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His name is Craig.
Craig is, well. He's fine, really. On their first date, Henry learns their interests are well-aligned when it comes to books, and the cinema, and so on. On their second, he learns the same does not apply in the bedroom.
As such, Craig does not stay the night afterward, and so Henry is saved from the awkward song-and-dance of next mornings, offering whatever they have in the cupboards and—more dispiritingly—having to introduce them to his roommate.
Though, he hadn't heard Alex come in last night. Not that Henry makes a habit of noticing these things, exactly, he just happened to be up and happened to not hear him, that's all. So Henry is surprised when he walks into the kitchen the following morning and sees Alex in a white tank at the counter, looking very much like he's just rolled out of his own bed, inhaling a coffee as he flips through one of his law textbooks.
Alex, who's been his best mate since uni, who's also the secret love of Henry's life. Yes, it is all as hopeless as it sounds.
"Hey," says Alex, barely glancing up.
"Hi," says Henry, who can't not look because Alex's curls have fallen over his forehead and the sight of them makes Henry's chest ache. He clears his throat. "Thought you were still at Amber's."
"Was," says Alex. "We broke up last night. How was your date, by the way?"
"It was fine," says Henry automatically before his brain catches up with the rest. "Wait, you what?"
"He didn't stay over?" Alex asks casually, peering past Henry as though Craig might materialize right behind him.
"No," says Henry, somewhat bewildered. "Sorry, can we go back to the part where you and Amber broke up? Unless—do you not want to talk about it?"
"Not really," says Alex. "If that's okay with you."
"Of course," Henry hastens to reply. Then, "I'm so sorry, Alex."
"Not your fault," Alex shrugs.
"Well, no, I imagine not." The mere thought of Henry being the reason behind their breakup is the least serious thing he's ever heard. "I only meant I feel badly it happened. You seemed to like her a lot."
"I do like her, yeah," says Alex, devastatingly. "That wasn't the problem." He tips his mug back, and Henry tries hard not to stare at his bare neck or collarbone or anywhere at his general person, really. "So, do you think you'll see him again?"
Henry blinks. "Who?" Right. "Oh, I don't know. We really hit it off—err, for the most part—" Christ, if Alex had been home the whole time, could he have heard them together? "Well, anyway, we'll see where it goes," he finishes lamely, face burning. He has no idea why he's just said that; the last place he'll ever see Craig go was out their front door last night, he's certain.
Alex only nods as if Henry isn't spiraling out right before his very eyes. "Happy for you, H," he says, giving Henry a small smile as he closes his textbook and stands. "See you later, all right?"
"Later," Henry echoes, and he watches Alex go.
Alex isn't sleeping.
Henry can tell. Again, not because he tries to pay attention to that sort of thing, but they did share a shoebox of a dormitory for four years before moving into the brownstone together. Henry thus feels more qualified than most to remark upon Alex's nighttime routines, and the signs are all there.
Alex seems genetically immune to things like eye bags—Henry can't relate—but it shows in other ways. How his curls look like he's been tugging his hands through them all night. How he's more restless than usual, fidgeting in his chair, fingers tapping on every available surface. He doesn't get his morning run in until late evening. He also wears his glasses more often, which Henry tries to act totally normal about.
He is. quite frankly, a bit of a menace.
"Alex?" frowns Henry the following weekend. "Are you all right?"
"Huh?" Alex looks up at Henry, then back down at the orange juice carton he'd been about to pour in his coffee. He lets out a shudder and switches it out for the milk in the fridge. "Thanks. Owe you one."
"Do you have exams coming up or something?" asks Henry, brow still furrowed a little.
"What? No, they're done," Alex says distractedly, putting a fork into his cereal bowl. He glances down at it in surprise. "Why do you ask?"
"No particular reason," says Henry. "Only that you haven't been sleeping much, is all."
Alex snaps his gaze up, suddenly looking much more alert. "How do you know that?" he demands. "Did you hear something?"
"…Hear what, exactly?" Henry asks, baffled. He can say with certainty what he has not heard, which is Alex staying out late. He hasn't brought anyone home with him either, which he's done with prior breakups, meaning this breakup is not like the others, meaning…
"Nothing," Alex is saying, too quickly. "Why, what would you have heard?"
"I've truly no clue," Henry says, in what is turning out to be one of the more bizarre conversations they've had. He pictures Alex pacing his room at odd hours, nothing to study but something still keeping him up late into the night, headphones blasting his favorite Killers songs on repeat while he eats all the ice cream Henry's just bought and—
Oh. Oh.
