Work Text:
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When I walked you to mine, promised we'd take our time
Baby, some of us we ain't meant to win
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Alex emerges from his sleep peacefully, the birds chirping outside his apartment window, a slight chill from the cool evening settling into his skin. Henry always calls him his personal little space heater, running warm when Henry starts shivering at the slightest dip in temperature. He thinks about the moment they realized as much - Henry was nearly ready to leave the movie theater for as cold as he was, until Alex finally wrangled his large form into his arms, warming him up from the inside out. After that, he found himself with an armful of blonde, British sex god more often than not. Privately, Alex wonders if Henry messes with his thermostat to justify his penchant for curling up in Alex’s lap, not that there’s any justification needed. Alex doesn’t think there’s anything on this earth that Henry could wish for that he wouldn’t give him.
“Mmm,” he groans, his hand searching the other side of his bed for Henry, eager even in his sleep-laden state for the feeling of his skin beneath his fingers. “Mornin’,” he says, his voice hoarse with disuse.
Slowly, he sinks further and further into awareness, the mattress feeling wildly uneven without the weight of his boyfriend on the other side of it. Pushing himself up onto his forearms, Alex blinks a few times, taking in his surroundings.
Henry’s not there, which wouldn’t be that alarming if there were any proof of life in the rest of the house. As it is, he’s met with nothing but silence as he squints towards his open door, watching for any shadows, listening intently for any footsteps, or running water. Anything. Anything to fight off this sinking, familiar feeling of loneliness. His therapist’s voice chimes in his head, reminding him that that’s a trauma response. So, he steadies himself, reminds himself that just because he’d been left in the past doesn’t mean he’s being left again.
“Henry?” he calls out, sliding out of the notably cold bed, sliding his glasses on.
Nothing.
“Henry?” He’s in the hallway, now, approaching the living room. His small kitchenette looks untouched. “H-Henry-”
Alex takes a shaky breath, bracing himself for… something. He doesn’t know what, but his heart is vibrating in his chest as if it’s trying to warn him of impending danger. But he’s felt that before, he’s had one too many anxiety attacks that started like this, and they happened for absolutely no reason. This is probably one of those times. He’s overreacting. It’s going to turn out just fine, and nothing’s wrong.
But… he knows. Deep down, he knows. He can recognize the absence in the stillness of the air. He’s all too familiar with the emptiness that comes along with the silence. Henry’s gone. Alex is alone in his apartment, and the hollowness of the four walls begins to press in on him; shrinking, shrinking, shrinking by the second.
His heart starts pounding so loudly that it feels deafening, as his brain races for a logical conclusion. He couldn’t have left, his brain cries. Maybe he’s getting groceries, or he ran out of tea, or he had a work emergency.
And sure, those options are all logical, but Alex is intimately familiar with the feeling of being abandoned, and it always feels like this.
God, he’s going to feel so stupid when he texts Henry only to find out he’s been called to help his sister with something urgently.
(Please, please, he begs the universe. Please let it be something as mundane as that.)
Locating his phone, Alex tries to swallow the bitterness that climbs his throat when he doesn’t see a text from Henry. Okay, okay, it’s okay, maybe that doesn’t mean anything.
Alex: hey henry! is everything okay? i realized i slept in lol so hopefully i didn’t miss you leaving for work! <3
When a small, red exclamation point appears to the right of the message, and he sees the god-awful Not Delivered text below it, he feels as if the rug has been pulled out from beneath him. By now, there’s no point denying what he knows to be true. Henry is gone. Henry is gone, and he wants nothing to do with Alex anymore. Henry left him all because Alex is just too much for yet another person.
Alex sinks to the floor, his knees pressed to his chest, his breath coming in such short, quick bursts that he begins to feel lightheaded. Much as he tries to prolong the inevitable, he loses himself to an all too familiar anxiety attack, unable to escape from it because there’s nobody there to help him escape from it. He’s on his own. He’s on his own. He always fucking finds himself back at square one - on his own.
At some point, he manages to crawl his way into the kitchenette, distantly registering the running water of the sink he’s just turned on. Sliding his wrist beneath it, he winces at the stinging sensation, harsh after so much numbness in his limbs. He blinks hard a few times, grappling for control over his lungs, forcing them to take air in, to force it out. Again. Okay, good, Alex. One more time.
A few more deep, steadying breaths, and a few more agonizing, bitter realizations.
- Henry had left.
