry is immediately greeted by the warmth of June's toothy smile, her eyes crinkling at the sides as they light up at the sight of him.
Henry blushes at the pet name, still unaccustomed to June’s affection. Not that he was uncomfortable with it, of course, Henry just didn’t have the privilege of growing up with a loving and supportive family the way June obviously had. Nonetheless, he’s still immensely indebted to her hospitality; she’s the only one who made Henry feel welcome as a newfound editor at The New York Times when the rest of the department turned a blind eye to him. She even brings him a thermos of Earl Gray tea every day because she knows he likes to have another cup during his lunch break. He’s feeling exceptionally grateful for it today after not having the time to make himself tea this morning.
“How you feelin’?” He can’t understand how she can be so chipper at this time of the day, but it is one of the many reasons why she is his self-proclaimed work best friend. June makes his job less dreadful overall.
“Alright,” he replies, as June hands him his tea and he takes it, muttering a quick thank you. “Had to hear Richards’ mouth the second I walked in, but what can you do?” Henry says ruefully, not wanting to bear the awkwardness of the small talk.
She offers him a look of pity and Henry clears his throat, “And you? I see you’ve started a new project…on mushrooms?”
“Oh, yeah! I came across this documentary on YouTube about bioluminescent mushrooms and that led me to a deep, deep rabbit hole…” Her eyebrows furrow as her gaze shifts to somewhere behind Henry, and he’s completely lost her. “Did you know that mushrooms can communicate with each other underground? It’s fuckin’ insane.” She finishes off her maunder with a big gulp of coffee.
“That is quite fascinating. Send it over when you’re done.”
June salutes. ”You got it, boss.”
Henry looks over to his left to see Richards already scowling in his direction, causing him to shiver. He turns back to June and murmurs, “Let me get to my desk before Richards castrates me.”
That draws a snort from June and Henry rolls his eyes. “I’m pleased to see that you find my misfortune amusing.” He retorts, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips.
Henry settles at his desk, turning on his computer and waiting for it to load while sipping his tea. He feels a headache forming once it’s on and he finds his 999, and counting, emails and groans to himself. The rays of the morning sun cascading through his window were not helping in the slightest either. So he turns to reach for the blinds when something, or rather someone, catches his eye from the building across the street.
At the window across from Henry sat another man, roughly around his age, staring at his computer with his shoulders hunched over so far he might as well have been lying with his face on his desk. His hair is dark and tousled with thick curls hanging low on his forehead, nearly covering his eyes. Henry watches as the other man taps incessantly on his desk with a pen, his other hand holding a venti-sized Starbucks iced coffee that looks like it had been brewed by the devil himself; completely void of any milk or creamer, which Henry finds to be absolutely repulsive. But that doesn’t steer him away from the fact that the man is drop-dead gorgeous.
Henry can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away, so he continues to watch, wondering where the bloody hell he even came from. Henry is relatively confused considering the fact that the blinds to that office have been drawn shut for the past five months he has been working at The New York Times. Logic dictates it hasn't been occupied.
Henry isn’t completely conscious of the fact that he is borderline stalking now, having been captivated by this man’s beauty. Even with the fair amount of distance between their office windows, Henry could still distinguish the prominent shadows cast on his cheeks from his eyelashes, and the sharp line of his jaw clenching every now and then. His skin seemed to glow exquisitely under the morning sun; looking practically magical against the gray of the city landscape.
That’s when the other man notices Henry, catching him in his trance for a split second before Henry turns his head to look down at the keyboard in front of him. That was close , he thinks to himself before slowly turning his head to look back at the window. And to his misfortune, the man is looking right back at him; his eyes squint, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow, and his face is wearing an expression as if to say caught you.
And he’s not wrong.
Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window.
The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read.
The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side.
“ALEX.”
