Work Text:
𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐
• ———— •
Moreau came over at two am last night. Henry was blearily awoken by the sound of the front door opening and shutting, padding of shoes against their hardwood floor slowly heading across the living room, down the hallway and up the stairs.
They passed by their bedroom, paused, and continued to Romeo’s.
Henry was stricken. On the one hand, he didn’t mind whenever Moreau would come over, telling Romeo beforehand or not. Sometimes he’d appear at random points during the day, sometimes he’d arrive before they were going to sleep with an apologetic smile and a box of cookies for compensation.
Or, like last night, he’d come in when they’re asleep and find refuge in Romeo’s room.
On the other hand, he was worried. Increasingly, for his situation at home and how he’s dealing with it. He knew talking to Moreau about moving out wouldn't be the best idea, he’s visibly not ready for it, but he only recently turned seventeen and letting him deal with his mother for another year before he splits off to university felt morally wrong.
Henry wanted to talk to him about it. But he didn’t know when would be the right time, and he certainly didn’t know how to go about it without making him feel terrible.
Maybe there isn’t a way, he thought mildly.
Sitting outside and basking in the early morning warmth was Henry’s ideal pass time in the morning. When Alex would sleep in, he could make himself a warm mug of tea, sit on the bench in their luxurious, blossoming garden and watch nature come to life.
The bees hummed insistingly, the bushes rustled with all sorts of animals waking up and scrounging for food. Birds chirped their morning music and distantly cars rose to life with blaring horns and roaring engines.
The breeze was nice. Comforting. It ruffled his hair and blew steam from his tea into his face.
The sun was still rising in the distance, the sky expanded in warm blue hues.
Clouds morphed into incredible shapes and Henry found himself trying to piece them together as six am rolled onto seven.
Grass rustling behind him caught his attention. He turned left, expecting Alex, surprised to see Moreau. He looked tired, hair ruffled, a pair of sweats hanging from his hips and a shirt borrowed from Romeo’s draw fitted tight to his muscles.
He rubbed his eye and smiled lopsidedly.
“Morning, Henry”
Henry smiled and shuffled over, patting the spot beside him.
“Good morning, Moreau. Sleep well?”
It was never openly acknowledged when he would come late at night. Sort of an unspoken rule to just accept it rather than interrogate it.
Moreau sat beside him, blinking to ease away the remnants of sleep.
“Yeah. You?” He yawned.
Henry nodded, “yes, fine” he breathed after taking another sip.
“Your garden is beautiful,” Moreau said, taking in the view. Tall bushes trimmed neatly, flower beds glowing with yellows, reds and pinks. There were two flamingos, Henry thought they were nonsensical, Alex fucking adored them.
They had gnomes too, cute ones, painted brightly and watching over their bit of nature.
As rich people go, they also have a pond. It was small with a fountain beside it, trickling water pleasantly. Birds hopped around it, washing themselves contentedly.
“Thank you” Henry replied, putting down his empty mug. “We spent a lot of time on it”
Moreau nodded and silence encapsulated them. Henry remembered a few weeks ago when Moreau told Alex he saw him as a father figure, and also told him his dad passed away from cancer. He remembered feeling a strike of agony for him, because he knew what it was like and he knew how much Moreau must be internally suffering from the loss of his only good parent.
He remembered how much he just wanted to hug him. Because he knew. Everyone dealt with grief differently, but it was easier to understand, sympathise, when you’ve gone through the same thing.
“Romeo’s birthday is coming up,” Moreau said. “He’s uh… still not coming out”
“No, he isn't,” Henry agreed, “we spoke about it recently. He wants to keep you safe”
Moreau nodded, smiling. “He’s so sweet. I still don’t think it’s a good idea, but…”
Henry shifted, “if he did come out” he said, “would your mother really kick you out? Or was that a simple exaggeration?”
Moreau tipped his head up to look at him, the morning streaks of sunlight glowing his olive skin. “I… think so,” he replied haltingly. “I mean, it’s sort of always been implied that if I end up with someone who isn’t a girl… she’ll be upset”.
A moment passed, he rubbed his neck.
