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Rather hysterically, all Henry can think is that stupid meme, or whatever: ‘I bet you’re wondering how I got here.’
He hit his head on the way down. He knows because it hurts and he’s bleeding.
This is why he’s always been against jogging as a recreational activity. He’s only been doing it for two months and already he’s fairly certain the worst has happened.
Nevermind that the slight softness of his stomach has gone away, his mind feels clearer, he’s sleeping better, and his arse looks rather nicer in his trousers. Jogging is a scam and should be treated accordingly.
He’d heard this part of England was littered with old Roman wells, and it’s not that he didn’t think that was the truth, but he didn’t think it possible that he’d fall down one while attempting a personal best on his 10k time.
The worst thing about all this is that this particular hidden, grown over well is in a farmer’s field atop a hill overlooking the town, and the only other person who comes out here, aside from Richard, the cantankerous landowner who seems only to allow the foot path to cut through his property so he can wax poetic about Margaret Thatcher to anyone he spots, is—
“Say you can’t sleeeeep, baby I know, that’s that me espresso.”
The man who sings - loudly and badly - the duration of his entire run.
Who frightens the livestock and always stops to talk to Richard no matter what.
Who smiles at Henry and makes his knees weak, which is surely a hazard when jogging.
But who also owns the pub and inn which are in direct competition with Henry’s B&B. The entire reason he moved this far out of London in the first place. And everything was going so well until this loud, attractive American purchased the rather questionable pub in town and turned the flats upstairs into four separate hotel rooms.
The fact that he’s attractive is simply notable because it makes Henry feel absolutely bloody insane, really. He wants to hate Alex. He should.
Unfortunately, the thought of passionate hate sex with the man is indeed the fuel for some of Henry’s most satisfying fantasies.
Lying pathetic and bruised and bloody at the bottom of a well is a ridiculous fate as it is. Being found and hopefully rescued by the man Henry has such complicated feelings for really just makes it so much worse.
Alex listens to his music so loudly Henry’s terrified there's no way he can shout loudly enough.
But just as he’s trying to take deep breaths - Christ, has he punctured a lung? - he hears, “What the fuck?” and then Alex’s face appears at the top of the well.
Henry wishes he were not pathetically sitting in a puddle of questionable muddy water with blood trickling down his forehead, but he’s also glad to have been found.
“Henry?”
“Er. Hello.”
“Jesus Christ. What happened?”
Absurd.
“Thought I’d try something new,” he snarks, then pushes up to his feet, even though that still leaves about 25 feet between them. “Obviously, I’ve fallen.”
“Shit. Are you okay? I have water.”
Alex drops a hard plastic water bottle down without warning, and Henry shrieks and cowers, covering his head, because he’s obviously not suffered enough embarrassment for one day.
“I’ve hit my head. Perhaps bruised a lung. All my appendages seem fine.”
“Thank God,” Alex says, sounding rather more sincere than Henry would have expected.
Henry takes a drink of some water.
“Okay let me think. Okay.” Alex continues looking down, then leaves a moment out of view before coming back. “I’m good in a crisis. We’ll get you out of there. I’m gonna call 911, but I’m also gonna go get Richard. Maybe he can help, too. Probably he shouldn’t, and we should leave it to the fire department or whatever, but I don’t wanna leave you down there longer than you have to be.”
Henry says, “Alright,” because that is an incredibly sensible plan and he’s in no position to argue.
And, he thinks nonsensically, half the fire brigade can be found in Alex’s pub on any given night, so he’s probably curried some favour with them.
Henry doesn’t particularly wish to sit back down in the mud and muck - lord only knows what parasites might be living down here - so he leans against the wall and takes slow sips of Alex’s water.
He has only been down here an hour. Alex has come and gone twice with updates. He seems more frantic than Henry does, which might be the head injury’s fault. Henry doesn’t want to sleep, but resting feels like a good idea. He knows with the risk of a concussion he can’t go to sleep, and honestly, who in the world could fall asleep standing up with four inches of water seeping into their trainers anyway?
“Henry?” he hears, opens his eyes and Alex’s beautiful face is up there at the opening to the well again. He must be lying on his stomach to be that close. “Marco is coming with a rescue team.”
Ah. Marco. The only member of the fire brigade Henry actually knows for a fact he and Alex have both shagged. Not that Henry is bitter about it. Not that he’s jealous that Marco slept with Alex. It doesn’t matter. This is foolish.
By the time Henry is pulled to safety and placed on a stretcher, despite insisting that was totally unnecessary, it’s pissing rain and Alex has shoved his hair back so it’s slick over his head. He looks so bloody stunning Henry can’t help staring.
“Perhaps I’m concussed, but I must say, you’ve never looked better.”
Alex laughs, this rattling thing like he’s been holding back emotions. “I promise you I have, babe.”
Wait.
Something warm slips into Henry’s hand.
