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Alex thinks he might be dying.
He’s just finished his last final for his first semester of law school, but he can’t really appreciate it because his entire body feels like it’s been hit by a train. He’s pretty sure there’s an ice pick stabbing his left eye, and he can’t remember the last time he slept or ate anything other than expired Cheez-its and old coffee. To make matters worse, his Texas-raised body is in no way accustomed to New York’s sub-freezing temperatures that are currently turning him into a human icicle.
Needless to say, his body is shutting down.
By some miracle, he makes it to his apartment building without collapsing in the middle of the sidewalk. He drags himself up the three flights of stairs to the apartment he shares with his roommate, Henry.
Fuck.
Henry, his roommate that finished his finals yesterday, which means he’s in the apartment instead of studying in the library. Henry, ungodly attractive with his stupid blue eyes, annoyingly perfect hair, and impossibly sharp jawline. Henry, who hates Alex and hasn’t said more than ten words to him the entire semester. Henry, who Alex absolutely cannot deal with while his immune system continues to deteriorate.
Great, just what he needs.
With nothing else to do but accept his fate, Alex clumsily unlocks the door and stumbles into the apartment. Henry is, as expected, in the kitchen making tea and snaps his head towards the doorway as soon as he hears the commotion.
Alex realizes he must be in worse shape than he thought because Henry almost looks concerned, but that can’t be right. Henry would probably be relieved if Alex dropped dead and never had to deal with him again. It’s more likely that Alex is hallucinating Henry’s frown and the wrinkle between his eyebrows.
“Alex? Are you alright?” Alex hears Henry ask. He barely registers that the question brings Henry’s spoken word count to a whopping fourteen before he collapses onto the couch and lets the darkness take over.
Alex isn’t sure how long he stays asleep. The only thing his muddled mind is sure of are the fragmented snapshots he manages to retain while his body fades in and out of consciousness: a warm blanket being placed over him, a damp towel on his forehead, gentle fingers running through his curls. He feels so loved and cared for that it must be a dream.
Minutes fade into hours—Alex could have been unconscious for several days and he wouldn’t have noticed—before Alex finally attempts to slowly unglue his eyes from whatever disgusting crust is holding them closed. His vision remains blurry, as do the rest of his senses, until the smell of coffee causes him to perk up. This is a mistake, though, because a white hot pain shoots through the back of his head and down his spine.
“Fuck,” Alex mutters to himself as he cradles his head.
As Alex tries to psych himself up again, a disembodied voice breaks through the pounding against his skull. “You should take the paracetamol I’ve left for you on the table there.”
The voice sounds a lot like Henry, but Alex is sure he’s hallucinating because, again, why would Henry be near Alex, let alone provide him with painkillers?
“Henry?” he asks, his voice rough from disuse. “How are you here?”
“I do live here,” Henry retorts, and if Alex wasn’t so preoccupied with his roommate’s presence in the first place, he might notice the gentle undertone hidden beneath the words. “Where do you keep your migraine medication? I didn’t want to go through your things without your permission.”
“Uh,” Alex starts. Now he’s worried he woke up in a different dimension because not only does Henry know that Alex has migraine medication, but he’s also asking where it is so he can presumably get it for Alex. Before he can dwell on that mind-fuck for too long, he finishes his response. “Bathroom cabinet, second shelf.”
Henry nods and swiftly heads to retrieve the medication. As he passes by the couch, Alex registers the familiar scent of freshly cut grass and clean linens and something distinctly Henry that he’s grown to secretly love in the past few months. Alex’s interactions with Henry may have been few and far between, but the man’s presence in their shared apartment has become something constant that Alex seeks comfort in.
Alex slowly pushes himself upward into a seated position just in time for Henry to drop the familiar pill into Alex’s hand. He gulps it down with the cup of coffee Henry left for him in the most adorable mug—a beagle wearing a Santa hat—and it’s inexplicably perfect, cinnamon and all. He attempts a smile, only wincing a small amount despite the pounding in his head.
