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Henry and Alex’s living room has floor to ceiling windows. It was perfect, they had thought, for the south-facing side of the house to have so much light. They can open the doors onto their garden in the morning, enjoy the morning sunlight streaming across the hardwood floors while they eat breakfast. They sit on the porch in the evenings, watching the sun set in the west over the hills while Alex’s old Hall and Oates record plays from the turntable by the bookcase. When days are too warm, the light too bright, they have remote controlled blinds that keep the room cool and pleasant. Henry loves it, just as he loves every room in their perfect, rustic, happy little home.
Now, Henry thanks every god he can think of for his massive windows and the Texas sun. He sits cross legged on the floor of the living room, sun warming his back, unmoving. He’s transfixed by the figures on the sofa. Alex, on his back, late afternoon sunlight casting his skin in gentle bronze. Alex, fast asleep with his mouth open and his glasses hanging lopsidedly on his nose. Alex, lying with their son on his chest.
Arthur sleeps on his tummy, one tiny first curled in Alex’s shirt, his little bottom sticking up in the air slightly. Like his father, he has his mouth open, cheek squished into soft cotton. Alex has a protective hand on his back, his palm covering Arthur from neck to bottom. He’s so careful with the baby, so attentive, even in his sleep. Arthur rises with the peak and fall of Alex’s breath, but he never stirs. Henry is completely entranced.
He came home to this, dumping his bag in the hall and padding through on socked feet to the living room, hoping to find Arthur in a good mood, and Alex not inches from tearing his hair out. Instead he found this, his husband and his baby dozing in the light of golden hour, a sight so beautiful Henry had no choice but to stop, sit down, and watch them for the better part of an hour.
His husband and his baby. Henry leans his chin in his hands. He didn’t believe he would ever get this, once. And to think he might not have let himself have it! He would have shut himself off from everything that would have given him even a shred of joy, if a stubborn, vexing American boy hadn’t charged into his heart and demanded that it open up for him.
And now here is that same boy, that same man, fast asleep and cradling Henry’s baby in his arms, the only reason Henry gets to have this life in the first place. Henry smiles, a private, gentle thing, wobbly and wet. He lifts a hand to his cheeks, feels the salty tears staining his cheeks. He shakes his head at his own ridiculousness, huffing a laugh as he continues to watch Alex and Arthur.
If Heaven exists, Henry imagines it would feel a lot like this; joyous and wonderful and unexpected, with tears and laughter all at once.
“‘Re you crying?”
Alex has one eye cracked open, an eyebrow quirked in bleary amusement at his husband. Henry sniffs and rubs his knuckle into his eye.
“Absolutely not,” he says, “What gave you that idea?”
Alex’s smile is soft as he reaches with his free hand to graze his thumb over Henry’s cheek, catching a tear there. “Oh, no reason. How long have you been sitting there?”
“Oh, you know,” he briefly considers lying, then deflates, “About an hour.”
Alex laughs softly. “You gotta stop watching us sleep, baby, it’s getting weird.”
“It is not,” Henry huffs, shuffling forward on his knees and stroking a hand over Arthur’s curly head, “You’re both just so nice to look at.” Alex grins, still sleepy and soft, and he hums when Henry kisses him, the knuckles of his free hand glancing over Henry’s cheek. There are shadows under Alex’s eyes behind his glasses, and his cheeks are rough with stubble, but Henry’s never seen a more beautiful sight. “Has he been alright today?”
“Not bad,” Alex says, glancing down at Arthur, still drooling on his shirt, “We went for a walk, had lunch and he barfed on my shirt twice. Then we watched like, twelve episodes of Bluey. What time is it?”
“A little after six.”
Alex grimaces. “Shit, I was supposed to call the office. But Arth got really mad after we watched TV and it took me ages to get him to sleep, and once he was I didn’t wanna move him to his crib so we just…” he gestures down at his position, horizontal across the sofa.
“Darling, you are on paternity leave , you’re not even supposed to be working.”
“I’m not! They just wanted my advice on a case.”
“Well that can wait till morning, now, can’t it?”
Alex gives him a begrudging smile. “Yes boss.” Henry preens a little, before Arthur begins to stir, his little face scrunching up in displeasure before he lets out a half-hearted wail. “Oop, here we go. Hey sweetheart. No need for tears, look! Daddy’s home, and we made him cry again.”
