Archive of Our Own

Embarrassing Nora Holleran is not easy, but it is one of Alex’s favorite work hobbies. She usually gets him back twice as hard, but that moment when she turns her narrow eyed gaze on him and he all but hears game on gives him a rush like no other.

He’s learned, recently, that a couple of the older ladies in the office—namely Nadine and Alberta—have taken an interest in Nora’s love life, or lack thereof. There might be the rumblings of something starting with Alex’s sister, but that’s neither something he wants to think about, nor something Nadine and Alberta know anything about. What he does enjoy thinking about is the panicked look in Nora’s eyes every time the ladies get together to ask her about her love life. She seeks him out to save her from the conversation and most of the time he’s happy to interject.

Today, though, he’s watching in delight as a massive bouquet of roses makes its way through the office, the delivery guy carefully weaving between cubicles as he heads for Nora’s desk. Last week, Nora had revealed to the office one of his embarrassing college hook up stories that involved a thong and sitting cold and shivering in a police station while he waited to be picked up. Today—today he’s sicking Nadine and Alberta on Nora as payback.

His gaze flicks over to Nora where she’s sitting at her desk oblivious to her incoming doom, and then back to the delivery guy. Anticipation, hot and excited, bundles up in Alex’s gut as he clears the final turn of cubicles, and just as Alex is about to grin, wicked and delighted at Nora, the delivery guy makes another turns and comes to a stop at the completely wrong desk.

And then he sets the flowers down and leaves.

Alex watches him go, dumbstruck and waiting for the moment he realizes he’d fucked it all up. But he crosses all the way to the other side of the office, stands at the elevator, and then disappears behind its doors, off to ruin somebody else’s Valentines Day. Alex blinks, snapping his gaze back across the office to the offending bouquet.

Oh this is not good.

It’s not like he can go pluck the flowers off that desk and drop them on Nora’s, everyone’s eying them with intrigue, because of course they are, because the worlds worst flower delivery man has dropped the flowers on Henry motherfucking Fox’s desk. Office recluse and mildly infuriating prick Henry Fox. Blue eyed, jaw that could cut you with a look, Henry Fox.

Alex needs a plan, and fast.

Could he get Hunter to snatch the roses? He’s not afraid to look like a crazy person. But then Alex would owe Hunter a favor and no, nothings worth owing Hunter a favor.

Movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he whips around, alarm bells blaring in his head at the sight of Fox walking towards his desk, nose buried in a file. How does he tell a man who’s deigned to speak to him once in the two months he worked here that, haha, oops, those flowers aren’t for you. His gaze darts over to Nora’s desk, finds her looking at Henry’s desk with the same mild intrigue as everyone else.

Alex shoots up from his desk and darts across the room to her desk.

“Red alert,” he says, urgently as he crashes into her desk, voice a hoarse whisper. “Red fucking alert.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, opening her mouth to ask him what he’s talking about, when she turns to follow his gaze, which remains locked on the hideously large bouquet of flowers sitting almost innocently on Henry Fox’s desk. Slowly, she turns back around. “What did you do?” She asks, something pleased and surprised weaving through the words.

“They were for you,” Alex hisses.

Her eyebrows go high. “Why would you…” she trails off, eyes narrowing. “Nadine and Alberta?”

He nods solemnly. “Nadine and Alberta.”

She makes a face, almost impressed. “That would’ve been good.”

Despite himself, he flashes a grin. “Right?”

Her lips push out thoughtfully before she’s grinning as well and patting him gently on the chest. “Would have been.” She looks over her shoulder back at Henry’s desk; he’s several feet away now, still oblivious to the flowers and the dozens of eyes on him, he’s so focused on whatever’s in the file in his hands. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Was hoping you’d have an idea.”

“Babe,” she says, “Unless you make those disappear in the next ten seconds, he’s going to think someone’s sent him flowers.” Tilting her head, she adds in a barely audible mumble, “Though, flowers may not have been on my bingo card, you making a move on him certainly was.”

He’s caught staring at Henry as he comes to a stop in front of his desk, his brows furrowing at whatever he’s reading in the file; Alex doesn’t even register what Nora’s said, because in that moment, Henry’s eyes flick up over the edge of the file to his desk, then back to it, before doing a massive double take and lifting back to his desk.

He stares at the flowers for a long beat, and distantly, Alex is aware that Nora’s still talking but he can’t hear her over the pounding of his heart in his chest. Henry turns around, looks left to right—everyone but Alex is pretending not to pay attention, but Alex can’t look away not just because it feels like watching a car accident in real time but because—

Because there’s this pretty pink blush settling over Henry’s cheeks, even as he swivels around looking for the culprit that’s placed the flowers on his desk.

His pretty blue eyes are wide, and that blush is rising up over the edges of his ears, plump lips open on a confused exhale as he spins back around to look down on the ostentatious bouquet.

Alex’s mouth is suddenly so, so dry. And he’s dizzy—dizzy with; god.

God Henry’s beautiful.

And like, he knew that. Obviously. Henry Fox is a looker through and through. But he doesn’t talk to anyone, choosing to stay wrapped up in his own little world at his desk and only addressing anyone else when absolutely necessary. So, as much as Alex has peeped the occasional peek at him from his own desk, he doesn’t generally get to look.

But right now, he’s looking.

And, oh, he’s fucking awestruck as Henry reaches out with a tentative hand and delicately pets the pedal of a rose with the pad of his thumb.

He frowns, suddenly, clearing his throat as he looks up and around, “Did someone leave these here?” He asks, that accent crisp with confusion, the vowels rounding prettily on his tongue. Henry’s gaze follows the edges of the room, dipping over the eyes conspicuously turning away from him as soon as he gets to them, until finally finding Alex. He passes over him before swinging back around. “Did someone accidentally leave these here?”

And, oh, there’s Alex’s out.

Nora slaps his shoulder as if to say the same thing.

