Chapter Text
Henry’s alarm is blaring and he’s cursing to himself. It seems like, lately, every last person on God’s green Earth and their mother is getting married. And he’s happy for them. It’s sweet, truly. But for once, he would like to bask in the utter miracle of a Saturday with no 8 AM alarm and a constant reminder of how pathetic his dating life is. Because it’s not pathetic in an ordinary sense. While he’s had his fair share of bad relationships and even worse hookups, the reason why he will never, ever know the supposed sweetness of matrimony (besides heavy resistance from a bitterly homophobic grandmother) is because his heart is unequivocally and irreversibly devoted to an American he met eight years ago. An American whom, quite frankly, he’s pretty bloody certain barely even knows he exists.
In his reverie, Henry must have snoozed his alarm and dozed off, because the next thing he’s aware of is Bea hitting him in the head with a pillow.
“We’re going to be late!” she yells at him. “Again.”
Henry wonders a bit if his lack of any semblance of hurry might possibly be attributed to his wariness at being best man. It’s not that he doesn’t have a lot of affection for Oliver, because he does. It’s just a little awkward that the reason he knows Oliver at all is because they met through Tinder and had hooked up a few times last year, only for Oliver to solemnly confess to Henry that the experience had convinced him that he was definitely straight. As mortifying as that had been, Henry had been a bit touched when Oliver had asked him to be best man, if not a little perplexed.
Henry doesn’t get much time to dwell on the humiliation because Bea’s practically pushing him out the door, hair brush tangled in her hair and dress only half zipped up. Henry, for his part, has only one of his shoes on and a tie decidedly not around his neck.
“Car or taxi?” he asks her as she’s fighting with the zipper.
“Car,” she answers, mouth full of toast.
When they get in the car and he’s turned on the engine, he wheels around to look at Bea. “There’s a slight problem.”
“Yes?”
“There’s no petrol in this car.”
“Impossible. I filled it up last week.”
“Well, there’s none this week.”
“Bugger,” Bea murmurs. “Alright. Taxi it is.”
The taxi absolutely drops them off nowhere near the venue. It’s a thirty minute walk and they absolutely do not have thirty minutes to get to the church. Bea’s still wrangling her zipper as they walk. After about ten minutes, Henry pulls up Google maps to check when they need to make a turn.
“It would appear,” he starts.
“Dreadful start.”
“That we are going in the wrong direction.”
They start running in the opposite direction, and Henry’s wheezing so profusely at the end that he’s starting to wonder if maybe he should fear for his cardiovascular health. Bea still hasn’t gotten the zipper up, but she’s one of the bridesmaids, and they’re already filing in, so she just leaves her dress half unzipped, hot pink bra on full display, and follows suit.
He feels an arm slung around him and plasters on his best halfhearted grin. It’s Oliver, who’s never quite gotten the memo that maybe physical affection might be a tad awkward, given their past.
“Jolly good of you to make it,” Oliver smiles.
Henry opens his mouth to protest that he’d been here all along, but he doesn’t know who he’s fooling with that.
“You didn’t forget the rings, of course,” Oliver checks.
“Of course not.”
“Brilliant.”
It’s as Henry’s filing into the church with Ashleigh, the maid of honor, at his arm that he’s slapping all his pockets and realizing he does not, in fact, have the rings. He’s trying to stop himself from panicking as he’s standing at the front of the church, right behind Oliver. They’re going to need the rings soon. He’s fairly certain of that fact. Suddenly, the door to the back of the church opens loudly, the sound echoing throughout. As quietly as possible given the dramatic circumstances, a man slips in. More appropriately, the most gorgeous man Henry’s ever seen in his entire life, with soft, slightly messy curls, a huge, apologetic smile, and a rich red suit. Henry feels the wind fucking knocked out of him. He’s lightheaded. He might faint. It’s the love of his pathetic little life. Alex Claremont-Diaz.
Alex, with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, beelines for a pew in the back and sits down. Henry can’t stop staring at him. It’s only when Alex lifts up a hand adorned with a glittering gold watch and Henry notices that there’s no ring around the fourth finger that Henry snaps back into focus. Right. He doesn’t have the rings. Fuck.