- Henry had blocked his number.
- Henry’s keys, shoes, and jacket were all gone.
- Henry was gone.
- Last night, Alex had told Henry that he was going to tell his boss that he’d like to be considered for a permanent position, turning his 3 month internship and short-term rental into something more permanent.
- Last night, Alex had told Henry that when he looked at him, he saw something permanent.
- Henry had heard all of that and left.
Which is fine. It’s fine. Alex can’t blame him. He’d leave himself if he could. Some people just aren’t meant to win, and he’s always been one of them.
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Packing his belongings turns out to be more painful than he expected. He’s not just saying goodbye to his internship, or the city, or the apartment, he’s bidding farewell to the life he’d imagined for himself here. One where he stayed. One where his future was here, where his boyfriend would become his fiancé would become his husband would become the father of his children.
He tells himself it’s better this way, anyway. He’s meant to be in California. That’s where June and his niece are, so that’s where he should be. That’s where he’ll go. He even has a job waiting for him, which he tries to make himself excited about. He is. He’s thrilled that Luna & Orville think he’s worth hiring, it’s just that when he got the email confirming he’d been hired, he’d gone to text Henry before remembering he couldn’t do that anymore.
It’ll stop hurting soon. He knows that, he knows it’ll get better. He wills himself to forget Henry’s face, knows that one day, he will, and as he takes one last look at the Thames, waiting for his Uber to arrive, he swallows the acrid taste of letting go of something that he would have carried with him for an eternity. He thinks, absentmindedly, that maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d held on too tight.
It doesn’t really matter what he’d done to push Henry away, he decides. As the London street he’d only briefly called home fades in the Uber’s rear window, he’s left with the distinct, all-encompassing knowledge that he’s going to miss Henry for as long as he has the exquisite, agonizing pleasure of remembering him.
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Still there’s something ‘bout men that I don’t understand
They’re always leaving wherever they’ve been
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Henry didn’t mean to flee. Really, he didn’t. And perhaps the worst part of it all is that he doesn’t even have a proper excuse. The truth is, he could just as easily visualize the future that Alex had painted out for them, and it scared him so badly that the only thing he could think to do was run away. In the silence of that fateful night, he packed the few belongings he left in Alex’s apartment into his overnight bag, stole the small Polaroid of the two of them that Alex had framed, and slipped into the dead of the night.
This was always supposed to be temporary, he had reasoned with himself. Alex had to have known there was an expiration date. Alex had to have known that all Henry ever did was leave. No matter where he’d been, where he’d settled, he left.
Because if he was the one to leave, he would never be left.
He’s nursing his broken heart, entirely aware that the pain is his own doing when his phone dings. Without thinking, he lurches forward, a foolish part of his brain thinking it could be Alex before he remembers he blocked him. God, he really is a fucking asshole, isn’t he?
Unknown Number: I know you don’t know who I am and quite frankly I hope for your safety and my freedom you never have to meet me. What you did to my brother was a cowardly, selfish, idiotic, spineless, and overall shitty thing to do. What did he do to deserve being abandoned? And what kind of person are you to have left him like that? Did you even once stop to consider the fact that that’s exactly how our dad left him? I hate you for what you did to him and I hope you live the rest of your life knowing you lost the best thing that could’ve happened to you.
Henry’s jaw falls slack, dread sinking in his stomach like a lead balloon.
Fuck.
In a bit of a panic, Henry unblocks Alex’s number with shaky fingers.
Henry: Alex, I’m so sorry, if you could find it in your heart to hear me out I owe you a massive apology, not that I deserve your forgiveness, but you deserve to know how much I regret it.
Undelivered.
And… yeah, he deserves that.
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THREE YEARS LATER
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Percy: Babes.
Percy: Breaking news.
Henry: Do I even want to know?
Percy: To be determined.
Henry: Lay it on me then.
Percy: Well yk that conference we were invited to? The one on diversity, equity, and inclusion?
Henry: The one 3 days from now? Yes, Pez, I’m familiar.
Percy: I don’t like your attitude young man
Percy: anyway they j had a change in keynote speakers for the bit about the legal protections for employees who face discrimination.
Henry: Okay?
Percy: [1 image attachment]
Well fuck.
Alex Claremont-Diaz smiles at him from his screen - blinding white teeth and the same excruciating charm oozing from his very existence, even through a small, slightly blurry image.
Henry: Fuck.