“Thank you.”
“Of course, Alex.” Henry returns the smile, sending a flock of butterflies directly to Alex’s stomach.
The two sit in silence while Alex’s migraine medication gradually takes effect, dampening the sharp pain radiating through his body into a dull ache—the relief is palpable. Once Alex finally has some of his brain function back, he tries to make sense of this bizarre situation. Before today, he was 100% sure that Henry hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. Now, he doesn’t know what to think.
Alex’s swirling thoughts aren’t helped by the sleep deprivation plaguing his body, or the fogginess clouding his consciousness as the medication takes effect. He doesn’t have the brain capacity to exhibit any kind of self control, which is probably why he blurts out, “Don’t you hate me?”
Henry’s eyes meet Alex’s, the confusion obvious on his face. “What?”
Well, there’s no going back now, Alex thinks, so he continues, “You’ve barely said anything to me the whole time we’ve lived together. And you always avoid me whenever we're in the same room. But now you’re making me coffee and giving me painkillers. I don’t understand.”
Henry doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, his eyebrows furrowing deep in thought; Alex wants to smooth the wrinkle out with his fingers.
Finally, he responds, “Alex, who do you think makes you coffee every morning?”
That is not what Alex was expecting. “What do you mean?”
“Did you think the coffee magically appeared every morning?”
“Uh,” Alex tries, eloquent as ever. He’s always in a rush in the mornings, so now that he thinks about it, he’s thrown for a loop. “I never really thought about it.” He shrugs, feeling uncharacteristically shy.
Henry pinches his nose and mumbles something Alex can’t hear, though it sounds akin to fond annoyance. He takes a deep breath and looks up at Alex again.
“Did you ever wonder how your glasses are always folded up next to you even when you fall asleep with them while studying? Or how your shoes are always lined up near the front door despite taking them off all over the apartment? Perhaps you noticed the coffee replenishing itself or your countless mugs being “magically” washed? Shall I continue?”
As Henry goes on, Alex can feel his face turn redder by the second—he feels like an idiot. Of course, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew all these things weren’t magically happening on their own. But law school has been kicking his ass, so he didn’t question anything that made his life easier.
On top of feeling like an ungrateful asshole, Alex can’t help but feel flustered at hearing Henry speak so many words at once, which doesn’t help the growing blush on his face. Alex could spend an eternity listening to the way Henry’s smooth English accent curls perfectly around his words. Embarrassment and attraction swirl around in Alex’s gut as he imagines the buttery smooth voice in other, more compromising scenarios.
Alex’s brain can’t keep up with such a giant shift in perspective, so all he can respond with is, “Oh.”
“Yes, oh,” Henry parrots.
“But…” Alex trails off. He's at a loss for words, which is a rare occurrence for Alex Claremont-Díaz, yapper extraordinaire. Not only is he the world’s biggest unobservant idiot, but apparently he’s also such a huge slob that his roommate has to clean up after him. “God, I’m the worst roommate ever. Maybe you should hate me.”
Henry’s expression softens. “Alex, it’s alright. I wouldn’t have done any of it if I didn’t want to.” He pauses for a moment, considering his next words very carefully. “You work so hard and forget to take care of yourself. I wanted to help in any way I could.” He says the last part while looking down at his hands, anxiously twirling a loose thread on his sweater.
Alex can’t help the surge of emotion that claws its way up his throat, his eyes watering without his permission. No one has ever cared for him like this, except maybe June. But even then, it’s different—she’s family. Henry is a stranger, an acquaintance at best. He went out of his way to make Alex’s life easier without wanting anything in return, without having any reason to. Henry fit these acts of kindness so seamlessly into Alex’s routine, and he didn’t even notice. Alex has never felt so seen, so known. It feels terrifying and exhilarating all at once. He doesn’t deserve any of this.
“Why?” Alex croaks.
