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“Christ, Alex, I have a name,” Henry huffs, peeling Alex’s hand off his bicep. “You don’t need to assault me in the hallway to get my attention.”
Literally throwing himself at his sister’s best friend is, admittedly, not the smoothest thing he’s ever done. He’s not going for smooth, though: he’s going for persuasive. “June’s got the volleyball trip this weekend.”
“I’m aware.”
“Meaning you’re free.”
“Is that what that means?” He’s so blasé. Like this conversation is boring him. He’s always doing that. Alex fucking hates it.
“We both know you don’t have plans, Fox.”
“Alright,” Henry admits. “Maybe I don’t.”
“Great. We’re making her a cake,” Alex tells him. “Come over on Saturday night.”
“Why are you making a cake and why must I be involved?”
Henry being involved is the plan in its entirety, but Alex isn't exactly inclined to let him in on that detail right now. “You’re obsessed with that baking show. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Henry doesn’t look convinced. “And why must this happen in the first place?”
It’s really Henry’s fault he doesn’t get to know the answer to that: if Alex told him this was an elaborate enterprise of seduction, he’d be a judgmental prick about it, say no, then probably tell Alex that scheming is unbecoming in his stupid, stupidly hot accent.
“Are you gonna help me or not, man?”
“Fine, Christ,” Henry says. “Just— text me when you want me to come over.”
He sends Henry two texts next period.
2:11 p.m.
come at eight
and don’t tell june!!!!
Henry reads the messages, but doesn’t respond. Which— to be clear— is a dick move.
But a yes is a yes, dickish behavior or not. Alex is going to make the most of it.
“Have you started already?”
Alex lets out a startled yelp at Henry’s sudden appearance. The bastard stopped knocking years ago. “Jesus, dude. Warn a guy.”
He shouldn’t be embarrassed: Henry has seen every shade of indignity Alex has to offer over the last five years. But he doesn’t want to be the annoying little brother anymore— he doesn’t want Henry to see him like that. Tonight’s supposed to be different. To show Henry that he’s different than when they met in middle school.
“And no,” he says, nodding towards the dining table. “I’m just cleaning up. I made us snacks.”
Maybe cooking a mini feast after trapping Henry in his house on the day his family’s out is going a bit overboard, but doing things half way isn’t really his style.
“Christ. I still wasn’t sure this entire thing wasn’t a ruse of some sort.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t take me seriously.” He says it like a joke.
Henry’s brow furrows. “Do you truly believe that?”
“I mean, June never does,” he says, disconcerted. “And last I checked y’all share one pretentious, Charles Dickens-obsessed brain so, like, yeah.”
Henry is quiet for a moment. He looks genuinely disturbed. “Alex, just because your sister is my best friend, doesn’t mean I share her opinions on everything,” he says. Then adds, pointedly, “Or everyone.”
Alex looks down at the bowl in his hands. “Well, you didn’t think I was being serious about this, so…”
Henry cracks an arch smile. “It was hardly a conventional invitation, now, was it?”
“Yeah, well…” He’s not sure why he feels embarrassed. Henry’s being nice to him. Taking him seriously. That’s what he wanted. It’s just weird that two minutes into his master plan Alex already feels like he’s losing control.
“Christ. Let’s just get started.”
Alex pulls up the recipe on his computer. Turns around to find— “Oh my God, you are not wearing an apron right now.”
“Of course, I am. You should, too.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Am I not here to show you how to do this properly?” Henry asks before he moves behind him and—sans consent— pulls an apron over his head. Alex’s stomach flips. He can feel his knuckles graze his back while he ties the string around his waist.
Henry Fox is the most attractive son of a bitch Alex has ever met. Also, according to June, the most off limits. See, the thing is: Alex isn’t exactly sold on staying away from his sister’s best friend just, like, on principle. If the way Henry softly pats his shoulder when he’s finished is anything to go off of, bringing Henry around to his point of view won’t be that difficult. Once he gets Henry to see him, he’s not going to be able to look away. Alex will make fucking sure of it.
The cake making itself goes surprisingly smoothly. He should’ve picked a harder dessert. Alex knows he’d be a good boyfriend. But, three hours in, they’ve almost got the superordinate goal out of the way and he’s still not sure Henry’s caught on to that fact.
“Are you going to tell me what this cake’s for yet?” Henry asks as he smears on the second layer of pink frosting.
Alex— practicing his piping on a piece of parchment— ignores the question. “Do you know how to do the lumpy frosting around the edges?”
“Yes, but I’d suggest waiting until you’ve written whatever it is you’re planning to first.”
He situates himself in front of the cake. “Okay. I think I’m ready.”
Henry takes that as an invitation to lean over his shoulder.
Alex spins around. “Look away.”
“Why?”
“You can’t see until it’s done.”
Perplexed, he agrees.
Alex hunches over the cake, doing his best to get the letters out as neatly as possible. When finished, Henry peers over to take in Alex’s work. Written in— admittedly shaky— purple frosting are the words: Happy First Gay Kiss! on the center of the cake.
Henry looks unimpressed. Amused, maybe.
“What?”
“Alex,” he starts. “Why’ve you made this?”
