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Henry never meant to lie to Alex. He never meant to fall for him either. And Henry definitely never meant for him to find out like this.
As most emotionally devastating fiascos go, it started at a Trader Joe’s.
“Really, Henry, it’s so worth it.” Alex shot him one of those smiles that made Henry’s self-restraint feel like wax in the face of the sun. Henry feigned an annoyed, somewhat good-natured smirk for his self-preservation and rolled his eyes.
“Alex, we do not need Pumpkin Spice Bagels.”
"But Henry."
"We have bread at home."
“You just hate fun.”
“Of course. Just like I hate having enough wiggle room in our budget to cover rent.” Then, because Henry Fox was truly a weak man, he swept the plastic baggie of overpriced bagels into their shopping cart. Every Friday after their respective classes, the two of them grocery shop to unwind and “browse”. Most groceries were much cheaper and less gimmicky at their local corner store, but Alex wanted to see whatever absurd concoction Trader Joe’s had that he saw on TikTok and well . . .
Henry, of course, wasn’t complaining. Henry just wanted to see Alex: sweeping his hand across his scalp to tame his curls, scowling at Twitter notifications on his phone, rambling through some long-winded story that made the dimples appear in his cheeks.
“—always making fun of my coffee order but really, who is she to judge?” Henry blinked and settled back into one of Alex’s tangents about what he assumed was June’s ongoing campaign against his caffeine addiction. “Y’know, when she was in high school, she would be constantly downing cups like it was nothing. I used to call her ‘jitterbug’ instead of Junebug because she never really should have more than a cup.”
And then, unbidden, the thoughts emerged from its shackles in the back of his mind.
I remember, Alex. I was there.
The words that he’d fantasized about saying, had drunkenly lamented to Pez about; they skittered across his skull before he could stamp them out.
I remember, Alex. I was there.
“Back home, in Texas, she used to sneak out before finals week to go to Dunkin’. She was always so scared of getting caught until one night, my Mom found her.”
Say it. I remember that.
“Turns out, Mom didn’t care at all. I think she was too tired from Congress bullshit—something about fucked up tax reforms—so she just tagged along. The two of them drove over to Dunkin’ at 3 a.m. for a caffeine fix and damn, I don’t remember ever being that jealous in my life.”
I remember you.
But instead of breathing life into any of his intrusive thoughts, Henry just smiled. He didn’t even have to fake it, despite the turmoil roiling in his mind, because he was side-by-side with Alexander Claremont-Diaz again, against all odds.
Henry was a lucky, lucky man and he wasn’t about to risk one of the most important relationships of his entire life. Why would he? To protect some soft, pubescent part of his heart that refused to grow up?
“Anyways, Henry, do you want anything else?”
Henry shook his head. “Nothing here, I’m afraid. I just received a new shipment from the motherland, courtesy of Pez. I shouldn’t need to resort to any of your Neanderthal foodstuffs.” He tried to inject as much ridicule as he could to mask the ache in his chest.
It was a pointless pain. Henry had already promised himself that he’d never tell Alex.
“Fine.” Alex stuck out his tongue. “Keep your Jabba cakes.”
At that, Henry couldn’t resist a smile. “They’re actually Jaffa Cakes, just as you’re actually a menace.”
Henry kept pushing the cart as he browsed the colorful chalkboard signs. His self-restraint was much notably stronger than Alex’s, though he wasn’t entirely immune either. “Alex, do we have any of these peculiarly flavored crisps or would you like some? . . . Alex?” Henry turned.
Alex stood still. At his feet was another package of assorted bagels. His eyes never left Henry’s.
“ . . . H?”
As it turned out, Henry would never have to tell Alex about their shared childhood. Alex had managed to figure it out all by himself.
Well . . . fuck.
When Henry first saw Alex for the second time, everything stopped.
He had been chatting amicably with Zahra, one of the only librarians at NYU who would publicly defend cussing out students. They had become fast friends during Henry’s part-time evening shifts, where they both shelved books and gossiped about faculty drama.
“Just so you know,” Zahra said while absentmindedly doing the New York Times crossword on the front desk computer. It was the week after finals so the libraries were a ghost town. “You’re never gonna get that book.”
“I refuse to believe—oh, ‘ire’ for that last one.” Henry shifted forward in his swivel chair to gesture towards the screen. Zahra clicked her tongue in appreciation. “I refuse to believe that the masses are clamoring for the political ideologies of Virginia Wolfe. It should turn out eventually.”
“You don’t know who we’re talking about. Little shit’s in political science and runs on nothing but cheap caffeine. But when he eventually drops dead, feel free to rummage through his coffin for it.”
“However did you know that’s how I like to spend my Friday nights?”
Zahra shrugged and said, “The argyle sweater vest says you’ve got nothing better to be doing then. That and the—” Zahra’s back straightened as she peered over her monitor. “No fucking way. I accidentally summoned the devil himself.”
