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Henry has never been one to get into sports—let alone something like the Super Bowl.
Being with his now husband for as many years as they have been, you would think Henry would understand the concept of grown men throwing themselves into one another for entertainment.
Of course, he had rugby growing up—but this was different.
He himself had been a polo player once, though he hasn’t ridden seriously in years, not since he stepped away from the crown.
His family had dragged him to Wimbledon for tennis matches, and there were nights in his early twenties where Pez insisted on pubs showing European football when he wanted a bit more “testosterone in the atmosphere, Hazza.”
Henry never minded those things.
But they were never his.
Then he met Alex.
Who, truthfully, hadn’t been that big of a sports fanatic either—at least not in the way people assumed.
Alex loved the cultural side of it. The memories.
He’d talk about different types of games he attended when his mother was in office, stories about meeting players on the field, or sitting courtside and whispering policy jokes no one else would understand.
But wearing another team’s jersey?
Yelling at a television like he was personally responsible for the outcome?
That had never been his husband.
This year, however?
This year was different.
And it had absolutely nothing to do with the teams playing.
Bad Bunny—Benito was headlining the halftime show.
And that—Henry had come to learn over the past six months—was going to be a national event inside his own home.
Which is how Henry has found himself now: settled into the corner of their brownstone sofa, surrounded by remanence of Alex’s mouth-watering queso, guacamole, pico, and slow-cooked tacos.
June and Nora are on the floor with plates balanced on their knees.
Pez is critiquing the commercials from best to worse.
Their eldest, Charlie, is cuddled between Nora and June.
And Millie—their youngest—is fast asleep on Henry’s lap, her tiny fist curled into the fabric of his jumper.
Henry glances down at her, then back up at the television where the game continues on and the countdown to the half gets closer.
She’s been asleep since the very start and Henry is absolutely certain she will remain asleep even during the excitement coming up. Their daughter very much is used to her Papi’s excitement.
Alex hasn’t stopped talking about this halftime show since NBC announced it late last year.
June had taken him to Bad Bunny’s concert in Puerto Rico—a trip Henry had missed due to work—and Alex had come home glowing.
Actually glowing.
Story after story about the crowd, the music, the pride in the stadium, the way the island felt alive under the lights.
Henry remembers listening to him that night, chin in his palm, watching his husband relive it all.
But this?
The Super Bowl?
This was different.
Especially now.
With everything escalating in the country and his husband being right in the heart of it as the lawyer that he is.
The long nights.
The news cycles.
The advocacy work.
The interviews.
Henry has lost count of the evenings he’s found Alex still awake at 2 a.m.
His glasses crooked on his nose, eyes red as he scrolls through updates he shouldn’t read before bed.
More than once, Henry has taken the phone gently from his hands and shut it off himself.
More than once, he’s held Alex while they both cried quietly into the dark.
So this—
Tonight.
This joy.
This anticipation buzzing through him like electricity—
It matters.
Not just to millions of viewers.
But to Henry’s husband… and his family.
Alex finally drops onto the couch beside him, breathless like he’s run a marathon.
“Okay,” he says, grabbing a chip. “Okay. I’m seated. I’m calm. I’m normal.”
“You don’t have to be,” Henry says with the softest smile—leaning in to press a lingering kiss to Alex’s temple.
Alex beams instantly—nuzzling into Henry’s cheek, his Benito Bowl shirt that he is proudly twinning with June in on full display.
And Henry wouldn’t want it any other way.
Alex leans down and kisses their sleeping daughter. “I apologize in advance if she wakes from my screaming.” He says “I’ll feed her and change her diaper for two weeks.”
Henry just shakes his head. “There’s no need darling. You’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
The smile that takes over Alex’s face makes Henry fall in love with him all over again.
“Papi! It’s starting soon!” Charlie wails from the floor.
Alex gasps like he’s just been alerted to a national emergency.
“Oh my God—okay—okay!”
He jumps up again, scooping Charlie into his arms and swaying him side to side.
“Are you ready? Huh? You ready for the best halftime show of your life?” Alex asks, bouncing him.
Charlie nods dramatically. “Is he gonna do the song you play in the car?”
