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The snow fell softly outside the window, a sheet of white forming around their home. The sky was darkening, the early evening tinting it a deep grey. Not dark enough yet to be considered full night-time but it was getting there, the clouds a smattering of colour across the canvas.
Henry sat at the window seat, the bumped-out space had been an important selling point for him. It was the perfect nook, whether he wanted to sit and read, encased in blankets or leaning on too many pillows. Or if he wanted to write, his laptop perched on his knees as he would type away at the keyboard. Right now, he watched the world outside. Sometimes he could see the birds come and go at the feeder they had bought. Sometimes, if he was lucky, the rabbits would come out and hop amongst the grass of the front garden.
Today, he idly watched the snowfall. It was calming, each little speck having an adventure. He wondered if he would be considered too old to make a snowman. He didn't think Alex would deny him of that joy, he most probably would be encouraging regarding the matter. It was just that he didn't really get to experience those childish pleasantries growing up. There never seemed to be time in his cramped schedule to do anything fun.
Footsteps pad across the wooden flooring behind him. He didn’t need to turn to look, instead, he was still captured by a particular snowflake that was a little bigger than the rest. Alex tapped Henry’s foot just once. Henry brought his knees closer to himself, allowing there to be enough room for the both of them.
A few minutes passed before Henry finally turned from the window to look at Alex. When he did, he noted that Alex was staring down at Henry’s foot still, seemingly he had not looked away from it.
“Darling, is something the matter?” Henry asked, swallowing down a spike of anxiety that had sneakily tried to make itself known.
Alex blinked up at him, a smile so kind blessing his features that any worry Henry might have had melted away entirely. “You've got a scar on the top of your foot,” he commented.
Looking down, Alex was correct. Henry huffed out a small laugh, he had forgotten about that scar. It was minuscule, on the very top of his arch. “I think I may have dropped something on it when I was a child,” he explained, “I couldn't tell you what I dropped, just that I do remember it hurting a whole lot.”
Alex hummed, intrigue rumbling from deep within his chest.
“Why do you ask?”
“I was curious,” he responded simply, offering Henry his lopsided grin, forever warm and charming. “My dad always said every scar tells a story,” he gestured, mimicking his father as he deepened his voice momentarily. Henry smiled. “ Whether good or bad, they'll have a tale connected to it. I've always been fond of that idea. I think it's nice each scar is linked to something.”
Henry had never thought of it that way. He had been brought up in a household where scars were either ugly or badges of honour, no in between. It was just a matter of how you had gotten them. He remembered his grandfather, who had married into the family, telling him once about the scars he'd gotten from fighting in the war. How he showed them off bravely. Henry, at the time, had thought they were the coolest thing he'd ever seen. Now, he wasn’t too sure.
“Sorry that my story cannot be more interesting,” he laughed lightly as he flexed his foot, watching the taut skin shimmer under the living room lights.
“Nonsense,” Alex waved a hand nonchalantly, “every story from you is interesting.”
Disregarding the blush creeping up his neck and tinting his cheeks pink, Henry cleared his throat, “So, how about you? Do you have any scars with stories?”
Alex thought for a moment before his face lit up, remembering something. He rolled up his trousers, exposing the skin of his right leg.
“This one,” Alex pointed at a scar that curved around the edge of his shin, “I got from falling off a bike when I was 7.”
It was wide, it looked like a patch of skin had been torn away and replaced with bumpy regrowth. “I was just starting to learn how to ride,” he explained. “June was on ‘Alex watch’ as my family liked to call it but it was just our luck that the second she looked away I lost control and panicked, falling off and skidding across tarmac.”
He watched Alex wince slightly at the memory. It sounded painful, Henry hadn't been privy to the feeling of tarmac against skin but he couldn't imagine it felt particularly nice. Without thinking, he raised his hand and caressed the scarred skin, feeling all the miniature imperfections, it rough and uneven under his fingertips.
Then, realising what he had done, he pulled his hand away. “Sorry, was that weird?”
Alex chuckled, “Dear, I think we're way past being worried if we're weird, don't you? That was endearing, I don't mind.”
