Work Text:
i.
“Alex.”
The name rolls off Alex’s tongue easily. His hair obscures most of his face but he ducks his chin anyway, hiding behind the curtain of locks that are too long for his own liking. No matter how many buns or ponytails he puts the unruly curls into, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the courage to chop it off, like he sometimes sees in his wildest dreams. “My name is Alex.”
He expects Henry’s fingers to slip from his. Instead, a gentle hand tips his head back until his eyes meet the bright blue eyes he’s grown to love. There’s something about Henry’s smile—call it magic, Alex doesn’t quite care—that puts his heart at ease in a way nothing else can.
“Alex,” Henry whispers, brushing a stray tear away from his face. Alex’s lips are trembling by the time Henry cups his cheeks. “Nice to properly meet you, darling.”
Alex likes to think he’s not an emotional person. Except at that moment, it’s impossible to stop the tears streaming down his face, like a cascade of relief after a long rainfall. Henry’s arms come around and hold him so tight, for just a moment, Alex can pretend he’s okay.
“Thank you for trusting me with this,” Henry says eventually, words whispered into his hair, and Alex shuts his eyes tight.
As if he had a goddamn choice. Even if he mistrusts the entire world, there’ll always be Henry, a solid rock against the tsunami, holding Alex safe.
ii.
A laugh bursts out of Alex the moment he opens his eyes.
Scissors almost fall out of Henry's hands. "What?" he asks, wide eyes meeting Alex's in the mirror. "I told you I'm not great at cutting hair. You put me to it. If it's horrible—"
"Baby," Alex whispers, a laugh still lingering on his lips. He grabs Henry's hand over his shoulders and presses a kiss to his knuckles. Admittedly, his locks look an absolute mess, but Alex doesn't even mind it. Chopped short, it reflects who he always felt like he was. "I'm just happy." He lets a smile flicker on his face, and for the first time it doesn’t feel forced. Henry smiles right there with him and presses a lingering kiss on his head, Alex’s short curls tangled between his fingers.
“You look beautiful, love,” he says, so goddamn easily a knot tightens Alex’s throat. It’s a lie—Alex’s hair, no matter how much Henry tried, looks like it was cut by a child. His chest presses against the tight binder, the shirt hanging weirdly over his shoulders, and even now Alex finds imperfections on his face that he can’t fix, cringes at the sound of his too thin voice whenever he opens his mouth. But for that one moment he takes Henry’s word for it, tilting his head back so he can slide their lips together.
“I love you,” he whispers, holding Henry close from the nape of his neck. Henry gently kisses his nose.
“I love you, too.”
And for the first time since he began transitioning, in his boyfriend's arms, Alex feels home.
iii.
“Do you want me to do it?”
Henry’s hands cover Alex’s, hiding the needle that feels entirely too large for the size of it. His shorts are already rolled up, an alcohol pad crushed under his free hand, yet all Alex can do is stare at the spot of injection like the devil is hovering behind him to steal his soul the moment he stabs himself with the needle.
It’s the first step to his future, to a life honest to himself, and yet Alex can’t do it, too scared of the implications. He gulps and nods, unfurling his fingers so Henry can take the needle. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out before Henry can even wipe his thigh, and suddenly, Henry stops.
“For what?”
“For…” Alex can’t say the words. They’re at the tip of his tongue, yet he knows how Henry will react if he hears them, he knows the concern and the care all too fucking well to voice them. For being who I am. For making everything too fucking hard. For not just sucking it up and living my life like every other goddamn person on earth. He wipes his tears away and shakes his head. “I’m scared,” he admits so quietly it’s a miracle Henry hears.
Henry pushes his haphazardly cut curls behind his ears. “It is scary,” he says gently, massaging the nape of Alex’s neck until tension slowly seeps out. “I would be scared if I had to stab myself in my thigh. If I had to upend my entire life, even if it was to just be myself. But I’m here for you, Alex.” His thumb brushes Alex’s lips. “Whatever happens, it’s you and me, okay? No one can change that. Not even some vials of testosterone.”
Tears fall over Alex’s eyes in a curtain. “Yeah,” he chokes out, crushing Henry’s free hand under his. “You and me.”
It hurts when Henry pushes the needle in. Alex keeps his eyes on his face, on the lines he knows so well, the beautiful lashes and the sharp curve of his chin he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of. The love of my life, he thinks, moving his thumb over the back of Henry’s hand. Forever.
Despite his tears, a smile flickers on his lips.
iv.
The t-shirt, for once, doesn’t hug Alex’s body awkwardly.
He lets his fingers skim over the fabric, between the dips of his abs, dragging them over where he knows a trail of hair leads to his crotch. He expects his touch to snag against his binder but instead, it’s the edges of his scars, still painful even four weeks post-surgery.
The swelling has come down, and for the first time, when Alex looks at the mirror, he finds a body he recognizes. A body he can grow to love.
