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The second Alex gets the door open, something feels wrong. David’s barking up a storm—not the hyper, happy bark he lets out when Alex walks in, but something desperate, like he’s panicked. Alex barely has time to close the door before David’s tugging at his pant leg, practically dragging him toward the living room, and every instinct Alex has is telling him to hurry.
“Hey, what’s going on, Davey?” he asks the anxious pup, but his voice catches as he rounds the corner—and there’s Henry, sprawled on the floor at the base of the stairs, eyes closed, face pale, with a couple of stray tinsel garlands scattered around him like he was trying to hang them up.
Alex’s heart slams to a stop.
He drops to his knees before he can think, skidding to a halt next to Henry, and he’s all instincts, hands hovering just over him. “Oh my god. Oh-”
At the sound of his voice, Henry’s eyes flicker, unfocused and a little hazy, ike he’s pulling himself back from somewhere far away, and relief floods through Alex so suddenly he could almost cry. Henry’s awake. He’s okay. He has to be okay.
““Henry.”
It’s barely even a word—more like a sound, all his fear and panic compressed into one syllable as Alex saga beside him. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He reaches for Henry face but pulls back, remembering that thing about not moving someone after a fall, his fingers hovering just above Henry’s shoulder. “Baby, hey. Can you hear me?”
Alex?” Henry mumbles, blinking like he’s trying to make sense of where he is. “What…what happened?”
“You took a fall from the stairs, baby,” Alex says, forcing his voice steady and failing miserably.
Henry tries to sit up, wincing, and Alex’s hand shoots out instinctively to stop him. “Don’t—just, stay there for a second, okay? You hit your head. You just…you need to stay put, just for a sec.”
Henry only barely nods, like that’s enough movement for him anyway, and Alex can feel himself going into autopilot as he pulls out his phone and dials 911 with one hand, the other resting on Henry’s arm, like he can keep grounded just by touching him.
He talks to the dispatcher, gives them their address, rattles off the situation in a voice he barely recognizes as his own. Somehow, he keeps his tone steady even as he’s saying words like “fall” and “unconscious” and “head injury”.
The call ends, and Alex looks back at Henry, who’s watching him with that soft, concerned expression he always has when Alex is stressed, like he’s worried more about Alex’s blood pressure than his own fall.
If it’s at all possible, Alex feels even worse.
David curls up next to Henry, whimpering softly, a little cry that he knows will haunt his worst nightmares, and before he can stop himself, Alex reaches out to run his hand through Henry’s hair, just barely there touches, as light as he can manage.
“Help’s on the way. You’re going to okay, sweetheart.”
Henry frowns up at him, clearly still dazed, but with enough sense to catch on to the tremble in voice, in his hands. “Are you…all right?”
“Am I okay?” Alex chokes out a laugh that sounds way too much like a sob. “Henry, you just fell down the stairs. You don’t get to ask me if I’m okay.”
But Henry just raises an eyebrow, clearly determined, even with his head all fuzzy and a nasty bruise blooming at his temple.
“I’m just…relieved you’re awake, that’s all.”
It’s only halfway a lie. He is relieved, but it feels like a thin layer of calm stretched over a well of something deep and dark, something he doesn’t have the space to deal with right now.
Right now, all he has to do is keep Henry focused on himself, keep him safe until help arrives.
It’s the very least he can do.
“Alex, you look…” Henry starts, but then he winces, blinking like he’s only just processing the pain. “Oh, bloody hell. Feels like I took a bat to the head.”
“Probably didn’t help that you did it on the hardwood,” Alex says, trying to defuse the situation and missing the mark by a landslide. He’s keeping his hands moving, a hand on Henry’s shoulder, a pat on his arm, little reassurances that he’s here, that nothing is evidently broken—no bones breaking skin.
Everything’s under control.
He just needs Henry to focus on that, on him being here, not on whatever’s simmering under the surface.
They sit there together, David nestled against Henry’s side, until Alex hears sirens pulling up to the curb. He glances back at Henry, his voice quiet and careful. “Ambulance is here, all right? They’ll get you checked out, and we’ll be out of here before you know it.”
