Chapter Text
He gets in trouble with June and Nora for having his notifications off. He doesn’t tell them the why, mostly afraid they might decide to call Henry on their own and give him a piece of their minds. Just says he’s had a slew of spam calls and he’s studying and needs a break from the spam.
It calms them down.
They give him a deadline though, because they don’t like being ignored. Once his test comes, the notifications come back on.
So, all in all, it’s not the worst. He gets a week out of that. And he’s sure he’ll find a way to get more time out of them.
He hasn’t checked to see if Henry’s called or texted; too frightened to see what he has to say. He’s curious. Deadly fucking curious. But he’s got a strong enough willpower to ignore it.
He doesn’t sleep. Not that first night, when he decided on the whole communication embargo. Not the second night, when he lays awake staring at the ceiling, thinking of Henry’s smile, and his wit, and his penchant for caring. Not the third night, when he sits at his desk, unable to focus on damn near anything without the sound of Henry’s breathing to still his mind. Not the fourth night, when he’s sitting out on the fire escape wondering if he’s made the right decision. Not even the fifth night when he’s convinced he made the wrong choice, but that it’s too late to go back and undo it.
Which is how he ends up going to the ratty old coffee shop with the subpar coffee and three little tables outside. He’s half dead to the world, ready to just collapse on the sidewalk outside their front door. He pushes through, heads up to the counter, and just as he’s about to make his order, he hears;
“Alex.”
It’s tinged with relief and desperation and maybe a little anger, and Alex flips around to face the owner of the voice. He comes to a complete stand still, wide eyed and confused, because what? First of all—he’s taller than he expected. Alex has to look up further than expected to meet his eyes. His worried, furrowed gaze.
Part of him wonders if he’s imagining him. Maybe a sleep deprived hallucination.
He’s got dark circles under his eyes that probably match Alex’s.
He turns back to the girl working the cashier, leans over to her. “Can you see him, too?” He asks. She raises her eyebrows, leans over to look behind him, then comes back around and nods at him. He turns back around and blinks up at Henry, dumbfounded. “What the fuck?”
Henry blinks at him. “I’m glad you’re not bleeding dead.”
Alex frowns, too tired to have this conversation. “Why would I be dead?”
“Why would you be dead?” Henry asks, disbelief coating the words. “Are you fucking joking? You disappeared off the face of the bloody planet!”
“No,” Alex replies slowly. “I’m right here.”
Henry blinks at him again, anger slipping over his face. “I was seriously worried about you.”
“Well, I’m fine.”
“Are you.” It’s not a question, more a statement of disbelief, and it has Alex falling back a step closer to the counter.
He blinks at Henry, it finally starting to dawn on him that Henry’s here standing in front of him. “How are you here?” He asks, looking around the little coffee shop. It’s not exactly a place people choose to find themselves; dingy and off the beaten path. But they have good pastries. And barely anyone comes here. And it’s kind of where Alex goes to get away from everything when he needs a break. A shitty coffee, and a break.
Henry sniffs, crossing his arms. “I remembered the name of the coffee shop from when you had me order for you.”
“So you . . . came here?”
“Yes, Alex,” Henry huffs, tightening his shoulders and sticking his chin out defiantly. “When someone you care about disappears, you don’t just up and leave them be.”
“But . . . I randomly decided to come here.”
Henry rolls his eyes. “Every Wednesday you get a coffee and sit at the tables and work on your coursework,” he says. “I know this, because for the past however many bloody Wednesdays, I’ve sat on a facetime call with you while you did so.”
“But . . .”
“Christ, Alex, what is wrong with you?”
“Why would you hunt me down?” Alex asks, quiet. “You didn’t even want to meet.”
“You’re joking.” Henry leans to the side and looks over Alex’s shoulder. “He’s joking, isn’t he?”
The quiet barista makes a noise at the back of her throat, before clearing it and muttering, “No, I don’t think so.” She shuffles backwards, and then adds, “Please leave me out of this?”
