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It begins, like many horrid things in Henry’s life, with the press.
Six months after Henry moves to New York, and begins for the first time to really live on his own terms, Alex and Henry have already fallen into an easy domestic rhythm. Alex technically has his own apartment in Park Slope, but it’s practically a storage unit as Alex spends all his free time at Henry’s brownstone in Cobble Hill. The first time Alex comes around, Henry hands Alex a key to the brownstone, attached to two small silver keychains: one with a pink plaque that reads in dainty script, “History, huh?,” the other with a beagle looking very dapper in a green scarf, that reads, “dog dad”. Henry hands it over to Alex as he’s headed out the door, a small kiss to the lips and one to the cheek, without ceremony and without second thought.
From that very first day, Alex has come and gone. Truthfully, Henry has always thought of it as their space. He texted Alex links and screenshots of every item he considered purchasing to decorate the place, and put the orders through only when Alex said he liked the vision too. Henry likes it this way. Alex’s toothbrush on the bathroom counter (and sometimes in the shower, much to Henry’s confusion). Alex’s clothes in the dresser (and sometimes on the floor). Alex’s glasses on the bedside table (the right side, naturally). Alex’s muddy running shoes in the coat closet by the front door, and Alex’s mango helados in the freezer. Alex’s well-worn recipe cards on the shelf above the stove, and Alex’s papers and lists littered on the floor of the study.
The changes may have seemed small to some, but they hit Henry like a sucker punch to the stomach. Some Republican wannabe- reporter goes on Fox News squawking nonsense about how Alex is a typical loudmouthed entitled millennial, how the sex really must be something because otherwise Henry would never put up with Alex’s grating personality. The co-hosts snicker, agreeing that the impulsive relationship will never last. It’s all so stupid, until it’s not. One moment, Nora is texting the group chat a link, “Good job, boys! You’ve invaded the conservative psyche with dirty filthy daydreams of gay sex.” The next moment, Alex’s Georgetown sweatshirt is longer hanging over the second barstool in the kitchen. Alex’s gel has suddenly vanished from the vanity.
Suddenly, Alex says he needs to work late and wake up early for an important case. He sleeps at his Park Slope apartment twice one week, three the next.
One night, Alex rings the doorbell and waits for Henry to let him in. “Lose your key, darling?” Henry asks, pecking Alex on the cheek. “Well, uh, no…I mean I have it I just…it’s your place and I really shouldn’t intrude.” Henry scoffs briefly before turning the conversation to matters of the shelter, the new season of Nailed It and what kind of pasta to make for dinner. Alex’s comment doesn’t even dignify a response, Henry thinks. Alex listens, and nods, and interjects where required. To anyone else, Alex would have seemed perfectly normal. Pleasant. Polite. Henry is not anyone. Henry knows, he can feel it: the shift. The way Alex’s head is spinning like a little hamster on a wheel.
Henry knows something is off, but he bides his time. Alex will talk to him, he’ll open up when he’s ready.
But then, the second shoe drops. Two and a half weeks after Nora shares the news clip, she and Pez come over for game night. Alex makes mojitos, and they lay cushions on the living room floor and play Cards Against Humanity and laugh so hard they almost pee. And Alex is almost himself, almost. He’s laughing, and joking, and leaning his head on Henry’s shoulder as Nora takes an ungodly time each round to pick the absolute most perfect card, guaranteed to be so fucked up it’s bound to win. It’s wonderful. Until it isn’t.
Nora has noticed a change in Alex, too. He doesn’t argue and debate when his card isn’t chosen. He doesn’t throw his hands up in mock disgust as Pez wins yet another round, snickering and sticking his tongue out with an emboldened, “Suck it!” Alex laughs and drinks his mojito and picks another card from the deck. “Jesus, Alex, I didn’t even know you could say these few words per minute. This is a new record!” Pez giggles. There’s no venom to any of it. Just a bit of light teasing amongst friends. But Henry feels Alex’s shoulders square and tense, his head slowly lifting off the place where it’s been perched nestled against Henry’s neck all night.