Henry nods, his eyes drifting closed, and Alex feels the spike of panic rise up again, his fingers flexing where they’re still resting on Henry’s arm. “Hey, no sleeping. Stay with me.”
Henry’s eyes snap open again, focused back on him. Alex keeps his expression steady, holding eye contact, keeping his voice calm. “You’re doing great, baby. Just stay with me, okay?”
By the time the paramedics come in, Alex’s hands are aching from how hard he’s holding himself together. He helps them answer questions, nods along as they check Henry’s vitals, keeps his voice level even as they lift Henry onto a stretcher.
The second they start wheeling Henry out, he grabs Alex’s hand, his grip tight, eyes wide. “You’re coming, right?” Henry asks, his voice soft and steady, like he knows Alex is the one who needs reassuring right now.
Alex gives him the best smile he can manage, squeezing back. “Of course. I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere without you.” He lets out a long, shaky breath and hones in on the feel of Henry’s hand, warm and steady in his.
Clings to that feeling, forces himself to remember it.
The ride to the hospital feels surreal, like Alex is watching it happen to someone else. He’s sitting in the back of the ambulance, inches from Henry, close enough to reach out and touch him—but he keeps his hands clenched in his lap, knuckles white, forcing himself to stay put.
He’s watching every move the paramedics make, tracking their every glance and adjustment as they check Henry’s vitals, ask him questions, prod at his temples, mutter about concussions.
He feels chest tightens as he watches him, that little kernel of panic twisting deeper, pushing past his ribs and into his lungs.
And Henry, of course, is being perfectly pleasant. As beautiful and charming as ever. But his blinks are coming in slower and his accent is heavier.
He’s hiding his discomfort and it were anyone else, Alex would buy it. But it’s not. It’s Henry, and Alex knows Henry better than he knows himself.
“We’re just gonna get some scans done at the hospital, all right?” one of the paramedics says to Henry, giving him a friendly nod. “Standard procedure for falls and head injuries. I'm confident you haven't broken any bones but they'll make sure everything is set.”
“Great,” Henry says a little too calmly, glancing at Alex like he’s hoping that if he keeps it light Alex will stop looking like he’s on the verge of a meltdown.
It’s unlikely.
But he nods anyway, forces a half-smile and tries his best not to look as wound up as he feels. During the ride he pulls out his phone, shoots off a quick message to the group chat: heading to NYU Langone with Henry. Fell down stairs. Hit his head.
He sends it before he can second-guess the wording, then immediately feels a rush of texts coming through from June, Nora, and Pez. Alex knows he can’t handle that right now. Not yet. So he shoves his phone back in his pocket, focuses on keeping himself steady for Henry.
The ambulance pulls up to the hospital, and they’re ushered inside, the lights blindingly bright and clinical. Nurses take over, moving Henry onto a gurney and checking his vitals again, asking him questions that he answers with a little more confusion than Alex is comfortable with.
He can’t stop watching Henry’s face, looking for any signs of pain, his brain cataloging every expression, every flinch.
“Family member?” a nurse asks, clipboard in hand.
“Uh, yeah,” Alex says without thinking, and then he forces himself to stand a little straighter, dropping into a steady, measured voice that feels like someone else’s. “Yes. I’m Alex Claremont-Diaz, his emergency contact. Just tell me what you need.”
The nurse nods, clearly accustomed to the whole drill, directing them toward the intake area. Alex follows the gurney, staying as close as they’ll let him, fingers twitching with the need to touch Henr and his body vibrating with the urge to do something —anything—to be useful, even if that means he’s just standing here, trying not to throw up.
They finally wheel Henry into a small, private room, and a doctor steps in, introducing herself with a warm smile and a firm handshake that Alex can barely bring himself to return.
“All right, Henry, we’ll do some precautionary scans just to check for any signs of injury,” the doctor says, looking between them, and before turning to Alex, that same professional, calm expression. “You can wait in the family station right down the hall, and we’ll bring him back once the scans are complete. This might take about 45 minutes to an hour.”
