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Alex swabbed a hand over his face and swallowed another mouthful of coffee. Whoever had designed his class schedule hadn’t taken into consideration his distinct distaste for early morning freshman seminars. His latent insomnia hadn’t taken this semester’s responsibilities into account either when it decided to blindside him with the worst flare he’d had all year. Of course, his nine-AM had chosen to be particularly chatty, particularly argumentative. He didn’t like moderating a debate when running on fumes.

They were knee deep into the semester, staring midterm week in the face, and Alex was clinging to the last of his proverbial rope. For weeks, he’d been awake at all odd hours, twisting himself over backwards and sideways to keep himself upright and professional throughout his whole day, staying on campus late into the evening, dreading home. His usual demeanor towards his colleagues – charming, cordial, and considerate – disguised plenty of subtle ills. A steady stream of hot coffee was, for now, handily making up for the rest.

Nothing could make up for early morning freshman classes.

Alex scowled at the sidewalk, swallowing more coffee. He wanted to finish it before it went lukewarm. It wasn’t a bad day outside – a relatively mild, if overcast, late October day for Scotland. He had half a mind to find a bench and spend the time between his classes there. But he’d forgotten his grading on his desk and couldn’t exactly sneak back out once he had retrieved it, nor would he particularly want to. Besides, it was his office. He could do whatever he wanted. He wasn’t the one intruding.

Nothing could make up for sharing an office with the current department darling.

A leaking copper pipe had decided to go bad and burst right above Henry Fox’s office, collapsing the ceiling over a bank holiday. The man had been, without warning, shuttled into Alex’s office with all his damp belongings until it was repaired. When Alex had arrived that morning, his office’s organization had been shot to pieces and the blonde could only muster a nervous smile as explanation.

No more than a few weeks , he’d been told. Just long enough to fix the pipe completely and replace the damaged wall boards once it had all dried out properly. It wouldn’t take long. Only Fox’s office had been affected and that should speed up the fix, Alex and Henry had been reassured.

Alex held his breath on that last. It had already been a month but the ceiling drywall was still gaping and shredded. No new updates had been provided by maintenance or admin. He’d almost run out his good graces with Zahra Bankston, distinguished professor and the department head, by asking weekly for updates. She’d made a sign for her door which appeared only at office hours – ACD: you’ll get an update when I damn well have one . 

Alex would happily shove the other man out a window before letting this arrangement carry on past New Year’s. At this rate, he may get his chance.

So Henry Fox stayed at his desk shoved into the corner of Alex’s office. That did not mean Fox held any claim to the space. It was not their joint office. It was not half his office. It was not anything related to Henry Fox. It was Alex Claremont-Diaz’s office. Henry Fox was a waste of precious space.

He couldn’t escape the English prick. He had tried to, but Henry had a way of just being there whenever peace and quiet was necessary. Their class times overlapped, as did their office hours. Alex hadn’t managed a single moment alone before sundown in almost six weeks.

Fox’s things routinely ended up on Alex’s side of the room – books on his shelves, his bag near his desk, his various cords and chargers scattered about tripping hazards. As if the space wasn’t cramped enough with two full desk setups,  a small supply closet, and Fox’s ridiculous collection of coats. He kept plants crammed on the window sill, every single one still alive and well despite Nature’s and the radiator’s best efforts. He played music out loud while marking papers, just low enough to be garbled and annoying. He ate his lunch at his desk every day like clockwork at one-fifteen.

Not to mention his inane and unasked habit of asking Alex about his student resources .

Alex rolled his eyes as he turned into the art and architectural history department – HAA to the registrar’s office. He  slowed his pace to match his fast-approaching office door. He didn’t want to deal with Henry and his not-so-coded language about how Alex used technology in his courses – the not-so-subtle implication being that he couldn’t because he chose not to let it be a Facebook free for all. 

Fox had brought it up at least once a week – it felt like every fucking week – since he’d been forced to take up residence under Alex’s clean windows. The man seemed keen to play the technology evangelist; talking to the air about new resources he was looking into for final exams and next semester, mentioning the digital calendar he preferred to use, asking Alex if his slide decks of art pieces were really enough for his students to get what they needed.

I’m not inept if that’s what you’re implying, Alex had answered as mildly as he could.

I never said you were, Henry had replied with a shrug. His tone had betrayed exactly how much more he had wanted to say. 

Fox, I have a computer in front of me. I have Instagram and Facebook and fucking Tiktok, alright? And, not to mention, they’re my students. I’ll teach them how I damn well please, thank you . 

Alex didn’t owe Henry the diplomacy of those words, but he gave them out anyway. That had been ten days before; those barely diplomatic words so effectively shutting down the conversation Alex had yet to hear a peep about the subject since. 

Another mouthful of coffee. The strap of his bag adjusted on his shoulder. 

There were two voices behind his office door, not one. 

Just his luck, Fox was having a meeting or taking a call on speaker phone. 

Alex took a step back, leaning against the far wall, and stared at the door handle for several long minutes. He swallowed more coffee, clenching and unclenching his hand in his coat pocket. Irritation had already begun to itch under his shirt collar, cozying up against his over-warm skin and over-tired mind. It was only a matter of time before he snapped. Before he whipped around in his chair and bit Fox’s head off. Before he fired off an email to Zahra without thinking clearly and got himself a formal reprimand. Before he gave into the screeching need to throw something at a wall or Henry or both. 

Something had to give. 

Something had to cave. 

Either Henry’s cheerfulness or Alex’s sleeplessness.

It was only a matter of time. The best he could hope for was to keep his fury under wraps. Emotions were kept close to the chest and off his face. Sharp-tongued words were meant for the privacy of his own head, not emails or office confrontations.

He raised his coffee cup to his lips. It was a hair’s breadth from chilled and Alex knew he’d have to give it up the moment he got to his desk. The canteen was calling to him from the other direction – a tempting delay of the inevitable. He scrapped it. Anymore caffeine and your back teeth might vibrate out of your skull, his sister’s voice reminded him. He didn’t need another searing lecture because he’d ended up at the doctor’s with heart palpitations or an irregular rhythm. 

His thoughts turned over and over on themselves until he couldn’t make any sense of them. A headache crept up at the base of his skull, threatening a migraine. That was the last thing Alex needed. He sighed and stepped forward to take the door knob in hand.

“You’ll need to look at the Vasari text I’ve held at the library if you’re going to make that argument,” Fox’s voice carried through the door. He was in his desk chair, leaned back and near-lounging in it while talking to a student. “Afternoon, Alex. How were the first years?”

Alex had been hoping to approach his desk unmolested. No such luck it would seem. Fox was watching him with a flat, polite smile on his face. The student – who Alex didn’t recognize, determining them to be at least a third-year student – was watching him carefully. 

He suppressed a grimace, granting Fox a short nod. “Wordy. To say the least. Your class?”

“Just fine, within reason,” Henry replied breezily. “I wanted to talk to you about a joint exam review for the upcom–.”

