Chapter Text
Tuesday
It's another one of those nights when it happens for the first time.
Tonight finds Henry and Alex awake at ten past three in the morning, sitting on the couch in their pajamas with a blanket thrown over their laps.
“Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could just fall asleep at a decent time?” Alex asks sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he yawns. He looks soft in a way that makes Henry want to wrap him in a blanket and push his hair back to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.
He doesn’t, obviously. He just hums quietly and continues to click the TV remote. “It would be truly life changing. Bake Off?”
“Yeah, okay.”
He selects Netflix and presses play on the British baking contest, letting the soft colors and warm voices wash over them in the quiet room.
The perks of sharing a house with another insomniac is that Henry rarely has to spend his nights alone.
Alex is a mess of chaotic energy that would live off coffee alone if Henry wasn’t there to force actual food and the occasional glass of water down his throat. He pours himself over his law school textbooks with a determination that impresses Henry, hyper focusing for hours on end like the outside world doesn’t exist.
You’d think that after days like that he’d fall into bed at night and doze off in a matter of minutes. Henry did too.
But no; Alex doesn’t seem capable of falling asleep before one am, and even that early hour is rare. Most nights he’s awake well after that, which Henry isn’t sure whether it’s a recent development or not.
Henry hasn’t always been like this, but he barely remembers a time when he could fall asleep at a 'normal' time and sleep peacefully through the night without endlessly tossing and turning.
Sometimes he stays in his room, reading for a while with the lamp on his bedside table on; sometimes he pads barefoot to the kitchen for a middle of the night cup of tea, tired but regrettably awake; sometimes he finds Alex already there, scrolling on his phone and smiling at him over a cup of decaf (he can, at times, be aware of his own health); that smile, at those times, is enough to melt Henry’s insides.
They sit in front of the TV for a while on the nights they’re up, sometimes watching Bake Off, or Star Wars, or some other show that doesn’t demand much attention.
Tonight, Alex is quiet and sleepy next to Henry, hogging the blanket. Henry tries to keep his eyes focused on Mel and Sue on the screen and not Alex’s body, the way he’s leaning slightly into Henry’s side.
A few minutes pass before Henry feels a weight settle on his shoulder and something soft tickle his chin. He stills.
“Tired,” Alex mumbles and squishes his cheek against Henry, curls falling over his forehead. Henry's breath catches in his chest.
“Maybe you should go to bed,” Henry murmurs once he finds his voice, resisting the urge to push Alex’s hair back with his fingers. “I’m sure it’s more comfortable than falling asleep here.”
“’M comfortable,” Alex retorts, already slurring his words like he’s on the verge of falling asleep.
Henry knows he should insist, maybe take Alex to his bedroom himself, but Alex is already dozing off on his shoulder and he doesn’t have the heart to wake him up.
Instead, he lowers the volume of the television and pulls the blanket higher on Alex’s body so he doesn’t get cold.
He doesn’t even realise when he falls asleep ten minutes later, cheek resting on top of Alex’s head.
Wednesday
Sharing an apartment with Alex had seemed like a good idea at first. They’re best friends, prices in Brooklyn are absurd, and they had both been in urgent need of residence – it only made sense.
Except for the small, tiny, teeny, barely there fact that Henry has been in love with Alex from the first moment he laid eyes on him. And the fact that Alex doesn’t know, and can never find out.
He manages – he has to. They don’t even see each other that much during the day, both busy with classes and school work. Breakfast is hurried, dinner is usually hastily made or ordered, and the nights are when they coexist, tired but usually unable to sleep.
Still. None of that prepared Henry to wake up on the couch to the sound of an unforgiving alarm and Alex lying half on top of him, groaning into his shoulder.
“Wha’s happenin?” he asks, slurring his words, sitting up slowly.
“A-Alarm. Er.” Truly, Henry could do better than that, but his brain is currently screaming ‘sleep-mussed curls’ and shutting down.
“Hm.” Alex reaches out to the coffee table and turns off the alarm on his phone, frowning at the screen with half lidded eyes. “That can’t be right. It says it’s eight-forty-two, I had alarms on for eight am.”
Through the fog still clinging to his brain, Henry looks for his phone. “My phone says the same,” he says, staring at the numbers 8:43 on the screen.
