Archive of Our Own

Alex is late. It's Monday and he's late. He's always fucking late – this shouldn't be a surprise to anyone at this point, but every single week he promises that he's going to be on time and every single week he fails to keep that promise. Nora has started to keep a detailed spreadsheet charting the correlation between his vehemence that he'll be on time, and how late he actually ends up being. So far the results don't look good for him. 

It's hardly his fault though. He spends his entire day in the library wading through textbooks and articles, and gets stuck down a rabbit hole, then before he knows it, it's 7.30pm and Nora is texting and asking where he is. The answer is, as always, on the other side of this godforsaken city. If there's one thing Alex has learnt over the past few months of living in London, it's that no matter where you are or where you're going, it always, somehow, takes 47 minutes to get anywhere in this fucking city.

So, he's late. He's late and now he's got to spend the next 40 minutes sitting on the tube to get to Kensington just to lose at yet another pub quiz to a man with a stupidly symmetrical face because Nora likes that the pub is close to her lab. She says it has 'atmosphere' which like, sure, if 'atmosphere' means solid brown wood panelled walls and seats that must be soaked with so much beer that Alex is always surprised they're not wet when he sits down. 

Every week when they finish in second place, Alex complains and declares that next week they're going to try a different pub – one where they're not going to lose to a team that must be cheating – and every week, at approximately 8.10pm, Alex barrels through the door, drops his £2 in the pint glass at the bar and slides into his seat while June and Nora give him a look that says they are distinctly unimpressed with his timekeeping abilities. He thinks he usually makes up for it with his trivia knowledge.

'What we got?' he asks, pulling the picture round closer to him. He's holding out for flags or maybe logos, but Shaan, the quizmaster, always seems to pick something obscure. Last week it was Disney princes. Thank God, June spent most of her childhood watching Disney movies on repeat and sighing over true love's kiss. The week before, it was ‘identify the period drama adaptation by stately home’. Again, thank God for June and her encyclopaedic knowledge of British period novels and their adaptations for being able to identify the difference between Castle Howard and Chatsworth – two buildings which are both large and old and too fucking fancy for Alex to give a fuck about but are, apparently, homes to ‘very different adaptations of very different novels, Alex.’ 

He peers down at the sheet in front of them and blinks. Once, twice and then again. 'You've got to be kidding me. Knots? ' he says. 'Fucking knots?'  

June nods and casts a glance behind her. 'Looks like someone is enjoying this round slightly more than we are,' she mutters, doodling a flower in the corner of their answer sheet. 

Alex follows her eye and, of-fucking- course. 

Fucking Henry. 

He’s scribbling on the piece of paper while his sister and best friend look on in bemused affection and conduct their own entertainment. It's got to be a bluff, Alex thinks. Nobody knows anything about knots. Henry pushes his fingers through his sandy hair and brings the end of the pen to his pink lips. It's ridiculous, Alex thinks. He looks ridiculous, like some sort of stuffy academic with his elbow patches and leather satchel. He pauses for a second and then looks up to the ceiling, his eyes searching the corners as though he's thinking hard. They drop back down to paper as he writes down an answer. Then he looks back up, meets Alex's eyes and raises his eyebrows at him. 

Alex fucking hates that guy.

'Okay,' Shaan says. 'While you've had a chance to start that, and now that we're all here.' He glances at Alex and he tilts his pint that Nora had procured for him in his direction. 'Round One: TV.' 

Alex also fucking hates the TV round. There's always at least one question about a character on a long-running British soap. It hadn't taken Alex long to realise that, in the UK, there's about a seventy percent chance that every man over forty is called one of five things: Pete, Dave, Ian, Phil or Mike. He's taken to just writing down one of those names, and decided that based on the law of averages, he's sure to get it right eventually. Nora has clearly decided it's a solid enough statistical basis for an answer and June seems to have little interest in soaps that do not involve people being kidnapped, coming back from the dead or amnesia plotlines like their abuela's telenovelas.

June has, however, found a new obsession in an obscene number of reality TV shows which she claims are 'essential' for her being able to talk to her colleagues at work. As a result, she manages to do a decent job at pulling them through the TV round. There always appears to be a question about a TV show called Only Fools and Horses, which Alex is fairly sure is a TV show that only exists to be a question at pub quizzes based on the fact that he’s never actually met someone who has watched it. 

'Team name?' Alex asks, once the round is over and he's fairly certain that they've scored a respectable seven, potentially eight. His biggest regret every single week is being late enough that June and Nora come up with their team name for the week without him. 

'Already sorted,' Nora tells him, snatching the paper from his hand and handing it to Shaan above his head. 

Shaan plucks it from Nora's hand, and looks down. He nods and hands the paper to Henry's team to mark, and gives them his teams on his way back.