Henry was grateful every single day that he got to live the rest of his life with Alex. “Well if we're sharing stories, I suppose I have a few more,” he turned over his hand to reveal his palm. On the edge was a patch of discoloured skin that was reaching up towards his thumb. “Got this one whilst cooking in my early teens.”
Alex reached out, softly taking in Henry's hand and squeezing it. “I didn't know you cooked?” He teased playfully.
“I don't.” They both knew Alex was the chef out of the two of them where as Henry enjoyed baking. He hadn't been allowed to do it much growing up but when he finally flew from the nest, he started picking up some recipes here and there. “I was allowed to try it out, I think we were making a stew of some kind, it was winter so that would've made sense. I leant over a bit too fast and caught my hand on the edge of the simmering pot. From then on, I wasn’t trusted with any sort of cooking.”
Alex frowned slightly. Henry knew full well it wasn't aimed at him, but rather at his strict family. “That's not fair though. One mistake and you're banned?”
“You’ve met the older members of my family Alex. You know what they're like.”
“If they were my family I would've been banned from doing so many things. They might actually spontaneously combusted at the sight of some of the mistakes I've made.” He then straightened himself up, letting go of Henry's hand. “If we're on about scars and cooking, I got this one when cooking too.”
He pointed at a small scar shaped like a ring around his pointer finger. The lines jagged, digging into smooth flesh.
“I was cooking with Dad, back at his place,” he said, a hint of a reminiscent smile gracing his lips. “If I recall I was chopping tomatoes, I think. One slip and the blade of the knife was through my finger, exposing bone.”
Henry wrinkled his nose in disgust. He was never the best at handling queasy stuff. “Gross.”
“I know right? June freaked out but my dad was calm like always. We almost considered stitches but in the end, the blood slowed. Gave me a cool-looking scar though.”
Again, Henry had never considered thinking of any of his own scars as cool. To him, they marred his pristine skin. Though he supposed that was the way he was brought up, yet Alex and his family had different ideas. He was starting to appreciate those ideas a bit more, starting to lean away from his upbringing and lean into a more freeing way of thinking.
“Alright, your turn,” Alex prompted.
Henry thought for a moment before lifting his t-shirt and revealing a long scar that stretched over the side of his torso. This had only happened in recent years, the skin still a patchy red, spanning over the length of several centimetres.
“This one I remember vividly because it happened whilst playing polo.” He allowed Alex to trace his fingers across it, his touch barely there. “Suddenly I'm falling off my horse. Then I’m landing awkwardly on my mallet and it's pushing into my side. Who would've thought that a blunt object could break skin?”
“Yep, tell me about it.” Alex laughed in agreement.
“Oh?” Henry raised a brow.
“The amount of arguments me and my sister got into when we were younger was honestly laughable,” his tone was fond, not angry. He's remembering long-forgotten times. “She hit me with her doll and somehow I was then bleeding. And to think she was mad at me for getting blood on her doll.”
“That sounds exactly like June.”
“I know,” he huffed, retracting his hand so Henry could pull down his t-shirt, smoothing it out slightly as he did so.
“Right, are you ready for a couple of exhilarating stories?” Alex said, turning around to face away from Henry.
“The way you said that makes me think that you and I will probably have different feelings about these stories.”
Alex shrugged, “probably. Anyway, can you see the one on my neck?”
Henry leant forward, just about seeing the smallest scar yet. It was a pinprick against Alex's skin, resting against the nape of his neck, just under where his hair stopped.
“I see it, yes.”
“Well, that's from an asshole with a glass bottle,” he stated as he twisted back around, meeting Henry's wide eyes.
“Pardon?”
“You heard me,” his grin is far too proud but so very Alex that Henry decided not to comment on the smugness of it. “I went to a party back in college. Well, I went to a fair few parties. Cannot remember why myself and this dude were at each other's throats but I do remember calling him a dick, turning to walk away and then the sensation of a glass bottle being slammed into the back of my neck.”
Of course. Alex had a way with words, it was a strength Henry admired. He would be a fool to think that it always worked though, often landing Alex in trouble just as much as helping him evade it.
