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“The Wish Tree is a tradition, at Elsewhere,” Alex explains to a skeptical college freshman, as he carefully hangs extra mini wooden envelopes from the tree’s branches. “Folks write their Christmas wishes, slide them into these envelopes, and sometimes—” he wiggles his fingers dramatically, “holiday magic happens.”
“Holiday magic,” Nora deadpans from behind the counter, not looking up from her Macbook. “You mean like last year when June wished for Boygenius tickets and mysteriously got them in her stocking?”
“I have no idea what you’re implying,” Alex says primly, though they both know he’d spent three hours in the digital queue to get those tickets. “The magic of Christmas works in mysterious ways.”
He hands the freshman an envelope and a pen. “Make it count,” he says with a playful wink, sliding their drink across the counter.
The bell above the door chimes, letting in a rush of December air, traffic sounds, and all six infuriating feet of Henry Fox. And fine, yes, Alex knows his full name. How could he not after seeing Henry’s debut novel prominently displayed at Strand Books? Author photo and everything. The fact that he bought it and read it twice is... well, that’s none of anyone’s fucking business. .
Alex shakes his head at his own digressions and checks the time.
8:47 PM. Late for Henry.
He watches as the blond man carefully closes the door, removes his gloves, and approaches the counter with his usual quiet presence. Even his footsteps are precise, if that can even be a thing? It’s like he’s afraid of taking up too much space. God, what Alex would give to know what was going on in that admittedly beautiful head.
What? He can quietly admit that part to himself, he has eyes, doesn’t he?
“He probably thinks the tree is ridiculous,” Alex mutters to no one in particular, an attempt to balance out his inner thoughts. “Too commercial for his serious sensibilities.”
Nora finally looks up from her computer. “You mean the guy who spent twenty minutes last week trying to find the perfect spot to hang his wish? That guy?”
“I’m just saying, he—”
“Evening, Alex. Earl Grey, please?” Henry’s soft voice has Alex snapping his mouth shut mid-complaint. “If you’re not too busy, that is.”
Alex makes a show of looking around the café. It’s a quiet night, just a few people chatting in soft tones, newly hung Christmas lights casting everything in a warm glow. “Yeah, somehow I think I can handle that, sweetheart.”
The endearment slips out before he can catch it, and Henry’s cheeks flush pink. The color spreads down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar, and if Alex keeps staring at how that blush makes Henry’s eyes somehow bluer, he’s going to have to acknowledge some things he definitely doesn’t have time for right now. He glances over at Nora instead, only to find her covering her smirk with her hand, still pretending to be absorbed in her screen, and he feels his own face heat up. Fuck.
“Milk, no sugar. I know, I know,” he says quickly, already reaching for a cup. “Living dangerously as always.”
Then, because he’s apparently determined to make this interaction as awkward as possible, “Unless you want to try my newest creation? The Mistletoe Mocha is getting rave reviews.”
Nora snorts. He throws a packet of sugar at her.
Henry’s mouth does that thing where it almost smiles but thinks better of it. “I’m sure it is but just the tea for now, thank you.”
Once Henry settles at his usual table with his leather bound notebook and those stupid noise-canceling earbuds, Liam emerges from the back room, a fresh batch of gingerbread cookies ready for the display case.
“I don’t get it,” Alex mutters, aggressively punching in his usual three-minutes-forty-seconds timer for what is definitely not a perfectly calibrated steeping time. “He comes here every night to write his probably-brilliant second novel, but he can’t even try one of my holiday specials? It’s like he’s allergic to joy.”
“For someone so smart, you can be incredibly dense,” Liam says, watching Alex with way too knowing an expression. He doesn’t like it. He does not want to be seen right now. “You know, you had that exact same look on your face senior year when you spent six months insisting it was ‘super chill, man’ that we sometimes got each other off.”
“Hey, that was different,” Alex sputters, nearly spilling the milk. “I was going through it. But I eventually figured out I was bi. I know my shit now.”
“Do you?” Liam raises an eyebrow, clearly fighting a smile. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve got a pretty guy writing poetry in your café almost every night, blushing every time you speak to him, and you’re somehow convinced he hates you.”
“He doesn’t. I mean, that’s not—” Alex stumbles over his words, and Nora’s distinctive cackle from behind her laptop isn’t helping.
“Mmhmm.” Liam’s voice is gentle but amused. “You’re both disasters, you know that? It’d be cute if it wasn’t so painful to watch.”
“Stop. No,” Alex protests hotly. “He switched to evenings just to judge my playlist choices!”
“Yes, because that’s absolutely something a normal person would do,” Nora says, fully joining in the conversation now. “Listen to yourself.”
“Actually,” June interjects quietly from the barstool that could have her name on it, she visits so often, “he switched after you mentioned being overwhelmed with law school reading during the day. I think he wanted to make things easier for you. It’s sweet.”
“You don’t even work here,” Alex protests, pointing his spoon at her accusingly.
“No, but I was visiting Nora when he came in and stumbled through an explanation.” June gives him a soft look. “Said something about the evening atmosphere being ‘more conducive to the creative process.’”
“He also gets this dopey look whenever you start singing along to your playlist,” Nora adds. “It’s kind of gross but objectively adorable.”
“And he literally dropped his cup last week when you walked in with that red sweater on,” Liam says, still arranging cookies with precision. “I had to clean that up, by the way. Though watching him try to help while also trying not to look at you was pretty entertaining.”