‘Beauties and the Beast,’ Alex reads. ‘Seriously?’

Nora shrugs and takes another sip of her pint. 'Come on,' she says, shoving the picture round at him, 'weren't you a boy scout?' 

Alex sighs. He was. He absolutely was a fucking boy scout and he's not about to let Henry, who is glowing like a pasty ghost in the candlelight on the other table, beat him. He definitely knows enough of this shit. 

Alex isn't great when it comes to focus a lot of the time but there is one thing that he's been consistent with his entire life, and that's his desire to win. He dredges some answers from the back of his brain from his days as a boy scout and finds that his father taking him sailing on the lake at his lake house has helped too. He can identify a figure of eight, a cleat and a carrick bend. Nora leans over and tilts her head, points to one and says 'bowline', then to another and says 'clove hitch.' 

Alex gives her an incredulous look. 

'What?' she asks. 'I grew up in fucking Vermont. I've been climbing.' 

'Oh my god,' June says with a gasp, then plucks the pen from Alex's hand before scribbling 'overhand' and 'square knot' next to two more pictures. 

Alex blinks. 

‘I got really into macrame last year,’ she reminds them and Alex suddenly remembers the weeks of rope lying around their apartment that later became hanging plant pots and wall art before June promptly moved onto her next fixation.

They don't get all of the knots. Of course they don't because that would be fucking ridiculous, but Alex thinks a solid fifty percent is a pretty good showing for a round that is, quite frankly, absurd. 

'Okay,' Shaan says. 'Let's mark the last round.' 

Alex looks down at the sheet of paper from Henry's team. Agatha Quiztie is written at the top in perfect cursive that can only belong to Henry himself. They’re back to their usual name, apparently, after a few weeks as The Three Muskequeers. 

Henry is gay. Alex knows this because he always has a little pride badge pinned to the strap of his bag. He's always reading some article on queer theory, and Alex once heard him go on a rant for twenty minutes to Pez that ended with 'Remus Lupin is gay as the day is long and quite frankly I don't give a damn what Joanne thinks. I won't hear another word about it’. He’s also single, because Alex heard him telling Pez about a terrible date he went on a couple of weeks ago with a guy he met on Grindr. 

Alex is fairly sure that Pez doesn't subscribe to any specific label – he spends as much time flirting with both June and Nora as he does the guy behind the bar; sometimes he turns up in a skirt or a dress, other times in trousers or a suit. He appears to have absolutely no concern for the concept of gender. Alex kind of loves him, and he absolutely loves the way that he grins and waves at the table of old men in the corner as they wrinkle their noses when he walks by.

Bea had turned up one week with a brand new asexual pride flag pin on her leather jacket and sat down next to her brother with a grin. He had beamed back and kissed the side of her head and they christened themselves with a new team name as a result.

Despite how much he absolutely hates them winning, there was a part of him that really loved hearing that team name ring through the dark, stuffy pub and the unimpressed mutterings from the other end of the bar. He’s not entirely sure why, but it made something twist in his chest.

Shaan reads out the answers to the final round and Alex scowls as he ticks his way down the page, pausing to note the difference in the handwriting for each answer. Most of them are Henry's in writing, with handwriting he's fairly sure is Bea's filling in the answer about a crime drama and the question on Love Island in Pez's curly scrawl. Ten out of fucking ten. 

'Okay, hand me back your sheets,' Shaan says. 'Music round next.' 

Finally, Alex thinks.

Shaan busies himself setting up the music round and Henry takes the opportunity to glide past them to the bar. He leans over at the bar and talks to the bartender, smiling and laughing in a way that makes creases form around his eyes. 

'I'm going to get another drink,' Alex declares. 'Want anything?' 

Nora raises an eyebrow at Alex's still half-full pint. 

'I'm going to get some food.' 

'You can get me another,' Nora says, nodding to her glass.

June considers it for a moment and requests a passionfruit cider. 'And some fries. Chips. Whatever the fuck they call them.' 

Alex nods and makes his way to the bar, slotting into the spot next to Henry. He peruses the menu half-heartedly, as though he doesn't look at it every week, know exactly what is on it and order the same thing every time. He'd tried the nachos once, hoping for a taste of home, and decided absolutely never again. 

'Gin and tonic, lime soda, and a cider,' the bartender declares, placing the tray of drinks in front of Henry. 

Henry looks to Alex. 'Alex,' he says with a slight pull of his lips. He glances back to the bartender. 'Can I get some chips as well?'

'I'll bring them over if you want,' the bartender tells him. 

Henry pauses then shakes his head. 'I'll wait,' he says, as he holds out his card to tap on the machine the bartender is holding out for him. 

Alex reels off his drinks order when the bartender turns to him, and adds his usual burger onto the end. ‘I’m starving,’ he adds at the end. 

