Archive of Our Own

The thing with Amber is she sort of hates Alex. The sky is blue, the Pope’s catholic, and Amber sort of hates Alex. Alex knows it, his friends know it; the only one who doesn’t is Amber, but not in the way you’d expect. She’d either take offense to the modifier sort of, claiming there’s nothing sort of about it, or, perhaps more damningly, claim such indifference that she doesn’t care whether he lives or dies.

And something’s got to give, so, if Alex hams it up just a little, just a tiny bit, flashing her his worse grin and essentially doing nothing short of antagonising her, then sue him. Lock him up, throw away the key, etcetera etcetera. And she, in what he hopes is a commitment to the bit, never even twitches her lips. Nope, blank stare, sometimes even flipping him off. He has a worrying suspicion that it is not a commitment to the bit.

He rarely stays the night. She makes sure of that. As it goes this time, he’d tried, looked at her all big sad eyes as he got dressed. She normally hands him his shirt as soon as it’s over. Often before.

“You’re unsettling.”

That’s a first. “Unsettling.”

“I’ve got a presentation on Thursday, and I’m not putting up with the snoring.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“It’ll put me off,” she stares at him for a while, then in an action that is uncharacteristically kind for her, hands him his jeans. “Get on with it.”

He buttons up his jeans less forlornly and steals one of Amber’s AirPods. Just the one, and he prays she doesn’t know how to change her settings from surround sound (he’d been caught out on this once, after dropping one in the drain), so all those stereo indie songs she listens to just won’t work. Or the Beatles, apparently, after he’d incorrectly claimed stereo sound wasn’t invented until the 21st century. He then puts it back quite quickly. Too far.

Amber stares blankly at the whole ordeal. He then mimes flipping an egg. Or a pancake, he hasn’t decided, but it's unfortunately all the same to Amber, of whom it becomes increasingly apparent won’t entertain it with a response. Or a smile. Even a twitch. Nada.

He blows her a kiss and then does this brilliant thing where he pretends to slam the door, swinging it shut and then just - doesn’t. Cushions the landing. Intervenes at the last second, just him against the door. Amber doesn’t laugh but Alex has given himself a right chuckle.

He now has his best hours ahead of him; his flatmates won’t be in until 3, and he can wash the plates he promised to do, as well as all the luxuries that come with renting off a bum Landlord; tip hot oil down the sink, leave the freezer door slightly ajar so maintenance will have to come and fix it.

He’s musing on where to source hot oil when he walks into a torso. The torso, henceforth, because it so happens to be attached to the most beautiful face Alex has maybe ever seen in his life.

Only he has seen this face before, Henry Fox, some sort of golden boy in their respective circles. Very few haven’t seen this face. They’d spoken once or twice before, usually spearheaded by Henry’s friend, Percy, in which Alex would remain uncharacteristically quite which, sure, for him, is still, like, not that quiet. He knows that. But as it goes, they’re acquainted.

“Oh. Sorry,” Henry says quickly, before grinning down at him when they make eye contact. “Alex!”

Grinning down at him. This bit’s important. He can’t remember Henry being quite so fucking tall. And, like, built. And gorgeous.

The way he gestures his hand to let Alex go first is so fucking suave and fucking sexy that he makes a mental note to contact Marriam-Webster and change the definition of crisis, because any kind of sexuality crisis this has provoked is nothing but sexy and delicious.

Alex grins at him, and does his best gentlemanly nod. “Henry.”

It dawns on Alex that, by glaring omission, he’s somehow missed the fact that Henry lives here. Henry Fox. With Amber? They have virtually nothing in common. Henry’s the type to bring out the best in everyone, but something about him and Amber being close enough to choose to live together, just the two of them, is really fucking weird. And to never have registered it?
In actuality, Alex doesn’t know the colour of Amber’s car considering he’s only ever here in the dark. If this Henry thing doesn’t work out, he might have to have some serious discussions with Amber about how she’s pulled this off, and whether she’d be interested in letting him know these reasons.

Nevertheless, Amber’s gorgeous roommate just apologised for being walked into. Naturally.

“You Brits. Always apologising.”

“Sor-“

“Aha!” In a bizarre surge of completely misplaced confidence, he and Henry aren’t even really friends like that, Alex flicks him on the nose. Henry looks at him for a minute, and then really laughs, a lilting, tinkly thing; it goes on for long enough that Alex is around 80% sure Henry could be making fun of him until he wipes a fucking tear away.

“It’s in our culture.”

Refreshing, really.

“And your culture is to apologise to your oppressors?”

Henry laughs incredulously. “Are we talking about the same Britain?"

“I’m talking about the Britain that allowed Henry Fox to leave.”

There’s a chance he maybe shouldn’t know his surname.

“It was a struggle, trust me.”

Alex is very quickly realising that Amber was onto something about not being funny. His brain’s running at half capacity and just doesn't work fast enough. What he does come up with is boxing Henry’s shoulder. It seems to make him laugh.

“Are you off, then?”

