Every Day's a Holiday (When I'm Near to You)

by bleedingballroomfloor

Summary:

I know this is a long shot, but if anyone’s going to Texas/anywhere south for the holidays and is crazy enough to drive there instead of fly, I’m looking for a road trip buddy. We can split gas money and snacks if you pick good ones. DM me if you’re interested.

And Henry knows he's about the make the most idiotic decision he's ever made in his life.

Or, Henry impulsively tags along with Alex on a road trip to Texas with absolutely no plan. Surely this won't backfire.

Notes:

Look, I know what I made it sound like in the summary, and that it absolutely will backfire, but I promise you that it will not. Genuinely. This fic is, like, 95% fluff.

Updating every day! Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Post

Henry stumbles across the post by sheer fucking luck.

He’s standing in his kitchen, wearing fuzzy socks that Bea sent him for Christmas and brewing a kettle of tea, bored out his mind now that the semester is over and he’s finished the first draft of his thesis. He’s already scrolled through Twitter twice, liked as many posts of Pez’s latest night out on Instagram as he could, and the tea still isn’t ready. He opens Facebook because he truly has nothing else better to do.

He doesn’t remember the last time he went on Facebook, so he’s not surprised to see the wave of notifications that greet him. What he is surprised to see is a notification more recent than all the other ones, only posted three days ago. Curious, he clicks on it.

The notification sends Henry to a Facebook group that he doesn’t remember being a part of, and by the looks of it, one that hasn’t been used in a good year. The group is for NYU undergrads who are now pursuing a graduate degree — who the hell could have something so important to say that they needed to alert a barely-used Facebook group?

Then Henry sees who it was that made the post, and his heart drops to his fucking knees.

Hey y’all, long time no see, huh? I know this is a long shot, but if anyone’s going to Texas/anywhere south for the holidays and is crazy enough to drive there instead of fly, I’m looking for a road trip buddy. We can split gas money and snacks if you pick good ones. DM me if you’re interested.

And Henry knows he’s about to make the most idiotic decision he’s ever made in his life.

He can blame his decision-making skills on a lot of things — the fact that he’s bored, the fact that he has nothing planned for the holidays this year — but he knows the real reason why he started typing out a reply with shaking hands: Alex Claremont-Diaz.

For someone who’s had barely an hour’s worth of conversation within the five years that they’ve known each other, Henry certainly thinks about Alex more than he should. Much more than he should.

When Henry first started university, Alex lived on the same floor in their residence hall. Henry walked by his open door on the first day of moving in, saw his mix of classic rock records, Star Wars bed sheets, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg poster, and was instantly gone on him.

Alex and Pez were closer than he and Alex ever were, and Henry was fine with that. He saw Alex in passing, spotted him at parties that Pez dragged him to, and noticed him at every late-night library session. After his first year, he and Pez moved into their own apartment, but he still caught sight of Alex. On social media, posting about recent elections and university milestones; at bars around campus, throwing back whiskey and dancing with a girl with dark hair and another with curly hair; around the same coffee shop a few blocks from Henry’s apartment, glasses on his forehead and piles of textbooks spread across his table. And every time Henry sees him, his heart twists in the same way that it did when he first passed by Alex’s room, but he knows it’s too late to do anything about it.

But despite that, his body must think it’s not too late, because his fingers type out a response to Alex’s post and send it before he fully realizes what he’s doing.

I’ll be driving that way.

The kettle is whistling at this point, but Henry can barely hear it. What is he thinking? He’s not going to Texas for the holidays. He’s not going to the South. He has nowhere to be in the South. He doesn’t have a car. He doesn’t even have an American driver’s license.

He is completely and utterly fucked.

He finds comfort in the hot sip of Earl Grey as he stares at the open direct message on his phone, foot tapping anxiously. There’s no going back. He can’t unsend the message, and he can’t backtrack on his offer without sounding like a complete wanker. All he can hope is for Alex to not see his message — he sent his own post three days ago, after all — or better yet, ignore Henry all together.

Just as Henry drains the last bit of his tea, his phone pings with a notification. He practically throws his mug into the sink to get to his phone.

There it is, a message from Alex Claremont-Diaz: sweet. you got time today to meet up and plan? i was hoping to leave tomorrow.

“Fucking Christ,” Henry mutters to himself, his heart hammering in his chest, and types out a reply: That sounds perfect. What time?

 

Seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz right in front of him for the first time in years is almost enough to send Henry into a spiral.

“Hey,” Alex greets as he steps into the café. He’s wearing a wooly denim jacket and a brown beanie on his head, pushing his curls down, making them catch in his long eyelashes. Christ.

If Henry is thirsting over his eyelashes within the first minute of being with Alex, then this trip is going to be a very, very bad idea.

“You’re Henry?” Alex continues, and Henry nods, his voice stuck in his throat. “I recognize you. Did we have the same major?”

“Er — no, I’m English. We lived on the same floor our first year.”

Alex snaps his fingers. “That’s right. Pez’s roommate, yeah?” Henry nods again. “Well, this won’t be bad, we already know each other.”

‘Know each other,’ Henry thinks, is an understatement.

They grab a table together, Alex orders a muffin, and looks Henry up and down. “So what do you have waiting for you in Texas?”

“Erm.” Henry truly hasn’t thought this through. “I have a — a friend. A friend of a friend, actually. My sister. She, erm.” He clears his throat. “My sister is visiting a friend, and she invited me along last-minute.”

Luckily, Alex buys the lie. “Sweet. Where in Texas is your friend?”

Oh, Christ. Henry knows American geography as well as he knows how to cook without burning the kitchen down.

“Houston?”

“Oh, that’s not bad. I’m headed to Austin; we can totally make that work.” Henry doesn’t know if Alex’s obliviousness to his lies are genuine, or if he’s simply being nice because it’s clear Henry has no idea what he’s doing. Either way, he’s grinning at Henry like he can’t wait to spend three days trapped in a car together, and it’s making Henry’s insides start to melt.

“So, like,” Alex continues, peeling back the wrapper of his muffin, “logistics. I’m looking to get home on the 23rd, which means we’ll have to leave tomorrow morning to be on track. If that’s too short notice for you —”

“It’s not,” Henry says quickly. “I saw your post late; I don’t want to make you have to change your plans.”

Alex shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, well, if I have to change some of my plans so I can have someone to talk to during this trip and not go out of my mind, then I don’t think I should be complaining.”

Henry smiles. A flutter rushes through his chest. Alex smiles back.

“What, erm, made you want to drive?” Henry asks after a minute, stumbling over his words, realizing that smiling longingly at a person whom he barely knows isn’t, perhaps, the best decision. “Would it not be easier to just fly?”

“Yeah, it would,” Alex agrees. He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, actually. I think I just needed to clear my head a little, y’know? Driving helps me with that; I did it a lot in high school. And I’m halfway through 2L, and it’s kinda kicking my ass, so driving might, like, clear my head? By seeing some trees and shit? I don’t know.”

“I get it,” Henry says, and he does — the feeling is fairly mutual. Especially now that he’s turned in his draft for his thesis, he’s not sure where to go from here. What if it’s absolute rubbish? Then he wasted the past two years writing the good-for-nothing thing. Or — arguably worse — what if it’s fantastic? What if it’s the best thing that Henry’s ever written? Then what does he do with his life?

Maybe Alex isn’t the sole reason why he volunteered to come on this impromptu road trip. Maybe Henry just needed to get the hell out of New York for a bit. Maybe Alex and his offer popped up at just the right time.

“2L…” Henry repeats. “You’re in law school?”

That, at least, makes Alex brighten a bit. “Yeah. In my second year. It’s a lot, but don’t get me wrong, I love it. It’s like… the best kind of stress.” He grins. “And you said you’re studying English?”

“Erm — yes. I’m nearly finished with my degree. The idea is… slightly terrifying.”

“Yeah, man, I get it.”

What started off as a quick meeting to touch base on a road trip from New York to Texas with two not quite strangers but less than acquaintances turns into an hour-long conversation about anything but that. Alex seems to be so genuinely interested in anything that Henry has to say, and Henry can’t help but amuse Alex and indulge in whatever it is he’s talking about, whether that be his research on queer themes in Jane Austen’s works or mentions of Pez, whom he’s still living with. Talking with Alex is so easy and natural that Henry can’t help but kick himself a little for not talking to Alex sooner, for not saying a word or two to him when he would see him at the bars, or when he would spot him at a party that Pez would drag him to, or when he passed by him on their floor every day of his first year at university.

It certainly doesn’t reduce whatever kind of “crush” he had on Alex, either — in fact, their conversation only seems to make it stronger, to make his heart stutter every time Alex darts his tongue out to wet his lips before talking, to make his breath hitch in his throat each time Alex brushes his curls out of his eyes only for them to fall right back into place, to make his skin prickle with goosebumps whenever Alex laughs. He’s so full of life, and he’s so sure of himself, and he’s selfless without even meaning to be, and Henry is gone. So, so gone.

If this is how he’s reacting just from an hour long conversation in a coffee shop, he’s slightly terrified to think of how he’ll react while being stuck in a car with Alex for hours upon hours. Alone.

“You should tell me more about Austen,” Alex says casually. “I’ve only read Pride and Prejudice, but I’d love to hear more about other things she’s written.”

Okay, Henry is positively terrified that he’ll jump on Alex in the car if he keeps talking like this.

“Aw, shit,” Alex says nearly twenty minutes later, glancing down at his watch, “I forgot I have to pick up my roommate soon. We barely even talked about the trip, didn’t we?”

“Right,” Henry says. “The road trip.”

“So you’re cool with me picking you up at nine?” Alex asks. “Maybe nine-thirty. Depends on how quick the coffee kicks in. And then we’ll be on the road for most of that day; I’m hoping to make it to West Virginia.”

“I shall eagerly await your arrival,” Henry attempts to joke.

Thankfully, Alex laughs. “Great. This’ll be fun. We’ll explore the city a bit, too; it won’t just be all driving.” He stands up. “You need a ride back to your place?”

“Erm — no. I think I’ll stay here for a bit more.”

“You sure?” Alex asks, and Henry nods. He smiles. “All right, then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

A grin spreads over Alex’s face. “Exactly. See you later, Henry.”

Once Alex leaves the café, Henry promptly collapses his face in his hands.

“Christ,” he whispers to himself. “Oh my fucking Christ.”

This might be the stupidest idea he’s had in a while, but he thinks of Alex’s smile and Alex’s voice and Alex’s hair, and he thinks that the days they’ll spend together might be just worth the stupidity.

Only time will tell.

Chapter 2: The Drive

Notes:

So sorry for the late update! Had to run into work as an emergency Christmas elf — very fitting for this fic ;)

“Tell me again,” Bea says over the phone, “but slowly.”

Henry grits his teeth. “I volunteered to join someone on a three-day road trip to Texas for the holidays,” he repeats for probably the fourth time, “because, A, I have nothing else to do, and B, I may or may not… find this person extremely attractive.”

“Okay. Well.” Bea is silent for a moment. “My first thought is to say congratulations.”

Henry splutters, smacking his hand over his eyes. “Beatrice.”

“It is!” Bea protests. “Look, H, you haven’t exactly had the best luck with dates. What was the last one you told me about? The man who got so drunk at the restaurant that he threw up in your lap?”

Henry lets his hand fall back onto the pillow by his head. “Yes it was, and I seriously regret ever telling you that story.”

“I’m only saying,” Bea scoffs, “that it shouldn’t get any worse than that. And you know him already, yes? So you know he isn’t a secret serial killer waiting to capture his next victim?”

“I’ve known him since undergrad,” Henry says. He thinks of Alex’s Star Wars bedsheets and wonders if he still owns them. “Definitely not a serial killer.”

“Well, that’s a plus. So, on that note, if you think you have a chance with this man, I think this sounds like a great opportunity.”

“Thank you?”

“But on the other hand,” Bea continues, and Henry groans. He knew this was coming. “Have you actually thought about what you’ll do when you arrive there?”

“No,” Henry mutters, his eyes closing. “I simply plan to… work it out as I get there.”

“Henry.”

“Look, it’ll be a — a nice change, won’t it? I mean, it’s Texas, so it’ll certainly be warmer than New York or London. That’s something I’ve never experienced before.”

“Yes, but weather aside, what will you actually do?”

Henry sighs. “I don’t know. Stay in a hotel? Call you? Have Pez attach a camera to David’s collar so I can watch what he does for the entire day?”

“Ah, yes, the perfect Christmas.”

“Like I told you, Bea, I will figure it out as I get there.”

“Have you told Mum yet?”

“No.” Henry taps his fingers in a pattern on his chest. It matches the increased thumping of his heart. “Why should I? She knows that I won’t come back to London unless you’re there. And I already told her that I was staying here for the holidays, anyway. I don’t see how a road trip to Texas would change anything.”

“I know, but…” Bea sighs. “I think she’d still like to know.”

“Maybe when she starts to be a parent again, I’ll let her know.”

Bea doesn’t say anything for a while. So long, in fact, that the silence starts to get uncomfortable. Henry sighs. “Sorry. Was that too far?”

“Don’t apologize,” Bea says, her tone soft. “It’s how you feel. Your feelings can’t go too far.”

“And you don’t feel the same way?”

“I do, I only… I see her more than you do, H,” Bea explains. “She’s trying, if only a little. I only wonder how long she’ll stay in this… new phase, or whatever she wants to call it.”

“And I understand that, but it’s been seven years since Dad died. I just wish that she would, you know, be able to grieve with us. Not hide away because she thinks we’re unable to see her grieving.”

“I know, love,” Bea whispers. “It’s not fair. It’s never fair.”

Henry stares at David’s sleeping form at the foot of his bed. “We won’t get anywhere talking about this,” he mutters. “How’s your holiday? Been recognized yet?”

“Yes, because an Australian tour is certainly a holiday.”

“Technically, it is since you’re taking Christmas off.”

“I’m going to need a holiday after this tour,” Bea grumbles. “Not really. It’s lovely; the fans are always kind and our manager says the album’s sales have skyrocketed since we started playing shows. Can’t complain about much.”

“What time is it there again?”

“Nearly five. Which means you need to go to bed if your little road trip adventures are starting tomorrow morning.”

Henry groans. “I know, I know. Say hi to the rest of the band for me, okay?”

“I certainly will. And Henry…” Her voice trails off, and Henry can practically picture the way she bites her lip when she gets worried, the nervous quiver in her brow. “Send me updates, okay? I know you trust this man, but he’s still practically a stranger. I’d like to make sure you’re not dead.”

“I think I manage that,” Henry says around a chuckle. “But believe me, I’ll be okay. Getting out of New York for a while will be good for me, I think.”

“You know what? I think it will, too.”

Henry gasps. “I call you to tell me about my woes and you insult me —”

“Oh, piss off —”

“— my own sister, I can’t believe this —”

“Goodnight, Henry,” Bea says pointedly, and she hangs up.

Henry’s smile lingers on his face as he gets up to brush his teeth and pull on his pajamas. When he climbs back into bed, David blinks awake, turning his nose toward Henry.

“C’mere, boy,” Henry says softly, and David pads higher up on the bed just to curl into the same position he was in moments ago. Henry strokes his fingers through David’s fur, pausing to scratch at his ears, chuckling at the way David sleepily leans into his touch.

“You’ll be good for Pez, won’t you, boy?” Henry murmurs. David gives no notice to Henry’s words, his eyes now slipped shut again. “You’ll have a good holiday with him. I’ll bring you back some treats; don’t worry.”

David gives no indication that he’s worried. Not for the first time, Henry wishes he could live a life as carefree as David — nothing to worry about save for long walks and the next time to get head scratches.

He turns on his side and lets the screen of his phone illuminate his face in the dark, pulling up the map that Alex sent him after getting his phone number. There’s a red line that Alex sloppily drew in to outline the route they’ll be taking. He even circled the stops for each day: one in West Virginia, another in Tennessee, and finally one at the Texas border before Alex supposedly drops Henry off in Houston.

“So fucking stupid,” Henry whispers to himself; again, not for the first time. More than 24 hours in a cramped car with a man that, since meeting him and properly talking to him, has only become more attractive in Henry’s eyes, down to the cocky grin that he almost always wears on his lips and the length of his impossibly dark eyelashes. He’ll survive. He will.

 

Henry’s not sure he’ll survive this.

Alex is set to pick him up in the next twenty minutes, and Henry is just realizing that he needs to pack actual clothes to have a successful road trip.

Pez stands in the doorway of Henry’s room, an intrigued grin on his face as he watches Henry dart back and forth from his closet to his luggage that he threw carelessly on the bed. Henry had only told Pez about his recent endeavors this morning and, like Bea, the first thing he told Henry was “Congratulations.”

(“It’s practically the stupidest decision I’ve ever made in my life,” Henry moaned to him.

“It just might be, Hazza, but it’s also a fantastic way to get laid,” Pez responded.)

“Christ,” Henry mutters to himself as he pulls open his underwear drawer. In all the chaos of yesterday, responding to Alex’s post and meeting with him at the café, then lamenting to Bea about all of his troubles, he completely forgot to do his laundry. He has four gray pairs of briefs that are still clean and an unboxed pair of hot pink ones — a birthday gift from Pez that, when he was drunk, sounded like a fantastic idea.

He really has no other option, Henry thinks as he rips the packaging off of the briefs and throws them into his luggage. Pez gives a wolf whistle.

“Oh, shut up,” Henry groans, searching for socks instead.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You most certainly did.”

“I’m only saying that I think this will be good for you,” Pez says. “A nice holiday, full of warmth and relaxation, and of course, thirsting after boys you’ve fancied since we were nineteen —”

“Pez.”

Pez cackles, slumping against the doorframe, and Henry glowers at him. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Pez manages to say through his laughter.

“Well, yes, that was the reason for doing this, but that won’t be the outcome.”  

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. Here.” Henry looks up just in time to see Pez holding out a string of condoms — inexplicably procured seemingly out of thin air — and tossing it in his direction. They land inside of Henry’s luggage.

“You know.” Pez winks. “Just in case all your dreams come true.”

“I can guarantee you that will not happen,” Henry retorts.

(The string of condoms stays in his luggage. Henry conveniently forgets that Pez tossed them in there. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself.)

Henry brings his luggage to the door, drops it on the floor, and whirls around to stare at Pez. “Tell me this isn’t the most inane thing I’ve ever decided to do?”

“I would never lie to you, Haz,” Pez says, and Henry groans.

