Work Text:
And I fell under your spell
And I lay where I fell
So wind down your window
I think I'm gonna kiss you
I don't know what else to do
*****
The first time it happens is an accident, the second time Patrick is drunk and swears it'll never happen again. The third time, Alex breaks his nose.
Henry stands there, stunned and shaking, David yapping anxiously around his ankles as Patrick spits blood onto the floor and Alex towers over him, his beautiful face flushed red with fury. Henry has never seen him look like that before, has never seen him look anything other than happy and silly and soft, but the look in his eyes right now is steely and dark, like he wants to drag Patrick up from the floor and rip him limb from limb.
Maybe he does, and maybe Henry should feel like that too, but all he can feel is a sinking sense of shame. A lead ball of dread settling deep in his stomach. He wants to turn and run, to leave the house, jump on a plane and fly back to London and pretend none of this ever happened.
"Get up you piece of shit," Alex says, his voice shaking with barely suppressed rage, "get up, pack your shit and get the fuck out of here."
Patrick glares back, wiping a hand across the stream of blood that's coating his lips and curls his mouth up in disgust.
"This is nothing to do with you, much as you might think you do, you don't actually fucking live here. I do. And Henry does, you're just his little fucking lapdog who he keeps around for a bit of variety, to spice up his days when I'm not around."
It's not true, not even a little bit, but Henry can't force those words past his trembling lips, can't call Patrick out on his lies. Alex is everything to him, his best friend and biggest supporter, the person he maybe loves most in the world, and yet he can't even jump to his defence.
Patrick's right - he's pathetic and weak, and he doesn't deserve someone like Alex fighting his battles for him.
"Henry," Alex says, turning to face him, his voice soft and lovely just like always, despite the way his hand is covered in another man's blood, "do you want him to stay?"
Henry doesn't, but he isn't strong enough to actually say the words, so instead he shakes his head, eyes downcast as he steps further away from the two of them. He doesn't truly think Patrick would lay a hand on him in front of Alex, but his jaw is still throbbing from the blow he took barely five minutes ago and his wrists ache where Patrick had him pinned up against the wall, so he doesn't want to risk it.
"See," Alex says, his voice turning to stone again, "he doesn't want you here, get your pathetic ass up and get out before I break more than just your nose."
Patrick snarls, spitting out more blood so it splatters against Alex's perfectly polished work shoes. It makes Alex twitch, like he wants to kick out, but he resists and simply glares as Patrick finally stands up and straightens his shirt, picks up his phone and wallet from the coffee table where he dumped them an hour ago, and turns to leave.
"I'll wait for your call," he says to Henry, his teeth stained red, and it makes Henry feel sick to know that it is usually him who reaches out, that he’s been the one to pick up the phone and ask Patrick to come home all those other times, to tell him it's okay, that it was all just a big misunderstanding.
It's never been like this before though, has never felt so intentional and malicious, and he hopes he'll be strong enough to block and delete Patrick's number for good this time.
The door slamming feels final, and it's like Henry's strings have been cut the second Patrick’s gone - he falls to the floor, knees jamming into the hardwood with a sickening thud as his heart starts to race and his breath comes out in shaky, uneven gasps. He knows what a panic attack feels like, is fully aware that's what’s happening to him right now, but he has absolutely no control over his body, no inch of space left in his brain to fight it off.
"Alex," he gasps, feeling the words burn up his throat, and then there are two strong arms around his shoulders, dragging him into a seated position on the floor - Henry's back pressed against Alex's chest, his bigger body cocooned between Alex's spread thighs. They hold hands, and Alex speaks softly into his ear, whispering easy instructions for Henry to follow.
"That's it, just breathe baby, okay? Squeeze my hands and breathe with me. That's it, you're doing so good, nice deep breaths for me. You're safe, I've got you, I promise."
The last bit makes a sob claw its way out, the sound of it echoing against the walls, because despite everything, he does feel safe, here in Alex's strong arms. The gentle caress of his thumb against Henry's own. It takes a while, longer than Henry is proud of honestly, but eventually his breathing evens out, his heart settling into something approaching a normal rhythm until finally the room comes back into sharp focus around them.
It’s a mess. A smashed vase littering the floor, shards of glass reflecting the sickeningly bright pools of Patrick’s blood, Alex’s bag is dropped by the door, and Henry’s phone is sitting on the rug where Patrick knocked it from his hands. In all the chaos David has crashed into a side table too, and three of Henry’s novels are scattered beside it, a miraculously unbroken mug spilling tea onto the hardwood.
“Fuck,” Henry says, looking down at their joined hands on his thighs, he finally notices Alex’s knuckles. They’re a mess too, spots of dried blood and the swell of bruises already starting to form.
“Alex, your hands - we need, you should, I have ice, in the freezer.”
“Don’t worry about me, Hen,” Alex replies, reaching up to brush the fingers of his clean hand against Henry’s jaw, “but we should get you some ice before this starts to hurt.”
The gentle touch feels nice, grounding in a moment of chaos, and isn’t that just the perfect metaphor for Alex? His constant port in any storm, and Henry has never felt less deserving of him.
“We should,” Henry says, nodding towards the hallway, “the kitchen. We should go to the kitchen.”
Alex helps him up, still being so tender as they both clamber to their feet, and David is there too, twining his body between Henry’s knees and staying so close he almost trips them all. It makes Henry smile fondly, despite everything, and silently thank a god he doesn’t believe in that he has them both - Alex and David, ushering him away from the scene of maybe the most shameful afternoon of his life.
(It’s not the worst, that spot will always be reserved for the day his father died, when everything in Henry’s life slowly started unravelling and probably, ultimately, led him right to this moment.)
Alex is quiet as they settle in the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and then searching out an ice pack to wrap in a dish towel, before pressing it gently into Henry’s hands and urging him to rest it against his swollen face. He’s still too stunned to even feel the pain, but he can’t deny the cold is soothing regardless.
Alex washes his own hands next, making the water run scarlet for a moment before it tapers off into a pale pink, and finally crystal clear. His right hand looks better once it’s clean, only a little puffier than it usually is, with a slight bruise starting to mottle over the middle two knuckles. Henry has the wild urge to kiss them in apology, but thankfully has enough presence of mind to ignore that impulse.
A moment later a steaming cup of tea is placed in front of Henry in his favourite mug - it’s one Alex bought him years ago for Secret Santa, bright orange and made to look like a Penguin Classics edition of Pride and Prejudice. He always has his morning cup of Earl Grey in it, and just the sight of it now is enough to ease a little of the tension in his gut.
“I put honey in it, figured you could use something sweet,” Alex says softly, and Henry thinks he’s sweet enough to make up for all the ugliness of the last hour. Is sweeter than Henry could ever hope to deserve.
“Thank you,” is what he says instead, curling his free hand around the warm porcelain. It’s still too hot to drink, but the heat is comforting regardless. Behind him Alex brews himself a cup of coffee using the good stuff, the grounds that Henry keeps on hand for him and Pez, and hides behind the boxes of herbal tea so Patrick won’t question why he has it when neither of them drink espresso.
The quiet stretches out between them, broken only by the clinking of a spoon against a mug, followed by the scrape of a chair and a little huff from David as he plops down on Henry’s socked feet. It feels like any other Wednesday when Alex comes over for lunch in the middle of his workday and they shoot the shit for forty minutes before he has to head back to the office. And yet, it’s nothing like any of the ones that have come before, Henry’s carefully constructed house of cards has collapsed around them, and all that’s left on display is the awful truth.
He hates that Alex can see all the ugly parts of him now, knows how weak and stupid he is, instead of the strong and reliable friend he’s tried to be for the last five years, since Henry moved here and accidentally stole Alex’s favourite spot at their local coffee shop.
“I’m sorry…” Henry says eventually, when he can’t stand the silence for a moment longer. It’s maybe the longest he’s ever known Alex to voluntarily be quiet for, and by the five minute mark it’s unnerving him.
“Hey,” Alex replies, reaching over to curl his uninjured fingers around Henry’s wrist, pressing lightly against the pulse point there, “you’ve got nothing to apologise for. Not ever, but especially not this, alright?”
