Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is stupid, Henry thinks for the tenth time this minute. His heart rate is at a dangerous level, he hasn’t been able to concentrate the entire day, and, most importantly, he isn’t even sure whether he truly wants to go through with this. So, as previously established, this is stupid. Even though it’s spring and the sun is casting a warm light on the street, Henry pushes his hands in his coat. It’s become something of a comfort move for him. Something he can give his fidgeting fingers to do. 

He keeps walking down the boulevard, accelerating his pace with every step he makes, genuinely afraid he might turn around and go back to the safe comfort of his home if he doesn’t. Again, the same three words run through his head. This is stupid. This is stupid. Henry casts his eyes to the floor, his chin now buried in his light grey coat. Momentarily, he is distracted by the disgust at the dirty street he’s walking on. Then, after he stumbles and nearly runs into someone, he looks forward again, blushing. 

At this point, knowing there’s only two corners to turn left, Henry can literally hear his heart thumping loudly, replacing the idyllic chirping of birds that was there before. Henry barely suppresses a sigh. Sunny, inviting days like these are rare to find in rainy London, but he is wasting it by obsessing over something that’s probably not even worth obsessing over. Internally, Henry curses himself for being an overthinker. 

“It’ll be a great experience, Hen, you should do it,” Bea said when Henry told her about it. It was the thing that ultimately got him into this predicament. Pez was the one who suggested it in the first place, unsurprisingly. He always did his best to push Henry out of his comfort zone, which he appreciates—mostly. Sometimes, Pez needs to be stopped in his missions, no matter how well he means. That’s why Henry’s immediate reaction had been “no bloody way” when Pez had asked him, but, as previously established, Bea then managed to change his mind in a moment of weakness. 

But then, too deep in his thoughts, Henry turns another corner, almost instinctively at this point because of how often he’s been here, and suddenly, there’s no going back anymore. The sun was already shining, yes, but it’s nothing to the beaming glow of joy radiating off of the guy standing a few metres away from Henry. He’s talking to a customer, throwing his head back in a genuine, broad laugh showing his white teeth. There are untamed brown curls falling chaotically over his forehead and into his long, beautiful eyelashes. Okay, admittedly Henry is too far away to actually see the eyelashes, but his brain is quick to provide the image he has so often admired.

Softly, he draws in a few breaths, pushing the air out energetically, hoping to somehow calm himself down. As suspected, it doesn’t work. Tentatively, checking the road too many times for potential cars that might be driving there, Henry walks over to the cute flower shop at the corner of the street. Blood rises palpably in his cheeks. It used to annoy him in the beginning, but it happened every time he came here, so at some point, Henry just accepted his incapability of approaching the cute guy without blushing.

The head with brown curls turns, and now there’s the warm, chocolate-brown eyes staring directly at Henry. The mouth with those pink, perfect lips tilts up into a genuine smile. 

“Henry, my most loyal customer! What an honour!” The guy approaches Henry, cleaning his hands on his dark green apron, before reaching one out to Henry, casually greeting him. 

He’s now close enough that Henry can read the name tag he always wears with “Alex Claremont-Díaz” written in elegantly curved letters. Alex’ easy smile and his soft voice make Henry want to stop this whole thing, turn around and crawl back into bed. But then, Alex asks, “What brings you here today?”  And Henry is incapable of coming up with a good excuse to mutter a “nothing” and just leave again, so, inevitably, he has to stick to the truth.

“Oh,” he says, blushing even harder, “actually, I’ve got a date. I thought I’d pick up some flowers.” Alex’ face brightens up even more. “Dude, that’s awesome! Who’s the lucky girl?” 

Henry, caught off guard by someone actually assuming he could be anything but gay, coughs a little. “In fact, it’s not so much a lucky girl as a lucky guy. Or, well, a guy. If he thinks he’s lucky he has yet to decide, I suppose.” 

Alex is still grinning. “I love that. Men totally deserve flowers, too! It’s great you’re doing this.” Contemplating, he looks at Henry, before he adds, thoughtful, “My last boyfriend never got me any.” 

Henry realises two things in quick succession. First of all, Alex has had a boyfriend before. As in a man. Until now, Henry had been under the assumption that he was hopelessly pining over a straight guy, which Alex, however, doesn’t seem to be, after all. 

Secondly, “last” boyfriend could mean one of two things. Either, they’re broken up now and Alex is single, or, which is far more likely, he has a new boyfriend now. 

With an inexplicable surge of confidence, and, one could argue, stupidity, Henry blurts out, “Oh, but your current one does, hopefully?” Internally, he cringes at the words coming out of his mouth. Alex, however, doesn’t seem to mind.

He chuckles, and says, “No boyfriend to give me flowers at the moment. But I’m sure there’s someone for me like you. There do seem to be good guys, after all.” Then something happens that sends Henry’s brain into malfunction. Alex bloody winks. Incapable of quite literally any reaction, Henry just stands there, staring at Alex, who must take this as his cue to leave and prepare the bouquet of flowers. Henry curses himself for letting the opportunity slip to talk to Alex. Being as delusional as he is, Henry thinks—just for a second—that it could’ve led to something. Maybe, just maybe, if they had kept talking, he would’ve gotten up the courage to ask Alex out on the date instead. In the second after, Henry releases a disbelieving huff, rolling his eyes. They could probably have talked for hours and Henry would still not have managed to get out a request like this. Disappointment, heavy as a stone, settles in his stomach. Even if Henry had asked, what are the chances Alex would even have said yes?

Someone who is the literal personification of the sun must be asked out all the time. So why would he choose Henry? Exactly, he wouldn’t. Still, it doesn’t manage to erase the sting of guilt in his stomach, no matter how ridiculous it is. A few minutes later, Alex steps out of the shop, holding a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers and daisies in his hand. “Here you go,” he says, wearing a lopsided smile Henry adores so much. 

“Thank you,” Henry murmurs, unable to look him in the eyes. He pays quickly and then strides off, deliberately taking a detour to the café where he’s supposed to meet Pez’ friend. Again, he looks at the flowers. Between the yellow and white, there’s something…pink. Carefully, as to not ruin the bouquet, he pulls it out, only to see a sticky note folded up between the flowers. When Henry opens it, he sees a tiny note written there hastily. 

Good luck on your date. I hope you have an amazing time x, A. 

Before he can stop it, Henry feels a clump forming in his throat. How can someone he hardly ever talks to, a mere distant acquaintance, make him feel like that? Why does it physically hurt to have Alex wish him ‘good luck’ on a date? Energetically, Henry shakes his head, looking at the note once more. This has to stop. He moves to crumple up the paper, but ultimately can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he settles for carefully folding it, letting his fingers linger for longer than necessary, before slipping it into his coat pocket. He promises himself to never tell Pez about keeping this note.

Symbolically, the sun is obscured by clouds the minute he makes it to the café. It’s almost hysterical, isn’t it, the way it seems to resemble his inner state. There’s a guy standing in front of the doors leading inside. He’s a broad-shouldered, tall figure, even taller than Henry, in fact. He’s black, with a buzzcut, and white teeth glistening as he flashes a smile at Henry. Actually, he looks kind of similar to Pez. 

“Hi Henry, glad we could make this work,” the guy says, and Henry has no doubt that his words are genuine. “Hi, Jack,” Henry answers, forcing himself to smile in response. Tentatively, he reaches out, urging Jack to take the flowers. A soft smile spreads across his date’s lips. “This is so nice. Thank you, Henry.” Henry only nods in response.

They enter the café, a cute, local place with ecstatic decoration and floral paintings all over the ceiling. The smell of coffee immediately calms Henry down, even though he doesn’t actually like coffee. The tables are of a light wood, with a vase filled with flowers on top of it. Henry hates himself for the sting of pain that fills his stomach at the sight. 

Jack is quite the gentleman. He pulls Henry’s chair back for him, asks him what he’d like to drink and goes to the counter to order it without even giving Henry the chance to offer to pay. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck, is funny, and occasionally winks at Henry in a flirtatious way, but never coming on too strong. 

A half hour in, one could argue that it is a perfect date. And still, sometimes, as hard as he tries, Henry sees Alex sitting in front of him, his brain painting the image he has pictured in such great detail a disturbing amount of times. 

“So, Henry,” Jack’s soothingly dark voice eventually asks. “Pez told me there was somewhat of a delicate reason for you to agree to this date? You totally don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I felt it would be nice for the both of us to talk about why we’re ultimately doing this.”

Henry literally feels the blood rush to his head, blushing his cheeks. While Jack is the perfect gentleman, from Henry’s part, the date hasn’t been going well. He’s barely talked or even looked at the guy since they got here, and Jack’s just been nice enough to not say anything. Maybe getting the truth out will help. They can laugh about Henry being a hopeless romantic and then flirt a little more. Maybe even share a kiss. 

Uncomfortably, Henry shifts, staring at his Earl Grey. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “For the past year, I’ve regularly come across someone who works at a flower shop close to my flat. I thought he was cute. I never got up the courage to ask him out, though. So Pez ultimately convinced me that I was in love with this idea that I’d made up in my head of how things could go with him. It’s stupid, really. I barely know him. He’s not British, but I don’t even know where he’s from or why he moved to London.” 

Henry starts regretting the choice to tell Jack about this whole situation. It makes him seem like a thirteen-year old that’s too afraid to talk to their crush. Unexpectedly, he feels Jack lay a hand on his in a soothing gesture. “I understand that,” he answers. “You’re a…shy person. And I don’t mean that in a negative way, truly, but my ex-boyfriend was like you. When we got together, he told me that he’d been wanting to ask me out for two years at that point. But if I had never made the first step, nothing would ever have happened between us.” He pauses. “It’s not embarrassing to not have the strength to ask someone out. It doesn’t come naturally to everyone like it does to Pez, for example.”

Henry chuckles, finally meeting Jack’s eyes. “Thank you. That’s really nice of you. If you don’t mind me asking, your phrasing earlier implied that it took some convincing to get you to agree as well? Why was that?”

An undeniable rush of sadness crosses Jack’s face. “I proposed to my boyfriend, the one I referred to earlier, actually. His response was not only ‘no’. In fact, his answer was literally ‘I’m seeing someone else’. So if you ever think the worst answer is ‘no’, remember that it isn’t.” A humourless laugh escapes Jack’s lips. “So Pez told me that I needed to get over him and face the fact that he wasn’t coming back to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Henry whispers, incapable of coming up with anything remotely more helpful to add to this situation. “Nobody deserves to be treated that way.”

“I know,” Jack answers sadly. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less. I guess it’s similar in a way to the situation with you and that guy. Of course you know nothing’s going to happen between the two of you, at least not if things continue the way they are now. That doesn’t make it easier to let go, though.”

Something settles in Henry’s stomach besides just the pain. Relief. His feelings are valid. Even though Pez and Bea have never directly scolded him for his pining after Alex, he’s never felt like they truly acknowledged his feelings as being rational. “Thank you,” Henry mutters quietly. 

“When did you break up with your ex-boyfriend?” Henry asks, desperate to change the topic. 

“Five months and three days ago,” Jack answers immediately. Then, a second later, he adds, “But who’s counting.” While Henry has been doing his best to convince himself that this date was his wish, there’s no doubt that it definitely wasn’t Jack’s. Not that he’d ever force it out of him, but he’s certainly not over his ex. Which is completely understandable, of course, just not an ideal premise for a date.

