Work Text:
It was a joke, really. It was meant to be a joke. He remembers so clearly when they reclaimed the house in Texas as a safe space and June gave Alex the J14 issue and let him know just how proud she was of him. He remembers Alex laying it out on their bed and whispering all of the secrets he didn't even realize the meaning behind. They lay awake for hours, and Alex would gently press his fingers to the picture, so lovingly, so full of understanding that Henry couldn't help but make it into a bit of a laugh for Alex.
He loved his boyfriend more than anything, but Alex is terrible with big feelings for an extended period of time.
As a first gift when they finally moved into their brownstone together, Henry hands Alex a wrapped present and says, "Welcome home, darling."
Alex smiles, not so gently ripping into it, and Henry sees more than hears the gasp of breath. He'd gotten the J14 issue framed knowing it would make him laugh about what young Alex used to do when he could have had the real thing all along. Well, maybe that's not entirely the truth, but it feels like one now that they can be themselves without question or hesitation. Now that Henry can.
Alex ever so slightly moves his fingertips to where they have always fallen, knowing now what Henry's hair feels like under his fingers, and looks up at him. He presses a finger to the space he always has in wonderment and says, "God, this is so cheesy. I fucking love it, baby."
Henry really shouldn't have expected any less as a grin overtakes Alex face and he leans over to kiss him. Kissing turns into so much more, and Henry is happily distracted, not even realizing that his joke meant so much more than he meant for it too. He can read Alex inside and out, but he had no idea what framing this would come to mean to Alex as he started on his new journey in New York. As they did.
Life got busy, fast. Henry was doing a lot with the shelter and Alex was constantly in class or studying for one. He forgot about the J14 magazine. He forgot they ever spent months apart. They were so incandescently happy, so busy living and existing in each other's life, nothing else seemed to make a dent.
It became normal in the most wonderful way to get up and go for a run together. To come back, eat breakfast, shower, make coffee and tea side by side while Alex made breakfast. They would go their separate ways for the day, come home to each other, eat dinner, catch each other up, and do absolutely anything they wanted until they had to go to sleep and got to live it all again the next day. Not everything was perfect, but they always had each other for the difficult stuff, and Henry had never had someone to lean on before. He was leaning into the feeling of being loved completely, allowed to be who he never dreamed he could be.
That brought out little pieces of his personality he never imagined he'd find.
Alex had always been the more outspoken between the two of them. He thrived on attention while Henry shied from it. What most people weren't aware of, though, is that Henry didn't dislike it, he was just never allowed to enjoy it the way Alex had. He had never been given permission to be anything other than a sculpture for people to stare at, and being allowed to be more took some time to get used to.
Henry didn't think he'd ever get used to the freedom loving Alex openly had provided him, but he'd started leaning into that a bit as well. It felt good. It felt so good to lean into a person he was really starting to like. Himself.
It all started one evening when his insomnia was more difficult than usual. Alex was sleeping next to him, had just rolled over, and without the weight on his chest, sleep had become completely impossible rather than just unlikely. So Henry had slipped out of bed and walked through their home till he found his favorite room. Books from floor to ceiling, a piano in the center, and two chairs sat facing each other for the nights when Henry's darkness crept in and Alex would read to him while giving him space to look up at the stars.
Alex understood him better than anyone else had ever tried to, and while his gift had been a framed J14 magazine, this room had been Alex's. He's called it an oasis, and Henry couldn't agree more. Of course, when he realized how completely unparalleled their gifts were, Henry had gotten Alex's key and his ring a engraved hook with their initials and put it by the door where it has been ever since.
Not knowing it would become the simplest, easiest part of his life, Henry set up his phone so only his fingers would be visible, and pressed the live button on instagram. He'd watched Alex do this a million times, and while he'd never been someone who wanted attention for a skill, he loved to play the piano. It calmed him in a way that things other than Alex's presence rarely did. It was a peace he'd never contemplated because it had always been a part of who he was. Maybe it would give someone else struggling to sleep some peace this evening as well.
So he lost himself in the music. In composition after composition. He played stuff he'd loved his entire life and added in some twists of things he'd heard in his own mind over the years. By the time a half hour had passed, he hadn't even realized how many people were watching him. Beside him. Existing in the world knowing music can heal a soul in all the same ways a person can. So he brought the song he was playing to an end with a major chord, happy he'd slipped out of the minor, and let it hang in the air for a few moments before turning it off. Without really thinking much about it, he takes a picture of the piano and writes a caption for his story, "Thanks for joining. Maybe this can be a regular thing for those of us that sometimes can't find dreams as easily as others? Sleep well."