It makes something in his chest crack wide open - something tender and vulnerable, and he trips over himself to explain, “It wasn’t…”
“Please don’t tell me it wasn’t what it looked like, Henry. I’ve known for months there was something off between the two of you, since your birthday at least. I just had no idea the fucker was actually putting his hands on you…” Alex trails off, taking a moment to bite down on his own lip, as if that will physically stop more words tumbling out.
Eventually though, he can’t hold back the question Henry has been dreading, “Has he done this before?” Alex asks, looking pained, like he’s terrified of the answer.
All of Henry wants to lie, wants to say no, this was just a one off, I swear, but Alex is his best friend and if anyone deserves to know the truth, it’s him.
“Not like this,” Henry settles on eventually, taking a gulp of tea and then burying his nose in the rim of the mug, letting the comforting smell of warmth and home soothe his frayed nerves.
“What does that mean?” Alex asks, wanting clarity, the lawyer in him hearing the evasive answer for what it is.
Another deep breath, and then with his eyes still gazing downwards, Henry explains, “It was an accident before…the first time. And then after that, it was just once, when he was drunk. He apologised and I told him I was leaving if he- if it- and then. It was fine, for months. Until today.”
Across the table, Alex’s hands clench into fists again, his fingers pressing into the wood, hard. It looks like it hurts, and Henry reaches over to stop him.
“Jesus Christ,” Alex says, the words quiet but trembling out of him, “I want to fucking kill him.”
Henry lets out a weak laugh, “I thought you might, earlier.”
And he’s trying to change the mood, to lighten it somehow, but Alex just looks up at him, stricken, “I’m so sorry if I scared you, you know I’d never- that I wouldn’t…”
“I know,” Henry says, and he does.
“I’d rather die than hurt you, Henry. That’s why I got so mad, I saw his hands on you, saw the mark on your face and I just. I lost my fucking mind.”
And Henry understands, because he knows he’d feel the same if he saw someone hurting Alex. It was bad enough when his ex-girlfriend cheated on him and they caught her in the act at a club, making out with some guy who was tall and fair haired and not a damn patch on the man sitting across from Henry right now. Alex had simply ended things, loudly and humiliatingly, in front of a bar full of people, and when she’d cried and apologised, Henry had to resist the urge to throw his martini in her face.
So yeah, he gets it, and he loves Alex for protecting him.
He loves Alex for a million reasons actually, but knowing that he wants to keep Henry safe might just be at the top of the list. Aside from Percy and Bea, he hasn’t felt that particular brand of security from anyone since his dad died and his mum disappeared into herself right before his eyes.
Of course he says exactly none of that, because that isn’t how their relationship works. They’re best friends who maybe could have been more, but have somehow missed out on every opportunity over the years - never single at the same time, and now they’re too deep into their current situation for Henry to ever risk jeopardizing it.
Not that he thinks Alex would actually want him now, not when he’s seen how desperate Henry is to be loved that he’ll put up with people hurting him. That he will take whatever he can get just to avoid being alone.
He rolls his eyes, disgusted at himself, and glances up at the clock, realises with a start that it’s almost one and Alex should have left at least fifteen minutes ago.
“Alex, you’re going to be late,” he says, nodding at the wall.
“I’m not going back to work, Jesus, Henry. You thought I was just going to rush off and leave you here like nothing had happened?”
And Henry hadn’t actually thought about it at all, but yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what he’d have assumed. He shrugs, awkwardly.
“Fucksake, come here, you idiot,” Alex says, standing up and wrapping an arm around Henry’s shoulder, dragging his ice cooled face to rest against Alex’s warm chest. “I texted my boss when I was making your tea, I’m not going anywhere.”
And he doesn’t. For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening he stays, making them sandwiches for lunch and helping to clean up the mess Patrick left behind in the living room. He scrubs blood from the floor and sweeps up broken glass and mops away the remnants of Henry’s spilt tea. And after all of that he walks David to the bodega three blocks away and gets them pizza and beers for dinner.
Patrick tries to call Henry six times, and on the third attempt Alex answers, tells him his shit will be packed up and left on the stoop tomorrow morning, and that if he ever comes near Henry again, Alex won’t go so easy on him next time.
And then, after all of that, he carefully holds Henry’s metaphorical hand as they dump all of Patrick’s things into bags and boxes and suitcases. He didn’t live here officially, but he rarely spent nights at his own place on Staten Island, so there’s a decent accumulation of stuff from the last eighteen months. Alex checks in, let's Henry assure him that this is what he actually wants, that he’s really and truly done with this relationship after today, and the lack of pressure means more than anything else.
He doesn’t want Patrick to come back, but does want the autonomy to make that decision himself.
“You’re so fucking brave, baby,” Alex says to him when they’re done, standing at the bottom of the staircase and leaning up to kiss Henry’s forehead.
“I’m exhausted,” is Henry’s honest reply, and Alex quirks his mouth up in a small smile, his dimple just about peeking through. Henry wants to put his thumb there, to touch Alex’s face in the exact spot where his near-constant joy is most obvious.
“It’s late,” Alex agrees, and Henry’s heart sinks at the thought of him leaving, and Henry being alone. Except, just like every other moment for the last ten hours, Alex says exactly the right thing, “You up for a sleepover? I don’t feel like leaving you tonight.”
So he stays, and they brush their teeth side by side in Henry’s ensuite, with the noise of the extractor fan above them, and the too bright lights emphasising the blooming bruise spreading across Henry’s jaw. He sees Alex looking at it too, but doesn’t comment, just digs out a box of painkillers and pops two, offering Alex the bottle a second later for his no doubt aching hand.
And then they slip into bed together without any kind of discussion about it despite the way Alex always stays on the sofa bed in Henry’s office when he sleeps over. Tonight though, he needs someone else to fill the space that has been Patrick’s on the bed beside him.
“I’m buying you new sheets tomorrow,” Alex promises before they fall asleep.
“Thank you,” Henry replies, and he doesn’t mean for the bedsheets.
*****
Alex does buy him new sheets, expensive ones with navy blue stripes, and then on the one week anniversary of Alex walking in on Patrick pinning him to the wall, Alex turns up for their usual Wednesday lunch date with a bouquet of flowers and a take-out tea from their favourite cafe two blocks over.
“You’re ridiculous,” Henry tells him fondly, trying not to blush as pink as the peonies in his hands.
Alex just shrugs, kicking the door closed behind himself, “If it makes you smile, it’s not ridiculous.”
They haven’t talked about it much, at least not face-to-face, but Henry appreciates the way Alex is both giving him time and space, whilst also showing that he’s there, that he’ll continue to be there when Henry’s ready.
He isn’t, not yet, not with the bruise still fading on his face and the fingermarks still imprinted into his wrists, but he knows one day he’ll tell Alex the full truth about Patrick and their relationship. How things escalated from little jealous remarks and keeping tabs on Henry, to what happened in the living room a week ago. For now though, Henry has an appointment booked in with his therapist and the start of a new novel pouring from his fingertips.
It’s about friendship, and love, and meeting the right person at the wrong time. And also the wrong person at the right time.
Henry isn’t delusional enough to pretend that it’s anything other than a love letter to Alex, but he hopes one day, if it’s approved by his publisher, he’ll be able to blur the lines enough that Alex won’t see Henry’s heart bleeding all over the page.
Today, in the warm sunshine of his kitchen, he tries to forget about it all and just enjoy Alex’s company, drinking the herbal tea that Alex picked up for him and eating the lunch that Henry’s prepared for them. It’s nothing special, just sandwiches and a salad followed by a fruit platter from the supermarket, but it always feels good to give Alex something back on these Wednesday afternoons.
They talk about the usual things - a case Alex is working on, the book that Henry finished reading last night, an upcoming visit from June and Nora and where they should all get dinner together. And he might know them through Alex, but they’re his friends too at this point, have crashed in his guest room on their visits from D.C where Nora works more times than he can count, so Henry can’t help but wonder if they know. About his breakup with Patrick, and if Alex has told them about what he walked in to find last week.
