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The elevator pings softly as Alex trudges down the hall toward the apartment door, his overstuffed backpack pulling heavily on one shoulder. His shirt clings uncomfortably to his back, the day’s unseasonable warmth lingering.
He couldn’t exactly pinpoint where the day had gone wrong. Maybe it was how he’d run out of coffee midway through class and managed somehow to fumble his answer when his professor cold-called him during class. Maybe it was when he had to sit through an entire study session with WASPy Hunter and some other guy with a dad for a judge and an uncle for a senator.
When Alex steps through the door, he feels like a balloon about to burst.
The faint sound of piano music floats from the living room, slow and soothing. Henry.
Alex drops his backpack with a deep sigh, kicking off his shoes as he goes. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes until the kaleidoscopic colors replace the darkness, and the sharp sting in his eyes dulls the ache in his head.
“Darling?”
Alex opens his eyes to find Henry’s concerned face hovering close. He looks painfully domestic, with one of Alex’s NYU hoodies and gray sweatpants. Henry cradles Alex’s face in both hands, movement so gentle that Alex has to swallow down the sudden ache in his throat.
“Oh, my love,” Henry says, rubbing away the crease of his eyebrows. And it’s that sentence that almost breaks Alex. He releases a shuddering sigh and drops his head on Henry’s shoulder. His arms move to surround Alex with a tight hug, and Alex’s fingers tighten their hold on the front of Henry’s hoodie.
He isn’t sure how long they stand there. At some point, Henry had moved to card his hand through Alex’s curls. He turns his head to inhale the scent of Henry, of their cozy brownstone in the middle of Brooklyn. Alex trails kisses up the column of Henry’s neck, who giggles as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot behind his ear.
Only when Alex doesn’t feel like he’ll break apart quite so easily does he finally let go of Henry. He opens his mouth to ask about Henry’s day and his meetings for the newest shelters he’s building when he catches the scent of something burning.
“Baby, what—”
Henry’s eyes widen almost comically as he dashes down the hall to their kitchen, presumably to rescue the dinner Henry had been cooking before Alex walked in. Alex lets out a cackle, his heart filled with so much love that he could die.
Later, when they’re sharing the (slightly burnt) leftovers of Alex’s enchiladas from the day before, Henry intertwines his hand with Alex’s. Their legs tangle beneath the counter, and some mindless show is playing muffled in the background.
“Thank you,” Alex says quietly.
Henry only smiles at him. “What for?” A smudge of sauce is in the corner of his lips, and Alex carefully wipes it away.
He shrugs. “For… somehow always knowing what I’ll need.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that, love.” Henry pauses, “Would you like to talk about it?”
Alex runs a hand through his hair, absentmindedly tugging on some of the strands before Henry gently moves his hand away. “It’s just… a bit of everything. The assignments, the professors, the people in my class who won’t stop talking about how their dads are judges or senators. And me, just... screwing up.”
Henry leans back slightly, resting his hands on Alex’s arms. His blue eyes are full of concern but not pity—never pity. “You are not screwing up, love. Law school is grueling for anyone, let alone someone who’s simultaneously trying to manage being the son of the president and saving the world.”
Alex huffs a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, the world doesn’t feel particularly saved right now.”
Henry tilts his head, studying Alex’s face and then heavy eyebags he’s sure are apparent in the light. Then, with a slight smile, he said, “Go change, darling, I’ll have something for you when you’re done.”
Alex emerges from the shower feeling slightly more refreshed than before. He rubs a towel through his hair as he lets himself fully breathe for the first time today. He drops the towel in the laundry basket—which Henry insists on calling the “hamper”—as he moves downstairs.
All the lights are dim except in the living room, where the lamps next to their couch emit a soft, orange glow. A movie is paused on the TV, and two cups of steaming drinks are on the table.
And there’s Henry, perching on one end of the couch, reading his battered copy of Pride and Prejudice. He smiles as Alex approaches, carefully marking his place before setting the book down. “Hey, love.”
Alex surveys the scene. “I fucking love you so much, sweetheart.”
Henry blushes. “I figured you could use a night of relaxing, you looked positively dead on your feet earlier.”
“Oh?” Alex teases. “And here I thought you loved me, Your Royal Highness? Insulting my looks so soon, I’m wounded.”
