Archive of Our Own

“Alex, darling.”

Tan, muscular arms tighten their grip around Henry’s waist as Alex makes a noncommittal groan into the fabric where his face is pressed against Henry’s back. His eyes are still sore from sleep and the sensation of warmth along with the subdued scent of Henry’s body wash wraps him up with pleasant intensity.

“What?” he mumbles, the word coming out muffled and hardly intelligible. 

Henry’s chest rumbles with a low chuckle and his fingers reach down to tangle themselves in Alex’s damp curls.

“I’m afraid you have to let go of me now.”

Another noise of protest fills the nonexistent space between Alex’s nose and Henry’s skin as he fastens his arms even more. 

“Slander.”

“Alex…” Henry’s voice is filled to the brim with fond amusement, but behind it lingers a type of gentle insistence that does succeed in Alex prying himself away just enough to peer up to meet his boyfriend’s warm gaze.

A flutter sparks in his gut at the familiar sight of an affectionate shine, swimming in the endless blue. Henry is gorgeous in the morning– well, he always is, but Alex will make a damn good case that there is something particularly taking to the softness that comes with the first moments of consciousness. Blond hair is rumpled and sticking into different directions, and the sluggishness of sleep still clings to his features in a way that blurs his usual poise. It’s rare and a little vulnerable. Alex is kind of addicted. 

“Just stay. Who says you gotta go?” His voice is rough and raspy and slightly tinged with desperation that would usually be embarrassing, if it weren’t for the feel of nails currently gently scratching his scalp, rendering him incapable of caring about anything else than making Henry stay right here in their bed. 

His boyfriend gives him a regretful smile. 

“Whatever poor soul is currently waiting on an airstrip for me at five am. And the royal itinerary.”

“Fuck both of that.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

Henry moves his hand from Alex’s hair to thumb over his cheek comfortingly. Alex’s eyes close on instinct and a long breath escapes him as he tries to push away the uncomfortable churning in his gut without much success.

He’s being bitter. And unfair to Henry, who he knows dreads his visits to England just as much as Alex does. Still, the last two months have been one academic shitshow after the other and it’s taken more of a toll on him than he’d usually like to admit. 

The stress of law school is wearing him down. He knew it would be hard, but maybe he’d underestimated just how much the pressure of it all would push down on him— how every grade less than straight A’s tasted like failure and every exam, every deadline grinds at his confidence.

At the end of last term, Alex almost hit his breaking point. It had been three months of non-stop studying or research and by the end, he was more of a citation-hungry zombie than anything resembling a human, who dissolved into a full on meltdown the second he submitted the last paper. 

Having Henry by his side has helped, to say the least. His boyfriend is an angel in disguise, an endless stream of patience and reassurance who holds him close when he needs it, who gently pulls him back to bed at three am and makes sure Alex eats even on days that he hardly looks up from his laptop. Through sleepless nights, missed dates and irritable moods, Henry has been nothing but fucking perfect. 

So, Alex really has no business feeling as abandoned as he does at the prospect of Henry leaving him for two measly weeks. Especially considering that his regularly scheduled trips to Kensington are first and foremost draining for Henry, and his choice on paper alone. 

It’s the price they have to pay for the blissful life they have here in New York and it’s worth every second of. Really, Alex should just stop being so ungrateful for all of the sacrifices Henry made and continues to make, every day, for the sake of their happiness.

The guilt-marred expression on Henry’s face as he looks down at him finally snaps Alex out of his wallowing. With as much conviction as he can, Alex musters up a reassuring grin that he hopes looks more genuine than it feels. 

“Don’t be, baby,” he soothes, pulling himself into a seating position and brushing his lips against the bare skin of Henry’s neck. 

“Go, do your thing. Cut some red tape, hold some babies.” He places another kiss to the same spot, this time lingering slightly and then blows a warm breath there, giddily satisfied by the shiver that immediately runs over Henry’s shoulders. “Look fucking sexy doing it.”

Henry’s breath hitches, and he reaches back to give a light, chiding pinch to Alex’s arm. 

“You’re an absolute menace.”

“Mmh.” The grin grows wider, less strained at the familiarity of their banter. “Your menace.”

At that, Henry visibly softens. Carefully peeling himself out of their position, he turns around to take Alex’s face in both palms and guides him closer until their foreheads connect. Alex’s stomach flutters wildly at the care, love and affection that all but seeps through the touch.

“Always mine, love,” Henry mumbles and finally presses his lips to Alex’s, although the separation follows much too soon for his taste.

Chasing after him, Alex sighs into their proximity, his smile contented yet vaguely mournful. “Sap.”

The obligatory eye roll on Henry’s part is nothing but fond. He gives a squeeze to his cheeks as his eyes turn back to a more somber expression. 

“Take care of yourself, will you? I know your exams are important, but they’re not more important than your well being.”

Although the words are loud and clear in his ears, Alex finds that the nod he returns is involuntarily half-hearted. He technically knows that what Henry’s saying is true, but it’s a difficult fact for him to wrap his head around after so many years of measuring his self-worth by his success. 

“I mean it, Alex,” Henry presses, brows furrowed with concern. “I can’t leave you in good conscience if you are just going to work yourself into an early grave. I need to know that you’ll be responsible with your health while I’m away.”

And– yeah, that kind of stings. Alex knows that Henry doesn’t mean the words to sound as condescending as they echo back in his mind but his smile still sours slightly at the implication that he’s incapable on his own. That he’s a burden, a problem to deal with for Henry. 

“Don’t worry, H.” He pulls himself out of his boyfriend’s grasp, settles against the headboard with his arms crossed and his voice just a tad colder than before. “I’ll be just fine. I’ve made it through three years of undergrad all by myself, remember?” 

Seemingly having realized his mistake, Henry reaches out in an appeasing gesture. “No, I didn’t mean–”

“It’s alright,” Alex waves him off. “I get it, I haven’t been easy to deal with, lately. But I solemnly swear, I’ll be better about taking care of myself. No need to rack your pretty brain about it.”

Visibly uncertain, Henry lowers his hand. There’s a slightly forlorn grimace painted on his face, clearly unhappy with the conclusion to their conversation. He opens his mouth to say something else, but is promptly interrupted by the shrill sound of his alarm. 

Reaching for the vibrating phone, Alex passes it to his boyfriend who accepts with a sigh and taps to silence it. 

“You have to go,” Alex says before Henry has the chance to resume their discussion and gives him another smile. “Probably shouldn’t test the old hag more than we already have.”

With obvious reluctance, Henry pushes himself off the bed, although not without leaning forward to press his lips against Alex’s forehead. 

“I love you.”

Because he’s a weak, weak man who can’t help himself, Alex melts into the gentle touch immediately. He takes a deep breath to get one last whiff of the soothing smell and feels the preemptive ache of missing Henry for the next few weeks returning with full force.

“I love you too, baby. And I’ll miss you, as much as I’ll miss David.”

“Ah.” Henry nods, a smile playfully tugging at his perfect lips. “As much?” 

Alex rolls his eyes. “No, you’re right. I’ll miss him way more, actually.”

“Can’t say that I blame you, darling.”