“The breakup helped me, though, in a way,” Jack adds. “I realised how unhappy I was with my life, partially due to my career. Back then, I was working at a bank, in some minor position. My ex-boyfriend urged me to take the job, because it was good money and helped us to move into a flat we liked. It was fine, but nothing more. I never felt any true passion for it, you know?”

“Passion’s important in a job,” Henry agrees. “What do you do now?”

“I’ve gone back to university, actually. I’m pursuing a bachelor’s degree for programming now, and it’s really fun. It’s weird, of course, being with so many younger students, but I’ll be finished in no time. And there’s so many jobs in the programming area, so I have no doubt that I’ll find something immediately after I finish.”

“That sounds great,” Henry answers genuinely. “It might take a few more years until you actually make the money you made at the bank, but what good does money do if you detest your job.”

Jack smiles softly. “Definitely. What do you do, anyway? Pez mentioned you’re a writer, but that’s a large field.”

Henry nods. “Yes, I’m a writer. I’m mostly writing novels, but I’ve been experimenting with some queer poetry. It’s just drafts at the moment, but we’ll see where it goes. I’m planning on showing some to my publisher soon.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, lowly whistling through his teeth. “That’s…impressive. I tried writing once and it was a complete disaster.”

Now it’s Henry’s turn to be surprised. “Really? You tried writing? What brought that on?”

Jack, who just took a sip of his coffee, chokes on it, coughing inelegantly. “Well,” he eventually says once he’s caught his breath. “My ex-boyfriend was a writer. I tried it towards the end of our relationship. I felt him slipping away and thought that sharing more hobbies might help bring us closer.”

Henry can’t help but look away in discomfort. The date, which initially was actually going kind of well, is now starting to become somewhat of a minefield. No matter which subject they tackle, there’s always some sort of past trauma that surfaces. Below those overt feelings, however, there’s another, more unfamiliar one. Anger. Henry loves Pez, no questions asked. But in what universe did he actually think Jack and him would be a good match? 

Henry never assumed that this date would suddenly enable him to fully let go of Alex, but he did expect that it might make him feel more confident about starting to date again. As of right now, this whole event is doing the complete opposite. Henry finds himself wishing this were a dream he could just wake up from. Immediately after this thought crosses his mind, he feels guilty. Jack, as opposed to Henry, has been suffering with trying to survive the end of an actual relationship, while Henry is drowning in self-pity with getting over a guy whom he never even had the courage to ask out. 

At this point, Henry already knows that there isn’t going to be a second date. But the least he can do is make sure that Jack has a good date. It’s his problem that he can’t get over Alex, and it doesn’t have to be Jack’s, too. 

“Having the same hobbies in a relationship is important, yes, but it can only enhance what is already there. It can’t create feelings where there are none anymore. Also, he should’ve made the same effort. It should never be up to just one party in the relationship to try and save it,” Henry eventually answers. 

“I didn’t know that at the time,” Jack answers. “I wish I did, though. It would’ve saved me from months of feeling him slip away and not knowing what to do about it. And thinking it was my fault, of course.” 

A wave of sympathy rushes over Henry. “You know this was not your responsibility, right? If he doesn’t have feelings for you anymore, he has to break up with you and not wait for you to do so just because he’s a coward.” Henry pauses briefly. “I don’t know you that well, Jack, but what I can tell you is that you seem like a genuinely nice person who’d never do any harm to anyone. If he didn’t treat you accordingly, he didn’t deserve you. And as much as it might not seem like that at the moment, there will be someone that treats you right and will make you realise that not being with your ex anymore is the best that could’ve ever happened to you.”

Jack’s lips split into a genuine, beautiful smile. “This means a lot,” he whispers. Henry’s heart hurts at seeing him like that. Despite seeming so confident earlier, Jack appears so fragile now. He needs someone that can love him unconditionally and show him what a truly extraordinary person he is. As much as Henry detests himself for it, he can’t be that person at the moment. All just because of some stupid crush he can’t get rid of. It’s so pathetic that it makes Henry want to crawl out of his skin, lay down and die.

They run out of topics shortly after. With both of them having been so honest about their most vulnerable feelings, neither seems to be too keen on stretching this out for longer than absolutely necessary. Still the gentleman that he is, Jack helps Henry put on his coat and holds the door open for him on their way out. Quietly, they walk next to each other until they reach the next crossroad. 

“Henry, can I ask you something? I have no right to demand this of you, but if possible, I’d like for you to be as you can.” Nervously, Henry glances up at his date. “Of course,” he answers, feeling like he can’t say anything else without being disrespectful.

Softly, Jack touches his shoulder, stopping Henry in his walk and forcing him to look at him. “I’d like to preface this by saying that no matter what you say, it’s fine and I will not judge or scold you for it. Do you actually want to be here? Or are you just here because Pez asked you twenty times and you didn’t feel like you could say ‘no’ anymore?”

This moment, Henry is sure, will make this date go down as the worst in history. In hundred years people will still be talking about this purely abysmal event. Luckily, though, there’s quite literally nothing Henry could even ruin at that point anymore, so he might as well be up front about it. Henry sighs. “Yes, you’re right. Partially, at least. I didn’t agree to this because I felt like I owed Pez something. He always respects my wishes. It’s more so that I slowly had to come to terms with the fact that Pez and Bea, my sister, were right. It was becoming downright obsessive how much I pined after Alex, knowing all too well that he probably has never spend one second thinking about me.”

Henry pauses, drawing in a shaky breath. “This date was my attempt to get over the idea of Alex. To think about someone else for a change. But now that it happened…no, I can’t say that I wanted to be here. Not because of you, of course. Please know that none of this is in any way related to you. Unfortunately, however, I have to accept that I am not ready for dating at the moment. I would like to say, though, that talking to you today helped me immensely. For the foreseeable future, I’ll do my best to get over my feelings and focus on myself for a bit. Whatever, or whoever, else wants to join my life will have to wait.”

Jack smiles, understanding. “Yes, I get that. I suppose it was similar for me in a way. I thought that maybe going on a date would help me get over my ex.”

“But I just kept reminding you of him, didn’t I?” Henry asks. 

Jack nods sadly. “Yes. So I guess we can say that this was more of a therapy session for both of us than an actual date.” Henry chuckles in response. “That sounds about right.”

“Thank you for the flowers, though,” Jack answers, his eyes glistening. “That really made my day.” Henry smiles, surging forward to pull his date into a brief, but firm hug. “Goodbye, Jack. Thank you for today.” 

“I had a nice time,” Jack answers. Both turn around, walking in opposite directions. This is rather symbolic, Henry thinks. The way home is a downward spiral of self-pity. With each step he feels another weight put onto him, like the world relishes in seeing him suffer. Thoughts overwhelm him, clouding any rational thought. 

For a long time, he’s always disagreed when either Bea or Pez had carefully brought up the question of whether Henry might be too attached to this figment of imagination in which he actually has a chance with Alex. To some extent, of course, he’d always known they were right. But he let himself become swept up in the idea of it. He let himself have this one thing to indulge in. Now, however, the previously blurry lines of what’s ‘too much’ and what’s still acceptable become clearer. This has to stop. If he does have a chance with Alex, it will happen, but if it never does, he can’t afford to wait around. For the longest time, Henry hasn’t gotten up the courage to ask him out, and it’s gotten to a point where he has to admit to himself that he never will. 

It’s been coming a long time. However, now that he’s ultimately reached the low point, it hurts. More than he expected. How can something you never had pain you so deeply? He decidedly does not cry.

When he arrives home he curls up in his bed, his beagle David immediately lying down next to him. The slow breathing and the soft, warm fur pulls Henry out of the spiral of self-pity a little and makes him fall asleep, the evening sun—miraculously still shining—covering his face in rosé gold. 

No matter at what time Henry goes to bed, he always wakes up seven and a half hours later if he doesn’t set an alarm. This is how he finds himself waking up at two thirty in the morning. Unsure of what to do at such an ungodly hour, Henry spends the following half hour on his phone, stupidly looking at instagram posts of which he can’t remember a single one after. In a surge of disgust at himself for wasting his time, he throws his phone across the room, where it falls onto the carpet with a dull thud.

On the upside, Henry now doesn’t spend his time scrolling on his phone anymore. On the downside, however, he is now forced to confront himself with the reality of his miserable life again. This is dramatic, even for my standards, Henry thinks. In a sudden rush of anger, he pushes himself off of the bed. If the reality is too hard for him to deal with, his coping mechanism is writing, which is probably one of the main reasons he got into writing in the first place. During the time his dad died, he wasn’t able to talk about his feelings like his therapist urged him to. Instead, he poured his darkest secrets and deepest desires into fictional texts. In some way, it hasn’t changed since then.

Henry spends the following hours writing, the bright screen of the display forming an orb of light around him in the otherwise dark living room. If time passes, he doesn’t know. The joints in his fingers eventually start aching, but he’s learned to tune the pain out and—as usual—focus on the writing instead. The drafts he has been bringing to paper these past weeks are starting to actually become something. Up until recently, he’s focussed on novels. Novels are quite easy once you get the hang of it, and when you have a way with words, the readers will devour everything you write.

Poems, on the other hand, are a little more delicate. They require insinuations, innuendo and carefully constructed metaphors, but never blatant enough to overwhelm the reader. But Henry has never been one to turn down a challenge. A few times during his writing, he stops and goes back to read his most recent poems. The thing is, he can’t tell whether they’re good or not. Deciding that will be on his publisher. His publisher, who’s been texting him in increasingly short intervals, urging him to show him what he’s been working on. 

Henry stands up slowly, flinching at the feeling of his legs that have spent too long in the same position and now hurt. He grabs his phone from the other room and opens the chat with his publisher.

Henry: Good morning, Shaan. I’ve been working on quite a few drafts and they’re now ready to be read by you. I will send you an email. Greetings, Henry.

For a few minutes, Henry stares at the screen, until he realises that Shaan most likely won’t answer him at five thirty in the morning. Unsure of what to do, but too agitated to sit down again, Henry wanders through his flat, drinking multiple cups of tea and petting David, who—in response to his dad—has become equally agitated. Henry makes it until seven before he absolutely has to leave the house. The sun, more specifically the tiny spot of brightness within the clouds, has risen already, and seven is not an unusual time to go out. 

David is unusually active, running around from one side of the pavement to the other. Henry repeatedly has to apologise to other people running or walking their dogs, because David almost crashes into them. Henry tries to force himself to calm down, hoping it will calm down the beagle, too. Luckily, it works—mostly, at least. David is still somewhat agitated, but at least they can manage to not run into someone every few metres. 

The beagle’s pull on the leash grows stronger, urging Henry to follow him. When Henry lifts his glance, wanting to see where David is leading him to, he stops immediately, his face heating up in embarrassment. For the past months, he’s always, whenever possible, taken a detour to walk past the flower shop. Today, however, marks the first day of Henry going there without even intending to do so. Trying to turn around and walk away, he forces his body to move, but it’s too late. 

“Hi, Henry,” an elated voice chirps from a few metres away. There’s Alex, beautiful as ever, waving his hand at him. For a second, Henry forgets to hold tightly onto the leash, which David evidently takes as a cue to march forward, right into the loving arms of Alex Claremont-Díaz, who immediately bends down to pet the beagle on his head.