He tries not to dwell on it, to keep up with their conversation as Alex uses a toothpick to skewer grapes and slices of strawberry into his mouth, but clearly he fails spectacularly.
“Hey,” Alex says, turning his attention away from the fruit, and fully towards Henry, “where did you go just now? You okay?”
“Did you tell them?” he asks, because he might as well, it’ll only consume him otherwise.
Alex frowns, “Who?”
“June and Nora.”
He doesn’t elaborate further, and Alex doesn’t need him to, his face softening into something that’s horribly approaching sympathy. It’s the last thing Henry wants.
“Don’t,” he says, firmer than he means to.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine, I just want to know what to expect over dinner.”
Sighing, Alex reaches across the table and takes Henry’s hand in his own, his long fingers tucking firmly into Henry’s palm, “I didn’t tell them anything, Hen, it’s your business, not mine. But for what it’s worth, I think they’d want to know, because they love you and care about you.”
Henry nods, because he doesn’t doubt that for a second, but even the idea of speaking the words aloud makes him feel sick and weak. It’s hard enough that Alex knows, but at least Henry didn’t have to actually tell him, he saw, and that’s worse for sure, but it takes some of the biting shame away from actually having to admit it.
“Look,” Alex says after a long minute of silence, “I have to get back to work in a minute, I have a meeting at two so I can’t be late, but I promise you baby, I won’t say a damn word to them, okay? You can trust me, promise.”
“I know,” Henry replies, “I’m sorry, thank you.”
When they hug on the doorstep five minutes later, Alex clings on a little tighter than usual, tucks his head into Henry’s neck and breathes out a slow, warm breath right over Henry’s heart.
*****
They go into Manhattan for dinner when the girls arrive, some trendy place that June has seen rave reviews for. It’s not Henry and Alex’s usual vibe, they prefer the low-key bars and little family run restaurants that sit on the avenues between their places in Park Slope, but they’re happy to oblige. They catch the subway in together, and are swept up in two enthusiastic sets of arms when they reach their table, a tangled mess of a hug that includes four people instead of two. It feels good to be held though, and Henry squeezes all three of them back in turn.
“So,” Nora says, when they’re all finally seated with drinks in front of them, “Tell us everything.”
Alex launches into a tale about work, followed by an anecdote about the walk he and Henry took David on last week when another dog threw up right across David’s back, which resulted in an almost flooded bathroom, and Alex vomiting on the sidewalk on the way home.
“It was fucking gross,” he says emphatically, “poor David.”
“Poor David?” Henry quips, “What about poor me? I had to deal with the two of you covered in vomit.”
June lets out a loud, honking laugh that’s so similar to Alex’s that it makes Henry’s heart flutter in his chest.
“Delightful,” she says sarcastically, taking a sip of the bright pink cocktail in front of her, “and what about you, Hen? What’s new with you?”
He panics for maybe half a second, and then without really meaning to he admits, “I um, I started working on a new book a few weeks ago.”
He hasn’t told Alex about it yet, because he knows he’ll ask to read it immediately, and Henry hasn’t had the time to edit out all the details that are so distinctly about him and them.
“You didn’t tell me that,” Alex says, a little accusatory, and Henry just shrugs, picking up his own gin and tonic and burying his face in it for a moment.
“It’s… maybe nothing, yet.”
That’s a lie, Henry is pretty sure it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever written actually, but he knows he needs to tread carefully until it’s finished and edited and he can spin some tale about where his inspiration came from, and how it definitely wasn’t from the man sitting beside him.
“What’s it about?” Nora asks, but he’s saved from answering by the server coming to take their orders, and Henry is quick to deflect the conversation away from himself whilst they wait for their food.
It turns out the place is worth the hype, and as they share a table full of appetisers and side dishes, Henry forgets all about the last few weeks, about Patrick and his complicated feelings for Alex and the hours spent with his therapist. Forgets about the blood stain that has discoloured his living room floor and the empty space beside him in bed each night.
He forgets about anything other than enjoying good food and good company with three of the best people in his life, until of course, reality crashes back into him.
It’s another server coming to clear their empty plates that does it, deft hands stacking them neatly as Alex holds court with a story about his asshole co-worker Hunter. Henry laughs along until he turns to thank the waiter, the smile immediately sliding from his face as he does.
“Oh!” the guy says, “Henry, hi. Good to see you.”
“Hello,” Henry replies automatically, “how are you?”
“Good man, really good,” Patrick’s brother Michael says, a polite smile on his face. “Hey, I was sorry to hear about you and Patrick breaking up.”
Henry nods, hoping his face is still neutral as he says, “Yes, well, sometimes things don’t work out.”
He knows from the look on Michael’s face that he doesn’t know the truth, will have been fed some bullshit story from Patrick that maybe (or probably, actually,) included Henry cheating, but to his credit Michael stays professional, smiles around at the table as he finishes clearing away their dishes.
“Well, it was good to see you again, let me know if I can get you guys anything else, yeah?”
Henry nods and tries to force a smile. He’s almost certain he doesn’t succeed, and it’s not like he knew Michael well, had only met him a handful of times, but seeing him again has still got his heart racing and his palms sweating. Beneath the table Alex puts a comforting hand on his thigh, and it gives Henry the courage to finally look up again.
“Shit, Henry, I’m sorry to hear that. Why didn’t you tell us?” June asks, her face creased with sympathy, and Henry wants to say: that’s why. Because I didn’t want you to look at me like that.
Instead he says, “Because there’s nothing to say, it’s over and I’m fine.”
Alex squeezes his knee, and Henry wishes he could ask for a hug instead, wishes Michael had never walked over here and disturbed their lovely evening with the dark cloud of Henry’s failed relationship.
He’s not fine, and he can tell that June knows it too, so Henry stands, knocking Alex’s hand away, and says, “I need to use the bathroom, excuse me.”
When he comes back ten minutes later Henry feels calm again, after some deep breathing exercises and a few handfuls of freezing cold water splashed across his face, and even though it’s clear he’s been the topic of conversation whilst he was gone, it’s easier to look June and Nora in the eye now the element of surprise his dissipated.
“I’m sorry,” he says the second he sits down, “for not telling you, and for being rude just now. I didn’t mean to be, it just took me by surprise, seeing his brother here.”
Nora nods, “you don’t have to apologise to us, babe.”
“Still,” Henry insists, “I am sorry, I just… wanted to enjoy your company tonight, not talk about another failed relationship.”
Beside him Alex tenses, and Henry doesn’t have the mental energy to examine which part of that sentence he objects to, and he definitely doesn’t want to discuss it here.
“Okay,” June agrees, “no more talk of ex-boyfriends then. Shall we get the check and go for ice cream?”
“Yes,” Henry nods, “that sounds wonderful.”
They go to a place in the West Village that does, in Henry’s opinion, some of the best desserts in the city and get ice cream sundaes. It’s somewhere they used to go often, when June and Nora still lived in the city and Henry was first getting to know them and Alex. He’d been single at the time, but Alex was dating Sarah then, and it used to be the five of them pretty often, cramped around tiny tables and laughing over chocolate fudge brownies and milkshakes bigger than their heads.
Henry tries not to dwell on how much he wanted Alex back then, is embarrassed by how obvious he probably was, preening at any scrap of attention from him. He’s gotten better over the years at hiding it, better at lying to himself about how friendship is enough, is more than he ever thought he’d have from someone like Alex.
Tonight Alex stays close, pressing their ankles together beneath the table as they all swap cups of ice cream, sharing chocolate peanut butter, pistachio, salted caramel and Henry’s own choice of vanilla bean. He’s a purist okay, and even if the others joke about him being vanilla, they still all steal bites of it regardless.
When they leave it’s pushing midnight, and June and Nora are supposed to be staying with Alex, but Henry’s place is closer to their subway stop so he says, “Hey, why don’t we all crash at mine tonight?”
He doesn’t say it’s because he isn’t ready for this night to be over and to be alone in his big empty house again, but Alex almost certainly understands that’s what he means anyway.
“Only if you let me use your expensive moisturiser and let Alex room with you, that sofa bed was not made for three,” Nora teases.
Henry smiles, “Deal.”