“Oh, shut up and come here, you cretin.” Henry rolls his eyes, but it’s more fond than anything else. He opens his arms, and Alex doesn’t waste any time flopping onto the couch, fitting his head on Henry’s chest and his arms around his waist.
Henry lets out a tiny ‘oof’ at the force before readjusting his grip on Alex. He begins to card his hands through Alex’s curls, easing out the knots and pressing more kisses to the top of his head. With some difficulty, Henry reaches the coffee table and presses Play on the movie, The Empire Strikes Back.
The soft rhythm of his fingers combined with the warmth of the blanket tucked snugly around them makes Alex feel like he’s melting into the couch.
“You know,” Henry says with a mischievous lilt, “this reminds me of the time you tried to prove you could ‘relax’ by doing yoga, only to fall over and knock over an entire shelf of books.”
Alex snorts. “That’s because you kept narrating my poses in that ridiculous faux-French accent. ‘Ah, ze downward dog, so elegant, so—’”
“—graceful, like a swan,” Henry finishes with a dramatic flourish.
Alex groans, laughing into Henry’s chest. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet, here you are, completely wrapped around me,” Henry teases. He presses a featherlight kiss on Alex’s hair. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you more,” Alex replies because he’s Alex and he’s Henry.
“I think that’s up for debate,” Henry sighs, smiling, as he always does. “I made you your favorite,” Henry says, gesturing to the cups on the coffee table. Alex takes a sip of the coffee (decaf, because Henry knows him far too well) with a bit of sugar and cinnamon, and passes the other cup of Earl Grey back to Henry.
“You’re gonna spoil me, sweetheart,” Alex chuckles.
“Good,” Henry says firmly. He tucks a deep blue blanket around them, and Alex sighs happily, sinking into the warmth. They stay like that for a while as they both finish their drink. The cups are eventually returned to the coffee table. Henry tucks him into his chest, his arm circling around Alex’s shoulders tight like he’s never letting go.
“You shoulder so much,” Henry whispers into the silence of the room, like he’s praying. “For your family, for your peers, for me. You carry a bit of everything and never stop fighting for them. I think sometimes, you need a reminder that you deserve to be taken care of, as much as anyone else.”
For a long moment, Alex didn’t speak. There’s a tightness in his chest, and he turns so his face is buried in Henry’s chest, relishing in the steady rise and fall of it.
Distantly, Alex thinks about this thing he’s read about, years ago. The Japanese method of fixing shattered ceramics with golden seams. Kintsugi, it was called. It reminds Alex of Henry, of them—how they always manage to take the bad days and make them into something more tolerable, how they always manage to find their way back to each other.
With the quiet sounds of the movie and his favorite drink, snuggling with Henry’s warmth close to him, he could almost feel himself being pieced back together. Henry, with lacquer and powdered gold, turning him into something beautiful, something to be cherished.
“God, what did I do to deserve you?” He replies finally, voice wet and ragged.
“Nothing at all, my love.” Henry smiles down at him. “You deserve nothing less than this.”
"You look at me like you’re seeing me for the first time every time," Alex whispers, his voice barely above a murmur.
"I can’t help it," Henry replied, his thumb tracing the back of Alex’s hand. "You’re still my favorite sight, no matter how many times I see you."
Alex surges up to kiss Henry, the warmth of his lips familiar and comforting. There was always something different about kissing him—this time, Alex could taste the remnants of Earl Grey on Henry’s lips, and the slow, tender drag of their kiss made Alex feel safe and warm, like molasses. It wasn’t urgent or demanding—just two people who had found a quiet kind of love in each other’s arms. The kiss lingered, sweet and soft, before they pulled back, noses brushing together, sharing a soft laugh.
I love him, I love him, I love him.
Sometimes, Alex still can’t believe that this is real and that he gets to have this after everything.
“Do you think we would be together in every universe?” Alex asks.
He feels Henry’s small breath of laughter before he answers. “I don’t know, my love. But what I know is we’ll keep fighting our way back to each other. No matter what.”
Alex hums. “For what it’s worth, I’m so fucking glad I met you in this one, sweetheart.”
Henry pulls him back in for a kiss, and they sit there, love seeping into their bones like it’s a tangible thing.
And for them, that’s enough.