It's heartbreak, Henry realizes dully. That's what must be different with this one. The two month thing he had with Amber must have meant more to Alex than Henry had realized.
"So," says Alex, clearing his throat. He's wiping up a spot of milk that's dribbled through his fork on the counter. "You haven't gone back out with that guy?"
Henry blinks. He has to rewind time for a moment. He literally has not thought of Craig once since he left.
"No, I never heard from him again," Henry hears himself saying, in a bit of a sad tone. He reasons that the least he could do is offer Alex solidarity in having just been dumped. Before he can decide better of it, he adds, "Shame. I really thought we'd got on."
"Yeah?" Alex looks up. His fingers stop drumming. "Shit, I'm sorry."
Henry gives him a wry smile. "Not your fault."
Truly, it's not Alex's fault that no other man measures up in his eyes. The state of Henry's sad little love life is really no one's fault but his own.
He looks at Alex, who's looking despondently into his cereal, and Henry knows he can't let this go on—Alex not sleeping, acting like there's nothing he'll ever feel joyful about ever again.
The last thing Henry needs is to throw himself headfirst into heartache. Which is exactly what spending more time with Alex would do when he's this lovesick for someone else.
Still. Henry knows Alex would do it for him in a heartbeat. Less than one, even.
"Free tonight?" Henry ventures.
Alex seems to come back alive at the question, or perhaps the coffee's just kicked in. "Mandalorian?"
"Obviously," says Henry. Alex smiles, and it's small, but it's also everything.
Henry is determined.
Alex is on break from his classes, and Henry does most of his editorial work from home anyway. So he saves said work for when he, invariably, can't sleep himself, and instead spends his days trying to tire Alex out with as many planned activities as possible.
One morning, Henry wakes up from another insomnia-driven night of his own and can't figure out what he's done with the tea. This is how he comes to realize the situation with Alex has become truly dire indeed.
Alex is talking at him from his usual seat at the counter, coffee mug already in hand. It's about another weird dream he's just had, which Henry's only half-listening to as he checks the cupboards one more time, perplexed. One of their recent outings had been specifically to restock all his favorites. He's certain he'd put them away the moment they got home…
"We were at Philip's wedding," Alex is saying, "except we were mortal enemies, and then you knocked over this giant cake and it was a whole thing. But we became friends, and then we—" He stops for some reason, then says, even faster than usual, "you don't need to hear that part, but then we were here again, and everything was back to normal, except David was talking to me."
"Makes sense," says Henry.
They'd just been to a sketching event at a bookshop bar in the Lower East Side, where the featured local artist had a penchant for drawing dogs with human bodies and clothing. Alex had insisted on doing one of David, which hadn't turned out half-bad but was still mildly disconcerting for Henry to see. He'd put his foot down when Alex asked to hang up in their hallway.
"And what did David tell you?" asks Henry, finally giving up on his search.
"Pay attention," says Alex.
Henry whips his gaze around. "What?"
"He said to pay attention," shrugs Alex, lifting his mug, and that's when Henry sees it. "Kind of cryptic, but he is a talking dog, so—"
"Alex." Henry's voice is carefully neutral. "You wouldn't happen to know where all the tea has gone, would you?"
Alex looks up at him, cow-eyed, mid-swallow. He still has his coffee mug to his lips.
"Alex," says Henry again, with some trepidation. "What is that you're drinking, exactly?"
"Oh. Ummmmm." Alex squints. "You know how that café down the street refuses to do more than six shots per drink for some reason?"
Henry is already sorry he's asked. "Yes," he says, with mounting alarm.
"So, I've been doing that," says Alex, "and then another two at home. But I kind of ran out a few days ago, got desperate, and now here I am, drinking tea."
"You're drinking tea," Henry repeats. Is the world ending, and he'd somehow not gotten the memo?
"Yeah! It's really not bad. This one's English breakfast," says Alex, plucking up one of two tea bags dangling over the side of his mug, "and this one is—" He squints again. "Earl Grey?"
"Oh, good Christ, you've been mixing them? Alex!"
So far, there are no signs that Alex's sleep has particularly improved—Henry knows his certainly hasn't—but, there are other things that he's noticed.
He can't recall the last time Alex has even mentioned Amber, for one. For another, he's started planning things too, including a few museum exhibits that Henry has not once heard him express interest in previously. He's smiling more, and he seems only too eager to stay up talking yet again despite now requiring so much caffeine that's he taken to dragging Henry along to the café with him every morning.