But Alex finds himself saying, “Don’t think so, sweetheart,” as he pushes away from Nora’s desk and nods towards the elevator. “Delivery guy just dropped them off. You got a secret admirer or something?”

“Or a secret lover?” Nadine supplies from her own desk, poking her head up and around the beam blocking Henry from her view, seemingly no longer able to pretend not to be incredibly interested in this surprise turn of events.

Henry huffs out a laugh, that blush along his cheekbones growing gradually darker by the moment. He tears his gaze away from Alex, glancing back down at the flowers, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the furrowing of his brow. “No secret lover, I’m afraid.”

“Secret admirer it is, then,” Alex says, digging this hole deeper. He feels Nora slap his back, grabbing at the material of his suit, before he yanks away and starts to close the distance between Henry and himself. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Henry bites down on his lower lip, shaking his head.

“Does it have a card?” Nadine asks, suddenly standing and moving around her desk, the thrill of a secret love mystery like a beacon beckoning her.

Alberta coos, leaning forward on her desk. “Oh, it must. Someone sends flowers like that, it's gotta have a card.”

Alex tenses.

Thinks about what he’d written in that little nondescript submission box on the order form.

Something seeping in romance. Drenching in mush and adoration. Catnip to Nadine and Alberta. Optimum embarrassment for Nora.

Shit.

Henry carefully spins the bouquet around and nods, fingers reaching for the pink card sitting atop it.

“Uh,” Alex says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Maybe we let Henry have some secrecy.”

Nadine scoffs. “Dear,” she says, “You can’t have flowers like that delivered and not expect everyone to want to hear what it says. That’s just—”

“Preposterous,” Alberta supplies.

Nadine snaps. “Yes! Exactly. Preposterous. Come on, dear. Let’s hear what your secret admirer has to say.”

Henry’s nimble fingers pluck the card from the bouquet, his free hand setting the file on the table beside it as he flips the card open and reads it over. Alex is tempted to close his eyes to save himself from the sight of it, but he can’t make himself look away; follows the path of Henry’s eyes flicking over the words on the card. Watches them read all the way through, before snapping back to the beginning to read it again.

“Well?” Nadine, rather impatiently, asks.

Henry’s free hand clenches at his side. “Hello beautiful,” He reads, his voice cracking, “I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through today without at least an ounce of understanding of how incredible you are. These flowers may seem like a gift, but the look on your face when you get them will be the real gift. Happy Valentine's Day.” His mouth hangs open as he finishes the final line, before he clears his throat and adds, “XO, your secret admirer.”

He’d considered signing it with his initial, but Nadine and Alberta—

“Oh, we simply must find out who the lucky girl is.”

Henry’s eyes widen; Alex tilts his head at him.

“Oh, she’s so brave,” Alberta sighs. “If I had the guts to do that, I’d have married my husband five years earlier.” She and Nadine laugh.

“Um,” Henry says, reaching up to scratch at his temple. “I should hope it’s not a woman,” there’s a tinge of apology lining the words as his eyes dance around the room, as if meeting the eyes of each woman individually to gauge their guilt. “As I am gay. Very, uh. Gay.” He nods, once, as if to emphasize the point.

And Alex, well.

He absolutely doesn’t tuck that information in a secret compartment in his chest to be pulled out and carefully dissected later, when he’s alone.

As for the rest of the office, Alex is so distracted not being distracted by that information, that he entirely misses whatever Nadine and Alberta say in response, and in between one blistering moment of watching the curious flutter of Henry’s eyelashes and the next, Henry’s turning away to move behind his desk, and everyone else has lost interest in the whole thing entirely, leaving Alex the lone man standing in the walkway, staring at the place Henry had been standing.

Nora grabs a fistful of his suit jacket and drags him backwards towards her desk, and when he turns to face her, gives him the patented what the fuck was that? look.

“What?”

Her eyebrows go high. “What?” She asks. “You’re really going to play that game?”

“No harm, no foul,” he says, taking a step back from her desk. “Who doesn’t want flowers on Valentine’s day? By tomorrow everyone’ll forget all about it.” He flashes her a confident grin before offering a lackadaisical salute and turning to head back to his own desk.

He has to slip past Henry’s desk, and as he does, his gaze catches on those flowers; caught like a fly in a trap, as he walks past, craning his neck to flip his gaze up and look at Henry—Henry, whose eyes are locked on those roses, the faintest of smiles curling the corners of his lips. He doesn’t even see Alex staring.

That blush has yet to fade.

And the roses are beautiful, don’t get Alex wrong, he’d shelled out the big bucks for this; they’re stunning.

But, it’s not the bouquet that has Alex’s breath catching in his throat.

That’s entirely the fault of bright blue eyes, supple pink cheeks, and the plushest, softest looking lips parted in wonder.

Two days later, the roses are still sitting on Henry’s desk innocently beautiful as the edges of the petals start to dry out and crack. Alex is sitting at his desk staring at them when Nadine appears, pressing her hip into the edge of the desk, a cup of coffee clutched in hands painted with red nail polish. Her wedding ring clinks against the side of the cup, and Alex tears his gaze away from the flowers to look up at her.

“Nadine,” he says, all charm, grinning brightly at her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who do ya reckon it is?” She asks.

“Who what is?”

She looks over her shoulders at Henry’s desk and twists back around, raising her eyebrows. “Alberta’s got this crazy notion that it’s Jim down in the mail room, but I don’t think so. He doesn’t strike me as the romantic type.” She tilts her head to the side, pursing her lips. “Though, I’m pretty sure he’s gay. Which fits the bill.”

“Nadine,” Alex says, “What did we say about making guesses about people's sexuality?”

She rolls her eyes, “Not to. But, I’m not guessing—”

“Did he outright tell you he’s gay?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Nadine.”