“Off? Like, expired?”

“Ha! Good one.”

Yeah, save for the fact that Alex doesn’t even know what joke he just cracked. Something about Henry’s laugh is contagious, though, so Alex laughs along too, feeling unreasonably proud of himself. Like, with no reason to.

“Tea?”

“I was actually just-“ but God’s on his side today, and he wards off the comeuppance he’s felt brewing for years now and stops himself. He’s a lot of things, including kind of stupid, but he’s not really stupid. What he does do is flash Henry his loveliest grin. “Sure.”

What he doesn’t do, however, is drink tea.

“Sugar?”

He doesn’t drink tea. He doesn’t drink tea. He has no idea what’s an appropriate answer. He didn’t even know tea drinkers would let loose enough to consume something as fun as sugar.

“Yeah, um, seven.”

And Henry’s set off again. He fucking knew that would work. Alex is, again, laughing at his own joke.

“Miscreant.”

“Something like that.”

“Thought you’d ask me for ice and caramel cold foam.”

“They don’t grow cold foam in the U.K.?”

Henry shakes his head and giggles again. “Shut up.”

They chit-chat for a while, and Alex still manages to make Henry laugh at essentially every other thing he says. Henry has a lovely smile, that involves his whole head It’s all flowing really nicely, and fuck him if he dared to ruin it, but he’s got to address the elephant in the room.

“I didn’t know you lived here, Hen?”

Hen? Hen? He doesn’t even know him!

That’s a statement. It’s a statement Alex expects Henry to give some context of. Instead, the fucker, laughs again. “You’re funny, Alex,” he shakes his head and leaves the kitchen.

Henry waves with both hands. It’s so disgustingly sweet all Alex now wants to do is wave with both hands, to no one else but Henry. Like, forever.

It's becoming quickly apparent that there is going to be some sort of problem here.

***

He tries to sleep as soon as he gets home, but it’s a fitful sleep, even for him. He texted Nora at 3 am, to meet him at 8, which, sure, is ridiculous. She bargains with him, at 8 a.m, for it to be 10. He knows she read that message at 3.

“Alé! As I live and breathe.”

“Hi.”

“Hi? Is that it? Want to shake my hand next?”

He takes her up on that and shakes her dumb hand. He’s essentially vibrating with anticipation in the sixty seconds it takes their barista to make their coffee, never one to keep something quiet for any longer than necessary. This is big, though.

He orders tea.

“Wh- tea?”

“New year, new me.”

“It’s March.”

“Time’s a construct. None of it matters anyway. Sweetness is for the naive.”

“I didn’t mention sweetness. And you can actually put sugar in tea.”

Doesn’t he know it? He instead nurses his black tea, which tastes as awful as it looks, and it looks, well, awful. He trails his index finger over the rim, looking every part the disturbed man in the diner in the early hours. He sort of is, he supposes, save for the fact its a specialty coffee shop and its 8. He has a hunch it isn't quite romantic as that, however, because Nora’s face pulls into one of abject disgust.

“What is bothering you? You’re unsettling me.”

He needs one more person to call him unsettling then he can consider going for some kind of record.

“Nothing.”

“You haven’t said anything in like, thirty seconds. And you’re writhing. Like a grub. You’re literally writhing like a grub.”

“I don’t even know what a grub is.”

“Imagine yourself, and your current movements, only you’re a grub worm.”

She’s giving him crumbs. You can’t just explain what a grub is by adding ‘worm’ onto it. Fool. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t care. Tell me what’s up.”

“It’s nothing.”

Nora raises an incredulous eyebrow. Fine.

“I’ve got- I’ve got an issue.”

“Hit me.”

“You know Amber? Amber Forrester?”

“What? The one who can’t stand you?”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Just last week, Alex! Even I can admit the thing with the jellyfish and the stickers was funny. Hunter laughed. And she just sits there, blank stare. Sort of humiliating, if you ask me.”

“Right. Fine. The thing is. We were never meant to be, she knows that, I know that-“

“The thing with the password wasn’t so funny.”

“It was- the password was literally-.”

“Don’t repeat it.”

“The password was literally the-”

“I said don’t-”

“Okay fine. We’re not meant to be.”

“I know that.”

He glares at her. “It wouldn’t be a problem. However.”

Nora grins. “However?”

“Her roommate.”

“Oh?”

“Laughed at everything I said, Nora. One of those giggles.”

“I see.”

“And possessed many of the other qualities prized by the superficial man.”

“Always the way, eh?”

“So, as you can see, I’ve got a bit of a problem here.”

She doesn’t respond immediately. In fact, it could be a good thirty seconds before she responds, which, written down, doesn’t sound too long. In real life, however, it's enough to think she hasn’t heard him. He can’t get a read on her face at all, which, sure, is something common of Nora, all blank stares and pursed lips, but this is - sinister. He’s not sure if he wants a read at all.