*****
Henry wakes up on Saturday morning with Alex plastered along the length of his back, both of their shirts damp with sweat between them, and one of Alex’s big hands splayed across his stomach. It feels nice to be held like this, and even though he knows he should roll away, should remove himself from this situation before it gets awkward, he doesn’t. Instead he closes his eyes and pretends to still be asleep, lets his breath come out in deep, relaxed exhales, and enjoys the feeling of Alex all around him.
He gets twenty more minutes before Alex wakes up too, his fingers spasming against the soft curve of Henry’s stomach when he realises the position they’re in.
“Shit,” he whispers to himself, and then there is a rush of cold air all along Henry’s back as Alex pulls away. It makes Henry shiver, the morning chill hitting the humid air where their bodies had been pressed together, and he takes a moment before pretending to wake up too, rolling onto his back to find Alex’s eyes fixated on the ceiling.
“Good morning,” Henry says quietly, his throat a little dry from too much alcohol and not enough water the evening before, but at least they didn’t drink enough for him to be hungover.
“Hey,” Alex says, his head falling to the side on the pillow and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes tugging at his lips.
He always looks unfairly good in the mornings, but this is only the second time Henry’s woken up face to face with it like this, and the last time was the morning after, so his head was too much of a mess to really process anything. Today though, today he notices everything - Alex’s ridiculous eyelashes brushing the curve of his cheeks, his full, pouty mouth a little dry from sleep, his hair a rumpled mess against Henry’s new bedsheets.
“Thank you for staying over,” Henry hears himself say, far too earnestly for seven a.m., but it makes Alex smile properly and reach out a hand across the mattress between them, his fingers slotting into the gaps between Henry’s like a missing puzzle piece.
“Of course, sweetheart. We’re all here for you, even if the girls… even though they don’t know the whole story, you’ve got us, okay?”
Henry can only squeeze his fingers and give him a watery little smile in return.
*****
On the two month anniversary of his relationship with Patrick ending, Henry types the final words on a sixty-thousand word first draft of his book. He’s never finished a draft of anything in such a short period of time, and as he rereads the final section for the third, forth, fifth time, he realises there’s no way he can edit his heart out of it.
He figures it doesn’t matter, his editor and publisher might hate it anyway, it’s nothing like the stuff he usually writes - no plot to speak of, just two hundred pages of yearning and love and want. It’s good, but it doesn’t mean it’s what they’re looking for - and that matters when it comes to getting a book to sell. So, instead of worrying about it, he fires off an email to them both, telling them there’s a draft waiting if they’re interested, and prints off a physical copy for himself to start with revisions.
Regardless of if it sells, he wants to finish this thing, even if it ends up being for an audience of one.
To celebrate he takes David for a walk, and fires off a text to Alex.
From Henry: I’m heading to the the park if you haven’t had lunch yet and want to join me for a coffee? I’ll pay.
From Alex: give me twenty mins and i’ll be there! extra shot of espresso please!!!!
Henry grins down at his phone, and then diverts to the coffee shop at the end of his block, just a couple of minutes away from the park. He orders something ridiculous, far too sweet and far too caffeinated for Alex, and then a chai latte for himself. It’s getting cooler as the last days of summer fade into autumn, and the chai is warm and comforting as he leads David towards the entrance where he and Alex always meet on days like this. It’s handy, the way their places, Alex’s office and the park are all within a ten block radius of each other, makes it easier for impromptu lunchtime strolls like this to happen without too much forward planning.
Henry doesn’t have anyone else who he can spend time with like this, everyone else he considers a friend taking weeks of planning to iron out a time and date, and his family are all still in London for the most part. It’s lonely sometimes, and he knows from many, many, many hours of unpicking his feelings with his therapist that it’s why he’s willing to settle for guys he shouldn’t. Is why he tried to talk himself around the way Patrick was treating him in particular. He knows, and can mostly accept now that it wasn’t his fault, but the ever present curl of shame still sits in his gut whenever he thinks about it for too long.
“Hey,” a familiar voice calls then, and Henry is powerless to stop his mouth curving up into a smile in response.
“Hello yourself,” he says, letting Alex pull him into a quick, one armed hug. He looks good, just like always, in his slate grey work suit, with a crisp white shirt and a tie covered in tiny rainbow bicycles, “Nice tie,” Henry comments, then hands over Alex’s coffee.
“Thanks, it’s my ice-breaker tie. I had some kids in today for a case and they were pretty nervous about talking to me, worked like a charm.”
Henry can’t imagine anyone being nervous about speaking to Alex, but the fact that he actively finds ways to make people feel more comfortable around him makes Henry’s heart do something achy and complicated in his chest.
“What?” Alex asks, when Henry just stands there, helplessly endeared and doesn’t say a word.
“Nothing,” Henry says, rolling his eyes and nudging Alex’s shoulder, “Come on, let's find the pretzel cart, I’ll treat you to lunch, too.”
“My hero,” Alex jokes, draping a hand across his forehead and pretending to swoon.
*****
“So you know how I’m your favourite person in the world?” Alex asks over the phone a few days later, a cheeky teasing lilt to his voice that Henry can hear easily.
“Hm, you’re alright I suppose,” he replies, “what’s up?”
“My landlord just called, there’s a problem with some of the electrical in my apartment block or something and long story short, I need to move out for a few days, maybe a week, while they deal with it.”
“Uh huh,” Henry says, already smiling before Alex has even asked the question.
“Well I thought since I’m so funny and smart and good looking, you might be amenable to being roomies for a few days? I’ll repay you in evening dog walks and cups of tea each morning?”
“Hm,” Henry replies, pretending to think about it, even though they both know the answer is yes, “throw in a promise to help me deep clean the coffee machine and I guess I could be amenable.”
“Deal,” Alex says immediately, “you’re the best, Hen! They need me out by Wednesday morning, so are you good for me to come by tomorrow evening after work?”
“Sure,” Henry agrees, “do you need any help bringing anything over here?”
“Nah,” Alex says, “It’ll only be a few garment bags for my suits and a duffel bag, I’ll just grab an Uber when I get home from work, okay?”
Which is how Henry finds himself setting up the sofa bed with fresh sheets and stacking a set of clean towels on the chair beside it in his office. It’s a big room, spacious enough to easily fit his desk, overflowing bookshelves, and the sofa bed, so he isn’t concerned about it feeling cramped with Alex around but he does want him to feel comfortable. To feel welcome.
He stocks the kitchen too, putting Alex’s favourite coffee beans and the cinnamon shaker out on the counter by the machine instead of tucked away in a cupboard, and makes a trip to the supermarket to buy the sourdough he loves, and the raspberry jam with the seeds that Henry can’t stand. It’s worth the effort when Alex arrives and smiles at him softly when he notices the extra touches. He kisses Henry’s cheek, light and fleeting.
Tells him, “You’re the fucking best, baby.”
It’s a pet name he’s used a million times, since probably the second week of their friendship, but everytime it makes something warm and squirmy settle between Henry’s ribs. Something familiar and comfortable.
“And don’t you forget it,” Henry replies, instead of vomiting his feelings across the kitchen floor between them like he wants to.
*****
Living with Alex is nothing like almost living with Patrick was. Nothing like living with the other two ex-boyfriends who Henry was serious enough to take that step with either. It’s better in every conceivable way - easy and fun and despite being unexpected, doesn’t feel suffocating at all. Alex is a little messy, but doesn’t ever once accuse Henry of nagging when he brings it up. He’s thoughtful too, bringing Henry cups of tea each morning before he leaves for work, just like he promised, and insists on cleaning up the dishes after dinner each evening.
He takes David on more than just the evening walks they agreed on, and picks up milk on his way home from work when they’re running low.
By the third day, Henry never wants him to leave.
By the fifth, he’s stopped lying to himself about being anything other than embarrassing and completely in love with his best friend. It’s not new, has been simmering away in Henry’s heart since they first met and Alex was dating Sarah and Henry convinced himself Alex was straight. He knows now, after seeing him have flings with two different guys that Alex is openly and proudly bisexual, and honestly, that just makes Henry’s desperate, pathetic longing even harder to deal with.
