Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Alex dies he learns a few things very quickly: one is that some people linger on earth after dying and they are attached to the place where they are buried (no one knows why or how to change it, that’s still an unsolved mystery) two is that apparently he belongs to those people now and three, that a cemetery is not much different from a suburban neighborhood.

Around him, he has all types of “neighbors” with their own routines. There’s Patrick who still jogs every morning, Doña Alicia who sits on the entrance to look at the people passing, and Stephen that spends every afternoon collecting mushrooms and moss samples as he did when he was alive. There are also big houses—or in this case, gravestones—there are small ones, some newer and some older, ones that have been cared for by generations and some that have been forgotten.

Henry’s is one of the ones that has been forgotten.

Alex met Henry as soon as he “arrived” (Alex can’t find a better word to explain that one second he was alive and the other he was standing on top of his closed casket being buried in the dirt) and from the moment they met they had a connection.

Their connection started out as animosity at first, or sort of. If you ask Alex he would say that it was complicated: Henry was too calm and Alex too agitated, and when you’re dead and have nothing else to do holding a petty grudge seems to be the best way to pass the time. It didn't help Henry's case that every time Alex tried to talk to him he was met with a cold, emotionless stare and half-answers that on lucky days would contain more than three words.

But Alex and Henry are the youngest in the cemetery, and while old Gertrude was a really nice woman, it was really hard to explain the internet to someone who had died in 1956. His other only company was his family; Alex’s family spent the first few days visiting him every day, then every week, then a few times in a month until each visit could no longer be predicted by a discernible pattern—he couldn’t blame them and he was actually glad that his family was not spending their lives speaking to a gravestone instead of, well, living.

So, Alex had to make do and accept that he had to talk to Henry who had been born and had died in the same century as him. It takes very little to actually know something about him, to get some insight on who Henry is, to really notice the things about the world around them.

It’s then when Alex notices that Henry never gets anyone visiting him.

It’s then when he really sees the dirty gravestone, the wilted flowers, the epitaph that barely mentions anything about who he was is.

Their friendship starts like any other, talking about mundane stuff as they wander around the cemetery, with no more mystery as if they were walking around a mall. They talk about the weather, the movies they liked, the places where they grew up and the things they loved the most. They enjoy it, they laugh and form a sort of camaraderie that brings them closer together.

Alex learns about David, Henry's dog (did he do tax returns? why the hell is he named like an accountant? wasn't Bowie a good enough name for you?) and in return Henry learns about Alex's fear of turkeys (Truly monstrous creatures). Henry tells Alex about his favorite Star Wars movie, and Alex judges his tastes with no remorse. Alex learns about Bea and Philip, and Henry learns about June and Nora. Alex tells Henry about the lake house and growing up in Texas, and Henry talks about a mansion so big it felt closer to a palace and about feeling more freedom in a stuffy room in a boarding school.

They don’t talk about their deaths, or being dead, or being stuck on earth after death. It’s easier to ignore it despite their current paradigm. It doesn’t matter how much Alex itches to know everything about Henry there are some lines he can’t cross.

Alex wonders sometimes if they would have been friends if they had met when they were alive.

He dares to ask about it one time.

“Do you think we would have been friends? When we were… alive, I mean,” Alex says, they are sitting on one of the benches around the cemetery (apparently they can sit on different surfaces despite not being physical beings. Alex hasn’t quite gotten the logic of it.) Henry grimaces.

“I don’t think we went to the same places,” Henry answers simply, Alex flinches and it reminds him of the answers Henry would give to him at the beginning. But he takes it for what it is, an answer that begs for the question to never be asked again. Alex never does.

One day that never fails to cheer Alex up is Día de Muertos.

It's the third one he's lived through as ghosts, but just as much as when he was alive he looks at the day with some sort of magical optimism that seems to make the world a better place just slightly.

June arrives, she always gets there first when his family has visited altogether—sometimes alone and sometimes with Nora, her girlfriend and Alex’s best friend when he was alive—Alex always notices how different she looks, her newly dyed hair or the way she changes the clothes she wears, her phone cases and make-up, the songs she hums under her breath as she cleans Alex’s tomb, a clear sign of how the time has passed even while Alex is not there.

