Work Text:
Henry is bone tired when he gets home. Every trip to London drains him now; now that he has found the alternative. Now that New York is warm arms, a heartbeat beneath his ear, softness and sanctuary, and someone to listen, always. He will always love London, and the way he misses Pez and Bea feels like an ache after the dentist, a hollow numbness, waiting for feeling to return.
But they are not long gone and unreachable by any way but through the stars glistening above his head. He can call them and talk to them whenever he wants. And in turn, he gets to live with Alex, whose absence he felt so much more than any other, amongst those he loved living. Whose absence he thankfully, didn’t have to suffer through as much anymore.
The brownstone is empty, but Alex is there in pieces. Henry can smell his coffee, can see his dilapidated trainers that he swears are the comfiest for running by the door, his hoody over the banister. And there on the credenza, a letter, tri-folded, with a marigold sitting on top. Henry toes off his shoes, takes off his coat and jumper, pulls Alex’s hoody on, and goes to sit on their sofa, before he opens it.
H,
Welcome home, baby. I’m never going to get tired of saying that. Not even when we’re old and grey, and I can barely hear your key in the lock. I’ll know anyway, H, I can sense you, without needing to use any senses at all.
You know that theory on soulmates? That two souls are spilt apart and only feel whole once they’ve reunited on earth? It’s like that, Henry. I know when you’re there, because you’re the other half of my soul. The house feels empty without you, just me and David roaming the hardwood floors, no sound of you playing the piano, no sight of you with rumpled hair in the morning, drinking your Earl Grey in the kitchen light, no smell of your cologne, or that smell of you that is uniquely Henry, that I may never be able to fully identify. It is simply you, I have no other way of describing it.
The bed feels ginormous without your shoulders covering mine, without your fingers trailing through my hair, your soft kisses, your cold feet brushing against my calves. But now you’re home, and I’m going to require 48 hours straight(lol) of you in that bed, before I let you leave it.
It’s legally binding, I’m afraid. You’ll scrawl your name onto anything I ask, did you notice that? Did you notice that you agreed to love me for every day that stretches out ahead of us? I can only hope our days apart get shorter and shorter, until they don’t exist at all. Until we’re a completely co-dependent pair of middle aged dads, whose teenagers groan about how embarrassing we are. We’re going to be so embarrassing, baby, I can’t wait.
I know being back in London was hard for you, the scrutiny you were under by simply existing, and being in love with me. People pestering you at Remembrance Day events, about your boyfriend, when they’re meant to be honoring the dead. Being asked questions by strangers at Guy Fawkes Night bonfires(this holiday still makes no sense to me) when you’re just trying to hang out with Bea and Pez, and eat your weird British snacks in peace.
I’m glad you got to visit your dad on his birthday at least, that you got to find some peace amidst the trees and the green hills and the clean air of Wales. He’d be so proud of you, H, I hope you know that.
I was thinking of him, and of you(although that is always true) on Día de los Muertos. I had a chat with him, told him of my honorable intentions with his son, that I would always be there to keep his heart safe, to protect it with all I have. And on the dark days, that I would always find you, and hold your hand, and keep you safe, until the sunlight appeared again. I think he approved of me, obviously because of my good looks, and my endless wit and charm. If you go into the green guest bedroom, you’ll see.
I love you so much, H. I can’t wait to hold you, feel your lips underneath mine, and know I’m home. I’ll pick up take-out on my way home after class. David is being looked after by my favorite professor while you read this, curled up under his desk while he marks essays, he can’t wait to see you either(our dog that is, not Prof. Westbrook.)
One half of our soul, and yours always,
A
Henry holds the letter to his chest for a moment, taking in a deep breath and letting it out, close to racing down to NYU just to hug Alex a couple of hours earlier. He roots around in his own bag, leaving a letter for Alex on the credenza, and walks upstairs to find what Alex has left for him.
He knows exactly what Alex means, even if Henry hadn’t known Alex was still at uni, he would have known he was not here. The love of his life occupies space too vastly for Henry not to know when he is missing. His beautiful smile, his passion, his boundless love, love that Henry is lucky enough to receive, love that he doesn’t think he’ll ever fully comprehend is his. It’s like something out a story, that Henry never thought he’d get to be written into.
The first thing he notices when he pushes the guest room door open, is the light. It takes him a moment to realise, they are electric candles. Dozens of them, in orange jars, surrounded by marigolds, and a string of fairy lights surrounding it all on the top of the dresser. At the forefront is a picture of Henry’s dad, one of his favourites, in a golden frame. It had been taken at a wedding, Henry can’t remember whose, but he’s got his tie undone, a whiskey in hand, a candid shot of him laughing, his eyes alight with joy. The edge of Henry’s mum’s hair is just in frame, the person who could make his dad laugh more than anybody else.
