Archive of Our Own

When asked later, none of the culprits could really pinpoint whose idea it was. Whether they were being honest or they were desperately covering for each other, no one could say. But it started with a passing comment that turned into a question of whether Joey would get jealous easily. He seemed to do most things all or nothing, so it was quite a heated debate. 

During that debate, someone had the brilliant idea to test it and see for themselves.

• • •

It had become commonplace for Henry and Joey to arrive to the studio together on Fridays. It somewhat baffled his coworkers, to Henry’s internal delight. He’d heard the whispers—people questioning why it wasn’t Monday, after the weekend. 

Simple. Henry needed an actual good night’s rest on Sunday night, and that wasn’t going to happen if he was at Joey’s. So if they made plans, Joey picked him up on Friday morning, they went to work, and then the weekend was theirs. Joey then brought him home on Sunday, and Henry got a solid eight-plus hours of sleep for the start of a new week.

He let them stew in their curiosity, though. His personal life was already the subject of much gossip; he had to find his own entertainment somewhere. They all knew better than to try and ask him—only his lunchtime friends got away with that—and Joey was as tight-lipped as Henry asked him to be. 

On those Fridays, since it was the only day they ever arrived at the studio at the same time, Joey had developed the habit of walking Henry to his desk before heading to his own office. It was disgustingly sappy of him. 

The first time, remembering how the inseparable couples in high school had been, Henry had snickered. “No one ever walked me to my locker, y’know.” 

Catching on quickly, a look of satisfaction had settled on Joey’s face, and Henry watched in real-time as Joey decided they’d do this every Friday from now on. “You joke, but I like that there are still firsts I can have with you.” 

It’d been sweet enough that Henry had never protested, no matter how silly it sometimes felt. 

Even though it was mid-March, and they’d soon reach the three month mark since the Christmas party, Joey was still tentative about certain things. Going all-out on Valentine’s Day aside, the way they were at the studio was markedly different from how they were at one of their homes. As such, over the past three Fridays, Henry had been steadily tracking Joey’s gathering and losing of his nerve to hold Henry’s hand during that brief walk through the hallways. 

Golly, the high school comparison was really too true, huh.

Could Henry have said something or reached out himself? Sure. Would he? No, not unless it looked like Joey was actually stressing himself out over it. The visible internal battle was too amusing otherwise. 

They reached the entrance to the animators room with Henry’s desk, making it the fourth Friday where Joey had managed to psych himself out. 

Henry stifled a smile and had to work hard to pretend like he hadn’t noticed. Really, the fact Joey was always quick to take his hand when they were literally anywhere else was the highlight of watching his struggle. 

Something out of place caught his eye, and Henry drew to a halt, Joey jerking to a stop beside him. 

There was… a bouquet of flowers. On Henry’s desk. A big one. He frowned. 

Joey had been quick to figure out that besides special occasions, Henry didn’t much care for flowers. Joey’s rose shenanigans on Valentine’s Day had been funny, and the gift as a whole had clearly been planned with Henry in mind. But as a grand gesture, they just seemed… impersonal to him. 

Henry glanced at Joey, even though it didn’t make sense for him to be responsible for the display. And yeah. Just by looking at him, Henry knew his partner wasn’t the sender. In fact, instead of bewildered, Joey’s expression had turned downright stormy. 

“Hm. I wonder if someone got turned around and left it at the wrong desk,” Henry mused. Walking up to it, he poked around the vase to see if there was a card. 

Joey joined him. “For the sender’s sake, I hope so.” 

Finding a folded piece of cardstock, Henry tugged it free but didn’t open it right away. He turned a really? look up at Joey. “Even if it is for me—”

Joey narrowed his eyes.  

“—it hardly matters,” Henry finished, smacking Joey’s chest with the back of his hand. “Down, boy.” 

“Everyone in the studio knows you’re taken,” he said, caught somewhere between whining and frustrated. 

“Hence why I think it’s not for me.” Henry popped open the card, determined to only catch a glimpse of a name without reading a potentially private message. “Ah. Hm.” 

Tensing, Joey turned a baleful glare at the flowers. 

This was so not what Henry needed today. Or ever. A secret admirer? Really? 

“Does it say who it’s from?” 

“It does not,” Henry said, skimming the short message once, twice, a third time. Tragically, the words didn’t change between re-readings. 

