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There’s that weird-ass period of time between Christmas and New Year when no one has any obligations and time truly becomes an abstract construct. It is suddenly okay, or even encouraged, to sleep ‘til noon on a Tuesday and have leftover chocolate cake and a glass of champagne for breakfast.
That’s where Alex is when he hauls himself off the couch, having polished off his third chocolate orange in as many days, resolving to get himself dressed and out for a much-needed walk. He hasn’t left the house since he’d vacated the warmth of Henry’s bed at the pub on Christmas Day, and it was really about time he moved.
After discarding his wrappers in the trash, he peered out the window to see that the record-breaking snow they had received on Christmas Eve–the one that got him stuck at the pub in the first place—had loosened its grip on the city, who seem to have managed to clear most of the roads and sidewalks. With a resigned sigh, realising he had no other excuse, he buddled himself into his winter hat and coat, grabbed his trusty red umbrella, just in case, and headed out the door to his favourite coffee shop for his customary shot of espresso—and after several days spent alone—some human interaction.
The air outside is crisp and the sunlight, though winter-weak, is reflecting off the windows and making the remaining snow sparkle on the sidewalk. Alex has bundled himself into his favourite window seat, a fresh cup of coffee and a festive turkey and cranberry sandwich balanced on the small table. He’s got his headphones jammed on his head and a politics podcast streaming through his ears. Even though Ellen left office almost two years ago, Alex has found it to be a curse of his existence that he can’t just leave the news well alone. Hearing the latest White House disaster always messes with his head a little bit, even now. He can’t decide if he’s happy that the press is finally giving his mom her dues or if he’s terrified that his country is going to shit without her.
In his eyeline, at the other end of the cafe, there’s a couple playing a game of footsie under the table. They’re leaning into each other’s space, their fingers entwined around their coffee cups. The way their eyes meet makes him want to look away, his fingers suddenly skating over his phone screen. Before he’s truly registered his own intention, Henry’s name is illuminated in his hand. It’s been four days since they had unexpectedly spent the night together and Alex has been trying to play it cool. He’s not sure if the usual rules of date etiquette apply here, firstly because the evening Alex had spent with Henry hadn’t exactly been a ‘date’, and secondly, because it’s Christmas, a time when most people have family obligations and no extra time to think about the drunk guy you accidently spent Christmas Eve with.
He thinks better of it, navigating away from the contact page and moving to start a new podcast episode and take a bite of his sandwich. He’s second guessing himself, his brain telling him that the way he felt, laid out in Henry’s bed, was one sided. That it was all in his head. But then he remembers the soft, confident way that Henry had looked at him on Christmas morning, the way he had readily agreed that it had felt like they had known each other for years. The fact that it was Henry who asked him to stay a little longer and demanded that he share his number before he allowed Alex to leave.
He decides to send a text and order another cup of coffee. But something out of the corner of his eye catches his attention and he looks up from his phone, his thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button. Outside, Henry is walking along the sidewalk. Alex is about to knock on the window next to his seat—maybe invite him to share a drink, catch up on their Christmas celebrations—when he notices that Henry isn’t alone.
The man he’s walking with has bright, forest green hair. He’s wearing a Barbie pink denim jacket and he’s gesticulating wildly with his left hand as he talks. Alex can see that his nails are painted with glittery dark purple varnish. His face is turned towards Henry’s as he speaks, his right arm slung comfortably across Henry’s shoulders, his eyes are sparkling with mirth and while Henry’s face is turned away from the window and away from Alex, his head is thrown back slightly, and Alex can hear the low rumble of his laughter through the glass. Henry pushes the other man away lightly, as if he is well used to dealing with his light-hearted shit. The other man is laughing properly now too, he’s pulling Henry into his side, planting an open-mouthed kiss on Henry’s cheek.
They’ve moved beyond Alex’s line of sight and now that Alex can no longer see them—or they, him—he can feel the air seep from his lungs, his head falls from its place between his shoulders, landing sideways, his forehead making loud contact with the window. His fingers blindly hitting the ‘back’ button on the sappy text he had so nearly sent to the man making his way down the street, happily unaware and unbothered by Alex’s distress.
He’s so fucking stupid. All his life he’s been too much for people. His dad left with no warning, his mother, even now, is only really interested in what she can gain from him. Even June and Nora have stepped back, calling him far less than they used to. He was lonely and homesick and found himself drinking his feelings at a student bar on Christmas Eve and had somehow stumbled into spending the night with the hot, sexy, gentle bartender who seemed to know all the right things to say. Alex had not been lying when he said he felt that he had known Henry forever but, once again, he had been too honest, come on too strong and already ruined his chances with Henry, who had clearly already found a perfect replacement. Or maybe he had been duped so badly that he had unknowingly participated in Henry cheating on his partner. If that’s the case, maybe Alex dodged a bullet after all.