Alex glances over at Henry, who is bent over his notebook, pen moving steadily across the page. His shoulders are relaxed under his blue sweater, lost in whatever world he’s creating. It’s... not endearing. At all.
“You’re all delusional,” Alex announces, shutting off the timer before it can fuel more comments he didn’t ask for. He focuses instead on removing the tea bag and adding the milk.
When he brings it to Henry’s table, he’s greeted with that almost-smile and, shit, his friends aren’t right, are they?
“Here,” he says, almost aggressively, but when Henry glances up from his notebook, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, Alex softens, just a little. “Uh, I hope it’s good.”
I hope it’s good. Jesus Christ.
“Thank you,” Henry offers, quiet and kind, and Alex needs to back away immediately. He nods and turns on his heel.
Back at the counter, Alex grabs more tinsel, pointedly ignoring his friends’ knowing looks. “I have a tree to decorate.”
As he works, he can’t help but steal glances at Henry. The way he absently runs a hand through his hair when he’s thinking, how his lips move slightly as he reads back what he’s written. When Alex starts humming along to River, Henry’s pen pauses for just a moment, and Alex pretends not to notice.
“Hey,” June says gently, appearing at his elbow with more tinsel. “It’s okay to admit you read him wrong. It happens. And it’s definitely okay to like him.”
“I do not,” Alex hisses back, but his sister just pats his arm sympathetically.
“Sure, hermano. That’s why you’ve memorized his order, his schedule, and apparently his entire face.”
Alex opens his mouth to protest, but at that moment, Henry shifts in his chair, the soft lamp light catching his profile just so, and okay, maybe Alex has memorized his face a little. For purely professional reasons. Customer service and all that.
June snickers.
“Ugh, I hate you. Go away and take Nora home with you.”
“Sure thing, baby bro.”
💌🎄💌
The café is quiet now, just the sultry notes of Diana Krall singing about being home for Christmas drifting through the speakers. Alex had switched to his closing playlist an hour ago, all jazz covers and melancholy indie versions of holiday classics. It’s the kind of music that makes you want to curl up by a fire with a good book. Or, he thinks, glancing at Henry’s empty table, the right person.
He pauses his cleaning routine to sip his coffee by the fireplace, letting the warmth wrap around him. It’s at that moment that he notices the ornament on the floor, paper note slipped free. It must have fallen when Mrs. Chen bumped the Wish Tree earlier, rushing to catch her bus. He should just slide it in and hang it back up, that’s the rule. No peeking at other people’s wishes. Well, except maybe his sister’s. But the whole point is that they’re private, meant to be between the wisher and whatever Christmas magic might be listening.
But the note sits open, waiting, and Alex can’t help but recognize that precise handwriting when he picks it up. He’s seen it enough times now, stealing glances over Henry’s shoulder when bringing his tea, committing each elegant loop to memory.
Not to be alone again on Christmas.
Alex stares at the words, a tight feeling forming in his chest. He glances at Henry’s usual table, because yeah, it’s his, has been for months. It sits empty except for the ghost of him. Henry, always too proper to leave a trace, but Alex can still picture him there, soft, quiet, pretty.
The wish feels heavy between his fingers. He should hang it back up. He should—
The bell above the door chimes sharply and Alex’s automatic “Sorry, we’re—” dies in his throat as Henry stumbles in, snow melting in his hair, cheeks bright pink from the cold. The wish disappears into his pocket before he even realizes he’s moved.
“I forgot my pen,” Henry says softly, eyes fixed somewhere over Alex’s left shoulder. “The black one. I was writing with it at my usual... that is, at the table by the window.”
“Oh, let me help you look,” Alex says, already moving towards the table. He ignores Henry’s stammered protests about doing it himself, about not wanting to be a bother, about keeping Alex any longer than necessary, and drops to his knees beside the table, painfully aware of the wish burning in his pocket as he peers under the wooden chairs.
“Really, you don’t have to,” Henry continues, but Alex waves him off.
“Two sets of eyes are better than one. Plus, I’m already down here realizing how badly we need to mop under these tables, so…” He flashes a grin up at Henry, whose pained expression can’t quite hide the warmth in his eyes. It makes Alex’s stomach flip.
“Ah!” Alex spots a glint of black and gold beneath the radiator. He reaches for it, fingers stretching just far enough to hook the pen and pull it out. “Got it!”
When he straightens, he catches the flash of relief on Henry’s face before it’s carefully tucked away. When Alex hands over the pen, he notices an engraving: Arthur Fox. His mind flashes to his late-night Google searches about Henry’s first novel, about the dedication page that had made his throat tight: For Dad, who encouraged my love of words. I miss you dearly.
Henry’s fingers brush his as he takes it, and Alex watches him curl his hand protectively around the pen. “Thank you, Alex,” he says softly, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “It’s... well, it was my father’s. Rather sentimental, I suppose.” The word was hangs heavy between them. It’s the most Henry has ever revealed of himself, wrapped up in those few words.
“I—yeah, no, I totally get sentimentality,” Alex manages, because Henry’s still looking at him soft and open and he can’t possibly leave him hanging now. “Some things just matter more, you know?”
Alex finds himself holding perfectly still, not wanting to break the truce they’ve found (he’s found?), but struggling to figure out where to go from here.
Indecision flickers across Henry’s face, like he wants to say more, but then his eyes dart to the door and Alex can see him preparing his exit.
