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I had forgotten even how to want something slow, something soft, something with wide spaces and its own sure-footed swaying rhythms
The Likeness, Tana French
It’s not an understatement to say Henry wasn’t used to being taken care of.
At a certain age he was expected to just get on with it. Be a man. Stiff upper lip. All that. This had meant never displaying anything that could be described as “emotion.”
When he and Phillip were boys, he’d caught his older brother hiding from gran. Downstairs in the kitchens, he’d been crouched behind rolling racks of dirty dishes. It was late.The staff had already left.
Phillip’s eyes were red rimmed and swollen and Henry had wanted so badly to just ask his brother what happened. But as soon as Phillip noticed his younger brother he fled, knocking over the dish racks. That of course caused a damned commotion. Unfortunately nothing happened in the palace without gran hearing about. Of course, Henry was blamed for the mess.
The fucking earful gran had given him about it too: ‘you’re much too old to be acting this way Henry….The lack of decorum you continue to show is consistently a disappointment to me and those around you.’
He had paused and looked down at Henry. ‘You really couldn’t be any more different than Phillip. Could you?’ There’s a note of finality and disdain in those words. And it would’ve stung a grown man—let alone a child.
The conversation was over.
In that moment Henry had wanted to yell at the older man: me and him are the SAME! HE’S BLOODY AFRAID OF YOU TOO!
However, Phillip’s name never brushed past his lips. He simply took it. And in true Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor fashion, neither Phillip or Henry would ever talk about what happened in the kitchen at Kensington.
Henry knew that Phillip knew. For weeks after, gran ignored him; and Phillip did what small, frightened children do; he took up the lie because it protected him and he snubbed Henry along with gran.
Now Henry’s a grown man and he was never sure why he thought about his boyhood on days like this. Migraines were such a rarity (now that he slept better). Every once and a while one snuck up on him though when he least expected it.
The only reason gran had actually listened to his mother about getting him medication was because one day he’d thrown up last night’s dinner all over the breakfast room’s carpet from the nausea.
His and Alex’s room in the Brownstone apartment was cool. Thank Christ for that. Nothing like suffering a migraine and being hot on top of it.
David curled up at his side. He always knew when this happened to Henry and he’d slot against him in a half donut shape. Every time his little chest rose and fell, Henry could feel it. It was a helpful distraction from the blinding pain at the base of his skull.
At the involuntary groan of pain he let out David moved back slowly, looking up at his owner with big brown eyes.
“I’m fine boy. Stop fretting.” Henry said haltingly.
David tilted his head and let out a soft doubtful whine. If Henry hadn’t had to swallow the surge of bitter saliva in his mouth, he would have laughed at how well even his dog knew him.
Now David was pressing his head insistently into Henry’s side. His head was warm and hard and Henry understood exactly who he’s asking for.
“I can’t bother him. He’s busy. With homework. Law homework,” He groaned then winced at the throbbing feeling that reverberated back and forth between his neck and skull. It’s beginning to spread around to the front of his skull.
David lifted his head and did what Henry could only describe as “looking down his snout at him.” Then the beagle leapt off the bed, careful not to jostle his master. He paused at the door and looked back at Henry as if to say: it’s for your own good.
Uncharitably, Henry said, “you little traitor” as he tried to glare at David.
David just wagged his tail and turned around. Ignoring his master, he pushed the half-cracked door open, and slipped out of the room.
Alex was half asleep on the sofa watching Anne of Green Gables (Bea had been horrified to find out he’d never seen it and insisted). He’d long ago given up trying to finish the reading for his Law class. It could and would wait for the weekend.
Henry had already gone up to bed and there’d been something about the way he looked that had made Alex want check on him later. He looked tired and a little bit lost.
The other day he’d said he missed home and Alex hadn’t understood what he meant until Henry showed him what he was reading when he said it….
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal,
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal
Then Henry’d closed the book of Lord Byron. He reminisced to Alex about his family’s trips to Cornwall, and how he and Arthur would sneak away to visit the beaches. Just the two of them.
The grey sea crashing to shore was the mightiest thing Henry’d ever seen at 10 years old. The feeling of running down the sand at dawn, straight into his father’s arms, was one he was trying hard to never forget. Time could be a gift. It could also be cruel.
If he tried really hard he still remembered the black iron of the stairs in St. Nonna’s Lighthouse burning a chill into his fingertips as they climbed, climbed, climbed. His father laughed about something; Henry used to know what.
Yes. Hen missed home. Home being a euphemism for Arthur.
The sound of tiny nails clicking on the wood floor interrupted Alex’s thoughts. The sound faded into the sound of paws on a carpet and then David was there at his legs, staring at him. He rested his chin on the couch and whined quietly.
“Hi there sweetheart. What’s wrong, hmm?” Alex said while scratching him behind the ears. “Is it Henry?”
To answer that question David lightly caught his teeth on Alex’s hand and pulled him back with it. Quickly Alex got up and David let go of his hand to lead the way. Every so often he would look back and Alex would assure him, “I’m coming. I’m just following you David.”
