Work Text:
Rain beats down on the pavement outside of the garden. The sound of it is amplified by Alex's footsteps, heavy and stomping, going up the wet stairs and splashing in puddles. Henry is following close behind, he can tell by the sound of his new leather shoes on stone, but he does not turn around. He keeps going up, up, up, holding his umbrella so tight his knuckles turn white. It's cold, and he should zip up his hoodie to keep out the chill, but he stubbornly refuses to take his hands from the umbrella.
"Alex!" Henry calls behind him. He doesn't pause, doesn't even think of stopping momentarily, of looking back, of doing anything to indicate that he is willing to listen to Henry, or god forbid, forgive him, because he's not going to. Not now. Not ever. "Wait!" Henry shouts again, and against his will, Alex stops. "I'm sorry. I was an idiot, please don't go." Mustering up his courage, Alex dares to look behind him. And damnit. Henry looks so beautiful.
He's soaked from head to toe, blonde hair sticking to his face, those new leather shoes completely ruined. The idiot didn't bother to bring an umbrella. "I need you," he breathes, and Alex scowls.
"Maybe I don't need you."
"I know you don't. But look at me, Alex." Henry goes up another step, closer to Alex now, beautiful and pleading and completely infuriating. He's wearing those stupid glasses again, the ones that make him look like Clark Kent, and Alex is sure he can't see with all the rain spattered on the lenses. "I'm standing here in the bloody pouring rain, and I'm going to keep standing here until the end of time. Because I can't go another second--"
"Henry." Alex turns to fully face him now, umbrella still firmly above his own head. It's a little satisfying, he thinks, to be one step above Henry like this. Those extra few inches Henry has on him has always annoyed him, especially when he's angry with him. It's nice to have the high ground.
"Please," is all he says, and oh, Alex has had it. He's had it with those stupid puppy dog eyes, as if he did nothing wrong, as if Alex is the one who fucked up.
"No," he snaps. "You're an obtuse fucking asshole."
"I know."
You're insufferable, and you're arrogant, and you think without speaking."
"I know."
"And you're too tall!"
"I know," Henry says again, and Alex wonders if his robot programming has glitched due to the rain, because that's the only thing coming out of his mouth, and he should be apologizing, or screaming at him, or doing something other than that. He steps forward, closing the distance between them, places a warm palm on Alex's cheek. "I love you too."
"Henry--"
"I love you. I love you I love you I love you I love you--"
Alex rolls his eyes, and he can't take it anymore, because the man standing in front of him is an idiot, but he's such a lovable one. "Shut up," he says before grabbing the lapels of Henry's jacket and pulling him in for a kiss. It's wet and cold but Henry is warm beneath his fingertips. He smells like old books and cologne, and he kisses with a tenderness Alex never thought possible. Music plays somewhere in the background and it crescendoes as they kiss, stuck in the rain but somehow impossibly unbothered by it all. Henry's lips are soft and pink and delicious and Alex can imagine falling into Henry and never letting go until--
"Cut!"
They separate rather quickly, and Alex finds himself actually missing the feel of Henry's touch against his face. They're both rather red and breathless, and the fake rain stopping is a godsend. The director calls for a five minute break between takes. Which means five minutes of standing awkwardly next to Henry. While soaked. Great.
"It's um," Henry says, much less charismatically, clearing his throat. "It's nice to work with you again, Alex." Alex doesn't dignify this statement with a response. They both know what happened the last time they worked together.
Alex had been young and naive, new to the film scene after spending so many years on the stage. He had been so excited to work with the Henry Fox, one of his biggest role models, whose films had touched his soul and inspired him to leave the theater and start working in the movies. But, he discovered as soon as he got to set their very first day together, Henry is a bit of an asshole. Whoever said you should never meet your heroes was right, because Henry was nothing like Alex imagined. The charming, friendly man he'd seen on the screen was actually an arrogant, cold, selfish prick, who appeared greatly offended to learn he was playing the love interest of a complete rookie.
At every chance, Henry was rude to Alex. He gave harsh corrections or refused to talk to him at all. He'd have the director change lines or blocking so he wouldn't have to be too close to Alex. One day, he overheard him asking his manager on the phone for a way out of the movie. The movie had been a success, of course, and, unfortunately for the both of them, every director wanted Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox as love interests. Apparently, where it lacked in real life, their on-screen chemistry was incredible.
Henry rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat again. "Sorry about all the, erm. All the tongue."
"Yep," was all Alex said, popping the "p." Henry's face turned a deep shade of crimson.
"Would you want to grab a drink after work, maybe? A beer or something?"
Alex knows he's not sincere. He can't be. His agent must be pushing their ridiculous will-they-won't-they thing they have going on with the paparazzi, good press for the movie. Fooling the outside world into thinking they're romantically involved. And even if he were sincere, which he's not, he doesn't deserve Alex's time, not after the way he treated him all those years ago.
"No thanks. I'm good." He watches Henry's face drop a little and tries to suppress a smirk.
"Right. Of course."
The director yells cut, and Alex is grateful to go back into their little world of make-believe. He watches as the rain is turned back on and Henry descends back down the stairs. If his shoulders slump a little bit, it's only because of the cold, and nothing to do with Alex's rejection.