It’s one thing thinking that Alex doesn’t want to date guys at all, it's something entirely different now that they’re both finally single at the same time, to realise that Alex just obviously doesn’t want to date him.
He’d always assumed that if this ever did happen, that maybe they’d finally end up together, but it’s been months since that afternoon in the living room with Patrick, and aside from sleepy cuddling after their night out with June and Nora, Alex hasn’t laid anything more than a platonic finger on him.
“Hey, you okay?” Alex says then, snapping Henry out of his sappy wallowing. He’s flushed and sweaty from a Sunday afternoon run around the park, and Henry has never wanted to reach out and touch someone more in his entire life.
Instead, he picks up his half eaten sandwich and nods, “Yeah, fine, sorry I was just daydreaming, I didn’t hear you get home.”
His voice definitely doesn’t waver on the word home, and Alex’s eyes linger on him for a moment longer before he’s nodding too.
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I am,” Henry assures him, “I made you a sandwich too by the way, it’s in the fridge.”
“You are the light of my fucking life,” Alex jokes, pouring himself a huge glass of water and grabbing the covered plate, “which reminds me, my landlord called whilst I was on my run, it seems the issue is worse than they thought, it might take until next weekend for them to finish up.”
“You can stay as long as you want, you know that, Alex.”
Alex smiles, something real and genuine, “You really are the best. They’re going to refund me half of my rent for the month, so I can pay you or whatever, I know a few days is different to nearly two weeks.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Henry says, frowning. He doesn’t want or need Alex’s money, and he’d happily let him live here rent free, forever.
“Sure?” Alex pushes, and Henry swats him on the arm.
“Quite sure, darling. You can take me out for dinner next weekend if you really want to thank me.”
“It’s a date,” Alex promises.
*****
On Tuesday a pipe bursts in Alex’s office so he stays home for the day, working remotely and sharing Henry’s space until Henry has to leave for a work meeting and dinner in the city with his literary agent and publisher.
“I have no idea what time I’ll be home, so please can you feed and walk David this afternoon? He should be fine to wait until you’re finished with work.”
“No problem, baby,” Alex replies, barely looking up from his laptop but still flashing a blinding grin Henry’s way.
Henry smiles back, grabs his jacket and laptop bag, and hurries off to catch the subway. It’s busy considering it isn’t even rush hour yet, and Henry has to stand the entire ride up to Union Square. His agent’s office is only a few blocks over, so he grabs a tea and a pastry on his way, and then settles in for a long meeting to discuss the book he’s already halfway through revising the first draft of.
Surprisingly, they’d loved that initial draft, which he’s both pleased and terrified about. Pleased because he loves it too, and terrified because it means he’ll actually have to put it out into the world. Still, he figures that’s a problem for future Henry, and endeavours to worry about it when the time comes.
The meeting is long, but productive and following that is an even longer dinner at an upscale steakhouse that his publishing company foots the bill for. Henry eats good food, has two large glasses of nice wine, and by the time he finds his way into the back of an Uber, he’s full, happy and a little tipsy. It’s a good feeling, and it’s even better to know he isn’t going home to an empty house - Alex will be there, probably bursting out of his skin to chat with Henry after so many hours alone.
When the car pulls to a stop outside the brownstone, Henry thanks the driver and then tips him on the app, before heading up the steps to a suspiciously quiet house. Usually they hang out together in the living room each evening so he’d assumed Alex would be there, but when Henry unlocks the door, the entire ground floor of the house is still and dark.
“Alex?” he calls, dropping his bag by the door and hanging his jacket on the hook, “David?”
There’s movement upstairs, and it’s too early for Alex, the perpetual night owl, to be in bed already, so he heads up to find the office-turned-Alex’s-bedroom door ajar, and light spilling onto the landing. David hears him before Alex does, and when Henry nudges the door open, he realises why.
Alex is sitting on the unfolded sofa bed, glasses on and shirtless with noise cancelling earphones hooked over his head, David curled around his bare feet as he reads a stack of papers in front of him. At first, Henry assumes he’s working late, that it’s a case file or something else urgent from work, but then he notices lines of annotations in his own messy handwriting in the margins, and Henry’s heart sinks to his feet.
The neatly discarded pile of papers to Alex’s right confirms that he’s not mistaken - the top page glowing like a fucking beacon now he knows what he’s looking at.
Postcards from Paradise By Henry Fox.
And Henry can tell by the pile of sheets Alex has already read that he’s at least two thirds of the way through the novel, knows that there’s no talking his way out of this one without downright lying to Alex.
“Shit,” Alex says eventually when he finally looks up and notices Henry lurking by the door, jumping enough to disrupt the manuscript and knock a few pages to the floor. The title page lands by Henry’s foot, his own name glaring back up at him, mocking him almost. Alex knocks off his headphones and glasses and scrambles to stand.
“Oh fuck, Henry I didn’t-” he starts, but Henry can feel mortifying tears burning the back of his eyes and shakes his head.
Manages to say, “You weren’t supposed to- that wasn’t for you to read.”
And then before Alex can reply he turns and leaves the room, rushing down the hall to the safety of his own bedroom. He knows he can’t hide away from this forever, that Alex is probably thinking of the kindest way to tell him he’s a fucking pathetic mess before he packs up his stuff and finds a hotel to stay at, but putting a door between the two of them feels comforting for now at least.
The gentle knock that comes less than five minutes later shouldn’t be a surprise, and yet somehow, it is. The sound of it shaking Henry to his core as he paces beside the bed, trying desperately to think of something, anything to explain this all away.
If it was anyone else reading his manuscript it’d be easy enough, inspired by past relationships would go a long way, but there’s too much of them in there for Henry to ever convince Alex it’s not about him. Too many quiet little details that are so blindingly obvious if you know what you’re looking for. It doesn’t matter that the characters live in a different country and do different jobs and come to be together by a different route entirely, the heart of them is all Alex and Henry, and despite his revisions, he hasn’t found a way around that yet.
“Henry, please,” Alex says outside the door, very much a real, living person, and not just a character in Henry’s mind, “can you let me in so we can talk?”
No, Henry ways to say, like a petulant child. Wants to stuff his fingers in his ears and mutter lalalala I’m not listening until it all goes away. But he’s learnt the hard way that doesn’t actually work in real life, so after half a minute and a dozen deep breaths, he twists the handle and opens the door. Alex has put on a shirt, thankfully, so Henry isn’t faced with his abs and pecs and ridiculous shoulders as they have this conversation at least.
“Hi,” Alex says, his eyes soft but searching as he steps through the door and into Henry’s bedroom. It feels like the worst possible place for them to have this conversation, but it’s already happening, so Henry takes a step back and perches on the edge of his neatly made bed.
“I’m sorry,” he says as Alex stands there for a moment, unsure, before he sits down too.
“You have nothing to apologise for, Henry.”
“I do, I didn’t- I wasn’t planning on showing it to you and it’s not- I don’t…” he has no idea where any of those sentences are leading, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because the words die one his tongue when Alex reaches over and touches his thigh, his hand so big and warm even through the material of Henry’s trousers.
“It’s… they’re us, aren’t they? James and Lucas - it’s our story.”
The tears well up in Henry’s eyes so quickly that he has no hope of holding them back this time, can only drop his head forward and let them spill down his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” he says again.
“Hey,” Alex says, sliding closer so their arms are touching, shoulders bumping as Alex’s moves to take both of Henry’s trembling hands in his own, “what are you sorry for? It’s beautiful, Hen. Everything you write is incredible but this is- god, it’s stunning.”
Henry wishes he had more words to say, any kind of an explanation to give, but he doesn’t so instead he shakes apart in Alex’s hold, and lets himself cry. It’s partly relief that Alex isn’t mad at him, but mostly it’s embarrassed mortification. He feels like Alex has seen him stripped bare and pressed between the sheets of that manuscript, and the imbalance of feelings is knocking the wind right out of his lungs.
“Fuck, please don’t be sad. I’m so sorry for reading it before you wanted me to, I just, I saw it on your shelf when I was looking for something to read and in the past you’ve always let me… and I just, I couldn’t help myself. You know I’m a nosy motherfucker, and I’m a sucker for your writing so…” he trails off, then pulls Henry closer so they’re in an awkward sideways hug, Alex’s hand reaching up to stroke softly through his hair.
