Chapter Text
Alex wakes up early, too early to be feeling like this. His bones are heavy and dense as if draped in chains. There’s a heavy weight on his chest, the kind that makes the world feel distant and blurry. Alex struggles to open his eyes, his eyelids heavy, like bags of sand. He does his best not to groan; he hates this feeling.
He risks a glance at Henry and turns his head. At the slight movement exhaustion flares up in his body making every muscle scream and beg for stillness and rest. Alex ignores it, wanting to see his boyfriend. Henry looks so peaceful, long deep breaths filling his lungs and chest. It’s such a stark contrast to the small whimpers and short breaths that leave Alex’s lips.
Alex resumes his original position, discomfort crawling up his spin. It hurts, but it doesn’t. Pain is the only word Alex can think of to describe how he feels, but his brain is working just enough to recognize that’s not what this is. It’s an itching discomfort that fills his entire body. He wants to move and get more comfortable but the thought of moving already makes his muscles ache.
Alex wants to sob, but he can’t muster up the energy so he settles on a shuddered breath. Beside him Henry shifts, eyebrows furrowing slightly a telltale sign he’s about to wake up. Alex tenses at the thought that Henry might see him like this and forces himself into a seated position. It takes longer than he would like but he eventually manages to get his legs over the edge of the bed, feet touching the floor.
Alex wants nothing more than to climb back into bed, settle under the covers and never wake up. Not if it means feeling like this, but he knows he can’t afford that. Besides, it's Wednesday, which means it’s Alex's day to cook. Though to be fair it’s nearly always Alex’s day to cook considering Henry grew up in a castle. The only thing he knows how to make is tea. The thought makes Alex laugh and his shoulders shake. The action is exhausting and once again makes Alex want to lie down.
He risks another glance toward his sleeping boyfriend. His blonde hair is a mess from the night before, the sheets only pulled up to his waist revealing his bare chest. God, does Alex love him.
In a moment his mind is decided. He’s going to get up, well he’s going to try. Alex takes a deep breath and grabs onto the bed frame using it to pull him to his feet. Once he’s standing a whole new wave of exhaustion comes crashing down on him making his legs buckle and shake. He closes his eyes and takes multiple deep breaths preparing him for his first step.
He falls.
It’s not a particularly hard fall, Alex has had worse I mean he played lacrosse all throughout highschool. And it’s not like this is the first time his legs have gone out on him, too tired to be bothered to even shift in bed let alone actually do their job. It’s the crash that Alex is more worried about.
He falls directly into the dresser, and knocks over the lamp which promptly shatters on impact. Alex groans and digs his hands into the ground trying to stabilize himself only to come into contact with shards of glass.
“That’s not good,” Alex mumbles.
Henry, who had woken up sometime during Alex’s fall, is now standing in front of him with an unreadable look on his face. Okay so maybe not unreadable, it more alex doesn’t want to read it so he chooses not to.
“Alex, love, are you okay?” he asks his voice husky and raw from last night's events.
On a day where Alex was feeling better he’d most likely crack a joke or snap at Henry and tell him to leave him alone. But this isn’t one of Alex’s better days. Alex is tired, so when Henry leans down to help Alex up he simply slumps forward resting his head on Henry’s shoulder.
Henry makes a noise of surprise as he catches him, and then moves his hand to Alex’s bag rubbing it in soothing circles.
“M’tired Hen.”
“I know, love. I know.”
But Henry doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about the unrelenting discomfort that borders pain. Or the days Alex thinks he'd rather just piss himself in bed rather than get up and walk to the bathroom. No one does, those are the types of things he keeps strictly to himself
He doesn’t know about the days Alex is so tired he can’t bring himself to eat or even stand. Or the days that Alex sometimes holds his breath, the action of breathing too much work. Or the dangerous amount of sleeping pills Alex will take in a day, because it’s the only thing that can bring him to sleep no matter how much he’s weighed down by exhaustion. .
He can’t know, Alex won’t let him.
“Let’s get you cleaned up darling.” Henry says picking up Alex with ease.
Alex blinks and they’re in the bathroom. Alex is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat and Henry is on his knees with a pair of tweezers. Luckily for them both there are hardly any shards embedded into Alex’s hands and the ones that are, don’t cause a lot of blood. Still Henry bandages them up, and coats his hand in ointment.
Alex leans his head back onto the bathroom wall and sighs. If he closes his eyes he can feel Henry’s hair in his hands, and his mouth on him. Alex keeps his eyes open. He’s far too exhausted for that line of thinking. So instead he shifts, lolling his head to the side.
Henry has moved places, now by the bathtub but he’s still on his knees. He seems to do that a lot. The water is running and Henry holds his hand underneath it feeling for the right temperature. Seemingly unsatisfied he turns the handle more, shakes out his hand and then dries it with a towel.
Henry walks back over and places his hand on Alex's face which he leans into. He half expects Henry to tell him to strip, only to remember that both of them are without clothes.
“Can you stand love?”
Alex wants to say yes, but the two hundred and seven bones in his body scream the word no, so he settles for a drawn out whine instead.
Henry chuckles softly and picks up Alex gently, as if he’s something precious.
“You are,” Henry says, and it’s only then that Alex realizes he’s spoken out loud.
Alex buries his head into Henry's shoulder in embarrassment and closes his eyes but his hiding place is quickly stripped from him as he’s placed into the bath. It’s filled with bubbles and smells of lavender which makes Alex smile.
“I thought I wasn’t allowed your fancy British imported soap,” he manages.
“You’re more important to me than fancy British imported soap,” Henry says, probably with a smile.
If these were normal circumstances, say Alex coming home from a particularly long day or a particularly fun round of sex. Alex would take a handful of the British imported bubbles and blow them into Henry’s face, who would laugh. But these aren’t normal circumstances, at least not for Henry.
Though Alex supposes these aren’t particularly normal circumstances for him either. He’s not quite used to being taken care of like this, his parents too busy fighting or entertained with politics to notice when Alex’s body had started betraying him. And June had been away in college, so Alex was alone. He leans his head forward onto Henry's shoulder letting his body go limp and with his remaining strength wraps him in a hug.
“Thank you,”
Henry doesn’t say anything back or maybe he does. Alex is feeling sort of hazy at this point. He’s not sure if it’s the scent of lavender or the warm bath that’s starting to run cold but Alex is feeling tired, the good kind this time.
“Go to sleep my love, I’ve got you.”
And Alex finds himself doing exactly that.