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“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
Henry holds onto Alex’s elbow with one hand and grips the railing of the stairs with the other so he doesn’t fall, each step slow and shaky in a sore attempt not to collapse on each other. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alex muses from behind him; for a few minutes past midnight on a Saturday he sounds entirely too cheerful, fueled fully by caffeine and an energy Henry has given up trying to explain, nudging Henry slowly down the stairs. “Come on, baby,” he whispers like it’s easy to climb downstairs practically blindfolded. “You’re going too slow.”
“I’m going at a perfectly respectable speed.”
“You’re taking one step every five seconds.”
“You have your hands over my eyes.” Henry doesn’t see, but he knows the petulant purse on Alex’s lips, the way his eyes narrow just so when Henry is being just a tad annoying.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, with the exact tone of voice he used to drag Henry out of the bed just a few minutes ago. “I’m trying to fucking sweep you off your feet, H. Just fucking accept it.”
Henry rolls his eyes even as he lets a smile spread on his face. “We do have blindfolds, love, you know,” he muses. Another few steps, and unless he counted wrong they’ll be in the living room. “You didn’t have to—”
“Shh.” And Henry dutifully shuts up, letting Alex guide him through the living room and into the kitchen, seating him up in one of the stools. Slowly, he removes his hands and lets Henry blink into the dim lights of the room. “Happy birthday, baby.”
Henry notices the box first, resting next to his elbow, wrapped haphazardly in green paper with a bow resting on top. Then Alex, smiling at him from the side, ever so devastating in a red shirt and boxers like he jumped out of every single wet dream Henry has had in his entire life—like he’s a wet dream herself. Then a singular candle flickering in the dim room, resting on top of—
A laugh bursts out of his lips. “You’re ridiculous,” he repeats; he thinks it bears repeating. “You’re so bloody ridiculous.” His fingers skim the edge of the Cornetto, melting under the heat of the candle, and finds Alex’s eyes where he’s grinning behind him with a pride that manages to melt his heart. It’s ridiculous, it’s stupid, and it’s the best bloody gift Henry has gotten in his life, even with the melting ice cream and the soggy Cornetto and the wax that no doubt freezes over the cold surface.
“Come on,” Alex nudges him, placing a hand over his shoulders. “Make a wish, or else the fucking candle is gonna melt all over it and we’ll spend the rest of the night picking up wax pieces from the ice cream.”
Henry laughs again and turns to the Cornetto. When he closes his eyes, there’s really one wish he can think of. A lifetime of these birthdays, with Alex by his side, holding him like he matters.