Alex’ brown curls are more chaotic today, and there’s bags under his eyes. Huh. Henry wonders what it’s about, but can’t bring up the courage to ask without risking to be too forward. They don’t know each other after all, he reminds himself. 

“What can I do for you today?” Alex eventually asks when he’s done cuddling David. There’s laughter lines forming around his eyes when he smiles. 

Henry can feel heat rising to his cheeks as he is suddenly reminded of the fact that he had absolutely no reason to come here other than his obsession with Alex. Naturally, telling the truth is not an option. As he tries to come up with a reason, he realises another thing. There truly aren’t many reasons as to why one would come to a flower shop apart from the obvious one—buying flowers. 

Cringing at himself, Henry stammers, “Uhm, I was going to get another…bouquet of flowers. The one you made yesterday was so lovely.”

Alex’ smile becomes somewhat of a suggestive smirk. “So I take it the date went well, then?”

Briefly, Henry is confused. “I’m sorry? Ah, right, the…date. Actually, no it did not go well at all. I’m afraid these flowers are for me. Since I now don’t have anyone to get them for me anymore, I thought I’d just buy some myself.” Henry smiles softly, unsure of what Alex will make of this response. 

Those beautiful lip split into a smile, mirroring Henry. “That’s so cool,” Alex answers. “Everybody deserves flowers. Wait out here, alright? I’ll make you something.” Henry only manages to nod, his heart fluttering in his chest.

David stands next to his dad, looking up at him with big brown eyes that are disturbingly similar to Alex’. “Yes, boy, I know I’m being stupid,” Henry murmurs, more to himself than the dog.

Symbolically, the sun tentatively breaks its way through the clouds when Alex, holding a large bouquet of flowers, returns. It’s held mostly in purple, interrupted by some white tulips, and Henry’s heart melts. “Here you go,” Alex says, flashing a devastating grin at Henry, who automatically smiles back just as brightly. 

“Thank you,” Henry answers, desperately searching his mind for something—anything—he could say to prolong this conversation. He’s unsuccessful, because of course he is. For somebody who literally earns his money with words, he’s pretty bad at coming up with them in a conversation. The tiny window in which he could’ve initiated a conversation vanishes when other customers arrive, taking up Alex’s attention. 

Slowly, Henry leaves, the sinking feeling in his stomach barely compensated by the beautiful flowers he’s holding in his hands. David seems to have left his agitation behind, as he now trots next to Henry, always touching his leg ever so slightly. It’s not until he arrives home that Henry sees the tiny flash of pink between the flowers, just like the last time. Again, it’s a note. 

This time, it says 

Sorry the date didn’t work out. That guy doesn’t know what he’s missing. His loss!

A, x. 

A warm ball of light forms inside Henry, practically beaming out of him like a ray of sunshine. Carefully, as if it might spontaneously combust in his hands if he doesn’t watch out, Henry lays the note down onto his kitchen counter, only for him to look at. 

Henry walks over to his couch, the amount of feelings in this day, even though it’s not even noon, already overwhelming him. Maybe he stares at the flowers for a good half hour. And again, he’s overwhelmed with a wave of hatred for himself. It’s happened so often lately that it’s become so predictable it’s almost boring. Each time he reaches a low point, it seems to be worse than the time before. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to find anything, really, that he doesn’t hate about himself. 

A perfect Henry would’ve gotten up the courage to ask Alex out. And if not, a perfect Henry would’ve gone on the date with Jack and enjoyed it. Maybe even taken him home. A perfect Henry wouldn’t sit on the couch, anxiously awaiting his publisher’s response to his drafts, fearing that they’re utter rubbish. A perfect Henry wouldn’t be alone. He’d be able to spend time with himself without immediately questioning his entire being and pondering over his place in the vast areas of the world. He’d have more than just the one friend that’s always there for him. Oh, how he wishes to be that person. Desiring to take someone else’s place is perfectly natural. It happens to everybody. Realising, however, how far you have become alienated from the person you could’ve been and would’ve wanted to be is the most painful thing a person can experience. Henry’s sure of this. 

He doesn’t notice he’s crying until David jumps up on the couch, pushing up against Henry’s body in order to comfort him. It breaks Henry even more, eliciting soft whimpers he can’t seem to be able to hold back. It’ll get better soon, he knows this. It always does. But right now, it feels like the night itself is pushing Henry down, tying up his hands and capturing him in its dark embrace. 

Trying to find a distraction, Henry turns on Bake Off, letting the TV run in the background without actually listening. Quietly he stares into the distance until the screen turns blurry. Eventually, he drifts off into a restless sleep. 

Chapter Text

Henry’s publisher Shaan sends him a few annotations a couple of days later. Henry spends minutes staring at the text, unable to figure out any emotions regarding whether Shaan liked the drafts or not in them. Ultimately, he decides to settle for trying to apply as many of the annotations as possible and spends hour after hour working on the poems. On the upside, this gives him less time to question his entire life. 

Also, he receives a text from his sister Bea, which lightens his mood. 

Bea: Hi Hen, I’ll be in town next week on Monday. Let’s meet up? X, Bea

Henry smiles softly. Ever since she’s been touring with her band in the US, he hasn’t seen much of her. The time difference and her exhaustion from the constant travelling and giving concerts is taking a toll on their relationship for sure. And with Henry working from home, anyway, he’ll be able to spend the entire day with her. Maybe he’ll even manage to convince her to stay the night. With Bea, there’s no telling whether she only intends to stay in London for a couple of hours or suddenly decides to spend the week. Henry has stopped trying to force it out of her years ago and settled for accepting Bea’s spontaneous moods. 

The prospect of meeting up with Bea, even if it’s still a couple of days, throws Henry in an unexpectedly good mood, and he’s better than he has been in a long time. He takes David on a long walk, patiently letting him smell every new exciting thing that he discovers. When he arrives back home, he makes some tea, humming quietly. Together with a cup of hot Earl Grey, he sits back down on his couch to look at the poetry drafts again. 

Unsure of what to do now, he chews his lower lip while tapping his fingers on a cushion. Shaan had many remarks on what Henry could improve, but some of them are too vague for him to figure out, and some others implicitly tell him to rewrite the entire poem. Nervousness rises within him, as he is once again hit with the realisation that he can’t read any emotion off of Shaan’s annotations. This might be normal for other publishers and their authors, but Henry works from home a lot, meaning that he and Shaan barely get the chance to meet. Hence, both of them always put their best effort in conveying their genuine feelings via email, as neither of them know when there will be a chance for them to do so in person. 

Too distracted by his thoughts, Henry picks up the hot tea and takes a sip, immediately burning his tongue. He curses, to which David startles, running away from the couch. “Davey, come back,” Henry says, exasperated. David does not come back, but rolls up next to the radiator. Henry sighs, and pulls out his phone. He’s not getting any work done like this, he realises. 

You: Shaan, I’d love it if we could meet some time next week to go over my poetry drafts. I truly appreciate you taking the time to give me feedback, and there’s some things I’d like to discuss in person, if possible. Do let me know if this would work for you. I’m free the next week, so whenever’s fine with you works for me, too. 

Still unsure of what to do next, Henry scrolls through Instagram, trying to push down the anxiety of awaiting Shaan’s response. 

Despite waiting, Henry startles as the notification sound from his phone chimes. “Christ,” he mutters under his breath. As expected, it’s Shaan requesting a meeting on the upcoming Wednesday, so two days after Bea’s arrival in London. Henry spends the rest of the day looking at Shaan’s annotations over and over again, trying to figure out what he means by them. 

Does “lack of coherence” imply that his poem doesn’t make sense? Does “you’re drowning the poem in metaphors. Sometimes less is more, Henry” mean that he’s trying too hard to achieve something he can’t reach? The more he thinks about it, the more Henry is annoyed with how much he cares about this. Surely, receiving a publisher’s response is always something that impacts you deeply, but this time it’s different. He’s much more vulnerable than usual. 

Expressing his feelings properly has never come easy to Henry, and writing ultimately was the closest he could get to conveying his emotions. The poems, however, do more than this. In novels, he always maintains a healthy distance from the book, and tries not to draw too many parallels between its characters and himself. But in the poems, he doesn’t have to hold himself back. He can pour his entire heart into so little words, and wrap them up in metaphors so that nobody apart from himself can grasp their entire meaning. 

So really, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to him that this project is much more meaningful to him than any of the others have ever been for him. Eventually, Henry forces himself to abandon the poems and do something else. Pez isn’t in town at the moment, and Henry painfully realises that he doesn’t really have friends apart from him. Pez drags him to the many social events that he attends, but without him, Henry is just…alone. He doesn’t even mind most times, really. Meeting up with other people and socialising takes so much out of Henry that what it gives him back in return usually isn’t even worth it. But with Pez being gone for three weeks, the loneliness is starting to take a toll on him. 

David jumps up on the couch, again, as he does so often at the moment, curling up in his lap in an attempt to comfort him. Honestly, at this point the beagle is somewhat of a therapy dog. Henry closes his eyes briefly. Eventually, he gets up, grabs a book from the shelf and starts reading, hour after hour passing without him even noticing. 

The days until Monday drag slowly, as Henry has forced himself to stop working on the poems and he can’t wait to finally see Bea. When the day finally comes, Henry wakes up to a photo of his sister smiling at the camera in her phone. ETA 10hrs, the text reads. She’s somewhere in Oklahoma right now, maybe already on her way to Miami where she’ll catch her connecting flight to London. 10 hours. Henry can do that, he thinks. 

The usual chores of the day, like cooking, cleaning, taking David out for a walk, which usually seem to take so much time are somehow accomplished quickly today. This is how Henry finds himself staring at the clock on his bedroom wall, realising that he still has a good three hours left until Bea arrives in Heathrow. Well, this has to stop. He can’t spend the entire day just sitting inside his room. On the other side of his lawn, there’s a couple of old people living, and as nice as they truly are, they certainly are nosy, too. Henry has caught them staring into his living room more than once. And when he just sits around all day, they’ll notice, and Henry can’t have that. 

Due to lack of ideas, he grabs David’s leash and leaves his flat in order to head for his favourite destination—the flower shop. With how often he’s been here lately, it should become boring, exasperating even, seeing Alex just standing there, but somehow, it still makes Henry’s heart flutter. Annoyed at himself, he tells his feelings to stop acting out, hoping it will become true if he just says it often enough. 

A tentative smile on his lips, he walks towards the personification of sun standing across the street. Their conversation is as superficial as usual, and Henry has given up on the attempt of initiating a deeper-going conversation with Alex. He’s already standing at the counter, pulling out his phone to pay, when a text from Bea pops up. 

A soft “Oh,” escapes his mouth. “What is it?” Alex asks, his brown eyes warm on Henry with nothing but genuine interest. 

“It’s uhm…It’s my sister. I got the flowers for her, but evidently her flight is delayed. She was supposed to get on a connecting flight, but there seem to be some serious issues at the airport.” Henry can’t help the obvious disappointment in his voice. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Alex answers. “You were probably looking forward to seeing her?”.

“Yes, we hardly see each other these days. She was on tour in the US these past months, and she’s only coming into town for a couple of days,” Henry says, hardly able to look Alex in the eyes. His hands cling onto his phone more tightly than necessary. 