“It’s for June. She didn’t tell you?” Alex can’t imagine her telling him about this before her best friend. “She and Nora had their first kiss after practice on Tuesday.”
“Yes. I’m aware.”
“And being the supportive brother and best friend that we are, we made her a cake to celebrate. Obviously. I’m even giving you partial credit.”
Henry looks like he’s holding back a laugh. What a dick. It’s a nice idea. “Alex, Nora isn’t the first girl June’s kissed.”
What? “How? Literally how? She came out two months ago! And she’s liked Nora for longer than that.”
“Yes, well. She kissed Tarana Harris at a party in May.”
“Tarana Harris? But she’s like. Crazy hot.”
“So is June,” Henry defends.
“First of all: ew. Wait— is Tarana gay?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Second, how could she not tell me?”
“There really wasn’t much to tell. June was still figuring things out and Tarana’s too focused on securing her basketball scholarship to worry about relationships.”
“It’s still not fair. June knows about everyone I’ve kissed.”
“To her chagrin, I think.”
Wow. Rude. It’s not like Alex gets into the dirty details. He saves those for Nora. But— he’s actually more upset about this than his bruised ego right now. “Fuck,” Alex says, looking down at the cake. “What are we gonna do about this?”
“We could scrape it off,” Henry suggests. “Change it to something true.”
Alex worked hard on those four words. And he thought it was funny. He doesn’t want to start over. He picks up the piping bag and adds With Your GF Nora at the bottom, so the cake now reads: Happy First Gay Kiss! With Your GF Nora.
Henry isn’t saying anything.
“What?” Alex asks flatly.
“It’s just… They’re only talking. They haven’t exactly gotten to the girlfriend part yet.”
“Damn it, Fox, just let me have this.”
“Sure. Yes, of course,” Henry says, having the decency to look a little sheepish. As promised, he adds the frosting around the edges, then covers it with Leo’s fancy dome thing and puts it in the fridge.
“You hungry?” They’ve been working on the cake for over three hours.
Henry eyes the remainder of the food— long gone cold— on the dining table. “Nearly starving, actually.”
He wasn’t kidding. Between the two of them, they finish almost everything. Alex was planning on getting through his weekend alone on the leftovers, but it’s also insanely gratifying that Henry likes his food enough to gorge himself on it like this. That Henry likes him enough to sit at the table for an hour after and chat. Honestly, Alex figured he’d hightail it out of here as soon as their mission was completed.
Around one, Henry stands and gets a sparkling water from the fridge. Brings Alex one. Sits back down. Alex has to bite back a grin. He’s been thirsty for half an hour, too afraid that standing up to refill his glass would break the spell— remind Henry he’s not supposed to be here. But the way he’s reclining in his chair, picking up the thread of conversation where they left it, is promising. It gives Alex the courage to crack open his can and ask, “Won’t your mom be worried about you? It’s getting late.”
A shrug. “I told her where I was going when I left. Though, it’s more of a formality than anything. She hasn’t really had it in herself to worry about her children since Dad died, so…”
God. Alex knows about absent parents, and he knew Henry’s mom was really messed up about everything, but he didn’t know it was this bad. So bad she didn’t care whether or not her kids came home at night.
“Thank Christ for life insurance, right? I’d probably be living in your basement, otherwise.”
“Don’t— Henry, don’t joke about it. It’s okay to feel… Whatever you’re feeling. Hurt.”
Henry smiles wryly. “I know that, Alex.”
“Right, of course.” Because that’s the kind of shitty advice you find printed on a card at the grocery store. God, he’s being awful. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. It’s just— that sucks and I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Alex. Most people don’t know how to navigate the dead-dad conversation.”
“How should I?”
“What?” Henry looks taken aback, like he surprised him. Alex likes that.
“Like, if you’re okay talking about it, I mean,” he says. “If it comes up with other people, or with you, what should I say?”
“Oh.” Henry’s quiet for a long moment. “Listen, I suppose. The subject is uncomfortable in nature. Most people veer away from it as quickly as possible. If you’re able to sit in the discomfort and just sort of, be there with them, that’s the best thing to do, I’d say.” He takes a sip, then adds, “Your sister’s got it down to a science. Honestly, you should be asking her.”
He might, actually. This is a big thing for Henry and he wants to understand. He wants the things that are big for Henry to be big for him, too. “Well, I might not know what to say, and I know you have June, but you can talk to me, too, if you want.”
“Thank you, Alex. Truly.”
It feels like the moment’s over, like Henry’s about to make a show of checking the time and head home, but instead he brings up Alex going for debate team captain next year; he remembers him mentioning it last week, apparently.
In the end, Alex is the one who pulls the plug on the night: it’s almost four and his eyes feel heavy. “I should start cleaning up.”
“Yes. Right,” Henry says, moving towards the mess.
“That wasn’t my way of telling you to help me. You’ve helped enough. You can go home.”
Henry ignores him and gets to work on the dishes in the sink. “I can’t very well leave you to do the washing up on your own, can I?”
God. Henry’s so fucking nice. Alex not being totally obsessed with him— especially after tonight— seems goddamn impossible. “You can and you should.”
He just smiles. Fuck, he’s pretty. “I was raised better than that.”
Alex lets him help, but he pesters him about going home the entire half hour they spend cleaning. Not that he wants Henry to leave. Or doesn’t appreciate the help.
