Chapter Text
“Thanks for joining me today.” Alex pulls a folder from his bag and scoots his chair in. Flipping through his papers, he says, “First, I’m going to be asking you some questions to make sure we’re on the same page. You’re, of course, within your rights to not answer anything that makes you uncomfortable, though cooperation would be appreciated and I hope you can trust I have your best interest at heart.” His eyes flick up. “Any questions for me before we start?”
Last night, Henry told Alex he is in love with him; this morning, Alex is serving him with interrogatories.
He woke to a text from Alex, sent at four a.m. asking Henry to meet him at seven-thirty that morning. Alex Claremont-Diaz, willingly up before ten on a Saturday. Walking to the cafe, Henry felt remarkably calm, all things considered. Nearly indifferent. It seems his worst fears on this subject being realized is too paralyzing to face head on and his body has shut off his ability to feel petrified at all—to feel at all—as a result. What is registering, as Alex blinks expectantly—enchantingly—at him from behind his wire frames, is amusement. Maybe exasperation. “Is there a reason you’re speaking to me like you would a client?”
Alex looks sheepish at that, as if he hadn’t expected Henry to ask that in response to him behaving like this. Actually, Alex appears to be far more nervous than Henry right now. “Sorry, I’m just… trying to navigate this the best way I know how.”
How Alex determined interviewing him over coffee and quiche was the best way of managing their situation is beyond him. Alex swiftly, succinctly shutting him and all his hopes down indefinitely last night would have been Henry’s preference. Instead, Alex had taken a step back and said, “Right. Okay. Is this a joke?” When Henry said it was not, he asked, “Are you serious?” Henry assured him he was, deathly, and Alex stilled for a moment, staring at the floor, then, nodding to himself, offered Henry a tight smile and left him with, “Okay. I think I should go. I’ll see myself out.” Then the text this morning. And now they are here, across from each other at a corner table.
“Let’s just begin?” Henry suggests.
“Yeah.” Alex clears his throat. “Okay, yeah. Uh, question one: Which of our friends know about your feelings for me?”
Henry cannot believe this is happening. That he is willingly sitting across from Alex and offering up all that is left of his dignity. But he made this bed, so he pulls his shoulders back and bloody well lies in it. “Bea and Pez I told outright. I am positive your sister and Nora know as well. Once Spencer told me he and Liam suspected something was going on between us, but I assured him it was one sided and asked him not to mention it to you.” There. Concise and candid.
Alex nods slowly. “Huh.” Scribbling something on the paper, he says, “So all of them.”
“Essentially, yes. All our shared friends.” And his neighbor, Carol. And Jamarion from Brooklyn Brews, who was twice referred to Alex as Henry’s boyfriend, despite being corrected the first time.
“But you were trying to hide it.”
“Initially, yes. I gradually grew less afraid of you discovering me, and more careless in general.”
“What changed?”
“When we met, I thought…” Alex was brash, ill-mannered, and exactly as self assured as he presents himself to be. “You’re kinder than I expected you to be.” Softer. Sweeter, even, sometimes. “Over time I began trusting that you wouldn’t be cruel to me, if you found me out.” If Henry confessed. He doesn’t add that some might deem this treatment cruel; he knows it is not being done maliciously. Actually, there’s relief in coming clean like this. About being free to tell Alex how good he is. “When I realized this wasn’t going away, you finding out became… an inevitability, I suppose. That took a good deal of the anxiety out of it.”
None of that gets written down, but Alex is listening intently. “Okay.” He pushes the sleeves of his sweater off his forearms. Casually, as if Henry’s performance won’t be impaired as a result. “Next: How long have you considered yourself in love with me?”
Christ. So he started off easy, then. Henry takes a sip of his tea. “Almost two years.”
This surprises Alex. He’s writing again. “God, okay.” He pushes his glasses up. “Then I kinda know the answer to this next one. Have you been with other men since coming to believe this about yourself?”
At this, Henry almost protests. He hardly sees how that is relevant. But, as Alex said, he already knows the answer. Henry may as well humor him. He’s already in the habit of humoring him a good deal more than he ought to do, anyway. “Yes.”
“Romantically?”
