Archive of Our Own

there’s an ache in you
put there by the ache in me
but if it’s all the same to you
it’s the same to me

—

The last text message Alex sent him sounded like it was written by a fucking lawyer.

It’s a Hey, thanks for checking in, an I’m doing okay but LA is a madhouse.

The Hope you're doing okay, too! at the end of the text stares up at Alex now, cold and detached above his blinking cursor in an empty message draft. It was sent six months ago on June 18th at three in the afternoon—the date and time feel forever burned into his memory.

Alex was in the middle of filming a commercial for a Neutrogena sunscreen in a lifeless, dull studio near Pasadena. He was trapped in a never ending heatwave, sweating through his t-shirt while the director took forever to finalize camera angles, when Henry’s text came through.

Just checking in on you, Henry said. I miss you.

Alex sat there with hovering fingers for the longest time, trying to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to say to the other half of his heart, the boy he loved and lost.

The boy he loved and watched disappear.

The boy he loved and left.

Alex stared at the message and thought about calling him while he had a break. Alex thought about spelling out his heart through taps of his thumb on a screen, telling Henry all his regrets about the paths he could have chosen and the dream he decided to chase. He thought about asking Henry to visit or scheduling a trip home to see him, so that he could explain in person why he's been distancing himself all of this time, ignoring calls and messages for months.

He thought, he thought, and he thought.

And then the director called for him.

“Five minutes, ACD.”

In the end, par for the fucking course, Alex didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, his response sounded like someone else, another version of Alex in a universe that can't be touched by mortal hands. It came across too clinical, too professional. All in one message, with proper capitalization and punctuation, the broken pieces of his soul invisible between the black lines of text and the white spaces between them.

Almost immediately, the message showed as read.

But Henry never responded.

There wasn’t any reason for him to.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

I parked my car right between the Methodist
and the school that use to be ours
the holidays linger like bad perfume
you can run but only so far

—

“Hey, I’m here!”

The heat in Alex’s childhood home is cranked up a little too high for his comfort. It isn’t that cold in Texas, but his mom has always been sensitive to even the slightest chill, and December temperatures have a knack for sweeping in just to drive her crazy. Alex pulls his hoodie off over his head as soon as he’s through the door, tossing it onto a hook in the entryway just in time for June to practically tackle him.

“Fuck, I missed your stupid face, Lil Bit,” she says with her chin on his shoulder, the tips of her toes barely touching the ground.

In a blink, Alex is twelve again, clinging to his older sister and realizing that she’s the only thing holding him together in a world that doesn’t make sense. Alex hugs her back, closing his eyes and trying to fight off the sudden urge to cry. June squeezes him tighter, like she knows, and then elbows him in the ribs when she pulls away to make him laugh.

Like she knows.

Ellen rounds the corner from the kitchen. There’s a tea towel with tiny Christmas trees decorating the cloth resting on her right shoulder and a speck of flour sticking to her cheek. Her face lights up when she sees him.

“There you are!” she says, opening her arms for Alex. “I was wondering when the hell you’d make it home. You didn’t call when your plane landed.”

“Traffic from the airport was shit and I didn’t think about it,” Alex tells her as they hug, burying his nose in her neck and inhaling the scent of cinnamon and chocolate. “Plus I don’t want to accidentally wreck a rental car, so I was driving super careful.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to come home and see us this Christmas. You know we missed you so much last year. Your Memaw asked me so many questions about it, and I didn’t know what to tell her.”

“I know,” Alex says, feeling like he’s apologizing for that specific event for the millionth time. “Sorry, mom. I’m here this year.”

His mom squeezes his shoulders, smiling wide and showing off the crinkles around her eyes. “Right. I’ve got one more batch of cookies to make before Leo gets home, and I still have to get them rolled out on the pan. So come on in here and tell me all about LA. Is it as bad as they say? I saw something on Facebook the other day…”

Alex follows her into the marginally warmer kitchen, pulling at his collar as his mom starts rolling cookie dough in her hands and placing it on a greased cookie sheet. She’s still talking, going on and on about a news story she saw the other day—a mugging in downtown Los Angeles that put the victim in the hospital.

“Those probably happen like, every ten minutes, mom.”

“Now why would you—” Ellen blows out a breath, frowning down at her cookies. “You know, sometimes I wish you’d have just… gone to school near here like we planned, you know. College campuses feel safer, and I would know exactly where you are.”

“Well, they’re not all—” Alex bites his tongue before the word safe can escape, brushing his hand against the hard, plastic cornucopia sitting on the island. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to worry you.”

“I only want you to be alright,” she mutters out the side of her mouth. “And I don’t trust all of those crazies out in California.”

“Where dad is.”

Ellen shoots him a scowl as she slides the pan into the oven. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“When will he be here, anyway?” Alex asks, aiming for a dismissive aura as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “He’s still coming, right?”

“As far as I know,” Ellen replies, crossing her arms over her chest. “I haven’t talked to him, but the last I checked he’s supposed to be here on Christmas Eve.”

“Cool.”

“You changed the subject, Alexander Gabriel.”

“It's not so dangerous where I live,” Alex lies easily, grabbing a frosted sugar cookie off of the cooling rack and taking a bite. “This is a damn good cookie, though. You must have gotten a new recipe.”

“Ha ha,” Ellen deadpans, wiping her hands on her towel and leaning her hip against the countertop. “So you're good? Really? You aren't drowning in debt or doing drugs or…” She grimaces. “In debt from doing drugs?”

It almost makes Alex want to laugh, the simplicity of the things his mom is worried about. Sometimes, he wishes those really were his biggest concerns.

Maybe then things wouldn’t feel so fucking hopeless.

“My debt is manageable, and I am definitely not doing drugs.”

“You know,” June says as she comes into the kitchen, swiping the rest of Alex's cookie. “Technically caffeine is in the DSM as an addictive disorder, withdrawals and everything included. And it's a drug. So maybe an intervention should be staged.”

Ellen rolls her eyes. “Smartass.”

June grins, mouth half-full with her stolen cookie. “Thank you.”

“Alright, well.” Ellen sighs, glancing at the timer on the stove. “Those have ten more minutes, if one of y'all will pull them out to cool when they're done. I'm gonna clean up and change, and we can watch a movie together when Leo gets home, if you want.”

“I vote The Polar Express,” June declares, raising a mocking eyebrow at Alex. “It's Alex's favorite.”

Ellen frowns. “Is that not the one he says—”

“—traumatized me as a child? Yes, it is.” Alex glares at June. “I'm gonna replace everything you love with silly putty.”

June puts a hand over her heart. “What an incredible and specific threat. I’m proud, actually.”

“I don’t care either way,” Ellen interrupts, pushing between them to get out of the kitchen. She turns around at the entryway, eyes dangerously narrowed. “You two just figure it the hell out before the cookies are done, without causing damage to my house or any of its contents. You hear me?”

“Yes ma'am,” they agree in unison.

June waits until their mom is out of the room to hop onto the countertop. She grabs another cookie, her eyes darting around the kitchen as she chews. She’s pensive in a way that Alex knows means she’s thinking too hard about something, words poised on the tip of her tongue. After a significant pause, her gaze flicks to Alex’s face.

Alex sighs. “What do you fucking want?”

“So, I have a… sort of personal question, but I don't want you to get mad at me for asking it.”

“Yes, I thoroughly licked the cookie you ate earlier.”

“Not my question, dumbass.”

“No, I can not introduce you to Zac Efron.”

“Also not my question, but…” She points a sharp, bright red fingernail at him. “I am going to need you to keep fucking trying on that one.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Ask your goddamn question.”

June taps her knuckles against the marble counter, lips pursed. “Are you… Are you going to call Henry?”

“Oh,” Alex exhales, the air feeling knocked out of his lungs. “I’m—”

“I was just wondering,” June rushes to continue. “I know… I know you miss him. And you guys were really—”

“I don’t know,” Alex interrupts, his throat tight. There are flecks of moisture burning in his vision, and he blinks them away. “I don’t fucking know, June. Maybe.”

“You should,” June tells him quietly, looking down at the floor and knocking her heels against the old wood cabinets. “I think you should.”