Percy: yes, I think you two absolutely should
Between Pez and Bea, Henry’s reminded constantly of the one that got away. As if he needs the reminder, as if he doesn’t think back on that first undelivered message from 3 years ago and hate himself for his cowardice. Yes, yes, thank you, I’m aware that I probably could’ve married him if I’d let him stay, I truly appreciate you pointing out how far behind I am in my life because I’ve wasted so many years grieving what I lost with him, he wants to scream. But he doesn’t, because he knows it was his own doing. He knows he deserves their scorn, because they love him immeasurably and have only ever wanted what’s best for him - which is exactly the problem. He quite literally ran away from the best thing that had ever happened to him, and no matter how many pathetic, undelivered texts he’d sent to Alex over the years, he was brought back to reality by that fucking red exclamation point time after time.
Percy: you have to talk to him
Henry: I can’t do that!
Percy: YOU HAVE TO
Henry: He probably still hates my guts!
Percy: alright at least you’ll KNOW tho
Percy: as it stands, you have no idea if he’s forgiven you. Wouldn’t it be nice to know?
Henry: I don’t need to question whether or not he hates my guts, Pez. I left him in the middle of the night without a word, just like his dad, and he’s had me blocked ever since.
Percy: yes well if the man I loved left and blocked me I would probably block him right back
Percy: doesn’t mean you don’t BOTH deserve some closure
Henry: I’m not sure I deserve any of his time, but he does deserve an apology.
Henry: Fine. I’ll attend his speech. But I’m sitting in the back and I’ll approach him afterward, I couldn’t imagine interfering with such a big day.
Percy: then my work here is done Xx
Percy: make sure to wear that blue suit jacket. It makes you look amazing.
Tossing his phone on his bed, Henry collapses backward into it. Tomorrow, he’ll iron his blue suit jacket; on Friday, he’ll drown his sorrows at The Britannia, the bar he only went to when he was feeling particularly masochistic; and on Saturday, he’ll face the man who’s haunted his memories for the last three years.
But fate, as it always seems to when it comes to Henry, has other plans.
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Come and find me
Waiting on the street where we met
Haven’t found the time to forget
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Alex isn’t entirely sure why he’s here. Maybe it’s because there’s a part of himself that he’s never forgiven for losing Henry. Maybe it’s so he can sip a glass of whiskey and imagine a different timeline where they ended up together - he’d done it plenty of times; tracing each and every decision that he’d made in the span of their short relationship and imagining a better outcome - the outcome he’d wanted so badly to hold in his hands.
Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been back to London until just now, and this bar in the Waterloo district holds just as many memories as it does hurt.
No matter the reason, he sits at the bar, nursing his second glass of whiskey and doing what he can to memorize his speech and search for answers in the bottom of his scotch.
He’s not sure which of his senses is overtaken first, but in a matter of milliseconds the entirety of him has been crushed beneath overwhelming familiarity. Henry, Henry, Henry, screams his brain, no matter how nonsensical the idea may be. There’s a presence next to him, someone standing at his side, seemingly debating on whether or not they should take a seat in the recently vacated barstool. He can’t look. He can’t look. He wants to look so badly, but it feels as if his lungs had exhaled every bit of air they’d been filled with and he’s been left floundering for another gasp of oxygen.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, he tells himself, the grip on his glass so tight that his knuckles are white. Jesus Christ, he needs to get a grip. His guards are all up, his senses heightened because this is his first time back in London. But god, the chances of running into Henry, realistically, are 1 in almost 9 million. It’s not Henry. It’s not Henry. It’s not—
“Alex?”
Well, fuck.
“Henry,” he says, hoping his voice is properly controlled, perfectly even. Hoping it doesn’t give away how much it hurts, hearing his voice again.
“I… can I sit?”
“I believe this is still a free country,” he settles on after a beat or two. That’s a good response - it won’t show Henry that he’s just as desperate for Henry to join his as he is terrified that he might.
“Right, but… would you mind if I sit?”
Alex stays silent for a moment. Then two. “No,” he finally says, though he still hasn’t looked at his ex-boyfriend. He’s not sure he’d survive seeing how much better off he is without Alex pulling him down. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Taking a seat, Henry flags down the bartender, ordering a gin & tonic and ‘another one of these, please, and thank you so much’ while gesturing to Alex’s glass. God, just seeing that stupid fucking gold ring on his finger makes his ribs clench uncomfortably around his heart, desperately trying to keep it in the safety of his body, even as it fights to beat out of his chest.
