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The first few months after Kensington were the worst. Everything went quiet. At first, Alex kept expecting a text, an email, a call, but nothing came.
Eventually, the silence became a part of his day to day. Alex understood this was not a pause, this was the end. And maybe Alex should have understood that since that night at Kensington, when he asked Henry to fight for them and Henry simply told him to leave.
So, Alex adapted.
Ellen won reelection that November and the country celebrated. Alex smiled in photographs and attended events, and shook hands, pretending he wasn’t in pain.
Then he moved to New York. NYU accepted him into their law program and Alex realized if he was busy all the time, he didn’t have time to think about a prince with sad blue eyes. Suddenly, his life became libraries and coffee and going for a run every chance he got. June and Nora were there for him, but they couldn’t truly understand. How could they when Alex barely understood what happened.
He never dated. He tricked himself into believing it was because he didn’t have the time, but deep down he knew why. He still loved Henry, even after one year.
To be honest, Alex thought he probably would never stop loving him, and he was okay with that. He was okay spending the rest of his life missing Henry, he had learned to live with that.
—
The news broke on a rainy Tuesday night. It was past midnight and Alex was still working on an assignment when his phone lit up with a notification: BREAKING: Prince Henry comes out as gay. Announces intention to abdicate.
Alex stopped breathing. He read the headline four times before clicking on the article, which led to a video. On screen, Henry stood behind a podium outside Kensington Palace, looking as devastatingly beautiful as Alex remembered.
“I have spent my entire life trying to fulfill the role everyone expected of me,” Henry said carefully. “But I believe there comes a point where I deserve the opportunity to build a life that belongs to me.”
The speech couldn’t have lasted more than 5 minutes, yet it took almost an hour for Alex to process what he was seeing. He stared at the ceiling with tears in his eyes.
He was happy. God, he was so proud of him. Henry had done it; he was free. But underneath the relief was something raw and aching because Alex wanted to see him.
Wanted to know if he was okay.
Was he supposed to reach out? Alex had no idea if Henry would even respond. And what would he say, anyway?
After ignoring June and Nora’s messages and calls, he finally decided to go to bed.
Unfortunately, he barely slept.
—
Someone was knocking at the door.
At first, Alex ignored it.
The sound filtered into his sleep slowly. He buried his face deeper into his pillow and pulled the blanket over his head.
The knocking continued, whoever was on the other side clearly had no intention of leaving.
"Jesus Christ," Alex muttered.
His voice sounded rough from sleep.
The apartment was still dim when he finally dragged himself out of bed. He didn't bother checking the time. Whatever hour it was, it was too early.
The knocking came again.
"I'm coming," he called.
He wasn't wearing a shirt. He was barefoot and half asleep as he shuffled toward the door.
Alex unlocked it and pulled it open.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Alex just stared.
His brain simply refused to process what it was seeing.
Because standing in the hallway was Henry.
Alex wasn’t sure it wasn’t a cruel hallucination created by sleep deprivation. There was no way Henry was really here a year later.
"Hello, Alex," Henry said softly.
The familiar accent hit Alex like a punch to the chest.
"I'm sorry to bother you at this time, but..." Henry swallowed. "Could we talk?"
Alex continued staring.
Henry shifted awkwardly.
"Are you really here?" Alex finally asked.
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
A sad little smile flickered across Henry's face.
"Yes."
Alex blinked.
Henry was still there. Still real.
Still looking at him like he wasn't sure he was welcome.
"I understand if you'd rather I leave."
"Come in." Alex said still feeling confused.
He stepped aside automatically. Then he remembered he was shirtless.
"Just—"
Alex pointed vaguely toward the hallway.
"Give me one second."
Henry nodded immediately.
"Of course."
Alex practically fled.
He disappeared into his bedroom, grabbed the first clean shirt he could find, pulled it over his head, then stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.
Alex quickly brushed his teeth and splashed water onto his face.
His reflection looked just as shocked as he felt.
Henry was here.
Actually here.
In New York.
In his apartment.
After an entire year.
"Okay," Alex whispered to himself.
He ran a hand through his curls. That did absolutely nothing.
"Okay."
Five minutes later he returned to the living room.
Henry was standing exactly where he'd left him.
Not sitting.
Just waiting.
As though he wasn't entirely convinced he hadn't been invited inside by mistake.
The sight did something to Alex's chest.
Because for all the confidence Henry projected in public, Alex remembered this version of him too.
The version that always expected rejection first.
"Sorry," Alex said.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
The irony of that statement nearly made Alex laugh.