Alex nearly chokes on his words. “I don’t know if he’ll answer, Bug.”

June nods, blowing out a heavy breath, as if the fragmented pieces of Alex’s love life are hurting her, too.

“Maybe you should try anyway.”

Later, Alex washes his face in the bathroom that saw his first shave, his first time jerking off in a steamy shower, his first time sobbing on a cold tile floor. He stares at his reflection, recognizing the messy curls and the brown eyes but not seeing anything that resembles the boy he knew back then.

The last time he saw that person was in a crowded, bustling airport, in a sea of a million passive faces who looked at him and saw nobody important, no one worth paying attention to.

And the thing is, they were right.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

just for old time’s sake
I won’t ask you to wait
if you don’t ask me to stay

—

The night before Alex left for LA, his mom asked if he wanted to spend the evening with his family when he walked downstairs. Alex was already halfway out the door when her request made him pause, keys dangling off of his thumb in the entryway.

“You gotta let him go, Ellen,” Leo whispered, reaching out and taking Ellen’s hand. “He’s gotta go.”

Alex didn’t know what to say—restless energy rumbled in his veins as seconds slipped away that he would never get back, the loss of time that refused to stop ticking.

Ellen nodded once. “Keep your location on.”

“Yeah.” Alex moved then, pressing a kiss to the top of his mom’s head. “I will. I promise. And I’ll be back by midnight.”

“I love you,” Ellen said, face somber.

“I know,” Alex told her, pushing down a wave of nausea as he registered, not for the first time, the disappointment in her face. “I love you, too.”

Henry was waiting for him underneath the gazebo that they called theirs, between what Alex coined the Mega Mistress Methodist Church and the high school. Henry’s arms floundered a bit when they wrapped around Alex, like he wasn’t sure what to touch first, wasn’t sure where to let his palms settle. Alex buried his face in Henry’s throat, his kiss leaving goosebumps in its wake.

When Henry cradled Alex’s face in his hands and crushed their mouths together, Alex clung to the muscles in Henry’s back and let himself be manhandled backwards. The back of his knees hit the bench and his ass hit the surface, Henry climbing into his lap and coaxing Alex’s mouth open, wider and wider, nipping at Alex’s lips and sliding his tongue between them.

“Henry,” Alex whispered, arching his neck when Henry started to kiss down the length of his jaw.

“I didn’t think I would—” Henry sounded absolutely wrecked, his breath coming in quick pants. “I’m sorry. I just want you.”

One last time went unspoken, but it still pierced into Alex’s chest like the sharpest sword. It felt like it opened a new wound in his already broken heart, and in that moment, he probably would have given Henry anything to assuage that ache.

Alex rested his hands on Henry’s hips, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth.

“Okay, baby. I have dad’s truck, and I think there’s some blankets underneath the back seat. If we go up to the high school parking lot, it should be—”

“Yes, please.”

They made love in the bed of the truck, Henry’s knack for being overprepared and the picnic blanket underneath the backseat contributing to the ease and comfort of their last time together. Henry clung to the back of Alex’s neck, his knees digging into Alex’s ribs and heels pressing into the backs of Alex’s thighs, like even being plastered together wasn’t close enough.

Nothing has ever felt quite like that goodbye, their sweaty skin and the hard plastic truck bed beneath their bodies inconsequential as they got lost together.

Alex knew then that this goodbye was different—it was a breakup. It was so that they could go their own way without feeling guilty or restricted. They both agreed that it was easier that way.

Not easier.

Cleaner, maybe.

“For now,” Henry said when they decided, and Alex echoed his agreement.

Alex wasn't sure if either of them actually believed it.

That evening, panting in the afterglow in the middle of an empty parking lot, Alex felt outside of himself. There were pieces of his soul caught in the palm of Henry's cold hands as they touched him, fragments that Henry would keep with him when Alex left.

Alex knew he would always endure that loss—he could already feel it eating away at him.

The loss of Henry, and the loss of himself in the process.

“I have to go,” Alex said, his lips pressed against the column of Henry's throat. He wasn't sure which of them he was trying to convince. “I need to.”

Hot tears pooled on his lashline and fell. He knew Henry could feel them soaking his skin, like blood trickling from a wound.

Henry's exhale trembled, as if the gashes in Alex's heart were mirrored in Henry's chest. Alex closed his eyes and tried to breathe through that pain, clinging to Henry’s body and wondering why what he always wanted felt like a fatal injury.

He did have to go—any moment that he wasn't with Henry in this goddamn town made him feel like he was suffocating. Getting out was his solution, his cure, the only thing that made sense.

If he didn’t get out, he knew it would wind up killing him.

But there was a moment, suspended in time, where Alex saw an alternative version of his life play out like an old film. It was grainy and out of focus, but he heard Henry's voice ask him to stay, to try, to keep them together.

In that flash of clairvoyance, Alex listened to Henry's pleas and stayed. They bought a house in Texas and found different jobs they loved, and they traded off holidays between Austin and London. There were kids and Christmases and dancing in the living room in their underwear.

And love.

So much love that it poured out of that vision and into Alex's lungs, drowning him in waves of anguish as the image faded away.

Alex listened to Henry breathe and wondered if it could be true. He felt fear like a vice grip around his throat, an unknown future laid out in front of him.

It could be everything.

It could be the end of everything.

There was no way to know—the first step was off of a cliff. It was impossible to see the rest of the path from where Alex was standing.

But Henry was there behind them, his arms a refuge for Alex's battered heart. Henry was known and familiar.

Henry was safe.

But Alex had to go forward.

And if he left, Alex knew that Henry shouldn’t have to wait on him. He had no idea how long he would be gone, if he'd ever be able to come back.

He couldn’t ask Henry to go through that.

Not if this was what Henry thought was best.

Ask me to stay, Alex thought, squeezing his eyes shut against the swirl of unease in his stomach as he peered over the edge of that cliff. Just ask, baby.

He would have stayed.

Alex knows he would have, if Henry asked. He could feel something tangible in his hands as he touched Henry’s chest, a solid sliver of a dream wrapped around his fingertips.

If only he could—

“I know you have to go, my darling,” Henry told him instead, the already delicate cord between them fraying underneath the weight of those crushing words. “I still love you.”

Henry’s breath ghosted across Alex's forehead, the last vestiges of their implausible future turning to vapor and blowing away with the breeze.

The next morning, Alex told his parents goodbye and Henry drove him to the airport, both of them sleep-deprived and solemn. Henry hugged him in the shadow of the Delta help desk and kissed Alex’s lips like Alex was his fucking oxygen, the only thing keeping him breathing. Alex was still hoping, reeling as he stared down the path in front of him that didn’t include Henry.

It didn’t feel right, pressing his mouth to Henry’s and wondering if it might be the last time.

Even on the other side of security, with his bag slung over his shoulder, Alex looked back.

Henry was walking away, toward the giant glass doors, his head hung and his hands in his pockets. Alex watched him go, letting the tears fall from his eyes as Henry disappeared. His heart ripped from his chest as he took the most painful breath he’s ever taken in his life, because Henry was Alex’s oxygen, the only thing keeping him breathing.

But Henry let him go.

Henry didn’t ask him to stay.

So Alex left.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

we could call it even
you could call me babe for the weekend
tis the damn season

—

Henry posts a photo to his Instagram story the next night.

Alex gets the push notification while he's helping Leo with the stockings on the fireplace. He tells everyone that he forgot to turn them off if they ask, that it isn't the easiest thing to do and going through the steps would be inconvenient.

The truth is, every time he's tried, his phone screen has burned his fingertips and marred his skin. His eyes blur with the pain that multiplies every time he opens the app, sharp and pressing from beneath his sternum.

He's forgotten what it felt like before that pain became his normal.

He doesn't know what it's like not to hurt anymore.

So the notifications are still on, and Alex gets tiny peeks at Henry’s life now—the youth center in Austin, pictures of his dog, the occasional lunch with his mom, or concerts with Bea when she comes back to visit.

Those miniscule glimpses are both Alex’s disease and his medicine.

His. The way Henry used to be.

And he just can’t let them go.