"Err, yes," says Henry to the barista, trying not to feel overwhelmed by how many types of milk alone he is meant to choose from. "Could I have, um. Just a regular latte? But could you make it a triple shot?"
Alex clears his throat loudly beside him. "Didn't you say you wanted six?"
"I absolutely meant three," Henry tells him firmly, then, to the waiting barista, "with cinnamon, please."
They stop for dog biscuits on the way home, which David enjoys at Alex's feet while Alex eats his cereal and downs the rest of both their coffees. Henry brews two cups of tea and definitely does not smile about the way their simultaneous crunching fills the space of their small kitchen.
He glances over just as Alex is sneaking David another dog treat, whispering that he won't tell if David doesn't, and it's significantly harder not to smile after that.
Even after Alex's classes resume, they only start their days earlier and spend more evenings staying in. Henry gets more of his work done during regular hours, leaving him free to read by the bay window while Alex sprawls on the couch with his study materials, David resting diligently on the closest cushion between them.
They joke that Alex requires more frequent diversions than their dog does, and Henry only pretends to act all beleaguered when Alex finds another perfectly comfortable silence to poke at to ask what Henry is reading, whether he's hungry, what he might want for dinner, should they check out that new limited series on Netflix in a bit, does he think David needs a walk yet, and so on.
The only silence that sticks is when their wall unit requires replacing and the entire downstairs becomes almost inhospitably warm. Still, neither of them seem particularly willingly to abandon the common area, even David looking resigned not to leave them. Henry sweats it out quite literally until Alex offers him one of those sinful white tanks that he's wearing, which Henry feels ridiculous in but also considerably cooler.
He's having a laugh about how pale his arms are when he finds Alex looking strangely at him before glancing quickly back down at his books, and then they're both quiet the rest of the evening.
Henry still doesn't sleep well, and especially not on that night, but he doesn't think he's ever been happier.
Alex still hasn't seen anyone new, nor mentioned any prospects either. As for Henry, his phone has offloaded all his dating apps, he checks them so infrequently now. He tells himself that he will.
Later.
He will once they've settled into a routine, Henry bargains with himself. Once he has time again for that sort of thing. Dating.
The trouble is—well. They sort of do have a routine, a rhythm to their daily lives, and he likes it.
He likes it very much.
And so, when there's an inevitable break to said rhythm, Henry tells himself he's only bothered because he's gotten used to certain things being their certain way. It has nothing to do with the fact that it's the first evening they've spent apart since their respective breakups. (He's aware that Craig doesn't count as such exactly, but, for the sake of the argument, it stands.)
It has nothing to do with the fact that Alex, who's gone to dinner with his study group, hasn't texted, nor has he come home by the time Henry is ready for bed.
Even less to do with the fact that this very study group is how Alex and Amber had met in the first place.
Henry sleeps fitfully for what feels like three hours but turns out to be not even half that when he checks his phone. Still no messages or calls from Alex, which he shouldn't have let himself come to expect. They're not in a relationship; no explanations are owed.
Henry feels his way down to the kitchen, trying to ignore the dark pit in his stomach. He pours himself a glass of water that he barely drinks before trudging slowly back up the stairs.
Alex's room is just as he'd left it before leaving for dinner, door closed, lights out. Henry's chest feels just a bit heavier as he passes by.
And then he hears something, on the other side of the door. For a moment, that feeling in Henry's chest starts to lift. Alex is here; Alex is home. But before it's fully formed, that hope is plummeting back down into nothing. Less than nothing, because it's left a palpable emptiness behind.
It's low but unmistakable. The creak of a bed. A soft groan of pleasure. The sound of two bodies joining as one.
Henry walks, trance-like, back to his own room. He closes the door between him and those sounds. He crawls into bed next to David. He draws the sheets over his head, as tight as he can bear it, and does not sleep for a very long time.
It's well past late for him by the time he makes it downstairs the next morning. Alex's door is still closed, and that's as far as Henry's willing to let his thoughts linger, at least not before he's had his tea. Maybe not even after that either.
It turns out he has no say in the matter, because the moment he's rounded the kitchen the front door is opening and Alex is walking inside, two coffees in hand from their café down the street. When had Henry started thinking of it as theirs? Christ.
"Hey." Alex beams, and it hurts to look at him for too long. "You're up."
"I am," says Henry. He's only been up for the better part of the night, he wants to add but doesn't. Hardly anything worthy of note.
"I waited for you," Alex continues, which Henry is less clear how to respond to, seeing as how it makes no sense. Why would he be waiting on Henry if he's got someone in bed waiting on him?