“I didn’t get to the end,” he continues, the words quieter now, like he’s telling Henry a secret, “I didn’t find out what happened after Lucas kissed James on the doorstep in the rain.”
They made love, is what happened, off screen and under the guise of a lot of flowery language and overflowing with emotion, but Henry is saved from admitting that when Alex speaks again.
“I wonder if Lucas admitted that he was scared of loving James, because James has been hurt before, and Lucas is fucking terrified he might be just another guy who breaks his heart. Because he has a terrible track record with relationships and he’d rather die than lose James.”
Henry’s heart stutters in his chest, then starts to pound wildly.
“Lucas would never,” he says with conviction, “he’s nothing like the men that came before, he’d never deliberately hurt James.”
“He wouldn’t,” Alex agrees, “and he probably falls asleep every night wondering what it would be like to hold James, to kiss him again and to be with him. To spend the night together, and wake up tangled in navy striped sheets.”
Henry’s pretty sure he’s going to have a heart attack as he lets Alex’s words wash over him, lets them sink in and the reality of what they mean settle over him. Alex wants him, wants to kiss and hold and spend the night in Henry’s bed. Wants to be the guy who doesn’t hurt Henry or break his heart.
“He should try it,” Henry says, bravely forcing the words out before finally lifting his chin to look at Alex, “he should kiss him and find out.”
Alex does.
*****
Kissing leads to touching and touching leads to their clothes falling to the floor in a jumbled mess, leads to slipping beneath Henry’s comforter and pressing close. Leads to Henry’s hand sliding over the tantalizing cut of Alex’s abs to reach towards the waistband of his underwear.
Leads to Alex saying, “no baby, we shouldn’t,” and the bottom falling out of Henry’s stomach.
“Oh,” he says, embarrassed and pulling back, his cheeks flushing in a sickeningly dizzy swoop of humiliation.
“Shit, no wait, I didn’t mean like, no. I just meant, maybe not right now. Maybe we should talk some more before we jump straight into fucking.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to…” Henry forces out, “you don’t have to let me down gently.”
Alex lets out an exasperated-sounding sigh, and cups Henry’s face between his palms, their chests still pressed close enough together that Henry’s almost certain Alex will be able to feel his pounding heart.
“Hey, look at me,” he says, “I need you to hear me when I say I’ve wanted you in my bed since the moment I first saw you sitting in my spot in that coffee shop five years ago. And I’ve wanted you every single day since that moment, no matter how shitty I’ve felt about that at times.”
He sighs, and Henry bites at his own lips, feeling keyed up on adrenaline and want and love and terrified of what words might come spilling out of his mouth if Alex keeps looking at him like that.
“Believe me, baby,” Alex continues, “there is nothing I want more in the world right now than to slide down this bed and swallow your dick until you’re coming down my throat, but I think we owe it to to ourselves to be more careful with each other than that, don’t you?”
Henry tries really hard to not fixate on Alex saying he wants to swallow his dick and eventually manages to find his tongue enough to say, “Okay, but the dick sucking, that can happen soon, right?”
Alex laughs, loud and beautiful, and Henry wants to listen to that sound alone for the rest of his life.
“Yeah, really fucking soon, I promise.”
And then his face hardens into something serious, his hands falling away from Henry’s cheeks to reach down and lace their fingers together again.
“But I just, I need you to know, Henry, this isn’t something casual for me. I’m like, so deeply fucking gone for you I can hardly even put it into words, but I guess I’m just scared of this being some kind of emotional rebound after Patrick. I wouldn’t judge you if it was, but I can’t be that for you, if that’s all this is.”
“Alex,” Henry says seriously now too, “did a single page of my book feel casual to you?”
“Well… no,” Alex starts, but Henry cuts him off.
“Actually, wait here,” and then he’s pushing off the bed, awkwardly trying to hide the erection which is still tenting his underwear despite the change in conversation, before he rushes down the hall to the office. David is still snoozing on Alex’s messy bed, as Henry grabs the discarded, half-read manuscript and Alex’s glasses.
“Here,” he says, handing both over to Alex before slipping back into bed, “read the rest of it.”
“Right now?” Alex asks.
“Please.”
So Alex does, his eyes flitting across the page in careful sweeps, left to right, left to right, as Henry anxiously sits and twirls his ring around his little finger. It’s terrifying, even after everything that’s happened between them tonight, to lay his heart right out on the line now that Alex knows the book is all for him, but the idea of Alex thinking he isn’t all in with this is even scarier.
It takes forty-five minutes, but when Alex reaches the final page he lets out a long slow breath, before carefully placing the pages on the floor and dropping his glasses carelessly beside them.
“Fuck,” he says, turning with shining eyes so they’re facing each other once again, “it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever read.”
“It’s yours,” Henry says, vulnerable and honest, “and so is my heart.”
“Jesus Christ,” Alex replies, dashing away a flutter of tears across his own cheeks. “You’re fucking insane, Henry Fox. That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“So you believe me, that this isn’t a rebound for me? That I’ve been in love with you since before I even knew for sure that you were into guys?”
“Yeah,” Alex breathes, bridging the gap between their mouths, “I believe you.”
Later, after a lot more kissing and then brushing their teeth side by side at the sink again, after locking up the house and settling David for the night, Alex curls an arm over Henry’s stomach and spoons them close together beneath the sheets.
“Hey,” he murmurs into the skin of Henry’s neck, “I love you too, in case that wasn’t clear.”
It was, but Henry tucks the words away into his heart for safekeeping, regardless.
*****
The next day, Henry has a pre-booked appointment with his therapist, and within minutes of connecting to the call, he’s spilling his guts about Alex and the night before. She knows already about his feelings for Alex, but it’s still amazing to admit to another person that those feelings are reciprocated, to say out loud, hey, he fucking loves me too.
She smiles at him through the screen, looking genuinely pleased, before she asks, “You mentioned previously about wanting to tell him more about your last relationship, have you discussed that any further?”
Henry’s stomach clenches and he shakes his head.
“No,” he admits, “I just, I’m scared he’ll look at me differently. I don’t want him to think I’m pathetic for giving my ex a second and third chance after he hurt me.”
“Would you think Alex was pathetic, if the roles were reversed?”
The thought of anyone hurting Alex like that is enough to make Henry want to die honestly, but he would never think of him as anything other than wonderful and strong, regardless of the circumstances. He shakes his head, biting his lip.
He knows exactly what she’s going to say next.
“So what makes you think he would think that about you?”
Because I am, Henry wants to say. Because I was so scared of being alone I stayed with someone who was awful to me.
“I don’t know,” he settles on eventually, lifting a shoulder in a weak little shrug.
“I think you should strongly consider discussing it with him Henry, it’s something you’ve stated yourself you’d like to be honest about, and an important part of loving someone is trusting them with the vulnerable parts of yourself.”
Henry just nods, and then they move on, but he’s turning those words over and over for the rest of their session, his heart constricting inside his chest every time he considers actually saying the words out loud to Alex. He wishes he could just take the memories out of his own head and implant them into Alex’s instead and it’s only as the call is ending that he realises, whilst that isn’t possible, there is another alternative.
Saying the words is terrifying, but writing them? That is definitely something he can do.
Immediately he opens up a blank word document and begins to type.
He writes about James, about him sitting Lucas down and opening up about his past. He makes him braver than Henry, makes him admit all of the bad, awful, scary stuff that is cluttering up his brain and how he’s fucking terrified that it will change the way Lucas sees him. Will maybe make Lucas think he’s weak and stupid, when he wants to be seen as strong and worthy.
He doesn’t write about how Lucas reacts, because he doesn’t want to project anything onto Alex, and he ends the piece, five thousand words or fear and shame later with a simple question.
“Do you still want me, now that you know?”
*****
When he reads the document, Alex sobs.
Henry has seen him cry before, at films and books, and once, when he was diagnosed with ADHD and said it felt like he could finally fucking breathe for the first time in his life. But none of those times compare to this. He sits there, Henry’s laptop perched across his knees, and cries big, ugly tears, letting them drip from his chin and soak through the starched white of his work shirt.
