Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alex has been fretting over the state of his hair in the mirror for half an hour. Nora since made it a point of playing womp-womp noises on her phone every five minutes that pass and if he wasn’t so deeply committed to the state of his unruly curls, he already would have smacked it out of his best friend’s hand. He doesn’t need her to tell him that he’s pathetic. He knows he’s pathetic.

It’s just… tonight needs to be good. Alex needs to be good.

He’s been on ten dates this year and though none of them went horribly (except for that one guy who unsubtly scrunched his nose at the Diaz in Alex’s name and then launched into an unsolicited rant about immigration which sent Alex running out of there as fast as he could), none resulted in a second date either. Maybe that wouldn’t have bothered him at twenty-two, but he’s twenty-five now and has spent too many years watching as all of his friends and classmates at college got matched up in wonderful relationships while he was left behind, apparently incapable of making someone stay long enough to learn his last name.

Even June and Nora, no matter how fucking much Alex loves them, sometimes look at him with this unmistakable shade of pity in their eyes. He wishes he could wave them off, say that he’s perfectly fine being single. And he is. But he also wants to have someone.

He’s so ready to be in love and he fucking knows he’d be a great boyfriend if the right person just gave him the chance to prove himself. 

So yeah, he really wants tonight to go well. 

By minute thirty-five, June materializes behind him. “Enough,” she snaps, wrestling the tube of curl cream out of his hands. “You look fine and you’re going to be late .”

“Fucking– hey!” Alex groans as he shoves lightly at her shoulder but ultimately surrenders, going slack when his sister decidedly maneuvers him out of the bathroom. 

“Whatever,” he pouts, pushing his bottom lip forward with petulance. “Not like it matters. This date is gonna be a dumpster fire anyway, just like every one of my fucking dates has been.”

June rolls her eyes at him the same ways she’s perfected since she was three years old. “You’re such a baby. Can’t you at least give him a chance?” 

“Bug, I love you, but the people you set me up with are always disasters. I mean– Michelle? Come on.”

Alex plops himself down on the couch, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Frowning down at him, his sister mirrors the gesture. An indignant and chiding look crosses her face and she purses her lips in a way that tells Alex she’s riding dangerously close to the end of her patience. 

“Michelle was a great set up! She was hot and smart and really charming. You just have ridiculously high standards.”

“She didn’t know who Martha P. Johnson was!”

“Ugh!” June makes a noise as if she’s being strangled– or maybe accurately, as if she needs to physically restrain herself from strangling him . “You’re impossible.” 

Her voice is sharp and so audibly soaked with exasperation, Alex instinctively shrinks in his seat. He knows she means it in a I love you but you’re being dumb way– but yeah, maybe he is feeling a bit too laid bare right now to let the words bounce off him. Sue him, okay? A guy can only be rejected, ghosted, friendzoned and ghosted some more, so many times before it starts getting to him and Alex isn’t that dense. There’s only one common denominator here. 

Instead of telling her any of that, he shrugs. “I just know what I want.”

“No, you don’t. If you did, this would all be easy.”

God, fuck June and her mind reading capabilities. Alex further works on merging with the couch cushion beneath his back, fiddling with the hem of his shirt even as his sister sits down next to him, nudging his leg with her knee. 

“Just be open for this guy, okay?” she presses. “I really like him, and I think the two of you could hit it off.”

“Fine,” he sighs, not missing how June’s frown deepens at his entirely unenthusiastic tone and making at least half an effort to keep the resignation out of his voice. “I mean, yeah– sure. I’ll be… open, or whatever.”

Humming, June stands back up and gives his hair a brief ruffle to which Alex protests loudly by squawking and swatting her hands away. Laughing, she shakes her head and lets up, crossing the room but turning back in the door to look at him again, both serious and undeniably affectionate. 

“I’m telling you, Alex, I feel good about this one. Henry is a great guy.”

Alex sighs and nods, ready to admit defeat and just get this over with— but then it hits him– wait. 

Henry? 

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Alex checks his hair in the side mirror of the cab before he opens the door, pulling at the most stubborn of his curls to bring them into a vaguely presentable shape. A pang of embarrassment shoots through him at the way his fingers are trembling as he does so. 

God, why is he so nervous? It’s just a date. Just a stupid, meaningless date with some guy he met in a bar. 

Except, if that really were the case, he probably wouldn’t have spent last night tossing and turning. He definitely would have told Nora and June about the date, which he still feels guilty for neglecting. He’s not even sure why– it’s not as if either of them would have been anything but relentlessly supportive about his first official date with a man, especially not when his latent bisexual tendencies have been a running gag in their friend group for years. 

If anything, they’d have let loose a groan of relief that his slow ass finally caught up to what has been– admittedly– painfully obvious since he plastered his teenage room with posters of Harrison Ford.  

But Alex isn’t there yet. He’d love to strut around with the level of confidence that he usually wears like a badge of honor, telling the world that he’s queer and proud with his full chest the way he knows he should and yet every time he tries, his heart seizes with something vague and unnamed.

It’s not shame, nor fear, exactly, just the uncomfortable sensation of the unknown and a want to detangle it by himself before he lets anyone see.

Alex has never been a mysterious person by nature, but this one thing he wants to keep close to his chest, at least for a little while. Well, between himself and… Henry, apparently, if he correctly deciphers the smudged words on the tiny piece of paper that the hot blonde from last weekend had slid over to him.

He steps out on the sidewalk and smoothes his palms over the loose olive green shirt. It’ll be fine, he decides. Man or woman, he still has his charm and his wits. 

“Alex?” 

The voice is low and silken smooth, a posh british accent curving itself around his name, sending a shiver down his spine. Alex turns around to the sight of what he can only describe as the most gorgeous man he’s ever— dressed in a button up and pants that look like he should be standing behind a bank counter.

Still, the dim bar lighting in which Alex had met Henry truly hadn’t done him justice. Now, in the haze of freakishly long legs, curved lips and the most piercing blue eyes, his mouth goes embarrassingly dry embarrassingly fast. 

Well. At least he can truly put the question whether he’s really bisexual to rest.

“Um-“ he says, eloquently and waves, “Hey. Henry, right?”

The blond nods. “Yes. Nice to meet you— or, officially meet you, I suppose.”

Alex forces out a polite chuckle. In response, Henry smiles tightly and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants. Silence settles over them. Swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet, Alex darts his gaze from Henry to the busy New York pedestrians shuffling around them. 

Fuck. This is kinda awkward.

“So,” Alex clears his throat. “Should we head in?”

He gestures towards the semi-fancy restaurant behind him that Henry had picked out. Not unlike his clothing, it’s about as boring of a first date spot that it gets and Alex is starting to internally debate if the eye candy is going to be worth having a conversation with a white, upper class future tax attorney.

“R-right. Yes, please.” Henry nods and stiffly gestures for him to lead the way. 

Well. Too late to back out now. 

────────────

It’s not him. Of course it isn’t, because that would be absolutely fucking ridiculous. 

There are more than eight million people in New York City and Henry is a common enough name that, statistically, the chances of June’s Henry being his— for lack of a better word— Henry are so laughably low, Alex shouldn’t even put the hypothetical scenario out there. Still, as he fiddles with the collar of his shirt in the back of the uber, he can’t shake the unsettling feeling of deja-vu creeping up on him. 

No one knows about Henry. Even Alex isn’t sure why – he came out to everyone in his life less than two weeks after, so there really hasn’t been a reason not to tell June and Nora about the absolute debacle that was his first date with a man– but every time the opportunity came up something had held him back. Embarrassment, maybe, or guilt that he’d kept it a secret from them at the time. And, if he’s being entirely honest with himself, a certain sense of protectiveness.

He adores June and Nora more than words can describe and their teasing is always in good spirit but… well, the thing with Henry is different. Raw and tender, even after the time passed. 

The car stops and Alex steps out on the sidewalk. In front of him towers a big neon sign, framed by a colorful array of pride flags that immediately soothe his nerves. A half breath, half laugh escapes him. 