'You know, it's customary to be on time for things, especially when they're recurring events.' 

Alex turns to him. 'Aww, did you miss me, sweetheart?'

'Well, Nora and June don't take to losing with quite the same... fashion as you do,' Henry says with a smirk. He picks up the gin and tonic and takes a sip, then brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks the lime juice from it. 

Alex blinks rapidly, dragging his eyes away from the sight of Henry's thumb in his mouth. There's something about it that makes his stomach feel weird. God, he must be really fucking hungry. He looks down at the glasses that the bartender is stacking on the tray in front of him. 

'Good week?' Henry asks.

Alex sighs. 'Fine,’ he says instinctively. ‘Apart from the fact that my professor is a dick.' 

Henry nods. 'So, not fine then?' he says, but there's a small smile tugging at his lips as the bartender returns with the card machine and holds it out for Alex.

Alex pats at his pants and then glances up to the ceiling. Of course he has to forget his card when he’s standing right next to Henry. 'Jesus fuck, hang on. It's in my bag.' 

Henry glances at Alex and then before he can move, Henry reaches forward to tap his own card on the machine. He gives Alex a cautious smile. 'Call it a gift... from last week's winnings.'

Henry picks up his tray of drinks and steps away from the bar, leaving Alex staring at the way he moves across the pub in his light blue shirt. He shakes his head and inhales deeply, then takes a gulp of Nora's beer and then sets it back down before carrying it back over to the table. 

'That looked cosy,' Nora says. 'Hey, did you drink some of my beer?'

'I paid for it,’ he says, before remembering that he hadn’t. Henry had. That weird feeling comes back, and he forces it back down.

'And I paid for yours first, dickwad.' 

'What was Henry talking to you about?' June asks. 

'Nothing, he was just being an ass. Rubbing in the fact that they always win, the usual.' 

June rolls her eyes. 'He's always perfectly nice to me. You're the one who’s always a sore loser.' 

'I'm not a sore loser, I—' 

'Okay, if we're all ready to continue then I think we should before this becomes the slowest quiz known to man.' 

Alex will concede that Shaan does have a point. He's been here nearly forty minutes now and they've not even made it to round two. 

Henry's team have started off with ten points in the first round, but Alex is feeling fine. They always do that and there's no way that Henry actually knows anything about knots. He's probably just scribbling away at the picture round to psych Alex out. Besides, next is the music round. Alex is good at music. He listens to a lot of different shit – his dad's old rock, rap, soul, country, pop. He's versatile. 

It quickly becomes clear that Alex does not, in fact, have this covered. He does not have a single fucking clue what's happening, but from the way Pez, Bea and even fucking Henry are bopping along, most of these songs have formed the soundtrack to their youth. 

Half of them are a very specific brand of synthetic pop sounds from the early 90s and early 00s. He manages to identify a quick burst of Britney Spears, something that he's pretty sure is the Backstreet Boys, and Kiss Me, but none of them can remember the name of the fucking band. June quickly identifies Ronan Keating's When You Say Nothing At All. At least watching Notting Hill seven thousand times has been good for something, Alex thinks, but when they hand their rounds in, Pez is serenading Henry with an over dramatic rendition of The Tide Is High and Alex is slumped in his chair sulking about the amount of BritPop while Bea sits across the room grinning widely. 

'Have you finished trying to make my ears bleed?' Alex hears Henry ask with a grin. 

'I'm aces at singing,' Pez declares. 'Can we do a karaoke night, Shaan? Henry's great at karaoke.' 

'We're not doing karaoke.' 

Shaan hands them a different team's sheet of paper this time – Quizzy McQuizface. Yet again, Alex is at least 80% sure he's missing something, because every week this gets a chuckle when Shaan reads out the scores, and every week Alex understands it less. 

'What if they've got the song but the wrong artist?' Henry asks, after Shaan reads out the answers. 

Alex swivels round in his chair. ‘Sweetheart. What the everloving fuck did you just say?’ 

'Half a mark,' Shaan says with a sigh. He’s long since given up on admonishing Alex for his language, as much as he tries to claim this is a family-friendly event.

'You put The Jonas Brothers for Year 3000,' Henry says. The soft blue of his shirt brings out his eyes and Alex feels absolutely nothing about that.

'Yeah, because that's who it's by—' 

Pez gasps from the corner. 'That is Busted erasure,' he says as Bea nods solemnly next to him. 

June shoves Alex by the shoulder so that he turns back around, and prods at the picture round. 'Finish marking that before you go getting yourself disqualified for fighting please.'

They make it through the next round, which thankfully is General Knowledge and pulls their tally up a reasonable amount. Alex sends up a prayer of thanks for the number of hours he’s wasted down Wikipedia rabbit holes when he should have been working. 

‘Okay,’ Shaan says. ‘Let's mark the picture round.’

