Work Text:
The present had only ever been used once.
The food within had been left untouched before being scraped into the black plastic bag that lined the nearest bin. Eating, even going so far as to thinking about eating had been impossible that day. Henrik didn't know why he had even bothered to stand at his kitchen counter that cold early morning, surrounded by various tubs and containers, assembling his solitary, perfect lunch. The motions of memory, perhaps. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was the desperate desire to cling onto the one thing he had thought, stupidly, he could have.
It had been the box, Henrik knew that. That box within a box. Wrapped in paper, left to sit on his desk for hours and hours. His thinking being simple. If it remained unopened, if he never split the tape and pulled the paper loose, then it wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't have had to watch as Russell... As Russ walked down that stark corridor, his shoes striking softly against the polished floor, his belongings clutched in his hands. Walking out of his life.
But he had opened it, he had read the note with the pretty handwriting, he had lifted his brand new lunchbox and made his food neatly the next morning. There were so many more important things going on that day, and sitting sadly over his opened present, staring into the food he had prepared was of little consequence. But nevertheless, he had tucked that metal lunchbox away, back into his bag. Carried it home later, so much later. Soaked away the remnants of the uneaten food. The water hot and soapy. He had scrubbed it clean, dried it carefully and set it all back into the brown paper box in which it had been delivered.
He had hesitated over that little square of card. Simple and kind. Everything that Russell was, everything that he himself had only ever wanted to say. For a brief moment, Henrik wondered if he should slip it into his wallet, carry it around with him. But he knew the temptation would be too great. He would want to take it out often. Stare at the few words, run his finger over the achingly neat penmanship.
No. That too must be put away. He was a grown man, for Heaven's sake, not a lovesick teenager.
He had been silly, he realised, thinking that to use it would keep a little bit of Russell with him. Some unconscious memory of the hours in which they had sat, side by side, or face to face, sharing time and food together, both too stubborn, or perhaps both too embarrassed to admit that this was the favourite part of their long days.
The present hadn't helped. At all. It only made him sad for all the things that could have been had he not run his mouth, lied and raged, and ultimately gave up the man he had found himself loving with his whole being.
It was not to be, and to dwell on anything that could have been would be foolish. So that night, in his silent, empty home, he had put that precious gift back into the box it had arrived in, and then into another box, one with a plastic lid that kept the dust from everything inside it held. Old medical papers, a broken picture frame that he had never gotten around to fixing. A midnight blue jumper that had never really suited him, a pair of glasses. Birthday cards from years past. Clutter that didn't have a proper place, things he hadn't needed in a long, long time. Getting to his knees, he pushed the box under his bed.
And forced himself to forget about it.
Sitting on the floor, surrounded by a lifetime of collected ephemera, tat and useless items he had never had the heart to throw away, Henrik wondered if he had finally taken leave of his senses and descended those dark steps into complete madness after all.
Packing had been such a quick affair, boxes thrown into the back of a removal van without looking, clothes crumpled and shoved into black sacks. Furniture left behind... Moving had been a decision taken so fast Henrik was still reeling.
Reeling and somewhat furious with himself, he was now faced with the unenviable task of finding places for all his belongings.
He wanted to open the front door, throw the lot out into the street and start anew. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea in the first place? He must have been crazy to believe he could ever make such a hasty change.
Henrik was suddenly brought up short, his anger dying, his rapidly blinking eyes felt full. This. This was why it had all been necessary.
The clear plastic box, with its fine layer of dust decorating the ridges and groves of the lid. A box he had closed tightly and refused to acknowledge the contents of. That damned brown paper box, and all the memories that came with it lying inside.
With a quick swipe of his sleeve, the dust dispersed throughout the bedroom in which he sat. His new bedroom, his mind supplied, almost as an afterthought. His new bed, already made with fresh sheets and just bought pillows, was at his back as he leaned himself against it, ready and finally able to once again open this box of memories.
Pushing his fingertips under the lip of the lid, he soon pried it off, and propping it up against the side of the bed, he stared inside.
There wasn't anything inside of the box with any real consequence, so he made fast work of it. Tossing items aside to deal with later, the mounds of clutter around him growing ever higher with everything he extracted. That jumper he never wore, that picture frame he had no intention of fixing...
And then there it was. What he had been searching for.
That brown paper box.
It was, of course, exactly as he had left it.
He could tell himself over and over that it was only a lunchbox, only a thoughtful gift from someone who had once been a dear friend. But Henrik knew it was so much more than that.
It was a shared memory of times spent together, of hopeful longing and shy silences, on his part at least. Russell was much more open, much more confident about what he had wanted from him all along. It was a surprise, it was a shock that Henrik found himself wanting the self same thing. He wanted to make Russell laugh, he wanted to make him lunch and watch him eat it across the table, he wanted a life with that man so badly he could almost taste it.