Henry swallows thickly. “You’re so good, Alex. You do so much for others, and you deserve to be cared for as well.” His expression is so earnest, firm yet soft, with a hint of something that Alex can’t quite decipher.
Alex struggles to accept Henry’s words—it’s already overwhelming to have a drop dead gorgeous roommate that hates you, but it’s even more difficult to process that said roommate does not actually hate him, and in fact, cares about him deeply. However, one glaring detail remains.
“But… Why did you ignore me all this time? Did I do something wrong?” Alex hears the wobble in his voice as he questions Henry. Clearing his throat, he attempts to sound more confident as he continues, “You say you care about me, but you shut me out, and it hurt.”
Much to Alex’s satisfaction, Henry has the wherewithal to look embarrassed as his cheeks flush a beautiful shade of red and his eyes desperately avoid Alex’s. He doesn’t speak for so long that Alex is afraid he won’t respond, but then he warily looks up and takes a deep breath.
“No, Alex, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Henry reassures him. “It’s completely my fault, and I am so sorry. There’s no excuse for the way I acted. I’m not the best at social interaction, and I know it can be off putting. I hope you can forgive me.”
Alex can’t help but crumble under the intensity of Henry’s pleading expression, not bothering to suppress the gentle smile that forms on his face. “Of course I forgive you.” He could leave it at that, but his mouth curves into a smirk. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”
His roommate’s face turns into the embodiment of a tomato, reaching a darker shade of red Alex previously thought was impossible. It’s adorable.
“Er, well,” Henry sputters. “I said my social skills were less than favorable—the details aren’t important.” He’s clearly avoiding the question, which only intrigues Alex more.
Leaning forward with his elbow propped up on his knees, chin resting on his upturned palm, Alex implements his irresistible puppy dog eyes and flutters his eyelashes. “C’mon, Henry, it can’t be that bad.”
Henry mumbles something that sounds like, “Menace.”
“What did you say?” Alex cups his ear for emphasis. “I didn’t catch that.”
He knows he’s being a little shit, but he can’t help it when Henry looks at him with equal parts exasperation and fondness; he feels the tension in his body finally melt as a surge of warmth flows through him. But that feeling only lasts a few seconds because Henry’s face turns serious and he looks like he’s about to throw up.
Alex is quick to reassure him. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t actually have to tell me. I already forgave you—but I am curious.”
Henry fists are clenched so tight that his knuckles are white against where they lay on his lap, flexing open and closed as he seemingly psychs himself up.
“You…” Henry starts, “You’re… you.”
“I’m… me?” What?
Sighing, his roommate seems to realize he’s making no sense and tries again. “You’re so brilliant and incredibly intelligent. You’re also kind and do so much good.” Once Henry gets started, he gains more confidence and progressively gets more passionate. “You’re driven and know what you want in life. You’re studying to be a lawyer to help people in need, for God’s sake. As if that’s not enough, you look like that.” He says the last part while gesturing vaguely in Alex’s direction.
Alex isn’t used to receiving this many compliments in a row, especially not from someone as attractive as Henry. His brain might be spontaneously combusting. “Uh, thank you, I guess? I’m not sure what that has to do with you not interacting with me.”
Cursing quietly to himself, Henry shakes his head, stands abruptly, and sits next to Alex on the couch. His gorgeous blue eyes bore into Alex’s soul.
“Christ, you’re as thick as it gets.”
Before Alex can react, Henry grabs Alex’s cheeks and yanks him forward into a kiss. Alex’s brain barely has time to think, “Oh,” before he loses any thought-making abilities and melts into the softness of Henry’s lips. Beyond the rapid pounding in his chest, Alex registers the familiar taste of Earl Grey—the ever present scent in their apartment has become a beacon of comfort for Alex—and something sweet, something undeniably Henry. Alex experimentally traces his tongue along the seam of Henry’s mouth, expecting to sink deeper into the inviting warmth, but he’s met with—nothing.