“I should...” Henry gestures vaguely towards the front, his usual reserve doing its best to slip back into place. But Alex has seen it now, that crack in the armor, and the wish in his pocket feels more important than ever.
“Or you could stay?” The words tumble out before Alex can stop them. “I mean, you just came in from the cold, and I still need to finish closing up. Might as well warm up for a minute. I could make you another tea, or,” he hesitates, then commits, “Nora and I keep some whiskey for stormy nights like this. I could make a hot toddy?”
The smile that begins to tug at Henry’s lips is different from any Alex has seen before. It transforms his whole face, softening all those careful edges he maintains, reaching his eyes and making them crinkle slightly at the corners. It’s the kind of smile that makes Alex’s brain short-circuit, the kind that makes him wonder how he ever thought this man didn’t like him.
Oh, Alex thinks dumbly. Oh fuck, I fucking am a disaster bi and I am completely obsessed with this guy.
And because Alex has never learned how to sit in a moment like this, he does what he does best. He talks. “I still have to get the chairs up, count the cash, you’d be keeping me company really, and you know the weather outside is frightful—oh my god, please stop me, I just made a Christmas carol reference.”
“Ok,” Henry says gently, his expression tender in a way that makes Alex forget what he was even rambling about.
“What?”
“I’ll stay.”
Alex watches him a beat, lets the words catch up and then shakes his head. “Ok, great. And would you like that drink?”
“If it’s not too much—” Alex shoots him a withering look and Henry bites his lip, fighting another smile. “Yes, please. The whiskey.”
“Right on. Let me just lock up and I’ll get that for us.”
Alex flips the sign to closed and checks the door locks, then disappears into the back room for the whiskey. When he returns, he catches Henry scrolling through his phone with a suspiciously innocent expression. A moment later, an acoustic version of Let It Snow starts playing through the speakers.
“Fuck you,” Alex says, but he’s laughing, the words warm as he drizzles honey into two clear mugs, his movements as precise with liquor as they are with an espresso, as he waits for the water to boil.
“You’re quite good at that,” Henry observes.
“June, Nora, and I do cocktail nights sometimes. They’re both terrible at mixing drinks but excellent at critiquing mine.” He slides Henry’s mug across the counter. “Here. Holiday Warmth, à la Claremont-Diaz.”
Henry takes a careful sip, eyes closing as he savors it, and Alex, well, he absolutely stares at the way his throat moves, and how his eyelashes fan against his cheeks, and—
“This is lovely,” Henry murmurs, opening his eyes and Alex feels caught. He immediately looks for something to do.
“Want a snack to go with it?” he asks, already reaching into the display case. “We always have a few cookies left over.” He pauses, lips ticking up. “Unless you’re too fancy for day-old gingerbread?”
The look Henry gives him is playful. “I think I can lower my standards just this once.”
They’re halfway through their drinks when Alex remembers he actually needs to close up. He sighs into his mug. “I should probably count the cash.”
“I’ll start on the chairs then,” Henry says simply, and before Alex can protest, he’s already standing and pushing up the sleeves of his blue sweater.
“You really don’t have to,” Alex starts.
“You helped me,” Henry interrupts, already lifting a chair onto its table. “It’s only fair.”
Alex’s protest dies in his throat as he watches Henry’s forearms flex with the movement. Between the whiskey warming up his chest and the way Henry’s hair is falling over his eyes, Alex is having trouble remembering why he was protesting at all. Just enjoy the show, you idiot.
“Am I doing it wrong?” Henry asks, pausing with a chair half-raised, and Alex realizes he’s truly been staring.
“No! No, you’re just...” Alex scrambles for words that aren’t unfairly attractive, “surprisingly good at manual labor for someone who looks like he irons his socks.”
A hint of that earlier smile touches Henry’s mouth. “Bold of you to assume I do my own ironing.”
“Oh my god,” Alex says, delighted. “Did you just make another joke? The whiskey’s gone straight to your head, hasn’t it?”
“I have been known to attempt humor on occasion,” Henry says dryly, a little posh indignation slipping in but it doesn’t quite hide his smile. “Try not to look so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked,” Alex protests, but he can feel himself grinning. “I’m pleasantly surprised.”
Henry gives him a look that makes Alex’s stomach flip, then shakes his head with a soft laugh. “Go count the till, Alex. I promise I can handle the chairs.”
Alex hesitates, but Henry’s already turning away, a slight flush on his cheeks. As Alex moves behind the counter, pulling open the drawer, he finds his eyes drawn back to Henry again and again. How has he never noticed the way Henry’s shoulders relax when he thinks no one is looking? How his movements, while still precise, have a kind of quiet grace to them?
“You know,” Alex says before he can stop himself, “you seem to not mind my playlists. You could take those noise-cancelling earbuds out from time to time.”
Henry’s hands still on the chair he’s lifting. “I... they’re almost never on,” he admits so quietly Alex almost misses it.
Oh, Alex thinks, warmth spreading through his chest. Ok, then.
💌🎄💌
Outside, the snow has transformed the city, muffling the usual sounds of traffic and turning the streetlights hazy. Alex locks up, tugging his beanie lower over his ears as he turns to Henry—
And promptly slips on a patch of ice.
Strong hands catch him before he can face-plant into a snowbank. “Careful,” Henry says, his voice low and close, fingers still gripping Alex’s arms.
