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Alex is staring down at his phone as he walks through an ornate opera house. Junes text gives him tunnel vision; blocking everything out but the text sitting on his screen.
Have you seen him yet?
He’s about to reply when he crashes into a hard wall; no, not a wall. A warm, firm chest. He reaches out with his free hand to attempt to level out his victim, the words, “I’m so sorry,” on the tip of his tongue when he follows the length of the tuxedo’d arm up to a shoulder, a jaw, a face. His heart catches at the first familiar thing; the mole on the corner of his jaw. Immediately darts out, seeking out its twin at the corner of his mouth.
The mouth falls open in silent surprise, and Alex’s hands fall to his side.
Fuck.
“Alex,” Henry says on an exhale.
Alex allows himself to stare only for a moment. To take in his perfectly styled hair; the full form of his lips. The wide eyed stare that he’s sure is reflecting back off of his own face.
And then he nods, and promptly turns on his heel to go in the opposite fucking direction.
There’s a sound of something shuffling behind him, and then he hears Henry; following him.
No, no, no.
Alex speeds up his steps, desperate to get away, because the last thing he needs to do is get his heart broken at a charity gala. Though, that would imply his heart had healed from the last time Henry broke it.
“A—Alex,” Henry hisses, his hand wrapping around Alex’s wrist. “Would you just—”
“Terribly busy,” Alex replies, yanking his arm away without looking. “Maybe we can chat later?”
The Henry he knows would be cowed by that, too afraid to make a scene and reflect poorly upon the crown. The Henry who broke his heart would stop chasing him and turn around and go back to the party as if he’d never seen Alex. But this Henry, the Henry that Alex hasn’t seen or heard from in two months since he told him to get out of his castle and his life, doesn’t falter. He continues following after Alex, right out the front door into the gardens.
Alex comes to a stop, but doesn’t turn around to face him. There’s nowhere for him to go. His secret service is probably still hunting him down since he gave them the slip an hour ago in favor of hiding in a bathroom, which means he can’t slip into a car and escape the scene. Henry stops just behind him, breathing heavily, and Alex lets his gaze seek out the heavens.
The moon is hidden behind the clouds. He can see a halo where it’s hiding away. He wishes he could drift into the stars and join it.
“Alex,” Henry says.
Alex’s gaze falls to the ground. He can't do this. He can’t stand here and have a conversation with him. He’d tried. He’d held his heart out in his palm between them, beating and fragile and Henry knocked it from his palm and told him to get out. It’s been two months, but he can still feel the weight of Henry’s words like a tangible wound in his chest.
“Would you please look at me?”
No.
Henry must realize that’s his answer, because he takes in a shaky breath and moves closer. “I—I texted. And called,” He says, quietly.
The first text came three days after Alex and his battered heart returned to DC. He’d been curled up with June and Nora, somehow numb and aching and desperately empty all at once. June’s the one who picked the phone up when it buzzed on the bedspread between them, her face crinkling with distaste. She didn’t need to tell them who it was.
“What’s it say?” Alex had asked, his voice hoarse.
June turned the phone toward him. Can we talk?
As he stared at it, another came through. I miss you.
Alex isn’t proud of what he did next. Not of the way the tears slipped over his cheeks, not of the way he snatched the phone from June’s hand, and if he said he didn’t regret blocking Henry’s number every day since, he’d be lying. But it’d been three days of June and Nora telling him he’s worth fighting for; three days of thinking through everything they’d been through; everything he’d been willing to risk for Henry, only for Henry to be unwilling to risk anything for him.
“That’s nice,” Alex tells him. “If you don’t mind, I just need to be by myself right now. So, you can go back inside.”
“I don’t want to go back inside.”
Alex shakes his head. “Henry, I really don’t care what you want right now.” There’s no bite to the words, no anger. He’s just numb and tired and wants to go back to the hotel and maybe cry all the frustration away. He knew he’d see Henry here. He’d assumed it’d be more in passing than being chased from the building by him.
“I was wrong,” Henry tries. “I regret—”
“Don’t,” Alex says, standing up straight and turning to look at him. “Don’t do this.”
“Alex,” Henry sounds wrecked. His face is pinched with desperation and a part of Alex wants to reach out and take him in his arms and pretend none of this happened. But he sees a flash of a memory; of Henry looking him in the eye and telling him to leave. “Please.”