He catches Bea’s eye and points at his ring finger, gesticulating as pointedly as possible without seeming like he’s throwing a fit. Bea’s eyes widen comically large. She taps Ashleigh on the back and whispers about the ring, who then gestures at one of the wedding guests, who talks to another guest, who whispers to a curly haired woman, who laughs into the ear of a beautiful woman with long brown hair, who… happens to be sitting right next to Alex… and is whispering in his ear and pointing at Henry. Henry feels his face flushing. Alex then makes eye contact with Henry, and his eyes are filled with mirth. He’s laughing at Henry. Henry should be mortified. Angry, even, at being so obviously mocked. And yet, he feels his heart leap at the mere fact that Alex has deigned to look at him. Alex then gives Henry a thumbs up and gestures for Henry to meet him in the back.
In a moment that Henry can only classify as not his best, he whispers to Oliver, “Back in a moment,” before slipping to the back of the church to meet Alex.
“Forgetting the rings is a first,” Alex laughs.
Henry huffs a bit. “Yes, well, at least I didn’t startle the whole ceremony by arriving halfway through.”
Alex has the decency to look a bit ashamed. “I have a really bad problem with being late,” he admits. And Henry has to catch himself before he says, “I know,” because making Alex think he’s a stalker is really not up there in the list of things Henry is hoping to accomplish today.
“Right. I trust you will work through your shortcomings in your own time. Do you have the rings?”
Alex grins, presenting before Henry a gigantic, striped rainbow heart ring and a skull and cross bones rusted silver ring.
“This was the solution?” Henry asks drily.
“Gay pride?” Alex answers meekly. When Henry shoots him an unimpressed look, he raises his hands up in surrender. “The best I could come up with on short notice, sweetheart. Take it or leave it.”
Henry’s heart skips a beat and he has to restrain himself from professing his undying love.
“I suppose I don’t have a choice.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Right. Well. Thank you, I suppose.”
“You’re welcome.” Alex then has the audacity to wink at Henry while flashing a grin that hasn’t gotten any less beautiful in the last eight years. Henry thinks he might faint.
He runs up to the altar, making it just in time for the “with this ring, I thee wed.” Oliver does a double take when he sees the rings, blinks at Henry, who shrugs sheepishly, before shaking his head and proceeding to place the ring on his bride-to-be’s finger. Henry steals a glimpse at the guests, and Alex is laughing jovially in his pew. Henry can’t help but crack a smile in return.
Wedding days are beautiful. Memories are important. But, surely, there is no necessity for the no less than ten million photos being taken on the lawn after the ceremony. Henry thinks he’s doing a brilliant job standing and smiling, but apparently, according to the bride, every last inch of his face is doing something slightly wrong and must be fixed.
“Perhaps I ought to sit a few of these out,” Henry offers magnanimously, “seeing as I am a wart on the pristine complexion of this photo.”
Everybody immediately attempts to convince him into staying with such flattery as “your hair is not so bad”, but he insists, claiming it would bring him far more happiness if the photographs turned out well. The bride seems more than happy with this turn of events, shouting her thanks to him as he’s finally free and walking away. Bea sticks her tongue out at him, and he just shoots her a grin. She’ll be stuck in at least another hour of photos. It evades him how her unzipped dress is perfectly acceptable and his general face is not, but he considers himself lucky and won’t think anything more of it.
As he’s strolling the church grounds, he bumps into Fred, an old friend from uni.
“It’s lovely to see you,” Henry says politely.
“Yes, indeed!”
“How’s Debbie doing?” Debbie and Fred have been dating since uni, coming up on nine years now.
“She’s no longer my girlfriend.”
“How unfortunate,” Henry says sympathetically. “You’ve dodged a bullet, though. There were always rumors she was seeing other people on the side in case it didn’t work out with you.”
Fred is giving him a horrified look. “She’s now my wife.”
Henry hears a snort from behind him. He wheels around to see Alex Claremont-Diaz, fully engaged in conversation with Henry’s best mate Percy, but clearly glancing over at Henry with laughter in his eyes. He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Ah. Well, er, congratulations, of course. You’re a lucky man.”
Fred’s looking truly speechless, so Henry takes this as an opportunity to excuse himself and leave.
Alex sidles up to him. “Real smooth there.”
“Some of my best work, truly. Can’t wait to stick this one on my CV.”
“Job offers falling at your feet.”
“Christ, I need this day to end.”
“Are you not perfectly ecstatic to be celebrating with the blushing bride and lucky groom?”
They glance over at the wedding party taking pictures, the bride red in the face from yelling at some new victim who can’t seem to look right. Oliver, for his part, is looking as though he’s won the lottery in spite of it all. That’s love, Henry supposes.
“How do you know—” Henry starts asking when the girl sitting next to Alex from earlier swoops in and links her arm through his.
