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June’s gatherings had slowly gained traction within their inner circle, somehow becoming a treasured tradition over the years. If Alex had to guess, he’d say it has something to do with her and Nora’s place being decorated in a way that feels homely and intimate, yet big enough not to feel suffocating. There’s enough familiar faces among the crowd, with the necessary sprinkle of new faces that feel exciting and novel. June’s a gracious host, while Nora brings the perfect amount of bite not to make people overwhelmed with their graciousness.
Alex usually loves their get-togethers, thrives on being the center of attention amongst June’s closest circle, friends that are somehow always interested in getting to know more about her infamous little brother. He’ll parade around until he’s devoid of energy, then retreat somewhere private with Henry and feel like himself again.
That’s his plan, anyway. He’s not expecting it all to come crashing to the ground by one simple reminder.
If he’s being honest, Alex completely forgot about it.
It wouldn’t be the first time something important slipped his mind, not when it’s constantly plagued by thoughts running at a thousand miles per hour. Throughout the years, he’s forgotten birthdays, anniversaries, important dates of all kinds.
Still, despite everything, it feels like this is the most important detail he’s forgotten yet.
He doesn’t mean to be eavesdropping, but the guy has been shamelessly flirting with Henry throughout the entire party and it’s making him feel restless. He wants to cross the room and drag Henry by the neck and kiss him senseless in front of everyone, marking his territory somehow. It’s not like half of the guests aren’t aware already, at least a dozen were unfortunate enough to have walked in on them in compromising positions. Which is exactly why the reminder feels so sour in his mouth.
The guy—Jack, or Jake, one of Nora’s coworkers that had only recently proven himself worthy enough to even be invited—inches closer and asks Henry a question, his mouth turned upwards like it’s something amusing. Henry visibly freezes, then simply scoffs. Alex thinks he’s about to finally put an end to the conversation when he says, “Oh, no. Alex and I are just casual. It’s nothing serious.”
He’s been called oblivious more times than he can count. He’s had an entire pseudo-relationship/homoerotic friendship with his high school best friend. Even worse, he has the irritating habit of getting too caught up in the heat of the moment, overlooking minor details in favor of putting all of his attention towards the end goal. It shouldn't come as a surprise that he somehow seemed to forget about the most devastating detail of his arrangement with Henry. Still, it feels like he’s just been stabbed repeatedly and his balance is wavering, it would only take a couple of seconds for him to finally collapse into the floor. He doesn’t, instead making his way towards the kitchen and makes himself another drink.
That’s where June finds him, probably missing the sound of his voice—or, finding it strange that she can’t hear him anymore.
She, at the very least, seems mildly concerned. “You’re too drunk, Alejandro.”
Alex doesn’t know how to tell her that Henry’s words were enough to make all the alcohol in his veins disappear. He’s never felt more sober.
As the older sister, June seems acutely aware that something’s wrong. “Is everything okay?” She’s placing a warm hand against his bicep, and Alex is about to open his mouth and start word-vomiting when someone else enters the kitchen.
It’s Henry, who happens to be the last person he wants to see in that moment, when his thoughts are spiraling out of control. “Are you okay?” He asks, brow furrowed.
June sends a look to both of them, seemingly calculating something. Finally, she squeezes her brother’s arm once more before dropping her hand. “I’ll leave you to it.” She whispers, sending a tight smile Henry’s way and making herself scarce. Alex would have been grateful for the gesture before, now it stings like a betrayal.
“Fine.” Alex manages to reply through his teeth. He wants to tell him to leave, to stay, he wants to talk about it and at the same time dreads the conversation. He turns towards the tequila and serves himself yet another shot.
Henry comes closer, placing himself in front of Alex, the warmth of his body an uncomfortable reminder. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. “Are you jealous?” It occurs to him, a smirk threatening to appear on his expression.
A humorless laugh leaves Alex then. “What, jealous of him? Please.”
“I think you are.” Henry tells him, a challenge waiting to be met, his eyes glistening in the darkness. And Alex suddenly hates it, hates how his feelings are being turned into a weird kind of foreplay. Hates how he can’t even blame Henry for it because this is what they do, every conversation somehow leading up to this. He can’t help but wonder if any of this has even been real, or if Henry simply puts up with him because of how sexually compatible they are. If Henry finds him annoying, too much, if he’s waiting for the opportunity for Jack or anyone else to take over Alex and supply him with endless sex minus the irritating personality.
He’s been quiet for too long, apparently, because Henry touches his shoulder carefully, his gaze back to the concern it showcased before. “Alex, darling, are you…?”
Alex nearly flinches at the term of endearment, but it’s enough to kick him out of his stupor. He turns toward him and forces out a laugh, placing a hand near Henry’s hip. “I’m fine. Besides, there’s nothing for me to be jealous about.”