No longer in the mood to enjoy the day, Alex packs his stuff, pays his bill and heads home; he thinks there might even be another chocolate orange in the cupboard for him to gorge.
His roommates arrive back in the city the next day, declaring, in several different ways but all with the same sentiment, that they couldn’t possibly put up with one more family argument.
It’s good to have more heartbeats in the house again, pulling Alex from the funk he’s been slowly sinking into since he saw Henry from the coffee shop. He’s kinda terrified how much seeing Henry with that other guy has bummed him out, how much the man had gotten under his skin in just a few days.
It’s New Year’s Eve tomorrow and it’ll be Alex’s first in the UK. Pathetically, he might be a little bit heartbroken after a one-night stand that felt life-changing to him but was apparently not even a blip on the other guys radar. Alex desperately needs a good night out.
He grabs his phone and starts rounding people up.
December 31, 16:00, The King’s Head
“Henry, are you sure you want to work tonight?” Deborah throws the question over her shoulder as she hauls another barrel behind the bar, where Henry is making himself busy polishing glasses.
“Of course,” he says, “it’s New Year’s Eve. There’s no way you’ll be able to look after this place by yourself.”
“I’m much tougher than I look y’know,” she’s hauling the barrel into place and hooking it up to the correct tap, rolling the used barrel out of the way. Henry moves to take it out to the back.
“I know, Debs, but honestly, I want to be here. Pez has plans with his latest squeeze and the guy I met on Christmas Eve never texted. And I didn’t take his number, like an idiot,” he kicks the barrel between his feet a little, as if to punish himself for his stupidity in letting Alex leave before taking his number. “So really, you’re doing me a favour, I would only be moping pathetically into my takeaway upstairs if I wasn’t down here helping you on the busiest night of the year.”
“Okay, well if you’re sure, Henry, your help would definitely be appreciated. Thank you.”
December 31, 22:30, The King’s Head
It’s only 10:30 and Alex already feels well on his way to tipsy. Maybe a little more than tipsy, because he cannot think of another reason why he allowed his friends to bring him to The King’s Head. Not that any of them have any reason to believe Alex wouldn’t want to come here, or anything about what (or who) might have gone down here a few days ago and how much it might have rocked Alex’s world.
He stays at the back of the group, finds a table in the corner and doesn’t fight Joe when he offers to get the first round. Once he’s got a whiskey in front of him, he finds the courage to lift his eyes and survey the pub for the first time. It’s a lot busier tonight than the last time he was here; there’s people three deep at the bar and there seems to be a group of people waiting for their turn on the jukebox.
He forces his eyes to focus on the figures behind the bar. A woman is busy pouring a festive-looking cocktail into a martini glass and at the other end of the bar, furthest from where Alex is sitting, is Henry.
What does it say about Alex that even after the last few days, he can’t seem to take his eyes away from Henry’s fingers as they curl around the lever of the beer tap, his bicep working to pull it towards his chest. That Alex knows exactly what his muscles look like under that shirt sends an involuntary shiver straight down his spine. Henry looks up, directing a blindingly bright smile at his customer and Alex looks away, for fear of meeting his dangerously blue eyes. He can’t be on the receiving end of that look tonight. He doesn’t think he would be able to survive it.
He needs to get out of this bar.
“Hey Joe, I’m just gonna get some air, okay dude?” he shouts over the din. He stands, downs the rest of his drink and makes his way towards the door.
December 31, 23:00, The King’s Head
Henry noticed Alex as soon as he walked in. He was expecting him to come and say ‘hello’, order his own drink at the bar. Instead, he had made a beeline for the back of the room and sent his friend to get his whiskey.
Henry has absolutely no idea what the hell is going on. The last time he had seen Alex, on Christmas morning, he had been flushed, boneless and sprawled across his sheets, a dopey smile playing across his mouth. Henry had brought him a second cup of coffee, dropping a kiss on his forehead and another Santa hat to match his own atop his glossy curls. He had looked glorious, and Henry had damn near proposed there and then.
He had thought that Alex had felt something too. But it’s been a week, and he’s heard nothing. And from the way he’s been acting since he arrived half an hour ago, Henry can’t help but feel he’s done something wrong.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alex make a beeline for the door.
“Hey Deb, can you spare me for 10 minutes?” he says on his way out from the behind the bar, not waiting for an answer.
December 31, 23:10, outside The King’s Head
After fighting his way through a crowd of people at the door, Alex finally makes it outside the pub. There are people everywhere. He’s never seen Oxford this alive. He should be having a good time but instead he just feels kinda sorry for himself.
Jesus tits. He cannot be here right now. There is no way that seeing Henry again should be having this level of impact. Fuck. He feels faint all of a sudden. His arm reaches out to steady himself against the wall, he drops his head, closes his eyes, and focuses on his breathing.