Henry just blinks back at him in lieu of a reaction. Alex gives him an expectant look, motioning for him to do the same. Henry doesn’t realize what Alex means until he rips the paper away from the window and waves his marker in the air. Cheeky Americans . Henry scrambles to find a blank sheet of paper but settles for an old draft of the NFL’s Week 17 he had to revise, which Richards covets, of course.
Henry holds up his name, written neatly in the cursive his grandmother had forced him to learn at a young age. He peeks over the thin piece of paper, trying to hide the blush on his face. Alex squints his eyes at Henry again, trying to make out the letters on Henry’s page.
Alex smiles, big and unguarded, and it does something to Henry’s chest. A small flutter permeates the spot right above his heart and over his ribs. Alex waves his hand enthusiastically and mouths, “Hi Henry.” Henry wonders if it’s normal to feel this way over a complete, but frustratingly handsome, stranger.
Henry sets his page down slowly when he sees Alex reach for another one. What Alex writes next makes a sheepish smile spread across Henry’s face; “NICE TO MEET YOU,” using the same bubble letters he wrote the first note in. Henry can’t help the giddy feeling that overtakes him. He doesn’t have experience in these types of situations. Socializing definitely isn’t his forte, but this is somehow easier without the pressure of a conventional and formal greeting.
He finds himself writing back: “NICE TO MEET YOU TOO” and signs off with a smiley face in return.
It feels like the most important thing he accomplishes the whole day.
In all honesty, Henry is a raging recluse. He has no friends besides Pez, his sister Bea, and technically June, but he always makes sure that their relationship remains mostly professional. They don’t talk much outside of the office, and if they do it’s for work matters. Admittedly, Henry is very fucking lonely. However, he tries not to ruminate on it too often by distracting himself with his beloved collection of literature, each of which he has read at least five times. Admittedly, it’s growing a little old at this point.
So when the folded piece of paper that reads: “NICE TO MEET YOU TOO” falls out of his coat pocket, the reality of his undeniable loneliness suddenly washes over him like a tidal wave. Henry is grateful, of course, that his longtime dream of becoming an editor has come true, but there is an inexorable void sitting at the bottom of his heart. The only people he’s able to celebrate his accomplishments with are nearly halfway across the world, and it fucking sucks , for lack of a better word.
Henry frowns softly at the picture magnet of him, Bea, and Pez posing in front of the Statue of Liberty in August when Henry had first moved to the States. He looks back to the creased paper in his hands, pauses for a beat, and then uses the magnet to pin the note to his fridge.
This was something unusual. Different, but new . This could be good , Henry tells himself, trying to push through the fear that anything outside of his haven could be detrimental to the systematic lifestyle he has built for himself. He stays locked away in his castle, knowing that nothing bad will happen to him if he steps outside of the walls of self-preservation he has built for himself. He is determined to protect that. In his defense, it’s his way of coping with change, which is far from easy for him. Moving to New York had been one of the most difficult, yet necessary, things he’d ever done.
When Henry wakes up the next morning, the weight on his shoulders feels lighter and less burdensome than it usually does, despite getting a maximum of four hours of sleep the night before. Instead of hitting snooze on his alarm five times, he actually summons the motivation to prepare himself an indulgently large cup of Earl Gray.
He bids David goodbye with scratches behind his ears, a kiss on his forehead, and a fond, “I’ll be back soon, darling.”
June is already situated behind her desk when he walks into the office, as per usual. She has a habit of coming to work five minutes earlier than she’s supposed to, so it’s no surprise when he finds her munching on a blueberry muffin while typing away on her computer at lightning speed with one hand. The talents of that woman never fail to astonish him.
“Hey, Hen— you're in early!” She shoots him a slightly skeptical look, handing him his tea.
“Good morning, June. Thank you—“
“Henry. Holy shit, what happened to your face?” she says incredulously, jaw slack and hand on her chest as if Henry has just said something strikingly offensive.
“Excuse me?” He replies, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Is there something on my…?” He wipes a hand across his cheeks haphazardly, slightly embarrassed by June’s callout.