Oh, how it had hurt to shout, to lie and to watch him walk away. It would always hurt, it would always leave a bitter sting in his heart at the memory of Russell's falling smile. At the pain filled look in his too bright eyes.
It had never just been a lunchbox. It had been love.
And Henrik was now able to realise that.
Henrik was so caught up in the note he held, that he didn't know he was being watched.
The man in the open doorway leaned his weight against the painted frame, quietly sipping from the hot cup he held. He had intended the strong, sweet tea for the man sitting on the floor, given as a break, as a way of making him take a moment and unwind against all the fuss and bother the day had brought to them both.
Moving was a big thing. A huge thing, in fact. And to have Henrik here, actually now living here, was monumental.
'Henrik, you okay?' He questioned quietly, seeing how distracted his Henny was. Something had caught his attention and held it fast. Something had made his dark eyes damp, his cheeks flush. Henrik visibly jumped, and seemed embarrassed to be found in such a way.
'I... I was just...' He mumbled, flushing darker still. He held a box on his lap, and a slip of paper between his fingers. 'Russ, did...' Henrik felt his throat working around the words he had long refused to say, at times dreading the answer, but needing to hear it all the same. 'Did you think this... That this was a rebound?'
'Us?' Russell stepped into the room.
'Yes. Us.'
'Honestly, yes. I did.' Russ admitted softly, sitting down upon the bed, the pristine covers wrinkling underneath him.
Henrik blinked quickly. He knew it would hurt to hear Russ say what he had long believed to be true, but he hadn't expected it to hurt quite that much. He had been foolish after all, thinking he could compete for attention with a dead man.
Imagine, moving here, throwing away everything he had built for himself. And for what? To be told this? Told as he sat on the floor of a shared bedroom, their bed against his back, surrounded by everything he had once thought important.
There was nothing more to be done, apart from fighting against his quick tears.
Russell was silent, setting aside the cooling tea, taking the slip of notepaper from Henrik and into his own grip. So, this was what had captured Henny's attention so completely. His handwriting looking back as he read it silently.
'You know, I wrote you a letter, before writing this.' He handed Henrik back his cherished note. 'Three, in fact.'
'I never got any letters.' Henrik thought he had covered his tears well enough, before a warm hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
'No.' Russell shook his head. 'I tore them up. Nothing... Nothing seemed right. That note, well, it said everything I needed it to, in the end.' It took him a moment, and a little effort, but soon he was sitting on the floor beside Henrik, shoulders, hips touching. 'It's true, I believed I was a silly old fool, chasing after the nearest attractive man who showed me a moment of friendship. I missed Ami, and I guess I wanted some affection back in my life. And it was fun, and I liked you, Henrik. A lot.'
He reached for Henrik's motionless hand, lying upon his thigh, and drew it into his own.
'I liked that you made me lunch. I liked the way you blushed when I entered a room, and sighed when I walked out of one.' He laced his fingers through Henrik's. 'I liked that Billie thought the world of you, and that she trusted you above everyone else. Even her old man. I found myself thinking of you all the time. All the time. When I woke up in the morning, when I went to bed at night. At the most random of times, cooking, washing the car, all the damned time. And that's when I knew, knew that like had changed into something more, that whatever we had between us wasn't just a case, on my part at least, of loneliness.'
'What did you know?' Henrik found his voice.
'You know exactly what, Henny.' Russell answered fondly. 'I tell you every day.' He raised Henrik's hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to Henrik's knuckles in a barely there kiss.
'Love.' It came as no surprise to either of them when Henrik struggled to free that single word.
'Yes. Love. I found that I had fallen completely in love with you, without even realising it.' Russell took the opportunity to kiss Henrik's hand again, desperate to pour his heart into the other man's very skin. 'And I knew then that I had been that foolish old man after all, that I had been too blind to see it.' His sigh was enough to break Henrik's heart, and mend it all over again. 'You were never just a distraction. A way of forgetting for a moment. You have always been so much more than that.'
Henrik closed his eyes under Russell's careful ministrations. His body heating, his blood pounding through his veins.
'The wine is open, the candles are lit, and dinner is in the oven.' Russ continued, a husky rasp to his voice. 'But, we do happen to have a few moments to kill.' Knowing full well the effect his pressing kisses were having on the man beside him, he raised his head and hand, cupping Henrik's cheek, dropping his lips there. 'What do you say to forgetting about the unpacking, and making a start on messing up this neat bed of yours?'
'Our bed.' His eyes dark, and full of wanting, Henrik allowed his note to drop to the floor.