And when Henry tries to interrupt he shakes his head, curls his fingers tighter around the sides of the laptop and says, “Please, let me finish it.”
Henry does, clenching his own hands into tight fists as he tries to be patient, staring blankly at the T.V that he’d left playing reruns of gameshows as he tries to pretend he doesn’t want to melt into a puddle on the floor and fucking disappear forever.
Eventually, after what is probably less than fifteen minutes, but feels like fifteen hours, Alex takes a big, deep breath and closes the lid of Henry’s Macbook. He sets it on the coffee table, and then simply opens his arms wide, whispers out a broken little “baby,” and lets Henry crumple against his chest.
Henry doesn’t cry, but his eyeballs ache and his throat feels like he’s swallowed a thousand fire ants in one great gulp as Alex clings to him, his long fingers pressing deep into the curves of Henry’s spine.
“You’re incredible,” Alex says eventually, his voice gravelly and clearly still full of tears. “Of course I still want you, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you could tell me that would ever change that.”
The words wash over Henry like a giant wave, pulling him under before setting him free again, each new breath feeling like a lung full of relief instead of oxygen. He lets the feeling roll through him as his body finally relaxes in Alex’s arms, and Henry’s never taken drugs before, but he imagines this is what it must feel like, feels high from this newfound sense of release.
“I’m sorry,” Henry says eventually, “for making you cry. I just didn’t- it felt too hard to say those things out loud.”
“I get that,” Alex replies, pressing a kiss into Henry’s hair, “but please don’t apologise. You’re so brave and I can hardly believe I’m the lucky motherfucker who gets to love you. Those other men, fucking Patrick, never deserved you for even a second, and I need you to know it was never anything you did. They’re just assholes who will regret their actions when they’re old and miserable and alone.”
“What if this doesn’t work out?” Henry forces himself to ask. “What if something happens and we lose each other for good? I want you so much, but I’m terrified that if we mess things up then I won’t have my best friend anymore.”
Alex kisses him before he replies, firm and sure, his lips still wet with tears, “We won’t mess this up, but even if we do, there’s no possible scenario where I won’t fight to have you in my life, alright? If that means we awkwardly have to figure out how to go back to being just friends again, then I’ll do it. I promise you, baby.”
*****
The call from Alex’s landlord to say the electrical work is complete comes on Friday morning, and suddenly Henry is living alone again, the echo of Alex’s laugh and the missing clutter of his mess leaving huge holes across every inch of the house.
David looks forlornly at the door when Alex doesn’t burst through it after work, and Henry feels like doing the same, wants to sit at the foot of the stairs and simply wait for Alex to come home and kiss him too. Wants to listen to his excitable chatter as they make dinner and cosy up on the sofa in front of an ever changing rotation of documentaries.
Instead he makes pasta for one, and tries desperately to not text Alex a thousand different times. They’re seeing each other in literally fifteen hours after all, and Alex has an apartment to settle back into.
Except, as Henry reclines on the sofa after David’s evening walk, a new suspense novel open on his lap, it’s his phone that pings with a text.
From Alex: send me a picture of u and david pls, i miss u so much :((((
It makes Henry’s heart beat wildly, and he doesn’t hesitate for even a second before flicking open his camera. David is curled beside him, his furry little head nuzzled against Henry’s hip, and they’re both half covered by a throw blanket. Henry smiles, knowing he looks sappy and ridiculous, but sends the picture anyway.
From Alex: my guys 💙
And then Alex sends a selfie of his own, his hair a mess and a comfortable looking hoodie replacing his work suit, glasses perched on his nose as he blows a kiss at the camera. It makes Henry want to reach through the phone and kiss those perfect, pouty lips.
From Henry: 😘
From Henry: Are we still meeting for breakfast tomorrow?
From Alex: we better be, i’m counting down the fucking seconds, baby.
Alex sends another picture two hours later of himself fresh from the shower and wrapped in a fluffy green towel, water still glistening on his chest.
Henry replies with you’re a menace and a tease, and definitely doesn’t touch himself with his phone clutched in his other hand, the cut of Alex’s abs imprinted on the back of his eyelids as he comes across his own fingers.
*****
The thing is, after that first night when Alex told Henry he wanted to suck his dick, things haven’t gone further than heated kisses and wrecked, panting breaths.
And okay, it’s only been four days, but also, it’s been four days, and also five years, and Henry wants Alex so badly he feels like he could die from the longing alone.
So, they meet for breakfast and spend two hours exchanging sweet, flirty smiles and even sweeter words that would honestly be embarrassing if they cared enough about the people around them overhearing. But as it is, Henry has laser focus, and the only thing he’s interested in is making Alex’s dimple pop, and hearing his loud, wonderous laugh fill the little diner they’re eating at.
He succeeds, numerous times, and Henry can’t believe this is actually his life.
“So,” he says after Alex insists on paying the bill, “do you want to come hang out? David misses you.”
“David does, huh?” Alex asks, teasing.
“Hand on heart, the poor little guy keeps staring at the door with these pathetic, longing eyes and whining for you.”
“Well, if he’s missing me so much it’d be cruel to leave him hanging, so lead the way, sweetheart.”
It’s nothing new, they spend at least every other Saturday together already - either at Henry’s place or exploring the city, but as Henry unlocks the front door, things feel different. Charged.
David immediately interrupts before Henry can even drag Alex into a bruising kiss, barking and skidding down the hall until he bumps into Alex’s shins. Alex just laughs and bends down to fuss over him, his voice slipping into something cute and childlike.
“Hey boy, did you miss me, huh? I missed you too, did daddy not tell you? Oh you’re a good boy, aren’t you?”
David licks Alex’s cheek and Henry grimaces but laughs at them.
“Shall I just leave you two to it?”
Alex laughs too, patting David’s head one last time before he straightens up and wraps an arm around Henry’s waist, fingers slotting into the curves of Henry’s ribs.
“Jealous, baby?” Alex asks, hot breath ghosting over Henry’s neck.
He definitely doesn’t whimper, but it’s a close fucking thing.
“Maybe, he’s gotten closer to kissing you today than I have.”
“Hm, I think we can rectify that. C’mere.”
Henry goes easily, letting Alex’s other hand stroke across his cheek to cup his jaw and then tilt their faces together. It’s a revelation, every single time, to kiss Alex like this, easy and simple in the middle of the hallway just because they can.
Alex’s tongue sliding into his mouth makes Henry shudder, makes him press closer and slip his own hands under the hem of Alex’s shirt, warm palms against soft skin and firm muscle. Alex’s body is insane, Henry knows this, but he’s yet to get up close and personal with it, and as Alex gasps into his mouth, the desperate want burning inside him becomes ever harder to ignore, a spark ready to ignite into an inferno.
“Alex,” he whines, pulling back just enough to separate their lips, panting breaths still mingling between them, “come upstairs?”
“Yeah?” Alex asks, his eyes searching.
“Yes,” Henry nods, “please.”
*****
The early afternoon sun is spilling across Henry’s bed, the curtains flung wide open but the blinds obscuring them from view, and as Alex unbuttons his shirt, it makes his dark skin glow. He’s so smooth and strong, a thick smattering of hair across his chest and below his belly button, and he’s easily the most beautiful man Henry has ever had in his bed. He wants to pinch himself almost, just to check that this is real, but instead he takes the time to unbutton his own shirt, letting it fall to the floor before Alex reels him again.
Kisses him with a smiling mouth so their teeth knock together.
Kicking away their jeans takes a little more effort, means separating for at least thirty seconds before they finally wind up on the bed together, stretched out on top of the covers with wandering hands and curious mouths.
And then, just like in every other facet of his life, Alex starts talking.
Asks Henry, “Do you remember that night when I stayed over with June and Nora and we slept in here together?”
Henry nods, letting his tongue trace along the line of Alex’s jaw.
“I wanted you so fucking much the next morning, baby. I woke up so hard and desperate to just reach out and touch you and then I immediately felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world.”
“Why?” Henry asks, pausing to nip at Alex’s earlobe, enjoying the way it makes his entire body shudder.