Neither of them seemed to know what to do next.
Finally Henry took a breath.
"I wanted to apologize for arriving without warning."
Alex nodded.
"I saw the news."
"Good."
Henry looked relieved.
"That makes this slightly easier."
Then his expression became serious again.
"The truth is, Alex, I came here because there are things I should have said a long time ago."
Alex's stomach dropped.
Henry noticed immediately.
"I don't expect anything from this conversation," he added quickly. "I promise."
Alex nodded.
"Okay."
Henry took another breath.
And started talking.
"I wanted to apologize," he said, "for how I treated you the last time we saw each other." He paused. "I didn't want you to leave. I know that was a long time ago, and I know it doesn't change what happened, but you still deserve to hear it. I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough back then."
Alex opened his mouth.
Henry kept going.
"The truth is, I thought I was doing the right thing. For both of us." His voice was careful, measured. "I felt trapped. In my position, in what was expected of me. And I knew — I was convinced — that I would never be able to be with you the way you deserved. So I told myself you'd be better off. That the only future available to me was being loyal to the crown."
Alex said nothing. He wasn't sure he was breathing.
"It nearly killed me, Alex." Henry's voice dropped slightly. "The first three months I was barely — I wasn't functioning. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. I stopped taking my medication." He looked down for a moment. "Bea was scared for me. Genuinely scared. And it was awful, seeing her that frightened on my behalf, when I'd been in that same position for her before. But I didn't want help. I refused it."
Alex felt something tighten in his chest.
He thought about Henry alone in Kensington. Henry not eating. Henry not sleeping. Henry disappearing into himself in that palace with its high ceilings and its cold corridors and not a single person who could actually reach him.
It made him want to put his fist through a wall.
"What changed?" Alex asked quietly.
Henry looked up.
"My grandmother summoned me." Henry had a bitter look on his face. "She told me I was to be married."
Alex's heart dropped straight to the floor.
"She said it just like that," Henry continued. "Simply informed me, as though my life was still a scheduling matter to be sorted." He paused. "And that's when it hit me."
He looked at Alex then, really looked at him.
"Why was I staying loyal to a crown that wouldn't do the same for me?" Henry said. "I had let go of the best thing that had ever happened to me, for an institution that didn't even register that I was dying on the inside." He shook his head slowly. "So I told her no. I said I wouldn't do it, and I left the room before she could respond."
A beat of silence.
"And for the first time in months," Henry said, "I felt alive."
Alex pressed his lips together.
He was not going to cry. He was absolutely not going to cry right now.
"After that I focused on getting the help I needed," A small smile formed on Henry’s face. "Therapy. Back on my medication. Slowly." A small breath. "And then I talked to my mother. She was — she was more supportive than I expected, honestly."
"Good," Alex said. His voice came out rougher than intended.
Henry gave him a brief, soft look before continuing.
"I knew I wanted to come out. But I also realized that even if I did, I couldn't live the life I actually wanted while remaining tied to the institution. So Shaan helped me organize the abdication."
"It wasn't pretty at first. My grandmother was — well. You can imagine. Philip was awful about it, initially." He paused. "Funny enough, he came around in the end."
"Philip," Alex repeated, almost involuntarily.
"I know," Henry said.
Alex made a noise that was almost a laugh.
"The paperwork is still being finalized," Henry continued. "There are things left to settle. But Alex —" He stopped. Took a breath. "What you saw on the news is real. I'm free. Actually free."
He said it like he still hadn't entirely gotten used to the sound of it.
"I even decided to move to New York," Henry added. "Pez has been working on a shelter project and he asked if I wanted to be involved, and I —" He glanced around the apartment briefly, like he was remembering where he was. "Well. Here I am."
Here he was.
Alex just stared at him.
"I know I have no right to ask anything from you," Henry said. "And I genuinely appreciate you listening to all of this instead of just kicking me out the moment you opened the door."
Alex laughed before he could stop it — short and involuntary.
The corner of Henry's mouth lifted slightly.
"The truth is," he said, quieter now, "I want to start living my own life. There are still crown-related matters I have to finish untangling, but I needed you to know —" He stopped again. Steadied himself. "When I asked you to leave that night, it was never because of you, Alex. It was because of me. And you deserved to know that. You deserved to hear it from me."
They were both crying now.