He tries not to dwell on it, it’s fine, he’s dead, he should expect it. At least he’s still in the same century that saw him alive.

“Hey hermanito,” June says as she kneels in front of Alex’s gravestone. Alex sits in front of her as if they were going to have a conversation like when they were kids. “I got the churros you liked for your altar this year, with sugar and cinnamon.”

Alex smiles, he says thank you despite knowing June won’t hear it, he always does.

“I actually bring some bad news too,” June continues, and Alex can see the way her eyes fill up with tears. “Or maybe you already know, I don’t really know how the world of the dead works.”

June lets out a small, strangled laugh, it scares Alex. He leans closer to her, wishing he could touch her.

“Dad died,” She finally says, and Alex feels his world shatter. “It was so sudden, one moment he was there and then he wasn’t. He was so healthy, he was trying to listen to the doctors, doing exercise, but he had a heart attack, can you believe that?”

Alex feels like the world comes toppling down.

His dad couldn’t be dead, he was healthy, he was good, Alex had just seen him a few months ago. This had to be a joke, a really bad joke, and the only reason June is playing with him like that is because she doesn’t know he’s listening. That’s it, a bad joke.

But then he sees the image of the rest of his family arriving, Nora sitting next to June and holding her hand as she whispers something in his sister’s ear. Ellen and Leo arrive hand in hand with a small basket of food. Raf, looking like he hasn’t slept in days, his gaze wanders without really looking as if it were only his body that is present. And he looks at their expressions, and he knows it’s true.

In Alex’s family, death has always been seen differently. He grew up hearing the stories of old family members coming back to celebrate in Día de Muertos, of a life after death with God, praying for those who stay in the limbo between life and death, hoping that those that are in heaven look down to them and smile. It made it easier, and somehow magical, adding wonder to what is inexplicable.

He remembers his abuelita, who spoke about her own death with ease, making it a joke. His abuelito that claimed for ten years that that year was the one when he died only to make children and grandchildren groan and chide him for joking about something like that, and then laughing at their mortified expressions.

He remembers their funerals, how much laughter there was despite everything, tíos and tías retelling decades of anecdotes, photo albums passed around and food always served on the table. Even when tears arrived and the conversation quieted down there was a certainty, a feeling, a something, that worked a balm over the hurt, a hand holding them, pushing them to keep being alive.

Alex doesn’t feel like that anymore, he has no life to hold on to, he has nothing but a plot of land and a dozen other ghosts, a thousand questions and pain that never goes away.

If Alex were alive he would hesitate at least a little bit before climbing on top of the biggest mausoleum to sit on the top, but he isn’t, and no one “lives” there so it has become his place to escape to when being with everyone else seems like too much.

From there he's able to look outside the fence, see the people passing by; kids walking to school with their parents, people walking their dogs, rushed office workers trying to catch a bus. It helps him clear his head to look at something… alive, something different, something that is not tied to the cemetery like he is.

“I was trying to find you,” A voice appears behind him, Henry. Alex turns around to look at him.

“I needed some time.” Alex says, turning his back to Henry again. He waits for a second before moving to the side and opening a space for Henry.

“I heard what happened,” Henry says, getting closer to Alex and sitting next to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you think he’s stuck too? Alone in a cemetery with no one to talk to?” Alex asks, if he could cry his eyes would well up with tears. “Is he thinking about me? Will I see him again?”

Henry doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead he moves closer to Alex, then he looks to the space in front of him.

“When I died I wondered a lot about my father, more than I had ever done,” Henry starts, and he closes his eyes for a second before opening them again and turning his head around to look at Alex. “I wondered if he had been there all those times when I went to visit him, if he also could only look at me from afar as we do when those who are alive come here, I wondered if he hurt to be present but unable to let us know.”

Henry gulps—a reflex more than anything else, there’s no need—then he continues, “I felt that I was going insane, I could not stop feeling guilty for not knowing he could be there even though I couldn’t know, and it hurt.”