She sighs, long and annoyed. “You’re right, you’re right, dear. That Henry, he’s just so sweet. And I think he might be lonely. Whoever his secret admirer is, they oughta just come on out with it.” She looks at him pointedly, raising her eyebrows, and he knows where she’s going with this before she even has to open her mouth again.

“It wasn’t me,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “So you can stop looking at me like that.”

“Are you sure?” He crosses his arms and gives her a look, and she matches him for a beat, holding his stare, before, finally, her shoulders slump. “You really don’t know?”

“Haven’t got the slightest idea.”

“Alberta wants to start an office pool,” She says.

Alex shakes his head. “Y’all have got to stop betting on people's personal lives.”

“I told her the same thing—”

“Did you?”

“Well, I thought it.”

He sighs, turning back to his computer. “I have to get back to work, Nadine.”

“Right, of course. If you hear something, just holler, okay, dear?”

He nods without turning away from the monitor, “You got it, Nadine.”

As Nadine pushes away from her desk, off to try and pry information out of her next victim, Alex watches over his monitor as Henry finally returns from his meeting and sits at his desk. Alex keeps thinking this’ll be the time Henry doesn’t do it, but as soon as he’s in the chair, his gaze falls to the flowers, and that soft, fleeting smile settles over his lips, as he reaches up and caresses one of those dwindling roses.

This might not have been the plan, the Henry of it all, but Alex would gladly face Nadine’s prying for a thousand hours, if it meant seeing that little smile.

It’s the most Alex has gotten out of him, in terms of learning anything about him.

It makes him want to learn so much more.

The door to the copy room opens with a soft swish.

Alex takes a deep, steadying breath, and resolutely does not slam his fist down on the copier as it yet again refuses to spit out the copies he told it to. He jabs his finger on the screen again, pointedly pressing the copy button for what feels like the millionth time; it makes a loud beep, which he takes as printer for fuck you.

“Perhaps,” A smooth voice says from behind him, “it’s out of paper?”

Alex huffs, resisting the urge to kick the damn machine. “I already checked that.”

“Ah,” Henry moves up next to him, clearing his throat as he reaches out between them. “May I?”

Alex takes a step back, waving his arms. “Be my guest.”

Henry smiles softly; nothing like that smile reserved for the flowers. No, this is reserved; polite. Patient. Alex doesn’t like it. It feels too impersonal. “Perhaps it’s the ink cartridge.”

“What are you,” Alex quips, as Henry kneels in front of the copier and pulls at the panel on the side. “The printer whisperer?”

Henry chuckles. “No,” he says, the panel clanking as it falls open. He yanks at the cartridge, but it doesn’t budge. “Merely optimistic.”

“Oh, right,” Alex says, dropping to kneel next to him. “Brave front so it knows you’re not scared.” Henry huffs out a puff of air through his nose, and through the fog of his frustration, Alex’s has enough sense to feel a little zing of pride at having got at least a partial laugh. His eyes fall to the long fingers trying to pry the cartridge out of the printer. “Should you—“

“—I’ve almost—“

In between one disorienting moment and the next, Alex goes from staring at the softest looking hands he’s ever seen in his life, to blinking through a cloud of black powder. The pair of them don’t make a sound as the cloud settles, slowly turning to look at one another in disbelief.

“Oh my Christ,” Henry whispers, dropping his chin to look down at himself. Alex follows his gaze, to the big black splatter all over the front of his shirt and tie. He watches as Henry rises to his feet, arms held out in front of him, before turning his gaze down on himself and finding the front of his shirt in a similar state.

The fucking printer inked all over them.

He stands as well, shaking his arms out and watching in horror as a plume of powdered black ink rains down from his forearms and flutters to the ground between them.

“Oh,” he says, softly, turning to look at Henry as if he might be marginally less speechless than Alex is in the moment.

Instead he finds Henry carefully shrugging out of his suit jacket. He folds it over the back of the chair by the table, and then reaches for his tie and bodily yanks the loop through before draping it over his jacket. With the kind of finesse Alex can only dream of, his hands go to the top button of his blacked out white shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“We don’t know if it’s toxic,” Henry says, unbuttoning his shirt with lithe fingers. Alex’s eyes catch on the movement of the digits, almost hypnotized by the ease with which they slip the button from its catch. He swallows, reaching up to tug at the neckline of his own shirt.

“I doubt it’s toxic,” he says once Henry’s three buttons deep; the edges of his sharp collar bones jutting out past the sloping fabric.

“Regardless,” Henry breathes, fingers slipping down to the next button as his eyes meet Alex’s. “I hardly believe we’re meant to be breathing it in.”

“But we should be getting undressed in the copy room?”

Henry rolls his eyes as he reaches for the button above his navel. “As you can see,” he says slipping that button loose and reaching down to pull the bottom of his shirt free from his slacks. “I’m wearing an undershirt.”

And yet, when Henry’s shirt comes free from his pants and he reaches up to pull his arms free, too—there’s nothing more obscene than the cling of that undershirt on his abdomen. Alex tries not to stare; forces himself to drag his gaze up over the cling of the shirt on the small of his abdomen, over the slope of his chest, along the sharp jut of that collarbone, over the diamond jawline, past the plush lips, and up to those blue, blue eyes.

Henry’s oblivious, carefully pulling the shirt off his shoulders and staring down at it once it’s in his hands. “I did quite like this shirt.”

He’s pouting, his lower lip jutted out, eyebrows furrowed tight.

And it’s.

He’s fucking adorable.

Alex can’t help but laugh, and Henry’s eyes dart up to meet him, startled, before his gaze drops to the front of Alex’s shirt, and then he’s laughing, too and they’re just standing in a pile of powdered ink in the copy room, Henry half undressed and Alex delirious with the cut of his fucking collarbones, the two of them laughing at quite possibly the most ridiculous thing to happen in this office since Margaret hired a clown for Dawn’s retirement party last fall.