"I have no right coming back like this," Henry continued, his voice thinner now, less steady than it had been. "Let alone asking for anything. And you don't have to say a single word right now, I mean that. I don't even know if there's someone else in your life, I —" He stopped himself. His jaw was tight. His eyes were glassy. "But I needed you to know that I never stopped wanting to be with you. Not for a single day. And if there’s a chance you could feel something for me again, I promise I will do anything to have you back."
The room went very quiet.
Alex had spent a year wishing for this. He just never thought it would be possible.
"This is a lot to take in," Alex said finally.
His voice broke slightly on the last word.
Henry nodded. His eyes were wet. "I know."
"You really did hurt me."
Henry didn't flinch. He held Alex's gaze and said, quietly, "I know."
Alex nodded slowly. He looked at the floor for a moment, then back up.
"I'm really proud of you, Hen." He meant every word. "I'm so happy you're free. I always knew you had it in you."
Something moved across Henry's face — gratitude, maybe, or relief.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Alex exhaled. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to hold all of this at once.
"I just — I don't know where to go from here," he admitted. "Twenty four hours ago I was convinced I was never going to see you again. And now you're standing in my apartment in New York and you're telling me you —" He stopped. Shook his head. "It's a lot, Henry."
Henry's expression dimmed slightly. He nodded once, and Alex could see him pulling back, preparing for the door, already composing himself.
"I understand," Henry said. "Thank you for listening."
"But maybe," Alex said.
Henry stilled.
"Maybe we can start by staying in touch?" Alex watched him carefully. "See how things go from there."
Henry blinked. And then, slowly, the tension left his shoulders.
"Yes," he said. "Of course. Whatever you want."
"We can see where it goes," Alex said. "No pressure.”
"Yes." Henry's voice was barely above a whisper. "I would love to have you back in my life. Whatever way you'll have me."
They stood there for a moment in the quiet apartment, the city humming somewhere below, and Alex thought that for the first time in a year, the silence between them felt like something other than absence.
—
The first week was strange.
Alex didn't know how else to describe it. Henry was just there now, back in his phone, and he didn't quite know what to do with that.
The first two days were awkward. He'd type something, delete it, type it again. He responded too formally or too briefly and then stared at the screen wondering if Henry was overthinking it just as much on his end.
Then Henry sent him a video of a dog trying to carry a stick that was way too wide down a flight of stairs.
Alex laughed out loud alone in his apartment.
And something inside him settled.
Because here was the thing — underneath everything else, underneath the year of silence and the conversation in his living room and all the history they carried between them, Henry was still Henry. The same person who could make him laugh without even trying. The same person who knew him in a way that still caught Alex off guard sometimes. And slowly, without Alex being able to pinpoint exactly when it happened, he stopped measuring every word.
Henry had been busy that week. Getting settled into his new brownstone, coordinating things with Pez, answering emails related to the abdication that still hadn't fully closed. But he still texted. Every day, without fail.
And today he was picking Alex up from school.
He came out of his last class with his bag over his shoulder and spotted him immediately.
Henry was leaning against the car with his arms crossed and his sunglasses on. His hair fell differently in the cold, and he was wearing a dark coat that Alex vaguely remembered seeing in a magazine photo two years ago.
Alex stopped for just a second.
It wasn't fair. It was genuinely not fair how good he looked.
"Hey," Alex said when he reached him.
Henry smiled. He took his sunglasses off.
"Hello." His eyes found Alex's with that ease that had always disarmed him a little. "How was it?"
"Long," Alex said. "Very, very long."
Henry opened the car door.
"Tell me."
And that was it. Just like that.
By the time they were three blocks from campus they were talking about Alex's constitutional law professor, and Henry had a very specific opinion about it that was completely wrong, and Alex told him exactly that, and Henry laughed and called him disrespectful, and Alex laughed too.
It felt like nothing had changed.
The brownstone turned out to be not that far from his apartment.
It was beautiful. Dark red brick, tall windows, a small front stoop that Henry climbed with his keys in hand. Inside there were still boxes in some corners, books stacked against the living room wall waiting for a bookshelf, but it already felt like a place that was slowly becoming something of its own.
Henry gave him the tour with that characteristic mix of contained pride and slight shyness, like it mattered a lot to him what Alex thought but he didn't want it to show.
It mattered to Alex. It mattered that Henry had a place that was his. A place where he could finally be himself.
They ended up on the sofa with a movie on in the background and a pizza Henry had ordered with too many toppings because, according to him, half of them were for Alex.
"You don't know me," Alex said.
"I got extra jalapeños," Henry said, not looking up.
Alex opened his mouth. Closed it.
"Okay, you know me."