They reached Henry and his’s room and the door was ajar. There’s a Henry shaped lump under the flat sheet. On the night stand was a open bottle of Excedrin. David entered the room and hopped up on the bed, curling up again. His flappy ears twitched as he looked at Alex expectantly: dad #2 do something.
“Henry.” Alex called out. No response. “Hen—”
“Please. My head.” Henry’s voice came out thin and watery. That shut Alex up.
Slipping off house shoes he came to kneel by the bed near Henry’s head.
In a much quieter voice he said, “Migraine, baby?”
“Mmm.”
“Take your medicine?”
“Mmhm.”
Alex stepped away for a moment. There was a mini fridge with a freezer they kept in here for a reason. He took the ice pack out and returned to Henry’s side, placing it on his forehead. “Here you are love.”
“You’re a saint.” Henry murmured, sounding slightly delirious. Alex tried not to smile. He tucked some of Henry’s bed-tossed hair back behind his ears.
“Am not. I just care about you.” His eyes fell to David as he said it. “David was worried too. He got me for you. Why didn’t you call?”
Henry shifted. Alex adjusted his grip on the ice pack to make sure it wouldn’t slip off his boyfriend’s head. For a moment he thinks Henry either can’t answer or didn’t hear him. Should he repeat the question. But then…
“Sorry. I just didn’t want to worry you. Either of you. This one's just,” Henry swallowed and finished, “a really awful one.”
With his other hand Alex brushed his fingers down the side of Henry’s cheek, tenderly. Something painful twisted beneath his ribs. He rested his hand against Henry’s cheek. "Baby," he softly said, "part of loving you is worrying about you. That comes with the territory.”
Henry opened his mouth and then closed it, then opened it again, “I really, really wanted you actually,” he admitted. His voice cracked at the end. It’s so slight that anyone who didn’t know him would never have heard it. But Alex does know him.
First he took Henry’s hand and had him hold the ice pack. Then he stood and tried not to break at the way Henry suddenly look resigned. Like he thought Alex was going to leave him. Never.
“Can I lie down with you?”
Henry's face relaxed and he nodded; Alex slipped into the bed.
“C’mere baby.” He maneuvered Henry at a snail pace, stopping every time the other man flinched in pain. Finally Henry’s head was pressed against his stomach and Alex was holding the ice pack against his neck this time at his request.
They’re silent for a while. Alex stroked up and down Henry’s back with his other hand. Henry melted under the touch.
“Hen?”
“Yes, darling.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you wanting me cause you’re hurting. I’ll always want to be here for you, love. You can want or need me always, regardless of if you’re in pain. I love you. Nothing changes that.”
Henry peered up at him. There was gray underneath his eyes and Alex could never be sure if he meant to say it but it’s what came out all the same.
“I feel so weak.” Exhaustion leaked into the words, slowing them down. He buried his head in Alex’s chest and the other man was horrified to feel wetness soaking through his shirt.
“Hen…” Alex murmured
“I’m so bad at this.” Henry’s voice was thin again and it wavered. “I don’t know why I didn’t get you in the first fucking place.
“I don’t think you knew you could, love. Did you?” Alex said gently.
“No. I suppose not.”
Alex thought about that for a moment and what it meant. He knew that Henry worried so badly about being too much because of his childhood and the way he’d been treated. Nothing could change that. It was just one of those things that was rooted in him. Alex had his own ‘”rooted” things.
“Don’t be this hard on yourself. It’s not your fault you’ve a hard time asking for help,” he ended up saying. It’s simple but it’s apparently what Henry needed. He felt the shaky breath his boyfriend took against his chest when he said it. Arms wrap around Alex’s waist and Henry trembled for a second. “You’re so good to me," Henry said
Alex leaned his head against the headboard, cradling the back of Henry’s cheek with his hand. “It's easy when it's you.” He paused then… “It wasn’t just the migraine you thought would bother me, was it?”
Henry brought Alex’s hand around and pressed it to his lips before answering.
“No. I wasn’t expecting the migraine. But—I’ve been feeling sort of heart heavy for days now. That didn’t help.”
“Was it about your d…?”
“Mmhm.” Henry cut him off before he could finish that word. “Yes.” He clarified.
“You know that’s okay though right? To feel so much still.” Alex kissed his head softly.
“Yeah,” Henry whispered, “I know. I do. I’m just terrified I’ll forget him someday. I’ve been stressing out over it for a while. Probably what brought the migraine on.”
“How long is a while?” Alex asked. He tried to keep his tone neutral but he’s not sure he succeeded if Henry’s tensing up is something to go by. He soothed a hand down Henry’s side. “I’m not mad Hen. I don’t want you to go through something like this alone again.”
“Do we have to talk about it now?” Henry finally answered in voice that was so threadbare Alex couldn’t have continued if he tried.
“No, no love we don’t.Are you still in pain?”
“A little.”
“Can you sleep?” Alex carded his finger through Henry’s hair.
“You won't leave?”
"No baby. I won't."