The words barely register. All Alex hears is you can wait , and suddenly, he feels his control slipping, that thin layer of calm fraying at the edges. But he nods, trying to keep his tone steady, ignoring the way his heart hammers in his chest. “Right. Yeah, okay.”
“I’ll be okay, darling,” Henry says, his voice soft and reassuring, the way it always is when he knows Alex is struggling. “No spiraling and don’t harass the staff, all right?”
“I’m not spiraling,” Alex responds on autopilot, and he’s not sure if he’s lying to Henry or himself. Either way, he squeezes Henry’s hand and fights the tears pricking behind his eyes, allows himself one last look before they start wheeling him out of the room. “I’ll be here when you’re done, baby.”
They roll Henry away, and as soon as he’s gone, the hospital hall seems to stretch out forever, empty and cold and clinical. Alex swallows, pushing past the knot in his throat, and heads to the waiting room.
He sinks into a chair in the family station, gripping the edges so tightly his fingers hurt. The walls around him feel blindingly white, the fluorescent lights too harsh, casting everything in an unforgiving glare.
For a second, he closes his eyes, willing himself to stay calm, to breathe in and out like a normal, functioning human. But he’s not sure he remembers how.
He keeps picturing Henry’s face, pale against the hospital sheets, and he tries to tell himself it’s fine, that Henry’s fine, that they’re just doing this as a precaution, that head injuries aren’t always serious. But his brain won’t let up, replaying every moment since he found Henry at the bottom of the stairs, imagining every awful scenario he’s been trying not to think about.
His fingers start tapping on the chair, his knee bouncing uncontrollably as his breaths start coming a little too fast. He tells himself again and again that he’s fine. He has to be fine. He has to be fine for Henry. But his mind twists back to why they’re even here.
It’s your fault, a voice that sounds just like his whispers. You were late. You’re always late, always busy, always letting him down. You were supposed to be there for him, and instead, you left him alone.
The words feel like they’re wrapping around his lungs, squeezing tighter and tighter, and suddenly he’s not sure he can breathe at all. His chest feels heavy, like it’s full of stones.
The panic that had been simmering beneath the surface breaks through all at once, a wave so overwhelming Alex has to grip the edge of the chair to keep himself anchored. But even that’s not enough. It’s like his whole body is revolting against him, heart racing, vision blurring, his skin too hot, and yet he’s freezing cold.
He tries to draw in a breath, but it’s shallow, shaky, like his lungs have locked up.
But all the while he can still hear his own thoughts, a frantic jumble, repeating over and over, Henry has to be okay. He deserves to be okay. He doesn’t deserve this—he doesn’t deserve someone like me.
A rush of shame bubbles up, flooding his chest, spreading into his throat like lava until he feels like he might choke on it.
You’re not worthy of him. You never have been. You’re too much and never enough, he’ll see that now.
Alex tries to shake the thoughts away, but they’re stuck, looping around his mind faster than he can keep up. And somewhere in the middle of it all, he realizes he’s not breathing.
His body jerks forward, hunched over, and he’s gasping, pulling in desperate, broken breaths, but it’s like they’re getting trapped in his chest, like his lungs are full and empty at the same time.
He doesn’t even realize he’s slid to the floor until he’s gripping his knees, forehead pressed down, vision blurred with tears he didn’t feel coming.
His heart feels like it’s about to break out of his chest, his whole body trembling, and Alex is distantly aware that he’s making a low, keening sound that’s so foreign he barely recognizes it as his own. But he can’t stop it.
He can’t move, can’t beathe, every fiber of being is consumed with the words Henry has to be okay. Henry needs to be okay. This is my fault.
Distantly, Alex thinks he feels hands on his shoulders, gentle but firm, and a voice calling his name.
“Alex. Alex, hey. Look at me.” It’s June, crouched in front of him, her voice low and steady, cutting through the haze like a lifeline. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Alex, breathe. Just breathe.”
He tries to focus on her, on her face, on the feeling of her hands grounding him, but it’s like his body won’t listen. The panic keeps spilling out, his heart hammering too fast, and his mind racing with guilt and blame and terror, all tangled up in a mess he can’t begin to untangle.