“Yeah, you’re fucking smiling.”
Henry lets out a breath of relief, “Bloody hell, June. You had me thinking I had toothpaste on my face.”
Henry subconsciously checks his window when he settles at his desk and is immediately overcome with a feeling of anticipation when he sees Alex already sitting at his desk. He glances across the street every so often to check if Alex notices him, and it doesn’t take long before he does.
The smile that spreads across Alex’s face is beaming and contagious, and for once Henry doesn’t deflect the curl of his lips. Alex turns in his chair so that he’s fully facing the window and mouths an exuberant, “Good morning,” which makes Henry’s smile grow impossibly larger. His cheeks hurt, something he feels he should get used to while interacting with Alex. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled so easily, not since before his father’s passing, at least.
Minutes pass by and Henry is trying to focus on his editing, but he finds himself thwarted, reading over the same five sentences and then glancing over at Alex to see if he’s looking back at him. They lock eyes three, four, five times until the sixth time, he sees Alex holding up a sign that says, “ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS?”
Henry takes a quick glance around the office to ensure no one is passing by his cubicle. Luckily everyone seems to be immersed in their own work. As I should be , Henry thinks to himself, but he quickly shakes the thought before he can talk himself out of it.
He turns back around to face Alex, opens one of his hands, and readies up the other into a fist. Alex blinds Henry with one of his signature smirks before they’re both tapping their fists into their hands. Henry throws paper and Alex throws rock. This earns Henry a playful eye roll from Alex before he asks for another game.
This time Alex throws his fingers in the air with a writhing motion, and Henry is beyond confused.
”Fire,” Alex mouths with a menacing grin plastered on his face.
There’s no need for them to share terribly handwritten signs when they’re both more than capable of reading each other’s lips.
“Water,” Henry replies silently, motioning a waterfall with his hands. Alex only shakes his head in return, dipping his chin into his chest in defeat, but Henry still catches the ghost of a smile on his lips.
He gives in for one more round after Alex promises he won’t cheat, but Henry should have known Alex had one more ace up his sleeve. Alex looks at Henry intently as they tap their palms. Alex throws a heart sign, folding his fingertips inward and placing it right above his chest. Henry completely neglects the game of rock-paper-scissors, completely stunned by Alex’s unanticipated sentiment. All he could do was smile back.
And if his cheeks flushed pink all the way up to the tips of his ears, it was between absolutely no one but himself and his computer monitor.
The next day they find themselves playing tic-tac-toe, at Henry’s request this time. As if he isn’t already under scrutiny from his boss, he’s sure to get fired if Richards catches him. But he doesn’t care about the terrible influence Alex has brought upon him. Henry thinks it’s fair to let himself indulge in some fun this one— okay, more like hundredth— time. Henry quickly learns that Alex is utterly incorrigible and unhinged in the best way — which he finds he quite likes; he feels drawn to Alex’s gregarious nature, and how wonderfully vibrant he is. And all without physically speaking a word to the man.
Henry goes to write the X on his sheet when he hears the light clacking of heels reaching his cubicle.
“Dude…are you playing tic-tac-toe by yourself?” June’s tone is deadpan, combined with a hint of amusement.
Henry snaps his head towards her to see a bemused look written on her face. He then looks out the window to find that Alex has mysteriously disappeared from his desk.
He gulps before speaking, “Um, it seems so. Yes— yes.”
“Interesting…” she trails off before clasping her hands together loudly, causing Henry to flinch slightly at the sound, “Meet me in the lunch lounge in five?”
Henry nods his head in response, still feeling a little stunned by the fact that Alex seems to have vanished out of thin air, and also feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
They don’t get to finish their game after June’s sudden intrusion because Alex never comes back. Henry tries not to let it taint his mood as he makes his way to the lunch lounge to meet June, as promised.
