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“Guys, maybe we should call it.”
Henry glances over at June, who is staring down at her phone with furrowed brows. She flicks her thumb over the screen, frowning.
“No,” Alex argues from next to him, that familiar and dangerous spark visible in his eyes. “We've had this trip booked for months, Bug, since before the Spring semester even started. No way we fucking cancel.”
“There’s a goddamn hurricane spinning in the Atlantic, Alex,” June replies, fixing him with an exasperated expression. “I think we have to at least consider it.”
Pez hums from where he is perched on the arm of the sofa. “What are the odds that it does a one-hundred and eighty degree turn in the opposite direction?”
“Perhaps if you ask nicely enough,” Henry suggests, dodging Pez’s attempt to smack him on the head.
“The consistency of these predictive models is absurd,” Bea says, also flipping through something on her phone with her lips pursed. “One has it missing our destination entirely, and the next one has it hitting us head on.”
“Meteorology can’t be a real fucking science,” June mutters quietly, chewing on her thumb nail.
“Do you suppose if we go and the storm hits us, we wind up on the news?” Pez asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s an unconventional way to achieve fame, but beggars can’t be choosers, so they say.”
“It wouldn’t be your first time on the news, Percy,” Henry reminds him.
“And we don’t speak of it, Haz,” Pez responds, eyes playfully narrowed. “Lest we also bring up your previous encounter with a—”
Henry slaps a hand over Pez’s mouth. “I’m begging you not to finish that sentence.”
Pez licks his palm, and Henry takes his hand back. “Then I suggest you zip your lips.”
“You gotta tell me about Pez being on the fucking news,” Alex whispers, knocking his elbow into Henry’s forearm. “How have I never heard that story before?”
“Don’t you dare, Henry George Edward James.”
“If you’re going to take the time to say all his middle names,” Alex says, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumps into the sofa cushions. “You might as well add the last names, too.”
“I believe in efficiency, Alexander.” Pez grins. “The middle names are the minimal requirements for him to bloody listen.”
Alex looks back at Henry with a raised brow, and Henry presses his lips together, shaking his head.
“Goddamnit,” Alex mutters, sticking his tongue out in Pez’s direction.
June rolls her eyes. “Can we please get back to discussing this massive fucking hurricane threatening our vacation plans?”
“Oh, it's a Category Two at most.” Nora plops down on the sofa on Alex's other side, a fistful of sour gummy worms clutched in her hand. “They aren't even evacuating the town or anything, you fucking pussies.”
“Thank you!” Alex exclaims, shifting toward Henry to give Nora room. “I knew someone would have my back.”
Henry moves his shoulder in Alex's direction until they touch, subtly melting into Alex's warmth while he has the opportunity. It’s a habit, an unconscious response to Alex’s gravitational pull. He is Henry’s own personal sun, and Henry knows he’ll be perpetually caught within Alex’s orbit.
He doesn’t particularly mind.
“I have your back,” Henry tells him quietly, smiling when Alex leans his weight into Henry's side.
Alex returns his smile. “You always do, sweetheart.”
“And it'll be the fucking end of you, probably,” June says, narrowing her eyes in Henry's direction as though she sees right through him.
“Til death do us fucking part,” Alex muses with a faux salute, completely unaware that his words have rendered Henry's heart incapable of beating.
He doesn’t mean it that way, but Henry can’t breathe, all the same.
“Anyway,” Pez deflects to Henry's relief, gesturing to the room of their friends. “What do we do, loves? It does seem risky.”
Henry watches Alex's face as the group continues to discuss pros and cons, the way his eyes move to and fro as everyone speaks, his slight frown every time someone insinuates they cancel the trip.
Alex has been looking forward to getting away for months—Henry has watched his roommate nearly drive himself mad to finish his second year of law school, barely sleeping and needing phone reminders to eat meals.
Henry kept track the best that he could, bringing Alex takeaway or snacks or water often enough to keep his best friend alive as he worked. Alex would always flash Henry that devastatingly beautiful smile—the first part of Alex that Henry fell in love with all those years ago—and thank him so genuinely that affection wound tightly around Henry’s heart.
Now, the smile Henry adores is nowhere to be found as they split entirely down the middle in voting on what to do: Nora, Alex, and himself insist the trip can continue while Bea, Pez, and June think canceling is the proper choice.
Alex huffs as June points out that none of them would be particularly well-equipped to deal with a hurricane—even the Texas-born among them rarely experienced harsh storms prior to moving to New York. A lot of the fight seems to drain out of Alex as they go around and around debating, and his curls tickle the underside of Henry's jaw when he leans his cheek on Henry's shoulder.
It makes Henry’s lungs ache with a breath that he holds for too long, desperately trying not to move so as not to disturb Alex. He doesn’t want to lose that touch too soon, if he can help it.
At this stage, Henry is accustomed to Alex's particular brand of affection—physical and unconscious and nearly constant. He acts the same way with all of their other friends, too. Nora's feet are tucked underneath Alex's thigh at the same time that Alex's weight is warm against Henry.
In the early months of their friendship, Henry thought that perhaps Alex's frequent touches were evidence of something else. Alex would stretch his legs across Henry's lap as they watched television or link their arms while they walked on the sidewalk, and Henry would wonder if his feelings weren't unrequited, after all.
But then nothing ever came of it.
Their friendship morphed into something strong and genuine, a steady hand that Henry could cling to when he needed support. His fondness settled into all of his crevices, as much a part of him as the hair on his head or his love for Jane Austen.
