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Henry Fox had the Heimlich maneuver perfected long before he got his job as a teacher. Along with cardiopulmonary resuscitation. He also never leaves the house without his phone, lest he need to call an emergency number. Generally, he isn’t so overstrung about things.
Of course, generally, he doesn’t have other people’s lives in his hands.
Now, Henry isn’t exactly sold on the whole soulmate thing. Not everyone has one, and not all soulmates spend their lives together, romantically or otherwise. Henry certainly won’t feel obligated to stick it out with his if he isn’t so inclined. It’s the twenty-first century, for Christ’s sake. A few first words scribbled on his wrist hardly deserve precedence over his otherwise autonomous life.
But, opinions on soulmates notwithstanding, he isn’t so cruel as to allow someone— a potentially meaningful someone at that— to die in front of him when it might've been within his power to prevent it. Hence the aforementioned overstrung-ness: when his soulmate knocks on death’s door, it’s more than likely Henry will be the one answering. (Does that set him in hell? His Gran would love that picture). Imminent death, Henry thinks, is the only sensible reason to approach a stranger and lead with I can’t fucking breathe.
When he was a child, his parents would cover the expletive with medical tape. It wasn’t until a curious nine-year-old Henry ripped it off and asked his teacher what fucking was that he was privy to the whole sentence. During school hours, he wears a watch with a thick band to prevent similar findings with his students.
Of course, he’s a lot of things outside of his soulmate and soulmate-related-quirks. He’s on summer break and he’s been trying new dinner recipes. He’s a homosexual, he’s an author— and, since he was nineteen— he’s a runner.
He’s recovered— as recovered as one can be from the death of their father— running is something he took with him from that time. Or, perhaps something that pulled him out of it. The thing about all-consuming grief, about not seeing the point in anything anymore, is that when you do again, it comes back a shade more beautiful. He wants to take care of his body because he has the capacity to do it; he knows first hand that not everyone shares that aptitude.
Beautiful is not always how Henry sees it when his alarm interrupts his sleep at seven a.m., but it is today. He woke up naturally to a lovely morning: bright but not blinding, cool but not chilly. He and David went for an extra mile, so now they’ve got a longer walk back to the car.
A lucky thing, too. It grants them the pleasure of seeing him. The man who’s been coming to this park on and off for about a month. He’s got warm skin— always flushed a rich red— dark eyes, and hair that can never seem to keep from falling in his face as he runs. Well, tries to run. Usually, he runs half or a quarter mile before collapsing on the grass and gasping for air. To his credit, he always gets up and starts again. It’s endearing, actually.
Henry’s not one to shame someone for trying to better themselves, it’s just… He could help him out. He’s been in the race— pardon the pun— for a long while.
So, when the man stops mere feet ahead of him, leaning over to clutch his knees and get started on his standard huffing and puffing, Henry can’t help but mention, “It’ll be easier on you if you walk during your breaks. Less lactic acid build up.”
The man shoots him an irritated look and through labored gasps says, “I can’t fucking breathe.”
Henry’s brain goes offline.
The man stands up straight and adds, “Like, thanks, and I’m too wiped out to know if you’re being genuine or a dick, but right now I couldn’t give a shit about lactic—” His eyes grow huge in realization. “Um.”
This isn’t happening. Is this happening? Could this man who he’s seen in passing for a month have been his soulmate all along? Could all his precautions, all his research on lung collapse and heart failure have been for naught? Could Henry really be matched by the universe to the most beautiful human being on the planet? Jesus Christ.
The man takes in more air, then rests his hands on his hips and lets out a disbelieving laugh. Then he’s smiling— and God, that’s just unbearable— and pushing some errant curls from his forehead and saying, “Hey, I’m Alex.”
“Henry.”
Alex nods and stays standing a few feet away, studying him. “Cool.”
Cool? Henry smiles politely. Having spent the whole of his life imagining this moment being one of panic and action, he realizes he never prepared for it to be normal. He’s too stunned to know what to do or say.
Luckily, Alex is a talker— he knows this because he’s seen him make small talk with old people and their dogs on several occasions. Usually on one of his many breaks. His chattiness doesn’t fail them now. “So, do you usually go to the park and tell strangers how to exercise, or should I feel special?”
There’s no bite in it, and Henry returns the jab in kind. “Most strangers fare better on their own than you seem to do.”
Alex laughs. “God, you are an asshole. Don’t think I haven’t seen you running 5Ks here every fucking morning.”
At this, Henry’s a little embarrassed. Alex has noticed him before, and been impressed with what he saw, by the sound of it. He feels the need to mention, “You’ve improved quite a lot over the last month.” It’s true. He’s noticed the frequency of Alex’s breaks diminishing. “I’ve been running for about six years, and probably haven’t improved for the last five.”
“Was that an attempt at modesty? It needs some work, man.”
Henry smiles. Alex is probably right. “Forgive me, I’m… Rather caught off guard.”
Alex looks serious at that. Focused and intentional, like he means to soak up every word Henry has for him. About him.
David is trying to get his attention, knocking his head into Henry’s legs. Ignoring him, he admits, “This isn’t how I imagined this going.”
“Fuck, me too. Neither. Whatever. I still can’t breathe, or think. Jesus Christ. Actually, I thought we’d be coworkers or something.” At Henry’s— bewildered, he imagines— expression, he says, “Wait, you know we’re soulmates, right? Like, you know that’s what's going on right now? Because—” he lifts his wrist and waves it through the air— “that is what’s going on right now.”
“Yes, of course. It’s only— sorry, could you repeat what I said to you? To walk instead of sit? Why would that make you think we’d be coworkers?”