“So,” Henry starts, and Alex briefly considers fleeing the scene. The only reason he doesn’t is because he hasn’t paid his tab yet. (Also, maybe, because there’s that stupid fucking rope tied to his chest that wants to be intrinsically connected to Henry, but, like, whatever). “It’s been a while.”
Alex’s eyes have stayed glued to his empty glass since Henry appeared, and he’s not trying to change that now, but the curiosity is burning, a roaring fire deep in his belly - he hasn’t seen him in so long, and fuck, he’s missed the sight of him. It’s been so long since he’s even looked at his face, having asked June to go through and delete all evidence of him from his Photos. He hadn’t even had—
“You stole my Polaroid,” is all Alex can say, thinking back on that morning, waking to a cold bed, plunging into the freezing cold feeling of abandonment. At some point, he looked on top of his dresser, noticing an empty space where the small, framed photo of the two of them in the London Eye had been.
(Gag me green, Nora had said, hearing that specific detail. Who does this guy think he is? Edward fucking Cullen?)
“I… Well, sorry feels a bit insignificant, doesn’t it?” Henry says, watching Alex’s handshake as he lifts the fresh drink to his lips.
Caught in what must be some eternal struggle between staying and going, Alex can only shrug. “You did what you had to do.”
“No, Alex, I didn’t, I—”
“Really, Henry,” Alex interrupts, turning on the stool to meet Henry’s gaze, which — ouch. That was a bad idea. It’s like the last three years have melted away the second he sees Henry. Like he can reach out and pull him into a kiss as if he’s someone who’s still allowed to do that. Thankfully at least one of the synapses in his brain is firing correctly, as he just barely stops himself from doing exactly that. “It’s okay. I understand. You made the choice that was right for you, you didn’t owe me everything that I was asking of you. You made it very clear from the beginning that we were a temporary thing, and I broke all of those rules anyway and I just blurted out how I was feeling about you and made it weird like I always do, honestly, I should be apologizing to you, dumping that into your lap and expecting you to be able to handle it, and I mean, yeah, I was hurt, so fucking hurt, but you were, too, weren’t you? You were hurt and you were terrified and I was too busy nursing my own wounds to realize maybe you had your reasons, but I understand them now. I came on too strong, wanted more than you were ready to give and… I-I don’t need your apology, I know it was my fault,” Alex admits.
For a beat, Henry doesn’t do much more than blink at him, his jaw open slightly, the only proof of life being a small shake of his head. “You’re kidding me,” he whispers, causing Alex to shift uncomfortably in his seat. He’d fucked up. He always fucks up. He runs through his spiel, trying to uncover what he’d done wrong this time - well, he had droned on for what felt like a lifetime; god, even in his apologies he was too fucking much.
“I-I’m sorry-“ he starts, slipping off the barstool and frantically digging through his wallet for some cash. He’d converted some dollar bills to pounds while waiting for his luggage, it had to be somewh-
He’s blindsided by Henry’s hands on his jaw, and he barely has a moment to register what’s happening before the taller man leans down to pull him into a kiss.
In spite of himself, in spite of that tiny voice nagging in the back of his mind that this is an awful idea, Alex feels his body go pliant at Henry’s touch. The rigid muscles that had wound up tightly as soon as Henry slid into the spot next to him melted into jelly, his chest slumping into Henry’s, his hands gripping Henry’s hips, that devious little dip of his waist as intoxicating as ever. They kiss for seconds or minutes or hours, but Alex’s self-preservation must kick in at some point between that first sweep of Henry’s tongue against his upper lip and the tiny whine that escapes Alex’s throat at the feeling. With a gasp, he pulls away, inhaling greedy gulps of oxygen. The aching in his chest feels similar to that on hot summer days in Texas, when he and June would go to the pool together. It was overcrowded and claustrophobic and so, so loud, but Alex found solace in sinking to the bottom of the deep end, soaking in the silence and wondering briefly whether anyone noticed he was down there. (June noticed. She would always notice).
Anyway, he’d submerge just in time to fill his burning lungs with the sweet relief of fresh air, and kissing Henry feels quite a bit like that - sinking in a pool of his own making, willing to stay there until it hurts.