June spins around from the snack table, pointing. “He better! Or I’m filing a personal complaint.”
Alex laughs, throwing his head back. “June, you cried when he did that song live.”
“I did not cry!”
“You sobbed.”
“It was cultural pride, Alexander!”
Nora snorts into her drink.
Pez comes next—sliding onto the sofa beside Henry and gently lifting Millie from his arms.
“I’ve got the little nugget,” he murmurs as Millie settles sleepily into his chest. “You may need your hands if Alex starts wailing.”
Henry beams, leaning over to kiss the crown of her head before looking back up at the screen. “He’ll be..well. Maybe. Thank you.”
After a couple more commercials—the intro begins.
June squeals immediately, shooting to her feet.
Alex puts Charlie down as he squeals just as excited as his dad.
“Oh my God—I can already tell this is going to be epic!” she says, clapping her hands together as she bounces in place.
Alex rushes to stand beside her, grabbing her shoulders.
“June, if he opens with CALLAITA”
“I KNOW!”
They both start jumping before the music even drops.
Nora backs toward the sofa, laughing as she collapses beside Henry.
His hand comes up automatically to steady her shoulder.
She tilts her head toward Alex and June, fond.
“Aren’t our spouses adorable?” she teases.
Henry hums warmly, eyes soft as he watches them.
“Painfully so.”
From across the room, Alex hears them.
He turns, pointing dramatically.
“SHHHHH!”
The entire room bursts into laughter.
Henry has learned Spanish over the years he’s been with Alex—but nothing that comes from his lips will ever sound like his husband.
The way the vowels move.
The rhythm.
The music inside the language itself.
It always does something to him.
Benito starts to sing—and Henry instantly flushes.
The opening song is one that played years ago on the White House lawn during the first New Year’s party Henry had attended.
Remembered how young they both were.
How he was pining over Alex when he should’ve just moved through the crowd and claimed him for his own.
Yet he got to be the one to marry him so he can’t truly complain.
Alex and June screams travel through the living room.
And as if sensing Henry’s flush— Alex turns catching Henry’s eye.
He winks.
Then turns back to the screen, already singing every word.
Seeing Alex this happy?
It does something deep and quiet to Henry’s chest.
He’s barely listening to the performance itself—too focused on the way Alex is dancing with Charlie in his arms, spinning him carefully.
Too focused on June grabbing Alex’s hand, both of them belting lyrics in rapid Spanish.
“EY SALUDEN A TITI” June shouts.
“VAMO A TIRARNO UN SELFI—”
They scream the verse together anyway.
It pulls a laugh from Henry that he doesn’t even try to hide.
It reminds him of summers at the lake house—Oscar arriving unannounced with trays of enchiladas, music playing too loud, Alex translating jokes at lightning speed while Henry tried to keep up.
This—
This noise.
This love.
This culture filling every corner of their home—
This is home.
And watching his husband glow in the light of it?
It is Henry’s favorite thing in the world.
The performance continues and Alex is absolutely buzzing—celebrities flashing across the stage and screens as he and June scream for each and every one of them.
“OH MY GOD ITS CARDI!”
“BABY ITS PEDRO FUCKING PASCAL”
They’re clutching each other, jumping like teenagers at a concert rather than two grown adults in their own living room.
Nora even shoots up from the sofa at one point when Lady Gaga makes her guest appearance—screaming the lyrics to Die With A Smile at the top of her lungs.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD YOU’RE KIDDING.”
“It’s MOTHER!” Pez squeals out—still holding Millie who is somehow still sound asleep.
Henry just smiles—wide and helpless.
There are so many wonderful moments packed into the thirteen-minute spectacle that Henry can hardly keep track.
At one point, there’s even a wedding onstage.
Henry leans toward Pez slightly.
“…Is that legally binding?” he murmurs.
Pez is already on his phone.
“Give me thirty seconds, I’m finding out.”
Henry snorts quietly.
Then—
The music shifts.
The crowd on television erupts.
And June grabs Alex’s arm so hard he nearly drops his plate.
“RICKY MARTIN?!”
Alex chokes.
Actually chokes.
“Oh my God—oh my—JUNE—”
Ricky Martin sings as the crowd at the stadium roars.