“Er—” Henry falters. There have been a few vain attempts, though usually he kept things strictly physical. “Yes. Nothing serious.” He doesn’t elaborate. Alex knows Henry hasn’t had a boyfriend in the last two years.
“Were your feelings for me in the way of forming serious connections with them?”
Again, hardly relevant. “Yes.”
Alex is nodding again. Writing again.
Henry watches him and waits. Has some more of his tea.
Seemingly reminded by Henry drinking that he hasn’t touched his coffee, Alex takes a sip from his mug, then he asks, “How painful has this been for you on a scale of one to ten; ten being the most painful, one being the least?”
“It’s a bit more… nebulous than that.” Surprisingly, what Henry had anticipated as one of the most painful events of his adult life thus far is shaping up to be rather… bearable.
Alex motions for him to go on.
“As I said, the sting wore off mostly, by now. There is of course, er— discomfort in unrequited love, particularly for a friend. But loving you has been easy. Fun. I fell in love with you in large part because I enjoy being around you.” Realizing Alex seems to be waiting for something else, he adds, “Perhaps it would be prudent to give myself some space, and if this were more painful than anything else, I may have done. But I… I’ve loved having you in my life. Being your friend. It wasn’t so painful as to risk giving that up.”
Alex chews his cheek, considering for a moment. “Giving that up by telling me or by creating distance?”
“Well, it accomplishes the same thing doesn’t it? Either I establish distance between us or you do.”
Alex inclines his head to the side as if to say not necessarily, which… yes, necessarily. Henry flatters himself that he’s put a good deal more thought into this than Alex has, so he can say with some authority that those are the only available options here. “Sorry, did that answer a question? Do you still want a number?”
“Your answer was conclusive enough.” Alex clears his throat. “Why do you believe you are in love with me?”
“I don’t belie—Alex, for Christ’s sake, I know I am in love with you,” Henry huffs. He has had quite enough of this consider yourself and believe yourself to be nonsense.
“Fine. Okay.” Alex amends his question: “How do you know you’re in love with me?”
And how to answer that? It’s just obvious. It’s just everywhere. “I knew the day June introduced us that someone like you would be dangerous for me.”
“Someone like me?”
Striking. Passionate. Uninhibited. Brilliant. “Don’t fish for compliments,” Henry chides. He’s giving him more than enough.
Alex cracks a smile and jots something down. “So I’m your type. Got it.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Alex certainly has qualities Henry’s always found attractive. His drive, the way he teases him. But Henry learned long ago that Alex is not to be put in a box. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” He means it as a compliment, though he doesn’t elaborate; Alex takes it as intended, if the softening of his expression is anything to go by.
“So you like that I’m different. Very Mr. Darcy.”
Henry breathes a laugh. “I also did not say that.” It’s the truth, though. Of course it is.
“Then you know because…”
Henry knows he’s in love with Alex because a week after Henry told him Pride and Prejudice was his favorite, Alex mentioned he just finished it and presented him with six pages of notes he wanted to discuss. Because he’s the most dedicated person Henry has ever met. For the way he laughs at him when he takes himself too seriously. For how massively he cares, how hard he always tries, brave he always is.
“You hardly need further proof of my feelings than the fact that I’m sitting here and entertaining this rather than locking myself in my flat for all eternity.”
Alex doesn’t look satisfied with his answer, but doesn’t pry further. “I appreciate you talking things out with me,” he says as he writes. “Not sure if I said that already.”
He did, at the beginning. Henry refrains from pointing out that or the fact that talking things out is usually a mutual affair. Their situations are far from mutual.
“Do you want to stop loving me?”
Good God. He’s gone back and forth on that for two years. How is he to conjure up an answer when he hardly knows? “Sometimes,” he says truthfully. “It hasn’t seemed like much of an option for me, so I haven’t given it much thought.” Of course, things have changed. “With you now knowing, I would say yes.”
“So why did you tell me?”
“You know why.”
They kicked off the weekend in the usual way: a night of drinking with their friends. They hadn’t planned for Alex to come over, but he was hungry after walking Henry home and invited up as a result. They ate, laughed, and drank more.
Somehow, eventually, Alex confessed he wasn’t sure someone could see him for all he was and come out loving him on the other end. Could stay. And Henry could not bear him believing something like that about himself, looking resigned and weary, when he had proof to the contrary. Was proof to the contrary.