After one last peck, Henry finally pulls away, leaving a sore spot of hollowness where his touch had filled it before. Still, he forces his face to stay even– he doesn’t want his boyfriend to feel guilty for doing what he needs to do, doesn’t want to feed into the assumption that Alex is helpless without him.

Doesn’t want to be another obligation in Henry’s life that will one day grow to be too much to shoulder. 

When the door falls shut, leaving Alex alone with a house that is much too empty and silent without his family there, there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t quite swallow. He thinks of Nora, making jokes that Henry is a saint for putting up with him during exam season; he thinks of June who uprooted her entire life to take care of him during college– and finally, he thinks of Henry, gentle and perfect Henry, that has had to worry about others way too much in his life– and a stinging sense of dread settles over him.

He is just going to have to be better. He’s going to prove to Henry that he can be better. 

────────────

The first week is hard but manageable. 

Alex spends the better part of his days in the library, partly because it bears less distractions and partly because the brownstone doesn’t really feel like home without Henry and David. He still takes comfort in the traces of his boyfriend in every corner of the house, smiles at the stacks of books that are strewn all over the living room and sleeps on Henry’s side of the bed because it smells like him– but the more time passes, the vastness of it becomes a painful reminder of Henry’s absence rather than anything else. 

The library at least is a neutral place and the people bustling around in the background soothe the harshest edges of his isolation. Most days, he even remembers to stop to get himself some snack along with his coffee, which is really the closest to lunch anyone can expect of him.

Henry and him text continuously and call at least every other day. Two years of living together have spoiled them rotten and naively erased all memories of the beginnings of their relationship, when they’d go months without seeing each other. At this point, Alex thinks it a true fucking miracle that he ever survived going that long without him by his side.

He tells him as much, on night three, wrapped up in one of Henry’s Oxford sweaters, making puppy eyes at the pixelated version of Henry in his phone. 

“Maybe you should leave more often.”

Henry blinks at him, dumbfoundedly. In the background, the lavish bedframe of his room in Kensington towers over his curled up figure. “Pardon?”

“I’m just saying, baby,” Alex says, “We gotta build up our spending-time-apart tolerance. Or we’ll end up one of those codependent couples that can’t go two hours without seeing each other.”

Even through the semi-blurred connection, the bemused smile on Henry’s expression becomes crystal clear. 

“Alex, love of my life. We quite firmly are that couple. Why do you think Nora keeps addressing us as one AlexandHenry without spaces in the group chat? Not to mention that last time we went out to a bar and you–”

“That is defamation!” He resists before Henry can even finish the sentence, “I didn’t follow you to the bathroom because I’m codependent. I followed you because those jeans you were wearing looked fucking sinful and I couldn’t wait to get my–”

That time, it’s Henry who cuts him off, an adorable blush coloring his cheeks. “Yes, alright. No need to elaborate.” 

Alex, who knows a challenge when he hears one, does exactly that– somewhat sidetracking the whole ‘missing each other’ topic.

So, yeah– the separation sucks, even just for the simple fact that being apart from his boyfriend feels like a crime against nature. But it becomes especially taxing when Alex can only be a witness to the slow, grinding way that being back in Kensington wears Henry down. 

He can see it in the way his shoulders slump a little further on every consecutive facetime call, or how his voice reverts from his confident timbre back into the soft, tucked into itself version that Alex can only recall from a lifetime ago. It violently raises the urge to storm the palace for a second time, for the sake of giving Mary and everyone else who contributes to chipping away at Henry a huge, unapologetic piece of his mind, 

It doesn’t help that Henry’s first instinct whenever he’s pushed down is to withdraw deep into himself. He still returns Alex’s sharp grins with sweet smiles and is as affectionate in his words as he always is, but there’s a distance in the way he shields his chest and waves any concerned questions off with dismissive remarks that Alex knows him too well for to unsee. Despite the subtlety of those changes, it remains a stark contrast to their relationship here in New York, where their souls are so entangled with each other. 

He’s not used to the way that familiar blue eyes glaze over with a guarded shine anymore when he carefully inquires, “Are you okay, baby?” 

And Henry simply pulls his knees to his chest, nodding, “Just tired, love”, no matter how both of them know it’s only a half-truth. 

Suddenly, the arms width that Henry holds him at feels a little bit like a gaping, insurmountable crater between them.

Which… is fine. It’s not the first time it has happened. Alex knows that it doesn’t have anything to do with him, but rather that it is Henry’s knee-jerk reaction to protect the softest parts of himself against cruel forces. He can handle the little sting of rejection every time Henry replies to his enthusiastic strings of text in one-word messages, he can. 

Except, sometimes, he really can’t. 

It’s Wednesday when everything goes downhill. Alex has had an absolutely horrid day, that has consisted of him doing nothing but stare holes into his reading at the library. Every noise around him makes him jump, makes his head turn until he has half a migraine before he had the chance to go through his notes even once– which is only exacerbated by the realization that he hasn’t eaten anything since the toast he had on his way out the house.

By the time he comes home at eight, he feels like absolute dogshit. He must look kind of miserable too because Cash gives him a sympathetic gaze and a firm clasp to his shoulder when he gets out the car, which is his preferred method of silently acknowledging Alex’s struggles. 

With a harsh breath, Alex sags down on the couch and digs his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. The silence in the house is deafening, yet just the thought of music or noisy TV makes his head explode. 

A looming dread of the exam that is scheduled for tomorrow clings to him, for which he feels so far from properly prepared for that he nearly chokes on it. In his mind, the word failure echoes in a loop over and over again until he’s dizzy and can’t get a full breath in. 

Blindly, Alex reaches for his phone, finding Henry’s name even through blurry eyes. He’s so goddamn pathetic, when he’d sworn himself he wouldn’t do this– but, fuck, he needs him right now. He can’t bear to walk up to their bedroom, which is cold and dark and lie down in their bed by himself, when Henry should be next to him. 

Henry picks up on the fifth ring. 

“Love?” he greets, raspy and slightly confused. 

Even in his dazed, half-panicked state, Alex can hear the bone deep exhaustion in his boyfriend’s voice and is immediately hit with a fresh wave of embarrassment. His eyes fly up to the digital clock on the shelf and, with some sluggish mental math, realizes it must be in the middle of the night in England.

“Fuck– were you sleeping?” he asks, almost impressed with himself how steady he sounds. 

“I was just about to. Did you need something, darling?” 

Henry’s tone is loving and soft, but there’s also a distinct note of gentle direction there that somehow lets Alex shy away from spilling his guts how he usually would, if he was curled up around him right now and not a fucking ocean away. 

“No…” he admits with a breathy sigh, rubbing circles over his chest in an effort to calm himself down. “I just– I wanted to hear your voice.”

Henry hums. “I’m glad to hear yours too. How was your day?” 

It’s the perfect setup. Alex opens his mouth, tries to will the words out– then closes it again when he finds he can’t. Henry isn’t really asking, he decides. He’s tired and strung out and Alex is keeping him from some much needed sleep to… what? To complain about virtually nothing? 

No, Henry is being nice because he’s perfect and he cares, but Alex is so tired of always being the one people have to indulge. It’s been that way for so long and eventually, everyone has been driven away by it, tired by how demanding it is to love him. He doesn’t think he could handle if the same happened with Henry. 

