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Chapter Text

“One of these men is worth over 10 million dollars, while the other… is not.” 

Henry George Edward James Hanover-Stuart Fox is going to kill his grandmother. 

Honestly, prepare his jail cell, because he’s really going to do it this time. 

The leather adorning his limo seat is plush, almost uncomfortably so, and he shifts on it again, wringing his hands in his lap. He knows he’s been putting off marriage and with each passing year his grandmother grows more agitated, but never in a million years would he think she would resort to this. 

Reality TV? 

It’s low even for her. 

The trees pass in a blur outside Henry’s window, and he rubs a hand down his face, already dreading what the next few months of his life will be like. He’s never seen this show, never even laid a finger on reality tv, but yet here he is, about to be in one. It’s preposterous. She pulled a few strings, secured a spot for him, and any other sane 28 year old would deftly refuse– but Henry doesn’t get that choice. 

Whatever the number one film studio in England wants, they get. 

And if that means Henry being exploited for entertainment under the pretense of “finding love,” so be it. According to them, it’s for Henry’s own good. 

He shivers even thinking about it. 

They turn a corner, and suddenly they’re coming to a stop in front of what Henry can only describe as an extravagantly stunning building. It almost takes his breath away just staring up at it out the window. Lights crawl up the foundation, keeping all shadows at bay, and pillars line the front like soldiers standing guard. 

Christ, this is real. This is happening. He’s going to be a bachelor on “Joe Millionaire: for Richer or for Poorer.”

Against his will.  

The limo rolls to a stop, and his hand shakes as he reaches for the door handle, but Henry forces a deep breath, forces his shoulders back, and forces the anxiety from his face. 

He must be the perfect heir. The perfect image of Fox Industries. He’s been warned against any actions that reflect otherwise. 

There’s a man waiting for him by the door, hands clasped in front of him. Henry steps out of the limo, trying to keep his composure as he crosses the blacktop with a smile, the uncomfortable feeling of the crew following him already creeping up his spine. He’s not used to being on this side of the cameras. 

“Welcome to Lakeshore Manor, Mr. Fox,” the man smiles, stretching his arms out in a grand gesture.

“Ah, thank you very much, sir,” Henry coerces through his teeth, “I am quite excited to be here.” 

No the fuck he is not.  

“Wonderful,” the man says, making Henry think all the training he received for his might actually be helping, (You will keep your hands out of your pockets. You will be polite and cordial. You will never let your eyes wander.) “You seem nervous.” 

Shit. Maybe not.

Henry laughs, buttoning his suit jacket, “Only a little.” 

The man claps his shoulder, pulling a little to lead him inside, “It’s only natural, but hopefully not too nervous to meet our other guest.” 

Right, the other man that is to be on this ludicrous thing with him. 

“No, no,” Henry implores. The man laughs, and Henry’s hit with a pang of worry again. Has he said the wrong thing? But the man doesn’t comment on it if he has, simply leads him inside. 

The foyer is nearly as beguiling as the exterior, and although Henry’s grown up in places like this, he can’t help but be a little impressed. 

The man leads him down a short hallway, giving him only a second to take it all in, and then into a smaller room with far too little feminine touch and far too much wood paneling. There are two leather chairs placed right next to each other, and the man gestures for him to take one. He carefully arranges himself in it, finding it uncomfortably plush, just like the limo. 

Their host stares at him, watching. 

It reminds him of the interview he completed prior to arriving on set, blinding lights and cameras pointed at him, spewing bullshit scripted by his grandmother about wanting people to “love him for who he is, not what he has.” He sweat through his undershirt during it, beneath the sharp gazes of the crew behind the cameras. Their host isn’t any better. 

“Well,” he begins, “I trust you know that you’re not embarking on this journey alone, correct?” 

Henry nods, trying to appear confident. This is the part that he’s been fearful of the most. Some douchebag straight guy that will probably eat Henry alive, and leave him in the dust for all of the women. 

“Well, he is arriving now, so I wish you the best of luck.” The man leaves him, and Henry’s grip tightens on the arms of the chair.

Luck? 

Why would he need luck?  

What kind of psychotic, egotistical murderer did they sign onto this show?

Alex

The ease with which Alex sinks into the leather seats of his limo is laughable. 

His head lolls and taps against the seat back, watching the scenery pass outside. He honestly can’t believe that he’s here, doing this. It’s a stupid fucking idea. 

The whole ordeal happened the night after he’d gotten dumped by his now-ex girlfriend, and his trio of delinquents was significantly drunk, piled around Nora as she scrolled through the internet in search of ways to curb Alex’s heartbreak. Some nameless website suggested applying for a reality TV show, and they had such a ball with the idea that Nora actually started looking for a sign up. 

Alex had laughed along, thinking it was hilarious, but now he’s sitting in the back of a limo. On the way to Lakeshore Manor. 

To reiterate, Alex is fucking stupid. 

They hadn’t even paid attention to what show they were applying to, because there wasn’t a shot in hell that he’d genuinely get in. But then he did, and June made it sound like it might be fun to go, and Alex is nothing compared to the lethal combination of her elder-sister-reporter logic and Nora’s statistical assholery. 

So here he is. 

He’ll be playing the part of the non-millionaire, but it’s not like he isn’t comfortable. He has a roomy apartment and food on the table every night, he just doesn’t have the kind of money it takes to build the property his car is turning the corner to. 

Holy fuck.

As the limo rumbles along, the place— or palace, Alex should say— they will be filming at comes into view. It towers over the grounds almost in a scary way. Intimidating, really. He could honestly call it a gross misuse of money, but he really can’t call it anything when he’s going to be staying in it for the next few months. 

He fumbles with the door handle and steps out into the cool air, trying to keep his gawking to a minimum, but he’s only human. 

When he catches sight of the man by the doorway, Alex slaps on his southern charm, his cheeks warming with a smile, “Hey there!”

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz, welcome,” he says. 

Alex stumbles his way up to him, still trying to take it all in, and says, “Alex, please.” 

“Well, Alex,” Martin (if he’s remembering right) says, a cheeky smile on his face, “we are glad you are here. Please, come inside. Your partner is waiting for you.” 

Right, the rich snob. Alex is certainly not looking forward to this aspect of the show. 

After he’d been selected to take part in the season, he did some research on it, watched a couple old episodes, and decided he really did not like the people that they chose before. They were crude, and untrustworthy, and plain annoying to watch.

He hopes that who he’s assigned to will be better, but he doubts it. 

He follows Martin into the building, barely holding back a sigh at the grand entrance as he passes through it. After a sharp left, they enter a room to the side of the rest of the house. In it, there’s two leather chairs situated next to each other, and in one of them, the hottest man Alex has ever seen. 

He’s rubbing a hand over his sharp jaw, freshly shaven, set below blonde hair, not a strand of it out of place. His shoulders are wide and strong, long legs crossed gracefully in front of him, and his suit hugs him so perfectly Alex almost starts drooling. His eyes are searingly blue when they land on him. 

He steps forward and sticks his hand out, eager to feel the other man’s palm in his, “I’m Alex.” 

The blonde stares at his hand as if it personally offended him, which is impossible, considering they met less than five seconds ago and all he said was his name, but there’s a long enough pause that Alex thinks he might not shake it. 

Thankfully, “Henry,” the man says, surprisingly British and gingerly taking his hand. His grip is loose, and he practically rips his hand away the second he can. 

Which, rude. 

Then he stands, and Alex almost blows a fuse when he straightens to be almost a full head taller than him. 

Which, also rude. 

The two stare at each other for a moment, and Alex waits for him to say something, because he’s pretty sure that taking the initiative in the greeting means that Henry gets to lead the next part of the conversation, but he says nothing, just stares down his nose at him. 

Alex lets his eyes run down his body, taking in the expensive material of the suit (colorless and boring), the shine of the Rolex on his wrist (definitely real), and the cold look in his eyes (Rich. Snob.).  

“Seems some tension has risen in the room,” Martin helpfully adds. 

Alex’s jaw twitches. Fighting the ‘fuck off’ on the tip of his tongue, he grits through his teeth, “Nope. Not at all, Martin.” 

Henry smiles at him, but it’s all wrong— too much teeth and not enough eyes— before adding his own, “I agree. Nothing is amiss here, sir.” 

Alex hates the way his stomach flips when his accent curves softly around the vowels. 

This guy is going to be the world’s biggest pain in the ass. 

Chapter Text

Henry

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s even worse than a straight douchebag. He’s hot and charming.  

How dare he. 

Henry was supposed to be paired with some random guy that was supposed to be boring and stupid and forgettable, but Alex is absolutely none of those things. 

He’s basically a Greek God, for heaven’s sake. Henry’s brain short-circuited when he entered the room, and it took him more than a second to collect himself, staring at Alex’s glowing tan skin, trying to count every stray freckle he can see, hating himself for it.  

His entire presence is warm, a confusingly alluring concoction of soft and hard, confidence and nervousness, kindness and strength. His smile was almost blinding, like staring into the sun. His navy blue suit hugs his biceps superbly. 

His presence means one thing and one thing only: Henry’s (thoroughly, fully, absolutely) fucked. 

His frown is adamant though, and Henry feels like he may have already struck a nerve with him. His hand still burns from his touch, which made him feel things he should not be feeling, especially when he knows how closely he’s being watched. Filmed. Televised. 

He straightens his shoulders, hoping to also straighten his mindset, and says, “Very pleased to meet you, Alex.” 

He hates the way that Alex’s name tastes sweet rolling off his tongue, like it’s coated in honey. 

“Evidently,” Alex mutters through a pained smile. 

Martin saves Henry from embarrassing himself further when he speaks up, “Feel free to take a seat, gentlemen. There is liquor in the cabinet, and the women will be arriving shortly.” 

Alex nods and immediately brushes past him, heading for the drinks. Martin leaves the room just as Alex uncaps the bottle of whiskey, and the silence surrounding them is suddenly overbearing. 

Henry fights not to fidget, listening to Alex move around behind him.

“So,” Alex starts, “What do you do?” 

This one Henry’s good at. The answer was practically programmed into him. 

“My grandparents started Fox Industries in England. I help manage projects and production schedules. I enjoy it.” 

“Hm,” Alex hums, sounding uninterested. 

“You?” Henry asks. 

“I’m partnered on a cattle ranch down in Texas.” Henry tries not to think of Alex working, shirt sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening his brow, muscles flexing, but he fails. Obviously. 

In an attempt to clear his head, he wanders over to one of the windows in the room, leaning against the oak frame. Outside, the day trudges on, nearing night. 

A limo pulls up and a woman gets out, steeped head to toe in gold, her dress nearly dragging on the ground. Henry can see why they chose this room to harbor them in, now. The girl has a serrated smile, gazing up at the mansion with acquisitive eyes. 

Because he’s not the one with a chance to actually fall in love with one of the contestants, “It seems as though we can see the women arrive from here,” he says over his shoulder. Alex perks up. 

He keeps his eyes trained on the girl as she makes her way inside, desperate for any distraction to Alex sliding up next to him. The ice in his glass clinks quietly, and the window is so small their shoulders brush gently as they stand. Shortly after, another limo appears, and another woman disembarks, this one clad in purple. 

They watch a couple more girls enter, before Alex is suddenly turning to him, blurting, “If we’re going to pull this off, we need to talk about some things.” 