He feels another hand on his back, firm and warm, and he registers a nurse kneeling beside June, her voice soft and kind.
“Alex, listen to me. I need you to focus on your breathing, okay? Can you follow my hand?” She lifts one hand slowly, drawing his gaze with her fingers as she moves them up and down in a slow, steady rhythm.
“Breathe with me,” she says. “In… and out. Nice and slow.”
He tries, his breaths coming out shaky, broken, but he keeps his eyes on her hand, matching her movements.
In, out. In, out.
It feels like clawing his way up from the bottom of a deep, dark pit, his lungs aching with every shallow breath, his chest still tight.
“Alex, you’re okay. You’re safe. Henry’s going to be fine.” June’s voice is soft, coaxing, and he can feel her hand squeezing his shoulder, gentle but grounding. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here, hermanito.”
Alex swallows, trying to latch onto her words, his breathing gradually slowing down, the world around him coming back into focus.
He registers that he’s slumped on the floor and that he’s still shaking, still on edge, but the tightness in his chest is loosening, the sharp edges softening just enough to breathe again.
Finally, Alex lets his head fall forward, his body sagging in exhaustion, every muscle worn out. “I—June, I… I couldn’t—Henry…”
“I know,” June says, her hand rubbing slow circles on his back, her voice gentle. “But you’re here, and you’re okay. And Henry’s going to be okay too. You just need to take this a breath at a time.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come. Instead, Alex just sits there, letting her words sink in.
Eventually, he manages a small, shaky nod of thanks, feeling a surge of gratitude for her calm, for June’s presence, for any anchor he can grab onto.
He sees that June’s about to say something else, her expression somewhere between compassion and worry, when the nurse returns, a kind smile on her face.
“We’ve arranged for you to wait in the room we’ve reserved for Mr. Fox,” she says, her tone gentle, like she knows exactly how close he is to crumbling once more. “It’ll give you a bit more privacy. Take your time.”
Alex nods, managing a tight, “Thanks.” He feels June’s hand press into his shoulder for just a second, guiding him up, and he’s grateful for the excuse to move, to focus on something other than the storm building in his chest.
He paces in the quiet room, his mind still running a mile a minute even though he’s exhausted, bombarded with what if’s. He watches as June sinks into the chair by the corner, feels June’s gaze on him, steady and worried.
“Nora’s on her way,” she tells him quietly, breaking the silence. “She came straight from the office, but since I was already at the apartment, I got here first.”
“Thanks. And… sorry,” Alex murmurs, voice thick with shame he can’t quite place. “Didn’t mean to make you both drop everything—”
“Alex,” she says, cutting him off softly but firmly. “Stop. You didn’t make us do anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
And there it is.
Alex tries to blink away the sting in his eyes, but it’s no use. The tears slip out before he can stop them, his voice breaking. “But I did. I caused this, June. I keep thinking about it—how all of this happened because I let him down.”
“Alex, no,” she says, shaking her head.
But June doesn’t know. She doesn’t get it.
“He’s been waiting for weeks to decorate the place, and I kept putting it off, telling him we’d have time when… whenever. It's the fucking 15th of Deecember and we don't even have the tree up because we wanted to do it together. He wanted to wait for me. Then tonight, we were supposed to it right. Finally. Wine and Christmas playlists, the whole thing. I promised him I’d be home at six, and he’d gotten everything out of storage—he was waiting for me.”
June visibly bites her lips but keeps quiet, letting him continue, her hands digging into her knees.
“Tonight was supposed to be different,” Alex continues, his voice cracking. “It was my last day at the DA’s office. I quit.”
At that his sister’s eyebrows shoot up.
“It just… it didn’t feel right, any of it. Every project they gave me was about finding loopholes to help the state justify their blantant inaction. This past week, they’ve had me research cases to help landlords make ‘legal’ evictions.”
The weight of it feels immense, as if he’s finally seeing the job clearly in retrospect.