He simply cannot act on it.
Alex is too important, too integral, to risk losing entirely if Henry’s feelings are too heavy for him to carry.
Henry would sooner cut off his limbs than have his offered heart be their undoing.
So, he sinks into Alex's touches, offers every bit of himself that Alex will take.
And he loves, and he loves, and he loves.
It is as constant as it is unstoppable, a force as strong as the ways of nature itself. The tide cycles, the sun rises, the earth rotates on its axis, and Henry loves Alex.
He always will.
Even when Alex is stubborn and animated, when his brow is furrowed and mouth twisted in displeasure, when he grins at Henry with a hint of mischief sparkling in his dark, enchanting eyes.
Especially then.
“Shoot,” June says suddenly, shaking her head. “The AirBnb isn't refundable within seventy-two hours, which was… eight hours ago.”
Alex sits up, fingertips reaching to grasp at Henry’s knee. “Perfect, so we're going.”
“Is the choice between losing our money and losing our lives?” Bea asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Don't be dramatic, Bea,” Henry says, earning her glare.
“Right,” Alex agrees, bumping their elbows. “It'll be fine. I bet the storm doesn't even fucking hit us.”
The storm hits them.
They're able to get in one good day at the beach, only going knee deep in the water as a yellow warning flag flies and warns of rip currents.
It begins raining on the afternoon of their second full day, a downpour so tumultuous that it's difficult to see the yard of the house they're staying in through the windows. The hurricane is a Category One, and they're far enough inland that storm surge isn't a concern, but June still has endless “I told you so"s to pass around as they sit in the living area and watch The Weather Channel.
Alex stares at the rain pouring down in sheets outside as someone on the television offers an update on wind speeds and pressure, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze is so intense, it almost seems as though he is attempting to telekinetically get the storm to cease.
“Well. Great vacation, guys,” Alex deadpans, glancing over at Henry with pursed lips.
June groans. “Alex, shut—and I mean this as disrespectfully as possible—the fuck up.”
“I don’t think that mode is an option in his current settings,” Nora mutters, quickly returning the middle finger that Alex aims in her direction.
“It’s almost as though the storm wound up aiming directly for us at the last minute,” Bea says, tilting her head at the television as it showcases a moving radar.
“Maybe it was aiming for this fucking guy,” Nora interjects, pointing the remote in accusation. “Jim Cantaloupe or whatever. He’s apparently at the beach that we’re fifteen minutes from.”
“Cantore,” Henry tells her.
Nora wrinkles her nose at him. “What?”
“His last name.” He clears his throat, looking over to find Alex regarding him with amused eyes. “It’s Cantore.”
“I like Cantaloupe, actually,” Alex says, sighing as he folds his legs to sit down on the floor. “Somehow it feels more fucking fitting.”
“I concur,” Nora mutters.
“Well.” Pez frowns. “Looks like Alex was quite wrong about where the storm would hit.”
“It’s not my fucking fault we got hit by a hurricane.”
“Perhaps not,” Pez says, holding up his hands. “But if our friend Nicholas is any indication, your predictive skills could use some… work.”
“I thought his name was Jim,” Bea muses, her brow furrowed.
“The hurricane, darling,” Pez clarifies. “Its name is Nicholas.”
Alex bumps his head back into the wall behind him, the thudding sound making Henry wince. Silently, Henry crosses the room to sit down next to him. Alex immediately scoots closer, shooting Henry a devastating pout.
Henry’s instinct is to press a kiss to the furrowed skin of Alex’s forehead. He digs his fingernail into the palm of his hand to control the desire.
“Sorry about the weather, love,” Henry whispers, only loud enough for them to hear.
Alex exhales a heavy breath, and some of the tension that Henry can feel where their bodies touch dissipates. It makes him want to lean into Alex more, to offer whatever comfort he can in any way possible.
“‘S okay,” Alex says, nudging him gently. “Just ruins my plan of trying to drown you in the ocean.”
“You were planning on drowning me?” Henry smiles at him. “And after all of this time. I’m completely taken aback.”
Alex’s answering grin is breathtaking. “I was playing the long game.”
“Well.” Henry glances over at the rain hitting the window. “I suppose I could still drown, with this downpour and the ocean churning only a few miles away. I imagine it wouldn’t be too difficult, if you’re still up for the task.”
“Eh,” Alex sounds, curling his knees up to his chest. “Too risky for me. My fans would be fucking devastated if anything happened to me.”
Henry hums. “So I live to see another day.”
“Just wait til this fucking storm passes, baby.”
Warmth blooms in Henry’s chest at Alex’s open fondness, followed immediately by a familiar, sharp ache. No matter how thoroughly he habituates himself to the dual feelings that plague him every time Alex shows platonic affection, Henry can’t quite escape the way it always momentarily overwhelms him.
“Hey, Alejandro,” Nora calls suddenly, peeling herself off of the sofa. “Do you wanna help me track down the flashlights and candles that apparently exist somewhere in this godforsaken hurricane-magnet of a haunted house?”
The house creaks in response, and Nora narrows her eyes toward the ceiling.
Alex wraps his arms around his shins. “I’m chill, actually.”
“Have your limbs ceased functioning in the last hour?”
“All extremities completely intact and operating, actually,” Alex retorts, arching an eyebrow at her. “I just don’t want to.”
“So you’re being purposefully unhelpful?”
“Yep.”
“Have you considered that at this rate, I’ll be responsible for the nursing home you wind up in?”