“Henry-,” Alex protests weakly. He knows he should tell Henry to go away, he knows he should run away, lock himself in his room and drink until the memory of Henry’s mint lip balm disappears. Instead, he collapses back onto his barstool, his face screwed up in agony. “H-,” he starts again, pushing gently against his chest, desperate for space, space to think, space to be angry. “You… you can’t just do that - you can’t… you left,” he whimpers, having finally let the guilt go after laying it at Henry’s feet. Buried beneath that is pain. Pure, irreversible pain. “You left, and… and - and I know I fucked up-“
“You didn’t,” Henry insists suddenly.
“What?”
“It wasn’t your fault, Alex, god, it was mine entirely. You did nothing wrong. In fact, the fact that you were so unbelievably perfect is… exactly why I ran. Alex, you are sunshine, and to imagine you giving up an entire life in California for my cloudy days… I couldn’t have lived with myself-“
“But I wanted this life, Henry! I wanted cloudy skies, and rainy London afternoons, and-and you! And you took that from me!”
“I know,” is all Henry can muster up. “I know, Alex, and I will never be able to apologize enough. For what it’s worth, I learned that I couldn’t really live with myself for losing you, either.”
“No, no, Henry, that’s not fair-,” Alex says, his bottom lip wobbling a bit. “You don’t get to disappear in the dead of night after I fucking tell you that I want a future with you and pick up three years later like nothing happened!”
“Three years, two months, and four days.”
“What?”
“It’s been three years, two months-“
“And four days,” Alex finishes, swallowing past a thick lump of emotion. “Yes. I remember.”
“So do I,” Henry whispers. “I’ve never forgotten. God, I can’t tell you how much I regret it. I regretted it the very next day. I texted you - I did, I tried, you blocked me-“
“Well, duh! Of course I did! You blocked me!”
“No I-I know, I don’t blame you,” Henry assures him. “I just… I just wanted you to know I tried. I tried coming to your apartment, but you weren’t there, and I tried calling the office but you were on lunch, and… I miss you, Alex. I miss you so fucking much. And it’s okay if you never forgive me, I certainly wouldn’t blame you, but I needed you to know I’m sorry. I’ve spent three years wishing for a do-over.”
“Three years, two months, and four days,” Alex whispers, his voice broken, dripping with desperation for Henry. He needs another kiss, needs Henry’s hands on his body again, he needs a proper goodbye, one that he’s in charge of.
He needs closure.
Because come tomorrow, Henry will be gone again - to believe any differently would be a fool‘s game. But tonight… tonight Henry is so close that Alex can feel the warmth radiating off of him. And, because he can, Alex wraps his arms around Henry’s waist, one hand sliding up his back and flattening between his shoulder blades, and pulling Henry into his chest.
“Kiss me,” he whispers, sounding more like a plea than the command he’d hoped it would. “Make up for lost time.“
Alex sighs at the feeling of Henry’s fingertips sinking into the sturdy flesh of his hips, hanging onto him as if his life depends on it. Really, it’s a wonderful fantasy to believe that it might. At least for this moment. Their lips meet, and Alex lets himself slip into the familiarity of it. Henry’s lips move beneath his like a well-practiced routine. Not unlike two dancers whose bodies have become so irreversibly attuned to one another - the moment Alex breaks for a breath, Henry’s mouth is already chasing him for another taste. And just as Henry tilts his jaw down to deepen the kiss, Alex parts his lips, opening up to him as easily as he had 3 years ago. Even the reminder of their time apart isn’t enough to snap Alex out of it, so he allows himself the privilege of sliding his hands up and down Henry’s torso. Memorizing the ridges and valleys of his chest - all broad shoulders and sturdy pecs, with a slightly soft waist. He still feels the same, somehow, even if Alex feels impossibly different.
“Sorry dudes, not to be a buzzkill, but I really need to order. Get a room,” a stranger says, snapping Alex back into reality with a harsh abruptness.
Fuck.
Fuck. This was going to do a number on that healing journey he had promised June he was on.
“God,” he whispers, his hands still flat on Henry’s chest. “Fuck. This was… a terrible idea. I never should’ve-“
“I regretted leaving you the second I did,” Henry blurts out, and Alex feels blindsided for the third or fourth or twelve hundredth time tonight. The words make him wince, make him shy away from the man standing in front of him because it’s not true. It can’t be true. He left, he left, and it’s okay, because everyone leaves Alex, but nobody regrets it.