They have Henry’s team’s paper to mark again, and Alex looks at every answer written in Henry’s neat handwriting. 

‘What the fuck?’ Alex mutters. Half the answers are the same as theirs were, but the rest are confidently filled in with what Alex suspects are very much the correct answers. 

He turns around. ‘There is no way you know this much about knots.'  

‘Are you accusing us of cheating?’ Henry asks. 

‘If the shoe fits, sweetheart. Nobody knows this much about knots.’ 

‘Would you like me to show you?’ Henry asks with a raised eyebrow, and Alex feels an inexplicable heat dart down his spine. Henry’s voice is firm and measured, his gaze is focused and piercing. Alex feels heat spread to his cheeks.

He blinks at Henry, and for the first time since he’s known him, there’s nothing that comes to his tongue. Usually, it’s instinctive and reactive. There’s always something he can retort with but this time, he just swallows and turns back to June and Nora, who are both watching him with a careful scrutiny he doesn’t really understand. He takes a sip from his pint. 

The rest of the evening passes with a strange feeling in Alex’s stomach and every time he looks over at Henry, who now seems to be intent on avoiding eye contact, it tightens all over again. He fluffs at least three answers he definitely knew because he can’t engage his brain with the quiz again. By the end of the night, he feels warm and restless and he’s shoving his bag onto his shoulder before Shaan’s even given them their third place scratch card. 

He’s interrupted by the arrival of a shadow behind him. He turns to see Henry, watching him with a careful, nervous expression. ‘Alex, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about earlier. Truly, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or upset you—’

‘You didn’t,’ he says because he’s not upset or uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what he is, or understand what he’s feeling, but he does know it’s neither of those things. Henry looks unconvinced, his hair is sticking up on its ends where his fist has been clenched in it. He hitches his bag on his shoulder and nods; his pride badge glints in the dim light of the pub, and he gives Alex a smile that suddenly feels at once more genuine and more hesitant than any he’s given him before. 

‘If you’re sure. I really—’ he clears his throat. ‘I enjoy this little… rivalry we have going on very much.’ 

Alex nods. ‘Same,’ he says, and he realises for the first time that he really, really does. 

Alex throws himself into his work over the next few days. A masters in international politics is no joke and he’s kind of drowning. Coming to London was never the plan. He’d always assumed that he would stay in Texas and go straight into politics after graduating, but then Nora had got a funded PhD at Imperial and June had jumped at the chance to do a secondment at her paper in London and Alex… Well, Alex followed them both to London, telling himself that it was because international experience would definitely look good on his resume. 

He gets back to the apartment he shares with June and Nora at nearly midnight on Friday, after they’ve already gone to bed. He makes himself some noodles that he eats while scrolling through Twitter, and climbs into bed. His life here isn’t exactly how he’d imagined it. For the most part, it’s a little lonely. He has so few class hours and so much work that he’s barely made any friends on his course. So many of them already live in the city and have their own lives and friends; June and Nora have their own routine. Really, he thinks, the only time he feels any spark of human connection is on Monday night from eight ‘til ten when he goes head to head with Henry. 

He’s never felt like this about other friends before, and he’s had plenty – all the guys on his lacrosse team, debate, classmates. Alex has always loved being around people; he’s always made friends easily but when he runs it over in his mind, he can’t think of anyone who has ever made him feel the way that Henry does. 

The closest he can come up with is Nora, when they dated for a few short months before they realised they were not at all suited to each other. Or Liam, his best friend from high school who disappeared from his life when they started college and Alex has never been able to work out why. He saw him on Instagram a few months ago, at brunch with his boyfriend. Alex hadn’t even known Liam had a boyfriend until then, or even known he was into guys. Sure, there was that thing in high school where they got off together a few times and that one time Liam reached over and Alex definitely didn’t stop him, and also that time after prom they got drunk and made out in Liam’s twin bed. But that was just… them being horny teenagers. Wasn’t it? 

It hadn’t meant anything to Alex. Or at least, he hadn’t thought it had. Sure, Liam’s lips had been soft, and Alex had enjoyed the taste of beer on his tongue and how Liam’s firm muscles had felt under his hands, but he hadn’t been interested in Liam like that; they were both just bored and single and horny. Just like Alex is now – in bed, with his hand inside his boxers stroking himself with a tight grip. 

He’s just restless. He’s not had sex since he fucking moved here. He’s been on a couple of dates and a few nights out but nothing that’s felt right since he started— since he started going to that fucking pub quiz with June and Nora. Since he met Henry with his soft smile and rounded vowels. Henry, with his sly humour and digs and the way he tips his head back as he laughs. Henry, whose expression is sometimes stormy and pensive until Pez and Bea poke and prod at it and a smile flickers onto his lips. Alex wonders how to break that spell. 