“Uh, one, fuck you,” Alex says, glaring. “And two, bold of you to assume that you won’t need assisted living before I do.”
“I’m immortal and invincible,” Nora argues.
“You have no evidence for that.”
Nora smirks. “I don’t need it.”
“I’m not fucking moving.”
“And I know why.”
Alex narrows his eyes at her. Nora considers him in silence, and Henry gets the distinct impression that there is some piece of information that he isn't privy to. They keep their gazes locked for a long moment, completely still, until Nora grins as though she’s won something.
“Fine. Bea, babe?” Nora finally releases Alex from her gaze. “Wanna help me find some light sources?”
Bea glances at Henry and Alex as she agrees, and there’s something strange in her expression as well.
The difference, of course, is that Bea knows of Henry’s affections.
Henry averts his eyes and watches the television adamantly to avoid giving too much of himself away, but Nora and Bea wander off down a hall while Alex stays glued to his side.
So Henry can’t really complain about his circumstances.
“How likely is it that the power actually goes out?” Pez asks when they return, holding a few candles and two heavy duty torches.
In response, the lights flicker.
“I’d say pretty fucking likely,” June says, collapsing into an arm chair.
Another blink of the lights places them temporarily in darkness before the room becomes illuminated again.
“Third time’s the fucking charm, I bet,” Alex mutters, shifting closer to Henry.
On cue, the lights dim, flash once, and go out again. This time, they do not come back on.
Alex’s hand grabs Henry’s wrist in the pitch black, a quick and fleeting grip. It’s almost as if, even though they’re in direct contact, he was reassuring himself that Henry was still next to him in the dark.
He lets go almost immediately, and Henry can feel the heat of that touch lingering on his skin as June curses.
“I’m never letting other people make a decision again,” she grumbles.
But Pez laughs, big and loud and energetic. “Well, maybe Alexander’s clairvoyance is better than I originally thought. He called it.”
“That’s easy to fucking anticipate,” Nora retorts from somewhere to Henry’s left. “It requires no actual predictive ability.”
“Well.” A small beam of light clicks on, and Henry can see the outline of Bea in the shadows. “Now what?”
Another light illuminates the space, and now Nora is grinning at Alex again, wide and sinister in the yellow glow of the torch. “Oh, I have an excellent idea.”
“We’re so fucking doing this.”
“Truth or dare isn’t meant for adults over the age of twenty-two,” June dissents.
“We are in a powerless AirBnb lit with candles in the middle of a goddamn hurricane,” Nora says, shaking her head at June. “What do you propose we do?”
Henry glances to his left at Alex, assuming that he’ll have an idea. Instead, Alex is sitting quietly and observing everyone else. He catches Henry watching him, turning his head and raising a teasing eyebrow.
And Henry’s breath gets caught in his lungs.
Alex is beautiful.
He always is, always has been.
When they first met, Henry was so beside himself with attraction that he stumbled over his words and then walked away without allowing Alex to say anything. Alex claims that he spent over a month thinking that Henry was either stuck up or hated him, and neither were even a resemblance of the truth. Henry often thinks of that month as wasted time, days that he wasn’t able to know Alex the way that he knows him now, weeks that they lost because he was rendered useless at first sight.
Henry likes to think he’s learned to live with the restless burn in his chest that kindles every time he looks at Alex. Still, there are times where the sight of Alex causes a stutter of his heartbeat, a scrambling of his brain that leaves him unable to speak.
Tonight, with Alex’s golden skin awash in the warm glow of the candles surrounding them, is unmistakably one of those times.
In this light, with his eyelashes casting a shadow on his sharp cheekbones and his curls practically glimmering, Alex Claremont-Diaz looks like a miracle.
Henry finds himself at a loss for words as Alex considers him, curious and unspeaking, for so long that Henry begins to get lightheaded from a lack of oxygen. He needs to inhale, to find a way to break their visual connection before he passes out.
Alex’s gaze drops to Henry’s lips, so quickly that Henry wonders if he imagined it.
“Alright, so we’re playing Truth or Dare.”
At Nora’s announcement, the moment breaks as they both turn to look at her.
Henry breathes.
As everyone moves closer to the center of the room without any further argument, Henry thinks that it was risky to spend that long letting himself look into the sun.
Alex is his best friend, but Henry knows there are parts of him that are untouchable and out of reach. He spends so much of his time reflecting on those stark differences between himself and Alex, his own ordinariness and Alex’s beauty and charm and goodness, all of which would rival that of celestials.
Perhaps that is why Henry is so enamored, so steadfast in his affection for someone unattainable. The divine was meant to be cherished and worshipped, not tainted by unworthy hands.
Perhaps Alex is like Orion up above, an entity that Henry can find and admire with his eyes but never touch.
Mortals were never meant to have unfettered access to the stars.
He understands it.
He tries to accept it.
“Standard rules, I presume?” Pez asks, leaning back on his hands and grinning over at Henry.
“Sure,” Nora says, smirking at Alex.
Henry has a bad feeling about all of this, all of a sudden. He's had a few drinks—they all have other than Bea—and every single one of those beverages turns uncomfortably in Henry's stomach.
“Who will begin?” Bea poses excitedly, and Nora shrugs one shoulder.
“I'll go.” She fixes Alex with an absolutely lethal look. “Alex. Truth or dare?”
“You fucking scare me,” Alex says.
Nora's grin only widens. “Good. Answer the fucking question.”
Alex pauses, then says, “Truth.”