“But it is for you.” If Joey didn’t sound so genuinely insulted, Henry would have laughed at the way he was sizing the bouquet up, like he planned to fight them. Or throw them out the nearest window. 

Once he was sure he wouldn’t smile, he shrugged, unconcerned. “Yeah. So what? I say we put them on the front desk so everyone can enjoy them.” 

But Joey was looking around, not paying attention. They’d arrived early enough that Friday that the studio was still mostly empty, so there was no one in the room to interrogate. He wasn’t frowning, not really, but there was an unhappy tilt to his expression.

It was with concern that Henry realized Joey had entirely dropped the early stages of his preferred public persona. This wasn’t a public persona at all, but it also wasn’t quite Joey’s natural state of being.

He turned to Joey fully. “Okay, hang on. Time out. This is actually upsetting you. Why?”

Joey’s hands snuck around to Henry’s back and laced together, pulling him close and trapping him there. “It’s rude to put the moves on someone’s partner,” Joey complained, pouting, if pouting could also look like a boss ready to give someone a talking-to. “You’re mine, and I don’t appreciate someone trying to steal you from me.”

So far, nearly three months into their relationship, Joey’s possessiveness had been playful. He enjoyed leaving hickeys anywhere he could, and he didn’t mind that Henry didn’t want them visible at work. Seeing Henry wearing his clothes really did it for him. He was an absolute limpet in his sleep, and much the same during the day—outside of the studio, at least. 

This was that possessiveness bumped up a notch into something a little more serious. 

(That didn’t mean it wasn’t attractive. Oh, work was not the place to be discovering this about himself. Not that Henry hadn’t already been acutely aware that he liked the… tamer version of Joey’s possessiveness.

Sue him, being wanted like that felt nice. And Joey saying you're mine… that, that also felt nice. Work was going to drag today, Henry could already tell.)

All right, damage control. For his own sake, honestly. His self-control was only so good. Shifting enough to put himself between his desk and Joey to block the sight of the offending bouquet, Henry caught his eye. “Joey—” 

But of course Joey couldn’t make it easy for him. “What did the note say?” 

“Nothing worth remembering.” 

Curse Joey’s height advantage, Henry didn’t stand a chance at holding it out of reach. It was a brief note, reading more like something you’d find in a mass-produced card, in his humble opinion: Henry, I hope these flowers brighten up your day the way you brighten up mine. Much love, Your Secret Admirer. 

Joey very nearly growled at it, his grip on the edge crinkling the thick cardstock. His other hand pressed tightly to Henry’s back. “‘Much love,’” he read, outraged. He spluttered before tossing the offending paper to the floor. 

Henry ducked his head, trying not laugh, as Joey hugged him closer. He allowed it for a minute before stepping away. Joey immediately let go, though he continued to eye the flowers balefully. 

Pulling off his bag and coat, Henry rolled his eyes. His caveman of a partner waited, a little twitchy. “Should I be offended that you think my attention is so easily caught?” Henry teased.

Some of the tension left Joey’s shoulders. “It’s not that. I’m not doubting you, or questioning your commitment, but—”

“It’s just that someone had the audacity?” Henry asked—and okay, that was less damage control and more egging him on. It was also incriminating. 

Joey’s eyes lit up. 

Now, see, it wasn’t that Henry didn’t want Joey to know him well. It was that Joey used such knowledge for evil. 

“Oh,” Henry’s wicked partner said—purred more like. He slipped closer. 

Holding a warning finger between them, Henry stepped back. “Stop that.” His voice might—might!—have cracked a teensy tiny bit.

“Say it like you mean it, then.” Joey snagged his raised hand and and quickly pulled it up and around, tugging Henry into a spin beneath his arm. Obviously unprepared for it, Henry stumbled, exactly to Joey’s nefarious plan, so Joey could smoothly catch him in a shallow dip. “You like that. And here I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect.” 

Letting Joey take part of his weight, Henry glared up at him. It was utterly ineffectual if the beaming smile he got in return was any indication. 

“We’re at work,” Henry protested. 

“It’s early; you wouldn’t be clocking in for at least ten minutes anyway.” Joey leaned closer. “Have you ever made out in a closet, darling?”

Henry—wasn’t proud of the noise he made. 