“You look like you got in a fight with a squid and lost,” Henry says through his laughter, bringing the back of his wrist up to his mouth and holding it there.

“Who’s fault is that?” Alex laughs, voice pitching high.

Henry bares his teeth. “I suppose I should accept blame for this whole mess, but in my defense, I was only trying to help.”

“Oh, sure.”

He bobs his head, “You looked like an angry, lost lamb. Someone had to come to your rescue.”

“And you call this a rescue?”

The apples of Henry’s cheeks flush as they rise with a bright, gummy smile. Alex resolutely does not swoon. “Well,” he says. “Perhaps not.”

Alex rolls his lips with a shake of his head. His eyes flicker over Henry’s face, catching on a smudge of black on his chin. He reaches up and taps his own, “You’ve got a little . . .” Henry’s eyebrows rise and he reaches up, blindly wiping at his chin, and Alex shakes his head, stepping in and carefully knocking his hands away to swipe the ink away with his thumb. Henry exhales slowly, his breath blowing over Alex’s knuckles, and Alex quickly drops his hand, nodding. “All gone.”

Henry swallows, nods. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They smile awkwardly at each other, and Alex mentally berates himself for making things awkward, when the door to the copy room slicks open and there’s a startled gasp. They both turn towards it, and Alex can’t be sure, but he’s almost certain Henry flinches just as hard as he does when he realizes it’s Alberta standing at the door, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Well,” She says on a gasp, holding a hand to her chest. “What on earth happened here?”

“Printer blew up,” Alex says.

“Haven’t the foggiest how,” Henry adds.

Alex’s eyebrow quirks up, and he tosses a sidelong look in his direction, before shaking his head with a small smile. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Just, one second we’re trying to print, the next, poof.”

Alberta nods slowly, looking back and forth between the two of them. “And Henry’s shirt just . . . fell off in the blast?”

“Nah,” Alex waves a hand, “His British sensibilities told him the ink is toxic and he took it off in a panic.”

Henry huffs, “I wouldn’t say—”

“Oh, Henry, dear,” Alberta coos, stepping into the room and waving the stack of papers in her hand in his direction. “I don’t know what they put in the ink back in England, but it’s all perfectly safe here.”

Alex grins brightly as Henry smiles tightly at her. “Yeah, Henry. What the hell’s going on in England?”

Henry blinks at him.

“On that note,” Alex adds, “I need to go change. I think my snot’s gonna be black for the next year.”

“Alex,” Alberta chides. “You don’t talk about bodily fluids in the work place.”

“My bad, Alberta.”

She smiles good naturedly at him, and then waves him off with that stack of papers in her hand. “You go on, then. Henry and I will clean this mess up.”

Henry blinks. “We will?”

“Of course we will, dear.”

Alex bites his tongue when Henry sends a disbelieving look his way, before throwing up a mock salute and getting the hell out of dodge before anyone else pops in to see the mess they’d made of themselves.

After that, every time they pass each other in the hall, or between desks, or stand side by side in the elevator, Henry gives him this secretive little smirk. Like they have something just for them. Word gets around about what happened, obviously—Alberta’s even less likely to keep anything to herself than Nadine—and Alex finds an instruction manual for the copier on his desk; Henry finds a tie on his. They happen to reach their desks at the same time; to see the little gifts their coworkers have left them at the same time, and their eyes meet across the office.

The corners of Henry’s mouth pinch with a smile as he holds up the tie and shakes his head. Alex flashes him his brightest grin, holding up the hundred page manual for him to see. Neither of them say anything; it’s like an unspoken agreement. The copy room made them friends. It doesn’t need to be discussed. It just is.

Alex tries not to think about how he can see Henry sliding into his life with ease.

And the thing is; he’s right. They find each other in the coffee room at the same time; entering and exiting the conference room. Darting around each other in the halls. Always with a smile, some small talk.

Alex even leans his hip against the edge of Henry’s desk one day to make conversation; learns that the sweet beagle in the photo on Henry’s desk’s name is David; that Earl Grey is his go to over coffee, but the office never stocks it, so, coffee it is; he’s from London; is a distant, distant relative of some duchess; and his eyes are like sea glass when you look directly into them.

A couple days later, he learns the scope of Henry’s surprise, too. He’s casually leaning against the counter in the breakroom one day, when Henry enters, and, as he’s reaching for his mug by the sink, spots the box of Earl Grey sitting by the box of communal hot cocoa.

He asks Alex about it, but Alex just shrugs at him, sips his coffee, and says, “I don’t know, man. It says your name, though.”

Henry’s gaze is soft, watching Alex for a moment, before he huffs out a breath. “Well,” he says, “Whoever did it, I thank them.”

Alex hums thoughtfully, before turning and leaving the break room without another word.

The next day, there’s a bottle of Alex’s favorite creamer sitting front and center in the fridge, his name scrawled across the front of it in elegant cursive.

Neither of them bring it up. Not when Alex pulls it from the fridge, and not while Henry’s brewing his Earl Grey.

Two weeks after that, Nadine says something that sends Alex spiraling, and the thing is, she doesn’t even say it to him.

She’s across the office, and Alex is knee deep in legal briefs and shouldn’t even be paying anyone else any mind, but when she says, “Oh, shame. Looks like those poor roses are on their final leg,” his eyes snap away from the document in front of him and slam across the room to catch the look on Henry’s face.

He gives her a small smile, reaching out to touch the edges of a brown petal. “I know,” he says. “They’re just too beautiful to throw away.”

“Aw,” Nadine coos. “You ever figure out who sent them to you?”

Henry shakes his head, eyes locked on the decayed roses. “No,” he says, softly.

“Don't you worry, dear,” She says, patting his shoulder. “You’re a good looking man. You’ll get yourself a handsome suitor worthy of you.”

Alex watches the pained smile twitch the corners of Henry’s lips, before it evens out and he gives Nadina a closed lip smile that hides anything he might actually be thinking. “Thank you, Nadine.”