“Christ.” Henry leans back against the front door, letting his head bonk softly against the wood. “Perhaps I should just… cancel it all.”

“Absolutely not,” Pez says so strongly that it makes Henry blink in surprise. “H, I love you, but do I have to ask you when was the last time you did something entirely for yourself? When was the last time you truly allowed yourself a proper break?”

“I — well —” Henry stutters. “I rather like what I’m writing for my thesis —”

“That’s work, Henry,” Pez groans. “You best believe me when I tell you that you are the most selfless man I’ve ever met. You put everyone’s needs above your own, and while I love that about you so dearly, I fear it’s going to bite you in the arse one day. So take this as your opportunity to do something for you and for only you — simply because this is something you want to do — dicking down or not,” he finishes with a grin.

Henry rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the fond smile that he can feel spreading across his lips. “If I agree with you, will you finally shut up?” he jokes.

“You know me so well,” Pez says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Now go do one last circle for things in your room, say goodbye to David, and live your American road trip destiny.”

“Not my destiny.”

“I could argue that Alex Claremont-Diaz is —”

“Nope,” Henry says loudly, then breaks off from the front door to do as Pez said.

He’s still petting David goodbye when his phone flashes with a text message from Alex: just got to your place. ready whenever you are ;)

Henry tries as hard as he can not to read into that winky face.

Alex is leaning against the door to his jeep when Henry walks out of his apartment, luggage slung over one shoulder and backpack slung over the other. Alex looks up at the sound of the door closing, a grin overtaking his face. Henry nearly trips over his feet at the sight.

“You know,” Henry says as Alex takes his luggage from him and throws it in the backseat, “I’ve lived in New York for six years now, and I think you’re the only person in this state who owns a jeep.”

Alex snorts. “Yeah, well, not everyone is as cool as me. I ride this city in style.”

“And halfway across the country, it seems.”

“‘Course. Gotta let everyone know how fucking cool I am.”

Henry climbs into the passenger seat, Alex into the driver’s seat, and closes his door. Alex adjusts his phone in its holder, a GPS pulled up with a route to West Virginia. He grins over at Henry.

“Hour one out of twenty-six, here we go.”

Chapter 3: The Bed

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Alex says about thirty minutes into the drive. “I’ve split this up into eight-hour drives, right? It’ll be shorter once we get into Texas. But we can split up those times; so, like, I’ll drive for the first four hours, and then you can do the last four. You up for that?”

“Oh —” Henry coughs. “I, erm. I’d love that, but I actually don’t have an American driver’s license.”

Alex gives him a side glance. A small laugh tumbles from his lips. “Seriously?”

“...Yes?”

“Sorry.” Alex laughs again. “It’s just — well, you said you’ve lived in New York for six years, right? And you don’t have a license?”

Alex’s tone is lighthearted, no actual heat behind his words, and Henry allows his shoulders to relax. “What can I say?” he says, attempting to play into the joke, “the subway has been a staple in my transportation methods. It’s too late to betray it now.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Alex says around a grin. “I guess it’s not that bad in New York, huh? I mean, I just assumed you’d have one after living here for so long.”

“Nope,” Henry says. “I rather enjoy it, in some odd way. The subway reminds me of the tube sometimes. Only a lot less clean.”

“That’s right, you’re, like… British.”

Henry raises an eyebrow. “And you’re, like, American.”

“No, that sounded bad,” Alex laughs at himself. “I just meant, like — do you miss it at all? Or have you come to realize that we were on the right side of the Revolutionary War all along?”

“Ha ha,” Henry says, deadpan, rolling his eyes even though he knows Alex isn’t looking at him. “I do miss it at times. New York has always been good to me, though. Maybe that’s why I don’t miss London all that much.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“I grew up in London. Um. My dad was from Wales, though. We vacationed there quite a lot when I was younger.”

“Wales, huh?” Alex hums. “I don’t know much about Wales. You like it there?”

“It was certainly more quiet than London.”

“And let me guess — you like quiet.”

Henry chuckles. “How did you know?”

“You were always in the study room in freshman year.”

Henry takes a second to process what Alex just said, and when the words finally settle in his brain, he nearly whips his head around to stare at Alex. “You remembered me?”

“When you pointed it out to me yesterday,” Alex explains, “it just kinda clicked. I would be getting ready to go out with some of my buddies and I would pass by the study room to get to my room. You were always in there. On a fucking Friday night, Henry.”

“Yes, well,” Henry splutters, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot, “I was rather introverted — still am — and enjoyed analyzing Shakespeare’s sonnets.”

“Ugh, actually?” Alex says, then backtracks. “Shit, wait — I didn’t mean it like that — ”

But Henry’s laughing, which causes Alex to snicker, and Henry feels that same fluttering feeling in his chest. “All I’m saying is,” Alex says once he finally catches his breath again, “I’m glad I ended up seeing you at parties here and there.”

“There’s only so many times you can say no to Pez.”

“That,” Alex says loudly, peeling his eyes away from the road for just a moment to point at Henry, “is the truest thing you’ve said so far.”

The rest of the drive passes in comfortable conversation, and when they’re not talking, the sweet music of Alex’s playlist fills the air. He seems to have a story for just about every song on the playlist, and he tells Henry each story, too — when Khalid’s “Young Dumb & Broke” plays, Alex recounts the time during finals week in the spring of their freshman year, where he physically could not focus on his work unless that song was playing (“It was my top song on my Spotify Wrapped that year,” Alex explains through Henry’s quiet laughter. “I played it, like, 500 times. It was insane. Now I know it was just the undiagnosed ADHD talking”). When Lil Jon’s “Get Low” plays, Alex tells Henry the story of a frat party he attended his junior year, and he was so drunk that he ended up scream-singing the lyrics to the song on top of the beer pong table (“Not my finest moment,” he admits). When Bob Dylan’s “Rainy Day Woman #12 & 35” comes on, Alex actually hits his head on the steering wheel with a groan and tells Henry about a weed bust he did when he was an RA sophomore year (“I had to ask them to turn the song off five times, Henry. Five. And then they tried to bribe me with Taco Bell, and the worst part is that I had to put that in the incident report, too”).

David Bowie’s “Heroes” starts to play next, and Alex points out that Henry’s humming along to it before Henry even notices himself. He clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Alex taps the steering wheel to the beat of the song. “You like Bowie, then?”

Henry laughs quietly. “You could say so,” he says. “My dog is named after him, actually.”

“You have a dog?” Alex exclaims. “And you’re just mentioning this now?”

Henry blinks. “Should I have earlier?”

“If I knew you had a dog, I would’ve said hello to him before we left this morning. What kind is he?”

“A beagle.”

“Aw, Bowie the beagle. That’s cute.”

“Oh — his name’s not Bowie.”

“I thought you said you named him after Bowie? Ziggy, then?”

“No,” Henry says. “His name is David.”

Alex pauses. “You’re telling me you could’ve chosen from Bowie, or Ziggy, or anything else, and instead you went with David?”

“The others felt a bit too on the nose.”

Alex snorts. “Sounds like you’re a man of mysteries, Wales.”

Henry thinks about the real reason as to why he joined Alex on this trip, and his stomach churns. “Something like that.”

 

They stop for gas three hours later in Harrisburg, and stop for lunch in Hagerstown once they hit the four-hour mark. Alex finds a diner that’s relatively empty for one-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon, and they slide into a cushioned booth without having to fight anyone for it. They order their food; the waitress looking like Alex grew a second head when he asks if they still serve coffee.

“Son,” she says with a look of concern, “it’s the middle of the day. What in the hell do you still need coffee for?”

Alex shrugs, smile blazing. “I like to live on the edge.”

Alex does, miraculously, get his coffee, and when they finish their meal, he makes sure to leave a generous tip for the waitress.

“You know,” he says loudly as they make their way back to the car, “since you don’t have an American driver’s license, I think I should give you driving lessons.”

Henry nearly trips on the dirt parking lot.

“I think that’s the worst idea you’ve had so far,” he retorts, finding his balance again.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Alex exclaims, grinning bright. “I’m a good fucking teacher. Plus, we’ll be getting into the midwest soon, and there’s, like, no one on those roads. You’ll have miles to learn with no interruption.”

“Good to know,” Henry notes. “When we pass through the midwest, I’ll make sure to be conveniently drunk enough to not warrant any driving.”

“Oh my God,” Alex groans as he gets into the car, slamming the door shut. “You’re a sneaky fucker, you know that? Never would’ve pegged you as one.”

Perhaps Henry is a little drunk, despite not having a drop of alcohol since he first answered Alex’s post yesterday, because he says without thinking, “What do you think of me as?”

Alex, halfway into turning the key in the ignition, pauses to give Henry a look up and down. Henry suddenly feels extremely self-conscious. Nothing good can come of this question. Surely. Either he’ll be heartbroken by Alex’s response, or he’ll fall even harder for him, because he’s sure that the more time he spends with Alex, the stronger his little crush will become.

“All the times that I saw you here and there,” Alex finally says, starting to pull back into the road, “you know — parties, bars, libraries — my first thought was always oh, there’s Pez’s friend. But… I don’t know. In the library, at least, you always looked peaceful. Even during finals, which always pissed me off, because finals make me a fucking wreck, even now. But at the other places, I think I was always too drunk to really think about you.”

“Oh,” Henry says, because what else can he say to that?

“‘Blond’ was probably my first thought,” Alex says, causing Henry to splutter.

“Why on earth would that be your first thought?”

“Have you actually seen your hair?” Alex says, taking a quick look at Henry. His usual smile quirks at his lips. “You’re, like, blond blond. Disney-prince-blond. And your eyes? Ugh. It’s fucking unfair.”

Henry can feel his face warming up. “What about my eyes?”

“Dude, you can’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Your blue-ass fucking eyes? I’m surprised you don’t have herds of people swooning over you.”

Henry manages a laugh. “I guess so,” he says lamely.

“What did you think of me?” Alex asks.

It’s like a Robert Frost poem come to life — Henry can see the two paths diverging in his mind, one path full of the usual, safe answers; the other path the one less traveled by, full of the truth: gorgeous, alive, unbelievably radiant —

“I thought you were strong and calculated,” Henry says carefully, taking the easy way out, “and I thought someone would end up punching you if you kept talking like you did.”

A laugh punches itself out of Alex’s chest, loud and unrestrained, and it’s enough to make Henry start to laugh as well. “Punching me?” Alex repeats, still laughing. “Like who?”

“Oh, I think you know.”

“Hunter?” Alex wheezes, and they both collapse into another fit of laughter.

“Do you remember,” Alex snickers after he catches his breath, “when I decided to run for student senate? And he was running, too? The posters I hung up?”

“Do you mean the ones in the lounge that he scribbled over your face?”

“Yes!” Alex exclaims, laughing wildly again. “Holy fuck. I don’t know if you knew Zahra at all, she was like the advisor for senate, but she was pissed. Yelled at Hunter for not respecting the democracy of voting and all that. I was in the room when she did that; I thought he was gonna piss his pants. Best day of my fucking life.”

“Yes, seeing the email about his disqualification from the senate election was quite enjoyable.”

“So, yeah, I get it, I see what you mean.”

By the time hour five hits, they’re still telling stories of their first year back and forth; Alex, a recollection of getting one of the political science professors fired after uncovering the horribly racist things he said and having nearly three-fourths of the student body back him up (“Richards was a bitch anyway, aside from the fact that he’s a racist bigot”); Henry, a tale of plagiarism from a student in his multicultural literature course and how it was just about the only thing anyone in the English department talked about for weeks. Hour six rolls around next, and Alex’s playlist makes a comeback; this time, with Henry adding his own pick of songs to the queue, per Alex’s request.

“Oh, I get it,” Alex says as a familiar piano medley sounds from the car speakers, “you’re a giant sap.”

“I —” Henry coughs. “What makes you say that?”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “‘Your Song?’ Seriously?”

“It’s a good song.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad song, I’m just saying it makes you a giant sap. I get it; I’ve cried over my fair share of Coldplay songs.”

“Please never compare Elton John to Coldplay in my presence ever again.”

“Excuse you, Coldplay is peak.”

When hour seven strikes the clock, Alex pulls into a small town to fill up on gas again, then sends Henry across the street to a Subway to pick up dinner for them. Henry comes back ten minutes later with a wrapped sandwich in each hand, smirking at Alex as he hands him the sandwich. “Sorry, they didn’t sell coffee this late at night.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

It’s shocking, Henry thinks as they get back on the road again, how quickly he and Alex seem to fall into place. Maybe it’s the power of an eight-hour drive in one day, or maybe it’s the simple fact that they fit well together. Maybe it’s a blend of both. But Alex’s outlandish jokes match Henry’s witty humor, and Alex’s confident speech meshes with Henry’s more passive conversation, and Alex can’t stop grinning like having Henry on this trip was the best thing he’s ever done, and Henry can’t get enough of it.

Hour eight comes sooner than Henry thinks, and Alex whoops as they drive into their intended destination of the night, Charleston. It takes them another twenty minutes to find the motel that Alex booked a room in, which is surprisingly full for a Tuesday night.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Alex complains as he jumps out of the car. “I’m gonna run and grab the key before we freeze to death, okay?”

“You’re incredibly dramatic for it being one degree out,” Henry teases.

“It’s thirty-four, you fucking alien,” Alex calls over his shoulder, walking toward the lobby of the motel.

They climb up to the second floor when Alex returns, luggage slung over their shoulders and bags of snacks clutched in their fists, and Henry is about to say a silent thanks for a successful — and, for the most part, unashamed — first day on the road with Alex when he steps into the motel room, and his heart drops to his knees.

There’s only one bed.

Alex pokes his head into the room from behind him, saying nothing. Then: “Well, this is cozy.”

A weak laugh escapes Henry. Cozy. That’s one word to describe it.

Alex walks further into the room, dropping his stuff on the floor. “You know what I think happened?” he says. “My sister called me when I was in the middle of changing all the single room bookings to doubles, and I forgot to change this one.” He glances at Henry, who still hasn’t moved since stepping inside the room. “I can try to see if there’s another room available, if you want…”

That seems to snap Henry out of his gaze. “No,” he hears himself say. What the hell is he saying? “No, it… it’s fine. If you’re okay with it, of course.”

Alex shrugs. “Wouldn’t be my first time sharing a bed with a guy.”

…Okay?

It’s only nine o’clock, so they spend some time walking around downtown, coats pulled tight over their bodies, peeking into shops that are still open. Henry can’t shake what Alex said to him. Not being the first time sharing a bed with another man. In a romantic way? Platonic way? In a romantic way, but one that Alex thinks is platonic? He knew a guy or two in undergrad who were convinced that he and Henry were just “bros being bros,” even after Henry pointed out that his dick was literally in his ass. Is Alex the same?

He doesn’t know what would be better or worse for his sanity. Up until now, he assumed Alex was straight — he’s overheard mentions of an ex-girlfriend before, and he’s seen him lip-locked with a girl at random parties they’ve both been at. He knows that doesn’t rule out bisexuality or pansexuality, and he knows that sexuality is fluid, but now there’s something new stirring in his chest, something that feels like hope — dangerous, dangerous hope.

Alex spots a breakfast place for them to eat at before hitting the road tomorrow, and he gets incredibly excited at the option of breakfast tacos on the menu. When they return to the motel, Henry gets a call from Bea, and he spends the next forty-five minutes on the small balcony of the motel room listening to her latest tour stories, the most recent show she played, the long drive to the next city.

“At least you have a tour bus,” Henry teases. “I have a jeep with barely enough room to stretch my legs out.”

“You also have a very hot man driving you,” Bea points out, which makes Henry shut up instantly.

It’s nearing eleven o’clock when Bea bids him goodnight, and when he walks back into the motel room to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth, Alex is sitting on the bed already, sporting gray sweatpants and nothing else, and Henry’s mouth goes dry very, very quickly.

Alex looks up when Henry walks out of the bathroom. “Is eight a good time to get up?” he asks. “Get breakfast, hopefully start driving at ten?”

“What?” Henry says, too distracted by the pattern of soft hair on Alex’s chest. “I mean — yes. Yes, that sounds good.”

“Great.” Alex pulls the covers over himself, and Henry gets into the other side of the bed and does the same. The light goes out. “Night, Henry.”

“Goodnight,” Henry says, his voice slightly stiff, but Alex doesn’t seem to notice. Henry can feel the presence of Alex behind him, back-to-back, only an inch or two apart, Alex’s body heat palpable in the small full-sized bed.

It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter 4: The Family

Notes:

We've entered NSFW territory now — you have been warned.

Thanks to this random Mad Libs pinterest post that was an absolute joy to write about in this chapter ;)

When Henry wakes up, he allows himself to sink into the warmth surrounding him before he fully realizes what it is — Alex, pressed up against his back, one arm slung over his waist, nothing separating them save for the thin material of their pajamas.

So thin, in fact, that Henry can feel every bit of Alex where he’s pressed against him. As in, his dick against his ass.

Henry freezes. Alex’s grip on him isn’t strong by any means, but Henry is so aware of it that he feels electrified. He’s hyper aware of all points of contact: Alex’s nose pressed into his hair, Alex’s steady breath on the back of his neck, Alex’s bicep steady on his side, Alex’s leg shoved in between Henry’s own two. And the worst part of it all is that Henry’s getting hard from it.

Alex sighs in his sleep, pushing his leg forward ever so slightly, and a small noise slips from Henry’s throat. He needs to remove himself from the situation. He needs to get away from Alex’s embrace, because while having Alex wake up from Henry attempting to untangle himself from his unconscious hold is embarrassing enough, having Alex wake up to see Henry aroused from the brief contact is even worse.

It takes longer than Henry ever thought possible, but little by little, Henry manages to escape from Alex’s hold. He’s flushed when he stands up, annoyingly hot, his heart beating like he’s a young child and was caught doing something naughty.

Alex is beautiful in all parts of the day, something that Henry has thought about extensively in his six years of faintly knowing Alex — beautiful when he’s ranting and passionate, beautiful when he’s drunk and grinning, beautiful when he’s stoic and studious — but there’s something especially beautiful when he’s sleeping. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling with even breaths, and his impossibly long eyelashes flutter with each exhale. The hand that was draped over Henry’s hip digs into the sheets, as if he’s searching for a body that he wishes was there, and Henry’s heart flips. He nudges his pillow in the direction of Alex’s hand, and that seems to do the trick. Alex sinks his fingers into the pillow, pulls it to his chest, and settles back into sleep.

Christ. Henry needs a shower.