Henry’s gaze slips away from her to land back on Alex, and Alex feels himself shrinking beneath the disbelief and irritation shining in his eyes. “Have you checked your phone even bloody once since we last spoke?” Henry asks, crossing his arms.
Alex blinks at him. “No,” He answers, fidgeting beneath his gaze.
“Go on then.”
“What?”
“Check your phone.” He says it slowly, emphasizing each syllable, as if he thinks Alex is too dense to get it if he speaks even a fraction faster. Alex stares at him for a long moment, before sheepishly reaching into his back pocket and pulling his phone out. He unlocks it and goes to his texts, flinching at the blue notification next to Henry’s name. He glances back up to Henry. “Read them.”
Alex frowns, grip tightening around his phone. “Alright,” he says. “I get it, I don’t think—”
“No, you don’t think. Read the bloody messages, Alex.”
Alex swallows and looks back down at the phone. Presses his thumb to the text, and lets embarrassment and horror sweep over him as the litany of messages he’d ignored load on the screen.
We really should talk.
I do want to meet you. Let me explain.
Don’t ignore me. I quite literally can’t take it.
Are you punishing me for not having the reaction
you wanted? I didn’t take you for cruel, Alex.
Christ, you’re not even reading these. I’m starting
to worry. Are you okay?
Even if you’ve decided you’re done with me, I’d
appreciate you telling me you’re all right.
Alex?
If you don’t respond soon, I’m going to find that
little coffee shop you’re always at and station
myself at one of its tables. I need to know that
you’re at least alive.
Alex swallows and looks up from the phone. Henry’s staring at him, his gaze softening slightly before he sticks out his chin almost defiantly. “I was worried about you,” He says.
“I thought you didn’t—”
“I bloody well know what you thought,” Henry hisses, stepping in closer to him. He reaches out to grab Alex’s elbows, and pulls them out of the way of the small line forming at the counter. “We should have had a conversation about it, rather than you disappearing as if the last three months have meant nothing to you.”
Alex bites down on his lower lip, glancing down at the ground between them. “I’m not . . . great with rejection.”
“Couldn’t tell.”
He glances back up, and Henry’s staring at him; despite the dingy lighting in the coffeeshop, his eyes are bright and beautiful. Brighter, more beautiful than the facetime calls could ever really show. He swallows thickly, his breath catching in his throat as he looks away, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Henry makes a noise at the back of his throat, and squeezes Alex’s elbows. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wasn’t about to just let you go.”
He looks back up at him, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s the wrong way to take that?”
“That I’m a creepy stalker who found your favorite coffee shop and—”
“To be fair,” Alex interrupts, almost tentatively, “It’s not my favorite. It’s just. The most convenient.”
Henry makes a face. “All right. That I found your coffee shop of convenience, stationed myself there like a stalker, and waited for you to appear.”
“Did I make you wait long?”
Henry stares at him for a beat, before softly saying, “I was willing to wait longer.”
Something warm settles in Alex’s stomach at that, and he bites down on his lip to stop himself from smiling. “It’s kind of fitting that it’s the first place we meet.”
“How’s that?”
He nods to the bathroom door tucked in the corner, “That’s where we first met.”
Henry looks confused for a moment, before realization washes over his face, and he laughs. “Right. That first call. Your . . . abdomen. Was covered in coffee.” He clears his throat, pink tinting the edges of his ears and cheeks.
“So formal,” Alex teases.
“Yes, well, what else am I to say? Your abs were dripping obscenely with liquid, and I was rendered mute by it?”
That warmth spreads from Alex’s stomach to his chest, and he nods. “You are a writer,” he says, the awkwardness from the moment slowly seeping out of the conversation; replaced by the easy flow of conversation the two of them have almost always had. “I’d expect something more like that.”
Finally, a little smile cracks the corners of Henry’s lips. “We do need to talk,” he says after a beat.
Alex winces. “I’m going to need coffee for this conversation.”
Henry tilts his head to the side. “How do you think this conversation is going to go?”
“I haven’t really been sleeping,” Alex admits quietly. “I don’t want to fall asleep while you’re going in on me for being a dick.”