He closes his eyes and tries to think of soft curves under his hands, high pitched moans exhaled into his mouth and long hair threaded through his fingers. It’s all there, but alongside it, pushing in at the edges are firm chests and hard muscle. There’s the shock of familiar blue eyes looking up at him and short blond hair threaded through his fingers. Henry. Henry on his knees in front of him, mouth open and groaning, working himself as his lips return to Alex’s aching cock; there’s the heat of Henry’s mouth and the promise of things he might do with it and Alex can’t help his hand moving faster, tighter as the tension in his groin tightens. He can’t help the thready moan that falls from his lips or how he spills over his own hand with a start. 

He cleans himself up and falls into a confused, deep sleep. 

Things are clearer in the light of day. 

Alex wakes up from a fitful sleep, peppered with dreams about Liam, his dad’s best friend, Rafael Luna, Shaan’s sharp jawline and piercing eyes, fucking Han Solo, Henry, Henry, Henry. He wakes up hard and uncomfortable, like a fucking teenager moaning when he slips his hand back into his shorts and gets himself off again.  

So like, he’s pretty fucking sure he’s bisexual. And even more than that, he’s pretty fucking sure he likes Henry. Henry and the way he looks in the hazy light of the pub; his gentle smile when Pez does something absurd; how he pushes back against Alex; how soft he looks in knitwear and his obscene range of knowledge. He wants to know where he’s gathered it all from, to hear the stories from his travels. 

It all feels pretty fucking obvious in the yellow light of the morning. He’s kind of annoyed at himself for not seeing it before now. 

Once he’s dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, he finds June and Nora eating cereal on the couch watching a cooking show. 

He slumps down into the armchair next to them. June raises an eyebrow at him. ‘You got a bug up your butt?’ 

‘What? No,’ he says, swinging his legs over the arm of the chair. 

Nora narrows her eyes at him then turns to June and shrugs. 

‘I don’t!’ Alex exclaims. He turns in the chair, putting his feet back on the floor. ‘But I uh, I do need to talk to you guys about something.’ 

‘I’m not swapping chores with you,’ Nora says. 

‘What? No, that’s not it.’ 

June tilts her head, then glances down at Alex’s leg, restlessly bouncing up and down. ‘Hey,’ she says softly, ‘what is it?’ 

Alex looks over at her. June has always been his centrepoint, his soft landing when things were hard. June was the one who was there watching over him when he went off the rails as a teenager, the one who bought him condoms as a sixteen-year-old because she walked in on him making out with his then-girlfriend when their mom was out of town. June has always had his back, so he doesn’t know why he suddenly still feels so fucking nervous about this. She’s sitting here in her girlfriend’s college T-Shirt; he knows that she’s not going to have an issue with this but he doesn’t want to sit on this information. It’s like a fucking Tetris piece finally fallen into place; he wants to tell someone about this massive thing he’s finally worked out about himself. But it’s also the first time he’ll ever actually say the words out loud.

‘Um’ Alex says, wringing hands. ‘So.’ He pauses. He’s just gotta do it; rip off the metaphorical Captain America bandaid. ‘I’m bisexual.’ 

He fights against the weird instinct to close his eyes. He bites the inside of his cheek. 

June’s face slides into a gentle smile, warm and good. The strange tightness in his chest loosens. ‘Hey,’ she says, leaning forward and taking his hand. ‘You okay?’ 

Alex nods. ‘Yeah.’ 

‘C’mere,’ she says, standing and pressing a kiss to his half-dried hair. She tugs him into her side. ‘Love you, lil bit. Thank you for telling us.’ 

Nora nods. ‘Congrats on figuring it out.’ 

June shoots her an exasperated look and Alex’s brows knit together. ‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Nora.’ 

‘Nothing,’ Nora says quickly. Alex stares at her, narrowing his eyes until she relents. She sighs, a curl falling loose from her clip as she shifts and leans forward. ‘Okay so, remember when we were dating?’ 

He glances between the two of them. ‘Unfortunately.’ 

‘Right, so, when you told me about Liam. The way you talked about him and how it ended. I really thought the two of you had dated and so, I might have said something about your ex to June, meaning him, and—’ 

‘Liam and I weren’t… it wasn’t—’ Alex trails off. Maybe it wasn’t like that to him, but he can’t say that it wasn’t like that for Liam. He thinks back over that time: Liam’s laughter; the way he always seemed to be looking at Alex when he looked up; that time Liam reached over; the kiss and how Liam had been the one to stop it, right when Alex probably would have gone much further. It hadn’t meant anything to Alex, but maybe it had to Liam. ‘Fuck.’ 

June squeezes his shoulder. 

‘So, is it Henry?’ Nora asks, pulling him from his thoughts. 

‘What?’ 