“Sounds painful.”
“At the time I may have been… a little drunk. So it didn't hit until the next morning. Waking up with a hangover? Horrible. Waking up with a hangover and a pulsating pain in the back of your neck, along with a shard of glass still embedded there? The worst way to wake up, if you ask me.”
“You sure do have a way of making enemies, don't you darling?”
“Yes, but sometimes it works out, don't you agree?” He smirked, leaning forward and pressing a kiss into the corner of Henry's lips.
“ I never saw you as an enemy,” he sniped back, matter-of-factly. “It was your own paranoia that made you think we were sworn enemies.”
Alex pressed another kiss onto his lips, “Enemies to lovers. 500k. Slow burn.”
Henry rolled his eyes playfully, “you are such a nerd, my love.”
“Good. I know you're into that.”
He groaned dramatically, making sure to push Alex away. “Right, you said stories. As in plural. What's the next one?”
He held out his forearm, a faint thin line slashed across it. “Another fight.”
“You're quite good at getting into those, aren't you?”
“I'll take that as a compliment, thank you,” Alex said, blatantly ignoring Henry's teasing tone. “Anyway, this dude had a knife. A bit extreme, if you ask me. Like– who brings a knife to a college party?”
“You've been stabbed?” He can't hide the concern coating his words.
“I have, yes. Don't tell my mom or dad about it, they think I fell down some steps on someone's porch.”
“You’re insane.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a compliment–” He then sighed, “Actually maybe that was a compliment.”
“I know you love all my exciting stories.” He laughed. “So, have you got any cool stories? Though– the polo story was cool, so I guess I mean have you got any more?”
“I don't think so,” he replied honestly, hands darting up to just below his ear where two little indents rested. He turned to the side, eyes once again facing their snow-covered garden. “Can you see the small dots?”
In his peripheral, he watched Alex nod.
“They're chickenpox scars.”
“Oh,” Alex sounded actually interested, even if Henry didn't think they were anything important. He intertwined his fingers with Henry's so he could feel the pitted scars. “I've never actually had chickenpox.”
“Consider yourself lucky. I've had it twice.”
“That bad?”
“The first time I can't remember, since it usually happens at such a young age,” he explained, garnering Alex's full attention. “The second time I had it I was old enough to walk and talk and just remember being bedridden and isolated for about a week.”
“Then I am lucky that I've never had it.”
“If we ever have kids and they get chickenpox we will have to be careful that you don't catch it.”
Alex's eyes lit up at Henry's suggestion of a family. It never stopped making his heart melt that he was so very ready to start a family with this man. “I'll get vaccinated,” Alex stated, leaving no room for discussion. Though Henry didn't see why he'd ever argue with such a smart decision. “Then they'll be no worry.”
“That sounds like a plan. Now, back to talking about scars?”
Alex nodded, “Yeah. I have a question. Though you don't have to answer if you don't want to.”
“Alright.”
Alex lowered his hand, gently tugging Henry's along with him. He then positioned it so Henry's inner arm was facing upwards and he already knew what Alex was going to ask about. There's a red blemish that he knew Alex had seen before. In fact, he's caught Alex staring, unsaid questions floating between them. It's a cigarette burn, a small circular patch of skin drawn tight and paling compared to the rest of his complexion.
“What's the story behind that one?” Alex whispered, the question posed softly and carefully.
He swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. He always assumed that one day someone was going to ask about it. Though, Alex didn't look at him with preying or judging eyes. He looked more concerned than anything, an unsaid kindness reflected in those deep pupils.
Henry supposed since it was Alex, he didn't mind opening himself up. They knew each other intimately well. Henry had the small curve of Alex's back mapped out in his memory. He recognised when Alex had overexerted himself, leg bouncing rapidly, his whole body a mess of jitters. In the same way that Alex knew all of Henry's softest points, Henry had opened himself up, heart vulnerable and raw. The same way that Alex knew when Henry needed help calming down, usually a heavy, steady weight pushing against his quickly rising and falling chest.