Alex clears his throat. There’s something in his eyes Henry has never seen before, but he can’t quite make out what it is. “Look, Henry, you can totally say no if you’re not into it, but I’m almost done with my shift and a friend of mine cancelled on me last minute, too, so would you like to hang out? I think both of us could use the distraction.”

Henry just stares at Alex for a couple of seconds. Obviously, he must be dreaming, because there is no way that Alex would actually ask Henry to hang out with him. But no matter how long he waits, he doesn’t wake up. When Alex raises his brow, demanding an answer, Henry is torn out of the train of thoughts overwhelming him. 

“Yes, yes, I’d love to, of course,” he babbles, probably far too enthusiastically. Alex, however, only responds with a lopsided smile, his eyes sparkling. 

“Perfect. Let me just finish up, then, and then we can go.”  Henry can’t manage an answer, still awestruck by this turn of events. He only nods and walks over to a small table in the corner of the flower shop. It’s one of the things he adores about this place. Next to the beautiful flowers is a small café, run by the owner Zahra, which always displays a small number of homemade cakes as ^well as an assortment of tea and coffee. Admittedly, Henry has never actually sat down in the café, as his social anxiety had always gotten the best of him, but the mere presence of something so domestic had helped him feel more comfortable in here. 

It probably only takes a couple of minutes until Alex returns to pick him up, but with Henry’s anxiety sparking more than it ever has before, it feels like an eternity. Nervously, his fingers tap onto the table in front of him, pretending as though he were playing a piano with his right hand only, simultaneously humming the melody he’s pretending to play. 

“Woah, you a musician or something?” Alex suddenly asks behind him, and Henry literally jumps off of his seat. Still flustered, he opens his mouth, desperately attempting to stammer out an explanation, but nothing comes out. Immediately, Alex’ lopsided smirk disappears. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Henry finally manages to choke out. “Of course. My apologies, I sometimes tend to become overly focussed on one thing and tend to tune out my surroundings.”

And there again is Alex’ lopsided smirk. “Amazing,” he beams. “Let’s get going, then!”

As they leave, Alex walks down the street away from the direction of Henry’s flat. David, apparently, can, similar to his owner, barely contain his excitement for this meeting, because he runs behind Alex as fast as his little paws can carry him. 

“Where are we going?” Henry asks. From Alex’ determination it’s clear to tell that he knows where he wants to go. “Well, I’m hungry,” Alex answers, the familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “So I would like to get some pizza. It’s such a nice day out, so I thought we could walk down the Thames for a bit, and then sit down somewhere and watch the sun set?”

The sun isn’t setting for another two hours, and hearing Alex be so sure that they’re going to be together for so long does something funny to Henry’s heart. A soft smile on his lips, he nods. Suddenly, he realises that this is the perfect opportunity for him. He doesn’t know a single thing about Alex, but now he has—at least— two hours to ask him literally anything. Somehow, though, he’s having a much harder time coming up with questions than he’d thought. Why is it so difficult to ask somebody that you don’t know something? Shouldn’t it be easier than talking to a person you know everything about? 

Due to lack of a better question, he blurts out the most obvious thing that comes to mind, “So where are you from? If you don’t mind me saying, but you don’t have quite a British accent.”

Being who he is, Alex doesn’t mind weird questions. Or weirdly phrased questions. “Well, no, I haven’t really managed to pick it up yet. It’s hard enough for me to do a proper US American accent. I’m from Texas, actually. So when I talk to my family I have the most Southern drawl you can imagine.”

Henry turns around to Alex, his forehead in a surprised frown. “Oh, can’t say I’ve heard that on you before.” Alex chuckles. “I’ve done my best to get rid of it. Too many negative biases, y’know.” He shrugs, but suddenly looks to the floor, contemplating. 

Immediately, Henry feels uneasy. He hadn’t realised this question would open up a topic that Alex is so visibly uncomfortable with. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“What, are you kidding?” Alex asks, suddenly smiling again as though nothing had happened. “I love talking to you. Don’t apologise.” Henry can’t help the little stutter his heart does at Alex’s words. 

“But tell me a little about yourself,” Alex urges. “What do you do?”

Oh. Difficult question. Henry didn’t like telling people about his job. They usually asked too many questions after, asking for whether he maybe had written something they knew or what story he was currently working on. Sometimes, he wished for a job that didn’t trigger any follow-up questions. Like a banker. He reminds himself that he isn’t doing smalltalk with Alex. He wants this to go somewhere, so not even answering the most basic of all questions would probably not bode too well for this. 

“Uhm, I’m a writer,” Henry answers, his cheeks unhelpfully turning red. “Mostly novels. I’ve been giving poetry a try lately, but my publisher hasn’t given me any feedback on them yet, so I don’t really know yet if that’s something I’ll be pursuing in the future.”

“No way!” Alex exclaims excitedly. “What’s your last name? I’ll totally google you tonight. And there’s no getting out of this,” he adds, as he sees Henry opening his mouth in protest. And because Henry always goes a little mushy inside when he talks to Alex, he can’t really deny him this, can he?

“Fox,” he answers. “Well, for sake of accuracy, my full name is Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, but I just publish under Fox.” His tone changed on the last sentence. He could never properly hide his disdain for parts of his family when he talked about them. Miraculously, Alex seemed to pick up on that, because he didn’t ask any further questions. When Henry turned to look at him though, there was a shimmer of curiosity in those dark brown eyes. 

The evening light paints the dark green leaves of the trees into a soft rosé gold, already hinting at what they’ll look like in only a couple of months. Apart from their conversation, it’s quiet in this area. It had been one of the main reasons why Henry had decided to move here. The Thames gurgles softly next to them, only occasionally interrupted by the quacking of a duck. The broad footpath leads to a narrow, almost unnoticeable one now. Willows hang over the sandy road, secluding it from any outside spectators. Henry can’t help but think to himself how much this feels like a date. 

Alex is even more beautiful in the sunset. The glow seems to make him shine, as though he were an angel descended from heaven. Quietly, they eat the pizza they got, just enjoying each other’s company. There’s a calm breeze coming over the river, making Alex’s curls fly all over his face. It’s the cutest thing ever. 

“I’m sorry your sister didn’t make it today,” Alex suddenly says, his eyes earnest. 

“It’s okay,” Henry answers, meaning it. “This is…” he breaks off before he can say better. “Really nice as well,” he says instead. Alex beams at him. “I’m always free for your disposal,” he answers, still smiling brightly. 

And suddenly, Henry has had enough. Enough of waiting for a perfect opportunity that will never come to present itself. Enough of making himself smaller out of fear that others will be annoyed by him. Alex made the first step—okay, probably more the first five steps—and Henry will make the second. If Alex blows him off, then he can at least say that he tried. “Do you think,” he clears his throat, “You’d want to do this…again?”

Alex leans closer to Henry, ever so slightly. “Obviously,” he answers. “I love spending time with you.” “I love spending time with you, too,” Henry whispers as a response. It’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it, to be talking like this to a person you’ve only truly spent time with once. However, Henry doesn’t feel like he’s lying. He really did enjoy the time with Alex, almost as if he’d known him for ages already. 

Alex walks Henry back home. For the past four minutes, Alex has been rambling on about why the British accent is really hot—which decidedly doesn’t do something to Henry—and Henry must admit that he stopped listening a minute ago. Frankly, he just forgot. Alex is impossibly beautiful, his cheeks red from the cold, waving his hands around wildly, as if he was discussing the world’s most pressing matter. Up to this point, Henry didn’t even know one could have this many opinions on an accent. In all of that, he must have forgotten to actually listen. It doesn’t matter, though. 

Alex has a habit of jumping from one topic to another without any evident reason, so only when Henry has gotten caught up again with the accents, they’ve suddenly arrived at the best Mexican restaurants in London. Henry loves it. It gives him more opportunity to look at Alex. 

Eventually, they arrive at Henry’s flat. “Anyway,” he says awkwardly, “this is me.” Alex suddenly jolts a little and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “Almost forgot! I don’t have your number!” Henry is startled, and can’t help the way his pulse increases suddenly. Somehow though, he manages to take the phone and type his number into Alex’s phone. 

“I’ll text you! See you soon,” Alex says, smiling lopsidedly, and then he’s gone.

Bea arrives in town the morning after. Ultimately, due to the delay of the plane, they get exactly one day together. It’s not what Henry would’ve wanted, but he’ll take every moment that he can get with Bea in her busy life. Also, he enjoys the change. He is generally content in his life, it’s just…there’s rarely anything exciting happening. Bea, however, tells stories from hotel bars, restaurants, shows, or drama within the staff. She gets this adorable, passionate look that makes Henry know she chose right in pursuing a career as a singer. 

But oh, how he misses her when she’s gone. Bea barely has the time to properly update him before she has to leave again. And every single time it hurts to have to hug her goodbye, not knowing when they’ll see each other again. The ray of sunshine beaming through dark clouds that had appeared when Bea was there is gone faster than he can blink. 

On the way to his car, clutching emotional-support-company David’s leash tightly in his hand, Henry receives a text. It’s from Shaan.

Shaan: Henry, got the time to read the poems. We should talk about them in person. See you Thursday, 10 am.

Finally. The message is held rather short and vague, leaving Henry with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

He’d been skeptical as to what Shaan might think of his poems for a couple of days already, because it usually never takes him this long to reply. This text, though, proved the last of Henry’s suspicions. While never extremely elated via text, Shaan will usually add something like “looking forward to talking to you” or “Enjoyed reading them”. Henry hates the way his fingers tremble as he pushes the phone back into his pocket. 

He doesn’t even really know how he gets home. Trees seem to be flying outside of the car window, blurring into a river of green and brown. Soon, it starts raining. It always rains in England. Henry is sick of it. The few metres between his car and the door to his room suddenly feel like an insurmountable distance. The gravel on the pavement looks like a dark, stormy river, waiting to engulf him and never let him go. 

Henry isn’t stupid. He knows what’s happening. He just hates that it’s happening as a reaction to the rejection from Shaan he hasn’t even received yet. If he’s already feeling like this now, how bad will it get when Shaan actually tells him that his poems aren’t good?

The dark cloud looming over Henry like a bad omen doesn’t go away for the next days. For hours on an end, he will sit in front of his laptop, trying to improve the poems he’s written so far, but every hit to the keyboard feels painful. He’s falling, the velocity increasing with every minute that Shaan’s arrival nears, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

Eventually, he gives up. He can’t make Shaan like the poems. He’ll just have to keep believing in himself, even when his publisher doesn’t. 

On Thursday, precisely at 10 am, Shaan arrives. His holds himself tall, his shoulders drawn backwards, confidently striding to Henry’s door. It’s the perfect contrast to Henry, who’s nervously crumpling his cardigan with his sweaty hands, unsure of what to do. As always, Shaan greets him with a firm handshake and a quick smile. Usually, that smile would at least make some of Henry’s nervousness go away, but not today. 

A couple of minutes later, both of them are sat down at the table, a mug of steaming tea in front of them. 

“I read all of your poems, Henry,” Shaan says, his tone not giving any insight as to what else he’s going to say. Henry only nods, his hands still nervously tracing the patterns on his cardigan. 

