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It all started the day the weather broke: as if the tempest in his mind had creaked its way to the form of the wily moors, bringing sleet and hail in its wake. Henry’s mood would’ve worsened, if he wasn’t already at the zenith of his mental strength. He spent the next four days lying in the endless vacantness, barren and deserted from the world, from his mind, from his physiology, from his soul. For once, it didn’t hurt. A vast, cavernous pit of nothing, everywhere and nowhere, the sound of his beloved hound’s bark being his only rope to the physical world.
It was David, poor David, hungry and wanting for his company, chained to a man who could not even take care of the beloved companion he proclaimed to love so much. In the morning Henry rushed to find his dog, apologies on his tongue for forgetting to feed him the day before. Henry had been a terrible to him, neglectful in his own misery. He could barely recall the last time he took David out on a walk, not since the persistent bout of desolation possessed his soul the last Friday.
It was his father’s fifth death anniversary.
He spotted David near the garden-gate, sniffing the penetrating heath intently. Henry’s heart clenched at the sight; the poor beagle must miss his daily walks around the moors—and his timely meals.
“Oh poor boy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, he crouched down to pet David as the beagle jumped excitedly on his lap. Wordlessly, he slipped a bowl towards the dog; David just continued to lick all over his face with a zealous intensity. Henry indulged him to the fullest.
“Why, Henry, you need not apologise so fervently.” Esther appeared from the gate, in a much more pleasant mood than usual, a basket of herbs in hand. “The old dog is well fed, hearty and happy, though he did seem to miss your company on occasion.”
David was still clambering up Henry’s lap, ignoring his food in favour of making the most of Henry’s company. It did seem he missed Henry more than occasionally, in spite of having slept in his room every night. The poor old sod loved him inspite of his suffering company. Henry scratched him lovingly, hoping David felt the gratitude in his caresses.
“What’s that, Esther?”
“Oh, this?” Esther lifted the basket to her chest, eyes glimmering like a child with a new toy. “Your dear friend, that suspicious apothecary—he found me at the town street, immediately enquiring about your absence. When I told him about the condition of your poor health, he offered—no, begged me to take these herbs and condiments for your sake, claiming it would help you feel better. He also offered some of his unnatural concoctions, but you know I don’t trust that boy, unlike the many gullible folks swayed by that innocent smile of his, such as yourself.”
Henry felt the tips of his ears redden, coughing, “I don’t see what his smile has got to do with the fact that he is exemplary at his job, Esther. Mister Claremont-Diaz was trained under the best mineralogists and chemists of our time. If you doubted his practice so much you need not have brought the herbs from his garden. I hope you are not one of those townsfolk who go around whispering ear to ear about his alleged sorcery while continuing to buy his potions and vials.”
“But it is witchcraft! It has to be. How else is the lad able to cure diseases previously known to be fatal—with medicines never seen before! You have always been an unworldly lad, Henry….even your father bore the same fault. Too trusting, soft-hearted, presuming the world carried the same generosity as the nature of your own heart. As for the herbs, I give you that the boy is knowledgeable in herbology. It’s all the same vegetation that grows everywhere else, in nature’s bounty. And your childhood friend—the eccentric merchant from the south—bought a good fortune of his herbal medicines last summer.”
Henry raised his eyebrows. “And you trust Percy’s judgement more than mine”, which was wise on her part, Henry thought, but she also didn’t realise how irrational her argument was. A wiccan could easily poison the earth as much as she feared the magical interference in the medicines, as much as she claimed to have seen Alex plant and plough around in his garden. But he was tired, and there was a lively and affectionate dog in his lap eager for his attention, so he decided to let go of the argument with a party that had stubbornly made up its mind.
This was scarcely the first instance of Esther’s irrational beliefs. She believed in a good number of superstitions, even convincing Beatrice of a few. Henry had given up arguing since a long time back.
“He has always had a sharper acumen and shrewdness than you. One does not manage a flourishing trade business without a good sense of judgement. Aces with money, that bonny lad.”
“Now that I cannot argue with.”
Esther looked pleased with his acquiescence, walking into the door to prepare for dinner. She’d been with their family since Henry was seven, employed by his late father. His grandmother never quite liked her, or any of Arthur’s staff. When his father died and his estate was passed onto the eldest son, his brother Philip, and Henry was to join military or become a member of the clergy, which he flatly refused inspite of the pressure from Philip and his gran, Esther chose to accompany him along to his new abode, claiming she’d never be able to live in peace under the oppressive air of Mary Mountchristen.
As Henry walked along the carriage-road, he glanced towards the hilltop where his father rested. A wistful pang trembled his heart. When he reflected on his own belief in the otherworldly, he could understand why people choose to believe in spirits and sorcery.
He had moved across the country to the old house he father grew up in, where he was buried in the lilac mounds next to his own beloved parents. He kept the oak shelves with his father’s favourite books in the pile the exact same manner they were, even though they needed repair urgently—Henry could not bring himself to touch them. Nor could he get anyone other than Esther to touch the house, who was exclusively hired as a cook and remained so, leaving his incompetent self to do the cleaning. Esther did not mind as long as her own quarters were tidy and she was well-paid, which made their arrangement tranquil as it could be, living with a man who longed for the dead more than he cared for the living.
Henry could not deny he sometimes considered believing that the spirit of Arthur Fox lay there watching over him, above the moors in his favourite place in the world, maybe sometimes visiting him too. But the idea of his father watching him lie in agony warded the thoughts as quickly as they came. It would be better off if his father watched over Bea—out of everyone in their family, she was the first one to fall apart in grief, but it had also given her the space to understand her feelings better.
His father believed in faeries. He told them tales of brownies and house elves and dangerous pixies in the forests. He always instructed them to beware of mushroom circles and barren patches in the woods and grass.
Henry had never pondered upon it more than a fun game to play in their excursions to the woods—he wondered if was simply becoming more superstitious with ages, though he was only twenty-two.
Strange things had been happening in the small house secluded from the town, inhabited by merely a young magistrate and a middle-aged woman could almost be the premise of one of his own stories, Henry mused wryly. Maybe he could amuse Alex with this silly story one of these days—he pictured the winsome smile on Alex’s beautiful face, the way his eyes twinkled, the curve of his cupid’s bow, the sincerity with which he listened to Henry inspite of his restless disposition.
Alex would probably reason it must be all Esther, and she was being generous with Henry and he must increase her compensation—but Henry knew Esther was out all day yesterday. He’d seen her leave and return at the time she reported later.