Alex blinks once before his eyes widen in alarm. He jumps up from the couch and sprints out of the room. “Class in less than twenty minutes!” he yells a second later, his panicked voice echoing through the walls.
Henry takes a deep breath and sighs heavily. Good God, he’s a mess.
He does his best to ignore a tiny voice in the back of his head that insists on reminding him how well he slept last night, Alex’s body like a blanket on top of him and warm breath hitting the side of his neck. He ignores it; it’s fine.
Shaking his head to clear his mind, he gets up and heads to the kitchen; his classes don’t start for another couple hours. He puts the kettle on and grabs a mug and a thermos from the cupboard.
By the time Alex runs out of his room with wild curls, halfway through putting his shoes on, Henry is already sipping on Earl Grey and waiting for him in the kitchen doorway with a thermos ready to go.
“Oh my God, thank you.” Alex practically moans as he takes a gulp of the freshly brewed coffee. “I’d be so lost without you.”
“Maybe not lost, just suffering from severe caffeine withdrawal,” Henry replies, voice softer than intended. He reaches up before he consciously makes the decision, smoothing out Alex’s curls with his fingers to make them somewhat presentable. It only half-works, but Alex smiles softly up at him and Henry’s heart stutters in his chest.
“Definitely lost,” Alex says when Henry steps back, swallowing down another mouthful of coffee. “I gotta go now or I’ll be even later than usual, but thank you, again, for the coffee.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Alex grabs his bag and opens the front door. “See you later, then?”
Henry nods and waves him off, watching Alex’s grin disappear behind the door. Then he notices the keys on the small table in the hallway and picks them up with a sigh, waiting.
Two seconds later, the front door opens hastily and Alex barges in again. He almost runs into Henry but stops at the last second, looking between his hand and the knowing smirk on his face.
He huffs out a laugh and takes the keys from Henry’s open palm. “You complete me.”
“Please stay alive.”
“No promises, sweetheart!” The door closes behind him again and this time stays that way.
Henry does not blush at the pet name.
* * *
That night, Henry gets home to the smell of cooked meat and chili powder and sighs in delight.
“Please tell me you’re making your homemade enchiladas again? I’m bloody starving.”
He hears a startled laugh and enters the kitchen to find Alex pouring black beans and corn into a frying pan, stirring slowly. “Rest assured, you’ll have your dinner.” He glances at Henry. “You’re home late.”
“Stayed in the library to study,” he explains quickly – it’s easier for him to focus in that unfamiliar environment without Alex’s constant presence around him to divert his thoughts, but he doesn’t have to explain that. “How much longer?”
Alex scoffs, but it’s playful. “You just want me for my cooking skills, admit it.”
Henry raises his eyebrows and leans against the counter. “If I wanted a housemate that knows how to cook, I would get one that would do their own dishes,” he counters, staring pointedly at the growing pile of unwashed dishes in the sink.
Alex grins from his place in front of the stove and bats Henry’s hand away when he tries to sneak a taste. “You could do a lot worse than me, Fox. And stop that, it’s not ready yet.”
“I’m hungry!”
“And I’m cooking, so hands off.”
Henry snorts but relents, and starts to set the table.
A few hours later, Henry stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, full of homemade Mexican food and on the verge of falling asleep. He can’t help but remember last night, Alex drooling on his shoulder and waking up to his warm body draped all over him. It makes him smile despite the ache in his heart; he’s in way over his head.
He falls asleep to the thought of chin dimples and bright grins.
Thursday
Waking up feeling properly well rested isn’t really a common occurrence for Henry, which is why it’s always strange when it does happen.
He wakes up slowly, blinking against the morning light coming through the window, grumbling as he hears the sound of that maddening alarm of his. He turns to the side, reaching out his arm to get his phone—
His arm doesn’t move.
His arm is stuck. Probably because Alex’s head is lying on it.
Alex. In Henry’s bed. Resting his head atop his arm with his face turned into his shoulder, warm breath hitting his skin. Henry stops breathing all together.
Alex starts to stir beside him, stretching languidly without even opening his eyes. “H, turn that off.”
Henry’s brain is screaming. He reaches out with his other arm absentmindedly, switching off his alarm but not really conscious of his actions yet. Is he dreaming? This feels like a dream. He’s probably dreaming.