“They do have many good elements in them. I know most, if not all of them, carry a high emotional value for you, more than any novel would. However, they simply are not ready yet.” Shaan looks at Henry sympathetically, his brows drawn to a frown. 

“You’ve been talking a lot about potentially starting with poems, but this is not something you can tackle like you would with a novel. Currently, this is not distinct enough from your novel style. If you were to release this, critics would tear it to shreds.” A short break. “I’m not saying that this is something that’s not on the table for you. Just…”

“Not yet,” Henry interrupts, flinching at the bitterness in his own words.

Shaan sighs. “Yes, not yet. I will get you contact information on people who are a bit more experienced in poem-writing than you are. Talk to them. Have them look over your poems. Unfortunately, just because something comes from the very depth of your heart, doesn’t necessarily mean that other people will love it like you do.” 

Henry only has it in himself to nod. “I have faith in you, Henry,” Shaan says, his voice warm, which it rarely ever is. Something in Henry’s stomach clenches. He doesn’t want to be pitied, no matter how well Shaan means. 

“It’s okay. Thanks, Shaan,” he answers, looking anywhere but at his publisher’s face. Before he knows what he’s doing, Henry feels his legs act on their own accord, standing up and thus clearly signalling Shaan that their meeting is over. When he closes the front door behind Shaan, the door knob feels as icy as his inside. 

The next few hours pass without any pattern. He burns his tongue on tea that’s too hot, and stares at an undefined point, unblinking, until his eyes water. Distantly, there’s the muffled sound of Bake Off playing, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. 

God, he’s just so tired. Without really knowing what he’s doing, he heaves himself off of the sofa, and trods over to his bed in the next room. He closes the blinds, blocking out the tentative rays of sunshine peeking through the gloomy English clouds. It feels as though a magnet was drawing him to the bed, keeping him down on the mattress and not allowing him to get up. But why would he get up, anyway. There’s nothing to get up for. 

Henry must’ve fallen asleep, because when he wakes up, his face is full of fur. David will sometimes come up onto the bed, cuddling close to his dad. Usually, it never fails to make Henry smile. Today, though, it does. He wants to stroke David’s fur, let him know he’s doing okay, but he can’t. Next to him, the beagle’s belly deflates as he lets out a loud sigh. 

You and me both, buddy, Henry only thinks. Then, he falls asleep again. 

When he wakes up, he’s disoriented. David is just jumping off of the bed, leaving little footprints imprinted on the mattress. Henry blinks a couple of times, wondering why David left. Suddenly, something vibrates against his upper thigh, and Henry flinches. It’s his phone. 

Maybe it’s Shaan? Henry thinks, far too hopeful. He pulls out his phone, suddenly having regained a bit of his strength. Miraculously, the message makes him forget all of Shaan within a mere second. 

Alex: hi, haven’t heard frm u in a couple of days. was just wondering if ur ok?

Alex: i know i couldve texted sooner. was super busy. i did think abt u a lot tho!!

Again and again, Henry’s eyes run over the texts, his heart doing something silly in his chest every single time. He didn’t even notice his hands were trembling until he lifts his fingers to respond. 

Henry: Hello, Alex. Thank you for asking. These past couple of days have been a bit rough for me, too. But I will be okay.

Even though he didn’t believe it possible, his heart beats even faster after sending the text. Did he let on too much? The last thing he wants is to ruin the remote possibility of being Alex friend—yes, he tells himself that’s all he wants—by being too needy too soon. His thumb hovers over the message for a few more heartbeats, and just as he moves to delete it, three grey dots appear on the bottom. Well, too late now. 

Luckily, though, Alex doesn’t seem to be a person that second-guesses his texts, so at least Henry won’t have to wait long for a response. Or so he thought. The three little dots appear, and disappear again, as if they were playing hide-and-seek. To distract himself, Henry starts looking around in the room, but with the blinds closed he can’t make out anything other than the slit in the door he left for David. 

When his phone starts ringing, he scares so much that he literally throws it on the wall beside his bed. For a couple of seconds, he just lays there, chest heaving, while the phone keeps ringing. It takes a couple of more seconds until he realises that he should probably get that, and hectically stumbles out of bed, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. 

“Hello?” He asks when he picks up. Even though he knew who it was when he took the call, he still startles when he hears Alex’s voice through the speaker. 

“Hi, Henry, sorry for calling you,” Alex says, chuckling nervously. “It’s just… I was wondering if you’d might want to talk about what’s troubling you. Or if you just need a distraction.”

“Oh, Alex, that…” Henry’s voice fails him. For someone who earns his money with words, he remembers surprisingly little of them when he’s around Alex. He, however, seems to mistake Henry’s silence as him not wanting to speak to Alex. 

“Sorry, it was a stupid idea. You probably want to be alone for a bit. Well, I guess I’ll—” he rambles.

“No, absolutely not,” Henry hastily interrupts him. “I do want company. I’m very happy that you called.” There’s a pleased oh on the line. 

“Well, in that case, do you want to talk about what happened? Or do you want to talk about something completely banal?”

Henry contemplates. He’s not a very talk-about-my-feelings kind of person. Well, he used to be, until he realised that talking about it usually resulted in people not taking his feelings seriously. But is Alex really that kind of person? No way. “I’d like to talk about it for a bit, if that’s alright,” Henry mumbles quietly. There’s an confirming hum at the other end of the line. Henry starts talking. His eyes are directed to the dark floor, his hands are playing with a loose thread on his sweatpants. Nobody is even here, and still Henry tries to make himself smaller. 

“I’m a writer. I’ve mostly written queer novels so far, often romance ones. In these past months I’ve been trying to write a couple of poems as well. It started off as more of an experiment, just to see if I’d like it. I got way more invested than I’d intended. My publisher talked to me today… and, um, he was not impressed. Which makes sense, I guess. I have zero practice. He didn’t say I could never do it, but he said I wasn’t ready yet. And I hadn’t been doing well these past days anyway, and this just… it kind of sent me into a dark place.” Henry had started off hesitant, but now once he began to talk, the words started bursting out of him like water out of a broken dam. 

“It’s not my publisher’s fault that I’m doing so badly. That’s just me, I’m afraid.” Henry’s throat feels tight, forcing him to stop talking before something unforgivable happens, like him starting to cry.

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Oh, Henry, I get that so much,” Alex says. “You’re ambitious, and pour your heart into everything that you do. And whatever you do, you want to succeed, because you put so much feeling into it.” 

Henry sinks back into his bed, instinctively curling up into a tiny ball. 

“And you know what? That is very admirable. So many go through life fearing rejection that they stick to whatever is comfortable for them. They never take risks. By writing poems, you took a risk, Henry. And sometimes, it doesn’t turn out to be quite the success that we were hoping for. That doesn’t mean we should stop trying, though.

“As you said, your publisher didn’t say that this is never in the cards for you. It’s just not yet. Take a few days or weeks, however long it takes for you to be fine with this. Then, you’ll get back on your feet and do whatever you can to improve.” Alex pauses. The silence stretches for so long that Henry almost opens his mouth to say something, but then Alex speaks again. 

“I know we don’t know each other that well yet—“ Henry’s hearts jumps a little on the yet “—but you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You do your absolute best to accomplish everything you set your mind to. Unfortunately, reaching for the stars sometimes means falling. But that doesn’t mean you can’t get back up there.”

Henry is still lying on the bed. On the outside, nothing has changed from before the phone call, but somehow, Alex’s words had the power to change him from the inside. He isn’t curled up in a ball anymore, but relaxed. The room doesn’t feel threatening anymore, but illuminated with hope from the little slit in the door. Henry can finally breathe. 

“Thank you, Alex,” he whispers. He hates how generic, how bland the words sound when he doesn’t think he’s ever meant them more in his entire life. Desperately, he looks for other words to express what he’s feeling. “I know I can do it. On some days, unfortunately, it takes me longer to remember that than on others. You… helped me get there faster, today. So thank you, Alex, truly.”

“Of course. I’m always here when you need me,” Alex answers, sounding so sincere it makes Henry smile involuntarily. They go on to talk about irrelevant, mundane things. Alex tells Henry about a documentary on walruses, leaving him with more knowledge of said animal than he ever thought he’d have in his entire life. Henry tells Alex about David, and he can’t help but notice the warmth filling his body when he notices Alex’s genuine interest in the pet. 

When the two hang up, it leaves Henry more at ease than he’s been at for days. 

Chapter Text

In the morning, there’s a text from Alex. 

Alex: look on ur front porch x

Sleep still clinging to him, Henry shuffles out of bed, thus accidentally throwing David, who lets out an offended bark, to the floor. Quickly, Henry picks David up, soothingly petting him, and shuffles to the door. When he opens up, he almost drops his dog for the second time this morning. Carefully, he lets David down, simultaneously reaching for the beautiful bouquet of flowers with his other hand. They’re purple dahlias, white and pink lilies, topped with a few daisies. Henry’s heart sits in his throat. 

He’s just about to take the flowers inside when he notices a small pink note, same as those that he had found the first two times he’d bought a bouquet from Alex. With trembling fingers he tries to pull it out, but it takes him three times until he actually manages. 

By now, he recognises Alex’s handwriting. 

“It isn't what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.” — Jane Austen

Henry, never forget that you are doing great things. Every single day. I’m proud of you. 

—A

The paper in Henry’s hand turns blurry, and he has to blink a few times to make the tears go away. He’s still in pyjamas, the morning wind breezing around him. He should be cold, but instead he feels warmer than he ever has before. Overly careful, he picks up the flowers, places them in a vase and sends Alex a picture. 

Henry: This is the best gift I’ve received in a long time. I appreciate it. 

The response comes immediately. 

Alex: of course. hope ur feeling better. can i come over tomorrow?

Henry’s heart literally stops for a second. Alex just asked him if he could come over? He has no idea where this is coming from, but there’s no way he’ll let that opportunity pass. Hastily, he types out a response, letting Alex know that he can come by at around twelve. Immediately after, he grabs David’s leash. He’s in desperate need of a walk to distract himself.

Somehow, Henry manages to pass the time until the next day arrives. It’s currently a quarter to twelve, and he is staring at his shirtless torso in the mirror. He’s holding a white polo in front of his body, then an elegant baby blue shirt, trying to compare the two. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can almost hear Pez’s voice saying: The blue brings out your eyes! So Henry puts on the blue shirt. Alex is officially coming in thirteen minutes, and Henry is decidedly not freaking out. Okay, maybe a little bit. David, too, feeling his dad’s uneasiness, has become restless and has been walking around the flat for the entire morning. 

“This has to stop,” Henry murmurs to himself. He runs his fingers through his hair a couple of times more than necessary to make every strand of hair fall just the way he wants it to. Ten minutes left until Alex arrives. 

Then suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Hastily, almost tripping, Henry runs to the door. When he opens it, he’s met with the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. Somehow, him standing here in front of Henry’s flat, makes him even more gorgeous than he’s ever been before. His mouth is in the lopsided smirk Henry adores so much. His curls are a bit more styled than they usually are, so they don’t fall over his forehead so much. Alex is wearing a white button down shirt with navy stripes, which has two buttons more undone on the top than it probably should. Not that Henry’s complaining. A slim silver necklace becomes visible in the v-line. 

