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Alex and Henry’s relationship as a whole was a plentitude of things.
It was a multitude of stolen glances and bitten lips; a mosaic of tender touches and sensual shovings. It was a push and pull, a magnet, a force not to be reckoned with.
It was Sunday mornings, the smell of earl gray and coffee grounds twisting and twining into the kitchen air, the sun shining through the linen curtains and coating the marble island in an array of brilliance.
It was late afternoon picnics in a rather secluded part of central park they discovered on one of their many morning walks with David; champagne flutes tangled between fingers, bubbles slipping down their throats, eyes locked over the rim of their glasses in a silent promise of sorts.
It was phone calls from across an ocean, tears spilling over lashes with whispered out apologies and prayers and an abundance of yearning, longing, missing.
It was soft fingers drilling hard punctuates into tense shoulders after a long day at school for Alex, and ice packs draped dutifully across headache-ridden temples after a long day of staring at a blinking cursor for Henry.
It was marks left to blossom on skin no one would get the fortune of seeing but them, a reminder for their own eyes. It was achy bones and quivers and trembles and pleasure. It was mapping out curves and ridges and crevices, charting them and pinning them and ravishing them.
It was hope clasped between fingertips and intimacy wrapped around carefully crafted syllables.
It was like any other relationship, and with this, came the part that people tend to gloss over; the part people liked to either completely shield or completely flaunt.
It was venom laced words and growled out sentences.
It was mundane at times and harsh and cold at others.
It was a bite and a snarl and a glare.
And despite this, it always blew over, always simmered down into soft apologies and gentle kisses over heated tear stained cheeks. It was delicate touches and subdued exhales. It was always fixed.
Realistically, Alex knew that this would be just another one of those fixings, just another one of those arguments that blew over into tender grazes and interlocked legs.
Logically, Alex knew this.
Mentally? Mentally Alex was fucked. Utterly, and truly, fucked.
They’ve been neck and neck for at least an hour now, harsh rebuttals and remarks flying every which way across the dim lit kitchen.
Henry looks positively angry, and Alex can’t pinpoint the last time Henry has looked at anyone, let alone anything (besides maybe his manuscript here and there), with this much indignation.
Alex can’t really remember who started it, can’t remember who cast out the first hook wrapped with blind raging bait, but it doesn’t matter now, because someone took the first bite.
It didn’t matter when Henry had slammed down his cold dinner plate. It didn’t matter when Alex had shot up out of his chair to follow Henry hot on his heels into the kitchen. It didn’t matter, not really, not when Alex’s head was beginning to fill with white hot static.
A feeling Alex has come to know since the tender age of seven, a feeling he’s welcomed over and over for years to come.
Memories flash behind his eyelids like a film reel. His father and everything that showed he was ever even a mere thought in the first place, missing after coming home from camp. Liam and the weird feeling that laced his gut like cloyed honey when it came to his best friend. Stealing pills and downing them with his mothers emergency stash of whiskey she would never even notice was gone, simply so he could focus . Racing the jeep down backroads, ignoring the rate at which the speedometer skyrocketed. His first ever press appearance; his first ever anxiety attack. The silence after Henry’s lips had found refuge on his own for the first (and not the last) time. The silence following Henry’s departure after Alex had dared to utter the three words that had wrapped themselves across his heart.
All these memories all correlate to the one feeling Alex can’t stand, the one feeling that has managed to wrap its slender hands around Alex’s neck and constrict the airflow to for years, time and time again.
A feeling that whispers out words of aggression and lies that Alex can’t help but distinguish as the truth.
A feeling that Alex has swallowed down and buried under loads of faux assertiveness masked for actual tentativeness in what Henry calls his imposter syndrome.
A feeling that blinds Alex and his senses; a feeling that takes over no matter how hard he tries to shove it back into its place.
So when Henry runs his hands through his hair for the nth time and ignores Alex, Alex lets the feeling take course as it coats his insides and paints his organs until he can feel the toxins enter his blood stream.
“You aren’t listening to me Henry!” Alex all but shouts, rounding the corner of the island to come stand next to where Henry is angrily scrubbing at the rather clean looking dishes. Alex immediately recognizes it as one of his nervous tics. He wants to take his soapy hands into his own and will the tremble in them to cease.
He bites the inside of his cheek instead.
“I have done nothing but listen to you Alex. For weeks now, actually, I have done nothing but shove your apologies into my back pocket to wilt away to save space for the next one. So forgive me if I find it a little hard to take your words at face value.” Henry spits, scrubbing harshly once again at a spot on the porcelain china.
Alex knows, is the thing.
Alex knows that tonight was his fault. He knows that what Henry is saying isn’t far from the truth.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still sting.
The thing is, Alex has been drowning, for months now actually.
Law school is no fucking walk in the park, and Alex knew this. Going into this, taking those LSATS, Alex knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew that, okay?
But he didn’t expect to flounder, ‘didn’t expect to have his lungs immediately fill with water at the first drop, ‘didn’t expect to get thrown into the deep end to drown and then be told to learn how to swim in turn.
Between the late study hours that slip over into early mornings, from the final exam crammings hunched over his desk, to the array of emails from professors and Zahra and campaign managers and pesky tabloids asking for fabricated quotes sitting unopened in his inbox; Alex is flailing. He is flailing, lanky limbs rising above the surface before getting pulled under again, lungs engulfed with water, and no one is there to take witness to his imminent final breath.