“And how did you stop?” Alex asks, a half whisper as his eyes are focused on Henry.

“I didn’t. Not really,” Henry answers. “I still think about it, I wonder about it but I have learned that—just like when I was alive and he wasn’t—there is no point in torturing yourself over the things you will never get an answer to. And I know that my dad wouldn’t want it either.”

“You make it sound easy.” Alex lets out a pitiful attempt at a laugh, then his expression falls again.

“It’s not. But I know how much the alternative hurts, and that’s not something you deserve.”

Silence fills the space between them for a second, the weight of Henry's words setting in. Alex looks down at his hands as he tries to come up with an answer, to a witty retort to make the air lighter, to cut through the tension that the topic has inevitably created.

He comes up empty in words, instead he takes Henry's hand and squeezes it. Henry squeezes back. A sign of understanding what words can't communicate. They hold hands for a second, before Henry drops his and tucks it into his lap. Alex tries not to mourn the loss of Henry's touch and settles his own hands on the ledge he's sitting on.

“Can you tell me more? About your dad?” Alex asks after a second and his own question surprises him, he knows better than to pry into Henry's life, but he needs to know, to get Henry closer to him.

When Alex doesn't get an answer he's ready to back down, to insist it was a stupid question. He opens his mouth to speak but before the words make it out Henry nods, and he starts telling the tale of a man whose love was so grand he never cared what anyone could say about him and his family, who wanted to make sure his children grew up knowing above everything else that they’d be loved and supported.

Henry’s father—Arthur, Alex finally learns his name—was funny, charismatic and a great actor that dedicated the last part of his life to trying to build the foundations for an industry that was fairer to everyone. Then Henry tells the story of his father's diagnosis, of the days and nights spent next to a hospital bed, the way the family started drifting apart when his father died.

"My mom shut down completely," Henry says, looking away from Alex. "Bea, my sister, I almost lost her to addiction. And my brother found himself finding refuge in pleasing my grandmother—and consequently in being an arse to me."

"Is that why..." Alex starts as his gaze drifts toward the place where Henry's grave is located, but then he stops himself, believing it might be too much to ask. Henry however still picks up on his question.

"Is that why no one ever visits me?" Henry continues for Alex, heaving a sigh and shaking his head. "All of my family lives in England, even if they wanted to, there's no reason to travel to another country only to visit a gravestone. They came once, the day I was buried and I can't fault them for not coming again."

"That's unfair, that's not what you deserve."

"It's what I signed up for," Henry shrugs. "I ran far away from the country as soon as I had the chance, I would barely call Bea to make sure she knew I was at least still alive. I am not proud of it, and if I had known what would happen I would have done things much differently; but there's no use dwelling on something I can't change anymore."

Alex nods slowly, taking Henry's words as a feeling of emptiness settles on his stomach. He dares to focus on Henry, the hard line of his jaw, lips pressed into a thin line, fingers moving anxiously around the pinky finger of his left hand—likely a residual fidget from when he was alive.

"I'm sorry," Alex says after a moment, he's not exactly sure of what he's sorry for—Henry's situation, the death of his father and his own, or just for bringing it up and asking for Henry to relieve the story again.

"You don't have to apologize," Henry answers, turning around to look at Alex. "It was about time I told this to someone, I've spent too long ignoring that it ever existed in the first place."

“Still," Alex insists, but Henry cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“No, I’m sorry, I was supposed to be comforting you and I’m here whining about my life.”

“I don’t mind,” Alex rushes to say, “I like knowing about you.”

“There’s no way you mean that—” Henry starts, shaking his head vehemently. Alex cuts him off this time.

“I do. I like hearing you talk, and I like knowing about you, you never talk about this sort of stuff—which is okay, you don’t have to. But I want to know more.”

Alex shrugs as he finishes, trying to minimize the importance of what he said. Then he takes a look at Henry, the other’s expression is undecipherable; his mouth is gaping and his eyebrows furrowed.  He has stopped fidgeting with his fingers but both hands are firmly intertwined together, as if he wanted to keep them away. Alex is about to start apologizing when Henry finally speaks again.