Henry doesn’t seem convinced, if his expression is anything to go by. Alex closes the distance between them, pushing every thought to the deepest part of his mind, and presses a kiss to Henry’s jaw. “I bet he wouldn’t know how to fuck you.” He whispers close to Henry’s ear. “How deep you like it, how hard—”
He’s cut off with a fierce kiss, and for a moment Alex can pretend to actually forget about it.
It doesn’t work. It’s all he can think about, constantly. He thinks about it when Henry smiles at him from the other side of the bed once they make it back to his apartment, sated and on the verge of falling asleep. Is this casual? He thinks about it the morning after, when he wakes up with Henry already trailing down his body. Is this casual? When Henry says goodbye to him, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and a cup of coffee on his hands, the promise of seeing each other again the following night. Is this casual?
The thing is, it probably started as something casual. Convenient. They met at one of Pez’ infamous parties, back when Alex was still making his way through undergrad and enjoying his newly-discovered bisexuality. Turns out realizing he was bisexual opened a plethora of opportunities for him in terms of hooking up. Once he met Henry, their mutual attraction was undeniable, and with the end of the party approaching, they found themselves locked up in the bathroom, Henry falling to his knees like he was born to do so.
He doesn’t know when it started becoming something more, for him. Probably all the late-night chats about their lives, their families, their dreams and fears. Maybe the first time Alex called Henry after a particularly stressful Thanksgiving dinner, complaining about his parents and how they couldn’t pretend to get along for more than a couple of hours. Or the first time Henry opened up about his father, a melancholic look on his face as Alex caressed the back of his hand and encouraged him to keep talking. Perhaps it was the first time Alex met Bea over Facetime, how happy she looked, how she appeared to know a lot about him already. The first time Henry went over to the lake house, and they spent the entire weekend in a blissful daydream.
But it is casual, isn’t it? Despite years of a growing connection and mutual satisfaction, Henry has never offered to move in with him. He’s never introduced him to the rest of his family. There’s still days when he will completely ghost Alex and refuse to give an outright explanation afterwards. There’s still things he keeps close to his chest.
Alex is horrified to find out he never thought about doing the same. He was as careless with his own feelings as he’s always been, jumping in headfirst without a second thought. He made a place for Henry in his life without ever thinking about how he might fit into Henry’s.
The thing is, they don’t always have sex. Sometimes, Henry will stumble into his apartment looking rather exhausted after an entire day of work. Despite the amount of time they’ve been together—not together , but since they started hooking up—he’s never shared a lot about his writing. Alex knows about it mostly from Pez, who will go on about it for ages to whoever shows the smallest interest, voice dripping with pride every time.
It’s one of those days, and Alex pretends to feel normal about it as he cooks dinner for the both of them. Henry makes small talk, mostly asking him about his day and work. He realizes how much he’s shared with Henry when he’s able to identify each one of his coworkers by Alex’s poor impressions of them, a smile tugging at his lips as Alex narrates his day in extreme detail. In an attempt to retain some semblance of control, he deliberately keeps some information to himself, which Henry doesn’t seem to notice. He probably doesn’t care .
He tries to bring it up during dinner. “You know you never mentioned what your book is about. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re writing a book, I just assumed.”
Henry grows visibly stiff at the change of topic, before smiling politely. “It is, kind of. It’s, um, a queer history anthology.”
Alex blinks at that. “That’s cool.” He tries. “Would you ever let me read some of it?”
Henry stares back at him like the idea has never occurred to him, and it obviously hasn’t. “If that’s something you’d like.” He replies, calculated.
Alex would more than like it. Sometimes he feels a bit insane, like he would like to carve out Henry’s chest and start living inside permanently. It wasn’t a problem before, but the actual depth of his feelings is becoming increasingly concerning. He’s always been an all-or-nothing kind of guy, it’s almost laughable how he’s somehow found himself in this situation.
Henry’s face has turned an embarrassing shade of red, and fuck. Alex has been inside him more times than he can count and yet he’s blushing at the idea of Alex reading his book.
He tells him so, because the idea of shutting the fuck up has never occurred to Alex Claremont-Díaz, and Henry actually laughs at him. “You’re ridiculous.” He replies back, and some of the tension Alex has been feeling dissipates into the air.
It’s not until later, pressed against Henry’s back as they both try to fall asleep, that he realizes how somehow it’s always him forcing his way into the other man’s life. The idea never actually comes from Henry.
“You’re stressing me out.” Nora tells him matter of factly the next time they see each other, both of their empty food containers discarded somewhere on the floor. Alex is laying down on the comfortable rug, while Nora is laying down on the couch. “You’re thinking too loud. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” He tries, uselessly, before Nora gives him a withering look.
Alex sighs, defeated. “Fine. I overheard Henry say something the other night.”
“Was it bad? Did he give you the ick? I honestly thought you guys were past that—”
“He said that we’re just casual. He said, and I quote, "it's nothing serious.” Alex interrupts.
There’s an uncomfortable silence before Nora rearranges herself on the sofa, sitting up and staring back at him. “Are you sure that’s what you’ve heard? Because I’ve seen you two and you act more like a couple than me and June sometimes.”