“Although, I don’t really know anymore. She’s… fine? With me and Romeo dating. She does think he’s a girl but-… she wouldn’t have allowed it usually. With his parents being gay-“ he glanced at Henry before letting his eyes follow along with the bees bouncing from flower to flower.
“And all. I’m just- I’m worried” he admitted, voice quieter. “We had a talk recently. She was nice. She’s not nice. Maybe she’s trying to make things up with me? That’s what I think. That’s what I want to think” he corrected after a moment, “but some part of me is telling me that somethings wrong and I just don’t know what” he finished, taking a deep, reflective breath.
“Sorry. I completely ruined your morning with this, huh?” He added meekly.
Henry sat forward, “of course you haven’t, love. I’m glad you’re telling me this. It certainly sounds like a manipulation tactic. Unless she wants to change for the better, she may be lying to get on your good side” he explained gently. Moreau nodded along.
“I think so, too” he frowned, “would it kill her to be nice to just be nice…?”
Henry frowned, reaching over and squeezing his shoulder. “Some people really don’t change, I think that might be something you have to accept”
Moreau slumped into the bench, blowing some hair from his eyes. He nodded silently and the two sat at peace for a while. When Henry checked the time on his watch a little later, it was half past seven. Alex usually stirs at eight, when he realises Henry isn’t there he gets up and groggily searches for him, even if he’s stumbling with a blanket crookedly wrapped around his shoulders. He smiled briefly at the thought.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Moreau hummed. Henry let out a startled laugh.
“I haven’t heard that phrase in a long time,” he chuckled warmly. Moreau smiled a bit proudly.
“I’ve been keeping up-to-date with my British colloquialisms for you”
Henry laughed again, twisting his body to face him. Moreau was practically glowing at the sound of his laughter.
“It’s very appreciated. Feels like a home away from home, as it were. But- Alex. I was thinking about Alex” he admitted easily, something he could do, something he’s been doing for years because he and Alex don’t have to hide.
Moreau smiled, picking his legs up and crossing them under him. “How did you two meet?”
Henry grinned, “at the Rio olympics in 2016”
Moreau whistled, “you guys are old”
“Cheeky git” Henry snorted, nudging him with his foot. Moreau laughed brightly.
“We actually- well” he felt his cheeks pink, “we were in a bit of a rival for quite some time”
Moreau cocked his head interestedly, “why?”
“Because…” Henry realised this was a fantastic chance to admit he also lost his father to cancer to hopefully present himself as someone Moreau could talk to if he needed. “Because fourteen months before the Olympics my father passed away. Of cancer”
Moreau looked startled momentarily, then eased, his smile slipping. “Oh… I’m so sorry”
“Don’t be. It’s alright” he waved off, “but I was a bit of a prick to everyone, really, including Alex. I dismissed him when he came up to me and ever since he hated me. I wanted to believe I disliked him too, for awhile, but I couldn’t deny that I was also in love”
Moreau’s lips parted, “wow, that must’ve sucked”
“Not even the half of it,” Henry agreed, his eyes trailing away into the distance, not really looking at anything, just thinking. “Regardless, I was in love. The rivalry went on for quite some time before coming to a climax when, at my older brother’s wedding, we-“ he paused to chuckle, “we fell into a seventy five thousand dollar cake”
Moreau gasped, then broke into a fit of giggles. Henry waited until he finished, watching fondly.
“How does that even happen ?” Moreau exclaimed.
Henry shook his head, “I have no idea. Sometimes I think back, trying to remember… it happened so quickly. Due to international relations we were forced to spend a weekend together to make it appear as if we were friends. Afterwards, we exchanged numbers, we grew close over time and on New Years I… kissed him. Because I was an idiot, but I definitely don’t regret it” he smiled, Moreau watched on, resting his elbow on the back of the bench.
“That’s romantic”
Henry grinned, “yes, well, Alex wasn’t making a first move anytime soon. Afterwards, I panicked and flew back to England. ‘Ghosted him’ as he put it for a while until the state dinner in which he accosted me underneath a portrait of Alexander Hamilton” he laughed into his fingers, “but I must admit it was one of the greater moments of my life. Then we continued this arrangement until…” he trailed off. Moreau frowned. He knew this part.