Henry stares at the second coffee cup like it might explain itself somehow. He keeps on staring at it as Alex comes forward and presses it into Henry's hand.
"Here," says Alex. "Hope I got the portions right. Don't worry, it's just the one kind."
Henry blinks. "This is mine?" he asks dumbly.
"Seeing as David doesn't drink tea, yeah, I'd say it is." Alex tilts his head. "You okay? I know you haven't been sleeping."
Henry freezes with the cup halfway up to his mouth. It smells divine, though he would probably drink motor oil if Alex had made it expressly for him. "I didn't realize it was so apparent."
"Takes one to know one, right?" Alex slants a grin at him. "Speaking of which, last night was so exhausting, Hen. I thought I was going to strangle Hunter like five times before we finally got that paper turned in. He usually listens to Amber, but she switched study groups, so."
Amber—wasn't there? Hope rears itself traitorously inside Henry's chest again, but he tamps it quickly back down. Even if it wasn't Amber, clearly it must have been someone, he'd heard Alex. He'd heard—
Just…Alex.
"Anyway," Alex continues, "hope I didn't wake you when I got back."
Henry opens his mouth, but it's several moments before he can manage to actually speak. "No," he says finally, voice pitched a little higher than usual. "No, you didn't wake me at all."
Not technically, anyway, seeing as how he hadn't been sleeping when he heard Alex alone with—himself. Christ. Henry swallows. This is information clearly meant for a much stronger man than he is.
"Good," says Alex. "I tried to be quiet."
"Mm," says Henry, because that's all he can trust himself to say right now.
Alex gulps back the rest of his coffee, which there doesn't appear to be much of at all. Henry looks at him, really looks at him closely for the first time that morning, and frowns.
"Did you sleep all right?" Henry asks. "After the—err—night that you had?"
"God, no," says Alex, slumping down onto a barstool. Henry takes a seat next to him, then takes a sip of his tea, and tries not to sigh becaue it really is perfect. He's more or less ruined for all other teas now. "It's these dreams I keep having."
"That bad?" asks Henry. "What did I do this time?"
He's joking, which he thought had been obvious, but Alex is no longer meeting his eye for some reason.
Damn. It must have been something truly dreadful, then, thinks Henry. "Did I knock over another cake or something?"
"No," says Alex. "There was no cake this time."
"So, what, then I—?"
"Other things," says Alex. "You did other things. You know what, that's not the point. Hey, can I have some of that? Thanks." He grabs Henry's tea and takes a long swallow. "The point is that your eye bags are way worse than usual—"
"I'm well-aware, thanks."
"—and you deserve so much better than that guy, Henry."
Henry stares at him a moment, confused. "That guy," he repeats.
Alex gestures. "Chad? Fuck, I can't remember his name. But it was something along those lines, and the bottom line of that is guys with names like Chad are not good enough for you, all right?"
Alex is looking at him so intensely that Henry almost feels bad about smiling. "You think I've been losing sleep on Chad's account?"
"Wait, you haven't?" asks Alex, sitting up straighter.
Henry shakes his head. "Just your standard-issue insomnia, I'm afraid." That part is true enough on occasion. "Nothing to do with, you know, yearning, or whatever." That part is, of course, very much not. "Least of all for someone like Chad," Henry adds before pointing to the cup that Alex is still holding. "Could I have my tea back, by the way?"
Alex brightens instantly. "Do you like it?"
"Yes, it's quite good."
Alex battles a proud little smile as Henry lifts the cup and breathes in. Mmm. He takes a sip, then offers Alex another. A lovely sort of silence sets in as they trade it back and forth between them. Henry longs for more mornings like this one, soft as the glow of sunlight through their kitchen window. Theirs.
Henry says, after a moment, "So do you, you know."
"What?" Alex is playing with the lid of his coffee cup.
"You deserve rest too," Henry tells him. "With someone who's worthy."
Alex swivels his gaze back around. "Thanks," he says. Henry nods and glances away, trying to feel any particular way about the fact that Alex does not do the same.
"Hey, I have an idea," Alex says suddenly.
"Ah," says Henry. "Always a good sign."
"I was thinking," Alex talks over him, "about our plans for tonight. I know we talked about doing that thing downtown, but should we just, I don't know, get some sleep instead? Like, together?"
"Pardon?" Henry almost chokes on the last of the tea. "Like as a…group activity?"
"Yeah," shrugs Alex. "Why not? You, me, David, the couch. We could put on something really soothing like one of your Bake Off episodes and not make it a thing if we happen to pass out."
"I don't 'make it a thing' when Bake Off puts you to sleep, Alex."