Henry does go, eventually, and Alex walks him to the door. But they’re still talking, so he ends up walking him to his car, then leaning over the rolled down window for another five minutes.
He showers— because there isn’t an ingredient in their kitchen that hasn’t ended up somewhere on his body in the last eight hours— then sinks into bed.
Almost asleep, he grabs his phone off the nightstand and texts Henry.
4:54 a.m.
thanks for helping me
you’re not like. dead in a ditch right??
Is that weird? Making sure Henry got home safe? He kind of needs to know that he did.
4:57 a.m.
cause I’d feel really bad if I sent you home at five am and you died
5:09 a.m.
I’m home and alive.
You’re welcome.
Alex grins into his pillow. He’d bask in this feeling longer, if he could, but he’s asleep the second he closes his eyes.
June laughs and calls the cake dumb, but Alex can tell she appreciates it. She laughs more when they explain the wonky message on the top.
Henry doesn’t mention that he stayed over four hours to talk afterwards. Somehow, it slips Alex’s mind, too.
The week goes by the way weeks usually do: Alex goes to practice and studies at the kitchen table. Henry eats a couple dinners at their house.
It’s not his fault he can’t fall asleep Thursday night. The future plays out like a firework show every time he closes his eyes: Henry coming over just for him again, Henry kissing him: liking him, loving him. Them moving in together after Alex’s freshman year of college; committing to an expensive couch together; June giving a speech at their wedding…
His schemes for the future are interrupted by a text from Henry: an answer to a question he asked hours ago.
10:01 p.m.
yo can I wear the jacket you left at our house to school tmr
it goes with my outfit
1:23 a.m.
I would say no, but I can’t imagine that’d make much of a difference.
1:23 a.m.
you imagine correctly
why tf are you awake rn
1:23 a.m.
Can’t sleep.
Henry— the goddamn bastard— lets the phone ring four times before picking up. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Is there a reason you’re calling me at half one? On a school night?”
“You can’t sleep.”
“Yes,” Henry says flatly.
“Neither can I.”
“I don’t see how a phone call will change that.” His voice is— as always— disinterested.
“Come on, man, I’ve been overthinking for, like, two hours. Just— stay for a minute?”
Henry sighs. “Alright.”
“Thanks.”
“What is it you’re overthinking?”
“Can we talk about something else?” Alex actually wouldn’t mind letting Henry know that— down the line— they’re going to spend eleven days debating what kind of dog they should adopt before Henry ultimately caves under Alex’s argumentative prowess and gives up the beagle dream, but— generously— he thinks that might be a bit much for Henry to handle right now. “Tell me a story.”
Henry doesn’t put up a fight this time. He tells Alex about his first time getting drunk, then a story about England, then one about his dad, because Alex asks. His voice is gentle. Soothing. It might send him to sleep if his stomach weren’t doing acrobatics everytime Henry laughs.
“Tell me about your first crush.”
“It’s dreadfully embarrassing.”
“Have I ever made fun of you, Sweetheart?”
“I cannot remember a day in which you refrained.”
Alex grins. He’s right. “Please?”
“Fine.” There’s some rustling down the line, followed by a long-suffering sigh. “It was year eight. Peter Perez.”
Alex chokes on a laugh. “Perez? Seriously?”
“It was an apt choice at the time.”
“Um, no? He’s not your type— like, at all. He’s a total jock.”
“And you’re well acquainted with my type, are you?” His voice is teasing. Playful. It’s hot.
“He’s a douche, and an idiot. You’re not into that.”
Henry agrees, “I’m not.”
“So— why?”
“His friends were teasing me for being gay and he told them off. I suppose that’s all it takes when you’re thirteen and prodigiously lonely.”
Alex doesn’t know what to say. Again. “You deserve better than that.”
“I know.”
The conversation’s turning too heavy for his tired mind to handle. “You shouldn’t swear off jocks altogether, though. We’re not all bad.”
“Is that right?”
He can’t keep the smile out of his voice, saying, “Why don’t you find out for yourself, Sweetheart?”
“You’re flirting with me.”
“I’m not,” he lies.
“You are. Alex. Don’t.” Henry’s tone is firm. Alex’s stomach jerks: it feels too close to rejection for it to not.
“Sure, whatever.”
“It’s getting late,” Henry says, not unkindly.
Almost four, his phone reads. “Yeah.”
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Night, Henry.”
“Goodnight, Alex. Get some sleep.”
Henry hangs up before he can think of something snarky to say in reply.
In the morning, his eyes are puffed and dark. He tries to get at least four hours of sleep a night; running on barely two isn’t going to be fun.
Friday is long and draining. Henry looks as worn out as he feels. There’s something gratifying in it. Neither of them bring up last night, but there’s a new expression in Henry’s tired eyes. It feels like something shared. A secret they’re both keeping.
He’s irritable and starving, getting home after practice. Henry and June are working on a puzzle at the table. By way of greeting, he says, “Y’all are so boring.”
“Hello to you, too, Sunshine.”
“Why are you guys even here?” Alex asks, dumping his backpack on the floor. “Shouldn’t you be out with Nora?”