There's a bag of peppermint Hershey kisses in his palm, blinking Christmas lights reflecting off of his hand when he decides to tap on the Henry Fox just added to their story.

The post is a shot of the park that sits between the Methodist church and the high school, a still frame of the gazebo backlit by the moon as it sits there, settled against dead trees and broken branches. Henry has written No place like home in a small font at the bottom of the shot.

Less than five miles from where Alex’s feet touch the earth.

It feels like a message, a beacon. A request.

For him.

Alex looks at Leo, helpless and guilt-ridden as he tries to figure out what to do. Leo smiles, understanding in his gaze.

“Go. I'll handle your mom, if she says anything.”

The car's windshield fogs up when Alex gets in, and he has to wait as it defrosts, every atom in his body vibrating at the highest frequency.

Wait for me, he prays as he stares through the frosty glass, the outside world blurred and murky.

Just this time.

Wait.

For me.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

it’s the kind of cold
fogs up windshield glass
but I felt it when I passed you

—

When Henry first moved to Alex’s town, the world was already dark for both of them.

Sometimes, Alex wonders if they would have still been drawn to each other in the light, if the fates would have still shoved them together if they didn't know what it was like to lose the sun.

But maybe there's something poetic about clutching onto someone when the night is closing in, a desperate grab at cold fingertips and hoping that the other person doesn't let go.

Because they get it, at least.

The only people that understand the need to find a stable hand to hold when the path ahead isn't visible are those that were reaching out in the dark, too.

They both needed someone.

They found each other.

At the time, Alex had divorced, angry parents and blamed an absent God. Henry had a dying, loving father and blamed an uncaring universe.

“Everything fucking sucks,” Alex said vehemently that summer, sitting on the gazebo bench with his knees curled up to his chest and wondering if heaven could hear him curse.

He hoped they fucking did.

Henry's shoulder was strong when Alex leaned against it. Alex focused on the feeling of warmth that radiated from that single point of contact, a flicker of something that brightened the space between them but still only let him see Henry's face.

It felt like enough.

Henry nodded, his knuckles brushing against the outside of Alex's thigh as he breathed. “Yeah, it fucking sucks.”

“It's this place, I think,” Alex told him, frowning at the steeple of the Methodist church and feeling that sense of rebellion twisting in his gut. “It's cursed or something.”

“Do you… truly believe in all of that stuff?”

Alex sighed, looking away from the holy building so that it couldn't sneer at him when he said, “I used to, for sure. I don't… I don't really know what's real anymore.”

Henry took his hand. His touch was remarkably soft, even as it skimmed across the jagged, broken edges of Alex. He squeezed three times, and Alex squeezed back four.

“I'm real,” Henry promised him. “And I'm here for you.”

“I'm not entirely convinced that you're not an illusion created by my subconscious.” Alex squinted at him, the tiniest smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Or like, a secret prince sent here to spy on me.”

“Your imagination truly knows no bounds, does it?”

“Leave me and my imagination alone, Mary Poppins.”

“Very clever.”

“Very clev-ah,” Alex parroted, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face when Henry glared.

“That was awful.”

“I know,” Alex said, his thumb pressed into Henry's knuckles. “I have to hear it all the time.”

“I think you secretly like it.”

“I'm too American to ever confirm or deny that statement.”

Henry snorted. “I would never accuse you of anything to the contrary, love.”

They fell silent for a moment, hands still intertwined. Above their heads, a crow squawked as it flew by, the sound reverberating around them. In the distance, Alex heard the honk of a car horn.

He closed his eyes and tried to block out everything except Henry—the sound of his breath, the press of his palm, the weight of his knee knocked against Alex's thigh.

“I'm gonna get out of this town when I graduate, and I don’t think I’ll ever look back,” Alex vowed, opening his eyes and glancing at the high school with its muted brick and looming awnings. Something occurred to him, and he looked to Henry. “Does that… make me like my dad?”

“No,” Henry told him vehemently, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t be abandoning your family. You’d be getting out of a place.”

“I just feel like I can’t stay here,” Alex admitted, propping his chin on his knee.

Henry was quiet for so long after that, and his voice was rough when he finally told Alex, “I hope you’re able to get what you want.”

Alex could only nod, sending up the smallest wish to whatever fucking deity had the balls to listen.

But he never let go of Henry's hand, his anchor in the tumultuous storm, his spark of light in the dark.

When Henry's father died six months later, Alex held him as he sobbed, agonizing and broken cries shaking his entire body. Alex willed himself to be what Henry needed, desperate to return the favor.

But Alex couldn't fix that, couldn't bring him back.

Henry's arms were immovable around Alex's body when he begged, “Please don't leave me, too.”

With his own throat tight around unshed tears, Alex promised he wouldn't.

He didn't know at the time that it was a lie.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

I escaped it, too
remember how you watched me leave?
but if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me

—

The park still looks the same, mostly.

The Methodist church still stands tall and eerie, the steeple a dark shadow stretching into the sky. The high school is off in the distance, the dull and lifeless prison that he traded for another.

And in the middle of the colorless trees, their gazebo is there. It’s timeworn and gray, groaning despondently in the gusts of wind, but it feels like it’s welcoming Alex back when he walks up the steps and into the center.

Henry isn’t there.

Alex runs his hand along the bannister as he searches the path and foliage around the structure, wondering if he was too late or if Henry never meant for anyone to find him at all. For all Alex knows, he left as soon as he clicked post, or took the photo hours before he actually shared it to his story.

Hopelessness expands in his chest, the swell rapid and encompassing. Alex presses a hand to his sternum as it builds, threatening to crush him from the inside out. He can’t breathe, and he can’t see, and the world is spinning too fast, too precariously.

Because if Henry isn’t here, then Alex really has lost him.

And if Alex has lost him, then he’ll forever be missing a piece of himself. He’ll never feel whole again. He’ll never—

“Hi.”

Alex whips around at the voice, that familiar inflection in a single word ricocheting around in Alex’s brain.

It’s Henry, hands tucked into his pockets, watching Alex with a guardedness that feels earned at the same time that it breaks Alex’s heart.

“Hi.”

Henry steps closer in small, slow movements. The lights hung around the ceiling of the gazebo illuminate him as he walks inside, and it lets Alex really see him.

Time has passed—nearly eighteen months since the last time Alex saw him—but it's still Henry. Tall frame, broad shoulders, sharp jawline. His hair is a little longer and the look in his eyes is a little more worn, like he's lived a few lifetimes between last July and today.

Alex wonders if Henry sees the same changes in Alex, if he recognizes the man standing in front of him as the boy he loved.

If he still loves what he sees the way that Alex still loves him.

“I almost left, but…” Henry rocks back on his heels. “Something told me to circle back one more time.”

Alex nods, pressing a hand to the side of his neck where his pulse is jackhammering. “I’m glad you did.”

“It’s, um, really nice to see you. I was—”

“Can I hug you?” Alex asks without thinking, feeling like he might shatter into pieces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I just…”

Henry nods as he closes the distance between them, his arms wrapping around Alex’s shoulders in a snug embrace. Alex attaches himself to Henry’s body, his hands sliding around Henry’s waist to his back and holding on.

“Fuck,” Alex whispers into Henry’s coat, his broken fragments held together by Henry’s touch. “Thank you. I—”

“It’s alright,” Henry says, his mouth against Alex’s temple. “It’s alright, my love.”

My love.

Alex pulls back to look up, into Henry’s eyes. They’re shining and misty, moisture clinging to Henry’s lashline. His breath catches in his throat as he gazes into those blue orbs, so familiar and so beautiful, two identical aches of absence palpable as they stare in silence.

There, in Henry’s eyes, Alex can see a reflection of himself. It’s him, the version of himself that disappeared the day that they were separated, lost to youthful ambition and false pretenses. For a moment, Alex wonders if he could reach out and pull that Alex out of Henry’s gaze and bring him back into existence, if it’s possible for him to survive again outside of Henry’s mind.

“Uh.” Alex struggles for a moment to work his tongue. “Do you wanna walk around the trail?”

Henry nods, smiling softly. “Sure.”