“Well.” She bunches her fingers together and looks him dead in the eye. “If I hear you correctly, which I think that I do, my advice to you is to finish your tea, pay your check, leave here, and never mention this to anyone again.”

He knew it was coming, but his heart sinks all the same. “Can’t be done?”

“The Switch?”

“The Switch.”

“You do realise, in the entire history of Western civilization, that no one has successfully accomplished the roommate switch?”

“Couldn’t I be-”

“I’m not done. In the Middle Ages you could get locked up for even suggesting it.”

“Lie. They didn’t have roommates in the Middle Ages.”

“Oh no, they did.”

“All I’m saying is I can’t let you go through with this. You of all people-”

“You’re worse than Amber!”

“-cannot pull off the roommate switch.”

Dejected, Alex tries to kiss goodbye to the strange fantasy he’s harboured for the last not-even-twenty-four hours. Realistically, more like twelve, given he’d left Amber’s at midnight. He thinks of Henry’s giggle, of Henry shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe what Alex is saying. Great-sounding laugh, too. Kind of lilting.

It doesn’t have the intended effect. He could put a lid on it and move on. But something about his head thrown back, neck exposed, gives Alex butterflies so sharp he almost doubles up in pain. Anything making him feel like this isn’t something he could ever give up on.

He clears his throat.

“The point is, Holleran, I intend to do this. With or without you. If you haven’t got the stomach for this, that is not my problem. Just don’t expect an RSVP on the wedding invitations.”

“I feel like you’ve got that the wrong way round. Why would you be RSV-”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“No.”

Nora glares at him. “You couldn’t do this without me.”

It’s certainly true.

“Fine. So I’ll ask you one more time. Are you in?”

Nora’s eyes somehow narrow even more as she pushes her glasses up her nose.

“What’s her name?”

“Whose name? Amber?”

Nora rolls her eyes and huffs. “I know her name, freak. Her roommate’s.”

In this whole ordeal, Alex has maybe possibly forgotten to drop the biggest bomb of all.

“Alex? What’s her name?”

“Does it even matter anyway? In your words it’s impossible.”

“Don’t even try me.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a while. He can’t quite make eye contact with Nora.

“Alex? Who is it?”

“It’s, um, it's not as easy as that.”

“It’s a name, Alex.”

“It’s complicated.”

“What? Childhood friends? Is she a roommate in a best friend kind of way, not a spare room?”

“It’s um, she’s not-“

“Sisters?”

“Sisters, she says! How rich.”

“Move on. You’re killing me here.”

In for a pound, or whatever. He hooks his foot round her ankle and leans in closer to her. She offers him her ear. “It’s, um. It’s Henry Fox.”

Nora spits her latte all over him. It’s going to stain, and it’s sticky. She’s doing the thing where whispering involves speaking in a louder register than usual, just with the dumb whispery tone she uses. “Henry Fox? Henry Fox Fox?”

Alex is aware he looks increasingly shifty, constantly darting his eyes around the room. “If you’d just keep it down-“

“With- Henry Fox? Henry is Amber’s roommate? You want Henry Fox Fox to-“

“Nora.”

“Sorry. Just give me a moment.” She turns around and lets out the most delighted squeal, which, to the naked eye, would almost sound like she wants Henry Fox Fox, which is a stupid fucking name but is somehow running through his head on.

“Okay. First of all. I’m sorry for presuming.”

“That’s okay.”

“Secondly, hot.”

“That’s surely some kind of-“

“No, I mean it. Some kind of wet fucking dream, Alé.”

Fucking tell him about it.

“Henry’s just totally dreamy. Pez’s best friend too.” She stares off into the distance, wearing an unsettling goofy little smile, before pulling a face. “I was so sure- nevermind.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just didn’t know Henry Fox lived with Amber. How did you not clock it sooner?”

“She doesn’t usually let me, um, hang about.”

“No surprises there.”

“Right.”

“So - you don’t have to label yourself - but this, this is a thing?”

“Being into men? Bisexual?”

“Yeah.”

Alex puts on his best serious face. “For as long as that man is alive, I am gay.”

“And if he’s dead?”

Alex gasps and holds a hand to his chest. “Don’t even joke about that. That is the love of my life.”

“That is actually kind of biphobic.”

“Lock me up. I’d die for him.”

“Henry Fox Fox? Think he can do the thing? I bet he can do the thing.”

He hates that he instantly knows what she means. It doesn’t make it any better when she says it.

“The name’s Fox. Henry Fox F-“

“Don’t finish that.”

“I was a humble syllable away. I like your style. Cut me off at the end to save face.”

Son of beloved stage and film actor Arthur Fox. Alex would rewind his scene in the second Bond movie Arthur Fox was in when he was eight because of the feeling it gave him in his stomach.. He really could’ve figured this out sooner. There is, of course, the consideration that everyone and their dog wants a piece of Henry Fox. He’s kind of a celebrity, sort of, save for the fact he’s so humble you’d never be able to tell.

“He laughs at everything I say.”

“Even the password story?”

“I didn’t get that far. I will, promise.”