“I—” Henry is silent again, only for a moment as he swallows, “I can’t do this, I’m so sorry.”

And then he leaves.

Alex has thought the cemetery was not big enough to hide from someone, but after three days of not seeing Henry he starts to be proven wrong.

For a moment he even wonders if Henry has somehow managed to find the way to exit the premises without being just teleported back to the top of his gravestone, or if he suddenly has the power to turn invisible even to other ghosts.

Then there’s the amount of time he spends pondering about the reason Henry left.

It starts as worry, during the first day Alex decides it was his fault and that Henry just needs some time to process his feelings. On the second day it’s disappointment that Henry is still nowhere to be seen, at the end of the second day disappointment morphs into anger when Alex decides he didn’t do anything to upset him enough for him to not show his face for two whole days.

On the third day it’s all of them. Alex needs to know where Henry is, what he wants to do when he does is still up for debate, but he needs to see him.

Alex ends up finding Henry by coincidence.

It’s late, and it’s raining, not that it really matters but Alex appreciates the dramatic effect it gives the situation. Henry is standing behind a tree with his back turned to it, staring at the sky, eyes focused on something Alex can’t seem to see.

He gets closer, hoping that Henry doesn’t hear him, getting close enough to be able to make up Henry's expression: furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes squinting at the sky. Alex tries to remain as quiet as possible, scared that if he moves too fast he will scare Henry like one scares away a cat. So Alex only stares, he takes his time looking at all of Henry's features; his pale skin and blonde hair that glisten in the moonlight, his broad shoulders and the stiffness of his posture, the impeccable suit he wears, the one he died in.

"I know you're here, Alex." Henry finally says. Alex jumps just a little bit.

"You could have said something."

"I didn't know what to say."

"Where have you been?" Alex asks instead.

"Here," Henry answers as if it was the obvious answer. And it is, except that here only refers to the cemetery but doesn't answer what Alex really wants to know.

"You dissapeared. I haven't seen you in days." Alex says, then he adds in a much smaller voice. “Did I—did I do something wrong?”

Henry looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since Alex arrived, he’s breathing heavily as he seems to take in Alex’s expression—Alex can only guess what face he’s making since it makes Henry’s gaze soften as he shakes his head.

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what happened?” Alex asks, he tries to move closer to Henry, reaching for the other man's hand. Henry pulls away before Alex can try. Henry moves a few steps away, Alex could reach him but he understands that Henry doesn't want to.

"Do you ever wonder about what you'd be doing if you weren't here?" if you weren't dead goes unsaid.

"I try not to. There's no point." Alex answers, shrugging. It's not a lie, he does try not to, he doesn't always succeed. Henry looks back at the sky.

"I do. I think about it a lot. I'd be taking care of David and fighting on the phone with my older brother. Maybe I would have been able to publish my first book, move into the brownstone I had been eyeing since I moved to New York." Henry says and he closes his eyes for a moment, then he opens then again and he takes a deep breath. "When I was younger my father taught me to find Orion, he said that if I knew the constellations I could always find my way back home. Sometimes I hope that if I look hard enough I will find my way back, wake up in my bed."

Henry shakes his head, as if he were shaking the thoughts away. Alex takes the small distraction to move closer to him until Alex's chest is almost pressed to Henry's shoulder.

“Alex, I can’t do this.”

“What can’t you do? What is it?”

“You really don’t see it?”

“Honestly I don’t think I even know what I’m supposed to see.”

“Christ, you’re as thick as it gets,” Henry says and Alex has barely enough time to feel offended before Henry’s lips are on top of his.

Kissing as a ghost is a completely new experience to Alex, one that probably wasn’t even meant to happen in the first place, but none of the things he’s feeling are related to that; he’s confused at first, hesitant, then something ignites inside him and he’s kissing Henry back, relishing on the way Henry’s fingers are carding through his curls, on the way Alex’s hands come up to rest on Henry’s waist.

Alex loses himself for a second, the only things going through his head are hands and lips and heat and teeth.

Then it all suddenly stops.