“I’d imagine that’s exactly when you’d like to fall asleep.” He lets go of Alex’s elbows, though, and takes a step back. “This probably isn’t a conversation for a coffee shop, though.”
Alex nods, glancing behind him towards the line. There’re two people waiting, and the barista keeps sneaking looks at him and Henry, as if she’s suddenly curious about what’s happening. “We can go to my place,” he says, twisting back around to face Henry. “I probably make a better cup than this place does. And I have tea.”
“Tea?”
“For June. But, I can be convinced to make you a cuppa.” He drags the last bit out with a rough British accent, and Henry rolls his eyes at him.
Something indecipherable passes over Henry’s face, before he clears his throat and turns away. “Lead the way.”
“No comment on the British accent?”
“I’d rather ignore the offensive than partake in it.” Alex stares at him for a long moment, before laughing and turning away from him.
They start towards the front door, side by side, and Alex reaches out at the same time Henry does to pull it open. Their hands graze against one anothers, and Alex’s breath catches at how soft and warm Henry’s hand is. But Henry pulls away far too quickly, his hand flexing before it falls to his side.
Alex wonders if he’s stricken by the touch, too.
He pulls the door open and steps aside so Henry can step out, flexing his own hand against the remaining warmth sinking into his skin.
Alex escapes to the kitchen while Henry makes the rounds in his living room. He stands at the counter in front of his coffee maker, a curious panic wiggling its way into his stomach, somehow coerced away by an easy comfort as Henry calls, “These pictures. Are they June and Nora?” It’s confusing and somehow right to have Henry in his apartment.
It feels both like this is where he belongs, and a bit like Alex’s entire routine is thrown off kilter by his presence.
Warring emotions whir around within him as he reaches into the cupboard and pulls out June’s probably expired Earl Grey, and the container of Folgers he bought last week that’s already halfway empty. “Yes,” he calls back.
Henry appears in the doorway of the kitchen, then, leaning against the frame of it. “I didn’t take you for the type to have a wall of pictures in your living room.”
Alex chuckles, pulling out a filter, and dumping a load of coffee into it. “That’s mostly June’s doing. But I’ve . . . kinda grown accustomed to it?” He glances up at him as he flicks the on button on the coffee machine, pressing his hip into the countertop. “I think she pavlov’d me into needing pictures of the people I love.”
The urge to take a picture of Henry standing there, all cool, suave, his arms crossed as he leans in the doorway like he belongs settles deep in Alex’s gut. Instead, he clears his throat and goes to make a cup of tea for him instead.
Henry watches him silently.
“I don’t have a kettle,” Alex says after a beat, “So, don’t go running when I shove this in the microwave.”
Henry makes a noise that sounds a bit like a choked off laugh, and then he’s pushing off the doorframe and making his way into Alex’s tiny kitchen. “I promise,” he murmurs, as he picks up the box of teas, “I’m not going to go running anywhere.”
Alex’s breath hitches, and he takes a step away, reaching out to the microwave and shakily shoving the mug of water into it. “A minute should do it,” he murmurs.
Henry sets the box of teas down, and looks at Alex. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms again. “While it’s cooking, we can talk.”
Shit.
“I thought the point was to be caffeinated before the talk?”
Henry stares at him for a long moment. He bites down on his bottom lip, and Alex’s gaze flits to the ceiling to avoid watching the movement. He’s so beautiful in person. Not that he hadn't been beautiful over facetime. But, jesus, standing in front of him feels a bit like being blinded by the sun, and standing here in his kitchen, unable to escape the scrutiny of his gaze; Alex feels like he might melt.
“I’m sorry for my initial reaction when you said you wanted to meet.”
Alex jolts, his gaze jerking back to his face. There’s a sincerity there that sends his heart reeling. “Oh,” he says.
“I panicked.”
“Oh,” he repeats.
Henry tilts his head, pushes away from the counter and takes a step closer. “The thing is,” he says. “You mean a lot to me, now. And I was, perhaps foolishly, worried that in meeting me, you’d be disappointed.”
Disappointed?
Has he seen himself?