So, he shuts his eyes for a moment and folds a shaky hand over his heart. 

“It was fine. I studied a lot for the exam tomorrow. How was yours?” 

“Long,” Henry sighs, “And frankly, exhausting. I wish I was home with you instead.”

Traitorous tears pool at his bottom lashes. Alex blinks them away stubbornly, glad for once that Henry can’t actually see him. “Me too, baby.”

They sit in silence for a moment, until Henry audibly yawns and follows it up with a concluding hum. 

“Alright, my love. Much to my dismay, Pip wants me at the next appearance at an ungodly hour tomorrow, so unless there’s a pressing matter to discuss, I think I’d better get some sleep soon.”

It’s truly the absolute kindest and loving way of telling him to shut it– but Alex is too frayed at the edges to filter in any nuance. All he hears is that Henry doesn’t want to talk to him, that, oh God, it’s starting, he’s already becoming too exhausting, even for his boyfriend. 

Frantically, Alex scratches at his throat, hoping it’ll somehow relieve some of the crushing weight that presses down on him and blinks away even more tears. He digs his nails into the skin until it hurts, and forces himself to take as much of a breath as he can.

Don’t cry. Don’t let him hear. 

“Yeah. Of course, Hen. Get– get some sleep.” His voice is slightly too thick to his own ears, but to his relief, Henry doesn’t seem to pick up on it. 

“You, too. Good luck on your exam tomorrow, darling. I know you’ll do brilliantly.”

“Thank you.” The words crack slightly, and suddenly he’s filled with a pressing urge to end the call, before he can’t hold it in any longer. “Sleep tight, baby.”

Alex fumbles for the button to hang up and then, all at once, he’s alone again. He stares at the silent phone in his hand for one dragging second– and then he breaks. 

There’s no one here to witness him, no one to chide or drive away, so for once, Alex cracks open without restraint. The sobs that have been building up for the last hour now finally spill over his lips; loud, wet and pathetic in the quiet walls of the living room. He doesn’t bother trying to wipe the tears and snot away, knows it’s pointless with the way it simply keeps coming, riling the despair in his chest up even more with every hacking breath.

By the time he’s fully exhausted himself, he sinks down onto the cushions and presses his damp face into the pillow. Sobs have turned into small hiccups– his aching body no longer sustaining anything else. Gently, Alex cradles his phone to his chest and lets his swollen eyes fall shut.

June always says that sometimes crying helps. Alex disagrees. He doesn’t feel better, if anything he feels worse. 

Still, at least there is no energy left in him to think about anything– and that’s how sleep finally overwhelms him. 

────────────

Unsurprisingly, the exam is a fucking disaster. 

Alex wakes up, not only with even more of a splitting headache than he’d fallen asleep with, but also a sore back from the sofa which definitely is not fit for an (almost) six foot man. For approximately two seconds, he thinks about just not showing up– but God better strike him down this second, if his mother raised him to be a quitter. So, he drags himself into the shower and downstairs, where Cash greets him with a seriously concerned expression. 

He knows he’s a sight. He has looked in the mirror, however reluctantly. Still, Alex thinks it’s just a little extreme, when the secret service agent catches him by the shoulder, eyes trained on his face worriedly. 

“Hey, kid. Are you good?” 

“Fine, Cash.” He shakes his head, biting down a grimace at the searing pain that even the slightest movement warrants. “Just fucking stressed.”

The exam hall is quiet and stifling. Alex blinks at the paper in front of him with a blank stare, the ballpoint pen hovering above the check marks as he desperately wracks his brain for any useful thought– and coming up empty. 

The thing is, he has studied. Yesterday aside, he’s been studying for weeks and he’s certain that he’d have no problem walking away with a decent grade on any other day. But today, he’s fucking spent. Drained to a point where he can’t even bring himself to care that he’s absolutely tanking the most important exam of the term. 

After an hour of apathetically twiddling his thumbs, Alex calls it and leaves half an hour early. He goes through the motions of gathering his things, dumping the mostly-empty exam on the desk of the supervisor and leaving the hall almost detachedly. 

Rationally, he knows he is upset. But, even when he searches his chest for any new wave of emotion or frenzy, he comes up empty. It’s as if he’s been plucked from his body and is now stuck on the outside, watching himself with the same amount of apathy that he’d give an episode of the Bachelorette. 

The rest of the day passes with Alex, curled up in bed. His head hurts, so he throws back some Advil, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that tells him he should probably eat something before he does in favor of the stone sitting in his stomach. 

He wants to sleep, but sleep doesn’t come. He knows he should be studying for the next exam, but he can hardly reconcile with the thought of even getting up to pee. He wishes Henry was here… but Henry isn’t. 

Hasn’t even texted him, which is fine , because he’s in London, having all fucking sorts of royal responsibilities and it’s completely reasonable for him to not be on his phone. Although, all that rational reasoning doesn’t really help the churning in Alex’s gut. Selfishly, horribly, he wants Henry to appear in the doorframe like the knight in shining armor that he is, taking him in his arms and telling him he’d never have to leave again. 

It’s such a childish, romanticized thought that Alex immediately chides himself for it. But, god , he’s so tired and aching and alone. Henry has been gone for all the tender time of five days and he can hardly remember what it feels like to have him here, have him close and his . All that’s there now is a bed that is too big for him and the catastrophizing spiral in his mind, telling him that maybe Henry doesn’t even want to hear from him. 

Maybe he’s glad to have a break from constantly needing to pick up Alex’s pieces when there’s enough on his own plate. It’s a horrific, overwhelming thought that he knows isn’t true, and an accusation Henry has done absolutely nothing to deserve, still the seed of doubt plants itself firmly in the center of his chest. 

With more silent tears, Alex presses his tired face into Henry’s pillow, inhales the remnants of his scent as deeply as he can and tries to remind himself of the life they have. That they’ve built together. 

His last thought, before he falls asleep crying for the second time in a row, is the hazy picture of Henry next to him– gorgeous, asleep and unguarded– and what Alex wouldn’t give for that reality.

────────────

“Alex?” 

“Hm?” Alex picks up his gaze from where he’d been staring holes into his coffee to meet his sister’s narrowed eyes. 

June’s brows are furrowed as she settles back into her seat to look him up and down. “Are you even listening to me?” 

Plastering a wide grin onto his face, he nods. “Of course I am.”

Unsurprisingly, his sister doesn’t seem very convinced, at least if her skeptical frown is anything to go by.

In retrospect, maybe Alex should have canceled their lunch. 

He still very firmly feels like utter crap, between restless sleep, the heavy weight in his stomach and the fact Henry’s schedule hasn’t given them a chance to talk on the phone for almost three days– which for some reason has hit Alex harder than it should have. The tiny inkling of uncertainty has since bloomed into an aching vastness expanding between his ribs, leaving him isolated and abandoned, which he knows is unfounded.

The thought of chewing through all that with June of all people, who has been able to see right through him ever since he was five and hiding the shards of their mom’s favorite mug under the couch, makes him squirm in preemptive discomfort. 