June whips around immediately, pointing at Alex like she’s been waiting years for this exact moment.
“OH LOOK EVERYONE—it’s Alex’s childhood crush!”
Alex’s face goes scarlet.
“I DID NOT—”
“You had his posters!”
“I DID NOT HAVE POSTERS!”
June cackles, turning to Henry for backup.
“He used to practice interviews in the mirror in case he ever met him.”
“JUNE!”
Charlie gasps dramatically. “Papi you had a crush?!”
Alex runs a hand down his face.
“I hate this family.”
Henry is trying—truly trying—not to laugh, but the fondness is too much.
He reaches for Alex’s hand, squeezing it gently.
“For what it’s worth,” Henry murmurs softly, “you’re blushing far more now than you did when you met me.”
Alex turns to him, scandalized.
“That is slander.”
But through all the dancing—
All the laughter—
Henry catches Alex’s eyes across the flicker of stage lights.
And he sees it before anyone else.
The wetness.
Alex is crying.
Quiet tears slipping down his cheeks as he watches the stage.
So overcome.
So happy.
So very overwhelmed by the representation—the pride, the language, the culture—so visible on the biggest stage in the world.
He can see his husband is hanging onto every single word that Benito is saying and singing.
Henry’s chest tightens instantly.
He’s seen this before.
The night Benito won at the Grammys—Alex had cried then too, curled into Henry’s side on the sofa, trying to explain through tears how important it all was.
How it felt to see someone who sounded like him… looked like his family… stood proudly in spaces that once never made room for people like them.
Henry hadn’t interrupted.
Hadn’t tried to fix it.
He’d simply held him—letting Alex cry, letting him speak, letting him feel every bit of it without apology.
And as Henry stands now—heart already swelling as the ending nears—
He knows he will again.
Onscreen, Benito walks across the field, a football tucked under his arm like a symbol rather than a prop.
Flags begin to rise around him.
One by one.
Dozens of them.
Colors Henry recognizes all of them carried with the same pride, the same presence, the same right to be seen.
The stadium lights glow gold.
The camera pulls wide.
And the screen behind the performance shifts.
The Only Thing More Powerful Than Hate Is Love.
Henry feels Alex break beside him before he even hears him.
He turns—
And Alex is fully crying.
Not quiet tears this time.
Not the subtle kind he tries to hide.
This is open. His heart on display.
Henry moves instantly—arms wrapping around him from behind, pulling him close against his chest as if instinct alone guides him there.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs softly into Alex’s hair.
Alex nods, breath hitching, hands clutching at Henry’s forearms like an anchor.
Nora is holding June nearby—June openly sobbing, mascara forgotten, one hand pressed to her mouth as she watches the flags wave across the field.
Charlie moves in without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Alex’s legs, pressing his cheek into his father’s hip.
“Papi?” he whispers.
Alex lets out a shaky laugh through tears, one hand dropping to Charlie’s hair.
“I’m okay, baby,” he manages, voice thick. “I’m just… really happy.”
Henry tightens his hold slightly, resting his cheek against Alex’s temple.
He watches the stage over Alex’s shoulder—but his focus never leaves the man in his arms.
He can feel Alex’s heart racing.
Can feel the emotion trembling through him like live current.
And Henry understands—maybe not every cultural layer, not every lyric or symbol—
But he understands love.
Understands pride.
Understands what it means to see yourself reflected back by the world and told:
You belong here.
“You’re allowed to feel all of it,” Henry whispers. “Every bit.”
Alex turns his face slightly, tears still slipping down but his eyes warm, grateful.
“I just—God, H—this matters so much.”
Henry nods, brushing his thumb gently along Alex’s jaw.
“I know it does.”
Fireworks erupt across the stadium then—light spilling across their living room through the television glow.
But Henry barely notices.
Because in his arms, his husband is crying from joy instead of grief—
From hope instead of fear—
And Henry thinks there is nothing more powerful in the world than that.
The fireworks burst in brilliant waves across the stadium sky—gold, red, violet—lighting the field in a final, triumphant glow.