“How long did you talk to him?”

He actually doesn’t know. It could’ve been hours, the way conversation flowed so easily. He remembers the tea being brewed, the laughing, and then Henry waving with both hands. He picks a number that could seem believable, although he’s sure it was longer.

“All in all? Like, twenty minutes.”

“Hm. Longer than I thought.”

“It was brilliant. I made a joke about British people apologising and he lost it.”

“That’s not that funny.”

“He found it funny.”

“Are you sure? Your imagination runs wild, sometimes.”

“I promise you. No word of a lie.”

“Still not that funny. Don’t quit your day job.”

And isn’t that the entire point? “Exactly. He wants me.”

“Love the confidence, babe.”

Despite her sarkiness, the mention of Henry has clearly instilled something half-pensive, half-excited in her demeanour. There is no one, no one, but Nora who would ever be able to pull this off. He opens his mouth to express this, to completely ass-lick her, but she beats him to it.

“Fine.”

“You’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it.”

Overwhelmed by an excruciating affection for her, he gets up and tries to squeeze into her lap, kissing her on the top of her head. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

“Get off me.”

***

Nora yawns into hand, looking all kinds of disheveled. There’s paper everywhere, and both he and Nora know it's not getting cleaned up until next week. There’s the smell of the grease from the pizza boxes, neither one of them having bothered to open a window. They’ve considered everything, from clear and direct communication to homicide to something with a sugar-glider and North African lesbian poetry. That one was parked quite quickly.

“Come on Alex, time for bed. Early start tomorrow, I’ll see you first thing.”

He knew she’d go home eventually, but her dismissal is almost enough to make him cry. He should’ve listened to her. Fuck, she should’ve listened to her. It was never going to be possible, and his insistence made it worse. He thinks of Henry, his grin, his laugh.

“Who are we kidding, Nora? We can’t do the switch. No one can do the switch. It was a stupid idea in the first place. I’m stuck with the non-laugher and that’s that.”

Nora opens her mouth and hesitates before shaking her head. It's the most somber he’s ever seen her. She rubs her temples a few times and, uncharacteristically affectionate for her, rubs his shoulder once. “We’ll come up with something.”

He’s lost the fit of passion he was in, and tries his best to believe her. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alex mumbles something virtually nonsensical. “Hmph. Yeah. Tomorrow,” only with about all the vowels inaudible.

He hears the door shut and goes through the motions of getting ready for bed but isn’t totally there for all of it. He’s not even fussed on locking the door behind Nora. The toothpaste wakes him up a little, but he hasn’t been this tired since he was fifteen and back from summer camp. His neck is failing him, in its one job to hold up his head.

His bed isn’t made and there’s actual clothes and crumbs everywhere but there’s no time for that. He feels terrible and ashamed for all the time he spent moping and feeling sorry for himself thinking Tort Law was hard. It’s nothing compared to working out the switch. He sends a prayer out to all his brothers and sisters around the world going through a similar thing, and turns off his light.

Tomorrow’s another day, and there’s nothing he can’t do.

Then, a door opening, a screamed Alex, and a smug tone he knows all too well. “I’ve got it.”

***

“The Switch?!”

“It’s a fantastic idea. I think you’re upset I didn’t come to you first.”

“The Switch is like, dangerous, bit. You could get locked up for that in the Middle Ages.”

“They didn’t - whatever.”

He does now have to confront the mental image of a medieval Henry and a medieval Alex, although they’d probably be a foot shorter with stupid names and Alex would’ve been like, burnt for being a witch or something.

“What’s the medieval version of Alex?”

“I think it’s just Alexander. Alexander the Great and all that.”

“That does have a ring to it.”

The three of them are sat in a bar that Alex has forgotten the name of. Someone’s spiked his thirteenth margarita, he’s sure. He was struggling to build up the courage to tell June for two reasons, or fine, maybe three. One, she’ll poke holes in it like the doting big sister she is. That’s just what she does. Secondly, he’s not exactly in a rush to tell her just how far he’ll go to sleep with Henry Fox. That involves telling his sister that he is someone who has sex, and that’s just a step too far. Thirdly, and crucially, it’s Henry Fox. He has to tell her he’s propositioning the hottest man in New York. It’s - arrogant.

Needless to say, he plucks the courage as soon as it gets loud enough within the bar that they can’t properly hear each other, relying almost solely on drunken lip reading.

The plan as it goes: Alex is going to Amber’s tonight. He’s going to propose a ménage à trois, henceforth a ménage. Fuck, even the phrase is going to piss her off. Why not call it a threesome?, she’ll say. Literally what is wrong with you? Leave us alone, she’ll say. And that he’ll do. He’s then got an in to Henry, who is somehow going to agree to it. Then, no Amber, just Henry. Henry can then move into Alex’s if he so wishes.

By the look on June’s face, he regrets telling her very quickly. Nora was of course invited to their weekly drink date, but he thought he’d bring her up as backup anyway, to the plan she was always a part of. June rubs her eyes under her glasses.