Except when Alex opens his eyes and lifts his head from Henry's arm, he feels the loss of warmth like a punch to the gut and has to bite back a noise of protest.
“Morning,” Alex says with a heavier dawl to his words than usual. “How did you sleep?”
“W-Well,” Henry manages to say. “Er.”
If Alex notices his internal panic, he simply ignores it and smiles. “Good.”
Henry blinks.
“Not that I’m trying to kick you out of my room or anything,” – Or of my bed, which he is, just a little, just until he can get his brain to function again – “But what’s— what are you doing here?”
“Just testing a theory,” is Alex’s idea of an explanation. Henry is still very much confused and in need of proper clarification.
“And?” he asks after clearing his throat to stop his voice from shaking. It only half works.
Alex grins sleepily. “Worked like a fucking charm.”
Thankfully, regrettably, he pushes back the covers and disentangles himself from Henry’s body. He walks out of the room but pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at Henry over his shoulder.
“Wanna have pancakes for breakfast? I have some time before class.”
His curls fall on his forehead, and Henry desperately wants to drag him back to bed. “I could go for some pancakes,” he says, voice softer than intended. He can’t really control it now.
Alex smiles beautifully. “Blueberry pancakes coming right up.” And then he’s gone.
Henry falls back on the pillows and throws an arm over his eyes. Alex is going to kill him.
* * *
He goes to class in the morning and grabs lunch with Pez, which he starts to regret about 15 minutes in.
“Have you told Alex how you feel?” Pez asks slyly, waggling his eyebrows. Their food hasn’t even arrived.
Henry rolls his eyes. “Please, Pez, no more of this. Why do you always insist on asking the questions you already have the answers to?”
“Call it hope,” Pez says back, all charming grins and bright platinum hair.
Henry stares at him for a moment. “I’ll tell Alex,” he says, leaning forward and lying through his teeth, “when you tell Liam.”
Pez narrows his eyes. “Low blow, Hazza. I respect it.”
The rest of lunch goes by relatively uneventfully, but that conversation stays in the back of Henry’s mind for the rest of the day. It’s not the first time Pez has brought it up, and he doubts it’ll be the last.
It’s futile, though; he can’t tell Alex. If nothing else, because he’s straight. There’s no point in confessing his feelings and pouring his heart out when he’s risking making things awkward with his best friend and housemate.
Plus, he can’t... he can’t risk it; Alex is too important. He’s loud and messy and chaotic; he's smart and hard working and determined; he can be soft and quiet too, though not very often, and Henry loves him for all that he is.
He can’t risk losing that.
He comes home that evening to Alex scrolling on his phone on the couch, smiling when he sees Henry in the doorway. They make pasta for dinner and eat in the kitchen, bantering over a bowl of carbonara and discussing upcoming exams. They clean up afterwards and move to the living room, Henry with a mug of tea and a book and Alex reading a paper for class on the armchair.
“Hey,” Alex says about half an hour later, rising from his seat. “I’m gonna head to bed, I’m beat.”
Henry feels a pang of disappointment in his stomach that he forces himself to shake off. “I didn’t know you were capable of falling asleep before midnight,” he teases lightly.
Alex huffs out a laugh. “We must all learn and grow, sweetheart. Yell if you need me.”
“Goodnight,” Henry says softly, and Alex disappears to his bedroom.
He turns back to his book but gives up about twenty minutes later, no longer focusing on the words. What was he expecting, Alex to curl up next to him and fall asleep like that again? He knows better than that, and he’s a fool for hoping.
He gets up and leaves his mug in the kitchen sink, brushing his teeth in the bathroom before entering his room. He changes into his pajamas and climbs into his bed, pulling the covers up to his chest. He waits for sleep to come, but he knows by now that that could take ages.
Not even two minutes later, he hears a creak coming from the hallway before his door opens. Alex stands there for a moment, also dressed in soft pajamas and rumpled curls.
“Hey,” Henry says, pushing himself up on his forearms. “What’s wrong?”
“Just couldn’t sleep,” Alex replies, stepping into the bedroom. “You?”
Henry sighs. “Never.”
Alex is standing by his side now, a silhouette in the dark room. He hesitates for half a second before crawling under the covers and pressing close to Henry, laying his head on his shoulder.