It isn’t him. June said “Henry” suggested this place and the Henry that Alex had the displeasure of meeting years ago would never bring someone to a gay bar for their blind date. 

He shakes his head at himself. Of course it’s not him. How could he have been that paranoid and delusional to think it could be? And, even worse, why is there a tiny spark of something dangerously akin to disappointment fluttering in the space between his ribs? Quickly, he shoves the sensation down as far as he can.

Rest assured, if he never has to lay his eyes on Henry Fox-Mountchristen ever in his life again, he’ll die a happy man.

“Alex?”

Instinctively, his body freezes. The voice. The lilt. The sound of his name, shaped by a distinct British accent. Jesus Christ. This has to be a twisted joke.

In slow motion, he turns around, dreading for his eyes to confirm what he already knows is waiting for him. When he finally does, the sight still briefly knocks the wind out of his lungs. 

He looks good . Annoyingly– pathetically– that is the first thought that pops into Alex’s head.

Henry has always been stunning (that had been what drove Alex into agreeing to that first date, after all) but this time, he isn’t talking about the way his golden hair shines softly in the lights of the city or the perfect slopes and lines of his chiseled face. 

There’s an air of silent confidence lingering around Henry that he’d lacked before, easily visible in his lax posture. The dress shirt and pants from last time are replaced with a soft looking, knitted cardigan and corduroy pants, a rainbow pin proudly throning over his heart. His hair is tousled slightly and the tight pull at the corners of his lips has dissipated, making him even more devastatingly handsome than before– although a startled frown sits firmly between his brows.

Alex swallows. “Henry.”

“I thought– I hadn’t–” Henry stammers a little helplessly before he pinches the bridge of his nose, “June is your sister?” 

“How many people do you know called Claremont-Diaz? This can’t be that much of a surprise to you.”

The expression on Henry’s face is pained and vaguely nauseous and Alex's initial shock quickly fades into itching anger. 

“Well– I don’t believe you actually disclosed your last name last time we…” his voice fades out as if the word date doesn’t want to pass his lips. 

“Right,” Alex spits bitterly, happy to let the irritation overtake any other emotions that might be swirling in his chest, “because you fucked off before I could tell you. Almost forgot.”

Turning around on his heels, he only catches a glimpse of the hurt tearing into Henry’s grimace. His head spins as he stomps away, eager to put as much distance between himself and the biggest blemish of his entire dating history– the embodiment of every single rejection he’s endured, a stinging reminder that he simply isn’t wanted for more than a fun, short time. 

He may be desperate, but he has just enough dignity left to not spend one more second on someone who so clearly wants nothing to do with him. 

Clearly though, Henry seems to have different plans. 

“Alex!” He calls after him, a slight pant to his voice.

God , Henry really needs to stop saying his name like that if he doesn’t want Alex to break down on the spot. He catches up with him easily. Alex huffs with annoyance. Stupid Henry and his stupid long ass legs.

Warm fingers clasp themselves around Alex’s shoulder carefully, effectively stopping his dramatic exit. He turns around abruptly, vehemently shrugging Henry’s hand off. 

“Look, it’s fucking fine!” He gripes, ignoring how Henry flinches slightly, “You can just tell June that the date went fine but that we didn’t make plans for a second one and I’ll back the story. We don’t have to tell her about this.”

“That’s not–” Henry shakes his head, brows still scrunched together as if he’s deeply dissatisfied with how this conversation is going. Alex doesn’t know what the fuck this guy wants form him. “I owe you an apology. Admittedly, I hadn’t expected to ever get the chance to give it to you, but please let me do this.”

It’s almost pitiful how quickly Alex’s resistance crumbles at the genuine plea in Henry’s words. He makes an effort to keep his mouth pinched and his brows furrowed in anger but grants the blond a curt nod as he folds his arms in front of his chest.

“Fine.”

Henry takes in a breath. “There is no excuse for my behavior at our last meeting. I was rude and abrasive– it was a very difficult time for me personally, but I should never have taken it out on you. The truth is, I was nowhere near the right headspace to go on a date and I deeply regret that you suffered for my mistake of not recognizing that.”

“So… you’re sorry that you went on a date with me?” 

His voice shakes slightly at the words and Alex prays Henry won’t pick up on it. Judging by the regretful twitch of his lips and how his expression softens, his hopes are in vain. 

“I’m sorry I subjected you to a version of myself that wasn’t ready to date anyone, let alone…”

Henry’s voice trails off again, but Alex hears the unspoken words clear as day. Let alone you . Because even Henry, who barely knows him, can tell that enduring Alex takes a different kind of virtue. 

Before he can humiliate himself even further, he waves him off. “Whatever, yeah. I get it. Apology accepted. Can I leave now?” 

A shadow crosses over Henry’s face that resembles something close to disappointment. 

“If that’s what you want, of course I won’t keep you here. But I think– well, isn’t there some cosmic beauty in a chance second meeting?”

Alex shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it just means we circled our way through all bachelors of New York City over the last three years. We’re… fucking playing dating-solitaire and this is the universe's way of telling us that there are no more moves left.”

Somehow, that startles a laugh out of Henry. Alex isn’t sure if he even heard more than a chuckle from him last time– he certainly hadn’t been graced with this, open and unrestrained. The sound leaves him oddly satisfied and parched for more. 

“I don’t remember you being this cynical, Alexander.” There’s a teasing glint in the swirling blue of Henry’s eyes as he continues, unsubtly looking him up and down before he does. “And I hardly think you should be worried about being a hopeless case.”

Alex doesn’t really know what to do with that, so he settles for another shrug. “I’m here again, aren’t I?” 

Henry makes a contemplative hum. “That you are.” 

Silence falls over them, but Alex is surprised to find that it doesn’t feel quite as stifling– although he is growing restless under the piercing, thoughtful gaze that Henry is boring into him. Squirming nervously, he pulls his shoulder upwards. 

“What?” 

“Well, think about it. Like you said, evidently neither of us has had much success in the dating area in the last few years– maybe this is an… opportunity, so to speak.”

“An opportunity for what?” 

“How often do you get the chance to troubleshoot yourself on first dates? If we talk through what went wrong the last time, we could figure out what we need to fix in the future.”

Alex blinks at him. That is… kind of an insane suggestion. And worst of all, it’s coming from the same man who Alex watched meticulously fold his napkin to dab away water on his chin. If Alex had any sense of self-preservation, he should be running for the hills right about now. But he doesn’t and he’s also getting kind of lost in Henry’s eyes right now which is greatly impacting his mental faculties. 

Unfortunately for him, beautiful and slightly unhinged is exactly his type. A half grin tugs at his mouth.

“You want to sit through an evening while I tell you what you did wrong? Are you sure that your ego can handle that, sweetheart?” 

A devastating blush creeps up on Henry’s cheeks at the pet name, but his expression doesn’t waver. He tips up his chin defiantly. 

“I’m more resilient than you give me credit for. Besides,” he takes a step forward, lowers his voice. “Perhaps I just want a chance to redeem myself.”

Suddenly, Alex’s mouth is dry and he has to swallow twice before he can respond. His eyes find the dirty asphalt between their feet in favor of avoiding Henry’s piercing gaze. 

“Well.” He kicks a few pebbles on the ground and then nods towards the neon sign still flickering above them. “My first critique would have been the restaurant, but I think you already did better on that. This seems… a lot less stuffy than the last one.”

That draws a sweet, shy smile out of Henry, following Alex’s eyes to fondly look at the colorful building. “It’s one of my favorite places. My best friend is the owner and it’s– it’s very special to me.”

He looks back at Alex, eyes still softened and holds out a tentative hand. “Can I show you?” 

God help him. Tan, long fingers close themselves around Henry’s pale, nimble ones as he nods. Skin against skin, a spark shoots through Alex’s arm.

“Okay.”

Fool him twice, right? 

────────────

Metal scrapes against porcelain in a screeching noise that painfully sounds in his ears as Alex tries to run the dull knife against his overcooked steak. 

“So,” he starts, keeping his eyes fixed on his plate, “you said you’re at NYU too. What do you study?” 