“But hang on- I would get it if Henry was bisexual, but surely he’d think something was up if he’s hearing from Amber that you want fuck both of them.”

“I’ll feign ignorance. He could be open-minded.”

“Open-minded to sleeping with women? Henry’s whole thing is being gay.” She wraps her hands around her cocktail glass, looking every part sad-girl autumn shit. “And I was so sure he lived with Pez.”

“So were we. Apparently not.”

“Why would he ever live with Amber?”

“We don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”

“She does hate you.”

Alex scowls. “Hardly necessary to bring it up, is it?”

“And you got on with Henry?”

“He was beside himself. Like really laughing.”

“Please don’t tell me you told him the password story.”

“No, but he’ll appreciate it for the comedic genius it is.”

June frustratedly shakes her head. “I’m just not sold on Henry agreeing.”

Alex has had enough. His voice comes out stroppier than intended, but hell, they deserve it. “Listen, I know you guys don’t appreciate that little anecdote, but it is really funny.”

“Not about the password, you fool! About The Switch.”

There it is.

“Fine. OK. There’s a chance, probably a big one, that Henry won’t agree. But it’ll get my foot in the door.”

“I think that’s what you use for LinkedIn.”

“Potato potato. I mean it. He’ll register me as a person at the very least.”

June’s face shifts as if she’s about to offer another criticism. She’s definitely about to offer another criticism. She reaches across the table and holds Alex’s hand in her own.

“Bit, I love you-”

“But?”

“But. It’s Henry Fox.”

Seems he’s right on the money today. “You don’t think I can pull Henry?”

“He’s the hottest man in New York.”

“You don’t get it. I had to convince Nora, too. He laughs at everything I say.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

June rolls her eyes. “Fine. I wish you the best in The Switch.”

***

He’s naturally behind on all of his assignments. All of them. If he runs his numbers, without the help of Nora, who would actually insist he’s underestimated them, he’s got to fit thirty hours of absolute lock in between now and Thursday. It’s Wednesday.

He’s currently got three minutes between now and arriving at Amber’s front door. Maybe he can see the colour of her car this time. Even the phrase ménage à trois is going to piss Amber off. In fact, he has mentally banned himself from saying the word threesome. He cannot fucking wait.

Within the time he’d seen June and Nora now, he’d managed to spend three hours on time that should’ve been dedicated to criminal law to finding Henry’s spotify playlist. It’s eclectic, and it’s wonderful, just like his husband is, and he spam saves as many songs as he can in the time.
Amber’s car is green and her door is black. At least he knew the door colour, he supposes. He knocks three times in rapid succession, perhaps too enthusiastic for a Wednesday afternoon. Her face instantly drops as soon as she takes him in

“Amber!”

“Alex.”

“Can I come in?”

It will work better if she’s sat down. He might even get a glimpse of Henry that way.

“Absolutely not.”

He parks that plan. “I’ve been thinking.”

Amber doesn’t respond.

“Your roommate.”

She raises an eyebrow. Fuck, she hates him “Yes?”

“I was thinking a ménage à trois.”

Alex notes how her mouth drops open before she can even speak, all whilst looking directly into Alex’s eyes with her signature blank stare. “A ménage à trois?”

“Henceforth a ménage.”

“With the three of us?”

Alex gives her his most off-putting wink. She might actually scream at him. Slap him, if he’s so lucky. If he looked down at her fists, which he can’t in his commitment to the intense eye contact they’re maintaining, he knows they would be clenched. It feels like years before she speaks again, and, although this was always how it was supposed to go, he prepares himself for the verbal abuse that is sure to follow.

“You know, Alex, I always found you a bit of a bore.” Her voice is so soft. It makes it scarier than if she had just screamed at him. And, fuck, boring is a first. Whatever. Whatever it takes to get Henry. The corner of her mouth upturns in what Alex can only imagine is some kind of psychopathic smile. “But that is a wild idea.”

Alex can barely contain his excitement until - What?! What the fuck?

“Did you just-”

Amber suddenly looks very human, nervous, even, flashing Alex a shy smile and twiddling with her fingers behind her back. “Agree? Yeah.”

“To the ménage?”

“I’ve wanted this kind of high for ages. On my bucket list, even.”

Alex then has to speak to her like she’s five. “Let me get this straight. You-”

“Me,” she smiles.

“You’ve just agreed to a three- a ménage, sorry, between you-”

“Me.”

“Me,”

“You.”

“And your roommate?”

“I’m game, Alex. I’ll go and ask him now.”

Alex can’t move his mouth. He manages to squeak. “Amber?”

She turns around friendlyly, as if Amber has ever done anything friendly in her life, as if this is their normal. “Yes?”

“How long will that take?”

“Depends on the reception, I suppose?” she winks, and with that, he’s in front of the door he’s only recently learnt is black.

Given his predicament, it’s a miracle he manages to discipline himself enough to find Nora’s contact and ring her. She picks up on the third, not that Alex is counting, although any more than four and he’d have to- yeah. He doesn’t know what he’d do.

