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It’s raining. What started as a gentle pattering of rain against the brownstone’s awnings has since transformed into a relentless downpour. Leaves sway and shiver, surrendering to the storm as those still outside run around like ants in seek of refuge. Small puddles rise and accumulate into large lakes reflecting their moody surroundings.
Henry should be used to the rain. He grew up in England, he’s seen his fair share of gloomy days no matter the season. But today — today Henry does not want to be reminded of England. Today Henry is having a bad day, and maybe he’s being dramatic, but the sun’s sudden disappearance is only adding to his resentment.
He’s not exactly sure what set off this mood, only that when he’d woken to Alex’s soft goodbye kiss on his temple he simply knew. He could feel the heaviness in his bones, the strength it took to keep his eyes open, the dull buzz that seemed to bounce around his brain aimlessly. So, he had stayed in bed all day, only getting up when his stomach begged for food of any sort and his bladder was on the brink of explosion.
It’s from his spot on their bed that Henry first notices the small yellow paper folded up on his nightstand. It’s out of place on his side of the bed, he’s not usually the one carrying a truckload of post-its around. He reaches for it anyways, the cacophonous melody of rain filling the silence as he carefully unfolds the paper.
Your Royal Highness of Soft Snuffly Snores,
You are so pretty in the morning baby. Even as cloudy and dull as it is today, every time I look at you it feels as though the sun is always and will forever be shining.
I love you, I’ll see you after my classes.
Yrs.,
Alex
Henry traces the words gently with the tip of his finger, inhaling a shaky breath as he reads it for a second, and then a third time. He doesn’t know how Alex always knows the inner workings of his brain. How he can take just one look at Henry’s sleeping figure and know, even before Henry does, that it’s gonna be a hard day.
Henry smiles, probably for the first time today, as he reaches for the little box tucked under the bed. It’s an antique-looking wooden box, one that Henry got at a pop-up vintage vendor months ago. He hadn’t known what to do with it when he first bought it, but now it houses some of Henry’s most prized possessions.
He opens the box and is greeted by an assortment of coloured Post-its. Pink and yellow and green and even a special edition rainbow one. They’re all different and yet they all share the same loopy handwriting, the same smudged pen marks.
He doesn’t think that Alex knows he’s been keeping these, to be fair a majority of them are mundane things like ‘Made you some tea, had to run to a study group sorry!’. Or ‘Do not put my leather jacket in the dryer!!!!’. Others are more sentimental, like ‘I could stay up all night counting the freckles on your skin, kissing them, tracing their dark outline against your pale skin, worshipping every inch of you’, and ‘I had to leave early for my presentation today but I couldn’t go without telling you how much I love you, so here you go, this is me telling you’.
Of course, these sentiments could easily be text messages, but there’s something about putting pen to paper, the security it gives both of them. The fact that these messages can be folded up and tucked away in locked boxes without the risk of anyone but them ever seeing, or reading, or picking apart their words letter by letter. So Henry keeps every note, the flirty and the witty and the snarky and the downright filthy. He keeps them and comes back to them on days like this, when he needs a little reassurance that the gloomy clouds encapsulating his mind won’t be here forever.
He deposits the new note into the box and tucks it safely back in its spot under the bed. It’s a few minutes later that he hears the soft click of the front door opening and David’s excited paws scurrying along the hardwood in pursuit of belly rubs and kisses. Henry sits up in the bed, the covers pooling around his waist and his brain feeling clearer than it has all day. He’s about to get up and make his way toward the living room when the bedroom door is pushed open slowly, Alex’s soft curls emerging around the side of the door followed by equally soft eyes.
Alex smiles brightly when he sees Henry, “Hey, Baby.” Alex says, a white plastic bag dangling from his right hand.
“Hello, darling.” Henry gets up and moves towards Alex, taking the backpack out of Alex’s left hand and placing it against the wall gently.
“I got falafels.” Alex holds up the plastic bag between them, smiling crookedly.
Up close Henry can see the water droplets hanging off the ends of Alex’s curls, dripping onto his shoulders softly. There’s a lock of wet hair sticking to his forehead, sending another droplet of water down the bridge of his nose and into the dip of his cupid’s bow. Henry feels his heart fill, as if each drop of water falling off Alex is landing directly into Henry’s heart, filling him with so much love he’s afraid he might burst.
Henry brushes the lock of hair off Alex’s face with soft fingers, “Thank you, love.”
Alex leans across him to place the falafels on the bed, and then, with both hands free, grabs the side of Henry’s face and pulls him in for a tender kiss. Alex’s hands are wet from the rain but with the way he’s tracing Henry’s cheekbone delicately with the pad of his thumb, Henry can’t be bothered to complain. Henry’s hands find their usual place on the divots of Alex’s hips and pull him closer, squeezing gently before moving to encompass Alex fully.
Alex's lips move to the corner of Henry’s mouth, his stubbly jaw, the jut of his cheekbone, and finally the sensitive spot just behind his ear. He kisses it gently and Henry tries to contain his body's instinctive tremble at the feeling.
Eventually, Alex pulls away and looks up at Henry with those goddamn eyelashes, “How was your day?” Alex asks quietly.
“Hmm, not the best at first,” Henry pauses to kiss the tip of Alex’s nose, “but it got better.”
Alex smiles knowingly, “Yeah? Did you like the note I left you?”
“You know I did, darling.”
“Mhmm. Did you add it to your little box of love letters?”
Henry pulls back slightly at that, his mouth popping open with bemused shock, “You know about that?”
Alex laughs, stepping out of Henry’s arms to start unpacking the falafels, he looks over his shoulder at Henry’s bewildered expression to say, “Hen, baby, I know about everything.”
“Well, you didn’t say anything.”
Alex's smile turns timid at that, “Yeah well, I- I didn’t want you to think I only write them because I feel like I have to add to the collection or something. I don’t- I write them for you, because I love you.”
Henry places a hand on Alex’s shoulder, turning him around gently, “I know that, darling, of course. And I love them, if you write me thirty in a day or one in a week, I’ll love them always.” Henry kisses Alex quickly, tasting cinnamon and coffee and home, “They make me feel like you’re always here, even when you’re not. They remind me that if I have you nothing can truly be as bad as it may seem in the moment.”
Alex bites his lip, blinking quickly and clearing his throat, “Me telling you not to put my leather jacket in the dryer makes you feel all that?”
Henry lets out a shocked laugh, squeezing the side of Alex’s stomach playfully, “You are such a wanker.”
Alex smiles ruefully and pulls Henry onto the bed with him, “Yeah, yeah, let’s just eat first and then we’ll see who does the wanking.” Alex gets a pillow to the head for that one.
They eat their falafels wrapped up in one another, talking about Alex’s classmates and upcoming assignments, discussing Henry’s plans for the shelter’s charity event. They’re so engrossed with each other that they don’t notice when the storm outside begins to recede. When the rain tapers off into a drizzle, clouds parting overhead. They don’t even notice when the rainbow appears, a colourful bridge between the storm and the calm that follows afterward.