But June is only in town for a few days and he hasn’t seen her since Christmas. Living in New York with Henry is absolute fucking bliss, still Alex can’t help how much he misses having his sister close by sometimes. Sure, they talk and text and play stupid drinking games on facetime with Nora, but it’s a far cry from how it was when they were living together. And, with how shitty and lonely he’s been feeling, he really didn’t want to pass up on the chance of seeing her. 

So, now he has no choice but to deal with the consequences of that decision. 

June sets her cup down carefully so she can cross her arms in front of her chest. “Seriously, Alex. You’ve been somewhere else this entire time. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” he tries weakly, chewing through his lip. 

She rolls her eyes. “Bullshit. Spill.”

The thing is, Alex would . If he had any idea how to put the choking sensation into words. It’s not the exam, or the sneaking suspicion that he feels like he’s failing on being what he set out to be his entire life. It’s not even that he’s at home alone– he can handle being alone. Or, at least he used to. 

No, what’s bothering him is something else entirely, something overarching and looming, that he’s falling embarrassingly short of naming.  

Vaguely, he shrugs. June’s scrutinizing glare softens slightly. God, Alex almost forgot how fucking transparent he always feels under his sister’s eyes. 

“Is it law school?” She asks, treading carefully. 

He gives her another shrug. “A little.”

“Henry being gone?” 

A bitter snort escapes him, busying his hands by fumbling with the empty sugar packet. “Same answer.”

“ Alex .”

He groans, throwing half his weight against the chair. “I don’t know what you want me to say, bug. I just vaguely feel like crap ever since Henry went to London and have these paranoid thoughts that he’s just up and left me because he’s sick of me even though I know that’s bullshit. It’s stupid.”

Alex keeps his eyes stubbornly on his hands for a moment, scared of facing June’s judgment. But when he finally does look up, her face betrays none of the disgust or anger he’d been expecting. Instead, she’s wearing an empathetic grimace that’s almost pitying. He isn’t sure if that’s really any better. 

“It’s not bullshit if that’s how you feel.”

Somehow, his throat closes up even further at that. What is she saying? That he’s right to be worried about Henry being fed up with him? So far, the only thing that’s been able to mollify him is the continuous reassurance that it’s only his brain catastrophizing. 

June seems to sense his growing panic and quickly urges forward, putting a warm hand on his arm. 

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I have no doubt that you and Henry are still as disgustingly in love with each other as you’ve been, ever since you were making moon eyes at each other on New Years.” She cracks a tiny smile that he returns, albeit a bit wobbly. “What I’m saying is that trying to push away your feelings because you rationally know they’re not true isn’t going to fix them either.”

Helplessly, Alex pulls his arm out of her touch. 

“Well, then I have no fucking idea what to do.”

“Yes you do,” she says. “ Talk to your boyfriend. Let him know how you feel and discuss possible solutions.”

“No. I don’t wanna make him feel bad when he’s halfway across the world and none of this is his fault. That’s my fucking baggage, June, and I’m not going to put it on Henry.”

“Okay, now that’s bullshit.” His sister reaches back over to give a scolding pinch to his arm, entirely ignoring his following squawk. 

“Ow!”

“There’s this thing called healthy communication, pendejo . It’s how grown up relationships work, and if you rightfully give him shit for fleeing the country to escape his feelings, you should maybe take your own advice and do better.”

She’s right. June usually is, although Alex would probably rather crawl into a cave and let himself get eaten by bats than admit that. 

Still, the thought of bringing the topic up with Henry, is nothing short of terrifying. Alex already feels like the world's most awful boyfriend for feeling betrayed by Henry for doing everything right– how could he possibly explain it to him without sounding like an entitled brat? The absolute last thing he wants to do is to add to the stress Henry already has, being in the same environment that he’s endured years of abuse, or make him feel like he’s been anything less than perfect. 

Because he is. Perfect. And way too good for Alex’s screwed up, greedy little heart. 

He takes a sip of his coffee, which only tastes half as good as the one Henry makes for him every morning, and sighs, long and heavy. 

“I’ll talk to him,” he hums, reluctantly. He’s not entirely convinced that he’ll stick to his word, and judging from the exasperated huff from his sister’s lips, she isn’t either– but she does have the good graces of letting the topic rest for now. 

Alex is grateful, because crying in a public coffee shop in front of his sister about made up relationship problems would probably count as the new low point of his life. 

Before they can fully move on from the conversation, June leans forward, catching his eyes with intent. 

“For what it’s worth, that boy obviously loves the shit out of you. And if I know anything about him, he’d want to know if you were feeling bad, no matter what the reason is.”

Mutely, Alex nods. He takes in a mostly steady breath and then flashes her a half-genuine grin. 

“So,” he starts, “I heard Pez has been spending a lot of time in LA for his shelter there. That wouldn’t have anything to do with you and Nora living there, hm?” 

June’s expression morphs into a sly smile as she tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear, a mischievous glint in her eyes that looks so akin to Nora– and Pez, for that matter. 

“Oh, lil bit. Do you really want to start that conversation?” 

────────────

Because Alex is a stubborn man who hasn’t learned the lesson that listening to his big sister is really always the right decision, he doesn’t talk about it with Henry. At least, not right away. 

Look, he meant to. Honestly. But then, their call connects and the picture of Henry, slumped down and so exhausted comes up on his screen and all of Alex’s petty worries fly right out the window. 

“Hey, baby,” he greets softly, smiling as warmly as he can manage, carefully propping his phone up on the coffee table and positioning himself on the couch. “How are you holding up?” 

Sniffing slightly, his boyfriend pulls his knees closer to his chest. His voice is hoarse and raspy when he speaks. 

“I had a meeting with Gran.” 

There’s no need to elaborate any further. The familiar spark of protective anger on Henry’s behalf rises again, and he furrows his brows in disapproval. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Do you want to tell me about it?” 

Henry shakes his head. “There’s not much to tell. The usual spiel I suppose, although it certainly hasn’t lost its impact.”

Sighing, Alex settles against the couch cushions. “You know, if you’d let me, I’d fly over there right now to suckerpunch that dried up bitch.”

A weak smile crosses Henry’s face as he hides his nose in the sleeve of what is clearly Alex’s old Georgetown sweater, David curled in his lap. The sight of it instantly makes his heart swell beyond its size. 

“Darling, please stop threatening to physically assault the Queen of England. I may be a Prince, but I doubt even I could protect you from being thrown into the dungeons.”

Alex blows a disapproving raspberry. “Fuck you being mature and rational.”

“Someone has to be.”

“Boo!”

That coaxes a full laugh out of Henry, bright and beautiful. Alex can't even keep up the theatrical indignation long enough to keep up the bit at the sound and instead breaks out in a grin of his own. When the chuckle tampers off, Henry regards him through the slightly-pixelated facetime connection with a warm gaze. 

Alex’s expression sombers. “I miss you, Hen.”

“I miss you terribly, my love.” Henry replies, “I can’t wait to be home with you soon. Davey misses you too. I think he’s deprived of all those extra treats you sneak him when you think I’m not looking.”

Grinning, Alex holds against the faux-chiding glare that his boyfriend regards him with.