Henry doesn’t have the brain power to protest or demand an explanation (not that he needs one, really). “Testing a theory?” he whispers instead, not wanting to disturb the quiet.
“Yeah, something like that,” Alex murmurs, a hint of a smile in his voice. “That okay?”
How could it not be? “Yeah,” Henry says, tentatively wrapping one of his arms loosely around Alex’s shoulder. “That’s okay.”
Alex makes a soft noise in response, like he’s too tired to form actual words, and Henry is surprised to realise he’s feeling sleepy too, eyes slipping shut without his permission.
They’re both sleeping soundly in a matter of minutes. Henry tries not to overthink it.
Friday
The thing is, knowing he’s fallen asleep next to Alex and actually waking up to see him wrapped around his torso like a koala are two very different things.
Henry almost doesn’t dare breathe. They’re lying side by side with Alex’s face turned into Henry’s sternum, his arms wrapped around his back and one of his legs thrown over Henry’s hips. His lips are slightly parted, and his curls fall in his eyes, but Henry thinks he looks angelic; calm, too, which isn’t a look Henry sees on him very often. It’s so intimate that he can’t help but smile, giving in to his urge of pushing Alex’s hair back with his fingertips.
Alex starts to stir, and Henry takes his hand back.
Sleepy brown eyes blink lazily up at him, groaning a little but smiling at the same time. “Please tell me my alarm hasn’t rung yet and I can sleep more.”
Henry chuckles. “No such luck, I'm afraid.”
Alex sighs like he’s put off but smiles anyway, pulling back from Henry’s body and sitting up against the headboard. He doesn’t leave the bed immediately, instead turning to look at Henry. “How did you sleep?”
Better than I have in weeks. “Good,” he says instead, willing his heart to stop beating like that. “You?”
Alex’s grin is too big for his face. “Better than I have in weeks,” and Henry’s heart promptly stops beating. “I think my theory has been proven successful.”
“Is this the part where you tell me what this mystery theory of yours is?” Henry asks, trying to hide his curiosity and eagerness.
“I just sleep better if you're next to me,” he answers with a shrug. “And the same seems to happen to you.”
Alex’s voice is too soft to deal with before morning tea, as well as the words that spill from his mouth. Henry’s face feels hot, and he desperately hopes he doesn’t look as red as he thinks he does.
“It seems so,” he manages to croak out.
It appears to be enough for Alex, who smiles widely. “Great, so, can we keep doing this? It works and, let’s be honest, we sleep so little it’s a fucking miracle a disaster hasn't happened yet.”
This is a disaster, Henry screams in his head, but he’s nodding before being consciously aware of it. “Yeah, sure.”
“Awesome,” Alex says as he pushes back the covers and jumps out of bed. “I’ll put the kettle on for breakfast, you better get your ass up now if you don’t wanna be late!”
He’s out of the room before Henry can even fully process the whole conversation. This is going to end badly.
Saturday
Henry figured waking up on a weekend would mean sleeping in, maybe waking up slowly without the sound of a god-awful alarm pulling him from his peaceful slumber. Maybe he was hoping to stay in bed for a while with Alex next to him, sleep mussed curls and half lidded eyes, but he’ll never admit it.
What he gets, however, is nothing of the sort.
He becomes aware of the outside world when a maddening alarm bursts to life, making him wince. Did he forget to turn it off? He wishes he had. It’s Saturday morning, for Christ’s sake.
Then he realises it is not, in fact, his alarm, but rather Alex’s phone, ringing somewhere to his right. He still groans in protest.
“It’s too early in the bloody morning for sounds,” he protests, trying to sink further into the bed.
Alex makes a noise at the back of his throat, pushing his face into Henry’s chest for a moment before lifting his head. He doesn't even open his eyes, blindingly reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
“’Ello?” he slurs, falling back on the bed to rest his cheek on Henry’s chest. “Catalina June, you better have a good fucking reason to wake me up at the ass crack of dawn.” He pauses, presumably to listen to his sister’s response. “It’s Saturday morning, asshole, anything before noon is the ass crack of dawn.”
Henry snorts quietly, loosely wrapping an arm around Alex’s waist.