It’s unsurprisingly not what Alex wants to hear at that moment. Something ugly blooms in his chest, making breathing an uncomfortable action. “I’m sure.”
Nora doesn’t look sympathetic, she looks downright confused. “Huh.”
“Gee, thanks.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm, all the building frustration making him wrongly target Nora. “I’m so glad I told you.”
“I just…” Nora starts. “I have a hard time picturing Henry saying something like that.” She’s wearing the same facial expression she uses when solving a difficult issue, as if she’s somehow missing pieces of information to make her calculations work.
“Yeah, well.” Alex sighs. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought.” He’s beginning to think he doesn’t, either. “Join the club.”
“Okay, why don’t you simply talk about it? If a serious relationship is something you’d want—”
“Ha, what are the odds of that going well?” He’s aiming for humor, but Nora’s reply comes immediately.
“Sixty two, give or take.”
Alex remains speechless for a second, before bolting from his position on the floor and staring back at his friend. “Sixty two? That’s like, barely fifty.”
Nora shrugs, raising her hands in an attempt to demonstrate lack of guilt. “Well, if you take into consideration how intense you can be, and Henry’s self-sacrificing tendencies—”
Alex probably walks out of the apartment with even more doubts as before, though he’s not sure he can blame that on Nora.
Alex had been learning the same thing about himself ever since he could remember. He remembers coming back from summer camp to find out his dad had moved out while he was gone, and hadn't even bothered to wait for him and say goodbye. He remembers the sinking feeling, the disappointment, the guilt that came with not being enough to make him stay. There’s memories of breakups, partners trying to let him down easy but essentially all boiling down to the same thing. The excuses had been varied, all eluding to Alex’s inability to settle down, the instability that came with dating him, how unpredictable his choices and interests could be. None of them had been brave enough to say it out loud, yet Alex had heard the message all the same: He was too much, yet impossibly never enough. Dealing with him was similar to dealing with a hurricane, no one ever wanted to be there to face the repercussions. Henry had never made him feel that way, like he was nothing but an inconvenience. He would always listen to Alex’s endless ramblings, would understand Alex’s erratic schedule and his unpredictable bursts of energy, he would always be there when Alex needed to unwind afterwards. He can’t help but wonder if any of it was real now, if Henry actually likes him and enjoys his company, or if dealing with him was an unfortunate side effect he had to go through in order to have someone warming his bed every night. He’s known Henry long enough to know he’s not frivolous like that, that sex isn’t the only thing between them—But what if it was? The thought is so heartbreaking it won’t leave him alone.
It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact moment Alex started craving for Henry’s presence in his life. The first few weeks after the initial hookup were filled with quick-witted and teasing texts exchanged back and forth, honesty seeping through the cracks in between the incessant flirting. All their pillow talk seemed to turn into hushed, truthful confessions about one thing or the other, none of them seemingly getting enough of each other. Alex remembers with clarity the first time he felt fondness towards Henry, such an encompassing feeling that had been difficult to ignore. They were only meeting for hookups by that point, still in the early stages of getting to know each other. Alex’s thoughts had been racing at a thousand miles per hour for no apparent reason, making it impossible to concentrate. He had tried, of course, putting all of himself into kissing Henry back with the same fervor and want, except it wasn’t working—Something Henry noticed. He’d expected to be asked politely to leave, perhaps an arrangement to see each other another time when Alex wasn’t being so difficult, but Henry had simply stared back at him with curiosity and asked him to share what was on his mind, if he was so inclined. Their hookup session turned into a late night talk, perhaps their first one ever since meeting each other. Alex had felt so grateful then, aware that someone else would’ve just thrown him out after not getting what they were promised. More than anything, he remembers the startling realization that Henry was special.
The first time he felt something more was during their second time at the lake house. It had been just them then, June, Nora and Pez having disappeared into the house after a particularly filling lunch, all mumbling something about needing a nap. Alex had dragged Henry back into the lake, relishing in the sunlight and the opportunity to be alone with him. The entire afternoon was spent swimming and soaking in the sun, exchanging wet kisses and feeling comfortable in each other’s company. Alex remembers staring at Henry and feeling overwhelmed with happiness, an inexplicable feeling growing in his chest. It felt like such affection that he could burst with it, something he had never experienced before with anyone else. They had gone back to their regular lives a couple of days after that moment, yet Alex was unable to shake the feeling after that.