Joey’s grin sharpened. “Someone else in this studio wants you. They sent you flowers, like that would impress you.” His voice lowered with his disdain. “They don’t know you.” 

“And you do?” Henry asked with a raised eyebrow, fully aware he was poking the bear but physically incapable of holding back the snark. 

Eager, Joey rose to the challenge. “Give me to the end of the day, and I’ll prove how much better I know you. I’ll put those flowers to shame.” 

He shouldn’t. Henry really, really shouldn’t. He should gently push Joey away and go clock in and get to work. He should say no, remind Joey that he didn’t care one whit about the flowers and there was no reason for him to be up in arms. He should do anything other than—

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?” Henry dared. 

With a smug chuckle, Joey darted in and kissed him, quick and teasing. “I have better things to do with my mouth.” Ducking farther down, he spoke directly against Henry’s neck, nearly ticklish, but that wasn’t why Henry had to fight to keep from squirming, biting back a gasp. “Such as demonstrate just how mine you are.” 

“If you impress me,” Henry said without thinking, “I’ll let you leave visible hickeys this weekend.” 

Okay, okay, he only had himself to blame for that one. But like hell was he going to take it back.

Joey returned to looming over him, his eyes nearly wild. “Oh, you shouldn’t have offered that, darling.” 

Finally, Henry gently detangled himself and stepped away. Joey, who was endlessly respectful of his space in that regard, kept his hands to himself—with no small amount of effort, Henry was sure. 

Henry leaned against the back of his chair and tilted his head just enough to be a temptation. Instead of confirming his offer or walking it back, he reminded Joey with an imperious look, “I clock out at five, Mr. Drew.” 

It was all Joey needed. “Then I best get to work, Mr. Stein.” He offered a slight bow before turning on his heel and stalking away. 

Only after several seconds had passed did Henry slump and let out a sigh, feeling not at all like he wanted to sit down and work. He rubbed his neck and chuckled wryly. Susie was going to lose her entire mind on Monday, he already knew.

“I could have had a normal day,” he griped to the flowers. Picking up the vase, he left the—blessedly still empty—animators room and offered the bouquet to the ladies at the front desk, who were thrilled to take it off his hands. 

• • •

In an effort to distract himself, Henry focused extra hard on his tasks for the day. Fortunately, it worked. Unfortunately, it worked. So great was his concentration that he finished early and was left with nothing else to fill his time with. Not even more work. 

The minutes passed by agonizingly slowly as the clock slowly ticked past three, then three-thirty, and doing pose practice was only so engaging. 

He really did try to keep his mind off Joey and what his plan was. He didn’t want to accidentally establish any expectations. It was funny, though, because Henry wasn’t sure what he’d get himself if he was in Joey’s shoes. Something that would prove Joey knew him, something that would impress Henry, and something that, at least in Henry’s mind, would be a better, more personal gesture than flowers. Joey was undoubtedly up to the task, though.

For the sake of something to do, he was almost tempted to try and puzzle out who sent the bouquet that started it all. But that was a road he really had no interest in going down. 

(Besides, he’d already set his best bloodhound on the sender’s tracks. And by “bloodhound,” he meant Susie, and by “set her on the sender’s tracks,” he meant “casually mentioned the flowers at lunch and watched her indignation ignite at the thought of someone ruining the romance she’d helped set up.”) 

His thoughts went in circles, and he still had over an hour until it was time to clock out. Joey could show up at any moment, but according to Penny, Joey had left the studio during lunch, and Henry was decently sure that he’d know about it when Joey got back.

He had his anxious boredom to blame for jumping on the first real distraction to come his way.

He glanced up when someone he didn’t recognize popped into the animators room and asked, with the tone of a poor soul who’d already asked this question a hundred times to no avail, “Does anyone here know how to play the violin? And not as a beginner.” 

Henry, who very much knew how to play the violin and was no beginner, set down his pencil. “Who’s asking?” 

She zeroed in on him. “Please tell me that means yes.” 

He didn’t quite regret speaking up just yet, but the conversation could very easily tip that way if he wasn’t careful. 

“It does,” Henry said slowly, turning properly to face her. “I’m no master, but I’ve been playing since I was a kid. Why?” 

