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Alex’s eyes keep trying to close without his permission, but he forces them open again. The cursor on his laptop screen has been blinking accusingly at him for the past ten minutes, the numbers ‘11:27 pm’ in the corner indicating the time.
Alex raises his mug to his lips and grimaces when he finds it empty, the last dregs of coffee swirling at the bottom. He’s been in the brownstone’s home office for hours, sitting at his chair while his desk is a mess of organized chaos. He can’t remember the last time he took a proper break. He can vaguely recall having lunch earlier in the day and then immediately excusing himself to go study again. He’s so done with all of this, but he still has so much to do.
A paper to outline, one to edit, and another one that isn’t technically due for another three weeks to start.
Four reading to do for three different classes by the end of next week.
Two tests the following week he still has to study and prepare for. He should make flashcards.
It’s all so much, and he should be able to fucking handle it. He knew law school wouldn’t be easy, that he’d have to work harder than he ever has in his life, but he hasn’t even finished his second year and he’s so tired. There’s so much to keep up with, and Alex’s brain is always thinking ten steps ahead but it feels so slow this time, like someone pressed the slow motion button at literally the worst time possible. Maybe he just needs to get some sleep – he can’t remember the last time he slept peacefully through the night and didn’t get up as the sun rose to plant himself at his desk.
Alex’s eyes flutter shut again, and this time he doesn’t bother fighting to open them again. Maybe he can rest his eyes for a moment; they’ve been itching more and more even when he reluctantly wears his glasses. Maybe he can just keep them closed for five minutes and then get back to his studies for another couple hours, absently noticing the mess of textbooks and crumpled papers surrounding his laptop.
Just five minutes.
“Alex.”
It’s not the voice that wakes Alex up at first. He’s pretty sure he hears it in a dream, soft and fuzzy around the edges like it comes from far away. There’s something almost musical about it, and Alex wonders if an angel dropped from the skies just to whisper his name.
“Alex.” Then he feels the movement in his hair, soft fingers carding through his curls and applying such perfect pressure to his scalp. Alex hums and sort of leans into the touch, still half asleep and searching for that gentle comfort.
A low chuckle reaches his ears. “There you are, love,” the voice speaks again, amused and undeniably soft. “Enjoyed your nap?”
Very much, Alex wants to say, still basking in the slowness of half-consciousness, but his stomach does an uncomfortable twist. Nap? No, he was just resting his eyes for a bit so he could go back to work, he wasn’t supposed to fall asleep—
He sits up abruptly.
Alex can feel his cheek still warm and creased where it was pillowed on his arms. His desk is an absolute mess, the screen of his laptop dark and papers wrinkled under the weight of his elbows. He has no idea how long has passed since he fell asleep.
And when he turns his head it’s the sight of Henry that greets him, golden hair and even brighter gaze, crouching slightly so they’re eye to eye. He blinks at Alex with tired eyes and a soft smile on his face that rearranges Alex’s insides, but he can barely feel it now with the anxiety climbing up his throat.
“How long was I out?” he whispers, dreading the response.
Henry frowns slightly. His hand hasn’t moved from Alex’s hair. “I’m not sure, but it’s a little past two am now—”
Alex’s stomach drops to his knees, not registering the rest of the sentence as his heart hammers against his chest. He slept for over two and a half hours? It can’t be. He’s so tired – but he has so much to do. He has a plan; he can’t afford to simply fall asleep and lose precious hours he could be using to study and prepare—
“Alex?”
Henry is still frowning when Alex looks back at him, not even realizing he’d looked away, his blue eyes attentive and full of concern. Alex can’t think past the buzzing in his ears, the tightness in his chest that he’s suddenly hyper aware of, and he has to go back to work but he can barely fucking think–
“Alex? Darling, take a deep breath for me.”
His breath has picked up without him noticing, coming out short and fast, faster than he can process. He can’t breathe; his lungs aren’t cooperating, suddenly too small for his body and suffocating him, his lips getting drier with each futile intake.