When he puts his phone down, and pulls the cover over the keys, he finally feels the other presence in the room. When he turns, he's already smiling fully aware it was Alex watching him, "How long were you there?"
"Well, I woke up because I couldn't feel you next to me. Didn't know if you were having a hard time and might want some company. I heard the piano and was about to head this way when I saw something pretty odd on my phone." Alex smiles gently, walking over to him and straddling the bench while Henry makes room so he has more space. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I had an instagram notification that my boyfriend was doing an instagram life. For the life of me, I couldn't believe he even knew how to do such a thing."
"Hey," Henry says, feeling his cheeks turn pink as he leans his forehead against Alex's. Alex just smiles and scrunches his nose adorably.
"I watched there for a while and then figured I'd just come stand and watch the real thing. You were really into it."
"It helped," Henry whispers and Alex nods.
"I could tell. You seem more relaxed."
"I am," Henry confirms, feeling sleepy. Alex moves so his lips press against Henry's forehead for a long few moments.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
Henry shakes his head, "Nothing in particular, just couldn't stop thinking. Got me thinking about how not everyone has a you, and how you can't always be awake, so I came to play piano and thought it could help someone else get some sleep tonight as well."
"Sounds like the perfect idea," Alex nods, standing up slowly and offering Henry a hand to pull him up and into a hug. They step away from the bench to make it a bit more comfortable. Henry melts easily into Alex's hold. "Do you think you'll do it more?"
Henry shrugs, knowing it's more than likely he will. "I think I might, yeah."
"Want to go back to bed?"
"Yeah," he whispers, pressing a kiss to Alex's neck and squeezing his waist. "Yeah, lets go to bed."
And so it becomes a thing. Every week, never on the same day, Henry finds himself unable to rest and slipping away to his piano only to be found by Alex and taken back to bed. It becomes a routine they don't talk about simply because they don't need to. Alex knows how much of a comfort the piano is, that room is, to Henry, and if he needed to talk about it, Henry would.
Henry loves that Alex never pushes, and is always such a steady presence by his side. Ready to walk him back to bed as soon as his heart relaxes.
Each week the numbers rise, and each week a new wave of love falls over Henry. A blanket of universal understanding that sleeping isn't always easy, and human connection can be. It becomes more than routine, but life. Months pass, life continues, Alex has finals, Henry has meetings, they laugh, and cry, and love, and hurt, and exist next to each other. All they ever wanted.
Each week, Henry's composition gets more and more clear, something he never thought he wanted, something he never thought he'd have. It's a story of longing, and loss, and love, and legacy. It builds each week until it comes to a close. A perfect center. A middle C. Home. History. Harmony. Happiness. Hope.
When he hits that middle C, it's like a part of him breaks open. It's like life finally has meaning. He remembers Alex told him once that he wanted to do more, that he never felt like he was enough. He would give himself away without question, over and over. Henry had always been worried he'd give too much of himself, but it was just who Alex was and Henry loved that about him now that he understood it better. He remembers Alex told him to give some of himself away, too. There's so much of you, he said.
He barely remembers to turn off the Instagram live, wondering how many emotions the world saw flash across his face before realizing he doesn't much care. He needs Alex. He needs to find Alex, and tell him what just happened. What he understands about himself now that he's hit the middle C. How happy he is. How overflowing with joy. How he helped Alex to understand himself better, but Alex helped him to become a real person. Not just a sculpture for people to stare at.
He goes to their room, and finds it empty. Not odd since it's finals week.
So he heads to Alex's office where a light is on, and leans in the door. He takes a moment to watch him, the headphones tight over his ears, his eyes closed and head moving side to side. Henry hasn't been in here in quite some time, so while Alex isn't aware he's there, he takes a look around. The vinyls have changed, and Henry smiles, loving the way he always knows what kind of mood Alex is in based on his vinyls. What never changes is Elton John's self titled album right in the middle. A heart drawn around Your Song.
The constancy centers Henry, just as all of Alex's other things do.