Which was when Alexander Claremont-Diaz barreled towards them.
He was a bizarre sight: clunky tote bags looped in both elbows, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses were shoved atop his damp curls (“Listen, H, I’ll never get glasses. It’s the principle of the matter.”). His eyes blazed with an infectious shine as he leaned on the desk with a boyish grin.
Henry had never seen anyone more beautiful.
“Look, I know what you’re going to say. But, Z, they’re here,” Alex said, dropping a teetering pile of textbooks onto the counter. Henry’s eyes flitted across the spines: LSAT prep, constitutional law, autobiographies of Supreme Court justices, and, of course, the book on Virginia Wolfe’s political thought.
Zahra seemed supremely unaffected by Alex’s charm. Lucky. “They were supposed to be here two months ago.”
“Isn’t life too short to keep up with late and early?”
“Isn’t life too short for you to constantly be pestering me?”
“Aww, love you too.” Henry's stupid heart skipped at the sound.
“Seriously, Diaz, other people need shit too. Might be a surprise to you but not everything is about you. I’ve got the same guy in here every day asking for one of these and—”
Henry couldn’t move. If his life depended on it, he wouldn’t have been able to recount a single word from Zahra and Alex’s exchange. Because Alex—his Alex—was standing right in front of him.
His voice . . . Henry would have followed that voice anywhere. He knew he still would just to hear Alex tease out his name with that ruinous smile on his face.
“Right, Henry?” Zahra said, nudging him and jolting him back to the conversation. Henry blinked and found himself inexplicably meeting the eyes he never dreamed he’d see again.
“Er, pardon?” He cleared his throat and felt his neck flame. “Just a bit lost in thought, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry to have kept the Wolfe book behind. I used it for a final and totally forgot about it until thirty minutes ago. Heard you needed it?” Alex cocked an eyebrow towards him and he needed to stop looking at Henry like that, for fuck’s sake, Henry needed to think.
“Yes, well, it’s quite alright.”
The conversation between Zahra and Alex took off. It was . . . something about a legal internship or the like.
Law. Alex was studying law. Henry would never willingly set foot into a courtroom because who entered rooms where half of its occupants would despise him? But Alex, who preened underneath antagonistic glares and retaliated with quick-witted barbs of his own, would likely thrive there. Maybe he already did, judging by his exuberant tone.
Alex was a pre-law student at NYU. His Alex was here.
“—fucking Hunter tried to microwave string cheese, Z, while it was still in the goddamn package. I had a fucking interview the next day and I couldn’t find anything to wear that didn’t smell like nuked Cheese Wiz.” Alex was gesticulating madly at Zahra. The same pinch between his eyebrows deepened as he spoke.
“Just move out, Diaz, or quit bitching to me,” Zahra replied.
“I don’t know how much you think Raf is paying me. I need to fucking room with someone or I might as well live in NYU’s basement for the rest of law school.”
“You can room with me.” Alex and Zahra both whipped their heads towards him. Henry blinked before realizing that it was him who spoke. What the fuck was he thinking?
“I . . . ?” A complicated swirl of emotions flitted across Alex’s face. Henry hated how he didn’t comprehend each one anymore. It was understandable; people change in a decade. How could he expect to still know Alex as well as he had? Why the hell had he just asked Alex to move in with him?
Alex, who hadn’t mentioned a single fucking thing about them.
“You sure?” Alex’s face smoothed out into a bemused smirk. “I mean, not gonna lie, I probably won’t deny the offer unless you’re an ax murderer or you microwave string cheese. And if you’re offering . . .”
Alex stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Alex. We should probably get some coffee first before you take me home.” Zahra groaned as Alex grinned at his own joke. And, because he lacked any self-preservation or self-control, Henry smiled back.
“Henry.”
Which is how, two years ago, Henry re-introduced himself to his childhood best friend and the love of his life.
Unlike when they had initially met, Alex and Henry had become fast friends, which Henry was grateful for. He wasn’t sure if he could fake animosity towards Alex again, not after so much time had passed and he was now ruthlessly reacquainted with the way Alex’s eyes always managed to caught his own.
They got coffee, exchanged numbers, and never stopped talking after that. On top of studying, Alex was preparing for the LSAT while working for his old NYU professor, Rafael Luna, so he was trying to keep close to campus.
“I’m working on my PhD actually so I can personally attest that the commute is quite manageable,” Henry had said.
“Oh, I can definitely see you doing something like Greek mythology or Victorian literature.” Alex lifted his pinky finger while he sipped his triple-shot espresso. Henry scoffed at his British mimicry. Something inside Henry ached at the sound of Alex’s teasing mirth. Either his viscera was being sewn back together or shredded apart.