Alex takes a gasping breath that sounds like a choked sob when it reaches his ears, and realizes in a detached sort of way he must be having a panic attack. It wouldn’t be his first or his second or his tenth, and maybe it should calm him to know he’s survived this before, but all he can hear are the alarms going off in his head and he still can’t take a fucking breath.
There’s a hand gripping his hair, so tight it hurts, pulling at the strands at the base of his skull so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t rip out a chunk. The pain grounds him in a strange sort of way, but he can’t for the life of him understand why Henry would do that – he’s always so careful, always the one to pull Alex’s hands away when he—
Oh. It’s not Henry’s hand; it’s Alex’s. He hadn’t even realized he’d moved it.
Something warm and smooth slides over his palm, trying to take his hand away, but Alex can’t ease the death-like grip of his fingers. His hand feels like it was turned to stone, his fingers wound so tight they hurt.
Then he feels it, the thumb at the nape of his neck. It feels oddly sure and comforting, drawing small, relentless circles on his skin, and Alex tries to focus on that. He thinks there’s a voice too, but it sounds so far away he can’t make out any words, so he focuses on the steady movements of that gentle thumb instead, the pressure of it against his too-fast heartbeat. Slowly, Alex’s fingers unclench and his hand falls away, and he watches it like it’s happening to someone else’s body.
Immediately, his hand is pulled forward until it rests against something hard and solid. Alex knows that fabric, and he digs his fingers into Henry’s soft pajama shirt in an attempt to find reality again, one where it’s just him and Henry and nothing else matters.
The voice comes again, but this time it’s forming words, words Alex can barely hear and tries to put together with desperate urgency.
“...Two, three, four. I need you to breathe with me, darling. I’m here, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He has a feeling Henry has been repeating that for a while.
Alex hears the numbers, feels the rise and fall of Henry’s chest against his hand. His free hand is suddenly enveloped in something warm, and Henry is opening his hand where Alex hadn’t even realized he was digging his nails in. Soft lips kiss the crescent moons on his palm before Alex’s hand goes to join the other on Henry’s chest, forcing himself to focus on that steady movement.
Alex tries to breathe to the soothing rhythm of “In, two, three, four,” in Henry’s voice, letting the numbers and words of encouragement wash over him. There’s a heart beating under his fingertips, loud and relentless and alive, and ever so slowly Alex can feel his heaving chest calm just a fraction, easing a hint of tension. He keeps breathing, aided by Henry’s murmurs until their chests move in unison, Alex’s exhales coming out trembling and tired but no longer sharp and panicky.
He isn’t surprised when he feels Henry’s hands cupping his face and brushing the tear tracks away, although he has no memory of that happening or when he started crying. They’ve ended up on the floor somehow; he doesn’t quite know how that happened either.
He leans helplessly into the touch, eyes closed and hoping Henry understands everything he’s trying to say until he can get his voice working again. He can still feel the buzzing of anxiety, is the thing; the itching under his skin, the dryness in his mouth whenever he attempts to swallow, his hands that never quite managed to stop shaking, weakly fisting Henry’s shirt.
Then Henry whispers between them where he’s resting their foreheads together, voice low and achingly tender, “Can you tell me five things you can see, love?”
And Alex has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment so he doesn’t start crying all over again, overwhelmed by the wave of emotions that takes over him at that simple question. He’s not panicking anymore, so, objectively, Henry shouldn’t be using that technique now – it shouldn’t be necessary. But it’s like Henry has a sixth sense when it comes to Alex; like he can see the tightness still sitting heavy in his chest and tries to reach out and brush it away without hesitation.
Alex leans his head back a little, putting a minimum of distance between their faces. “I...” he starts, and has to clear his throat when his voice comes out hoarse and broken. “Your eyes,” he whispers, staring at two glimmering sapphires filled with so much love it knocks him off balance. They crinkle in the corners for a split second, as if saying go on.
“Your freckles,” Alex says next, flickering his gaze over Henry’s face. “My hands. The chair. My...” He gulps, swallowing past another wave of panic when his eyes land on his desk, the mess of papers, a dreadful reminder. “My desk,” he whispers, voice barely audible.