He's about to step into the room when he freezes, struck speechless. He wouldn't have even noticed if Alex didn't reach out for it, wouldn't have even wondered about it's odd placement on the desk. Seemingly right in the way. A framed magazine, the picture of Henry as a kid, the move in present that was meant to be a joke, but seemed to be a comfort. Alex's own form of constancy.
Alex's mouth is moving, forming words Henry can't hear, can't quite understand. He's not speaking out loud, it seems, and Henry is so lost to his emotions he doesn't even try to read his lips. His heart is racing, his mind is centering, his world is at middle C.
When Alex opens his eyes, he must sense Henry, because he turns his head slightly and gives Henry a blinding smile.
"Hen, are you done for the night?"
"Was I too loud?" Henry asks, gulping some air into his lungs.
Alex tugs his headphones down, "What, no, of course not! I was quite literally listening to you play. Started a little late, but you just finished. Quite literally. Was that the end?"
"Y-you've been keeping up with the song?"
"Hey," Alex says, his nose crinkling like it always does when he's got his whole focus on Henry. It's almost like the attention still makes his body need to move. Like it lights him up and he can't always control how he reacts. "You know I have. It sounds complete. It sounds fucking amazing."
Henry nods, a blush lighting his own cheeks as Alex opens his arms and spins the chair a bit to the side. It's a welcome Henry will never say no to. "Did you like it?"
"More than anything," Alex confirms, pulling Henry onto his lap and burying his face into his neck, pressing kisses there and holding him tight. The pressure is perfect, and grounding, and always exactly what Henry needs. "Felt like hope. You feeling hopeful, baby?"
A shiver runs through Henry like it always does at that word, and he lifts a hand to Alex's curls, gently running his fingers through them. "Always."
Alex hums, pressing a kiss to Henry's collarbone and letting them just sit there in each other's arms. It's got to be almost two in the morning, but neither of them seem to know that, or care.
"I gave some of myself away," he whispers into the room. The room that holds the very thing Alex knew about him before he knew it about himself. Alex was a kid who knew his parent's careers would thrust him into a public life. A kid who didn't know what that meant, or what it would feel like, but saw another kid living it happy, and himself, and bold. He saw a kid just like him, who knew himself, who hadn't been told he had to be someone else yet. "I gave some of myself away, and I wanted you to know how good it felt."
"Tell me," Alex says just as softly.
"It felt like, well," Henry says, struggling to put words together, burying his face into Alex's curls and letting their smell comfort his racing mind. "I imagine it felt how you did when you found that magazine for the first time."
Alex stills for a moment, "You noticed that, huh?"
"You saw such a kindred spirit in me, and I know I let you down all those years later lost in who I thought I had to be, but you saw something in me no one else ever even tried to. You held onto that person so tightly that even all these years later, a gag gift is something you keep in the space you call yours. I can't tell you how much it means to me," Henry says, muffled a bit by his position. He knows Alex can hear him. "That's what it was about. The song. The composition. It's how you hold me. How you love me. How you encourage, and embrace, and embody me. You told me I helped you understand so much about yourself, Alex, but I can't even begin to explain how you've helped me be myself. Just be."
He pulls back only to lift Alex's chin, his eyes glazed over like they always do when his love shines through. It's Henry's favorite look. The one he was terrified of in Texas, longing for in Kensington, waiting for while they danced in his museum, held onto while his privacy was shattered, and sees every day now that they're constantly together. It's his favorite expression, his favorite constant, his first truth, and his only guarantee.
"I wasn't real before you stormed into my life. I wasn't anything until I put you in the garden. I wasn't me until you loved me back to life."
Alex cups his cheek, his eyes still shining, and says, "You were just waiting till someone gave you permission to be yourself, like you were always taught to. I gave you a nudge, but you did all the work. You changed your life, and chose me in the process. I thought I knew who you were back then, Henry, but you have always been so much more than that. You've always been so much more than you gave yourself credit for."
"I think," Henry whispers, closing his eyes and leaning into Alex, hearing the end of his song flood his heart. "I think I understand what you mean now. What you saw. God, the way you see me makes me feel about a thousand feet tall."
"As long as I'm a thousand and one," Alex says, grinning when Henry opens his eyes.
"Cretin," Henry whispers fondly, leaning in to rub their noses together. Mostly just to see Alex go cross eyed and scrunch his nose again.