“ After , Fox,” Alex said, giving a pointed nod to the student still observing them. “I have marking and afternoon classes to get through. Talk to me after .”

Henry floundered for a moment, seemingly unable to decide whether he wanted to keep talking or shut his mouth. Alex didn’t see how the other man made up his mind. He gave the waiting student a polite nod, then walked the short distance to his desk. He settled into his chair with his bag open on his lap. He made a point of setting up his laptop in plain view, of putting in earbuds to block out the rest of the conversation and, eventually, Henry’s attempt to pitch his joint review nonsense.

Alex rubbed his eyes and dug into his email. Nothing could make up for a consistent lack of silence.

It wasn’t meant to go this way , Henry thought, dismay flooding him in time with the flush boiling in his face. It wasn’t at all how he pictured it in his mind when he had imagined it. And here it was, right in front of him. Not just there, but everywhere . For anyone with the curiosity and the internet connection to gawk at, look over, pick apart, get opinionated over.

Christ , it looked bad. 

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to concoct a possible apology. He knew he would be asked for one, of course. There was no way the department head was going to let this slide. If Henry was just seeing it now, odds are Zahra Bankston had sunk her teeth into the meat of it hours earlier. Maybe something like mercy would smile on him and Shaan, the head of curriculum, would deliver the news to him.

Alex had agreed to the joint review session he had proposed – once Henry had been allowed to propose it. Or maybe Henry had pushed too hard and the other man had given in just to shut him up. The latter seemed more likely now. Upon reflection.

Henry knew Alex didn’t like him very much. It was rather obvious, really. Henry knew his eagerness from the moment he started in the department had put the older man off, among other people. He knew his lack of individual office space was the newest bone of contention; the latest grain of sand lodged in and gumming up the works. He was, at the very least, trying . He had been trying from the day Alex was introduced to him. He was sure Alex was starting to warm to his presence, maybe to him as a decent member of the department. He was just the joint class review before reading week – and Alex agreeing to it – was the olive branch they needed. The one Henry needed to offer.

The universe had seen his offer, seen his hope, and raised the stakes.

Then, it had gleefully spat in his face.

The review had started easily enough, in very familiar territory for both of them. They taught two sections of the same introductory course – HAA 1025: Introduction to European Art – and the students would be taking essentially the same exam. Tested on the same block of material at the very least. They’d be tested on the Classics and the late Medieval period all the way through to the Renaissance and Mannerism’s last gasps. Comparing grades and assignment count, their students were on equal footing; the both of them surmising this would be a straightforward affair.

Alex agreed to handle the question and answer portion of the review – students were instructed to bring any and all questions with them – if Henry took over the Powerpoint-guided overview at the beginning. Simple enough, perfectly reasonable. Henry agreed to it without a second question.

It had been going so well.

The students had arrived on time and quickly settled into the lecture theater, ready to get down to business. They were attentive despite the Saturday morning timeslot; which only buoyed Henry’s good mood. He rolled through Greece, Rome, the Egypt and Moorish-Spanish intersections. He breezed through the medieval era and all its intricacies – the origin of pieta s, the transformation of the Agnes Dei over time, how to distinguish a Germanic-Scandinavian “pensive Christ” from the more universal “Man of Sorrows'' depictions. The Italian Renaissance was old hat, recognizable, damn-near cozy in its familiarity. Henry knew it was his favorite; the students probably sensed it too. 

The short chunk of need-to-know art pieces in the middle stretch never once tested his recall. He barely glanced at the slide deck. The artist’s names and period dates sliding off his tongue as easily as river water through rocks. The students were listening. The material was coming easily. Alex was watching him intently, something faintly reminiscent of respect in his features. Henry was doing his best to suppress an idiotic grin, pacing more than usual to keep himself in check.

It had been going so well .

Alex’s face had fallen when Henry reached the Northern Renaissance. Not immediately and only a flinch. A small bubble of nerves formed in his chest, but Henry pushed forward. He had crafted this section to tread lightly, knowing full well Alex’s best known work was on the subject. The man had varied tastes, but anyone consulting the department about Van Eyck, Dürer, Campin, or Bosch would be put in front of Alex Claremont-Diaz, their noted era expert. Henry had even written in a direct note that Alex was the expert and would be better at explaining some concepts than him. He never got to it.

He had turned to his slide displaying the Ghent Altarpiece in its full glory. Henry jumped into his rehearsed notes, getting through a third before pausing to move on to the detail slides. The change in Alex’s face wouldn’t have been immediately obvious if Henry hadn’t been so familiar with it. Two years of attentive listening coupled with the last six weeks of shared office space granted him decent enough insight. By no means was he completely correct, but it left him enough awareness to course correct if needed.

Alex was still watching him, but his body was all wrong. His eyes too. Before he’d looked relaxed in his chair, legs crossed and back against the wooden auditorium chair; elbows on the armrests and hands folded neatly. His eyes had been placid but focused. Now they were hard, still, tracking him with all the warmth and friendliness of a salient snow leopard. His back was straighter. Both feet were set on the floor. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, fingers curling into his palms. The tilt of his chin felt dangerous.

It caught Henry off guard, making him freeze with his mouth open. The projector remote was wrapped in loose fingers. It was only a moment, true, but it was long enough that their classes had jointly noticed, student shifting uncomfortably in their chairs, murmuring raising from the back. Long enough to give Alex a reasonably sized gap to take over – something he didn’t do.

And Henry could, quite literally, see it now.

Professor Fox?  Alex prompted on the video, his voice a low innocuous rumble. Well, perhaps not innocuous , Henry thought now as the time stamp ticked up higher and higher by the second. And perhaps it wasn’t a question; perhaps Henry had just assumed the best and went with it. Perhaps he’d leaned too far into Alex’s customary authority and expected to be caught.

Henry often wondered how Alex had learned to quietly exude that much force, or if it came as naturally to him as his deep brown eyes and dark hair. He’d drift off in department meetings, trying to tease apart the strands of Alex’s speaking voice, trying to pick out the core of it all. He’d never managed to do it.

Something to add, Alexander? On-screen Henry asked, bright and stilted. Henry cringed at the sound of his own voice, at the unwarranted familiarity. Calling him Alexander instead of Professor Claremont-Diaz . Henry’s cheeks flamed and he sank lower in his armchair. No wonder everything had gone south. Him sounding so cheery, chipper, and green . Acting like he hadn’t taught a full auditorium of university students a day in his whole young life. He was begging to get pounced on. No wonder Alex had sprung.

Yes, actually . Alex continued, voice even and deep. Soothing, almost, if someone didn’t know him better or wasn’t listening to the words. Your explanation of the Ghent Altarpiece has some flaws.  

Henry buried his face in his hands and paused the video. He already knew where this ended up. He didn’t need to hear it in his own ears all over again.

Alex had lanced his entire determination of the piece. He had a flaw for every single line of the presentation; an error in every point on the shadow, light, positioning, and materials. He dug into Henry’s discussion of the Altarpiece’s history of restoration and the focus it received after its recovery in Austria following the second world war.