“I plead the fifth.”

They stay on the phone together for another hour, and it’s so blissfully easy, so them that Alex momentarily forgets all about the tightness in his chest. While they share stories of their respective week, there’s no mistaking the adoration, the love in Henry’s entire presence, even when they’re separated by an ocean and fuck , he has missed talking to him so much. 

Before Alex knows it, the sun has set in front of his window and he gently admonishes Henry, whose eyes are half lidded and sentences intermittently interrupted by stifled yawns, to go to sleep. He stays on with him while he settles into bed and waits until his breaths even out until he finally hangs up the call, a gentle warmth enveloping him. 

Suddenly, what had been choking him before, is a faint memory he can barely recall. Dizzy with relief, Alex lets himself fall into bed, confident in the belief that he really had just been acting dramatic and giddy with the prospect of having Henry back in his arms in three days. 

────────────

The high carries him through exactly forty-eight hours. It’s Tuesday, one day before Henry is supposed to fly back, when things come back crashing down. 

Alex has a consultation with one of his professors at noon about a paper, one he’s actually really excited to write. He walks into the teacher’s office with the usual buzz of frenetic energy, a notepad full of scribbled ideas and a million and one thoughts, which he promptly begins rattling off as soon as his ass hits the chair. 

The more he talks, the more his excitement spills out of him, and it’s only when he tampers down that he notices the silent furrow in the professor’s brow and the critical shine of his stern expression. Leaning forward slightly, he folds his hands on the table.

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz. If I may, let me give you some advice,” he says, not unkindly. “You are obviously a highly intelligent young man, with extraordinary promise. But, even though I’m sure your enthusiasm has helped you in the past, I think it could hinder you on your path forward.”

Alex swallows, and deflates slightly in his seat, staring at him, frozen and with wide eyes like a deer in headlights.

“A lawyer needs to act with caution and, even more importantly, needs to be extremely perceptive. I’ve seen you in class and while your contributions were correct, you often spoke over your classmates or repeated things that had already been said. I’m not saying this to discourage you by any means, but it’s something you might like to keep in mind.”

Finding it hard to speak, Alex forces a smile to his lips and nods. The giddy rush from before now neatly folds in on itself, tugging down his shoulders, but he refuses to let himself get upset. 

He’s a grown man. He can handle some constructive criticism, in fact, he thrives on it. It’s possible though, that his passion –his way of being too much – is a bit of a sore subject for him. 

“Now, in terms of your paper, you have a lot of viable ideas, but again– it’s all very overeager,” the teacher continues. “Try to narrow your focus and send me a list of concrete thesis statements by the end of the week and then we can talk about what would serve you best.”

He nods a second time, relieved that the lump in his throat seems to have ebbed off enough to trust his voice to come out steady. 

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do that, thank you. And, uh–” he clears his throat. “I will work on toning it down.” 

The professor gives him a tired smile. “Please believe me, I’m only saying this in your best interests.”

The worst of the whole situation is, he doesn’t even doubt it. 

For the rest of the day, Alex pretty much feels like shit. It really shouldn’t be something that would ruin his entire mood, but it is , and he hates himself for it. 

When he comes home and takes a look across their living space, it promptly occurs to him how messy he’d let it get over the last two weeks. From his scattered clothes and all the disorganized papers filled with his scribbling, there’s so much of him everywhere. Suddenly, he has the urgent need to pack it all away before Henry comes home– so he does. 

He’s on his second load of laundry by the time his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

“Hey, baby,” he hums absentmindedly, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder while he crams his blanket into the washing machine. 

“I’ve got bad news, love,” Henry says in lieu of a greeting, “I’m afraid I’ll have to postpone my return for a few more days.”

Alex’s stomach drops. His hands still, dropping the blanket on the ground and instead pushing himself back up on slightly shaky legs. He raises one hand to properly cup the phone and tries to blink away the tears that immediately sting at his eyes.

“What– why?” 

“Grandmother dearest has orchestrated a gala tomorrow evening and specifically marked my attendance, effectively tying my hands. If I leave now, I’ll have personally snubbed her and the press will be all over it.” Henry sounds nothing short of exasperated when he sighs. “I know I’ll be giving her what she wants by staying, but the Paparazzi only just started to simmer down after my move. I don’t want to rile them up again.”

An ugly flicker of something sparks in Alex’s chest. With a heavy sniff, he sinks down on the closed toilet and presses the palms of his free hand into his eyes. 

“But that isn’t fair. Don’t you want to leave?” 

“Darling, what I want has never been a factor in any of this. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s just how it has to be right now.”

Alex exhales, shakily and then nods, voice void of all emotions when he speaks. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry sighs. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Henry. I just really would have liked you to come home tomorrow. But whatever, I guess you’re not that eager to see me again.”

Heavy silence follows. Alex squeezes his eyes shut in instant regret, balling his hand to press his knuckles against the hard surface of his forehead. Fuck . Why is he suck a fucking dick? 

“Of course I want to see you, Alex,” Henry says, voice soft and regretful. “Are you seriously doubting that?” 

If Alex was even a little bit of a person with more self restraint, he would have said something soothing and just moved this entire thing along. But he’s sad, and frustrated and overwhelmed by the churning emotion and so he shrugs, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I mean–” he starts, “I’m just saying, if it was up to me, I’d tell Mary to shove that gala up her wrinkly ass if it meant I got to come home to you.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one in my position.” This time Henry sounds slightly soured and it digs painfully into Alex. He doesn’t want to fight. Doesn’t want to be even more of a bother for his boyfriend than he already is. 

Still, he can’t bring himself to stop. 

“I think I’ve proved enough times that I’d make a lot of sacrifices to get to be with you.”

“So what are you saying? That I wouldn’t? Isn’t the life we’re living testament to how much our relationship means to me?” 

A bitter snort escapes him. “What, the life where you’re in London and I’m here and you’d rather go the convenient route of playing by your Grandmother’s rules than to fight to get back to me?” 

“That is–” Henry’s voice trips over itself in agitation, “that is not fair, Alex. You know that moving to Brooklyn has hardly been convenient . Neither has coming out, nor will it be when I make concrete plans to abdicate. I’ve done it, because I will fight for the life I want, for our life– but I’ve learned to pick my battles. And this is not the hill I want to die on when it’s only a matter of two days. And I will not let that be held against me.”

Alex’s lip wobbles dangerously. Henry is right. It’s only two days . He’s being a fucking baby. 

Unsteadily, he sucks in a breath, wiping away the stray tears gracing his cheeks with shaky fingers and nods, more to himself than anything else.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Henry says, incredulously. 

“ Fine , H. I’ll see you in two days.”

Before Henry has the chance to reply again, Alex hangs up the call. Mostly, because the sob that’s been scratching at his throat refuses to be contained any longer. 

He’s bitter. He’s clingy. He’s too eager. Of course Henry would rather stay in England than come home. 

Loud, ugly sniffs echo back against the tiled walls of the bathroom, only vaguely muffled through his fingers pressed against his mouth. Through blurry vision, he pulls his phone in front of his face to see if Henry called him back or sent another message– a new fresh wave of tears building up when he hasn’t. 