"I love you," Alex says in return, to which Henry bites his lip and nods, wrapping his arms around him.
"I love you, too," Henry whispers, leaning in.
It doesn't stop there, it's only a beginning. Henry falls into a dream. His lives become a two or three day a week thing, his brain whirling with sound. Never ending notes flooding his mind, seemingly escaping his soul. Sometimes, Alex sits beside him as he plays, sometimes he sits in one of the chairs and reads. Sometimes it's the middle of the night and he stands in the door in a robe with a warm cup of tea ready for when Henry needs to call it a night. His days are full of kids who need his help, his evenings Alex, and his nights, music and dreams.
He's never slept so well, lived so entirely in a moment. Suddenly, it's been five years and he's playing another middle C. Alex is leaning against the piano, staring, as in awe as Henry, as the millions of people listening to that note reverberate through the room.
Henry looks up, showing the most emotion he's ever shown a camera. Even his own. He has tears running down his cheeks, he sees his look mirrored on Alex's face.
"You did it," he whispers reverently.
Henry remembers the camera and switches his live off. He doesn't much care that the world just heard Alex say that because he had done it. He had.
"Alex," he whispers, suddenly feeling like the world was caving in. It's never felt so good to be crushed.
"Baby," he hears, and it's like he's being thrown back to that night so many years ago now when Alex called him on the phone and it was a tether to reality. One he hadn't felt or had in days. Before he knew it, then and now, Alex had his arms around him and he could breathe again.
He cries, and he can't quite figure out why except it's different than the last time they sat like this. That was shared pain, this is shared joy. That was shared loss, this is shared reverence. That was shared betrayal, this was shared constancy. Years in the making, Henry had finished the story of his life on piano, and he felt open in a way he'd never even fantasized over. Broke open. Scattered, willingly. Music was always something he understood, and now people might understand him better because of it.
Alex holds him while he sobs, while he drains, while he heals. He holds him for what feels like hours. What mine as well be a lifetime. A lifetime he no longer has to endure because Alex will hold him for everything that will always hurt inside of him.
"Constant," he says when he catches his breath, "It's called constant. It has to be called constant."
Alex nods, understanding and picking up Henry's phone. He doesn't move Henry from his body, gently moving him so Henry is resting on his side, still pressed so tightly to him. He needs pressure, and Alex will give it to him even while he answers every other unasked question.
He takes a picture of the keys, writes the word "Constant" and a cursive "fin" below it. Then he turns it off and puts it on the piano, pulling Henry fully back into him.
"How do you feel?" Alex asks later, they had moved to their chairs, Henry in Alex's lap, a hand making gentle circles on his back while Henry's hand is massaging through Alex's curls. Their other hands are resting over Henry's heart, feeling the steady rhythm they both marvel over. It hadn't always been so steady.
"Euphoric," Henry says minutes later, feeling like it encompasses it. The totalness of an album of his life.
"Are you going to put it together into something coherent? Release it? We've talked about it a few times, but it feels different now that you're done."
Henry thinks about it. Having an album out there that has his name on it. He kind of likes that idea. Especially with the response, the hope from the people like him, who never find it easy to close their eyes and shut off the thoughts that never seem to go away.
He stills Alex's hand in his own, nodding against his chest, "I think I might, yeah. I think I'd really like that."
He feels Alex's smile against his neck and knows exactly what he looks like. He feels a press of lips against his neck and tilts his head just enough to allow the inevitable trail of heat. It's not the first time he's thought about it, about forever and Alex, but it's the first time he does more than think about it. He turns into the press of Alex's body and dreams of just one more thing he never thought he'd have.
Weeks later he announces he's going to release an album, and the internet does more than celebrate. They pour out their love, their support, and Henry feels all of it like the biggest shot of adrenaline. It gives him a confidence in himself he's never been able to claim, and he knows Alex can see the difference. He knows because Alex refuses to spend a single moment they're together without touching him. He isn't upset about it, just surprised by the constancy of his presence.
He wouldn't have even thought much about it, wondered if this is how they always were, if he didn't want a few minutes alone to find a ring. It comes during Alex's finals week, his last one before a summer of preparing for the biggest test of his life. He finds the perfect one, blue the seller says matches his eyes, and an engraving of "yrs" that will be just for them.
He lets the summer pass, lets Alex stress, holds him through the too much and the too little. He helps him study, prepare, and relax. He takes the test. They go on vacation. They come back. They celebrate. They tell everyone they know.