After days of being plagued by insurmountable sorrow, the cloudy tempers subsided, his mind feeling clearer than before. When Henry ventured into the drawing room for the first time in days, there was a new vase at the mantelpiece, with fresh crocuses and scented leaves—his father’s favourite flowers. Someone had kept David well-fed and fated, for his dog barely left the house on his own, and Esther didn’t care to feed him, by her own admission. Henry had spent the entire day tormented by the mysterious appearance of the flowers, as Esther insisted she didn’t even know what Arthur’s favourite flowers were, nor did she bring them. She also pointed out that the dusty surface of the mantelpiece was cleaned, which again wasn’t her doing.
Henry pursed his lips, taking his place by the rocking chair as he sipped on his tea. The scent was calming, the flavour on his tongue soothing his nerves.
“This is good”, Henry said to his companion on the settee. “It’s quite soothing isn’t it?”
“Is it not? What was it he said…ah, chamomile and white willow bark. Your friend gave it to me, with instructions in his poor writing. Took me hours to decipher the hieroglyphs, and yet the recipe itself was so easy. I cannot believe I refused your offers of a cuppa, all this time, I didn't even know what I missed out on. I understand why you don't go a day without it, wonder how you managed last night.”
Henry knit his brows. He did remember telling Esther it was out of stock a couple days back, but then he fell into his deep spiral of inconsolable nothingness, and he did not remember a day he went to sleep without his nightly chamomile tea. “Today?”
“Yes, today. I told you in the garden I had brought in herbs from the apothecary boy today”, Esther mirrored the knit in his brows.
“No, I mean…Esther, you gave me this tea yesterday.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Henry, I did not give you any tea yesterday my boy. We ran out of tea. I did not drink any tea meself, that’s why I rushed to town early in the morning.”
“Esther, I drank this exact same tea yesterday. And the day before. Someone—you—left it at my bedside, I remember very clearly. ”
“Henry, when have I ever left the tea by your bedside?”
"I..."
Esther shrugged. “It must be an extraordinarily vivid dream. I have one of those once in every while.”
Henry shook his head, finishing the tea in his cup before making his way to the scullery, scouring dirty vessels in the sink, he fished out the tea cups.
“Henry, what are you doing? ”
Henry held the cup in the air triumphantly, as if he’d fished out gold from the earth, waving it in front of his body. “See”, he circled his finger around the based of the cup where the fragments of tea leaves had sedimented.”
“It is indeed….”
“Chamomile.”
She stood there frozen, silent as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Esther..?”
“It’s house faerie.” She said, her eyes still fixated on the cup. “It has to be. I always leave them offerings, pussywillows, my own crystals, I think the gods have listened to my prayers. ”
Henry stood there transfixed, watching the day old sediments stuck at the cup’s floor, mind on a spinning wheel with the bizarre happenings of the day. Either Esther had grown old and forgetful (which, she was only thirty-seven) or she’d been duping him out of some secretive motivations he could not figure. Or……
He remembered his father’s bedtime stories, of mischievous elves and benevolent creatures who tampered around the house….
It was house fae. It had to be.
“Say something”, Henry muttered watching Alex suck on the pipette from the jar instead. He did not come here on purpose to watch Alex wrap his lips around the thin glass objects and suck on them—the solutions, no--it was rare that he got to watch Alex tinker around with any equipment at all.
“You always look so terrified, Henry, this is not the laboratory you know. This is just water, you need not be scared of such a harmless chemical”, Alex put the pipette on a cloth, holding the upper meniscus to his eye level.
“Is water a chemical?” Henry asked. Alex fetched a stool to get one of the jars from the towering shelf, which was at a height Henry could reach just by stretching the hand, but he did not say anything.
“Everything is a chemical. Or it is made up of chemicals.” Alex replied, holding the jar triumphantly just as a voice broke in from the door: “’Everything is chemical’ – broke in a sharp voice, and it was the perpetually agitated figure of Hunter, the town constable – “you keep making up these enigmatical euphemisms for your witch potions and slow poisons, Claremont-Diaz. Everyone knows you’re just the marionette of that wretched witch—the mysterious lady that lays hidden in that black dungeon-- to deceive the world of your true intentions with that cherubic face of yours. But I’m telling you, you’re not succeeding for long.”
It was a miracle Alex stayed quiet enough to let the man complete his tirade, Henry thought, probably because he was too engaged with the glass vials in his hands. Which was worse for Hunter, because Alex did not get a chance to interrupt through his conspiratorial theories, and now he looked livid.
“If it wasn’t for the fact that your little sister was the one in need of severe need of the medicine, Hunter, believe me, you would be out the door before you even opened the mouth. There are scores of avaricious hunters on the streets, so hungry for a bounty they cannot tell brass from gold—we do not, however, harbour any self-flagellatory intentions of trading with the likes of them. What you just said about Nora is unacceptable, and I advise you to take your medication and begone—and never come back here again, you schem—”
“Such is the world, you mend their house and they throw stone at you”, a deep voice sighed from behind the backdoor, interrupting the scene. A man with salted grey hair curling onto his face in waves, no older than fourty, emerged with a scroll of paper in hand. Henry did not know the man, but judging by the way Alex’s agitation subsided in an instant and transformed into surprise, and then recognition, and then if he was not wrong….
It was somewhat hard to detect under Alex’s dark complexion but ... .if Henry is not mistaken, it bore an awful proximity to his own face around a crowd of beautiful men, sans the prevailing remnants of indignation. Henry did not know if that made him hopeful or dejected.
Hunter looked around the scene in indignant confusion, as if searching for words to recite some other gibberish conspiracy to the previous reply when the older man placed a hand on his shoulder, speaking lowly in his ear, "If I was you, I'd take the medicine and leave, if nothing then for my sister's sake", and so the man huffed, fished money out of his pocket and slammed it against the counter, and was gone just as inconsequentially as he came.
“I am still mad", Alex said, still scowling and pouting with his hands in the air.
“Sure you are", the man replied coolly.
“I don’t know why we need to help ungrateful vultures who cannot even appreciate their own lives being saved…”
“Technically, you are selling them, in return for money”, Nora appeared from the main door, clad in a white coat that hung over her shoulders. Henry wondered if further mediation would reveal June through a secret third door, even though Hunter has already left.
“Shut up, Nora.”
“So clever and articulate.”
"We don't need the money from batty, ungrateful sods."
“You could stop selling to anyone you do not wish to”, the man suggested, smiling preemptively like he knew the answer.
Alex took a deep breath and sighed, chewing his lip. “You know I would never refuse medicine to anyone in need, no matter what, even if I despise them or they loathe me, these things are above the question of personal quarrels and animosity. That’s the entire reason we do it: to help those in need."
“Even if they wish to implicate us in a criminal case on unfounded accusations”, Nora's face was utterly blank, with little effect in her voice. “Hopefully, the law is on our side.” Her face morphed into an artful smirk. If Henry hadn’t known her before he would’ve been intimidated, but instead he just stood blankly, taking in the sight of the beautiful jars on the shelves, so lost in his head he didn't realise what transpired before he heard: “As I was saying, Raf, where are the supplies?” Alex turned to the man, who Henry assumed was Raf.