For christ’s sake, Henry, have you read the Monuments Men Society’s website? Alex’s final lance had landed deep in Henry’s throat, words getting stuck on either side of it.

Henry blinked and gaped, trying in vain to recover. He had hoped Alex would have stood up, giving Henry a reason to sit down and move the review session towards the question and answer section. No, Alex wouldn’t give him that. He didn’t rise from his chair, moving no more than it took him to lean forward onto his elbows. 

All the better to tear into the proceedings , Henry thought bitterly.

The worst part? 

Alex had been right. 

The session had wrapped shortly after and Henry had absconded to his narrow townhouse uptown as soon as he possibly could. He didn’t go back to his office, leaving his bag full of papers and homework to mark on his desk for him to retrieve on Monday, tail between his legs.

Monday, the next day. 

Heat flooded Henry’s face again, itchy and unabating. He couldn’t show his face in the office after this. He couldn’t show his face to the whole department. To say Alex’s dressing down was furiously embarrassing would be an understatement. To say it was completely mortifying for a student to film said dressing down and post it online would be an understatement. To say it was mind-meltingly humiliating he’d only found out because his brother had sent it to him after it had been discovered by their mother was laughable.

Henry felt like he was holding the shreds of his career and dignity all in one.

The most profound interaction between Henry and the colleague he respected the most – had respected and looked up to since beginning his master’s degree – was now posted online, trending across Twitter, and was now up to 23 million views. Alex showing off and Henry standing there, mouth open like a fish. He wanted to throw up. He wished he had argued back, had said anything. Instead, he had all but swallowed his tongue and sunk back to his laptop, floundering for how to push forward. 

23 million views.

Henry should be angry. He wasn’t.

He was going to die of embarrassment. Zahra would make sure of it.

“You’re going,” Zahra dead-panned, eyes tracking across her computer screen.

Alex gaped at her from where he stood, just a step into her office. The door had only just shut behind him. The print out of his email invitation RSVP held limp in his fingers. “You can’t force–.”

“I can. And I will.” She spares him a flat, icy glance over the monitor. “No arguments, Alex.”

“Or what?” he challenged. He dropped down in one of the chairs positioned before her desk – stiff and uncomfortable so no one visitor would be tempted to stay longer than strictly necessary, or otherwise stay standing. It might come down to that. Alex often attempted to negotiate with Zahra Bankston but, when he did, he resolved to be in it for the long haul and spectacular failure.

Zahra sniffed. She kept typing, even as she leaned away to turn her sharp eyes on him. There was a glittering sort of humor there that made Alex’s skin freeze. Unsettling would have been an understatement in the extreme. “Or I make sure you never, ever get tenure here. I’ll make sure you can’t even apply .”

Alex scoffed. “You would. Wouldn’t you?”

“I would,” Zahra said. “I would also permanently relocate Professor Fox to your corner of the corridor.”

“I think you and I would both agree,” Alex exhaled. “That’s a disaster waiting to fucking happen. And it's already been complete fucking circus.” 

Disastrous, agonizing, hell-on-earth – pick an abysmal piece of phraseology and Alex would have agreed with it. He had done what he had done, not intending anything to come of it. 

His colleague – his inexperienced, too familiar, insufferable welp of a colleague – had been incorrect about several points during a critical review session. A review session that had been his idea in the first place. Alex had only been doing him the great service of providing his students with the proper material and information. They had an exam to pass, after all. He couldn’t stand on ceremony when their grade and his reputation hung in the balance.

Fox had been shocked, to be sure. The class, however, had recovered long enough for the session to wrap with the instruction that they should bring all their questions to their next class period or post them for answers in a discussion board forum. Alex had watched the redheaded man stumble his way out of the room, then collected his things for his long walk home.

Something in his brain had turned over that night. He slept well, soundly for the first time in months. He spent the rest of the weekend vacillating between groggy and refreshed, alert and murky-minded. By the time Monday morning had rolled around, Alex had gotten around to concocting something of an apology email. 

Henry,

Please accept my apology for my behavior on Saturday morning. It was unprofessional of me.

I’ll issue something to the department before the end of the day today.

A.CD

He never managed to send it. It sat in his drafts folder even now. As soon as he’d typed out the paltry message, he was distracted by the number of emails in his inbox. He kept things tidy, kept his email manageable. Twenty unread emails after a weekend ignoring it was acceptable. Fifty, even, would have been annoying but quickly reviewed, quickly managed. 

Three hundred, however, was obscene.

“We’ve already started calling it your get-along office,” Zahra grinned, sharklike. “You two were doing so well given the circumstances.”

“Zahra, you can’t make me –.”

“Keep arguing with me Alex, and I will personally insure you attend every single fucking conference I’ve ever been sent invitations for.” Zahra tapped a fingernail against her computer mouse. She looked very much like a snake that had gotten its mouse; one that was just settling in to digest its former quarry.

“Invitations?” Alex swallowed. “Plural?”

“Mhmm.”

“How many?”

“Twenty-two and counting as of this morning. Lots that have something to do with your degrees, plenty more that don’t, and don’t think I won’t send you to go address a conference of essential oil enthusiasts.” Zahra pointed two fingers at him. “So don’t start feeling like you’re special, Diaz. They requested both of you. Your little snit fit made a big splash on academic Twitter once they’d seen that goddamned video.”

Alex winced. 

Twenty-two invitations to speak at conferences; to sit on panels and discuss… whatever it was they wanted them to discuss. All in the hopes that Alex would toss a well-aimed barbed and ignite another argument for the internet. 

Zahra finally took her hands away from her keyboard. She slouched down in her chair, elbows propped on armrests, and regarding him with a predatory stare Alex vaguely wondered if he deserved it. “The one I accepted is the most prestigious of the bunch. It’s in Ireland, hosted by Trinity College. You’ll have time to rub elbows with the Book of Kells people or whoever it is you like to talk to, Alex. I can’t say I really know. The details are in the link I sent with it, if you haven’t already bothered to check, which I’m sure you haven’t, you stubborn shit. They want you for comparative religious imagery in Europe, and Henry for something Renaissance-related…” She squinted at her monitor. “Conceptualizations of chiaroscuro, light and shadow. Something about the paper he wrote. Whatever, it’s in two weeks.”

“Dublin?”

“Where else?” Zahra rolled her eyes. “Go to this conference, make nice, present the department well, and be the completely knowledgeable, damned delight of a professional you are to everyone else, and I’ll consider this PR nightmare  all made up for. Capisce?”

Alex nodded. He could do that, he supposed. He hated conferences, but if it would put something back in order, he couldn’t really bring himself to say no. So much for his negotiation tactics.

Zahra continued. “Start an argument with Fox anywhere near a camera, a phone, or someone with a Twitter account, and I’ll make sure you share your desk along with that office of yours.” She flashed another vicious grin. “Bring you two even closer together.”

Alex wilted against his seat back. The printed email crumpled in his fingers. “You know I had no intention of starting what I did.”