Alex promises him a month before they figure out what to do next. A month where they can do whatever they want, whenever they want, where Henry can pull him to the shelter and they can talk to kids all day, and life can be easy. He's not a prince, and Alex isn't a powerful, upcoming lawyer, and they're just two people in love. It's easy, and it's perfect, and it's everything Henry ever would have asked for, but never needs to.
He finds that framed magazine again two weeks into their month of nothing. It's no longer on Alex's desk, but proudly displayed among Alex's vinyls. Henry can see that it has been smeared over and over with fingertips. Alex refuses to clean it saying that he needs proof he's been there. That he'll always be there. Because even years later, even with an album of his healing coming out in December, he still has days where none of this feels real. And Alex has never once told him it's okay, that it will get better, he has only ever held him, breathed with him, and listened to him.
He's only ever loved him.
"H?" Alex asks from the door. Henry doesn't need to turn around to know he's holding a cup of tea. Constancy.
"You make me so happy," he whispers to the room as a whole. Elton John, a magazine, and a memory.
Alex chuckles behind him, putting their mugs down on his desk and walking over to wrap his arms around Henry's waist from behind. His chin lays where it always does, on his left shoulder, always as close to his heart as he can be. Another constant, another truth. "I love you," he whispers, pressing a kiss to his neck just like he always does.
"I never thought I'd have this. Even all these years later, I still can't believe I do."
There's a deep understanding in Alex's voice when he says, "You're real, mi corazón."
"When I was a boy, when I looked like that, I already knew I was different from other kids. That my life would be so much more difficult because I was a prince. I had no idea that I was different in so many other ways that could never be acceptable. It wasn't until Dad got sick that I realized I would lose the only person willing to stand in the way of the life I would be forced to live when he passed away. I never really dreamed of a future, because I never imagined I'd get one. Not with someone I loved." Alex hums into his shoulder, swaying them a bit, giving him space to speak. "You were the kind of person I had to keep myself far away from for the fear that, if someone like you ever loved me, it would set me on fire."
Alex hums again at the familiar words, holding him a bit tighter, the pressure seeping into his soul and grounding him. Just like it always has. Just like it always will.
"But then you loved me anyways, Alex. All these dreams I'd never dared to imagine, cracked open anew. In front of me for the taking if I was only brave enough to reach. I gave you every reason to give up, and you kept coming back. You kept loving me. You keep holding me."
He looks at the J14 one more time before spinning in Alex's arms and wrapping his own around Alex's neck. A mirror of a memory. Dancing to Your Song in his most sacred place. Not so sacred as Alex's arms.
"You keep holding me," he whispers, his eyes meeting Alex's, his hand moving to Alex's curls.
"I always will," Alex murmurs, pressing their lips together, his eyes shining. "Keep going, baby."
Henry nods, knowing Alex understands where this is going, but allowing him to do it. Another dream Henry never thought he'd have. Asking someone to spend forever with him, asking someone to choose him in truth, asking a man to be his husband. He lets out a breath of air that turns into a soft exhale of a laugh and says, "I love leaving notes on the coffee pot. Reading Jane Austen when I can't sleep. Pulling you out of this room when I can hear your brain racing down the hall, miles away, an ocean apart. I love our life, I love that you understand who I am and never ask me to be someone else. That you give me space without making me feel like there's any between us. I love that I can unspiral you the same way you ground me. I love that you listen to me play piano and let me stare at you for hours when I can't find anything to say. I love that your expectation of me has always been the same, in all these years we've spent together. To be myself, to love you, and to dream, baby—"
Henry chokes on the last word, a smile in his voice even while tears run down both their cheeks. "Every time you say that to me, anything you can dream, baby, all I can think is about how all I dream about is you. Us. In this house or thousands of miles away. Kids, or dogs, or your family surrounding us. Joy, and love, and happiness. You. And me. And history."
Alex nods, rubbing his thumb gently along Henry's soaked cheeks. A laugh bubbling out of both of them. "I love you. I'm going to love you forever. I'm a thousand percent sure. Will you marry me, Alex?"
