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Waking up next to his boyfriend on a Sunday morning was a rare treat that Alex Claremont-Diaz wished was a bit less rare (thank you very much). Henry and Alex still lived in very different worlds, and had their own important responsibilities. Every moment spent apart only made the moments like these, spent together, all the more beautiful. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say!
All that to say, Alex is most definitely enjoying the sight of his peacefully sleeping boyfriend on this rainy Sunday morning.
There’s a wrinkle in Henry’s brow that uncreases when he’s asleep next to Alex. As Alex presses the pad of his thumb to the smooth space between his brow, he can almost feel the worry line as if it is still there. It’s muscle memory, to try and soothe away the worry that his boyfriend still carries sometimes. Even when it isn’t present, Alex can feel the phantom stress that lingers under Henry’s smooth facade. As Henry shifts under Alex’s touch, Alex wonders if Henry has some of those same moments with him. After all, they both have a tendency to be high strung, even if they show it in different ways. He takes a breath in, lets his shoulders relax, leans into Henry.
The rain hits the window of their Brooklyn Brownstone in a way that it only can on a day meant for sleeping in and enjoying each other’s company. It isn’t a thunderstorm, though Alex wouldn’t mind it if it was. It’s the soft patter of a spring rainshower, the kind of rain that makes him want to curl up with a cup of tea, wrap himself and Henry in blankets, and pretend that nothing else in the world exists.
Alex lets his brain slow down for once, sinking into the covers and relishing in this moment he and Henry have together. Them–the First Son and the Prince of England–comfortable and quiet and alone together. He traces lazy patterns into the skin of Henry’s back, finding the moles that spread across his back like stars, connecting them like constellations.
He holds back a chuckle at Henry–usually perfectly put together–dozing with his cheek pressed into Alex’s chest, mouth hanging open and silent snores escaping in huffs of air. Even caught in the rush of his suppressed laughter, Alex is struck by how devastatingly beautiful Henry is like this, unguarded and warm and entirely Alex’s.
Right now they are not the Prince and the First Son. They are Henry and Alex.
Unable to stop himself, Alex presses a kiss to the bridge of Henry’s nose, chuckling as Henry wrinkles it in response to being disturbed.
“Times’t?” Henry grumbles, voice raspy in a way that makes Alex’s heart jump just a little bit.
“Time for you to get a watch,” Alex replies, his sing-song tone earning him a light smack on the arm. Hey, he’d known what he was getting into poking the bear! “It’s nine A.M.”
It’s the kind of morning where it seems like time doesn’t exist: the dark clouds covering the sun make it feel like it could be any time of day, the world caught in a soft, gray in-between. The day doesn’t demand anything of them yet, even the city that never sleeps seems to be moving at a slightly slower pace.
Finally, Sleeping Beauty’s eyes blink open properly, but there are clearly still cobwebs in his head as he blinks up at Alex blearily. His fingers curl into the fabric of Alex’s t-shirt, anchoring in the most feather-light of ways.
“Mm.” Henry grumbles intelligently.
Alex chuckles low in response, shaking his head fondly. “Didn’t you ask me not to let you sleep all day yesterday?” He teases, running his fingers through smooth blonde hair.
“Yes, well,” Henry says, eyes slipping shut again as he presses closer, “I didn’t anticipate how comfortable you’d be.”
“Oh please, we both know I’m an exceptional pillow.” Alex replies, though something warm blooms in his chest at Henry’s words. (What can he say, he’s a simple guy?) Pressing his chin into the crown of Henry’s head, Alex inhales softly, taking in the familiar scent of rain, soap, and Henry. Arms tightening around his boyfriend, Alex allows the minutes to slip by in a syrupy slowness.
They stay like that for a while, Alex content to hold Henry as he drifts in and out of sleep, lulled time and time again by the pattering of rain. Truthfully, Alex would be content to live forever as a human mattress, pressed beneath his boyfriend’s comforting and familiar weight.
Alex’s stomach seems to disagree. It interrupts the quiet and calm of the morning with a traitorous growl. He freezes, holding his breath like that might somehow undo it, but Henry stirs anyway, chuckling knowingly as he does so. Lifting his head just enough to peer down at Alex through half-lidded eyes, Henry offers a sleepy, but no less heart-twisting smile.
“Was that you,” Henry murmurs, the corners of his mouth twitching, “or the building settling?”
Alex groans dramatically, pulling one of his arms from where it rests against Henry to toss it over his eyes, hiding his face dramatically. “Wow. Rude. I give you my chest, my arms, my amazing sense of humor, and this is how you treat me?”
Henry laughs softly, the sound vibrating pleasantly against Alex’s ribs. “You’re right,” he says solemnly, leaning down to press a kiss just above Alex’s heart. “My sincerest apologies.”
Alex melts immediately, like the simp he is. There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of mutual simpery in a relationship, lads. Alex is a strong believer in this fact. “Apology accepted,” he says, then after a beat, adds “But I am starving.”
Henry hums thoughtfully, shifting until he’s propped up on one elbow, blanket slipping down his back.
“Mm. Breakfast, then?”
“Breakfast,” Alex agrees, though neither of them makes any real move to get up. Eventually, Henry leans down, pressing a kiss to Alex’s lips. And who is Alexander to deny his boyfriend a kiss? If he ever does that please call the police, that is not him.