He was drunk, he was in love, and he was weary himself. Henry had always imagined the end of their friendship to be disastrous—a blow-out—this seemed a happy alternative. That the last thing they shared would be a moment of magnanimity. A high note to end one: Alex assured of how much he can be loved, of how easily it can be done; Henry going with grace. Some shred of grace.
Evidently, Alex did not share that vision.
“Do you want to be with me?”
The things Henry wants to be with Alex are innumerable. “I don’t want to be with anyone who doesn’t want me in return.”
“Understandable,” is all Alex offers in reply. His foot taps rapidly on the floor. He spends several minutes reading over his papers.
Listening to the clicking of Alex’s pen, the anxiety floods in. Is Henry about to be diagnosed? Banished? Sentenced? Why does Alex need this much time and information to reject him?
Why does Alex lean back in his chair and say, “I’d like to make you an offer,” in his lawyer voice?
Never talking again? Friends with benefits? Joint custody of the friend group? His stomach churns. “Go on, then.”
“I am definitely not in love with you,” Alex says plainly.
This isn’t news to Henry. He’s not sure why his heart aches like he had any hope of Alex returning his feelings, when he absolutely did not.
“Henry, you talk about loving me like it’s obvious, but it hasn’t been obvious. Not to me. I’ve never even considered that you could want me that way. That us being together was even remotely on the table.” Alex tugs at his hair. “And yeah, I thought you were hot when we first met, but I never thought that could go anywhere. Actually, I’ve always kinda felt like you didn’t really like me, or that I kinda bother you or something, so, like, I didn’t—”
Wait. “What are you saying?”
“I admire you. A lot. And I like being friends with you.”
Ah. He is being let down gently. Of course.
Alex kneads the back of his neck. After a pause, he tells him, “I didn’t sleep last night. I was just up wondering if I missed something that was right in front of me like I always do because my head is always ten years in the future. And now I can’t stop thinking about us, like that. Being together. Being more. I… I feel like we could be good for each other, and now I can’t get it out of my head.”
Henry nearly laughs. He should know better than to think Alex predictable. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this. But is Alex saying what he thinks he is? What he hopes? Has always hoped for?
“I get it if you wanna cut your losses and move on,” he says, leaning across the table, “but I’m asking you to wait. Not forever. Not long. I can’t promise you anything right now, but if you waited a month or two for me, I might be able to catch up to you.”
Henry’s heart tumbles over itself in his chest. Alex wants to love him back. Wants to try. Christ, that is so much more than he hoped for, he finds himself laughing, incredulous. “I—Did you really just torture me for a quarter hour to ask me that?”
“I needed to get my facts straight. You didn’t give me much to work with.”
“You fled my kitchen,” Henry reminds him.
“Yeah, I, um.” Alex laughs softly. “Yeah.” He clicks his pen shut and flips his folder closed. “So? What do you say?”
Henry takes a breath. “If you’re serious about this, I’ll wait.”
“I am serious.”
“Okay, then.” Henry says, taming a smile. Perhaps he’s getting too hopeful too quickly, and this will certainly shatter his heart ten times more if Alex gives him a chance and ultimately decides he can’t bring himself to return Henry’s feelings, but Henry agrees with him: they would be good for each other. He’s always thought so.
“So how are we gonna do this?”
”Is there anything to do besides see where this goes?”
“I have some ideas.”
Henry grins. Of course he does. “Do you now?”
“Yeah. And if we don’t talk about this right now, I’m gonna spend November fucking obsessing over it like I have been the last five hours.”
“Best take care of that, then,” Henry says. “What do you have in mind?” He’s open to different approaches. Staying friends. A talking stage. Casual dates. Holy matrimony.
“I’m thinking we hang out more but don’t, like, date yet?”
“All right,” he agrees. “Any other terms and conditions?”
“Let’s not tell everybody?”
Henry raises his eyebrows.
“If you wanna tell Bea and Pez, that’s fine. But, uh, I’d rather keep June and Nora out of this till we know what it is? I don’t really see why Spence and Liam would need to know either.”
They have a vested interest. Henry suspects they have a bet going. But he agrees. He also would prefer to not be examined at every group function.
“Anything else?”
“You busy today?”