And the shitty part, the part that drives Alex up the wall; this is no different than high school was, or Georgetown was. He’s used to the late hours and long study sessions. He’s used to the overflowing inbox and the grating reporters. He’s used to the no sleep and the horrible appetite. So why this is different, why he’s struggling to stay above the surface? He has no idea, and it’s making everything worse.
And because of this, because of all the treading water he’s done, because of all the tired and achy limbs and choked breaths, he’s fallen behind.
On more than just class work and tests and emails and simple self care .
On Henry too.
On important dates and dinners and galas.
Tonight was no different.
Alex had planned on staying at the library for no more than an hour after his final class of the day got out to make corrections on a test he had failed the week prior. He had (stupidly) turned off his phone to save himself from distractions, put on his headphones, and got to work, and like always, like it’s always done since Alex was in junior high ; time got away from him.
When he finally came to, it was well past midnight and he had ten missed calls from Henry.
So yes, Alex knows that he is at fault here, and he knows that Henry is right, but that doesn’t stop the burn that’s ablaze inside him; doesn’t stop the hurt from welling up.
Because yeah, Henry doesn’t know, he doesn’t know that Alex is suffocating, ‘doesn’t know that it’s taking everything in Alex to stay afloat as is, and yeah he realizes that’s also his fault, but.
But.
“I don’t know what more you want from me.” Alex admits rather pitifully, and it feels like there’s an undercurrent to his words, something deeper than the surface level phrase it’s disguised as, but either way it must be the wrong thing to say because Henry is dropping the plate rather harshly into the soapy water and whirling around to face Alex head on.
“What I want is for you to think about someone other than yourself for once in your bloody life.” Henry spits, unadulterated venom lacing his tone and curling around his words.
Alex can’t help the wince that rolls through him, and if Henry notices it, he makes no sign of it.
“Christ Alex, you couldn’t bother showing up to the dinner you planned, to the date you marked on our calendars. Hell, you couldn’t bother giving me a call. And that’s not the issue! The issue is that this is the third time this month.” Henry continues, wringing his hands on the dish rag next to him before throwing it against the counter, Alex watching the movement with careful eyes.
“Henry if you would just –”
“You know the part that irked me the most?” Henry interrupts, and Alex goes quiet, ‘doesn’t think Henry actually wants him to answer. “I thought, there’s no way Alex will miss this, no way he’ll miss the celebratory dinner that he planned. No way he’ll disregard the blood, sweat, and tears that have gone into the final draft of this manuscript being done. And yet…”
And isn’t that a slap to the face?
Henry’s right, Alex had planned this dinner, had planned this date. He had plans. He wanted to spoil Henry, show him his hard work didn’t go unnoticed; show him he was proud of him.
He had gotten one of Arthur's old family recipes from Catherine, had practiced making it the weekend before while Henry was out with Pez at a shelter conference. He had planned on Henry coming home tonight to a candlelit dinner, had planned on meeting him in the doorway with kisses and praise and pride. He had a gift wrapped and hidden in the closet by the front door; a leatherbound journal with his initials and Orion’s Belt carved into the skin, a handwritten note taking up the first two pages.
He had planned on taking Henry’s hand and leading him up the stairs and showing him just how proud of him he was. Had planned on pressing him into the mattress with the intent of leaving Henry with fingerprinted bruises; a reminder for days to come of how insanely honored he was to call himself Henry’s.
He had a plan, and because he was too caught up in trying to swim forward, he completely lost sight of the buoy planted right in front of him.
So, yes, Henry is right, and Alex feels like a horrible partner and he knows what should be said; what should be done.
Alex knows this is the part where he apologizes, a real adequate apology, but he is nothing if not the outcome of his parents' brutal disputes, and he is nothing if not his own defendant.
So just like his mother before him, he bares his teeth and sinks his claws in, and ignores the inadequate apologies that he has become fluent in lately in turn for defending his honor.
Maybe now isn’t the time, but maybe now is when he admits he’s not sure how much longer he can stay above the rising waterline.
“Henry, if you would just listen baby–”
“I am so exhausted of listening! When will you listen to me? When will you take our relationship into account??” Henry interrupts incredulously, furrowing his brow as he looks back up at Alex. “It’s like I’m the only one who wants this relationship to succeed Alex, and it’s beginning to take a toll!”
Alex lets the words creep down his throat and squeeze his esophagus, letting them catch the breath that tries to make its way up his throat, all excuses and defenses dying on his tongue like something that never was.
Alex get’s where Henry is coming from, understands it completely, but that doesn’t stop the anger from rising up his throat like bile. Doesn’t stop the words from warping into something unsaid.
“Is that what you really think?” Alex asks quietly, stepping back like he’s been burned as he tilts his chin up; a defense mechanism he’s picked up from Henry of all people, a way to save face in a moment of utter defeat.
“I don’t know what else to think, Alex. I have been wrapping my brain for a month now. I have tried putting myself in your shoes. I have tried talking to people –”
“You’ve been talking to our friends and family about us?? About what a horrible boyfriend I am??” Alex interrupts, disbelief lacing his tone.
“That’s not what I said Alex, don’t twist my words.” Henry breathes out calmly, turning back towards the sink, but making no movement to actually do anything besides stare into the suds.