'Raf' looked at Alex drily. "You can say that without being loud enough to be heard across the street. "
“Well, yes, but also, no. Show me the way Raf", Alex quipped, undercutting his own words by taking the lead instead, and it was so typical Alex that Henry couldn't help rolling his eyes with a fond smile.
And so Alex disappeared through the back door, the older man following him in a sigh, leaving Henry behind; without the medicines he came for.
As he stood in the middle of the room -- only just then seeming to realise Alex left without providing his medicine and he was left stranded in the middle of the shop, Henry cursed himself internally, before his eyes landed on Nora and he cursed himself again for forgetting her. Being around Alex did maddening things to his cognitive functions.
Nora eyed him up and down, intimidating but sly at the same time, he did not know how she managed it, but she always did.“Would you like some tea? June is out of town nd Alex keeps disappearing to god knows where, it’s dreadfully boring sipping all that tea water all by myself, joyful as my company may be."
Her invitation took him by surprise; Henry assented with a nod, simply because it was a polite thing to do and it was his natural disposition to agree before he has even considered what people demand from, but Nora was hardly a disagreeable company.
She showed him some exotic concoctions and scribbles on her paper with her thick volumes scattered around her like a fortress. The room was silent, only the scribble of pen and the occasional turning of pages supplying for the sound of conversation. Henry relished each sip on his tongue; it felt like a meditative session, peaceful and calm.
He longingly stared at the front door of the shop for a while, knowing fully well how Pez and Bea would rag him if they saw his unrequited pining, but he was a right damned fool, and he missed the bloody way Alex waved him goodbye.
He was around the turn of the street when he decides to look back, once more, and found Alex in front of the apothecary, staring right at him, equally startled to catch him watching back.
“Henry!” Alex ran up to him, so close that he has look down his nose to see him in the eye. "Your tea."
Alex held the jar out, and their fingers brushed when he took the remedy from Alex’s hand. He was almost picturing the small smile and hand wave Alex will give now, bidding him adieu, but Alex instead said: “I have some good news for you.”
He smiled that troublemaker smile Henry adored so much, and oh, Christ.
“Good news? Why, what is it?”
“You don’t have to walk the way back to your house all alone. I know it brings you immense tranquility to wander on your own but today you are graced with my very delightful and entertaining company. You’re very welcome, Mister Fox-Mountchristen Windsor.”
Henry scrunched his nose at the address, and Alex broke into a beautiful laughter, one that made Henry’s chest go tight with a visceral emotion. One he felt immensely and deeply, down to the bottom of his heart, but dared not speak that emotion into the world.
They walked through the windy stretches of grass. Alex’s chatter about the herbs in his garden and Nora’s ingenious investigations of staphylococci and the beauty of the larches in the dell made him forget the stretch of the distance.
They rested by a bank of heath; Alex lied on his back with his limbs stretched, serene and beautiful. Henry sat next to him, hands folding over his knees pushed up to his chest. He could spend the rest of his life by looking at this sight; if he could freeze time and live in one moment forever, it would be here and now.
“Did you find the herbs I sent for you?”
“I did. The tea…it was lovely, so calming and soothing.”
“You love it, even when your sleeplessness is so acute it is futile.” Alex said, face upwards to the sky. "It half works because you have convinced yourself to, which is maybe the secret to all old medicine."
Henry only understood the first half, but nodded anyway. "The old....oh, we're in the transition period, aren't we? You'll phase out the chamomile then? I really like it."
Alex nodded, still staring upwards, fiddling with the blades of grass underneath. "Uh, no, we'll transition to empirically tested medication for the serious illnesses, the remedies for small cured will stay. You can have as much chamomile and sage as you like."
Henry sighed, of relief or out of mere habit, he didn't know. "Now that I recall", it occured to him suddenly, "I assume Esther paid for it?”
“No? Why would she pay for it?", Alex looked at him, frowning. "You are my friend, Henry.”
“Alex”, Henry untangled his knees. “I can’t believe you”, he shook his head and fished for money in his pocket.
“I would be very offended if you insisted on paying me inspite of my wish to not charge any money from my friends”, Alex said intently. “You cannot repay my generosity with all the money in the world, Lord Mountchristen, you must know that by now”
Henry scrunched his nose. “Don’t call me that”
“Then accept my gift, if you wish to consider it so. Stop trying to pay me for something I don’t sell. And do not try to argue with me, you cannot win with me. Look at you, you brooding, asocial soul. Cannot even accept a small gesture….I can see why you choose to live in that small house all by yourself. You and the crazy lady who calls me a witch and bargains for every penny--”
Henry's brain skidded to a halt, ignoring the colorful descriptions of his and Esther's character. “You have seen my house?”
“No….” Alex shrugged, “it looks small from here.”
“Everything looks small from afar", Henry replied.
“I am aware of the mystical science of perspective, Henry. It’s just...isn't your family name—I thought your family is nobility?”
“The Mountchristens, yes….” Henry huffed a breath, hearing the unsaid, "I am the younger brother. I didn’t inherit the wealth from my father, he died so suddenly….and even if he left a will it’s not like my gran would let the ancestral wealth be fragmented. As for her own wealth, I don’t know I would want even if she willed it to me…I don’t know what people were expecting, or what they say..”
They lay in quiet for a while. A dandelion wafted around in the air and rested on Alex’s nose. Alex tried to blow it off, going cross-eyed in the process.
“I need to talk to you about something”, Henry began, “it’s all so absurd, and I know you do not believe in such things, but it only seems to be plausible. ”
Alex turned to face him, furrowing his brows.
“I understand if you don’t believe me”
Alex looked befuddled. “Why would I not believe you?”
“It’s the faeries, Alex.”
Henry lay next to him, resting his head on the weight of his elbow such that he’s facing Alex, who leans into his space, face serious and intent. “Strange things have been happening, Alex.”
He relayed the events to Alex, who listened to him quietly, face perfectly blank and calm.
“And you think it’s house fae”, Alex spoke up, once Henry was done.
“What else could it possibly be?”
Alex shrugged, surprisingly, uncharacteristically, as if the challenge of such an odd mystery in front of him didn’t overactivate his curiosity.
“My father believed in faeries. He said he even met them once; they saved his life, though he wouldn’t tell when or how. He was not a superstitious man. My gran said house fae punished servants who were tardy and lazed around but my father said that wasn’t the case, and that higher powers were benevolent more often than not.”
Alex was quiet, still, hand tugging at the grass lightly, not forceful enough to uproot.
“I don’t believe in such things ….you know that Alex.”
Alex nodded at him.