“Because… I wanted to be there for you when you were hurting, and instead all I could think about was shoving my hands down your pants and making you come.”
Henry would’ve let him, but he thinks it’s for the best that they didn’t do things that way. That he did have the time to work through his feelings over his break up with Patrick before admitting how he’s felt about Alex all along.
“Are you thinking about doing that to me right now?” Henry asks, biting his lip and playing coy, like his dick isn’t hard as fuck and pressing into the jut of Alex’s hip.
“If that’s what you want,” Alex replies.
“And what if I want more?”
Alex kisses him, hard and desperate, hands clinging to Henry’s waist and dragging their bodies together, nudging their hips forwards until their cocks drag together too, the feeling dulled only by their underwear.
And then, out of nowhere, Alex laughs, the sound warm and wonderful on a sunny afternoon when they have nowhere else to be and nothing to do but each other.
“What?” Henry asks, bemused, even as a smile is tugging at his own lips. He’s never really laughed during sex before, and it makes something warm and sweet explode inside his chest.
“I just realised, we’ve never really talked much about sex in the past, I don’t even know what you’re into. Do you top or bottom? Or fuck, are you even into penetration at all?”
Henry’s smile turns dirty as he licks into Alex’s mouth for a quick kiss.
“Very into it, darling. Can’t fucking get enough of it, actually. And I prefer to bottom, but god, I’d do anything with you.”
Alex moans like Henry’s killing him, and then rests their foreheads together.
“Fuck,” he says eloquently.
“What about you?”
“I’m versatile as fuck, baby, and I want you in every single way I can have you.”
Inside his underwear Henry’s dick throbs, leaking wet and messy as Alex’s words sink in. As he imagines all the ways they can make each other feel good.
“You can have me however you want me,” Henry says, voice breaking off into a moan as Alex’s hand finally slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, his fingers sinking between the curve of Henry’s cheeks to touch his hole.
It’s as easy as breathing to finally shed their underwear and for Henry to spread his legs, open and wanting, desperate to give everything up to Alex for the very first time. There’s lube and condoms in Henry’s bedside drawer and they find their way onto the mattress between them, Alex dripping too much lube across his hands and onto the bed sheets, apologising for it like Henry gives a damn.
Alex’s hands are magic, just like Henry always secretly thought they would be, long, sure fingers that sink into the heat of Henry’s body easily, opening him up like a flower turned towards the sun and making fireworks dance under the surface of Henry’s skin. He makes it to two pressed inside and scissoring him open before he’s begging to be fucked, thighs shaking with barely controlled restraint.
“Please, Alex,” he whines, “please, please, please.”
“I’ve got you,” Alex tells him, adding a third finger and making Henry sob.
“You’re so fucking beautiful Henry, so perfect for me like this,” and for once Henry feels it, feels like his body and his heart and his mind were made to be perfect for Alex.
“Please,” he begs again, and this time Alex obliges.
The loss of his fingers is shocking, and the thirty seconds it takes for Alex to roll on the condom feel like ten lifetimes, but finally it’s the head of Alex’s cock pressing into him, big and thick and so achingly good. Better than anything else has ever been before.
“Breathe for me,” Alex murmurs, his mouth fluttering against Henry’s throat as they moan together, “let me in, baby.”
Henry does, his body welcoming Alex home like he’s always belonged there, fucking inside of his arse and also filling every empty space inside his heart.
It takes a moment or two for them to find a rhythm that works, those first few awkward thrusts until suddenly it clicks and Henry knows he’s ruined for life, the way Alex’s perfect body fits against his, the way his cock finds his prostate with an ease that makes Henry’s thighs tremble and his breath catch in his throat. The way they kiss and moan and caress each other like it’ll never be enough.
Henry’s fingernails dig into Alex’s back and his legs wrap around Alex’s hips and every word whispered between them is hot and filthy and perfect.
So fucking tight, baby.
Alex, god, I can feel you. You’re so deep, oh my god.
Can’t wait to feel you come around me.
You’re gonna make me, oh fuck. Jesus Christ.
Yeah, that’s it baby, you don’t even need my hand on your cock, do you?
Henry doesn’t, can feel the fire burning at the base of his spine, and he knows without a doubt that he’s going to come untouched between them. It’s something that he’s managed before, but not often, and never on the first time fucking someone new. Still, there’s no stopping it this time as Alex sinks his teeth into Henry’s shoulder and then sucks a blooming bruise into the skin. As he tells Henry again how amazing he is, how good his ass feels.
“Alex,” Henry says, stunned, “I’m there, oh god. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
His orgasm hits him like a tsunami, hands clinging to the sheets for dear life as it wrecks him and his legs drop wide open as Alex fucks him through it, moaning his name on a loop until he comes too, a hot dizzying rush inside the condom that Henry wishes he could feel dripping out of him.
Next time, he thinks, a come-drunk little smile on his face, a feeling of astonishment rolling through him as he realises that this won’t just be a one time thing. He gets to have Alex like this again, over and over and over, for as long as they both want it.
Forever, even.
*****
Afterwards they lie naked beneath the comforter and trade slow, syrupy kisses, one of Alex’s hands tangling in the short hair at the base of Henry’s skull.
It’s sweet and warm and comfortable and maybe the best Henry’s ever felt in his entire life.
“Remind me again why we weren’t doing this the whole damn time?” Alex asks when they finally pull back and settle into the cushions, tangled together despite their skin still being tacky from lube and sweat and come.
“Because we’re idiots?” Henry replies.
Alex laughs and hums in agreement, “If only I could go back in time and pull the plug on my relationship with Sarah sooner, I’d have asked you on a date the moment I was single.”
Henry contemplates that, he knows he would have said yes, and maybe they could have spent the last five years twisting in bedsheets like this, but maybe they both needed to know each other and themselves better for this to be something real. He says as much to Alex who thinks for a moment before agreeing that yeah, they’re both probably in a much better place to be what the other needs right now than they were at twenty-three.
“I think… I think walking in on you and Patrick that day really changed everything for me, it made me realise I want to be the type of man you deserve, and I think when we first met I might not have been so careful with your heart, even if I’d never intentionally hurt you.”
Henry doesn’t cry at that, but it’s a close thing. Instead he kisses Alex’s shoulder gently.
“As awful as Patrick turned out to be, at least that disaster of a relationship helped me realise that I don’t need another person to be happy or loved, I can want it, like I want you, but I’m okay by myself too. I can be complete on my own.”
“You’re perfect, exactly as you are,” Alex says with a gentle smile and the softest eyes Henry’s ever seen.
“I love you,” he replies, pressing another kiss to the jut of Alex’s chin.
“Fucking love you too, baby.”
*****
Postcards from Paradise
By Henry Fox
Dedication and Acknowledgments
When writing this book I never planned for the final product to be anything like the finished version of Postcards from Paradise that you're currently holding in your hands, but sometimes the story you want to tell is nothing like the one you need to tell, and well, here we are.
Thank you to my darling dad for encouraging my love of literature from the very beginning, I really wish you were here to read this, because I’m quite certain you would love it. To Bea and Pez for always supporting me through every stage of my career (and life!) - I would truly be lost without you both. To my agent and the entire publishing team behind getting this book out into the world, thank you for allowing me to branch out and tell a different kind of story, and believing in the message behind it. You’re all wonderful.
I also dedicate this novel to my readers who have stuck with me since the very beginning, thank you for allowing me the freedom to try something different with this one - I sincerely hope you still enjoy the ride. And to all the James' out there, I hope you find your own Lucas and the happily ever after you so sorely deserve.
Finally, for Alex, without whom this book would not exist.
Thank you for being brave and kissing me in the metaphorical rain. I'd go through all the messy parts of the last five years again and again just to end up by your side. I'm sorry I kept the final edits from you, but I hope it was worth the wait and you love where this story ended up as much as you loved that first manuscript.
Since the moment I met you you've inspired me to be not only a better writer, but also a better man, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life growing and learning beside you. Knowing you is the adventure of a lifetime and loving you is a privilege beyond words.
This one belongs to you, as does my heart, always.