“Please?” Alex asks, a cracked laugh slipping past his lips. “Are you fucking joking?” He takes a step in, pointing at the ground. “I bore my heart to you,” He says. “I was willing to risk everything to be with you, and you told me to leave. You don’t get to do this, Henry.”
Henry has the decency to look like he feels some semblance of shame. He licks his lips with a shake of his head and says, “If I could take it back, I would.”
“Well,” Alex bites. “You can’t. So.” He waves a hand through the air. “Adiós. Or, if you’d prefer; Au revoir.”
Henry sniffs and reaches up to scratch at his eyebrow. “Right,” He says, voice thick and wet. “I understand your anger, and I respect it. But, I’ve had two months to sit on these feelings, and I’m not going to walk away without a fight. Not this time.” His chin trembles. “I made a mistake in a moment of fear. Hurting you,” he shakes his head. “It is my deepest regret.”
Alex has lost count of the nights he’d dreamt of Henry saying as much.
But how does he rectify that with the grief simmering beneath his skin?
The loneliness thrumming in his heart?
It doesn’t erase tear tracks or put the sobs back in his chest or pull back the shadows that have cast themselves over the love. They’re just words.
“And the next time you get scared?” Alex asks, quietly. “When you realize how strongly I feel about you and what that means and the potential consequences of people finding out?” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t just standby waiting for you to leave me again. I can’t—I can’t be the afterthought of consequence.”
Henry’s mouth opens and closes a couple times, and Alex nods, sniffling and reaching up to wipe at the tears that have, against his fucking will, perched along his lashes. “Exactly,” he says, bitingly, moving to walk around him. “Fucking exactly.”
He steps to Henry’s side and starts to head back inside, the only place seemingly safe from Henry, but a hand darts out and wraps around his wrist, stilling him. He looks to the sky, wills the clouds to cast themselves over him so that he might hide with the moon, and resolutely does not look back at Henry.
“I’m not ready for the world to know who I am,” Henry admits, soft. “And I’m not ready to lose you; those things do not have to be at odds.” His voice takes on a pleading quality, as he tugs on Alex’s wrist; a gentle attempt to get him to turn. Alex stands firm with his back to him. “I won’t run again. I won’t hurt you again. I—I can promise that much.” He hesitates for a beat. “I know you want something you can shout from the roof tops—”
Alex whips around, yanking his wrist from Henry’s grip. “It was never,” He says through his teeth, “About needing to share it with the world. It was about sharing my world with you. If I had to do that in secret, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I’d have done anything for you.”
Henry swallows. “Alex . . .”
Alex shakes his head. “I can’t live in fear that you’ll decide to disappear again.”
“I won’t.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because!” Henry exclaims, throwing his hands out at his sides. “Look at where we are. Look at who all is just inside those doors. Who could peek through the windows and see or hear us. Do you honestly believe that I’d stand here, with all that risk hanging out there, and beg for you to take me back, if I had any intention of ever losing you again?”
Alex frowns.
Henry takes the momentary pause and steps in, looming over him with all the gentleness and hope he’s got in him, his hands coming out and gently grasping at Alex’s. “I will fall to my knees and beg if that’s what it’ll take,” he whispers, nodding. “I’ll swear to never miss a text or a call or an email or, christ, you could write me a letter, and I’ll have a return to you by nightfall, Alex. I will never hurt you again. Never.”
“What changed?” Alex asks, gaze dropping down to their hands. “What changed between then and now?”
“Everything,” Henry says, brokenly, “And nothing. i—I can’t breathe when I know I won’t hear your voice. I can’t sleep, knowing you’re out there thinking your love isn’t enough. I can’t bloody think because when I do, I’m thinking about the look on your face when I told you to leave. Nothing changed, because I’m petrified of it all, but everything’s changed, because you love me, and there’s not a scenario I could’ve written where that was possible, and yet here we are, and I’ve broken your heart, and mine in the blast, and all I wish to do is earn your love back. I never thought it was something that could be mine, but now that I know it is, I can’t go another day without you knowing that it is absolutely fucking everything to me.”
Alex frowns up at him. “And what if people find out?” He asks.