“I know you don’t believe in such things: ghosts, witches, sorcerers, pixies and the like, and neither did I, but I cannot think of anything else… and if a man as intelligent as my father….. Unless it was a trespasser who happened to be--”
“—No, you’re right", Alex interrupted him, talking him by surprise. "Who would trespass your little cottage up the lonely hills to smuggle tea and flowers? That sounds ridiculous. There’s nothing even steal there, and you didn’t find anything stolen, and you are sure it’s not Esther pulling a prank on you, is it? She’s a jovial and playful lady, maybe she thought it would cheer your spirits—but, you know what, I do believe you are right. It must be house fae.”
Henry licked his lips. “You think so?”
“What else could it be, Henry? I think your arguments make sense.” Alex laughed shakily.
Henry was truthfully taken a bit aback. He had expected push back. He had expected Alex to give him a good fight: challenge his arguments, question the logic, find a way to arrive at an answer backed by an irrefutable proof. This, this uncharacteristic acquiescence and uncanny enthusiasm for unfounded speculations was out of the blue.
Alex reached a thumb out and smoothened his brow with the pad of his thumb. Henry pursed his lips, watching Alex’s gaze follow the movement.
It was quiet up on the hill, with nothing but the bees droning among the bloom and the larks crooning high up overhead, watching two figures spread in stillness in the limitless stretches of grass. Alex’s head was pillowed by his hands, looking at Henry, Henry’s own propped by the nook of his elbow. Henry realised they were so close their noses were almost brushing.
The scent of cinnamon, elfdock and the linger sweetness of yarrow muddled his senses. Henry did not believe in what Esther or the constable or the old ladies at the tea parlour or other naysayers said, no, but there was something incredible in the beauty of the man before him, something beyond the make of the earth’s elements. When he looked back into those eyes, gold and honey in the sharpness of their gaze, eyelashes lush as the bloom in spring, the bow of his plump lips curling upwards ever so faintly, he was sure something had bewitched him, cast a spell to keep looking at the man forever, till his last breath, and die right there, in peace.
He saw Alex’s gaze flit to his lips, and instinctively inched closer, before Alex got up with a jolt, dusting the grass on his clothes. “Jesus, look at the way it clings to the robes, Henry, stronger than most adhesives, I swear. What in the stickywillies” -- Henry sat up, clearing his throat, taking in the gratuitous and overenthusiastic action, which, frankly, there wasn't even that much grass over the clothes....
The sun was sinking down the horizon, which meant Alex had to go.
Alex offered him a hand to pull him upright. Henry made a proper fool of himself for staring at it for a minimum five minutes before taking it in his own. He watched the figure fade smaller till the path turns east, at which point Alex turns back and waved a salute, his smile was so brilliant and bright Henry could see it even from the distance.
His hand twitched with the memory of the firmness and warmth of Alex’s hand.
The strange events continued every once a while, whenever he returned from his walks: the arrangement of his settee altered to face the lattice though which the sunlight poured one day, the furniture in the parlour cleaned and dusted the other, the cobwebs in the old storage room dusted and disappeared, the old oak closet with a broken door fixed and repaired, and one astonishing day he returned to find the floors cleaned and glistening, shining as if anew.
He asked Esther to watch out for the intruder, in hopes of catching the being red handed, but Esther threw her hands up in the air, claiming she would be discharged from her job than face the fae, and if they were being generous with Henry like his father believed he should honour the faith his late father carried for the benevolent creatures.
Henry only ever visited the town for work, or in dire necessity, though the confines of what constituted his necessity stretched backwards with every visit ever since he walked into the doors of the contentious apothecary shop, going on the word of mouth that they had a remedy for every condition, which might include his incurable sleeplessness too. He remembered the way Alex stumbled on the steps of his staircase, got down, and gave him a cup of chamomile and willow bark, telling him to come back for more if it worked.
On his second visit he was truly suffering, a mild headache and some curiosity; he was only handed a feverfew tea and a note for the recipe to make it at home. So, when on the third visit he feigned to loose the note, Alex only narrowed his eyes at him knowingly, before grinning, “Mister Fox-Mountchristen Windsor”, he dragged the full name out, as if he took great pleasure in enunciating every sound, “it’s just like your regular tea. You strike me as a tea drinker. You do know how to make a tea, right?”
“I do, yes, and I am a tea drinker. Very enthusiastic one. But it was very bitter”, Henry gulped, “nothing like what you prepared.”
“Oh, it is very bitter, which is why you must add honey.” Alex scribbled another note, and put it in the breast pocket of Henry’s coat.
On his ninth visit in two months Alex took him by the wrist and dragged him to the garden, pressing a lemon balm to his hand : “Jesus, soon you will run out of illnesses to feign Mr. Fox-Mountchristen Windsor. You do know you can visit and meet someone without making up excuses, do you, it’s called friendship?”
And yet Henry didn’t go there often without a legitimate grievance. There were many people who genuinely needed medicine far more than Henry needed to see the face of the object of all his lustful and lovelorn desires, arguably. (He'd since then taking to visiting only when he ran out of his stock of chamomile).
This time the grievance being an embarrassing case of stinging, red rashes all over his arms from falling into a poison ivy bush—mortifying and undignified. To say the least, the mysterious intruders, house fae or a ghost particularly enthusiastic about house cleaning, whatever it was had rattled him, and plagued his mind relentlessly.
When he reached the shop, there was a commotion inside. An old man with a walking stick gesticulating wildly in the air was bickering with Alex over the failure of his previous medication in treating his piles, and Alex so uncharacteristically polite and demure, like he was scared raising his voice more would spook the octogenarian into a cardiac arrest, told him over and over that his plantain decoctions work in most cases, but he was not a physician, and if the illness was something more than just constipated bowels there was nothing he could really do. The thing went on and on, just the same, until Nora head strode through the backdoor, a white bonnet on her head and a syrup of medication in hand for the aggrieved man. The man eyed the syrup keenly, eyes flitting back and forth between the two, before dropping the money and grumbling his way out the door.
“I thought we were out of papoids”, Alex turned to her, once the man had left.
“From your own local chemical laboratory”, Nora, smirking, before her eyes turned to Henry gaze piercing and clinical: “And how can we help you, magistrate?
Alex followed her eyes to register his presence for the first time; it was then Henry realised he had been standing passively the whole time, like a fly on the wall, an uninvited witness. Not his first time.
“Henry!” Alex grinned, waving the bottle in his hand in excitement before realising the action was probably dangerous, and carefully putting it on the table. The stinging made Henry wince every once a while, and seeing his discomfort Alex schooled his expression into a more sombre expression.
“Erm…I fell into a bush of poison ivy….Ṭhere are rashes all over my skin, my arms in particular, it itches and stings..” Henry filled in to soothe the concern on Alex’s face, who only scrunched his brows in bewilderment.