“Any time.” She snaps a finger, “Oh! Yaknow—Has anyone introduced you to Jim in the mail room?”

Alex goes back to work, then, thoughts of flowers and secret smiles lancing through any real work related thoughts he might have.

And later, when Henry stands up from his desk, dragging Alex’s attention away from his monitor to admire his lean profile, he watches as Henry smiles sadly down at the bouquet, before carefully pulling one spindly stem free from the others, setting it astride his keyboard. His finger strokes down the fragile length of the stem, before he heaves a big breath, and picks up the rest of the bouquet.

He stares down at it for a long moment, shaking his head and gently tossing it in the trash can beside his desk.

And, if Alex thought it’d been hard to get back to work before, well, that’s nothing in comparison to the way his eyes keep trailing back to the trash can. To the rose casually laying atop Henry’s desk like a prize of some sort.

He can’t focus.

All he can think about is the sad look on Henry’s face as he tossed the flowers. A harsh contrast to the weeks of secretive smiles Alex stole glances of.

In fact, it takes up so much of his focus he’s still thinking about it when he gets home.

Still thinking about when he sits on his couch and pulls his laptop into his lap.

Still thinking about it when he googles local flower shops for the second time in a month.

Still thinking about it when he picks a bouquet of daisies in varying colors.

He doesn't, however, think about the low balance alert that hits his email when he clicks place order. No, by then, all he’s thinking about is that little smile returning to Henry’s face when he sees them.

He almost misses it.

His meeting after lunch runs late, and he’s about to throw a stapler at Hunter’s smug fucking head when he storms down the hallway back to his desk. Hell, he’s almost completely forgotten it’s happening until he sees the back of the head of the worlds worst flower delivery guy standing in front of Henry’s desk.

Henry’s staring at him wide eyed, his hands up in front of him.

“You must have the wrong person,” He says.

The delivery guy sets the flowers down anyway. “Don’t care, man,” he says. “There’s a card. I got other deliveries to make.” And then he nods, turns on his heel, and makes his way back across the office towards the elevator.

Alex stands in front of his own desk, his clenched fists slowly loosening as he takes in the surprise on Henry’s face.

“Secret admirer strikes again?”

Henry’s gaze jerks up to him. “Huh?”

Alex steps closer to his desk, nodding to the flowers. “The flowers. Who’s it say they’re from?”

Henry’s mouth opens and closes a couple times, before he drops his gaze back down to the bouquet of daisies. Alex closes the distance between himself and Henry’s desk as Henry plucks the card from the bouquet.

He’d spent a long time thinking about what to write.

Your smile lights up my day. xo your secret admirer

Henry reads over it, that soft pink flush slowly working its way over his cheeks and ears. He glances up over the top of the card, gaze dancing around the office before finally settling on Alex. There’s something questioning behind them, like he wants to ask but can’t make himself do it. “It’s nothing,” he says.

Alex rolls his eyes, “Come on, Hen.”

“I’d—rather like to not make a spectacle of it this time,” Henry replies, soft, as his eyes dart over to Nadine and Alberta who are leaning over Nadine’s desk whispering about something.

Alex follows his gaze, tripping back around with a nod. “Fair enough,” he says. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He turns to step away.

“Alex—“ Henry starts, but when Alex turns back to look at him, he snaps his mouth shut. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

The daisies don’t last as long as the roses.

Henry’s gaze is soft on them every day, appreciative and gleaming, and after a week, when they’ve finally reached their full potential, he pulls one stem free, carefully setting the rest in the bin. His pinky grazes it every now and again where it’s sitting beside his keyboard.

And when he leaves at the end of the day, he takes that single stem home with him.

Alex is the last one in the office when he pulls the flower shop’s website up on his computer. He browses through the most popular arrangements. Decides to go for something different this time, settling on an orchid; blue like Henry’s eyes.

Orders it without putting much thought into it.

And then, he grabs his bag and heads home, too.

When Alex comes out of his nine am meeting, Henry’s sitting at his desk staring at a vibrant orchid sitting at the center of his desk. He approaches carefully, ducking his chin. “Another one?”

Henry’s head jerks to him, as if he’s surprised to see him standing there. “Huh?” He shakes his head, rapidly blinking away water brimming along his lash line. “Oh—yes, I suppose so.”

“Is everything okay?”

Henry purses his lips, eyebrows furrowing as if he has to think over his answer. “Orchids,” he eventually says, the word sitting between them for a beat, before Henry’s eyes come back up to meet him as he shrugs, “Were my fathers favorite flower.” He swallows, dropping that gaze back down to the orchid, “They were the flower of choice for his funeral.”

Fuck.

“Oh.”

Henry reaches up and flicks at the corner of his eye, smiling shakily. “I suppose it just took me back there for a moment.”

“Wow,” Alex manages after a moment, feeling like the shittiest shitbag to walk the land of shitbags. “That was a dick move by your secret admirer.”

Henry shakes his head. “No,” he says, softly. “I—it wasn’t their intention, whoever they are. But it was nice, being reminded of him. Just, a tad emotional, I suppose.”

Alex reaches out, hesitating for only a moment, before gently cupping Henry’s shoulder and squeezing. “You’re all right, then?”

He nods. “I’ll be okay.”

Alex looks him over for a moment. “Get lunch with me,” he finds himself saying. “I forgot mine, and I was going to go down to the deli down the street. You could . . . tell me about your dad. If you want to.”

Henry’s eyebrows go high. “You’d want that?”

“We’re friends,” Alex says, smiling. “Why wouldn’t I want that?”

There’s a moment, then, where they’re just looking at each other—Henry’s eyes flickering back and forth between Alex, before he says, sounding slightly awed, “Friends, right. I suppose we are, aren’t we?”