“No, because Henry and I value our friendship and we aren’t going to ruin that or our Friday sleepovers because one of us is in a relationship.”
“Well, I think it’s stupid. It’s like y’all own each other.”
“Fortunately,” Henry says, “we weren’t consulting you.”
Alex can’t say he appreciates his biggest obstacle being thrown in his face like this. Usually, he gets what he wants because he puts in the work for it, but this is unprecedented. There’s no way to cancel June out of the equation.
“Ignore him,” June says, sifting through a pile of pink pieces. “He’s just being weird cause he wants a girlfriend.”
Henry looks up at that, and Alex meets his gaze head on. “I do not want a girlfriend.”
“Sure, Bud. I heard you giggling your ass off on the phone last night. I know you have a crush.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want a girlfriend,” he says pointedly. “At all.”
Henry clears his throat, then gets struck by a convenient burst of fervor Alex can’t imagine many puzzles have inspired in anyone before.
He only stays conscious long enough to shower and collapse on his bed. He doesn’t wake until the middle of the night, unable to ignore the gnawing of his stomach any longer. Creeping downstairs, he finds Henry in the kitchen. “What are you doing awake?”
“June’s sleeping. I can’t. Thought I’d make some tea.”
Alex opens the fridge and begins pulling out an assortment of leftovers.
“I thought you’d be asleep. You looked exhausted when you got home, and at school.”
Henry noticed. That’s nice. That’s good.
“Aren’t you?” It’s the closest either of them have come to acknowledging last night aloud.
Staring into his mug, Henry bobs the tea bag a few times. “I’m used to not getting a lot of sleep.”
Alex folds the leftovers into tortillas for some makeshift-midnight-snack kind of quesadillas. He shares them with Henry while they talk about school and June and the rain they’ve been getting. Alex complains about his diabolical excuse of an AP Bio teacher. There’s something invigorating about seeing Henry like this: he’s softer at night, more open. Alex feels like they’ve crossed some boundary line they never even neared before, and he’s insatiable; he wants to keep pushing, keep learning, keep taking whatever Henry will give him.
Henry does the dishes as Alex puts the rest of the food away. They whisper goodnights in the hallway. He gets it, then: something unspoken. It’s not that Henry doesn’t want him, he’s just taking this slowly. It’s sweet actually— the most perfect kind of secret— a prologue no one gets to see but the two of them.
Alex can’t sleep again. It probably has something to do with the fact that it’s Wednesday, and he hasn’t talked to Henry longer than a few passing words in the hallway at school in five days.
11:42 p.m.
you awake?
This time, Henry calls him.
They don’t talk as long tonight— just an hour or so. It’s really nice actually. He likes Henry and wants Henry, but it’s bigger than that now. Henry gets him. Makes him feel seen in a way he isn’t sure he ever has. Henry’s the one to end the conversation, like the last time they called and that night in the kitchen.
Neither of them bring it up at school.
It becomes a regular thing after that: the late night calls. And not talking about it.
June’s on a date with Nora. Alex has Henry in the passenger seat of his mom’s car. They stop for fast food. He takes them to his run-down gazebo on the side of the mountain, the one he goes to when he can’t get his mind to slow down.
Forgoing the bench, they sit across from each other on the floor. He talks about the divorce. It’s nice that Henry already knows the details. He can skip to how it made him feel, coming home from camp to find his dad moved out. How his parent’s closet looked with half the hangers unoccupied.
At some point, Alex reaches over, starts playing with Henry’s fingers, and watches him attempt to tame a smile. When he tells him he’s never brought anyone here— not even June— the fight against it is lost.
Alex knows Henry likes him back. He was nervous at first, with Henry making them take this slow, but he gets it. You don’t fuck around with your best friend’s brother unless it’s going to mean something. But they’re here, and it does mean something. They’re on the precipice, liable to tip off the edge at any moment. Henry doesn’t hide it any more— it’s in his smile, in his eyes, in his laugh.
He really should’ve warned him. Sure, Alex started all this, but he had no idea what he was getting into here. Like, with Henry looking at him like that? He’s totally out of his depth.
But that’s just how life goes, isn’t it? The sky doesn’t warn them before it bursts open above them. Alex doesn’t warn Henry before challenging him to a race and taking off towards the car. The idiot city park people didn’t think to warn innocent visitors about the newly fallen tree that sends Alex collapsing into the grass.
Alex yells some expletives; Henry yells his name.
Then Henry’s hovering over him, frantically examining him for damages. Alex isn’t in so much pain that he can’t appreciate the way rainwater rolls down the bridge of his nose.
“I think it’s just my knee,” Alex tells him, pushing his body off the ground with muddy hands. “Help me up.”
Henry, looking positively terrified, does.
“Hen, I’m fine, it’s— Jesus— fuck. ” Standing fucking hurts. God, he has practice Monday. And the game next week.
“Can you walk?”
“Fuck, I don’t know.” He takes an experimental step.
He can get to the car himself, probably, but Henry must hear his pained grunt when he tries because he pulls Alex’s arm over his shoulders and guides him to the passenger door.
“It’s not that bad,” Alex says. “I can still drive.”
“Just let me.” Henry shucks off his hoodie and lays it over the leather— because he knows how Alex’s mom is about mud on the seats— then helps him in.