As per usual, he’s greeted with her cordial, award-winning smile, and a sudden feeling of guilt swoops down into the pit of his stomach. Does he feel bad for not telling his work bestie that he’s been not-so-subtly flirting with a guy across the street from their office? Yes. Does he feel like he’s breaking some kind of unspoken work best-friend code by doing so? Also yes.
Henry figures that it could wait because whatever June is about to word vomit onto him has her grinning from ear to ear and practically jumping out of her seat in sheer exhilaration.
“Henry…” June starts off rather cryptically, “I know socializing isn’t really your métier but—”
Henry attempts to hide the consternation on his face, but as soon as those words leave her mouth, he can’t help the frown that forms in retaliation.
June’s hands rise in defense, ”Hear me out! It’s not a party.” That bit makes Henry’s shoulders relax a fraction. “It’s just a very small gathering. And I would like for you to come, Henry.”
Henry gives June an apprehensive look, eyes squinted and lips pursed as he contemplates his reply. “And by ‘very small’ you mean…?”
”Literally just my brother and best friend. It’s kind of like a little Christmas tradition that we’ve done ever since we were kids.”
”Oh, June I wouldn’t want to impose on that— you know—“
“Well, you wouldn’t. Because I’m inviting you. Henry, come on .”
Henry sighs in defeat. “There’s no way I'm getting out of this, is there.”
There’s a small pause and June’s expression softens as she reaches to grab his hand over the table, and continues “Hen, I want you to know that I appreciate you so much. You being there would mean the world to me. Okay?”
Henry lets out a sigh as his shoulders loosen; he knows he can’t say no to her, not that he really wants to. In the end, he trusts June, and knows she has his best interest at heart.
“Okay, I’ll go,” he finally says. He gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile, more so for his sake than June’s.
[Alex]
Alex teeters his way through his and June’s apartment door after a long, treacherous day at work, unnecessarily heavy briefcase in hand and reading glasses still on his face that he forgot to take off. He can feel himself coming down from the five (very large) cups of iced coffee he had to get himself through the day. It’s a miracle he doesn’t have caffeine poisoning, although he wouldn’t be surprised if that was lurking somewhere in his near future.
Nora, laid out across the living room floor like a starfish, greets him warmly “Hey buttface!”
Then, June rushes to him with the slide of her fuzzy socks on the smooth wooden floor and hands him a mug that’s filled to the brim with piping hot herbal tea. He takes it without question, knowing that if he objects, he’ll get a (loving) slap upside the head.
“Jesus, June. Let me walk through the door first.” He grumbles but takes a sip anyway, cursing to himself as he burns the tip of his tongue.
June shuffles her way back into the kitchen. “How was work, brother?”
“Fucking long as shit. Hunter won’t hop off my dick. He’s got me pulling my hair out by the roots.” He kicks off his shoes at the door and practically throws off his blazer which sometimes feels like a second skin to him. “Can we please talk about anything but work?” He plops down on the couch, his limbs spread out the same way Nora’s are on the floor.
“Well, I’m making Abuelita’s cookie recipe for Friday,” June begins, the pots and pans banging together as she preps for the cookie dough. “I invited Henry.”
Alex’s ears perk up at the mention of Henry’s name; thankfully June is too occupied in the kitchen to notice, and Nora…Alex finds that she’s fallen asleep in the exact position he found her in when he got home.
“Oh? You did?”
“You guys are going to love him. I’ve been trying to find excuses to hang with him outside of work, and this is perfect. He’s always so professional n’shit.” Alex hums in lieu of a response.
“Plus, he’s a total babe, and so your type.”
Well, she’s not wrong about that.
“June, I thought I told you to stop trying to hook me up with your friends.” June has been trying to play Cupid for a while, not realizing that Alex has already (technically) acquainted himself with Henry, and he does not need to be persuaded into thinking he and Henry could be a match. Alex already knows, and he has no problem doing it himself. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.