Alex snaps his fingers. "Ooh, what about that new nature documentary? Or is that not boring enough for you?"
"You know what," says Henry, "you and Sir Attenborough have a nice time, because I've made other plans, actually."
"Great," says Alex. "It's a date."
They do end up settling on the nature documentary, after Henry insists he won't be able to sleep through the next Bake Off they have queued—it's a season finale, and the stakes are simply far too high.
He's certain he won't be sleeping regardless, but that's neither here nor there.
"But you've seen that one already," Alex exclaims as they're cleaning up after dinner. "You know how it ends. That guy, Richard the builder—"
"Hang on," Henry interjects mildly, "isn't that one of the ones you claim to have slept through before?"
"I googled it later," Alex tells him, not at all convincingly. "David can vouch for me."
Henry sighs. "Must you use our dog as your unwitting accomplice every time?"
"At least once more," says Alex, "yeah."
David usually likes to sit curled up between them, but for some reason tonight he's sprawled out and taken up an entire side of the couch to himself.
And so that evening finds them sandwiched together onto the other half of the couch with the chamomile tea Henry's just made them, watching an episode that seems to be focused entirely on elaborate bird-mating rituals.
"I should try that sometime," Alex muses as a bird of paradise fans out its feathers and starts hopping frenetically about. Henry snorts, but doesn't say that Alex had batted his eyelashes once the day they first met years ago, and Henry's been done for ever since.
"I'm serious." Alex yawns, sinking deeper into the couch. His arm is snug against Henry's side, their thighs pressed close together.
Henry takes a fortifying breath. No, he's definitely not sleeping anytime soon.
Alex doesn't look at all like he could say the same. He has his other leg slung over David's side of the couch, and his head lolls back against Henry's shoulder, curls brushing the side of his neck. He smells quite nice, which Henry tries not to notice.
Another bird puffs out its chest, then turns its head clean upside down and starts bobbing it skyward at a crazed sort of rate.
"This one reminds me of you," Henry says. "It's particularly animated."
Alex's eyes are closed, but he's smiling. "Yeah?" he says. "Has it been working?"
"What's that?" Henry asks absentmindedly. Alex is leaning so much of his weight against him now that Henry's starting to feel like a human body cushion. Not that he can say he minds it. He'd happily sacrifice all the feeling in his right arm to have them stay like this a while longer.
"Alex?" he asks again after a moment. "Has what been working?" He glances down, and Alex has relaxed into stillness, his jaw gone endearingly slack as he breathes out soft and slow.
Henry leans his head back, presses pause on another frenzied bird dance, and closes his eyes now too. He's still rather doubtful that sleep will be coming to him, but he'll sit in this moment for as long as he can.
Alex grunts in his sleep and turns, forehead pressed to the curve of Henry's shoulder. Henry wages a brief but intense silent war with himself before losing and letting his cheek rest ever so slightly against the top of Alex's head.
Every minute that passes is another he wishes he could just keep holding onto. It's the closest he's come to feeling something like restful in a long while, with Alex lying practically on top of him and snoring softly into his collarbone.
Henry's nearly slipped into a doze when Alex snuggles closer, one arm thrown across Henry's torso. All right, so Alex is a cuddler. A bit of information that Henry wishes he could un-know, somehow, or at least could have learned under very different circumstances.
He closes his eyes again, resigned to a state of half-agony now. He doesn't dare call the other half hope. He's awake enough to know the difference.
Alex stirs, tightening his grip around Henry. Christ. He ought to ease himself away, but he's loath to disturb Alex when he's finally resting, and besides that, Henry is not feeling especially resilient at the moment. Not when Alex is burrowing into Henry's shoulder like he's been made to fit there, face nuzzled up to his neck, lips brushing skin as he lifts a hand to pull Henry closer, and he—he's—
Kissing him. He's kissing Henry in his sleep, and as much as Henry's longed for such a moment as this one, he knows that's his lot in life. Longing for things that aren't his to have.
"Alex," he murmurs, pulling gently back. Alex starts awake at the movement, and Henry can actually feel him blinking, those long lashes fanning rapidly back and forth against Henry's neck, Alex's hand still hovering over his jaw.
"Fuck," Alex rasps. "Shit. Fuck. Fucking fuck."
He rears back from Henry so suddenly that it startles David, who huffs out a reproachful sound before hopping down from the couch and trotting over to his dog bed in the corner of the room.
"Henry, I am so sorry. This is not how I wanted to—fuck. I must've been dreaming again."