Henry takes him home.
Alex limps stubbornly behind him inside. It’s weird. Before Arthur died, they’d eat family dinners here sometimes. Everything was so vibrant then. Half the pictures he remembers hanging on the wall are gone now.
Henry gives him a couple towels and has him wait in his room. It feels so intimate sitting here on the edge of Henry’s made bed. The bed he calls Alex from multiple times a week. Like he’s seeing beneath another layer.
Henry returns with a first-aid kit. Alex starts insisting this isn’t necessary, but Henry shushes him. He places a steadying hand at the back of Alex’s knee. Peels an alcoholic wipe open with his teeth— because his other hand is occupied— but whatever. It’s still hot. Alex hisses at the sting.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Do you think it’s sprained?” He dabs the wipe again, more softly this time.
“Can you sprain a knee?” Alex’s voice is coming out a lot shakier than he’d like it to be.
“Can you?” Henry asks. “You’re the athlete here.”
“I think it’s just the scrapes and maybe a— God— a bruised knee cap.”
“These are a bit deeper than scrapes, Alex.”
Henry’s careful to clean every bit of dirt from the gashes, even after Alex tries to convince him he’s gotten it all.
“I know it hurts, but we’re not risking an infection.”
At that Alex smiles, despite everything. In his family, being old enough to tend to a cut is aging out of being taken care of. But he’s seventeen, and Henry’s here: doing it because he wants to. Because he cares.
Alex loves that unraveling all the layers he keeps himself wrapped tight under has led to them right here, soaked through in Henry’s bedroom, in the quiet together. He’s always hated silence: in the car when the Bluetooth won’t connect, the way the team gets after they lose a game, the stilted dinners the year before the divorce. With Henry, for the first time, quiet is a good thing. A calm thing.
And maybe he’s crazy, maybe his head didn’t take to the fall as well as he’d thought, but in this moment, a towel draped across his shoulders, watching Henry smear some kind of ointment over his cuts and cover them with a bandage, he thinks he loves him.
Henry— so guarded— who let Alex in so easily. Like all Alex had to do was knock. Henry, who took care of him because he wanted to be the one to do it. Henry, who’s kneeling by the bed gazing up at him, cradling Alex's hand in both of his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his palm.
His eyes flick from Alex’s to his mouth.
Alex smiles softly. He fucking knew it’d be tonight.
He leans in, doing away with most of the space between them, only leaving enough for Henry to pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t— just hitches his breath and stares doe-eyed up at him.
Alex rests a hand on his jaw, brushes his thumb over his cheekbone. Smiles a little more. Somehow, Henry looking so nervous makes him feel it less himself.
“Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, so close he can feel Henry’s breath fanning over his lips.
Henry whips his head to the side and scoots backwards on the rug. “Forgive me, I—” He clears his throat, stands up, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m— You should go.”
“What?”
Henry looks like he’s going to be sick.
“Look, Henry, obviously we don’t have to—”
“No.” His voice is hard. “No. No, I let this go too far. You need to go.”
“I…” Alex is speechless, because, seriously— what the fuck is going on here? How the hell is the guy who calls him every night— the one who takes him home and tends to his wounds— the same guy who’s kicking him out without a goddamn explanation? “I don’t understand.”
It’s not for him to, apparently. Henry opens the door and holds it like that, chin stuck out and face stoic. “I trust you’ll be fine driving home?”
Alex limps towards the door, because what else is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to react when he has no idea what he’s even reacting to? “Hen,” he implores.
“It’s getting rather late,” is all the answer Alex gets before Henry drops the car key in his hand and practically slams his bedroom door in his face. He didn’t even have the decency to walk him out of the goddamn house.
And, because he has no fucking clue what to do, he goes home.
June asks about his knee. He blames it on lacrosse.
Frantic and confused, he shoots off a couple texts to Henry.
3:28 a.m.
hey man you good??
what happened earlier?
When he wakes up, he’s still unanswered.
10:50 a.m.
look I’m sorry okay?
can we please talk about this
The morning messages get the same treatment as last night’s.
Conveniently, Henry’s been too busy to spend much time at their house this week.
It’s Tuesday afternoon. The clouds are dark and rumbling, going to break out at any moment. Alex knows the feeling.
Which is why he has Henry’s— cleaned— hoodie in his hands, a thumb pressing on his doorbell, and zero intentions of leaving again without getting some damn answers.
Henry appears in the doorway, that signature nonchalant expression pinned in perfect place.
“You left this in my car,” he says, thrusting the hoodie into Henry’s arms.
“Right.” Henry offers a horrible pursed-lipped smile. “Thanks.”
“I know you’re ignoring me because we almost kissed.”
“Christ. Alex, please.” Henry runs a hand over his face.
“You know I like you. I haven’t tried to hide it.”
“We’ve both been hiding it, Alex. You bloody well know that.”
How did they get here? They’ve been talking nearly every day for weeks. They reached the moment they’d been building up to for a month and now everything’s so terrible and wrong. “Obviously we weren’t gonna tell June right away—”
Henry barks out a laugh. “Are you joking? We were never going to tell June.” He corrects himself: “We are never going to tell her.”
“Oh, cool,” Alex says in a spiteful tone. “So you’re just planning on lying to your best friend forever.”