Still, their entire dynamic was not always built under certainty and mirth. Alex recalls perfectly the first time Henry ghosted him, the feelings of doubt and anxiousness that he had carried around for days. They had been texting each other consistently for a few months then, and Alex had renounced all of his usual hookups for the sake of spending every possible minute with Henry. It honestly felt like they couldn’t get enough of each other at this point, and he understood why. The situation was still novel by that point, they had become acquainted with each other’s bodies enough to know what worked and what didn’t, but there were still new interesting possibilities to try. In simple terms, their sex life wasn’t becoming stale and repetitive with time, but growing exciting and enjoyable. Their texting hadn’t diminished either, though the amount of time spent talking to each other would be dictated by their undulating free time. Alex barely noticed when Henry stopped responding, assuming he’d gotten busy. By the next day, he’d decided his last text simply wasn’t answerable enough and sent another one. Anxiety had started to appear by the end of that day, but Alex tried to be rational. Maybe work had gotten busy, maybe there was a family emergency and Henry wasn’t thinking about using his phone. He tried sending another one, something emphatic and vulnerable, a reminder that he was available if Henry ever needed to talk. He finally got a reply three days after that, a total of five days of complete radio silence. He was expecting an explanation, but all he got was an invitation to Henry’s place, completely unrelated to any of his previous texts. Alex showed up regardless, a sinking feeling in his chest. Henry received him with a quick kiss on the lips, then apologized for having burnt his attempt at dinner. They ate pizza and chatted around the kitchen counter, seemingly nothing out of order. Alex kept hoping to bring the topic up, except Henry was a master at talking around the issue. He reluctantly gave up, assuming he wasn’t owed an explanation for everything. He chalked it up to a couple of bad days, a rare event. By the next time it happened, a couple of months after, Alex was able to deal with his own plunging emotions better than the time before. Eventually, he understood that Henry would sometimes disappear, and it wasn’t something they talked about. He could be chill about it, right?
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’s ghosted a couple of weeks after June’s party, but the timing does send Alex into a spiral that resembles the first time he ever dealt with Henry’s avoidance. He tries to put it out of his mind by overworking himself, but he ends up making too many stupid mistakes until he decides his plan isn’t working. He toys with the idea of going out, to put his mind out of it completely, except the thought of doing that without Henry knowing makes him uncomfortable. It shouldn’t, not after what Henry had said about them. They’re just casual, so technically if Alex goes out and finds someone to spend the night with it shouldn’t bother him. Whatever Henry might think about it, Alex feels nauseous at the mere idea of talking to someone with that intention in mind. He was so quick to abandon random hookups when things between them started going well, he can’t imagine ever going back to fucking strangers. He’s not sure he ever wants to. He’s even less sure it matters, not now that it’s clear his thing with Henry has an expiration date.
He is, predictably, not chill about it. Alex spends the following days completely losing his mind until Henry texts him again, by which point his dignity is at an all-time-low, and he accepts swiftly.
David is the first one to meet him at the door, wagging his tail and barking animatedly at him. Alex crouches down and spends at least three full minutes petting him, feeling some of his anxiety fade away in the process. Henry looks at them, a soft, private kind of smile tugging at his lips.
“I cooked something.” He announces, when he feels Alex has devoted enough attention to his dog.
Alex tries to act nonchalant as he rises to his feet, arching an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
Henry rolls his eyes at him. “Menace.”
The food is surprisingly edible, and Alex would even go as far as saying it’s good, but he is fond of Henry. He can tell the blond spent a lot of time and effort making it, and he can’t help but wonder if there’s an implied apology somewhere between the flavors.
“Henry.” He interrupts, suddenly, unable to keep it inside any longer.
Henry blinks confusedly after being interrupted, before tilting his head to the side. “Yes, love?”
The pet name only makes it worse, and Alex is incapable of changing the subject. “Why were you ignoring me?”
“Pardon?”
“Fuck, Hen, cut the shit. You always do this and then I always have to act like it’s not bothering me.” He starts, immediately regretting it as Henry’s features turn into a complicated mess. “And it doesn’t bother me, okay? I can wait for you, but just… Can we just talk about it? Please?”
Henry’s quiet for a long time, enough time that he starts panicking about the possibility of Henry asking him to leave. Or worse, of him simply going back to the conversation as if Alex hadn’t said anything in the first place. Thankfully, he does neither.
“I thought you knew.” He admits, quietly. “About my… About my condition.”
“I know about your medication, Henry, but that isn’t really an explanation for you ghosting me.”
Henry flinches at that word, but continues. “There are days when everything’s just… Too much for me to handle. I’m sorry it’s been bothering you, but I cannot ensure that it won’t happen again. I’m not able to control it, Alex.”
“It’s not—” He starts, before realizing his tone is too loud. He takes a deep breath. “It’s not bothering me, H. But you could tell me about it, I’m not… I would never judge you because of it.”
“I know.” His reply comes quietly, and Alex has no idea what that means. Silence engulfs them suddenly, and the discomfort is enough to get him to speak up again.
“Listen, I’m sorry I brought it up.” And he is, now that the atmosphere has grown heavy. He gets up from his place and walks around the counter, standing in front of Henry. “But you don’t have to hide this from me. I could be there for you, I could… Take David out for walks when you don’t feel like it. I could bring you those disgusting cookies you like.”
Henry snorts at that. Despite everything, he doesn’t push Alex away, instead leaning into his touch. “Jaffa cakes are cakes. It’s literally in the name, you ignorant American.”