Henry smiled at the screen.
That night Alex laughed more than he had laughed in months. Not at anything in particular — at the movie, at a story Henry told about Pez and a kayak incident that Alex could not believe was real but apparently very much was, at nothing and everything.
When he was back at apartment it was late and cold and Alex had his hands shoved in his pockets and a strange feeling sitting in his chest.
It wasn't exactly happiness. It was something closer to recognition.
Like something that had been switched off for a year was very slowly starting to come back on.
Alex decided not to think about it too much.
For now.
—
A routine formed from there.
They texted every day. That part had started during the first week and simply never stopped. Henry sent him things he found funny, or interesting, or occasionally just beautiful — a photo of the sky over the Hudson at six in the morning, a passage from a book he was reading, a voice note once where he was clearly in the middle of cooking and said "Alex, I have a serious question about garlic" and then proceeded to have a very serious question about garlic.
Alex saved the voice note. He was not going to examine that.
Twice a week Henry drove him to class.
Alex told himself it was convenient. Henry's brownstone was close, Henry offered, it made sense. That was all it was. It had nothing to do with the fact that those mornings were consistently the best part of his day, or that he started waking up slightly earlier on those days without meaning to, or that the amount of time he spent on his hair was between him and God.
He always brought breakfast. That part started the second week, when he showed up with coffee for him and tea for Henry, and a paper bag Henry looked at him like Alex had done something extraordinary.
"You didn't have to," Henry said.
"I was already getting one for myself," Alex said.
Henry was quiet for a second.
"Alex."
"It's a croissant, Henry, don't make it weird."
Henry smiled and stepped aside to let him in and didn't say anything else about it, but he was still smiling ten minutes later, and Alex looked very deliberately out the window and said nothing.
The weekends became theirs without either of them declaring it out loud.
Museums, mostly, because it turned out Henry had opinions about every single piece of art in New York and Alex found this both insufferable and deeply entertaining.
"You're such a nerd," Alex told him once, in front of a painting Henry had been looking at for what felt like an unreasonable amount of time.
"You've been standing here with me for the same amount of time," Henry pointed out.
"I'm supporting you," he shrugged.
Henry gave him a look so fond it did something genuinely dangerous to Alex's chest.
There were movies at Henry's brownstone, too. Henry's sofa was better than any piece of furniture Alex had ever sat on, they'd end up there with their socks off and some film playing that one of them had been meaning to watch, and half the time they talked through it anyway and then had to go back to find the part they missed.
And then there were the cooking lessons.
Alex had discovered in his second visit that Henry's entire approach to feeding himself consisted of cereal, sandwiches, and occasionally eggs if he was feeling ambitious. Alex stared at his kitchen cabinets for a long moment and then turned around with an expression that made Henry immediately defensive.
"I've been busy," Henry said.
"Henry. There's nothing in here."
"There's cereal."
"Four kinds of cereal."
"I have preferences."
Alex closed the cabinet. "Okay. We're fixing this."
Henry looked uncertain. "I'm not sure I'm a natural in the kitchen."
"You're not," Alex agreed. "But you will be."
Henry did not turn out to be a natural. He was precise and careful and read the recipe like it was a legal document, which Alex found hilarious, but he was also genuinely trying, and there was something about standing next to him in that kitchen — shoulders occasionally bumping, Henry frowning in concentration, Alex stealing bits of whatever they were making — that Alex had filed away somewhere he wasn't ready to look at yet.
June and Nora came back into the picture around the third week.
Alex had warned them. Or tried to. June had been cautious at first because she was protecting him, constantly asking if he was okay.
Nora took approximately forty-eight hours to decide she liked Henry again, and the main contributing factor was that Henry beat her at chess and she respected it enormously. Pez folded immediately and completely, which surprised no one. Bea, when she visited, treated Alex like a long-lost family member and hugged him for slightly too long while Henry stood to the side pretending not to be emotional about it.
It was a lot. It was a really, really good lot.
And Alex was happy.
He was genuinely, actually happy in a way he hadn't been in over a year, and he knew exactly why, and he was doing his very best not to look directly at that.
—
The exam had been two weeks of his life he was never getting back.
Constitutional law theory, four hundred pages of supplemental reading, a professor who believed that suffering built character, and Alex operating on an average of five hours of sleep and more coffee than was medically advisable. Henry had talked him through two separate late-night spirals, once via text and once on a call that lasted until two in the morning, and at some point during that second one Alex had fallen asleep mid-sentence and woken up to a text that said You're going to be fine. Get some rest. I'll see you when it's over.