"Right," says Henry, in his most supportive friend tone. He would rather die than go on hearing Alex talk about how sorry he is for having kissed him. That Alex hadn't meant to kiss Henry in particular. That it had all been a mistake of proximity. "No, yes, of course. It's a totally normal thing to dream about doing, kissing people."
"No," says Alex plainly. "Not people. Just you."
That stops Henry short. He stares at Alex, who's staring at him.
Alex swallows. "Is that—is that okay?" he asks after a moment.
"You're asking me that?" says Henry. "You're the one who looks like you might be sick, so it's clearly not okay with you." Then, unable to stop himself from sounding small all of a sudden, "Is it so terrible, to dream about that?"
"What? Henry, no." Alex shakes his head. "It's like the best thing that happens to me every night, even if it sucks to wake up and realize that none of it was real." He reaches for Henry before stopping himself, wringing his hands together instead. "I mean, it is kind of terrible if you don't feel the same, though."
Henry blinks. Is he the one who's dreaming now? Had he fallen asleep without realizing? But the pulse of his heart in his throat and the raw, open way that Alex is looking at him right now certainly feels rather real. Almost too real to know what to do with.
"I don't understand," he says after a moment. "What about Amber?"
"Amber," Alex repeats, like he has no clue what she has to do with any of this. "Wait." He inches closer, like Henry's one of those birds on the screen and might take flight at any moment. "Is that your only objection? That you think I have feelings for someone else?"
Henry swallows. He doesn't trust himself to speak, but he does anyway. "Yes," he says. It hurts to be this honest. "Because I very much do have feelings for you, so I'd rather we're on the same page here."
"Wow," breathes Alex. "Okay. Yeah. Well, let's put it this way. You know how I said it wasn't your fault that Amber and I broke up?"
"Yes," says Henry, cautiously.
"I lied. I mean, It still isn't," says Alex, "but I've kind of been crazy about you for a really long time now. I just didn't realize it until she told me I'd started saying your name in my sleep. That's why we broke up. So it's not not because of you, either."
"Oh," says Henry faintly. "Yes, I imagine that would take some explaining." He stares down at Alex's hand, so tantalizingly within reach of his own. To think of Alex thinking of him, dreaming of him, all this time—
"And then I came home, and you were with someone else." Alex gives him a slightly pained smile. "The dreams got, um. More vivid, after that. And harder to wake up from."
Hendry draws in a shaky breath, letting their hands graze together. "I thought you weren't sleeping because of Amber," he admits. "I lied too, by the way. It's not not your fault things never panned out with him." What was his name? Henry cannot for the life of him recall. "Or with anyone, really. I mean, you're pretty much the reason why none of them ever do."
"Yeah?" Alex is smiling down at their hands. "Damn. And I was trying so hard to distract you into forgetting about him, too. Drinking your tea so I could stay up and let you drag me to all those weird artsy events that you like."
Henry wonders how this much happiness can be allowed in one person. His chest is so full with it he feels like he can't breathe.
"Hang on," he says. "Half of those were your idea, and anyway, I thought I was doing all that for you. I was trying to tire you out, you've been so exhausted."
"Baby," says Alex, drawing closer, "we literally just went over this. You're the reason I haven't been sleeping. I'm like a lovesick heroine straight out the moors from one of your Regency novels." He pulls Henry forward, looking inordinately pleased. "Which, spending more time with you just made it way worse, by the way."
Henry's flushing all over despite the fact that he can't seem to stop smiling. "You could've said no to the weird artsy events," he feels the need to point out as Alex moves over him, taking Henry's face in his hands.
"Didn't want to miss a thing with you," Alex murmurs. "But if you really want to tire me out, I have a few other ideas."
"Is that right?" Henry asks, just so he can pull Alex down right as he's about to respond, effectively shutting him up with a kiss.
For all the times he's ever imagined this happening, none can possibly compare to the real thing—to the immediate, all-encompassing rush of heat that is their mouths coming together, then sliding apart as their tongues meet. Henry nearly pinches himself several times, but the tug of Alex's hands through his hair sets off just the right spark of sensation to convince him that it's real.
He endeavors to return the favor, threading his fingers through Alex's curls, and the moan Alex lets out makes Henry throb all over even before their lower bodies align. He can feel Alex growing hard where he's grinding against him, his tongue warm in Henry's mouth, and it's everything he's ever wanted.
And then his hands find the hem of Alex's shirt, and Henry lets himself want even more.