There are cracks in the concrete path as they start on the right side of the loop. Henry tells Alex about the shelter and gives updates about his sister, and Alex is happy to listen as they walk. Henry’s voice is soothing and rhythmic, the same as Alex remembers and yet nothing like what he’s conjured in his dreams. They’ve never quite been able to capture that lift on certain syllables, the love and goodness that soaks the words.

Fuck, Alex missed him.

“And I’m looking at going to school finally, maybe. I was thinking…” Henry shrugs, but Alex can see the excitement in his smile. “...New York City looks kind of fun.”

All the way across the country.

Even further away from Alex.

Miles and miles of more distance that will separate them.

Like maybe Henry is running, too.

But Alex knows it isn’t fair to say that, so he nods. “Yeah, I definitely think you would like it there. You might finally be able to find tea that suits your sophisticated tastes.”

“Bugger off,” Henry says, laughing. “But uh, what about you? How have you been? How is Los Angeles treating you?”

Alex gives Henry his best grin. “It’s good. Loud and bright, but I guess that’s why it’s perfect for me.”

Henry tilts his head. “Hm.”

“What?”

Henry smiles, like there’s a joke only he is privy to. “It’s interesting that I still… I can still tell when you’re forcing a smile.”

“Oh.” Alex feels his heart split in the same place where it ruptured all those months ago, cold air seeping into the crevices as the stitches he put into place fail him. “Well, you always did.”

“Is it… not everything you wanted?”

Alex pushes his hands further into his pockets. “No it’s good, really. It is.”

Because it has to be. If it’s not good, then it was all for nothing.

It can’t have all been for nothing.

“Are you… still adjusting?”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees easily, taking the way out that Henry has offered. “It’s a lot of lights and excitement and… it’s really fucking different from here, you know? It’s been a process to try to get used to it all.”

“I'm glad that it’s going well,” Henry tells him, sounding so genuine that it makes Alex want to puke. “I hope that… I hope that it becomes everything you wanted it to be.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, feeling bereft and hollow. “Yeah, I hope so, too.”

The gazebo comes into view again, the path that they were walking circling back around to the start.

Or to the end.

But Alex reaches out for Henry's hand reflexively, his brain scrambling for a way to keep them together a little longer. He doesn't want it to be over yet—they were supposed to have more time.

Alex always thought they would have more time.

Henry raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't let Alex's hand go.

“Dance with me,” Alex says in a rush, fingers tightening. “In the gazebo, yeah?”

Henry's eyes widen slightly, glancing toward the structure. “I'm not… do we even have music?”

Alex pulls his phone out of his pocket, wishing and hoping. Henry's mouth twists into a smile, and then he's the one pulling Alex toward the gazebo.

Scrambling to pick a song that'll work, Alex presses play and puts his phone down on the bench before turning to face Henry again.

They skipped their proms, not particularly interested in the high school shenanigans that enthralled their classmates, so Alex is acutely aware that he doesn't really know how to do this. Henry pulls him close, keeping their fingers linked as he picks up Alex's other hand and places it on his tall, broad shoulder. Then Henry's palm is sliding over Alex's hip, up to his waist, and they're gently swaying back and forth.

Alex glances down at their feet, trying his best not to step on Henry. But Henry tugs him even closer, until Alex can't look down anymore. His forehead touches Henry's jaw, and gentle lips brush against his temple.

“You're thinking too much,” Henry whispers, squeezing at Alex's waist.

“Well, duh.” Alex smiles, despite himself. “Have you fucking met me?”

“Once or twice.” Henry smiles, glancing over at their interlocked hands. “You still wear your bracelet.”

Alex follows his gaze, watching as Henry’s thumb traces over the corded jewelry, the tiny glass sphere resting above Alex’s pulse. Some of the lights from around the edge of the gazebo reflect off the surface, bright and almost magical. Alex nearly forgot that he was even wearing it, because he doesn’t ever take it off.

It’s part of him now, a token that he always carries with him.

“Yeah,” Alex whispers, glancing back to find Henry studying his face. “Of course I do.”

And he doesn’t mean to, not really.

But Henry is there, so fucking close, and it feels like muscle memory when Alex stretches up on his toes and molds their lips together. It’s not heated or sensual, not at first. There aren’t any tongues or scrapes of teeth.

Alex feels it all the way down to his toes, though. It’s like everything he’s been missing, all the things that he forgot he wanted, the dreams that he left behind but kept safe in the deepest vault of his heart.

Henry pushes back softly, his hand flattening on Alex’s spine and pulling him closer. When they pull away, they both take a breath in sync, and then Alex dives back in, parting Henry’s lips and dipping his tongue inside this time. It’s still not particularly provocative—the movement of their mouths is gentle and languid, honeyed and tender.

A sound rumbles in Alex’s chest, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

The spell breaks, and Henry wrenches his mouth away.

“I shouldn’t—”

Alex scrambles in that absence of warmth. “There hasn't been anyone else, you know. A few people have tried, and there was this one person who—”

“Don't.” Henry winces, putting some space between their bodies. “Please. If I wanted to know about all of the propositions you've refused in the last year, I would have asked. Pez already sends me every single bloody article that ever gets posted about you, and I can’t—”

“I didn't mean to…” Alex swallows past the lump in his throat. “I'm sorry.”

“I miss you,” Henry whispers, tipping their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “You know that I do. That I would…”

Henry doesn't finish his sentence. He kisses Alex instead, and the press of his lips is familiar but harder, firmer. His body is tense, as if the touch is causing him pain.

They break apart on broken gasps and fall back together. Henry's tongue pushes into Alex's mouth, coaxing Alex open and setting his desire free. Their kisses are a burning inferno now, desperate and heady and likely to set the entire park on fire.

Alex digs his teeth into Henry’s bottom lip, dragging a deep groan from Henry’s throat. Henry puts his hands on Alex’s chest suddenly, and his palms rest there for a long moment before Henry pushes, hard. It makes Alex stumble back, feeling dazed and unsteady.

Behind him, his phone is still playing music. There’s rustling trees and the chirps of birds surrounding them in the foggy evening, the lamppost lights casting an otherworldly glow around the space.

But the distance between Alex and Henry is dark, covered by the roof of the gazebo, kept out of the light.

Even so, Alex can clearly see the hurt in every line of Henry’s expression when he croaks, “I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.”

Alex stands there in the cold and watches Henry walk away. In a moment, he sees himself from Henry’s perspective as he left eighteen months ago, turning his back the same way that his dad did when Alex was only a kid. It suddenly doesn’t matter that Alex was running from a place, not a person—he still did the exact same thing.

He still left.

He still caused someone that he loved to hurt.

And now, the script has flipped.

It all hits Alex like a freight train as the love of his life leaves him behind.

And he didn’t fucking know.

He didn’t know that this is what it feels like.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

tis the damn season, write this down
I’m staying at my parents house
and the road not taken looks real good now

—

On Alex's eighteenth birthday, Henry was the only thing Alex really wanted.

His party was a fucking drag, just an excuse for Ellen to go all out on decorations and a cake and a karaoke machine. She rubbed it in Oscar's face for nearly a year after, posted photos for all of her high profile friends to see and praise.

It wasn't ever really about Alex at all.

June did her best to counteract the shit-fest of it all, getting Alex Stormtrooper cupcakes behind his mom's back and nearly getting her head chewed off for it. There was only so much she could do—Alex never blamed her for it.

Alex spent most of the party on the roof outside his bedroom window. Even in March, the Texas summer was already starting to roll in, bringing warm air and moisture. The humidity was bearable but sticky, adhering to Alex's skin as he stared out at their street.

“Leo told me to bring you a cupcake,” Henry said when he found Alex there, producing two cupcakes in one hand. “June managed to save a few good ones.”

“I appreciate them trying,” Alex replied as he peeled off the liner. “Thanks.”

Henry hesitated, his body shifting closer. “Are you… alright?”

Alex took a bite of his cupcake, watching a jogger go by and then glancing over at Henry.

“Older and wiser isn't all it's cracked up to be, I guess.”

Henry smirked. “Sorry, did you say wiser? Do you have evidence of this occurring sometime today? Have my prayers actually been answered?”

“I will fucking shove you off of this roof.”