“I didn’t have to, it was practically implied!!” Alex exclaims, pushing forward to get a better glimpse at Henry’s hidden face.
“Alex. I didn’t say that. But I didn’t know what to do, I was at a loss, and quite frankly, they were the only ones willing to listen when I –”
Alex isn’t quite sure what makes him snap, isn’t sure when the final rubberband was placed around his fast beating heart, but all he can think about are his friends and his family having to hear about how horribly Alex is failing; can only think about the conclusions they must’ve come up with.
The only thing on the forefront of his mind is Henry and their family theorizing all the ways Alex is fucking up.
So it’s really no wonder Alex bites the bullet instead of his tongue.
“Oh God forbid no one listens to you for all five seconds your majesty. What a travesty that must be!” Alex shouts, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from an ugly part of his chest.
Henry ignores him, mumbling something under his breath as he waltzes away from the sink over to the door instead and suddenly, suddenly Alex is on high alert.
“So you’re leaving now? Running away when things get hard, just like you always do!?’ Alex asks quizzical, just on the edge of frantic as he stares at Henry from across the island, and this must be the final straw for Henry because before Alex knows it, he’s whirling around and sending daggers Alex’s way.
“Stop jumping to these outlandish conclusions for one moment and listen to yourself! If you can’t bother listening to me, the least you can do is listen to how utterly daft you sound right now.” Henry spits, gesturing wildly with his hands as he stares at Alex. “You have this one track mind sometimes, and it’s one of the many things I adore about you, but sometimes it’s like you can’t be bothered to direct it onto anyone else but yourself!” Henry cries, and Alex can hear as the anger seeps out of every syllable like wine that’ll inevitably stain the pristine space between them.
Alex hears him, loud and clear, but it’s like his words are suddenly shallow and hollow, coming in bits and pieces as they funnel through one ear and out the other, and he swears he’s listening, swears he’s trying to hang onto every word out of his boyfriend's mouth, but that white hot static is louder than ever. His brain feels fuzzy and his eyes blur and whether it’s from unshed tears he hasn’t noticed yet or for another reason completely, he isn’t sure.
He isn’t sure how he got from point A to point B, but all he knows is suddenly he can’t breathe. Suddenly, he’s six feet under, water encasing his lungs as they shrivel and expand into nothing.
Suddenly, he’s eleven again, listening to his parents yell extremities at one another from the top of the stairs. He’s twelve, his camp bag hanging loosely from his grasp as he stares into the living room that feels barren and somehow emptier despite only a few things missing. He’s sixteen and Liam is talking about being so in love with someone you can’t contain it and it feels like there’s an undercurrent to his words, but all Alex can focus on is the fact that he doesn’t see that being in the cards for him. He’s twenty one and the opposite side of the bed in the lake house is cold and Henry’s overnight duffle is missing.
Henry either doesn’t notice Alex’s sudden inward spiral because of the words cascading from his mouth like a waterfall, or he simply doesn’t care, and Alex knows the latter is far from, but his brain was never known for providing him with logicality in situations like this.
He’s too much, and not enough, and not good enough, and why should Henry listen to him when Alex hasn’t given Henry the time or day lately? Alex doesn’t blame him.
“For weeks I have tried to stand guard over your dreams Alex, and for weeks I have been met with zero regard of respect in return. All I am asking for is an ounce of what I give you in return. Is that too much to ask for?” Henry barrels on, and Alex can’t help but flinch at the words hurdling at him at full speed.
Too much to ask for. Too much to ask for. Too much to ask for. Is Alex too much to ask for?
“Henry –” Alex warns, and Henry either once again ignores him or Alex is speaking too small and too quiet, because Henry just continues, and Alex can’t hear anything but the static in his ears now, can’t see past the blur coating his eyes.
He can vaguely see Henry’s mouth moving, ‘can just register the low hum of his voice as it echoes across their cabinets.
His skin itches in a way that won’t be relieved by scratching, a thrum that runs through every nerve ending, his fingertips the finish line as they numb over. He can feel the soft puncture of his nails as they dig into his palm, his knuckles white with the force, and he can already picture the purple and red crescent shape wounds that’ll adorn his open palm in just a few short minutes.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alex registers that he’s on the cusp of a panic attack, if not already there. He knows what this is, knows the telltale signs, and yet despite this, it feels like he’s completely lost and confused and fading.
He’s fading, ‘feels as his senses disappear from him entirely. He tries to take a shaky breath, but to no avail he’s met with the harsh feeling of his lungs caving in instead of expanding out.
His vision is blurring at the edges as he tries to blink away the fog, and all his movements feel muddled and slow, distorted and delayed. The kitchen tilts and spins as Alex clutches at his chest, willing the panic to cease its dance, but it only intensifies, wrapping its icy tendrils around him like something vile and suffocating as it continues its waltz.
When Alex chances a look up, he can see Henry’s mouth still moving, can see his lips moving a mile a minute, but no words are registering. It’s loud and quiet all at once, a cacophony of noise and silence fighting for reign.
Alex wishes he could hear Henry, even if he were met with harsh rebuttals and cold statements, even if he knew he wouldn’t like the words currently being spewed, he thinks the least he can do is file away every sentence being thrown his way like a case file that needs debriefing.