“My hero,” Alex says, intending sarcasm but landing somewhere embarrassingly close to sincere. He straightens, but Henry doesn’t immediately let go.
“Which way are you headed?”
“East Village,” Alex says. “Over by Tompkins Park.”
“Ah,” Henry says, finally dropping his hands and Alex tries not to miss their touch. “What a coincidence. I live close by on East 7th.”
Alex’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Huh? Wait, seriously? But we’ve left at the same time before and you’ve never walked this way.”
Henry’s cheeks start to pink. “Err, it’s possible I may have been taking the long way home. Through Washington Square Park.”
“That’s in the opposite direction.”
“Yes, well.” Henry clears his throat, steadfastly ignoring Alex’s statement. “Shall we go? Can’t have you breaking your neck in this weather. Who will properly make my tea tomorrow?”
“Properly?” Alex says with a wide grin, falling into step beside him. “I literally just pour hot water over a tea bag.”
“Mm, and yet somehow you’re the only one who gets the steeping time exactly right.”
The words hang in the quiet between them, and Alex finds himself struggling to come up with a teasing response. The honest appreciation in Henry’s voice makes him want to be careful with this moment. He sneaks a glance at Henry’s profile, outlined in the glow of Christmas lights strung along the street.
“Henry?”
“Yes?”
“I’m pretty sure your tea would taste a lot better if you paired it with my perfectly curated playlist.”
Henry laughs, almost like it’s surprised out of him, it disappears into the night air. “I did confess, my earbuds aren’t always on.”
“What’s your favorite song then?” Alex asks with a grin.
Henry ducks his head but Alex still catches his smile.
“That would be telling wouldn’t it?” he says, decidedly not answering the question.
Alex shakes his head, but his heart feels light.
They reach a corner, and Alex gestures down one of the streets. “I’m this way. Promise you’re not too far out of your way?”
Henry smiles and points to the left. “Truly, I’m just a few blocks that way.” Alex looks but neither makes a move to leave. The snow is still falling, catching in Henry’s hair, and Alex has to physically stop himself from reaching up to brush it away.
“Well,” Henry finally says, eyes finding Alex’s, warm and so fucking blue. “Thank you for the drink and the company.” He pauses, a teasing glint in his eyes. “And for not being entirely horrible to me for once.”
Alex winces slightly, guilt low in his belly, and searches for the words to make it right.
“Yeah, about that,” he starts but trails off at the way Henry looks at him. There’s fondness and understanding, and it helps settle some of the nerves in his stomach. “Any time,” he says, truly meaning it. “Really.”
“Goodnight, Alex,” Henry says, his expression conveying more than his words.
“Goodnight, Henry.”
Alex watches him disappear into the snowy night, the wish still burning in his pocket, and starts planning.
💌🎄💌
The next evening, Henry arrives at his usual time and Alex watches him settle in. He lays out his notebook, pen, and earbuds, hangs his coat just so—and it hits him suddenly how blind he’s been. What he’d decided was standoffish is actually Henry’s comfort routine: the careful way he arranges his writing space, how naturally he fits into this corner of the café that’s become his.
“Just do it already,” Nora mutters from behind him. “You’ve been staring at him for five minutes.”
“I have not,” Alex protests, returning to Henry’s tea, adding a touch more milk than usual because he knows Henry likes it creamier on colder nights. And okay, maybe that’s exactly the kind of thing Nora’s talking about.
At his approach, Henry looks up with a soft almost-smile that Alex is starting to realize has always been just for him. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”
“Not likely,” Alex says before he can stop himself. Then, riding the wave of some newfound confidence, he leans down and plucks the earbuds from Henry’s ears, slips them into their case and drops it in his apron pocket. “I’m holding these hostage,” he whispers close to Henry’s ear. “Time to find out which songs make you smile.”
Henry’s mouth opens, then closes. He tries to frown but Alex catches the way his lips twitch, the slight pink rising to his cheeks. When Alex winks and backs away, Henry just shakes his head and looks down at his notebook, but not before Alex sees his full smile bloom.
Back at the counter, Alex very deliberately does not watch Henry pause his writing, sip his tea and enjoy the newest song floating across the café.
“Smooth,” Liam says, appearing beside him with a cup in hand. “Did you practice that move at home this morning, or?”
“Don’t you have people to serve?” Alex asks, but he can feel himself grinning.
“I’m just saying,” Nora adds, “for someone who spent months convinced Henry hated him, you seem pretty comfortable invading his personal space suddenly. What’s up with that?”
Alex decides the best response is to ignore them both and focus on his actual job, grinning widely when another patron orders the Mistletoe Mocha. Though, he can’t help stealing glances at Henry’s table, catching the way Henry’s shoulders move almost imperceptibly to the music. When their eyes meet across the room, neither looks away quite fast enough.
By closing time, Alex still has Henry’s earbuds in his apron and a warm feeling in his chest. He’s wiping down the counter when Henry appears with his coat on, notebook sliding into the inner pocket.
“I believe,” Henry says, “you have something that belongs to me.”
“I believe,” Alex counters, “you clearly enjoyed the night without them.”
The look Henry gives him is somewhere between exasperated and fond. “I suppose it wasn’t an entirely terrible evening.”
“High praise.” Alex grabs his coat from under the counter. “Ready to head home?”
It comes out casual, like they’ve been walking home together for ages, like last night wasn’t the first time. Like Alex’s heart isn’t growing three sizes when Henry smiles and says, “After you.”