“Until you were outed”
Henry nodded grimly, “it was a time. Philip was furious, so was my grandmother. But we had support, so much of it. And we made it” he looked over his shoulder towards their home, up at his and Alex’s window. A wave of emotions crashed inside of him. He smiled wider. “We made it”
Moreau followed his gaze and for a moment they simply stared.
“I’m happy for you two” he murmured, “that’s really cute”
“Thank you. It seems being outed runs in the family, unfortunately. I don’t think I ever apologised for the release of yours and Romeo’s relationship those months ago” he brought up. Moreau frowned.
“You don’t need to apologise. Unless you hired them” he added half jokingly. Henry chuckled.
“Definitely not. But, if they won’t, I will. I’m sorry you had to experience it. It’s… horrible. A display of humanity at its worst. You’re both so young…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Regardless, we’re lucky the public bought the coverup story”
Moreau nodded in agreement, trailing his fingers over his thighs. He seemed deep in thought, Henry allowed him a few minutes peace as he continuously checked the time. Alex should be up soon. He sort of wanted to kiss him after retelling their story. He always grew emotional remembering everything they went through and how, against all odds, they came out the other side better. And together.
He couldn’t be more grateful for all of the support, from his family, friends and the public. Maybe he should make a post, he thought distantly, expressing his gratitude he still felt, even years later. Because it allowed him to wake up every morning with Alex’s pretty face inches away from his own.
It allowed him to press soft kisses across his skin, waking him up in the best way possible.
“Hey… Henry?”
He snapped back to reality, Moreau looked sheepish. “Yes?”
“You said you lost your father…” he drifted. Henry nodded slowly.
“Yes, Alex informed me of your father passing, too. I hope that’s alright…?”
“Yes, yeah. That’s fine” he nodded, “I sort of expected it. But um- this might be a dumb question” he hesitated, reaching up to rub his neck. “But does it get easier…? The grief?”
Henry paused, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. There Moreau was, laying himself vulnerable, eyes searching for a hopeful answer Henry couldn’t give.
It pained him, he knew even with therapy, with counselling, with Alex supporting him the whole way, he still felt it in bouts. Moments in which he couldn’t leave the bed because he just felt so hollow.
“In some ways it does, yes” he agreed, “but losing such an important person at such a young age never really leaves you… it forces you to experience something your emotions aren’t ready for, and they don’t recover. Not entirely” he explained gently. Moreau looked away, frowning.
“Oh…”
Henry felt his heart twist.
“Do you attend therapy for it?” He questioned.
Moreau shook his head, “my mom doesn’t think I deserve therapy”
Something within Henry boiled, he doesn’t hate people as a general rule, too much of a negative emotion to carry within himself. But he was swiftly reaching that point with his mother.
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
Moreau blinked up at him, “I did. Before. My old home across state I… believed everything she said. I was miserable-“ he closed his eyes momentarily, “it was horrible. But I thought it was just normal? Until I came here and met Romeo and-“ he let out a soft chuckle, “how could I have ever thought it was normal? He made me so happy I realised on my own that my mom was full of shit- sorry” he rushed. Henry shook his head.
“You’re fine. I’m glad Romeo has helped you so much”
Moreau grinned, Henry could almost see his heart swell. “He did. I tried to go to counselling in school, in secret, but the counsellor became friends with my mom and… I had to cut the sessions off” he went on, twisting his hands within themselves. One of the bees from the flowers hovered close to them, tipping side to side in the air as if it was drunk off of pollen. Moreau smiled and slowly reached towards it, allowing it to land on his finger. For a few minutes they watched the bee trail across his hand before buzzing away again, presumably needing that moment's rest.
“If you want” Henry began, “me and Alex could set up sessions for you”
Moreau hummed, “that does sound nice. But… can it wait?”
“Until?” Henry prompted.
“Until I’m away from my mom” he said, for a moment Henry felt himself brighten, but quickly realised this wasn’t implying he wanted to move away just yet.
“Like, for university” he said, washing away Henry’s flicker of hope.
“May I ask why?” He said gently.
“Because I might say something that’ll worry the therapist. She might get me removed from my mom's home or… something. And then I won’t be able to see Romeo or come over as frequently” he explained. Henry almost slapped himself, of course, Moreau was dealing with his mother and everything she puts him through because he gets moments of reprieve over here. He doesn’t want to change anything because it might break his system he’s obviously heavily relying on.