Henry straightens his shoulders and lowers his voice. “I’m not lying. There isn’t anything to tell yet. And we’re going to keep it that way.”
“There isn’t anything to tell?” Alex mocks. “Where the fuck did you get that idea, Genius? Do you think June’s gonna be fine with the fact that you’ve been leading me on for the last month?”
“She isn’t going to— Alex, you’re not going to tell her.”
“Why the fuck shouldn’t I? Why the hell are you doing this? You could’ve left after we made the cake, but you stayed until the fucking sun came up. We’ve been falling asleep on the phone together for, like, three weeks. And, in case you forgot, you were a very active and willing participant.”
He sees Henry swallow. Good. At least he’s hearing him.
“And you take care of me when I bang up my knee, and you listen to me talk about my parents, but kissing is where you draw the line? I hate to fucking break it to you, but that doesn’t change shit when we’re already acting like we’re in a relationship—”
“We are not in a relationship, Alex,” Henry scoffs. “We were never going to—”
“Why are you talking to me like I’m the stupid one for thinking this was going somewhere? Literally what about the last month would lead me to believe anything else?”
“I assumed we were on the same page about this never happening!”
“Henry, at this point, I’m not sure you’re even in the goddamn library!”
“You’re my best friend’s brother!” Henry says, like that’s a new variable Alex hadn’t considered yet.
“Yeah, no shit,” Alex says, pushing into Henry’s space. “And you want me. Stop fucking fighting it.”
“Alex, I can’t. The way I feel for you doesn’t matter.” He’s not sure which one of them Henry’s trying to convince. “I could never jeopardize my friendship with your sister.”
“And you didn’t think to clue me in on your bullshit before I started getting real feelings for you?”
Thunder’s starting to rumble in the background. Henry tries a new approach: “I’m sorry. If you truly feel I’ve led you on—”
“If I feel you’ve led me on? How else am I supposed to feel about this?”
Henry looks worn out. Alex might’ve been able to muster up some sympathy if he did anything to indicate that he cares about this— them— when Alex isn’t directly in front of him, begging him to. “What do you want, Alex?”
He has so many answers to a question like that. “Right now? I could do with some damn answers.”
“I’ve answered everything you’ve charged me with—”
Not everything. “Why did you stay? That first night. You could’ve left. I wouldn’t have stopped you, but you didn’t.”
“You know why.”
Alex’s heart flips. God. “Fucking tell me. You owe me that.”
“I stayed all night because I’m selfish and I wanted to, alright? That night was so perfect— it felt like something out of a fantasy or a daydream. And, yes, I should’ve stopped it but I didn’t— I couldn’t. Not when you’re—”A painful breath. Then, in a low voice: “The way I wanted you made it near impossible.
“I have spent far longer than you know trying to keep away from you. It wasn’t until you begged me to make that stupid cake with you that I gave in. And it was wrong. I was wrong.”
“It’s not like June told you to stay away from me.”
“Because she shouldn’t have to!” Henry exclaims. “My sister’s a drug addict and my brother’s turned his family into a dictatorship and the only reason I’ve managed to stay put together at all in the wake of my father’s death is your sister. How can you ask me to betray her for a boy?”
A boy. That stings. “You’re not betraying her. She wants you to be happy. She wants that for me, too, Dipshit. You can still choose her, just— just choose me, too. Please, Henry.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“So you were—” He doesn’t want to know, but he has to. “You knew this was gonna happen? The whole time you knew— you were planning on doing this to me?”
Henry looks hurt. Like he has any right to be offended that Alex would assume the worst about him. “I wasn’t planning anything, I was being thoughtless. It was self-centered and tactless.”
So this is it, then. This is what all the late night phone calls and secretive smiles added up to. What all his in-class daydreams were worth.
“I am sorry. Truly sorry. I hope you can believe that. But this— us— is impossible.”
“You’re—” Alex’s voice is pure hurt. His throat feels thick. Pathetic. “You’re not even going to try? Bringing it up with June, or… You’re not even going to try?”
It wouldn’t be like this with anyone else— but it’s Henry. And Henry knows him. He knows how Alex feels about being abandoned, about being thrown aside the second things get difficult.
“I can’t, Alex. I hope you'll find a way to forgive me.”
If he loved Henry a little less, this would be an ideal time to start screaming hurtful things at him. To show him what his carelessness is doing to Alex. That the painful part is just starting and it’s already got him in shreds and all of it— all of it— is Henry’s fault. But he doesn’t, and he can’t. “Yeah. Don’t hold your breath.”
In the mornings that follow, Alex knows he’s heartbroken before he even opens his eyes. Normally, he’d go on runs about it, but his knee’s twisted and bruised and bloody, so that’s out the window, too.
It’s just class, and home. And, because he’s out of practice for a few weeks, he has the distinct pleasure of riding home with June and Henry.
It was so close to possible, he doesn't know how to stop grasping at the straws. Henry does want him, does like him, but not enough to do anything about it.
He thinks back to all the times Henry stopped him, pushed him away, turned the conversation, turned his neck. It almost makes sense until he remembers— he stopped doing that. He hadn’t pulled away, done anything to indicate that he was still holding back for over a week.