They take turns making maps of each other's bodies, Henry with his hands first, then with his mouth and tongue, sucking kisses down Alex's throat to his chest. Alex's hands are just as greedy on him, but then he kneels back and his gaze burns too, everywhere that it touches.
"Henry," he says.
His palms slot into Henry's waist, using that grip to pull them even closer.
They're kissing again as Alex reaches down between them, slipping beneath the waistband of Henry's joggers. "Is this okay?"
"God, yes," Henry gasps, their mouths breaking fully apart as Alex takes him into hand. His movements are almost experimental at first, learning the length of him, what sounds he can draw out as he touches and teases and lets each of Henry's moans guide his grip.
Henry's brain must short-circuit a bit after that. He registers only snapshots of sensation—the white heat of pleasure that climbs up his spine, the sound of Alex panting into his ear as he works him over, murmuring, "Fuck, been wanting to hear you like this again ever since that night."
"Mm," says Henry, only half-listening. He thinks that Alex could say anything, ask anything of him right now, and Henry would be only too happy to agree to it all. "What night, darling?"
"The night I learned what it sounds like when you're about to come." Alex tongues the shell of his ear. Henry doesn't know if it's that particular spot he's just found which does it, or the fact that hearing him like this is such a major turn-on for Alex.
Either way, it's enough to send Henry fully over, and he spills in between them with a groan. He clutches at Alex's shoulders while he trembles his way through the very last edge of his orgasm. Alex presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to the soft part of his chin as his breathing evens back out, everything weightless and so very warm.
Alex is looking through those long lashes at him when he opens his eyes again. The expression on his face is a mixture of both awe and arousal. Henry doesn't think he's ever been looked at that way in his life, and it's a breathless sort of reality to wrap his mind around, that it's Alex, and Alex is his.
"Come here," he murmurs, and Alex goes to him, pressing the full length of his body up against Henry, his cock hard against Henry's thigh. Their lips meet, the kiss long and heady, both of them gasping for breath when they part.
Alex wraps his arms around Henry's torso, moving his hips as he nuzzles smaller kisses to the line of Henry's jaw. "This is all I've been able to think about since I heard you with that guy. Being the one who gets to make you feel good like that."
Henry breathes out a laugh. "Alex. There is no comparison. Surely you must know that."
Alex pulls back, biting down on a smile. "Really?"
"Well, for starters, it's not like I was in love with the man." Henry cups Alex's cheek. "That changes everything."
Alex wriggles a little. "Do you mean like hypothetically, or—?"
Henry drags their mouths back together, kissing Alex quiet again. "I most certainly do not. I've only been in love with you for as long as I've known you, you absolute demon."
"Okay, that's good," says Alex, a rasp to his voice that drops something warm into Henry's stomach. "Because I'm really fucking in love with you too."
There's a new sort of energy to the way their bodies move back together now, both giddy and desperate at the same time for more. Henry divests them both of the rest of their clothes in something like record fashion. He pauses only when they're both completely bare, his mouth watering at the sight of Alex's thick, perfect cock twitching heavily between them.
"I heard you too, the other night," Henry says, trailing a finger down the smooth ridge of skin. Alex shudders, hips inching closer. "After you got back from study group."
"Oh," says Alex, pulling back with a meaningful grin. "You heard me practicing for you?"
Henry glances up in surprise. Even now, he still thinks he can't have heard that right. "How do you mean?"
"I've been doing some research," says Alex. He puts a warm hand on Henry's hip, fingertips dancing down his inner thigh. Henry shifts, anticipation coiling low in his belly. "Thought I'd give myself an anatomy lesson. Just in case it ever, you know. Came in handy."
"I see," says Henry, as levelly as he's able to manage. "Presumptuous of you."
"A guy can dream, right?" Alex gives him a slow, lazy smile, and it feels a bit like watching the sun rise. He puts both hands on Henry's hips now, canting them forward.
"Mm. And how did you do?" Henry asks in a mock serious tone, moving his fingers back through Alex's hair and pulling him in for a kiss.
"Think I did all right," Alex says casually, eyes closing as he leans all the way in.
Henry tips his head back just as their mouths touch. "Is that so?" he asks, a challenge spoken into the heartbeat of space left between them. "Show me."
Alex could not retrieve the lube faster.
It takes some fumbling, mostly because Alex is very intent on being able to keep kissing him at the same time that he's prepping his hand. Henry can't help but laugh every time their teeth knock together, or Alex's mouth brushes up against the tip of Henry's nose instead.
He is decidedly not laughing when Alex presses the first finger inside, or the second, or the third. The feeling is so intensely good that Henry can hardly breathe for a moment, and the way Alex is watching him, looking so focused, so intent on Henry's pleasure, makes Henry feel so overwhelmingly cared for that a part of him might actually cry.