Henry’s hands settle on his sides from behind, careful not to apply too much pressure. “Hi, beautiful,” he whispers, and Alex snorts but a smile is already creeping its way onto his face. He turns around to find Henry’s fond eyes watching him.
There’s no way Alex would’ve survived the last few weeks without him by his side. He stayed with Alex through those excruciating few days in the hospital, holding his hand through the pain coursing through Alex’s body even with the incalculable amount of painkillers pumped into his body. He opened his home, his bed, even if it meant he had to sleep on the couch for a few days just so he doesn’t accidentally bump anything that might be too painful, even if it meant he had to cook and clean and keep to Alex’s schedule of painkillers when Alex could barely tell up from down. There aren’t enough words in the world to describe how grateful Alex is for him, so instead, he tilts his head and presses his lips to Henry’s.
“Sap,” he murmurs, hiding his face in the crook of Henry’s neck. Henry laughs and tightens his grip around Alex, just a little so it doesn’t hurt. His lips find Alex’s hair.
“I’m just telling the truth,” he says easily. It’s something he’s said to Alex so many times before— beautiful, handsome, lovely, gorgeous, stunning. Alex has a collection of them tucked into the deep corners of his heart, hidden from view so they don’t rear their head whenever Alex’s eyes snag a mirror.
Now, he lets the words wash over him, tingling over his skin, warming him up from inside out. He clutches Henry’s hands tight. “Yeah,” he whispers, fingers locked around Henry’s. “Yeah, you’re right.”
He smiles when Henry kisses his hair again, and for once he doesn’t look away from the mirror.
v.
It’s the name he changes first.
A few letters at the top of his Instagram page, yet the sight of it fills him with warmth. He clicks on his profile picture and scrolls through his photos until he finds the one he’s looking for. Henry in his arms, tucked under his chin, Alex’s neatly cut curls falling over his forehead in short strands. There’s a smile on his face that’s unmatched in any picture he can think of.
There are his posts, then, sprinkled in a grid. He removes them one by one, memories he never chose, the image of a person he never was. He keeps them still, in a folder on his laptop, hidden away from view. Maybe someday he’ll be prepared to go back to them. Maybe someday he’ll embrace the past he never chose. Now, he chooses a future he’s happy with, a future where he can be himself.
The pictures, all gone, and he turns to his bio. His fingers shake as he adds the words. He/Him. His lip feels raw under his teeth but he saves the update anyway, staring at a screen that finally feels like his.
“I’m so proud of you, love,” Henry whispers from behind, his arms circled around Alex’s waist. Alex looks up at him; his face glimmers under sunlight, golden hair and sapphire eyes and a smile Alex knows all too well. He finds himself smiling, too, basking in the warmth of the one thing he knows he’ll never lose.
“I love you,” he whispers; gratitude is there but it’s overshadowed by love so large it’s impossible that it fits all inside his chest. The corners of Henry’s eyes crinkle as he dips down to kiss Alex.
That’s the first picture he posts in his Instagram, with a simple gay flag in the caption. All that he’s willing to share, even if the whole world knows who he is now.
+i
“Look at you.”
Henry’s voice is merely a whisper, but Alex hears it anyway. His fingers still on his thigh—they’re still trembling, but when Henry’s hands find his waist, it’s impossible not to melt in his embrace. Their height difference isn’t pronounced at all, but Henry’s body fits him like lock and key, arms wrapped around Alex’s middle.
“I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” he jokes, though he doesn’t attempt to push Henry away at all. There’s a laugh against his hair before Henry drops a kiss between his carefully styled curls. June would kill him if she saw, but for now, Alex lets himself enjoy this little, quiet moment.
“That’s an outdated stereotype,” Henry murmurs, lips trailing down to Alex’s ear, and then his neck. “And besides, I’m here to see my handsome groom. I don’t know what bride you’re talking about.” His chin nestles on Alex’s shoulder perfectly.
Alex meets Henry’s eyes in the mirror and smiles. “I know.” And then, “You look stunning, baby.” It’s true. Henry is wearing a white suit with a black shirt that hugs him like a glove. It’s a match to Alex’s black and white ensemble, with only their ties as a pop of color. He turns around to wrap the red fabric between his hands and tugs Henry down into a kiss, their lips slotting together in the achingly familiar way Alex has memorized. He knows the shape of Henry’s mouth, the way he whines when his teeth tug at the sensitive point on his lower lip, the way he moans when Alex’s tongue slips into his mouth. Yet he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this, a part of him always aching for a taste of Henry whenever they’re apart.
He shuts his eyes and presses his forehead against Henry’s when their lips part. “I love you,” he whispers just so Henry knows—they’re hours away from a wedding, hours away from promising each other forever for the millionth time, yet those three words are all that matters to Alex. “So goddamn much, baby.”
Henry’s arms tighten around Alex’s middle. “I love you, too.”
They repeat those words again hours later as husbands, their names etched into a marriage certificate. Mr. and Mr. Fox-Claremont-Diaz.