“I’m . . . awkward. And a little closed off, and I tend to put off an air of, according to Pez, at least, indifference, that tends to be off putting.”
Alex hasn’t seen any of that. He’s been confident and kind, and a little off putting but only in that Alex is madly in love with him, and he’s thrown off kilter by his presence. There’s nothing off putting or closed off or awkward about him. If anything, Alex is the one who’s made their interactions thus far awkward and off putting.
Henry continues on, his eyes meeting Alex’s delicately. “I was worried that things would change if we met.”
“Isn’t that the point of meeting, though?” Alex finds himself asking, the words soft and sinking between them.
The corner of Henry’s mouth quirks up. “Yes, Pez may have made the same point. But,” the small smile falls, “By the time I realized the error of my ways, you’d already decided that I was rejecting you.”
“This is the part where I apologize for ghosting you,” Alex murmurs.
“I mean, I wouldn’t object to an apology.”
That startles a small laugh out of Alex’s chest before he sighs and leans against the counter opposite Henry. “I’m . . . not great with rejection,” he admits. “And I generally prefer pushing people away before they can decide that I’m not good enough. It feels safer that way, you know?” he glances up at him quickly, before shaking his head and looking down at the ground between them. “I have two friends, and one of them is my sister, and the other is my sisters girlfriend. I don’t—” He breaks off, biting down on his lower lip. “Letting people in generally means giving them the chance to walk away.”
Henry watches him, takes a step closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “I’d journey to say that you’re effectively stuck with me, actually.”
Alex laughs, the sound punched out of his stomach. He lets it settle between them, relishing in the look of satisfaction on Henry’s face, before continuing. “I am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t . . . consider how you’d feel. I was protecting myself in the dumbest way possible.” He looks up at him seriously. “Which is not to say that’s an excuse, it’s just—”
“An explanation,” Henry offers.
Alex nods, breathes out a soft, “Yeah.” The microwave dings behind him, and he jumps away from the counter. “Fuck,” he hisses, turning around to face it. He pulls the mug out of the microwave and drops the teabag into it, gazing trailing to the ceiling. He can practically feel Henry behind him, like a magnet, pulling him in. “Sugar?” He asks.
There’s a moment of pause, before Henry steps closer. “No, thank you.”
Alex swallows and picks up the mug before turning around to face him. He really is fucking gorgeous. Eyes bright as the moon. He holds the mug out for him, and Henry hesitates only a second, before reaching out and gently wrapping his hand around it. His fingers graze along Alex’s, and Alex yanks his hands away before turning around and facing the coffee machine. The drips long since finished, so he grabs a mug of his own and pours coffee into it. Reaches across the counter, grabs the little container of cinnamon, and sprinkles it over the top.
All along, he feels Henry watching him.
Finally, he turns around, and motions towards the living room. “We can sit while we drink?” He offers the statement more question than anything. He needs to get out of the kitchen, the contained space where he can feel Henry’s body heat. Needs space to separate them before he does something stupid like throw his mug on the ground and himself at Henry.
Henry nods and silently turns to head back to the living room.
Alex hesitates before following after him. If he’d been worried about the spark remaining when they met, all those worries have vanished. He feels just as drawn to him, if not more, as he did over the calls. The difference is now he’s a tangible thing; a real person that Alex is in serious danger of reaching out and touching.
They sit on the couch, Henry sitting proper with his feet on the ground, Alex with his legs crossed while he faces Henry. They sip their respective drinks in relative silence.
Eventually, Alex finishes his coffee and sets the mug on the side table. Henry watches him with a quirk of his eyebrow, and Alex takes a big, deep breath as caffeine soars through his veins. “Okay,” He says. “We’ve officially met.”
“So we have.”
“I think this calls for a new game of twenty questions.”
“Does it?”
Alex throws a pillow at him, forgetting he’s still nursing his tea. But in a surprising display of athleticism, Henry catches the pillow with one hand, and leans down to set his mug on the coffee table with the other.
“Explain,” Alex says.
Henry laughs, tossing the pillow on the couch between them. “I played polo.”
Alex blinks. “Like — with horses?”