He attempts to shower himself in the coldest water the shower can manage in order to settle his growing erection, but Alex’s sleeping face keeps popping up in his mind, as does the feeling of his body completely covering Henry’s, and it doesn’t take long until Henry is cursing in frustration and turning the shower setting to warm, completely giving in. He doesn’t have any time to think about what he’s really doing, or to let guilt consume his mind — all he thinks about is Alex and how fucking crazy he’s driving him.

(It’s not as though this is the first time that Henry has had a wank to the thought of Alex, either — he can still distinctly remember the time during their first year when Henry walked into the communal showers only to run chest-to-chest into Alex, who was just leaving — the sight of Alex’s wet curls and toned stomach was the start of many fantasies about him.)

“Fuck,” Henry hisses out as he swipes his thumb over the head of his cock. He’s fully hard now, the memory of bumping into post-shower Alex now fresh in his mind. He wonders if he’ll see Alex like that again on this trip, all wet curls and steam-kissed skin, and that only spurs Henry’s hand on even faster.

He thinks about Alex’s breath on the back of his neck, and goosebumps break over his skin despite the warm water. He thinks about how that breath would feel in the crook of his neck instead, accompanied by a hot kiss after; how it would feel against his ear along with the sharp press of teeth against his lobe; how it would feel against his mouth, a talented tongue swiping across his bottom lip, begging for entrance —

Henry groans, low and long in his throat. His hand moves faster. Fuck, he’s close. He keeps picturing Alex’s lips all over his body, how his wild curls would feel under Henry’s palms, if he would moan or whimper if Henry dug his nails into his waist, what his cock would feel like if it was hard this time, pressed against his ass —

Henry comes with a muffled whimper, digging his teeth into his bottom lip to silence his cries. He strokes himself through his orgasm, riding it out, hissing when his cock gives one final twitch and starts to become oversensitive. He lets go of his cock and leans against the tiled wall, catching his breath, letting the shower water wash away any evidence of his actions.

When Henry walks out of the bathroom five minutes later, dressed and toweling off his wet hair, he’s suddenly very glad that he gave in and wanked in the shower — Alex is awake and perched on the side of the bed, sweatpants low on his hips, curls in disarray, looking like a Greek god as he scrolls on his phone. He looks up as Henry walks out. “Shower any good?”

Christ, the early morning rasp of his voice should be illegal. All Henry can do is manage a short nod and pretend to be very interested in drying his hair.

“Sick,” Alex says, rolling off the bed and walking toward the bathroom. “You wanna grab breakfast after this? Be on the road by eleven?” Henry nods again, and Alex grins, the same fucking grin that haunts Henry’s fantasies. “Perfect.”

He knew it already, but this morning only confirms it: Alex Claremont-Diaz is going to be the death of him.

 

“Noun.”

Alex hums, thinking. “Balls.”

Henry barely represses a snort. He writes it into the blank, then reads off the next one. “Expletive.”

“Balls?”

“Again?”

“I mean, it works,” Alex points out. “Plus, isn’t, like, an adult version of this game supposed to be dirty?”

Henry can’t argue with that logic, so he simply writes balls into the second blank as well. “Adjective.”

Henry doesn’t even need to look up from the Mad Libs booklet to sense Alex’s mischievous grin. “If I said ballsy, would you hit me?”

“Christ, no.”

“Great. Then I choose ballsy.”

Henry sighs. Writes it in. “Another adjective. Remember, it can’t be the same.”

“Yeah, I know, I suggested this game,” Alex teases. “Uh. Hard.”

“Classy.”

“Hey, I’m full of class.”

“Clearly,” Henry says dryly. “Plural noun.”

“Cheeks. Wait, no. Ass cheeks.”

Henry nearly cringes as he writes Alex’s suggestion in. “Adjective.”

“Again? Um… slutty.”

“Last sentence. Verb ending in i-n-g.”

“Easy. Fucking.”

“Article of clothing.”

“Thong.”

“And another adjective.”

“Sexy.”

Henry writes the final word in, then clicks the pen closed. “Are you always like this?” he asks, no real heat to his words.

Alex laughs. “What? Charming, funny, all of the above…”

“A demon.”

“Well, yeah.” Alex flashes him a grin. “That too. Now read me my masterpiece.”

Henry sighs, skims the Mad Libs story that took a rather dirty turn. “Must I? I think you have the proper idea.”

“Wales, I spent hours —”

“Five minutes.”

“— pouring my heart and soul into this story, and I’ll be damned if you don’t read it out loud for me.”

“Christ, you’re going to kill me,” Henry murmurs, then begins reading. “‘Where can you meet a nice, normal dick to date? Sure, there are traditional avenues like the workplace or the strip club, but here are some other creative, dirty ways: show off your sexy athletic skills by joining a whore- ball team at the rec center, attend a drinking class at a community college, go to cultural events like sex museums or come tastings, volunteer to plant balls at a neighborhood park, yell ‘balls’ to your favorite sports team together, try ballsy, hard activities you both enjoy, suggestively squeeze the fattest, juiciest ass cheeks while exploring the slutty farmer’s market, and try fucking at the gym in your tightest thong — you’ll feel fit and look sexy.”

Alex is near tears by the time Henry finishes. The sound of his laugh is so addictive that Henry can’t help but laugh as well. “You are terrible,” he chokes out.

“I’m fucking hilarious, actually,” Alex corrects him, still laughing. “Jesus. I don’t think I’ll ever get over hearing you say ‘fattest, juiciest ass cheeks’ in your accent.”

“What’s wrong with my accent?”

“Nothing, but I never thought I’d hear that sentence sound so posh. Come on, let’s do another.”

“We’ve done four already.”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting tired of it. Look, we already blew an hour doing these.”

“No, but there’s only one left in the booklet, and I’d rather pass on one titled My Dilf Dad.”

Alex breaks into another cackle, squeezing the steering wheel as his shoulders shake with laughter. “Yeah, okay, fair,” he finally manages to say. “I wouldn’t want to think about people wanting to fuck my dad. I already see enough of that on the internet.”

“Yes, I —” Henry stops, letting Alex’s words sink into his brain. “Sorry — what?”

Alex groans. “My dad’s a senator in California,” he explains. “They just had the midterm election last month, and all I saw on Twitter was thirst traps of my dad — it the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Henry laughs. “As odd as it sounds,” he says, “I can relate to that.”

“Shut the fuck up. How?”

“My dad was an actor. I’ve stumbled across my fair share of thirst traps about him.”

“Really? What stuff did he do?”

“Erm.” Henry clears his throat. “James Bond.”

Alex goes quiet for a moment. “You’re telling me,” he finally says, “that you’re Fox as in, like, Arthur Fox? James Bond Arthur Fox?”

“The very same.”

“Holy shit, dude!” Alex exclaims, making Henry jump in surprise. “I knew Fox wasn’t a very common last name, but I didn’t think Arthur Fucking Fox would be your dad. I used to watch his movies all the time.”

“Er. Thank you?” Henry knows he brought this upon himself, but he never knows how to respond when people start to rave about his dad’s movies. “It’s nice hearing that people liked them.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Alex glances over at him. “Sorry if that was, like… too much. I was just surprised.”

“It’s fine,” Henry says, and it is. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t as excited about your dad’s career.”

That, at least, earns a snort from Alex. “Yeah, I didn’t expect you to know much about American politics, Mr. I Ask the Waitress if They Serve a Full English Breakfast.”

“I was only wondering.”

“Justify it all you want, Wales, but I’ll never get over the fact that you actually eat beans with toast.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you studied political science?” he asks, steering the subject away from his totally normal eating habits. “Because of your dad.”

Alex shrugs. “I mean, kind of? It was definitely part of the reason. My mom’s the governor of Texas, too, so I just wanted to follow in their footsteps. I almost went to Georgetown; that’s how serious I was about it.”

“And that’s the reason for law school, then?”

“Uh… not quite.” Alex’s tone, usually relaxed and open, suddenly turns a little more tense. “I had this plan, okay? Senator by the time I was thirty. And then, I don’t know, I started to really see how my parents’ jobs drove them apart, and it kind of turned me off from the whole politician thing. So, law school.”

“Oh.” Henry blinks. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Eh, don’t be. The divorce was good for them. Was good for me, too, in the long run. I like law school, too. As much as I bitch about it, it’s really exciting.”

“It sounds exciting.”

“I almost changed my major all together, you know. Didn’t know what the hell I would do with a degree in political science if I didn’t want to actually go into politics, had a crisis about it, and nearly switched my major to English. I figured that if I followed in my parents’ footsteps for so long, I could just do the same thing and follow in my sister’s footsteps.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. Her name’s June; she’s… fuck, she’s fantastic. She’s the one who helped me through that whole crisis, actually.”

“I have a sister, too,” Henry says. “Bea. She’s the one I was talking to last night.”

“Oh yeah, I heard a little bit of what you were saying. Weren’t you asking her about touring something?”

“Yeah, she’s touring Australia.”

“...Australia?”

“Yeah. She’s in a band.”

Alex lets out a disbelieving laugh. “So your dad was a famous actor, and your sister’ is touring an entire fucking continent with her famous band — is there anything your family can’t do?”

“My brother’s a right git,” Henry says instantly. Alex laughs.

“Yeah, there’s always someone like that.” He pauses. “Can I ask why? If it’s not too much.”

“I mean… there’s a lot of reasons,” Henry jokes, causing Alex to laugh again. “My mum and my gran are… well known, let’s say, in London. My gran especially. She always pressured us to uphold a certain reputation, and my brother fell right into it. So when I —”

Henry’s breath hitches in his throat, cutting himself off. He has to remind himself that he doesn’t actually know Alex that well — is he really about to spill all his familial issues out to someone who used to be barely an acquaintance two days ago?

“When I came out to him,” Henry says quietly, “he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t keep pretending to be the perfect straight boy I was supposed to be. That was a few weeks after Dad died, too; and one of the main reasons why I decided on NYU. I couldn’t bear to be around him anymore.”

“Damn,” Alex says quietly. “That’s… that’s rough. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, Henry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Henry says flatly. He’s well-rehearsed in this sob story: the person always apologizes; Henry says there’s no need. The other person usually drops it after that.

But Alex does the absolute last thing Henry expects him to do — he reaches over, one hand off the steering wheel, and places it on Henry’s knee instead, squeezing comfortingly. “That’s not fucking fiar to you at all. You know that, right? No wonder you left; he sounds like such an ass.”

“Well…” Henry’s mind is hazy from the warmth of Alex’s palm on his knee, but he manages to speak through the haze, anyway. “It took me a while, but — I know. I know now.”

“Not that it’s the same at all,” Alex says, “but after I came out to my mom, she sat me down and read me a powerpoint.”

Henry can’t help it — he laughs. “I’m sorry,” he chokes through his laughter. “A powerpoint?”

“Yes!” Alex exclaims. “She didn’t care that I was bi, but I was kind of… fucking around with a guy working on her campaign at the time. I was also working on her campaign. So that was the part she was weirded out about.”

“That’s not… entirely unreasonable,” Henry says, but his brain is only half-working. Alex has come out. Alex is bisexual. Quite the opposite of what he assumed.

He thinks back to this morning, and he wonders what would have happened if he stayed in Alex’s arms — would Alex have pushed him away like Henry pictured him doing? Or would he have tugged him closer, in some insane fantasy?

They spend the rest of the drive talking about their family, telling stories and recounting the best memories. Henry learns more about Alex’s sister, June, and her new book review blog that she started alongside her journalism career (“She’s been on a Jane Austen kick recently; she would fucking love to read your thesis,” Alex says offhandedly, as if him remembering what Henry’s thesis is about doesn’t make him blush like a madman). He learns about June’s girlfriend — who is also Alex’s ex- girlfriend, apparently — and some of the drunken adventures they’ve gotten up to together, like celebrating Alex’s twenty-first birthday in Vegas and throwing up in the same Uber, thus ending their night out.

Henry gives Alex just the same, telling him more about Bea and how talented she really is; like her band’s first performance in London, where the pianist got sick and Bea ended up shredding on her guitar, then shoving it out of the way to play intricate melodies on the keyboard. He tells Alex stories about visiting his dad on movie sets, going backstage during his theater performances, watching him during awards season and crossing his fingers that his dad would win. He tells Alex about his mother, the stories she would read to him, the fact that she was the first woman in her family to get her PhD, and that was what inspired Henry to do the very same.

The time passes on, the sky grows darker, and the booklet of adult Mad Libs is thrown to the backseat. The talk of family stays the same, but the stories grow somber. Alex, age twelve, finding out that his dad moved to California after coming home from camp to see his stuff gone. Henry, age fourteen, kissing a boy for the first time and being berated by Philip once he found out about it. Alex’s fears that June is holding herself back to look out for him. Henry’s fears over his father’s cancer diagnosis. Alex’s mother’s pressure being put on her by her job, and how she inadvertently pushes that onto Alex. Bea’s addiction and rehabilitation. Alex wondering if he’ll ever be good enough. Henry’s mother’s absence since his father’s death.

Something in the air between them has shifted, and Henry isn’t quite sure what is, or when it happened, for that matter. What he does know, however, is that whatever it is between them… it’s good.

Chapter 5: The Confession

When Henry wakes the next morning in the motel room — this time with two beds (Henry couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved) — only to find Alex’s bed empty. His heart jumps. There’s no way that Alex would ditch him in a motel in Tennessee and travel to Texas all on his own, is there? Especially not after their heart-to-heart yesterday?

He rises onto his elbows and notices a sheet of paper on the nightstand in the middle of the beds, Alex’s handwriting scrawled over it: Went for a run if I’m not back before you’re up. Be back soon. - A xx

Those two ‘x’s mean nothing to Henry. Absolutely nothing.

It’s near midnight where Bea is, so Henry gets dressed and sits back down on the bed, waiting for the call to connect. Bea answers on the fourth ring. “Henry!”

A smile overtakes Henry’s face. “It’s good to hear from you,” he says. “Did you just finish a show?”

“Yeah, just about.” Bea sounds breathless, no doubt from the adrenaline that’s pumping through her veins, always common for her after a particularly good show. “Don’t hang up; this is a perfect time. What’s going on? How’s your road trip?”

“It’s actually been quite nice,” Henry says. “On a completely unrelated note, what does it mean when a not-quite acquaintance turned maybe-friend leaves you a note with an ‘x’ or two at the end of his name?”

Bea is quiet for a moment. Then: “Henry, what has happened in the day that I talked to you last to make you ask a question like that?”

Henry flops back onto the pillow. “Well, since you asked, we shared a bed, he told me he was bisexual, and we shared mutually depressing stories of our growing up. In that order.”

“You shared a bed?”

“Christ,” Henry mutters, realizing how just odd this must sound to his sister. “Motel malfunction, I swear. But after that, we started to talk more about ourselves. Deep conversations. And now he puts ‘x’s on a blasted note that only says he went for a run. What am I even supposed to make of that?”

“H, connect the dots,” Bea says flatly. “This boy fancies you.”

Henry scoffs.

“No straight boy,” Bea continues, “would ever leave ‘x’s on a note like that.”

“We’ve established that he’s bisexual,” Henry says.

“My point still stands. No bisexual boy who doesn’t completely fancy you would ever leave ‘x’s on a note like that.”

Henry groans. “You’re not helping. I called to complain about my problems, not to have you agree with my fantasies and lull me under false hope.”

“I’m not lulling you under anything,” Bea retorts. “I’m only relaying the facts back to you.”

Just then, the door handle to the motel door jiggles, and Henry shoots back up to a sitting position. “I have to go,” he tells Bea. “I’ll call you tomorrow, yes?”

“Of course,” Bea says. “Don’t overthink things!”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Easier said than done,” he says as Alex walks into the motel room, dressed in a black sweatshirt and running pants that should be illegal with the way they look on him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, H.”

Alex raises his eyebrows after Henry hangs up, toeing off his shoes. “Boyfriend?” he asks in what seems like a casual manner, although his tone is anything but.

Henry’s heart flips in his chest. “No,” he says. “My sister.” He pauses, then hesitantly adds, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Alex stops in his path from the motel door to the bathroom, looks at Henry, simply says, “Huh,” and continues on his way.

…Okay then.

When they finish getting ready and check out of the motel, Alex tosses the car keys to Henry, who fumbles and nearly drops them. “What is this?”

“I wasn’t kidding about those driving lessons, Wales,” Alex grins.

Oh, Christ.

“Alex,” Henry says quickly. Alex keeps walking to the jeep, not looking back. “Alex, you can’t be serious.”

“I always keep my promises,” Alex says, “and right now, I’m promising that I’m gonna teach you how to drive.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but I’d rather not dull the mood by killing somebody. Not to mention us.”

“Henry, we’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Tennessee. There’s no one to kill.”

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Believe me,” Alex says, climbing into the passenger’s side, “I’ve had plenty of bad ideas before, and this doesn’t even reach the top ten.”

Somewhat begrudgingly, Henry settles into the driver’s seat. Everything is the opposite: the gear shift on his right, the window switches on his left, the speedometer reading in miles instead of kilometers — it certainly doesn’t help that he hasn’t driven in over six years, and even then, he didn’t drive that much on his own, as the more famous his father became, the more perks he received, and a personal driver was one of them.

He fumbles with the ignition twice before succeeding, and the jeep spurs to life. Henry reaches for the gas pedal awkwardly. His legs are longer than Alex’s, which makes him slightly cramped in the space between his seat and the steering wheel, but he doesn’t know where the lever is to push the chair back and isn’t about to ask Alex where it is, desperate to save himself from any further embarrassment.

Tentatively, he shifts the gear to reverse, eases on the gas, and the jeep shoots backward out of the parking spot.

“Christ,” Henry hisses through his teeth, slamming on the brakes. He looks up to apologize to Alex only to find him laughing.

Henry blinks. He’s heard Alex laugh plenty before during the hours they’ve spent driving, but with Alex focused on the road, he hasn’t actually seen Alex laughing and, well. It’s a rather beautiful sight.

“Yeah, not like that,” Alex says, still snickering. “Been a while, huh?”

“You could say,” Henry says softly. He’s still mesmerized by the sight of Alex when he laughs.

“Okay, just… go slower than you think,” Alex says. “There’s no one behind you, so you’re all clear.”

The jeep still jerks as Henry backs out, but it’s smoother than he thought it would be, thankfully — then, before he knows it, he’s face-to-face with the long stretch of highway in front of him.

“Alex, we’ll die,” he says again.