Henry’s hand on his cheek twitches, drawing him back. There’s a small smile on his face that almost hides the slight frown on his brow, and the sight of him is enough to put Alex at ease again, to make breathing a little easier.
“That’s perfect, Alex,” Henry says softly, and warmth spreads through Alex’s chest. “Can you give me four things you can feel?”
“Your hands,” Alex says immediately, letting out a little sigh when a thumb traces over his skin reverently. “Your heartbeat. Your shirt,” he sighs, and splays his fingers on the soft fabric. “And my hoodie.”
“Good,” Henry murmurs. “Three things you can hear.”
“Uh... my breathing. Your breathing. And... I think I hear the tv downstairs?”
“I must’ve left Bake Off playing,” Henry says with a quiet laugh, and Alex feels his lips twitch. It’s such a small thing but Henry looks absolutely delighted, his hands cradling Alex’s jaw like he’s something to be treasured. “Two things you can smell, love.”
“That air freshener you insisted on putting in every room of the house,” he mumbles with the ghost of a smile, his heart clenching a little when Henry huffs a laugh. “Your cinnamon shampoo.”
“Perfect, darling. One thing you can taste.”
Alex’s hands grip Henry’s shirt just a fraction tighter as he leans in to rest their foreheads together. “You?” he asks in a whisper, voice so quiet he’s surprised Henry hears him. He sees those beautiful lips curve upwards and his heart settles.
The kiss Henry places on his mouth is so soft Alex might as well have imagined the whole thing. It’s so gentle, barely a brush of lips, so familiar and so goddamn good Alex almost cries. He manages not to and clings just a little harder to his boyfriend, resting their foreheads together when they part, his lips tingling with the memory of Henry.
“You did so well, darling,” Henry whispers between them – and then he’s pulling Alex into his arms and holding him tight against his chest.
Alex sighs and presses his face to the crook of Henry’s shoulder, where it fits like it was made for him. This is exactly what had been missing; the last piece of their messy puzzle, the final button that makes Alex whole again. Henry’s arms wrapped around him like they have nowhere else in the world to be, squeezing him tight and putting his chaotic heart back together bit by bit, silencing the never-ending buzz of his brain with well-placed touches and quiet words.
Alex relishes in it and buries his face a little deeper in Henry’s neck, letting the feeling of safety envelope him.
“We’re going to leave this study in a bit,” Henry murmurs softly against his hair, his hands working on untangling the knots of Alex’s curls so carefully as if he might break. “You’re going to let me take care of you, and you’re not coming back to your work for at least a day.”
Uneasiness swirls in Alex’s stomach for a beat. “I have so much to do,” he protests weakly, trailing his eyes back to his desk and swallowing thickly.
Henry doesn’t seem fazed. “This is the third panic attack you’ve had in less than a month, Alex,” he says gently, yet his voice leaves no room for debate. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
If tears prickle Alex’s eyes at those words, of resignation and relief but mostly overwhelming love, it’s no one’s business but his.
“Okay,” he chokes out eventually, keeping his face pressed to Henry’s neck.
Henry doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to pull back. The hand that isn’t tangled in Alex’s curls roams freely along his back, trailing up and down his spine like he wants to commit it to memory. As if he hasn’t already, so many times before.
“You’re shivering, love,” Henry points out an unknown amount of time later, squeezing his body. “Cold?”
“Yeah,” Alex says, trying to press a little closer to Henry’s warmth. He can feel sweat drying on the back of his neck and it’s not only unpleasant, but he feels so chilly all of a sudden, his hoodie no longer enough to keep him warm.
“I was thinking we could have a hot shower before bed,” Henry says, voice unbearably gentle. “Warm you up, get you out of those clothes and into your pajamas. Sound alright?”
“Yeah,” Alex says quietly. “Please.”
He lifts his head and shows Henry a small smile that he hopes conveys the gratitude he’s feeling, and Henry kisses his nose with an equally soft smile.