“I decided I couldn’t do it anymore. I went to my supervisor’s office to resign and it just took hours. I had to sign papers, go through a whole exit process. But it was fine, right? Cause I was done and I’d be home with Henry, we’d set up our tree. It was fine. And then the A line was down, and I… I didn’t make it home until seven. An hour late.”
He pauses, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold back another wave of tears. “But it’s like that hour represents everything , you know? Every time I tell him I’ll be there, that I’ll make time for us, that he’s my priority—and then I fail him. All the time. And tonight, that stupid hour could’ve cost him his life.”
June moves before he breaks, grips him in his arms like she’s done all their life, constantly there to pick up the pieces.
“Alex,” she says gently, “it hurts me to hear you talk about yourself like this. You didn’t cause this. You’re human. You’re doing your best. Henry would never want you to blame yourself for any of this. He’ll be proud of you for following your gut and standing up for what you believe.”
“But that’s the thing, June,” he whispers. “Henry loves me. I know he loves me, and I… I’m so in love with him. So much it scares me sometimes. But I don’t deserve him.”
Alex looks at his sister, meeting her gaze, the vulnerability raw on his face. “Don’t you see? He deserves more than… this.”
He gestures to himself, exasperation thick in his voice.
“He deserves so much more than a boyfriend who’s a sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated mess, who forgets to buy his favorite soy milk or water the plants. Consntatlh stressing about one thing or the other. He deserves the whole fucking world and I can’t be that.”
June shakes her head firmly. “Alex, that’s not true. And you don’t get to decide what Henry deserves. He loves you , as you are. And he wants you. You’re the person who’s there for him, who listens to him, who lights up his life, just like he lights up yours. Can you give yourself even a fraction of the grace he gives you?”
Alex opens his mouth to protest, but his words fall silent as the door opens, and the nurse steps in with a soft smile. “Mr. Fox is doing great and back from his scans. They’ll be bringing him in shortly.”
June squeezes his shoulder one last time, her smile warm, solid, and Alex finally lets out a breath, the tension in his chest loosening ever so slightly.
“I’m going to go wait for Nora outside, but please, te suplico, let yourself be human, Alex. That’s all that any of us want for you.”
He has just enough time to hope his eyes nose with a Kleenex by the beside table before door opens, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest when he sees Henry being wheeled back in, looking exhausted but awake.
He watches as Henry’s eyes scan the room, and the second they land on Alex, his face softens, some of the tension in his brow easing. “Hey,” Henry murmurs, managing a weak smile, “you’re here.”
Alex is by his side in an instant, his hand reaching for Henry’s, holding it tight as if he might disappear otherwise.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, baby.” His voice trembles as he takes in every inch of Henry’s face, all the little signs of weariness, the faint bruising at his temple. “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you.”
Henry’s eyes flick over Alex’s face, his smile fading into a look of concern. “I can see that.” His thumb strokes the back of Alex’s hand. “Looks like you’ve been through hell, love.”
Before Alex can respond, the doctor steps in, flipping through Henry’s chart as Henry gets gets on the bed. “Mr. Fox,” she starts with an air of professional calm, “we’ve reviewed your scans, and you do have a mild concussion. You got lucky, no sprains or breaks. The bruising will heal fine with time. Normally we’d discharge you with a few careful instructions, but since you were unconscious for an unknown period of time, we’d like to keep you overnight for observation, just to be safe.”
Alex feels his stomach twist, but he nods, pressing Henry’s hand tighter, as if holding him close could somehow protect him.
“Right. Whatever you think is best, doctor.” Henry responds easily.
“We’ll get you settled. And Mr. Claremont-Diaz, you’re welcome to spend the night here with him if you’d like.”
Alex nods immediately, not needing another moment to decide.
Once the nurse finishes checking Henry’s vitals and leaves, Henry looks at Alex, tugging at his hand. “Alex, come here,” he says, his voice gentle but insistent. “Get in bed with me.”
“It’s… I mean, are you sure?” Alex says, his voice faltering, though his body aches to be near Henry, to confirm for himself that he’s okay and safe.