“No we won’t,” Alex reassures him, then —

Henry stills as the notes of a very familiar song bleed through the speakers of the jeep, and a voice that’s even more familiar — Bea. He whips his head around to stare at Alex.

Alex shrugs, a small smile on his face. “I looked up your sister’s band last night,” he admits. “They’ve got some really good shit. But I thought it would be familiar, y’know? Keep you calm.”

Henry has never wanted to kiss Alex more than he does at this very moment.

Instead of leaning over the center console and having his filthy way with him, he takes a deep breath and focuses on his task at hand, because he can’t look at Alex and all his charm when he needs to focus on the road. He grips the steering wheel with slightly shaking fingers and lets Bea’s music wash over him, a song that he’s heard thousands of times before, upbeat and emotional, and it actually does calm him down a little.

“I know there’s no one here,” Alex says a minute after Henry successfully manages to pull onto the street and start driving, “but you can’t go twenty miles per hour, man.”

“And why can’t I?”

“There’s something called a speed minimum here? You gotta be going at least forty.” Alex points at an upcoming sign at the side of the highway, showcasing the speed limit and the minimum speed. “It’s just straight roads. You can go faster.”

“I think I’d lose control of the car.”

Alex laughs again, Henry’s heart pangs. Fuck, that sound. “No, you won’t. Just… talk to me. Tell me about your thesis, yeah? Something to take the focus off.”

“Shouldn’t I want to focus only on driving?”

“Yeah, but not to the point where you look like you’re gonna go insane.”

Henry sighs. Relaxes his grip on the wheel. Presses on the gas a little more. “Well, in Austen’s Emma, there’s been heavy debate over if readers should view Emma as more masculine than feminine…”

That’s how most of the lesson goes. Henry keeps talking about scholars’ debates over Emma Woodhouse’s romantic liking for Harriet Smith as he hits thirty miles per hour, and switches to discussing the first recorded stage performance of Pride and Prejudice featuring an all-female cast, including the role of Mr. Darcy, as he hits forty. Fifty miles per hour comes when he’s describing the differences from Shakespeare’s plays, where men dominated the stage and every role as well, then switches gears and rants about Austen’s use of the word ‘queer’ in her novels and how lexicon in the 1800s had ‘queer’ reference an explicit resistance to heterosexual normalities as sixty miles per hour creeps up on him. All the while, Bea’s music plays softly through the car stereo, some songs Henry knows from growing up with Bea, some songs that Henry knows from the videos Bea sends him of her trying out a new guitar riff. And Alex — well, Alex doesn’t say a word. Henry doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, and he’s too anxious to look over at Alex’s face to see if he can read something in his expression.

“That’s… wow,” Alex says once Henry comes to a lull in his mini history of Jane Austen lesson. “How long is your thesis?”

“Erm. Around one hundred and twenty pages,” Henry says, “which means I need to cut out a significant portion of it before I turn in the final draft.”

“That’s a fucking shame,” Alex says. “That’s some of the most interesting shit I’ve ever heard, and I can’t remember the last time I read a book that wasn’t about law.”

Henry laughs, and Alex points at the speedometer. “Look at that; you’re close to seventy. Does it feel okay?”

“It’s becoming more natural, yes.” Henry drums his fingers against the wheel. “The road being completely straight helps.”

“Well, it’s gonna be like that for a long while. Maybe you’ll become so good that you can drive us all the way to Houston,” Alex jokes.

Henry is about to correct him, the words right on the tip of his tongue — “I thought you lived in Austin?” — when he remembers: Alex is going to drop him off in Houston. Houston, the place Henry said he was traveling to. Houston, when in reality, is the place where Henry has nothing waiting for him.

“Perhaps,” he manages to say. The words sound strangled in his throat.

He can’t believe he let himself forget for so long. Because he knows that the road trip will have to end at some point, that he and Alex can’t simply drive wherever they want to for the rest of break, but it’s hard to picture anything else happening when the past two days were filled with nothing save for the two of them in a car together. Now that fantasy has gone; that bubble has popped, and Henry is left with the sinking realization that he’s going to spend the holidays alone in a city that he’s completely unfamiliar with.

It’s all he can think about — how stupid he was to lie about his holiday plans just to spend time with a man who barely knows him, how idiotic he was to think that he would never have to actually face those fake holiday plans — and when another car appears on the highway, it all becomes too much. Henry, at least, has the foresight to blink his turn signal as he pulls over on the side of the road, his breathing coming out in short, uneven breaths.

“Woah, hey,” Alex mutters, twisting around in his seat to see the other car speeding away in the opposite direction. “Are you okay? It was just another car, you were doing perfect —”

“It’s not that,” Henry hears himself say before his brain catches up with his mouth.

“Oh.” Alex pauses. “Is — is it the music? Was that too much? I just thought you’d —”

“The music is perfect, Alex. Christ.” Henry buries his face in his hands. “I have to tell you something,” he mumbles.

Alex doesn’t say anything. Instead, Henry feels the warm touch of his hand against his shoulder, and that’s somehow worse than Alex saying anything at all.

Henry groans into his palms, finally gets the courage to look back up, and it all comes spewing out: “I’m not traveling to Houston. I’m not traveling anywhere, or — I wasn’t planning on traveling anywhere. But then I saw the post you made in that Facebook group, and I acted upon impulse and it was —”

He breaks off. He can’t say the real reason why he accepted Alex’s request for a road trip buddy; that could be a good enough reason to file a restraining order against him. But he needs to come up with something as to why he completely lied to Alex about his holiday plans.

“It was a good reason,” he manages to come up with, “to get out of New York.” That, at least, is true, even if it’s not the full truth — his work this semester only made him feel more cooped up than he usually is, and that feeling only seemed to grow after he found out that Bea would still be in Australia over the holidays and decided to not go back to London without her there. “I don’t know why I made up some story to justify my coming, and I’m so sorry, but I needed to be somewhere else for a while.”

Alex’s hand still hasn’t left his shoulder. The feeling is burned into Henry’s memory.

“You don’t have anywhere to go?” Alex says after a minute. “You’re just… driving around?”

Henry nods, shame consuming his body, making his face and ears grow hot.

“Hey, that’s… that’s okay,” Alex says. “I get needing to get out of a place. Believe me, I get it.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Henry. Alex still hasn’t said anything about Henry lying to him. He’s not sure whether he wants Alex to address it.

Then Alex says the absolute last thing that Henry expects: “Do you want to keep driving?”

For the first time since Henry spilled the truth (or, most of the truth), he turns toward Alex, mouth dropped open in what he’s sure is a quizzical look.

“Driving helps me,” Alex explains. His face is completely neutral, making Henry’s gut churn. “Plus, I need to, um… text some people. Can’t really do that while I’m driving.”

Now Henry is really confused.

“All right,” he says eventually.

The only sound between them as Henry continues to drive is Bea’s music, still playing through the speakers from Alex’s phone. Henry keeps sneaking glances to his right, trying to get some semblance of an idea to what Alex is doing other than texting — but that’s truly all he seems to be doing.

It’s like that for a full hour. Henry even braves another passing car without saying anything. Finally, just as the final song of Bea’s second album comes to a close, Alex breaks the silence.

“So I’ve got good news and bad news,” he says, and Henry feels like he’s about to vomit. “Any preference of which news to hear first?”

Henry can already picture it: the bad news is that Alex hates him and can’t imagine why he’d lie to him; the good news is that he’ll loan Henry an extra pair of socks to keep him warm after he inevitably dumps him on the streets. He shakes his head.

“Well, good news is that I told my family I’m bringing a friend back home for Christmas, and they’re already making space at the table for you. The bad news is that my dad already has the guest room, so you’ll have to make due with the air mattress on my floor.”

For the second time this morning, Henry has to pull over because he’s so overcome with emotions.

“Alex,” he manages once he finally finds his voice, “what?”

Alex shrugs, all nonchalant like he hasn’t just offered Henry his saving grace on a silver platter. “I don’t like the idea of you spending Christmas alone, not to mention being a city you don’t even know. We’re heading to my place anyway, and I think I’ve spent enough time with you to know you’re not an axe murderer, so why not spend your time there?”

“But I —” Henry isn’t quite sure why he’s protesting. This is a good thing. This is beyond a good thing. “Alex, I lied to you this entire time. You should be furious with me, not inviting me to stay at your bloody home.”

There’s a soft smile on Alex’s face, as if he doesn’t care in the absolute slightest that Henry basically used him to hitchhike halfway across the country. “Here’s the thing, Wales,” he says. “I know you, and I really don’t give a shit.”

And if Henry felt like he wanted to kiss Alex before… well.

“You know, I started to wonder things when you said you didn’t have a license,” Alex continues. “But I chalked it up to your trip being last minute and you couldn’t find a flight, something like that. And when you said your sister was touring Australia right now, I was wondering about that, because you told me that you were going on this trip to visit your sister and her friend. But I thought that meant she was coming back just for Christmas Day or something; didn’t think much else of it.”

“Christ,” Henry whispers, sinking his face back in his hands. “I’m the worst.”

“You are not the worst,” Alex says. “Hey. Hey.” His hands cover Henry’s own, gently prying them away from his face. “Henry, I want you to stay with me. I really, really do. Okay?”

“You’re not —” Henry stutters, “You don’t have to —”

“I know,” Alex says, his voice gentle, “but I want to.”

When Henry still doesn’t say anything, Alex smiles, squeezing Henry’s hands, still resting in his grasp. “Please?” he asks. “I’m not above begging, you know.”

That, at least, draws a laugh from Henry. “I don’t want to burden you any more than I have already,” he manages, his voice shaky.

“You haven’t burdened me one bit,” Alex says, his voice strong. “Without you, I would’ve lost my damn mind in this car. I wouldn’t —” He pauses, the sure, heartfelt look in his eyes only strengthening. “I wouldn’t have made a really good friend if you didn’t tag along with me.”

The feeling blooming in Henry’s chest isn’t just from Alex’s words — it’s the look in his eyes, the way his hands are still clutching Henry’s, the truthfulness layered in his speech. It’s Alex, plainly and genuinely him, and Henry is falling, falling, falling, and he isn’t sure how to stop. He isn’t sure if he wants to stop.

He wonders if it’s the same for Alex, and if it is, he wonders if Alex doesn’t want to stop, either.

“Okay,” Henry tries to say, but it comes out as a whisper. He clears his throat. “If you’re sure —”

“Henry,” Alex laughs, “it’s decided. You’re coming to my place for Christmas.”

Henry can’t stop the smile that overtakes his face, feeling just as large as the mix of gratitude and affection that’s still blooming inside of him, spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes. “Okay,” he says again. “Thank you, Alex. Truly.”

“Anytime,” Alex says easily, and just for a moment, Henry swears he sees Alex’s gaze flicker to his lips —

A car whizzes by them, starling them both, making them jump apart. Henry’s hands instantly feel cold.

“Guess we’re a little bit behind schedule now,” Alex says. There’s a pink dusting to his cheeks, Henry notices. “You want me to drive?”

“Christ, please.”

Notes:

The secrets are being spilled!!!

Chapter 6: The Party

Notes:

I will be catching up on comments soon I PROMISE.

Henry knows that the odds are not in his favor today when he pulls out a pair of socks from his luggage that morning and something else falls out. That something else being a tiny, travel-sized bottle of lube.

Henry stares at it in disbelief for a long while before noticing a small piece of paper attached to it. He snatches it up. It reads: To join you and your condoms. Don’t say I don’t look out for you! - Auntie Pezza

Christ, Henry is going to murder Pez.

He pulls out his phone to send a furious text to Pez, his socks (and lube) forgotten where they lie on top of the luggage: You’re a terrible gift giver.

Pez’s response flashes on his screen not even a minute later: I was starting to wonder when you’d notice. You’re awfully welcome. Any chance of putting it to good use?

Henry pauses for a moment, then types back: I know he’s bisexual, and I am now spending Christmas at his home.

He hears the bathroom door open, then Alex’s voice a moment later: “Fucking hair dryer’s busted. Anyway, I’m ready if you are.”

Henry scrambles to close his luggage before Alex can see the bloody lube sitting there like it’s Henry’s pride and joy — socks still forgotten. “Erm.” His phone is buzzing repeatedly in his hand, no doubt several different responses from Pez about his last text. “Yes, I just —”

He breaks off as he turns to face Alex, because Alex with wet curls is an absolute gorgeous sight to see. They’re longer, darker, falling into his eyes no matter how many times he tries to brush them away.

Henry is so close to surviving this. He just has to keep reminding himself. So, so close.

“Just need to put socks on,” he finishes. “You can go ahead.”

Alex grins. “What, you don’t want to drive again?”

“Once was plenty.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

It takes less than an hour once they’re on the road to cross the Texas border, and Alex gives a whoop as the sign comes into view. He even rolls down his window, letting the wind whip through his (now mostly dry) curls.

“It is negative two outside, you heathen,” Henry shouts over the whipping of the winds. “Shut the blasted window if you know what’s good for you.”

“I’ll shut the window,” Alex calls back, “when you say the temperature the correct way.”

“Celsius is much more practical.”

“You should know by now that Americans don’t care about practicality.”

(Alex eventually shuts the window when he gets too cold. Henry tries not to act too smug about it.)

Their drive to Austin is relatively quick compared to their usual eight-hour days of driving — especially so now that they don’t have to take a detour to Houston — and they pass the time as they usually do: stories, music, debates over the best Star Wars film (which continues as they stop for lunch in a town near Dallas), dumb road trip games, and the occasional comfortable silence as they pass city after city. Five and a half hours later, they enter Austin, and Alex begins to point out places he recognizes the further they drive into the city.

“My high school’s down that way,” Alex says, pointing down a road that they drive by. “The lacrosse field I used to play at is near there, too.”

“I forgot you played lacrosse,” Henry says before realizing exactly what he just said.

Alex pauses, then snickers ever so slightly. “You know I played lacrosse?”

“I mean —” Henry splutters, his face growing hot. He turns to look out the window so Alex can’t see how red he’s turning. “I remember you had a lacrosse stick in your room,” he mutters.

“My freshman dorm?”

“It’s not like I’ve seen any other room of yours, is there?”

“We could change that,” Alex says, and Henry feels his heart skip three beats.

He turns back to look at Alex. “Sorry?”

“I just meant. Um.” Alex coughs. “You’ll be seeing my room soon enough. My childhood room, at that.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Do you, uh… play any sports?”

It takes a while for Alex’s words to connect with Henry’s brain — he’s still taken aback by Alex’s comment about his room — but when it does click, his lips curl into a small smile. “If I tell you, you can’t make fun of me.”

“Oh,” Alex says, his interest piqued. All remnants of shame from his last comment are gone, replaced by his typical relaxed, easygoing attitude. “You have to tell me now.”

“Do you promise?”

“You know I can’t make good on any promises, Wales. Tell me, tell me, tell me —”

“Christ, all right.” Henry looks away. “I used to play polo.”

“Polo,” Alex repeats. “Like… with horses and shit?”

Henry almost laughs. “Bit of an understatement, but yes,” he says. “Horses were definitely involved.”

“That’s, well.” Henry dares to glance over at Alex, and he really shouldn’t be surprised to see the smirk forming on the corner of Alex’s lips. “That’s impressive.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Hey, I’m being positive.”

Fifteen minutes later, they turn into a neighborhood. Henry can feel his palms growing slightly damp with sweat. He shouldn’t be nervous; there’s absolutely no reason to be. He’s only meeting Alex’s mother, father, and stepfather, as well as his sister and his sister’s girlfriend, and he’s staying in his room with him for the next three nights… there’s absolutely no reason to be nervous at all.

They pull into the drive of Alex’s house, and Alex kills the engine of the jeep, leaning back into his seat with a long, exasperated sigh. “Hour twenty-six out of twenty-six, complete.” He looks over at Henry, grinning. “C’mon, let’s go inside. We can grab all our stuff later.”

Henry can’t really protest, can he? It’s not like he can avoid the family of the man he’s dangerously close to being in love with for the entire weekend.

“Knock, knock,” Alex yells as they step into the entryway. The house is booming with noise already — sounds of voices down one end, music playing on the other end — it’s so much different than the house Henry grew up in. This one is instantly full of life, much like Alex. Henry’s childhood home was quiet and lifeless — quiet, as per his grandmother’s request, and lifeless because of such.

“Took you long enough, mijo,” a gruff voice calls from down a hallway.

“Alex is finally here?” another voice sounds, this one sweeter, more musical.

“Sugar, don’t leave all your shit in the hall, put it in your room like a grown boy,” comes another sweet voice.

“Great, now the party’s getting started.” The woman whom the voice belongs to pokes her head into the entryway, eyes glinting dangerously as she meets Alex’s gaze, her own head of wild curls pulled into a bun. She shifts, and her eyes land on Henry next, blinking in surprise. “Oh, right. I forgot you brought a friend.”

“Erm.” Henry awkwardly sticks his hands in his pockets. “I’m Henry.”

The woman’s smile climbs back onto her face. “Pleasure to meet you, Henry. You like whiskey?”

“Nora,” Alex splutters, “he just got here.”

“I was talking about later, dumbass,” the woman — Nora — says. “We’re all still going to the bar with Liam, right?”

“Oh, shit, right.” Alex whirls around to face Henry. “I totally forgot to tell you about that. My friend Liam and I — it’s a thing we do every year — you don’t need to come if you don’t want to, I get it if you’re tired.”

“I’ll go.” What else is Henry going to do if Alex, Nora, and he assumes his sister June all go out tonight? Bond with Alex’s parents? “It’ll be good after sitting for so long.”

Nora snorts. Alex glares at her. “Okay, cool.” The smile is back on his face when he looks at Henry again. “Liam’s cool. You’ll like him.”

“June’s dying to see you, let’s go,” Nora says, dragging Alex down one of the halls. Henry hurries to follow.

They end up in the kitchen, where an older man who looks just like Alex, only with an added stubble — Alex’s father — is working up a storm behind the counter, a woman who can only be Alex’s sister is finishing taping wrapping paper to a gift, and a strawberry blonde woman and another older man are talking over glasses of wine at the kitchen table — Alex’s mother and stepfather. They all look up as the three of them walk in, and June instantly jumps up to gather Alex in her arms.

“My itsy-bitsy baby brother,” she teases over Alex’s groans, “driving all the way from New York like a big boy.”

“You’re not funny, June,” Alex says, his voice muffled into June’s shoulder.