“Nora.”

“Alex? Are you whispering?”

“Yes I’m fucking whispering.” Short, sure. Aggressive, sure. Explicitly hostile? Absolutely. But he’s under stress, screw him.

“I went over there.”

“Where?”

“Amber’s.”

“Yeah? What did she do, throw you out?”

Alex stiffens. He doesn’t know how to tell her.

“Not quite. She took it quite well.”

“She took it well? We didn’t even need to devise a plan for the Switch?”

“Not quite.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut u-”

“She’s into it.”

“The ménage?!”

“Yeah.”

“She’s into the ménage with you, her, and Henry?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s unbelievable.”

“It was a scene, alright.”

Nora stays silent for a few moments. He’s considering signalling to her that he’s still there, her best friend, who she’s just abandoned at his lowest moment. It comes.

“Do you ever just get down on your knees and thank God you have access to me and my dementia?”

And, what? “Are you serious? I’m not going to do it.”

“What do you mean, you’re not going to do it?”

“Just not- an orgy guy, really?”

“You’re insane. Like, literally insane.”

Alex’s worst nightmare is having to share Henry with Amber, of all people. Amber doesn’t care if he lives or dies. He hasn’t actually seen Henry since he ran into him in the flat. That Henry would agree to it is even more unbelievable. He understands sexuality is a spectrum, but he’s never even heard a shred of evidence of Henry being into women. And, if he is, he certainly hasn’t been with one. That’s a fact. And to start, because of Amber? It was one thing wrapping his head around them being friends. Close enough to be roommates, even worse. But Henry being into it?

“It’s like discovering Plutonium on accident.”

“It is not.”

“And here I was, thinking you were sexually liberated.”

“It is not sexually liberating to have a ménage with a girl who hates you and a gay guy.” He’s shouting as much as one can whilst whispering.

“I do have to say, I’m trying not to think about that part.”

“The gay part? No shit.”

“Some people are just horny. Like, sex is sex.”

“But with Amber?”

“I didn’t even know they were friends until you suggested the Switch. I was so sure he lived with Pez.”

“That doesn’t mean shit now, does it?”

“You should know better than anyone that language is a tool. There are some things we know, but can’t explain in words. Maybe Henry’s just a step ahead of us in this big sexual game.”

“Sexuality and monogamy are constructs, blah blah blah.”

“If I’m in proximity to Henry, there’s no way I’d be able to share him.”

The soundest thing she’s said on the whole fucking call.

“Neither. Maybe I could put you up to it, eh?”

Nora grins. “I’d say yes.”

He hangs up in the most aggressive manner she can, because, whilst there was no one else who would ever be able to help him in this manner, it is explicitly Nora’s fault that he is currently still waiting for Amber to open the door again; it is Nora’s fault that his heart is beating so fast he feels like he might puke and, most damningly, it is Nora’s fault that there is now a chance that in half an hour he could be between Amber and Henry

He’s not sure how much time passes. He’s thinking of next steps, of transferring out of NYU, of moving, of crying, and frankly, of offing himself. It could be twenty seconds, but it’s possibly closer to five minutes. He’s imagined her walking through so many times that he’s not sure when he’ll actually know it's her. Will she come with Henry, arms linked, giggly? Will it somehow be Henry who he’s lost in The Switch, so disgusted by the idea that he’ll storm right out?

She comes alone. He can tell it’s not a mirage because she beckons him in by his shoulder, playfully, flirtily, into her hallway. He can barely breathe.

Fucking Hunter walks down the stairs. Alex refuses to make eye contact, which is weird, because usually Hunter would do the same, only in his peripheral he can see Hunter looking - happy. Excited, even. He can’t pay any attention to that, with the shit show the situation has already become. Hell, he can’t even pay any attention to why the fuck Hunter would be in Amber and Henry’s flat, because it’s too much. It’s all a fucking blur.

Until Hunter gets to the bottom of the stairs and - stands there. Like, literally just loiters. A few seconds pass and Alex has to give up on his whole refusal to make eye contact thing. He looks to Amber first, who has this expectant look on his face, and, fuck, if it hurt seeing Hunter happy and excited in his peripheral, its fucking terrible seeing it full on. He’s just so unnerving.

He’s still wearing that creepy smile when Amber speaks.

“Are we ready?”

“Ready? Where’s Henry?”

Both Amber and Hunter’s faces drop at the same time, in an incredulous scowl. They speak together just like twins would. “Henry?!”

Alex’s eyes feel like they’re about to explode from their sockets. “Your roommate! Where is Henry?”

“You’re playing me.” She looks furious.

“You mean- what happened to Henry?”

“Henry? Henry doesn’t live here.”

“What.”

“Henry’s never lived here. We’re not even friends.”

“He opened the door.”

“He was seeing Hunter.”

His judgement of Henry is flip flopping like fucking crazy. He’s not Amber’s friend, good, but he’s seeing Hunter? Like, fucking fucking Hunter?