Alex smiles at the insult, wide and proud. “You love it, baby.”
They both are hesitant to go back to the topic at hand, but mercifully, Henry is the one to pick it back up. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll… I’ll try to be more mindful of that next time.”
Alex isn’t thrilled by the response, but it’s progress. The thing is, he isn’t even sure what they’re making progress for. He used to think that, whatever they were doing, they were heading somewhere together. The sinking feeling in his chest indicates the opposite, only Alex is too tangled up in the webs of their affair to even think about a way to start detaching himself.
They predictably don’t talk about it, but Alex starts to withdraw little by little. It’s obvious he’s been putting too much of himself into their not-relationship, and it seems like the appropriate first step to attempt to improve the situation. The next time they meet, he makes sure it’s neutral ground for both of them. Henry doesn’t seem put off by the request or change of scenery. If anything, Alex nearly regrets the decision when they sit with their respective orders—black coffee and a spoonful of cinnamon for him, a cup of earl gray for Henry—and Henry looks devastating under the afternoon light, the sun setting over his features delicately, an ethereal image that will refuse to leave his mind for a few days. He’s sending a private smirk his way, muttering something under his breath, and Alex has half a mind to cancel all of his plans and ask him to walk back to his apartment in that exact instant, when he hears a familiar voice call out his name.
He hasn’t forgotten about his dad’s impromptu visit to New York, he’s completely aware they have plans to get brunch the following morning, and yet he’d failed to consider the infinitesimal possibility of running into him in such a hectic and overpopulated city. Oscar Díaz is waving at him from the entrance, standing next to an equally excited Rafael Luna. Henry recognizes them both and is quick to stand up, interchanging handshakes as Alex is embraced by both of them forcefully.
“Wasn’t expecting to run into you, mijos.” Oscar tells them, which Alex feels like might be an understatement. “Got any fun plans today?”
“We’re meeting with some friends later.” Henry replies, conveniently leaving out the fact that they’re all going clubbing.
Oscar and Rafael exchange a knowing look, before Alex’s dad places a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Well, we should probably get going, right?”
Raf nods, sending them both an apologetic look. “It was good seeing you both.”
Alex opens his mouth to say goodbye when his dad beats him to it. “Oh! Por cierto, Henry, I’m expecting to see you for our next lake house trip. You still owe me a rematch, remember?”
“Oh.” Henry says, obviously and painfully unaware there had been an invitation to begin with.
“We haven’t—“ Alex starts, hoping to get his dad to shut up. “We haven’t discussed it yet. Plus, Henry’s probably busy.”
The startled look in Henry’s face sends a wave of guilt-inducing nausea down his throat.
Rafael, miraculously, seems to understand exactly what is going on. “Oscar, we should get going or we’re gonna be late. Henry, it was good to see you, son. Alex—Give me a call.”
He’s met with a carefully blank look once he sits back down, blue eyes refusing to meet him. He waits for a few seconds, contemplating the idea of simply not talking about it, but the words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. “Listen, H, I’m sorry. I guess it just slipped my mind—“
Henry blinks and finally looks back at him, evidently having caught him in a lie. Alex is expecting him to get mad, to confront him about the whole deal, yet he doesn’t. He smiles in a calculated, counterfeit way, sometimes that leaves a bitter taste of disappointment in Alex’s mouth. “Nothing to apologize for.” He quickly dismisses him.
Alex knows he fucked up, but Henry’s lack of response turns the guilt and remorse into something uglier, seething irritation and resentment prickling at his skin. He doesn’t want Henry’s cautious detachment, his disinterest. Alex wants Henry to feel angry at him, betrayed, anything that indicates that this thing between them actually means something to him.
Alex doesn’t reply, and neither of them try to pick the conversation back up.
They exchange a few, necessary words on the way to the nightclub, yet it’s clear neither of them knows how to proceed. Henry has an almost wistful look on his face, but his lips are pinched in a way that betrays discomfort. The words seem to be stuck on Alex’s throat, and while the silence might not be noticeable on Henry’s part, the sound of his own voice is definitely missing between them.
June keeps sending worried looks his way, hoping to catch his eyes and find an answer. Nora has apparently ran the numbers correctly already, because she keeps looking at him as if she knows the weird atmosphere is somehow his fault. Pez pretends not to notice, but his attention is gifted exclusively to Henry, as if they’re communicating telepathically and no one else has access to the conversation.
Alex has been throwing back tequila shots since they made it inside, hoping the burn of the alcohol would make some of the ache less painful. He’s also been shamelessly flirting with the bartender in an attempt to get them free drinks, a tradition that appears not to be appreciated any longer.
“Alex, did something happen?” June asks him as soon as Henry disappears into the bathroom.
“You’re acting like an asshole.” Nora translates swiftly.
Alex doesn’t have an answer for them, but he dutifully trails behind Henry to attempt to salvage some of their night. He’s washing his hands when Alex interrupts. There’s too much he wants to say, not enough words in English or Spanish to communicate adequately. Henry sighs a little before facing him, apparently finding himself at a loss of words too, despite being the poet between the two of them.