Surprised by the abrupt conversation, all Henry can manage is, “O-oh, alright.” 

Alex steps away from the window slightly, turning to face Henry full on. His brow furrows, like he’s thinking hard about something, and his eyes run up and down Henry, searching. Henry ignores all these facts. 

“First of all, don’t talk about any material things, or that you’re a huge movie star or whatever.” 

“I’m not a-”

“Second, let loose a little, all your politeness is kind of pissing me off.” 

Henry scoffs softly. 

“And lastly,” he trails off, expression pinched, “can you just… talk normally?” 

Henry’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, a shocked laugh leaving him, “This is quite literally the way I talk.” 

Alex makes a face, as if Britishness is a moral downfall, and adds, “And stop saying all that,” he attempts a horrid accent, “‘quite literally’ stuff.” 

“Please never do that again. Anything else?” 

Alex pretends to think it over, humming, “Nope, I think I got it all.” 

“Lovely. Good to know that everything I should change is just who I am.”

“There you go, you’ve got it now, sweetheart,” Alex drawls, and Henry’s stomach flutters at sweetheart.  

They lapse into another silence, the staccato of their conversation leaving Henry itching. One after another, women pile into the manor, a steadily growing reverberation of chatter floating down from somewhere deeper in the house. 

Against his better judgement, Henry asks, “You have a cattle ranch?” 

Alex’s demeanor instantly flips, and he makes a face, shooting him a glare before adamantly returning his gaze to the window. “What, that too lowly for you?” 

Henry sputters, “Wh-”

“Yes, I have a cattle ranch, and yes it’s tough fucking work, but I love it, and I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Probably never even got a bit of dirt under your nails.” 

“Excuse you,” Henry bawks, “you have no idea what I’ve done.” 

Alex eyes him, “You born into it? The money?”

“Well, yes, but-” Alex makes an affirmative noise. Dick. Henry huffs, crossing his arms, “I’ve had to work like anyone else to get where I am. It might be different work than yours, but it’s still work.” 

Alex says nothing. It makes Henry’s blood boil. Sure, he’s been gifted with the materials, the means to have a good life, but there is so much Alex doesn’t know. So much no one knows. 

He turns back to the window, purposely tearing his eyes away from the flex of Alex’s jaw, and eyeing the glitter scattered here and there on the ground from the womens’ dresses. 

What is he even doing here? He’s a gay man on a reality tv show made for straight love. 

That’s just not fair to the women. They deserve love too, and love is the one thing Henry can’t give them. 

It’s with that in mind that he heaves in a shaky breath and leaves the window in favor of leaning angrily against the counter across the room. They stay like that, on their seperate sides, until Martin renters the room what feels like an eternity later, carrying himself with the demeanor of a man about to deliver wonderful news. 

“Please join me outside, gentlemen, the women are ready to meet you.” 

Ah, not wonderful news, then. 

“You will enter the balcony one at a time,” Martin continues, “and then go down the stairs to mingle.”

Alex nods, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He turns to Henry, “I’ll go first. You can follow.” 

Henry bites back his retort at the order, because who does this guy think he is, bossing Henry around like that? Surely, he deserves at least a little courteousness. 

But reminding himself to be civil, he figures it’d be for the best, considering his utmost lack of any chance at charm in comparison to Alex.

The two of them follow their host out of the room, Henry’s stomach sinking the closer they get to the rowdy chatter spewing from the vast backyard. 

Martin motions for them to wait, then makes his way through the glass doors onto the balcony. The women are waiting down a large set of stairs, bathed in the golden light from the various lamps illuminating the space. 

They can’t see up in the house from where they are, but just knowing they’re there makes him nervous. 

“One of these men is worth over 10 million dollars,” Martin is saying, and Henry focuses on that in an attempt to ignore his rolling stomach, “and the other, is not. However, you will not be informed as to which is which.” 

A couple gasps ring out from below, “I trust that you will get to know each of these men for who they are, because despite the dollar amounts attached to them, we all know why we’re here, don’t we?” The women cheer loudly, “A chance to find true love!” 

Henry really, really hates his grandmother. 

“Without further adieu, Welcome to Joe Millionaire: For Richer or for Poorer!” 

Alex

When Martin looks back at them, waving a hand for him to come stand beside him, Alex is almost reluctant. The man beside him has gone pale, and as much as Alex wants to ignore him, he really doesn’t want Henry to vomit on television, much less on him. So he stalls for a few seconds. 

“What’s up with you?” He asks, his tone coming out gruffer than he intended it to. 

Henry’s jaw tenses, and he continues staring ahead, hands balled into fists at his sides. “I’m fine,” he bites out, harsh and cutting. 

And because Martin gestures again, eyebrows raising in expectation, Alex rolls his eyes at Henry and mutters, “Whatever you say,” before finally walking outside. 

Alex laughs as the women hoot and holler, whistling up at him. “Hey y’all!” He grins, leaning on the balcony, “I’m Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz. But you can just call me Alex.” 

“Can I call you mine?” One woman shouts up at him, inciting a burst of giggles from the others. Alex laughs again, winking down at her. 

“I’m very excited to be here, and I’m even more excited for you to meet my partner!” 

If his partner isn’t going to throw up all over them, that is. 

“He’s a doll, and as pretty as a peach, if I do say so myself,” the women laugh, and he looks back for Henry, only to find him already striding out to meet him. 

Gone is the nervousness- the apprehensive shell of a man he saw mere seconds ago has been replaced with a colorful, confident figure, a stark contrast that Alex almost wouldn’t believe had it not been directly in front of him. 

“Well, you’re quite alright yourself,” Henry chuckles, loudly, performatively. 

Alex claps him on the shoulder and laughs, pretending he doesn’t feel the way the muscles immediately tense under his palm’s weight. The way he knows Henry’s fighting the urge to jerk away from his touch. Pretending it doesn’t sting a little bit. 

Martin drones on with some bullshit about the show, then proclaims the activities in motion, pushing Alex and Henry down the stairs. 

They go in tandem, meeting the crowd of women they are to mingle with with bright smiles- at least on his part. Henry looks a bit strained underneath the facade of confidence he’s putting up. He wonders if anyone else can sense it, or if he’s just reading into things. 

The women sparkle– both from the dresses and the glint in their eyes. Alex can’t help but feel a little scrutinized as they gather around him, spewing pressing questions adorned in the pretty wrapping paper of casual conversation. 

Eventually, he and Henry get separated, and despite the part of Alex that wants to say he doesn’t care, for some reason, he keeps glancing at him over the women’s heads. He tells himself that it’s so he can make sure that Henry’s isn’t going to blow their whole operation by talking about some stupid rich thing, but it certainly doesn’t help that he keeps meeting Henry’s gaze when he does, the other man seemingly looking for him just as much as he’s looking for Henry. 

“Alex?”

He breaks from his stupor, looking back down at the women around him, trying to figure out which one of them was asking him a question. 

“Hm?”

“I was asking why you decided to be on the show?” 

A blonde is looking at him with wide, bright eyes, her manicured nails tapping against the glass in her hand. Alex straightens his shoulders, reminds himself to stay focused, and answers to the best of his ability. 

By the time they are told their activity is over, Alex’s voice is becoming sore, and his legs are aching from how long he’s been standing. He winces even thinking about the women in 6 inch tall heels around him. Martin shoves Henry and Alex into the back of their limos, and they’re shuttled off to the Gentleman’s Quarters. 

When they get to the building where their belongings had already been delivered, there’s an assistant from the crew waiting for them by the door. She shows them the shared kitchen and lounging area, the bathrooms, and finally their separate rooms across the hall from one another. 

“I trust you’ll be able to sort out who takes what room by yourselves, no?” The assistant asks, chuckling to herself a bit.

Alex laughs too, feeling as though she deserves it, considering her tight shoulders and tighter ponytail, her pointy shoes and her general demeanor of stress. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Yes, it is greatly appreciated.” Henry echos, fingers spinning over a gleaming ring on his pinky finger. 

She hesitates, then smiles and makes a small noise of affirmation, before snapping her seriousness back on and tapping her clipboard, “You will be gathered at seven A.M. sharp tomorrow morning, when you will be escorted to the manor for the first activity.” 

“Do we get to know what that is?” Alex questions. 

She smirks, humming, “I’ll see you boys in the morning. Sleep well!” 

She spins on her heel and ventures out, leaving Alex and Henry standing on opposing sides of the hallway, unsure what to do next. 

Henry is the first to break the momentary silence, “I’ll be off to bed, then.” 

Alex is finding that many words come to mind whenever Henry speaks, all of which Alex definitely should not say out loud. 

“Right,” he says instead, fighting the urge to slam the door right in his annoying pretty face when he moves to grab the handle. 

Henry doesn’t spare but a glance over his shoulder as he goes. It shouldn’t bother Alex. He should expect such a thing from people like Henry. 

But somehow, it does. 

In his own room, Alex shucks off the layers of anxiety, excitement, and frustration until he’s finally left in an old lacrosse T-shirt and his boxers, propped up in front of his phone screen glowing with Nora’s face, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

“I just- he doesn’t really seem that bad,” Nora is saying, shoving a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. 

“What?” Alex balks, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the desk, “He’s a entitled rich snob who thinks being hot gives him the ability to do whatever the hell he wants!”

Nora pauses, an eyebrow shooting up, “Hot? You didn’t mention hot.” 

Alex rolls his eyes, “Come on, Nora, back me up here. You’ve gotta see how annoying he’s gonna be to deal with.” 

Another shrug, “Maybe you’re blowing it out of proportion. You do have a tendency to be a bit… dramatic.” The squawk of indignation Alex lets out does not prove anything, “And I know you. Sometimes you judge too quickly, and then you hold onto that grudge for a long time.” 

“Hmph,” Alex shifts, considering. Maybe he was a bit quick to label Henry as an asshole who thinks he’s better than him, but then he went and proved it by being so impertinent and brusque. 

It’s not only that Henry fits every rich stereotype that Alex- throughout his many years of experience shooing rich people away from his ranch- has gathered in order to sort out the investors from the ones that simply want power, it’s that Henry seems to have everything together. 

Rich family, perfect clothes, etiquette lessons since he was four, he’s got all his shit in one pile. And Alex forgot to pack enough socks for this trip. It’s weirdly aggravating, and Alex doesn’t know what to do about it. Hence, the FaceTime with Nora and the contempt with Henry. 

“All I’m saying,” Nora says around another towering spoonful of ice cream, “is that maybe you should give him a second chance. You never know what could happen.” 

He leans back in his chair, sighing and running a hand through his hair. It’s only his first day here, and he can’t spend the next month hating his partner if he wants to survive. Maybe Nora has a point. He should give him another chance. 

Later, when Alex is laying in bed, trying to block out the insufferable light music floating to his room from under Henry’s door, he thinks Nora is full of shit. 

Chapter Text

Henry

Rolling out of bed after a night of no sleep was definitely harder than Henry had anticipated at 6:30 in the morning. Too early in any case. 

He was in their kitchenette, fixing himself a cup of Earl Grey when Alex decided to make himself known to the world with a loud crash and a slightly muffled, “Ow.”  