She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Sammy’s ’bout to blow a gasket. One of his violinists is on vacation and the other two came down with food poisoning after lunch. They only just finished cleanin’ up the recording room, and he realized he’s out of violinists.” 

One of the other animators whistled. “Must be desperate if he’s got the lot of you askin’ around, Bree.” 

Bree snorted. “What he says, goes. I don’t pretend to know half of what’s goin’ on in Sammy’s head, but when he starts muttering up a storm…” 

Henry had never met the man she was talking about, but a number of his fellows winced tellingly. 

Focusing back on Henry, Bree gave him a decent pair of puppy-dog eyes. “Have mercy, pal. Don’t make me go down there and say I couldn’t find anyone.” 

“I’ve never played in anything even approaching a band,” Henry warned her. 

“So long as you can play without screeching every other note, I’m okay with that.” Sensing his imminent capitulation, Bree gestured invitingly out of the room. “Sammy’s not so bad, I swear.” 

“A ringing endorsement,” Henry said dryly, but he stood up anyway. 

She nearly whooped, laughing the laugh of the deliriously relieved. A chorus of “good luck”s followed him out the door. 

“I’m Brielle,” she introduced herself as she led him down to the music department, “but everyone calls me Bree. Nice to meet you…” 

“Henry,” he offered, “but everyone calls me Henry.” 

She snorted. “Quick one, huh? You might even survive Sammy.” 

“You got an interesting way of selling me on helping this guy out, y’know.” 

“Aw, Sammy’s got a sharp tongue, is all. I swear, he can smell fear. So don’t be nervous or he’ll take an extra large bite outta ya.” 

Since Bree miraculously didn’t seem to recognize him as that Henry, he restrained himself from making the obvious “only Joey’s allowed to do that” joke. 

The music department was in the basement, but on the opposite side from the art department. He hadn’t been down there much, and certainly not on the music side of things, so it was interesting to see the part of the studio where Susie and Allison spent most of their time. If they were down there, he didn’t see them, but then, the studio was no small building. 

Bree paused at a door with an unlit recording sign over it, took a deep breath, then slowly eased it open. “Sammy? I found someone.” 

An unfamiliar voice full of impatience snapped, “Then what are you waiting for, we’ve already wasted enough time today. Let me see, let me see.” 

Bree zipped into the room, and Henry followed her with some measure of amusement. He’d been expecting someone genuinely nasty, not someone who was clearly so high-strung they were one bad day from an aneurysm. 

A man with messy blond hair that gave off an air of him having run his hands through it multiple times recently was flicking through a stack of papers, and everyone in the room was giving him a wide berth. He spared a glance that couldn’t have lasted even a full second at Henry. 

“Yes, yes, fine,” Sammy said, tapping his foot. He gestured sharply at the array of chairs set up on a raised platform beneath a projector screen. “You, sit.” 

Henry didn’t move. “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. See, I was told you needed a violin player, not a dog.” 

Someone in the projector booth overhead let out, ironically, a bark of laughter. The rest of the room seemed to suck in a collective breath. 

Sammy fell still, then turned to fully face Henry with a look of appraisal. Henry raised an eyebrow back at him, otherwise placid. 

After a moment, Sammy made a noise in the back of his throat and pointed at Henry with his handful of papers. “You’ll do,” he said slowly. “Yes, you’ll do just… fine. Can you read sheet music?” 

“Well enough,” Henry said, heading for the chair with a violin resting on it. “Will the world end if I look it over first?” 

A chuckle so brief that it might have been an irregular exhale left Sammy, sending half the band into a whispered frenzy. “You have sixty seconds until the situation reaches critical.” 

Henry took a seat, resting the violin in his lap. “You mean it’s not already? I can’t imagine what you’re like when things get really dire.” 

Whoever was in the projector booth wheezed. 

Sammy’s mouth did something that someone with a magnifying glass might call a smile. “If the doodles I’ve seen are accurate, I grow devil horns.” 

More than one person became highly engrossed in checking their instrument. 

“Oh, you too?” Henry asked. 

And a miracle happened. Sammy unmistakably laughed. It was little more than a few huffs, but the humor in it was undeniable. Satisfied, Henry turned his attention to the music stand in front of him and scanned the notes printed out on the papers there. 