“I better not be detecting doubt in there, Fox. We’re trauma bonded. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

He cracks a smile. “Trauma bonded?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Surely, you’re not talking about—”

“We were attacked. The first casualties of the printer wars. They’re coming for us. We have to stick together.”

Henry rolls his eyes, shrugging out Alex’s grip. “Alright,” he says, waving a hand, “We can do lunch if you’ll stop talking about bloody printer wars.”

Lunch goes long.

They sit at the little table outside Alex’s favorite deli, their sandwiches remain untouched for most of the lunch; eventually getting wrapped back up and shoved in the fridge at the office. They spend so much time talking, they very nearly don’t make it back for the two o’clock meeting with the partners, barely eeping it in to their seats across from each other in the conference room before the partners walk in.

Henry spends the meeting with his nose buried in the file, keeping up with what the partners say.

Alex spends the meeting ruminating over everything they’d discussed. Likes, dislikes, family. Henry’s father; his mother. His batshit grandmother.

There’s so much to him. Alex knew there was depth swimming in his gaze, but he hadn’t realized just how deep it goes. Like he could explore the very deepest trenches of him and there’d still be even more to discover.

He’s beautiful, kind, intuitive. Endlessly witty and a total smart ass.

Alex pulls his phone out beneath the table, carefully browses through arrangements while the partners rattle off expectations for the next big case. He’s nearly gone through their entire array when he pauses over a pretty pink arrangement towards the bottom of the page. He glances up, to make sure nobodies watching him, and then clicks into it.

Pink lilies.

The exact shade of Henry’s blush.

He swallows and adds the flowers to his cart, paying no mind to the cost, though his bank account is probably screaming obscenities at him as he fills out the order form. He hesitates on the message box, before dutifully typing out, these made me think of you. Some day I’ll tell you why. xo.

And then he sets the delivery for tomorrow, and tunes back into the meeting, setting his phone down on the table.

Unlike the other flowers, the orchid doesn’t remain on Henry’s desk at the end of the day. Alex watches as he carefully cradles it in his arm, and carries it out with him, like it’s something deeply precious.

Alex is called away to a consultation with Nora, and entirely misses him receiving the lilies. Doesn’t get to see if the shade is an exact match, but is pleased to see them sitting right by his monitor, nonetheless.

Even more pleased, when Henry looks up as he rounds his desk, and smiles at him.

“How’d it go?”

Long gone are the days of quiet acquaintanceship.

He drops his briefcase on his desk and walks across the room to Henry’s desk. “Looks like we might be able to help them. There’re a few more hurdles to jump, but it looks like a clear cut case.” He drops his chin, nodding to the flowers. “I see you got a new delivery.”

Ah, there’s the flush.

He bites down on his lip to avoid smiling as it spreads over Henry’s cheeks.

“Yes, well.” Henry shakes his head, gaze flicking over to the flowers. “Somebody's certainly out to spoil me.”

“They leaving any hints as to who they are?”

He shakes his head again, looking up at Alex from beneath his lashes. “Nothing quantifiable.”

“Who’re you thinking it is?”

Cracking a smile, Henry leans back in his chair. “Nadine’s convinced it’s Jim from the mailroom. Nevermind the fact he’s old enough to be my father.”

“And what about you?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve my guesses. A couple hopes. Nothing concrete.”

“Care to share with the class?”

Henry watches him for a beat, before smiling crookedly. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“Nope, we came straight back from the consult. Why, you got an idea?”

He pushes his chair back and stands, grabbing his jacket off the back of it. “As a matter of fact,” he says. “I do. Come along.”

Alex follows after him. “Come along?” He echoes. “What am I, a dog?”

Henry huffs a laugh. “I assure you,” he says, turning to look over his shoulder at Alex. “David is much better trained.”

A slow grin works its way across Alex’s lips as Henry turns back around and leads them towards the elevator. “Is that so?”

This is another thing he likes about talking with Henry. The banter. He’s just so easy.

Fuck, he likes him so much.

The pattern continues for several weeks. Alex and Henry go to lunch at one of the spots nearby, spend the whole hour talking, walk side by side on the way back, laughter in their throats as the elevator doors slide open and deposit them back on their floor. Half eaten lunches get shoved in the fridge and taken home to be finished for dinner.

Alex’s bank accounts begs and pleads for him to stop buying flowers, but he doesn’t.

It’s carnations, then tulips, peonies. Every week a new arrangement. Every week a new little smile. Fleeting glances across the office.

There’s a betting pool—not that anyone’s hiding it. Nadine’s brought it up half a dozen times to Alex, asking who he thinks it is and if he wants in. He’s seen the list on Alberta’s desk, names and guesses and who’d guessed the names. Alex tries not to be annoyed that Nora put in $50 for Alex, as if she weren’t in on it. It’s insider trading, is what it is.

It’s good, though.

He gets to see the smile on Henry’s lips—the way he watches for the delivery man on Mondays. He tries to pretend he isn’t looking, but Alex is watching him, and he catches those fleeting glances towards the elevator doors. The hopeful expectation in his eyes.

They’d talked about it at lunch one day. Alex had been snooping, desperately curious for some kind of insight into how Henry felt about the whole thing.

He’d smiled into his tea, shaking his head. “I don’t hate it.” When Alex pressed for more, he shrugged. “There’s somebody out there who just wants to make me smile. No expectations. They just—they care that I’ve got a reason to smile. Who could hate that?”

And, well, that’s all Alex needed, isn’t it?

“Though—their poor wallet. If I had any say in it, I’d tell them to save their money. We’re human rights attorneys, not bloody defense attorneys. I sincerely doubt this isn’t breaking their bank.”

Alex had shrugged. “Maybe they think you’re worth it.”

For a moment he’d worried that he’d given too much away, as Henry had stared at him for a long moment, before softly saying, “Maybe.”