‘That’s prompted this realisation?’ She pauses, looks at him like he’s five years old and then very slowly says, ‘Henry: tall, hot, blonde, legs up to his very, very blue eyeballs.’ 

Alex groans and looks up at Nora again. ‘Is it that obvious?’ he asks. 

Nora grimaces. June pats his head. Alex lets out a long sigh. 

Alex steps out of South Kensington tube station on Monday at precisely seven fifteen. He’s dressed in his favourite shirt – a dark burgundy colour that fits every muscle on his body and a pair of chinos. He’s got his bag over his shoulder and the shiny new pride pin that Nora had thrown at him the morning he came out to them pinned to the strap. ‘Welcome to the club,’ she’d said as he caught the tiny bisexual flag between his fingers. 

Shaan gives him a double take from his seat at the bar when he walks in. ‘Clocks don’t change until next week, Alex,’ Shaan tells him as Alex strides past him, putting a handful of coins in the pint glass and joins June and Nora at their table. 

Henry, Bea and Pez are already here, and the sight of Henry in a navy blue cardigan, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, makes his interest spike. He gets it now though; he understands what the precise brand of hot fury running through his veins is. Henry takes a drink from his glass and raises a nervous hand at Alex when he sees him looking. Alex, for once, lets himself look, takes Henry in and fuck he’s hot. Alex had known that he was good looking but he’s never allowed himself to look before, not like this. Not down to the delicate cupid’s bow of his lip and the moles on his skin, the leather strap of his watch on his forearms or the way his long fingers curl around the pen. He remembers hearing Henry talking about playing the piano, and suddenly he can’t think of anything else.

‘You’re…’ June glances down at her watch. ‘Early?’ 

Alex settles into his seat. ‘Yup,’ he says, popping the ‘p’. 

‘Evening,’ Shaan says, coming up behind them. ‘Alex, this is the portion of the evening you’re not usually here for,’ he says wryly. ‘So this might be unfamiliar to you but this is the part where you pick a team name and I give you the picture round.’

Alex nods and flashes a grin at Shaan. ‘I got it, don’t worry,’ he says, plucking the sheet of paper from him along with the picture round: US State Flags. 

‘Oh fucking yes,’ Alex says, grinning. ‘Shaan, I could fucking kiss you.’

‘My wife would probably have something to say about that,’ he says, gesturing towards Zahra who is sitting at the bar with a large glass of white wine dressed in a pencil skirt and lethal-looking heels. ‘But you can thank her for the round. She says you’re barred if you don’t get Louisiana.’ He pauses. ‘Well, I translated.’ 

Alex raises his hand in a salute and begins to scribble the answers under each answer. 

‘You gonna let us look at that?’ Nora asks as he scribbles New Mexico. 

‘Do you really want to?’ Alex asks. 

‘Not particularly,’ June replies. ‘You know how most kids have colouring books of cartoons? Alex had state flags,’ she tells Nora. 

‘That does not surprise me at all. Limited colour palette though.’ 

Alex sticks his tongue out at them both.  ‘Okay,’ he says, once he’s finished. June spins the paper round to check his answers. She might act like she doesn’t know or care, but she had the fucking colouring book too.

‘Team name,’ June tells him, holding out the pen.

Alex takes it from her. She turns the piece of paper around and Alex knows what to write, instinctively. There was never any question. In block caps he writes, The Three Muskequeers. 

Nora grins wide and June shakes her head fondly and reaches over to ruffle his hair. 

From the corner of his eye, Alex notices Henry make his way towards the bar. Nora tilts her head at Alex. 

He clears his throat. ‘Anyone want a drink?’ he asks, looking down at June and Nora’s full glasses. 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he gets up and follows Henry. He’s leaning on the bar, forearms bare where his cardigan is pushed up, turning his card between his fingers. Alex slides up next to him. 

‘Alex,’ he says. There’s a note of caution in his voice, like he recognises that something has shifted but he’s not entirely sure what. 

‘Hey, sweetheart,’ Alex says with a grin. He turns to Henry, and lets his eyes follow the sharp cut of his jaw and his strong sloping nose. ‘Look, can I buy you a drink?’ 

‘Oh it’s okay, I’ve already ordered and I’ve got Bea and Pez as well—’ 

‘I’m… It doesn’t have to be right now but—’ He pauses, licks his lips and tries to quell the nerves in his stomach. He’s bought people drinks before so why does this feel so different? He knows, of course, that it’s because it’s Henry. ‘Will you have a drink with me?’ 

‘Alex, really if this is about last week. There’s no need—’ 

‘Henry,’ he says quickly. ‘I’m trying to ask you out.’ 

