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Henry finishes his business in the loo and opens the door to the bedroom.
Then stops short. It’s like stepping into a dream from not so long ago.
Alex is sitting on the bed, half tucked under the duvet. One of his arms has been sacrificed to the cold so he can use his phone. His thumb is flying over the screen, typing something Henry’s sure will have lots of typos and no punctuation, which Alex won’t give two shits about. His eyes are almost hidden by the glare of his phone on his glasses.
It’s their house. It’s their bed. The other half of it, the place beside Alex, is Henry’s. It’s only been a little over a month, nowhere near long enough for the wonder of it to even begin to fade.
Alex glances up at him after a long minute, then does a double take. “What the fuck are you doing, just standing there at the door like that?” he asks, setting down his phone and taking off his glasses. “People are dying from lack of cuddles, Henry.”
Henry snorts, pushing away from the door and moving towards him. “People?”
“I’m people.” Alex shifts to lie down and holds the duvet up for Henry.
Henry gladly slides into the bed, into Alex’s open arms that wind snugly around him. Contentment fills him and fills him, until it spills over as a deep sigh. Henry tucks his face against Alex’s neck. “Aren’t people being a little dramatic?”
“Not when their boyfriends are you.” He pauses. “Wait, it should be ‘boyfriend’. Right? Because you is singular—also you are fucking singular—but you’re not everyone’s boyfriend—I won’t allow that—but also since ‘people’ just means me here—”
“Darling?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you think there’s a better use for your mouth?”
Henry imagines Alex’s eyes darkening, can hear the smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah?”
“Mhmm.” Henry raises his head so they’re face to face, and says empathetically, “Some people are dying of kiss deficiency.”
Alex laughs, short and bright. Delighted, as he always is when Henry matches his wavelength. “I won’t allow that, sweetheart.”
He captures Henry’s smiling mouth with his own. Henry sinks into it, forgetting his quip about Alex’s altruism, and senses that it’ll be a good while before they fall asleep.
And that’s not a complaint. Sleep isn’t as big of an emotional comfort as it used to be, anyway. Waking up isn’t dreadful. The difference between dreams and reality is getting fuzzier by the day.