Still, Henry waits.
Three nights later, he loses it. Henry is stretched out on the couch, fuzzy blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon, book in hand. Alex is leaning against the couch, head tilted back on Henry’s lap, scrolling down some kind of Wikipedia rabbit-hole. David is curled up with one ear, which Alex lazily pets, atop Alex’s leg. It’s nice, and cozy, and familiar. Until Alex—honest to god asks, actually fucking asks—Henry if he “may please have a glass of water?” Henry shuts his book so hard, he briefly thinks he may have snapped the spine in half like some kind of gay nerdy Thor.
“What the actual fuck, Alex?,” Henry says, hoisting the blanket off his lap and planting his feet onto the ground. The sudden move simultaneously jostles Alex’s head from Henry’s lap and startles David enough to cause him to stretch and gingerly trot over to a dog bed across the room.
“Um, I’m thirsty? And water is like…hydrating.” Alex stares at Henry dumbly. “Yes, I’m familiar with the wonders of water, thank you. But why are you asking me if you may have a glass of it, when you know damn well where the glasses and tap are?” Henry thinks he’s shrieking a little. Okay, maybe he waited a bit too long to breach this subject.
“It’s just…” Alex hesitates. “It’s like, your place, not mine and I don’t want to intrude or overstep my welcome, y’know?”
“No, I don’t know. Not really. We’ve been practically living together for almost 7 months. I gave you a key. I told you to make yourself welcome, come and go as you please. Where is this coming from?” Henry gingerly lowers himself down next to Alex on the floor, suddenly afraid he’ll spook Alex into leaving or going quiet. Please, Henry thinks, anything but the quiet.
Alex shifts, turning toward Henry, sitting back on his haunches, his hands open on his lap. Henry follows suit, shifting himself around to face Alex. They’re seated on the floor atop a plush rust-colored rug, a dull glow of fairy lights and candles illuminating them in a soft, warm glow. Faced toward one another, on their knees, palms outstretched. They are each other’s Mecca, Henry muses to himself, the way they seem to be sat seeking blessings. Henry hopes peace finds them. He wishes he believed in God so he could ask for strength.
“I know that I’m a lot. I’m loud and I’m obnoxious. I’m opinionated and I share those opinions loudly.” Alex starts, and Henry briefly winces as the quote. “And I’m a lot in other ways too. I know I’m clingy, I’m like always touching you.” Henry briefly reaches for Alex’s hand at that, but Alex jerks his hand away. Henry returns the hand, penitent, to his own lap. Alex continues, sounding increasingly desperate and beginning to ramble, “And I leave my shit everywhere! I stained your nice new countertop with my coffee because I forgot to use a coaster, and I got grease on the stove from making huevos rancheros, which I never cleaned because I’m a fucking menace. I left my clothes in the washing machine and forgot to move them to the dryer, and then you had to do the whole thing over for me because the clothes got all mildewy and gross. I wake up early to go running and wake you up when I come back to shower, even though you’re finally actually sleeping a normal number of hours for the first time ever. I’m just too much. All the time. Everyone knows it! I’m too much all the time, and one day you’re going to get so fed up with me, and leave me, and it’ll be all my fault.” Henry shakes his head dramatically, but Alex isn’t looking. His eyes are downcast, and he looks truly miserable.
“You fell in love with me because you thought I was sexy or whatever, and then we got outed and everything was so rushed and hectic. It just feels like you never had a choice in all of this.” Alex lifts his head and slowly shifts his gaze back to Henry. “And one day when you realize you’re free now, and I’m like, fucking annoying and impossible, you’ll snap out of it and realize you’re too good for me.” Tears fill Alex’s eyes, unspilled, as Alex finally finishes ranting and gazes down again, playing nervously with his cuticles.
Henry shuffles closer, rising up on his knees before Alex and grabbing the other man’s shoulders, possibly more forcefully than necessary. But he doesn’t stop and doesn’t apologize. He’s got a fucking point to make.