The notion must not translate because Alex can’t find a grounding point, ‘can’t focus on a singular word coming out of Henry’s mouth, and he claws at his chest once more to find just an infinitesimal semblance of solace.
He tries to make a list in his head, tries to sort the jumble that twists and twines its way through the crevices of his brain, but he can’t get past One.
“Hen–” Alex tries, pleads , pushing the words through his constricted throat, and he’s not sure if any noise even manages to escape, and he thinks it must not because Henry’s mouth is still moving .
His mouth is still moving and Alex feels like he’s underwater, his ears filled with cotton and his lungs filled with rose thorns, every breath feeling like a puncture to the organs that reside in his chest cavity and he can’t breathe and he can’t see and Henry is still in front of him but not where Alex wants him to be and it’s suddenly all too much too fast and —
“ Red!” Alex screams, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “Red, red, red!” He shouts before his knees buckle and he’s sliding down against the cabinets and pulling his knees up to chest, his hands taking refuge in his curls as he tugs.
Everything, finally, comes to a halting stop.
As everything slows down, he can just barely register the tears that are cascading down his cheeks and pooling onto his neck, ‘can register the pitter patter of his heart as it attempts to slow its palpitations, ‘can register the dull ache of his jaw and the acrid taste in his mouth and the pounding in his head.
He registers as Henry quickly and quietly pads his way over to where Alex is on the floor, ‘registers the tense quietude that fills the kitchen and replaces the screaming match just prior.
His jeans are a mirage of color as he burns holes into his lap, refusing to meet his boyfriend's gaze, not after what he just did.
Alex is a lot of things.
He’s loud and gregarious and so full of life it burns Henry from the inside out sometimes.
Henry looks at Alex sometimes, Alex who holds himself with this fire and zest, and Henry can’t help but want to drink him in, ‘can’t help but wonder if just the press of his lips is enough to fill him with as much energy and buoyancy that Alex holds.
Alex is a lot of things, and Henry has witnessed his fair share of breakdowns, has held Alex in his arms on multiple accounts, and yet – Henry can’t say he’s ever seen his boyfriend this distraught before.
The thought and the sight in front of him startle him into silence and he’s unsure what the next move is. This feels like uncharted territory and Henry hates that.
With how fast they jumped into their relationship, back when Henry had made the rash decision to ignore the voices in his head and meet Alex halfway in a tangle of limbs and the slotting of lips for the first time, all the way to Alex storming Kensington, it was no surprise they didn’t have time to delve into deeper discussions, if you will.
They had gotten used to secret rendezvous, gotten used to the quick work of hands and the fast pace of lips, and even with the exception of their slower, more sensual times, they never had the time (or want, in all honesty) to delve into deeper aspects of their pleasure.
So when they moved into their brownstone, after a round that left them sweaty and breathless and sated in their new bed, in their new sheets, a list of rules were derived.
They discussed their hard no’s, discussed things they were into (Alex revelled in the way Henry’s cheeks were coated in a bright tint), and things they’d be willing to try. And with this, came safe words.
"It’s important to me that we come up with a system of sorts, something that can express if something feels off-putting or uncomfortable or downright horrible. I want to try everything with you, but with that comes having a safe space.” Alex had said, lazily running his fingers up and down Henry’s arm, and Henry had immediately agreed.
They both agreed on the stoplight system. Something easy enough to remember, and easy enough to use if need be.
And it was needed. Henry has comforted Alex after a few rough scenes, and Alex has done the same for Henry; a gentle lull of whispered out praises and tender grazings as they came down.
So it’s not that it was unusual for Henry to hear.
What was unusual, was the setting in which Alex just used it.
What was unusual, was the way Alex had said it.
Alex is trembling on the floor, a few hiccups escaping from his parted lips and Henry aches to touch him, to do something, but he isn’t sure what’s acceptable, isn’t sure he’s not the reason for this onslaught of emotion.
“Can I touch you?” Henry asks softly, bending down to get level with Alex, putting his hand half way between himself and his boyfriends trembling frame.
“D- don’t.” Alex says through a choked sob, flinching away from Henry’s hand, and the way Henry’s hand wilts away like a flower in winter, deflating ever so slightly from Alex’s doing, makes his head hurt worse. But he swallows down the apology that sits heavily against his tongue, and focuses on his breathing instead.
Henry nods his head, anxiously wiping his hands across his thighs as he sits on his haunches in front of Alex, desperate to touch but adamant on allowing Alex to take the time he needs.
He watches as the tight pull Alex has on his curls eases ever so slightly, watches with patience as Alex counts backwards from ten, his foot tapping quietly and softly against the wood floor; an exercise Henry taught him.
“That’s it love, you’re doing so good.” Henry says softly, shocked to find his voice even working. Alex doesn’t flinch away from it this time around, so Henry counts his blessings and moves on.
He eases off his heels and slides back, his back sliding down the opposite cabinet so he’s facing Alex, close enough to reach out if dire, but still far enough away to give him space.
As he watches Alex come back to himself, he replays their conversation in his head, tries to pinpoint the part where Alex shut down and how he completely managed to miss it until it was too late.
There’s a lot of faults Henry has had to overcome when it comes to their relationship, a lot of insecurities that waft through the open air and sit heavily against his shoulders; things Alex and his family and his therapist have all tried to help him overcome, help him ease some of the weight away.