“You’re Henry?” June asks when Alex escapes from her grasp and walks over to his dad. Henry nods. “Welcome to Texas. Surprised Alex hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“Hey!” Alex yelps from across the room.

Henry manages a laugh. “Well, he hasn’t given me a reason to, yet,” he says, playing along with the joke. Alex scowls at him. “Thank you for letting me, erm… crash your celebrations,” he says to everyone, painfully aware that the figurative spotlight is now pointed at him. “I hope I haven’t caused too much trouble.”

“Of course not,” Alex’s mom says — Ellen, if Henry remembers correctly. “We’re just glad you have a place to stay, Henry.”

Maybe it’s the Southern hospitality, or maybe it’s because Henry is completely surrounded in Alex’s world, or maybe it’s the simple fact that Alex’s family has acted more like a family toward him in the past two minutes more than his own family has in the past seven years, but Henry can feel a burning in the corners of his eyes, a threat in waiting. “Thank you,” he says again, his voice slightly choked. “As do I.”

 

Henry isn’t particularly thrilled about being in a car again when he just finished a road trip longer than he ever thought was possible, but he’s currently squished next to Alex in the backseat, so he can’t complain too much.

Alex was right — his family didn’t hesitate in making an extra seat for him at the table, and he enjoyed Oscar’s fajitas just as much as everyone else (he needed several refills of water throughout dinner, however, and he had to refuse to look at Alex to prevent him from nearly bursting into laughter), delighting everyone with stories from his and Alex’s road trip. Currently, the four of them — June, Nora, Alex, and himself — are piled in June’s car, driving downtown to a bar that Alex has frequented every year on the 23rd since he turned twenty-one. A tradition, he explained to Henry as they cleaned up from dinner, that started in his friend Liam’s house when they were in high school that has now turned into their “annual excuse to see each other” during the holidays.

“Have you been to Texas before, Henry?” June asks.

“Erm — no,” Henry says. “This was…” he turns to Alex, who looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh. “...my excuse to get away from New York, I guess, and Alex was kind enough to invite me home with him.”

“Alex being kind,” Nora snorts. “That’s a concept.”

Alex leans forward and flicks her in the back of the head. “I am very kind.”

They bicker back and forth until June finds a parking space near the bar, much to Henry’s amusement. He thinks of Pez and how much he would love the chaos of Alex, June, and Nora, and he thinks of Bea and how much she would love the familial atmosphere the three of them seem to carry with them, and in some surreal fantasy, he thinks of what it would be like if the six of them were together next year.

Next year.

But there won’t be a next year, he reminds himself — he hates himself for even entertaining the idea. Because his time in Austin will end, and he and Alex will drive back to New York together, and then… what?

Alex called Henry his friend. He sounded genuine when he did so, too, but Henry can’t help but fear that once they reach New York again, things will go back to the way they were, with Henry spending most of his days working on his thesis and being dragged out by Pez while Alex goes back to his own friends and his own life, a place where Henry most likely doesn’t fit into.

He decides not to think about it. Not yet.

There’s a sweet-faced, scruffy boy that Alex greets with a back-slapping hug when they walk into the bar, and an equally cute boy at his side. Alex instantly pulls Henry to his side, introducing him to his friends and his friends to him: “Henry, this is Liam and his boyfriend, Spencer. This is my friend, Henry. He’s hanging around for Christmas.”

“Nice to meet you, man,” Liam says in a sweet, Southern drawl. Henry suddenly wonders if he has a type.

“Y’all find a table, we’ll grab drinks,” Alex says, pulling Liam toward the bar. As they walk away, Henry is certain he hears Liam say, “You’re sure he’s just your friend?”

They come back with whiskey, just as Nora promised, and later, shots of vodka as per Spencer’s request. Alex is absolutely delighted to find out that vodka and Henry don’t mix well, and he manages to goad Henry into taking two shots before giving a whoop and knocking back his own.

Henry’s certainly tipsy, but not quite drunk, a perfect middle ground to spend his night. He somehow gets roped into an animated discussion about Jane Austen with June, who’s working on a review on Sense and Sensibility for her book blog, and spends most of the night with her in the corner of the bar until Nora comes over, on a mission to drag June away for “dancing and making out.” Henry sips on a gin and tonic as he watches them twirl around, then looks away as Nora makes good on her promise for the second thing, his eyes finding Alex instead. He’s busy in a pool game with Liam, and by the looks of it, he’s winning, throwing his head back each time he laughs and curling his fingers around the cue stick in a very distracting manner. When he successfully sinks the 8 ball to win, he looks around the bar until he spots Henry, grinning as he makes his way over to him.

“Are you having fun?” Henry asks over the bar’s music.

Alex nods. “Victory,” he slurs. He’s drunk; drunker than Henry, at least. “You’re my prize, Wales. Come dance with me.”

Henry splutters in protest, but Alex is stronger than he looks, and he pulls Henry off his barstool before Henry can stop him. “Alex, I’m not — I can’t dance —”

“Sure you can,” Alex says, his eyes wide and bright. “Here. All you gotta do is move your hips.”

His hands settle low on Henry’s hips, and Henry instantly freezes under his touch. Alex laughs. “That’s the opposite of what I said.”

“Sorry.” Alex’s grip is incredibly distracting, especially so when his fingers hook into his belt loops and pull him closer to his body. Henry holds his breath.

“See?” Alex says once they’ve begun to sway to the music. “It’s easy.”

“For you, maybe,” Henry manages.

Alex laughs. “God, I’m just — I’m so happy you’re here, y’know?”

Henry blinks. “No,” he says slowly. “I don’t think I do.”

“You just — God, you were this guy that I kinda knew throughout college, and I didn’t think much about you, but now I can’t get you out of my fucking head. And now I get to bring you home? Fuck.” Alex rests his forehead on Henry’s shoulder, still moving in time to the beat. “It’s so perfect.”

Henry doesn’t even know where to begin with all of this.

“I like you so much,” Alex says suddenly, lifting his head to look at Henry, smile blazing. He moves his hand to grip Henry’s, then spins him around, and a small laugh escapes Henry before he can stop it. “Like, I’ve only known you for a couple days, but I just like you so fucking much.”

And when Henry says, “I like you so much, too,” it feels like the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe the odds are in his favor after all.

Chapter 7: The Kiss

Notes:

👀

A hangover isn’t that usual for Henry to wake up to on Christmas Eve. For Alex and Nora, however (and June, it seems, although she was the designated driver of the night), it seems to be a ritual.

“Good morning, sunshines,” June laughs as Henry and Alex walk into the kitchen; Henry, dazed yet freshed; Alex, simply trying his best. “Hash browns in the pan, coffee in the pot. You know the drill.”

“You’re a fucking lifesaver, June,” Alex says groggily, making an instant beeline for the coffee pot.

“How was the air mattress, Henry?” Nora asks, her own cup of coffee halfway to her lips, wiggling her eyebrows. Henry knows what she’s getting at, although he’s not quite sure how to feel about why she knows.

“Deflated about halfway through the night,” he mutters, helping himself to some hash browns. “Still more comfortable than Alex’s jeep.”

“You can sit in the fucking trunk on the way back, Wales,” Alex grumbles.

They pile at the table together, eating food and sipping drinks. Henry chews on his hash browns, lost in thought. He can’t stop thinking about what Alex said to him last night at the bar — his memories of the night are slightly blurry, fuzzy around the edges, but he can remember the details, at least — the details that are most important.

It’s like a record on loop playing in his head: Alex’s voice, over and over again, saying, “I like you so much.” And then later, again, “I just like you so fucking much.”

He never got a chance to ask Alex what he truly meant by that. Alex danced with Nora after having his way with Henry, then took another shot, challenged Liam to another round of pool, and threw up in the bathroom ten minutes later. When they arrived back home close to three in the morning, Alex passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. Henry stood there for a moment, not watching Alex’s sleeping form, but instead taking in the Star Wars bed sheets that line his childhood bed.

Now, at the breakfast table, three out of the four of them nursing varying degrees of a hangover, it’s not like Henry can simply ask Alex what he meant. It’s likely that Alex doesn’t even remember most of what went on last night, let alone what he said to Henry.

Maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s for the best.

But across the table, curls in disarray and still blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Alex meets Henry gaze and smiles, and that dangerous, dangerous hope blooms in Henry’s chest once again.

 

“Hey, you got a minute?”

The kitchen is booming — Alex informed him over breakfast that their Christmas dinner every year is always Texan barbeque, and everyone helps out in the preparation together. There’s a brisket that’s been cooking since last night, Ellen is bundled up and tending to ribs on the grill outside, and Henry and Alex have been tasked with making the batter for cornbread, something that Henry has never done before and is more than happy to let Alex take the lead. He’s currently wrist-deep in a bowl or flour when Alex poses the question, and he looks at him quizzically.

“If you’d like me to take the flour bowl with me, then yes,” he says, his voice deadpan.

Alex grins, but it’s not as confident as Henry is used to. “Yeah, right, just… when you’re done? If you’ve got time.”

Henry blinks, caught off-guard by the vulnerability shining through Alex’s voice. “Of course,” he says. “I think I’m nearly finished, I need to wash my hands.”

“Cool.” Alex grins at him again.

Henry finishes on the dough, washes his hands, and Alex leads him out of the kitchen and back to his room, shutting the door. The air mattress sits deflated in one corner, Alex’s bed in the other. Henry stands awkwardly in the center. “What is it?”

“I, uh…” The nervousness is back in Alex’s voice, so unlike him that it makes Henry do a double take. “I got you a gift, actually. I didn’t want you to feel left out, and I just… wanted to give it to you now.”

Henry’s heart is so full that it nearly bursts. “Alex,” he says softly. “That’s — Christ, that’s so kind. I didn’t even think of getting you anything, I’m so —”

“Hey,” Alex interrupts, “don’t worry about it. I just saw it when I was picking up food with June earlier, and I thought it was funny, and it’s perfect for you, actually — here, just open it —”

He opens the drawer to his nightstand and produces a hastily-stuffed gift bag from its confines. He holds it out to Henry, albeit rather awkwardly, smiling softly. Henry takes it, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

It’s a tea mug, a pale yellow color with the outline of Texas in the center, “Austin” written across it in large white letters. Except it doesn’t say “Austin,” really, instead it reads —

“It’s a misprint,” Alex snickers. “Some idiot spelt it with an ‘e’ instead of an ‘i.’ But then I thought, you know, your work about Jane Austen and how it’s your first time in Texas, it’s kind of perfect, right?”

“Alex,” Henry breathes. A laugh escapes him. “It’s perfect.”

Another bright grin spreads over Alex’s face, the cocky, confident grin that Henry is so used to by now. “Yeah?”

“Yes, obviously,” Henry laughs. He looks up to meet Alex’s eyes. “Thank you, Alex. Truly.”

“It’s no problem,” Alex says softly. “I’m just glad you like it.”

Even if it is something as coincidental as a misprint, Henry has never felt more seen than he does now, and he wants to tell Alex that, let Alex know of that — he wants to fling himself into Alex’s arms and hold him tight, wants to wrap his hand around his waist and another around his neck and fit their mouths together, wants to —

A crash from the kitchen brings Henry back to reality, followed by Nora’s yell of, “Motherfucker,” causing both Alex and Henry to break into quiet laughter.

“Shit, they’re falling apart without us,” Alex jokes. “We should probably get back, huh?”

“Right — of course.” Henry places the mug back into the gift bag. “Thank you again. I love it.”

“Anytime,” Alex says, as easy as ever.

 

Dinner is an intricate affair — Nora begins by lighting the menorah just after the sun goes down, then the table is set with heaps of food: brisket, ribs, mashed potatoes, collard greens, cornbread, mac and cheese, baked beans — it seems to stretch across the table for miles. It’s unlike anything Henry has ever experienced; in fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever had a meal quite like this in his life. There’s no sense of class when everyone is eating ribs with their hands and drizzling extra honey onto their cornbread, most unlike his Christmas Eve dinners in London, where his grandmother insisted on everyone dressing in proper decorum and acting like the nobility she was. Henry now sits at a comfortably cramped dinner table, wearing jeans and an NYU sweatshirt, eating brisket, mashed potatoes, and collard greens all in the same bite, and it feels like the perfect “fuck you” to his grandmother.

Conversation with Alex’s family is just as comfortable. When Ellen asks what Christmas is like for him in London, he doesn’t focus on the bad memories, but the ones from when he was younger, driving to his father’s old house in Wales and spending the holidays there as a family of five. When Oscar pours him a glass of mulled wine and asks how his studies are going, Henry indulges him in some of his research, to which June eagerly chimes in with her own knowledge. When Alex pokes fun at Henry for being terrified at driving, he laughs along with the rest of them as Alex continues to tell the story of Henry’s driving lessons.

It’s the best Christmas Henry has had in a long while, actually.

Which is why when things start to spiral downward, he doesn’t quite know what to do.

It doesn’t start until after dinner, after the seven of them wash, dry, and put away the mountain of dishes from their meal, then gather in the sitting room for a gift exchange. As he and June got older, Alex explained to Henry earlier, and his mom and Leo got married, they found it easier to do a Secret Santa every year instead, and when June and Nora started to seriously date, Nora joined in on it as well. Henry watches in amusement as Alex unwraps a gift from Nora, which turns out to be a framed photo of a turkey, and Alex drops the gift back into the bag with a groan. He mumbles, “I’ll tell you the story later,” to Henry, then passes his own gift over to Leo.

After gifts are exchanged, more mulled wine is passed around, June is plucking aimlessly at an acoustic guitar, and somehow, the conversation turns to a road that Henry knows is a dark and dangerous path: politics.

“I don’t think I got a chance to say this to you in person yet,” Oscar says to Ellen, “but congratulations on your reelection.”

Ellen pauses. “Thank you,” she says calmly. “You as well.”

Henry is suddenly aware that June’s melodic plucking has stopped. He notices June and Alex shooting looks at each other, as if they know the direction this conversation will go all too well.

Oscar scratches the stubble on his chin. “I was thinking for next time, if you want to run for Congress, I could campaign with you.”

“You can what?”

“You know. Hit the trail with you, give some speeches. This’ll be my last term, so I’ll have more time once the next election comes around.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“I’ve picked up some new patterns for my tablescapes,” Leo suddenly pipes up. “Would anybody be interested?”

“I think we’d all love to see them, Leo,” June says loudly, but Ellen gets there first.

“As a democratic woman who’s won the governor’s seat in Texas twice, I think I know how to campaign successfully.” Her tone is cool, collected, something Henry is more familiar with when it comes to Christmas; particularly in the way his grandmother talks to him. “Much more impressive, I’d say, than running off to a blue state and campaigning there.”

Henry notices that Alex has gone very still. He wonders how common this is.

“Oh, come on,” Oscar scoffs. “Don’t bring that up. You know that wasn’t the reason —”

“Then don’t bring that up when we’re talking about my fucking job!”

Henry winces. Alex’s gaze is now trained down toward his socked feet. He’s wearing the same expression that Henry usually sees when he’s studying in a library or in a coffee shop.

“That’s different, El, and you know it. We’re talking about numbers and polls here, not our feelings.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know how an election works? I don’t need to sit here and have you mansplain this system to me when I’ve been a part of it just as long as you have!”

“God, you’re still just so fucking stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you, Oscar —”

“Jesus Christ.” Alex’s voice cuts through the tension like a burning hot knife, making Ellen and Oscar — and even Henry — jump. “Can we not do this on Christmas, for fuck’s sake? This is exactly why I stopped being interested in politics. Y’all are supposed to be role models for us. Just… just grow the fuck up. It would do us all a goddamn favor.”

Without another word, Alex stands up and makes his way out of the sitting room, one hand clutching his framed turkey and the other balled in a fist. He doesn’t look back as he leaves. A few seconds later, Henry heard the sharp sound of his bedroom door closing.

The sitting room is eerily silent. Henry doesn’t want to look at Ellen and Oscar, either — all his mind can focus on is getting to Alex.

“I’ll just — erm —” he manages, then picks himself off the sofa as well and follows the path to Alex’s room.

He hesitates once he reaches Alex’s room — what if Alex turns him away? What if he doesn’t want to see anyone right now, let alone Henry? After another cautious second, he knocks quietly. “Alex?” he calls. “It’s only me, I promise —”

The bedroom door flings open just as the last word leaves his lips, and Henry steps inside immediately, shutting the door behind him. Alex paces up and down the length of his bedroom, the turkey frame now discarded on top of the deflated air mattress and his fist clutched in his own hair. “God, I just —” Alex cuts himself off with his own frustrated groan. “I knew this was going to happen. It comes up every time they’re in the same place for more than a day. I just thought it would be different since the election just happened, like they’d be less aggressive after both winning, but I guess that was a stupid fucking fantasy, too.”

“Hey,” Henry says softly, taking a step toward Alex, “it’s not on you to predict whether or not your parents are going to fight. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“I’m not blaming myself, I’m just — fuck.” Alex plops down on his bed, dropping his head in his hands. “It’s so fucking frustrating, Henry. This is what I was talking about earlier, with the divorce being good for them and all. But I figured they would stop behaving like fucking toddlers more than ten years after the goddamn divorce.”

“I know,” Henry says, because what else can he say? “I’m sorry.”

Alex groans again, peeking through his fingers at Henry. “I’m sorry you had to see that, too. Fuck. Maybe I should’ve joined you in Houston instead.”

That, at least, makes Henry chuckle. “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me since the moment you invited me home. A silly fight isn’t going to change that.”

Alex gives a pained smile. “Yeah, I know,” he mutters. “I just… I just wish I could’ve done something more, y’know?”

“It’s not your job to prevent this,” Henry says again. “And, for what it’s worth, it sounds like you did your best.”

Alex stares at him for a long while. So long, in fact, that Henry wonders if he said the wrong thing. But Alex shakes his head slightly, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and says, “Fuck, you’re incredible.”

Henry sits on the bed next to Alex and lets him rant as much as he needs to for another hour — things he’s heard on the surface from their drives together, but now on a deeper level — and offers whatever affirmations he can give, like “It’s okay to hold a grudge,” and “Falling out of touch with politics isn’t your fault, either,” and it seems to help calm Alex down. He pauses in his rambling when he hears footsteps creak outside his door, and promises Henry he’ll be right back, just needing to check in with June about all this. His hand brushes against Henry’s when he leaves.

Henry changes into his pajamas and attempts to blow up the air mattress again to no avail. He texts Bea on and off, telling her about his Christmas Eve adventures and leaving out how the night ended, until Alex walks back in twenty minutes later. He looks much more calm than when he stormed off in the sitting room.