Alex’s heart is beating so fast that he has to do some manual breathing exercises. He bites the bullet and addresses Hunter, which is understandably no small feat.

“And Hunter and Henry- you are- you are together?”

Hunter seems to undergo some kind of full body shiver. “He’s working with me on an assignment. He only agreed to come that one time.”

He ends up with his nose in front of in a prayer position. He exhales deeply through his nose. “So. You mean to tell me. Henry isn’t your roommate.”

“Alex, I just told you-“

“You’re disturbing my flow. Henry isn’t your roommate.”

“No.”

“Hunter and Henry aren’t together.”

“No.”

“And Henry- he’s- he’s single? And gay? And likely would not agree to a threesome with a woman?”

Amber scrunches her nose in disgust. It gives Alex the answer he needs.

“You’re just completely ridiculous.”

He flashes her one of his best grins and peppers her cheeks with kisses. “It’s been so real, A.”

“Do not A me. I hate you.”

He throws her one last peace sign before he starts running towards Nora’s flat. He’s grinning like a total freak, and he thinks that someone stops to offer him change. He can't waste any time, so when he calls Nora again he’s completely out of breath. She is not too willing to comply.

“I can’t make out anything you’re saying-”

“It’s too long to explain. I think Henry lives with Pez. Where does Pez live?”

He hears her groan over the phone and she gives him his address. It’s sort of a stab in the dark, and he’s mostly unsure as to how she has Percy’s address on hand, but that’s neither here nor there. Apple maps takes him the wrong way and he is reminded, in his most urgent moment, why he uses Google maps. Google maps remedies the situation, and after half an hour of an exceptional sprint, if he does say so himself, he’s there with no public transport.

If Percy was a smarter person, he wouldn’t have opened the door. Seriously, he’s going to have to teach his man some survival tips. Together, they must have tens of hundreds of men coming to his door everyday. Henry needs to be on high alert. He’ll install a peep hole into his door.

He’s still in pajamas, and the entire ridiculousness of the situation hits him all at once, that he’d set his alarm for 8, to go to Amber’s on what she thought would be a ménage at 9, and he’s here, at 9:20. “Alex! Hello.”

A dishevelled looking Henry walks downstairs at the same time, who greets Alex in a similar manner. They have not yet asked why he is here, for the first time ever, unannounced, mind you. Instead they’re both smiling, and, yes, Pez and Henry are quite the pair. And roommates, of course!

He sort of has to address Pez first. He’s going for polite. “I need to, um, speak to your boy.”

Pez smirks over his mug. “I get a lot of these requests, you must understand. What makes you so special-”

Henry shoves past him, with a hushed shut up as he beckons Pez away. He looks unbelievably beautiful.

Pez puts on quite the show, wiping tons and tons of imaginary tears away before clutching at his chest. “I’m not allowed to stay? I want to get involved!”

There’s a strange, alternative reality in which this was the ménage. Alex really likes Pez, but right now, he needs to like, not be here. Sorry Pez.

Henry looks a little shy. “Am I, um, his boy?”

He’s adorable.

“The very same.”

Henry invites him in, and Alex doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He takes his shoes off, and seriously, Henry ought to be on high alert, because he leads Alex right to the kitchen. Who does that? Alex could be a psychopath obsessed with Henry. Alex sort of is a psychopath obsessed with Henry.

Henry fiddles with his ring. “Do you want tea?”

He’s at an impasse. This is the love of his life, who should know he doesn’t drink tea. Yet, this is the love of his life, who he would quite literally do anything for. “Um. Okay. Sure”

“I thought you liked tea?”

“I like you.”

Henry turns around, his hand over his mouth. He lets out a similar squeak to the one Nora did just two days ago. That has to be a good sign.

“I think I need some more information.”

There’s a flurry of movement on the other side of the door. Henry glares. “Percy. Stop eavesdropping.” He does what he’s told, it seems; Alex can hear his padded footsteps upstairs.

“I’d really rather talk about-”

“Me and you?”

Henry giggles incredulously. “Yeah. That.”

“Where do I start?”

Where does he start? Well, once I’d bumped into you I knew I needed to have you. I had to consult my genius friend on how to have you, of which I could literally drop down on my knees in gratitude for access to her and her dementia. We devised a ménage situation in which Amber would never agree, of whom I thought was your roommate, in which Amber actually agreed, on the basis it wasn’t you, it was fucking Hunter, and I agreed to essentially fuck Hunter and Amber together, whose joint hatred for me is bigger than the sum of its parts.

Nothing comes out, not really. He mumbles; he can hear himself say roommate, and little else.

Henry considers his mumbling for a moment. “Percy? Can you leave?”

Percy squeals, runs down the stairs with a hurried have fun my love! before actually running onto the street in his dressing gown. He certainly doesn’t look ready for the day, ready to be outside in 50 Fahrenheit, but Alex supposes that’s one thing he admires about Pez. He always seems to have some kind of direction.