“You fell?”
“Er, yes.”
“Fell. Into a bush.” Alex scoffed, and Nora hit him with her elbow on his side.
“Ow!” Alex scowled at her, before turning to Henry with a glint in his eyes, cocking his head. “How do you just fall into a bush?”
“You toppled over and faceplanted on the bilberries just yesterday, Alejandro.”
“Yes, but Henry didn’t know that, and you didn’t need to tell him”, Alex said, annoyed, soothing the place she hit.
“I admit it was a very funny sight”, Henry interrupted him tersely, “unfortunately, no one was there to be entertained by the humorous vision of me tumbling on my feet to land on a poisonous shrub.”
June entered from the entry-door with a flock of customers behind her, calling out: “Alex, stop tormenting the poor gentleman and get the remedy”, and Nora’s attention immediately shifted to the new crowd. The two ladies were engaged with the newer customers, leaving Henry with—
“Can you show me your skin?”
Henry’s brain skidded to a halt. “What?”
“Your arms”, Alex said, “I need to see your rashes.”
Henry pulled up his sleeves to show him the patches of red skin. Alex peered at the infection, and then fetched a small cup from one of the drawers, asking Henry to stretch his hand out.
“It’s burdock”, he said, taking Henry’s hand in his, pressing the compress to the site of the rash. “You are lucky, I just prepared some for a child who tumbled into a poison bush. It will hardly take five minutes, and you will be good to go. Now if it was sumac, we would be doing this all day. I still don’t understand how you just fell Henry, I mean, that’s the most Alex thing you could have done, and you’re not Alex, I’m Alex.”
“Thanks for the clarification”, Henry quipped dryly.
“You’re Henry ”, Alex continued, ignoring his remark. “Graceful and so…..elegant, even the way you open the door is so careful. It just makes no sense.”
“We all have our multitudes”, Henry spoke aloud, “though now that you admit I am more cautious than you, I hope you do not take offence in my observations about your recklessness.”
Alex’s hand was soft, gentle and careful in its administrations, so different from the fiery passions with which he conducted himself. A stray curl fell on Alex’s cheek as he pressed the cloth into Henry’s arms. And all of a sudden Henry wished to be nothing but reckless, to reach out his fingers and push it back and press Alex against the wall and kiss him senseless, right here in front of everyone. Thankfully, both his arms were stretched out in front to save him from the mortification of attempting such an action.
Oblivious to his obscene fantasies, Alex replied, “I never contested that. I am nothing if a little foolhardy. I disagree on being called saucy and quarrelsome, for I do not quarrel, I argue , and I only argue when I am right, which is always.”
Once he was done pressing the extract he gave Henry a small jar of poultice to spread on his skin for home. Henry pursed his lips, gathering his thoughts, “It happened again.”
Alex raised his brows.
“I don’t know what is happening, but two days ago I returned from walking David, in the evening, and my rocking chair, which had been creaking on its left since winter, and in dire need for repairs—I sat by the window with a candle on the sill, for a light reading after supper, and it felt different. More comfortable, and it no longer squeaked, and I noticed someone had polished it too, and I….I do not understand...”
“Was anything stolen?” Alex asked, eyes firmly on the decoction he stirred carefully in a wooden bowl.
“No, no, that is what I don’t understand. Nothing has been stolen. Not a piece worth a farthing, nor a single penny.”
“It’s like the house fae took too much liking to you”, Alex smirked, before correcting, “or your house. It must be a lovely house. Quaint little cottage in the woods.”
“It’s not a cottage”, Henry murmured. “Nor in the woods…it’s all miles and miles of grass, mauve and green and no inhabitation in sight. Which is what makes the thing more baffling. I do not believe in ghosts, not really, unless I am morose and six feet under in my tarn of melancholy, no..”
“It must be the fae”, Alex insisted, seemingly distracted with the entry of the new crowd in the shop. Henry furrowed his brows, not quite convinced, seeing Alex as the room crowded with more and more people pouring in, he decided to take leave.
As Henry opened the door, a familiar voice called out: “watch out while you walk, Henry!” Henry shook his head, smiling, tried to lose the smile the entire way home, and failed spectacularly.
Nothing happened for a week, and then one day when he came home, tired and dispirited from the day to find the crimson rug in the parlour washed and hung for drying, and he looked around for Esther, who seemed all too pleased with the arrangement to bother finding who. Henry ensconced himself on the rocking-chair, trying to think of a strategy to find whoever was repairing and cleaning his house for nothing in return, and soon that was all that occupied his mind in his walks.
He visited the town on Tuesday to talk to Alex, but seeing as the man and his sister were too busy saving a man bleeding through one of his legs, he made up some excuse of a mild cold to Nora, and returned with a potion of sage and cherry bark.
Henry busied himself with work, and wrote letters to his mother, Bea and Pez, and spent more and more drafting ministerial papers than writing his own miserable and morbid soliloquies.
It came to him in a shock, an instant, like the sudden change in weather on a sunny day that breaks into rain: the intense bout of melancholia. It suffered him in the most unforeseeable moments, when he would sleep in the night devising plans for the next day and wake up in a state of immoveable emptiness, numb to his bones. His mind was vacant, with no place for any emotion or spirit, and he asked Esther to take David with herself as she took the untouched plate of food back to the kitchen.
In the evening he was in better spirits than before, which meant he could feel the gloom and ache settling on his skin, itching around his eyes—he could finally feel the sadness buried in the mass of the unfeeling paralysis and void. His feet carried him to the kirkyard on the mound. In a daze he walked through the dell and when he reached the gravestone, his feet stopped on their own, knees hitting the ground.
He sat there on the cold ground, eyes misting as the waves of sorrow crashed in, and sat there for hours, or a neverending period of time he didn't possess the faculty to measure. It wasn't until past the sunset, that much he knew, when a sensation on his back made him turn his head back, and he found a coat on his back. It was his brown overcoat. He looked upto see Alex, who stood at a respectable distance, looking at him with pain in his eyes, arms folding to stretch his own coat tighter as the winds blew wilder.
“It’s quite cold here….” Alex murmured, chewing his lower lip. “I..I am sorry, Henry. I know I shouldn’t be here. But the weather is dreadfully cold, and you forgot your overcoat at home….” Henry stared at him as if dazed. A single tear dripped on his left cheek. “Esther told me '', he added.
Alex walked back and stood by the fir-tree at the edge of the yard, shivering in the chilly breeze. Henry looked at the stone, and then back at the figure in the dark. Standing up, he walked to where Alex stood. Alex looked up at him: “You don't need to be bothered by my presence, Henry..I only came here to give you the coat. I’ll just stand there and wait till you are ready to leave, no, I can leave and wait outside the yard, I just do not wish to leave you alone in this terrible weather.” Alex stammered, turning to leave, but Henry clasped his wrist and held him at the spot.