And since Henry isn’t a monster, and still cares whether his co-bachelor cracks his skull open- no matter said co-bachelor’s dickishness- he finds himself quickly at Alex’s door, knocking and calling, “Are you alright in there?” 

There comes another series of smaller bangs, bumps, and bumbles, but eventually Alex appears in the doorway, cheeks flushed in a way Henry immediately notices, and glaring at him frustratedly. 

“Yes,” he said. And that’s it. 

“A-alright,” Henry replies, taking a step back, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” Alex grumps, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You’ve got a bruise on your arm.” Henry notes expertly. 

Something flits over Alex’s face, a look almost akin to surprise, but it’s gone the second it arrives. He glances down at the small mark, frowning, then back at Henry, “Seems so.” 

Henry stares at him. 

He stares back. 

This is awkward. 

And Henry’s got a steaming cup of tea waiting for him back in the kitchenette, so he takes another innocuous step back, offering, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Alex pulls a face, “Leaf water? No, thanks.” 

Henry almost laughs, throwing back over his shoulder as he walks away, “Seeing as you’re an American, you drink what, bean water instead?” 

The huff Alex lets out is confirmation of just that, “At least I’m not having afternoon tea and crumpets every Tuesday.” 

The stereotyping is strong, and the fact that Henry does indeed have afternoon tea is of no importance, he bristles nonetheless. He starts the coffee pot, turning back to the other man and leaning a hip on the counter, arms crossed, “Well, seeing that it’s actually the morning, and also not a Tuesday, I think your argument is failing.” 

“Well I think you’re annoying,” Alex shoots back, childish and impertinent. 

Henry rises right to it. 

“And you’re insufferable.” 

Alex takes a step forward, into Henry’s space. He mirrors Henry’s crossed arms, glaring up at him, “The feeling is mutual.” 

“I’m well aware. You are quite… adamant about it.” 

“Only because you’re a pretentious asshole who needs to be reminded.” 

“Just because you bring out the asshole in me doesn’t mean I’m pretentious, mind you,” Henry bites. 

“Right,” Alex hums, “All that money and you couldn’t even wear something colorful,” he makes a tsk sound, “Seems pretentious to me.” 

Henry’s steaming, “I did not choose my outfit, thank you.” 

“Get a stylist to do it for you?” 

Yes. 

“Fuck off.” 

Alex throws his hands up in surrender, faux surprise slapped on his face, “Woah, a swear word from your royal highness, shocking!” 

“I have plenty curse words available if you keep being such a-”

The timer on the coffee maker beeps, signaling it’s ready, and Henry jolts slightly, his jaw snapping shut. With a huff, he reminds himself to be cordial, and keeps the rest of his decidedly not cordial sentence from tearing out. Alex stares him down for a second, the two of them caught in a standoff, until the machine beeps again, and Alex cedes, stepping away from Henry. Feeling as though it’s ended in a draw, Henry turns back to his tea, taking a quiet sip. 

Human beings are creatures of pattern. This much is true. However, Alex Claremont-Diaz is nothing if not unpredictable, which is why it startles Henry when Alex sighs from where he’s standing, coffee cup in hand, and says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, I guess.” 

Henry snorts, muttering into his cup, “I heard.” 

Alex shoots a glare at him, but there’s a smile in his eyes that he’s trying to hide under a frown, so it doesn’t have the effect it should. 

“Thank you,” Henry says, for some reason, feeling it necessary. 

Alex does smile then, a small quirk to his lips that Henry frustratingly adores, “Don’t get too comfortable, though. I’m going to beat you at whatever challenge we’re doing today for the women.” 

He sours a bit at the reminder that this is all for the women, but it’s better than the fight they were just having, so he rolls his eyes, “Whatever you say.” 

And when Alex replies with, “Watch your back, sweetheart,” Henry hates the universe with everything in him for pairing him with a man that is determined to give him a heart attack. 

They’re standing in front of a stage, on top of which are 18 women in various outfits ranging from a firefighter to a puppy. It’s their second event of the day- the first being a large brunch during which Alex and Henry had to sit at the heads of the table and whisk women off for quick one-on-ones the entire time. In fact, they barely got to sit at the table at all, drama unfolding around them in every shape and form. (Which Henry caught the producers nodding to in encouragement whenever it happened. Which only caused it to happen even more.) They’d been given a break for lunch mid-day, and Alex ate somewhere Henry wasn’t, corralled away by crew members. 

Needless to say, Henry is knackered, barely kept awake by the extremely loud music pumping from the speakers. 

The day drags on into night outside, and the women are somehow still full of energy, shifting side to side as the crew explains their activity yet again. It’s some sort of show, a dance that each woman had to put together for the entertainment of the bachelors. Honestly, it feels a little wrong to Henry to be sitting down here, staring up at them for his amusement. 

But he doesn’t really have a choice, so there he sits. 

“Excited?” Alex questions, breaking the silence between them. He gestures to Henry’s fidgeting fingers teasingly. 

Henry has to consciously stop twisting his signet ring around his pinky finger, folding his hands in his lap and huffing, “Bored, really.” 

Alex hums, teasing, “Well I’m sure there’ll be plenty to look at in just a second.” 

Blame it on the tiredness, blame it on the boredom, but for whatever reason, Henry replies with a light laugh, “Yeah, right. I don’t think I’ll be too interested.” 

And he doesn’t realize what he’s said until Alex’s quiet for a beat too long, and Henry’s stomach sinks, eyes widening. He whips his head to look at him, finding the latter staring at him with an inquisitive expression. 

Alex opens his mouth- presumably to ask what the hell he meant by that, but Henry’s saved when the lights go down and everyone rushes to their spots, the both of them turning back to the stage. The music changes, switching to the first dancer’s choice, and she struts out onto the stage as Henry fights not to fold in on himself.

He’s got to be more careful, a slip up like that could cost him everything here. His grandmother had put too much effort into what people would see when they look at Henry on screen, delegating for days whether cufflinks would be too ‘gay.’ 

She’d wring his neck if he outed his queerness with a simple slip of the tongue. 

Despite the bad way things started and the tension still lingering between them, there’s just something about Alex that makes Henry want to let go. From the moment he met him, Henry knew he’d be trouble, and he’s proven himself to be just that. 

But… every slight smile he pulls from Alex’s acerbic mouth feels like an enormous victory, and every snide comment that sets his teeth on edge only makes him want to talk to Alex more, break him down to see what’s underneath his biting words. 

Luckily, for now Alex seems to have forgotten completely about Henry’s comment, fully entranced by the dances taking place in front of him. 

Henry attempts to do the same, and as the night goes on, he tries to shove all his anxious thoughts to the back of his mind. 

In his attempt to fake tranquility, he actually feels himself leaning into it, his shoulders untensing and his poster loosening. He even smiles as the women frolic around, laughing at a few of their antics. 

When a boldly dressed witch takes the stage, all dark ominous presence and glares- until the music starts blaring a upbeat pop song- and starts twerking like her life depends on it, he laughs out loud and turns to the man next to him, muttering cheekily, “You sure you’re going to beat me at this challenge, Alex?” 

Alex turns bright red, his own comment from earlier thrown back in his face, mouth dropping open in surprise before he shoots back with a grin, “Bold talk coming from your majesty, you’re way too uptight to shake ass like that.” 

For the first time, it doesn’t feel like an insult, and Henry finds himself smiling back giddily, “C’mon, why don’t you show us all what you can do?”

“Oh no,” Alex hums, “you have to pay for that. I’m not free, honey.” 

“I like to know what I’m getting into before I buy,” Henry replies, unsure where this is going. If it can keep going. 

“What if it’s a secret? A gift for you to unwrap?” 

This definitely can’t keep going. 

“I guess I wouldn’t be against spending a little for the anticipation.” 

“And now,” Alex and Henry both jump, springing away from where they had leaned in towards each other during their short conversation, the voice booming from the speakers above, “Our last dancer for the night! Please welcome to the stage…” 

Henry tunes out for the rest of it, cheeks pink and heart hammering in his chest, staring at the stage adamantly. No way Alex was flirting, right? Alex is a straight man. A straight man looking for love on a reality television show. There’s no way that meant what Henry wishes it did. It was just a… joke. Between straight friends. 

He sneaks a glance over at Alex, but he’s just staring ahead, completely wrapped up in the performance. Well, it would seem that way, if it weren’t for the way his jaw clenches and unclenches like the beat of a bleeding heart. 

Alex

The ride back to the gentlemen’s quarters is quiet. 

Alex is alone in his limo, staring out the window as they drive the three minutes across the property, his mind raking over his day with Henry. 

He should be thinking about the women. 

But he can’t stop ruminating about the tall blonde. 

The morning had still been tense following their petty argument, but eventually something had loosened between them and by the time that the second event came around, Alex could say that they were being somewhat friendly. 

And even more shocking, Alex found himself enjoying it. 

While Henry was still as prickish as ever, there were moments that Alex caught glimpses of his humanity throughout the day. When the crew was explaining something for the millionth time and he would catch Alex’s eye, making I-hate-everything-why-is-this-so-boring faces, when he tripped and was only saved by Alex catching him at the last second, huffing out a surprised breath with a coating of pink dusting his cheeks and swear words falling from his lips. 

And Alex watches him with the women, the way he guides them gently into the other room for their one-on-ones, the way he smiles at them politely when listening to their rambles, the softness with which he speaks to them.

 For some reason, it makes Alex’s stomach church uncomfortably, a bitter feeling settling over him. 

He just chalks it up to the fact that Henry’s wearing a facade, hiding his snobbishness from the women to win them over. It’s cheap, and Alex wants to snatch him away from the women every time it happens. 

For their sake, of course. 

The limo stops in front of their building, and as he slams the door shut behind him, Henry’s limo pulls up, crunching to a halt in front of him. It’s outrageous to him that they make the two of them take different limos when they are both coming from and going to the same place, but the crew wouldn’t hear it when he tried to explain to them that the carbon dioxide is killing the environment and they should just ride together. 

He treks into the house, leaving the door open behind him for Henry, and waits in the entryway for the assistant that will tell them their schedule for tomorrow. Henry comes to stand across from him as she does, again tapping away at her clipboard like everything in the world can be solved with what’s on that piece of paper. 

When she’s finished explaining their duties tomorrow (which Alex didn’t manage to catch, what-so-ever), Henry’s hand falls on the doorknob to his room, and Alex finds himself suddenly blurting out, “Want to have a quick drink?” 

Henry freezes, his shoulders tensing. He hesitates, but then he draws in a deep breath, eyes darting to Alex. 

There’s a moment that Alex thinks he’ll say yes, but then he glances over his shoulder– just barely– and mutters, “I… can’t. Sorry,” before shutting the door quickly behind him. 

Alex stands in the hallway, frozen, staring at his door. That was rude. 

Great, so he’s back to being dickweed Henry. Maybe he was just imagining the glimpses of warmth he saw today. 

He sighs, making his way to the kitchen anyway, because he can’t back out now, and opens the fridge to a lonely night of beer. 

He can’t even finish one before his bed is calling him louder than the empty chair beside him. 

It’s 2:00 AM. 

It’s 2:00 AM, and Alex can’t sleep because there’s fucking music coming from under Henry’s door. 

Any droplet of alcohol he consumed is completely gone by now, replaced only by a continuously growing rage. 