The tense, terrified atmosphere eased. More than one person was eyeing Henry with absolute bewilderment or wariness. Wonderful, something new to make its way into the gossip mill. It’d been a little dry lately, if Susie’s pouting meant anything. 

Well, he and Joey would handily take care of that, if not by the end of today, then by Monday for sure. 

• • •

Overall, Henry didn’t hate the experience. It wasn’t too bad for a change of pace, and though he still didn’t enjoy performing for an audience of any size, Joey had helped him get more used to it. He played well enough that he didn’t cause any problems, and Sammy was fun to banter with. A win all around, he supposed. 

Once it was all said and done, and the others began packing up, Sammy sent Henry a nod of thanks as he stood. “Not half bad,” he said. “What do you usually do around here?”

“Oh, y’know. Just been sitting around, waiting for an in with the music department.” Henry grinned when Sammy snorted. “I’m an animator. Henry.” 

Sammy shook his hand, which must have been abnormal if the bug-eyed looks they were getting were any indication. He narrowed his eyes. “You the one who mangled the sequence for Violeta and Clyde’s duet two months ago? They said it was one of the newbies, and I don’t recognize you.”

“Nah. I’m the one who fixed it.” 

“That so?” Sammy nodded slowly with a look of appreciation. “You’re better than most at keeping the beat without sending the characters jerking around like puppets.”

Henry had a hell of a lot of flipbooks he’d made as a teenager to thank for that. He’d enjoyed the challenge of trying to match them up to his favorite songs.

A commotion outside the room interrupted him before he could respond. It sounded like someone—maybe several someones—was running around. Distant, indistinct calls and doors opening and closing could be heard. 

“Y’think something happened?” one of the guitarists asked. 

“Something’s always happening in this studio,” Sammy muttered, rolling his eyes. 

The door was flung open as if on cue, and Wally stuck his head in the room, a panicked ramble bursting out of him, “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Lawerence, I really don’t mean to cause a ruckus, honest, only Mr. Drew’s in a right state upstairs and he’s got a bunch’a us runnin’ around is all—”

“What does Drew want?” Sammy loudly interrupted, massaging the bridge of his nose. 

“Sorry, sir, just, has anyone seen—Henry! There ya are, what’re you doin’ in the music department, geez, I never woulda thought to look here if Mr. Drew hadn’t said to check everywhere—”

“Wally,” Henry interrupted a bit more gently. “Why’s Joey looki—”

Oh. Oh. 

Wally turned and hollered over his shoulder, “I found ’im!” as Henry whirled to find a clock in the room, making a face when he saw it read 4:57 p.m. His distraction had certainly worked, huh. He hadn’t meant to stress Joey out by vanishing on him. 

After carefully setting his borrowed violin on a chair, he hurried out of the room with a wave over his shoulder. Wally trip-hopped out of the way and nearly had to jog to keep up with Henry’s brisk pace. 

“What’s goin’ on anyway?” Wally asked. “Mr. Drew’s doin’ that thing where’s he kinda freakin’ out but he’s tryin’ really really hard to make it seem like he’s not, y’know?” 

“We have a bit of a bet going, and the deadline for him to win is at five.” 

“And you were hidin’?” Wally asked, scandalized. “To sabotage him?” 

“If I wanted Joey to lose this bet, Wally, you wouldn’t have found me.” 

Which he was going to have to examine later, because the Henry of yesterday would have said he’d never give Joey permission to mark him up with the express purpose of those marks being seen at work—as a show of possessiveness, too. And now he wasn’t only suggesting it but rooting for Joey? 

This was not the sort of thing he’d expected to learn about himself when he started dating Joey. 

A series of rapid, heavy thuds in the stairwell they were nearing stopped both Henry and Wally in their tracks. A moment later, Joey very nearly rocketed out of it. A certain wildness in his demeanor settled the moment he laid eyes on Henry. Casually straightening his tie as if it hadn’t sounded like he’d thrown himself down the stairs, Joey sauntered over. 

It took a lot of willpower not to start laughing. Beside Henry, Wally wasn’t nearly as in control of his facial features. He gaped at Joey with wide eyes. Henry nudged him, and Wally startled with a squeak before wisely darting away. 

But not out of sight. And given Joey’s… elephantine entrance, more than one doorway had a curious face or two peeking out at them. 