“You’re drunk,” Alex protests, finally stepping out of Henry’s space. He flags down the bartender and slides his card towards them without worrying about the total. He’ll deal with the finances of it all tomorrow, for now he needs to get the fuck out of here. “You’re drunk, and you left me once, and I don’t think I can survive you leaving me again, so I’m going to go back to my hotel and try to forget this ever happened, and you’re going to stay here and drink some more and have a good night once I’m out of your hair. Please, Henry, please don’t put me through this again.”
“I’m not drunk, Alex, I’m not. I’ve barely even had two sips, and even if I were, I’ve regretted this for years, please, Alex, just hear me out.”
“Henry,” Alex whispers, fighting the urge to burst into tears. “Please.”
But Henry’s hands are back on Alex’s waist and his eyes look so genuine that Alex wants to fucking cry, “I’m sorry, Alex. I’m so sorry. If I could go back in time I would never have made such a mistake, but you deserve to know that the weight of losing you has stayed with me for years, and if you don’t feel the same I understand, but I couldn’t go on thinking that you believed it to be easy for me. Come with me, we can just… get pizza, or tacos, or anything, and I’ll apologize the way you deserve.”
“I…,” Alex croaks. “I can’t.”
Henry’s shoulders fall in real-time, and Alex watches as he nods, pulling away. “No, I understand. I missed my chance, I won’t try to convince you otherwi-”
“No, no, I mean… I actually can’t. I’m in town for this… this big conference tomorrow, and I’m already wildly unprepared, so I need to go back to my hotel, but… but, here-“ Alex fishes a business card out of his pocket. “I… text me here. If you wake up tomorrow and… and you still feel the same. Okay?”
“Okay,” Henry whispers, clutching to the card like a lifeline. “I will. I will, Alex. I promise.”
And, well, Alex has to stop himself from saying that doesn’t mean much anymore. He’s already making peace with the fact that he won’t hear from Henry again after this when the other man’s hand comes to rest against his shoulder. “Oh, your conference,” he says. “I… have a ticket.”
“What?”
“I was planning to attend. To… well, to find you there, if I’m being honest. Do you mind if I’m there? Now that… now that we’ve met here, I can have Percy take my place if you’d rather me not be in the audience.”
Something shifts into place inside Alex’s chest. That feeling of unease that had settled behind his ribcage was smoothing out, going from raucous waves of nausea to something… content, maybe?
“You were going to find me?”
The realization that Henry was going to go out of his way to cross paths… with him? Maybe…
A traitorous flicker of hope sparks to life in his gut.
Maybe Henry really did regret leaving. Maybe… maybe someone really did miss him once he was gone.
“Yeah,” Alex says. “If you still want to come. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the crowd.”
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Alex wakes up to a few texts from June, one from his mom wishing him luck, one from his dad laughing about a silly apron that had been advertised to him, and a request for pictures from his speech, a link to an article about that new movie he’s been debating on going to see from Liam, and… nothing from Henry.
Honestly, he can’t say he’s surprised. Last night had been something like a fever dream, but it was real enough to have reopened all of Alex’s old wounds. He glances down at himself, half expecting to see trails of blood following his footsteps, his hollowed-out heart thumping pathetically in his cavernous chest.
God, he’s pathetic. Thank god he hasn’t told June about running into Henry last night. He’s pretty sure she might get on a plane and end up in some central London prison if she were to find out that Henry ghosted him again.
He goes through the motions of getting ready, muscle memory by now from all the slightly grey days he’s lived through before. Shower, style his hair, shave, get dressed, spritz his expensive cologne on, and pick out a pair of socks that provide some proof of life in his otherwise repetitive existence.
(Alex hears June’s voice, pleading with him to bring back the brother she grew up with. He also hears himself, promising her that he’s trying.)
Notes in hand, Alex is preparing the last bit of his speech in a back room when there’s a knock at the door.
“Mr. Claremont-Diaz?”
It’s one of the event organizers, so Alex perks up. Even weighed down by his inability to be loved, he has a reputation to uphold.
“Yes?”
“You have a well-wisher. Can I let him in?”
“Oh… of course.”
In comes Henry, his arms full of a huge bouquet, and a hesitant smile gracing his lips. “Alex.”
“Henry.”
“I’ve spent this whole morning agonizing over what to get you. The poor florist, she made the terrible mistake of asking what the occasion was and I talked her ear off for an hour about everything that’s transpired. Anyway, she told me she’d make me the “perfect” bouquet for it so… er, let’s see.”
Henry places the vase on the small table, balancing it next to Alex’s subpar, vending machine coffee. He produces a small piece of paper from his back pocket.