Henry nods, patting the hospital bed. “There’s enough room. I want you here, please. I need to feel you close.”
Alex swallows hard, his throat tight as he climbs into the bed, careful to move slowly, curling into Henry’s side. Henry, however, shows no such qualm. He wraps an arm around him, pulling him close.
And as Alex rests his head against Henry’s shoulder, Henry’s familiar scent still clinging to him despite the hospital gown, tears Alex is surprised he still has spill over, silent but fierce.
“Hey, hey,” Henry whispers, rubbing his back, holding him closer still. “I’m right here, my love. I’m okay.”
Alex takes a shaky breath, his voice a mix of relief and anguish. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry, Henry. I… If I hadn’t been late—if I’d just made it home on time…”
Henry pulls back slightly, looking down at Alex, his gaze warm but firm. “Alex, you have nothing to apologize for.”
Alex opens his mouth to protest, to insist he could’ve done something, anything, to keep this from happening. But Henry shakes his head, silencing him before he can get a word out.
“I mean it,” Henry continues, his tone soft but unyielding. “You texted me when you left the office. I knew you’d be a bit later—I was fully aware of it. If we’re casting blame, then I’m just as guilty, if not more. I disregarded our rule not to use those damned old stairs alone, because I couldn’t decide whether the garland would look better over the mantel or over the windows.”
He lets out a huff of laughter, like he’s both amused and exasperated with himself.
“That was on me, Alex. Not you.” Henry continues, his voice softer now. “Darling, I know you’ve been under so much stress latelyx, but I won’t let you add this guilt on top of it. It was a mistake and it was scary, but it’s only that—a mistake. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll let you buy us a proper new set of stairs and that’s final.”
Alex closes his eyes, taking in Henry’s steady heartbeat beneath his cheek, letting the sound ground him. “I quit today,” he tells him, voice barely audible.
Henry pauses, surprise flickering across his face. “What?”
“The internship,” Alex says, opening his eyes to meet Henry’s gaze. “I… I quit. That’s the paperwork that I mentioned. J was gonna tell you when I got home. That place.. it’s all the opposite of why I wanted to go into law.”
For a moment, there’s silence as Henry processes his words, and then his face softens, a smile breaking through. “Alex, that’s… I’m so proud of you, love.”
He shifts a bit until his free hand can reach up to cup Alex’s cheek.
“You give everything your all, and I love that about you,” he continues, his thumb tracing a gentle arc along Alex’s cheekbone. “But it’s just as important to know what isn’t worthy of your time. I’m so incredibly proud of you for making that decision, for knowing when to step away.
Alex leans into Henry’s hand, his eyes searching his beautiful face. “I’m sorry for being such a mess lately, baby.”
“None of that, my love,” Henry murmurs, his fingers brushing a tear from Alex’s cheek. “No more apologies. I love you, Alexander. And I’m proud of you.”
Alex lets out a shaky breath, presses a soft kiss to Henry’s shoulder, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you for being okay.”
Henry gives him a small, grateful smile, pulling Alex closer. “Always, baby,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to Alex’s hair, and Alex feels his whole body settle at the words.
“You’re never allowed to get hurt again.”
Henry laughs, a small, tired chuckle that still sounds like music to Alex’s ears. “I promise I’ll try my very best,” he says, eyes crinkling. “But only if you do the same.
They share a smile, and Alex feels the lingering panic finally leave him, as if it’s being gently unwound from him, bit by bit. Just as he’s about to tell Henry as much, there’s a light knock on the door, and he sees June and Nora slip inside, their faces a mix of concern and relief.
“Thank God you’re okay,” June whispers, striding over to the bed and pulling Henry into a hug. Nora moves to Alex’s side, squeezing his shoulder.
No such luck with Bea, though,” June adds, raising an eyebrow. “She moved her flight up a few days. She’ll be here in about…eighteen hours?”
Henry winces, attempting a smirk but unable to hide his embarrassment. “Christ. I was rather hoping not to make the holiday more memorable by falling down the stairs.”