Despite their audience, Henry didn’t stop Joey and insist on taking this somewhere private. Quite frankly, after all the ruckus, he was pretty sure any potential rumors or guesses about what went on behind closed doors would be worse than whatever Joey could do here, in the middle of the lower level’s main hallway. 

“Playing hard to get, are we?” Joey teased. Maybe the onlookers would get distracted somewhere between his confident grin and his lighthearted words, but Henry saw his uncertainty in the way Joey stopped a bit further away than he usually preferred. 

Rather than joke himself, Henry smiled apologetically. “Genuinely lost track of time, I’m afraid.” He stepped closer until there was barely a foot between them, and Joey’s grin went from confident to soft and relieved. “Sammy was in dire need of a violinist.” 

“Not a bad reason, I suppose, for my animator to end up in the music department.” 

Henry huffed. “I don’t intend to make a habit of it. But enough about that. It’s not every day someone finds themself the target of a manhunt.” 

Joey straightened up, nearly preening. “I have something for you.” 

“Do you, now. Flowers, perhaps?” 

Scoffing, Joey reached into his pocket. “Hardly. I know better than to gift you something as impersonal as flowers,” he said a tad louder than normal. 

There was no fully biting back his laughter that time. Henry’s shoulders shook with the attempt. 

Without further ado, Joey held out a slim black case. Henry took it and popped it open. Recognition struck him deep, with a burst of two-fold fondness on its tail. He looked up at Joey in awe. “How on earth did you…” 

Inside the case was Henry’s other pair of glasses. 

Last August, before he’d even started working at the studio, he’d been walking through the park when he’d taken a soccer ball to the side of his head. He’d been fine, if a bit dazed for a moment afterward, but his glasses hadn’t fared so well. Not only had they been knocked clean off his face, but the right arm had snapped at the hinge, and the wire frame had been badly dented. The lenses were miraculously intact, but it had been a moot point in the end, given the rest of the damage. 

(“I don’t think I’ve seen you wear these before,” Joey said, reaching for the glasses on Henry’s dresser. He went from curious to panicked when they practically fell apart at his touch. 

Henry laughed. “They got broken a few months ago. I tried to get ’em fixed, but the place I went to said they were done for.” 

“They sentimental?” 

“Mm. Yeah.” Henry joined Joey at the dresser and picked up the damaged frames. They were gold and round, and certainly more delicate than was practical some days. But the special detail was on the ends of the arms, where the metal widened. They were etched with the tiniest little lizards you could imagine. Henry rubbed his thumb over one and showed Joey. “They belonged to my grandfather, custom made. He loved lizards. Always had a couple at home, especially ones that needed a bit more care and attention. He showed these off every chance he got.” 

Henry had been the only grandchild to be saddled with glasses when he was ten, and his grandpa had loudly declared that his prized glasses would go to his youngest grandson when he passed. His lizard legacy, he’d used to joke with a wink.

Henry set them back on the dresser with a melancholy smile. “He wanted me to have them. So even if I can’t wear them again, I refuse to throw them out.”) 

It was the only time they’d ever talked about these glasses, during that holiday break in December. Literal months ago. 

“You remembered?” Henry said, hushed. He rubbed his thumb over one of the little lizards. 

“Of course. May I?” Joey raised his hands but paused, waiting for permission. 

Henry pulled off the pair he was wearing with one hand, and Joey took the round gold ones from the case and carefully unfolded them. Slowly, making sure he didn’t poke Henry, he slid them on. They settled perfectly into place. Instead of dropping his hands, though, Joey trailed his fingers down to Henry’s jaw on each side. Henry let him guide his head into tilting back and forth to examine the glasses. 

“Good as new,” Henry said, and his eyes were maybe a little bit damp. He really had thought these would spend the rest of their lifespan on his dresser, broken. 

“They suit you, darling,” Joey replied without letting go of his face.

Oh, that would spread like absolute wildfire before the studio even cleared out for the weekend, Henry could already tell without even seeing the looks on their audience’s faces. 

“Thanks,” Henry said, just a tad sarcastic. Joey’s grin widened; he knew what he was doing, the devil. “I’m sure it goes without saying—”

“Oh, but please do say it,” Joey purred, slipping closer—an impressive feat, considering how little space had been between them to start with. His hands changed positions into what Henry had learned was one of Joey’s “I’m about to kiss you with the intent to make you forget your name” tells. 