“I see,” Henry murmured, “Moreau, I… you know neither me nor Alex mind you over here, but staying with your mother isn’t… the best for your mental health” he said as gently as he could manage.
Moreau frowned, “I know, but I’ve done it for years. What’s one more?”
Henry closed his mouth, Moreau was fearful of change. It might break his support system. He understood but he knew it couldn’t continue like this. Regardless, he’d let the topic drop for now. This is the farthest he’s gotten with Moreau and he didn’t want to push him back into his shell.
“Alright” Henry nodded, “but if you need me or Alex to talk with, we’re right here”
Moreau smiled, “thank you. I appreciate it”
Speaking of the devil, the back door opened and Alex stood in the doorway. His hair was mused, his lip pushed out in a pout. Childishly he stomped over, glaring down at Henry.
“What’s the matter, love?” Henry smiled, looking up at him.
“You left me at the altar. In my dream” he clarified. Moreau laughed, startling Alex. He looked at him, acknowledging him for the first time.
“Fuck” he said, holding a hand over his heart. “You just fucking appear out of nowhere”
Moreau laughed again, standing up from the bench. “I’m glad to be a torment in your life”
“You better get back inside before I show you what real torment is” he threatened with a pointed finger, Moreau rolled his eyes and sent Henry a smile before jogging towards the brownstone, pulling shut the door behind him.
Alex stepped around the bench, falling into Henry’s side and cosying up to him. Henry breathed out a sigh, pressing his face into his strawberry scented hair. Moments like this never grew old on him.
“Me and Moreau talked”
“Oh yeah?” Alex yawned, kissing his jugular. “What’d he say?” He slurred tiredly.
“I told him how we met” he felt Alex smile against his skin, heat thrumming under his veins. “I apologised for the press outing their relationship, and… he asked if grief became easier, over time” Alex grip tightened, he lifted his head to stare at him sadly. He knew the answer, Henry couldn’t count the amount of times Alex has had to just hold him as he goes through the motions.
“I told him the truth. Then I suggested therapy, and his mother-“ he pinched the corner of his lip, “his mother told him he doesn’t deserve therapy” he forced through gritted teeth.
He watched Alex’s expression go wild, almost able to feel the burn of blood under his skin.
“What. The fuck” he said simply yet conveyed everything he felt.
“I know,” Henry agreed, “she’s abhorrent. I offered we start sessions for him and he agreed, but he wants to wait until he moves away. It occurred to me as he explained why, he relies heavily on the system he has created. Coming over here when his mother becomes too much. He’s dependent on Romeo, and on another level us, to bring him back up when his mother forces him down” he explained with a heavy heart. Alex nodded along, reaching up to scratch at his stubble in thought.
“There’s only one thing to do” Alex stated after a moment. Henry nodded.
“We should talk with Romeo-“
“We should figure out how to get away with murder- oh” he cut himself off. Henry gave him a deadpanned look. Alex grinned.
“That and my idea”
Henry sighed, leaning into him.
“You’re insufferable”
“Thanks!”
Moreau opened his front door quietly, inside it was startlingly quiet. On a Sunday morning he expected his mother to be wandering about, cleaning up the house, making phone calls about the children who were currently riding scooters across the road. But she wasn’t. He took in a breath and softly shut the door.
“Kitchen” she called.
Moreau hesitated, it felt too… domestic. Almost. Homely. Her voice, it was nice.
He headed through the foyer and down the hallway decorated with framed family photos and a single, cheesy quote about living life to the fullest.
With trepidation coiling in his stomach, he peeked into the kitchen. His mother was gently scrubbing down the island counter, reading from a cookbook beside her. Her hair was hanging down her shoulders, wearing a casual summer dress and white slides.
Her face was cleaned of makeup, and for once, she was smiling softly.
She blinked up.
“Fun sleepover?” She asked.
Against his consciousness, a flicker of hope flamed in his chest.
“Yeah. Sorry I sorta… left”
She shook her head, returning to the book. “You’re absolutely fine. Henry and Alex alright?”