“Interesting play,” Nora muses. “But okay. Answer this: have you ever seen Henry naked and, if so, what did you think?”
Henry nearly chokes on his own saliva.
Bea whines. “Could we not?”
“Too late,” Pez points out, tilting his head at Alex. “Answer the question.”
“It was two questions,” Alex argues, his knee bouncing. “That’s against the rules.”
“Answer the second one then.”
Henry looks over at June, who seems suddenly invested in their game. She meets his gaze with a twisted smile and soft eyes, like she knows.
“I don't know if it's fair to—”
Nora interrupts him. “Answer, Alex. That's the game.”
Alex shoots her his middle finger. “The answer is no, anyway. Shirtless is the most indecent I've ever seen him.”
Henry pointedly does not look at Alex, taking a long sip of his beer that almost doesn’t move down his throat the way it’s supposed to.
Because it's a lie.
There was one time.
It wasn’t long after they moved in together, when Henry finished a late night shower and assumed that Alex was asleep. He walked out into their kitchen for a snack in his towel only for Alex to be sitting in the living room, watching the television at the lowest volume.
Henry jumped, startled at Alex’s presence.
And his towel had… fallen.
It was quick, Henry snatched it back up immediately and secured it. Alex flushed in the dark and averted his eyes, apologizing even though he did nothing wrong. Henry went back into his room to put on clothes and didn’t re-emerge, his midnight craving for something sweet vanishing.
The embarrassment threatened to bury him alive as he lay awake that night, but the next morning, Alex smiled at him as if nothing happened.
So they never talked about it.
But it did happen.
Alex definitely saw… everything.
Didn’t he?
Henry is fairly certain.
He just has no idea why Alex would feel the need to lie.
Alex continues the game, asking June how many girls she’s kissed when she chooses truth for her turn.
“Three,” she says with a smirk. “And two of them are in this room.”
“Ooh, bonus content!” Pez sings, grinning widely. “I’ve forgotten how fun this game can be.”
Nora and Bea both flush, but June turns quickly to Henry.
“Truth or dare?”
Henry picks what he hopes will be the safer option.“Truth.”
There’s a sparkle in June’s eye, not unlike the one that Henry loves when it’s in Alex’s gaze. It’s in these moments when June gets her mind set on something she wants that the siblings seem the most similar—driven and persistent and unwilling to take no for an answer.
It makes Henry’s throat feel tight.
“Who are you the most attracted to in this room?”
Henry’s immediate reaction is fear, sharp and heavy as it pierces his chest. June absolutely has seen through Henry and knows his feelings. Perhaps she is curious or intends to make it clear that Henry isn’t welcome to pine over her younger brother by forcing Henry’s hand in some silly game.
Alex is watching him closely, like he’s interested in the answer, but Henry has to protect his heart the best he can.
So, he considers June for a moment and shrugs. “Considering my limited options here as a gay man and my perpetual lack of attraction to Pez—”
“You would think I resent that,” Pez cuts in, smirking. “But I know it’s not personal, darling.”
“—it would clearly be Alex.”
Alex squints at him. “So I win by fucking default?”
Henry can feel his cheeks getting warm. “I didn’t say that, I only meant—”
“He’s going to get a complex about this,” Nora says. “And we just got him weaned off of the mirror affirmations.”
“They’re helpful,” Alex whines.
“I only meant that—”
“Your turn, Henry,” Bea interjects quickly, as if she could sense the spiral starting and wanted to help stop it. “Pick someone.”
He chooses Pez, who selects dare and leaves Henry utterly lost in picking a task. Alex leans in and whispers an option in his ear, his breath warm and making shivers race down Henry’s spine when it brushes the skin of his neck.
“I dare you—” Henry glances at Alex, who grins reassuringly. “To do a body shot out of Nora’s… bellybutton.”
Bea’s eyes widen in delight, and Pez howls with laughter, standing immediately and grabbing the bottle of tequila sitting on the coffee table.
“Dearest Nora, may I?” Pez requests.
Nora tugs up the hem of her shirt where she’s sitting on the chaise, making Pez get on his knees to complete his dare. But everyone whoops as Pez licks a shot of tequila from the dip in Nora’s abdomen, and Alex bumps his shoulder into Henry’s.
When Henry looks over, Alex wiggles his eyebrows as Pez asks Bea to pick her poison. It’s as if they’ve successfully gotten away with some con, the way Alex’s face is lit up and satisfied. It doesn’t seem particularly momentous from Henry’s perspective.
He isn’t sure why Alex is so thrilled.
But he also is hopeless to do anything but smile back at him.
“Great dare, Henry.”
Henry rolls his eyes. “You're a nuisance.”
Alex winks at him, and Henry has to look away to avoid doing something silly.
The body shot begins a pattern.
Within the next three rounds, Nora details her most enjoyable experience going down on a girl, Bea smacks a kiss onto June's lips, and Henry is asked to reveal the most scandalous location he's ever made love.
Bottles continue to be passed around as they giggle, even as the escalating indecency of truths and dares makes something itchy get stuck beneath Henry's sternum.
And he was right to be concerned.
On Nora's next turn, she looks to Alex.
“Truth or dare, ACD.”
Henry thinks he sees Alex glance at him before he answers, “Dare.”
“I dare you…” Nora pauses dramatically. “To sit on Henry's lap for the rest of the game.”