Henry, who is sitting in his seat as if someone has shoved a stick so far up his ass it’s threatening to come back up, blinks at him. 

“Oh, uhm–” he swallows down the forkful of potatoes and reaches to tensely grab the stem of his wine glass. “Business.” 

Figures. Alex thinks he deserves a medal of restraint for not snorting out loud at the predictability. Instead, he settles for a knowing hum and nods. 

“Fun.”

Even to his own ears, the word sounds blatantly sarcastic but Henry makes no mention of it. 

“You’re planning on going to law school, right?” 

For the first time tonight, Alex is mildly surprised by his date. Brows raised, he huffs out an amused noise. 

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“You mentioned it, at the bar,” Henry explains. “You went on for quite a while about how you were studying for your LSATs.”

“Oh.” Right, that. There’s a reason that June and Nora set up a whine jar that he has to pay into every time he complains about his studies. Forcing out a sheepish laugh, he looks down at his plate. “Sorry about that.”

Shaking his head, Henry takes a sip and lowers the glass back down before answering, “I didn’t mind. It was interesting.”

Henry, to his credit, sounds decently honest but Alex knows he’s just being polite, so he makes an effort to move on from the topic for now.

“So, how did you end up in business?” 

Impossibly, his date stiffens even more. His lips tighten, pinching at the corner. 

“My family owns a big corporation. They want me— or, I’m supposed to join the business, so this was the logical step.” 

“Ah.” Alex once again bites back commenting on the blatant— and entirely expected— nepotism. Really, please, someone give him a prize. “That’s convenient then.”

“Quite.” Henry’s voice is clipped and sour, as if it really really isn’t. 

Instinctively, his brows climb upwards. “Not thrilled about joining daddy’s team?”

In retrospect, Alex should have known that sooner or later his tongue would get him into trouble. As soon as the words echo out in the open, he can virtually feel the air between them freeze over. If he thought that Henry’s expression was closed off before, it doesn’t hold a candle to the ironclad frigidness that washes over his features at the remark.

“It isn’t, actually. And you’d do well not to make rash and immature comments about things you know absolutely nothing about.”

Blanching at the open hostility, Alex throws up his palms in surrender. “Whoa.”

So far, Henry had been fighting every Chris in Hollywood for the title of most boring white man— but Alex wouldn’t have pegged him for being aggressive.  

“I was just asking man, don’t bite my head off.”

The blond straightens his back, placing a hand at the base of his own neck as he closes his eyes for a moment, clearly composing himself. He takes in a deep breath, one that looks slightly shaky, before he opens them again and pushes back his chair. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” he announces and stalks off to the direction of the bathroom, leaving Alex confused and with an embarrassed prickle at his neck.

So much for not putting his foot in his mouth.

────────────

If Alex thought that the outside of the bar Henry brought him to was colorful, it’s nothing compared to the inside. 

Small tables are snugly fit into every corner of the place, no two pieces of furniture looking like they came from the same century, nevermind the same store, and the entire room is bathed in dim, faintly rainbow colored lights. The walls are graced with bookshelves nearly bursting at the seams as well as a row of beautiful drawings or photographs, each one clearly referencing a different piece of queer history that catch Alex’s attention at every step. 

He’s sure that his eyes have grown double their size, practically gaping in awe as he stares at a framed picture of a mural dedicated to Stonewall. It takes a second until he snaps out of his fascination, when he notices Henry amusedly looking back to where Alex stopped in his tracks.

“Sorry,” he coughs out over the music sounding from the speakers, tearing himself away and catching up to the blonde in two quick strides. 

Henry softly shakes his head but reaches out to put his arm behind Alex’s back nonetheless. “Don’t be. I felt the same when I first came here. It’s… overwhelming, in the most beautiful way.”

Nodding, Alex swallows, grateful for Henry’s words perfectly encapsulating his whirring thoughts. He’s even more grateful a second later, when Henry doesn’t urge him to keep walking but instead grants him a lingering moment of taking in the scenery. 

The thing is, Alex has had his fair share of queer experiences over the last years. New York City is perhaps the best city to live in for someone as hungry and eager to learn more about his newfound queer identity as him and he’d like to claim that he made good use of it– but he hasn’t had this yet. The air is brimming with community and joyousness, floating all around the sea of people, so open, loud and vibrant, celebrating their singularity. Alex is fucking drunk on it just as he stands on the sidelines. 

He takes it in for another few seconds before he gives Henry a slight nod and lets himself be led to a small table that is almost hidden behind a corner. 

“I adore the ambience here but I tend to get overwhelmed by too much noise,” Henry explains as he sits down, smoothing two hands down his sweater. “This spot is a compromise, so to speak.”

Alex nods. “You said you know the owner?” 

Quirking a lip, he gives a hum in response. “Yes. Although, know is perhaps an understatement.”

With a confused head tilt, Alex prompts Henry to elaborate.

“Pez has been my best mate since year two. In other words, he’s the only person in this world with photo evidence of every single unfortunate style choice I’ve made since eleven years old.” A soft, slow smile spreads on his face. “I truly can’t overstate his brilliance.”

Despite himself, Alex can’t help but feel swept up in the obvious fondness that all but spills from Henry’s features. Mirroring his grin, he leans back in the chair. 

“If this,” he gestures around the brimming room, “is his work, then I don’t doubt you for a second. He must be a fucking force of nature.”

“Oh, he is. I’d introduce you, but he’s under strict orders to keep his distance from my first dates. He is inclined to be a bit overbearing.”

“Well,” Alex’s mouth twitches, “technically this is already our second date.”

Judging by the way Henry’s eyes widen briefly, he’s as surprised as Alex is at the ease with which the joke falls from his lips considering how wound up he’d been just half an hour ago. But he’s spent too long grinding and churning and he’s tired. In the face of the euphoria of this place and Henry’s shining eyes, Alex doesn’t bother clutching the remnants of a faded grudge, at least not for the time being. After the surprise simmers down, Henry’s face relaxes into relieved amusement. 

“I suppose that’s true. Maybe I can wave him over should I spot him.”

“Please do. I want to meet the genius behind all this. Plus, maybe I can coax out an embarrassing story of your teens.” He winks and revels in the blush that almost instantaneously appears on Henry’s cheeks, even visible as he ducks his head. 

“I’m unfortunately quite confident that you’d succeed.”

A laugh bubbles up from Alex’s throat. He stands up from his seat, slapping his thighs.

“In that case you'd better get some booze in you, sweetheart. I’ll get us some drinks.”

“Gin tonic for me, please.”

He squeezes his way to and back from the bar, still marveling at the sheer ecstasy of this place when he plops back down next to Henry and slides the glass over to him, who gives him a grateful smile. 

It’s almost dizzying, how much happiness Henry radiates compared to three years ago, how easily the grins and smiles now seem to come to him. Alex doesn’t think he has the right to feel as choked up with fondness by that fact as he does– but he pushes past the tightness of his throat and props his elbows on the table to lean closer to the blond. 

“So, um. What do you do now? A cog in the corporate world like you planned?”

A laugh draws out of Henry, low and hearty, as he throws his head back slightly. The pale skin stretches over his throat and Alex suddenly finds his mouth embarrassingly dry. 

“Christ, no. I didn’t even finish my undergraduate degree in Business.”

Alex quirks his brow. “Oh?”

“I changed my major to English Literature nearly two and a half years ago,” he explains. “Truth be told, that had been my plan all along when I came to the States but then my grandmother intercepted and had some… choice words for me that strongly implied I was to be studying to take over the family company.”

“What?” Alex’s face twisted into a frown. “That’s shitty. What was she gonna do if you didn’t agree?”

Henry takes another sip of his drink. Some tension has found its way into his posture and a somewhat subdued disdain lingers between his features. A pang of guilt sounds in Alex’s chest and his fingers twitch to smooth out the tight lines on his forehead– still he’s a little too curious to abandon the topic just yet.  

“You see, my family is quite traditional and follows a strong hierarchy. Gran was– well, is , as far as I know, a matriarch of sorts. What she says goes, so she threatened that she would effectively disown and alienate me from my family.”