“Let them,” Henry replies, hoarsely. “I’m not seeking to out myself, but if we’re discovered and the world erupts into flames, it will have been worth it because I’ll have your love, and somehow, I know we’ll survive it. Just as we’ve survived everything else thrown at us.”
Alex scrunches his face, tears welling again as he looks away.
He wants to give in.
Wants to face the proverbial flames.
“You run every time you get spooked,” He says, almost reluctantly. “While this is all good and nice to hear, where will you be if the world really does blow up in our faces? How do I know I won’t have to face that alone? I’ve faced loving you alone; I’ve faced a bisexual awakening alone. I—I can’t keep doing this alone.”
Henry’s hands tighten around his. “It’s a lot to ask,” he says after a moment of hesitation, “but I’m asking.”
“What, exactly, are you asking?”
“Trust me?” He takes a big breath in through his nose and steps in closer, dipping his head to meet Alex’s gaze. “I swear on everything good; on Bea, and Pez, and every reason I’ve ever had to smile. On the rise of the sun and the glow of the moon. Whatever you need me to swear on, name it and I will, because I swear to you, Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz, that I will never abandon you again. Not for anything. Not for fear or doubt or consequence. Give me one last chance, and I won’t fuck it up.”
When Alex doesn’t reply right away, he attempts a wobbly smile. “I have heard the third time's the charm.”
Despite himself, the corners of Alex’s mouth quirk at that. He rolls his eyes and looks down at their hands. “I think this is actually your fourth chance.”
“Where do you get that number?”
“Rio. New Years. The lake house.” He glances back up. Feels his heart crack and seal and fight like hell to put itself back together.
“Rio,” Henry says, softly. “I hadn’t realized you were still—”
“It hurt me,” Alex says, shrugging. “It didn’t matter that we didn’t know each other, and I know you had your reasons, but you always have your reasons, and you can’t expect me to just ignore my hurt because you were hurting, too. I’m a person, Henry, I’m not a robot who can just forget—”
“I’m not asking you to forget,” Henry rushes to say. “And I know this has been remarkably one sided, because you have been and are more than I am ever going to be worthy of, but I’m determined to do it right this time.”
Alex pulls a hand away to run it over his face, shaking his head. “Henry . . .”
“Please,” Henry breathes. “Christ, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m—I’m asking.”
Alex’s hand trails back over his forehead and into his hair, gripping tight.
“I can’t do this again,” He replies.
Henry falls back a step, his hand dropping Alex’s as if he’s been burnt. “Ah.” He chokes. “I see.”
“Do you?” Alex asks. “Because I didn’t even know it was possible to love somebody this much, or to hurt this much because of another person, and I’m having to contend with those two facts, and I can’t—it’s like I’ve got two halves a picture that just don’t fit right, and I don’t know what to do.”
Henry’s jaw clenches, his chin tilting upwards as he nods. His lashes flutter as he blinks rapidly.
“Why now? Why here?”
“You weren’t answering—”
“It’s been two months. You’ve had every opportunity—”
He flinches. “My access to the jet has been terminated,” He says.
That pulls Alex up short. “What?”
“Pip figured us out. Rather, he heard me talking it out with Bea the day after I told you to leave, and he went to our grandmother, and well.”
All the breath rushes out of Alex’s lungs.
“What the fuck.”
Is it considered treason to murder the heir to the British crown if he’s not British?
“I had planned to come to you,” He adds, softer, looking up at the sky as if he can’t face Alex. “Talking with Bea made me realize what a fool I’d been, but by the time I collected myself it was too late to come to you, and you’d stopped responding to my texts, and my calls were going straight to voicemail.” He takes in a deep, shuddering breath and looks down at the ground. “Every mindless event,” he says. “Every dinner or gala or game. I’ve accepted every invite in the hopes I’d find you and talk to you.” He grimaces. “I suppose time moved faster than I realized.”
Alex stares at him. “What?”
“I’m not saying I’m not a villain, I’m just saying I did try.” He sniffs and takes another step back, nodding. “I’ve been trying to find my way back to you from the moment I let you go.”
Oh.
It shouldn’t matter.
He ended things.
He broke Alex’s heart.
It shouldn’t matter.
It shouldn’t change anything.
Alex swallows. “You could have started with that.” He takes a hesitant step forwards, watches the confusion wash over Henry’s face. “I blocked your number.”
But it does.
Henry nods once. “I had assumed.”