Alex’s eyes flash with something Henry can’t place. Perhaps his brain has simply ceased function due to the absurdity of Nora’s suggestion. For a moment, he envisions Alex curled into his lap for a prolonged period, the curve of his arse near Henry’s—
His body reacts almost automatically to the imagined contact.
The real thing may kill him.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Alex deflects, scratching his fingernail over his knee in circles.
“Please, have you seen his thighs?” Nora pushes back, seemingly very adamant in her selection.
Part of Henry hopes that Alex’s complaints will result in Nora rescinding the dare and choosing a new path. It hasn’t happened thus far in their game, but surely if Alex complains enough, it’ll work.
The other part of Henry wonders why Alex doesn’t want to.
It could be because Alex doesn’t think Henry’s lap would be very cozy.
It could be because Alex doesn’t want to make Henry uncomfortable.
It could be because the idea of sitting in Henry’s lap makes Alex uneasy.
Alex hesitates. “Nora—”
“Are you going to follow the rules of the game, Alex?” Nora tilts her head. “Or are you scared?”
“I’m not scared,” Alex says, jaw clenching in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “But I’m not doing it without consent.”
Five pairs of eyes turn in Henry’s direction, all waiting on his verdict. Henry knows that if he says yes, it’ll make the rest of the game difficult. He’ll have to keep his emotions and attraction in check, and there is a very high likelihood that he’ll fail that task. Plus, depending on how noticeable that failure is, it could give him and his affections away to June and Nora, who might already know.
But they might not.
Saying no, however, may incriminate him even more. He doesn’t have a good excuse that doesn’t involve him confessing that the idea of having Alex in his lap is devastating to both his sexual fantasies and his heart.
So, he shrugs even with his heart caught in his throat. “It’s fine with me, love.”
Alex looks surprised.
He blinks a few times, searching Henry’s expression as the corners of his lips turn down. “Yeah?”
Henry adjusts, stretching his legs out in front of him and patting his thighs.
“Come on then,” he says, giving what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “The sanctity of truth or dare depends on it.”
Alex’s lips quirk back upward, a barely contained smile. “Well, we wouldn’t want to sully the reputation of fucking truth or dare.”
“Exactly.”
It takes a second for Alex to crawl over his lap, settling himself across Henry’s thighs. He feels a bit unstable, and Henry wraps a shaky arm around his waist to hold him steady. Alex slides his arm around Henry’s shoulder as he relaxes, resting his cheek against Henry’s temple.
Henry can’t see him, but he knows that Alex is shooting the rest of the room an obnoxious grin.
“Cozy,” Bea comments, her smile crooked.
“I know it isn’t possible,” Pez says, sighing. “But your children would be absolutely stunning.”
Nora hums her agreement. “Give me a few years. I’ll find a way.”
Henry’s forced chuckle sounds odd compared to Alex’s vibrant laugh, but if anyone notices, they don’t comment on it. Instead, Alex solicits Pez for an embarrassing uni story as the game continues.
Alex relaxes into his arms as they go around again, and Henry can’t help that he leans into that warmth. He rests his cheek against Alex’s shoulder, the material soft underneath his skin, and inhales.
There’s a slight fragrance of booze clinging to Alex’s body, but underneath it all, Henry can pick out the scents that are more Alex—something vaguely herby mixed with sandalwood, a hint of leather.
It may be Henry’s favorite smell in the world.
He takes another slow inhale of that comforting scent. It’s difficult to put a finger on why it feels this way, but Alex Claremont-Diaz has always smelled like peace.
Henry can’t count the number of times over the years that he’s felt as though the walls were closing in on him, only for Alex to pull him in unprompted. He always knows that if he presses his nose into Alex’s hair, into his throat, into his shoulder, he’ll be met with that unmistakable scent of Alex. He thinks he could find it blindfolded in a crowded room.
Within the safety of Alex’s arms, Henry always finds the space he needs to breathe.
Now, even with his dignity precariously balanced in a room of their friends, Henry breathes in that comfort and thinks that Alex being in his lap isn’t actually the worst thing.
But then Pez dares Nora to kiss June.
They both seem to stumble a bit through the process, which makes Alex’s brow furrow adorably even as he wrinkles his nose. He shifts on Henry’s lap, closer to his body, which puts the swell of his arse in direct contact with Henry’s groin.
His body reacts instantly, as on edge as it already was with Alex this close.
It’s all Henry can do to keep his breathing normal as Alex wiggles a bit, like he’s trying to get comfortable. He knows that Alex must be able to feel Henry beneath him, growing increasingly hard in his trousers.
Pez is poking fun at Nora and June, who are both flushed, and Henry is trying his best not to move so that he doesn’t further embarrass himself.
Maybe if he can reverse course here, they’ll never have to talk about it.
He tries to think of his Gran, of Bea, of anything other than the perfect, tight bottom pressed into his lap.
Nora rolls her eyes and turns to the room, considering. Her eyes land on Henry, flick to Alex. Henry swears he sees a lightbulb come on over her head.
He doesn’t even have time to fear that sudden shift before she says, “Henry, truth or dare.”
“You have to do a dare, mate,” Pez says, raising his cocktail glass. “Doing truth the entire bloody game is such a bore.”
“I agree, Pez,” Nora concurs, her lips curling. “What an excellent suggestion.”
A sharp gust of wind rattles the walls, whistling ominously.
And Henry feels backed into a corner when he speaks. “Sure. Dare.”
Nora grins. “I dare you to kiss Alex.”
Henry’s heart stops.