“Too soon to joke about, babe,” Alex mutters, shooting him a look of half-serious exasperation as he reaches for Henry’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“How are you both feeling?” His sister asks, looking between them. “Have y’all eaten? Is Henry allowed to have real food?”
“Henry’s got a mild concussion,” Alex answers, thumb tracing gentle circles on Henry’s hand, almost unconsciously. “They’re keeping him for observation overnight.”
Henry nods, giving Alex’s hand his own squeeze. “Just as a precaution. The doctor said I can sleep normally and eat when I’m hungry, but to expect headaches, a bit of dizziness, and probably some nausea now and then, but I feel mostly fine.”
He smiles softly despite it all and Alex wishes for the milionth time that day that he could take every single ounce of his discomfort away.
“The worst is over, though. Just need to take it easy for a few days, avoid screens, bright lights. And i had a late lunch so I’m alright.”
“Yeah, I’m not hungry. Thanks, bug,” Alex says, offering a small, grateful smile in his sister’s direction.
The four of them settle in, filling the quiet room with low chatter, phone in Bea and Pez on FaceTime until they’re all satisfied that Alex and Henry really are alright.
The girls agree to leave with promises of updates by text, arrangements for David and a call from Alex when they get the ok to go home.
After they go, Alex sinks back into the bed beside Henry, his hand instinctively finding Henry’s again, holding it tight.
The room settles around them, gentle and warm, and he takes a deep breath, letting himself truly relax for the first time in hours. Relaxes into the quiet, brushing a hand through Henry's hair carefully as he lies beside him.
I love you so much,” Alex whispers, the words slipping out like a prayer as Henry’s lips curve into a soft, contented smile.
Henry closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. “I love you too,” he murmurs against Alex’s lips, voice warm and drowsy, the words as steady as a promise.
🌞🌚
The next morning, Henry is finally cleared to go home, and Alex is hanging on every word from the doctor, nodding intently as she goes through Henry's discharge instructions.
She explains the basics—no strenuous activities for next few days (terrible and cruel), plenty of rest (guaranteed), limited screen time, and to call immediately if any new symptoms arise (without a doubt).
Alex has his phone out, taking notes as if they’re the most important details he's ever heard.
Henry, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed with his usual air of calm, watches him with a faintly amused smile.
As she wraps up, Henry clears his throat. “Thank you, doctor,” he says politely, looking over at Alex with a twinkle in his eye. “I believe I’m in very good hands. Practically under royal guard, as it were.”
Alex just rolls his eyes, pocketing his phone and flashing the doctor a grateful smile. “I’ll make sure he makes a full recovery,” he promises everyone in the room, and the universe, as he wraps an arm around Henry’s shoulders, guiding him up and out of the hospital room. “We’re good to go, right?”
They make their way home with Henry insisting every five minutes that he feels perfectly well, despite the occasional sharp intake of breath when their Uber driver hits the breaks.
When they reach the apartment, Alex practically sweeps Henry in, David bounding around them, whining happily to see them both.
Henry jmanages to slip in a few reassuring pats to David's head before Alex ushers him to the bedroom.
He’d asked June to make sure the room was perfectly arranged, pillows stacked high in the bed, blackout curtains half-pulled, when she dropped David off that morning. But he double checks just in case, sets a water bottle on the nightstand and hands Henry a pair of noise-canceling headphones as he settles into bed, grinning a little sheepishly.
“Alex, darling,” Henry says, voice tinged with amused affection as he gets comfortable, “I feel as if I’ve been transported to a spa retreat. All that’s missing is the cucumber slices and a massage.”
Alex smirks, crossing his arms, but his eyes are soft. “Laugh all you want, but you heard what the doctor said. You need rest, baby. And yes, if you need cucumber slices, I’ll find them.”
Henry reaches over, catching Alex’s shoulder and squeezing it. “Love, you’re already doing more than I could’ve asked for. Truly.” His voice drops to a gentle murmur. “Thank you.”
He swallows, trying to keep his voice steady. “You deserve the best, no arguments.”
Henry chuckles softly. “No arguments. I quite like this version of domesticity, even if it’s a bit overzealous.”