“Yeah they’re uh… good” he agreed, slowly stepping into the room, afraid any sudden movements would snap her back into her old self.
He waited. She flicked through the book.
“I’m going to Wisconsin tomorrow” she mentioned, “will Alex and Henry allow you to stay with them?”
“Yeah. You don’t want me to look after the house?” He said, a little shocked. His mother shook her head, curling some hair behind her ear.
“I wouldn’t want you to be alone. I’m going away for quite some time” she clarified, eventually shutting the book and lifting her eyes to gaze at him.
He’s never seen that look before. His heart lodged in his throat. She looked happy , happy to see him, happy to be here.
“Do you want to bake?” She suggested and Moreau beamed.
They spent the rest of the morning baking together, she tasked him with mixing the dry ingredients while she poured the wet together, and they had fun . Against her character, she was smiling, laughing, chattering away vibrantly.
Moreau wanted to cry and simultaneously throw up. On the one hand, he knew she was doing this in some way to manipulate him, to earn his trust only to pull the rug out of his feet in the future. Because if she genuinely wanted to improve their relationship, she would’ve started with acknowledging all her wrongdoings and apologising for them.
Maybe she was working her way up to it. He didn’t know.
On the other hand… he wanted this. So desperately wanted this . This life with her. Something happy, domestic, no arguing, no pushing him to do better, be better, all the time.
Just existing. Together.
They laughed as the flour puffed everywhere after they mixed both the dry and wet ingredients together, she cleaned it up, allowing Moreau to go wild with the whisk.
Afterwards, they poured the batter into cupcake tins and set them to bake for twenty minutes.
“Wonderful. I’ll leave you one and take the rest with me” she said contentedly, putting down the egg timer and pulling off her apron.
Moreau leaned on the counter, licking some of the chocolate mixture off of a spoon.
“Cool. Thanks, mom”
She paused for a second, then looked up at him, smile slipping slightly.
“Don’t mention it” she managed after a moment, then hung the apron up before leaving.
Moreau frowned, slowly putting down the spoon.
She was just getting used to him, that was all, he assured himself.
But something was still insisting. In the back of his head, she was planning something , even if he didn’t want to acknowledge that.
He knew her. But he wanted to bask in this moment nonetheless.
He knew he wouldn’t forget this for quite some time.
Romeo sat quietly in his private section of the library. Gentle ticking of the clock hanging on the wall became background noise as time went on.
Moreau was outside spending his break practicing football. He had come over this morning more preppy than Romeo had seen him in quite some time. He dismissed it, simply stating he was just having a good day.
Romeo didn’t buy it. He knew he was lying to him again. He wouldn’t mind if Moreau didn’t tell him everything, it was the lying that got to him. They’ve been going strong for many months now; what was he doing wrong?
He let out a long sigh through his nose, gently scooping up his pen and tossing it into the air, catching it as it fell back down.
He couldn’t exactly think of anything other than the glaringly obvious things. The dysphoria (only getting worse as he neared his seventeenth), and the limited sexual desire that came with it. They spoke about it once, cuddled up in bed, Moreau gently brought the topic up and they had a long, insightful conversation.
He said it was fine. Promised it was. But Romeo couldn’t help but wonder if that was a lie, too.
His pen smacked his wrist as he missed it, falling to the ground quietly.
He slumped in his chair, too lazy to reach for it, too bored to not do anything.
He dragged his laptop closer to himself, pushing up the lid and wriggling around his mouse.
As he waited for chrome to open and load, he briefly wondered how his parents would react if Moreau did break up with him. He still loved Moreau, he wouldn’t want them to be mean to him.
Hopefully they would all stay friends.
After a moment of contemplation he cursed at himself, he was so dramatic sometimes.
Chrome opened. He searched for a random game to play.
His phone pinged. He ignored it, scrolling down the screen.
It pinged again. And again. And again.
He furrowed his eyebrows, assuming it was a cousin spamming him. Probably Ana, she got like that when she was excited.
As per Henry and Alex’s request, he kept his messages unreadable unless he unlocked his phone, in case the press caught a picture of his lock screen. Apparently it’s happened before.