“Sure you fucking didn’t.” She chuckled to herself, sweeping a section of dark hair off her shoulder. 

She was enjoying his plight a little too much; understood his discomforts a little too well after seven years working together. Zahra Bankston had every opportunity and resource available to make his miserable situation all the more so. She’d only shown a single card of her hand in this meeting. There was no telling what else she could pull out if he pushed too much. Alex knew to watch his words closely, to hold his tongue lest he incur more chaos. It still left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Then why–.”

“Because I can and you will,” Zahra replied. “You play nice with Professor Fox, enjoy some undue attention at the hands of discourse-mongers, and I won’t make you co-teach the senior elective on Dali-era Surrealism with him.”

Alex nearly gagged at the thought. The quirk of her eyebrows said she’d seen the feeling flicker over his features. He resolved to be more guarded, or to at least try. He cleared his throat.  “Reasonable enough.”

“More than. Do we have a deal?”

“If I had any other choice, we wouldn’t,” Alex sighed. “But. Seeing as I’m stuck here…” After a moment, Alex nodded and stood up. Henry had made himself scarce since Monday, so his office was momentarily the sanctuary he required. He wanted to get back there as soon as possible. Start digging into this mess before he didn’t have time to do it up properly. “If there isn’t anything else, I’ll see myself out.”

“There isn’t.” Zahra didn’t look up as he left, already sunk back into her next task.

When he returned to his desk and opened his laptop, there were two emails waiting for him. One a direct briefing of what would be expected of him once he landed in Dublin with Henry. The other a confirmation for a hotel room near the venue. Alex looked them over and saved them for later. At least he’d have a bed to himself.

Two weeks later

Henry shouldered his bag and stepped off of the elevator. Dublin was as exactly he remembered it – old and new jumbled on top of one another, a little laid back, a little exhausted, distinctly self-aware. He felt himself smile during the cab ride from the airport to the hotel. This weekend might be professionally miserable, but Henry could at least get a good drink when he stepped away. 

A good drink surrounded by people who didn’t know him in or out of his professor’s tweed. Hopefully no one would place him from that godforsaken video. At least, no one had so far, or they’d had the decency not to mention it.

The hotel was a modern run boutique thing, crammed into several Victorian townhomes renovated into one building behind the facade. A little too meticulous for Henry’s taste, but tolerable. His room was on the top floor, at the end of the hall, the receptionist assured him. Someplace quiet, unbothered, and with a king size bed. He thanked her well, took his key, and headed for the elevator.

He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, pausing as he heard another voice. He shook it off. Surely it was the next room over. Old house had thin walls. No matter. No worse than his own home in Edinburgh.

It wasn’t next door.

Perched on the arm of a chair next to the window, cell phone pressed hard to his ear, was Alex Claremont-Diaz. His back was to Henry and he was talking softly – not that Henry tried to make out the words. Henry set his bag on the floor and cleared his throat. Alex whipped around, lush dark curls scattering across his forehead. 

“I’ve gotta call you back,” he said to the person on the other end of the call, then hung up. For a long moment, he gaped at Henry like a gasping fish. “Why are you in my room?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Henry mused, nerves creeping. It hadn’t taken long for him to shut out his annoyance and suss out what had actually happened here.

Alex struggled for words, face flushing in anger. “This is my room , I have the reservation. In my email.” He starts fumbling through his phone, flipping through things to prove his point. “Give me just a second and I’ll show you, I’ll –.”

“Did you make your reservation?” Henry asked over his chatter. Alex stopped, stared up at him curiously. “Or did Zahra make your reservation?”

Alex coughed lightly. “Zahra sent it to me.”

“When?”

“Last week?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling.” Alex huffed. He tossed his phone onto the chair cushion and stared at him, his blue eyes making him look blank and useless as ever. “She set up yours too?”

“Shaan did, actually, but they are engaged so...”

 “I take it they set this up?”

“I’m willing to assume so,” Henry replied, stomach sinking. Of course, there was only one bed. Zahra would have made sure they had to share a bed on top of the miserable affair of sharing a room. He turned back to Alex, who’d now taken to nibbling on his thumbnail.

“How do you want to handle this?”

“Honestly?” Henry exhaled. “I don’t–. I don’t want to make another scene over something this stupid.”

Alex exhaled slowly. “Fine.” 

“Are you going to sleep in the bathtub or should I?”

“It’s a shower.”

“What?”

“A shower. There’s only a shower. No bathtub.” Alex grumbled. “I checked.”

Henry blanched. Of course. Of course this would happen to him. It was Friday. His first talk wasn’t until Saturday afternoon. Perhaps he could afford to be hungover during the morning session. “Alright. I’ll take the left side then.”

“He’s so fucking good at this,” Henry groused, slouching even lower in his seat. “How is he always so fucking good at this?”

Bea snorted. “Good at what, sausage?”

“Being–. Ugh .” Henry rolled his eyes. He hated that nickname; had hated it every time she had used it since he turned thirteen. He had made the mistake of making a bit too much of a fuss about his mother using the endearment one night at the dinner table and his sister, of course, made sure Henry never managed to live it down. “Being. Being smart, and professional, and fucking accurate all the time.”

Alex was in the middle of giving his presentation – the first of the pair of them, scheduled for the first day’s afternoon. It was a deceptively simple presentation, discussing a few of their university’s use of newer technologies for research, restoration, and further study. He was poised and relaxed, refusing to be trapped behind the lectern. His slide deck was clean, readable, informative and engaging. It gave no room for the audience to quickly read and glaze over. His voice was smooth and deep, holding their attention gently. 

In short: he was a picture perfect academic. 

The worst part? This wasn’t even Alex’s area of study. He didn’t work in the labs, didn’t use any of the tech he was speaking on. He wasn’t even a representative for that branch of the department. He just knew about all of it, knew all the people responsible for bringing them into popular use.

“Fucking hell,” Henry grumbled. “I mean, just–. Just look at him!”

“I’m looking,” Bea murmured. “If you weren’t in a snit, I could probably listen too.”

“I’m not in a snit ,” Henry scowled. “ Christ , he’s nailing every point. Everything he does, he’s perfect.”

“Uh huh.”

“He doesn’t even use this stuff. Self-proclaimed tech-free classrooms, told me once it was only useful for meeting student accommodations and needs. They could have asked me to give this! I’ve actually been in the godforsaken restoration labs to know, but–.”

“ Henry .” Bea pressed a hand over his mouth, successfully muffling him. He glared at her, but stayed begrudgingly  quiet. “I know he embarrassed you. I know you’re a wee bit jealous. But I actually want to hear this. So unless he’s completely, egregiously wrong about something, kindly save it for later. Yeah?”

Taking his eye roll for the assent it was – the agreement she wanted – Bea removed her hand and turned back to Professor Claremont-Diaz and his nice, clean, professional presentation.