“Alex,” she says, “there are so many sliders over there. You have to come see!” She then seems to notice Henry. “Oh, hello! Who’s this?”
Alex is opening his mouth, and as much as Henry would love to know what Alex is going to say, he would much rather introduce himself and save himself the potential embarrassment. “Henry Fox. It’s a pleasure.” He sticks out his hand.
“June Claremont-Diaz,” she says, shaking his hand firmly. “I’m so sorry to steal Alex away, but really, it’s the most impressive tower of sliders I’ve ever seen.”
“I love sliders,” Alex shrugs apologetically, letting himself get dragged away. This, too, Henry remembers.
The night air is just a little bit sticky, but the breeze is lovely. Perfect weather for Henry to bury his head in his arms and wish he could be swallowed up by the ground.
Oliver had charged him with delivering a best man speech, and in typical Henry fashion, he had truly managed to find a way to create the least elegant speech imaginable. Henry doesn’t usually go around parading his and Oliver’s history, but he had assumed it would be an amusing enough story to tell in his speech. Little did he know that Oliver had apparently never told anyone in his family or close friends circle that he’d been on Tinder, much less that he’d hooked up with a man. The bride, whom he’d been on again and off again with for three years, was horrified to learn that while she’d been on a three week wellness retreat last year while they were off again, Oliver had been hooking up with a guy. There was a chill in the air after that, and the bride still hasn’t said a word to Oliver. It all struck Henry as a little bit homophobic, but given that he may have just erupted a marriage, he’s not feeling particularly willing to die on that hill.
“My dear Hazza, what a spectacular comedy of errors you have performed for us tonight.” Pez’s voice snaps Henry’s head up out of his arms.
“I’m well aware, I assure you,” Henry groans.
“Cheer up, darling. There’ll be another wedding next week, and some hapless bloke will make such a fool of himself that no one will remember your blunders today.”
After lifting his head, Henry’s eyes had, entirely of their own accord, found their way to a red velvet suit, mess of curls, and glowing smile. Pez immediately follows his gaze.
“Alexander,” Pez smiles. “The object of your most imaginative poetry collections.”
“He doesn’t remember me.”
“All the more reason to court him with your charms tonight.”
“After everything I’ve done today? I may as well wait another eight years and hope he forgets me again.”
“But life is too short for such nonsense,” Pez says grimly. “And who is that ravishing young lady at his side?”
“June, his sister.”
“She is the most beautiful person to have ever graced the planet. I simply must ask her to dance. Godspeed, Hazza.” And with that, Pez is gone in a flash of brightly colored fabric and sequins. Henry’s not even surprised when, after only a minute of talking, Pez waltzes June off into the middle of the dance floor.
Henry sits by himself for half an hour longer, before Bea comes sliding in by his side, her dress finally zipped up.
“You look positively dreadful, love,” she says, pushing a scotch towards him.
“I’m glad my exterior is able to so adequately match my interior.”
“It wasn’t so bad, after all.”
Henry looks over at the bride sitting petulantly at a table while Oliver’s futilely attempting to convince her into dancing with him. “I suppose it could always be worse.”
“You never liked Oliver very much anyway.”
Henry takes a long sip from the glass. “We’re staying at the Lucky Boat… or Boat House… or some pub tonight?”
“Pez says we can all stay at his, and I quote, ‘positive castle’ for the night.”
“Splendid. I suppose I’ll start saying my goodbyes to whomever can look at me without scowling or laughing.”
Bea squeezes his arm comfortingly before letting him stand up. It’s as he’s turning that he comes face to face with Alex.
“Oh, hello,” Henry says.
“Hi,” Alex answers, a huge grin on his face.
“If you’re interested in making a joke at my expense, may I redirect you to my darling sister Beatrice who will hear any and all witticisms with rapturous delight.”
Alex laughs a little. “What kind of discourse should I engage in with you to avoid redirection?”
“Anything else, really.”
“It’s a shame the reception’s ending. I would’ve asked you to dance.” He says that as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. As if it isn’t making Henry’s heart hammer so loudly in his chest he’s worried about getting permanent ear or heart damage, or both.
“The night is still young.” A discarded paper napkin blows by, flitting between chair legs cast at odd angles around empty tables. The dance floor looks hauntingly bereft, the fairylights twinkling in bittersweet wistfulness at what could’ve been.
“We both know it’s not.” He says that, too, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like his entire future happiness doesn’t hang in the balance of the one dance. “Where are you staying tonight?”