Alex noticed Henry right from the moment he started working at The New York Times. His shy smile and placid character never fails to capture Alex’s attention, and he can’t help but feel enticed by Henry, not to mention the fact that June speaks so highly of him. She’s told him many times how knowledgeable he is. How he takes an immediate interest in her personal projects, and even helps her with her blog on multiple occasions. She’s even gone on and on about their mutual infatuation with Jane Austen. Alex is happy seeing June happy, and it only makes him want to meet Henry even more than he already does, from that first time he set eyes on him through his office window.
So, Alex composed a list of ways that he could get Henry to notice him:
1. Get June to introduce them
(He loves his sister, don’t get him wrong, but he just can’t stand the thought of June meddling her way into his love life and potentially scaring Henry off. Who knows what June has already told Henry about him?)
2. Accidentally on purpose bump into him during his lunch break
(Which fails miserably due to their overlapping schedules.)
3. save Henry from the shackles of his shitty boss: barge into The New York Times headquarters, carrying him out bridal style
(He could definitely get arrested for that, although as time passes, he’s not sure it’s the worst idea in his arsenal.)
4. stare at him through his window until he notices laser beams burning through his skull
5. then, simply, “fuck it we ball and let the universe run its magic”
The last two on the list kind of work out in their own weird way, seeing as Alex had been the one to find Henry staring at him. He’d kind of expected it to be the other way around.
“When was the last time you even went out on a date?” June asks as she begins to take ingredients out of the fridge.
Alex peeks over the couch to give her a withering look, even though her back is turned to him. “None of your damn business, Bug.”
She waves around a dough covered spoon as she counters, “All I’m saying is, I think you should cut yourself some slack. You’ve been working your ass off at the firm— just. Go on a date or something.”
“I know, Bug, I know,” Alex says, rolling his eyes and plopping his head back onto the couch cushion.
“Now, get over here and help me with these cookies.”
Alex is sitting on the kitchen floor with his legs crossed, looking through the oven window as the cookies bake and singing loudly along to 4K by El Alfa. He’s been vibrating in his skin; anxious, excited, and completely overwhelmed by Henry's rapidly approaching appearance.
The day had gone by far too slowly for his liking, the knowledge that he was going to meet Henry face to face and breathe the same fucking air making him feel as if each second were really ten. The week they spent playing childish games and exchanging flirtatious glances almost felt like a dream; as if he had been imagining Henry the entire time. He’d nearly convinced himself it wasn’t real. Because it just couldn’t have been— this is completely uncharted territory for Alex, meeting someone this way. It feels exhilarating, completely opposite from what he has experienced with people he’d found interesting in the past.
Amidst Alex’s rumination, June walks into the living area wearing probably the most heinous Christmas sweater known to man; it’s red with tree patterns displayed horizontally and a T-Rex plushie, for some reason, attached to the front of it, wearing a miniature version of the same thing
“June, what the hell are you wearing?” Nora gapes.
“It’s my 3D T-Rex Plushie Ugly Christmas sweater.” She frowns while petting the top of the T-Rex’s head.
”Bug, you wore that shit two years ago,” Alex retorts.
“Listen here, lil’ bit, I am nothing if not an outfit repeater. And this sweater is cute.”
Nora murmurs something about decorating the balcony when the timer for the cookies goes off. Alex is taking the cookies out of the oven, moving his hips (rather provocatively) to the music, still being careful not to burn himself in the process.
“Yo le quiero dar, en 4k. Yo le quiero dar, en 4k,” he continues to sing, setting the cookies down on the counter, when suddenly the music cuts.
“Hey, who turned off my—oh…” When he turns around, he’s faced with his sister and, mortifyingly, Henry .
Standing elegantly tall with a bottle of Cavit in his hand and somehow even more beautiful than his mind remembers, his eyes wide, mouth opened in the shape of an ‘o’ and the brightest hue of pink spread across his cheeks and trailing down to his neck. He’s wearing a baby blue knitted sweater paired with denim jeans that hug his thighs so tight, they leave almost nothing to the imagination. The man looks like he came straight out of a Hallmark movie. Fucking attractive as shit, Alex’s mind supplies, his mouth going a bit dry. In any other context, Alex wouldn’t feel embarrassed having been caught singing and shaking his ass to probably the most vulgar song known to man, but his crush is standing approximately five feet away from him, in the flesh, and reminding him that object permanence is a very real fucking thing that his ADHD brain cursed him with.