Oh. Alex is holding Henry’s hand in both of his.
Henry says, “What?” which doesn’t feel like a full sentence in this situation, but must be as far as Alex is concerned.
“I guess now is as good a time as any to say I have a massive fucking crush on you and I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Henry blinks maybe seventeen times, then Marco says something about loading him into the ambulance, and that’s all well and good, only Alex then also says he’s coming with Henry to the hospital and…
It sounds rather weird and muffled, what with the oxygen mask over his mouth and all, but Henry reaches for Alex’s hand again and says, “You have a crush on me,” like a revelation and not a repetition of what Alex had just clearly stated.
Alex smiles, looks more fond than he has any business doing considering Henry has been far from kind to him nearly since they met.
“We can talk about it later,” Alex suggests, free hand pushing Henry’s hair back.
It feels nice. He closes his eyes.
… … …
Alex really hates running up and down hills.
He really loves seeing Henry’s flushed face now that they run at the same time. Loves seeing Henry’s ass in his running shorts. Loves watching the sweat run down Henry’s temple.
It’s probably a problem, but Alex doesn’t like to think about love that way. And it is love. Alex has known that since they first met. He doesn’t know what it is about people who don’t seem to like him, but he always seems to like them best.
Henry is gorgeous and smart and kind to everyone who isn’t Alex. He’s pretty sure the only reason Henry doesn’t like him is because he thinks Alex is like, messing with his livelihood. As if a couple rooms over the pub in the middle of town is the same draw as the huge country manor with gardens and a pool and a freaking horse stable. Half the time when Alex asks people how they heard about him, they say they tried to book Rosemary House first and it had no vacancy.
Henry still comes to the pub sometimes. Sips a gin and tonic he always pays for even if Alex says it’s on the house. Has a sausage roll every other Sunday just before noon. Shoots the shit with the guys from the fire department. Alex is pretty sure that’s just cause they all like him so much and want to tease Marco, too.
Alex is down bad. He moved here on a whim after a breakup and seeing a fucking Instagram ad about the pub being for sale.
He’s settled into a routine now, which is nice. Healing. He feels better than he has in ages. He’s got great staff and suppliers and a chef who Alex is really confident will put them on the map the more people eat their food.
He lives in a little house in town, and he bikes everywhere he can’t walk, and he’s getting his motorcycle license because why not, and he runs 10k four to five times a week through the farmer’s hills and back on the dirt path into town.
So he knows that there shouldn’t be a hole here. There’s never been a hole here. The first thing he notices is footprints on the path.
The footprints stop.
He pulls out his earbuds. Now is not the time for Sabrina Carpenter.
He and Henry aren’t the only ones who use these trails, but Alex has a bad feeling that isn’t going away.
He can’t panic. Even when he confirms with his eyes and by talking to Henry that it is him down the fucking well - and Alex kind of thought that was just people talking shit, saying there were old wells around. Henry seems okay, though he’s definitely bleeding from the head and having a hard time breathing. The fact that he didn’t break anything, as far as they know, is a fucking miracle.
Alex has called both 911 and Marco directly. It’s fucked; Marco likes Alex a lot and is so far the only person Alex has hooked up with since he arrived in town. And they’re friends now, and he thinks most of the time they just want to argue over who likes Henry more, even though it is clearly Alex and they both know it.
He runs over to Richard’s, which is pointless because all Richard does is tell Alex about a kid in the 70s who fell in a well and wasn’t found until years later. Not fucking helpful.
Maybe he’d be better off just staying with Henry.
“You okay?”
Henry tilts his head back to look up. “Mostly. It’s nice to have this time to question all the choices I’ve made that have led me here.” Alex doesn’t mean to laugh. It’s kind of a snort anyway. He feels hysterical but he’s trying to be brave about all this. “I’d like to blame the fitness industry.”
Alex smiles. “That seems appropriate. Maybe you need a running buddy.”
“Ha.”
That wasn’t meant to be funny. He should’ve just come out and offered himself up, to be honest.
“Richard doesn’t have the right kind of rope,” Alex lies. Henry nods like that makes sense, too. “But I saw the trucks leave the station from the top of the hill when I was coming back down, so it shouldn’t be long.”
“I’ll be here.”
Fuck, Alex likes him so much.
Alex needs to scream in the woods. If Henry isn’t okay, he’s probably going to lose his fucking mind.
“Be right back.”
He gets up and checks his phone and sees a text from Marco that they’re five minutes out. He’s also got one from his sister saying she completed her 10k. They run together even though they live in different countries. He texts her that his run got interrupted because the love of his life fell down a well and she responds, “Henry?” and he hasn’t talked to her about Henry in that capacity whatsoever, so he probably needs to change everything about his entire life, including how much he speaks to other people full stop.