“What the fuck ?!” Alex gapes, entirely powerless to stop the protective surge at the mental image of Henry, so young and vulnerable, mercilessly coerced into a future, into a life he never wanted.

It’s not fair, and from the sounds of it, it’s even less fair that no one stood up to fight for him. He itches to tell him so, tell him that Alex would have fought for him, had he been there… but that, too seems like crossing a line with someone he, truthfully, only barely knows. 

From the fond look Henry shoots his way, his message carries over nonetheless. 

“Then– what made you stand up against her after all?” 

The blond shrugs. “I was simply… fundamentally unhappy. With my studies, with my life still not my own. How I still felt like I needed to hide the most intrinsic parts of me away…”

His voice drifts off, eyes wandering around the room where every inch of wallspace is plastered with pride flags and tributes to queer history. The air between them swells with severity, so much so that Alex finds it hard to get a full breath in. 

Henry clears his throat, “Anyway. I was not in a good place, to put it mildly. With the help of my sister and Pez, I finally came to the conclusion that sacrificing my happiness was not a sustainable situation. I changed my studies and cut all ties with the rest of my family.”

“That’s…” Alex, in a startlingly rare occasion, is rendered speechless. “You’re kind of incredible, Henry.”

The words are too honest for comfort, but he can’t bring himself to regret them– not when Henry blushes so fucking prettily and shyly averts his eyes. 

“Strong words from someone who must’ve thought me a complete arse up until thirty minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well.” A grin settles on Alex’s face. “I’m a quick learner.”

Henry fixes him with a glare, one brow cocked. 

“I don’t doubt it.”

They gazes meet and somehow under the colored, moving light, Henry’s blue eyes shine even brighter than Alex remembered they had. A lazy spark runs over his spin at the intensity of it all. 

After a moment, Henry breaks the spell by leaning back and raising his glass back up to his lips. 

“What about you?” he asks after he sets it back down. “How is law school?” 

Alex clicks his tongue. “Not even gonna ask me if maybe I changed my mind about my plans? I hadn’t even taken my LSATs when we last met.”

Humming, Henry raises his brows, tilting his chin in a silent challenge. “You didn’t seem like the type of person to change your mind. Am I wrong?” 

He briefly considers lying to fuck with Henry a little bit– and maybe to push against the implication that he’s predictable– but somehow he doesn’t think Henry would buy even a second of it. 

“No,” he shrugs. “Three years in, baby.”

The pet name slips out more as a figure of speech than anything else, but Alex isn’t blind to the way Henry’s breath hitches for a second. He files that thought away for later. Later – he almost can’t believe he’s considering a later with Henry of all people.

“And how do you like it?” Henry asks. 

“I love it,” he admits honestly. “At first I felt a little… I don’t know, guilty?”

Frowning, Henry tilts his head. “How do you mean?” 

“Well, my parents are both politicians and for a long time I thought I would be too. I just– I always wanted to help . But I saw what politics did to them, to their marriage…” 

His voice wavers slightly and there’s a voice in his head, wondering why the hell he is telling these things that he hasn’t ever said out loud to what still legally is a stranger to him. Once again though, Henry doesn’t give him a chance to regret his vulnerability before he puts a steadying hand on his forearm and gives him a warm, bright smile that instantly erases all hesitations. 

“I– I just realized I didn’t really want that life for myself. For a second, being a lawyer was a bit like a… cop out, you know? I thought I wouldn’t be doing enough. But I recently had an internship at a firm that specializes in immigration and that was fucking amazing. I mean– also vaguely depressing, but it really did feel like I was helping. It felt like it could be enough.”

The hand on his forearm squeezes gently and when Alex looks up from where he’d been staring holes into his Whiskey Soda, Henry’s eyes are warm with so much affection that cuts right to his bones and of which Alex is entirely undeserved.

“Of course it’s enough,” Henry says sternly, gaze still heavy on him. “The world is not entitled to more of your goodness than what you want to grant it. And– to quote someone I’m currently gifted the immense privilege of getting to know– I think you’re kind of incredible, Alex.”

Alex, for his part, scrambles to reboot his mind as he reaches for his drink with unsteady fingers. 

“ Fuck ,” he chokes out, fanning his suddenly heated cheeks with one hand. “When the fuck did you get this good at flirting?” 

Henry laughs again and Alex hazily ponders that he wouldn’t really mind getting drunk on the sound alone.

“Once I shook off a lifetime’s worth of internalized homophobia, it became quite easy, actually.”

Chuckling, Alex rolls his shoulders to shake off the last bit of flusteredness and points an emphatic finger at the blond. “I want to state for the record that my flirting abilities have also improved since last time, okay? Just you wait, sweetheart.”

Another grin. God, he’s so gorgeous when he smiles. 

“Gladly, love.”

__________

It takes almost twenty minutes for Henry to reemerge from the bathroom. For a split second Alex seriously thinks his date made a swift escape, but just as he stands to check if there are any open windows in the toilets, the blond awkwardly stalks back to their table. 

Henry sits down, impossibly even stiffer than before and with his eyes suspiciously red, mutters some stilted apology. Alex, because he’s not a total dick, waves him off as he chugs down the rest of his wine and gives him a smile. 

This is already kind of a trainwreck, but he’s determined to make the best of it. Even if that means gritting his teeth through some lame small talk with the world’s most stuck up man alive and faking yawns to prepare his excuse to leave as soon as they (Henry) pay. 

Admittedly though, after their small hiccup Henry does seem to gather himself slightly and by the time the main dish arrives, they’ve managed to hold up a halfway decent conversation. For all his blandness, he does make for a good listener, keeping his eyes firmly on Alex even as he drifts off into one of his rants about gerrymandering, giving him hums and nods at all the appropriate moments.

He has just launched into a passionate point about the 2012 election in Pennsylvania when he picks up on the disapproving glares from their neighboring tables, all turned up noses and mouths twisted in mild disgust, and bites his lip to stop himself. Clearing his throat, he gives Henry a crooked grin, careful to keep his voice lower than before when he pipes up again.

“Sorry,” he laughs, “I get a little swept away, I’m sure you don’t really give a fuck about any of this.”

Instantly, Henry’s perfectly shaped brows furrow. “I do, in fact. Granted, I’m not very well educated on this country’s electoral system, but what you just told me was quite fascinating, if infuriatingly unjust.” 

Blue eyes pointedly move to meet the unashamedly blatant stares from besides them before they land back on Alex, shining with something that almost looks like stubbornness. He tips his chin upwards and leans back in his chair, legs crossed.

“Continue, please. I insist.”

His voice is louder and firmer than Alex has heard all night and the slight authoritative note makes a shiver run over his spine that he’s not inclined to further examine right now. 

Instead, he swallows. Shaking off any residual sheepishness, he nods, “okay,” and picks up where he left off. 

Henry, obviously making it a point to appear even more attentive than he had been, fixes him with an intense stare that nearly manages to distract Alex in his political haze– which is honestly a feat in its own– and he even stops every once in a while to ask a clarifying question that further fans the fire under Alex’s ass. 

“So, then inmates are counted to the areas of the prison?” 

“Yeah,” Alex nearly chokes on his food in his frenzy, “and that’s fucked because prisons are almost always in the white, redneck asscrack of the country. And guess who is a fuckton more likely to be incarcerated?”

“People of color, I suppose?”

“Exactly!” His arms flail around, “That way votes of black communities especially get so fucking diluted and–”

The sound of glass clinking against the porcelain of his plate cuts into him off. Before he can react Henry sucks in a sharp breath and, next thing he knows, Alex helplessly watches as the redwine soaks the undoubtedly grossly expensive fabric of Henry’s dress shirt. 

“Oh– oh fuck ,” he scrambles up from his chair. “Shit, I’m sorry– wait, let me–”

Frantically, Alex grabs whatever napkins are in reach and tries to soak up the spilled liquid, first on the table and then on Henry’s chest. 