“You’ll… with sugar and cinnamon?” He pauses again. “I— fine, but you’re paying. Yeah, in fifteen. Yeah. Love you too, Bug.” He hangs up the phone and rests his chin on Henry’s chest, smiling up at him. “Hi.”
“Morning,” Henry says softly, still a little too sleepy to filter himself. “Still sleeping well?”
“Are you kidding?” Alex shows him a shit-eating grin. “I feel like I slept more last night than all of last week together.”
Henry swallows, heart rate picking up. “I’m glad,” he whispers. “How is June?”
“Still a morning person,” Alex answers with a roll of his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “We’re meeting up for coffee in fifteen because she ‘misses my face’ – her words, not mine – and she threatened to kidnap me if I don’t go.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Henry teases, and Alex smacks his shoulder lightly.
“Shut up. Do you wanna come with? They’ll have your posh tea too, I’m sure.”
Henry’s heart soars in his chest. “I shouldn’t. She wants to catch up with you, I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
Alex frowns. “You sure? She wouldn’t mind, you know; June loves you.”
Henry smiles. “Truly, I’m sure. Go,” he adds, nudging Alex’s shoulder, no matter how much it pains him to send him away. “Don’t keep your sister waiting.”
Alex looks like he wants to say something more but gives up, nodding once. He squeezes Henry’s shoulder briefly before getting off the bed, still rubbing the sleep off his eyes as he walks out of the room.
He looks beautiful, Henry can’t help but think as he throws an arm over his eyes. And I'm fucked.
That feeling doesn’t falter as he walks into the kitchen a few minutes later to find a steaming mug of Earl Grey waiting for him on the counter. There’s a note stuck to it in Alex’s hurried handwriting: ‘I may be a caffeine junkie, but you drink way too much of this stuff’
Henry’s heart almost beats its way out of his chest. This is fine.
Sunday
One of the things Henry usually does when he can’t fall asleep – which has been happening less and less these days – is read. He can stay up until two, three in the morning and even longer when lost in a good story, hours flying by until his eyes inevitably close due to pure exhaustion.
Sunday night finds him sitting against the headboard with his most treasured copy of Pride and Prejudice and the lamp on his bedside table on, rereading his favorite novel for the... honestly, he’s lost count how many he’s read this book. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen, though. Twenty, tops.
“Isn’t it like, the millionth time you’re reading that book?”
He pulls his gaze away from the pages to look at Alex, standing in the doorway in his pajamas and mismatched socks. He looks so soft, and Henry doesn’t know what to do with it.
He clears his throat. “Millionth? That sounds like a bit much.”
“You’re the one reading it again, H.”
Henry turns back to his book but has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent a grin from spreading on his face. Through the corner of his eye, he sees Alex walk closer to the bed and rub a hand over his face like he’s on the verge of falling asleep.
No matter how many times it has happened in the last week, the sight of Alex climbing into his bed and burying his face in the pillow is almost enough to make Henry drop his book. He watches as Alex snuggles deeper into the mattress and throws an arm over Henry’s waist, nose an inch away from his hip.
“Long day?” Henry asks softly. “I can turn the light off, if you want.”
Alex makes a noise in return. “’S okay, doesn’t bother me.”
Henry watches him for a few seconds, slightly damp curls falling on Alex’s forehead before turning back to the book in his hands – not because he can’t sleep, but because he truly loves it –, albeit with some trouble focusing now.
Then Alex speaks again, voice sleepy and muffled against the mattress, which really doesn’t help Henry’s case.
“You’re like my own personal sleeping pill. But, like, infinitely hotter.”
Henry promptly stops breathing, rendered speechless. His fingers feel numb and he stops himself from dropping his book at the last second. Alex’s warm breath hits the side of his body in soft puffs, his lips slightly parted.
He’s asleep before Henry can even think of a response. Still stunned, he places his book back on the nightstand, knowing there’s no way he’ll be able to pay attention to a single word.
He scoots down on the bed until he’s eye to eye with Alex’s hair. Alex mumbles something in his sleep and wraps his arm tighter around Henry’s hip, tucking himself against his chest.
If Henry were stronger, he wouldn’t wrap his own arms around Alex’s back to pull him closer, wouldn’t press a feather-light kiss to the top of his head, wouldn’t dare admit to himself that Alex’s presence next to him is already dragging him into a gentle sleep, better than any medication could.