💌🎄💌
Over the next week, somehow, it becomes routine. Henry still arrives with his notebook and pen, but now he leaves his earbuds at home. Alex still teases him about his simple tea order, but the exchange is softer now. They walk home together whenever Alex closes, slowly revealing themselves in half-formed stories and careful questions.
Alex mentions loving law school but needing the holiday break. When Henry admits to dreading his upcoming meeting with his editor, Alex’s mouth moves faster than his brain: “For the second book, right?”
Henry almost stumbles on an uneven bit of sidewalk, and Alex’s stomach drops as he realizes what he’s revealed. But when Henry turns to look at him, there’s a curiosity in his expression, like he’s trying to piece Alex together. Alex can only offer a sheepish shrug and after a moment, Henry’s mouth quirks up at the corner and he answers the question, letting Alex’s slip float away, unexamined.
And because Henry keeps letting these little moments of vulnerability pass between them, it’s made Alex feel safe. Safe and brave enough to try something a little underhanded and not feel too guilty about how he gets Henry to join tonight’s cookie decorating event.
“Oh no,” Alex says, trying to look appropriately distressed as Henry arrives. The café tables have been pushed together and covered in decorating supplies. “Someone dropped out of cookie night. We have an extra spot and all these cookies.”
Alex watches Henry take in the scene, the bowls of colored icing, trays of naked cookies, like little canvases waiting for their artist, and Liam’s boyfriend Spencer carefully piping a snowflake. To his credit, Henry only looks a little panicked when he says, “I’m not exactly... artistic.”
“Come on,” Alex wheedles, already reaching for Henry’s coat. “It’s about holiday spirit and letting go. Plus,” he adds, maybe adding a little pout, “maybe helping out your favorite barista.”
“I...” Henry hesitates, but Alex can see the moment he gives in, especially when Alex leans in, offering his most persuasive smile. “Come on, sweetheart. Please?”
Henry flushes but meets his eyes, and there is a shift in the air between them, like Henry’s suddenly learned the rules of the game. “Well, darling,” he says softly, that posh accent doing dangerous things to Alex’s composure, “since you asked so prettily.”
Alex’s response dies in his throat. He opens and closes his mouth before landing on, “Right. Uh, you need to—” he gestures vaguely at an empty chair, “sit. And I need to...” He trails off at Henry’s amused eyebrow raise. “I just. Have work. To do.”
Alex backs away, grateful there’s a line beginning to form at the counter, pointedly ignoring Nora and Liam’s identical knowing looks burning into his back.
Thirty minutes later, Henry is frowning in concentration at a snowman cookie that looks more like a modern art experiment, while Alex makes his rounds refilling drinks and “supervising.” He pauses behind Henry’s chair, leaning in close.
“That’s certainly... abstract,” he whispers near Henry’s ear.
Henry jolts, nearly dropping his piping bag. “Some of us weren’t blessed with your food artistry skills,” he mutters, but he’s smiling, and there’s a spot of blue icing on his cheek that’s honestly making Alex feel a little wild.
“Hey Henry!” Spencer calls out suddenly. “So glad Alex signed you up last week. He said you’d love this!”
Liam nearly drops an entire tray of cookies trying to shush his boyfriend. Alex shoots them both his best ‘are you actually kidding me right now’ glare before turning back to find Henry watching him with that same teasing eyebrow raised. “Did he now?”
“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Alex says quickly, steamrolling right past the obvious. “Now hold still, we need photographic evidence of your artistic journey.” He snaps a few pictures, his breath catching slightly at how beautiful Henry looks in the warm café lights.
He stares at the photo just a little too long before shoving his phone at Henry. “Here, put your number in. I’ll send these to you.”
Henry hesitates for just a moment, unspoken thoughts passing between them before he takes the phone. He types with the same precise care he gives everything, a small smile playing at his lips. “Use it wisely,” he says as he hands it back, voice warm with teasing.
“I make no promises,” Alex murmurs before getting distracted again by the blue icing. “Your cheek,” he says, reaching out before he can stop himself. He swipes his thumb through the spot of blue icing, and because he’s apparently lost his mind, brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean, “Delicious.”
Henry’s eyes go dark, his lips parting slightly, and Alex needs to back away. He needs to ignore Henry’s shaky exhale and take a breather.
The memory of Henry’s wish flashes through his mind, reminding him why he started all this in the first place. Though if he’s honest with himself, making Henry’s Christmas wish come true isn’t feeling quite as selfless as it did a week ago.
💌🎄💌
Their evening routine shifts a few nights later, when a cold snap grips the city. It’s the kind of night that sends people searching for warmth and company. At Elsewhere, no one seems ready to brave the cold, all of them lingering in the cozy atmosphere. The overhead lights are dimmed, the fireplace dances with reds and golds and the heat from the ovens has fogged the windows, sealing them in their own little world.
Alex should be closing up, but that’s a problem for Future Alex. Present Alex is much happier perched on the edge of Henry’s table, one hip deliberately planted on Henry’s closed notebook. He’s been watching Henry try to hide his amusement for the past ten minutes, occasionally making pointed glances at his trapped book that Alex cheerfully ignores.
Around them, June and Nora are curled together in the armchair by the fire, sharing a whispered conversation and secret smiles. Liam and Spencer have devolved into an increasingly heated debate about which version of A Christmas Carol is superior, and Alex keeps offering unhelpful commentary from his perch, “The Muppets had the best production value, and I will not be taking questions at this time.”