“Are you okay?” He lifts his head and turns towards the voice, only to be face to face with Henry again.
“Henry. Hi,” he forces the words out through his teeth, “I don’t think I can talk to you without risking doing or saying something stupid right now,” he takes a step back towards the wall again; takes in Henry’s confused face.
“What? Why? Alex, did I do something wrong?” Alex thinks he might hear Henry’s voice crack, but he’s not going to fold that easily.
“I saw you,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, “with your boyfriend. The other day, at the coffee shop.”
“What? What are you talking about Alex, I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Alex feels his face crumple in confusion. Suddenly he feels so much more wasted than he was a few seconds ago. He doesn’t want to have an argument on the street about this, but— “Henry. I saw you, you don’t need to deny it,” he’s on a roll now, “it’s a shame, I was really starting to like you. I was actually about to text you when I saw you.”
“Saw me with who?” Henry’s voice has gone impossibly soft, almost pleading.
“The guy with the bright green hair and the Barbie jacket,” Alex says, his voice wavering, “I thought maybe we could have had something special, but you already looked pretty loved up.”
Henry looks dumbstruck. His mouth is opening but there are no words leaving his lips.
“Hey Henry, tell me something, did you make us cheat on him last week?” He can’t help the wobble in his voice as he speaks.
The question seems to shake something loose in Henry though, who lunges forward, into Alex’s space, makes a grab for Alex’s hand.
“Shit. Alex, no.” He pulls on Alex’s hand and starts to lead him down the alleyway next to the pub. Against all of Alex’s better judgement, he can’t help but follow.
Henry unlocks a gate that leads through into a small courtyard space. He sees Alex cast his eyes around the space and says—“This is my courtyard. Comes with the flat,” his earnest eyes meet Alex’s, “Alex, the man you saw me with isn’t my boyfriend. He’s not my partner. We did not cheat on him because we are not involved in any romantic capacity at all. Pez is my best friend, but that’s all, I promise.”
Alex feels his chest deflate for the second time that week. He feels his eyes go glassy. “He’s your best friend?” he breathes, “That’s all?”
“Yea, Alex, that’s all.” Henry looks as relieved as Alex feels. “I was more than a little disappointed when you didn’t reach out this week. I thought what we had could be really special.”
“It damn near killed me when I saw you with him. You looked so happy. I thought I had imagined everything that happened between us on Christmas Eve.”
“You didn’t imagine anything Alex. I’ve been a mess all week; kicking myself for not taking your number. And when I saw you arrive here earlier, and you sent your friend to get your drink instead of coming to the bar yourself …” His voice trails off and Alex is crowding into his space immediately.
“I’m really fucking sorry I didn’t text you.” Alex’s face is inches from Henry’s now, he can feel Henry’s breath on his cheeks. His eyes are searching Alex’s face, for one final signal that it’s okay to move closer. Impossibly closer. Alex bobs his head imperceptivity and suddenly Henry lips are covering his once again. And they’re finally, finally kissing again.
December 31, 23:59, Henry’s courtyard
Alex doesn’t think there is a better sight in the world than the way Henry’s lips look after he’s been kissed. They’re cherry-red and spit-slicked. Right now, Henry is looking back at Alex with a devastatingly coy expression on his face, his bottom lip is caught under his teeth, the corners turned up in a smile.
“Your lips are delicious,” he says, before he can think long enough to stop himself. Henry’s laughing reaction makes him glad for once for his lack of self-control.
“Hey Henry, I, um, I really like you.”
“I really like you too, Alex,” he curls his arm around Alex’s waist, pulling him back into his space.
“I’m in the market … for a … hot, blonde, British boyfriend.” Henry leans back to look Alex squarely in the face. His smile is blinding.
“Hmm, well, you know, it’s really quite lucky for you that I also find myself very much in the market for a gorgeous American boy with glossy curls and insane fucking eyelashes.”
Alex can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from the base of his throat, he sways back into Henry’s space, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.
As they kiss, their arms wrapped tightly around each other’s bodies, fingers roaming, thighs slotted together, a cheer erupts from inside the pub, the sound echoing out into the streets. Above them, a stream of pops and crackles erupt, a rainbow of colour taking over the sky around them.
“I always loved fireworks.” Henry murmurs into Alex’s mouth, “but somehow, the way your eyes sparkle in their glow makes them even better.”
“Happy New Year, baby!” Alex feels delirious, “I can give you fireworks every night for the rest of your life if it means you’re gonna look at me like that.”
“Hmm, I bet you can.” Henry’s smirk is wicked as he pulls Alex towards his door, fireworks still exploding above them, “I bet I can set some fireworks off in my bedroom right about now.”
Alex can only follow, helpless to the light sparkling in Henry’s ocean-blue eyes.