“Queer classics, actually.”
By the time his Earl Grey cooled, Henry knew that Alex did not recognize him at all. He couldn’t tell if he was heartbroken or relieved or perhaps a bit of both.
Maybe it’s better that you don’t remember me.
A couple of months later, Henry juggled cardboard boxes in his arms while he tried to unlock the front door. Alex stood behind him with his own armful of packaged appliances and clothes. “It should accommodate the three of us just fine, though I’m afraid it’s hardly a palace.”
“Leave it to you to compare New York housing to Buckingham.” Alex’s lop-sided grin left Henry feeling similarly off-kilter. He tore his gaze away but seeing Alex’s boxes on his kitchen countertop made his stomach lurch once more. “I did actually want the eighty butlers and antique China but I guess I’ll settle for having golden toilet seats and 100% imported silk to wipe my ass with.”
“Well, the butlers are actually on holiday right now. And we reserve the finer porcelain for when the Queen visits for tea.”
“What? Am I not an esteemed enough guest for you?”
Fuck and if the banter wasn’t enough to send his heart into cardiac arrest. How did that saying go again? God gives His toughest battles to His most disastrous homosexuals? “You’re an utter fiend.”
The telltale clicking of nails against floorboards announced the drowsy arrival of David. He sniffed some boxes warily, licked Henry’s ankle, and settled at Alex’s feet. The two locked eyes for a moment before Alex haphazardly shoved the remaining boxes onto a nearby chair and scooped David into his arms.
Alex cooed as David’s tail flailed and the beagle covered his arms with licks. “See? David agrees that I’m a delight.”
You are. You always have been. Now I just need to keep you in my life without fucking things up again.
That was two years ago. And now, when the two walked in side by side through their front door, it felt the same as it had in the beginning: tentative, wary, unknown.
Alex was still. Unnervingly so. Whenever it was finals season or WASPy Hunter spouted whatever inflammatory nonsense he was currently obsessed with, Alex was relentless. His emotions don’t settle like murky silt on a seafloor, not like Henry’s did. Alex was voracious with everything. He’d wear out his running shoes and bake while sleep-deprived and rant until he eventually tired himself out. There was so much life within Alex that it must come out somehow.
Now, however, Henry was the one puttering around like a wind-up toy while Alex collapsed into a seat at the dining table. Dishes are scrubbed and groceries unpacked and water set to boil. Henry waited for words that never came.
Alex didn’t speak until Henry finally sank into a seat across from him. Henry couldn’t remember a time that they chose for their seats to be so far apart.
“You knew.” Tears threatened to spill from Alex’s eyes and he felt his own eyes prickle. His hands shook from where they had been gripping his curls and Henry had the horrible urge to reach out and brush the hands gently away. Stop. You can’t hurt even more.
“I can’t believe—how did it take me so long? I realized because—it was the fucking Jaffa cakes and the ‘menace’ and I . . . fuck. Where have you been? You . . . You fucking knew, Henry.” Alex scrubbed at his cheeks before fixing a glare on Henry.
“I did.” Because that was the truth. Everything else—every explanation and apology and desperate plea—paled in the face of the reality of what he had done. “ . . . And if you would like to move out or—no, I’ll stay with Pez for a few days. You can gather your things—”
“No.” The both of them startled at Alex’s harsh tone.
“Alex . . .”
“You’re not . . . I don’t think I can lose you again. But . . . even though, H . . . what the fuck? So, what? You’ve just been laughing behind my back this entire time? This was all some Truman Show bullshit?!”
“Alex, I never took your feelings lightly. I made the decision with your best interests in mind.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything? You could have, at any time, let me know instead of letting me feel fucking stupid. You fucker—I grieved for your fucking ass!”
“Alex . . .” Over and over, in Henry’s mind, he spoke it like a prayer, a confession, a Hail Mary. Never had a name ever felt so bitter on his tongue and yet, it was the only one Henry wanted to say.
Who was he to try and explain everything he had done? He didn’t deserve to. No drunken melancholy or insomniac fantasy could compare to the wretched anguish stricken across Alex’s face and the knowledge that Henry was the reason behind it. “Alex.”
Henry squeezed his eyes shut. As fingers brushed his knee, the torrent of self-hatred washed over him once again.
“Just . . ." Waves of concern and frustration warred on Alex's face. "H, tell me what happened.”
And so Henry took in a breath and told him.
These are the irreparable truths of the matter, as compiled and told by Henry Fox.
- Henry was eight when his family moved to Austin to film one of James Bond’s more ambitious cinematic adventures. The plan had been to stay for sixteen months but the family ended up staying for four years. Catherine enjoyed the reprieve from her familial responsibilities, Bea enjoyed the freedom awarded by American public schools, Philip enjoyed having a routine after a history of moving around throughout England, and Henry enjoyed being with his family . . . and being with Alex.