Alex rolls his eyes, like their friends are just being nuisances and not the bane of Henry’s entire dreadful existence. He turns toward Henry, grinning and shaking his head.
For a moment, Henry considers letting it happen.
He may never get another opportunity to taste Alex’s kiss, to know what it might feel like if his feelings were returned. It wouldn’t be real, but perhaps for a few seconds, he could pretend that it is.
It may shatter him, to understand fully what he will never have.
He could let himself have it, though, for a fleeting instant.
But then Alex lifts one shoulder and says, “I’m down, if you’re cool with it.”
Henry’s blood runs cold, and his mind clears.
I’m down.
It’s all just a game to him, truly.
Of course it is, but if Henry were to let Alex kiss him here, with it meaning nothing, Henry wouldn’t recover. He wouldn’t be truly experiencing Alex’s kiss, not the way he wants it. This press of lips would be a counterfeit, a tipsy forgery that Henry would never be able to wash from his memory.
He can’t.
“Actually, I need to—” He pushes gently at Alex’s hips.
Alex topples backward, landing on his elbows in the carpet. It’s enough for Henry to slip from underneath his legs, to stand and bolt from the room before anyone can ask any questions.
He hears Alex mutter, “What the fuck?” as he exits.
As if Henry has offended him by not playing the game.
He’ll find a way to apologize later, feign illness or whatever he needs to do in order to convince Alex that it wasn’t personal even though it was entirely personal.
But right now, Alex is drunk, and Henry can’t breathe, and the storm is still beating against the walls of the house.
Morbidly, Henry wishes it would blow him away.
The stairs are tucked around a corner through the kitchen, and the carpet is soft underneath Henry when he sits down. It’s a direct contrast to the harsh pounding on the inside of his head.
He wishes he could blame it on the alcohol soaking into his bloodstream, but Henry knows his limits well enough to know that he is merely tipsy at worst.
His headache has another source entirely.
Rubbing his fingers into the corners of his eyes, Henry sighs.
He feels as though he's given his innermost thoughts away, his feelings left out on display in the living area that he's just hastily vacated. All of that thought put into how to best protect his heart, and all it took was a single dare for it to all be washed away.
They could be speaking of him now, whispering amongst themselves about his pitiful heart and woeful dreams.
Underneath his mortification and misery, there is the strangest sense of relief tickling around the edges of his awareness. He knows that there won’t be any going back from this—there is no denying the truth of what’s occurred.
Refusing to kiss Alex and running at the mere idea feels particularly damning.
Yet, he can’t help think that at least he won’t have to live a lie any longer. It’s always been heavy on his shoulders, his half-kept secret. He’s needed to be careful, always aware of how he acts or speaks in regard to Alex.
Maybe now, no matter what the outcome winds up being, those days can be behind him. He’ll have to face Alex, perhaps. He thinks being honest and promising Alex that it won’t impact their friendship could work out positively. If Alex can look past it, then the future might not be so bleak.
Henry is trying to come up with a way to face the crowd again, mentally examining potential avenues of conversation and how he could respond, when Alex finds him.
Without saying a word, Alex sits next to him on the narrow staircase. Their bodies touch at the elbows, at the hips, at the knees, firm but comforting.
In the silence, the storm seems louder as it rages on outside.
“Does everyone hate me for ruining the game?” Henry asks quietly.
Alex nudges his shoulder gently, but he doesn’t move away after the movement, keeping their arms pressed together. “They’ve already forgotten, sweetheart. Nora was doing a body shot out of June’s collarbone when I left, which is… Yeah, we might have to figure out what’s going on there.”
Despite himself, Henry chuckles. “I think we know what’s going on there, darling.”
Alex shudders. “I don’t think I’m drunk enough to think about it.”
“You’re certainly drunk enough,” Henry says before he can think better of it, and Alex stills beside him.
“Is… is that why you wouldn’t kiss me?” His voice is low. “Because I'm a little drunk?”
Henry swallows, his teeth clicking as he tries to keep the words in his throat trapped behind them. But he has just enough alcohol lingering in his system that it loosens his tongue and numbs his lips, and when he opens his mouth, something resembling the truth tumbles out.
“That’s only one reason.”
“You're not sober either, you know,” Alex grumbles, glaring at his kneecaps.
“It doesn't cancel out,” Henry tells him. “It's not a mathematical equation.”
Alex pouts, which makes Henry's stomach swoop aggressively. “PEMDAS has failed me again.”
“I'll be sure to find and tell your maths teacher all of your grievances.”
“I’m really not that fucking drunk,” Alex argues. Henry can see him carefully considering the floor in his peripheral vision, frowning. “But you said that's one reason. What else?”
Henry hums. “I don't think it's worth hashing out when, as previously established, we're both a bit inebriated.”
“Inebriated,” Alex enunciates, chuckling before his expression sobers. “Is it… Is the idea of kissing me that… repulsive?”
“No!” Henry responds immediately, instinctually. The idea of Alex thinking any part of him is undesirable cannot stand. “No, love. It’s the opposite, actually.”
“You… want to kiss me?”
Henry really shouldn’t admit it. “Of course I do.”
“Why wouldn’t you, then?” Alex asks, picking at a stray fabric on his jeans. “Other than maybe me being a little drunk?”
“Because.”
“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart.”
Henry knows he’ll regret this in the morning, but a dam has opened in his chest, and he feels powerless to stop the flow of his words.
“Because I… I think if I were to ever kiss you,” Henry says, throat tight. “I would… want it to matter.”