“If I'm falling off the roof, you're falling with me.”

He was right, but Alex still rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Henry chuckled, the sound like a beautiful symphony to Alex’s ears. It drew him in, until his shoulder touched Henry’s arm, until there wasn’t any physical space between them. Alex's next breath felt easier, filling his lungs and taking away some of the tension in his chest when he exhaled. They ate their cupcakes in comfortable silence, hums of appreciation rumbling in their chests.

“Thanks for coming,” Alex said when they were both finished eating, leaning his head until it touched Henry’s shoulder.

“Of course.” Henry pressed his cheek to Alex’s curls, his mouth brushing Alex's temple. “Where else would I be?”

“I figured you had wild Friday night plans. Subterfuge, breaking and entering, grand theft auto. You know, just for the pre-midnight events.”

“I hate you,” Henry told him, tone thick with fondness.

“I know,” Alex responded, cheeky and happy and finally feeling like it’s actually his fucking birthday.

“I got you a gift, by the way.”

“You stole the car before you came here, didn’t you?”

“Will you—” Henry buried his laugh into Alex’s hair, shifting them a bit as he reached into his pocket. “Here, you bloody menace.”

It was a bracelet, deep blue and made with interwoven string. There was a small circle made of glass on it, and Henry held it up when Alex narrowed his eyes.

“Look inside,” Henry said, and Alex did, closing one eye to focus on what was hidden behind the surface of the bead. “It’s a… It's a photo of us. The one June took last December. I know it's hard to see, but—”

“It's not,” Alex interrupted, seeing the image as clear as day. “I can see us.”

Henry helped Alex put it on, adjusting so that it would fit around his wrist. When it was snug but not restrictive, Henry let his fingertips linger around the cord, his thumb sweeping over the glass ball and down to Alex's racing pulse on the underside of his wrist. Alex looked at Henry's face, at the sharp planes of his jaw and the light shining in his eyes, at the gentle slope of his nose and the soft curve of his lips.

Alex has never been struck by lightning, but that moment felt like something pretty close.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Henry commented, swaying closer at the same time that Alex did, two magnets being pulled together.

“Yeah,” Alex said, his hand coming up to Henry's cheek. “Guess you have that effect on me.”

“And what effect is that?”

Alex struggled to put it into words, his mind racing to place the sensations in his body and make them make sense.

In the end, what he came up with was, “Making me feel alive.”

Henry licked his lips and closed the space between them, his mouth sliding across Alex's in a gentle caress. Alex cupped his hand around the nape of Henry's neck and held him there, lips fused together and hearts intertwined. It was simple and sweet and, even now, Alex’s favorite gift that he’s ever received.

When they broke apart, Henry stayed close. Alex could hear his blood racing in his ears, like thunder rattling inside his brain.

Alex breathed, “Whoa,” and Henry pressed another kiss to his mouth. He was smiling into it, their teeth bumping a little before their lips started to move together.

But it was perfect.

“Do you know that I love you?” Henry asked in a hushed tone, a little awed.

Alex blinked at him, something sharp stabbing beneath his solar plexus. It felt wrong, somehow, for an angel to be looking at Alex like that. Henry's eyes were soft and adoring and so, so blue.

There was an entire ocean caught in that gaze, flooding into the air around them. He wondered if drowning there would be a peaceful way to go, surrounded by the only person that has ever looked at Alex and actually seen him.

“You love me?”

Henry held Alex's face with gentle hands, as if he were something precious. Alex couldn't breathe, and he closed his eyes and met Henry's mouth again in a tender kiss.

“I love you so much, I can't even—” Henry's voice cracked, his breath catching and quivering when it released. “So much that I sometimes wonder if it might kill me.”

Alex ran his hand up Henry's side, settling his palm underneath the curve of his ribcage. It felt like a perfect fit, even as Henry's chest expanded with his inhale.

“I hope not,” Alex whispered, knowing with acute clarity that he was handing Henry his heart when he said, “Because I love you, too.”

Henry laughed, breathless and incredulous, and then his lips were hard on Alex's. They kissed there, on the roof with the sun setting behind them, a party going on beneath their feet entirely oblivious. They kissed like their time was limited, as if the world was ending and this was how they decided to spend their last moments.

They kissed for so long that Alex felt dizzy, like the ground was rushing up at him in a swirl of motion. He murmured something about falling off the roof against Henry's lips, afraid of pulling too far away and losing his grip on everything.

But they crawled back through the window and curled into Alex's bed, making out until they both felt drunk on each other's kisses.

Henry brushed his hand above Alex's heart, which was hammering beneath that touch, and said, “I love you.”

Alex let his palm slide over the back of Henry's knuckles, holding his hand against Alex's chest, and replied, “I love you.”

And it was true—the truest thing Alex ever felt. It still is.

But maybe it was too much.

Or maybe it wasn’t enough.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

So I’ll go back to LA and my so called friends
who’ll write books about me if I ever make it
and wonder about the only soul
who can tell which smiles I’m faking

—

“So what happened?”

“He left,” Alex tells Nora over the phone, turning to pace back in the other direction in his cramped bedroom. It feels like he’s two laps from wearing down the carpet and leaving marks that his mom will never forgive him for. “And I just… froze, watching him walk away like that.”

“Ah,” Nora says. “Like you did.”

“And my fucking dad.”

“It’s not really the same thing, is it?”

“It feels like it. I—” Alex swallows back tears. “I didn’t even call out for him or follow him, and by the time I got back to where we were parked…”

“He was gone.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Alex repeats. “And now I’m sitting here in my fucking childhood bedroom and realizing that I… completely fucked up everything with the love of my life. Like, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that information? My flight leaves to come back to LA the day after Christmas, and Henry left me in the middle of a fucking park, so he probably doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Okay, pause your spiral and back up. Are you telling me that you already have the love of your life, and that he is also your one that got away?”

Alex collapses on his bed, the springs creaking underneath his weight. “Yep.”

“Damn. Was kind of hoping it would be me.” Nora hums. “You know, unreciprocated, of course. I just liked the idea.”

“I imagine you already are someone else’s.”

He can picture Nora pouting. “Yeah, but you’re so… dramatic and soft? I feel like it would have been a lot of fun. For me, obviously. Devastating for you.”

“God, you would love my sister.”

“I’ve seen her Instagram, back when we met and I stalked you online,” Nora says, sighing wistfully. “You can definitely give her my number, if you want.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

“So you’ll do it?”

Alex rolls his eyes, but the weight on his chest feels a little lighter. He turns his head and stares at his first small magazine cover, the one his mom framed and hung up on his wall. The man there is smiling, light shining in his eyes that hadn’t been dimmed completely.

Yet.

“Yeah,” he whispers, pushing his head back into his pillow. “Yeah I’ll do it.”

“Can’t wait to be your sister-in-law.”

“I take it back.”

“Too late.” Nora laughs, loud and sparkling, and Alex feels a wave of gratitude strong enough that it steals the breath from his lungs.

“Thanks for listening,” Alex says, hoping Nora can hear the truth of it all in his voice. “I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I already chose. I just think I chose wrong.”

“That’s the great thing about choices, Alejandro,” Nora tells him. “You can always make new ones. Well, most of the time. There are definitely exceptions, like, you know, murder. But not things like this.”

Alex chews on his lip. “Are you suggesting that I don’t come back to LA?”

Nora clicks her tongue. “I hate it here, do you know that? I’ve thought about running away from it all forever.”

And isn’t that fucking poetic, that the thing Alex ran toward is the thing others are trying to escape.

“Where would you go?” Alex asks, brushing his fingertips over his worn quilt.

“I don’t know,” Nora says, pausing. “Maybe New York City. Find a different type of toxicity and see if I can make it my bitch.”

“I believe in you.”

“That means a lot to me.” Nora snickers, her following silence feeling significant. So Alex waits, listening intently when she says, “You don’t have to know every step that’s in front of you, Alex. You only have to know the first one. You can figure out the rest from there.”

“What’s…” Alex clears his throat, picking at a frayed piece of cotton beneath his palm. “What’s the first step?”