Because there’s fucking music coming from Henry’s door. And he’s trying to sleep.

Forget the humanity, forget the friendliness, forget his stupidly hot face, Alex is going to rip him apart. 

So he shoves the covers off, not even bothering to throw extra clothes over his ratty t-shirt and boxers, and throws his door open, ready to get into a fight, only to stop short– Henry’s door is wide open. 

The soft music drifts down the short hallway, and Alex creeps after it. If Henry’s not playing it from his phone, where the hell is it coming from? He peeks around the corner, anger diminished to confusion. 

He finds it’s not in fact coming from under Henry’s door, but from Henry. In their common area, plucking softly at the keys of a piano Alex is sure was only meant for decoration. 

Yet it’s tuned, and Henry is playing it gracefully, fingers dancing over the keys quietly, oblivious to Alex’s presence.

He looks so serene, a cup of what Alex assumes is tea balanced on top of the piano, eyes closed and swaying slightly side to side with the music. His hair is sticking this way and that, sleep rustled in a way that contrasts the heavy bags under his eyes.

And the cherry on top is the fact that Henry’s sitting there, playing piano at 2:00 AM, in dusty blue pajamas with little beagles printed on them. 

Alex has to stifle a laugh behind his hand, slipping a little farther into the room. Although it’s exactly what he came out here to do, he doesn’t want to disturb Henry now. At least not until he’s finished the song. It’s benign and light, and watching the way his fingers barely press down on the keys, Alex knows he was trying to be quiet. It wasn’t quiet enough, but he was trying nonetheless. The thought does something funny to his stomach. 

Eventually, his fingers slow, and the notes grow farther and farther apart. When he does stop, the song is left unfinished, lingering on the last note like a boxer bearing one last punch before getting knocked down. 

It sounds… lonely. Henry lets out a sigh. 

“Why are you up?” 

Henry yelps in surprise, jolting so hard he almost falls off the bench, his knee cracking into the underside of the piano. Alex winces as he curls inward, clutching his leg, hissing in pain. 

“ Christ, Alex,” Henry snaps, “Are you trying to kill me?” 

Alex laughs awkwardly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Henry shoots him a glare, and he rocks on his toes, suddenly unsure what to do with Henry’s relaxed posture and furrowed brow.

“What are you doing out here?” 

Still avoiding eye contact, Henry rubs a hand over the edge of the bench, replying, “I couldn’t sleep. World class insomnia here, you know?” 

“Boy, do I,” Alex huffs. 

Henry smiles softly, staring at the woodgrain, before something hits him and he looks quickly up at Alex, “Did I wake you?” 

“More like kept me up, but I don’t mind,” his eyes sweep over his attire again, “At least, now I get to see this.” 

He takes a step closer to Henry, grabbing the corner of his top and pretending to squint at it, “Are those beagles, Henry?” 

Then he does something Alex doesn’t expect- he laughs. It’s like a thousand tiny symphonies rest amongst the highs and lows of his voice, bursting through in song as his eyes crinkled and his shoulders shake. He laughs. And Alex thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. 

He immediately decides he must hear more.

Henry pushes him away, “Oh, shut up, won’t you? Can’t a man miss his dog?” 

“Well absolutely, but did you really need his face on your pajamas? Surely there are other ways to miss him.” 

Henry gasps dramatically, “How dare you? David will hear of this!” 

Alex pauses, “David?” and Henry just looks at him, “You named your dog fucking David?”  

“Of course! It’s a fine name.” 

“Are you insane? That’s a human name.” 

“Obviously. David Bowie is a human after all.” 

“Just call him Bowie then!” 

“I will do no such thing,” Henry huffs. 

Alex knows he’s smiling like a fool, but he can’t seem to stop. “Right, because you’re so fucking propper and British.” 

“Being British is not a negative quality, Alex!” Henry chuckles, and Alex might have to examine the way his stomach swoops at his name more closely. 

“It might as well be,” he hums. 

They lapse into a subdued silence, staring at each other. But it doesn’t feel awkward anymore, and Alex is wondering what God he prayed to that changed that, and if he even meant to ask for it. But Henry’s gaze is warm, such a sharp contrast from what Alex saw when they first met– or what he thought he saw. 

“Well,” he starts, voice grating against his inner turmoil as for the person Henry’s shaping out to be, “I’d better…” 

Henry nods, “You’d better. I’d also better…” 

Alex takes a step backwards, his socked feet sliding on the hardwood, “I’ll… see you. Tomorrow.” 

Another nod, “Tomorrow.” 

He walks backward to the hallway, Henry watching him all the way. “Goodnight,” he says. 

“Goodnight, Alex.” 

He slips into his room, the door clicking shut behind him. 

And then he screams into his pillow as quietly as he can. 

Chapter Text

Henry

One of the problems with living in the family he does, is that a certain Henry Fox does not get to pick out his own outfits. 

Every single one has been chosen specifically for this trip, down to the creases in his dress pants. Don’t get him wrong, sometimes it’s nice to not have to decide what to wear. It’s just that sometimes, Henry really hates his stylist. Who, unfortunately, has chosen Henry’s worst nightmare in the form of white linen and dress pants. 

…Maybe he’s being a bit melodramatic. 

But staring into the mirror, Henry feels as though he’s basically begging the world to stare down his shirt.

It’s billowy, and cut basically down to the center of his chest. The pants they paired with it hug him just right, and on a normal day, Henry would be ecstatic to wear something so tailored to emphasize his best qualities. But he’s on fucking television. He doesn’t want everyone and their mother to see his goods, thank you. 

Still, he can’t risk his grandmother getting angry at him again, (he learned his lesson last time) so he sucks in a breath and hopes that he can distract people from his outfit if he pretends absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary. 

He’s proven wrong the second he steps out of his room. 

Alex is sitting in their kitchenette, sipping on a cup of coffee, and he immediately chokes on it the second he looks up at Henry, sending it spraying across the table in front of him. Henry just grumbles, beelining past him to the waiting pot of boiling water. 

Alex coughs, collecting himself. His cup taps against the table as he sets it down, and Henry can practically feel his eyes digging into his back. He refuses to turn back around, cheeks burning. 

“That’s one outfit, Fox,” he says. 

“I feel stupid,” Henry huffs. 

“You look… good.” The distractedness with which Alex says it sends Henry’s stomach swooping, his words softer than he was expecting. His finger runs along the rim of the cup, the material smooth and polished– the complete opposite of what Henry’s feeling right now. 

“That’s not the point.”

Alex hums, his foot tapping against the ground in time with Henry’s heartbeat, “Well, what is the point?” 

Henry does turn now, taking in the soft-looking material of Alex’s button up, the perfectly messy state of his curly hair, the inviting drape of his arm over the chair next to him, and decides, fuck it. Alex’s cheeks have a flush dusted over them, and Henry’s a weak man. 

“The point is that my family is trying to sell me away without my consent.” 

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise taking over his face. He immediately catches on, “You’re not here by choice?” 

“No,” Henry says softly, crossing his arms in an attempt to shield himself from Alex’s intense gaze, “If it were up to me, I’d be at home with a book and a blanket right now.” 

“Oh,” Alex utters, his foot stagnant now where it sits under the table. The silence it leaves is thick. “Well, why not just say no?” 

The cup in Henry’s hands suddenly feels heavier than it was before, “They would cut me off. I’d have to get a new job, move towns, essentially get a whole new life.” 

“Oh,” Alex says again. His eyes are trained on Henry’s, “I’m sorry. That’s… terrible.” 

Henry shrugs, a self-pitying laugh falling from his lips, “Well, what can you do?” 

Alex’s expression is something akin to sympathy and anger, flirting between the two every couple of seconds. Henry just buries his nose into his cup, refusing to show how much that expression has him reeling. 

The brunette shifts like he wants to say something else– something Henry desperately wants to hear and desperately wishes he didn’t– but suddenly there’s a sharp knock at the door. Henry just knows it’s accompanied by the assistant with pointy shoes and a high ponytail. 

“Five minutes until we leave, gentlemen!” She calls. 

Henry sighs, not ready for the day to start, and Alex lets out a low whistle, pushing up from the table. 

“Guess it’s time,” he says, “But don’t worry, Fox. You’ll blow them away in that outfit– whether you mean to or not.” 

Henry scoffs, biting back a smile, and follows him out the door. 

The air smells like oregano and cumin from the table full of traditional Cuban food, and Henry’s stomach growls loudly as he eyes it, hoping he isn’t being too obvious.

A salsa.

It could have been absolutely anything at all. 

Why did it have to be a salsa?

His black shoes are stark against the wood flooring. The dance floor is large and daunting. The class instructors are at the front of the room in red and black, and Henry, already sweating his balls off, is hating everything about today.

He’s been placed in the front, and Alex is only a few people down from him. He’s grateful for the brief break in the perfunctory tension between them, but that also means that he feels completely alone in his struggle. His eyes are trained on the way the male instructor moves in front of him, but he’s just not getting it. 

Ballroom dancing is– quite frankly– the complete opposite of this, and Henry is afraid his white-ness is showing. And not in the cute, ‘oh, he’s a little uncultured and uncoordinated’ kind of way. In the ‘who does this guy think he is, and why are his elbows moving like that’ kind of way. 

He’s been attempting to learn this dance combination for the past half hour, all so he can perform it with every woman under the guise of having fun. As if. 

But thankfully, that means that the instructors are huffing along with them, and eventually call in their thick accents, “I think you all have earned a break! Help yourself to the food, and we’ll reconvene in 15 minutes! Great dancing!” 

Henry tries not to let his relief show, but by the way one of the women next to him giggles and boldly takes his arm, saying, “Believe me, I’ve been waiting for the food too. Hope you like spicy, Henry, or we won’t get along well,” he doesn’t think it works very well. 

She leads him over to the table of food, and they load up their plates expertly. This is meant to be their time to mingle, and Henry finds himself yet again at the center of a semicircle of women, being peppered with questions. He’s managed to steer away from questions about money, but it still makes him nervous when one of the women asks something with a very obvious double meaning. 

Such as, “Be honest—if it were just you or Alex on a date, would we find you in a candlelit five-star spot or more of a hole-in-the-wall cutesy place?”

He immediately imagines Alex sitting across from him at his favorite bakery back in London, sweets split between them and hands interlocked. 

Then he immediately banishes that thought from his head. The words Alex and date should never appear in the sentence. 

Anyways, he knows what she’s trying to get at, so he replies with a hum, “I’m not too sure, I don’t know what type of cuisine he enjoys.” 

“Well he certainly seems to like Cuban food,” one of them laughs, gesturing over to where Alex is shoving a touring fork full of chicken and rice into his mouth, nodding along with someone. 

Henry bites off his laugh, ducking his head to hide what’s definitely plainly written all over his face. Jesus, he needs to get a hold on himself. 

They mingle for a while longer, before the instructors are trying to gain everyone’s attention again, and Henry’s looking for the fastest exit. But before he can make it far, Alex suddenly appears at his side, and throws an easy arm over his shoulders. Henry can practically feel the cameras zoom in on them, no doubt capturing their ‘bromance.’

He completely misses the rest of what the instructors say, too busy focusing on refraining from spontaneously combusting at the feeling of Alex’s muscles through his button up. 