“Alex,” June says, giving her brother a knowing look. “This is Henry. Henry, this is my dearest pain-in-the-ass brother.”
Alex is too captivated by Henry’s appearance to even retaliate against June’s insult. He haphazardly discards his ‘kiss the chef’ apron and dusts off his clothing of any flour before stretching his hand out for Henry to shake.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Henry. June never shuts up about you.”
Henry clears his throat before meeting his hand with Alex’s, “All good things, I hope.”
Henry’s palm is soft and warm, with the tips of his fingers calloused from something Alex enjoys filling in the proverbial gaps with— Guitar? Piano? Jesus Christ, Alex’s mind could go on and on about the possibilities of Henry’s many aptitudes, but he cannot risk getting excited in front of his sister.
”Of course.” Alex winks, causing the blush on Henry’s cheeks to grow impossibly darker.
The four of them gather around the kitchen island as the night goes on, sipping wine with Christmas music playing quietly in the background, the smell of their abuela’s cookies still lingering in the air despite them being completely devoured. June and Nora sit across from each other, holding hands and playing with each other’s fingers over the table—they always get touchy after a few glasses of wine. Meanwhile, Alex is sitting opposite Henry, whose hands are folded neatly in front of him, occasionally fiddling with the golden signet ring on his pinky. The light in the kitchen is dim, the room still illuminated by the warm tinted fairy lights Nora insisted they decorate the Christmas tree with. Now Alex is feeling grateful she did, because of the way they glisten against Henry’s cheeks, highlighting the delicate arch of his cheekbones and the flutter of his blond eyelashes as he blinks, attentive to every word as Alex runs his mouth. It makes his heart flutter and stomach tighten every time they lock eyes, much more intense than when there are panes of plexiglass and city streets separating them. It feels more real now. Because it is .
Henry tells them about his best friend Percy, who is in the process of building an LGBTQ youth shelter in Brooklyn. He shows them a picture of him, Percy, his sister Bea, and his dog David at Rockaway Beach; all red and sun-kissed with his beagle jumping in mid-air to catch a frisbee.
And of course, Alex being Alex, he has to ask: “Who names their dog David?”
“He’s named after Bowie.”
“Why not just Bowie then?” Alex teases, a playful smirk on his lips.
“That’s a bit on the nose, don't you think?” Henry bites back frivolously, mirroring Alex’s smile.
“Sure, but I still maintain that's weird.”
Henry bites back the smile on his lips and raises his glass in an attempt to hide his face, but Alex catches it nonetheless. Before taking a sip, Alex hears Henry mutter something along the lines of, “mouthy Americans,” before averting his gaze to Nora.
”Y’all already bicker like a married couple and it’s been…” Nora says sardonically, looking down at her watch, “Literally two hours since you met.”
Henry chokes on his wine.
“We do not,” Alex protests, trying to sound as casual as possible but failing once he sees June wiggle her eyebrows at him.
Henry excuses himself from the table. “I’m going to— just. I think I've had too much wine, pardon me.” He pushes in his chair so politely, scratching the back of his neck. As soon as he rounds the corner and is out of view, Alex slaps Nora on the arm with a coaster June crocheted.
”Ow! What the hell was that for, you freak?” Nora rubs her arm.
”You scared him off, freak.” Alex turns to June, who seems to be enjoying this whole fiasco. He raises his eyebrows critically, as if to ask her “What the fuck do you find so funny?”
”You like Henry.”
“And what if I do? Stop making me look like an idiot in front of the hot British guy.”
”You’ll thank me later, hermanito,” she whispers over her wine glass, making Alex groan.