He walked out of the exam hall and felt his entire body exhale.
Henry was outside.
Alex saw him before Henry saw him — leaning against the car the same way he had that first day, but this time his sunglasses were in his hand rather than on his face, and he was looking at the entrance with a focused expression.
And he was holding flowers. A proper bouquet. Yellow and white, tied with a ribbon.
Alex stopped walking for just a second.
He knew how this looked. He was fully aware of how this looked. And the thing was, he wasn't even upset about it — standing there in the late afternoon with his exam finally over and Henry Fox waiting for him outside with flowers was not a hardship, it was objectively a lot, but it wasn't a hardship.
The complication was everything that came after the moment.
Because for all the time they'd spent together over these past weeks — and it had been a lot of time, really a lot of time — they had kept things carefully, mutually platonic. It wasn't that Alex didn't know where they were heading. He did. He could feel it in the way Henry looked at him sometimes a second too long, could feel it in his own chest every time Henry laughed at something Alex said, had felt it and chosen, every time, to look away.
Because every time Henry hinted at something more, Alex changed the subject.
He knew it wasn't fair. He hated that it wasn't fair. But there was something underneath all of this happiness that kept pulling at him whenever he let himself think about it too long.
What if this was temporary.
What if Henry was here now, and then one day he wasn't. What if something changed and the crown pulled him back or life intervened or Henry simply realized that Alex wasn't worth the disruption he'd caused in his life. What if Alex let himself fall all the way and then had to survive losing him again.
He wasn't sure he would. That was the honest truth. He'd barely survived it the first time.
Henry spotted him.
His whole face changed. Just like that — the tension went out of his shoulders and he smiled, the one that reached his eyes, and he held up the flowers a little.
Alex walked toward him.
"You passed," Henry said. It wasn't a question.
"I passed," Alex confirmed. "Probably. I'm like eighty-three percent sure I passed."
Henry laughed and held out the flowers.
Alex took them. Their fingers overlapped for a second around the stems.
"You got me flowers," Alex said.
"You've been stressed for two weeks. You deserved flowers."
"Thank you," Alex looked down at the bouquet. Back up. "They are beautiful."
Henry met his eyes. Steady. Calm.
"You are beautiful," he said simply.
Alex held the flowers and said nothing.
And then Alex said, "Come on," and got in the car, and Henry got in after him, and they went to get dinner, and neither of them mentioned it again.
But Alex thought about Henry calling him beautiful all night long.
—
Alex became aware of three things in slow succession.
First, he was not in his bed.
Second, he was not cold, which was unusual for his apartment in November.
Third, someone was breathing very steadily somewhere near his left ear.
He opened his eyes.
Henry's living room came into focus gradually — the tall windows, the soft grey light of early morning, the blanket that had somehow ended up half on both of them. The television was off. At some point during the night it had simply stopped and no one had noticed.
Alex didn't move.
He became aware that he was on his side with his head against Henry's chest. Henry had one arm across his waist. Their legs were tangled together in a way that had clearly happened organically at some point in the night and Henry was still asleep.
Alex could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing.
He lay there for a moment and let himself exist inside it before his brain caught up entirely.
Last night had been fun. Really fun — Nora had brought Mario Kart and it devolved into chaos within twenty minutes, Pez had been catastrophically bad, June had beaten everyone. They'd all had too much to drink and laughed too loudly and at some point everyone had filtered out and Alex hadn't wanted to leave yet.
So he hadn't.
They'd put something on and sat on the sofa and that was apparently the last decision either of them had consciously made.
Alex shifted slightly, trying to untangle himself without waking Henry.
Henry stirred.
Alex went still.
Henry's arm moved. His breathing changed. A long pause, and then —
"Good morning," Henry said. His voice was low and rough with sleep.
"Morning," Alex said.
A beat.
"Your hair in the mornings is truly something," Henry whispered.
Alex pulled back to look at him.
Henry was watching him with heavy-lidded eyes and a sleep-soft expression and the audacity to look that good at whatever time it was in the morning.
"Excuse me, not everyone can have —" Alex gestured vaguely at Henry's head, which was admittedly also a disaster but in an annoying way that still looked good. "Prince charming hair."
Henry smiled at Alex.
They both sat up. The blanket slid off. Alex ran a hand through his hair, which did absolutely nothing, and Henry disappeared into the kitchen.
"I'll make breakfast," Henry called.
Alex followed him in and leaned against the counter.
"You're going to make breakfast."