“Sorry I’m early,” Alex says, the smirk wavering a bit. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Henry answers, grinning broadly. “I’m happy you’re here.” Alex’s lips quirk up, mirroring Henry’s. Then, he pulls out his right hand that he’d been holding behind his back, offering three red roses to Henry. Red roses. Henry only stares at them like a deer caught in headlights, unable to form any coherent thoughts.

“These are for you,” Alex supplies helpfully. This throws Henry out of his shock, and he reaches forward, taking the flowers. Just like the last times, there’s a small pink note hidden inside of the flowers, and Henry’s heart skips a beat as he sees it. With trembling fingers, he carefully pulls it out, so slowly as if it would break if he didn’t. 

The note has the familiar crooked handwriting on it. 

Dear Henry,

You deserve the world. I’m not good with words like you are, so I’ll just come out and say it: would you do me the absolute honour of going on a date with me?

Yours, Alex.

Henry doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the note when he finally looks up to meet. Judging from the quite obvious fear in Alex’s eyes it must have been a long time. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s making a meal of his lower lip. Somehow, it warms Henry’s heart to see that while he’s been an absolute nervous wreck prior to Alex coming here, he apparently was the same. If not more nervous. 

“Uhm, look, you don’t—“ Alex starts, but Henry interrupts him, crashing into him to wrap him in a tight hug. 

“Yes,” he answers hoarsely, freeing Alex from his suffering. “I would love nothing more than to go on a date with you.” 

Alex starts smiling broadly, his adorable dimples appearing around his lips. He holds out his right hand, looking at Henry questioningly. Instinctively, Henry reaches out to grab it, staring at their intertwined fingers in awe. 

“I want to take you somewhere,” Alex says. “Why don’t you go get David and then we can leave?” 

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to include David in our plans. You really didn’t have to,” Henry answers, pleasantly surprised. Okay, so caring for his dog is the way to his heart. Sue him. 

Alex winks, and Henry blushes. “No, but I wanted to.”

Two hours later the three are sat down in Kyoto Garden, watching the flowers from a park bench. David sits next to them, staring at them wistfully with his large brown eyes. This is the best date Henry has ever been on and ever will be, he’s sure of that. For the past hours, Alex had led them through the garden, stopping at his favourite flowers and telling Henry about where they grow, how you care for them, and what they most commonly symbolise. Alex’s eyes start sparkling when he talks about flowers, and even though Henry had never really cared for them before he met Alex, he wants to know everything about them now. 

They’re hands are still intertwined. Ever since they’ve left the house, they’ve only let go of each other twice—both times very reluctantly. Every so often, Alex’s thumb absentmindedly brushes over Henry’s hand, making him blush.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what made you come to England? You seem to love Texas so much, so there must’ve been something that urged you to come here, I assume?” Henry asks. He truthfully had wanted to ask Alex that since they first went for a walk after he came to the flower shop, but he had suspected there was a longer story behind this and didn’t want to offend Alex by coming on too strongly. 

Alex nods slowly, his eyes wandering to a point in the far distance. His thumb has stopped brushing Henry’s hand. “Right. This is a longer story. Many decisions were met that I…not regret, but, well, might meet differently today. Or had I just taken more time and not acted as impulsively. Before I came here, I was studying law at UT. I’d had every intention of finishing the degree, and becoming a lawyer or later a politician, like my parents.”

He sighs heavily. “But then my parents sat me down one day, and told me that they were getting a divorce. My dad left that same night.” Alex turns to look at Henry, his brown eyes sad. His forehead is in a frown. Henry would give everything to be able to make whatever worries Alex disappear.

“I idolised them, y’know? They never fought in front of me and my sister June, or maybe they did and I just pretended to not see it. Either way, it was a shock for me. I was hurt, and didn’t know how to handle the situation. So I decided to just…not. I wanted to be as far away from my parents as possible. To be as different from them as possible. Only two days after, I dropped out of UT. I came to London without a job or a spot at a university, and only a visitor visa. I was going to come back after taking a break, but then, as you know, I found the job at Zahra’s flower shop.”

“How did your parents react?” Henry asks.

Alex scoffs. “Well, they weren’t happy. But if divorced parents have one advantage, it’s that they feel responsible for everything bad happening in your life, so there was no way that they weren’t going to support me in how I was getting over what they did to me. I’ve forgiven them. Truly. But at that time, it was more difficult for me to look past my own needs and to what was best for them.” 

He pauses. “My mom was actually the one to introduce me to Zahra. They used to be friends back in university. I spent a lot of time at Zahra’s place, just because she was the only one I knew, and when she mentioned how much she’d need help at the shop, I offered immediately.” His lips quirk up into a smile. “I would never have thought I could love working there so much. But Zahra ignited something in me I didn’t know was there. I was able to switch to a work visa, so now I’m here.”

“No complaints about that on my part,” Henry whispers, shyly averting his eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Alex beaming at him, and feels him grip his hand a bit tighter. 

Henry turns to Alex again. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says earnestly. “In situations like these, there’s no right or wrong way to act. Sometimes, you just have to focus on yourself and your own happiness first before you can focus on others. Maybe your parents would have preferred having you stay in Texas, but that could have built up resentment in you, which inevitably would’ve let to a falling out between you.”

Alex nods slowly. “I agree. My family, too, I think. But it took all of us a long time to get there. My sister and I were inseparable before I left for England, and she was heartbroken that I left her without even talking to her about it first. We went without any communication for months, until we both couldn’t do it anymore. She was the stronger one of the two of us, staying there and facing the challenges rather than running.”

“You left your home country, and moved to a new city where you didn’t know anyone and had to entirely rediscover yourself. I’d argue that’s extremely strong, actually,” Henry answers only. 

Out of an impulse, he releases Alex’s hand to put an arm around him. Alex immediately curls into him, releasing a happy sigh. They sit like this for a while, Henry absentmindedly stroking Alex’s arm. It’s kind of funny, he thinks. Only yesterday he was lying in bed, unable to move, wishing he was as strong as Alex. But today here he is, comforting the one he’d thought was perfect. It’s not exactly like they know each other inside and out now, but the picture he has of Alex is so much more nuanced now. The perfect Alex he’d built up in his mind is, partially at least, far from the real one. The slight abandonment issues, the anxiety, the impulsiveness has alienated people in Alex’s past, but for Henry it does the absolute opposite. He wants to learn more about this person, be there to comfort him, talk to him for hours and join him on last-minute road trips to Cornwall because he wants to go surfing. 

He closes his eyes, taking it all in, trying to imprint the pressure of Alex’s body on his in his mind. 

Eventually, David gets anxious to move. He climbs over Henry’s legs, lying down in the space between the two men and licks Alex’s face, letting out little barks in between. With a soft smile, Alex strokes his head.

They leave the park, David jumping happily in front of them. Their hands had intertwined the minute they stood up as if it were habit already. Alex, Henry decides, had taken all major steps until now. It’s time he does the same. He wants to open his mouth, but somehow, he suddenly can’t. It’s like he has no saliva—and no courage—at all. His brain wants him to speak up, but his body just doesn’t comply. 

After what feels like minutes of internal struggle, Alex is the one to finally speak up. “Is everything alright?” He asks, his hazel eyes sparkling at Henrys’. 

His heart stops for a beat. Alex beams at him, melting away all doubts Henry had built up in his head until now. He decides to take the plunge.

“Would you like to come over to my place for a coffee?” He asks. 

Alex, if possible, smiles even brighter. “Lead the way, sweetheart!” The way home, both of them keep accelerating their steps, unable to wait to finally get home. The low sun is painting the sky in a beautiful, strong pink colour. The late sunsets are Henry’s favourite thing about summer. 

“Do you keep your own books at home?” Alex asks. “I can’t wait to see them!” He whips his head around hastily to look at Henry. “If you let me, of course.”

Henry chuckles. “Of course I will,” he answers indulgently, touched by Alex’s obvious interest in his work. 

“Oh, and we can watch a movie after! What’s your favourite? I bet it’s a romantic one,” Alex keeps going. It takes everything in Henry not to start laughing. Alex is so obviously excited to be spending the evening with Henry, and it’s the sweetest thing ever. How he once could think Alex wasn’t interested in him is beyond him.

“It is, actually. It’s so standard, but Pride and Prejudice is my favourite movie for sure,” Henry answers. 

“Uhm, no, it’s not standard, it’s a classic. There’s a vast difference between the two,” Alex corrects him enthusiastically. 

“Well, if you say so you must be correct. Although, it might get kind of late if we end up watching a movie,” Henry argues. 

“Oh, not to worry, I don’t mind staying over,” Alex answers happily. Then, suddenly, before Henry can even fully process what the other man just said, Alex turns to him, his eyes wide and frightened. His grip around Henry’s hand tightens. 

“I mean, I didn’t… Of course I don’t—“ he stammers. Henry puts his hand on Alex’s cheek. “I would love that,” he answers, smiling softly. The frown in Alex’s forehead relaxes immediately, the stressed expression making way for the most beautiful smile Henry has ever seen. “Okay,” Alex answers softly. 

They’re interrupted by David pulling on the lead, making his dissatisfaction about not being home yet known. Silently, simply enjoying each other’s company, the three head home. The closer they get to Henry’s flat, the more his nervousness increases again. He’s doesn’t really have an eye for decoration or keeps up with the newest trends in the indoor design world, so he usually just keeps everything very simple. Bea has complained about it various times. What if Alex thinks he’s boring? 

He chews his bottom lip subconsciously, and very obviously fails at trying not to stress about this. 

But this time as well, Alex manages to make his fear vanish within seconds. He practically runs into the living room, excitedly looking at every single piece of furniture. 

“Oh my god, Henry, I can’t believe it, this flat is so you! I love it!”

Henry can barely suppress a surprised snort. Why anyone would love a flat that screams him is beyond him, but if Alex likes it, he certainly won’t complain. 

Once Alex spots the bookshelf he immediately aims for it like a child that discovers the next clue at a treasure hunt. “This is the largest book collection I’ve ever seen!” He says. 

Henry decides not to mention that he has an even bigger bookshelf in his bedroom. 

“How did you organise them? I bet they have a perfectly thought-through system.”

Henry coughs uncomfortably. “Uhm, well, they do. I’ve organised them alphabetically by author and then chronologically within an author’s works. The only exception is my own books. They’re at the bottom shelf with no other books. I need them so often for references or because I want to look something up that I need to be able to grab them as quickly as possible without…” his voice trails off.

“Without messing up the system?” Alex asks, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Henry laughs, immediately relaxed. “Yes. Without messing up the system.”

“I love it,” Alex repeats. He bows down, grabbing one of Henry’s latest novels. As touching a valuable relic from old times, he caresses the binding before opening it up. Simultaneously, a note falls out. It’s a crumpled paper, hastily torn out of a note pad. Henry wrecks his brain, trying to figure out what this note could possibly be. He comes to the conclusion just as Alex picks it up and starts reading. It’s one of his bloody poems. The ones Shaan basically told him were crap. And while Henry may be confident enough in his novel-writing skills, he’s definitely not there yet with his poems.

Panic seizes his body, making it impossible for him to move. He’s not ready to share this with anyone, let alone a guy he wants to impress. The time it takes for Alex to read the poem feels like hours, and Henry is stuck, helplessly watching him. Alex doesn’t seem to realise the internal fight Henry is currently battling, but keeps his eyes stuck on the piece of paper he’s clutching. 