No matter how hard Alex tries to steer his sister out of inserting herself into his love life, she always finds her way into it anyway. Because now she’s definitely botched Alex’s chances with Henry—who’s probably parsing out the easiest way to disappear down the fire escape as they speak.
“Go.”
“What?”
June rolls her eyes, nodding her head toward the door. “Go ,” she urges.
Alex isn’t going to fight the strings that had been perpetually pulling at his heart. His mind and body seem to move on their own accord when it comes to Henry’s ocean eyes. He takes a deep breath before hoisting himself up from the stool and making his way to the balcony door, where he can see Henry leaning himself against the railing, looking up at the sky.
He opens the screen slowly, Henry turning his head at the sound and smiling as soon as he sees Alex.
“Hey, you alright?” Alex eases as he closes the sliding door behind him.
“Mhm,” Henry hums, turning to look ahead of him as the cars pass by in the slow traffic. The tips of his ears are red from the chilly December air, his nose the cutest shade of pink. Alex is convinced the blush on his face has become permanent, either flustered or reacting to the temperature.
”Don’t listen to Nora, she just likes to embarrass the fuck out of me,” Alex lets out a nervous chuckle, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the silence between them, mingled with the cars honking and an occasional airplane flying overhead.
Alex takes this as his chance to really look at Henry and admire his profound beauty; the way his blond hair is neatly combed to the side with a small strand out of place and curling at the front of his forehead; the way his wide eyes seemed to gleam under the moonlight, their blue color reminding him of the Caribbean sea as they meet his gaze. Those same blue eyes he hasn't been able to make out completely from afar (damn poor eyesight) now piercing their way so deep into his soul. It feels magnetizing.
“Alex,” Henry begins, his voice deep and sultry against the cold air between them, as if he’s testing out the syllables on his tongue. “June failed to mention her brother happened to work right across the street from us.”
“Surprise?” Alex replies sheepishly.
Henry barks out a laugh, uninhibited and all-teeth, something Alex thinks he’ll never get tired of.
“Yes, it was quite the surprise.” He smiles timidly, dipping his head low and avoiding Alex’s attentive glance.
Their pinkies are centimeters away from touching where they’re resting on the railing, and Alex wants nothing more than to reach out and hold Henry’s hand in his. Instead, he pulls his hands away and shoves them into his coat pockets.
“Y’know, June wasn’t lying when she said you were really fucking British.”
“Is that so?” His hand reaches for his signet ring again, spinning it around his pinky finger, back and forth, around and around. Alex gets lost in it for a brief moment.
“Though, I am an avid believer that British people are extraterrestrial beings, so. You have some debunking to do.”
”You are even more ghastly than I imagined you would be, Alex. Utterly incorrigible.” Henry gives him a side glance, eyelids hooded and blond lashes hanging low, making Alex’s heart skip a beat.
Fuck.
Alex’s mouth is moving before his mind even gets the chance to stop him, “Can I be honest with you for a second?” he asks after rallying up the fortitude to tell Henry the truth—he clearly has no idea what he is stepping into.
Henry raises an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, waiting for him to speak. “Go on.”
Now it’s Alex’s turn to avoid Henry’s gaze, his hands still in his coat pockets and picking at a random piece of lint he found in it. He takes a deep breath before speaking again, “I- uh, I noticed you first.”
“Pardon?”
“Fuck, okay let me rephrase,” he says emphatically, “I noticed you before you saw me. Before I opened my blinds. I saw you.” Alex can’t figure out a way to elucidate himself without sounding like a complete weirdo, so he just says whatever comes to mind in hopes that Henry can grasp onto the nonsense he’s been rambling.
There’s a small pause before Henry turns to him, a puzzled look on his face. “Allow me to…simplify, for my sake.” Alex doesn’t think it can get much simpler than this. “You were watching me…through your blinds? This entire time?”
Oh.