“God, fuck– I’m sorry.” He presses the napkin to his shirt, feeling the warmth of Henry’s sternum where his fingertips touch his chest, keeping his eyes down. 

For a moment, Henry stiffens.

“Alex,” he tries, but Alex forges on.

“Crap, look at your shirt… fuck, I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll pay for the cleaning–”

“Alex–”

“I might have to ask my bank for a loan to afford fucking burberry but I promise, I’ll–”

“ Alex!” Henry calls, louder this time, and brings his own fingers to clasp gently around Alex’s fretting hands which finally succeeds in him raising his gaze to meet blue, piercing eyes, and– oh. 

It’s not a smile exactly and yet the amusement is still visible in his face. His already stunning eyes are framed by soft crinkles and somehow shine twice as bright. Suddenly Alex is painfully aware how close they actually are. There are faint freckles splattered now visible across Henry’s ridiculously high cheekbones and he could swear that the taint of Henry’s otherwise pale skin has reddened a shade. 

“It’s fine, love. It’s just a shirt,” he soothes, mouth quirked upwards just slightly.

Mouth dry, the words die on Alex’s tongue as he looks between Henry’s face and their entangled hands in slow motion. And uh– yeah, that pet name… that’s certainly something. Does he have a thing for British accents? He didn’t used to think so, but maybe he needs to reevaluate that hypothesis. 

Henry squeezes their hands gingerly. “It’s alright. No harm done.Truly.”

“Okay.” Alex nods, vaguely horrified to find his own voice breathless.

Presumably also aware of their proximity, Henry pulls back and carefully releases Alex’s fingers with a strained smile. 

Settling back on his chair, his eyes fall on Henry’s plate which is also soaked in wine. Following his glare, Henry makes a small grimace.

“Ah,” he hums, “you know, I was quite finished with that.”

Alex bites his lip. “Sorry.”

Henry shakes his head, amusedly. “You say that a lot, don’t you?”

“Not usually,” he chuckles, “only to the people I drench in Merlot.”

“This is a pinot noir, actually.”

Alex barks out a laugh. “Shut up.”

For a split second after the words have slipped out, he’s worried that he’s offended Henry— but when he looks up at him, there's nothing except silent laughter there. 

“Are you?” Henry asks, nodding to Alex’s mostly blank plate. “Finished, I mean.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

“If I proposed having our dessert elsewhere, would you mind?” He tugs at his still damp shirt. “I don’t believe wine stains fit the dress code here, exactly.”

“Oh.” Alex blinks, turns over the words. Is Henry implying something? Because, things are going better by now and he can’t really deny that he is attracted to Henry– but there’s still an anxious pull behind his chest that tells him he isn’t ready for all of that yet. 

Sensing his apparent hesitation, Henry inhales sharply.

“Christ, I didn’t mean– actual dessert, Alex. Not a euphemism.”

Sheepishly, Alex huffs, but his shoulders sag with momentary relief. Hot embarrassment washes over him for freaking out at even the vague implication of sex when he’s literally on a fucking date. 

“It’s not– I mean it would’ve been fine if you– don’t get me wrong, you’re like stupid fucking hot, I’m just…” 

He trails off. Takes a breath. Opens his mouth, closes it again. Takes another breath.

Henry waits, patiently, until he finds his voice again. 

“This is, uh–” Alex picks restlessly at the frayed edges of his used napkin, forcing in yet another shaky breath. “This is kind of my first date… with a guy. So… yeah. I’m just a little nervous, I guess.”

He hesitates a moment before he gathers the courage of meeting Henry’s stare, but when he does his date’s eyes have softened into warm understanding. Slowly, almost as if he’s approaching a skittish animal, Henry stretches out his arm and offers his soft looking palm to Alex. 

Releasing a tight sigh, he takes it. Henry’s fingers are warm and steady and fit kind of perfectly around Alex’s. He’s a little obsessed with it, even if he doesn’t miss the way Henry’s eyes nervously flit across the room. 

“Thank you for telling me that.” Henry grants him a smile, maybe the first genuine looking one of the evening, and rubs a gentle thumb over the back of Alex’s hand. “I understand it’s not an easy journey. Please know that I would never expect anything of you, certainly nothing you’re not comfortable with.”

There’s a lump in Alex’s throat that doesn’t allow him more than a tight nod and a squeeze to their conjoined hands. A few moments pass in which he gets the chance to get his emotions back in order until he leans back in his chair and huffs out a laugh. 

“Um– to answer your actual question, yeah. Dessert sounds great.”

The gorgeous smile on Henry’s rose colored lips widens another fraction and he gives a practiced wave to the waiter for them to pay. 

“Perfect.” 

────────────

“So,” Alex swoops by with their third rounds of drinks, non-alcoholic this time, and tries to be subtle when he plops back down on a spot closer to Henry than before, “is now the time that I get to tell you all the things you did wrong on our first date?” 

Undeterred by the lack of natural progression between conversation topics, Henry takes a sip of his coke and nods his head. 

“Whenever you’re ready, love.” 

He’s gotten more generous with pet names after their second drink, Alex has noticed and it’s slowly but surely becoming a strain on his already thinning self-restraint. He came into this date determined that he hated Henry Fox-Mountchristen’s guts (or he would have, would he have known his last name before twenty minutes ago), so becoming so hopelessly infatuated with the man in the noble span of two hours would really stain his reputation of bullheadedness. 

Then again, even in just those two hours, he’d learned more information about Henry than during the entirety of their first date. Where it had felt like he needed to carefully extract any piece of his personality then, Henry now freely, if cautiously, offers them up. There’s a still brief glimpse of hesitation flickering there every time, as if he needs to push himself off a mental cliff to do so. Even so, every time, without fail, the flicker falters and Henry’s chin tilts up as he forges on. 

Brave motherfucker.

He tells Alex about his sister who by all accounts sounds like the coolest person ever and the fierce glint in his eyes while he does, torn between love and admiration, mirrors what smolders in Alex’s chest whenever he talks about June. He tells him about his move to New York, how he all but fled his family’s home overnight and immediately slipped into a deep depressive episode, alone and frightened in an entirely new country. He tells him about his dog, David– which Alex maintains is a terrible name for a dog, even if he can’t deny being endeared by it– while proudly shoving blurry pictures under his nose. 

Alex even does get to meet Pez– a vibrant, shimmering force of nature who would certainly cause havoc if he ever got to meet Nora– and the obvious adoration that Henry and him have for each other is just another puzzle piece that somehow fits perfectly.

Every part of it is real and unguarded, filling in the gaps of an unfinished picture in Alex’s memory and twisting his impression of it from the inside out. 

And when Alex thinks about it– really thinks about it– hating Henry had never been the problem, had it? 

“Okay. Okay, okay–” He straightens in his seat, bouncing with energy. Henry looks at him expectantly, to which Alex responds with a blinding grin as he counts on his fingers. “So, number one. You looked like you were meant to be the old money asshole villain boyfriend of a hallmark movie.”

Henry blinks. “I… genuinely do not have a clue what that means.”

“Two,” he continues, ignoring his date entirely in favor of emphatically waving two fingers in front of his face, “for the first few hours, at least, you acted as if something crawled up your ass, made a nest and fucking succumbed there.”

“Needlessly graphic…”

“But correct! Do you know how much of a mindfuck it is to literally be on a date with someone– especially someone who asked you out–   who looks as if someone is holding him at gunpoint to be there?” He makes some wild, undefinable gestures to bring his point across, “For a second I really thought you just found me visually reproachable outside of bad bar lighting.” 

Henry’s face softens. “I can assure you that was far from the case.”

The unhidden earnesty makes Alex’s cheeks heat up once again, but he pushes past it and paints on his favorite overconfident, shit-eating grin instead. 

“Well, yeah. Like I said, a second. I have it on good authority that I’m fucking hot.”

Laughing, Henry shakes his head. As he quiets down though, there’s still something painfully sincere about his expression, so when he carefully reaches out to brush a stray curl off Alex’s forehead and leans in for a whisper, Alex thinks he might genuinely combust. 

“You beautiful , Alex.” Henry says, with devastating intention. “You were three years ago and impossibly , you are even more so today.”