He sits and cries, until he tires himself out. In a harrowing deja-vu of last week, he drags himself to the couch and collapses– more silent tears wetting the pillow pressed against his cheek as he drowns in self-pity.

Always, the fool. Always the person doomed to cling too hard to everything he touches until it falls to dust under his fingers. 

Two days, he repeats to himself. Just two days. 

────────────

Gentle fingers brush over the taut skin of his cheekbones when Alex blinks his way into bleary consciousness. 

His mind is hazy, the fog of sleep still clinging to him, even as he tries to focus the picture above him. But then, his gaze catches on two warm, familiar blue eyes– and a shock goes through him. 

“Hen?” he croaks, voice still rough and hoarse from the aftermath of their call, scrambling to prop himself up. Henry peers down at him with an expression that Alex is too groggy to place, and there’s a soft glow of light framing his face like a halo, in a dream-esque picture. Wait. Alex should probably make sure…. 

He rubs his eyes through a yawn. “Is this a dream?” 

Probably–dream–maybe-hallucination Henry shakes his head, lips quirked upward. “No, love. Not a dream.”

The careful caress moves to tangle through Alex’s curls, lying flat from sleep. A contentful hum escapes his lips. He’s a bit apprehensive to close his eyes, so he fights against the urge to do so and instead squints at the figure hovering in front. 

“You’re not lying?” he asks, half still confused, half joking. Henry smiles down at him amusedly, rubbing a thumb over his temple. 

Before Alex can register what is happening, he leans forward and then soft lips are pressed to his own, effectively short-circuiting Alex’s brain. 

The kiss is– well, the kiss is everything . Realistically, it’s more of a clumsy fumble, what with Alex in a daze, the off angle and Henry scrambling to prop his hand on the backrest of the couch to keep himself from tipping forward– but to him, it’s perfect fucking bliss. 

He makes a noise that’s embarrassingly close to a whine when Henry gently pulls them apart, one hand still firmly tangled in his hair. 

A second passes. Alex blinks, then blinks five more times. 

“Oh my god.” He rapidly sits up straight, staring up at his boyfriend, very real and very here. “What the fuck? You’re here– why are you here?” 

Sinking down next to him, Henry smiles again. His hands reach out carefully, but Alex doesn’t waste a second to push his face into the soft palms that he could recognize by touch alone. In return, Henry quickly starts to very gently caress his skin, a calloused thumb wiping over what Alex can only presume are pillow creases and tear tracks. 

“You were right,” he says, expression sobered now. “Fighting Gran was worth coming home earlier.”

Alex’s hands instinctively fly up, cupping each of Henry’s biceps, gently tugging at the fabric there and needlessly keeping him close. His frantic desperation from before makes itself known again, and he gulps down a hectic breath.

“Yeah?” His voice is frail and barely above a whisper– but he can’t even bring himself to care. Henry is right here, inches away, warm under his hands and Alex needs to hear that he’s here for him.  

Searching his face, Henry nods. Ever so gently, he guides Alex closer, until their foreheads touch. This time, Alex does close his eyes, his breath coming in unsteadily and grappling even further with Henry’s sweater.

“Yes, my love. I’m sorry I was being a bit of an obtuse arsehole there for a moment again.”

A chuckle spills from Alex’s lips, the sound bordering on a sob. Henry’s hold on him tightens instantly. 

“Obtuse fucking asshole . If you quote me, you gotta do it right, baby.”

“It was more of a reference, actually.”

Alex rolls his eyes, before he buries his face in the crook of Henry’s neck.

“Fucking English major,” he grumbles into soft skin, basking in the low rumble when his boyfriend laughs and tucks him securely into his arms. 

He sighs. “I missed you . ”

Careful lips find the top of his head, one hand running up and down his spine, the other steadily placed at the nape of his neck. When Henry speaks, it’s with a soft whisper that is warm against Alex’s skin. 

“In case you ever foolishly forget, I am never not thinking of you.” Another kiss is pressed to his curls, then Henry pulls away just far enough for Alex to catch a glimpse at the impish glint in his eyes. “ That was a quote, love.”

Barking out a wet laugh, he hugs him tighter. “Shut up.”

“Shan’t,” he replies happily. Alex doesn’t know how he ever got so lucky.

They stay like this for a little while longer, slotted against each other like two perfectly crafted puzzle pieces, unfit to be apart. It’s a sappy metaphor, but whatever. Alex doesn’t give a shit– it’s true, after all. 

Part of him wants to cling himself around Henry, tackle him to the couch and stay there until the next national emergency, but the more time passes, the more the sleepiness recedes and his mind starts running again. It’s when it occurs to him that his boyfriend must be utterly exhausted after a sleepless night and a spontaneous transatlantic flight that he gathers the strength to pull away, if only to start fretting over Henry– and to cuddle David, who is excitedly squirming at their feet. 

He nudges Henry into the kitchen, puts out some dog food for David before plating a PB&J sandwich (with strawberry jam, not grape because his boyfriend is a European psychopath) that he knows is one of Henry’s safe foods, alongside some earl grey and pokes holes into his stomach to coax out some stories of his trip every once in a while. 

“So, how did the Grinch react when you wouldn’t come to her gala?” 

Henry sighs, accepting the steaming mug of Earl Grey that Alex slowly trusts into his hands and sets it down on the counter. “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly brief her on my decision.”

Alex’s brows wander upwards. 

“Wait. Did you– crap, baby, did you flee the country? You did tell someone you were leaving, right? Or is there an assembly of some guys with very stupid fuzzy hats currently stomping around London, looking for His Royal Flight Risk?”

With an exasperated glare that really is all fondness, Henry clicks his tongue. “No, there’s no manhunt out for me, as of yet. After our call, I had some time to reflect and… well, came to the conclusion that you were right. So–”

“Wait–” Alex cuts him off, a grin easily settled across his face, “Sorry, can I have that last bit again? Do you mind if I get it on tape?”

Henry rolls his eyes, ignoring his antics as he plows on. “ So , I went to my mother. And I told her that I was to fly back to the States immediately, no discussion.” A slightly sheepish huff escapes him and he takes a brief pause to blow the steam off the surface of his tea. “I was going in there ready to fight, but in the end I hardly needed to.”

“No?”

“No. Mum was perfectly understanding, she assured me that I should just go and she would take care of the rest. A shame really, I had a rather rousing speech prepared.”

Laughing, Alex rounds the counter, sliding a plate with two sandwiches onto the counter and presses an offhand kiss to Henry’s shoulder when he passes him. 

“I’m sure it would’ve been great, sweetheart.”

“No candle to your disputations, I’m sure.”

“Well,” he cocks his head. “Shoot for the stars, hm?” 

Henry smiles and reaches forward to tuck a stray curl behind Alex’s ear, eyes shining with so much unfiltered adoration, Alex doesn’t know how to handle it. 

“Exactly.”

The scene is domestic and absolutely perfect. As strange as it may sound, one of the things Alex most actively misses when Henry is away– apart from Henry himself– is to have someone to take care of. While he’s still learning and growing to accept help from others, giving has always come naturally to him and no one has ever been more willing to soak up so much of the love he has to give than Henry. 