‘Oh,’ Henry says, his pink lips forming a tantalising ‘o’ shape. ‘I wasn’t sure you were. Well, I thought maybe, but after last week—'

‘Yeah well, I thought I wasn’t and then last week— It wasn’t the knots thing. I’m not into that.’ He pauses. ‘I mean I don’t think I’m into that but who fucking knows. I didn’t think I was into guys so I guess I’ll try anything once if—’ Alex shakes his head. ‘Fucking hell, please tell me to shut up. My mouth, it just… doesn’t stop.’ 

‘I’d rather you didn’t actually,’ Henry says. He’s grinning so wide that the skin crinkles around his eyes. He looks so fucking beautiful; carefree and happy. He leans in. ‘I’ll have you know quite like your mouth.’ 

He pulls back, Alex holds his gaze and feels heat zip down his spine. ‘You know you haven’t actually given me an answer,’ he tells Henry. 

Henry’s hand inches closer to his on the bar, torturously close. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’ 

‘I don’t know, sweetheart. Having a drink with you?’ he asks. 

‘If you’re free,’ Henry says, stretching out his pinky finger. 

Alex glances down into the space Henry has inched his finger into and bites down a smile. He stretches out his own, so they’re barely touching. His finger brushes Henry’s for a flicker of a second, then he shrugs, grinning as the bartender returns with Henry’s order. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ 

They win the quiz. It’s the first fucking time in months and Alex feels euphoric when Shaan calls out the scores at the end. Sure, getting the entry pot is a pretty good deal – he’s not going to turn down his share of £80 or so – but the real prize is seeing Henry’s slightly fond, already exasperated smile as Alex and Nora whoop and cheer.

Alex lingers as they slip out of the pub, waiting for Henry to catch up. ‘You guys go ahead,’ he says to June and Nora. ‘I’ll get the next bus.’ 

After a weak protest, they give in and wander off to the bus with Pez and Bea following. ‘Alex,’ Pez says, tipping his purple cap. ‘Lovely to see you as always.’ 

Alex laughs. ‘Night Pez.’ 

Then, it’s just him and Henry on a dark street in Kensington, standing under a streetlight as the pub empties behind them.

‘Congratulations,’ Henry says, smiling softly. 

Alex shrugs. ‘Thought you were getting complacent.’

Henry smiles. ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger of that with you around.’ 

‘Gotta keep you on your toes, baby.’ 

Alex sees a slight blush creep onto Henry’s cheeks. Huh. Baby. Okay then. He files that away for future reference. 

‘You ah, you mentioned a drink?’ Henry says. 

‘I did say something like that, didn’t I?’ His grin is wide and teasing, and there’s a matching one on Henry’s face and fuck, this is fun. He’s not sure flirting has ever felt like this before; he’s not sure he’s ever felt the bubbling giddiness in his stomach before or the slow heat coursing simultaneously through his veins.

Alex is happy to let Henry, a born and bred Londoner, take the reins in terms of where they should go, so Alex inputs his number into Henry’s phone and Henry suggests they meet at a pub in Paddington. He accepts with a smile that he tries to keep tucked behind his lips. He fails; it bursts onto his face like sunlight, and Henry returns it in a mirror image. 

‘Okay,’ Henry says with a nod. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’ He tugs at the strap of his bag. 

‘Yeah,’ Alex says, watching the way the light catches the strands of gold in his hair, how they glint in the glow of the streetlight. His eyes follow the slope of Henry’s nose, the sharp cut of his jawline and travel back up to Henry’s deep blue eyes. They drop to that soft, pretty mouth that’s taunted him for so long; how it tugs upwards in one corner and the dusky pink colour, how it can be so sharp and so gentle.

There’s a part of Alex that wants to kiss him. Right here and now with the traffic rushing past and the yells of drunken revellers in the background. But he doesn’t. Not yet. ‘See you tomorrow then.’

‘Goodnight, Alex.’ 

‘No. ’ 

Henry sits back, looking all hot and affronted. ‘What do you mean “no”?’ 

‘You’re wrong. You’re just wrong. I don’t understand how someone so smart can be so wrong.’ 

Alex is on his third pint. They’re tucked into the corner of a buzzy old pub that has hanging baskets full of begonias outside and walls covered in old photos and memorabilia. There’s a roaring fire and a dog roaming between tables for scraps of food, and Henry looks so fucking comfortable in light blue cashmere that Alex almost can’t believe he’s not part of the furniture. 

‘A personal opinion can’t be wrong.’ 

Alex scoffs. ‘Yes, it can and that one is both bad and wrong.’

Henry’s lips curve into a smile that Alex immediately wants to kiss right off him. Henry’s thigh is pressed against his own and he can smell the clean, grassy scent of his cologne. 