Suddenly, the pleasant buzz he had going on vanishes, leaving Alex stone cold sober and with his tongue too big for his mouth. He can feel the heat of Henry’s face on his, can feel his breath as he says the words. Just a few inches, if he just moved forward a few inches, their lips would…

“Henry…” he breathes, the only word he can conjure up. 

Henry smiles– sweetly, knowingly, beautifully – and pulls away. 

“To address your point,” he continues in a normal tone, pointedly ignoring the fast pace in which Alex’s breaths come and go, “I am sorry for how I behaved. As I said before, I really was too wrapped up in my own… self-loathing and misery to be on a date. I was ashamed of being queer, even if I didn’t admit it to myself, and that regrettably carried over to my partners. Including you.” 

“It’s– it’s fine,” Alex shrugs, having halfway composed himself. “I kind of gathered all that today. I think I would have handled it better if it hadn’t been my first date with a guy, you know? All of it felt like… unknown territory, so when you acted like that I kept thinking I was doing something wrong.”

Expression looking nothing short of horrified at the notion, Henry shakes his head urgently. “You weren’t. Not at all.”

Alex smiles gratefully at him, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, admittedly, I was also not being… entirely fair to you.”

“Oh?” 

“Not like– I don’t know, I just saw you for a split second and assumed that I had you all figured out. I wasn’t exactly giving you the benefit of the doubt as I should have. Maybe.”

“ I was behaving horrendously, you had no reason to give me the–”

“Henry,” he laughs and gives a gentle nudge to his shoulder. “Just take the win.”

Holding up his palms in surrender, Henry does. Comfortable silence settles over them for a moment before his date pipes up again, “Anything else?” 

Alex pretends to think about, letting out a dragged out humming noise. “There was that thing where you nearly jumped down my throat. I mean I’m sure I deserved it, I don’t even remember what I said, but…” he trails off. 

Henry’s face has cleared of any humor now, only guilt and something else that Alex can’t place left. 

“I do,” he admits, voice softer than before. “You said something about me joining my daddy’s company.”

“Right.” Alex hums. “Stupid joke, admittedly, but… your reaction was still a bit–”

“Over the top?” 

“Yeah.”

Sighing deeply, Henry closes his hands around his glass. “It was. And I am sorry. It’s not an excuse but to explain my reaction, you should know that my father actually…”

His voice tapers off and he takes in a breath that visibly shudders in his chest. The want to stop this entire conversation and wrap him up in a hug hits Alex with the force of a pick up truck, but he schools himself into giving Henry the space to gather himself. 

“He…” 

Once again, the words seem to die on his tongue as if they’re physically weighing on him. Grief, bone deep grief shines in the azurean pools of his eyes and suddenly Alex understands exactly what Henry doesn’t seem capable of voicing. 

“Oh.” His stomach drops and his hand reaches instinctively, too quick to second guess himself, wrapping itself around Henry’s tightly. “Fuck, Henry… I’m so sorry. And what I said– God, that was so shitty.”

The smile he gets in return is watery but not a speck less breathtaking for it. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. It was a few years back, even at that point but… well it was a sensitive nerve that you struck, unknowingly. It still is, really. I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Alex shakes his head. “Don’t be. I made a really, really stupid throwaway comment and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Wordlessly, Henry squeezes his hand, gratefulness shining in his eyes.

“For what it’s worth,” Alex continues, scooting closer to gently bump their shoulders together, “I think we’re both doing way better today.”

Henry runs his thumb over the back of Alex’s hand, the smile still haunting his lips. 

“I do regret,” he hums, the words almost lost in the bustling sounds around them, “that I failed to give you the first queer experience that you deserved.” 

Somehow, the sadness in his voice itches unpleasantly in Alex’s ears. He knows he doesn’t mean it that way, but Henry somehow looking back at their date as a through and through negative memory hurts nontheless. Vehemently, he shakes his head. 

“That’s stupid, Henry. I never needed my first date with a guy to be all unicorns and fucking rainbows. I just needed it to… be.”

Henry still looks at him doubtfully and the spark of anger in his chest makes Alex pull his hand out of his grasp. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t pity me for having gone out with you like that doesn’t make me feel more like shit about it. And besides, you and I both know that what happened during the date wasn’t what went wrong.”

Flinching, his date quickly downturns his eyes to stare into his drink. “I know. I’m sorry for that, too.”

“God,” Alex groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Stop it. We’re here now, right? I’m over it. You should be, too.”

As they settle back into silence– this time a bit more awkward than before– he takes a long sip of his drink and silently wishes that the words come across more convincing than they sound in his head. 

────────────

Henry’s proposition turns out to be a tiny, well-loved gelato place a few blocks away which Alex already enthusiastically prefers over the stuffy restaurant. They walk side by side, shoulders brushing every once in a while– Henry had dropped Alex’s hand that he’d been holding as soon as the waiter made his way to their table and he tried not to be too upset about it, yet he does kind of miss the grounding feel of the surprisingly steady palm around his own. 

There’s an itch in his fingers to take it again, but he doesn’t dare. Miraculously though, it’s not the thought of holding a man’s hand in public that terrifies him– but the prospect that Henry wouldn’t want to. 

Despite that particular uncertainty, things are nice. Henry seems visibly more relaxed in the sharp air of the night, shoulders less rigid as he gazes wistfully at the clouded sky above them and casually responding to Alex’s intermittent chattering every now and again. 

It’s good. It’s a date– not much different from any other date Alex has been on– and somehow that realization eases the pressure on his chest, that looming expectation of tonight being something grave and life-altering. He’s on a date with a sweet, hot (if slightly stuck up) guy, eating chocolate gelato on a fairy light adorned sidewalk in New York City. And the world looks just the same. 

“Hey,” he hums and gives a nudge to Henry’s dark blue patent shoe. His date is once again lost in thought with his head tilted upwards, the perfect slope of his nose dimly illuminated by the street lights. The sight makes a tiny tingling erupt in Alex’s gut he chooses to ignore for the time being. 

“What are you looking at?”

Tearing his eyes from the sky, Henry’s eyes focus back on him. There’s an almost dazed, pensive quality to his expression and it softens out the tension filled edges of his features. 

“Oh,” he hums, as if he hadn’t expected to be perceived so closely. “I was just– I’m in the habit of trying to look for the stars.” He cocks an off-kilter smile. “A rather fruitless endeavor here in the city.”

Alex catches a drop of ice cream with his mouth and nods sympathetically. “I get that. I mean– I grew up in Austin, so I guess I was always used to not seeing them very clearly, but my dad has a lakehouse in Texas and the first time I was there I was blown away. I didn’t even know that stars could shine that fucking bright, you know?” He shrugs. “Did you do a lot of star watching, then?” 

Instinctually, Henry’s hand that isn’t busied with his gelato cone brushes over the arm watch that sits on his wrist. 

“When I was young, yes. I used to look for Orion whenever my mind got too… tangled up, so to say.” His eyes wander back upwards and a low breath rushes out of his lungs. Softly, he adds, “I quite miss it.”

The words tug at Alex’s chest and he has the urge to reach out to the man in front of him. They’re only an arm’s length apart– he could, easily. And yet the distance between them somehow seems insurmountable, even in the spell of foreign vulnerability that has suddenly settled over their conversation.

“Maybe you can show it to me sometime,” he says before he can stop himself. 

Henry’s gaze snaps back to him with an unreadable look. He’s silent for a long while before he smiles, melancholically. 

“That sounds lovely.”

His voice is hushed and soft but warm in Alex’s ears, falling from his pink lips like a delicate confession. Alex wants to kiss him.

The realization hits him with an unexpected brunt and he has to try hard not to let it show on his face or take a startled stumble backwards. He scrambles internally to realign the urge with the entirety of their rocky evening, tries to find the untruth in it but comes up empty. 

He wants to kiss Henry. 