However, that means when Alex starts steering the two of them away from the group, he’s utterly confused, looking down at him and stuttering, “Where are we going?” 

“They just said that they want us to split up so they can work with us individually. Were you listening, sweetheart?” 

Nope. 

“Obviously. I just… didn’t hear that part.” 

“Right,” Alex hums, eyebrow arched, clearly unconvinced, “Sure.” 

Only when they reach the corner where the male instructor is waiting for them does Alex drop his arm, and Henry can breathe again. 

Now that they’re alone, the instructor cocks his hip, looks Henry up and down, and says straight to his face, “ You need some work.” 

Alex bursts out laughing. Henry deflates, defeated, his cheeks heating embarrassedly. 

“I’m trying,” he wheezes. 

The instructor smiles at him, pity strung through his teeth like braces. He begins to explain the steps yet again, walking through them slowly for Henry’s benefit. 

How on earth does one move their hips like that? 

He doesn’t realize he’s said it outloud until Alex laughs, loud and carefree, causing a bolt of envy to shoot through Henry. 

“Loosen up!” Alex chitters, smile stretching the expanse of his face, “I’ve been salsa-ing for as long as I can remember, and staying that stiff is not the way to do it, sweetheart.” 

Before Henry can even reply, Alex is reaching for him, his hands settling on his hips, trying to work him into the correct steps. Henry’s heart leaps to his throat, another bolt of electricity shooting through him, this one far different than the last. Henry’s skin burns where the other’s hands rest even through the fabric of his shirt. 

“Uh-” he begins, but Alex is moving again, taking his hands and doing it with him.  

It’s fine. Totally fine. Normal. Platonic. Henry’s fine. God, his hands are warm.

It takes an arduous amount of effort to remove his focus from Alex’s touch, but somehow Henry manages it, and suddenly something clicks. (Well, clicks as much as it can for someone who grew up playing polo.)

“There you go, that’s a little better! Not great, Fox, but you’re getting there,” Alex muses, eyes focused on all the points of contact Henry’s desperately trying to disregard. 

“T-thanks,” Henry mutters. Words! Actual words! Good job, Henry.

The rest of the day passes swiftly, the lingering warmth from Alex’s touch pushing Henry through it. 

Alex

Karaoke is Alexander Claremont-Diaz’s favorite pastime. 

But, unfortunately, it’s a lot less fun without alcohol. 

He’s already been up twice, once for ‘Oops I Did It Again’ and then again for ‘Call Me Maybe’, so he’s feeling belted out and content, slouched in a chair next to Henry, watching the women quietly fight over the queue. Sure, it’s fun– it always is– but Henry hasn’t even gone yet. Alex thinks he would give just about anything to see that. 

So it’s a little less fun than it could be. And Henry is taking none of the shit that Alex throws at him. 

“5 dollars.” 

“No.” 

“What if we play your favorite song, like, ever?” 

“Nope.” 

“I’ll get you a wig so no one knows who you are?” 

“Do you ever give up?” 

“No. I’ll go up with you and do an interpretive dance?” 

“Alex,” Henry laughs, the liquid in his cup sloshing as his shoulders shake, the dark lighting doing nothing to dim the sparkle in his eyes, “I’m not going up there. End of story, you heathen.” 

“Oh, come on, tightass, I’m sure you’ve got a great Beyoncé in there.” 

“Oh please,” Henry muses, tilting his head towards Alex in a way that does not make his stomach swoop, thank you, “No one can live up to the queen. Have some standards.” 

“You’re impossible,” Alex groans dramatically, falling back in his chair. 

“Yet here you are, still sitting next to me.” 

Alex grins, feeling a little hidden by the dark atmosphere, allowing himself to slip, “Yeah yeah, well, you’re better than any of the other people here, so what do you want from me?” 

He watches Henry’s smile falter for a second, watches hesitation snake across his face, before he’s back to his devious smile, eyebrow arched, “Careful. It almost sounds like you don’t hate me.” 

Alex shrugs, “Maybe I don’t.” 

Henry hums, eyes flicking over Alex’s body, making his toes curl under the weight of it, “Maybe I don’t hate you either, Mr. Claremont-Diaz.” 

He feels lighter at the admission, like that sentence alone has the power to rid him of 50 pounds. Alex may have started the whole feud between them, but Henry definitely continued it, and hearing Henry say he doesn’t feel that way anymore settles a part of him that he didn’t know needed settling. Oh how people can grow.

He clears his throat, crossing his legs in an attempt at casual, “I knew my charm would work on you eventually, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up, darling,” Henry shoots back instantly. 

Jesus. He didn’t expect those words to have so much effect on him, but Alex has to tear his gaze away from Henry, sucking in a deep breath and praying to God that his flush isn’t as intense as it feels. He laughs, trying to cover his knee-jerk reaction, and they lapse into silence, watching one of the women– a blonde named Krissy– sing Before He Cheats, the night unwinding softly around them. 

“ 10 dollars.” 

“Alex!” 

They’d tumbled into the Gentlemen’s Quarters, beaten down by the thumping music and subpar singing. The stillness of their quarters was jarring in comparison to the performance they were just entrapped in, and Alex, a bit disoriented, asked Henry for a drink again– a shot in the dark– and this time, Henry didn’t refuse. 

So now, hours later, here they are, adorned in pajamas, countless cans of beer strewn about between them, with Henry slapping Alex on the shoulder, appalled. 

“You can’t possibly think that!” He gawks. 

Alex slouches further into the couch, legs sprawled out in front of him, smiling because he knows exactly what he’s done, “I’m just saying,” he says, waving his beer can around for emphasis, “Beyoncé’s best album is definitely her self-titled one.” 

Henry stares at him, scandalized, “No, it’s absolutely Dangerously in Love.”

“But her self-titled one has Drunk in Love, and you need Drunk in Love on an album.” 

“You are an awful human being,” Henry groans, shaking his head incredulously. 

“I just think-” 

“Nope, no, absolutely not. We’re not talking about this anymore.” 

Alex rolls his eyes, laughing, “Then what would you like to talk about instead?”

“Hm,” Henry whirs, eyes flitting around the room. One of his socks is missing, and the hem of his shirt is frayed from fidgeting with it, his arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, his usually perfect hair is slightly disorganized in a way that makes Alex want to run his fingers through it for hours. 

Maybe he should slow down on the drinks. 

“How about a song?” Henry finally says, looking back to him amusedly. 

“A- you’re offering?” Alex stutters, but Henry is already getting up from his spot, “What happened to your morals?” 

Henry just winks over his shoulder, flicking through his phone, “I don’t mind if it’s just you.” 

He settles on a song, and presses play on one from Dangerously in Love (the little shit), before throwing his phone back by Alex on the couch as it starts, “As long as you don’t tell anyone about my godawful singing voice,” he adds. 

Alex can’t look away from the moment Henry opens his mouth. He dances around, and he’s right— his voice is bad. But honestly, Alex can't even hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart. 

I don’t mind if it’s just you.  

Alex is entranced. He doesn’t blink, much less breathe until the song is over, with Henry striking a pose absurdly. 

“That was… terrible.” he pushes out over the closing of his throat. 

The women.

The women.  

They’re the whole reason he’s here, why is his heart beating so fast over Henry? 

“Hey now, I warned you!” Henry is exclaiming, stumbling back to the couch, flopping on it dramatically, and reaching for his beer can. 

He looks beautiful there, bathed in the soft overhead light, open and soft and warm. Inside Alex, something clicks into place. 

This is what he’s here for. Who he’s here for. 

Screw the women. 

Before he can stop himself, Alex is reaching out too, but tugging Henry’s wrist away instead.

“Henry, can I ask you something?” He asks, tension etching across his face. 

Henry’s eyebrows shoot up, and Alex can see the fear that seizes him even under all the alcohol– maybe even more present because of it. 

A beat of silence passes.

“I don’t know if-”

“What would happen… if you just told your family to fuck off?” 

Henry stares at him, goosebumps prinkling on his skin where Alex is still holding his wrist, “What?” 

Watching him, Alex feels brave, and careless, and a little drunk, but mostly brave. 

So he can’t blame anything other than himself when he says, almost inaudibly, “I don’t know if I’m too interested in the women either.” 

For a moment, nothing happens. 

Henry blinks once, twice. His mouth opens like he might speak, but nothing comes out. His jaw tightens, his whole body going rigid under Alex’s touch, and his eyes frantically search Alex’s, looking for something that Alex can’t name. His pulse hammers under Alex’s fingertips. 

There’s a look of almost… panic on his face, before pain suddenly takes its place, and then fury twists up in his expression and he rips his arm back, clutching it close to his chest as if the touch burned him. 

“What is wrong with you,” he spits, betrayal coating his words like poison. 

It hits Alex like a slap. And not just because it hurts—but because it feels... off. Too sharp. Too much. The way Henry pulls back feels like muscle memory, not choice. Everything slows for a second as he stares.

He thought they were on the same page. He thought the smiles meant the same thing. He thought there were signs.

“Wh- what?” he questions, heart in his throat, desperate to understand. 

Henry shoots to his feet, hands shaking at his sides and shoulders hunched up to his ears. He turns, and for a moment Alex thinks he sees tears glimmering in his eyes, but then he’s leaving, stomping back to his room and slamming the door vehemently. 

Alex is left alone on the couch, breath heaving in his chest, staring at the place Henry just was. There are bees buzzing underneath his skin, swarming and swarming and tearing at him to get out. 

There were signs, right? 

Alex grasps at his t-shirt, tugging at the neckline like it’s what’s causing the tightness of his throat. His hands are sweating, and his mouth is dry, pins and needles erupting along his skin. 

He’s not– he’s not stupid, Henry had liked him back, right? 

Henry’s face flashes in his memory, hurt, offended, angry. 

“Shit,” he whispers. 

Chapter Text

Alex doesn’t sleep. He has no chance to sleep. 

In the early morning, after spending hours breaking in his tear-stained pillow, longing for the soft piano music he claimed to hate so much, Alex stares at his ceiling. 

It’s white. 

That’s all he can think about. 

Well, that, and “What is wrong with you?” 

The sheets twisted around his legs are damp with sweat, and his shoulder throbs from laying on his side all night. There’s tiredness seeping through him and an ache in his chest, but there’s also things to do today. 

No matter how much he hurts, the world keeps spinning. 

So, sitting up with great effort, Alex lets the weight of his upset fall over him, heavy, and mean, and impossible to name. He attempts to shoulder it anyway, even as it tries to crush him six feet into the ground. His fingers fumble as he buttons on a shirt, and when he’s finally dressed, he walks to the door, but pauses with his hand on the metal of the handle. 

He doesn’t know if he can face Henry yet. There’s a sense of guilt washing over him at the thought. He didn’t mean to fuck everything up. He doesn’t know how it happened, exactly, but Henry still got hurt. 

Taking a breath and steeling himself, Alex tugs the door open. 

He’s met with more silence. 

Curious, he wanders out into the hallway, feet dragging against the ground, lingering for a moment before pushing on. He expects Henry to be there, cup of tea in hand, but all he’s met with is the empty kitchenette. 

Somehow, it’s worse. 

It’s already so early, and Henry’s already gone, which means that he’s left with the intent of not speaking to Alex. Which means he’s still angry. 