“Go be with your fucking man,” Nora demands, and Alex sits up reflexively at her tone. “Don’t make me fly out there to drag you to his door by the ear. I’ll fucking do it.”

Alex glances around his room, his attention catching on the corner to the right of his door, the shelf that holds all of his plaques and trophies.

Next to Alex’s senior year lacrosse trophy is a photo of two skinny teenagers with their arms tight around each other’s shoulders, giant grins on their faces and all the hope in the world for better tomorrows, for dreams that they don’t even know exist yet.

Alex lets his eyes trace over Henry’s frozen smile, tousled blonde hair, somehow completely unaware that he was Alex’s entire world. That he always will be.

Looking down at his wrist, Alex runs his fingertip along the bracelet there, the one with the exact same photo tucked inside a small glass ball, the one that Alex has always kept with him, the one that reminds Alex of home.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Alex tells Nora as his feet hit the floor. “I’m already on the way to him.”

He can’t see Nora beaming, but he knows that she is. “Atta boy.”

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

and the heart I know I’m breaking is my own
to leave the warmest bed I’ve ever known
we could call it even
even though I’m leaving

—

“Your stubble fucking itches.”

Henry smiled against Alex's cheekbone, his face a little flushed when he pulled back to meet Alex's eyes.

“It's been a long day, you know,” Henry said, quirking one eyebrow. “My incredibly hot and amazing boyfriend had a bloody lacrosse game two counties over, so I had to get up very early to be there and cheer him on.”

Alex pressed a kiss to Henry's mouth, reveling in the tiny stutter of breath when Henry held him there for another moment.

“You didn't have to,” Alex whispered, feeling his fondness like a weight beneath his solar plexus, as if he could rip it from his chest and hand it to Henry. “You could have just watched it on TV.”

“Well, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I did that?”

Alex ran his palm over Henry's stubbly cheek, the sharp cut of the coarse hair tickling his skin. “A more clean shaven one.”

Henry buried his face in Alex's neck, purposefully scratching Alex in the process of kissing him. Alex laughed and tangled his fingers in Henry's hair, tugging gently as he squirmed beneath the attention.

A breeze shook the trees above their heads, the wood of the old gazebo creaking a bit against the force. Henry pressed his lips to the pulse in Alex's throat and settled there, his eyelashes brushing against Alex's jaw.

“I'm proud of you, you know,” Henry said, wrapping his arms around Alex's body. “I'm so glad I got to see it.”

It was an accidental reminder of who wasn't there—Alex's mom had to work and his dad left halfway through to take a call and never came back. He texted afterward, apologizing for missing the end.

Alex didn't respond.

Leo and June were the only ones there the entire time.

Them and Henry.

Henry, who told his job that he needed a day off and wouldn't take no for an answer.

Henry, always putting Alex first.

“Thank you,” Alex told him. “I'm really glad you were there.”

“I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world.” Henry lifted his head, pushing a stray curl from Alex's forehead. “Seeing you succeed is such a lovely thing to witness.”

And then Alex remembered the tiny slip of paper burning a hole in the pocket of his backpack, a phone number that he already knew he was going to call.

“So, something I wanted to tell you, actually.” Alex took a deep breath, watching Henry's face. “There’s this agency that saw the video that went viral from the semifinals a few days ago. They talked to me after the championship today and gave me a business card.”

Alex glanced over his shoulder, suddenly scared to read Henry's expression. Late at night, the high school looked haunting in the distance, the fog making it hard to see. It made him think about time, that they were only a couple of weeks away from graduation, and then neither of them would ever have to go there again. The ghouls that roamed the halls at night and the apparitions that terrorized it during the day would never again cause them strife.

After a pause, Henry hummed. “So modeling, then?”

Alex laughed at the word being said aloud, a little incredulous. “He says I have a winning smile that people will pay good money for.”

“I don’t disagree.” Henry touched a finger to Alex’s chin, turning his face back. “How lucky I’ve been, to see it for free. It’s practically theft.”

Alex shoved his hand away, but then leaned forward to mold their mouths together. Henry kissed him back, his fingertips pushing into the hair behind Alex's ear. Alex's veins raced with that adrenaline, the feeling of life and light and love all blending inside of his chest and spreading.

He called it his Henry feeling. There weren't any other ways to describe it that did it justice.

Henry touched him, kissed him, held him, loved him.

And all Alex could fucking feel, every time, was Henry. Unmistakable and overwhelming and beautiful.

Henry.

Henry pressed one more smiling kiss to Alex's lips, his thumb stroking Alex's cheekbone.

“So will you call them, then?”

Alex nodded. “I think so. It might not be sustainable or realistic or whatever but… I don't know. It's exciting, at least.”

“I think that's as good of a reason as any,” Henry told him, the paragon of understanding.

Still, Alex braced himself when he said, “I would have to move to LA.”

Henry was pensive at that, his face shifting as he processed that piece of information. But in the end, he shrugged a shoulder and said, “You would get to move to LA. That’s always been what you’ve wanted, right? To get out of here.”

It was, that itch to run stronger than any feeling Alex ever had.

Well, almost any feeling.

“Yeah,” Alex replied, heart suddenly feeling like a steel trap in his chest. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“So it’s a good thing, Alex.”

“But…” Alex touched Henry’s jaw with trembling fingers. “What about you?”

“Well, Pez still wants help with the shelter in Austin, so I figure I’ll be working with him for… however long he needs me. So I’ll still be here, cheering you on from afar. And we can still talk all the time.”

Alex knew the question he needed to ask, the words like razor blades on his tongue. “Does that mean that we have an expiration date? If I say yes, does this end?”

Henry shook his head, his lips a gentle caress against Alex's forehead. “Don't think of it that way. I don't believe that what we have will ever go away.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Taking his hand, Henry laid Alex's palm flat on his chest. Alex could feel the steady rhythm of Henry’s heart, matching the beat he could feel in his own body. Henry placed his free hand over Alex's chest, still holding tightly to Alex's fingers with his other.

They sat there in the quiet, foreheads touching, the rest of the world fading away.

“Do you feel that?” Henry whispered.

Alex closed his eyes. Their connection felt like electricity contained in their bones, a nearly tangible ribbon tied around their hearts. His fingertips dug into the strong muscle of Henry's chest, and that bond flexed with the movement.

Bending, not breaking.

“Yeah,” Alex breathed. “Yeah, baby.”

Henry smiled against Alex's mouth, a hint of a kiss. “That won't go away, darling. No matter where we go.”

Alex nodded, squeezing his eyes shut to fight off the tears threatening to fall. “I know.”

“I'll always love you.”

Alex could only bob his head again, pushing forward to kiss Henry with everything he had.

That night, Alex snuck Henry upstairs to his room. Their hands fumbled around buttons and zippers, their kisses hungry and messy. Alex marveled at the miles of Henry's pale skin laid bare on his quilt for the first time, amazed that he got to experience something so gorgeous in his lifetime and swearing that he wouldn't waste the opportunity.

Alex settled between Henry's spread thighs, sinking into him and trying not to close his eyes as the way it felt overwhelmed him. Henry was too important, too lovely, for Alex to spend even a moment not looking at him.

Henry laughed when he fell apart, his cheeks glowing in the warm light of Alex's lamp. Alex kissed him as they came down, wrapped up together in their own little oasis.

Alex could already see the world from outside, threatening to burst their bubble. He knew it was only a matter of time, even then, before his foreboding premonitions would come true. He knew that their love, as deep as the ocean and vast as the sky, still wouldn't be enough to save them.

But Henry mouthed along Alex's jaw with whispered adoration, his touch setting Alex on fire.

And Alex ignored it all.

He had time.

He still had time.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄 ❄️🎄

now I’m missing your smile
hear me out
we could just ride around
and the road not taken looks real good now
and it always leads to you

—

Henry’s apartment has a Grinch gnome sitting by the door.

Alex remembers the day he got it. Bea bought it for him the year he graduated high school and got his own place for the first time, and there’s a photo somewhere of Henry holding it up and making the same facial expression as the green, grumpy statue. They laughed about it for weeks, sending it in group chats every time Henry so much as grumbled about anything.