“My best mate, Percy, has a ‘positive castle.’”
“Oh. Well, that’s a shame. My sister June—you met her… I can’t find her anywhere—and I are staying at the Boatman.”
Henry curses himself. Of all the mistakes he’s made tonight, this might be the worst. He’s desperately trying to think of something to say, anything to prolong this conversation and convince Alex that it would actually be a wonderful idea to get to know Henry, start dating, and then get married and have children. But, as Henry’s debating the merit of asking Alex which brand of microwave he has, Alex interrupts his train of thoughts breezily.
“Good night, Henry. I’ll see you around.”
“Good night, Alex.”
Henry’s in the car with Pez, Bea, Philip, a nice looking girl Pez has met named Martha, and a few friends from uni. They’re all merrily singing throughout the drive to the castle, Martha in the middle of a story that a rather witty American she’d befriended at the wedding had told her, when Henry makes one of the most questionable decisions of his life and asks Pez to stop the car.
“As it appears, I may as well stay at the pub after all.”
A huge grin immediately spreads across Pez’s face, and Henry feels himself start to flush. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain American wedding guest, would it?”
“Certainly not. I’m writing a piece about the quality of different pubs across the country. Figured I could get some research done.” Henry lies through his teeth. Everybody in the car can tell. Bea’s smiling conspiratorially. The friends from uni are exchanging knowing looks. Even Martha seems as though she can read Henry’s thoughts as if they were plainly written across his face.
“Stay safe and don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” Pez calls as he drives away.
Henry stands in the middle of the backroad in the dark, staring at the trees and listening to the crickets. “A bit of an odd decision,” he remarks to himself.
He manages to tread his way to the Boatman, hoping that Alex will still be awake even though, from checking the time on his watch, that’s getting to be an unreasonable expectation. And even if Alex were still awake, what was Henry’s plan going to be? Knock on every door until he finds Alex? Something tells him he would get some harassment complaints. He could just go back to the room he’d originally booked and sulk with a glass of whiskey. Maybe he actually could get started on an article about pubs across the country.
He enters the pub, and his heart nearly stops in his chest. Because sitting in the main lounge area is a familiar mop of curls. Henry’s palms are starting to sweat and he feels his face getting warm. His stomach is swooping. He’s a little bit wildly in love.
Just then, Alex turns from where he’s talking to his sister and the curly haired girl from earlier, and his face is overtaken by a huge smile when he sees Henry.
Henry offers a small smile and a shrug. “Turns out there wasn’t room for us all, after all.”
Alex raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t seem to buy Henry’s bullshit for a second. “You said it was a castle.”
“A small one. Miniscule, really. Hardly deserves the distinction.”
“You would personally classify it as more of a mansion, then.”
“Yes, exactly. A mansion that can fit no more than five people.”
“So really more of a one room hut?”
“Yes, quite.”
The bartender approaches Henry. “Would you like a drink?”
“A whiskey, please,” Henry answers, then looks over at Alex.
“I’ll have the same.” Alex’s companions are still nursing their own glasses and refuse drinks.
“I don’t think we got a chance to properly meet,” June turns to Henry. “I’m June, Alex’s sister.”
“And I’m Nora,” the curly haired girl chimes in. Her feet are currently in Alex’s lap, and her head is resting on June’s lap. “The love of Alex’s pathetic life, his ex-girlfriend, and current best friend.”
Alex elbows her hard and rolls his eyes. “Two truths and a fucking lie. That’s such a weird way to introduce yourself, Nora.” He turns to Henry. “We dated for, like, two minutes, and she is not the love of my life, to set the record perfectly straight.”
“There’s nothing straight about any of us,” Nora deadpans, though there’s a twinkle in her eyes.
“Thank you, Nora,” Alex groans. “My sincerest apologies for her.”
Everything’s moving so quickly and Henry’s head is whirling. “Oh. Right. Well, hello. My name is Henry. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Alex seems to tell that Henry’s a bit out of sorts in this crowd, because he shoves Nora’s legs off his lap and gently pushes her towards June. “Nora, don’t you think it’s time to go to bed? June, don’t you think you should help Nora go to bed?”
“Smooth,” Nora laughs. “Be safe! Use protection!” Alex buries his face in his arms.
“Oh my God, ew,” June says, before slinging her arm around Nora’s shoulders and dragging Nora upstairs.
“Sorry about them,” Alex says when they’re finally alone.
“They’re lovely.”