Eventually, he lifts his head to look at Henry. “Henry, this is incredible,” he says, clearly astonished. “I mean, I figured you were a great writer, but this is better than anything I’ve ever read before.”

“There’s no need to lie, Alex,” Henry answers, his voice strangled. Alex’s arm reaches upward to touch Henry’s. “I would never lie to you, especially not about something that’s as important to you as this is. You’re such an amazing writer, please don’t ever forget that.”

Henry gets lost in the large, dark-brown eyes. Suddenly, with the comforting touch and Alex’s words, all doubt he had before is gone. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, or what Shaan thinks. It definitely doesn’t matter what some other author thinks. What matters is Alex, and the way he looks at Henry with such awe in his eyes, and how he slides his thumb over his arm. Right now, Henry can’t bring himself to care about anything else. 

“Can I read it out to you?” Alex asks softly. 

“The poem?” Henry asks, confused. Alex only nods in agreement. 

“It’s beautiful. I want you to hear how beautiful it is.” “Okay,” Henry answers. 

Gently, Alex drags Henry to the large grey sofa in the living room, cuddling up against a cushion and draping one arm over Henry’s shoulders. In a low, soothing voice, Alex begins reading out the words that are achingly familiar to Henry. 

I never knew the world could glow so bright
Until I drowned in the pools of your light.
Two constellations, vast and deep,
With secrets the stars could never keep.

In your eyes, the oceans reside,
Tides of wonder I cannot hide.
A thousand sunsets, a morning’s gleam,
A place where reality mingles with dream.

They hold a language, silent yet clear,
A voice that speaks what I long to hear.
Each glance unravels a mystery,
A story older than history.

If love is a spark, your eyes are the flame,
A beacon that burns, calling my name.
I am lost, but I do not despair—
For in your eyes, I’ll always be there.

Alex voice goes softer towards the end. Slowly, he puts the paper away and turns his gaze to Henry. 

“You’re incredible, Henry. You have such an ability to make words speak beyond their meaning, and open up new worlds. I know I haven’t read a lot of your work yet, but even just this is making me want to hear everything and more that you have to say. I truly admire you. And if anyone doesn’t see how amazing you are, they don’t deserve you.” 

The last sentence doesn’t quite sound like he’s still talking about the poem. His tone has changed as well. He’s much more intense, staring at Henry like he begs him to find the double meaning behind his words. His blue eyes meet Alex’s brown ones. They’re so close together, closer than they’d ever been before. The world could end right now, and Henry wouldn’t care. Nothing is more important than being here, with Alex. Where he’s wanted to be for so long, but never thought he could be. 

And, surprisingly, in the end, it’s Henry that takes the leap. He moves his hand up to touch Alex’s soft cheek and leans in. Alex meets him in the middle. The kiss is slow and unhurried, both relishing in the feeling of finally being so close to each other. Alex’s tongue glides across Henry’s lips, coaxing them to open. Their tongues intertwine, deepening the kiss. 

If anyone has read everything there is to know about love and kisses, it’s Henry. Romance is his favourite genre after all. But having read about it is no way near the same as experiencing it. His entire body is filled with a comforting, calm warmth. Other than Alex, Alex, Alex there’s not a single thought in his mind. If he stayed here forever, he can’t say he’d ever mind. And Alex holds onto him, like he’s the only thing that matters in this world. 

Desperate to get more of him, Henry slides his fingers into Alex’s curls, dragging at them slightly. This elicits a small, pleased gasp from Alex, and Henry can’t help but smile into the kiss. 

Stars, if not entire galaxies are forming before his eyes. Now that he knows how Alex’s lips feel on his, he doesn’t know how he’ll ever go without this again. Christ, he doesn’t think he can go without this. He pulls back slightly, his heart flipping when Alex chases his lips. For a heartbeat only, they gaze into each others’ eyes, Henry getting lost in the depth of them again, before both surge forward, this time kissing each other more desperately than the last time. 

Alex’s hand comes up to Henry’s cheek, leaving a trail of fire wherever it touches. Henry can’t believe he get’s to have this. 

Eventually, though, neither of the two can deny that they need air, and break apart with a soft gasp. Henry traces Alex’s unnaturally red lips with his thumb, to which Alex starts smiling. 

“I like you. So much, H,” he says softly, but with unmistakeable certainty in his voice. It’s such a simple sentence, but yet so earth-shattering. Alex likes him. How he got to be this lucky, he’ll never know. Alex’s smile, his dimples, his curls, his soft features, they are all so utterly beautiful that Henry doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look away.

Suddenly, Alex’s beautiful face turns into a worried frown. “Sorry, if I overstepped—“

This snaps Henry out of the trance he was in. “Oh, no, absolutely not. Alex, I’ve liked you for far longer than I would like to admit to myself. You’re so beautiful, so kind and loving. I want to be with you. Date you. I want to be with you in whatever way you’ll have me.”

A broad grin spreads over Alex’s face. “Hell yeah,” he says, before surging forward, kissing Henry again. 

They lie on the couch, cuddling. Eventually, Henry does put Pride and Prejudice on, and they probably make it through the first five minutes without starting to kiss again. Until yesterday, Henry wouldn’t have thought anything could ever interest him more than watching his favourite movie. Now, there definitely is. Alex’s lips seem to have a magic spell, pulling him towards them, and no matter how hard he tries to resist—he doesn’t try hard, admittedly—he can’t keep himself away. 

“Hey,” Alex eventually says, his voice a bit hesitant. “When you said that you’ve liked me for far longer than you want to admit to yourself… What exactly did you mean by that?”

“Oh,” Henry answers, blushing. He doesn’t know how to answer this question without coming off as really creepy. 

He feels Alex’s eyes on him. “Baby,” he murmurs softly, causing a chill to run down Henry’s spine. “You can tell me.”

And who is Henry to resist to the charm of Alex Claremont-Díaz? “I think in a way, I knew you were special the first time I ever saw you. You just had this way of brightening up everyone’s day. I…I struggle sometimes. But whenever I was with you, even though we never talked much, I forgot about it. The things life threw at me didn’t seem to matter as much anymore. And then, you started writing me these notes, and we became…more. I realised that everything I had made up about you in my head was actually true. That you were the most wonderful human being.”

Henry averts his eyes, nervously fiddling with the ends of the blanket they’d thrown over themselves. 

Then, he feels these soft lips, pressed up against his cheek.

“Thank you for telling me, Henry,” Alex says. “This is so beautiful.” Henry can’t help but smile. He turns to look at Alex, playfully poking his nose, to which Alex starts laughing. 

“I told you my story, you tell me yours now,” he says. Alex smiles, nodding slowly. 

“I don’t think I can be as poetic about this as you. I don’t think I noticed you the first time I saw you like you did with me. But when I did start noticing you, when you came to the flower shop more often, I found myself thinking about you so much. I kept wondering what your story was, who you truly were. I felt like I would go insane if I didn’t learn every detail about you.” 

He goes quiet for a second before continuing, his thumb brushing Henry’s hand. “I caught you staring at me sometimes, you know. From the other side of the road, like you were gathering up the courage to talk to me. But then you never asked me out. I was thinking of a good way to ask you out myself, but then you presented me one on a silver platter.”

“Bea’s flight got cancelled,” Henry throws in softly. 

“Exactly. So…I pretended to just have been cancelled on as well. And the rest you know.”

Henry pulls Alex into a tight hug, happily breathing in his scent. It’s not just Henry that was a bit crazy, but it was Alex, too. 

“Can I still stay over?” Alex asks shyly. 

“Love, I never want you to leave,” Henry answers. 

He’s never meant something more in his life. 

Four months later

Henry wakes up to the feeling of lips pressing up against his thigh, which is decidedly his favourite way to be woken up. Only seconds after, he feels fingertips being dragged lightly across his covered cock. Henry can’t hold back the desperate, sleepy whimper that immediately comes. He looks down, his vision still a little blurry, where he sees his boyfriend between his legs, smiling mischievously up at him. Ever since they started dating, it’s become somewhat of a tradition for Alex to wake Henry up like this occasionally. 

“Morning, baby,” Alex drawls, looking Henry in the eyes for a hot second before leaning down again, lightly dragging his tongue across the wet patch that is forming embarrassingly quickly on his boxers. “Christ, Alex,” Henry moans helplessly, involuntarily bucking his hips up. 

“Someone’s eager,” Alex chuckles. He starts kissing the soft spots just above Henry’s waistband, sending shivers up his spine. A suppressed groan escapes his lips. “Seriously, H, how many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to be quiet? I like hearing you,” Alex says, glaring at his boyfriend reproachfully. “Sorry,” Henry mutters in a pressed voice.

Slowly, Alex pushes down the unnecessary boxers Henry is still wearing. “Finally,” Henry croaks softly, but this time, his boyfriend ignores him. Suddenly, Henry feels a tongue being pressed greedily into the slit of his cock. Again, his hips buck up involuntarily, trying to get as deep into that beautiful mouth as possible. Alex immediately pulls off, glaring at Henry warningly. “Did I allow you to fuck my mouth?” He asks. 

“No. Sorry,” Henry answers, evidently incapable of forming full sentences. Alex’ tongue tends to do that to him. Alex smirks up at his boyfriend, and then goes back to his cock, suckling at the tip to gather up the precome that has been pooling there, eliciting a high-pitched moan from Henry. He continues his sweet torture by kissing down the shaft, but never fully taking him into his mouth. 

Henry moans. “Please, I need more,” he begs. 

“Soon, baby, I promise,” Alex coos. He wraps his long fingers around Henry’s aching dick, slowly, very slowly jerking him off. He leans down, warm breath hitting Henry’s balls. Alex lets his tongue swirl around one ball, taking it fully into his mouth while still massaging his cock. 

“Christ, this is so good,” Henry repeats. Alex looks up, his eyes dark with desire, before he finally, finally, lowers his mouth down on Henry’s cock, enveloping his length with his lips until the tip hits his palate. Eventually, he pulls off with a wet pop, saying, “Did I ever tell you how much I love your dick? How much I love how hard you get from my mouth? You’re so fucking big and my brain just stops functioning whenever I see it.” 

Henry moans helplessly, and again, Alex smirks. It’s at that moment that Henry decides he’s had enough. He pushes his boyfriend away from him, turning him around so that his back is pressed to the mattress. There’s a surprised glint in Alex’ eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch up ever so slightly.

“I need you. Now,” Henry says. With a surge of confidence, he grabs Alex’ fingers, sucking them into his mouth, eliciting a moan from Alex. Then, thoroughly, Alex gets Henry ready, inserting one finger after the other. Henry enjoys it, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he rides himself on Alex’ fingers, his hands on his boyfriend’s chest for balance. His cock is now painfully hard, jumping against his stomach. There’s precome literally dripping down onto Alex. 

“Okay, I’m ready now,” Henry hisses, and his boyfriend pulls out his fingers obediently. Henry almost whines at the loss. Slowly, he shifts, grabbing some lube to slick up Alex’ cock. Mesmerised by the sight of the hard length, it takes him a couple of seconds until he can actually move. He plants a soft kiss on the tip before getting it ready for him to sink onto. 

Then, he puts his hands on Alex’ chest again before taking the hard cock one inch after the other, moaning greedily with every part that slips inside of him. Alex’ hips buck up involuntarily, sinking his cock deeper inside Henry. Henry loves it, but still shoots his boyfriend a reproachful look. 