"I live here and I've been taking lessons from a very demanding instructor." Henry opened the fridge with confidence. "I think I can manage pancakes."
Alex watched him move around the kitchen and felt a specific kind of fondness that was getting harder and harder to keep in its designated box.
The pancakes turned out fine. Better than fine, actually, which Alex acknowledged with a nod that made Henry look quietly pleased with himself.
They were halfway through breakfast when Henry set his fork down.
"I wanted to tell you something," he said.
Alex looked up.
"I got a call from Shaan yesterday." Henry's voice was even. "There are a few things related to the abdication that still need to be signed off in person. I need to go back to England for a few days."
The kitchen felt slightly quieter than it had a moment ago.
"Okay," Alex said.
"It shouldn't be more than five days. A week at the most."
"Okay," Alex said again.
Henry looked at him.
"Alex."
"It’s fine." Alex picked up his coffee. "It makes sense. You've said there are still things to close out, it's fine."
"I'll be back before you've had time to miss me," he said, lightly.
Alex looked down at his plate.
He wasn't going to say what he was thinking, which was that he was already bracing for it and Henry hadn't even left yet. Which was ridiculous. It was five days. It was completely fine and he was a grown adult and it was fine.
"You better be," Alex said instead.
Henry smiled.
"I promise."
—
The days leading up to Henry's flight were fine. Alex was supportive and normal and completely fine about the whole thing.
He was also anxious.
He knew it was irrational. He knew Henry was coming back — Henry had said so, Shaan had a return ticket booked, there was a whole plan. This wasn't Kensington. This wasn't Henry disappearing into a silence. This was five days and a specific reason and a phone that would stay on.
Alex knew all of that.
He still lay awake the night before staring at the ceiling for longer than he was willing to admit.
The morning of the flight was grey and cold.
They drove to the airport mostly talking about nothing — Henry's plans once he landed, whether Bea would make him sit through a formal dinner, about the list Pez had given him of things to bring back from London.
Alex laughed in the right places.
He was doing great.
The terminal was busy. They found the right check-in area and Henry got everything sorted and then the boarding announcement came over the speakers.
It moved through Alex like cold water.
Henry turned to pick up his bag and Alex stepped forward and hugged him before he'd made a conscious decision to do it.
Henry went still for just a fraction of a second, surprised, and then his arms came up and he held on.
Alex had not anticipated how hard it would be to let go.
"Safe travels," Alex said into his shoulder. His voice came out steadier than he expected. "Text me when you land."
"I will." Henry's arms tightened slightly. Just for a moment. "I'll be back before you know it."
Alex closed his eyes.
The thing was — and he hadn't let himself think it clearly until right now, standing in this airport with Henry's coat under his hands — he was terrified. Not of the five days. Of what the five days represented, which was the fact that he was this far gone already. That Henry leaving for less than a week had him feeling like the ground was slightly less solid than it had been yesterday.
He knew what that meant.
He'd been knowing what that meant for weeks and choosing not to look at it.
Henry pulled back to look at him.
"Hey," Henry said quietly.
Alex met his eyes.
"I will be back," Henry said. Like he knew exactly what Alex wasn't saying. Like he'd read it all perfectly. "I promise you."
Alex nodded.
Henry held his gaze for one more second, and then he said, very softly —
"I'll be back, love."
The word landed in Alex's chest and stayed there.
He hadn't called him that since he came back. Alex hadn't realized he'd been waiting for it until just now.
Henry picked up his bag.
He walked toward security and turned once to look back, and Alex lifted a hand, and Henry smiled — just slightly, just enough — and then he was gone.
Alex stood there for a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
Then he put his hands back in his pockets and walked out into the grey morning, but he felt warm inside.
Love.
Yeah.
He was in serious trouble.
—
The five days were fine. They were actually fine.
Henry texted from the plane before takeoff, which Alex appreciated enormously. He texted when he landed. He texted that evening a photo of his bedroom ceiling with the caption Some things never change and then, thirty seconds later, That was meant to be melancholy but looking at it again it's just a ceiling.
Alex laughed for a full minute.
They texted constantly and called whenever Henry had a gap between meetings, which given the nature of what he was doing — sitting through legal reviews and signing his name on things and apparently also being subjected to at least one formal dinner, Bea had indeed insisted — wasn't always predictable. But Henry made the gaps happen. Alex noticed that.
It felt familiar in a way that ached slightly. One ocean between them and still somehow in constant contact. He'd been here before, except back then they'd been falling into something and now they were — whatever this was.