Not because he’s a man. Not because they’re on a date and that’s just how things go– because there is a person only inches across from him, palpable and tender and real. A whole person who isn’t the empty husk of a stereotype that Alex had sized him up for earlier. A person who instead is stilted and awkward; soft-spoken and understanding, all in the same breath. Who, despite some clear hang ups towards his queerness, held Alex hand when he needed it, took all of his rants in stride, didn’t bat an eye at an expensive shirt ruined.

Alex may not understand the intricacies or the scope of who Henry is. Yet he knows he wants to learn. Wants to get to know him.

And yeah. Wants to kiss him.

And because his impulsivity has always been faster than any inhibitions…

“Henry?”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Henry’s eyes widen impossibly– two vibrant, gorgeous pools of blue shining in the dim light. The whole ‘windows to the soul’ thing always seemed like a scam to Alex until now, but he can’t deny feeling dizzy by the sheer vulnerability there, a swirl of surprise, temptation and sheer panic. 

His gaze flickers from side to side and Alex follows his example only to find that between the busy, fast paced pedestrians and the distant clusters of people engrossed in their own conversations, no one is watching them. Henry seems to come to a similar conclusion, because the initial shock seems to drain out of him until his eyes are glazed over with want and he licks his lips before nodding, faintly. 

Alex moves instantly, scared to back out if he waits even a second longer. His hands find Henry’s waist, pulling him in until their chests are flush against each other and a shiver runs over his spine at the gentle hands that Henry places, at the backside of his neck and his cheek. 

Their lips meet and it’s– it’s good. A gentle brush at first, testing the waters until it’s Henry who pushes against him harder but with delicate precision. It takes a brief second to find a rhythm and Alex is pleasantly surprised by the feel of it, of how present Henry is under him as he leads their embrace, tangling his fingers into Alex’s curls, holding him close. 

For a moment, his mind goes blissfully blank. Then, all at once Henry pulls away.

His cheeks are flushed, stark against his otherwise pale skin, and his lips only slightly redder than before. He blinks up at Alex, a deep furrow between his brows. Before he can fully move himself out of his reach, Alex reaches for his hand and gently grasps it into his own, anxious to break contact just yet.

“Hey,” he whispers, out of breath, “I– that was, um… that was good. Right?”

Henry tilts his head in mild confusion. 

“I mean, for you– for you, too?”

The strained expression softens. “Yes, Alex.” Henry squeezes his hand before gingerly dropping it. “It was.”

“Okay,” he says, more to himself, “Because I… I like you. And I’d really like to see you again.”

Where Henry’s expression had been open and transparent just moments ago, it has now shuttered close, leaving no room for Alex to read what he’s thinking. The nervous twisting in his stomach intensifies.

Did Henry not enjoy the kiss after all? Did he decide that for all his talking and rambling and wine spilling, Alex was more trouble than he’s worth?

As if reading the spiral in his mind, Henry steps back into his space to land a soft hand on Alex’s shoulder. 

“I’d very much like to see you again as well.”

Relief washes over him like a bucket of water. Fuck, when did he become so hellbent on going on more dates with Henry?

“Great! I mean, good. That’s– good.” He beams. “So you’ll call me, then?”

Henry returns his smile. Alex notices that it still somehow looks a little sad even if his kiss muddled mind can’t quite figure out why.

“Yes, love. I’ll call you.”

────────────

By drink number four, Alex does manage to drag Henry onto the dancefloor with him– which he thinks counts as a feat worthy of a nobel prize. Word peace or something, even if the sight of Henry’s hips swinging to the beat, no matter how stilted the movements might be, sparks the same sort of heat low in his gut that he’s sure to have started multiple grecian wars. 

The air is stuffy and hot, not helped by the proximity of their bodies almost pressed against each other. Henry’s arms are hooked around his neck and his own are firmly placed on either side of his waist as they move to the beat. Henry is nearly pliant under Alex’s guidance and the feel of his body so willing and responsive under his fingertips makes him lose his god forsaken mind.

And that’s before his eyes finally land on the man’s face and see the sinful expression there, azurean pools half hidden by lidded eyes and pink, glossy lips slightly parted. Even in the low light, the desire there is clear as day. A low shiver runs over his spine. 

It would be so easy now, to lean forwards and catch Henry’s cranberry stained mouth with his own. One tiny shift forwards is all it would take and, if the downright needy look on Henry’s face is any indication, he could finally put the desperate craving of Henry’s lips back on his after all this time to rest. 

Alex isn’t sure why exactly the idea terrifies him as much as it excites him, or why, when Henry moves one clammy palm to cup his cheek and his eyes flicker down to Alex’s lips expectantly, the quickening of his pulse suddenly feels a lot more like anxiety than anticipation. He only knows that, before anything can further progress he ungently extracts himself out of their embrace and finds that the edges of his vision have gone concerningly fuzzy. 

He thinks he can make out his name on Henry’s lips, the hunger in his expression now replaced with concern, but the sound falls silent behind the ringing in his ears. His breaths are coming in fast and shallow now and the warmth that was previously exhilarating now seems like it’s burning him from the inside out. 

Before he can take another thought, his heels turn on their own volition and next thing he registers is himself pushing through the crowd with frantic velocity until he stumbles towards the exit and onto the street.

The sudden bout of cold, sharp air meeting his face helps in grounding Alex’s racing mind. He puts a hand flat over his chest as he closes his eyes and tries to calm himself by raising it up and down with his breaths.

He gets to three and a half when a tentative voice reaches him.

“Alex?” Henry steps sound closer to him, his voice low and careful as if he’s approaching a skittish animal. “Are you alright?” 

Nodding, he tightens his arms around himself and hopes his voice comes out more steady than he feels. “Yeah– yeah, I’m fine. Sorry I kind of ran out of there.”

A beat of silence. 

“ I’m the one who should be apologizing. I– I clearly misread the situation and I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable, Alex.”

That snaps Alex’s eyes back open. Henry’s stance is taught, shoulders tightly wound together where he is standing at a safe distance and with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his pants. He’s still flushed and fucking gorgeous, expect for the guilt ridden frown sitting in between his soft features and suddenly he is hit with a wave of remorse.

“You didn’t misread though,” he sighs, running a hand through his curls, “I want to kiss you, Henry. Very fucking badly.”

His expression morphs into confusion– which, regrettably, looks way too adorable considering Alex has no means of properly appreciating it. “Okay. Then, can I ask what…?”

“It’s just–” Alex forces a breath into his lungs, mortifyingly unable to stop the desperation leaking from his voice, “I’m fucking tired of people only wanting pieces of me.”

Henry looks stricken, flinching back with his eyes wide.

“I don’t blame you for never calling me after last time, even if you said you would. Maybe I did before, but I get it now. You weren’t ready. But that doesn’t change how I felt, staring at my phone, wondering what the fuck I did wrong that everyone always decides I’m not even worth a fucking text back, you know?”

“Alex…” Henry breathes, sounding so genuinely gutted that Alex nearly backtracks on his words. 

But the deep, looming pit of darkness in his chest aches too much to be ignored any longer and the feeling, the want when he looks at Henry is too overwhelming to pretend that a rejection wouldn’t devastate him. So, he keeps going, even if the words feel like daggers in his mouth.

“When you didn’t reach out to me then, you made a choice. And– and that’s okay, it was your choice to make. But there was a reason you did and you can’t say that it had nothing to do with me, because I know that’s bullshit. Just– statistically, it has to be my fault in some way or another and I can’t… I can’t kiss you, pretending that it doesn’t fucking hurt that I’m not good enough for more than a fun time in a club somewhere.”

The words seemingly sending Henry into motion, he quickly steps forward until his soft, steady hands are bracing both sides of Alex's shoulders. The look in his eyes is so intense, it makes a shiver run over his spine. 

“That is not true, Alex.” 

“Henry–” 

“No,” Henry shakes his head, his voice louder than Alex has heard, “Listen to me, I beg of you. It’s important for you to understand this, okay?”

He waits until Alex slowly nods before he takes in a shaky breath.