After the stories tamper off and the food is gone, Alex tugs Henry with him for a quick shower that inevitably drags out into an influx of gentle kisses, touches and skilled fingers working their way to massage shampoo into golden hair until they’re both pruny. Another day, they might let themselves get carried away in their passions– but that’s not what this is about today. Henry is jetlagged and tired, Alex simply content to have him here. 

There is something entirely unearthly about the love of his life, molten and pliant under Alex’s fingers– eyes closed as he puts every bit of trust into him. Selfishly, he wants to tuck the memory away, in the depths of his soul, for no one’s eyes but his own. Fortunately, Henry doesn’t seem to mind.

By the time they’re patted dry and dressed in comfortable sweaters, it’s just past noon in New York and Henry is all but swaying on his feet from exhaustion. It’s a thing that happens whenever he comes back from Kensington, as all the wired energy from constantly being on guard falls off him, and essentially makes him deflate like a poked balloon.

Alex tucks a firm arm around his waist and leads him to their bed. It’s the middle of the day and he isn’t tired, but Henry needs sleep and he’s sure as hell not leaving his side– which is how he finds himself in bed, with his boyfriend’s cheek pressed against his chest and Bake-off softly playing on his laptop.

Realistically, there’s a row of things Alex should be doing instead. Working on those thesis statements, for starters. But he needs this, too. Holding Henry comes with a certain type of calm that settles his restless mind in a way that nothing else can and after the week he’s had, it’s like fucking aloe on angry sunburn.

One hand loosely cups the arm that Henry has strewn across his waist, the other runs through soft, slightly damp hair with repetitive movements. On the screen, someone is frantically trying to keep their souffle from collapsing, still Alex’s gaze is firmly planted on the face pillowed on his stomach.

Henry looks peaceful and completely lax. His eyelashes are fanned out over pale skin and full lips half parted, huffing warm puffs of air into Alex’s shirt. The rounded curve of his cheek is smushed against him, spilling over to where it squishes the corner of his mouth. Alex is genuinely and wholeheartedly convinced that the world has never seen a picture more beautiful. 

Realistically, he knows how desperately lost and in deep despair he’d been less than twenty-four hours ago. But it’s hard to remember, nearly impossible to care, when he has his world, whole and perfect, right here in his arms. 

June’s sensible voice echoes in his head. He should tell him about it, still. He’d want to know. He would, right? 

Yeah, he’d tell him. Later. For now though, this is okay. 

Henry’s fingers twitch in his sleep, clutching Alex’s worn v-neck wearing a bit tighter. He smiles as his heart swells almost painfully against his ribs. 

Maybe better than okay. 

────────────

Alex doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he knows it’s the middle of the night when he wakes up with a gasp. 

The room is dark and quiet except for his heart, loudly hammering in his ears, still chasing the stifling feeling of his unconscious mind. Any concrete memories of his dream are hazy, fading into fine smoke the more he tries to catch them between his hands, but what remains fresh and urgent in every cell of his body is the fear, the paralyzing panic of being left alone. 

His breath coming in fast and shallow, he reaches up to place a flat palm on the center of his chest, trying to focus on the grounding sensation with mild success. 

I’m not alone , he repeats like a calming mantra in his mind. I’m not alone. Henry is here. He’s here, Henry is right– 

Except… he isn’t? 

With frantic movements, Alex’s other hand roams the crinkled surface of the sheets next to him, cold and harrowingly empty. Suddenly, the panic crashes back over him with full force, crushing his airway until he can’t get even half a breath in anymore. He’s coughing, gasping, hectically tugging at the collar that’s way too tight all at once. 

Oh, god. He left, hasn’t he? Henry has gone and walked out, just like he did at the lake house, leaving Alex cut open and stranded. Decided that it wasn’t worth it– that Alex isn’t enough reason for him to fight anymore. The thought brings a fresh wave of hot tears to his eyes, a salty taste when they coat his lips. 

In his frenzy, Alex throws his weight forward until his sternum hits his propped up knees. The room is spinning before his eyes, a creeping sense of nausea rising and he still can’t fucking breathe. Prying his aching fingers from the sheets, he raises them to yank at his curls until the sharp pain sears through him. 

He needs to get air into his lungs. He needs to get it together. He needs Henry . 

“-lex. Alex! Alex, love, please look at me.”

The voice is dim and muffled as if Alex’s head is underwater and whoever is talking is trying to talk to him from above the surface, but his eyes are still clouded. Distantly, he registers hands, careful and gentle, that tug at where his own are fisted into strands of sweat-damp hair; thumbs smoothing over his knuckles to loosen them from their iron grip. Alex fumbles to tangle their fingers together and squeezes the calloused skin under them tightly. His counterpart quickly responds in kind. 

“Breathe with me,” the soothing voice continues, clearer this time. “Deep breath in, deep breath out. Can you do that, my love?” 

Alex isn’t sure that he can, but the voice’s cadence is hopeful and pleading, so he wants to try. Shakily, he sucks in an unsteady inhale that hits resistance too quickly, then forces himself to breathe out slowly instead of following with another gasp. 

“Good, Alex. You’re doing so well. One more, please?”

The hands that are still clasped around his fingers, tug them closer until he can feel soft lips brush over the back of his hands. 

Spurred on, he takes a second frail excuse of a breath, then another and another. By attempt number six, the cage around his ribs finally seems to widen, lifting the worst of the mist in his vision. Alex can still sense his entire frame shaking wildly, but he’s grateful for the tentative wave of clarity that now slowly settles over him. 

Blinking, he tips his chin up with great effort, and finds a pair of wide blue eyes staring at him, swimming with concern. Henry. 

The realization hits him abruptly, blurring his sight with tears all over again, though this time with overwhelming relief. A broken, sobbing noise leaves his chapped lips as he scrambles forward, nearly hurling himself into his boyfriend’s embrace. Sturdy arms close around him without hesitation, firmly holding Alex as close to Henry’s broad chest as possible. 

Henry hums, burying his nose in Alex’s disheveled hair as he rocks them soothingly from side to side.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, “I’m right here, darling.”

Despite the awkwardness of their position, neither of them make a move to pull away. Alex digs his fingers into the loose fabric of Henry’s sweater as he tries to convince himself that this is real, that he’s solid in his clasp. Warm palms press against the ridges of his spine, a grounding presence through his fading terror. 

After a long, heavy moment, Henry moves them to the end of the bed, resting their entangled bodies against the headboard without ever letting go of Alex, who lifts his head just enough that he can more comfortably rearrange it in the spot between Henry’s neck and his jawline. One hand blindly reaches out, his eyes fluttering close with a breath of relief when their fingers slot together with practiced precision. 

Through sweetly murmured words against his temple and periodically scattered kisses, Henry gathers him together. The certainty with which he holds him soothes the angry wound in the center of Alex’s chest, taking the next bit of heaviness off his shoulders. 

“You were gone,” he finally croaks out, when the last of his panic is replaced with bone-deep weariness, his voice a broken, small thing. 

Henry’s arms tighten around him and he presses yet another tender kiss to the top of Alex’s hair. 