And he’s gotten better, gotten better at tuning out the voices in his head and letting Alex take some of the weight of said voices. He still has his days, but overall, he’s become more open; more free.
The one thing he’s always prided himself on when it came down to it though, the one thing Henry has always had a knack for, was telling when something was wrong.
As much as Alex pretended to hate it, Henry was good at calling him out on his bullshit, good at clocking when Alex was having a bad day or when a comment he knows is going to stick with Alex throughout the night is said.
Reading Alex has become one of his favorite aspects when it comes down to the trust aspect of their relationship, and in turn, Henry trusts Alex to be able to do the same for him.
Because the thing is, Henry has noticed Alex struggling. He’s taken note of the sleepless nights and the non existent appetite. He’s forged the purple crescent shapes under his eyes to memory. He watches the tremble in Alex’s hand and wills it to cease simply by sliding his own hand between the quiver, silently praying Alex gets the message.
He steps in where he can. He makes Alex lunch and stuffs it in his bag and prays that Alex will eat it. He drags him to bed and holds him till the shaking Alex thinks he doesn’t notice subsides to even out breathing. He reminds him how proud of him he is and how much love runs from the tips of his fingers straight to Alex’s own.
And sometimes, it doesn’t feel like enough.
Sometimes, Henry wants nothing more than to sit Alex down and demand him to breathe.
But he knows his boyfriend.
Know that’s not what he’d want, nor would it work in all honesty. (Alex and his damn stubborn and savior faults).
So he waits.
He waits until Alex comes to him. He steps in where he can. He takes careful consideration. He loves Alex with all that he is in hopes that it’s enough to slow him down, even just for a second.
So the fact he bulldozed right past the very obvious signs of Alex’s panic attack, well.
Well.
Henry isn’t sure how long they sit there, but he’s anxiously mulling over their conversation in his head when Alex finally speaks up.
“I’m sorry.” Alex whispers, and he keeps his head down, his eyes interlocked in his lap. A wounded noise escapes Henry’s lips without his permission, and his hand twitches in his lap where he so desperately aches to reach out and take Alex into his arms.
“Why are you apologizing?” Henry asks, and he has to imagine his legs are planted into the floor so he doesn’t get up from his spot and head over to Alex (though, Henry thinks even if that were true, he would rip himself up from the dirt root by root if it meant getting to hold Alex).
“You know why.” Alex says, but this time he looks up through his lashes, and though there are no more tears dancing across his waterline, a few leftovers cling to his lashes like rain droplets and Henry wants nothing more than to swipe his thumb gently across them.
“Alex.” Henry says softly, a warning of sorts, and Alex just huffs and rolls his eyes.
“I had to safeword out of an argument. That’s pitiful.” Alex says, a self deprecating laugh bubbling out of him that’s quickly cut off by a choked sound in his throat as he looks away.
“No, it’s not pitiful, not in the slightest Alex. You did what you had to do. If that was the only way your body knew how to get out of the situation, then you did what you had to do. You took care of yourself, and I’m proud of you.” Henry says rather sternly, and he hopes Alex takes his words seriously, hope Alex understands just how big this was.
But because it’s Alex, Henry is met with another self-effacing snort as Alex shakes his head to fire back a remark, but Henry cuts him off before he gets the chance to.
“No, I’m serious Alex.” Henry states, ducking his head down a bit in an attempt to catch Alex’s eyes. Alex just ducks his head farther down. “Alex. Look at me, please?”
It takes him a second, an internal war going on in his head, but the better part must win because he’s suddenly looking up at Henry again, his teeth pulling in his bottom lip in the process, and it takes everything in Henry not to reach across and smooth out the indent that’s sure to be left in its wake.
Henry smiles sadly, and something in Alex breaks, a dam just completely falling to its demise as fresh tears ricochet down his cheeks, his bottom lip wobbling, and Henry doesn’t even get a chance to say anything before Alex is scooting across the threshold and crashing in between Henry’s legs and into his chest.
Henry is quick to pull himself out of his previous stupor before he’s wrapping his arms around Alex’s frame, his body wracking with quiet sobs.
“You’re okay love, you’re so good Alex, so good.” Henry whispers softly into Alex’s ear, pushing his curls off his forehead as he softly rocks Alex and continues whispering noncommittal praises and sweet nothings into his ear.
When Alex’s sobs finally subside and start stuttering out, and he’s left with soft sniffles and big exhales, Henry presses one last chaste kiss to Alex’s temple, before speaking out into the kitchen.
“Can you stand up?” Henry asks softly, and Alex’s entire body tenses. Henry’s heart cracks down the middle, but he’s quick to swallow down the ache in his chest in favor of reassuring Alex. “I’m not going anywhere, I just think we’d both benefit from not being sore tomorrow, yeah?”
It takes Alex a second to compose himself, to which Henry just runs his hands up and down Alex’s arms while his boyfriend collects himself, before they’re standing up off the floor. Henry gives Alex one last once over, a sad smile plastering itself upon his face, before he’s taking Alex by the hand and slowly guiding them to the living room.
“Couch or bedroom?” Henry asks, turning to face Alex, both of his hands coming up to rest on either side of Alex’s biceps.
Henry watches as Alex looks up towards the stairs to their bedroom, back to the couch, before landing back on Henry as he weighs his options. He tilts his head over to the suede couch in their living room and whispers out ‘ couch’ hoarsely. Henry squeezes his arms once, before leading them over and sitting down against the cushions, pulling Alex down flush against his chest.