He doesn't mean to hurry this part along, but, well, the thing is, Alex's research has proven quite thorough indeed, and Henry's too close already, and he wants—he needs—Alex inside of him right now.
"If you don't mind," he adds a bit belatedly, but Alex is already moving. He kisses Henry again as he gropes blindly around for one of his discarded trouser pockets.
Alex's cock has been steadily leaking, and Henry thumbs away a bead of moisture to suck off while Alex sits back on his heals to open his wallet. He promptly drops the condom he'd been reaching for, staring rapt at Henry's mouth, and then it's Henry who can't resist leaning in to kiss him this time. They're lost to each other in this way for a moment longer before Alex has finally lined himself up, and then he's sinking, sinking, into Henry.
"Fuuuck," Alex groans. His forehead drops down to touch Henry's. They breathe through the initial burn of it together, everything so tight that it's almost unbearable, how good all of it feels. Then they both start moving, a slow rocking back and forth as they find just the right rhythm at just the right angle to lose their breath all over again.
"Alex—" Henry gasps as Alex palms at his thighs and draws his knees up, driving his cock even deeper inside him. "Oh, fucking Christ, that's so good—yes. Yes. Please—I need—"
He doesn't know what he means to say next but more, and Alex is more than ready to give it. He hauls Henry up until they're chest to chest, hips surging upward as Henry rocks down, his own cock hard again and bouncing almost obscenely between them.
Their mouths meet and break and meet again as their hips do, and it's messy, and it's perfect in every possible way.
Henry presses him into the couch, and Alex tumbles willingly back, watching with a molten gaze as Henry starts to ride him in earnest. He fights the urge to close his eyes, not wanting to miss the way Alex is looking at him for one single moment.
When Henry comes a second time, it's with Alex shuddering beneath him, following closely behind. They clutch at each other for long moments afterward, and they kiss a bit like they've been drugged, their breathing shallow, their movements clumsy but languid.
"Baby," Alex murmurs at length, palms rubbing up and down Henry's back. "Don't fall asleep just yet, okay?"
"Mm," says Henry. "Yes. All right."
Alex kisses him gently on both eyelids. "Come on. Five minutes."
They do a rushed job of cleaning up, then collapse back together in a boneless sort of blissed-out heap. Henry can feel as much as hear Alex's heart where he's resting his head on his chest, and it's so soothing that he can't help but let his eyes close again. Alex drags a blanket off the back of the couch, and before he's even draped it over them, Henry is drifting off to sleep.
"Hen."
Henry opens his eyes to a room bathed in the soft greys and blues of pre-dawn. He has a crick in his neck, and the soreness is already settling in. Still, Alex's arms are there around him, and Henry's feeling more rested than he has for as long as he can remember.
"Hen," Alex mumbles again, and Henry lets out a soft humming sound.
"Yes, darling." He glances up, stretching. Alex is still fast asleep, his jaw working as he mutters something unintelligible and stirs.
Henry bites back a smile, but only just. Slowly, he shifts himself up, pressing his lips to Alex's neck before settling back down. Alex tightens his hold but does not wake, and an aching sort of warmth takes hold in Henry's chest and blooms at the thought of Alex still dreaming of him even now.
Henry can relate, because he spends the next half hour listening to the deep, even sounds of Alex's breathing while he daydreams about—everything. Getting to wake up and just be with Alex. The reality of it is already better than anything he's ever imagined, showing him more ways to fall even further in love. He rather suspects that will always be the case.
Alex wakes chaotically, with a blink and an unexpected start of movement. He looks around, his gaze slightly unfocused, but the moment it lands on Henry he stills. He blinks again like he needs to be sure he's not seeing things. He lifts a hand to Henry's cheek, his expression gone all soft and wondering.
"Morning, love." Henry kisses the tip of his finger, and Alex's smile is one of the most beautiful things he thinks he's ever seen.
"Whoa," breathes Alex, "you're here," and Henry wonders if he'll ever get used to being looked at this way. Alex shifts, pulling him impossibly closer. "That part's never happened before."
"Mm. I know the feeling." Henry touches their foreheads together. He breathes it all in for a moment, then says, "Coffee?"
"Yeah," says Alex, making absolutely no move to get up. He traces the curve of Henry's mouth to the beauty mark that's at one corner. "Yeah, coffee sounds good."
He leans in to kiss Henry, and they do not leave the couch again for a very, very long time after that.