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Summary
And by God, Henry loves him. He always has, always will. He dreads the day his heart won’t try to beat out of his chest at the sight of Alex’s wide grin, his messy curls falling over his forehead, bright brown eyes watching Henry and only him.
“You okay, Hen?” Alex asks, walking closer.
Henry swallows, reaches up and traces Alex’s cheek with his thumb. “Perfect, love,” he murmurs, then dips his head and pulls Alex into a kiss by the nape of his neck.
—
Henry comes home and kisses Alex. A lot.