They make their way to the bathroom, albeit on shaky feet in Alex’s case. Their hands are tangled in one another and don’t part for a second; Alex because he needs a point of contact, and Henry because he knows his boyfriend. His grip is tender yet unmovable, and Alex’s heart swells in his chest. He lets Henry undress him gently and push him under the shower head, warm water falling over Alex’s shoulders as if washing away all the leftover anxiety of the day, and he closes his eyes with a shuddering breath. The pressure is welcome against his tense muscles, warming him up in a split second.
Henry joins him a minute later, hands finding their natural place at Alex’s waist. “Better?” he asks, reaching around Alex.
Alex hums against his shoulder, a quiet sound of agreement. He feels Henry press a kiss on the top of his head before deft fingers take its place, lathering shampoo into his curls with carefully practiced movements. The aroma of apple and cinnamon fills the air around them as Henry’s fingertips massage Alex’s scalp with such perfect pressure he’s more puddle than man. His brain is absolute goo by the time Henry tilts his head back to rinse his hair, taking a minute to catch up with the soft hands roaming over body as the coconut scent of their body wash hits his nose.
“I can...” Alex starts once he’s under the shower head again, reaching for Henry’s shampoo, but Henry stops him with a gentle hand on his wrist.
“This isn’t about me,” he says gently, sliding his hand down to lace their fingers together. “Let me take care of you. Please, love?”
Alex swallows thickly and nods, pushing past the lump in his throat. Henry leans down and presses his lips to Alex’s forehead in a lingering kiss, one that threatens to release a sob stuck behind Alex’s throat.
They get out of the shower. Alex is left shivering for two seconds before he’s wrapped in the biggest, softest towel they own, Henry’s hands rubbing his arms over the fabric to provide him with some warmth.
“Thanks,” he murmurs as Henry uses a smaller, equally soft towel to dry his curls.
Henry just smiles. “Do you want me to get your pajamas?”
“Bring me your clothes?” he asks in a hopeful tone. “I just... wanna be dressed in your clothes. Please.”
Henry looks at him like Alex is everything he’s ever wanted. A blush climbs up Alex’s cheeks, and the kiss Henry presses there before he leaves does nothing to stop it.
He waits for maybe a minute before Henry is back, dressed in a new pair of pajama pants and Alex’s NYU hoodie, holding a pair of joggers, boxers, and his Oxford jumper. Alex’s towel falls from his shoulders as he raises his arms to put the jumper on, lifting one foot and then the other for the soft pants, smiling when Henry kneels down to roll them up three times at Alex’s ankles so he doesn’t trip over. Blue eyes blink up at him and Alex wonders how he can hold so much love for a single person, keeping his mouth shut in case it tries to say something his exhausted brain didn’t agree on.
When they exit the bathroom, Alex points to the left when Henry goes right. “Bedroom’s this way, baby,” he says sleepily.
Henry squeezes his hand. “I know. But the kitchen is this way, and you haven’t had anything to eat but coffee since lunch. There’s some leftover enchiladas.”
Alex hears the unspoken question there – Henry wants to take care of him, but he won’t force Alex to eat if he says no. Alex takes a moment, weighing his options, checking in with himself. The panic that clawed at his chest mere hours ago is gone now, replaced only with sleepiness and Henry’s gentle touches and the warm blanket of safety on his shoulders.
He squeezes Henry’s hand and turns to the right. Henry’s bright smile in response is everything.
Alex sits at the kitchen table while Henry heats up the enchiladas and a moment later David is climbing into his lap. He has no idea why the beagle is awake at this time of the night, but he tangles his fingers in his soft fur nonetheless, scratching behind his ears and smiling when David licks his fingers. A kiss is pressed into his hair before a plate of enchiladas enters his line of vision, and Alex smiles gratefully up at his boyfriend.
He eats most of his food – they’re damn good enchiladas; he hadn’t even realized how hungry he was – and drinks the two glasses of water Henry places in front of him. All the while Henry is by his side, talking about this and that in a low voice, pressing faint kisses to his hair and sneaks littles bites to David when he thinks Alex isn’t looking.
Soon enough Alex’s eyelids feel heavy, slipping shut without his permission. He hears a chuckle to his left a moment before Henry stands up and takes his hand. “Bed, then?”