It isn’t a publicly available picture, and Henry realises Alex must have messaged Bea looking for it, or something of the kind. A picture that captured Arthur, happy man in love, rather than Arthur Fox, royalty through marriage, beloved actor gone too soon.
Henry lightly presses his fingers against the glass, smiling as a tear runs down his face.
‘Yeah, Dad’ he says, quietly ‘I think you would have approved.’
------------
Alex can tell Henry is there when he gets back to the brownstone. Not from his shoes by the door, or his coat over the banister, but because their home feels whole again. Alex puts the takeout down, unclips David’s leash, and lets him scurry off to find his dad. Alex is taking off his coat, and shoes, putting his bag down, about to follow, when he notices the letter on the credenza is not the one he left for Henry, but one Henry has left for him. Alex opens it, with one arm still in his coat.
Alex,
Hi, my love. It’s late here in Wales, it’s been a heavy day, visiting Dad’s grave, celebrating him without him, on his birthday. My mum went to bed hours ago, but I still lie awake, thinking of him, and missing you, because no matter how I feel, full to the brim with happiness, or weighed down by despair, sleep is always easier when you’re in my arms.
I’m looking out at the moon, and thinking of how you’re looking at the same one, and how everyone who ever was, has stared out at the sky and seen it too. It shone above my parents when they danced on their wedding night, it shone above Texas on your first night on earth, and now it shines on both sides of the Atlantic, where two inevitable lovers can gaze at it, and know they’re never truly alone.
I saw Gran while I was off being Prince Henry, it was unavoidable unfortunately. She kept pestering me about my life and my responsibilities, like it is not now our life. I sat and nodded politely, not wanting to pick a fight, not wanting her to come up with some inane reason for me to be away from you any longer.
But I longed to stand up and scream in her shrivelled face. That there is no getting rid of you. That you are it for me, that that has always been the case. That she could take every last penny I have, burn everything I own to the ground, and I would still have everything, because I have you.
I’m not sure she can fathom such a love. A love that transcends all time and space, love that lives in our very deepest souls, that is etched across our hearts, and in every touch of ours, as we trail precious fingers against each other’s skin.
I hold your hand, and squeeze, and we’re in love. I kiss you, your lips sinking under mine, and we’re in love. We carve out places inside each other, and become one, and we’re in love. We exist, an ocean and an island between us, nothing but each other’s faces on a screen, and our warm voices full of tenderness and mirth, to keep us in touch, and we’re in love.
I said none of that, because I just wanted to get out, and get home to you. There’s my home here, my dad, underneath the soil and the stars. My mum, coming back to herself and to us. Bea, as full of vim and vigour as she always has been, and Pez, the steadying chaos amongst it all.
I am glad to see them all, but I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. And I miss our boy, I hope you’re keeping each other company without me. You’re my home now, my home forever more. David and his love of chasing pigeons, second breakfasts and curling up with his dads. And you, my love. Your fervent yapping, the trail of coffee cups and highlighters you leave in your wake, your head beside mine on one pillow, your determination and passion and your illimitable heart.
I’m counting down the days until I see you, until your words sound, not through the hot plastic pressed against my ear, but from your hot breath against my side. I’ll need reviving, I’m afraid. I’m certain you’ll be up than up for the task, I believe in you, I always will.
Holding you in my heart,
Henry.
‘Fuck’ Alex mutters quietly under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest.
Alex puts the letter back on the credenza, needing to hold Henry more than he needs to properly store it away right now. There’s a happy bark from upstairs, and then ‘Alex?’. Alex runs up the stairs, like he’s trying to catch a flight before the gate closes. Henry’s standing in the doorway of the green guest room, David wagging his tail beside him, and Alex hurls himself into his arms.
Henry catches him, holds him so tightly. Alex presses his face into Henry’s chest, can feel the heart that beats for him, and Henry’s nose in his hair, inhaling his scent, as Alex does the same, breathing in the smell of Henry that calms his entire nervous system down, as his fingers clutch at the back of Henry’s sweater.
When they pull apart, and kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and eventually laugh, drinking in the sight of each other, Alex realises the hoody is his. Not that he can talk, he’s wearing a biscuit coloured sweater of Henry’s that he had to cuff at the sleeves. He loves how ridiculously co-dependent they are, never ever wants to change that.
‘Thank you’ Henry says, waving behind him to the ofrenda ‘so much, it was so thoughtful of you.’
‘You’re welcome’ Alex smiles, leaning in for another kiss ‘I know it’s past the day now, but I thought we could finish it together, add some of his favourite things?’
‘Yeah’ Henry says softly, pulling Alex back for another hug ‘that sounds wonderful, my love.’
Alex sinks his face into Henry’s chest again, and they stand there, slightly swaying, holding each other tight for a while, just glad to be able to do so again, glad to be home. Later, after dinner, after finishing the ofrenda, and after they’ve become well reacquainted, they put the letters away together, adding to the words of love they have for the other, the words that will never cease to be added to.