They settle in together, with David jumping up onto the bed and curling up by Henry’s side, tail wagging happily.
Alex reaches for Henry’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “How are you feeling, honestly?”
“I’m good, love. Honestly. At worst, my back’s sore, and my head throbs a bit now and then, but it’s not so bad. Sort of like that time we ran that half marathon, and then celebrated as if we’d won the damn thing.”
“Yeah, well, if I remember correctly, you said you’d never felt worse and that runners were a sad bunch.”
Henry huffs a laugh. “You know I’ve got a flair for dramatics when I’m hungover. Take it up with Percy.”
“Still,” Alex murmurs, brow furrowing slightly. “No more decorating alone. Ever.”
“I promise,” Henry says, holding up his hand solemnly. “Not a tinsel in sight until you’re right there beside me.”
““Good,” Alex says, leaning back with a small nod. Then, more quietly, “I’m sorry for ruining Christmas.”
Henry’s brows draw together in gentle admonishment. “What did I say about apologizing for things that aren’t even remotely your fault? Or in this case, true?”
“It’s the 16th…” he can't help but mutter, a little bit like he’s arguing with himself.
“It’s the 16th,” Henry agrees, his voice steady and warm. “And we’re both at home, healthy and safe. We have all our Christmas stuff out of storage, we’ve got loads of time, darling.”
“You’re too good to me.”
“Alex,” Henry murmurs, lifting a hand to guide Alex’s gaze to his. “Look at me. Do you remember our first Christmas, when you were eighteen and bratty, and absolutely insistent on showing me what a real Texas Christmas was like?”
“Yes,” Alex says, mouth softening at the memory. “I remember.”
“And do you remember the next Christmas, at your mother’s house in DC, when I kissed you in the snow for New Year’s?”
Alex nods, gaze turning serious. “Of course. I’ll die before I forget that.” He remembers everything: the static crackle as their lips met, warmth crashing into winter chill. Alex knows it was the exact moment his last first kiss happened.
Henry’s voice gentles. “Then you remember that I told you that first Christmas was the best I’d had in years.”
“I do.”
“And how every year I tell you the same thing—because it’s been five years of Christmases with you, and every single one of them tops the last.”
Alex’s mouth quirks up, even as his heart beats faster in his chest. “You’re such a sap.”
Henry chuckles, leaning in to kiss the tip of Alex’s nose, as if that’s exactly the kind of accusation he’d happily plead guilty to. “This one—our sixth Christmas—is no exception, my love. Because I’ll spend it with you, in our home, with our family and friends. With decorations we thrifted and were gifted, with the angel tree topper that scares David and the delicious plum pudding you make every year.”
Alex’s voice comes out in a soft breath, barely above a whisper. “You’re my Christmas miracle, you know that?”
Because he is. Because he always has been, ever since that first Christmas, when Alex missed the warmth of home and Henry took him ice skating in Central Park. When they built misshapen snowmen and Alex realized that Henry was his family, too. He’s been Alex’s Christmas miracle, time and time again.
And, God willing, if Bea remembers to bring him Arthur’s ring, he’ll make sure Henry is his forever miracle.
Not just in this lifetime, but in every lifetime. One timeline of Henry would never be enough.
Henry shifts closer, his thumb brushing over Alex’s cheek, his own eyes bright. He kisses him gently, and then nestles further into the pillows with a soft sigh. “How about we take a nap now, and when we wake up, I’ll put on my darkest sunglasses so we can move to the couch?”
“You’re not allowed screen time,” Alex says, mock-stern, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Ah but I am allowed to watch my very strong boyfriend set up the Christmas tree while I dictate the ornament placements from our very comfortable couch.”
Alex snorts, rolling his eyes. “Bea will be here in a few hours.”
“Precisely,” Henry says with a wink. “She can help you with the mantel. I promise I won’t raise a finger.”
Alex leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Henry’s forehead. “I love you a sickening amount, you know that, right?”
Henry’s eyes are soft as he looks up at him. “I’m quite aware, darling. But thank you for telling me.”
“Always, baby.”