He can feel Henry’s eyes on him, warm and steady, and he kind of wants to live in this moment as long as possible. But he also wants to look at Henry. What’s the point in being this close if he can’t look back? When he glances down, Henry’s got one elbow propped on the table, chin settled in his hand, watching Alex with a fond expression. His hair is falling across his forehead, soft and golden, and Alex’s ability to form coherent thoughts takes a hit. Tonight feels different, like the cold has pushed them all closer together, and made everything feel a little more possible.
Alex catches Henry glancing at his watch and quickly slides off the table. “Nope,” he says, before Henry can even open his mouth. He snags Henry’s coat and whisks it behind the counter, pointedly ignoring the knowing looks his friends are exchanging. “You’re basically part of the team at this point. You have to stay for after-hours.”
“I don’t actually work here,” Henry points out, but he’s already relaxing back into his chair, like he didn’t actually want to leave.
“Technicality.” Alex waves off Henry’s weak excuse, already reaching for the familiar bottle of whiskey he’d stashed earlier for exactly this kind of night. “Besides, it’s too cold to be responsible adults right now.” He glances at the windows where ice crystals have started to form at the corners.
Henry glances between the bottle and Alex’s face, and Alex holds his breath, watching what’s becoming his favorite smile start to play at Henry’s lips.
“Well,” Henry says slowly, “I suppose I could stay for one drink.”
“Sweet,” Alex says, not even trying to hide how pleased he is.
Turns out, whiskey makes Henry loose-limbed and really fucking lovely, all tipped-back laughter that exposes the elegant line of his throat. His cheeks are pink, his accent’s gone soft around the edges, and Alex is completely gone for the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
It’s that smile that makes Alex brave or maybe it’s the whiskey, but suddenly he’s in the middle of their makeshift dance floor, attempting to recreate the Mean Girls Jingle Bell Rock routine with absolutely zero shame. June’s filming it, Nora and Liam are providing backup vocals, and Spencer’s cheering them all on.
But Alex can’t focus on any of that because Henry’s sprawled back in his chair like he owns it, legs spread, one hand curled loosely around his glass while the other toys with his bottom lip. His eyes are dark, intent, and Alex likes it. A lot. So he commits to it because he’s never known how to do anything halfway and he enjoys the way Henry’s ears turn pink when he adds an extra hip thrust.
So yeah, maybe Alex is showing off a little. But who can blame him when Henry’s looking at him like that? In the end, Alex collapses back in his chair, still breathing hard from his performance, and catches Henry’s dark gaze. “Your turn, sweetheart. Show me what you’ve got.”
Henry’s quiet, his expression shifting. He leans over to whisper something to June, who raises her eyebrows but reaches for her phone. When the first notes of Jump (For My Love) start playing, Alex’s brain short-circuits.
“Wait, that’s not even—” But then Henry’s standing, rolling up his sleeves with careful precision, and Alex forgets how to breathe. “Oh.”
The thing is, Alex has spent weeks cataloging all of Henry’s careful movements, the way he writes, the soft way he speaks, how precisely he does everything. He thought he knew all of Henry’s edges and angles.
He did not know this version of Henry.
This Henry moves like he’s never heard of embarrassment, channeling Hugh Grant at his most ridiculous, and Alex is absolutely delighted. When Henry does a dorky little shimmy, joy radiating from every movement, Alex has to cover his mouth to hide how wide he’s grinning.
“Holy shit,” he manages faintly.
“Right?” June whispers gleefully, still filming.
Henry spins, and for a moment his eyes lock with Alex’s. The look they share is warm and bright and definitely not shy anymore. It makes Alex’s whole body flush hot. The whiskey, the dancing, the way Henry eyes him like he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.
When the song ends, Henry’s breathing hard, color high on his cheeks, and Alex thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
“What?” Henry asks, noticing everyone staring. “Love Actually is a Christmas movie.”
“I think you broke Alex,” Nora says cheerfully, but Alex can’t even protest because, yeah. She might be right about that.
“To Henry’s hidden talents!” she calls out, raising her glass.
“To Henry!” Everyone echoes, and Henry ducks his head, but he’s still smiling that unrestrained smile that makes Alex want to do something stupid like kiss him right here in front of everyone.
He holds himself back but it’s a near fucking thing.
💌🎄💌
Their breath puffs out in the frigid air as they make their way home, both with beanies pulled low and collars turned up against the biting wind. Alex hooks their arms together, claiming it’s to stop Henry from slipping. “You’ve had whiskey and performed a one-man show, sweetheart, let me help.” But really, he just wants to stay close and hold onto the magic of the evening.
Henry doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he pulls Alex closer as they navigate the icy sidewalk. Alex can still feel the warmth from the café lingering between them, can still see the way Henry looked when he was dancing, free and happy and devastating.
“Can I ask you a question?” Henry says after a short silence, his voice careful in a way that means he’s been thinking about this. “I heard June mention, that is, she said you’re not departing with them on the 24th?”
Alex tenses, but doesn’t pull away. “Ah. That.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Henry quickly interjects, “But I think we both know the café isn’t open past the 24th.”
Alex lets out a breath that clouds in the cold air between them. “Yeah, well. Sometimes the holidays can be... a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but my mom and dad in the same house.” He shrugs, trying for casual. “Sometimes it’s easier to join them after the pressure of a Perfect Christmas Morning has passed, you know?”