Alex smiles at it as he walks up to the door, the floor creaking beneath his boots. His hand hovers as he reaches for the doorbell, uncertainty making him hesitate. There are a million ways that this could go wrong, a million more in which Alex could mess something up.

But he wants this.

He wants Henry, more than anything.

Still, doubt gnaws at the courage he’s gathered. He glances around at the quiet hallway, the dark corners with their hidden monsters, waiting in silence to see what Alex will do, if he’ll go through with this.

That fear and uncertainty nearly makes him spiral, threatening to send him running in the opposite direction.

Alex is so fucking tired of running.

With a shaky breath, he presses the doorbell.

The door opens, and there Henry is.

Neither of them move for a heartbeat, both of them caught in this strange, unspoken moment of recognition. It’s as if they both know why Alex is here, but now it’s Henry’s turn to decide how to proceed.

Alex waits, his throat so tight that he doesn’t think he would be able to speak even if he chose to. Henry blinks at him, his expression shifting through surprise and disbelief and then, slowly, into something softer.

“I thought that we could—” Alex tries, but the words catch on the edge of his tongue, and he falters.

Henry hums, understanding anyway. “Pez really thinks I shouldn’t.”

Alex nods. “Pez is probably right.”

But Henry opens the door wider, and they collide as soon as it’s clicked closed behind them. It’s Henry who closes the final gap between them, kissing Alex breathless. Their hands are frantic and greedy, moving over each other’s bodies in hurried presses of their fingertips and rough drags of their palms.

Henry leads Alex without breaking their kiss, and suddenly Alex is toppling backward into a bed with Henry’s body blanketing him. Henry straddles one of Alex’s thighs and grinds down to find Alex already hard beneath him. It makes them both groan, loud and harsh, as Henry reaches for Alex’s zipper.

Alex had an entire plan, a bullet list of points to make so that they could talk things out, so he could ensure Henry knew what he was here for and what he wanted.

It all fades from his mind as Henry shoves a hand down the front of Alex’s jeans, his tongue plunging into Alex’s mouth over and over as his fingers find a rhythm. He touches Alex without restraint, stripping him and then using his lips and his hands to bring Alex to the brink and back down.

Maybe for the first time in his life, Alex can’t find any words to say that aren’t “please,” or “baby,” or murmured configurations of Henry’s name. Even as Henry’s thighs flex while he straddles Alex’s hips and sinks down, even as Henry digs his teeth into Alex’s neck as he rides him, even as their bodies move in perfect, intimate harmony, Alex thinks he’ll never be able to describe it adequately in any language.

It’s not meant for corporeal expression, not something that the physical world was ever meant to comprehend.

After, Henry collapses into Alex’s chest, both of them breathing heavy and tangled in the warmth of each other’s sweat-slick bodies. Henry’s fingers pull a sheet over their lower halves, his hand settling on Alex’s hip as he relaxes.

Alex closes his eyes, feeling like he’s finally come home after a long, treacherous journey. Henry’s fingertips trace slow, gentle patterns in Alex’s stomach, each sweep sending a new wave of shivers through Alex, as if the pleasure he just felt is being prolonged with each touch. He feels himself smile, melting into the pillows as he wraps an arm around Henry’s shoulders and lets himself breathe.

“When do you fly back?”

In a split second, the air feels punched from Alex’s lungs. The fissure in his heart reopens again and spreads, a consequence of Alex leaving it out and unguarded, easier to attack and wound.

Just like that, then. Henry doesn’t get it, after all.

Or if he does, he doesn’t want the same thing.

The first time, Alex let himself leave because he didn’t think anyone who mattered cared if he stayed. Now, there's no mention of where they go from here or what this meant, only a question of when it ends.

Again.

Alex can't ask anything of Henry that he won't be willing to give, and Henry clearly won't ask Alex to stick around. Maybe they’ll do this again the next time Alex is home, but it’ll always end with, “When do you leave?” and never with “Will you stay?”

It’s the start of a goddamn cycle that will probably leave them both fucking miserable, and Alex is already exhausted by it. He can feel the person that he recognized in Henry's eyes in the gazebo slipping away, tendrils of him clinging to Alex's fingertips.

And Alex doesn't want to lose him again.

He doesn't want to lose either of them.

But he can’t stay where he isn’t wanted. He can’t stay if no one asks him to.

This isn't fucking fair.

Alex flings the covers back, kicking them away from his feet when they stick to his skin. He scrambles to find his clothes, to cover his dumbass vulnerability before Henry recognizes it.

He can feel Henry's eyes as he starts to pace, trying to take the torrent in his mind and turn it into words. He doesn't want to yell, but he can feel that anger—at himself, at Henry, at the entire fucking universe—bubbling and festering on the sharpened edge of his tongue. In his peripheral vision, Henry puts on his boxers and sits on the edge of the bed, wary as he watches Alex walk back and forth.

“What’s… what’s wrong, love?”

Alex's response spills past his lips. “Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

“I’m sorry?” Henry asks, brow furrowing.

“Eighteen months ago. Why didn’t you…” Alex feels his throat tighten, tears burning in his vision that he tries to force down. “Why didn’t you want me to stay?”

“It wasn't that I didn't want you to stay,” Henry says in slow syllables, and his words are too similar to pity for Alex to recognize anything else. “I knew you needed to go. I didn't want to hold you back.”

“Maybe I did need to go,” Alex says, grabbing a fistful of his curls and trying to ground himself. “But you never even fucking asked. You just let me go.”

“Would it have mattered? If I asked?”

Alex wipes at his damp eyes. “I don’t fucking know.”

Henry doesn't say anything for a while, and when Alex looks over at him, he's staring down at his feet. His fingers are clutching the edge of his mattress, the knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip.

“Why are you asking me this now?” Henry finally questions, throat moving as he swallows. “It’s been eighteen months, Alex. If I did something then to make you angry with me—”

“No,” Alex interrupts, massaging the skin of his forehead and closing his eyes against the swell of guilt. “It's just… I’m miserable, Henry.”

At that, Henry looks taken aback. “You said you were fine yesterday.”

Alex shakes his head. “I hate LA and everyone in it except one fucking person, the job fucking sucks, and every single day I look at myself in a mirror and don’t fucking recognize the asshole looking back at me, because I don’t even know who I am if I don’t have you. Losing you is the biggest regret of my stupid fucking life, and when I look back… I think things would have different, if you just fucking asked.”

“That's easy to say with hindsight,” Henry tells him, strangely calm. “Your experiences are influencing your perspective.”

“Don't you dare get fucking philosophical on me right now.”

“I'm sorry,” Henry says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I thought you were doing what you needed.”

“I needed you to want me as much as I needed you,” Alex admits, a tear slipping down his cheek. “And I really fucking needed you.”

“You didn’t lose me,” Henry insists, brow pinching on his forehead. “Or if you did, it was when you stopped answering my calls and texts. I tried, Alex.”

“Fuck.” More moisture spills from Alex's eyes. “I know it's all my fault, but I thought it was better for you. I didn't want you to have to wait for me to figure my shit out.”

There’s a flash of something, Henry’s eyes hardening. “And yet, here I am with you, in my damned bed, giving you all of me that you'll accept, and you're asking me why I didn't do more?”

“Because that's only because I'm here!” Alex gasps, nearly choking on the air entering his lungs. “You're asking me about my fucking flight before my brain even got back to working right, like you can't wait to shove me back out the door.”

“I was only trying to see how quickly you were going to leave me!” Henry shouts back, standing up. “Do you think it was easy for me to let you get on that damned plane, not knowing if you would ever come back or speak to me again? Do you think I haven't been miserable without you, too? I stare at the phone constantly, Alex, just hoping you’ll have the time or the care to send me a single fucking text message while you’re off doing whatever you needed to do. Have you become so self-absorbed that you're only thinking of your pain?”

Henry’s words are sharp and cutting, and Alex watches as he squeezes his hands into fists. His chest is expanding in quick bursts, his eyes harsh and wet, his muscles tense and rigid.

Like he’s hurting just as much.

Like maybe Alex is wrong.

“You just made it seem so easy,” Alex says, his chin trembling. “You didn't even look back that day, at the airport.”