“Hm,” Alex hums and lets Henry pull him to his feet, pressing a grateful, sleepy kiss to his cheek. “Yes, please.”
He walks to the bedroom less than he’s led there, trusting Henry’s lead blindly and letting out a tiny groan of contempt when his head finally meets the pillow.
The mattress dips beside him and suddenly Alex is being pulled into a pair of familiar arms, strong shoulders that eclipse the world and a firm chest he almost knows better than his own. The covers are pulled on top of them and the warmth envelops Alex like a hug, making him sigh quietly into Henry’s shirt.
He pulls his head back a little so he can watch Henry’s face. It’s so dark it’s almost impossible to see anything, but Alex can make out the shape of Henry’s face as if it shines, could trace it with his fingertips if he didn’t have his arms around his boyfriend.
He tries to reach for the right words; he wants to say thank you, but Henry would just smile and say it’s nothing. He wants to say he’s sorry, but Henry would shoot that down so fast he doesn’t even try.
He settles for staring into Henry’s eyes and murmuring a quiet “I love you,” craning his neck to press a little kiss to Henry’s chin.
Henry squeezes him closer. There’s silence for a moment, and then Henry’s lips touch Alex’s forehead like he never wants to let go. “I love you so much,” he whispers into Alex’s curls, tucking him under his chin again.
Alex closes his eyes and doesn’t fight the gentle claws of sleep pulling at him. He’s safe.
Alex wakes up to the sound of keys rattling. It’s confusing at first, his brain not fully aware of his surroundings yet, and he frowns into the mattress while reaching to the side for a warm body—
His hand meets cold sheets.
Alex blinks his eyes open slowly, trying to get accustomed to the light streaming through the open curtains. He feels like he slept for days, his body finally on its way to being properly rested after days of running on coffee and too little sleep. His ears catch the sound of keys again and footsteps making their way up the stairs.
Henry pokes his head into the bedroom. “You’re up,” he says softly.
Alex sits up and offers Henry a small smile, rubbing his eyes. “Morning.”
“Well good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Henry grins and walks up to the bed, sitting next to Alex’s hip. He’s dressed in jeans and a soft cotton shirt that Alex wants to press his face to. “Did you sleep well?”
“Would’ve been better if I woke up next to you,” Alex retorts, his heart clenching when Henry’s face softens. “But it was pretty good anyway.”
“Good. You looked like you needed it. I went out to the bakery around the corner while you were sleeping; got all your favorites.”
Alex perks up. “Cinnamon muffins?” he asks hopefully.
“And cinnamon biscuits, and cinnamon rolls, and those lemon crinkles you love so much,” Henry says with an indulgent smile. “As I said, all your favorites.”
It’s a miracle Alex’s heart hasn’t found a way to beat its way out of his chest. “You didn’t have to do that,” he whispers, taking Henry’s hand and thumbing over his palm.
Henry squeezes his hand. “I know. I wanted to.”
A blush climbs up Alex’s cheeks and he tries to hide it with a cough. “What time is it, anyway?” he asks, trying to ignore his burning cheeks.
Henry tucks a curl behind his ear. “Almost one pm, I think.”
Alex rears back. “One pm?! But— I had alarms—”
“I turned them off,” Henry says easily, his eyes sharp and unmovable. “You needed to rest.”
“I had classes,” Alex mumbles halfheartedly, no venom in his voice.
Henry huffs a laugh. “You’re a fool if you think I’d let you leave the house so sleep deprived. You’d collapse before you could reach the front door.”
Which is… fair, Alex concedes against his will. He did need to sleep. “Do we have to have breakfast now?”
A smile flickers on Henry’s face. “It would be a very late breakfast, but I suppose we can stay here for a little more.”
Alex grins lazily at him and pulls him in for a kiss, soft and languid and thorough. Henry sighs against him and kisses back with a private smile, cupping Alex’s face in his palm. It’s so simple, yet it feels like home.