“All good?” Henry asks.

Alex nods. “Yeah. June said it turned into nostalgia hour. Dad apologized, Mom apologized, more mulled wine. Seems to be a pattern.” He snickers at the sight of Henry perched near the air mattress. “This looks fun.”

“Ah, yes — I do think my lungs may give out if I try to inflate the entire thing.”

“It’s a piece of shit, anyway,” Alex says. He pauses for half a second, then says, “Just sleep in my bed tonight.”

Christ, not this again. Henry isn’t sure if he can suffer through it a second time.

“Are you sure?”

“‘Course. Better than the fucking floor.”

It certainly is better than the floor, so Henry agrees and excuses himself to brush his teeth while Alex gets changed into his own pajamas. He’s relieved to see that Alex is wearing a sleep shirt this time around — although, a part of him misses the warmth of Alex’s bare skin against his back.

He slips into bed after Alex, and for some reason, Alex doesn’t turn to face the wall like he did before. Instead, he lies on his side to face Henry, and Henry, too transfixed by Alex’s beauty, does the same.

“Just… thank you, again,” Alex says quietly. Their bodies are so close that their legs are nearly touching, and it’s driving Henry insane. “My parents can be a lot. Obviously. And I usually don’t lash out at them like that, but… I guess it got too much this time.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Henry says. “It’s the absolute least I can do after you’ve invited me to your home.”

Alex smiles. “But I do have to thank you,” he argues. “Especially for… well, let’s just say that I grew up being told I’m great at a lot of things. But I’ve never really been told I’m good enough. But you… you always seem to know exactly what to say.”

“Well,” Henry starts to say, then stops. Takes a deep breath. Decides to take a chance. “I just really like you.”

The smile slowly slides off Alex’s face, turning into an expression of bewildered surprise. “You… remembered?”

“What you said to me at the bar last night?” Henry whispers. “Of course. I wasn’t as drunk as you thought I was.”

“Yeah, well… I meant what I said.” Alex swallows. “I really, really like you, Henry. More than — more than just a friend.”

Henry swears all the breath leaves his lungs.

“When I told you I responded to your post because I needed to get out of New York,” he says without thinking, “that was only half-true.” Alex is still, so perfectly still, so Henry keeps talking. “I mostly responded because I saw the post was from you, and I’ve been infatuated with you since our first bloody year of school, and something told me that I just had to take a chance on you.”

“Henry,” Alex breathes, and before Henry knows it, Alex’s lips are on his.

He lets out a soft gasp as their lips connect, frozen in place for only a moment before he leans into the kiss and is rewarded with a quiet sound of contentment from Alex. He kisses back, slow and sweet, just the barest hint of tongue as their lips meet over and over again. Alex’s hand comes up to cup Henry’s cheek, warm and steady, and Henry nearly whines from the extra contact. He tilts his head the best he can from where he’s smushed against the pillow and kisses Alex deeper, open-mouthed, Alex’s tongue brushing against his own.

He’s not sure how long they lie there and kiss, how long Alex’s hand against his cheek guides him through sweet kisses that move to the brink of hot and heavy, but it lasts until Henry’s lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen. He breaks away from the kiss — kisses — and tries to catch his breath, not daring to open his eyes yet, too afraid that the spell may be broken if he does so.

He feels Alex’s hand still on his cheek, his thumb moving in small circles against his cheekbone. “H,” he murmurs, “look at me?”

And Henry can never say no to Alex, can he?

He opens his eyes and is met with Alex’s own brown irises, full of life and full of warmth, and the anxiety rising in his gut quells almost immediately. Alex smiles. “I know I said you’re incredible,” he whispers, “but that kiss was pretty fucking incredible, too.”

Henry smiles back, and it feels like everything has clicked into place. “Says you.”

And when Alex connects their lips again with a renewed frenzy, Henry starts to believe that this isn’t an impossible fantasy anymore.

Chapter 8: The Holiday

Notes:

So so so sorry for the wait, but I hope it's worth it ;)

It’s deja vu when Henry wakes up again — surrounded in warmth and the smell of coffee, Alex’s wild curls ticking his chin where his head is tucked into Henry’s chest, arms wrapped around Henry’s waist, Henry’s arms wrapped around his back.

The only difference is, this time, Henry doesn’t feel like he has to pull himself away.

He sinks into the warmth of Alex and the bed, giving into his impulses and letting his hand gently card through Alex’s curls, and — Christ, they’re so soft.

Alex stirs slightly as Henry runs his fingers through his hair again, and Henry freezes. He stays that way until Alex blinks his eyes open.

“Sorry,” Henry murmurs.

Alex smiles sleepily, letting his eyes flutter close again. “Don’t be,” he says, his voice raspy from sleep. It makes Henry’s heart skip. “You’re comfy.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.” Alex nuzzles his face further into Henry’s chest, tilting his chin up to press a kiss to his clavicle. His hands slide down Henry’s side and reach the bottom of his shirt, pushing it up to his navel, brushing his fingertips over his skin. Henry’s breath hitches.

“Do we — erm — have any place to be?” Henry manages.

Alex hums, leaning back. “Not unless you want to go to the Christmas Day church service with my dad.”

“Oh — um, no thanks.”

“Perfect,” Alex says, grinning lazily, reaching up to fit their mouths together again.

The kiss is slow, much like their first one last night, but all the more intense now that Henry knows what it feels like to have Alex’s lips pressed against his own. He lets out a soft, desperate noise when Alex’s hand slides over his bare hip and kisses him harder, a noise that he would most definitely be ashamed of if he wasn’t so gone on Alex.

Alex uses his grip on Henry’s waist to pull their bodies closer together as their kisses become more heated, close enough that their hips meet, and Henry chokes on his own breath when he feels the press of Alex against him. Alex rolls his hips, and Henry can feel him through his pajama pants, not quite hard but definitely not soft, either. He shudders against Alex, and Alex takes the opportunity to slip away from his mouth and leave a trail of wet kisses across Henry’s jaw.

“Does this feel good?” he mutters into Henry’s ear, tracing the shell with his ear before gently sinking his teeth to his earlobe.

“Yes,” Henry breathes. It’s just about the only thing he can manage. He doesn’t know what’s more erotic — the low rasp of Alex’s morning voice, the sharp teasing kisses that Alex leaves in his wake, the steady rock of Alex’s hips against his own, or perhaps it’s a perfect combination of the three. Whatever it is, Henry knows that it’s making him a weak, weak man.

Alex places another kiss just below Henry’s ear before baring his teeth at the spot, making Henry tip his head back as a low moan escapes him. His hips are constantly pushing into Alex’s, chasing the sparks of pleasure that fly with each point of contact. Alex’s nails dig into his hip as their now half-hard cocks push together through layers of fabric, spurring Henry on even more, allowing another desperate noise to fall from his lips.

“Fuck, you’re so,” Alex whispers, pausing to suck another mark to the underside of Henry’s jaw. Henry is faintly aware of how this will look to Alex’s family when they inevitably stumble out of his room, but at this moment, he doesn’t bloody care. “You’re so fucking responsive.” Alex throws a leg on top of Henry’s thigh, pressing in even closer, grinding steadily against Henry’s crotch. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane.”

Henry tilts his head to capture Alex’s lips in another messy kiss, and he uses Alex’s distraction to his advantage, using what little strength that Alex hasn’t sucked out of him quite yet to pull Alex completely on top of him, his knees on either side of his thighs, his chest pulled flush to his chest. “You,” he mutters in between heated kisses, “are an absolute demon if you think you’re not doing the same to me.”

“Yeah,” Alex sighs happily, kissing Henry on the mouth once more, full of teeth and tongue, before he pulls back and kisses down his neck. His hands are halfway up his shirt by now, running over the toned skin of his stomach, groaning as his fingertips meet each divot. He kisses Henry’s nipples through his shirt, which shouldn’t do much, but it makes Henry moan shakily when he sees the wet spots he leaves behind, each in the perfect shape of his perfect mouth. He kisses Henry’s exposed stomach next, tracing the skin around his navel with his tongue, causing Henry to jerk and groan. When he slides off Henry’s lap and into the space between Henry’s legs, head cocked to the side in a curious manner, Henry swears he nearly comes at just the sight alone.

Alex’s hands curl around his pajama bottoms. “Can I take this off?”

“Please.” Henry knows he sounds desperate, knows that it doesn’t make sense, but Alex is touching him and kissing him, and it’s all he can focus on.

He closes his eyes as he feels Alex pull his pajamas down, his hands skimming his thighs, mouth parted as another moan threatens to slip out —

Alex snorts. “These are sexy.”

Henry’s eyes snap open. “What —” he starts to say, but breaks off in horror as he looks down and realizes what he’s wearing: the hot pink briefs.

Alex breaks off into laughter, his head falling onto Henry’s exposed thigh as his shoulders shake, and Henry groans and covers his face with his hands. “I may have forgotten to do laundry,” he says, his voice muffled, “and I packed these at the last minute.”

“I see,” Alex says. Henry peeks through his fingers to see Alex grinning up at him. “Trying to seduce me from day one, huh?”

“Pez was the one who bought me these,” Henry says. “He may be the guilty one.”

Alex sits back up, pulling Henry’s hands away from his face and tangling their fingers together. “Remind me to tell Pez ‘thank you’ the next time I see him, then,” he says, and then he’s kissing Henry again, messy and desperate.

Henry loses himself in the kiss, sliding one hand away from Alex’s grasp so he can cup the back of his neck, deepening the kiss and pulling him closer. He can feel Alex gently caressing his thigh, whether it’s intentional or not, he doesn’t know, but makes him shiver, goosebumps appearing wherever Alex touches him. Alex’s hand creeps higher, then, brushing the fabric of his briefs, and Henry feels himself pushing into Alex’s touch.

“Is this okay?” Alex murmurs against Henry’s mouth. Henry nods, kissing him again. “Can I — fuck, can I touch you?”

“Yes, of course,” Henry gasps — he doesn’t even have to think about it.

Alex runs his hand up Henry’s thigh, then over his waist, and then — Christ, his hand is over Henry’s clothed cock, rubbing it oh-so-softly, making Henry whimper. This seems to give Alex confidence, because he moans, too, rubbing Henry’s cock with more assurance, licking into his mouth like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.

When Henry pulls back to catch his breath, Alex takes full advantage of it, kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on his earlobe. “Fuck, I wanna suck you off,” he whispers.

“Oh, fuck,” Henry whimpers. Alex’s hand moves faster. “Please.”

Not a second later, Henry finds himself being shoved backward into the pillows. He pulls himself up on his elbows to watch Alex drag his underwear down his legs and throw them off to the side. Henry’s cock is fully hard now, proudly pink and twitching with excitement as Alex stares down at it with a hungry look in his eyes.

“Shit —” Alex suddenly says, snapping his eyes back up to look at Henry. “I don’t have any condoms.”

“Oh.” Henry can feel his face grow hot. “I, erm. I have some. In my luggage.”

Alex looks at him in disbelief, a grin slowly spreading over his face. “I was kind of joking before, but you really were trying to seduce me, weren’t you?”

“Christ, no,” Henry groans. “That was also Pez. But I… kept them.”

“Well, you don’t hear me complaining,” Alex says, hopping down from the bed to Henry’s open luggage on top of the deflated air mattress. He finds the string of condoms easily, grinning in victory as he holds them up in the air. “Any other sexy surprises I should thank Pez for?”

Henry hates himself when he says, “He snuck in lube as well.”

Alex cackles. “Again, I’m not complaining.” He stands back up to walk to the bed, shucking off his shirt as he goes, and Henry is suddenly very horny again very quickly.

Alex tears open one of the condom wrappers and rolls it over Henry’s cock. The hungry look is back in his eye. Henry tries not to buck his hips up as Alex touches him, but it’s no use, and he does it again when Alex stares at him with a soft, “Fuck.” He shuffles back down the bed again, taking hold of Henry’s cock at the base, and, without warning, he takes the head of Henry’s cock into his mouth.

Henry moans as the warm heat envelops his cock, one of his hands reaching out on its own accord and gripping Alex’s curls. Alex gives an appreciative noise — from Henry’s fist in his hair or from Henry’s cock in his mouth, Henry doesn’t know — and slowly, slowly begins to blow him.

Henry isn’t sure whether Alex is simply getting used to the size of Henry or if he’s deliberately teasing him, and he doesn’t quite care. Alex takes him apart with simple precision, licking at the underside of his cock and moving his hand up and down the part that’s still exposed, dropping down one inch at a time. He doesn’t stop the painful teasing until Henry snaps his hips without meaning to, hissing out apologizes through gritted teeth, and he moans around Henry’s cock instead.

“Christ,” Henry whispers as Alex pulls off of him. “Did you — did you like that?”

Alex nods, smirking. “Yeah, it’s… nice. You could — you know, do that more. I don’t mind.” He licks his lips. “I really don’t mind.”

When he dives back down again, he doesn’t waste any time, deepthroating Henry like he’s done it for years and making Henry lose his damn mind. He bobs his head, tonguing at the underside of his dick and hollowing his cheeks, and Henry does as Alex suggested, thrusting into the heat of his mouth, moaning as he feels the tip of his cock hit the back of Alex’s throat. And Alex must love it, because — fuck, because he’s moaning just as much as Henry is, desperate to get Henry’s cock deeper, even though he has nearly all of it in his mouth.

“I’m going to come,” Henry informs him helplessly once he pulls back for air. Alex stares at him again, a glint in his eye that Henry hasn’t seen before shining through, and takes him back in his mouth, sucking with a renewed frenzy. Henry curls his hand tighter in his hair. “Fuck, Alex, I’m going to —”

His orgasm hits him with barely any warning. The tight coil in his gut snaps, his body shakes, and he empties into the condom as Alex keeps sucking, letting Henry’s hips snap as much as he wants to before he’s pulling back and stroking Henry through the rest of his orgasm. His lips are a deep shade of pink and slightly swollen, and he looks like he fucking loves it. The sight alone is almost enough to keep Henry hard.

He slumps back on the pillows once he’s finished coming, his elbow giving out from under him. Alex chuckles at the sight. “That good, huh?”

“Christ,” Henry murmurs. “When were you ever going to tell me that you’re a secret sex god?”

“When you decided to kiss me,” Alex says easily, pulling the condom off of Henry’s softening dick and tying it, throwing it into the bin near his bed.

“Yes, but you kissed me,” Henry reminds him. Alex drapes himself on top of Henry, his elbows on either side of his shoulders, his knees on either side of his hips. His bare chest is incredibly distracting.

“Sorry, should I take it back?”

“No,” Henry says immediately, smiling at himself. “I only meant — fuck, look at you.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short, baby,” Alex murmurs in a low voice, leaning in to kiss Henry, but he pauses when a starving moan rips itself from Henry’s throat. Henry turns his head to the side, trying to sink his face into the pillow, embarrassed. Alex strokes his hair. “Baby, huh?”

“Christ, don’t say it again.”

“That gets you going.” It’s not a question. Alex leans closer, his lips brushing Henry’s cheek as he whispers, low and gravelly, “Don’t be embarrassed, baby, you sound so fucking good.”

And if Alex says not to be embarrassed, then Henry doesn’t think twice about the loud whine that escapes him.

Alex connects their lips again, the kiss wet and messy, and he kisses Henry into absolute bliss. His hands are in Henry’s hair, Henry’s hands roaming all over Alex’s back, feeling the ridges of his spine and the dip of his hips, digging his fingers into his shoulders, relishing in the way they move. He slides one hand into Alex’s hair again and tugs, gently, inadvertently, and Alex stutters and groans.

“Hmm.” Henry smiles, pulling back. “It seems as though I’ve found something you like.”

Alex kisses the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Oh, I won’t.” Henry summons the little strength he has left after an orgasm and flips them over, Alex squawking in surprise. Henry grins once he’s braced over Alex. “I’ll simply have to do it more.”

Alex blinks, looking dazed. “Don’t see how that’s a loss for me.”

“It isn’t.” Henry ducks down, brushing his lips over Alex’s chest, breathing in his scent. Christ. He licks over Alex’s nipple, and he hears the slap of Alex’s hand over his own mouth as he moans, the sound muffled. He drags his teeth over the bud, licking over the path his teeth took a moment after. Alex moans again. “May I return the favor?” he whispers against Alex’s skin.

“Yeah — fuck, just —” Alex’s scramble over Henry’s shoulders, taking a hold of his sleep shirt. “Let me see you, too, fuck —”

Henry helps him tug off his shirt, and he nearly dies at the devastating noise that falls from Alex’s lips. “Holy fuck,” he breathes. “You — shit, you call me a god? You’re fucking everything, baby.”

Henry lets his eyes flutter shut, whimpering at the feel of Alex’s hands running up and down his chest, tweaking his nipples, skimming over his abs. “Don’t distract me,” he manages. “It’s my turn to make you feel good.”

Alex’s pajama pants go next, and Henry just manages to bite back a groan when Alex’s dark skin and erect cock greet him instead of boxer briefs. “Fuck,” he whispers, staring at Alex’s cock. “Alex, you’re killing me.”

Alex is leaking, beads of precome forming at the tip, and one slides down his length when Henry grips his thighs. “Yeah, shit,” he gasps. “Just — Henry, I need you now.”

Henry gets a condom on Alex’s cock, gets a hand around the base, and takes Alex into his mouth until his lips meet his hand, and it’s clear that Alex is losing his damn mind.

“You’re — fuck, Henry, you motherfucker —” Henry bobs his head, sucking Alex’s cock like his life depends on it, reveling in the tight grip of Alex’s hands in his hair and the sound of Alex’s low moans echoing off the walls. “You fucking bastard, you’re so fucking — God, shit —”

So fucking what, Henry will never know, but it doesn’t matter when Alex is swearing up a storm and shaking below him, all from Henry’s talented tongue against his length. It doesn’t take long for Alex’s body to seize up, his thighs trembling, and for him to gasp out, “Henry, I’m gonna fucking —” before his body snaps and he comes into the condom with a loud groan. Henry can feel the heat of it in the back of his throat through the latex, and he moans around Alex’s throbbing cock, imagining what it would feel like to have Alex come down his throat instead of into a condom.

Alex is loose-limbed and lifeless after he’s come, blinking aimlessly at the ceiling, so Henry does as he did to him and peels the condom off of his dick, throwing it into the bin. He lies next to Alex, curling into his side, completely naked and lounging in a Star Wars bed sheets-covered bed next to the man that he’s been absolutely infatuated with for nearly six years.