“Yes, Alex. With Horses.”
“Okay, fancy.”
“Did you play any sports?”
Alex blinks at him. “Sure did,” he says. “Lacrosse captain in high school.” Henry hums thoughtfully, and Alex scoots closer to him, pulling a pillow into his lap and hugging it. “Let’s go deep, dark and personal.”
“Weren’t you the one who said we ought to work up to that?”
“That was before we met.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Now that I know you, I want to know you.”
“All right,” Henry gives, nodding. He turns to look at Alex head on, one knee crooking while his ankle hangs off the side of the couch. “Let’s do it.”
“Biggest regret.”
Henry stares at him, nodding only after a moment, and glancing down at the pillow lying between them. “Not coming out to my dad before he died.”
Alex promptly short circuits.
He looks back up at him from beneath his lashes, as if he’s gauging Alex’s reaction. “I’m bi,” Alex blurts. Henry’s brow raises and Alex shuffles on the couch. “So. Just. Safe space or whatever.”
The corner of Henry’s lips curve upwards. “Safe space?” He asks.
Alex throws the pillow again. “Shut up.”
Henry catches it, holds it to his chest. His eyes are bright, playful, despite the depth of his answer, and Alex has to turn away. Looks down to the couch between them, his heart hammering in his chest.
“I am exceptionally gay,” Henry says.
Alex swallows.
Fuck.
“Exceptionally?” He asks, his voice thick.
Henry laughs. “Yes, Alex.”
“Cool.”
“I think so.”
Alex swallows again, “Your turn,” he croaks.
“I’d like to know your biggest regret.”
Alex huffs, glancing back up at him. “That’s cheating.”
“I wasn’t aware one could cheat at twenty questions.”
“You can!” Alex exclaims, shuffling to sit up on his knees, his legs tucked under him. “Reusing the other persons question instead of coming up with your own is textbook cheating.”
Henry raises a brow at him. “Where were these rules when we played before?”
“Unspoken. Because you didn’t cheat then.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Alex points an accusing finger at him. “You like it.”
Henry’s chin juts out and he rolls his eyes, squeezing the pillow in his lap. “All right,” he says. “When did you come out?”
Alex lets out a laugh. “Not nearly as soon as I should have.”
“That is not an answer.”
“If you knew, you’d say otherwise.”
“All right,” he shuffles on the couch as if settling in for a long story, and motions to Alex with one hand, a simple go on motion. “Let’s hear it.”
So Alex tells him the story about Liam, and their clandestine nights and his inability to process what it all meant until one night in college when a line in a Walt Whitman poem spoke to his subconscious in ways that he hadn’t been prepared for. To the call with Nora, the panic as he went over the possibility of his bisexuality. All the way to the conversation with June, her resounding, duh , when he came out to her.
“All in all, it’s been about a year.”
“I think,” Henry says, looking thoughtful. “You came out when you were meant to.”
Alex scoffs. “I had a whole relationship without realizing it.”
“Yes, well. Have you considered rekindling that relationship?”
“God, no.” Alex shakes his head and leans into the side of the couch. “There was a call in the middle of the ‘oh-shit-i’m-queer, oh-fuck-that-was-gay’ panic, and we talked it out. But there’s—that’s not happening. Ever again.”
Henry considers him. “And what about outside that, then?” He asks, shuffling in his seat and giving Alex an indecipherable look. “Are you seeing anybody?”
Alex blinks at him; a speech budding at the tip of his tongue. He bites down on it, because the last thing he needs to do is admit to him that he’s not seeing anyone and he has no intention of seeing anyone unless they’re a stunning British man named Henry. Instead, he laughs, points a finger, “Nice try, london boy,” he says, his heart hammering in his chest. “But it’s my turn.”
Henry’s eyes widen a fraction, but he sits back, waves a hand. “You and your rules.”
“Rules are a necessity.”
“Are they.” He doesn’t say it as a question, just lets the end of the sentence sit there between them.
Alex nods, shrugging into the pillow and leaning in with a grin. “Where would we be without rules?”
