Chapter Text
“Ugh!” Alex plops onto the couch next to Henry, turning to curl into his side.
“What’s wrong, love?”
“Stupid therapy assignment.”
“Oh? What did they assign for you?”
“Journaling.” The silence following Alex’s words tells him that Henry will be another on the list of people who don’t understand his frustration with this assignment.
“Okay, and why is that a bad thing?” Alex sighs and buries his head further into Henry’s shoulder; he just needs a moment to wallow before he has to hear another person tell him it won’t be as bad as he thinks; he’s already heard it from both June and Nora. Henry runs a hand down his back, and Alex can feel some of the tension from the day being pulled away. He pulls back and sees an actual look of concern; he should have known Henry wouldn’t brush his concerns aside so quickly, but it’s been happening so much of his life.
“I just …” Alex trails off into a sigh, “I’m not a writer, not like you or June. I don’t know what journaling is going to do for me other than give me another thing to feel inferior about.”
“Oh, Alex, journaling isn’t about writing well. It’s about having another way to get out the thoughts in your head. It doesn’t have to be the next Casey McQuiston novel. It just has to help you get things out of your head and find a place to process them. But I happen to know that when you want to, you can write amazing words. I’ve read them when they’ve been written to me.”
“June said something similar to that, but it was a lot harsher and had no mention of our emails.” Alex chuckles.
“Well, she is a big sister. They’re known for their tough love and wanting to avoid discussing their brother’s love lives. Whereas I, the man who loves you, want to support you. Not that June doesn’t want to support you; siblings just do it in a different way.”
Alex does start journaling, and he finds the words come easier than he thought they would—he’s not writing a New York Times Bestseller, but his therapist has told him over and over that what he has is more than enough. Along with making him remind himself that he is enough.
He gets an idea a month in; his writing is coming so easily, and it’s made him realize how much he’s missed writing, especially writing things for Henry. He finds a fancy leather-bound journal and starts writing in it. It doesn’t replace his therapy journal. This one has a different purpose. He writes his thoughts and feelings about and for Henry in the new journal almost daily. He brings them both along to therapy and occasionally reads from the one that’s for Henry. The first time he does so, he asks his therapist as they’re wrapping up what she thinks of the writing in the book for Henry; he wants it to be perfect for him. She, of course, gives him homework to think about why Henry might think it was perfect even if the writing isn’t that of a published manuscript. He does think about it. He thinks about how getting something like it from Henry would feel, giving him another idea.
It's only a matter of weeks before Alex has the journal half-filled, and he’s sitting watching a movie with Henry when he pulls it out of the place he had stashed it. Alex hands it to Henry and watches him look at it, turning it over in his hands.
“This isn’t your therapy journal.”
“No, it’s not. But it definitely happened because of that. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said when I started, about how we used to write to each other. So, I wrote to you. I filled the first half of this journal with things for you—my thoughts about you and my feelings for you. It’s all about you and how I feel about you.” Alex pauses, taking a moment to collect himself, watching Henry still looking at the journal in his hands. If Alex is honest, it’s a little nerve-wracking, but he waits for Henry to process what is in his hands.
Henry looks up at him finally, asking, “Why only half of it?” Henry’s voice is thick with emotion, and Alex wants to pull him into his arms, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t pull Henry into his arms, and he doesn’t run his hands through Henry’s hair, down his back in the way that they both use as a comfort.
Instead, he answers, “I was hoping you might want to take the other half. You can write whatever you want in it, of course. But I was hoping it could be something we could look back at later, a reminder of where we started, one that can’t be taken from us.”
“Oh, Alex.” Henry places the journal on the coffee table and turns to him. Alex is in arms before he’s fully turned to him. He feels the release of tension he didn’t even know he had in his shoulders. Henry kisses his lips, and Alex attempts to deepen the kiss, but Henry pulls away. ”I love it, it’s a wonderful idea. More importantly, I love you.”
Alex can feel the moisture pooling in his eyes but smiles through it, “I love you, too.” He can’t wait to read what Henry adds to it.