“Bells-of-Ireland, those mean good luck. Bluebells, those are humility, I’m owning up to my mistakes. Pink carnations, those symbolize that I’ve never forgotten you,” he says, his voice wobbling almost imperceptibly. “Daffodils, to show that you’re the only person I’ve ever felt this way for. Geraniums - those are in there to show I know I’m stupid for letting you go. Purple hyacinths, a flower meant for sincerest of apologies. Primrose, they used to be used to tell the receiver that the sender couldn’t live without them. Red tulips, which is my please that you believe I’m genuine in this, even though I’ve done nothing to prove to you that you should.”
Henry takes a deep, steadying breath, and for a moment, Alex is dumbfounded, unable to do anything but stare at the bouquet with a slack jaw.
“You’re rather persistent.”
“I won’t lose you again if I can help it.”
“It’s a pretty ugly bouquet.”
“Please don’t tell Madge that. I asked her to include a little bit of every flower that had any sort of symbolism related to admitting I’m an absolute idiot.”
“You are.”
“I am.”
“It’s kinda perfect, though.”
“Me being an idiot?”
“Well, yes, but mostly I was talking about this awful bouquet. Half the flowers clash, the shapes and sizes are entirely unbalanced, but I kind of want to frame it and keep it forever.”
“Alex,” Henry breathes out. “I’m so sorry. Would you give me another chance? Just dinner. Then you’ll never hear from me again if you don’t want to.”
“Dinner,” Alex finally agrees. “As soon as the conference is over tonight. Send a car to pick me up at my hotel. I’ll go wherever you take me.”
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Yeah, you drew me that night
I saw love in your eyes but I didn't know how to begin
When I walked you to mine, promised we'd take our time
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
“Shut up, stop talking,” Alex says, shoving Henry into that stupid fucking credenza that Alex still remembers stubbing his toe against. Before Henry has a chance to apologize for maybe the fifteenth time in the last ten minutes, Alex shuts him up with a kiss. Heavy and desperate and frantic, Henry hardly has a chance to catch his breath before Alex is parting his lips; wide and welcoming. Quickly following his lead, Henry lets his jaw relax, allowing Alex to take and take and take as he drinks the quiet whimpers escaping Henry’s mouth.
“Need you,” Alex growls.
“Wha— I… yes, fuck, anything, Alex, anything.”
“Your bedroom still in the same place?”
Henry’s gasping, head tilted back to allow Alex easy access to the column of his throat. Alex is suckling at the skin, a moment so precious that he can’t imagine interrupting it. Mark me, Henry thinks. Mark me, leave the proof behind that you want me.
“Y-Yes,” he finally gasps out once Alex has finished his ministrations on his throat. “Second door on the right.”
Without so much as a warning, Alex scoops him up into his arms, carrying him as if his weight is nothing. (Henry’s not ashamed to admit that it really fucking works for him). With a yelp, Henry wraps his limbs around Alex, his brain swimming with arousal.
“Dreamt of this,” he admits, murmuring against Alex’s lips with a whine as the other man undresses both of them. “So many nights, I woke up… had to put a hand around myself just to start the day. I can’t… I can’t believe you’re really here. I can’t believe I get to feel you.”
Alex growls, roughly arranging Henry in the position he wants him in. Henry goes easily, melting beneath Alex’s touch willingly. “Yeah? You got off thinking about me? You had to fuck yourself because I couldn’t?”
Henry cries out in pleasure when Alex’s long, calloused fingers close around him.
“Bet your hand barely held up in comparison to mine. Or maybe you dreamt of my mouth. Of my cock filling you up…” Without warning, Alex sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh of his neck, his hot, wet tongue tracing Henry’s pulse point with each frantic throb of his heart. “I dreamt of you, too. Missed watching you blush, watching your eyes roll back in your head. God you’re so pretty spread out like this…”
“Wait, Alex, wait-“
Immediately, Alex pulls away. “What? Is something wrong?”
Instead of responding, Henry shoves Alex onto his back without a word. “No,” Henry says on an exhale, straddling Alex’s hips with two strong, steady thighs. “Nothing is wrong. It’s perfect, actually, I just… god, I need to ride you Alex. Please? Can I?”