“Alex—” he starts.
“Baby.” Alex diverts, anguished and apologetic and soft all at once. He’s disappointed to find that all the anger and resentment has somehow turned into something else, every surface feeling leading to the deepest, most genuine revelation. The fact that Alex isn’t angry at all, he’s simply sad. He loves Henry so much it’s hard to breathe sometimes, and he doesn’t know how to make Henry love him back.
Henry’s brow furrows almost imperceptibly, though he seems to understand the implicit request in Alex’s voice. He approaches carefully, allowing Alex to place his hands over his jaw, not realizing he’s holding his breath.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers into the space separating them, growing closer by the second. He’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for. Not inviting him to the lake house? Behaving like an asshole afterwards? Falling in love with him when this entire thing was meant to be nothing but casual? Whatever it is, Henry doesn’t acknowledge it. He simply nods, faintly, and allows himself to be kissed.
He doesn’t acknowledge it when Alex kisses him a bit too hard, fierce and unrelenting. He doesn’t complain when the grip on his hips is too tight, promising to leave bruises behind. He kisses back with the same fervor and passion, throwing his head back and allowing Alex to map a trail between his jaw and collarbones. For a moment, Alex can pretend like he’s the one in control, that Henry is completely at his mercy. That he’s the only one that knows how to crack him open with lingering touches and bruising kisses, that he’s the only one that knows how it feels when Henry goes plaint beneath his touch. Except he knows, deep down, that it’s the other way around. He’s the one growing restless with the need for more, his vicious hunger going beyond physical touch. He’s the one behaving like he can’t get enough of Henry, like he might explode from want any second now.
Henry, at the very least, looks more relaxed once they make it back. In fact, he looks properly ruined, his hair a tousled mess and his mouth visibly bitten raw, the marks on his neck proudly retelling the story of what had just happened between them.
Alex feels hollow, acutely aware that he’s beyond saving.
It’s becoming increasingly clear that, no matter how much Alex tries, there’s no escaping his feelings. Even worse, he’s not completely sure he wants to. Their arrangement has worked for the both of them so far, and even if he’s not getting what he wants out of it, the reality is closer to his fantasies than what he might end up with if he's honest with Henry about it. There might still be a wall between them, keeping them from belonging to each other entirely, but at least Alex is allowed to feel Henry’s warmth from a distance. It’s better to have a little of him than not have him at all. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.
Henry reluctantly accepts the late invitation to the lake house, after more than just a little begging on Alex’s part. Despite his previous realization, he feels like he owes it to him after the rollercoaster of emotions he put him through. The decision is for his own indulgence too, as there isn’t much that brings him as much pleasure as the sight of Henry sunbathing under the Texan sun, happy and carefree.
During the first few days of their trip, he tries desperately to fall back under the usual spell, giving himself to the illusion that usually comes with entire days spent wrapped around each other, exchanging laughter and lingering touches. It works, if only for a little while. There’s still times when he catches himself staring at Henry unabashedly, heart beating too fast, and it’s enough to sober him up for a few hours afterwards.
His dad asks to speak with him after a particularly fulfilling lunch, approaching him immediately after Henry gets taken away by an excited Nora, promising to teach him how to cannonball into the lake. Alex isn’t completely convinced that it won’t end in injury, but he trusts June’s judgment enough to let him go.
“ Mijo,” Oscar asks from around the kitchen counter as Alex fulfills his duty of filling the dishwasher. “Have a minute?”
“Yeah, what’s up?” Alex replies distractedly.
“About you and Henry.” His dad starts, which makes him stop dead in his tracks. “I couldn’t help but notice… Well, I honestly didn’t notice until Raf pointed it out, but I do hope you were able to figure out what happened. I mean, I’m assuming you did considering you’re both here.”
“Nothing happened.” He dismisses quickly, feeling only a bit betrayed by Rafael.
“You know you can talk to me about this stuff. You don’t have to lie to me.”
Alex sighs, unsure of what to say. He’s pretty sure he can’t simply tell his father what’s going on between them, not if he still wants his dad to respect them both afterwards. “I just… Sometimes it feels like this means more to me than it does to him. That’s all.”
Oscar gifts him with a pensive look. “I don’t know, mijo. I know love and what you both have… It’s pretty damn close.”
Alex doesn’t have it in himself to do anything but shrug.
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“No.” He doesn’t add that he’s scared to, but it seems as if he doesn’t need to. His dad is staring at him as if he’s see-through.
“I might not know a lot but I do know this, Alex. Sometimes you just jump and hope it’s not a cliff.”
Alex truly has nothing to say to that, and it turns out there’s no need for an answer. His father smiles sympathetically at him before disappearing into the backyard, following everyone else outside.