Here, he felt safe. He felt protected.
“I did this one to myself,” he began slowly, eyes tracing the shape burnt into his skin. Even if he was comfortable enough to utter this tale, he couldn’t bring his eyes up to meet Alex's. Not yet, anyway. “It was back at university. I'd gotten a tad drunk and the next thing I knew was that I'd slept with a guy for the very first time,” he laughed wetly, though he supposed the memory wasn't funny in the slightest. “I think you won't be surprised when I say I absolutely panicked after realising what I'd done. It was my first real gay panic and I ended up on some friend's balcony, smoking a pack of cigarettes that were not mine.”
“Who knew you were such a rebellious bad boy,” Alex interjected lightly. Henry laughed again, this time a bit more genuine.
“To think that my parents and grandparents would have probably been more concerned about me smoking than sleeping with a guy,” he added, finally plucking up the courage to meet Alex's gaze. Blue met brown and the rest of his worries were swept away. “I felt a little lost, with that newest revelation. I wanted something to ground me. I did it without thinking, pressing the butt of the cigarette into my skin, in an attempt to clear my mind.”
“Did it– did it help at all?”
Henry shrugged. “Somewhat. It got me coherent enough to think straight– pun intended.” Alex snorted at that. “Though I suppose it wasn't my smartest decision.”
“And did you, you know–” Alex doesn't need to finish for Henry to know what he's alluding to.
“No. That was the only time. I had university friends that were good to me. And at the time it was when Bea and I were repairing our relationship too. I had people.”
“Okay, that's good.” Then Alex, slowly, bent lower and placed a calculated kiss on the scar. Then he mumbled into the strained skin, “This shows us that you’re here. You made it.”
He had to blink back the wetness burning his vision and he promptly ignored the way his voice cracked, “No, we made it.”
Alex lifted himself back up. “We certainly did.” Then he let go of Henry, offering him his enclosed fist. On further inspection, Henry noted the faint scars running along Alex's knuckles. “I did that to myself.”
His breath hitched. When talking about his own mistakes, Henry didn't care but hearing Alex, his Alex, utter those words made his heart stop for a second. “Alex, what–”
“Don't worry,” he stopped him from spiralling as soon as he saw the worried expression. “It wasn't exactly the intention. Or I guess, it was but I didn't mean to hurt myself.”
“What happened?”
“Well, when all the information about our relationship was leaked, I was a mess of emotions,” he started. Henry cupped the fist in both his hands. “I was anxious, very anxious but I think above it all, I was frustrated. Not only had someone breached our privacy, put my Mom's campaign in danger and outed us both when neither of us were ready, but I also felt somewhat betrayed. So, amongst feeling overwhelmed and everything, I may have punched a wall with all my might. Just to get something from it. To feel grounded, as you said.”
“I'm sure that hurt,” he commented quietly, eyes downcast towards the scars. They were faint, a flicker of what Alex must have done. The only comfort that he gained from that was it couldn't have been too hard hopefully. He's sure he would have heard if Alex had managed to break a bone or something similar. But then again, that week and a half was a whirlwind for both of them, most days going past either agonisingly slowly or in a sickening blur.
“I think it hurt, I honestly can't remember.” He said, a mischievous, proud grin now plastered on his face when Henry met his eyes once more. “But now there's a fist-sized hole in the white house and I think that's pretty cool.”
“I have to say, that does sound rather impressive. I would have thought they'd have fixed that by now.”
“I actually defended it. Said it held history,” he claimed. “My mom was not exactly thrilled to see it but she was understanding enough. My dad found it hilarious and June was more concerned about how I was doing more than anything.”
“Well I'd say those scars show that you've made it too,” he repeated Alex's words, lowering his head to place a kiss on each knuckle. Taking time to appreciate the integrated story of each scar.
“As you said, we've both made it.”
Alex pulled him close, eyes shutting as he knocked their foreheads together. With the snow falling outside and the warmth they're coddled in, everything felt peaceful.
“Yeah,” Henry croaked, voice thick with emotion and adoration. “I love you, darling.”
“I love you two, dear.”