June came over on the third day.
She brought food and ice cream and they spent all day watching romcoms.
They were on his sofa when his phone lit up.
He glanced at it and then away.
June looked at the screen. Then at him.
"Everything okay?"
"It's nothing," Alex said. "It's just — there are some articles."
There were photos of Henry having dinner at a restaurant in London with a woman Alex didn't recognize, both of them laughing at something off-camera. The headline was doing what headlines did, which was take two people eating food and construct an entire dating narrative from it.
Alex knew it wasn't true. Henry was gay for fuck’s sake. Also Henry had mentioned this — a friend from years ago, someone he'd lost touch with during everything, catching up over dinner. He'd texted Alex about it that morning.
Alex knew.
Yet it was still doing something to him. Because the truth is, even if Henry was on a date, there was nothing he could do about it.
He couldn't get mad. They were just friends, right?
Henry could go out and date whoever he wanted and Alex would have to be fine about it because he had been too scared to confront whatever it is that was going on between them. He felt nauseous at the thought of Henry being with someone else.
"Alex," June looked worried, “What is it?"
He was quiet for a moment.
He looked at the ceiling.
And then, because he was tired of carrying it around by himself and because it was June and she would understand, he said:
"I don't know what I'm doing."
June waited.
"Having him back is —" Alex stopped. Tried again. "It's everything. June, it's genuinely everything, I am so happy when I'm with him, I don't want to go a single day without talking to him, I never stopped loving him, not for a second." He exhaled. "But I'm terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of this being temporary." The words felt easier once they were out. "Of him being here and then not being here. I couldn't — the first time nearly broke me. I got through it because I had to but I don't —" He shook his head. "I don't think I could do it again. And I know he's not going anywhere, I know that, logically. But I keep —"
"Waiting for it," June said.
"Yeah."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Can I tell you what I see?" she said.
Alex looked at her.
"I see someone who looks at you like you personally hung the moon," June declared. "I have seen Henry around you for weeks now and that man is not going anywhere, Alex. That's not what that looks like."
Alex said nothing.
"I'm not telling you to not be scared," she said. "I think you're allowed to be scared. But I think you should trust what you've seen. Trust what he's shown you, his actions." She paused. "And I think you should talk to him."
"Yeah," he whispered.
"Stop letting your brain do the thing it does." She tucked her feet under her on the sofa. “Let yourself have this for real.”
—
They were on FaceTime the night before Henry's flight back. Henry was in his bedroom, propped against the headboard with a book face-down on the pillow beside him.
"Bea put me next to Philip during dinner," Henry said.
"On purpose?"
"Almost certainly on purpose."
"How was that?"
"Surprisingly fine, actually." Henry tilted his head. "He asked about the shelter. Genuinely asked, I think."
"Who would’ve thought," Alex said.
Alex was lying on his own bed, phone propped on a pillow, watching Henry's face on the small screen.
"I cannot wait to be back," Henry confessed.
"I know," Alex said. And then, without really planning it: "I miss you."
Henry went a little still.
The smile that followed was slow and private and entirely too much.
"I miss you too," Henry said. "So much, actually."
Alex felt warmth move through him. He thought about June's voice. Talk to him.
He thought about the airport. I'll be back, love.
He thought about all the weeks of mornings and croissants and museums and cooking lessons and laughter on that sofa and the way Henry looked at him when he thought Alex wasn't paying attention.
"Hey," Alex said.
"Mm?"
"When you're back." He paused. "Can we talk?"
Henry's expression shifted. A flicker of worry came to his face.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yeah." Alex held his gaze through the screen. "Yeah, everything's good. I just — I think it's something you'll want to hear."
Henry looked at him for a long moment.
"Okay," Henry said quietly.
"Okay," Alex said.
He went to sleep smiling.
—
Alex got to the airport early.
He'd told himself he was just being practical — traffic was unpredictable, parking took time, it made sense to leave a margin. That was all. It had nothing to do with the fact that he'd been awake since six and had reorganized his kitchen cabinets at seven thirty purely to have something to do with his hands.
He found the arrivals area and stood where he could see the doors.
He was also holding flowers. He was trying not to think about the fact that Henry had gotten him flowers after his exam and now he was standing in an airport holding flowers like this was a movie.
It was a little bit like a movie.
He waited.
The doors opened and closed, opened and closed. People came through with luggage and tired faces and were collected by people who loved them. Alex watched all of it and kept his eyes on the doors and tried to breathe normally.
And then Henry came through.