Only when Alex finally situates himself, his ear up against Henry’s chest and his legs pulled up underneath him, does Henry begin talking again.
“What happened back there?” Henry asks softly, continuing his descent down Alex’s arms before they graze back upwards. Alex goes to open his mouth, before Henry cuts him off quickly. “And don’t you dare apologize again Alex, not for that.”
Alex shuts his mouth, huffing quietly as he idly plays with the strings on Henry’s hoodie.
“It just got to be a lot. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t even mean to safeword. I’m just so….” Alex says, cutting himself off as the words die on his tongue.
A part of Alex, the part that thinks ( knows ) this all could’ve been avoided had he been not only honest with Henry since the beginning, but himself too, thinks he should just rip off the bandaid; admit that he’s drowning.
But another part, that more self sacrificial part, the insecure part even, wants to keep quiet; wants to stay above the rising waterline until he no longer can.
But that was the issue, wasn’t it? He’s long past staying above the surface, there is no more wading, no more treading water; his lungs have been slowly filling for quite some time now.
“So what, love?” Henry prompts, resting his chin atop Alex’s curls, and Alex breathes in Henry’s scent, forging every note to memory.
When Alex thinks back to his adolescence, even the years after; the first few moments in the white house, he can’t help but think of the loneliness.
Maybe he’s always been drowning, maybe the forlornness that used to encase his lungs back then, has only grown; grown from a small and mundane current to something larger and more dangerous like a riptide fighting for control.
When Alex thinks back to the days where he found just a shred of relief, just a second of breath, his head above the surface, he can’t help but correlate it with the feeling that seeps into his skin and burrows into his bone marrow; lonely. There was no one there to clap him on the back and witness the breath he finally managed to slip down his throat.
He hated that. He hated coming up for air after being pulled under for so long, only to have no one on the shore waving him in.
Maybe that was the issue, maybe that’s why he continued to get swept under.
He had June, and Nora, and yeah, sometimes his parents, but were they ever really enough of a force to drag him out from under each wave? And that’s not to say they weren’t enough. Alex loves his family more than words could ever express, and he’s so beyond grateful for all that they’ve done for him; all that they continue to do for him.
They’ve stuck by him when no one else has. They’ve clapped him on the back and stood by in times of celebration. They’ve extinguished the fire under his ass time after time.
Realistically, Alex knows it’s on him to tell people when he’s struggling.
Realistically, Alex knows his family is well aware of the times he’s fallen behind.
He knows this.
But that doesn’t make it any less hard to speak up. ‘Doesn’t make it any less embarrassing to admit.
The idea of speaking the words, letting them spill from his mouth and contradict everything he’s tried so hard at perfecting, well.
Well.
So no, Alex doesn’t want to admit this to Henry. Not one bit, but.
But.
Maybe letting Henry in, allowing Henry to see this aspect of him, maybe by doing so, Alex can finally take a break; let Henry hold him as the waves crash against them.
Because Alex loves Henry. In ways that make him stupid and giddy and happy. In ways that Alex didn’t think he’d ever get the honor of knowing or having. Henry is like coming up for a breath of fresh air, and Alex is so tired of swallowing down water. He’s just so –
“Tired. I’m so tired, Hen.” Alex admits, whispering it like it was something sacred, and maybe it is. His words crack at the end, and Henry just squeezes him harder, mending the cracks and splinters that adorn Alex.
“I know Alex, I know.” Henry whispers, rubbing his hands up and down Alex’s arm, and Alex freezes.
“What?” He whispers, stilling, and Henry hopes he didn’t say the wrong thing, but he bulldozes on anyway.
“You think I haven’t noticed? Christ Alex, it has taken every ounce of self restraint in my being to not sit you down in a chair and demand you not only talk to me, but take a much needed breath.” Henry exclaims, articulating every word so that maybe Alex will get it.
And get it he does, because the next thing Henry knows, Alex breaks into tears once more.
Because what do you mean Henry has known? What do you mean Alex has been playing this part, keeping up with this never ending facade, for practically no reason?
But that’s not true either, is it?
Because logically, logically Alex knows that deep down he himself knew Henry had an inkling.
And that didn’t stop him from saying anything, ‘didn’t stop him from performing day after day.
Despite this knowledge, a sob filled with anger and exhaust and relief rips through Alex.
And Henry isn’t any better off; ‘feels just as horrid as Alex.
Because Henry knew. He knew that Alex was struggling, and yeah, maybe he didn’t know the extent, and maybe he thought he was better off letting Alex take his own course, but as he sits here and holds his weeping boyfriend, he can’t help but feel guilty.
Henry knew, and he still got mad at Alex tonight.
And yes, maybe Henry was in the right just as much as Alex is, and maybe he was in the wrong just as much as Alex was, but that doesn’t stop the culpability that runs through Henry’s blood.
“I’m so sorry Alex. I’m so sorry my love.” Henry whispers out, scratching softly at Alex’s scalp with one hand, his other squeezing Alex’s bicep as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep the tears at bay.
Alex makes a wounded noise and is quickly whirling around to face Henry.
“Why are you apologizing??” Alex asks incredulously, looking Henry head on, and the pair must look like a sight to take in; Alex curled up in Henry’s lap, facing Henry, tears streaming down both of their faces.