- When Henry first saw Alex, he had known that they were never to touch. Flames scorched paper. Water muddled ink. Alex would utterly ruin him if he got too close, so Henry kept his distance until, after months of playground rivalry and sneering, they had struck up a tentative friendship.
- Henry had been wrong. He never would have been able to stay away. Even if he should have.
- Alex meant the world to Henry. He always had and likely always would (even if everything went horribly wrong after this).
- Henry was twelve when his father passed from cancer. Henry watched as parts of himself were lowered alongside his father, casketed and buried and entombed in stone. Grief ravaged him.
- He refused to let his jagged, blood-stained grief ruin his one perfect thing in life. So he fled from Alex, long before his mother packed up her family and moved back to England.
- He should have known better, in the end. When he met Alex for the second time, Henry should have stayed away.
Henry fidgeted with the rim of his teacup. Any remnants of Earl Grey were now dried as dredges on the bottom. He refused to stand up to fetch more. He doubted he could stomach anything at the moment.
Alex stared at him. Henry fought every fiber in his body to keep his gaze level with that relentless gaze. It was the least he could do.
“I . . . thought I did something wrong. Or that I didn’t do something that I should have.” Alex ran his fingers through his curls. “I-I knew that you were grieving and everyone told me that you needed space but . . . when you stopped responding to texts, I—I don’t know. I didn't know what the fuck to do. I was gonna be clingy and then I was worried about being too fucking out of the blue or hell, maybe you died or got sick or . . .”
“I’m sorry.” It was too late. Henry needed to say it anyway.
“ . . . You changed your last name.”
“I go by Henry Fox now. I dropped the Mountchristen and everything when I left my family.” The unspoken stories of fleeing the UK a second time hung over them. Henry felt every one of his grandmother’s shrieks and Philip’s scoffs in the silence between them. Somehow, he felt that Alex understood.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I would have rather been just a fond memory than dash what we have with all of my . . . me. I just couldn’t, especially when I had hoped that you would never remember me. I was afraid. I . . . I’m not sure. Maybe I’m simply a coward. The idea of addressing the years of silence . . .” Henry scoured his memories of tight-lipped therapy sessions and bed-ridden spirals. “I feel horrible about it. I abhor hurting you. I . . . suppose that’s another reason why I didn’t mention it. I'm sorry, Alex, and I have already resigned myself to the reality that I always will be.”
A warm palm rested over his pale knuckles. Henry took in a shaky breath.
“It seemed selfish. I had caused you so much pain but you recovered from it. It didn’t seem right to dredge up everything just so I could try and atone.”
“You think I just forgot about you?” Alex had never sounded so small. "H, it would take so much more than a little bit of time for me to forget. Hell, I tried with a fuck ton of Maker's and contractual law but I didn't. And I'm so fucking glad that I didn't because you were one of the best things that ever happened to me.
“You kept me fucking sane. You cared. And even when you weren't there, the fact that I knew I was worth . . ." Alex winced. "I don't fucking know. H, it wasn't that I didn't care. I didn't recognize you because . . . I guess. Fuck."
"Everything just got all tangled up and shitty really quickly. My dad left that summer. Sometimes, thinking about you made me feel like I was worth some shit because, well, you were my best friend. But then . . ."
Henry nodded at Alex’s unspoken words. I was one of the people who loved you and left anyway.
"So, on top of the shitty ADHD memory, it gets fuzzy. Everything around that time. Part of me started to believe that you were too good to be true. Maybe I remembered things better than they were or shit like that. And when you didn’t mention anything, I guess I sorta figured that it made sense that we couldn’t have known each other before.” Alex laughed but the sound strangled Henry’s heart. “Most days, I can barely believe that you’re friends with me right now.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“Alex, I . . . I left you to protect you. Which, yes, in hindsight, was a horrendous decision but I empathize with my past reasoning. You are so, so precious.”
“Hen—”
“I love you.” There it was. The bullet, the final nail in the coffin, the incessant parasite, and the miserable truth. Not much to salvage anyway.
Alex refused to meet Henry’s eyes. Maybe it was easier that way. “I always have, Alex, and you don’t understand. I love you something fierce. All mu life, the poets I love have all tried to warn me but I refused to listen. Not when it came to you.”
“Okay.” Alex rested his forehead against Henry’s. Henry stiffened before relaxing into the contact. Something about Alex’s warm skin against his own soothed him.
It didn’t feel like the end. There would be more conversations, more sleepless nights, and many more appointments with his therapist. But their slightest touch would have been unfathomable to Henry years ago.
It felt like a newborn foundation—the beginning.
With a wet laugh, Henry asked, “So . . . does that mean you don’t want to move out?”
Alex scoffed.
“Fuck, you’re as stupid as they get.” And then Alex kissed him.