It’s Sunday when they’re all stuck in the office late trying to finalize the details on a massive case. Takeout containers sit on their desks, long gone cold, and Alex’s almost delirious with exhaustion. Henry’s wandered off to the copy room, and everyone else is either in the conference room digging through old case files seeking precedent they can claim, or is downstairs.

Quietly, Alex types in the site for his favorite flower shop—because this has gone on so long that he now has a favorite, as absolutely insane as that sounds—and quietly scrolls through the arrangements. Last week he’d gone for a custom arrangement, lots of blues. Made a comment about Henry’s eyes on the card.

He’s running out of time to get something delivered tomorrow.

And, yes, this shouldn’t be a priority, not with the high stakes of the case they’re working, but they’ve been working all day and night, and taking five minutes to find a flower arrangement isn’t going to make or break the whole thing.

The elevator dings across the room, and he looks up as the doors slide open.

Nora rushes out, holding a file over her head. “I found something!” she says, turning and heading for the conference room. When he doesn’t move, she pauses, raising her eyebrows at him. “Don’t just sit there, come on!”

He blinks after her. Shit. Finally, a break. Slamming his chair back, he chases after her.

A few minutes into her going over the file, Henry enters the conference room, a stack of papers in his hand. Alex smiles softly at him as he enters, and Henry gives him a long look, his brow furrowing, before he smiles back and takes a seat on the other side of the room, handing the stack of papers off to Nadine to pass around, as he diligently sticks his nose into a file and doesn’t look up from it the rest of the night.

Alex tries not to wonder why he didn’t sit in the empty seat next to him.

But he does.

When he returns to his desk, a relieved smile on his face that they found their smoking gun, there’s a file folder on his keyboard. He frowns down at it, wondering where it’d come from. He’s too tired to wonder for long, though, as he flops down in his chair and looks up at his monitor. He moves the mouse to wake it. The same pretty purple flowers he’d been looking at when Nora called for him are there.

“And what are you up to?” A smooth voice asks from across the room.

He jerks his eyes up, pasting a wobbly smile on his face, as he minimizes the browser. “Nothing,” he says. “Just finishing up something important.”

Henry raises an eyebrow, his eyes flicking over him. “Alex,” he says. “It’s three am. Go home.”

Alex nods. “I am,” he says. “I just need to finish this.”

Something weird happens to Henry’s face then—his eyes go all soft, a little pinch at the corner of his mouth appears, but he drops his chin, piling up a few files together and stuffing them in his bag delicately. “Well,” he says. “Whatever it is, finish up. You look exhausted.”

Alex scoffs. “I look great,” He refutes, reaching up and delicately plumping his curls.

Henry rolls his eyes, but it lacks the usual playfulness.

Vaguely, Alex wonders if he’s done something wrong.

The vibes are all off.

“You okay?” He asks.

Henry freezes where he’s picking up his bag, his brow furrowing. “I’m fine,” he says, softly, glancing up at Alex. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

Alex nods. “Yeah, this case is . . . a lot.”

Henry’s eyebrow twitches, but he nods. “Right,” he says, bobbing his chin as he grabs his bag and finally throws it over his shoulder. “The case.” He gives Alex a tight smile. “Goodnight, Alex.”

Alex watches him leave. When he steps in the elevator and turns around, he looks down at the ground in front of him, his brows furrowed like he’s thinking about something. Alex debates just grabbing his bag and darting across the office to dive into the elevator; if only to have a few more minutes with him.

But something’s clearly wrong.

And he can’t not get the flowers.

So he turns back to his monitor when the doors slide shut, maximizes the window and gets to ordering the flowers.

Alex is late. He overslept, his alarm never went off because he forgot to set it, and he’s strolling into the office a mess. He knows his shirt’s button crooked, but can’t be bothered to fix it, he’s bleary as he hasn’t had his coffee yet, and he slams out of the elevator like a bat out of hell, because he has a meeting in 15 minutes and he’s not even remotely prepared for it. He crashes through the office, a bull in the proverbial china shop, and is vaguely aware of everyone’s eyes on him.

He comes to the end of the aisle, and turns to his desk.

Comes to a complete stop.

His mind is hazy, but he’s just cognizant enough to realize there are flowers on his desk. For a moment, he thinks that the delivery guy fucked up again but these aren’t the purple bouquet he’d ordered last night—those aren’t even slated to arrive until later this afternoon. No, this is a small, delicate bundle of white lilies, placed overtop his keyboard, with a yellow card set atop the stems.

Frozen, all he can do is stare at the lilies. Even as people move around him, bustling around the office as if it’s a normal day.

As if somebody hasn’t just left him flowers.

Nora sidles up next to him, hip checking him. “You might as well read the card,” she says, bringing her coffee cup to her lips.

His brows furrow as he tears his gaze away from lilies to look at her. “Was this you?” he asks.

Her mouth tilts to the side. “Nope,” she says, popping the p sound.

Something about the way the corners of her mouth tilt upwards, and the gleam in her eyes tells him there’s more to the story. “But you know who it was,” he wagers.

She tilts her chin up, before dancing away from him to head over to her own desk. “You’ll just have to read the card,” she calls over her shoulder, before dismissing him entirely.

He watches after her, before tearing his gaze away. It sidles over Henry’s vacant desk, back over to his own, settling on the lilies. Taking a deep breath, he drops his bag beside his desk, slips into his chair, and carefully plucks the card off the top of the flowers. Licking his lips, he opens it and reads the message.

I’d hoped it was you.

Alex’s gaze snaps up with realization to Henry’s vacant desk.

“Everything alright dear?” Nadine asks, but there’s a curl to her lips, and she’s looking at him with the same knowing look Nora had.

“Have you seen Henry?”

She rolls her lips to hide a smile. “Well,” she says, as if she has to think hard about it. “I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“Nadine.”

She sighs, but it’s full of mirth as she rolls her eyes, “I believe i just saw him brewing himself a cup of tea in the b—”

He’s up and out of the chair before she even finishes the sentence, the card clutched in his hand as he foots it across the office to the break room.