Henry didn’t have to attend. He could have gone to the session on paper conservation and medieval illumination from Trinity College and the National Archives. He could have been laying on his back in the hotel room, staring at his phone and spiraling until it was a socially acceptable drinking hour. But Bea had come to this conference for moral support – or so she claimed; Henry wondered sometimes if she truly had a comforting cell in her whole body – and she demanded they attend. It was her area. It was Henry’s area. It looked good for Zahra’s make-nice plan. It shouldn’t have been so damned painful.

Henry sighed and pulled himself back upright. He glanced around the room. No one seemed to have noticed them, or him rather, thank goodness. There were certainly perks to camping out in the back row, out of everyone’s line of sight.

“What’s later?” Henry asked in a whisper. He crossed his arms over his chest, crossed his legs at the ankles.

“Aren’t you sleeping on my couch this weekend?”

“I’m… not planning on it.”

“Not planning on it anymore .”  Bea nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

Henry sighed. “It’s a king bed. I can be an adult about it. I suppose.” He nudged her back, earning himself a half-smile. “Sorry, but your couch is absolute murder on my back.”

“Old man,” Bea teased.

“I am not old .”

“How long ago was your thirtieth birthday?”

“How long ago was yours ?” Henry countered. He flushed pink at her snickering. “Shut up.”

He turned back to Alex’s talk with renewed determination to listen. 

It was flawless, unfortunately. 

Henry, with all his expertise and certificates and all his connections, could not find a single error. Not one. Not a mis-defined term, not a too vague definition, not a technicality. Not even a syntax or grammar error. Not that he really wanted to. Spite had made an unfortunate home inside him over the last few hours, resurging from where it had lay dormant since his spectacular dressing down. 

Alex was technically, factually, performatively perfect . 

If Henry wasn’t already worrying about his presentation the following morning, he was shaking in his boots now.

His talk now seemed watery by comparison. It was a slimmer version of his most recent published paper – examinations on the chiaroscuro technique used in depictions of divine figures. It wasn’t his favorite thing he’d ever written, but it had been well received. Sitting there now was giving him a new, dreadful, perspective. It was going to be too dry and too hand-holdy by comparison, he thought miserably. It was fine for his students, but not for a room full of colleagues, experts, people who had seen his complete dressing down online. He’d have the front row snoozing in minutes if they didn’t just get up and walk out. 

He’d have to edit it to be anywhere close to safe. He might have to start over from square one or it could be open season during the Q&A section. Not to mention that the man now wrapping up would be watching him.

Henry had never felt so gun shy in his entire professional life. Only at family holidays, but those were fewer and farther between as the years wore on. Never had his favorite thing – his field, his classroom, his research – turned around and bit him in the arse so badly. It had never stressed him out quite like this. 

It wasn’t fair, he thought as he collected his bag and jacket. One dumb, unflattering video shouldn’t have left him sweating through his shirt and fearing for his credibility.

Only Alex could carry on as if nothing had happened. Nothing had happened. To him .

Henry swallowed around his bitterness and followed his sister out of the meeting room. If he was a better colleague, a better person maybe, Henry might have gone up to speak to Alex. Tell him well done, pretend to be a little friendly, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He wasn’t feeling so generous anymore and Bea wasn’t one for schmoozing. Not a person there would care about the record label she represented or the musicians she promoted. Besides, she didn’t care what Henry did or didn’t do at these events, especially when they were more or less in her backyard. It was a chance to visit, to catch up, to be one another’s social crutches for a weekend.

“Well, I’m done for the day,” Bea began. If she had a sixth sense, it was entirely devoted to shaking Henry out of his skin. It was something, he had to admit, she did very well. She eyed him expectantly.

“Me too.” Henry cleared his throat. “Are you headed to your local?”

“If you wanted a drink, Haz, all you had to do is ask.” She grinned wickedly. The fresh line of her new haircut made her seem all the more dangerous.

“I want a drink,” Henry repeated. “I need something strong.”

“I figured. It’s the only way to get this crush out of your system,” Bea said breezily, turning to the hotel lobby. 

Henry jogged to catch up with her. “What crush?”

“The one you have on Alex.”

“Did you not just hear me?” Henry gaped. “I can’t stand the man right now.”

“Are you sure?” Bea hummed, glancing back at him. “Because history would seem to prove otherwise.”

“What bloody history?”

“You going all starry-eyed when he was a guest speaker in that class you had. You talking about being in the same department as him, working with him, seeing him every day. I swear, you talked more about him than about having gotten an actual teaching job.” Bea flashed him a cat-like grin. “You, sulking and scowling for the last hour and a half while he talked about your pet interests.” 

Henry rolled his eyes. “I don’t sulk , Beatrice. I brood , like Byron, overblown though he is.”

“Mr. Darcy’s more like it.” Bea cast him a knowing glance. “You know what I think, Haz?”

“I really do not–.”

“Too bad, because I’m going to tell you.” Bea cleared her throat dramatically. “See, what I think is this. You’ve been dizzy over him for a while but no one’s ever called you on it so you’re content to deny it, even when all signs point to no. And the correction in front of a lecture hall full of students would have been bad by itself, but having it broadcast was far worse, because it made you realize that when he spends time with you, he’s critiquing you not appreciating you. Not like you appreciate him.”

Henry stopped in his tracks, mouth open as if he’d been slapped. After a moment, his mind came back to him. “Fucking hell, I need that drink.”

“To do what?”

“To edit my whole presentation so I don’t make a fool of myself tomorrow.”

“Well that’s no fun.”

“Something very strong if I’m going to do that and put up with your theories.”

Bea laughed. “You’ll need two strong somethings then. I’m not done with you.”

“Maybe three then.” Henry felt himself grin at her. Best not to give a talk hungover, but it was barely 4:30. What did he care about that now? “Write drunk, edit sober, I suppose?”

“You’ll be a lot of fun at breakfast, I imagine,” Bea said. “You’re paying, right?”

“Do you ever pay?”

“Not when you’re around.”

Sleeplessness had found him again.

It wasn’t agonizingly late by any stretch of the imagination. It wasn’t even the latest hour Alex had seen in the last several months. Still, it was late enough that his ability to get through the whole of the next day without faltering was now very much in question. If this kept up any longer, he’d be dazed and slow, clinging to coffee until his back teeth shook and a headache built in the back of his skull.

Lying in bed staring at the ceiling had been doing his overactive brain no favors. It was a simple backslide into numerating everything he had eaten or had to drink, all of his activity, what he’d had to drink at the bar, what he’d watched on television — picking through his whole day hoping to find the key to his wakefulness. It was a horrible exercise, one Alex didn’t have the patience for now. 

When he’d finally given up lying there, he had done so in favor of grading midterms. When he’d finished up both sections, he’d dug into his bag for the draft of his next paper. Anything to avoid the increasingly long line of grants he needed to apply for before winter holidays – or, rather, write for Zahra to sign her name to. 

He couldn’t muster the patience for that either.

Curled up in the room’s old armchair, under a warm-toned reading lamp, sinking to the quiet half-dark of the hotel room, Alex could almost pretend he was home. All he needed was a glass of whiskey to make the illusion complete. Not that it would help him sleep, but it would be comforting nonetheless.