“You’re gonna kill me one day if that keeps up, Wales,” Alex says roughly a few minutes later.

Henry laughs into Alex’s shoulder. “Hey,” he mutters, pressing a kiss there. “Happy Christmas.”

Alex turns his head to face Henry, blinking. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”

Henry smiles. “Good start?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started,” Alex grins in return. “You, uh… want to take a shower?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“You’re such a flirtatious piece of shit, you know that, huh? And here I thought you were just some quiet dude who liked his old English romance novels.”

They (regrettably) pull on their pajama pants and resist touching each other for an amount of time that Henry is quite proud of. Alex pokes his head out of his room, looking back and forth down the hall before nodding at Henry. “Okay, let’s go.”

It’s surreal, Henry thinks, sneaking around Alex’s childhood home like teenagers, shutting the bathroom door and instantly being pressed up against it as Alex kisses him senseless. Their hips come forward, grinding gently through their pajama pants, their cocks jumping back to attention relatively quickly after the mind-blowing orgasms they both had. Alex pulls away to turn on the warm spray, and they discard their pants to hop in the shower together, instantly cradling into each other’s arms as their lips meet again.

“Did you seriously,” Alex murmurs against his mouth, “only come on this trip because it was my post?”

Henry pulls back. “Admittedly, yes,” he says, stroking Alex’s wet hair out of his eyes. “I’ve fancied you for quite some time, in fact.”

“How long?” There’s no playful demeanor in Alex’s eyes. He’s completely serious, completely interested.

“Since, erm. Since I first saw you, practically.”

“Shit, really?” Henry nods. “You barely knew me until now.”

“Yes, but that hardly makes you less attractive, does it?”

Alex chews on his bottom lip before saying, “You started my sexuality crisis, you know.”

Henry nearly loses all strength in his knees.

“What?” he says. “I thought — you said you didn’t know me —”

“Yeah, and I didn’t, but whenever I saw you around, it was always, there’s that hot guy that made me realize I was bi.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Alex snorts. “Well, I couldn’t really drop it into a conversation all casual, could I?” He cocks his head to the side. “I remember when I really first noticed… I was just finishing a shower, and you came in right as I was leaving, and I… fuck, I don’t know. The next thing I knew, I was jerking off in my room while I thought about the hot guy that lived on my floor. So… yeah.”

“Christ,” Henry whispers, crashing their lips together again. Their hands start to wander, Alex’s hands on Henry’s chest, Henry’s hands on Alex’s ass, and their hips come together again and again, their moans swallowed up by each other’s mouths.

The perfect holiday, if you ask Henry.

Chapter 9: The Beginning

Notes:

Merry Christmas and happy holidays everyone!! Thank you for letting me share this silly little creation with you all <3

“Make sure you get gas again before you hit the highway.”

“I know, Mom, I’ve done this before.”

“I know you have, sugar. And call me once before the semester starts, okay? I want to make sure you’re not dead once in a while. Little shit.”

“Fine.”

Henry watches in amusement the interaction between Alex and his mother as they load up the jeep with their luggage and plenty of leftovers from Christmas Eve dinner. They're tasked with taking June and Nora to the airport — Oscar flew back to California earlier this morning — for their flight to Vermont to celebrate the last day of Hanukkah with Nora's parents before starting their own drive back to New York. He slides Alex’s last bag in between the wall of the trunk and the snack bag before closing the trunk and walking back to the front porch of the house. He needs to say goodbye to Ellen, too, after all.

Alex steps back, shooting Henry a look that looks like, Moms, huh? His hand brushes against Henry’s as he walks past, and Henry resists the urge to reach out and grab it again. They’ve gotten used to that — perhaps too used to that.

Christmas Day in the Claremont-Diaz house is a lazy affair, Henry came to realize, and he and Alex took full advantage of that. After their shower together, they raced downstairs for some breakfast, pancakes and bacon and honey on toast, then played a strange game of footsie under the kitchen table as they ate, Alex’s eyes glinting dangerously toward him. Then it was back to Alex’s room, where they filled the time with more kissing and touching, a phone call with Bea, some more kissing, texts to Pez, even more kissing, and a two-hour nap wrapped in each other’s arms.

Henry can’t blame himself — Alex is just a very good kisser.

“Thank you once more,” Henry says to Ellen once he’s face-to-face with her, “for letting me stay. I know it was last minute, but I dearly appreciate all that you’ve done to make me feel at home.”

“Of course,” Ellen says easily. “I’m so glad we could meet, too. It was so nice to actually get to know Alex’s boyfriend.”

Henry’s brain screeches to a halt.

Alex’s… what?”

“Erm,” he says, his voice failing him, “yes. That. Uh —” Hd turns back around toward the jeep, where June and Alex are attempting to shove in Nora’s massive luggage while she pours out every half-filled bottle of water out of her purse. “Well, I should — help them out. Lend another hand. All of that. So — thank you, again,” he finishes lamely.

His mind can’t stop whirring.

He doesn’t think Alex would be going around telling people that they’re boyfriends — maybe June, and by that logic, Nora — but it has to be true, because here Ellen is, saying goodbye to Henry like he’s a long-time partner and she’ll see him around next year. They’ve only just started exploring each other’s bodies — they haven’t even begun to think about any labels they may or maybe want to put on.

He pulls Alex aside as Nora joins June in wrestling with the luggage. “Hey,” he says quietly, “did you, erm — did you tell your mum that I was your… boyfriend?”

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “What? No,” he says quickly, then his face pails. “I mean — shit, should I? Do you want me to?”

“Well —” Henry doesn’t quite have an answer to that, simply because he doesn’t know himself. “It’s just that,” he says, avoiding the question, “I was saying goodbye to your mum, and she told me that it was nice to get to know Alex’s boyfriend.”

Alex groans. “Shit. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, I didn’t know — maybe June did?”

“You, erm — you said that to June?”

“Oh, fuck, no,” Alex rushes out. “I just meant that June is — you know, she can be observant. Jump to conclusions. Maybe she accidentally said something?”

They resume packing the jeep, and then they’re off, hour one of twenty-six all over again.

“Hey, June,” Alex says not even five minutes in, “did you, like, ever tell Mom that me and Henry are… together?”

“…No,” June says after a moment of the most awkward silence Henry has ever heard in his life. She pauses again, the tension lingering in the air. Then: “Should I have?”

“No,” both Alex and Henry say at the same time.

Nora snickers. “Because it’s true?”

Henry stares very pointedly out the window. Alex says nothing in return.

“Alex,” June says, her voice slightly strained, “I’m going to very casually remind you that my room is right across the hall from yours, and the walls aren’t exactly that thick —”

“Oh, Christ,” Henry whispers, sinking low in his seat as his face flushes with heat while Alex exclaims, “Oh my God, June,” Nora cackling in the background the whole time.

“But I didn’t say anything!” June says over the chaos. “I mean, yeah, I assumed when I saw y’all dancing together at the bar, but I didn’t really know anything until yesterday morning —”

“Okay, June, we get it,” Alex says loudly.

Henry peeks through his fingers at Alex. He’s blushing, too. But despite that, he doesn’t hesitate to reach over and tangle Henry’s fingers with his own.

 

They don’t start talking about it until several hours into their drive, well after crossing the border to Arkansas.

“Would you, um,” Alex starts, clearing his throat. He glances at Henry. “Would you, like… want to date?”

Henry exhales a breath. “Alex, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to date someone more than I want to date you.”

A shy smile begins to spread across Alex’s face. “Really?”

“Yes. Truly.”

“Okay. Because, well, good, because I want to do the same. I’m just… nervous, you know?”

“About what?”

“Like… okay, so we’re in a bubble here, yeah? Like, it was just us in the car, all day, every day, and it was — it was kind of perfect. And being together at my mom’s house, that was still, like, a bubble for the most part. But New York? You have a life there, I have a life there… I’m just worried.”

“Well,” Henry says slowly, “I think it will be a bit chaotic, yes, but I think we could make it work.”

“Right, of course,” Alex babbles. “But Henry, I’m — fuck, I can be kind of a mess at times. You said you’ve seen me in different coffee shops during finals, right? That’s all I’m doing. Sometimes I get caught in my own head, and it takes a while to pull myself out of it, and that’s not something I don’t want to push on you when you have your own work to worry about —”

“But if I want to,” Henry interrupts, his voice gentle, “then there’s no reason to feel guilty. I’m no better, either. Pez had to talk me out of several panic attacks while I was writing my thesis; I can’t imagine writing the final draft will be any different.” He pauses, then says, “I have my bad days, too. They can be… Christ, they can feel like they’re never-ending. I don’t enjoy the idea of you seeing me like that, but those are the risks you have to take in a relationship, aren’t they?”

“No, you’re right,” Alex mutters. He squeezes Henry’s hand. “It’s not a fucking lie, you know — I really like you, sweetheart, and I want to make sure I’m actually doing this right —”

“It’s okay,” Henry says softly, ignoring the increased thumping of his heart. Sweetheart. He thought baby was bad. “We’ll figure it out. If — if you want to, of course.”

“Of course I do,” Alex says instantly, zero hesitation in his voice.

“What if,” Henry starts, “we take it slow? We don’t have to put a label on anything yet, and we can find what works for us in New York and what doesn’t. Go on a date. Focus on the new semester.”

He watches as Alex’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “I like that,” he says.

“Okay.” Henry pauses. “I like that, too. If that wasn’t clear.”

Alex laughs. “Believe me, it was clear.” He looks away from the road for just a moment to smile at Henry. “You know what, Wales? We’re gonna start right now. I’m gonna date the shit out of you.”

Alex takes him to a diner when they finish their day in Forrest City, Arkansas, and he spends the meal charming the shit out of Henry, with his lighthearted jokes and generous teasing, going all out for what he calls is their “first date” — which, Henry supposes, is true. It’s hard to imagine going on dates to get to know Alex; Henry feels like he knows just about everything about him already. It’s much better than any other first date he’s been on, and he even tells Alex as such, which only makes Alex’s cocky confidence shine through even more.

The teasing starts when they order dessert. It starts small — a finger brushing against a finger, a quick flicker to lips — but it grows quite quickly, a foot brushing up a leg, a tongue licking at a spoon, a quiet groan at the taste of the food.

Henry knows that he suggested they go slow, but they’re still in their “bubble” as Alex described, aren’t they? If they already found familiarity with kissing and touching each other, surely it won’t hurt to keep it up as they drive back home?

He mentions this as casually as he can to Alex while they make their way back to their motel — two beds, regrettably, as Alex couldn’t manage to change the reservation for a second time — and Alex fixes him with a dark look.

“If you don’t think I want to have my wicked way with you when we get back, I’m sorry to tell you that you’re incredibly wrong.”

Which is how Henry finds himself pressed against the wall of the shower twenty minutes later, Alex kissing the life out of him, groaning against his lips as he slots a thigh in between Alex’s legs.

“Fuck,” Alex mutters. He pushes his hands through Henry’s soaked hair. “You’re so fucking hot, baby.” He grinds down on Henry’s strong thigh, moaning at the contact. “Don’t know how I resisted you for so fucking long.”

“Christ, same,” Henry gasps. He whimpers at the feel of Alex’s hard cock rubbing against his skin, his own cock getting the faintest amount of friction where it brushes against Alex’s hip. “I need — fuck, Alex, I just need you.”

“Yeah?” Alex nips at his bottom lip, and Henry’s moan grows louder. “What do you need? Tell me.”

“Your — your hands, please —”

“Here?” Alex wraps a hand around Henry’s cock, finally, finally, and Henry breaks from their kisses as a moan escapes deep from his chest. He doesn’t waste any time, stroking Henry hard and fast, pressing his thumb ever so slightly to his slit.

“Yes.” Henry digs his fingers into Alex’s shoulders. “And — Christ, more.”

“You gotta keep talking to me, babe,” Alex murmurs. “I like making you feel good. Fuck, I love it,” he moans, kissing a wet trail up his neck, and Henry makes a mental note to store that information away for later.

He exhales a shaky breath and finds Alex’s other hand where he’s clutching at his hip. He slides Alex’s hand around his waist, to the small of his back, down to the swell of his ass. “Your fingers. Please.”

“Oh, fuck,” Alex groans, a noise that will vacate Henry’s memories until the day he dies. “You want me to?”

Henry nods. “Please, I can’t —”

“Okay, okay, just — fuck, hold on.”

Alex’s strokes on his cock slow down, making Henry whine in protest, but it soon becomes worth it when he feels Alex’s finger slide in between his cheeks, pressing down on his entrance. He doesn’t push in, but just stays there, rubbing the pad of his finger in teasing, small circles, driving Henry mad.

“Alex,” he whimpers.

“Yeah, sweetheart — you’re good?”

“So good,” Henry gasps. “Just —”

Alex’s finger presses in slowly, the water falling from the shower helping the slide, and Henry moans from the brief penetration. It’s been so long since he’s had sex, and with the stress of the semester and the road trip, he hasn’t had the time to take the edge off quite like he wants to. This results in even the barest of touches driving him wild.

“Shit,” Alex mutters, staring at Henry incredulously. “You really like this, don’t you?”

Henry moans, nodding, and Alex slides his finger in all the way. He can feel himself inadvertently pushing back against the contact. “Feels good,” he manages. “Your — your hand, please —”

“Oh, right,” Alex says, increasing the speed of his strokes. At the same time, he slowly thrusts his finger in and out, muffling Henry’s cries with a messy kiss. Henry can’t do much except kiss him back, buck his hips forward into Alex’s hand, and push back against Alex’s fingers. He’s certainly not complaining.

It doesn’t take long for Alex to build a rhythm, finding his prostate with another broken moan from Henry, and grinning as he thrusts his finger against the spot over and over again. Henry’s close, his cock pulsing in Alex’s grip, and when Alex pushes another finger into him, he loses it with a wail, coming all over his and Alex’s stomachs.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Alex whispers, sounding absolutely mesmerized. He draws his fingers out of Henry, letting him come down. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

Henry drops to his knees, still catching his breath, and takes Alex into his mouth to show him just how gorgeous he thinks Alex is.

It continues through the days driving back to New York. They fall asleep in the same bed, getting a late start because they’re always too lost in each other’s lips, and spend the majority of the drive sneaking glances at each other. Alex calls each stop a date — including gas stations — until Henry relents and agrees with him. He doesn’t mind it too much. Not at all, actually.

After dinner in Marion, Virginia, Henry falls into bed with Alex on top of him, the string of condoms and tiny bottle of lube sitting on the nightstand where he dug them out of his luggage earlier. Alex kisses the breath from Henry’s lungs as he fingers him with careful precision, one finger after the other, stimulating his prostate with each thrust. It’s so good that Henry can’t hold on, and he comes with a groan at the press of Alex’s fourth finger against his hole.

“Holy shit, Henry,” Alex murmurs, watching Henry shake apart underneath him.

“Sorry,” Henry chokes out, eyes closed, chest heaving.

“Don’t be.” Alex captures his lips in another deep kiss. “That was so fucking hot. God, I can’t ever get enough of you.”

His fingers are still deep inside Henry’s ass, and Henry can feel his cock gaining interest again, not quite done for the night. “Fuck me,” he says against Alex’s mouth. “I still want you. Please.”

He slides the condom over Alex’s erect cock, hungrily eying the precome rolling down his length, and spreads lube over him, taking in the way Alex’s eyes flutter shut as he moans, the way his hips buck up when Henry puts more pressure around his cockhead. He guides Alex’s cock to his entrance, and Alex pushes in easily, connecting their bodies, and Henry has never felt more bliss than he does now.

“Move,” he gasps, and Alex does as he says. He pulls back, kissing and nipping at Henry’s neck, and thrusts forward, moans escaping both of them. Henry wraps his legs around Alex’s waist and digs his heels into the small of his back, urging him on, and Alex complies. His thrusts grow faster, his kisses more frantic, his groans more desperate.

“You feel,” he mutters against Henry’s sweaty skin, “so fucking good. God, Henry, you don’t even know.” He thrusts forward again, finding Henry’s prostate, and all logical thoughts escape Henry’s brain.

“Right there — Christ, don’t stop, fuck —”

It’s not often that Henry babbles like this during sex. It’s not as though the sex he’s had before Alex has been bad, but sex with Alex is unlike anything else. He’s loud, not attempting to hold back a single sound that spills from his mouth; he’s frantic, kissing and touching and moving without a single beat of a break; he’s caring, stroking Henry’s hair and whispering praises into his ear as he thrusts into his body, wrapping a hand around his cock to further urge him on.

Alex comes not too long later with a long whine, pushing deep into Henry as he empties into the condom, and the sight of his face as he loses it is enough to tip Henry over the edge as well. Their bodies move wildly as they ride out their orgasms together, moans mixing and lips touching, until Alex falls on top of Henry with a soft grunt.

They sleep so late that they decide to end their driving in Baltimore the next day, only having a short, three-hour drive back to New York in the morning. They explore the city until the stars start to peek through the clouds, going from shop to shop, drinking hot apple cider, watching Christmas trees being taken down in store windows. Later, in their motel room, they undress each other, and Henry pushes Alex onto the bed and straddles him, pressing a condom into his palm and whispering, “I want to ride you.”

Alex moans, nods his head, and things go hazy very, very quickly.

“Last condom,” Alex gasps as Henry begins to sink onto his cock. “Good — fuck, good planning.”

Henry thinks of Pez’s grinning face as he threw the condoms into Henry’s luggage, then decides he doesn’t want to think of his best friend when his maybe-boyfriend is moaning up a storm as he rides his cock.

He moves hard and fast, making Alex’s eyes roll into the back of his head from the pleasure. It’s a completely different experience taking Alex from this angle — his chest moves with each heaving breath, sweat shining over his skin, mouth open with desperate groans. Henry grabs Alex’s wrists with his hands, pinning them on either side of his head, and Alex’s moans grow louder.

“Oh, Christ,” Henry murmurs to himself, bouncing on Alex’s lap. “You — you like this, don’t you?”

“Apparently,” Alex gasps, and in the same breath, “harder.”

Henry comes first, his bones feeling like putty as he rides out his orgasm, and Alex practically shakes as he comes, too, panting into the pillow.

So. Another thing to note.

The drive back to New York is smooth and easy. With each passing exit sign, Henry worries that the bubble that Alex described would pop, but it never happens. Not when they cross the border, not when they start seeing NYU banners around familiar buildings, not when they stop in front of Henry’s apartment.