Henry jolts back with a horrified expression as he realizes what he’s done, shame and guilt and regret all evident on his face. Alex’s brain slowly returns back online, barely having enough time to grab Henry’s wrist before he can fuck off to who knows where. His brain cells are limited due to sleep deprivation, his migraine, the subsequent meds, and now the axis-turning kiss, but he knows he needs to interrupt the stream of apologies currently spilling out of his roommate’s mouth.
“Oh God, Alex, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Henry!” Alex interrupts, moving his thumb in a circular motion on Henry’s wrist, right over his pulse, in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “Hey, don’t apologize. I liked it.” Alex is a bit embarrassed of what he’s about to confess, but he’ll do anything to alleviate Henry’s panic. “I’m really glad you did that, actually. I think I’ve had a crush on you for a while now.” He shrugs sheepishly.
Now it’s Henry’s turn to blue screen—he freezes in place, and his mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish. Alex isn’t sure why this is hard to comprehend; Henry is a literal Adonis sculpted by the gods.
“You—” He squeezes his eyes shut. “What?”
Alex returns Henry’s question with another question. “What what? You’re literally the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Like c’mon, dude, have you looked in a mirror?” He can’t make it any more obvious than that. The man must be aware of his own hotness.
Henry looks so unbelievably confused that Alex wonders for a split second if he spoke in Spanish instead of English. In fact, now Henry looks angry and suddenly springs off the couch, which makes even less sense.
“Alex, that’s exactly what I was trying to say about you ! I couldn’t bloody talk to you because you’re not only the most attractive man on this planet, but you’re also smart and perfect. I don’t deserve to be near someone like you. Believe me, I tried saying something, anything to you, but any time I even thought about starting a conversation, I felt like I was being eaten alive.”
As Henry word vomits, he paces around the living room and pulls at the roots of his hair. He’s nearly hyperventilating by the time he finishes, heaving a deep sigh and burying his face into his hands as he curses softly to himself, “Christ on a bike.”
Alex may have limited brain power at the moment, but he comes to the most obvious conclusion. “Oh my fucking God. We’re idiots.”
Henry glances up, furrowing his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“Are you telling me we’ve had crushes on each other this entire time?” Alex can’t stop himself from breaking into a fit of hysterical laughter. Of course Henry doesn’t hate him, of course the explanation is that he and his roommate have identical crushes on each other. This lonely and stressful semester has been the product of the most ridiculous misunderstanding—a comedy of errors, if you will.
“This isn’t funny!” Henry exclaims indignantly, but Alex can see the smile he’s failing to suppress.
“It’s hilarious, actually.” Finally catching his breath, Alex wipes the tears from his eyes. “Man, you cannot make this shit up.”
“Quite.” The tension drains from Henry’s face and he lets out a small huff of laughter. “Yes, I suppose we are idiots.”
Henry sits back down on the couch, closer to Alex than he’s ever been before, and tangles both of his hands with Alex’s. All at once, the exhaustion from the past week—and the mind-fucks from the past thirty minutes—overwhelms Alex’s senses, and there’s only one thing he wants to do; no brain power required. The gentle smile on Henry’s face solidifies his plans.
“Well, now that that’s settled, wanna make out?” Alex asks in the most innocent voice, but the smirk on his face gives him away.
“You are a demon that was sent down to Earth to torture me,” Henry responds with a dramatic sigh.
Alex knows he’s being silly, but he decides to be brave one more time as he asks with wary hopefulness, “What if I was a demon and your boyfriend?”
The soft look in Henry’s eyes reassures Alex that he has nothing to worry about. “Yes, you plague.”
Rolling his eyes affectionately, Henry leans forward to join their lips for the second time. It’s just as good, if not better than their first kiss. Alex’s mind goes blissfully blank, and he settles into the familiar yet new sensation of coming home. Despite the cold weather outside, Alex feels nothing but warmth.
Yeah, Alex could get used to this. Maybe migraines aren’t always bad. Sometimes they lead to you and your idiot, love-of-your-life roommate finally getting together. Alex wouldn’t have it any other way.