He hadn’t managed it yet, but Joey cheerfully took that as a challenge, not a defeat. 

Equally indulgent and exasperated, Henry said, deadpan, “This is a very thoughtful gift, much better than flowers. You do, in fact, know me very well. However will you celebrate your victory.” 

“I can think of a few ways,” Joey said with a wicked grin. But he didn’t move right away. 

No, he waited until Henry turned his face up the slightest bit in implicit permission. 

(Henry didn’t quite forget his name, but he did forget their audience until after Joey pulled back and someone wolf-whistled. Considering it was about on par with the infamous mistletoe kiss, Henry wasn’t too mortified. 

Joey, on the other hand, looked downright proud.) 

• • • 

Monday could have been worse. Could have been better, too, but Henry would take what he could get. 

Just because he was fully aware that a stranger might mistake the state of his neck as an attempted strangulation didn’t mean he appreciated the actual shriek Susie let loose when she caught sight of him. 

At lunch, Roe was stunned into amazed silence. Penny’s face went red. Lana hooted. Allison, once she got over her own shock, sent him a sly look. 

And Joey, in an unprecedented show of smugness, popped by Henry’s desk no less than thirteen times, beating his previous record of three by a landslide.

(Each visit, he’d put a warm, possessive hand on Henry’s shoulder, and each visit, it was a tiny bit closer to his neck. 

You’re mine echoed in Henry’s head, intoxicating, at his touch, without fail. The phantom sensation of Joey whispering it over and over against his throat haunted him.)

That wasn’t even including his lunch interruption, which was notable on its own for being the first time he’d ever eaten with Henry and his gossip gang.

The staring and whispering, in general, he could live without. Henry disliked that level of attention, always had, but he didn’t complain. Though, he did send more than one death glare at a few individuals who didn’t know how to keep their comments to themselves. 

He only had himself to blame, after all. 

(Not blame. Thank. It’d been a wonderful weekend.)

Even with the unwanted attention, Henry didn’t regret allowing the hickeys. First, it had clearly made Joey happy, and Henry liked making Joey happy. 

Second, Henry… wasn’t opposed to the hickeys themselves. Or even that they were on display. Which, yes, obviously came with the side effect of being the subject of such curiosity. Consequences, and all that. 

On the contrary—and Joey could never know, golly, Henry’d never hear the end of it—the “having them on display” part was making the staring worth it. The staring was kind of the point, actually. Yes, he was aware of the contradiction. 

If nothing else, the whole flower debacle had truly proven that Henry didn’t only like the tame side of Joey’s possessiveness. No, Henry liked all sides of said possessiveness—and being the subject of it. Quite a lot, actually.

Because, when he said he only had himself to blame, he didn’t just mean for making the bet. When he’d been claiming his reward for winning, Joey had checked in more than once, never wanting to make Henry uncomfortable with the number of marks he left. It was Henry who told him not to stop. Repeatedly. 

(Let them see, he remembered thinking, fervent, and he would be taking that to his grave, thank you.)

But the highlight of Monday was at the end of the work day when Susie dragged the sender of the flowers that had started it all to Joey’s office. Or rather, the senders. 

“A prank,” Joey repeated, eyes narrowed. He stood over the culprits with his arms crossed. Knowing Henry didn’t actually have a secret admirer—thank goodness—apparently didn’t soothe the green-eyed monster. 

“To see if you’d get jealous or not,” Susie reminded him, vindictive. She didn’t appreciate their meddling, no matter how things had turned out.

Henry snorted, drawing everyone’s attention to him, where he was sitting quite comfortably at Joey’s desk. “So tell me,” he said pleasantly. “What was your conclusion?” He raised his chin, expectant. Joey zeroed in on his bared throat, as he had every time they’d crossed paths today.

All four of the culprits’ faces went from pale with nerves to beet red with mortification. Not one of them could make eye contact with him.

“Next time you want to test Joey’s patience,” Henry advised them, leaning back in Joey’s chair, “send me chocolates. At least I can do something with those.” 

He smiled to the tune of Susie’s giggle-snort and Joey’s spluttering and adjusted his gold, round-rimmed glasses. He really had been the winner on all counts with this fiasco. Mm. No regrets, indeed.