He feels like vibrating out of his skin when Marco and the team are working with a harness to bring Henry up. Alex can hear Henry talking about this being humiliating - being strapped to another man and winched up or whatever - and then when he’s up and out Alex lets out his breath and Eoin, who’s been rubbing Alex’s back like he’s the one who needs soothing says, “That’s a good lad. All’s well.”
Henry looks worse for wear. He’s covered in mud and dirt and water, more blood than Alex would like to see drying on the side of his face and down his temple. His shirt is ripped at the back and his hair is sweaty and wet.
They get him onto a stretcher, though he complains the whole time.
And Alex says something insane.
And Henry seems to like it.
At the hospital, they won’t let him into the exam room, which makes sense because they’re like, business rivals, not partners of any kind.
Maneet is working today.
“You look worried,” she says, frowning. “Who are you here with? It must be Henry?”
“Yeah. He’s okay.” He looks at her. “How did you know it’s him?”
“You wouldn’t be this worked up over some other donny.” Okay fair, but… “Doesn’t everyone know you adore him?”
Fuck. Suppose everyone does now.
Alex hates that he can’t figure out if he should stay or leave. If Henry will want to see him or not. But he did say they’d talk about this later, and Henry didn’t argue. And Henry had taken his hand. So.
Clint and Angie, who are expecting their first baby any day now, are walking through the ER because that’s how you get to the parking lot.
“Henry fell in a well,” he blurts out.
Angie comes over and hugs him as best she can. “Love, are you alright? You must be terrified. I don’t know what I’d do if Clint…”
Alex stops listening. Angie and Clint have been married for years. Alex can barely get Henry to talk to him.
The doctor comes out a while later, when Alex has finished the worst coffee of his life and a scone so dry he couldn’t eat it all.
“Alex,” Dr. Kirrigan says. Alex nods. “He’s fine. You can breathe.” Alex does just that. “He is concussed, and he’s got a rather pesky lung contusion which will require ample rest to heal. But he got off lightly, considering. He’ll live to be loved by you another day.”
Alex makes a squawking sound and sticks his hands in his hair.
“Does everyone know? God. Am I that obvious?”
Dr. Kirrigan laughs at him. “Everyone but him.”
Not entirely true. Alex told him, kind of.
“This is so fucking embarrassing.”
Dr. Kirrigan claps him on the shoulder. “I can think of a thousand things more embarrassing than being in love, Alex.”
Alex nods. “That’s a good way of looking at it.”
Dr. Kirrigan pushes him gently towards the exam room. “And he was asking for you.”
He laughs again at whatever happens on Alex’s face.
Henry’s lying there on a hospital cot with a heart rate monitor attached to his finger and bandage over the cut on his head. He’s also, notably, not wearing a shirt and has a nasty bruise forming on his chest and side.
“You stayed,” Henry says, almost smiling. “As you can see, I’ll survive.”
“Yeah.” Shit. Alex should find some level of chill. “I’m glad.”
Henry’s lip curls up a bit more. “Yes, I suppose you would be.”
“Oh, my god,” Alex groans, then steps further into the room and sits down on the chair next to Henry’s bed. “Are you gonna be a dick about this?”
Henry laughs at him, then coughs. Alex hates that.
“I think that is the root of my very question. I haven’t indicated in any way that I like you. And yet you—“
“Fell in love with you anyway, yeah.”
Henry sputters.
Oh.
Right.
Alex had said this was a crush, hadn’t he? Undersold it a bit.
“I can’t be the only person to fall for you, Henry. I’m not gonna let you try and convince me of that.”
“I’ve been downright unkind to you.”
“I’m into that.”
Henry frowns at Alex’s shrug and probably his general nonchalance about this whole thing. But then again, Alex has been aware of this for months and Henry’s known only an hour, so.
“You don’t know me.”
“I’m observant. And people tell me things. I’ve got a good sense of who you are.”
“But I—“
“Henry,” Alex interrupts, taking Henry’s hand again, “I promise you that whatever arguments you have here, I know what I feel and you’re not going to convince me otherwise. So you might as well just let it happen, and decide what you wanna do with it.”
Henry blinks. His cheeks are pink. Alex loves that so much.
“I’ve got some ideas.”
Fuck.
“You also have a concussion.”
“Is that stopping you from kissing me right now, or?”
Or what, Alex has no idea. He leans over, but can’t get close enough, so he stands up and then leans down again.
“Wait,” Alex breathes, fingers sliding over Henry’s jaw. “Are you sure this is how you want our first kiss to—“
Henry grabs the front of Alex’s shirt and pulls him down.
When Alex gets Henry home later, Uzoma, who works evenings at Henry’s inn and is also, apparently, Henry’s best friend’s younger brother, sees them and says, “Oh, you finally told Alex you want to shag him?”
Alex turns his head so quickly something in his neck cracks, and Henry’s eyes are closed like he’s exhausted and embarrassed, and says, “Uzoma, that’ll be enough, thank you,” and then turns to Alex and says, “We can talk about it later.”