He should honestly know better than this.
Monday
Monday morning comes, inevitably, with horrible alarms and sleepy eyes; Alex half on top of Henry with desperately soft smiles and grumbling about eight am classes; a mug of coffee and a cup of tea side by side on the counter. It’s all so bloody domestic Henry doesn’t know what to do with it.
So he does nothing; he goes to class and calls Bea and studies in the library, trying to get a head start on the Jane Austen paper he has due next week. He stays for a few hours, pretty happy with the draft he has by the end when he packs his books and heads home again, late in the evening.
When Henry gets home, it’s to find Alex sitting at the dinner table, laptop open and papers everywhere like he’s studying. He’s dressed in gray sweatpants and an NYU hoodie, but his eyes are unfocused and his hands unmoving; his knee keeps bouncing up and down, a million miles a minute like it always does when Alex is stressed and overworking himself. It’s not hard to realise something is wrong.
Henry approaches slowly and silently, and sits down on a chair next to him, waiting until Alex turns his head to gaze at him.
“Hey,” Alex says with a tight smile. “How was your day?” His voice sounds forced and raspy; Henry doesn’t like it.
“Not very remarkable,” he answers truthfully. He taps the back of Alex’s unmoving hand with his index finger. “What is it?”
Alex starts to shake his head but stops at the look on Henry's face, which he is hoping is serious but not forceful. He exhales shakily and looks away. “Had a panic attack in class. It’s stupid, honestly. I just freaked out over nothing and got stuck in my head, no big deal—”
“It’s not stupid,” Henry says before he can stop himself, and Alex stops talking to glance at him. Christ, he looks so lost right now, like he’s trying to keep himself together but doing a poor job at it. Henry wishes he wouldn’t even try. “It doesn’t matter what triggered it or how you reacted, it’s not stupid at all. Have you eaten anything since?”
Alex nods slowly. “Had leftovers when I got home. And two glasses of water, like you always tell me to,” he adds with a tug of his lips that makes Henry want to sing.
“Good, that’s good,” he says encouragingly, mirroring the small smile. He’s still gently tapping the back of Alex’s hand. “You look exhausted.”
Alex gives him a one-shoulder shrug and seems ready to protest, but Henry continues before he can get a word in. “You should get some rest.”
That makes Alex snap his mouth shut, looking at Henry with a question in his eyes he didn’t need to ask. Rising from his chair, Henry turns his wrist so he’s properly holding Alex’s hand and uses his grasp to gently pull him up. “Come on.”
Alex stands up and looks back to his textbooks. “But—”
“They’ll still be there tomorrow, I promise. Take care of yourself tonight.” Let me take care of you, he so desperately wants to say.
Alex hesitates for half a second before nodding softly and letting himself be dragged to Henry’s room, clinging to his hand.
Once they get to Henry’s bedroom, he lets go of Alex’s hand to take off his coat and shoes, leaving them somewhere in the general direction of his desk. He climbs up on the bed and pushes back the bedsheets before glancing back at Alex, who’s hovering hesitantly a few feet away.
Henry extends him a hand and watches as Alex takes it carefully, crawling in beside him and burying himself under the covers. They lie down facing each other in the dark room, and Henry can almost hear the gears turning in Alex’s mind, going off a mile a minute.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he offers quietly, already knowing the answer.
Alex gives him a half smile. “Thanks, but… not really.” Then he turns around to face away from Henry, who is immediately concerned until Alex scoots closer, nudging him until he gets the hint.
Tentatively but with no hesitation, Henry complies and presses closer, slotting his chest against Alex’s back. He touches his nose to Alex's curls, because he’s a weak, weak man, and pulls him closer by the waist. “This okay?”
All he gets in return is a soft humming noise and one of Alex’s palms covering the back of his hand, holding it gently to bring Henry even closer to him. “Perfect.”
Less than ten minutes later, Alex’s even breathing fills the quiet room with his chest rising and falling in sync with his heartbeat, steady under Henry’s palm. Only then does he bury his face in the nape of Alex’s neck and close his eyes.
This could very well break his heart.
But he sure as hell isn’t going to stop it.