“You’re right, in a way. It did have something to do with you– but not at all how you’re thinking. When I first saw you…”

He falters for a moment, biting his lip. A hand slowly moves up from Alex’s shoulder to his cheek, the gentle touch hot against his skin. Alex opens his mouth to cut in, but then he catches Henry’s eyes, filled to the brim with a type of reverent adoration that couldn’t possibly be directed at him and snaps it shut again. 

“You were radiant, Alex. I don’t know if you recall, but it was nearly two am in some cramped bar in Brooklyn and you were there with a group of people, talking and dancing, laughing. I saw you and– and just the sight of you robbed me of any breath, any other bloody thought. I worried that I might burn should I ever step too close to you, only by the energy that surrounded you.”

A thumb caresses the top of Alex’s cheekbone. He thinks his breaths are coming in faster and more shallow than before and he silently hopes Henry can’t feel his heart pounding against his ribs. 

“And then miraculously, you noticed me. You sat down, rendered me senseless by smiling at me, and in a fit of madness, I approached you, despite knowing that the person I was back then, could never be deserving of someone like you.”

“That’s not–” Alex tries to protest, but is quickly shushed by a gentle squeeze. 

“Please, darling,” Henry says, a soft smile playing around his lips. “Let me finish.”

He blows out an exhale, “Fine.”

“When we actually had our date, I was convinced that you would not like me. There was so much darkness and anger and grief in me that I didn’t want to soil something as bright as you with all the horribleness. I was a dreadful shell of a being, scared of everything. Even when, as the evening went on, it seemed as if you had– had an interest in me, the idea that you’d…”

For a moment he struggles for words, before he finally tugs Alex a bit closer with the hand still on his shoulder and smiles mournfully.

“It was beyond my wildest dreams. I was terrified, frankly.”

Despite how shaky his legs are and that he physically has to stop himself from swooning into Henry’s arms, Alex manages to keep his voice steady when he shoots him a teasingly doubtful expression.

“So… what you’re saying is, I was too hot to call back?”

A laugh breaks out of Henry, unabashed.

“That’s one way to say it.” He sobers slightly. “But I am sorry. More than I can say. My depression was on the rise and I fell into a very deep hole not long after our date and that did highly contribute to why I didn’t reach out, but it does not excuse it. You deserved better and I very deeply regret making you feel like you were anything less than perfect.”

This time, Alex does swoon. Maybe– a little bit. He rolls his eyes, sure that there is no bite at all in his expression when he hums, “Now you’re just laying it on thick.”

“Only I’m not.” Gentle knuckles brush his temple, “Tonight has proved me right. You’re so wonderful, Alex. Vibrant, passionate, generous. I still don’t feel quite worthy of you if I’m being honest, but— I’d like to be.”

His eyes are big and blue and gorgeous as he gazes at him, so full of hope and emotion. It’s actually fucking sickening.

The beautiful words settle into Alex’s whirring mind, circling the worry there. He wants to believe him, so badly.

“Okay,” he starts, confidently ignoring the waver in his voice in favor of all the things he suddenly itches to say. “This time, you listen to me, okay?” 

Henry dutifully nods, his eyes trained on him as Alex steps closer.

“You talk about your old self like that person wasn’t deserving of love, but you’re forgetting one pretty fucking vital fact,.” He shifts forward, abandoning his physical passivity by wrapping his arms securely around Henry’s torso, holding him just close enough without hiding his face from his view. “ I liked that person enough to kiss him. I liked him enough that I wanted to take him on another date.”

“Well.” He cracks a crooked smile that really has no business being as endearing as it is. “I take no responsibility for that.”

“You should,” Alex urges, squeezing where his hands sit. “You don’t get it, do you? All the things that made me want to kiss you tonight, they were all there three years ago, too! I saw them, Henry, even if they were hidden. Sure, you were stuck up. But you were still kind and funny, and you made me feel safe the entire fucking time. And…”

His gaze meets the ground.

“And I wanted to have the chance to get to know you. Really know you. And then you didn’t let me.”

He feels more than hears the sharp inhale that Henry sucks in, followed by a bout of pregnant silence.

“Would you–” Henry clears his throat. “Would you still like that?”

“Have I not made that obvious?” He laughs, then quickly falters and, however reluctantly, pulls himself out of their touch, knowing that he won’t get what he needs to say out loud as long as his mind is muddled by the proximity. 

“But I need you to be sure about me. I don’t begrudge you for last time, but… I can’t do that again. So, not– not in a crazy, drop down on one knee way, this time just… be sure that you want to know me .”

“I do,” Henry says, lurching forward, his hands hovering in the space between them. “How can I prove to you that I do?”

Alex’s lips quirk up involuntarily at the blatant eagerness and he allows himself to step back into Henry’s space by pulling him in by the waist. The scene is a strange cosmic mirror to their first encounter: pressed close together on a street light adorned New York City sidewalk. It’s strange to think about all that is different today– and all that isn’t. 

How Henry’s eyes still somehow shine brighter in the dark, for one.

“See me again,” he says simply, because it is. “And promise you’ll kiss me then.”

Henry’s gaze is wide and honest when he nods, throat bobbing heavily. His nimble fingers cautiously reach for Alex’s hand to lift it up and press a featherlight peck against his knuckles. 

“You have my word,” he whispers as he raises his lips again, staring up at him with that look again– the one that turns his joints into jelly with embarrassing speed. 

Alex lets out a long, heavy breath and, maybe for the first time in a long while, doesn’t fight the warm feeling of hope flooding his chest. 

────────────

This time, Henry doesn’t wait even two days to call him back. They talk not more than five minutes yet Alex needs to stop his study session for a full half an hour after they’ve hung up to calm his pulse and get the dumb, lovestruck smile off of his face. He doesn’t know if it’s naivety that makes it so easy to trust the giddiness or if it’s just Henry– but either way, he has a second date (or a third, to be exact) for the first time in years and he’s excited. 

This time, they go on their next date less than a week later and Henry does make good on his promise. Alex leaves his place at the end of the night, his lips red and bruised from making out and his face actually fucking hurts from grinning. 

June and Nora, of course, tease him mercilessly every time he starts giggling at a text from Henry. Still, Alex can see the genuine happiness in their faces when they think he isn’t watching and, after the first time that Henry joins their monthly Karaoke endeavors, June pulls him into a fierce hug at the end of the night, her eyes suspiciously shiny when she mumbles into his ear, “You look happy, little bit.”

With startling clarity, Alex realizes that she’s right. He is. He is. 

After their sixth official date, Henry does drop down on one knee– with an impish smirk on his face as Alex’s face goes slack with shock– and asks him if Alex would do him the honor of being his boyfriend. 

“Holy– you’re a real dick, Fox, anyone ever tell you that?” Alex chokes as he pulls Henry back up on two feet, trying to hide the way his heart is running a mile a minute. But he lets himself be whisked into a deep kiss nonetheless and when they pull apart, Henry’s gaze is as warm and hopeful as ever that he doesn’t have the heart for a payback joke. 

Reverently, he whispers against his boyfriend’s soft skin, “Of course I fucking will.”

He stops counting dates after that. 

A year and a half later, Alex finally does get the chance to take Henry to the lakehouse, just like he promised. They sit on the peer at two am, huddled together under a knitted blanket. His boyfriend’s long legs are slung over his lap, his arms clinging to Alex’s neck as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered as he stares into the night sky and the stars there shine almost as clear and bright against the darkness of the night as Henry’s eyes. 

Through peppered kisses and muttered confessions, they stay and watch until the morning gradually breaks through the gloom. And when the first rays of sun catch on Henry’s honey blonde hair, dipping him into a golden shine that lights up the beautiful slopes of his face from behind, Alex finally pulls out the velvet box hidden in his sweater, watching how Henry’s expression cracks with surprise.

The litany of choked up “Yes, of course, yes-”  and "I love you, I love you, I love you," along with the tears that spill onto his boyfriend’s– fiance’s – lips is too heavy to catch with his his own, but Alex will be damned if he doesn’t try his best. 

It’s almost funny, he ponders as he’s being kissed silly by the love of his life with the Texas sunrise as a backdrop, how he can’t even remember all the first dates that didn't matter.