When he looked at his screen, he sat up. Messages from everyone stared back. Not just Ana but Vivi, Jane, Rose and Matilda. From their group chats and private direct messages.
At the bottom he saw two messages from Anya and paled. She only sent one message and waited for a response, no matter how long it took.
He opened her message first and almost threw up.
» Anya: listen to me, you’ll be fine, alright?
» Anya: Please fucking call me when you see this
He set down his phone, closing his eyes momentarily. Realistically, this only meant one thing. The press had discovered something and it was currently blasted across the news.
He didn’t want to know what because part of him already knew .
It was bound to happen eventually, he just didn’t want it to happen now
He swallowed thickly, shutting his laptop and pushing himself up onto shaky legs. The bell rang, echoing loudly in his ears. He plugged his hands over them, waiting a few seconds for it to fade away.
After a moment he realised, with appalling horror, he was going to throw up. And no amount of force could prevent it.
The hallways were graciously empty as he stumbled through them, collapsing into the nearest bathroom and shakily locking the door behind him. It was empty (thank goodness), allowing him peace as he fell into a stall and hurled up his lunch consumed earlier that morning. It splattered into the bowl, burning his throat, slicing tears down his cheeks from his clenched eyes.
An abhorrent feeling twisted in his gut and tore into his skin, tearing, tearing, ripping and snagging. He could almost hear the strings in his heart snap with a sickeningly grotesque watery sound to it. His blood rushed through his body, it was as if his organs forgot what to do and were going haywire, yelling at each other for order but instead forcing bile up and out of his throat again. Three. Times. Until Romeo fell to the cold, plastic flooring, his eyes wide, staring down at the edge of the bowl.
Adrenaline, his body must’ve realised, might help. It numbed him, shooting through him like a bullet and twitching his hands. He gripped his hair, shutting his eyes tight as the world began to spin, yet even if he gazed into darkness, it was also spinning . Everything was spinning. In harsh, never ending circles. Romeo didn’t know what sort of noise escaped him. It was borderline inhumane. A retched, whimpered sob. Loud but not loud enough to alert everyone because no one came.
He crawled out of the stall towards the counter, grabbing onto a sink and staggering to his feet, he couldn’t gaze at himself in the mirror, he didn’t want to know what he looked like. He didn’t want to know he looked like a deer caught in headlights; or when a character from a horror movie realises there is no escape and they were to die in whatever tortured entrapment they had found themselves in.
His hands twitched again. His entire body was out of his control, jittering, shaking, jerking sporadically, he could barely keep on his feet.
He wanted his dads, he thought blindly, but Moreau , something heckled in the back of his head. Moreau needs their attention more than you do , it continued. He sobbed quietly, thick tears pushing out from his eyes almost painfully; almost with a sense of maliciousness, as if his body wanted him to hurt more.
He couldn’t breathe. It was so muggy. Why was it so muggy? Where was this sudden unbearable heat coming from? And his face was wet. Liquid trailing down and slipping into his mouth, but when it hit his tongue, he wretched. Why did it taste metallic? He didn’t understand. For a very brief, horrifying moment, he thought he was about to die.
Then he was brought back to reality when a horrible pain encapsulated his chest. His lungs burned . He needed air. He couldn’t breathe. It was so warm.
He parted from the room, grappling with the walls as he opened the door. The hallway wasn’t better. The heating was on, for some god forsaken reason. Terrifyingly, he forgot his bearings, and wondered why he was in such a long, tall hallway. Had he died? Was this some sort of educational heaven?
He shook his head. Falling into a wall and clutching his hair.
Air he reminded himself firmly. With blurry eyes he hurried down the hallway as fast as he could, tripping and falling more times than he could count. His knees burned. The palms of his hands stung. For some reason, his right wrist was aching. Adrenaline soon numbed it all as if his body didn’t want him to know; in an unconscious way to try and help.
His hands splayed across a door, it was a back door and once he fumbled with the handle it pushed open and he collapsed outside, falling hard against the ground but uncaring to the fact as cold air spilled into his lungs, freezing him from the inside and erupting goosebumps across his body.
He laid flat in a ball, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks wet, nose runny.
One thought lingered, one painfully loud thought; he hoped Moreau’s mother wouldn’t hurt him.
• ———— •
𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