“No, Alex—Wait.”

Henry pulls away, hands placed on Alex's shoulders before he's walking back. Alex tries to say something but Henry is muttering something Alex can't quite grasp as he shakes his head

This time when Henry runs, Alex follows.

It takes him only a moment to shake off the stupor before he's following the path Henry took before, he runs when he doesn't find him, looking to every side hoping to get a clue where Henry went. He's lucky when he spots a glimpse of blonde hair and he hears a muttered curse in a British accent. Then he follows it.

"Henry, you can't run twice, what the hell, man." Alex complains as he catches up to Henry, who looks back at him but he doesn't stop.

"Stop following me, Alex."

"I wouldn't be following you if you stopped running away." Alex answers, and Henry stops abruptly, Alex almost crash into him.

"There. Happy? Now stop following me."

"You're absolutely impossible, you know that?"

Henry pretends not to listen to Alex's question, instead he crosses his arms.

"Is that all?"

They stay in complete silence for a moment, the tension between them so thick it almost feels tangible. Henry's eyes are fixated on Alex's face as he tries to find the words he needs to say.

"Henry—just… you kissed me," Alex half-whispers, casting his gaze to the side for a second, still trying to make sense of what it means. Maybe Henry—

"Never should have happened." Henry's answer cuts through his thoughts and the words hit Alex like a bucket of water, his whole body seems to stop, his brain—ready to ask more questions, to say more to Henry, is suddenly completely at a loss for words.

"Oh." Is all Alex can say. Henry seems to pretend not to notice how his voice has gotten smaller, instead he straightens himself, putting on a polished look that makes it seems as if he were looking down at everyone else.

"We can be friends, but that was a mistake, I apologize if I caused you any trouble."

"Sure, yeah, that's cool."

"See you later, Alex."

Henry runs again. Alex can't follow him.

Days pass without realizing.

Each of them have become the same, Alex follows his routine, running in the morning, talking to Doña Alicia for la media mañana, talking to Henry.

His conversations with Henry have devolved, sort of, Alex can't find another way to explain it. What seemed to be a friendship where they started to trust each other has now become a distant relationship, they talk about the weather and the typical gossip about the people surrounding them, falling into a lot more awkward silences than they want to admit.

It hurts, but Alex clings to it, because he can't get the feeling on Henry's mouth on top of his, and then his rejection. Alex believes it'd hurt more if Henry didn't even want to talk to him at all.

It's hard to make sense of it, to try to explain the reasons for Henry's actions when he only has half of the story, so he makes lists with the things he knows, the only things that he's certain of.

1. Henry kissed him.

2. He liked that kiss.

3. He probably likes Henry.

4. Henry doesn't like him back.

5. Henry has some deep secret or ghost curse that doesn't let him kiss Alex.

He scratches off the last one mentally, he doesn't know that, he just hopes the fourth has an explanation that makes it not true.

"Alex? Are you listening to me?" Henry asks. Alex shakes his head rapidly, turning around to look at him. Henry's eyebrows have turned into a frown. Alex just nods in lieu of an answer. Henry nods back but he doesn't start talking again and filling Alex in what he missed. Instead he falls silent, looking ahead instead of at Alex.

Alex can stand a grand total of twenty seconds in silence before he needs to speak.

"Why are we doing this?"

"Walking?"

"No. This." Alex gestures to the two of them. "Pretending this is normal."

“Alex, please don't." Henry's tone is almost a plea. Alex cocks his head to the side slightly.

“Don't what Henry? Ask you about the obvious elephant in the room?”

"Alex, we can't do this. I can't do this."

"Can't do what, Henry? Why?"

“You know it, Alex, please,” Henry pleads again, but Alex shakes his head. He 's not stopping.

“I don’t actually, Henry. I don't understand why one second you're kissing me and the next one you're… you're ghosting me," Alex finishes, the humor of his choice of words not completely lost but too annoyed to acknowledge it. He sees the way Henry's expression becomes somber, but even then he continues on, "Whatever you're dealing with at least have the decency to tell me because this"—Alex points to himself and to Henry— "is shitty as hell."