“I’m… not sure that’s the word I’d use to describe them.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Henry says, sincerely. “My own best mate and sister can be quite eccentric, so I understand.”
“Eccentric is very kind.”
“You all seem very close.”
“Yeah. God, they annoy the shit out of me, but I love them.”
Henry nods. “Do you… do you still have feelings for Nora?”
Alex blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, no. Between you and me,” he leans in close to Henry’s ear, and Henry can feel the warmth of his breath on Henry’s face, “I think she’s always been more into my sister.”
Henry feels incredibly on edge. His face is warm and tingling from being so close to Alex. He’s hyperaware of how desperately he wants Alex, and of how unattainable Alex has always felt. Something tells Henry he’s finally close to attaining all he’s ever dreamed of, and it’s causing his heart to race and his hands to tremble.
“And you?”
“I’m not into my sister.”
“Oh, sod off. Do you fancy anyone?”
Alex moves his lips even closer to Henry so that there’s a millimeter of space between his lips and Henry’s face. It’s just then that the bartender approaches with their drinks.
Alex pulls away, smiling impishly as he takes a sip from his drink.
“I enjoyed your best man speech.”
“Do you often indulge in sadistic humor?”
“I think you’re funny. And, for what it’s worth, I think what Oliver did to you was pretty shitty, even if you did joke about it in your speech.”
“I don’t blame him. He was in… a transitional state. No harm done, really, besides the death of my dignity.”
“A shame I missed the funeral.”
“It was a private ceremony. Family only.”
“Seriously, though. It’s commendable you agreed to be the best man under those circumstances.”
Henry grins wryly. “Ah, well. I’ve made such a proper mess of it that it’ll be a miracle if Oliver ever speaks to me again.”
“Oliver’s loss, then. You added some much needed levity.”
“I liken myself to a Shakespearean fool.” Alex laughs and Henry feels his insides warm up just a tiny bit (though this could be from the alcohol).
“Perhaps more of a Benedick than a Falstaff.”
“Sometimes, I’m unsure. Do you know the bride or the groom?”
“I went to school with Anne.” Henry has to catch himself from asking if Anne also went to Georgetown. Henry must be giving some sort of confused look, though, because Alex adds, “She went to NYU law.”
“I didn’t know she was a lawyer.”
“She’s not. Law school was not her passion. She now works for her father’s company.”
“Right,” Henry recalls. “Oliver did tell me he intends to quit his job after marrying. Says she makes enough money for the both of them.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. She told me she's always wanted to be the breadwinner. But Anne and I became friends the one year we were both at NYU—she’s really spirited, and I love that about her; too many people are too indifferent. We’ve kept in touch ever since, so now, all these years later, she’s invited me to the wedding.”
“Isn’t it terrifying to see all these people you once went to school with getting married? Makes one wonder if their life is really heading in the right direction.”
“I don’t think there’s a timeline for these things. I just think you meet the right person, and one day, it’ll just feel right.”
“How do you know when you’ve met the right person?” Henry feels a bit daring right now, playing with fire, ready to be burned. He’s already met the right person, of course. He would rather like to know if Alex has, however.
“I think you just know.”
“Do you think it’s love at first sight?”
“Maybe,” Alex shrugs, then looks Henry right in the eyes. There’s something close to desire in his eyes. Henry can’t count the number of times he’s dreamed of being on the receiving end of a look like that from Alex.
“Maybe?”
“It could be love at first… touch,” Alex offers, before reaching over and letting his fingers lightly trace over the back of Henry’s hand. Henry’s skin tingles at every single point of connection. Henry flips his hand over, letting Alex’s fingers trail across his palm, before Alex finally interlocks their hands, his thumb rubbing circles across the back of Henry’s hand.
Henry desperately wants to ask Alex whether or not it is love at first touch, but instead, he tries to be suave. “Well?” he asks, which… wasn’t necessarily what he was shooting to say, but he supposes it suffices.
“I don’t know,” Alex says with a sly smile. He leans in closer to Henry, his lips mere inches from Henry’s, his eyes flickering down and his nose brushing Henry’s. “Maybe… it’s love at first—”
Henry’s a very weak man. He doesn’t let Alex finish before he’s pressing his lips on Alex’s. Alex immediately kisses back, letting the hand that’s not in Henry’s wrap around Henry’s cheek. Henry grabs at Alex’s curls. Then, all too soon, Alex is pulling away. Henry lets out a whine of complaint, but Alex just laughs. It’s deeply humiliating. “I wasn’t going to say love at first kiss,” Alex rolls his eyes. “I was obviously going to say love at first…”
“First what?” Henry asks a bit petulantly.