“Well,” Henry murmurs, tilting his head left then right. He seems to think about what he’s going to say for a long moment. But then he juts out his chin and looks at Alex with a curious kind of determination; somehow nervous and nerve wracking all at once, and says, “I’d know if you were seeing anybody.”
Oh, fuck.
Be still his beating heart.
Alex hums thoughtfully, tries to stamp down on the swell of hope in his gut. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you have a vested interest.”
Henry’s eyebrows quirk upwards, a momentary hesitation as his mouth opens, closes. And then; “What if I do?”
“Do what?”
“Have a vested interest.”
Alex sits up straighter. Swallows. Swallows again. “In . . . ?” He prompts carefully.
The corner of Henry’s mouth quirks upwards. “Do you really need me to spell it out?”
Alex nods at him, perhaps a little emphatically, as he slides his legs out from under himself and scoots closer to him. “I think I do.”
“Well,” Henry says, swaying closer, his crooked knee pushing into the side of the couch, as he leans down to scoot himself closer. His fists dig into the plush seat beneath him, and Alex hangs on the movement, before jerking his gaze back up to Henry’s eyes. It’s something indescribable to see him in totality, rather than just a frame of his head and torso in his phone screen. “You’re incredibly kind, curiously caring. You read my book, and came back with notes that actually helped fill a massive plot hole.”
“You solved the plot hole?”
He ignores him, continuing on. “On the nights when it’s hardest to sleep, I listen to your breathing, and find myself waking up to a new day as if sleep is the easiest thing to come by. When you’re not being hopelessly oblivious, you’re perceptive and brilliant, and you’ve got a fire under your ass that could fuel a dying sun. All of that to say, I’m hopelessly enamored by you, and am hoping that the feeling is at least—”
“Totally mutual,” Alex interrupts. Henry’s mouth slips shut, and Alex shrugs helplessly. “I’ve been crushing on you since you called me during my lecture.”
Henry smirks. “You had me at the dripping abs, to be frank.”
It shocks a laugh straight from Alex’s gut. “Oh my god.”
He looks far too pleased with himself, a little curve on the corners of his lips as he scoots himself ever closer to Alex. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he admits, quietly, reaching out with one hand, hovering over Alex’s. “I was just. Going to berate you for disappearing, beg you to be my friend again, and go on pining after you like a lovesick fool.”
Alex inhales and lifts his hand, carefully laces his fingers through Henry’s. Watches the movement of their fingers; revels in the cool warmth and rightness of it. “What changed?”
“Well,” Henry breathes, his lashes fanning over his cheekbones as he gazes down at their joined hands. He twists his wrist, as if he needs to examine the way their fingers interlock from every angle. “I have this habit of letting life happen to me. And I was sitting here thinking about how I let you happen to me.”
“What does that mean?”
His cheeks rise with a smile, and he glances back up at Alex. “I made a mistake, and it brought me you. And you never let me go.” He wrinkles his nose. “For the most part.”
“Still sorry about the—”
Henry squeezes his hand and looks back down. “Already forgiven, darling.”
God. Darling.
“But, I made a mistake, and I found you. And you chose to keep me.” His eyebrows furrow, lashes fluttering, as if he can’t quite believe somebody had decided to keep him. As if Alex hadn’t been clinging onto him for dear life from that very first call. “And sitting here, I thought, maybe that meant something. And for once, the idea of potentially fucking this up didn’t send me careening off a cliff of self doubt, because you happened to me, but I think I happened to you, too.”
“You did.”
He looks back up, smiles again. “The moment I saw you in that coffee shop, it was as if the universe turned on it’s head and told me it was my turn to make a choice. As if I couldn’t simply let this happen to me. And I’d already decided, then, that I could survive having you as my friend. I’d decided I’d fight for your friendship, because I believed that was all there was to be had. I thought that was the choice I had to make.” His eyes shine as his gaze flickers between Alex’s eyes. “But then you brought me here.”
He pauses, shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
“Maybe if you keep going,” Alex says, and Henry laughs, a beautiful, wet little noise, the air huffing out his nose and warming the space between them.