Henry bit his lip, then sat next to the tree, resting his head back on the bark. He didn’t say anything for long, and realised he had been holding onto Alex’s wrist, who was still standing, gaze flitting around. Henry tugged at his hand to motion him to sit down pressing. Alex took the spot next to him and sat quietly, and there was no one but them and the sounds of the wind rustling the grass and the leaves, and Henry’s mind was vacant, drifting, save for the touch of Alex’s hand rooting him to the ground.
An hour or so went by; Alex stirred, and draped his cloak around Henry’s back. Henry looked at him, folding the cloth over his shoulders; when his fingers touched Henry’s neck they were chilly like icicles. Henry scoffed, huffing a small laugh, then pushed the cloak away and put it back around the man with far less tolerance to the cold. Before Alex could protest, Henry rasped, “Seems like it will rain soon. I believe I am quite finished. If we do not rush, we could get pelted with hail. These winds are freezing.”
Alex licked his lips, took off the cloak and placed it back in Henry’s hands. Henry opened his mouth to say something, but then rescinded against an attempt at arguing with the most stubborn person on the planet. They walked in silence, fingers brushing every and now and then—never quite holding but never retreating away, only concerned glances fixing him every alternate step.
When his house was in sight Alex stalled at the spot, angling his feet in a different direction.
“What? Where are you going?”
“Home..?” Alex blinked at him.
“Home is this direction”, Henry pointed out.
“Well, my home's that way", he pointed to the turn.
Henry shook his head, sighing: “It’s so far from here. Look at the sky, Alex, it looks like it will be pouring anytime now—you will be drenched by the time you so much as cross the turn to the lower road. Come and stay here until the rain goes away.”
Alex shook his head vigorously, “I’ll be fine, trust me. I’m a fast walker. You’ll be in your porch and I’ll already be in my bed by that time—besides, June is probably losing her mind with worry—”
Which reminded Henry, he had no idea what Alex was doing wherever in the wild he found Esther, whatever was he doing straying around in the moors, if he came up with the hopes to meet Henry or pay him a visit at his home, which would be a waste that he choose to come on a day like this; at the corner of his mind lurked the fear that his haggard, depressed state, which he kept carefully wrapped from the society, had repulsed the one person he wished to keep it from more than anything. A grown man who spent his days suffering in his bed because he couldn’t bear to get up and cried at the stones of the dead anytime something remotely difficult happened was unseemly. His façade of the well-adjusted, perfectly calm and composed gentleman crumbled easy as a stack of cards, and only his family—at least half of them—and Esther, because she was good at ignoring it, could bear his company.
But in his own brooding ruminations he had lost track of Alex’s rambling, who was apparently still going on--
“—and you know how June is like, trust me, you don’t wish to face her wrath. She worries so much and she gets so angry when anyone does that, the last time I came across this shepherd boy in the field—”
Henry stepped forward, flung the cloak open and draped it over Alex’s shoulders, who stuttered into silence. He fastened the knot around Alex’s neck, heard a sharp sigh from the mouth barely inches away from his own, and considered doing something mad, like kissing him senseless and taking him home before he got himself sick in the downpour.
“You won’t listen to me, and I can’t convince you, so you better hurry. Wouldn’t wish to worry June too much.” He lips twitched at the corner, and his smile was faint but earnest.
Alex let out a breath, then laughed breathlessly. He looked into Henry's eyes, then nodded slightly, staggering backwards and off onto the carriage-road. When he was around the corner he waved his hand. Henry rolled his eyes and sighed, and then realised it was more emotion that anything he had felt for the last one week.
He was changing his clothes when he heard the sound of the heavy drizzle, and bit his tongue.
When he visited the apothecary shop the next day, June was at the counter. The first thing she spoke to him after greeting him was about his health and humours, and that Alex had been worried, and would be in the moment, too, if he had been contracted a fever from getting himself in the heavy rains. “Worried himself sick, literally”, she rolled her eyes.
A pit caved in his stomach, and he returned home empty handed. The weather was precarious for the next week, raining every other day. When he visited the shop next week, June was still all alone, but Alex was better. The news kept his heart afloat amidst the rising waters.
The sky was sunny blue in the morning and cloudy by noon, and the weather fitful. He was confined inside and spent the days cleaning and reading by the window, and did not spot any aberration or mystical presence around the house. Esther seemed disappointed at his newfound interest in domestic work, for she believed the fae would never show up if you kept scouring for them. Truthfully, Henry had forgotten about that, and couldn't bring himself to care anymore; June’s words echoed in his head, and he longed to see Alex.
On Friday he found the spoons in the kitchen scattered across the sill. A clumsy note on the sill by Esther stated she was going to see Lady Catherine before the winter commenced. The mess was her doing, for she was getting forgetful with age, and she had this cloud cuckoo conjecture that if he stopped prying around the house to disturb the furniture maybe the brownies will put it all back on their own.
Henry sighed loudly, disposed of the paper, and put the spoons to their place.
There was a hailstorm the day after Esther left, and it was hard to believe you could describe the weather the day before as sunny. The garden plants, which swung happily in the breeze yesterday, were all withered and bruised by the pelting. Henry didn’t think they would survive.
A lot had happened over the month. And yet, inside the house, nothing had happened since the day he’d found the rug washed and hung on the clothesline. The disturbances were gone, rocking chair didn’t move an inch, the oak closet sat alone catching dust in the corner, and it was all the same as ever.
But two days after the harvest moon, a day since Esther was out of town, Henry contracted a terrible cold.
His entire body burned with fever. He was coughing and sneezing and tossing and turning in his bed, delirious and suffering, all by himself and his poor dog watching him with morose eyes, steadfast by his bedside.
He coughed and sneezed and slept, drifting in and out of consciousness the whole day, scrubbed the wet cloth over his heated cheeks desperately when he was awake. He wondered if this was what Alex had endured in his fever.
It made Henry feel terrible, but the knowledge of June's presence to look after him alleviated the heady weight in his stomach. June’s words echoed in his head, again, and he missed Alex. So, that was all that occupied his woozy state, in his dreams: the ghost of cold fingers on his neck, draping a cloak to keep him warm, the trembling body offering him warmth under the trees; when he was awake, he thought of the mischievous, cocky smile, the most beautiful face in the world and….the faint pain in his legs. And his entire sodding body.
He wished his mother was here, pressing a wet cloth to his forehead like she did when he was a child. He cursed to himself as he broke into a fit of cough. Esther would have fetched him medicines.
He missed Alex. He missed his mother, his missed Esther, he missed David, and David was right there beside him, and then it was all a blissful cover of blankness.