Henry’s arm tightens around his. “I do know, actually.”
They walk in silence for a block, shoulders pressed together. Then Henry adds, so quietly Alex almost misses it, “Though I admit, staying in the city doesn’t feel so lonely this year.”
Alex’s stomach swoops, dangerous and wonderful. He turns to say something, anything, but they’re at their corner now. Henry’s looking at him like he’s waiting on more, his eyes dark in the streetlight. Alex finds himself swaying forward, drawn in by Henry, by his eyes on Alex’s mouth, by how simple it would be to just lean in and—
A car horn blares nearby, making them both jump. The moment shatters. Fuck, Alex thinks fervently.
“Goodnight, Alex,” Henry says softly, already backing away, and Alex swears he sounds just as disappointed.
“Goodnight,” Alex manages, watching him disappear into the darkness, his lips still tingling with the almost of it all.
💌🎄💌
The city feels different on Christmas Eve, quieter, expectant, the colorful lights sparking, there’s a little more hope in the air. Alex stands outside the darkened café, shifting nervously on the sidewalk. The two steaming cups in his hands offer some warmth, but his chest is tight with anticipation. He glances down the street for the hundredth time, rehearsing the words he wants to say or at least he’s trying to.
“Just ask him to stay,” he mutters to himself. “Not complicated. Holiday drink, suggestion—shit, what if it’s too much?” He’s essentially ambushing Henry on Christmas Eve, but he has a plan. Sort of. Well, he has hope and spiced eggnog, which is almost the same thing.
Before he can spiral further, Henry appears around the corner, wrapped in his wool coat, cheeks pink from the cold. He pauses when he sees Alex, confusion flickering across his face. Alex’s stomach does that familiar swoop. God, he hopes he’s not about to ruin everything.
“Alex? Is everything alright? The café?” He glances at the darkened windows.
“Everything’s fine,” Alex says quickly, holding up one of the cups, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. “I just… I have something I wanted you to try. A holiday experiment.”
Henry’s brow furrows, but he steps closer, his expression softening. “Should I be worried?”
“Ye of little faith,” Alex says, managing a grin despite the nerves twisting in his stomach. He thrusts the cup forward. “It’s called a London Nog. Just give it a sip.”
Henry’s fingers brush Alex’s as he takes the cup, sending a spark through him that Alex wants to chase until Henry’s pressed against him. But no—the plan. He watches, heart in his throat, as Henry takes a careful sip. The silence stretches, then breaks as Henry’s eyes widen, his smile making Alex’s chest feel impossibly full.
“This is…” Henry pauses, taking another sip. “Perfect.”
“Yeah?” Alex’s grin softens, feeling warm. “I’m glad you like it. Wasn’t sure if it was a crime to mess with your Earl Grey like that.”
Henry’s smile deepens, an unspoken push and pull passing between them. “I think I can make an exception tonight,” he says quietly.
Alex’s throat tightens. The words are there, bubbling up, but they’re caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. Instead, he takes a breath and blurts out, “So the thing is, I was wondering if you wanted to, I don’t know, do something else tonight? Together. Not here, just… us.”
Henry blinks, his expression unreadable, and Alex feels his stomach drop. But then Henry is taking a step closer, his voice quieter now. “Are you asking me out, Alex?”
“Yes. No. I mean…” Alex huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. I totally am.”
Terribly, Alex thinks but doesn’t feel so bad about his fumbling when he looks up.
The corner of Henry’s mouth twitches, the beginnings of a smile. “In that case,” he says, his voice warm and steady, “I’d love to.”
Alex exhales, tension he didn’t realize he was holding draining from his shoulders. “Okay. Good. That’s… fuck. Yeah, that’s good.”
Henry’s eyes crinkle with amusement, but he doesn’t say anything as Alex hurries to explain his idea. “There’s some nice Christmas lights on East Fifth we could go see or I thought we could… you know, go back to my place. For a drink. Maybe a movie? It’s really whatever you want.”
Get your shit together, Alex, he thinks. Nora would be laughing her ass off right now. All that practiced smoothness gone the moment Henry looks at him like that.
And as if on cue, Henry’s smile turns into one Alex has never seen before but knows he will desperately want to see again.
“Let’s go back to your place,” he says, his voice pitched low, ignoring all of Alex’s ramblings, clearly taking what he wants now.
“Jesus tits,” Alex coughs out before he can stop himself, earning a surprised laugh from Henry, and doesn’t trust himself to say anything else.
“Well?” Henry lifts his cup in a small gesture. “Lead the way.”
The warm press of Henry’s other hand against Alex’s lower back makes him forget about the cold completely.
💌🎄💌
Alex fumbles with his keys, all too aware of Henry behind him, close enough that he can actually feel the heat of him. Close enough that if Alex just leaned back a bit, and fuck it, he does. Henry is right there, responding in kind, ducking to brush his nose along the curve of Alex’s neck, one hand settling on his hip.
“Everything alright, love?” Henry asks against his ear, and Alex nearly drops his keys when the hand at his hip slides further forward, pulling him in closer. It takes all of what little focus Alex can manage to put the key in the lock.
“Yeah, yup. Fucking fantastic,” Alex says under his breath, finally managing to turn the lock. He pushes open the door, both of them stumbling slightly as they enter and in the golden light of his apartment, they pause, catching their breath, letting the moment settle.