Unlike Alex, who’s in Henry’s kitchen and tongue tied for the first time in his life.

“I’ve had some realisations.”

“Oh yeah?”

“That I’m like, really into you.”

Henry blushes and ducks his head. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

It’s kind of awkward. “What brought this on?”

“Bumping into you at Amber’s flat.”

“I didn’t know you and Amber were seeing each other.”

“We’re not anymore. She hates me.”

“So you’re shagging someone who hates you.”

“It’s bad. Like she doesn’t laugh at anything I say.”

Henry giggles. “You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

Alex can barely contain himself. “Sorry, can I like, touch you? Not like that- I just need-”

Henry picks up what he’s putting down, and wraps an arm around Alex. It’s certainly not sexual, although he briefly worries whether he could ever be around Henry in any capacity and not be at least a little turned on.

“So she hates you now you’re not seeing each other?”

“Well, that, but she’s always sort of hated me. It didn’t make it better that I asked her for a ménage?”

“A ménage à trois?” the French just rolls off Henry’s tongue.

“Yeah.”

Alex can see Henry frown in his peripheral vision; he can essentially feel it given Henry’s chin is right atop of Alex’s head. “Why would you ask Amber for a ménage?”

“It’s a long story.”

“One you have time to explain?”

He unnestles his head from under Henry’s chin to look him directly in the eyes. “Henry, I’ve got all the time for you. Like, anything you want.”

Henry giggles and strokes Alex’s cheekbone with his thumb. “We could start with this one then, yeah?”

They sit down, but hold hands under the table. It’s not as close as Alex would like, but he already sucks at telling stories on his best of days, and having a six foot blonde hunk any closer than this would be - distracting, to say the least. He starts from leaving Amber’s that day, how he had to consult Nora immediately, how long it took them to devise The Switch, how you could be locked up for The Switch in the Middle Ages, no, really, sometimes executed. He tells him their original plan, June’s apprehension, which, sure, valid, but realistically Henry was never supposed to agree to it. Then Henry did agree to it, as Amber’s roommate, and how all three of them couldn’t believe Henry would live with Amber in the first place, and then agree to a ménage. It was Hunter agreeing, who hates hates Alex, possibly more than Amber does.

Henry sits tight the whole time, ever the active listener, nodding intently to Alex telling him he devised a sex plan to get Henry, as if he’s filling him in on one of his essays.

Alex is out of breath by the time he’s finished. Henry squeezes his hand and scoops him up into his lap. Fucking ace.

“Sounds like quite the plan.”

“It was Nora’s idea. One of our better ones, I think.”

“Well you’re here now.”

Alex grins. “I’m here now.”

***

Alex announces he’s bringing his husband to brunch the next day. June has the cheek to ask who he’s referring to. Henry brings Pez, who, in his words, is such a doting and loyal friend, will see heaven. Pez, on return home, was so excited about the whole ordeal he made Alex repeat it three times before Pez was well-versed enough to repeat it himself. He also agreed to buy the newlyweds as many mimosas as they could handle. Henry’s British, so that’s probably around forty. Pez speaks with the girls easily, very quickly extending his offer to them as soon as they open the menu.

Everyone’s cheery. June and Nora looked relaxed. That can’t run. It’s obviously time to tell Henry his funniest anecdote to date, his magnum opus, if you will.

“There was this time, right, me, Nora, and June were ordering drinks and I was desperately trying to remember the password to my paypal.”

Nora and June groan into their hands simultaneously.

“I needed my paypal to pay, you know? Nora certainly wasn’t going to front me, and I couldn’t let June know I was broke.”

Henry nods sincerely. “Completely understand. Been there myself, actually.”

Pez squarks. “Henry? Henry Fox having an empty bank accoun-”

Henry muffles him immediately and beckons Alex to carry on.

“So I knew deep down my password would’ve been the name of my ninth grade history professor. Don’t ask questions, although, if you do, I’m more than happy to answer.”

Pez raises an eyebrow. “Slightly mixed messages, no?”

“Shut up. So June and Nora’s wine arrives, a bit before mine. I suppose they had to pour the beer. Anyway, I knew that the password would be MissJohnson21. I knew it would be. I kept typing it in, and by the third time, it said: incorrect password. By the third time I’d inputted it in wrong, I knew I was in trouble.

“Nora is beginning to notice something’s up, so I start to think: what is best to do now? Should I input it again, of a password I know is right, and risk getting locked out of paypal? In the end, I chose to reset it. I couldn’t risk it, Miss Johnson be damned.”

Henry puts his hand to his mouth in anticipation. “Then what happened?”

Alex smirks to his crowd of listeners, although June’s playing with her lapel and Pez and Nora are gossiping about God knows what. So easily distracted, so pathetic.

“And the gag is, Hen, that it then said: User must choose a different password. I knew my password! I knew it.”

June and Nora roll their eyes. Pez hangs on to the story as if there’s something he’s missing. Henry laughs so hard he throws up.