Henry crosses his arms over his stomach. “I was… beside myself as soon as I turned around. People stopped me outside the door to ask if I was alright, and I couldn't even speak through my… weeping. I stayed in the airport parking lot, blubbering like a baby in my car, until your plane had taken off, and I kept trying to tell myself that it was what you needed.” Henry squeezes his eyes shut, his face twisting in pain. “You always said it was what you needed.”

“I thought it was what I needed, to get out and do something with my life that didn’t include this goddamn town, and…” Alex flounders, searching his heart and trying to find the truth underlying it all. “I just wanted to make the people I love proud of me. I wanted you to be proud of me.”

Henry huffs, shaking his head. “I already was proud of you. I fucking loved you.”

“Loved?” Alex’s chest constricts. “Past-tense?”

“It's just semantics, I suppose.” Henry swallows, looking off to his left. His jaw clenches. “I’ll always love you, Alex, until the moment I take my last breath. Maybe even beyond that.”

If nothing else, Alex takes some comfort in knowing that to be true.

“I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want us to be this—” Alex gestures between himself and Henry, still half-naked in front of him. “—jumping into bed when we happen to both be home for the holidays and fighting over me leaving before our come is even dry.”

Henry winces, chin dropping to his chest. “That's not fair.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What do you want from me?” Henry asks, eyes meeting Alex's as he flings his arms out to the side. “I told you I love you, and you still fucking left. And I understood, truly. I knew you weren’t walking away from me, and that you were running from this godforsaken place. I didn’t blame you for it. I understood that you needed to go. But you still left me. And then you shut me out when I tried so hard to—”

And now Henry is crying, big tears rolling down his cheeks as he turns his back to Alex. The anguished sound that escapes Henry’s throat feels like a physical slap to Alex’s face, sobs and choking gasps echoing around the room.

Alex's entire body freezes up as he watches Henry's shoulders shake. He swallows hard, his stomach twisted in knots as he sees Henry’s brutal heartache, the devastation that Alex left behind and didn’t fully recognize until now.

God, he might be worse than his fucking dad.

His fingers lift instinctively, like he might brush them across Henry's skin and try to offer some comfort.

But his trembling hand causes Henry's body to tense as soon as it's made contact, and he yanks it away.

“I'm so sorry,” Alex whispers, the last whole parts of himself crumbling into unrecognizable fragments. His lungs feel like they might collapse, like the air is being sucked out of the room. His chest heaves, and he stammers, “I know you tried, and I didn’t, and I fucked it all up. I thought you didn’t—I didn’t mean to—I thought that—”

Everything is whirling too fast, and Alex can't breathe. He digs his fingernails into his palms and tries to reconcile his mistakes in his mind, to find a string of logical thoughts and connect them to the good intentions and illusive hopes that he couldn't bring to fruition.

He can't. It's all moving too quickly.

Or maybe he fucked up too much.

“I didn't mean to leave you, too,” Alex says as his back hits the wall, his eyes burning as his tears soak his cheeks. “I just couldn't stay here. I—” His voice cracks around the pieces of his heart that are stuck in his throat. “And now I don't belong anywhere.”

He hears Henry say his name, the sound muffled and disjointed. His tears are blurring his vision, so he startles when he feels strong hands on his shoulders. Henry is there, like he always is, pulling Alex into his arms and whispering gentle affirmations into Alex's ears.

But Henry is still crying, too, moisture soaking into Alex's hair, into his skin. So Alex reaches out and wraps his arms around Henry, too, squeezing tight.

“I'm so sorry,” Alex repeats over and over as they drench each other in their tears, like if he says it enough, maybe the words will bleed from his chest and into the world. Maybe he could get a second chance to fix everything, to do it better.

Maybe he can find himself again—the boy he lost when he got on that plane.

“It's okay, love. It's alright. I'm sorry, too.” Henry kisses Alex's temple, sniffling. “But please know that just because you might not belong here or there doesn't mean that you don't belong anywhere. That isn't true.”

Alex presses his forehead to Henry's collarbone, flattening his palm against Henry's chest. The same familiar heartbeat thuds under the touch, the one he knows better than his own.

There is a single truth that Alex knows with his next breath, the only thing that has ever been indisputable.

“I belong here,” Alex says, flexing his fingers against the muscle beneath them and hoping that Henry understands. “Here.”

Henry’s breath trembles. “Yeah?”

“If you'll still have me.”

“Oh, Alex,” Henry murmurs, framing Alex's face in his hands and pulling his gaze up. “You never lost me, my sweet darling. We got a little turned around, that’s all.”

Henry moves one hand to rest it over Alex's on his chest, his other sliding over Alex's sternum. Their foreheads touch, and Alex tries to pause time there as he inhales.

All he can feel is Henry, his pulse spelling out his name in rapid beats.

Only Henry.

Always Henry.

“You still feel that, yeah?” Henry whispers. “It didn't go away, sweetheart.”

And it is still there, a light in the dark, an anchor in the storm, the only thing in the goddamn world strong enough to bring Alex back here.

“Yeah,” Alex says, laughing breathlessly. “It's still there.”

“And that's where you belong. It's where you've always been.” Henry taps the back of Alex’s knuckles. “Right here.”

“Yes.”

“And you wouldn't know that if you hadn't run away first, hm?”

“Oh.” A breath escapes Alex's lungs in a rush. “Yeah.”

Alex couldn't see it before—he was only thinking of home being a place, something he had to find, something that would choose him. He thought leaving was how he got to where he needed to go.

And maybe, in some ways, it was.

But home is here, in Henry.

The person that Alex chose all that time ago, when he was reaching out in the dark for something to hold onto. The person he's going to keep choosing, on purpose, breaking the cycle his dad started before it can escalate.

He makes that promise to himself, to Henry, to the entire goddamn world.

“I love you,” Henry tells him, his cheeks still wet.

Alex knows. He can feel it much better now.

“I love you, too.” Alex looks into Henry's eyes. “Always have.”

Henry is smiling when he kisses Alex, his lips salty from their tears but still tasting like home. All those pieces that Alex couldn't place, all the dichotomous decisions that he thought were right or wrong, every time that he stared at a ceiling and wondered where he needed to go—it all clicks, crystal clear.

Alex keeps his eyes closed, feeling the way Henry's breath fans across his lips, the way the world pauses as they stand there, the way it all finally makes sense.

Here. Now.

Henry.

And Alex is tired of running away from him, from home, only to not find what he's looking for. Because it's always been behind him.

He just needed to turn around to see it.

“I’m sorry,” Alex tells him again, the taste of Henry comforting on his lips. “I want to do better. I want…”

“What do you want me to do, Alex?” Henry prompts, his thumb pressing into the dimple of Alex’s chin. “Tell me what you want now.”

Alex touches his fingertips to Henry's cheek. He doesn’t know the path that they’re going down, or what the rest of the journey will look like.

But he knows they’ll do it together.

He knows the first step.

And that’s enough.

“Ask me to stay, Henry.”

Outside of Henry’s window, Christmas lights glisten as dusk settles, the old day fading so that a new one can begin.

Henry's kiss is gentle, and then he moves his mouth to Alex's ear. “Stay, my love.”

Alex nods, shivering at Henry’s touch and smiling the realest smile that’s touched his face in months.

And Alex stays.

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

New York City is beautiful at Christmastime.

On snowy afternoons in December, Henry pours them both glasses of wine when he gets home and curls up with Alex on the couch in his brownstone. It isn’t Alex’s yet, not officially, but he lives two blocks over, in the same building as Nora, who still insists that she’s going to marry Alex’s sister.

Alex is starting to believe her.

The wintry precipitation outside picks up as the sun dips below the horizon, and Henry wraps Alex in a warm embrace to protect him from the chill. He mouths along Alex’s jaw, teeth grazing his earlobe, his hands touching Alex everywhere at once.

It’s his. It’s home.

It’s where Alex belongs.

“Stay,” Henry whispers into Alex’s curls, the word heavy and significant.

“Always,” Alex vows, feeling that weight and letting it hold him there, in Henry’s embrace, exactly where he was meant to be.

And this time, it isn't a lie.

This time, Alex keeps his promise.

This time, he stays.