Alex watches Henry take in the space, the warm oranges and deep blues he’d picked because they reminded him of sunset at his father’s lakehouse in Texas, the walls covered in bright art and candid photos tucked on shelves and nooks. His law books are scattered across every surface, empty coffee cups keeping them company, but the huge bookshelf taking up one wall makes up for the chaos. At least, he hopes it does.
“This is home,” he says quietly, taking Henry’s coat and placing their empty cups on the entry table.
“I like it. It’s… inviting,” Henry says, and Alex watches him take it in, that careful curiosity that makes Alex want to know every thought crossing his mind. There’s a soft expression on Henry’s face as he steps closer to the bookshelf, his fingers brushing over the spines. “Very you.”
Alex snorts, but he can feel heat creeping up his neck. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He gestures toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”
He pauses to tap a switch by his foot, and his small Christmas tree lights up, casting colored shadows across the room. The mismatched ornaments, some from his childhood, some collected from friends, catch the light, making everything feel a bit magical.
While he’s in the kitchen hunting for wine glasses, his heart racing with how well this is actually going, he hears Henry’s voice from the living room.
“Alex?”
Something in Henry’s tone makes Alex’s stomach drop. He comes around the corner to find Henry standing by the coffee table, holding a familiar piece of paper.
“Shit, please don’t be mad,” Alex starts, the words tumbling out. “I... wait, just—” He sets the wine bottle down with shaky hands, then runs his fingers through his hair. “It fell from the tree one night, and I know I wasn’t supposed to look, but then I saw your handwriting and I just couldn’t hang it back up, not when,” he breaks off, gesturing helplessly. “I just wanted to—”
“Make it better,” Henry finishes softly, his gaze steady on Alex.
Alex nods, his chest tight. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I just couldn’t stand the thought of you feeling that way. And look, I’ve been a complete idiot this whole time, like from the moment you walked into Elsewhere I think I’ve been a little in love with you. But I thought you didn’t like me, and so I was an even bigger shit, but really it was just a crush and everyone knew but me, and then your wish fell on the floor and I just wanted to make things better for you and I really fucking like you and—”
Henry crosses the room in three steps and kisses him.
Or, well, almost kisses him. There’s a brief suspended second where Henry’s hands come up to cradle Alex’s face, and Alex’s breath catches because there was a moment, just before, when Alex thought he really had fucked this up.
But then Alex makes a small, embarrassing sound at the first press of Henry’s lips against his, and he can’t even bring himself to care because Henry is kissing him, warm and sure and perfect. When Henry pulls him closer, pressing them together from chest to hip, Alex releases a much less embarrassing and much more urgent groan, pushing up on his toes to deepen the kiss.
The confident sweep of Henry’s tongue against his lips makes Alex shiver, opening further and Henry licks into his mouth, moving with a slow sensuality that makes Alex’s brain turn hazy. He needs to grip Henry’s sides and hold on. He never wants Henry to be further away than this, wants to stay right here with Henry’s thumbs stroking his cheeks and Henry’s mouth moving against his like they’ve got all the time in the world.
Like this is just the beginning.
When they break apart, Alex blinks dazedly up at Henry, taking in his flushed skin and red lips, loving the warm puff of his breath against his mouth. God, he wants to shove Henry onto the couch and climb on top of him, but first—
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am.”
“You wanna kiss me again?”
Henry smirks, clearly delighted and bites his lip, his eyes dance from Alex’s eyes to his lips and back up again, making Alex feel stripped bare.
“I do.”
Henry keeps his hands on Alex’s face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and Alex leans into every stroke. “But first, since we’re confessing things, I should tell you that I’ve been half in love with you since the moment you mocked my tea order. You were wearing that darling bi-pride cat t-shirt, and called me ‘Your Highness,’ and I…” Henry pauses to laugh but quickly continues his confession, “I started walking the long way home that day just so I wouldn’t do something ridiculous like ask you out for coffee, which seemed redundant given the circumstances.”
“Oh my god,” Alex says faintly. “We’re both idiots.”
“Quite.” Henry’s smile is soft and fond. “Though in my defense, you were very convincing about finding me pretentious.”
“Because you were so proper and perfect and I thought you hated every messy thing about me!”
“Alex.” Henry presses their foreheads together. “You were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I wanted to know everything about you. Which song you were humming when you made drinks, what it was that made you laugh out loud while studying, how you’d taste when I finally got to kiss you.” Alex whimpers a little at that last statement but Henry continues on. “I changed my entire writing schedule just to see you every evening. I let you steal my earbuds. I attempted to decorate cookies. I did the Love Actually dance in the middle of your café.”
“When you put it like that...” Alex tilts his chin up, brushing their lips together. “So what you’re saying is, you won’t be alone tomorrow morning?”
He starts walking Henry backward toward the couch, inch by inch, his mouth hovering just out of reach. Henry’s hands slip to his waist, pulling him closer.
“No,” Henry murmurs against his lips, his tongue darting out to taste. “I rather think I won’t be.”
Alex pulls back just enough to flash a devilish grin before pushing. Henry lands on the couch with a surprised laugh, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh, that gorgeous throat exposed as his head tips back. Alex follows slowly, deliberately settling himself in Henry’s lap. One of Henry’s hands immediately pulls him closer while the other cups his face, thumb brushing over Alex’s bottom lip.
“No,” Alex agrees, turning to press a kiss to Henry’s palm. “You won’t be.”
And he wasn’t.