Alex’s lips have been bitten raw, and Henry wants nothing more than to take them in between his own and lick away the cracks and the wounds, kiss them until the only feeling in them is his own soft lips rather than harsh punctuate teeth.
His curls are haywire, sticking up every which way, a few falling over his eyebrow and sticking pitifully to his forehead. Henry can’t help himself when he reaches up and tucks a stray curl behind Alex’s ear.
“I’ve known you were struggling and I haven’t said anything.” Henry whispers out, his bottom lip wobbling with the admission. Alex searches his eyes for something, and what it is, Henry can’t tell.
“Why didn’t you?” Alex whispers back, continuing his hunt as his eyes flit back and forth between Henry’s, taking in the cerulean he’s constantly floating in.
“I don’t know. I thought maybe you would come to me on your own terms, or that if I brought it up you’d cower away or - or resent me for accusing you of struggling. I don’t know. Looking back now, it seems foolish, and I am so sorry.”
“No.” Alex says, furrowing his brows as he shakes his head in earnest, and Henry’s brows just furrow in suit. “No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t foolish. You were right, I probably would’ve shrugged you off. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“ Why Alex? We love you, we want to help you.” Henry says, bringing his hands up to rest on Alex’s cheeks, shaking his head a bit in the process so that maybe Alex will get it into that thick skull of his.
“I know! I do, okay? I just. I’m supposed to be strong –” Alex says, and Henry goes to refute the statement, but Alex just shakes his head and barrels on. “I didn’t want anyone seeing me like that; watching me drown. It’s embarrassing and - and stupid. But I guess it’s a little late for that now, huh?” Alex chuckles, and it’s filled with so much self depreciation and sadness and shame and Henry wishes more than anything Alex could see himself the way Henry does.
And suddenly, suddenly he knows just how to do that.
“I’m sorry, will you get up for a second?” Henry asks quickly, and the way Alex’s face falls as he goes to clamber off Henry’s lap makes something in him break. He grabs hold of Alex’s thighs, holding him down so he can’t go far. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I just need to grab something, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Alex just nods, searching for something once again behind Henry’s eyes, before he’s pushing himself off Henry to sit down on the opposite end of the couch. Henry squeezes his thigh once, before he’s rising up off the cushion and making his way down the hall to his office.
Alex watches as he retreats, a million thoughts cascading around his mind. He can no longer hear his heartbeat, but he can still feel every blood vessel, and it feels as though someone has doused him with poison as every nerve ending race to fight against one another; race to fight against logicality; his heart and his thoughts.
True to his word, Henry is back rather quickly, his laptop tucked under his arm as he sits back down next to Alex, their thighs squished together.
He opens up his computer, typing in his password as he pulls up a word document.
“I was going to wait until I got the green light from the publishing company. I wanted to give you a paper copy, but maybe now is as good of a time as any.” Henry says, his cursor moving over to pull up a separate tab within the document titled DEDICATIONS & ACKNOWLEDGMENTS and suddenly, Alex’s heart is in his throat at the implication.
He looks up at Henry, who just sends him a nervous soft smile before handing his laptop over to Alex.
Alex swallows and takes a deep breath, before looking down at the lit up document in front of him.
For Alex,
Who dug me out of my labyrinth and held my hand until I could no longer taste the bitter ecstasy of envy for a life I thought I could never have. I love you and our history.
YRS
Alex can hardly see past the onslaught of tears that blur his vision, as he quickly looks back up at his boyfriend, his bottom lip wobbling.
“Hen –” Alex starts, but Henry just nods back down to the computer.
Under a separate header titled END OF BOOK ACKNOWLEDGMENTS there are multiple names dashed down, and a litany of words following each name. Bea, Pez, Mum, Dad, David (yes David can’t read, but Henry felt it was wrong not to include him), Philip (Despite the hurt that still encases Henry’s body and soul, he can’t deny that his older brother hasn’t been trying. The years of hurt won’t go away, but he’s trying and it doesn’t go unseen), The Hollerans and Claremont - Diaz’s (Alex does not tear up over that. He doesn’t).
And beneath all of those, is Alex’s name.
“Henry I don’t —” Alex goes to say, tears clogging his throat more than they already have.
“Just. Read it, please?” Henry asks, anxiously twisting his hands as he stares down at the computer screen along with Alex.
Alex just takes another deep breath, willing his nerves to calm down enough to get through this.