He’s angry again. How self absorbed do you have to be to knowingly do this to someone else? To someone you claim to care about?
And he’s getting away with it. Alex is letting him get away with it.
“Oh look,” Alex says upon finding the permanent residents of his house in his house. “It’s goddamn Frick and Frack.”
Henry looks terrified. He should be. Something in Alex just snapped.
June asks, “Do you want something, Alex?”
“Yeah, actually.” His voice is cold. He wants to be mean. “Are y’all planning on doing this creepy, inextricable thing forever or is there an expiration date?”
June asks what the hell he’s talking about just as Henry says, “Alex, don’t. ”
“I mean, what happens if y’all don’t go to the same college? Of when one of you gets married? Then will Henry finally be free of his imaginary fucking duty to you?”
“I have no idea why you suddenly have a problem with Henry or why you’re taking it out on me like that’s my fault.” She’s angry now, defensive. Like Henry deserves her fucking protection. Alex is done protecting him.
“It is! It is your fault!”
“If you’re not planning on letting us in on whatever the fuck your problem is, I don’t—”
“Because you’re the only reason Henry won’t give me a chance. You’re the reason I got my heart broken and you’re the reason the guy who did it is always in my fucking living room.”
It’s like the room itself freezes. Alex wouldn’t be surprised if the clock stopped ticking.
“And you know what he said to me? That he couldn’t betray you for some boy. ‘Cause that’s all I was to him.” His voice cracks as he says it, because he’s a pathetic idiot. Just some stupid, easy, replaceable boy.
Henry, finally, deigns to cut in. “Alex, be reasonable.”
“He was leading me on and he didn’t even fucking care that I was gonna get hurt. Tell us, Henry, what’s reasonable about that?”
June asks Henry if he knows what Alex is talking about, but he’s not listening. He’s staring glassy-eyed up at him from the couch. Alex fucking flees.
Skidding out the driveway, no money, no phone he thinks he forgot how to breathe. He moves completely on autopilot, mind spinning as he veers the car down a well known path. To a mountain side, and a shitty, wooden gazebo on the edge of a park.
He’s ruined everything— unequivocally— but the only thing on his mind right now is Henry. How he’ll never want to talk to him again after the stunt he just pulled.
Alex hasn’t cried yet, but as he thinks of Henry thinking less of him— thinking little of him— the tears start. Spending a month letting Alex think they had a future together and pulling the plug the instant things got real was beyond fucked up, but that fact that Henry did like him, did want him— was turning him down for something that he felt was out of his hands— was comforting. Even though he was completely fucking wrong— Alex had found some kind of solace in the fact that Henry still thought highly of him.
But that’s all fucked now, too, because he can’t keep his stupid mouth shut. The moment itself was pure release, but— barely twenty minutes later— the aftermath’s as bitter as the blood on his tongue.
Then it’s footsteps, and the last person in the world he wants to see him cry. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He looks gut-wrenched.
Alex scrubs at his eyes. “Look, I know you didn’t want June to find out and I know I shouldn’t have blown up like that, but I really can’t take you lecturing me right now. Just leave me alone.”
“I’m not— I came to apologize.”
Like that’s somehow better. A pity apology. Maybe one June put him up to. Because Henry’s a nice guy. Because Henry’s as sorry as you can be before you actually feel the need to do something about it.
“I don’t need you to. Just—”
“I need to,” Henry begs. “Please, just— just hear me out.”
Alex isn’t sure there’s any amount of pain Henry could inflict on him that would make him say no to a plea like that. He keeps his tone harsh. “Fine. make it quick.”
“I talked to June. Told her everything. You were right, she doesn’t—” Henry cuts himself off and takes a long, steadying breath. He looks terrified. Alex is, too. He has no idea what’s about to come out of Henry’s mouth— what he even wants to hear.
“Alex, I won’t pretend that I would’ve allowed things to progress with you without her blessing. I can’t take back the way I handled things over the last month— the last week in particular.” A tentative step closer. “But I can tell you that I was wrong. Entirely wrong. And I know that now. I was so terrified of June being angry, of losing her, I stopped being able to see things clearly.”
Alex isn’t breathing. Is Henry telling him he changed his mind?
“You were right about everything. It’s not one or the other— I can choose both of you, if you want that. Because I want that, Alex. I want you.”
He does, he does want that. He’s too dumbfounded to get any of it out.
“That being said, I, er. I understand if I’m too late, or if you can’t forgive me,” Henry adds.
“You’re not too late.” It’s stunning: the way the hope softens the worry on Henry’s face, the way it smoothes the furrow of his brow. “Don’t get me wrong, you are late, and fuck you, but I’ll get over it.”
Henry laughs wetly. “Christ. I was terrified I’d ruined everything.”
“Not everything, just the past week.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“I know.”
There’s no place for the self-loathing Alex sees in his eyes. “Hey,” He says gently. “It’s okay.”
Henry pushes him back before he can close the space between them. “Wait.”
“What?” Alex asks, pulling away with a chuckle. “You still afraid to kiss me, Fox?”
“I… Hurt you a lot. I don’t want us to jump into anything too fast.”
Alex pretends to consider that. “Right— but you hurt me last time by not kissing me. You really wanna risk it again?”