Henry flicks Alex under the chin. “None of that. Hello, my love.” He presses a gentle kiss to Arthur’s forehead, not wanting to jostle him before he’s had a chance to wake up, as much as he wants a cuddle. Arthur blinks his tired eyes and focuses them on Henry, making his heart swell three sizes. He will never get tired of seeing his son watching him, big brown eyes so like his father’s, shrewd and thoughtful even at seven months.
Arthur still seems to be deciding whether to start crying or not, giving out little whimpers and shoving his face into Alex’s shirt. Alex makes sympathetic noises and rubs his back. “Oh, I know, mijo, it’s so hard being a baby, huh? Daddy and Papi don’t know how much you have to deal with.” He shoots a conspiratorial glance at Henry, who laughs. He lifts Arthur into a sitting position on his stomach, giving him a small bounce. “Show us that beautiful smile, come on, baby.” Arthur makes a gurgle that sounds happier and shoves his fist into his mouth. Alex looks at Henry again, his expression open and full of love, awe, delight. Henry can barely breathe for it.
“Right,” he says around the lump in his throat, “I’ll get dinner started and take Arthur. Come here, darling.” With Arthur more alert, Henry lifts him into his arms, and he attaches his fists to Henry’s collar and starts to chew on it.”
“That’s right, you go with Daddy. Papi’s still sleepy.” Alex leans back against the sofa cushions, stretching one arm behind his head; Henry’s mouth goes slightly dry at the muscles of his bicep flexing.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Mm, you.” Alex winks at him and delivers a gentle slap to his arse as he passes. Even after eight years, Alex still makes his heart jump.
“You and I both know that’s a far off dream until this little monster starts sleeping through the night.”
“A man can hope!”
In the kitchen, Henry transfers Arthur to one arm as he rummages through the fridge, nattering to entertain him as he goes, random things about his day, his plans for dinner. Arthur listens, head against his shoulder, still chewing on his collar.
Arthur is a little small for his age. He was born earlier than expected, just over three pounds and the tiniest thing Henry had ever seen. He remembers the night he came into the world, holding Alex in his arms because they couldn’t hold their baby, keeping each other standing out of desperation more than anything else. All the time Arthur spent in the NICU, where Henry could do no more than hold his tiny hand through his incubator, now he clings to every moment he gets to have Arthur in his arms. Arthur rarely spends time in his crib during the day, for Henry prefers to just hold him while he sleeps. He knows he shouldn’t, that he needs to let Arthur get used to sleeping without them, but he can’t help but want to keep him close, all through the day. It’s his way of reminding himself that his baby is alright now, he’s safe and healthy and where he should be, with he and Alex.
Now, Henry shifts him higher on his shoulder as he pulls eggs, ham, mushrooms and tomatoes from the fridge. He’ll make a quiche. Alex loves his quiches.
“Now,” he says into Arthur’s hair as he goes to retrieve his sling from the hall, “Are you going to be good while I make dinner?” Arthur babbles. “Yes, I know what that means. That means ‘I don’t know what you mean, Daddy, I’m always good!’ But you see, my chicken, I remember what you were like last night!” He gets a gummy smile, and has to pepper his son’s cheeks with kisses, making him giggle, before he places him in the sling against his chest.
“I love how you talk to him.” Alex has come to lean in the doorway, smiling at them with so much love in his face that Henry has to brace himself for it.
“Well he’s just such a good conversationalist, aren’t you?” Henry grins at his husband, “Much better than other company.”
Alex narrows his eyes in mock annoyance as he pushes off from the door frame. “Artie, baby, you gotta defend me here! Your dad’s insulting me!”
“Don’t be recruiting our son to fight your battles, darling, it’s unbecoming.” Henry is laughing as Alex drags him into his arms and pinches his hips, allowing himself to be pulled into a kiss that’s interrupted by the both of them smiling too much to hold it.
“I love you,” Alex breathes, nudging his nose against Henry’s.
“You two are my entire world,” Henry replies, delighting in the way Alex’s breath stutters. Henry’s heart is so full. Dinner is left for a while, so that Alex and Henry and Arthur can sway together in the middle of the kitchen. Here, Henry can lean his cheek on his son’s curls, and focus on his husband’s hand in his hair, and watch the fading orange light of sunset sink behind the hills.