Henry climbs onto the bed when they draw back and lies down behind Alex, pulling him flush to his chest. There isn’t an inch of skin left untouched, shoulders covering shoulders and Henry’s arm thrown over Alex’s waist, their legs tangled together under the covers. Alex closes his eyes and sinks into it, covering Henry’s hands with his palms and snuggling close as if it will, somehow, bring them closer.
They won’t sleep; he knows that. But it’s so fucking nice to just be here with Henry, little kisses being pressed into his sleep mussed curls as they bask in the quietness of the morning.
“I was thinking we could go take David out on a walk after lunch, get some fresh air,” Henry says into the nape of his neck, his lips barely brushing Alex’s skin in a way that makes him suppress a shiver. “Maybe have a bath with those ridiculous bath bombs you love and order takeout from your favorite place.”
“The deli across the street?” Alex inquires, mouth watering at the prospect.
Henry’s chuckles and presses a kiss to Alex’s neck. “Anywhere you want, love.”
Alex’s heart makes a valiant effort to beat out of his chest. “I’d like that, baby,” he says and squeezes Henry’s hand.
He gets lost in his thoughts, and before he realizes it his mouth is speaking without his permission.
“Thank you for taking care of me last night,” he whispers, and Henry stills almost imperceptibly. “I’m sorry I’m so shit at taking care of myself.”
A moment of silence. Then Henry is pulling away and Alex immediately misses the warmth. A hand touches his shoulder and turns him around until Alex is face to face with angelic blond hair and a frown he wants to smooth away with his thumb.
A gentle palm cups Alex’s cheek, thumb swiping over the soft skin.
“You have nothing to thank me or apologize for,” Henry says, his eyes so blue and focused they pin Alex in place. “I took care of you – I am taking care of you – because you needed help and I love you. And I will never have you apologize for that because it’s not your fault, love. It’s okay. I’m here for you, if you let me.”
Alex swallows past the lump in his throat, trying to push back the tears pricking his eyes. “I want to be better.”
“I can help you with that,” Henry says without missing a beat, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “If you want me to, I can help.”
Alex’s first instinct is to say no. He’s never been good at admitting he needs help, let alone accept it. It’s terrifying to make yourself so vulnerable, so open to hurt and disappointment when you’ve been fine on your own for so long.
But Alex hasn’t been fine, has he?
And it’s Henry. Henry who looks soft and worried and honest, who is always there and never pushes. Henry, who he trusts with his entire life.
“Okay,” Alex says when he finds his voice. “Please. I… I want that.”
A grin splits Henry’s face in half. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Alex says, feeling a smile tug at his lips as well.
It’s almost reverent, the kiss Henry places on his mouth. It’s chaste and slow and lingering, and Alex meets him in the middle and melts into it, feeling lighter than air. Henry presses their smiling lips together and pulls back to travel along Alex’s face, mapping out his cheekbones and his forehead and the tip of nose until Alex is giggling with delight, his heart so fucking full as he wraps his arms around the love of his life.
Henry’s cheeks are pink when they pull back, a boyish smile on his face, and Alex pushes his face into the crook of Henry’s neck. It’s lunch time and he hasn’t even had breakfast, but it’s easy to forget that when Henry’s arms are around him and running gently along his spine, random kisses placed on his hair.
“I do have to go to class tomorrow,” Alex mumbles a few minutes later, muffled against Henry’s collarbone. “Even if I’d rather stay home cuddling you.”
Henry hums, pressing another kiss to his curls. “You will. But today, you rest and we cuddle. No thinking about Law School.”
So Alex doesn’t. They’ll get up eventually and have a late lunch, and they’ll take David for a walk with their hands intertwined between them. They’ll have a bath that smells like apple and cinnamon, and when they move to the couch Alex will nap with his head on Henry’s chest, soft fingers threaded through his curls. Henry will order them takeout in the evening as Alex puts Star Wars on, and neither of them will pay attention to the movies as they steal kisses from each other’s lips in between bites.
Alex won’t apologize or thank Henry again, but he’ll tell his boyfriend he loves him over and over again so Henry never forgets.
But for now, Alex doesn’t think about any of that. He presses a kiss to Henry’s collarbone and closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy the present.