Later, he watches from the sidelines as Henry and Oscar play a rematch game of football—fútbol, as his dad would say—and tries not to cheer too loudly when Henry wins. They bathe under the unforgiving sun and they drink June’s margaritas and they exchange stories around the fire and Henry laughs until he cries into his shoulder and Alex’s heart aches, because it’s so close to getting what he wants, yet it’s nothing more than an ephemeral daydream.
Henry’s singing slowly along June’s guitar strings, broken Spanish falling from his mouth awkwardly and at the same time the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. His head is placed on Alex’s shoulder, needing the extra support after all the margaritas and tequila shots consumed throughout the day. “Love.” he whispers softly, hoping to catch his attention. June has gone back to playing a voiceless tune in the background. “I want to go inside.”
They’ve been hooking up long enough for Alex to know exactly what that means, and he’s unable to do anything but nod. He’d give Henry the world if he asked for it.
They sneak back into the house, aiming for quiet and discreet as they make their way through the hallways, muffled laughter and quick kisses being exchanged on the way. Figuring out the position is made difficult by the inconvenience of the bunk beds, but they find their way eventually, not with at least one unrelated bruise blooming along the way. Henry’s laughing into his shoulder as they get rid of their clothes and he’s barely visible under the moonlight coming from the window, yet he’s the most beautiful sight Alex has ever laid eyes on. He traces his cheekbones delicately, making a path from his nose to his mouth. Henry has a mischievous look in his eyes when he wraps his sinful lips around Alex’s fingers, and he almost loses it right then. I love you, he thinks despairingly. He engulfs them into another kiss before the words can spill from his mouth without permission. I love you, he thinks as Henry finally sinks into him, his sounds being the most beautiful melody Alex has ever heard. I love you, comes as condemnation as a breathless laugh indicates the impending conclusion of their night. I love you, he almost whispers as it’s his turn to fall over the edge.
He lays there afterwards, unable to move as Henry snores softly above him, the warmth of his body combating the sudden cold that has taken over Alex.
The realization comes suddenly, clearer than ever. He’s irreversibly, deliberately in love with Henry and there’s no coming back from it. His father’s words resonate in his head, except Alex jumped knowing it was a cliff, and now there’s nothing to do but wait for the fallout.
He lays there until the first rays of sunshine start filtering in through the window, until Henry moves above him and his eyelashes fan softly over his cheekbones, blue eyes staring at him fondly as a warm smile grows over his lips. “Morning.” he mutters, pressing a quick kiss on top of Alex’s shoulder. “What time is it?”
And Alex opens his mouth, saying the only thing that’s been on his mind on repeat since the previous night: “I can’t do this anymore.”
There’s a wave of confusion, shock and hurt before Henry is able to conceal it. His expression grows carefully blank before he’s untangling himself from Alex, moving around the room as he starts collecting the clothes that they discarded in a hurry only a few hours before.
“Henry?” Alex says, in utter disbelief. “You’re just not gonna say anything?”
That, at the very least, makes Henry stop in his tracks. He’s half dressed already, but even without a shirt on, his demeanor is frighteningly authoritative. “What would you have me say, Alexander?” His tone is quiet, yet he’s never sounded as harsh. “I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.”
Alex’s stomach drops at the confession, and he quickly scrambles off the bed, not caring that he’s only in his boxers. “You really don’t care, do you? All this time—” a ragged breath, before he’s burying his face between his hands. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
His last words are not dignified with a response. Henry doesn’t stop at collecting his clothes but goes straight to his suitcase, throwing discarded clothes inside with effective speed. His movements are violent, and his lips are pressed into a thin line. There haven't been many opportunities for him to see Henry truly angry, yet the look on his face is unmistakable.
“You’re leaving?” This is, to some degree, what Alex was hoping for after uttering the first confession, but he hadn’t realized it would hurt this much. This is the crash after the jump. If people knew it would hurt this bad, then no one would ever be careless enough to fall in love with someone who simply couldn’t love them back. “Was any of this even real to you, Henry? What the fuck have we been doing this whole time?”
“What,” Henry starts, eerily still. “What about my behavior ever indicated that any of this wasn’t real to me, Alex? When have I ever acted like I don’t care about you?”
A million examples rush to his head at all once, enough to make him spit out a humorless laugh. One of them, however, stands up from the rest. He feels like all of this—their fights, misunderstandings, shortcomings—can be traced back to the same fateful moment. “You fucking—You told that guy. Do you remember? You told him that we were just casual. That it was nothing serious.” He throws the words out like they’re painful, meant to make him suffer. Deep down, he knows that wasn’t their intention. He knows he was pointing out the truth, which is the most agonizing realization of all: Alex was the one that got himself too involved in something that was never meant to last.
Henry looks at a loss for words, his suitcase completely discarded now. “Alex, you can’t possibly… That was bloody ages ago!”
He stays quiet, the silence in the room haunting.
“Is that why you’re ending this? Because you think I’m gonna fuck some man I haven’t seen since?”