Alex holds his wrist up to Henry and recites behind it, “It’ll be easier on you if you walk during your breaks. Less lactic acid build up.” Huh. Odd thing to have written on your skin, that. “I figured we’d work in the same building and you’d give me shit for eating my lunch sitting down or something. I considered other options, too, obviously. And I know, like, way too much about lactic acid.”
Henry grins. “I know way too much about suffocation.”
“What?” Alex asks on a laugh.
Henry takes his turn extending his wrist, where the words I can’t fucking breathe are written in someone’s— Alex’s, he now knows— slanted handwriting. “I’ve usually imagined this moment involving an ambulance, or abdominal thrusts. Certainly not it being this, well, normal.” And, because it now appears ridiculous, he adds, “I’ve been carrying an inhaler everywhere with me since I was fourteen.”
Alex looks surprised, and he’s back to studying Henry. Looking at him like he thinks that’s sweet. “I’d be happy to choke on something for you, Sweetheart.”
So, after all the years of preparation, it’s Henry who ends up choking— on air, or his own saliva, or just that bloody suggestion, he has no idea.
It’s not such a disagreeable trade, though. Especially since he gets to see Alex’s confidence slip, gets to see him sputter and go a little sheepish. “I, uh— that wasn’t, like, innuendo. I mean, it could be, if you want. I mean, no, we met three minutes ago. You’re just really hot. Sorry. Are you into guys?”
About a third of soulmates are platonic. Henry figured he’d want to start that way, then see where it went. Standing across from Alex, while he tries to explain off propositioning Henry within moments of meeting him, Henry is not interested in platonic. He’ll dwell on Alex calling him hot later. “Very much so. You?”
It’s obvious Alex is pleased to hear that. After blatantly looking Henry up and down, he echos him with a cheeky smile, “Very much so.”
David— who’s given up on gaining Henry’s attention— changes course, then, approaching Alex and sniffing his leg. Alex crouches and scratches behind his ears. “Hey, Buddy. What’s your name?”
Usually, Henry finds addressing these kinds of questions to animals asinine, but it seems everything’s endearing on Alex. Christ. “It’s David.” When Alex looks up at him— and no, Henry’s not thinking about his fucking eyelashes or the way he looks on his knees— he’s laughing again. He seems to do a lot of that.
Naming a dog David, Henry’s informed as they begin to make their way towards the car park, is utterly ludicrous. They learn a bit more about each other. Alex is a law clerk from Texas. Henry is a first grade teacher from London. Alex speaks Spanish and Portuguese. He speaks highly of his sister.
He says, “This is me,” as they approach a silver car. “Are you busy today? I’m off all weekend. I’m also off now.”
“I’m not busy,” Henry says. “Over the weekend or now.”
“Cool. Do you wanna…” He trails off.
Henry thinks he knows what Alex is getting at. “I would love to go on a date with you, Alex.”
Looking relieved, Alex pulls his phone from his pocket and gets Henry’s number in his phone. “Okay,” Alex says. “I’d really like to shower. And see what you look like when I’m wearing contacts. Do you want to get breakfast in, what, like an hour? Does that work?”
Henry would love to get breakfast in an hour. He says as much, and they part ways.
He doesn’t listen to music in the car— doesn’t even realize he’s driving in silence. He’s still reeling when he steps into the shower and when he steps out, when he tries on three different outfits, when he’s fussier about his hair than normal.
Alex texts him a link to a cafe near his flat. He’s been there a couple of times. It’s a short walk, and he’s got time to spare— even with the inordinate amount of ado over his appearance— so he sets off on foot.
He runs into Alex on his way there. Over breakfast, they get to know each other a bit more. After each of them admit to wanting to see where this goes, they agree to take things at a reasonable pace. And proceed to talk for the next five hours. Pez calls and asks if he’d stop by the shelter, and he actually wants to, so he agrees. For all his flippant attitudes towards soulmates, it’s probably best that he and Alex treat this seriously. It doesn’t stop him from answering the phone that night, from talking until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open.
They meet at the park the next day. Henry’s convinced Alex his endurance will improve if he’s got a running mate.
At the first half mile, Alex is breathing like he’s gone deep sea diving without any scuba gear. It’s when he announces, “We’re taking a break.”
Who— or what— ever is in charge of this soulmate business is really onto something. Alex— a stranger to him yesterday— looks as though he’s ten steps away from a heart attack. Henry doesn’t think he’s ever been more enamored with a person in his life.
“Fuck you,” Alex says between pants, “for not even breaking a sweat yet. What the hell?”
Henry reaches into his pocket and tosses his inhaler— that’ll be a hard habit to break— at Alex, who catches it and rolls his eyes before throwing it back.
“Try mouth-to-mouth next time.”
The mouth-to-mouth joke is one he can count on hearing at least half the time someone sees the words on his wrist. And they’ve not kissed yet. For no reason other than that it’s only been a day. But they will. Immediately after Alex catches his breath, probably. If he keeps looking at Henry the way he’s looking right now. Also, mouth-to-mouth hasn’t been standard practice for nearly three decades. “Don’t goad me,” he says, instead of saying any of that. “I’ll increase our pace.”
But now, all he’s thinking about is kissing Alex. Not if one of them is going to drop dead, not if the feelings he has for him are some sort of cosmic manipulation, just… Alex.
For someone who’s dedicated so much of his life to worrying about this someone— about Alex— not breathing, it’s terribly easy to imagine all the ways he wants to take his breath away.
So after, when they’re done with their mile and Alex is done gasping for air, Henry pushes him against a tree and does exactly that.