The deeper part of Alex, the one he doesn’t want to admit is there, is grateful that Henry isn’t going to see this version of him— bloodshot eyes, tear tracks carved into his cheeks, mismatched socks. 

But that doesn’t push away the sting. 

He sits mindlessly at the table, picking at the grain, until someone’s knocking on the door. Reluctantly, he goes to answer it, and outside stands the assistant with a ponytail and pointy shoes. 

“Good morning, Mr. Claremont-diaz,” she starts, scribbling something on her paper. 

She looks up, and Alex tries not to take offense to the way she startles slightly at his appearance. 

“What’s on the docket for today?” Alex asks, trying to regain some sense of normality, and failing miserably if the way the assistant’s face softens says anything. He laughs awkwardly, shifting on his feet, “I know you’re not going to tell me, but it’s worth a shot.” 

“Alex,” she breathes, letting the word settle in the air around them, “Are you okay?” 

He chokes, his breath stuttering in his lungs like it’s trapped inside the knot welling up in Alex’s throat. Tears gather in his eyes defiantly, and the ache in his chest increases tenfold. 

“I-” sucking in a painful breath, he rasps, "Please don’t.”  

“Alex-” she starts again, taking a step forward, but Alex can’t. He won't.  

Not right now. 

Not when there’s still a whole day in front of him of looking at Henry and pretending they’re both fine. 

A whole day of cameras, events, and women. 

Of lying to himself that he’s okay. 

“Dont,” he repeats, voice trembling, “Please.”

The assistant’s eyes search his, and she seems to find what she’s looking for, because she takes a step back, offering softly, “Okay.” 

“So,” he says, clearing his throat, pushing away his feelings, “Exciting day today?” 

She smiles, but it’s all wonky, pulled down at the sides and hesitant. Alex is just grateful she’s playing along. 

“Absolutely. It will be very interesting.” 

She starts to lead him away when he realizes, “You know, I don’t think I ever got your name.” 

The assistant looks over her shoulder at him, a look of genuine surprise taking over her face– as if never in a million years would she have thought someone would ask. Her posture softens, her fingers stilling on her clipboard. 

“It’s Karie.” 

Henry

Henry’s always had a way with words. When there’s a pen in his hand, the emotions flow through his fingers into the ink like magic. But without paper… it’s a bit harder for him to articulate it.

Despite that, right now, there’s only one word in his vocabulary to describe how he’s feeling: humiliated.

Somehow, some way, Alex found out about Henry’s feelings towards him. And he used them to gut Henry– throwing his own words back in his face, almost mocking him– in the worst way possible. 

It didn’t matter how gently Alex said it. It still felt like he was slicing Henry open. 

To Henry, it felt like he was being dared to admit his queerness again, like a cruel joke meant to test him. He’d never felt his stomach drop as far as it did last night, never felt his chest cave in or his entire being clench as violently as it did when Alex looked at him like that. 

Like he meant it. 

Like he wasn’t breaking Henry. 

Last night, it was as if, all at once, he was back home, a tiny child curled in on himself in the hallway, crying because his best friend had tattled on him to his grandmother that he liked him in the way boys should like girls. He remembers the fear, knowing that his grandmother is looking for him, angry and harsh, awaiting the back of her hand. 

The hurt he felt then— the hurt he so desperately tries to hide, but carries with him every day— courses through him now with the force of an avalanche. It makes his fingers tremble and his chest tighten. 

He told himself he would never be that little boy again— helpless, trusting, stupid. But Alex managed to tear it out of him. 

The gravel crunched under his shoes, bits of dust collecting on his oxfords, but Henry couldn’t bring himself to care. The breeze ruffled his hair and stroked his body, wrapping around him like icy hands on his spine. He couldn’t stand to stay in that house a second longer, with the ghosts of his mistakes lurking around the corners. He shouldn’t have let himself get so attached, so comfortable.  

He could already hear his grandmother’s voice, cold, clipped, calling him a disgrace. 

Henry knew the moment it left his mouth that he couldn’t take it back, and that Alex would remember it. He just didn’t think Alex would be so cruel with it. 

“Yeah, right. I don’t think I’ll be too interested,” he’d said, under the glowing lights of the dance competition, wrapped up in the feeling of the warmth growing between them. Like an idiot.

Henry swallows, the motion leaving his throat sticky and his mouth dry. He trudges on, his feet moving with a mind of their own as his thoughts wander. When he finally reaches the venue, it’s done up with blooming flowers draped delicately across every surface, climbing the pillars of Lakeshore Manor as if reaching for the sky. 

It kind of makes Henry want to cry again. But he can’t afford any more slip ups. 

The perfect guy. The perfect bachelor. The perfect heir. It’s what he’s supposed to be. Who he’s supposed to be, and Henry just can’t find that man inside of him. It’s all artificial when he lifts his chin, schools his expression, buttons his suit jacket. 

An exterior he’s built through hours of training that provides him with some semblance of capability. 

The second he steps into view, someone catches sight of him and lets out an overly dramatic sigh of relief, scurrying up to him anxiously. 

“There you are, Mr. Fox! You didn’t alert anyone when you left the Gentleman’s Quarters, and we didn’t know where you’d gone!” 

Henry forces a practiced smile, “My apologies.” 

The crew member doesn’t even acknowledge his words, just rushes him into the building, muttering under their breath about schedules and sets and events. 

There’s a ringing in his ears. It hasn’t stopped since he left the house.

Inside, everyone is smiling just a little too hard, and there are tables set up, and things on them, but the only thing Henry can focus on is his breathing. In, out. In, out. Be perfect. Fake everything. 

He trails the crew as they beckon him along, watches with dull eyes as they apply make-up to him, straighten the props, throw words like ‘amazing’ and ‘beautiful’ at the women Henry hadn't even realized has started to file in. 

Suddenly, the air shifts. 

He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is. 

Alex has arrived. 

Alex

Fuck him. Fuck him. 

Henry doesn’t even lift his eyes when Alex walks in. It’s obvious that Henry knows he’s here by the way his shoulders draw back and tense, but he doesn’t even react.  

He’s back to the cold, pretentious asshole that Alex thought he was when they met. 

And it’s worse now, because Alex knows that’s not who he really is. 

From the moment he enters, he can’t tear his eyes away from Henry’s frame, his posture poised and careful. Exactly like it was that first night on the balcony, pretending he wasn’t anxious. It makes Alex sick. 

He tries to move towards him, but it’s as if every single crew member in the building cohesively decided they need him for something that very moment, and he’s swarmed. Like a barricade of tasks and scripts and sweaty cameramen. 

He cooperates impatiently, trying to power through, but by the time they’re done, the event is starting, and Alex is corralled away from Henry yet again. 

It’s all artificial smiles and flitting eyes from here. 

Henry

Alex wants to talk to him. 

He can feel it in the way he keeps glancing at him, shuffling away from the women, gripping his glass so hard he goes white-knuckled. 

Henry’s not going to let him. 

He’s acting right now, focused on not breaking down in the middle of the room, and he can’t let Alex ruin that. 

The flowers are too strong, and the lights are flickering too brightly, and Alex keeps looking at him.  

He’s probably trying to gauge how wrecked Henry is by his own foolishness. Probably waiting to laugh about it and regale the horrors to his friends: a gay guy fell for him. On a reality television show, much less. 

He shouldn’t have been so trusting. His grandmother is going to lose her head. 

The woman in front of him suddenly lets out an attention-seeking sniffle, and looks up at Henry as if he’s obligated to fix her problems. As if Henry’s not breaking inside himself. 

It makes him want to scream. 

But he’s had enough media training to know what to do, so instead, he lets out a performative gasp and plasters on his best pitying look, before softly leading her away from the group to “open up about her vulnerabilities” in another room.

He doesn’t break character. Not yet. 

Alex 

Alex is confused, and hurt, and itching to get close enough to Henry to talk to him.

He hates the way his stomach is a bundle of knots as the day unfolds around him, leaving him to pivot on his heel, the ballerina center of a jewelry box for the world. Ceramic, pretty, cracked.

He and Henry had gotten so close so fast, and Alex was sure that there was something there. It’s the only thing pushing him forward, through the spectacle around him in search of Henry. 

There was something there.  

Henry

When he returns to the room after a lengthy conversation that Henry wasn’t even paying attention to, there’s more chatter in the room. 

More music, more food, more people. It’s too much, but he can’t do anything about it. 

All he wants to do is bolt, but there are cameras on his back. On his neck. On him.  

Externally, Henry is careful to show nothing but grace as another crew member guides him to a different group to talk. He’s fine as the women tug him this way and that with their conversations. 

He’s actually doing it. Acting like he’s supposed to. 

Alex

He’s not going to let him slip away that easily. 

There has to be a way. 

Henry 

All he has to do is make it through the day. And the next day. And the next. 

Until he can forget this ever even happened. 

Alex

Then it hits him. 

Henry

Just make it through today. 

Alex

“I need to speak to Henry. Alone.” 

The crew member in front of him looks up in shock, clearly not expecting Alex’s quick departure from the clamor around them. 

He cracks a smile, switching on his charm, “It’s about one of the women. I just-” he pretends to choke on his words, “I just want to be on the same page with him.” 

The crew member gasps, their eyes going wide and pitying, before waving over another, whispering something to them as Alex fakes his scheme.

Nothing like drama on a reality tv show to help you get your way. 

They converse quietly for a moment, sneaking glances at Alex all the while, as if they’re not literally standing right in front of him. He knows they’ll crack. They’ll allow anything if it means keeping the viewers interested. 

“Okay,” one of them says, “Wait here. We’ll get some good shots of the two of you walking off.” 

His heart is pounding in his chest as the other crew member makes their way over to Henry. He watches four things happen in quick succession. 

One: the crew member says something to Henry. 

Two: Henry’s face scrunches in confusion and reluctance. 

Three: Henry’s eyes jump to his. 

Four: Henry nods. 

Despite the effort he’s putting in to not let it show, Alex can read his expression easily– it’s a knowing look that he can’t get out of this one without it being suspicious. There’s also subdued anger, tucked behind Henry’s eyes, at the trap he’s forced into. Alex looks away from it. 

His stomach tumbles as Henry approaches. He feels the fire in his chest ignite with a flame when he gets close, and it’s drenched with kerosene the moment they lock eyes. His very veins burn.

He nods in a direction away from the crowd over his shoulder, and Henry huffs, looking away but following Alex when he starts walking. 

They end up in a small hallway far enough away from the group that they can actually speak in private. White walls, tiled floors, and fluorescent lighting contrast the openness and springtime feel of the main room, leaving them in a hospital. Bleeding. 

Suddenly, now that Henry’s right in front of him, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, Alex doesn’t know what to do. 

He’d planned a whole speech, an entire soliloquy that would make sense of the mess in his head and bring Henry back to him. 

But for some reason, the words can’t make it out of his dry mouth. 

Having Henry this close again feels alien– like somehow the mere hours they spent apart sent a rift between them. His eyes are still trained on the floor, the bags under them palpable and heart-wrenching. Besides that, and the deep crease in his brow, he looks impeccable. He always does. 

He’s terrified that Henry will shut him out again. Terrified that he’s misreading everything. But the alternative– silence– is so much worse. 

That thought is what finally gets his mouth to work. “You’re avoiding me.” 

