Chapter Text
It was expected, really, that Henry would name his manuscript ‘Waterloo’.
After finally gaining some semblance of control over his life, feeling happier than he’d had in ages, all it took was one Alexander Claremont-Diaz to overturn it all. Months of therapy had finally gotten his grief over his father’s death, his mother’s withdrawal, his grandmother’s great ire over his homosexuality down to a manageable level. He was halfway to his version of a life with a white picket fence (no trophy wife, thank you).
The other half to complete his gay American Dream presented himself one day and stretched his hand out saying, “Hi! I’m Alex, we’re paired for the law writing class’ project.”
Henry’s brain immediately and very helpfully provided him a vivid image of the same extended hand, bearing a ring, reaching for his work satchel, from the doorway of a beautiful little home with a picket fence. A tearfully disgustingly domestic scene.
In a panic, Henry promptly turned on his heel and walked out of the classroom.
It was also expected how less than kind Alex was after their first face to face encounter.
Alex all but hated Henry. While that was the exact opposite of what Henry wished Alex felt for him, it did make things easier.
Alex was painfully vibrant and attractive any day of the year but a happy Alex sporting bursting bright smiles was something Henry could never be equipped to handle.
They finished their group project quickly. Henry said a silent prayer more than once for the two other members whose presence kept him from jumping Alex whenever he went off on a passionate rant about just anything that popped into his hyperactive brain. All interactions between them consisted of insults and clipped words from Alex and dry sarcasm from Henry, maintaining a convenient and very very necessary air of polite indifference between them, although it could be argued how polite Alex was about it.
What was unexpected, however, was Henry returning to his library table, his Star Wars mug refilled, to a mop of devastating brown curls emerging from Henry's manuscript.
He stared into sparkling brown eyes almost entirely eclipsed by black. And then barely a whisper.
"This reminds me of me"
Henry promptly dropped his mug.
The manuscript was born long before Henry even knew of Alex really. Mostly filled with anything he could get down about his father without ruining the ink with his tears. A few scattered words about his own feelings, but only a few because how could Henry write anything about himself without recognising the gaping hole inside him created by, mostly, bright and brave Arthur Fox and how much he'd always love him and ache for him.
With therapy, Henry was able to write more and write without his poems grieving over death but rather celebrating his father, immortalising him and bright soul through words his father would probably be proud of him for.
But he still couldn't write as much or as good as he'd liked.
And then he met, or rather heard Alex, his laugh bright, brash, loud and just so full of life. His ability to draw attention and his larger than life persona, reminiscent of the only other person Henry thought he could love this much.
And so died his writer’s block, for Henry just had to write about Alex. The future deserved as many accounts about the man brighter than the sun as the world could write about Alex. It was similar to a religion, a reverence, really. Alex just existing felt historic to Henry and he barely knew the man yet.
Of course then Henry had to go and screw everything up by unwillingly snubbing Alex just as they’d properly met, but it was fine. Really, it was fi-
“Pez, for the fiftieth time, I am fine. The only thing keeping me from being less than is your incessant and, if I may, unnecessary questions.”
“Ah, that’s alright then. Just the last question, are you fi-”
“How do I help Alex believe I’m not a complete arse?” Henry said, voice muffled from between his hands. “Only serious suggestions please, none involving rings, roses or me in any state of undress.”
“You’re no fun, Hen. A damp blanket at times, really.” Pez pouts, sitting sideways on Henry’s armchair. “But well if you must be boring, I reckon just being honest might work.”
“Right, because a possibly straight man would be thrilled to know I was rude to him because I fancy him.”
And Henry could not tell anyone about the manuscript. Possible love of his life or not, Henry isn’t gonna lay himself bare for Alex like that. Hell, he’s not even told Pez yet. No one but the kind bloke, from the publishing house that he's interning at, who's helping him edit knows.
Henry sighs and turns back into his fifth glass of red, tuning out most of Pez’s words. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before anyway.
The group project is over and Henry is still procrastinating how and if to apologize to Alex without admitting that he may learn and love to love him as much as he loved his father albeit in a slightly different way.
And suddenly Henry physically cannot procrastinate anymore.
"This reminds me of me"
The mug shattering breaks Alex out of whatever trance he was in, eyes clearing and dropping to his knees in front of Henry. And it takes all and more of Henry to not walk away again.
Kneeling, he joins Alex in picking up pieces of his mug.
“God, I’m so sorry. You really don’t have to help. I-”
“No. Nope. No, I’m sorry. I, uh, I clearly scared you and, uh-”
“Christ no, I just saw the book in your ha-”
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was personal. I shouldn-”
“I didn’t write it!” Henry all but yells, finally completing a sentence and stilling Alex.
"I just- I think I saw your name on the cover. Sorry I just assumed. You seem more like the writer, than editor kind. Uh, the other guy on the cover the writer then?"
In his defense, Henry didn’t anticipate that what he thought was an offhand lie to get him out of an uncomfortable situation would drag him into months of proximity with Alex, based off a lie that Henry lies to cover again and again, all while falling deeply and irrevocably in love with the person he lies to.
So, Henry doesn’t really think at all when he immediately blurts out, “Yes.”