“I’m still on London time,” he explains. “I woke up an hour ago and got up to make myself some tea. I was just downstairs, love, I promise.”

Alex sniffs. “Oh.”

“Alex,” Henry sighs worriedly, peering down at his crumpled figure, “will you tell me what’s going on? Did something happen?” 

He could probably blame all of it on the nightmare. Could try to brush it off, sweep it away under the disguise of stress and general abandonment issues. But, with the earnest pleading nearly swallowing Henry’s expression, it’s getting harder to convince himself that anything good is coming out of trying to hide from him. Further than that, Alex realizes with startling clarity that he doesn’t want to lie to Henry. 

It’s now or never. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and he vaguely feels like he’s been hit by a bus, but he still props himself up on jittery arms so that he can look at Henry when he tries to speak. He needs to get the words out, now, or else he’ll talk himself down again once he’s back to feeling good .

Henry places a steadying hand on his elbow, his brows furrowed slightly, pinched in the way they are when he’s trying to get to the bottom of something. Alex loves him helplessly. 

“I don’t think I was okay when you were away.”

Frown intensifying, he tentatively lowers his hand. “What do you mean?” 

After that, everything starts to spill out of Alex. From the tanked exam, to the crying fits and bouts of despair all the way to his teacher’s advice, all of it pours into Henry’s open palms, waiting to catch whatever Alex chooses to share with him. Henry is deadly silent as he talks, no movement or sound, aside from the hand still dutifully climbing up and down his spine. 

“”Why didn’t you talk to me about any of this before?” he asks once Alex’s words taper off, sounding almost pained.

“I, um– I didn’t want you to worry or think you had to… take care of me,” admits Alex, then sighs and bites down on his lips before he continues, softly, “I was scared you were starting to see me as a chore.”

Something cracks in Henry’s face. “Oh, love.”

“It was stupid, I know.”

Shaking his head, his boyfriend gently pulls him back in, hands cupping his neck as he leads Alex’s head to rest on his shoulder again. 

“Your feelings are not stupid, Alex. But please believe me when I tell you that taking care of you is by far the greatest privilege of my existence and If I do nothing else for the rest of my life, I’d still have become all I ever set out to be. You are my first priority, darling– always. I never want you to think otherwise.”

More tears fall from tired eyes as he squeezes them shut. A shuddering breath runs through him. 

“I know that, baby. I just–”

A soft hand comes up to push away the curls from his forehead. “You what, love?” 

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to… to remember how it feels that people care about me, when they’re not with me? I know that sounds fucking horrible and I don’t– God, I don’t want you to think that you did anything wrong H, because you didn’t ; you’re fucking perfect and you make me feel so loved–”

Henry cuts him off with a squeeze and a chaste kiss. “It’s okay, Alex, I’m not going to get offended at how you feel. If there’s something bothering you, I want to know regardless if it’s uncomfortable to hear.”

The reassuring words succeed in easing some of his nervous energy. He takes in a steadying breath and for a moment lets himself be soothed by Henry’s presence as he tries to put his feelings into something coherent. 

“You know how sometimes, I’ll have something in the fridge that I’m really excited about, but then it gets pushed back to where I can’t see it, and I just… forget it’s there?”

He can practically feel Henry’s eyebrows climb up. “Yes?” 

“I know that sounds fucking nuts, but that’s how it sometimes is with emotions for me, too. Realistically, of course I know that you love me all of the time. But then, maybe something happens that will throw me off and you’re so far away and suddenly there’s this disconnect in my brain. Most of the time, I can still talk myself down from it but other times I just… spiral.”

Henry patiently listens while he stutters out his clumsy explanation, attentive eyes never leaving him. 

“Has this happened before then?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. “I think maybe it’s been happening ever since I remember. With Liam, or my dad, or even June back when she was at college and I was still home. I don’t think I ever really grasped the how of it before, I just knew that I’d get those waves of feeling like everyone abandoned me.”

A bitter chuckle falls from his lips. “I guess it probably didn’t help that Dad did leave, or that Liam ghosted me later. At some point I thought I was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

Henry looks at him with serious eyes. “I assume similarly, the fact that I’ve left you before as well hasn’t helped this either.”

There’s no accusation, no judgment in his boyfriend’s voice, so Alex allows himself to respond with a tiny nod. “Maybe not, yeah.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Henry hums, giving a placatory squeeze when Alex opens his mouth to resist, “I’m sorry, you’ve had to hold on to this pain on your own for so long.”

Once again, the lump in his throat grows, even as he tries to make a dismissive noise. “It hasn’t always been as bad as it was this week.”

“Do you think perhaps it was the stress of your exams that exacerbated it?” 

“Probably?” He shrugs. “I don’t know, I think it was a lot of shit coming together.”

Nodding, his boyfriend gently picks up the hand that is nervously picking at the bedding, raises it up until he presses a kiss to the soft, sensitive skin of Alex’s palms. His eyes are warm and still lacking any sort of anger. Alex thinks he could cry with relief if he tried hard enough. 

“Thank you for sharing this with me.” Henry replies to Alex’s wobbly lip with a gentle smile. “Is there something you can think of that I could do to help you in the future?” 

Somehow, the earnestness of the question catches him off guard. He’s so unused to being the one being accommodated, that the sensation itches at his chest that wipes his mind clean of any productive thoughts.

“Um– I don’t know?” he stammers, face heating up. 

“That’s okay,” Henry immediately assures, “we can sit down and talk together about possible provisions once you’re feeling better. Maybe I could try to text more often, or we could plan our phone calls ahead of time? And I’ll also make an effort to move my trips to England outside of your exam periods.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to, Alex. I mean it, you are my priority. Any inconvenience that comes from trying to alleviate when you’re hurting is no inconvenience at all.”

The carefully annunciated words, along with the sudden dizzying levity of finally having it gotten off his chest, is enough to get him going all over again. He slumps into Henry’s hold with a broken sound, clutches the sweater where it pools around his boyfriend’s waist. 

“I love you,” he gets out between hiccuping breaths, “I love you, I’m sorry, I love you.”

Henry lets him cry without interruption, only keeps kissing whatever spot of Alex’s face that he can reach. When their noses are pressed together and all Alex can sense is Henry, everywhere, their lips fall together like magnets. After a moment, he goes to pull away, but decisive fingers around his cheeks hold him close as Henry’s eyes shine up at him.

“I love you, irrevocably,” he says, tone nothing short of reverent, “You once stood in front of the world and told me that I was your choice, but you must know that you are mine, too. My choice, Alex, my life.”

Fuck . This man is going to be the death of him. 

There are still ways to go, of course, and perhaps they both know that nothing will be definitively solved by phone calls and scheduling. But Henry is here, by his side, ready to fight with him– for him, and that counts. 

It counts when he falls asleep in Henry’s arms, safe and sound and when he wakes up, with Henry still right next to him, palm on his chest. It counts when they’re huddled in the kitchen between peppered kisses and the smell of coffee– or when Henry stares at him through pure adoration as they draw up a list of possible therapists offices. 

Nothing is perfect, yet. But most of it is good.

And for maybe the first time in his life, Alex isn’t lying if he tells himself he’ll never face the fear alone again.