He looked slightly rumpled from the flight, his coat a little creased, his hair doing something that suggested he'd slept on the plane after all. He was scanning the arrivals area with his bag over his shoulder and when his eyes found Alex they stopped.
Alex didn't think about it. He just moved.
He crossed the distance between them and Henry had just enough time to shift his bag before Alex's arms were around him, and Henry made a soft sound and held on, and Alex pressed his face briefly into his shoulder and let himself have it.
"Welcome back," Alex said.
Henry's arms tightened around him.
"You have no idea," Henry said into his hair, "how happy I am to see you."
They pulled apart.
Alex held out the flowers.
Henry looked at them. Then at Alex.
"Alex," he said with wet eyes.
"Just get in the car, Henry."
Henry got in the car. He was smiling the whole way to the parking garage.
—
The drive back was easy — Henry describing the flight, Alex filling him in on what had happened while he was gone, the city coming back into view around them like it was welcoming Henry home. By the time they pulled up to the brownstone it felt like the five days had compressed into something much smaller.
They went inside.
Henry set his bag down and shrugged off his coat and Alex stood in the middle of the living room feeling nervous.
Henry turned around.
He looked at Alex.
"So," Henry said.
"So," Alex repeated.
A pause.
"You said it was something I'd want to hear," Henry’s voice was careful.
"Yeah." Alex exhaled and looked at him.
At this person who had come back — actually come back, on his own terms, free, and chosen New York, and chosen to be here.
Alex was done being scared.
"I want this," Alex began.
Henry went very still.
"You're going to have to be more specific, love," he said softly.
"I want this," Alex said again, and took a step closer. "I want to talk to you every day and go to museums because you're such a nerd it's adorable." He saw Henry's expression flicker. Kept going. "I want to make you laugh because it's the best sound I've ever heard, and I want to see you keep getting better in that kitchen."
Henry made a sound that was almost a laugh.
Alex took another step.
"I want to hold your hand when we're walking down the street," he continued. "I want us to be together again, actually together." He was close now. Close enough to see the way Henry's eyes had gone bright. "I miss kissing you. I miss calling you baby. I miss having sex with you. Fuck, I missed you for a year and I'm not doing that again."
"Alex —"
"I'm not finished." Alex reached out and took Henry's hands, both of them, and held on. "I won't pretend I'm not scared. Because I am. I'm terrified, Henry, I'm not going to lie to you about that. But I'm more scared of wasting this than I am of anything else."
Henry's jaw was tight in the way it got when he was trying to hold himself together.
His hands gripped Alex's back.
"I'm so sorry," Henry said. His voice was rough. "For what I put you through. I will spend the rest of my life being sorry for that."
"I know," Alex said. "I know you are."
"I promise you —" Henry brought one hand up to Alex's face, palm against his cheek, and Alex leaned into it without thinking. "This is it for me. You are it for me. I will do anything, Alex, whatever you need, however long it takes. I'm not going anywhere."
"You better not be," Alex said. "Because I won't survive it twice."
"You won't have to." Henry's thumb moved along his cheekbone. "I would rather —" His voice broke slightly. He steadied it. "I would rather die than be away from you. I mean that."
"Baby," Alex whispered.
He felt Henry's breath catch at the word.
Alex slid his hand up to the back of Henry's neck and pulled him in.
Alex's dreams couldn't compare to the reality of kissing Henry once again. The kiss was fast at first, urgent and then Henry's hands were in his hair and Alex was grabbing the front of his shirt and they were moving until Alex's knees hit the sofa and they went down together, Henry half on top of him, neither of them particularly graceful about it and neither of them caring.
Henry laughed against his mouth.
They slowed down gradually, the urgency softening into something warmer, and Alex broke away to look at him — Henry above him, hair a complete disaster, eyes dark and blue at the same time, looking at Alex like he was the most important thing he had ever seen.
"I love you," Alex said. Right against his mouth. Just like that, easy as breathing. "I never stopped."
Henry kissed him again, deep and slow.
"I love you, too." he said back. Another kiss. "I always have." Another.
Alex pulled him closer.
"I'm completely yours," Alex said against his jaw.
Henry drew back just enough to look at him properly. He was smiling.
"Alex," he said. He brought his forehead down to rest against Alex's. "My love." His voice was quiet and completely certain. "I belong to you. I have always belonged to you."
He kissed him again.
Outside, New York was loud and indifferent and enormous. And inside the brownstone, in the warm light of the living room, Alex stopped being scared.
He was home.