When he woke up there was a cold, damp cloth pressing onto his forehead and a bowl of soup on the bedside. He scrambled up, scrunching his brows.
“Esther? Is that you?” Henry rasped. “Why, did you cancel your plans? How are you back so soon?”
A figure appeared at the door, a plate of bread and some figs and a small glass phial; Henry’s heart shuddered.
Oh.
“Alex?”
David followed Alex in toe, sniffing his legs and licking his boots. Alex dragged a chair next to his bed, put the plate next to him, “Eat”, he commanded, with no other greeting or salutation, and no further conversation. His face was blank, though with great effort.
“‘lex?”
“Alex, what are you doing here?”
A cool hand touched his cheek. Henry involuntarily leaned into it. “You need to eat something”, Alex pushed the plate towards him, ignoring his question. "You cannot take medicine on an empty stomach…. It’s not that bad, really, but it would be if you stayed starving for another day–God, what were you gonna do Henry, alone in the cold, lonely house, hungry and….” Alex’s voice grew distant as he shuffled across the halls, looking for something Henry had no idea about. He was famished, and the faint throb in his head made it hard to concentrate on the sounds, so he just ate the food on his lap; Alex returned with a cup of water and a wet cloth, gave him medicine and spread the cloth on his forehead.
A cool, comforting hand pressed onto his palm, much like the gentle hold under the fir-tree. Just as cold in contrast to his skin, but much steadier and firmer. When he woke up, the light through the window was dim and golden, and a small plant that wasn’t there before sat by the casement. He pushed his blanket aside, “Alex?”
The house was silent and empty, only the sound of David’s barks through the window in the dining parlour helped him find the company he was looking for –out in the garden. David was chasing butterflies and near the primroses sat the head of wild curls, shiny and silken in the glow of the setting sun.
“Alex?” Henry called out. Henry watched the man turn, eyebrows shooting all the way upto his hair. “Henry! How are you feeling now?” Alex ran upto the window.
“Better. Much, much better. Alex, l don't even know how to begin to thank you for everything”, Henry said, earnest and grateful.
Alex looked unimpressed. “What were you planning to do Henry, lie alone in sickness, starving and coughing your way into?”
“Excuse me?”
“What would you have done if I had not shown up?" Alex threw his hands up in the air. "Wait out the fever? It could get so much worse, it's so cold up here, and on an empty stomach! All I am saying is, you should try to be a part of society, let someone in, so they can help you in need.”
Henry watched his distressed face, trying to come up with an answer, and then decided deflect the question: “I don’t understand….you—you disappeared. After the day at the kirkyard. I visited so many times and you weren’t there."
“I didn’t disappear”, Alex scowled, “I was sick, because of the rain. And after that I was sent by Nora to get new supplies for her research, and then…I never saw you. And don't deflect don'tt question with another question. Anyway, I left the porridge and the broth in the kitchen, and the medicine by the mantel in the bedroom, where you can find a note with the dosage, though the viral cycle will be nearly over by tomorrow.”
"You are leaving", it dawned on Henry then, disappointment pooling in his stomach, "right now?"
Alex bit his lip, "Yes, I, I need to go"
"Because June will be mad…?” Henry placed his hands on the casement, leaning forwards.
Alex cocked his head to the side, “Can’t stay here and play nurse all day, sweetheart, can I?”
“Why not? I pay well”, Henry gulped, lips twitching into a smile.
Alex barked a laugh. “Oh god, you seem to have recovered too well. Take care, and I will take the period of your convalescence to consider the offer.”
“You too. Take care, Alex”, Henry said, quiet and low. “Wait--you still haven’t told me how you found me. How did you know I was sick?”
Alex placed his hands on the casement, next to Henry’s, so close they almost touched, but didn't. “You have your guardian angel to thank for that”, he motioned towards David, “and the rest well….”
“Where did he found you?” Henry knit his brows.
“Well, yes, I was coming to that—I was near the usual spot, the one where we lay in the heath when—actually, you know what Henry—I need to leave, and I need to leave soon, and by soon I mean right in this moment. But I will tell you everything, the entire story start to finish, once you’re in better health, I’ll see you, and I will tell you..”
“Alex, wait!”
And he was gone just like that, out the yard before Henry could come out. David bumped into his feet while chasing a butterfly. Henry crouched down to pet him but David ran off, eyes steadfast on his target, not even caring that his human had just recuperated from a ghastly illness. He followed the whimsical dance of David's footsteps, calling out for him, and as he was out in the garden, the sight of a washcloth hanging over the clothesline stopped Henry right in his tracks.
He had a plausible explanation: it must be Alex, of course, it was Alex, but all those times of his belongings reappearing in different places, or different states spun his head around.
Henry left for town early at dawn; the shops were opening just as he reached his destination. The apothecary shop was closed, the owners yet to come, so he waited against the door. It was not more than half an hour or maybe less when he heard the familiar chatter around the corner.
His eyes narrowed to the one he was waiting for: Alex, laughing with June and Nora, bright and loud as always, nearly tripping over when June shoved him at something whispered in her ear, and stopping dead in his tracks when his eyes landed on Henry.
Henry folded his arms, looking right back. "Henry", Alex mouthed, frozen at his spot.
Nora looked back and forth between them with a curious, knowing smirk while June mirrored Alex’s surprise.Then, she looked at Nora, and they exchanged a glance amongst each other before pushing Alex together, who staggered forward in his state of stricken shock, mouth gaping, fishlike as he stumbled onto his feet.
June held a key in her hand, swindling it around her index finger. “You know what, this has gone on for too long, and I am tired of his moping around and whining, and I know he would have gone there again on his own. But I am glad you are here, and do not worry, we will not disturb you in the slightest—the business has carried for long without Alex, I am sure it will be just fine for a day more”, she rolled her eyes.
“A day? Bug, have you lost your mind?” Alex startled out of his dazed state.
“He will not come back before a week, at least.” Nora said dismissively.
"Thanks for the encouragement guys", Alex rolled his eyes, then, clenching his fists, he walked upto Henry, tipping his chin up: "You know what. We need to talk."
"Come with me”, he said, striding to the path Henry recognised as the way to the physic garden.
Henry followed him, calling from behind, “I feel quite alright now, from the fever I mean. Most it was gone after the first dose. You’re a bit of a miracle healer, why, I am starting to believe the witchcraft allegations.”
“That’s because the viral cycle is three to four days, and it was already day is the third day yesterday. The antibiotics just exacerbated the process—speaking of which, you shouldn’t have come here today. Given it a day or two more.”
Alex didn’t speak anything else on the way. Henry felt an uneasy restlessness in his stomach, and decided to let it out before he lost the courage: "Alex ou didn’t need to do that—”
“—It was me.”