"I don't know why you are angry. I apologized, I said we can be friends."

Alex laughs bitterly. "As if that solves anything. As if that erases the fact I haven't been able to stop thinking about you kissing me."

Henry tenses, and he takes a deep, tired, breath, holding his finger to the bridge of his nose.

"Alex. We. Are. Dead. This is not something dead people do, this is not something we can have."

"And who's saying it? You? Do you suddenly know everything about death?" Alex questions, he knows he's getting agitated, but his mind is too occupied reeling to stop him. "And you still haven't answered. What can't we have?"

"Don't be a fool, Alex. We can't fall in love, we can't kiss or date as if we were alive. We can't have a relationship. You can't want that with me."

"And who is talking about a relationship? And who says we can't?" Alex asks, his tone gets a little desperate, his mind going too fast, thoughts stumbling into each other. Henry just looks at him, mouth a little agape and unshed tears pooling in his eyes. Alex suddenly wishes he could just hold him.

"You're more dense than I thought if you believe I don't want absolutely everything with you."

Every word Alex could think to answer vanishes instantly, everything stills for a second and instead of giving an answer he's left there gaping and trying to string two words together, looking at Henry and then down at the floor.

Then he does the absolute last thing he should do, he takes Henry by his shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss. He expects Henry to push him away, instead he finds Henry's arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly as the taste of tears mixes with the taste of Henry's mouth.

Alex places his hands on Henry's neck, pressing him closer and opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, he hears the smallest sigh slip from Henry's lips and his whole body seems to react to it.

They pull apart eventually to be able to look at each other, a mix of awe and fear painted in both of their faces. They seem to be stuck in time, Alex's head is running a mile a minute and it goes back to what he knows will help. He lists what he knows.

1. Henry kissed him

2. He liked that Henry kissed him. He had probably wanted it for a long time.

3. He kissed Henry.

4. Henry wants everything with him, whatever it means.

5. Alex wants it too, whatever it means.

Soon it quiets his head, yet it doesn't fix the filter between his thoughts and his mouth because the next thing he knows is that he is blurting out one word.

"Yes." As soon as it comes out of his mouth Alex tries to say something else, salvage it trying to find where the rest of the sentence went, but it seems all words continue to fail him. Henry is looking at him, brows furrowed and his head cocked slightly to the side.

"Yes?" Henry asks, and Alex nods.

"Yes, to everything, to anything," Alex rushes to say and it earns a small laugh from Henry's part. Alex is glad he's able to see his smile again.

"You don't even know what you're asking for."

"I don't care, if it's with you I want it." Henry's expression softens from the tension it had been wearing earlier. Alex takes the opportunity to move closer to him.

"Alex, I don't know how to do this, I don't know if we could even—"

"Don't you wanna find out?" Alex cuts him off. "No one knows a shit about death, about this weird thing that happens after death, but we can find out, one day at a time and all that."

"One day at a time," Henry repeats, is almost a question. Alex grins and he takes Henry's hand hesitantly, when Henry doesn't pull away he intertwines their fingers together.

"If you want it, we can do it," Alex starts, his expression slowly turning into a mischievous grin, "what's the worse that could happen? that it kills us?"

"You're a menace," Henry teases, and Alex beams at him, before grabbing his face and kissing him again.

"Do you think we would have been friends when we were alive?" Alex asks.

It's been a few days, it's early in the afternoon and Henry and Alex are on their daily walk together. They have stopped under a tree, Henry is sitting down with his legs stretched in front of him while Alex lies down his head on the other's lap, Henry's fingers carding through his head.

Alex looks up at Henry, who has his eyes closed and his head tilted up. As soon as Alex finishes his question Henry looks down at him and smiles softly.

"I'd like to think we would, no matter where or when we'd find each other," Henry answers and Alex hums happily.

"I want to find you in every universe," Alex says, "preferably one with more things to see. Maybe you're the prince of England with that posh accent of yours.”

"I'm glad I found you in this one," Henry murmurs and Alex sits up to be able to kiss him chastely on the lips.

"I'm glad too."