Alex should have known it wouldn’t last, couldn’t last.

His easy, sleepless calm was broken first by the fumbled rattling of the door handle, then by the bang of Henry Fox stumbling through it. The man caught his balance against the wall, then seemed to throw all his height towards the door, pushing it shut with a loud thud. He managed to slide the deadbolt lock back into place, but only just. His blond hair was wild and ruffled, even more so once he’d wrestled the sweater vest he wore up and over his head. He blinked too quickly, as if the room and its other occupant were only just coming into focus.

Alex felt his mouth drop open. His hand blindly released the pen it had been holding, then pushed his reading glasses  up onto his forehead.

“Oh,” Henry murmured, blue eyes finally settling on Alex. “Oh good. You’re awake.”

“You’re drunk,” Alex said. The pink flush in the other man’s face was unmistakable, as was the wobble in his voice around his vowels. He could hardly believe it. Henry Fox, sloppy and rumpled, right in front of him. It all but obliterated the little prince image that persisted in Alex’s mind.

“Just, erm, tipsy,” Henry clarified, as primly as he could given his state. His crooked smile was a little smug, a little proud. “I wanted to talk to you–.”

“I thought you were sleeping elsewhere,” Alex interrupted, not knowing what else to say. He sat up in his chair, collecting his draft and abandoned pen to deposit it on the desk crammed in front of the window next to him. 

“I was but I wanted to talk to you, like I was saying before you got ahead of me, Alex.” Henry stepped into the room and threw his sweater onto the foot of the bed. A second later, he was raking fingers over his scalp, further wrecking his hair until his back collided with the wall. He flashed a grin that Alex guessed was supposed to look smarmy, but only made him look like a post-scratch golden retriever. “Oh, pardon me. Professor Claremont-Diaz .”

“Excuse me?” Alex squinted.

Henry plowed forward, clearly on his own timeline. Alex figured it would be best to let him get whatever it was out of his system. “I know you don’t like me, I know you’ve never liked me, but for fuck’s sake could you just pretend ? Would it kill you to throw me a bone every once in a while? Like, christ , the only reason I’m in this fucking field is because of you and wanting to feel that passion for a subject like you . And I’ve tried every trick into the bloody book to just impress you the barest little bit, but no . Nothing. Not even a little acknowledgement that I’m comp-, compe-.”

“Fox,” Alex interrupted sharply.

“Competent. Whatever. You are a constant reminder that you think I’m a complete hack. So now I’m going to try and fix my fucking presentation so I don’t make a complete fucking fool of myself when I give it tomorrow because everyone already saw the horrible video –.”

“Fox!” Alex repeated, louder.

Henry didn’t hear him or didn’t want to by that point. Alex had lost the thread in his rant. He’d honestly tried to keep up, but it got so garbled and his exhausted mind could only take so much at once. Henry had moved away from the wall, still talking, still aggravated. He was talking with his hands now, pacing the short space between wall and bed until he seemed to make himself dizzy. 

“-I mean, did you even think about how that would look? I know posting online wasn’t your idea and you likely didn’t even know it was posted or something someone could do until it got shoved under your nose, but christ’s sake Alex! You can’t even call me by my first name but tearing my credibility to shreds was nothing to you! I mean nothing to you! I know that but —.”

Alex let out a slow exhale and pushed himself to standing. In a few quick strides, he’d crossed the room, snagged Henry by the shirt sleeve, and pushed him down onto the bed. He stepped away, propping his hip against the dresser. Henry gaped at him for a long moment. The look turned indignant but, when he tried to stand back up, Alex pushed him back down.

“Hey!”

“Stay,” Alex commanded sharply. He rubbed his fingers over the bridge of the nose, feeling where his glasses’ nose pads had pushed into the skin. “Stay right there. Do not move. And, for the love of all that is holy, lower your voice before we have an angry mob banging down our door.”

Henry, shockingly, did as he asked. He bit into his cheek and shrunk back, shoulders rounding forward in his dress shirt. He stared at the toes of his shoes for a long while before something like curiosity flickered across his freckled features. “You’re wearing sweatpants.”

Alex sighed. “Do you think I sleep in my jeans, Fox?”

“You weren’t sleeping though.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was grading .” Alex snapped his fingers twice, Henry’s eyes moving up to his. “Stay on task, Fox. What are you so angry about?”

“Henry.”

“What?”

“You never call me Henry.” He looked miserable, a twinge sheepish; a child that had hit the mulch after falling from the top of the monkey bars. “You never call me Henry. You act like I’m completely useless. You make me feel like I’m a miserable excuse of a teacher, and I don’t deserve my position or my degrees or any respect in general.” 

“That’s what you’re angry about?” Alex kept his voice even, something he was skilled at. It was stunningly honest, even by Henry’s standards.

Henry, still miserable, had the decency to look vaguely admonished. “Yes. Mostly the video, but the disrespect, yes.”

“The video wasn’t–.”

“Wasn’t your fault, yes, I know,” Henry cut him off. “But you still said what you said, agnostic of whether or not you knew it wasn’t going to be splashed all over the internet. You still said it, Alex, in front of a full lecture hall.” He let out a watery breath, then recovered in record time. “You said it and it wasn’t about you, so you can move on. Zahra pushed me into coming to this. So I could prove that I’m not the idiot as that video made me seem like. That she and Shaan don’t hire idiots, but even that’s questionable given what I prepared and now have to thoroughly fix.”

Alex considered him for a long moment. “You know. I don’t know many people who can get this deep into their cups and still manage to string together words like agnostic and questionable .”

To his credit, Henry smirked. “I told you. I’m tipsy, not drunk. Just enough for some old fashioned liquid courage.”

“Just enough courage to tell me all this?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Seems so.” Henry shrugged. He ran a hand through his hair again, letting the motion guide him down to lay flat on the bed, the toes of his shoes touching the floor. He stared at the ceiling, suddenly somber again. “What did I do, Alex?”

“Fox –.”

“Henry.”

“Henry,” Alex repeated. “If you had introduced yourself with the demeanor you have now–.” He let out a heavy breath, rubbing a rough palm over his face. “You criticized my entire method. At that first dinner for the new-hires, in front of Luna, Zahra, and Richards, who’s been gunning for me since the beginning.” He pushed off of the dresser, coming to rest at the foot of the bed and looked down his nose at the other man. “You were an ass then. But, you’re a  good teacher and a good fucking researcher. You just dropped the ball because it wasn’t your area, and I should have taken the question instead of letting you flounder. But I wanted you to, because it felt good to let you look stupid when you make me feel stupid all the time.”

“That…” Henry sucked in a deep breath, eyes still trained on the ceiling. “I thought that would make me feel better.”

“If you’re expecting me to appeal to your perfectionist, golden boy sensibilities you’ve got another thing coming,” Alex muttered. “I’m not here to appease you, Fox. I won’t give you that.” 

“That isn’t what I–.”