In the lingering silence between them, there is a loud crack of thunder. It reverberates through the structure of the house, making the foundation itself feel as though it's rattling from the rumble.
“Henry.”
His name sounds so beautiful like that, a whisper on Alex's tongue. Alex says his name, and Henry wonders if everyone else has said it incorrectly his entire life.
But he can't read that tone, husky and low and terrifying.
He keeps his eyes on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.
“Henry,” Alex repeats, barely above a whisper. “Sweetheart.”
A gentle hand coaxes his gaze up, Alex’s fingertips on the line of his jaw. When Henry looks at him, he’s closer than he was before, leaning toward Henry as if he—
“Alex.”
Alex’s throat moves as he swallows, and then their noses brush. “Henry.”
God, Henry is going to die if Alex says his name like that again.
But at the moment, Henry can’t move, frozen in place by Alex’s touch and proximity. His next breath is shallow and shaky, his entire body feeling wound tight and unraveled all at once.
“What are you doing?” Henry asks.
When Alex speaks, Henry can feel the ghost of Alex’s breath against his lips.
“Kissing you,” Alex whispers. “And it fucking matters.”
And then, true to his word, Alex kisses him.
Alex's mouth covers his, warm and soft and perfect. Henry whimpers before he can stop himself, his hand coming up to grasp at Alex's shoulder as his eyelids flutter closed.
Henry opens his mouth, Alex's lips sliding against his as their tongues brush. Alex inhales sharply, and then he is kissing Henry with a new vigor that has Henry grasping desperately at messy curls, at strong arms, terrified that if he lets go, he'll free fall to his death.
Only, Alex's hold on him is firm.
Perhaps Henry wouldn't fall at all.
It feels like a new layer of Alex that Henry hadn't yet discovered, the thorough way that he kisses. As Henry gets lost in the press of Alex's lips and the swipe of his tongue, feeling as though he is being consumed, he understands that nothing in his soul will ever be the same.
Henry settles into Alex's touch, into the sweetness of his kiss. It's the only place meant for him, the only place he ever wants to be.
Alex looks like a miracle.
Alex smells like Henry’s peace.
But he tastes like home.
Alex pulls away first, his inhale sharp as he clings to the side of Henry's face.
Henry has to ask. “It matters?”
“So fucking much,” Alex breathes. “To me, anyway.”
“I've been in love with you for years,” Henry blurts, cringing at himself. “I'm afraid I might be dreaming, actually.”
He can feel Alex's smile when he says, “I'm very real, promise.”
Henry surges forward to crush their mouths together again, taking the permission that he's been granted and letting it guide him. Alex moans softly against his lips, their hands moving and exploring.
It's deeper and hotter this time, heaving pants and probing tongues leaving Henry feeling lightheaded as they kiss.
“Fuck, that's addicting,” Alex says, tugging gently on Henry's hair. “How am I supposed to stop kissing you when it's like that?”
“Perhaps you don't,” Henry muses, opening his eyes to find Alex watching him with a wide smile. “Historians will say we were really wonderful friends when they find our attached corpses in a few hundred years.”
“Not untrue,” Alex replies, the sparkle in his eyes nearly blinding. “But we're more than that. Aren't we?”
Henry hums. “What would you like us to be?”
Alex blinks up at him, shrugging one shoulder. “Everything.”
“Okay,” Henry agrees. “Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
“Yes,” Henry says in a hushed tone. “Anything.”
Henry feels the heat of Alex's gaze as it trails over him. “You know I liked what I saw, right?”
Henry frowns. “What?”
“When… that night when your towel fell.” Alex’s thumb brushes against his cheekbone. “I liked what I saw. It was… what solidified in my head that I was bisexual, actually.”
“I… really?”
Alex groans a little, his eyes hazy. “A thousand fucking percent.”
“You lied, though,” Henry says, bumping their noses. “That’s against the rules.”
Alex clicks his tongue. “Well, they don’t need to know everything, do they?”
“I suppose not,” Henry allows, kissing him again. “They’ll suspect this, though.”
“They will,” Alex agrees, and Henry wishes he could taste every word that falls off of Alex's lips. “But we can tell them tomorrow.”
“Are we not going back in there?”
“It’s probably descended into chaos,” Alex says, his thumb sweeping across Henry’s cheekbone. “And I really want to take you upstairs, if it’s okay with you.”
“Ah,” Henry murmurs. “And what are we doing upstairs?”
“Whatever you want,” Alex tells him. “Whatever you’ll let me have.”
“A game of scrabble, perhaps.”
Alex laughs, ducking his head. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“You already have all of me, love,” Henry admits in a whisper. “You always have.”
“So let’s go.” Alex smiles. “We can catch up with everyone else tomorrow.”
Henry murmurs his concurrence as their lips press together again.
Tomorrow sounds good.
Tonight can be only theirs.
Henry wakes up to Alex curled around his back, his nose buried between Henry’s shoulder blades. Warm fingers are splayed across his bare abdomen, Alex’s other hand somewhere beneath the pillows under their heads.
There is a moment, during which the sleep is still clinging to his consciousness, that Henry thinks he is dreaming.
He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the vision to stay, for the smell of Alex to continue permeating the air through his nostrils as he lets himself imagine that this is real.
When he opens his eyes, nothing changes.
Alex's body is still solid behind his back, tiny puffs of air brushing the skin between Henry's shoulder blades.
Sunshine is coming in through the window, no sign of the storm that plagued them well into the night to be found.
It was real, though.