Henry scoffs. “What gave it away?” 

“Please,” he bites back, unable to keep the frustration from seeping into his voice, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but– just– why are you avoiding me?” 

Henry says nothing, his stone exterior cracking slightly under Alex’s intense gaze. His fingers fidget, his breath comes quicker, his brow furrows deeper. 

But something keeps him rooted there. And that something is what Alex is after. 

“Look,” Alex starts, running a hand down his heated face, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry if it wasn’t the right time, but I’m not sorry that I said what I said. Because I meant it. And I think you feel it too.” 

Henry gives him absolutely nothing, and Alex goes for the kill, “I don't know what’s wrong with me, but I like you, Henry. A lot.”

Finally, Henry reacts. He flinches, eyes cracking to Alex like he’s just told him he’s killed someone. There’s the same fury there that Alex saw last night. 

He sighs, voice strained, “Come on, haven’t you had enough?” 

“Enough?” Alex echoes. 

“With fucking with me? I’ve given you enough laughing material to last a life-time by now.” 

Alex suddenly feels like he’s been thrown into a dark room– no warning, no sense of how he got there, because… what??  

“What the hell?” he forces out, beyond confused, because how the hell did Henry get that from what Alex had told him last night? 

But Henry’s already barreling on, “I accidentally let my feelings slip, and you decide to use them against me? To test me with them? Seriously, who does that? No matter how inadvertent it was the first time, I thought… I could trust you.” 

“Henry, what the fuck made you think that? Why would I ever do that to you?” 

A humorless, bitter laugh falls from his lips as he says, “Because I’m a goddamn joke to you? Because who the hell did I think I was, falling for a straight guy like this? Because I’m a fucking idiot who thought– God, who actually thought you might feel it too?” 

“That’s literally what I was trying to tell you! That I do feel it too. I like you, Henry!” 

“Stop lying to me, it’s not funny,” he spits. 

“That’s not at all-”

“Bloody Hell, Alex! We’re on a reality television show, surrounded by women, there’s no way in hell that you actually meant that!” 

“I did! I do! You can’t tell me what I feel, Henry!” 

“No, but I can tell you that it won’t ever fucking work, Alex.” 

That gives Alex pause. It wouldn’t… work? 

He withdraws, questioning, “What?” 

Henry rubs at his temple, huffing, “We have a large family legacy, okay? And my grandparents decided that that legacy is more important than any silly feelings I have. More important than me. I can’t– they need me to–”

“Fuck them, Henry! In your attempt to feel anything at all, you chose to feel needed, and now you don’t know how to be without it!” He grabs Henry by the shoulders, barely suppressing the urge to shake him, “Learn. We can learn together!”

Henry doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

Then, quietly, “I’m afraid that if I’m not with them, I’m nothing.” 

And the silence in this loud moment cracks Alex open, pries apart what was left of the walls in his heart until all that is left is Henry. 

Henry’s laughter. Henry’s brilliance. Henry’s eyes, filled with tears. 

“You’re everything.”  

Henry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, his perfect teeth biting into it to stop the way it wobbles. His eyes jump to the floor. His jaw clenches. 

“It won’t work,” he says. 

And honestly, those three words are what hit Alex like a truck. 

He retracts, taking a step back from the pure hurt coursing through his body. 

He’s laid himself bare, and Henry’s refusing to even look. 

Alex knows his anger twists into his face, sees it in the way Henry’s expression goes pinched, the way he sinks further into himself. 

“You know what?” he says, breath shaky and words tight, “Fuck this. I can’t–”

“Alex–” Henry starts, but Alex has had enough. 

“No,” he interjects, taking another step back, “Don’t. Just– stop. I understand.” 

And with that, he stumbles backwards again, and gets the hell out of there, ignoring the sound of Henry calling his name from behind him. 

Chapter Text

Henry

Fuck. 

Fuck.

The cold tile under Henry sends another shiver through him, and he hugs his arms tighter around himself. He doesn’t know when he’d slumped down to the ground, but somewhere between staring at Alex’s pained expression and fucking up his whole life, his legs gave out beneath him. 

He doesn’t know what happened when Alex left, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, but eventually commotion arises from the other room. People are talking louder, the sound of heels clicking frantically seeps down the hallway, and Henry just buries his head in his hands. 

The ringing in his ears has increased tenfold, and all he’s left with is the lightning of his thoughts. 

How could Alex look him in the eye and say those things? 

Was it a test? A joke? Or did he really mean them? 

Was Henry fucking everything up by refusing the one thing he wants? 

But even if Alex did mean what he said, Henry would rather rip the bandaid off now than months down the road when Alex realizes that it isn’t worth it. 

That he isn’t worth it. 

But would he think that? Or would Henry finally be worth fighting for? 

In Henry’s family, he’s always been the one that had to settle. To concede to the proceedings around him for the sake of their image. No one fought for him farther than what was easy. Than what wouldn’t cost them anything.

All he got was some plain Cheerios and a seat at the table. No voice at all. 

But Alex… Alex.  

He’d fought. 

For as long as Henry has known him, he’s fought. Against Henry, next to Henry, for Henry. 

Can he trust him? 

Can he allow himself to trust him?

Suddenly the sound of heels against the tile is getting closer, and someone says, “Mr. Fox?” 

He begrudgingly looks up, and finds the assistant there, sans-clipboard and staring down at him. He ignores her and puts his head back in his hands. 

He can’t go back out there. 

Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

If he could stay right here, tucked up into himself on this cold floor forever, he would. 

For a moment it’s quiet in the hallway, and Henry begins to think that maybe the assistant disappeared, but then she lets out a lengthy sigh, and sinks to the floor beside him. 

Henry looks up, surprised, but she just thunks her head back against the wall and blinks straight ahead. Her ponytail is sagging today, bits and pieces falling out in a haphazard manner, and her cheeks are dotted with a ruddy red. She looks about the same as Henry feels.

“You know,” she says, “when I was younger, I wanted to be someone.”

The lights flicker above them, and more racket sounds from the other room. It feels miles away. 

Her voice is low– but steady. “I wanted to make my mark on the world. I thought that if I could just have the appropriate schedule, or the best ideas, or the perfect words, that I would be happy.” 

She tilts her head, looking at Henry. For the first time, Henry feels like he sees her. 

“But I’m not. I got all the way here, and somehow, it still feels empty.” 

Henry takes pause, the air heavy between them. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if there’s anything to say. What she’s saying feels absolute. Real. Tangible. Scary.

“But that’s because I never tried, Mr. Fox.” 

…What?  

“I just never trusted myself enough to take something for me. Everything was means to an end– I never tried to be happy.”

Her eyes lock onto his, reading something in him he’s never said out loud. 

“Look. I don’t know what's going on between you and Mr. Claremont-Diaz, but whatever you’ve got seems so much more real than anything else here.”

She lifts a hand, resting it on Henry’s forearm. Gentle and light, it feels like it’s searing into his skin, branding him a coward. 

“Don’t let that slip away.” 

And with that, she stands, grunting as she pushes herself up, and smooths back her hair. He looks up at her, shocked that someone could be so kind and so jarring at the same time. 

Hands lax and face eased, she adds, “My name’s Karie, by the way. I don’t think anyone told you.” 

Henry blinks. She’s right. No one had. 

“Thanks, Karie,” he breathes. 

“Anytime.” 

She turns and leaves, allowing Henry time to make his own decision about what he’s going to do. 

But really, from the moment he met Alex, Henry had already made his first real decision for himself. 

It’s time for Henry to fight too. 

“Mr. Fox, Mr. Fox!” 

“There you are!” 

“What happened during that conversation?” 

“Where did Mr. Claremont-Diaz go?” 

The moment Henry renters the main room, he’s bombarded. Crew, cameras, and even some women crowd around him in a frantic flurry of questions. He can’t make out a single statement, but the decisiveness in his chest pulls him forward, and he maneuvers through the onslaught best he can. 

He doesn’t say a word to them, just locks his jaw and shoves past. 

After everything he’d been thinking earlier in the day, Alex is the one who bolted. And Henry’s the one chasing him. But there’s not a single shred of anger in him at the prospect. 

He started this mess– by trying to end it– and now he has to fix it. 

When he finally reaches the doors, he glances over his shoulder, and immediately finds Karie. She’s standing near the back of the room, watching him. Henry nods at her, thankful. She nods in return.

Then he sets out into the day to find Alex. 

The heat outside hits him like a wave of nausea, and he realizes he has no idea where to start. 

There are still two limos parked in the gravel driveway– stagnant, doors closed– so it’s not as if Alex asked to be taken home, and there isn’t much around here otherwise. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut, but Henry just squeezes back his shoulders and starts walking. 

He checks the gentleman’s quarters first of course. He’s all the way inside when he hesitates at the door to Alex’s room. The handle feels too cold in his palm. When he finally urges it open, the sight of his empty, disheveled bedding almost breaks him. 

He ventures onto the other buildings, checking every possible nook and cranny he can think of.  

But everywhere he goes is devoid of Alex. 

There are roses on tables, and voices in the hallways, but the only thing he’s looking for is nowhere to be found. 

Striking out, he finds himself wandering around various venues on the property, quick paced and anxious. 

If he can’t find Alex, he won’t be able to mend anything between them, and Henry will have lost the only real thing he’s had in a decade. He stalks up the driveway to the auditorium, the hair on his forearms standing up with anticipation where his sleeves are rolled up. This is the last place he could think of to check.
If Alex isn’t here, Henry has no idea where he is. 

Cracked wood meets his fingertips when he tugs on the door handle, an eerie darkness surrounding him as he advances inside. There’s not a single sound, just rows upon rows of seats, cloaked in darkness. 

Then– a sniffle. 

Henry’s head snaps to the sound, and there he is. 

Alex, curled into a seat at the very back of the room, elbows on his knees, staring straight ahead. 

The darkness almost conceals the old tear tracks on his cheeks. Almost. 

Consuming Henry, the unrelenting silence renders him speechless in the face of his fallacies. There is dust in the air, floating within the only beam of sunlight striking through the room, providing just enough light to see the heartbreak soaked into Alex’s face. 

Henry hates himself just a little more at the sight. 

With nothing else to do and no idea where to start, Henry walks over to Alex, and takes the seat beside him. 

Alex doesn’t move, and Henry looks out at the space, beholding the velvet red of the seats, the ornate painting on the ceiling, and the stage, devoid of life. He looks next to him. And sees the same thing. 

Swallowing, he begins, “I never wanted to be here.”

Unable to help himself, he twists his signet ring around his finger, “The whole idea of reality television was never appealing to me. And once I got here, those beliefs were only heightened by the events, and the drama, and the people. It was all so fake.” 

“Except you.” He takes a deep breath, “Alex… you’re the only good thing about this entire place.” 

The latter doesn’t do anything– doesn’t even glance in Henry’s direction. He’s completely taciturn. It’s deserved, Henry guesses. 

He pushes on, “I’ve spent so long simply going along with what was happening to me, I think I forgot it was even an option to disagree. To make my own choices.”

“I got it in my head that any good thing that happened to me wasn’t real,” his voice catches on the lump in his throat, “Wouldn’t last, had hidden motives, would break me. And I failed to remember that sometimes, you just have to trust that it’s truthful. That it’s genuine.” 