Alex - Because a dedication simply can’t quite put into words what you mean to me, I fear I must ramble on some more. It is a grave understatement to say this book would not be possible without you. You were my backbone throughout this entire process, and you continue to hold that label like something venerated. You are the very epitome of why this entire thing was even a mere entity. I have been staring at this blinking cursor for approximately fifteen minutes now, willing it to write the words that are alphabetizing themselves behind my skin, ready to ooze out my pores, and yet, I come up empty. They’re on the tip of my tongue, kissing the back of my teeth. They’re paper mache ‘d across my frontal lobe. And yet, I come up empty. I find when it comes to all things you , I find myself coming up empty quite a bit. For a lack of better cliche; there are not enough words in the English language to describe what you mean to me. I could scour the dictionary and thesaurus until my fingers were caked with papercuts and pin prints of maroon, until my eyes could hardly stay open with the strain of a million words laying beyond my eyelids, and still, I think I would come up empty. There just aren’t any words to chronicle the honor that calling myself yours means to me. I could write about how you’re the oxygen to the drowning mess that I am, or how you lit a fire within us; how you continue to ignite our spark day after day. I could write about how bloody brilliant you are, how your brain is like a puzzle I’m so severely infatuated with I can’t help but not even bother looking for that last piece because I never want it to end. I could tell you how good you are, how good you continue to be, and how I thrive to emulate that virtue day after day. I could write sonnets and prose and poems about your love. Instead, I will tell you how I will always pick you to be mine in every lifetime, for it’s a blessing to even have the honor of calling you that. I will forever search for your love in every corner of the world, in every crook and cranny and crevice, in every page I turn and chapter I flip, I will always be in search of your affection. Not because I never held it tenderly between my grasp, but because there’s so much of it I fear it’s all around me. I will cherish it, clasp it around my fingers like a sacred promise, and I hope in doing so, you will find my own love and adoration in it. I hope, with every little pin I put on a map, you find a piece of me. I think when it comes to you my love, there will always be a million unsaid words whispered out into unfulfilled promises. I do hope however, that isn’t always the case, but if it is, I take it in stride and digress. I hope in the years to come, I will find a place to store my designation and adoration for you, and I hope you’ll be around to hold me tight and listen to every little thing I spew in relation to you. But for now, I end this with the one thing they can’t take away from us, the only thing that is a constant;
I love you. Thank you for having the complete audacity to love me back.
"Love, however, cannot be forbidden. The more that flame is covered up, the hotter it burns. Also love can always find a way. It was impossible that these two whose hearts were on fire should be kept apart. (Pyramus and Thisbe)" Edith Hamilton, Mythology 1942
By the time Alex is done, he has tears streaming down his face at such a rapid pace it’s any wonder how he managed to read this all the way through. At some point, he had blindly reached out to clasp his fingers between Henry’s, and it’s Henry’s soft squeeze that pulls him out as he looks up at his boyfriend; his boyfriend who looks like an exact mosaic of how Alex must not only look, but feel as well.
“ Henry .” Alex chokes out, sobs wracking his body as he pushes Henry’s computer off his lap onto the coffee table, before practically throwing himself at Henry.
Henry goes easily, lowering them back down against the arm of the couch as he strokes Alex’s back, Alex tucking his face tightly into the crook of Henry’s neck as he continues to cry.
“I love you Alex, so fucking much it scares me sometimes. I was a bloody buffoon for starting a fight tonight. I wasn’t mad at you, love, I was mad at the situation and how badly you were struggling, and yeah maybe I was a bit upset, and I took it out on you and that wasn’t fair. I especially did not mean what I said about you only thinking about yourself. Christ, Alex, you are the most selfless person I’ve ever met. You and your Goddamn savior complex. My anger got the best of me, and that’s no excuse, but you’ve got to believe me when I express how utterly daft I was for saying some of the things I spewed. Can you forgive me?” Henry asks softly against Alex’s hair, and Alex pulls back as far as he can, his back pushed between the back of the couch and his front up against the side of Henry.
“You have nothing to be sorry for Henry, seriously. I’m sorry. I’ve been such a horrible partner lately.” Alex states, sniffling loudly as more tears pool in his eyes at his apology.
“No Alex, no not at all. Are there things the both of us can work on? Sure. But that does not make us horrible partners. That makes us humans in a normal relationship, and I don’t know about you, but I think we deserve some normalcy when it comes to our relationship.” Henry states matter of factly, and Alex goes to say something, but Henry, already knowing where he’s going, cuts him off.
“We aren’t your parents Alex. We are bound to fight and get into squabbles. It’s going to happen whether we like it or not. But that doesn’t mean we’re set for an imminent burnout. You love me, yeah?” Henry asks, tangling his fingers with Alex’s.
“Of course I do, H.” Alex states with a reverence that warms Henry inside and out.
“And I love you. We can’t predict the future and what may or may not arise, but we can put a system in place; something to give us peace of mind.” Henry says, and Alex can practically hear the smile in his tone without even looking.
“Like rules?” Alex asks, nuzzling his cheek deeper onto Henry’s shoulder.
“Exactly. We never go to bed angry. We stop making assumptions, no matter how much we think we’re helping. We be honest; with ourselves and with one another. We stop putting up a front in front of one another; let our masks fall in the safety of our home, in each other .” Henry says, absentmindedly drawing shapes onto the back of Alex’s hand, a small smile plastered onto his face.
He can feel the tilt of Alex’s own smile up against his collarbone.
“Okay.” Alex whispers, pressing a chaste kiss onto Henry’s shoulder.
And Henry can’t help but smile into it.
That isn’t the end of their talk. They still have things to figure out and things to work through, but Alex feels lighter, can feel himself slowly float up to the surface with Henry’s help, and though he’s nowhere near at ease, he finds it a little easier to breathe knowing he’s no longer drowning alone.
That also isn’t their last argument, far from it.
It’s small things like who’s turn it is to the dishes or who has to get up and let David out. It’s larger things like Alex failing to remember to take care of himself or Henry having to keep up with royal duties back home. But they stick to their rules and they find each argument to be a little less harrowing, a little less daunting, and at the end of each one, they find solace in the enormity that is their relationship.
Because at the end of the day, it’s the little things that make up their relationship.