Alex cleared his throat and straightened up. The email still sitting in his inbox drafts came back to him slowly. He wouldn’t give Henry the pat on the head reassurance he wanted, but he could give him that much. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe I ever apologized to you.”

“Ah-... for? Oh.” The blond tilted his head to the side, golden hair splaying out over the comforter as he finally made eye contact again with Alex. He didn’t open his mouth again. 

“I’m sorry for how I acted in that review, video or no video. I was not feeling my best that day and you had been on my last damn nerve from the moment you suggested the whole thing. Well, since you invade my office. I was given the opportunity to throw some of my frustration back in your face, and I took it.” Alex spoke slowly, hopefully sounding as honest as the words were. “The error was there, I won’t let that slide. But I should have stopped with that. Like I said, you’re a good teacher.”

Henry stared up at him for several long minutes. The sheepish look was back along with something like discomfort. One hand rested on his stomach, the other plucked absently at the collar of his shirt. 

Alex, relegated to waiting, returned to the armchair and dropped back into its worn softness. He recollected his paper, positioned his reading glasses on the tip of his nose. He worked through four paragraphs and an excessively long footnote before Henry spoke again.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, really. Thank you.” Henry sighed. Alex watched him push one shoe than the other off his feet. He didn’t sit up. Just rolled around on the bed for a moment, getting comfortable. “I picked art history after I read your paper on Caravaggio, the one you co-wrote with Luna. It was for a class I can’t remember anything from, but I remembered having to read that paper. I switched my focus the next day.”

Alex, pen still perched over the sentence he was working through, raised his eyes to listen better. Henry’s tone of voice, the way he was sprawled across the bed, the unbelievable amount of honesty pouring out of the man… Alex’s governing sensibilities told him it would be rude not to listen. Henry was speaking to him, whether or not Alex found it in himself to answer.

“My advisor wanted to take my head off, but it was the right choice. I’d never picked anything for myself growing up, not really. There wasn’t room too and, when there was, I was too scared. But I did then.” Henry took a breath, then continued his confessional. Alex, in sweatpants and perched on a chair in the corner, felt more like a priest. “You guest lectured in one of my doctorate courses. Reading your papers, essays, whatever I could find. That was one thing. Hearing you speak, stringing together the visible evidence with cultural context and purposeful subtext, what we can tease out from the light and shadow and color choices. That was something else altogether. And then I was working with you. Actually, genuinely, working with you.”

Alex finally broke his silence. “And you brushed me off.”

Henry’s head jerked to the side. The low light highlighted the angles of his face, the dampness around his eyes, the embarrassment that nearly shut him up completely. 

“Do you remember what you said to me that time we co-taught?”

“We never co-taught.”

“We did. For one class period.” 

Henry turned back to the ceiling again. “Our first year, second semester. The introduction course.”

Alex nodded. “I was essentially going to be a glorified TA with you until Zahra could find a mentor for me. We got through the first class period – first section even – before you looked at me and said, you aren’t supposed to be here are you?”

Henry swallowed tightly. “I don’t remember that.”

“I figured you forgot.” Alex exhaled harshly. “I asked Zahra to reassign me. You stayed with Shaan.”

“Who did she give you to next?”

“Richards.”

“Sounds miserable.”

Alex let out a startled laugh. “It really, really was.”

They lapsed into another long silence. Henry pushed himself back up to sitting. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, staring at his fingers for a moment. Eventually, he stood and dug a few things out of his unopened carry on bag. He disappeared into the bathroom. The water turned on and Alex turned back to his editing. In truth, he wasn’t really editing. He spent more time missing sentences, re-reading whole sections over and over, as he plumbed the depths of his brain; fishing for the memory of Henry in a classroom with him. He couldn’t find it. Couldn’t recall a shred of the memory, not even a taste.

When Henry reappeared, he was in a tee shirt and running pants, socks pulled up over the cuff. He hesitated before picking the side of the bed closest to the wall, settling against the headboard before opening his laptop. He cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“You still deserve an apology.”

Alex took a deep breath and set down his pen. “I only have patience for myself, Henry. I don’t co-teach. I rarely have teaching assistants. I won't co-author papers anymore if I can help it.” Alex considered this as much of an olive branch as he could extend. Hopefully, Henry saw it for what it was. “It’s nothing to do with the other person. It’s a kind of protection. Only I can finish something exactly the way I want it. Only I can rely on myself to get something done to begin with, let alone done well or at all. Do it yourself so you know it’s done right the first time. That’s how I’ve always done things.”

“No wonder all of your work is perfect.” Henry’s smile was lit up computer-screen blue. “I won’t push again. I promise I’ll respect your space. Thank you for telling me.”

“You aren’t going to pry?” Alex smirked. 

Henry shook his head. “We’re already sharing an office. I think I’ve accidentally pried enough.”

Alex hummed in agreement, then gave into his curiosity. “What are you working on?”

“Um…” Henry glanced up, typing away. “My talk for tomorrow. It’s, eh. It’s not good enough, to say the least.”

“Chiaroscuro and divine figures, isn’t it?” Alex said, casually.

“How..?” Henry pursed his lips, blinked a few times. “Did you read my paper?”

“I read everything that comes out of our department. Zahra’s seal of approval is really my seal of approval, but you don’t know that.” Alex set aside his draft for the second time that night, leveling his gaze at Henry across the room. “I’m familiar enough with the topic. Would you like a second pair of eyes before you take a hatchet to it?”

Henry considered him for a moment, blue eyes trying to suss out what he was setting himself up for. Before the video, he would have jumped at the offer like an over-eager poodle. Now, hesitance had made a home in his demeanor. Alex felt something in his chest squeeze – his brain’s tacit acknowledgment that it was his fault. Still, after a moment longer, Henry nodded and pushed his laptop towards the other side of the bed. Alex rose and settled himself there, picking up the computer. He scrolled to the top of the presentation.

“Thank you,” Henry said.

Alex rolled his neck and began reading. “Don’t mention it.”

The last-night festivities had exceeded Henry’s energy levels, but he found himself unusually reluctant to leave the bar. Perched at the far corner of the bar, he was able to observe everything in front of him while staying well out of the way, a pen and a scribbled-on napkin. He was still sipping on his first drink – a double sherry. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle any more without falling asleep where he sat. The rest of his colleagues were giving him a degree of peace for the moment, and he was appreciative.

Alex had been up most of the night but was still alert – probably running on fumes if his crooked smirk was anything to go by. They had ended up rewriting Henry’s entire presentation top to bottom before Henry slipped into sleep around two-thirty that morning. How long Alex was awake after him remained a mystery.

When Henry woke up at his usual time, Alex was slumped against the headboard fast asleep. His laptop had slid off his legs into the stretch of bed between them, the screen still glowing bright. Sliding out from under the blankets, Alex took the computer to the armchair. He read through the powerpoint and the lecture notes, cleaning up the last few issues he saw, and saved the lot.

Henry woke up long enough to slide down onto his back, bury himself to the nose in blankets, and then promptly fall back asleep. Henry returned the laptop to his bag and went to take a shower. Alex was awake then; up and out of the room awake. He returned with two cups in his hands and an orange scone tucked into his shirt pocket to Henry fussing with his tie in the mirror.