“I figured if you wanted me, you’d come and find me.” He dips his chin. “And you never came.” The hand in his hair slips free and falls to his side; he tucks it into his pocket, picking at his thumbnail. “It. Doesn’t erase the fact that you hurt me.”
“Of course not,” Henry agrees quietly. “I wouldn’t—”
“But it might,” Alex pauses, searching for the right word. “Change things.”
Henry’s brow furrows. “What?”
Because for all that it hurts—
“I can’t . . . give you my heart. Not right now. Not here. But i can admit that at least some of this pain is my fault for being petty and angry and blocking you.”
“Alex—”
For all that it hurts.
He still loves Henry.
He still loves him.
God help him, but he still fucking loves him.
“ —what does that mean?”
“It means . . .” He trails off, thinking. “It means that I’d like my best friend back.”
Henry’s Adams apple bobs, and he nods again. “Okay,” he whispers. “I—I can do that. I can be your friend.”
Is that all he wants?
He’d started this night thinking he doesn’t want to see him again.
And now—
Fuck, now he’s just confused, because this isn’t black and white. No matter how clear cut his broken heart tried to convince him it was. This is the first time they’ve been in each others sights, and Henry didn’t hesitate to seek him out; didn’t hesitate to beg for his forgiveness, for his heart, for antoehr chance, and maybe he doesnt deserve another chance, because Alex has offered him grace enough times to walk away guilt free but—
But this isn’t black and white, good and bad. They both made mistakes.
Alex let himself fall too far into a fantasy and asked for too much in return, and Henry . . . Henry let his fear get the best of him.
“I need some time to think,” Alex says. “About the rest.”
Henry’s mouth parts. “The rest?”
“You and me.”
“There—” his voice cracks, and he pauses to clear his throat, the words coming wet and confused. “There’s a chance for you and me?”
Alex licks his lips. “I don’t know.”
Henry nods; watches him for a beat, before reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. He looks down at it in his palm, before closing the distance between them again and holding his hand out for Alex’s. He waits until Alex hesitantly sets his own palm in Henry’s, and then Henry places something in his hand, folding his free hand over it. It’s flat; rectangular.
“If there’s a chance,” he says, quietly, urgently, like it’s the most important thing he’s ever had to say to another person, “Come to my room. I’ll be there through Thursday.” He holds their hands together, before nodding again and stepping back; his hands slip from Alex’s almost in slow motion, as if the rest of the world is slowing down so that they might have a moment to consider their actions; their place within the world.
Alex nods at him before glancing down at the card.
“I’ll let security know I may or may not have a guest. So they don’t kick you out if you do show up.”
“That’d be appreciated,” Alex says, absently, his finger stroking over the card.
Henry clears his throat again. “I’ll just—go back to the party, then? Leave you to think?”
“If you don’t mind.”
He smiles tightly. “Either way,” he says, seriously. “I would also like my best friend back. Even—even if you decide you don’t want more.”
“I’ll unblock you tonight.”
Henry sniffs; smiles. “Hopefully the texts don’t come through. There are . . . many.”
Hopefully they do.
Alex doesn’t reply, and Henry nods, mostly to himself. “Right, well. I’ll just . . .” He nods once, and then takes a deep breath and steps around Alex to head back to the party.
Alex doesn’t turn to watch his departure; his gaze remains locked on the key card in his palm. Mind trapped in question and answer.
The thing about loving someone is it’s never something that happens to you, even though it feels like it is a lot of the time. It’s little moments adding up to a larger equation, the pieces of a puzzle interlocking into a final image; clouds in the sky making an image nobody but you can see, ever shifting and evolving and in between one blink and another, shifting into something else entirely.
The thing about loving someone is it’s a choice.
Knowing there’s an outcome that could end in heartbreak—knowing that it won’t be perfect, because nothing good ever is, and still choosing.
Alex leaves the party early that night.
He thinks.
And he thinks.
And he thinks.
And it all comes back to one indisputable truth.
He chose to love Henry, then.
And now, knowing what he knows, how things can evolve and hurt and ache and burn—
The door opens fast as a whip.
Henry’s rumpled and in his pajamas; his eyes are wide, and his mouth is parted in surprise.
He makes a choice.
“Hi,” he breathes.
Alex smiles softly. “Hi.”