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Henry and Bea have a system. When one of them needs to disappear for a bit, the other will cover for them as best as possible. It’s a system that works well, for when Henry has depressive episodes, when Bea struggles with avoiding a relapse. One of them shoots the other a text, and they come up with as many excuses as they need.
Henry hasn’t had an episode in months. So when he wakes up with a heavy weight settled in his chest, the first thing he wants to do is panic. He’s not supposed to be feeling like this, he’s supposed to be getting better, so why is the familiar weight back?
He tries to get out of bed and finds that he can’t. He mashes his face into the pillow and remains there for a long time. His phone is buzzing on his nightstand but he can’t get his arm out from under the blanket to pick it up. He’s got at least six things to do today and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to do any of them.
Eventually, the persistent buzzing of the phone stops, and there’s a knock on his door. He makes some vague noise to signify that he’s still alive, if not functioning. The door opens slowly, quietly, and someone sits on the bed near his legs. There’s a small hand on his back, and he knows that Bea’s found him.
“Hey,” she says softly. He picks his face up out of the pillow to look at her; she’s fully dressed for whatever press thing they’re supposed to be on their way to by now. “You okay?”
“No,” he croaks out, and he cringes at what his voice sounds like. His limbs are leaden, his heart is heavy, his very core is rooted to this bed and he can’t get up.
“Okay,” Bea says, and reaches out to smooth back some of his hair. “Do you want me to call everything off and stay here?”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” he says. “Everyone will already be disappointed in me, no need for them to be disappointed in you, too.”
“Oh, Henry,” Bea says. “No one’s disappointed in you.”
“Gran is.”
“Gran can suck a fat one,” Bea says firmly, and Henry lets out a laugh. It hurts his chest. He closes his eyes again. “I’ll call Alex and I’ll cover for you as long as you need, okay?”
“Okay,” Henry says. “Thank you.”
“Take it easy,” she recommends gently. She presses a kiss to his forehead before she leaves, closing the door behind her. Henry lays there for a long time, staring at the wall. His phone rings one, Philip’s ringtone, and he ignores it. He doesn’t think he could pick it up even if he wanted to. The last thing he wants right now is a lecture from his older brother.
He doesn’t know how long he lays there. He manages to roll over a few times, but he can’t manage to get out of bed. The sun behind the curtains gets brighter, then dimmer, and time marches forward, and Henry can’t get this fucking weight off of his chest.
Eventually, there’s another knock on the door. Henry makes that vague noise in his throat again, in case Bea’s come back to check on him. She’ll know it means she can come in. The door opens, and instead of Bea sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress dips as someone crawls under the blankets on the other side. A firm arm wraps around Henry’s waist and there are lips on his shoulder blade, and Henry knows these arms and relaxes into them instantly.
“Hey, darling,” he manages to get out. His voice is even worse than this morning.
“Hey, baby,” Alex replies. “Bea called.”
Henry rolls over in his boyfriend’s grip, looks Alex in the eyes. He looks worried, brows furrowed slightly, eyes soft. Henry tries to smile, but he can feel his eyes welling up with tears. Alex reaches his hand up to wipe them away.
“I’m sorry,” Henry says eventually. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” Alex says firmly.
“I know,” Henry says. “I just- I’m supposed to be getting better. I thought that I was getting better.”
“You are,” Alex replies. “You are getting better. Recovery isn’t linear, baby, just because you have a setback doesn’t mean you’re not making progress.”
Henry attempts a smile and a nod, and he just ends up crying again. Alex holds him closer, lets him cry against his chest. Because he’s right, of course, it’s a road of recovery, not a road to recovery. But sometimes he still just feels like it’s all inevitable. Like this emptiness will never leave him.
He voices this to Alex. Alex presses his lips to Henry’s forehead and murmurs sweet encouragements and promises that he can’t possibly keep, but when he says them Henry believes him. Henry believes that Alex is right, that everything will keep getting better even when it seems like it’s getting worse. Henry believes that Alex will be with him every step of the way.
“Thank you,” he says eventually, his voice stronger, steadier. “For being here.”
“Of course,” Alex says. “I’ve got a few days off, but I can take more. As many as you need.”
“Thank you,” Henry repeats. “Having you here… it makes everything better.”
“I’m glad I can be here to help,” Alex says. “You mean everything to me, Henry. As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here.”
Henry buries his head in Alex’s neck so he doesn’t start crying again. It’s still a close thing. Alex just holds him tightly, fingers tracing up and down his back, writing nonsense words and I love you’s and everything else Henry needs to hear.
He falls asleep eventually, in Alex’s arms, where he feels safe. That heavy weight is still on his chest, but it’s a little bit lighter, and he knows that Alex is right, and that everything is going to be okay.