“Pardon?”
“It was me”, Alex confessed, thunder in his countenance and guilt in his eyes, “the clothes, I--”
“I am aware, Alex, I saw the sheets hanging over the line, and you absolutely did not need to do that. ”
“It’s not just that, it was also the rug."
Oh. Oh. This was really happening, wasn't it?
“And the rocking chair? The old oak closet? The flowers?"
Alex's eyes seemed to near fall out the sockets. “You knew?”
Henry shook his head. “Not until last night. Not until I laid my eyes on the dratted oak closet, to find it all the dust wiped and dusted like anew. Even then, it was hard to believe, I spent a lot of time gallivanting around the house like a tortured ghost, David looked terrified.”
Alex gulped, carding hands through his hair and tugging at them. “You must know it was never my intention to steal, intrude, or tamper with anything, and it was never my intention to deceive you, Henry. Although I should have told you the truth long ago…the faerie theory was just….very amusing. ”
"Why would I believe you'd steal when nothing was stolen? Except, intrude, you did." Henry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Is that your justification?” He looked at Alex, chewed out bottom lip, looking so tired, and tired he must be from all the back and forth and running around. Henry almost could not bear to look at him, and he did not wish to look away, ever. His feet moved forward, involuntarily, until he stood inches away from where Alex’s fac
“No. No, no, no, no, Henry, you must know I am terribly sorry, and I swear I admit it was a bit creepy— "
Henry almost could not bear to look at him, and he did not wish to look away, ever. His feet moved forward, involuntarily, until he stood inches away from where Alex’s face.
"—and I apologise from the bottom of my heart, and I understand if you—mpphhh”
And then he was kissing Alex, and his hands were in the silken, wild curls and his mouth against soft lips that had always haunted his dreams, and apparently, his house too. Alex staggered back, gasping, looking at Henry in disbelief before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him down into another kiss. He bent down to deepen the kiss, and there were hands in his hair and then: “Wait, you didn’t even let me finish my apology”, Alex gasped, lips still brushing against Henry’s jaw.
Henry rested his palm against a tree bark, catching his breath, shook his head disbelievingly. He schooled his face into a neutral expression, “You shall give me my apology in writing, dear, and I will make you say the whole thing, once you’re in my bed.”
Alex’s gasped. “In writing?”
Henry squeezed his eyes. “I don’t need an apology for you cleaning and repairing my house for free, but if you are so adamant, by all means, do give me one in writing, and I shall rate it and give it my seal of approval.”
“I’ll write you the best apology you have ever seen in your life, just wait. I—but why are you kissing me? Is this an attempt at compensation for my services?"
Henry took Alex's hands in his own, clasping his fingers, not even bothering to roll his eyes. “I kissed you because I love you. I love you, most ardently, with every inch of my body and soul. I have loved you since the day we met, since the day you gave me chamomile to cure my inability to sleep at night and made fun of me for finding flimsy excuses to come see you because you knew, you saw, I was hardly subtle, and yet you are dense as a bulb; when you...you sat with me in the kirkyard and brought me a cloak to keep me warm with your freezing fingers…." Henry took in a shaky breath. " I…love you.”
Alex stood there, mouth agape. If Henry was not mistaken, his face was heated, and his eyes shone in the early morning light. Henry was sure his own face was red as a beet. “Henry….I love you too.”
“You do?”
Alex laughed, disbelieving, "I do, yes, yes I do. I, I don’t think I even understood it until you spelled it out for me, which was just a moment ago.”
Henry's eyebrows shot all the way upto his hair. “Oh god, I loved you”, Alex sat on the bench, putting his head in his hands.
Henry sat next to him. “I loved you, I loved you, I didn’t even understand. I just couldn’t bear to see you like that, so sad and lonely, alone in your grief, and your beloved books you loved to talk about--catching dust in the old corner. I could not bear to see you so suffering all by yourself, I…you were my friend.”
Henry didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth to say something. Words failed him. There was a hand over his own, touching faintly, slow enough to pull away, and he turned over his own to clasp it. Over and over he tried to say something, over and over he failed.
Then, he only managed what he knew. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Alex turned his face towards him. Henry tipped his chin up, kissed him chaste and sweet, pouring all his love in the kiss. He felt Alex’s hand over his heart, and he hoped he knew, thank you he murmured, against his lips, over and over again, like a prayer.
The sun shone on their skins like a warm balm; Henry thought of all those times he longed to kiss Alex there, under the open skies resounding with linnets and blackbirds, and now he had it all in the palm of his hands. Alex reached over to peck him on the lips, grinning widely.
He was reciting one of Henry's poems, because he'd challenged Henry he could remember all his poems by heart, if Henry let him read the ones he wished to share; the challenge was an entirely one-sided affair, and Henry had no idea what prompted it, he didn't care to ask – he quite liked the sound of his words on Alex's lips, and that was as far as he cared to know.
".....No second morn has ever shone for me; All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee."
"Rather maudlin, isn't it?" Henry murmured. "The later ones are more jovial."
You mean like, "And when thy heart is resting, beneath the church-aisle stone, I shall have time for mourning, And though for being alone", Alex raised an eyebrow.
Henry opened his mouth, to come up with something, anything, and then closed it again. He hadn't shown the poems he'd written for Alex, knowing how insufferable his muse would be, and they were indeed much more cheerful.
“You don't feel lonely, living up there all by yourself.” Alex caught a dandelion in his hand, holding it by the stem between the index and the ring finger.
“Mmmmm?” Henry looked at him, watching the bud swing in the current. He's been saying the same thing since days, weeks, months, since the time he met Henry.
“Ms. Dean is selling her house and moving to the uplands, which makes the house next door”
“Oh”, Henry fills in, understanding dawning on his face.
“Oh”, he says, “I, erm….. I think, I'd need some time to think. ”
“Oh, oh, sure, take as much time as you need. And it's perfectly alright if you do not wish to move, of course, I swear, I can be such a pest. Don't feel pressured on my behalf. ”
“Alex, it's alright”, Henry pulled him down to the ground, “I have been considering the idea too, truthfully. Somewhere closer to society. Somewhere closer to you”, he took a breath. “But I do need some time.”
Alex nodded silently, giving him a small smile, and entwined their fingers together. Henry watched him, penning cloying ballads in his head, the way the winds caressed his hair, the sun dazzled bronze against the stars on his cheeks, and it didn't even matter how sentimental or embarrassing he was, if he said it all aloud.
There was someone out there in the world, right next to him, who loved him through it all, above and beyond the pale clouds and the bare skies, across the lilac fields and clear waters, through every shade of the drear and dark tempers, the stale, unmoving greys, and all the million of shades of his blues, there was someone who loved him; purposefully, earnestly, he was loved.