“Alex, look at me. Look at me. Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you.” Henry lightly shakes Alex’s slumped shoulders. “I don’t know how these thoughts came to infect your mind, but let me inoculate you of these delusions.” Henry stares into Alex’s eyes. Alex tries to look away, suddenly shy, but something about Henry’s commanding voice forces his gaze back to Henry. Henry has never seen Alex’s eyes so forlorn. If this weren’t so heartbreaking, Henry could almost laugh at the comically puppy-eyed way Alex is looking at him. Hands still resting gently on Alex’s shoulders, eyes still fixed determinedly on Alex’s own, Henry begins.
“Yes, when I first saw you, your beauty made my heart skip a beat. And yes, I still think you are the most ravishingly gorgeous creature to ever walk this earth. But I didn’t just fall in love with some anonymous handsome shell of a man. I fell in love with you, all of you. Your free spirit, and your cutting wit, and your roguish charm. I saw you looking so confident, your radiant smile, charming everyone who came within your orbit, and I thought, ‘God, he shines like a star.’ Each event we ran into one another, I’d stand as a wallflower transfixed as you effortlessly shared your truths and ambitions, fearless and reckless in the most intoxicating way. I wanted some of that fighting spirit for myself. And then I really got to know you. And I saw that wonderful, pure heart. I fell deeper and deeper in love each time. But please don’t think I’m under some spell. Alex, I could have loved you from afar. I could have loved you and decided not to act on it. I could have lusted after you, and never loved you at all. But I did love you. I do love you. I chose you, Alex. Every day I choose you. And I’ll keep choosing you. So what if you’re too much for some other people? All the more of you for me. I love you because of your passionate temperament, and your loud fucking mouth, not despite it. Alex, you light me aflame in the best possible way. Your absence these past three weeks has left me freezing.” Henry wraps his arms around his shoulders, eyes momentarily glazing over as if lost in memory, and shivers. Truly shivers as if the Alex’s warmth literally and physically warms his body from the inside out. In a flash, he refocuses his eyes, now sharp and challenging, on Alex. “Now you get your shit back in our cupboards, and your arse back in our bed. Understand?” Our, our, our. Henry hopes it’s ringing in Alex’s ears.
Alex swallows heavily, eyes still brimming with unshed tears. One heartbeat, then two. And finally, blissfully, he nods. “Good.” Henry says, satisfied. “You little shit. Don’t you ever forget it.” The words are harsh, but Henry’s face is fond, his smile small but roguish. Alex lets out a tiny startled laugh before Henry pulls Alex against him. Chest to chest, arms wrapped so tightly around Alex’s back that his lungs cannot fully expand as he sucks in a breath, startled at the sudden intensity of the embrace. Henry noses at Alex’s dark curly hair, breathes in his scent, and places a dozen tiny kisses on Alex’s scalp.
Henry pulls back, cups Alex’s face in both hands and gazes at him fondly. Alex still looks teary-eyed, but Henry can see the tenderness has returned to his gaze.
“Now all this drama and pining has all been very Anne and Captain Wentworth, but I thought I had already earned my happy ending, so may we resume living it please?” Alex’s lips turn thin in an effort to conceal a rapidly rising smile. His eyes positively twinkle.
“I’ll give you a happy ending,” he says quietly but playfully. “There he is,” Henry giggles, “Back again and how dearly I have missed him.” Their lips meet in a tender kiss. Lips soft and pliant. Breathes slow and steady. Henry tangles one hand in Alex’s hair, and rests the other on the nape of his neck. Alex slots his hands at the curve of Henry’s waist, rubbing his thumbs in little circles over the ghost of Henry’s hip bones through his shirt. They kiss and kiss, and simply hold each other, not rushing. They have time. Lots of time.
“You could use a coaster though,” Henry says after a beat. Alex scoffs, genuinely laughing, “You want that happy ending or not, Fox?” Henry does. He really does.