“... first arm wrestle.”
Henry can’t help but smile a little.
“Would you like to… arm wrestle… in my room?” Alex asks.
It cannot be understated how important it is for Henry to keep his cool and not come across as too eager or desperate. His future happiness depends on it. Which is why, before Alex can even really finish getting the question out, Henry’s leaping to his feet and vigorously saying, “Yes.”
As mortifying as Henry’s instinctive responses to anything related to Alex are, Alex seems to find them charming, or at least not a turn-off.
It’s all Henry can do to maintain any semblance of composure as they mount the stairs to Alex’s room. Really, though, he’s doing remarkably well for someone who’s been fantasizing about this very moment more times in the last eight years than he would care to admit.
They make it to room 12, Henry feeling like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin in anticipation, unable to focus on anything more than really how desperately he wants Alex. Henry’s in the midst of doubting how much Alex wants him because of how calm Alex seems to remain, but Alex’s inability to get his key in the lock all of three times betrays his own excitement. Henry’s impatiently hovering behind Alex, and when Alex finally thrusts open the door, Henry’s immediately attacking Alex’s lips, kicking the door shut behind him. When Henry finally breaks for air, Alex is grinning at him.
“This is lovely and all, but I was promised an arm wrestle.”
Henry rolls his eyes. “Sod off.” He then launches himself back on Alex, hands threading themselves through Alex’s curls and tongue fighting for access into Alex’s mouth. It’s like his body is a fucking magnet, drawn right towards Alex’s body.
Alex seems just as eager, pushing Henry towards the bed and getting to work on removing Henry’s clothes. In what feels like a heady and extremely erotic whir of moans, whispers, and thrusts, Henry’s vision is whiting out and all he can perceive is the deep and utter wave of pleasure rushing through him. A moment later, Alex is rolling onto the bed beside him, seemingly equally satisfied.
Henry is in the process of opening his mouth to ask Alex if he ought to go, now that the deed is done, to speak in inelegant terms, when Alex throws an arm around Henry and buries his face into the crook of Henry’s neck. A warmth spreads across Henry’s chest.
“Good night, sweetheart.” Henry feels the muffled words vibrate through him.
“Good night, darling.”
Henry wakes to the rays of a rather cruel sun bearing down on his eyelids. He squints. There’s an Alex-shaped silhouette cutting through the light streaming in from a remarkably large window. He’s putting on his coat, a packed suitcase at his side.
“Where… where are you going?” Henry asks, feeling his heart sinking. It’s not like he expected more than a one night stand, not really. Alex is, and always has been, temporal and magnificent, a force that ignites in the short term but scorches if exposed to it for too long. He’s splendor and everything extraordinary; it’s a cautionary tale for anybody too plain, like Henry, to get too close, no matter how much Henry would gladly burn to ashes at the chance of spending even a day, an hour, more with Alex.
Alex doesn’t seem to perceive Henry’s internal turmoil, though he does offer a bittersweet smile. “Back to America.”
“Leaving so soon?”
“My plane’s in two hours.”
“Miss it. Catch the next.”
“I have a meeting tomorrow that I need to prep for.” It’s inevitable. It was never meant to last. Alex is slipping through Henry’s fingers yet again, eight years later. Henry suspects he’ll spend the next eight years trying to catch him again. A soft smile creeps over Alex’s face, and his eyes fondly trace Henry’s form on the bed. “You’re beautiful, you know?”
Henry feels his face flush. “And you’re leaving,” he says, defeatedly.
Alex pauses, opens his mouth as if to say something, then sighs. “Yeah, I am. Call me if you’re ever on the East Coast.” Henry notices that on the table beside Alex, there’s a slip of paper with numbers scribbled across it.
Suddenly, rather uncharacteristically, Henry leaps up from the bed, shamelessly still unclothed, and wraps his arms around Alex tightly. Quite naturally, Alex is caught off guard for a moment, but before Henry can overthink anything, he’s melting into the embrace, pulling Henry in tighter.
“I…” Alex whispers, voice breaking as if his resolve is crumbling slightly. “There’s another plane in eight hours I could catch instead. I could… prep on the plane. I could… spend the day with you.”
This doesn’t change any inevitabilities, only pushes them back. If anything, losing Alex after spending the day with him would only be more devastating. But Henry has never prided himself on his foresight or generosity to himself, so he immediately whispers, “Yes.”