Henry’s the only one there when he steps into the room, and he carefully slips the stopper out from beneath the door and lets it slick shut behind him. Henry looks up at the sound of it clicking shut and freezes when he sees Alex standing there.

Alex holds the card up.

“How?” He asks.

Henry stares at him for a beat, before lifting his chin, and turning back to his tea. “I was returning the file I borrowed yesterday,” he says, voice even and low. “When I set it on your keyboard, I saw the flowers on your screen.”

“Are you mad?”

Henry takes in a big breath that has his shoulders rising and falling, before he carefully turns around, pressing his hips into the coffee counter as he leans back against it, holding the tea in front of him. “I’ve told you what I think about the flowers,” he says, softly.

“Right, but you seem mad.”

Henry tilts his head to the side. “What part of casa nova lilies and a card that reads I'd hoped it was you, exactly, leads you to the conclusion that I’m mad?”

“I mean. I lied to you.”

Henry blinks. “I never actually asked if it was you,” he says. “So, by my count, you never lied.”

Alex takes a step towards him, wringing his hands in front of himself. “But you . . . hoped it was me.” Henry nods once, dropping his chin to look down at his tea, the tip of his finger circling the rim of the mug. “So, you’re not mad.”

“Not mad, no.” He looks back up, narrowing his eyes. “Confused, yes.”

“Why are you confused?”

Henry’s response comes swift, riding the wave of the final syllable of Alex’s question. “Why did you send me flowers?”

“I—”

“That first time, we’d spoken all of two words to each other.”

Alex makes a face. “Okay,” he says, flinching. “The first bouquet was an accident.”

“An accident.” His tone clips the edge of the word, tongue snapping against the back of his teeth.

“Yeah. I was trying to prank Nora, and the delivery guy dropped the flowers at the wrong desk.” Henry’s face shutters, and Alex takes two steps in. “No—don’t. I wanted you to have them. I saw the look on your face, and I was glad the flowers landed on your desk instead. And then, I just. Liked the way you lit up every time you looked at them, and I wanted to keep giving you a reason to look that happy.”

“So, you wanted to be a good friend.”

There’s something direct about the way he asks it—an almost indirect question laying between the words.

“I mean, yeah,” Alex admits, stepping further into the room, until there’s only a single circular table between them. “But, I feel like it’s kind of obvious that it was more than that.”

“Is it?”

Alex blinks, pausing. “I mean, I literally bought you a bouquet of flowers the exact shade of the blush you get when you see the flowers coming to you. I—I researched flowers to learn their meanings. Researched different flower shops to ensure you received the highest quality flowers that would survive the longest. What about that makes you think I’m doing it to just be friendly?”

“I suppose,” Henry murmurs, “It’s the part where you kept it all a secret.”

“I wasn’t sure . . . how you’d feel about the whole thing,” Alex admits. “About me being the person sending them. If you’d, you know. Want that.”

Henry turns and sets his tea on the counter before turning back around and crossing his arms over his middle. “And, suppose,” he says, pursing his lips and looking over Alex’s shoulder at the wall behind him, “I was pleased to learn it was you. And hoped that it meant you’d, perhaps, be interested in seeking more than friendship,” His eyes move, catch and lock on Alex’s. “How would you feel?”

Alex’s mouth slips open; it takes a second for the words to process, but when they do, a smile works at the corners of his mouth and he steps around the table. “Well,” he says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and tilting his head, “I’d probably say I know this great dinner spot,” he glances back to Henry. “And that, if you’re free tonight, I’m also free, and we could check it out. Together.”

Henry’s plush lip rolls inwards, tucking away the beginnings of a smile. “I suppose I was lacking dinner plans this evening.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

Henry nods, a gentle bob of his head. “Yes.”

“Great,” Alex grins. “Then, it’s a date.”

Henry pushes away from the counter, nodding. “I guess it is.”

“Don’t sound so excited, sweetheart.”

Henry rolls his eyes at him, stepping into his space. “You realize this is going to be the talk of the office for the foreseeable future,” he says, gently grabbing Alex’s tie, and pulling it towards himself.

Alex hesitantly sets his hands on Henry’s hips. “Please, there’s no way they aren’t already gossipping about me getting a flower delivery.”

“Oh,” Henry smiles. “I personally set those on your desk.”

“So, you strolled into an office full of gossiping busy bodies with a bouquet of flowers, set it on my desk, and came in here acting as if nothing of import had happened?” Henry nods, his eyes gleaming. “No fucking wonder why Nadine looked like the cat that ate the canary, oh my god.”

“Alberta was in the elevator with me on the ride up. I’ve never seen someone so positively bursting with the need to speak in my life.” He tugs on Alex’s tie. “And that’s saying something, because I’ve spent the past several months having lunch with the likes of you.”

“Please,” Alex chides, squeezing Henry’s hips. “You like that I talk a lot.”

Henry hums thoughtfully. “You never shut up, which is convenient,” he adds, smiling as he steps in closer, “Because, oddly enough, I just can’t seem to get enough of you.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, his gaze dropping down to Alex’s lips and back up. “Would it be entirely inappropriate of me to kiss you right now?”

“Probably,” Alex says, brightly. “Maybe even a health hazard.”

“Oh, can’t have that.”

“No,” Alex agrees, already leaning in. “We certainly can’t.”

And then, blissfully, they’re breaking all rules of office decorum and potential health and safety standards of office break rooms, and meeting in a kiss to end all kisses. Henry’s lips are plush; exactly as soft as Alex has imagined; his hands are warm, where his palms lay flat against Alex’s chest.

When they return to the office, Nadine and Alberta give them knowing looks from where they’re huddled over Alberta’s desk.

Alex tries not to roll his eyes when Nora walks by them, casually fanning herself with a wad of cash.