"Only if you'll marry me, baby," Alex says, barely finishing the endearment before pressing their lips together in the best kiss of Henry's life. They've shared so much with each other, but somehow, this is the one Henry will reflect on above all else. Because he can hear the joy, feel the passion, taste the love. When he pulls away, he can see the euphoria, and he can smell the celebration. There is happiness radiating from all corners of the room, it smells like he imagines sunshine would.
"Yes," Henry finds himself saying. "Yes, Alex, let's marry each other."
"God, Henry," Alex says, wrapping him up so tight Henry cannot feel anything but him. "Yes. Let's marry the hell out of each other."
Henry laughs, his heart constricting in the best way.
"Wait, wait," he says, pushing Alex away a few inches so he can reach in his pocket. He pulls out the ring and asks again, "Marry me?"
"Yes," Alex says, his eyes sparkling. Then his eyes widen and he says, "Wait, wait here. Don't move."
"Okay," Henry promises, a smile on his face.
Alex comes back thirty seconds later with his own box and holds on his left hand. Henry turns his palm over for a moment, placing the ring in it and Alex says, "Aren't you supposed to put it on me, Hen?"
"Read it, you imbecile."
"Bossy," Alex mutters, his grin making it come out fond. His eyes soften when he sees the yrs written out. "God, such a sap. Wait till you see what mine says."
"Alex," Henry says, taking the ring again and kissing his ring finger before slipping it into place. "Let's see, darling."
Alex opens the box and asks, "Marry me?"
Inside is a ring much like the one he bought Alex, but somehow more elegant. While Alex enjoys bulky, showy jewelry, Henry has always loved something more subtle. It's the exact contrast to how they are to the world, exactly who they are. He tears up again at the simplicity, and then notices the stone.
"Alex," he whispers, his gaze snapping to Alex's so quickly he wonders if he even saw the ring right.
"Is that a yes?" he asks, his own eyes spilling over again.
"Yes," Henry whispers, looking down at it again. "That's," he takes a deep breath, and another, "That's my Dad's birthstone."
"I knew you'd want it that way," Alex says gently. Henry just nods.
"What does it say?"
Alex tilts his chin up, gently applying pressure, always knowing, always grounding. "It has two meanings, Henry. One is him. How he's always going to be an unfinished part of you, but one that will never leave you. A memory for a lifetime, just like a love for a lifetime. The second is me. Of course."
He takes the ring out of the box and hands it to Henry, who tilts it into the light for a better look. Constant. His last song. His breakthrough. His father. His forever. His love.
"God, I love you," Alex says, shaking his head, "I know you always say you can't believe this is real, baby, but sometimes it hits me just how real it all is and I can barely stand up. I'm going to love you forever. I bet we've said this to each other a thousand times, in a thousand lifetimes. I can't imagine there was ever a me who didn't have you."
"Put it on, love." He holds out his hand, "Please, I want to marry you."
"We've said that word so many times it's starting to feel fake," Alex says on a laugh, so much joy inside its sound.
"I love you," he says, remembering when Alex said I love you more before they opened the door to the world and waved at their future. The future they fought for, and live for. The future that is just around the corner, again, and always will be. Because Henry was brave, and Alex was patient.
They fall into bed, they love over and over again, and before they know it the sun is pushing through the curtains and they haven't closed their eyes yet. So lost in each other. When sleep finally does take Henry, he can feel Alex's hand running through his hair, humming a Selena song to himself. Dreaming Of You.
When he wakes up, and Alex is fast asleep beside him, he remembers that there was tea left on the desk. He presses a kiss to Alex's forehead and gently pushes himself out of bed. In the office, nothing seems to have changed, nothing except the papers left out on the desk. Hundreds of things scrawled onto a list. Numbers that seem to go on endlessly. He wouldn't think much of it outside of the fact that he recognizes something. The first page, scrawled at the top, a memory he'll never forget and cherish forever.
AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES the way an engagement ring looks on his finger. Number 417. A sticky note. Remember to add wedding band after marriage (as if you'd forget). Number 418. The way he unspirals me.
Henry looks at it just a few moments more before picking up the mugs and bringing them downstairs. He empties them, pulls out a sticky note of his own and writes, "I can't wait to marry you."
He smiles, starts the coffee machine knowing the smell will wake Alex up in a few minutes, and heads upstairs to fit himself back in place. When he curls into bed and feels Alex instantly move towards his warmth, he knows that life won't change when they get married, but it might just get better.
The comfort of constancy is endless, and life goes on.