“Stop,” Alex had said quietly, pushing the second cup and the scone in Henry’s direction. “They aren’t going to be looking at your boring ass tie, Henry.”

Henry had stared at the ad hoc breakfast, then turned his eyes back up at Alex. “You got me breakfast?”

“One less thing to think about.” Alex had shrugged, then set about packing his bag for the day. 

Henry didn’t say another thing until Alex collected his room key to leave, then muttered something about wishing him luck. As if Alex wasn’t going to be there. Truth be told, he hadn’t planned on it. He was going to have a slow morning, drifting through the display hall. But he couldn’t very well spend hours aiding the Brit, listen in the dark to him unload hidden truths, and not see how the whole presentation thing shook out.

It turned out fine. 

More than fine. 

Henry had stepped up on stage to set up, casting nervous blue eyes around the room. When he’d landed on Alex, successfully lingering towards the back, he had frozen for a few moments. Another blink and something in his slim frame loosened, straightened. Henry had come back to himself and then Professor Fox – darling of the university art and architectural history department and constant pain in Alex’s ass – had taken over. 

He’d been charming and engaging, the epitome of competency.

Alex sat back, listening intently – something he’d never thought he’d ever do concerning Henry Fox. He was still a little green around the edges, a little too anxious for how Alex operated. But, the more he mulled over their come-to-Jesus talk the night before, the more Alex’s opinion softened. Reluctant though it was, Alex could admit there was a certain kind of bravery that came with admitting all that Henry had; the strangely-placed trust in him that it implied. 

Alex had never imagined he might have been important to someone. He never dwelled on the deeper roots of things. Listening to Henry present that afternoon, he wondered if he was missing something. He pushed the thought aside – that line of thinking was better suited to the short flight home – and slipped his phone from his blazer pocket. 

He didn’t know how the original video had ended up online, but he wagered he knew someone who could blow it to smithereens so long as Alex had the video for them. 

Alex lined Henry up in the camera, discreetly balancing his phone against a book on the empty seat next to him. He was at the beginning of an enthusiastic discussion of Tintoretto’s The Last Supper when Alex pressed record. 

Now hours later, Alex fished his phone back out of his pocket and opened it to the last text he had sent. A copy of the video he sent to Percy Okonjo – who had dated his sister and worked in the chemistry department – and the question that accompanied it. 

Can you put this up for me? For professional distance?

Alexander, babes, I’d thought you’d never ask.  

What had followed was some kind teasing at his expense and the promise that it would be online by the end of the work day. Percy had sent him a link twenty minutes earlier with a small winky face to go with. Alex didn’t click the link yet. He typed out a quick thank you first.

The video was the exact one he had sent, trimmed to a decent viewable length: Henry giving everything he could to his presentation, as if they were all students in his lecture hall. Henry as buoyant and accurate, genuine and measured; happily answering questions as they came up rather than waiting until the end, moving in and out of his script with fluid, practiced ease. 

Percy’s caption was short and simple – the #profFox @dr.h.e.fox in fine form today at @dublinartsacc, video courtesy of Prof. Alexander Claremont-Diaz, @acdiaz.

Alex watched twice through on silent, hiding his grin with his drink. In the corner blinked the little numbers that made all the difference – 9 million likes, 17 million views and rising. 

If that wasn’t a decent first apology, Alex didn’t know what was.

A text from Percy waited for him when he clicked away from the video: You’re lucky you know me. Good luck.

Alex smiled to himself, then tucked his phone back away. Surveying the bar in front of him again, more people had packed in since he’d last looked. The after-dinner crowd had joined the rest of them, night caps flowing even though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock. He caught the eye of a few, them waving acknowledgements and him waving back, but no one approached. Clicking the top of his pen, he turned back to his ink covered napkin and tried to look busy.

“Alex?” A hand slid onto the back of his bar stool as someone with blonde hair stepped up to the bar next to him.

He glanced up, set his pen down. “Henry. Holding your liquor alright?”

“Come off it, I wasn’t even close to drunk last night,” Henry laughed easily. “Just honest.”

“Abundantly honest,” Alex added. He turned in his chair to better fact the other man, glass in hand. “Are you looking for a wingman or for a break from the crowd?”

“A break, definitely. I’m starting to feel the three hours I slept. Going to call it here soon.”

Alex hummed. “I appreciate the warning.”

“How are you still upright?”

“I slept. Remember?”

“You did, but I was awake before you.”

“Not by much.”

“By enough.” Henry paused, asking the bartender for a glass of water in the gap. He avoided Alex’s eyes for a moment, rolling his tongue around in his mouth. “I, erm… I wanted to talk to you about something, actually. Why I came over here in the first place.”

Alex smirked. “Bothering my quiet evening with more abundant honesty, Fox?”

Henry nodded. “Something like that.” He chewed his lip, working himself up to it. “I, well. Someone just showed me another video. Of me, from today. That you , apparently, filmed.”

“I’m sorry if that was overstepping–.”

“No!” Henry burst out, then sheepishly course-corrected. “I mean, it isn’t. It wasn’t. It… That was nice, of you. It’s gone around the conference already and it’s–.”

“Spit it out, Fox.”

“It was really nice.” Henry rushed out. “It was really, really nice of you. For once, I don’t look like a goddamn fool.”

Alex took a drink. “That you don’t.”

“I actually look, I dunno. Smart?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Alex asked, watching him levelly.

Henry sighed. “I’m just trying to say. You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. Thank you.”

Before Alex could answer, before he could even come up with an answer, Henry leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the curve of his jaw, just next to his ear. It lasted a second, there and gone. When Henry pulled back, a hot flush was seeping into his skin. Alex could only stare. He was at a complete loss for words. The blonde downed a mouthful of water, then stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. 

“There, erm...” He cleared his throat a bit. “There might have been a bit more to your influence on my post-graduate decisions than just my thinking your books were brilliant.”

“Well,” Alex exhaled, tongue swiping along his lower lip as he thought. “I might call that overstepping.”

Henry blanched. “Oh shit , I’m sor–.”

“I think my exhaustion has caught up with me,” Alex spoke over him, fixing Henry with a specific sort of pointed stare. “Perhaps we should have this…” Alex waved a hand between the pair of them. “ Conversation somewhere more private. What do you say, Henry?”

“Oh. Well.” Henry blinked. “Perhaps I should mention I have a taste for mouthy Americans who call me mean names?”

Alex rolled his eyes, the motion feeling fond for the first time. “I’d rather not have a video of this overshadow my hard work for today.”

“Less than ideal that.”

“Totally less than ideal, and I feel like I’ve already had a pretty good day so far.”

“Have you?”

“You’re not soaking wet in the Royal Canal, are you?”

“So I should be thanking you for the invite back to my own room, I gather?”

“You gathered correctly, Foxy.”

Henry’s smile widened again. “Alright, well. After you?”