And, well, what is Alex to do but hand Henry the lube and a condom, grip his thighs with white knuckles, and lose himself to the blinding pleasure of Henry sinking down around him.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
“We’ll talk more in the morning,” Henry had promised the night before, tugging his duvet over Alex’s shoulder. Alex - still the gentleman Henry remembers - had cleaned him up diligently. He‘d shuddered at the feeling of a soft cloth gently caressing his entrance, shivered as a different washcloth had traced the lines of his pleasure, erasing the proof of their night together. Henry mourned the loss, before bringing his fingers up to his throat, tracing the sensitive bruises Alex had left there. With a sigh, he let himself melt into sleep, going boneless the moment Alex wrapped his arms around him.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Brush it off with a shrug,
I don't know much about love
Still I give it a try now and then
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Henry wakes up slowly, a bone-deep feeling of exhaustion settled deep in his chest, tucked right next to the sense of contentment that could only come with knowing he’s touched Alex once more.
“Mm,” he hums, his hand feeling around for Alex’s familiar warmth next to him, and coming up… empty. Shooting upright, Henry searches the room frantically - he couldn’t have left, he wouldn’t have left; Alex is an infinitely better person than he is, so he wouldn’t have left, no matter how much Henry might deserve a taste of his own medicine. But god… the room is empty, and is the bed cold? He thinks it might still be a little warm, but maybe that’s wishful thinki—
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Alex says, waltzing through Henry’s bedroom door with two mugs in hand. “Thank god you’re up, I thought you were gonna make me do it for you, and you were looking so peaceful, but if I didn’t get caffeine soon I was gonna turn into a problem with a capital p.”
A breathless laugh escapes Henry’s lips, shaking his head at the site of a sleep-rumpled Alex. His lips are swollen from their activities the night before, his eyes are bright with a blinding smile, and the briefs he’d worn the night before are slung low on his hips.
So, basically, he looks like a fucking dream.
“Anyway, thank god you have an emergency stash of coffee, I made you some tea, too. And I took David out, by the way, while your tea was steeping, I’ve really missed that little guy, I think the feeling is mutual, but it might’ve just been because he remembers me sneaking him some bacon.”
“Alex,” Henry interrupts gently. “Christ, I’ve missed you so much.”
“Well that feeling I know is mutual,” Alex says, smirking as he hands Henry his mug. “So… what comes next?”
“I’m the one who hurt you,” Henry says sadly, lifting the duvet for Alex to rejoin him. “What do you want to come next?”
“I think I’d feel more comfortable if I knew what you were… willing to try.”
“Anything,” Henry blurts out; he doesn’t take a second to think because he doesn’t need to - not even a little bit. Henry knows he’ll take anything that Alex will give him. “Everything,” he continues. “I mean it, Alex, whatever you want from me, I’ll give it to you.”
Alex pulls his knees up, hugging his mug to his chest before he takes a thoughtful sip. “My sister thinks you’re an idiot,” he says, startling a laugh out of Henry’s chest.
“My sister would agree with her. As would Pez, actually.”
“She’d probably think I’m an idiot if I give you another chance.” All Henry hears is another chance before his brain briefly shuts down. “-be far from the first time she’s thought that of me, though,” Alex finishes with a laugh. He looks hesitant, reaching out to lace his fingers through Henry’s. “I want everything, too. I… I meant everything that I said back then. My future seems like it’s… had this place for you, maybe for as long as I can remember. And I thought… maybe after you left, I could just fit someone else into that space, but you’re the only person who’s gonna fit. I… I want it to be you. Whatever that looks like.”
Henry feels tears sting his eyes, and he blinks against the burning a few times before pulling Alex’s hand to his lips, peppering kisses up each of his fingers, his wrist, his forearm.
“God, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you. Yes. Yes, Alex, I want it to be you, too. It always has been, I was just… I was scared. I was so scared, and you are so, so brave. Let me be brave for us now.”
Alex nods, placing his empty mug on the bedside table before climbing into Henry’s lap. “I don’t know what comes next, but I don’t care to figure it all out right now. I’m here, you’re here, and you’re gonna have to drag me out of this bed kicking and screaming if you have any plans to leave between now and my flight on Monday.”
Henry grins, his hands sliding up Alex’s sides, leaning in to kiss his jaw gently. “Now where else would I possibly go?” He asks, nibbling on the skin behind Alex’s ear. “Cancel the last three days of your hotel,” he suggests. “Stay here instead.”
Alex’s head falls to the side, his grip tightening around Henry’s shoulders, when he finally breathes out - “Where else would I possibly go?”