Henry smiles, but he shakes his head all the same. “I broke your trust, I hid my true feelings from you, I went about it all wrong.” Then, almost reverently, he says, “I don’t want to make any more mistakes with you.
“I want you to trust me. I don’t want to kiss you or do anything else without you trusting that I’m serious about you. And I think it’d be prudent to take things slow until you can believe that I care very deeply for you.”
“And if I don’t give a shit about prudence?”
“Alex, I’m trying to do this the right way. Please just let me.”
Henry doesn’t know it yet, but Alex would let him have anything if he asked for it. “Can I at least hug you?”
Henry complies: arms around his shoulders and hands warm on his back.
“God, you are such a fucking asshole.”
“I know,” Henry says into his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?”
“Um, blowing up at you in front of June?”
“I deserved it.”
“Maybe,” Alex admits. “Fuck. I need to apologize to her, too.”
“Perhaps another cake is in order.”
“As long as we’re making it together, Baby.”
From where he’s sitting on the kitchen counter, Alex has a perfect view of Henry pouring milk into his Earl Grey. He pushes the sleeves of his— Henry’s— hoodie off his forearms. “Can I have a sip?”
Henry offers him the mug and he wraps his hands around the porcelain, sighing as the drink warms him from the inside. Henry steps between his legs, soft hands running over his thighs. “Did practice go okay?”
Alex runs a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower. “Yeah.”
Henry adjusts his glasses from where they’ve slipped down his nose. “You seem more tired than usual.”
“I guess that’s what happens when a boyfriend induced injury takes you out for three weeks.”
“I don’t recall it being at all boyfriend induced.”
“Oh, right. Were we even friends back then?”
“I meant,” Henry says, taking the mug and placing it on the counter, “I had nothing to do with the injury itself. In fact, I patched you up after the fact.”
“Was that before or after you rejected me and kicked me out of your house?”
“Are you still worked up about that? I thought you said we were past that. We’d better go back to not kissing, just to be safe.”
They barely lasted a week the first time: a miracle Alex chalks up to Henry’s self control. Now, at liberty to kiss Henry whenever he feels like it, he can admit that it was good for them, but he sure as hell doesn’t need a do over. “Okay, that feels pretty drastic.” He tilts his chin up. “And you couldn’t bring that one back if you tried, Sweetheart.”
Henry grins, whispers, “Probably not” against Alex’s lips, and kisses him. “I’m glad your knee’s better.”
“Same. Pretty sure if I was out any longer Hunter would actually start thinking he’s the new captain,” Alex says. “You know what he called himself today? ‘Captain apparent.’ As if he didn’t only make the team ‘cause Jason tore his ACL.”
A sympathetic hum. “The perils of being better than everyone.”
“Tell me about it.”
Henry laughs softly. One of his hands moves to Alex’s waist and squeezes it lightly. “I do need to tell you something, actually.”
“I already know you like the way I look in my glasses. You’re terrible at hiding it.”
“I haven’t been hiding it. And I haven’t been hiding— Alex…” He smiles sweetly. “I love you.”
This isn’t news to him, but his heart triples its pace in his chest, anyway.
“Ah.” Alex grabs the hand Henry has on his leg, grins, and says, “That’s too bad.”
He tries to keep his voice unaffected, but he must fail miserably, because Henry’s smile only grows. “Really? Why’s that?”
“I’m not gonna tell you I love you until tomorrow. I have this whole date planned, and at the end we’re going to the gazebo and I’m doing it there.” He heaves a huge, forlorn sigh. “Now you’ll have to spend all night worrying about why I didn’t say it back.”
Henry tries to kiss him, but he can’t seem to stop smiling for long enough to do it properly. “You’re absurd.”
“What happened to taking this slow? Doing things prudently?”
“Good point. Maybe I should go home.”
“Funny.”
“Alright, well,” Henry says, stepping back and grabbing his keys, “see you tomorrow.”
“You just got here.”
“Yes, and now I’m going. Goodnight.”
Alex knows Henry’s fucking with him, but he’s also reaching for the door… “Cut it out. Let’s go upstairs.”
A hum, all mock consideration. “As splendid as that sounds, I’d better be off.”
Removing himself from the counter and the teasing from his voice, Alex asks, “How am I supposed to let you out of my sight after what you just told me?”
“That’s proving difficult for you, is it?” He twists the door knob. “Well, nothing’s changed on my end—”
Alex slams his palm against the door, holding it shut. “Don’t go.”
“Why ever not?” Henry blinks at him innocently. What a fucking tease.
“You are so damn annoying. God.”
“A convincing argument, but—”
“Henry.” This guy really has a thing for ruining his plans, doesn’t he? The gazebo is romantic enough for love confessions, and it’s meaningful to them specifically. But Henry just had to beat him to the punch. And now he’s got this adorable, smug grin on his face. Who could blame Alex for being unable to resist? “I love you.”
It’s more perfect than any moment he could’ve planned, especially with Henry looking at him like he hung the moon in the night sky.
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, Love?”
And, if he takes an honest look back on the last two months, Alex has to agree: falling in love with Henry came naturally to him, like he’d been preparing for it all his life. So, reaching up to smooth a rogue tuft of hair from Henry’s forehead, he says, “I guess not.”