“I’m not a risk taker,” He replies. “It’s not in my blood to risk things, especially when they’re perfectly fine as they are.” His lips curl in, his tongue darting out to wet them. “But sitting here. Staring at you, live and in person, with your bloody beautiful smile directed at me, I thought, this is the moment I’m meant to make a choice. So, I decided to do what I’ve only ever done once before.”
Alex’s brow furrows. “You’ve done this before?”
There’s a pause, and then another laugh. “I was referring to when I called you. After the first time.”
“Oh.” Alex lets the words settle, before a little smile curls at the corners of his own lips. “So.”
“So.”
He looks back down to their hands, brings them to his lap, and settles his free hand overtop them. His thumbs coaxes over Henry’s knuckles. “I didn’t expect this to happen today.” He glances back up. “But then, I didn’t expect you to call me six months ago and change my life, either.”
“Hopefully for the better, at least.”
“God,” Alex groans, nodding. “Definitely for the better.” He’s rewarded with a beautiful, bright smile that has Henry’s eyes crinkling as he ducks his head. “I want to know more about the plot hole, though,” He adds, ducking his own head to meet Henry’s gaze again. “You dropped that like I wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to read it.”
Henry blinks at him. “I hardly think that’s as important right now as—”
Alex scoffs, sitting up straighter. He yanks his top hand away to jab at Henry, “It’s definitely important—”
“--I’d really like to kiss you, and I can’t bloody do that if you’re reading.”
His hand pauses midair as Henry’s words register. “Oh,” He breathes, hand flattening over Henry’s chest. He swallows, and nods once, twice, three times. “That sounds—” He cuts off, voice cracking, and Henry raises his eyebrows. “That. Let’s do that.”
And before he can start to wonder, before his mind has even formed the first thought of what Henry’s lips must feel like, they’re on his. Soft; pliable. Warm. Alex groans into him, pushing into him. His hand slides up Henry’s chest, over his collarbone, up the column of his throat, and settles gently on his jaw; caressing the skin there.
All this time, he’d watched from a distance in practical 2D. A small screen to encompass someone so largely wonderful; so beautifully firm beneath his touch. Now he’s here, real and tangible and so much more than Alex could have imagined. Henry’s free hand comes up, tangles in Alex’s hair, nails scraping along his scalp. He can feel and smell him; crisp and warm and alight all around him, as if even though today’s the first day they’ve met, it’s been this way all along.
Their other hands remained laced together in Alex’s lap.
They pull apart, only far enough to push their foreheads together.
Alex watches as Henry’s eyes flutter open, peeks of sapphire glinting in the shoddy apartment lighting. Alex closes his eyes, laughing softly. “God,” he says.
“Most just call me Henry.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Alex says brightly.
Henry laughs, breath ghosting over Alex’s nose. They’re quiet for a few long moments, and then, “Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s good to meet you.”
Alex’s breath hitches, and he pulls back, smiling at him. “It’s good to meet you too, Henry.” He pauses, then grins. “You realize what this means, right?”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t just hang up on me when I’m in the mood to annoy you, now.”
“Oh god,” Henry groans, though it’s lacking any disappointment, and is seriously undermined by the smile curving his lips. “How ever will I survive?”
“Why are you calling me? I’m ten feet away.”
Alex grins into the camera, peeking around the corner of the couch, where he can see just barely into the kitchen. Henry’s leaning against the wall, and Alex can see his profile from here. On his phone, he’s pouting, an annoyed furrow between his brow undermined by the soft smile on his lips.
“I didn’t want you to forget our roots,” He chirps. He lets the camera pan down to his shirtless chest, smirking at his boyfriend as the furrow between his brow is swept away; as if he hadn’t just been in the living room pressing kisses to Alex’s clavicle mere minutes ago. “One year today, baby.”
There’s a slight echo of his voice coming from the kitchen. “Really?” Henry asks, voice tinny through Alex’s speaker. “Already?”
Alex nods. “Any regrets?” He asks.
Henry pretends to think about it. “Only that I didn’t call sooner.”
Alex is inclined to agree.