“Patience,” he murmurs. “You want to be a good boy, don’t you?” Alex nods frantically, his eyes widening. Henry is now seated all the way on his boyfriend and starts slowly, slowly riding him, his hips grinding down onto Alex’s. 

“You feel so good,” Henry moans. “Have I ever told you? You fuck me so well, better than anyone’s ever fucked me before. You’re so hard, Alex, and you feel so fucking good inside of me. You’re being such a good boy, taking care of me like that.” “Fuck me, Henry,” Alex moans. 

“I believe I already am,” Henry mutters in response, and Alex has the audacity to smirk. Henry picks up the pace of his movements, lifting himself off of his boyfriend’s cock, until only the head is left inside of him, and then slamming down again. His eyes roll back in pleasure when the cock hits his prostate over and over again. Neither Alex nor Henry are actually in a state to form coherent sentences anymore, so the room is only filled by the sound of their skin slamming together and their loud moans in response. 

Henry feels Alex shift beneath him, slowly sitting up to grab his face and kiss him. The kiss is heated, their tongues greedily licking into each other’s mouths. “Baby, I’m so close,” Alex moans. Henry only nods, panting. He is, too. He’s been close ever since Alex mouth was on him. Alex reaches down, jerking Henry off furiously in an obvious attempt to make him come before he does. 

“Alex, please, more,” Henry moans. Alex throws his head back in a pressed groan, and suddenly Henry feels his boyfriend’s come filling up his ass. The sensation makes him shudder, and, without a warning, spill over Alex’ fist with a breathless laugh. Alex fucks him through his orgasm, holding him at his shoulders while grinding deep into him to make the most out of it. “You’re so beautiful, H, so fucking beautiful.” Henry kisses Alex desperately in response. 

They sit their for a long time, their kisses slowing down and turning sweeter, until eventually, Alex carefully turns them over to slip out of Henry. He whines at the sudden loss, and his boyfriend kisses his cheek soothingly in response. 

“Sorry baby,” he murmurs. “But we have plans for today, remember?”

“Or,” Henry suggests, pretending to be grumpy, “we could just stay in bed all day?”. 

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t had tea yet,” Alex says, already walking out the door into the kitchen. With an exaggerated groan, but a smile on his face, Henry follows him, already a bit happier at the sound of the kettle boiling. 

His flat looks so different than it had just four months ago. Even though Alex doesn’t live here—not officially, at least—he’s present in every part of it. There’s bouquets of flowers in the living room, on the dining table and in the kitchen, all assorted in different shades of red, violet, blue, white, pink and yellow, not really following any pattern but brightening up the room nonetheless. 

Whenever Henry sits down somewhere, he now has to pay attention that he doesn’t accidentally sit on one of Alex’s glasses that he tends to leave lying around when he impulsively abandons one task for another. Alex also brought his guitar, which now stands next to the TV, and a large stereo that has playing jazz whenever Henry enters the living room. 

His favourite part is a large photo of the two, hanging above the dining table in an elegant frame. Alex had gotten it for Henry’s birthday, and somehow, seeing it hang there like this, it reminds Henry every time how in love they are. It’s a candid, showing Henry in one of his rare, unguarded laughs, while Alex smirks mischievously, probably at the joke he just made. He can’t remember the joke, but he remembers laughing. With Alex, there’s nothing but happiness. 

Alex also has a strong liking for weird cushions, so whenever he’s on vacation or just shopping, he’ll try and pick out the most extravagant one to bring back to Henry’s flat. Since this tradition started, Henry has thus acquired a Kermit the frog one, one with Celine Dion standing in front of a maple leaf, one with a dozen puppies—Henry’s favourite, and one, which admittedly was another birthday present, with a face of Henry on it—Alex’s favourite. 

They enjoy their breakfast with Alex excitedly rambling on about some law the Democrats have just passed in the US, while Henry just sits there, listening. He’s more of a quiet person in the morning, so he enjoys that Alex fills the silence, and knows that Henry enjoys it. 

After the first few times around, it almost led to a fight. One morning, Alex was suddenly withdrawn, not talking at all. When Henry carefully broached the subject, Alex glared at him, accusatory, saying that if Henry didn’t want him to talk, he should just say so. Henry had noticed that about Alex before—his fear of being too much. But how could anyone ever have enough of Alex Claremont-Díaz? It was beyond him. Henry immediately got up, hugging Alex, kissing his head and assuring him that he loved his monologues. For the rest of the day, his boyfriend seemed more at ease, smiling more. 

Now, both Alex and Henry know each other better. When Alex’s mind is racing and he’s can’t stop walking around the bedroom, Henry will come to him, coax him to lie down and hug him until he’s calm. When Henry is sad, Alex will be with him, letting him know he’s there without being too close or becoming overbearing. It works for both of them. 

“Alright, finish up, baby, we gotta go,” Alex says, already standing up, his plate in his hand. Smiling, Henry follows him. Hand in hand, David jumping in front of them, the couple makes their way out of the house. Having gone the path uncountable times, Henry immediately realises that Alex is leading him to the flower shop. 

He turns around. “Love, what are we doing here?” He asks, confused. In mocking despair, Alex rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you the one who works with words and literally went to Oxford? Do I need to define the word surprise to you?”

Henry can feel the blush rising in his cheeks. “You’re a menace,” he mutters under his breath. 

The early December morning is freezing, despite the sun’s best efforts to shine down with all intensity. There’s almost no cloud visible in the sky. The flower shop looks different this time of the year. With England experiencing an unusually cold winter, all flowers have been brought inside to avoid freezing, as well as the chairs and tables that used to stand outside during the time that Henry and Alex first started dating. 

Alex stops Henry, a calloused hand holding his shoulder. Deep brown eyes, sparkling as always, fixate him. “Close your eyes,” Alex orders. Henry only raises a brow in response. “I hardly think—“

But Alex isn’t even listening anymore, pulls out a small bandana, draping it over Henry’s forehead so that he has no choice but to comply. It takes Alex some time to put the bandana fully in place, and Henry slowly ducks down a little to make it easier on Alex, hoping that his boyfriend won’t notice. Height is a touchy subject, or so Alex claims at least. Secretly, though he would never admit it, Alex loves being swallowed up in a hug by broad shoulders, to have to reach up a bit to kiss his boyfriend. Henry knows that, and Alex knows that Henry knows, but, of course, they never talk about it. Just the thought of this makes Henry smile. 

Quick, talented fingers tie the bandana behind Henry’s head. A soft hand that he knows all too well touches his shoulder, gently leading him into the flower shop. Henry’s heartbeat is in his ears. It’s like Alex to make grand gestures, but the determination with which he’s been leading him here makes him think that this time, something is special about it. 

“I got the idea for this a couple of weeks back,” Alex says, his voice trembling slightly. Again, this is unusual for him. “And I asked Zahra, and she said yes. This is very…special for me. So I hope it is for you, too.”

With trembling fingers, Alex takes the bandana off of Henry’s head. “I love you,” Henry whispers, hoping to calm his boyfriend down. Behind him, Alex exhales. “I love you, too.” They have said these words countless times to each other, yet they never lose any meaning.

Once Alex removes the bandana, he intertwines one hand with Henry’s, the other one clutching his bicep a bit too tight, as if looking for stability. A ray of sunshine blinds Henry, and he has to blink multiple times before he can even make anything out. Mostly, the flower shop looks the same. There’s the beautiful bouquets that Henry used to buy, next to extravagant arrangements for weddings or parties. In the corner, illuminated by fairy lights, his favourite part: the café. 

The chairs are white, with, of course, floral patterns on them. The tiny vases on a yellow tablecloth all contain daisies and a single red rose. Behind them, however, there’s something that definitely hasn’t been here before. 

The back corner of the café, which previously had been empty and dark, is now filled with a majestic bookshelf made of maple wood, decorated with fairy lights. Surprised, Henry turns to Alex. Each of the shelves save from the lowest two have novels sitting next to each other in them. “You have…books now?” He asks. 

Alex’s nervous, wide eyes are on his boyfriend as he urgently pulls him closer to the shelf. He says something, but Henry can’t hear what anymore, because he recognises these books. He wrote these books. Carefully, he reaches a hand out, touching the first novel he’d written ages ago. It still has a special place in his heart. 

“Are you,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “Are you selling them here?”

“Not yet,” Alex answers. “Not without your consent, of course. But… you told me once that you always wanted to sit here in the café but never really had the courage to do so. I thought that maybe having these here would make it feel more homely. And then…when people read your books, they’ll see how amazing of a writer you are. And buy your books, either here or at a bookshop.”

Henry is still too stunned to fully grasp what is happening here. “But why is it only my books?”

A gentle finger tips Henry’s jaw, so he has no choice but to tear his eyes away that had still been fixated on the shelf. Now, he’s looking at his boyfriend again, the love of his life glancing up at him as well. 

“Henry, baby, you are the best, most courageous person I know. I have read your books, almost all of them, and they have changed my life for the better. No other books deserve to be up there with yours. If you’re okay with it, I’d like this to be only your books.” He takes a pause, taking in a trembling breath. 

“I also included a manuscript of your poems. I know it will take some time until they’ll be fully bound and printed, and I don’t want to wait till then. I’m so proud of you for working on these poems so much, for finding a publisher that wants to print them and never giving up. I want them to be here. If you’ll let—“ Alex doesn’t get any farther, because his mouth is now occupied with having Henry’s pressed on his.  

Henry still doesn’t have any words, and he hopes that this kiss can convey everything he is unable to express verbally right now. The depths of Alex’s feelings for him surprise him every day, with what Alex says, the cute little notes he leaves all over the flat for Henry to find and the sweet gifts he brings him when he just had to get him whatever he saw in a random shop he walked through. 

When Henry breaks the kiss, undeniably needing oxygen, Alex in front of him is blurry. Gently, Alex wipes the tears off of his boyfriend’s cheeks. 

“You deserve this, Henry. I’ll say it as long as you need me to so that you’ll believe it.”

“I’m starting to, love. This is the most perfect gift I’ve ever received, Alex, I can’t believe you’ve done this for me.”

“Well you better start believing it,” Alex answers, his teasing tone back. “Zahra loves the idea. She can’t wait to have the shop open on Monday and have customers see this. Truth is, she’s been thinking about what could make this café better, and, this we both agree on, nothing would be more suited for this than a bookshelf with your books.”

Henry pulls Alex close into an embrace, just needing to be next to him. In this moment, just as so many times before that, he is convinced that this is the best thing that could ever have happened to him. Somehow, this wonderful human came into his life, fighting the darkness that was surrounding him with his unending brightness, and mending Henry’s fragile heart. 

Sometimes, they joke about forever. Saying what their shared house will look like, with children running through the garden and David happily bouncing up and down because he found his favourite ball. Henry was the one to slip up and first talk about marriage, a cold fear settling in his stomach immediately after. But when he looked at his boyfriend, he saw nothing but dreamy happiness in them. This was one of the first instances their jokes about forever felt like not just a joke. 

And now that Henry’s here, in this space that Alex created for him in his life, like a shrine to his boyfriend, he could propose right there and then. Knowing it would last forever, because with Alex, anything other than forever is impossible.