They lie there for a few more minutes, trading lazy kisses and basking in a comfortable silence. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows. Henry finally sits up, stretching his arms over his head. Even here, with his bedhead a mess and sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes, Alex thinks Henry is the vision of perfection.
“Alright, Alex. Think of how good coffee will taste. Up you get.” Henry goads, pressing ticklish fingers into Alex’s ribcage as he groans and moans all the way. Really, did Henry not know this was bullying? Though he did have a good point about the coffee. . .
Finally, Alex too sits up, looking out of the window at the rain. It feels as if it has seeped into his bones, soaking him to the soul and weighing him down into bed. “Caffeine sounds great, baby.” He acquiesces, throwing in that pet name he knows Henry is oh so fond of. Watching the way that Henry always melts just a bit with the sweet names is always like a reward.
Blearily, the two drag themselves out of bed, groaning and mumbled complaints echoed between them. Misery loves company, just as sleep addled brains love caffeine.
The brownstone is quiet in that soft, Sunday way. There’s no honking outside, no neighbors clattering around upstairs, just the low hum of the city existing at a respectful distance. Until, of course, the shrill shriek of a siren cuts through the silence. (It is New York, after all.)
Alex pads into the kitchen in socked feet, starting the coffee on muscle memory alone while Henry hovers nearby, wrapped in a blanket like he’s determined to carry the bed with him. His Britishness puts a kettle on the stove, opting for his usual tea instead of a pot of coffee like the good ole American way deems patriotic.
“We look very domestic,” Henry observes.
Alex snorts. “We are very domestic. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
They settle on toast, eggs, and fruit scavenged from the fridge. Neither feels particularly culinarily adventurous on this laziest of lazy mornings. They eat slowly, leaning against the counter and exchanging meaningless words that mean the world to them. Henry insists on tea being a more weather appropriate (and overall far superior) beverage than coffee, and Alex is too busy watching the way Henry cradles the mug between his hands like it’s something precious to put up much of an argument.
“This is nice,” Henry says quietly, breaking a lull in the conversation. His eyes drift toward the rain-streaked window.
“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “It really is.”
After breakfast, they migrate to the couch, blankets in tow. Henry stretches out with his head in Alex’s lap, book forgotten on his chest as Alex absently runs his fingers through his hair. The rain lightens outside, shifting from a steady patter to a sprinkle that fogs the windows and softens the edges of everything beyond the glass.
Alex feels himself relax in a way he rarely does, the constant buzz in his head quieted by the simple act of being here. Of not needing to plan the next move or anticipate the next crisis. Of just existing next to someone he loves.
At some point, Henry looks up at him, eyes bright. “Do you want to go for a drive?”
Alex blinks. “A drive?”
“Mmhmm,” Henry says. “It seems like the sort of day for it. No destination. Just… going.”
Alex smiles immediately. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
They’re back in the bedroom briefly to pull on clothes. Nothing fancy, just jeans and sweaters and the comfortable familiarity of each other’s things. Henry steals one of Alex’s hoodies, sleeves too long and entirely intentional, and Alex pretends not to notice the way his heart does a little flip at the sight.
Outside, the rain has softened the city into something gentler. The streets are slick and reflective, the air cool and clean. Alex drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting easily on Henry’s thigh, thumb tracing idle circles through denim.
Henry leans back in his seat, head tipped toward the window as he watches Brooklyn pass by—parks damp and green, cafés just beginning to open, people moving slowly like they, too, have decided not to rush today.
“I like mornings like this,” Henry says after a while.
Alex glances over. “Yeah?”
Henry nods. “I never used to think I would have mornings like this. With someone like you.” His voice is vulnerable, soft. Almost filled with awe. Alex flips his hand where it rests on Henry’s thigh to intertwine their fingers, giving a reassuring squeeze.
“Neither did I. But here we are.” Alex replies with a smile, something softening within him to see the gesture returned on his boyfriend’s face.
The car fills with soft music, something mellow and unobtrusive, and they drive aimlessly, turning down streets just because they look interesting. They don’t talk much after their shared introspection, and that feels right too. Comfortable silence is not uncommon for them, especially with their thoughts shared in the occasional squeeze of a hand or gentle smile.
They have the rest of their lives together, but this Sunday already feels like it’s slipping away. Slowly the tall buildings grow more sparse and less towering. The congested traffic thins out into something far more manageable. Driving out of the city is a wordless agreement they come to, a change of pace for their daily lives.
Eventually, Alex pulls over somewhere quiet, rain tapping lightly against the roof as they sit there together, steam curling from their breath against the windows.
Henry turns toward him, eyes soft. “Thank you,” he says.
“For what?” Alex asks.
“For this,” Henry replies simply. “For choosing this with me.”
Alex swallows, heart full to bursting. “Always,” he says, leaning in to kiss him–slow and sure.
Because wasn’t this everything for them? Everything they’d fought for, everything they’d proven? Sure, their love had begun epic and dramatic, with stolen kisses and wandering hands. But now it was just as much these soft Sunday mornings as it was the rush and exhilaration of a fresh love.
Tomorrow was eventually going to come, as time did march on. Responsibilities never truly went away, but right now it was still a quiet Sunday morning, just for the two of them.
FIN.