His eyes trace the profile of Alex’s emotionless face, “What I’m trying to say, is I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Alex. And I understand now.” 

Finally, Alex’s eyes flutter to him. First to his fingers– still twisting his ring– then to the disheveled state of his shirt, and then up, meeting his gaze. He lets out a heavy breath.

“The only good thing in this fake-ass place, huh?”

He nudges Henry’s knee with his own. 

“That’s quite the title,” he says. 

And Henry can’t help it, he lets out a wet laugh, relief coursing through his body. 

Alex smiles at him, and tugs him into a soul-crushing hug. 

“Don’t make me regret it, Fox,” he murmurs into his shoulder, and Henry laughs again, promising him again and again that he won’t. 

There, in the darkness of the auditorium Henry first gave Alex a glimpse at his real self, Henry presses his hands to Alex’s back, feels the little summits of his spine beneath his fingers, and breathes.  

They sat in that auditorium for longer than Henry would like to admit, talking. They talked and talked until nothing was left unsaid, and by the end of it, gold had been struck. 

It was the kind of thing that they’d both known was there, but was left buried for so long that it took pickaxes and light in the darkness to be able to say it out loud, without fear of repercussions. 

They liked each other. Liked each other so much it bordered on love, though that was a line neither of them was willing to cross right now. 

They’d be willing to fight for each other. Whatever that entailed. 

And right now, that entailed explaining to the producers of the show that they would not be continuing. 

“I’m sorry,” one of them spits, his red face pudgy where it sits above the tight collar of his shirt, “You can’t just leave. We aren’t even finished with one season yet!” 

“Exactly,” the other one replies listlessly. 

“I’ll have you know,” Henry interjects, squeezing Alex’s hand where they’re joined together between them, “I don’t necessarily give a fuck how much we’ve filmed.” 

He sees Alex’s lips twitch up out of the corner of his eye. 

Pudgy-face sputters, turning to the other man in disbelief. “They can’t just– there are procedures for this type of thing! Rules! You signed a contract!” 

“I don’t care about your contract,” Alex says, and his tone is barely above his speaking voice, but it echoes against the walls like the beat of a drum calling for war. 

“You can’t not care about it, it’s legally binding!” He shouts. 

Henry opens his mouth, a retort forming despite the unease twisting his stomach, but before he can get anything out, a familiar voice calls out, “Actually, you can’t stop them.” 

The room turns in tandem to Karie, as she marches up to them with a bundle of papers in her hand like a hero in shining lip gloss and high heels. 

She shoves it in Pudgy-face’s view, right up in front of his nose, and taps a painted fingernail at a line on the page. 

“They’re allowed to leave if their mental health will suffer in response to remaining on set. And I think both of them are at genuine risk if you keep them here,” she flips her ponytail over her shoulder, batting her eyes at the producers, beaming, “Lawsuits, and all.” 

She sends a quick wink at the pair, and Henry’s never been more grateful for her. 

“W-well, that’s–” 

“Legally binding,” Henry hums, shooting him his best over the top smile. 

The second producer rolls his eyes and shrugs, but Pudgy-face can’t seem to understand. 

“Still, this show was meant to–”

“I came here to find a meaningful connection with someone I can call mine,” Alex interrupts, cocksure and brilliant, “and I did. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but out of all the– how did you two end up– the odds–”

Alex just shrugs perfunctorily. 

“Fate, I guess,” he says, and looks up at Henry like the stars fall short in comparison to him. 

Henry’s sure his expression is an exact mirror.

Pudgy-face glances between them, still bewildered, but eventually lets out a backbreaking sigh and throws his hands up in surrender. 

“Whatever,” he says, “but the viewers are going to need to know what happened.” 

“No they dont,” Henry replies, not because he doesn’t want them to know, but because they don’t need to know. It’s not Henry and Alex’s job to explain to the world why they are together. The world doesn’t need an explanation. 

“They absolutely do. We wouldn’t be able to stop so abruptly, without a satisfying resolution. The viewers need to know how the story ends.” 

“No, they don’t,” Alex says, enunciating the words crisply as he raises an eyebrow. He’s pulling out all the stops, and Henry couldn’t be more attracted to him. 

Pudgy-face is slack jawed at their outward disregard for the show, and Henry feels like he’s on top of the world. Definitively, everything is finally heading in the right direction.

“I’ll walk you out,” Karie says, taking Alex’s elbow and leading the two of them away from the blubbering, shouting producer. 

As they near the door, Martin, who Henry honestly hadn’t given any thought to since the first night, steps in front of them and claps Henry’s shoulder. 

“I wish you both the best of luck. Congratulations.” 

Alex and Henry share a look, before Alex smiles, “Thanks, man. We appreciate it.” 

“Our regards,” Henry adds. 

And with that, the three of them finally exit the building. 

The moment the doors shut behind them, Alex scoops Henry into a hug, and Henry buries his nose in his curls. 

“Fuck– just, fuck, Henry,” Alex says, not nearly as eloquent as he was when they were fighting, as if he’s given up trying to get the words perfect. As if he’s letting go and just letting them be as they are. 

Henry completely understands the sentiment, and barks a loud laugh into his hair. He can feel Alex’s smile in his shoulder. 

It’s amazing how perfectly Alex fits into his arms, like the puzzle piece he never thought he would be able to have. For the first time in longer than Henry can remember, his chest feels light.  

His posture is terrible, and his outfit is unkempt, and his cheeks are flushed, and he doesn’t give a damn. Because he made his choice. He made his decision. And it was so utterly correct he can’t stand it. 

Nothing he’s ever felt compares. 

They pull away, before turning to Karie, who’s smiling at them happily. 

“I hope we didn’t create too much paperwork for you,” Alex says, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“Fuck no,” she laughs, “I’m quitting. I think it’s finally time for me to start trying. I’ve spent too much time chasing schedules.”  

Henry smiles at her, an understanding passing between them. 

“So,” she continues as they begin to walk to the limos, “Where will you two end up?” 

Henry looks at Alex under his arm, replying, “I don’t… know.” 

“Texas, someday?” Alex asks, hopeful. 

The answer is easy. Easier than it should be, but unmistakably right. 

“Absolutely.” It sounds flawless rolling off his tongue. 

After goodbyes and promises to stay in touch, Henry and Alex climb into the limo, side by side, both on their way to a shit-storm at their respective homes, and sink into the seats together. It’s like an itch he didn’t know he had until he scratched it, and Henry lets the feeling of happiness drape itself over him, allowing it to submerge him.  

There’s his job to quit, and a thousand things to say to his family, but he isn’t that scared, helpless little boy anymore. 

Alex’s hand cards through his hair, dipping down to trail along his jaw, before pulling him in. 

Their lips meet, and tingles dance on Henry’s skin like summer rain after a drought. 

Maybe it will end up terribly, and maybe things won’t even work out between them, but Henry’s finally letting himself trust something again. The repercussions be damned. 

Henry George Edward James Hanover-Stuart Fox is going to get killed by his grandmother.

But he hates reality tv just a little less. 

Chapter Text

-1 year later-

Alex

1) Feed the horses.

2) Fix the fence. 

3) Tell Nora to evaluate this year’s income.

4) Call a vet for the pregnant heifer.

5) Threaten his co-owner because she hasn’t evaluated this year’s income yet. 

Sweat drips down Alex’s brow as he mentally runs through his to-do list, the sleeves of his flannel shoved up his arms in the late August weather. The rough hay under his gloved hands makes him grunt with effort as he heaves the bales into the back of his truck. 

The sun is barely rising over the horizon, sending streaks of orange and yellow across his fields, and Alex stops a moment, wiping the back of his hand against his forehead, taking it in. He wanted to get an early start today, attempting to burn off the energy thrumming under his skin, so the rest of the ranch is still quiet, sleeping. 

But the sunrises on days like this are always a plus. 

The truck creaks under him as he shifts his weight, reaching for another bale, and a bird sings loudly somewhere outside. These are the moments that ground him. 

He finds himself– as he almost always does these days– thinking of Henry. 

Henry, who left everything behind to stay with Alex. Henry, who moved in with him a couple months ago. Henry, who makes him coffee in the morning and coaxes him to bed at night. 

His light, his life.

So much has happened in the last year, but nothing ever felt like it was too fast, or too slow, or even too much. Henry had finally told off his grandmother, choosing life over legacy. Alex has been working on not letting first impressions stick with him, learning to let people unfold slowly.

Henry and him continue to inch closer to each other, weaving a life of trust, and work, and love. Weaving the life they’d always dreamed of. 

Henry’s even started writing– has already published a very successful book– and attends his regular book signings, meets with his friend Pez, grabs them breakfast on lazy mornings in the neighboring city, but the majority of their life is spent here. Where David has just enough room to run. 

“What’s got you smiling like that, hm?” 

Speak of the devil. 

Alex looks up, and there Henry is, clad in a robe and slippers, clutching a steaming cup of tea in his hands, beaming up at him. He’s leaning on the doorway to the barn, a smudge of dirt already on his hand from pulling it open. Neither of them stay clean very long these days. 

“You,” Alex smiles, huffing happily as he throws the bale down, “Always you.” 

“My, my,” Henry tuts, stepping further inside the shed, “It almost sounds like you don’t hate me.” 

Alex rolls his eyes, “I don’t think I would go that far.” 

Henry laughs, rounding the truck and beckoning Alex downward. He bends at the waist, but doesn’t get far before Henry grabs the collar of his shirt and gently tugs him in. Their lips meet in a supernova, bursting in Alex's chest just like the very first time. 

It’s sweet, and soft, and everything. 

Alex smiles so hard he has to pull back or risk knocking teeth, but he doesn’t go far, dropping down to sit on the tailgate in front of Henry. He immediately pulls him in by the waist, holds him close as Henry laughs again, cautiously setting his tea down. (But not before Alex steals a sip.) 

“How are you feeling this morning, sweetheart?” He asks. 

Henry’s been in one of his ruts recently, spending more time in their dark bedroom than he wants to. Alex knows how much it kills him to not be out working with him, but he knows that Henry will turn around eventually. He always does. He never stops fighting. 

“Mm,” Henry mutters, pressing closer into the crook of Alex’s neck, “Alright. Better.” 

“That’s great, baby,” he replies, and oh, that’s another thing. 

Alex will never get tired of the way Henry reacts to that particular nickname. There’s a sharp inhale in his neck, and Henry tightens his grip. 

Alex senses it right away, teasing, “Oh? Is that how it is?” 

“Fuck off, you heathen,” Henry grumbles, cheeks pink and expression wonderfully embarrassed. 

Alex hooks his fingers in the belt loops on the robe, tugging lightly. “That could be arranged.” 

Henry’s arms are traveling dangerously low on his back, and it sends a thrill up his spine as Henry’s breath ghosts against his neck. 

“Careful, darling. Keep that up and I’ll distract us from all our work today.” 

Alex laughs, pressing a kiss to Henry’s cheek, “There is a lot to do.” 

“So much,” Henry agrees, taking his hands and leading him away. 

“And we’d better get a start on it,” he says, following Henry back towards the main house. 

Henry nods decisively, “Oh, absolutely.” 

They dissolve into giggles as they near the house, and scratch what he said before, these are the moments Alex lives for. 

His to-do list can wait.