Alex helps him get everything out of his jeep, setting it on the sidewalk and smiling softly at Henry. “So, uh… I’ll see you later? My buddies might be throwing a New Year’s party, if you want to come.”

Henry smiles back. “That sounds lovely.”

“And then,” Alex says, taking a step closer, “I’ll pick you up and take you on another date. A proper fucking one. With flowers and chocolates and all that, and it’s gonna be the most romantic shit you’ve ever seen. Jane Austen won’t even compare.”

Henry laughs. “I’ll take you up on that, love,” he says, the pet name slipping out, and he doesn’t miss the way Alex seems to melt from his words.

“Cool,” he breathes, standing on his tiptoes to press a warm, lingering kiss to Henry’s mouth, and Henry knows that bubble isn’t going to pop anytime soon.

The front door to his apartment shuts behind him as he steps through, luggage dropping to the floor. The sitting room is empty, save for David sleeping soundly in his dog bed. Henry smiles at the sight.

He pokes his head into the kitchen, where Pez is stirring a cup of tea, and he yelps in surprise at the sight of Henry. “Hazza, my dear,” he exclaims, striding over to clutch at Henry’s shoulders, “you’ve made it back in one piece! And maybe, another piece quite attached to you, if that present you found was helpful in any way…”

Henry grins. “How much time do you have to get caught up?”

Chapter 10: Epilogue

Notes:

Surprise! Have a lil New Year's Eve epilogue to end 2022. Thank you all so much for loving this fic!! <3

Henry has never felt this bloody good in his life.

He’s on his back with Alex completely covering him, his lips on his neck and his hands on his waist, thrusting into him at a study, relentless pace, making Henry cry out with each subtle movement. Alex is moaning as well, low, deep noises that rise from his chest, and that only seems to spur Henry on even more. He slides his hands up Alex’s sweat-slicked back, digging his nails into his shoulders as his hips continue to snap forward.

“Baby,” Alex breathes into his ear, and Henry’s body jerks from the pet name. “You don’t know what you’re fucking doing to me. Fuck —” He shifts the angle of his hips, pushing in with a bit more force, and he hits Henry’s prostate dead-on with his next thrust. Henry’s throat is sore from all his moaning. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Good,” Henry rasps. His entire body is trembling as he feels his orgasm come closer and closer, and he can’t keep holding onto Alex anymore. He lets his hands fall from Alex’s shoulders, down his spine, brushing against the curve of his ass. He cups Alex’s cheeks instead, squeezing them softly, and Alex’s next thrust falters as he chokes on a groan. “So good, love. Need more. Please.”

Alex is nodding, breathing the word “yeah” into his skin over and over again. He thrusts in harder, and Henry throws his head back, the Lord’s name falling from his tongue. “Can you — fuck,” Alex gasps into Henry’s neck. “Just — do that again?”

“What?” Henry says, breathing heavily, his mind still reeling from the all-consuming pleasure.

“Fuck, don’t make me say it again,” Alex mutters. He lifts his face from Henry’s neck, and Henry is surprised to see the deep blush coating his cheeks, much different than the usual flush that spreads on his face during sex. He thrusts in again, then pulls back until only the head of his cock is still inside Henry. Henry’s hands move over Alex’s ass as he does so, and Alex practically shivers, his eyes fluttering shut on a moan and saying, “Yeah, that, please.”

“Oh —” Henry squeezes Alex’s ass again, and another guttural groan rips itself from Alex’s throat. “That?”

“Fuck, just like that, fuck, yeah —” Alex rasps, pounding into Henry at that same fast, steady pace as before. Henry grips Alex’s ass like a lifeline, massaging and squeezing it through his fingers as his entire body is wrecked with white-hot pleasure.

“Henry — I’m close, fuck,” Alex grunts, changing the angle and hitting Henry’s prostate again.

“That’s — that’s fine, Christ,” Henry gasps, throwing his head back. He’s close, too, the pleasure coiling in his gut, threatening to snap soon. “You’re doing so well, Alex, making me feel so good, love —”

Alex groans and thrusts into Henry once more, impossibly deep, as his body shakes with his orgasm. He stills inside Henry for just a moment, and Henry can feel him pulsing, making his eyesight go a little blurry from how good it feels. Alex’s hips move again, riding out his orgasm, and Henry desperately wishes that he could feel the heat of Alex coming inside him, filling him up, dripping down his thighs when he pulls out.

“Fuck,” Alex breathes, moaning softly as Henry presses gentle kisses to his jaw. His hands are still covering his ass, and Alex shivers when Henry gives him a little squeeze.

He pulls out, Henry whimpering as he does so, but Alex soothes him with sweet kisses and hands stroking through his hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I got you,” Alex mutters. He removes the condom and ties it off, throwing it into the bin. “I’ll take care of you. Tell me what you need.”

“Your — your fingers,” Henry gasps, and Alex nods, pecking him on the lips once more before sitting up. He finds the lube bottle where it’s twisted in the sheets and pours some more onto his fingers, warming the substance before slipping two fingers back into Henry.

Henry’s back arches off the bed as he moans, Alex’s fingers immediately finding his prostate and rubbing relentlessly over the spot. He grinds back against Alex’s fingers, gasping a shaky plea of “More, Christ, more.” Alex slides a third finger in as well, and when he takes Henry’s throbbing cock in his other hand, Henry knows it’s all over.

“You look,” Alex says, a hungry glint in his eye, “so fucking good right now, baby.” Henry whines from the pet name, and Alex leans closer to him, his lips skimming over his chest. “Fuck, you look like sin,” Alex breathes, mouthing over his nipple and sucking, and Henry loses it completely.

He’s too dazed to even register his own orgasm — all he can feel is the warm press of Alex’s mouth against his skin, the burning sensation of pleasure wrecking through his body, the spurts of his own come dripping onto his stomach. He clenches around Alex’s fingers as he continues to work him through his orgasm until it quickly becomes too much, hissing in oversensitivity.

“You’re fucking incredible,” Alex says, withdrawing his fingers. He climbs up the bed and collapses into Henry’s side, tucking his head into the crook of Henry’s neck and kissing him there, warm and soft and affectionate.

“You,” Henry says once he finds his voice, “are the incredible one.”

He feels Alex grin against his neck. “I don’t know, Wales,” he drawls, “not many people can bend like you can —”

“Okay, Christ,” Henry interrupts, laughing. He turns onto his side as well, meeting Alex in a proper kiss. He means for it to stay slow and sweet, a post-coital embrace, but Alex groans softly as their lips meet. He licks into Henry’s mouth, pressing his body fully against his, and Henry can feel Alex’s cock against his thigh, half-hard and interested again.

He breaks the kiss, much to Alex’s dismay, if his whine is anything to go by. “Someone seems excited,” he teases.

“Can you blame me?” Alex grins. “I mean, seeing you beg for more like that… the way you sounded…” He trails off, nose nudging Henry’s nose, trying to find his lips again.

“Alex,” Henry breathes. Lately, that’s been the only thing he can think of: Alex, Alex, Alex. “Would you join me in the shower?”

Alex grins against Henry’s lips. “Is that even a question?”

 

It’s noon when they finally make it out of Henry’s room, freshly showered and dressed. It’s not like they meant to spend all morning touching each other — in fact, they didn’t even mean to spend last night together.

When Alex dropped Henry off at his apartment after their week-long road trip, Henry spent the rest of the afternoon being grilled by Pez about the entire ordeal (“Do you know how much pain you caused me after this text?” Pez lamented, waving his phone in front of Henry’s face, where Henry’s ‘I know he’s bisexual, and I am now spending Christmas at his home’ text was displayed on screen. “Do you know how much I suffered waiting for you to continue on? How many years off my life you took from me with this announcement?”

“Pez,” Henry said as calmly as he could, “I guarantee that text isn’t the most interesting part of the trip.”).

He told Pez about the day before Christmas Eve, dancing together and Alex’s confession (“And you didn’t think to call me as soon as this happened?”), Alex’s family and how he felt so at ease with them, despite barely knowing them, and of course, Ellen referring to him as Alex’s boyfriend (“I know you, Hazza, and you’re not as subtle with your hopeless romantics as you think”), and finally, with a small smile, the fact that Alex kissed him.

“I knew this trip would work in your favor,” Pez said. “So where is your lover boy? Come to join us for dinner every other night?”

“We, erm. We decided to take it slow, actually.”

Pez blinked. “So you’re about to tell me,” he said slowly, “that the boy you’ve fancied since our first year of uni kissed you , and you spent the entire drive back not taking advantage of that?”

“Let me rephrase,” Henry said, pausing. “We decided to take it slow after we returned to New York.”

A grin spread over Pez’s face, and he threw his head back in a laugh. “Well then, you’re welcome for my extremely generous gift I packed for you. I’m delighted to know that you both found many uses for it.”

They went the rest of the day without seeing each other and, over a phone call that night, agreed to give it another day to settle back down before meeting up again. That all went out the window, however, when Henry walked into a sushi shop the following evening to pick up dinner and found Alex standing in line.

They ate together — neither of them were that cruel to wave each other off for the sake of their plan — and later, Alex walked Henry back to his apartment. This turned out to be simultaneously a very bad idea and a very good idea — one moment, Henry was saying goodnight to Alex and meeting his lips in a soft kiss; the next, he was pinned against his bedroom door, kissing Alex like he would die if he stopped.

What meant to be a day apart from each other turned into an extremely long dinner date, if you counted the hours at night spent awake as Alex mouthed over his collarbones and moved his hand expertly, as well as the hours spent doing the same thing the next morning. Which brought Henry back to this moment, wondering where the hell “going slow” fit into this equation.

Alex snickers. “Nice mug,” he says, pointing to the kitchen counter. Henry’s Austin/Austen mug sits on the tile, not quite having made it into the sink.

“My prized possession,” Henry says. He follows Alex to the front door. “Erm — thank you for spending the night. Even if it wasn’t… quite as planned.”

Alex laughs. “Don’t worry,” he says, cupping a hand around the back of Henry’s neck, his fingers slipping into the short strands of his hair. “Any night spent with you is better than anything I can come up with.”

Henry is so taken aback by the statement that he can’t find the words to respond, but it doesn’t matter, because Alex fits their mouths together again. He kisses Henry slowly, sweetly, and Henry reciprocates, but it doesn’t take long for them to get lost in the kiss, as the pattern seems to go with them. Alex tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and Henry hesitantly licks into Alex’s mouth and —

“Lunch and a show,” comes Pez’s voice, causing Henry to snap back from the kiss so fast that he nearly falls flat on his ass. “Don’t mind me, chaps, I’m merely passing through.”

“Hey, Pez,” Alex says, blush rising in his cheeks. Henry suddenly remembers that Pez knew Alex more than he knew Alex a little more than a week ago. “Good to see you, man.”

“Alexander, babes,” Pez grins, “it’s always a pleasure with you.”

Pez disappears down the hall, and Henry groans as Alex laughs. “I’m sorry about him.”

“I’m not.” Alex takes Henry’s hand in his, running his thumb over his knuckles. “Hey. You can say no if you want, because I know we agreed on some time apart before, and we haven’t really been following that rule, so —”

“Alex,” Henry says calmly, “tell me.”

“Oh. Right.” Alex smiles somewhat sheepishly. “Well, my roommates always have a New Year’s party at our place, and I was just wondering if you wanted to come? I know parties aren’t really your thing, so it wouldn’t have to be long — or at all, I guess — but, you know. It could be fun? Pez can come, too.”

Henry grins. “I’d love to. Tonight?”

“Tonight, yeah. I —” Alex stops, as if catching himself from saying something he shouldn’t have. “I’ll see you then?” he tries again.

“Of course.”

Slow. He wonders how much one can push the boundaries of ‘slow.’

 

When Alex opens the door to his place later that night, Henry’s brain must short-circuit, because the first thing he says is “Glasses.”

Alex snorts. “What?”

“You, erm.” Henry gestures to Alex’s face, ignoring Pez snickering behind him, where a pair of round glasses perches on the bridge of Alex’s nose. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Alex touches his fingers to the edge of his glasses. “Oh yeah,” he says. “I forgot I still had these on.”

“They’re very nice,” Henry says before he can stop himself. He can still hear Pez wheezing behind him.

“Yeah?” Alex grins. “Good to know. Come on in, y’all.”

Alex leads them further into the house, where the music gets louder, the crowds of people get thicker, the air gets hotter. Pez instantly spots people he knows, and he plants a kiss on Henry’s cheek before slipping away. Alex seems to have other plans for Henry, and he curls his hand around his wrist and drags him to the makeshift bar set up in the corner.

“I got vodka just for you,” he tells Henry, uncapping the bottle.

“Great,” Henry manages.

They take a shot together, then Alex spends the next forty-five minutes dragging Henry around the house, introducing him to people that he knows from all over the place — student senate in undergrad, the intramural lacrosse team, his law school study group — but Henry doesn’t fail to notice the way Alex stutters every time he says, “This is my — my friend, Henry,” until he gives up all together and just starts introducing Henry as just “Henry,” even after Alex presses another shot of vodka into his hand.

“Are you having fun?” Alex shouts over the music. “I know it can be a lot, so —”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts before he can start to spiral, “I’m with you. I’ll always have a great time.”

Alex stares at him, unblinking, until Henry starts to panic that he’s said the wrong thing. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says before Henry can voice any of his concerns. “You make this so fucking hard sometimes.”

“Make — what?”

“This,” Alex says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He’s not that much drunker than Henry is, but Henry can’t seem to keep up with him at all. “Us. Going slow.”

Oh.

“What do you mean?” Henry asks, his heart rate picking up. This can either go very well or very bad — on one hand, Alex could explain that he feels the same way that Henry feels, that taking things slow when they already like each other so much is killing him; on the other hand, Alex could explain that taking things slow made him realize that he had it all wrong and never wants to see Henry again.

Alex just shakes his head. “Let’s go to my room,” he says, taking Henry’s hand again and leading him away from the crowd.

Alex’s room isn’t much different than his childhood bedroom — the Star Wars bed sheets are missing, but otherwise, Henry can spot little bits of Alex everywhere like he could in his childhood bedroom. The desk is overflowing with law textbooks and open notebooks, the posters lining his walls are wrinkled and well-loved, the closet is filled with hoodies that Henry instantly wants to wrap himself in. Alex closes the door and leans against it, pink-cheeked and mussed hair, glasses glinting as they hit the ceiling light.

“I like you,” he says before Henry can say anything first, “more than I’ve ever liked someone before. And I won’t lie; it’s kind of fucking terrifying. So that’s — that’s why I said we should take things slow. Because I don’t want to fuck this up like I’ve fucked up other relationships.”

Okay. Not a breakup, then.

“Alex,” Henry breathes, but Alex just shakes his head and keeps going.

“But I just — fuck, Henry, I look at you and I can’t imagine not being with you anymore. Like, I almost called you my fucking boyfriend ten different times just now. And this morning, when I was leaving, I… shit, I was about to say I love you because it felt so goddamn natural. But it’s been a week, you know? We’ve only really known each other for a fucking week. Every bit of logic I have says we need to take this slow, but then I see your face and all of that goes out the window. So… tell me if I’m alone in this, I guess.”

“You’re not alone,” Henry says immediately. “Christ, Alex, if you think I wasn’t gone on you since the moment I first saw you, you’re terribly mistaken.”

“Fuck, thank God,” Alex blurts out, crossing over to Henry and wrapping his arms around Henry’s shoulders, pulling their bodies together. “I thought I was going crazy, Wales.”

“Definitely not,” Henry laughs, winding his arms around Alex’s waist. “But, erm — can we backtrack a bit?” Alex looks up, his eyes full of curiosity behind his glasses. Fuck, Henry will never be able to get over those. “You — you were going to say you love me?”

“Oh.” Alex’s pink cheeks grow pinker. “Yeah, I — I mean, it just popped in my mind, and it felt right?”

Henry brings their foreheads together, nudging Alex’s nose with his own. “Do you?”

Alex laughs, as if in disbelief. “It’s fucking crazy, right?” he whispers, a conversation for only him and Henry to hear, despite the two of them being the only people in the room. “You don’t just fall in love with someone in a week.”

“I did.”

“Henry, you motherfucker,” Alex wheezes before he crashes their lips together.

Henry isn’t sure how it happens, but he finds himself flat on his back on Alex’s bed, his hands in Alex’s hair, his breath on Alex’s lips. He rolls them over onto their sides, and Alex flings a leg over his thigh, getting closer, closer, closer. He cups Henry’s cheek, and Henry nearly moans at how good the contact feels.

“Be my boyfriend,” Alex says in between kisses. “Fuck going slow, baby, I just want to be with you — fuck, I want to show you off everywhere —”

“Yes,” Henry breathes back. “Christ, Alex, yes.”

He loses himself in the kissing, the touching, and he’s sure Alex does, too, because the next thing he knows, their heated kissing is interrupted by a blaring alarm from Alex’s phone. They both jump back, Henry panting from the lack of oxygen. “Shit,” Alex hisses. He fumbles his phone out of his pocket, shutting off the alarm. “I did this in case we got, uh… distracted. Didn’t want to miss the countdown.” He presses one more hungry kiss to Henry’s lips before climbing off the bed. “Let’s go, boyfriend, we only have five minutes.”

So Henry follows him, erection be damned, the word boyfriend swimming through his mind like a wave that refuses to crash, only getting higher and higher.

Once they get back, Alex pulls him to the front where they can see the television showing off the celebration in Times Square, less than two minutes before the ball drops.

“Thanks for being an impulsive little shit and joining me on my road trip,” Alex says, grinning.

Henry smiles back. “Thank you for completely ignoring any internet safety rules and offering in the first place.”

Someone passes around more shots as the ball continues to drop, and Alex doesn’t let go of Henry once, keeping his hand around his waist or in his back pocket, even when he knocks back the shot. He counts down from ten with everyone else, his eyes never leaving Henry’s, and he’s kissing him before Henry can even finish saying “one.”

Alex pulls back after a moment, but just barely, his lips brushing against Henry’s and he speaks: “Happy New Year, baby.”

Henry brushes Alex’s jaw with his finger. “Happy New Year, love.”

If this is what the New Year has in store for him, he thinks — Alex and thesis edits, Star Wars marathons and brunch dates, all-nighters and lazy morning sex, walks to coffee shops and Alex, Alex, Alex — then he really doesn’t have much to complain about.

He really needs to thank Pez for those condoms.