Henry shifts, sliding his palm over the back of Alex's hand. Alex stirs, humming appreciatively as his hips hitch toward Henry under the sheet.
And oh, right.
Definitely not a dream, then.
Alex's mouth presses sweetly to the back of Henry's neck. “Good morning, baby.”
“Good morning,” Henry says, rolling over.
Alex blinks at him, cheek squished against the pillow. “I was very comfortable like that, you know.”
Henry pushes a rogue curl away from Alex's face. “Part of you was.”
“I was thinking…” Alex's grin is wicked. “Wondering if you would let me slide your leg up enough to slip into you from behind like that. I figured you might even still be soft from last night, easy to open back up so I can fuck you.”
Henry's brain short circuits. “Oh. I could… I suppose I could turn back around.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Maybe in a second.”
He kisses Henry softly, morning breath and all, like all of it is inconsequential to him as long as he gets to slide their lips together. The press of his mouth is as awe-inspiring as it was the night before, and Henry slips a leg between Alex's thighs to bring their bodies closer.
“So,” Alex whispers against Henry’s lips. “Lazy morning sex?”
“So needy,” Henry mumbles, but he's pressing forward all the same.
“For you,” Alex says. “Only for you.”
It's nearly an hour later that they pad downstairs, stopping as they round the corner to the kitchen and meet four pairs of curious eyes.
“Sleep well, darlings?” Pez asks, his grin wicked.
Henry's face warms significantly, but when he looks over at Alex, he's grinning widely, nearly childlike in his glee.
“Fucking stellar, actually, babes,” Alex says with an awful approximation of an English accent.
June and Bea both wrinkle their noses, but Nora slams a hand down onto the countertop.
“So it actually fucking worked?” she asks. “Sounds like someone is owed an apology.”
“You'll get nothing and like it,” Alex retorts, sticking out his tongue when Nora wags a finger at him.
“No, no. I told you it wouldn't take much even when you insisted nothing would work. You said that—”
“Does it really matter what I said?”
June smirks. “I think it was something like ‘Henry won't be swayed by anything you try to do because he doesn't feel the same way,’ if I remember correctly.”
“June, I swear to fucking—”
“That does sound about right,” Nora interrupts. “But also so, so wrong, like Alex tends to be.”
Henry touches Alex's wrist. “Could I be clued in to… whatever this is?
Nora grins. “A fucking beautiful masterpiece of a plan coming to fruition is what it is, Henry.”
“Will you—” Alex huffs, his cheeks flushing the most lovely shade of pink. “I told them not to do it. I begged them, I swear to you.”
“What are you talking about?” Henry asks, though he's already beginning to suspect the truth.
Alex rubs a hand over his face, wincing. “They found out that I’m, like, stupid in love with you about two weeks ago.”
“We already knew, you obvious fucking turnip,” Nora adds.
“Officially, then,” Alex says.
“Ah.” Henry nods, his suspicions confirmed. “And being who they are—”
“—absolute fucking menaces—”
“—they took matters into their own hands.”
“You’re welcome,” June says, grinning. “He was never going to be brave enough to make a move on his own. You should have seen him, all in love and pining, whining like a bitch on my living room floor—”
“I think that’s enough,” Alex cuts in. “What do you want?”
Nora steps up until she and Alex are nearly chest to chest. Even though she's craning her neck up to look at him, Alex is the one who looks terrified.
“What I want is simple, Alejandro.”
“Jesus,” Alex breathes, eyes wide. “What?”
Nora smirks. “Tell me that I was right, and that I'm the smartest person you know.”
“It was a group effort,” Alex tries.
“She was the mastermind, though,” Bea says. “We followed her lead.”
Alex doesn't look away from Nora as he responds, “Bea, I hoped you would be on my side.”
Henry leans in carefully. “Love, I'm not even sure I'm on your side.”
“She's chaotic, not dangerous.”
Nora arches an eyebrow. “Do you really want to test that theory?”
“Fine,” Alex seethes. “You were right. Turns out he's in love with me, and we had sex twice last night and once this morning.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Bea moans.
“Fucking ditto,” June mutters.
Nora doesn't budge. “And?”
They stare at each other for a long moment before Alex breaks into a smile, tugging Nora into a hug. “And you're the smartest person I know, you fucking terror.”
Nora grins from her spot underneath Alex's chin, pinching at his ribcage until he lets her go. “And don't you fucking forget it.”
Alex throws his head back and laughs, exuding such a pure joy that it’s difficult not to imagine that Henry has something to do with it. When their eyes meet, Alex reaches for his hand.
“So, should we be thanking them?” Henry asks, tugging Alex close via their entwined fingers.
“Nah,” Alex says, leaning up to press a kiss to Henry’s lips. “I think we would have figured it out eventually.”
“That’s gambling a lot on your emotional intelligence,” June calls from the kitchen, but she’s smiling softly at them behind the lip of her coffee mug.
As if she gets it.
“You know what?” Alex puts a hand over his heart. “There is some credit to give out.”
Four pairs of eyes narrow in Alex’s direction.
“Do tell,” Pez urges. “I’m dying to hear this.”
Alex clears his throat. “I would like to extend the most sincere thanks to our good pal Hurricane Nicholas, without whom the events of last night would have never—”
Nora throws a muffin at Alex's head. “Next time we're sacrificing you to the hurricane gods.”
Henry watches a slow grin spread across Alex's face.
“That's okay,” he says, squeezing Henry's palm. “I think they're already on my side.”