“It wasn’t just that, Henry.” He feels defensive now, aware that he’s somehow not making his point across. That, or he’s purposely being misconstrued. “You’ve never introduced me to your family, you fucking ghost me for days and never even think about giving me an explanation, you never talk about your book, or the things you’re proud of for that matter. You’re constantly keeping me at arm’s length. And you know what? I don’t think you even care enough to realize it.” He takes a stuttering breath before noticing belatedly that the wetness on his cheeks is coming from his own tears. He wipes at them quickly, furiously, not wanting to give out anymore of himself.
“I hadn’t realized you were counting.” Henry tells him, a stillness in his voice which is staggering. “And I apologize, but not everyone has the privilege of growing in a healthy, loving family. Not everyone has the privilege of being unabashedly themselves. Perhaps I had to keep some things to myself to avoid—Avoid this.” It’s the first time in the conversation where Henry’s voice actually breaks, his features betraying something more than simple vexation.
“That’s exactly the problem!” Alex shouts back. “You’ve been holding out on me when I’ve been giving you all of myself from the start.”
Henry swallows, avoiding eye contact for a few seconds as he collects himself. “Well, I am sorry our relationship has been such torture for you, Alexander. I do wish you'd told me sooner.”
Now, that actually makes him laugh. “No, don't do that, you obtuse fucking asshole. It wasn’t torture because—Because I love you! And I’m sorry, but I do. I’m tired of not knowing where we stand. I want you, Henry, I really do. But not like this. Not anymore.” He imagined the confession would feel like having a weight lifted off his shoulders, but it doesn’t. There’s still the same dooming feeling constricting his chest. Like this has all gone wrong, and it’s all his fault.
“You what?”
“I love you! I’m in love with you. Te quiero, te amo . Fuck!” It’s like the dam has been broken and now he can’t stop digging deeper in a grave of his own making. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Henry hides his face in between his hands momentarily, the sound of a wet sob bouncing off the walls, and Alex is surprised to see tears once he faces him again. “Is that what this is about? The reason you’ve been acting differently?”
Alex is helpless to do anything but nod, refusing to feel ashamed of his feelings. Henry might not feel the same, yet regret is not in the picture.
“You could’ve told me. I’ve been torturing myself thinking about what I did wrong, why you were distancing yourself. I’ve been driving myself mad, Alex.” His tone sounds accusatory, but there’s some relief in his words that sparks hope. “I thought it was my fault, and I didn’t know how to fix it.” The admissions sounds so full of sorrow that Alex’s heart skips a beat.
“Does that mean—?” His breath hitches, overwhelmed with anticipation.
“Yes.” Henry breathes out. “Alex, I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you. I just never thought that you’d… That you’d want me back like that.”
They both have to stop for a second, holding their breaths as the weight of their shared confession fills the environment.
Alex is the first one to move, scrambling over to hold Henry’s face, his tears slowly making their way down his cheeks. “ Fuck. I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry about all of this.”
Henry buries his face in the space between his neck and shoulder, vibrating with silent laughter and unshed sobs. “I love you too. I’m sorry I ever made you feel… Christ. I feel like a complete idiot.”
Alex finds himself laughing and blinking away the tears that refuse to stop coming, though now the reason behind them is pure relief. “I guess we’ve both been acting like idiots, huh?”
They stay like this for a little longer, swaying as they both come to terms with their new reality and deal with the repercussions of their previous fight. Alex can feel a headache coming in after the yelling and the crying, but he couldn’t care less now. The weight of their future suddenly doesn’t feel as daunting now that they’re aware of being on the same page, it feels exciting and thrilling.
Then, “Do you think your family heard that?”
“Oh, definitely.”
It doesn’t even matter once they emerge from the room and June refuses to look them in the eye, or when his dad gives him a knowing look before placing two breakfast plates in front of them, or when Nora reminds them they’re both idiots while grinning like crazy. None of it matters when he gets to face everyone else with Henry’s hand wrapped tightly around his own.
He’s been wrapped around Henry during the entire evening, unable to untangle himself from his stupidly hot boyfriend for more than a couple of minutes at a time. Henry doesn’t seem to mind either, his arm a comforting weight around his shoulders. He’s currently talking to one of June’s friends, someone from a prestigious publishing house. Alex is aware that it’s an important conversation and that’s the only reason he doesn’t attempt to convince his boyfriend to sneak to the bathroom with him for a little while, but instead contents himself with admiring Henry’s face as he speaks. He probably looks a bit dumbstruck, the same way he usually does when Henry is around. Nora has told him it’s embarrassing to watch, yet Alex fought bravely for the right to stare unabashedly at him without feeling self-conscious or guilty, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t seize the opportunity to stare.
He realizes belatedly that the woman has asked him a question, if her expectant stare is anything to go by. Alex opens his mouth to apologize and ask her to repeat herself when Henry beats him to it. “Oh, this is Alex Claremont-Díaz, my boyfriend.”
“Yeah.” Alex agrees, incapable of hiding his smile. “I am.”