Benito walks through the tunnel singing what is Henry’s favorite song selfishly DtMF, arms wide, the flags still rippling behind him as the crowd roars loud enough that it bleeds through the television speakers and into their living room.
Alex claps through his tears, breath still shaky, but smiling so wide it almost hurts to look at.
“God,” he laughs softly, wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand. “That was—fuck, that was everything.”
Henry doesn’t let go of him yet.
He presses one more kiss into Alex’s hair as the performance closes, the screen fading into more commercials.
Around them, the house slowly begins to move again.
June exhales loudly, pressing her palms to her face.
Her hand laced tight with Alex’s.
“I need water,” she declares thickly. “Or tequila. Or both.”
Nora laughs gently, looping an arm through hers.
“Kitchen. Now. Before you start a speech.”
“I have a speech,” June protests as Nora guides her away.
“I know you do, babe.”
They disappear down the hallway still talking, June already launching into rapid Spanish about choreography and symbolism.
On the sofa, Millie stirs awake in Pez’s arms, blinking sleepily at the noise.
“Mmm…da?” she mumbles.
Pez smiles, brushing her curls back.
“Daddy and papi are okay. Auntie Pezza has you. Hungry, nugget?”
She nods immediately.
“Well then, we must rectify that at once. Come, Charles,” he adds, glancing down.
Charlie is already halfway off the floor.
“Can I have chips?”
“You may have something that resembles nutrition,” Pez says, standing.
Charlie groans but follows anyway, still clutching the edge of Alex’s shirt for a second before letting go.
“Love you, Papi.”
“Love you more, bud,” Alex murmurs, kissing the top of his head as he passes.
And then—
They’re alone.
The television still glows softly in the background, post-show analysis humming low, but the living room itself has gone quiet.
Henry’s arms are still wrapped around Alex from behind.
Neither of them rush to move.
Alex leans back fully this time, resting his weight into Henry’s chest, hands settling over Henry’s forearms where they’re crossed over his stomach.
He exhales slowly.
“Thank you,” he says after a moment.
Henry frowns slightly, nuzzling closer.
“For what, my love?”
“For letting me be… all of that,” Alex murmurs. “For never making me feel like I’m too much when stuff like this hits me hard.”
Henry turns his head, pressing a kiss to Alex’s cheek—lingering, grounding.
“You could never be too much,” he says quietly. “Not for me.”
Alex’s eyes close briefly at that.
“I know you don’t always understand every part of it,” Alex continues softly. “The music, the language, the symbolism… but you always try. You always show up for it because it matters to me.”
Henry gently untangles one arm just long enough to turn Alex slightly so he can see his face his own tears on his cheeks.
“I don’t need to understand every word,” Henry says. “I understand you.”
He brushes his thumb beneath Alex’s eye again, catching the last trace of dampness there.
Alex does the same to Henry.
“And I love seeing you this happy,” he adds, voice even softer. “It’s my favorite sight in the world.”
Alex laughs under his breath, emotional all over again—but lighter now.
“You’re such a sap.”
“Only for my husband.”
Alex turns fully then, sliding his arms around Henry’s waist, pressing their foreheads together.
“C’mere,” he whispers.
Henry goes easily, hands settling at Alex’s hips as they sway slightly in the quiet living room—music from the halftime replay still drifting faintly behind them.
Alex presses a slow, grateful kiss to Henry’s lips.
Full of thank yous he doesn’t quite have words for.
When they part, he rests his forehead back against Henry’s.
“You make everything feel safe,” Alex murmurs.
Henry smiles—soft, steady, utterly devoted.
“And you make everything feel alive.”
From the kitchen, June’s voice suddenly rings out—
“IF ANYONE EATS THE LAST TACO I WILL FILE FOR DIVORCE.”
Alex snorts, breaking the moment with a laugh.
“Well. Domestic bliss calls.”
Henry chuckles, stealing one more kiss before letting him go.
And as they walk toward the kitchen together—shoulder to shoulder, fingers brushing—
Henry thinks again how lucky he is.
To witness Alex’s joy.
To hold his tears.
To share his home.
To have children they have and wi continue to teach all about love and equality.
And if they play Bad Bunny until the night ends? Well Henry is absolutely happy with that as well.