Alex lets out a breathless laugh, completely fucking mortified, to say the least. “Well, when you put it that way I sound like a Peeping Tom.”
Henry laughs feebly, tilting his head to the side as he looks earnestly at Alex. “You kind of are.”
”You didn’t seem to mind all that much.” It’s then that Alex takes his hand out of his pocket and puts it atop Henry’s cold one, grazing over his reddened knuckles and rubbing his palms over them. The action seems to calm Henry.
“Precisely.”
Henry’s eyes then move to something above Alex’s head, and his expression changes to something between amusement and deliberation. Alex follows to where his attention is catching, and to his astonishment, there’s a sprig of mistletoe dangling right above Alex’s head.
“Huh,” Alex says. “Would you look at that?” Henry glances back down at Alex to see a shit-eating grin on his face
“You know,” Henry begins, staring ardently into Alex’s eyes. “The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe originated in ancient Greece.”
“Then you probably know it would be bad luck to refuse a kiss while standing under it.”
“Who says I’m refusing?” Henry teases lightly. He interlocks their fingers, still on the railing, keeping each other’s hands warm from the cold.
“Then what’s stopping you, sweetheart?”
Henry coming over tonight might have been June’s doing, but the moment they first locked eyes? It was fate. And there’s nothing else he feels more sure of as he steps closer to Henry, taking in the smell of his sweet breath and the freshly washed linen of his sweater. He can tell that Henry is terrified, but somewhere behind that barrier of shyness and careful composure is a glimmer of hope. And Alex was determined to unveil it.
Henry rests a shaky hand on Alex’s cheek, gently brushing the pad of his thumb over his eyelashes, their noses brushing and exhales fusing in the cold air. Alex wants to stay like this forever; looking into Henry’s bottomless blues, blanketed in the comfort of his arms. He is pretty, unambiguously gorgeous like the crescent moon that hangs above them in the night sky. Pretty like the gentle wind that ripples through his thick blond locks.
When their lips touch, Alex feels the prickling adrenaline course through his entire body. He feels alive.
Henry holds the back of Alex’s neck, twirling the umber curls that rest at his nape. It makes the kiss all the more palpable, drawing him in further as Henry sets about making up for lost time. Alex falls into it—into him—headfirst, already so much more vivid than his fantasies.
They pull away from each other with a gasp, minds still hazy around desire and the feeling of each others’ body heat. Henry rests his forehead on Alex’s, still maintaining meticulous eye contact, and it makes his breath hitch in his throat. The only thing Alex can say is, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Without a word, Henry pulls away, his smile wide and unadulterated, tilting his head away bashfully. He reaches up for the mistletoe, unhooking it from the fairy lights that hang above them on the scaffolding.
”What are you doing?” Alex asks as he watches Henry’s nimble fingers remove a berry from the small branch.
Henry’s voice is gentle as he looks adoringly at Alex, “After every mistletoe kiss you have to remove a berry until there are none left, and when there are none left, all kissing has to cease.”
Alex blinks. “Man, you spitting facts after making out is really doing it for me,” he jokes brazenly, a wicked smirk on his face.
”You’re an utter wanker.” Henry laughs, trying to push him away, but Alex grabs him by the hand that’s still holding the mistletoe. In one swift movement, he hangs the flower back up, and then is reeling Henry back into him all over again, this kiss even more hypnotizing than the last.
Alex snakes his hands around Henry’s neck, pulling him even closer as their bodies touch from knee to chest. It’s fiery, white-hot against the world around them. It’s everything Alex wanted and more; their tongues dancing and Henry’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the lingering taste of wine and the Hojarascas they ate earlier only sweetening the deal.
He shouldn’t have had any doubt that fate, and maybe his sister’s matchmaking skills, would have put all the puzzle pieces together for him. Everything feels good ; just the mere fact of them finally seeing each other without the unyielding barrier of their windows, the string that connects their hearts no longer stretched thin between them but coiled protectively between their palms.
Finally, it feels right.