They’ve been here for hours, going back and forth like this, uncovering all the things they agree and disagree on: Star Wars, roast dinners, tea, the merits of naming your dog like he’s a forty-seven-year-old accountant. They’ve delved deeper too, into Alex’s sudden realisation about his sexuality and how Henry had known he was gay for as long as he can remember; how it was never a big deal to him. He talks about Bea the same way Alex talks about June – his constant confidante. They cover Alex’s masters and Henry’s PhD in Austen; how much Alex misses Texas and how Henry loves London but misses the quiet countryside cottage his family have in Wales. Alex is both shocked and pleased to discover that he and Henry have so much more in common than he’d ever thought – both stubborn and determined with smart mouths and quick wit. Henry admits with a light blush that he plays polo and Alex is torn between spitting out his drink and choking on it at the thought. His innate instinct to mock the rich is complicated by the thought of Henry and his thighs on a horse. It’s all very confusing; he’d thought he was past the confusion honestly.

His eyes dart to the amber liquid in his glass, then to Henry’s. Henry ducks his head shyly, cheeks flushed a pretty rosy pink. Whether it’s from the heat of the fire or the drink or simply the constant back and forth Alex doesn’t know. What he does know is that it goes down his neck, slips down the collar of his sweater and Alex wants to see how far down it extends. 

Henry clears his throat. Alex’s eyes flicker upwards to meet his.

‘Do you wanna get out of here?’ Alex asks. 

‘And go where?’ Henry replies, with a teasing smile on his face and a happy lilt to his voice. It’s so unlike the Henry he’s been sitting across from at the quiz for months, all focused and serious. This Henry is open and relaxed, laughing throatily over a beer, quick to make digs and jokes and gives as good as he gets. Alex wonders how many other shades and facets there are to him, what else he might be hiding and how Alex might be able to uncover each hidden side; drag them all into the light and see how they shine. 

Alex shrugs. ‘Anywhere.’ 

‘Would you— God, this sounds like I’m propositioning you – but would you like to come back to mine?’ 

Alex tilts his head and looks at Henry carefully. His eyes linger on his mouth, where his pristine white teeth slip out to bother his bottom lip. ‘And what if I wanted you to proposition me?’ he asks. 

Henry gasps in faux horror and raises his hand to his chest. ‘We’ve not even had dinner.’ 

‘We’ve had—’ He points to the three open packets of crisps on the table. ‘Whatever the fuck these were.’ 

Henry smirks. ‘Is that a yes?’

Alex picks up his glass and drains the rest of his beer. ‘Lead the fucking way, sweetheart.’ 

He fits into the space next to Henry easily, falls in line with his every step like he has a magnet in his pocket. Henry’s strides are long and sure, and Alex wants to know where that confidence comes from in someone so reserved. How the person who wears cashmere cardigans and whose lock screen is a picture of his beagle called David carries himself with such an easy assurance. They walk through the city, meandering through the streets towards Kensington and Alex loses track of time. 

He listens to Henry tell him about his sister and her band, and Pez and how they’ve been best friends from school. He skirts around the edges of his highly-strung brother and homophobic grandmother, and something dark pinches the corner of his mouth when Alex asks about his parents. Henry paints a picture of his parents who were sickeningly in love and holidayed on the French Riviera. He tells Alex about sailing with his father, with a knowing tilt of his head to explain why he knows quite so much about knots and rope, and his mother who made sure the house was filled with books. He hesitates before telling him about his father dying when he was eighteen, right in the middle of his A Level exams, sending the entire family into a grief-fuelled crisis and Henry into a gap year that he spent travelling the world, searching for meaning in deep blue seas and mountains, in remote villages on distant continents, and then in packed cities, in seedy bars and claustrophobic clubs and in the arms of other men when he didn’t find it. He tells him about how their mum disappeared into a grief-stricken haze and is only just returning to them; how he goes to the quiz because Shaan is an old friend of his father's who tries to keep a close eye on him and over the years he's become a strange sort of uncle figure.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alex says. 

Henry is quick to respond with, ‘Not your fault,’ as though it’s a reflex – something he’s learned to brush off over the years, to push down and make smaller. 

Alex isn’t good with this sort of stuff. He’s lucky; he’s never experienced grief beyond the death of his grandfather when he was seven and too young to understand much beyond the fact he’d get an extra day to do his math homework because he’d miss school for the funeral. ‘It’s still shit though,’ he says. 

And Henry laughs; bright and startled and disbelieving. ‘Yes,’ Henry says, smiling. ‘You’re right. It is shit.’ 

Alex finds himself telling Henry about his own parents, stuff he never talks to June or Nora about – the fighting and the constant legalese, how they could barely negotiate a pick up from an after school club without it requiring a full contract. He tells him about that summer when he was twelve, when he went to camp and came back to find his dad gone. How he didn’t speak to him for weeks, how even when he and June visited him in California, Alex stubbornly talked around him. How he threw himself into sports and clubs and class and never really looked back, how he still hasn’t stopped. 

He knows June doesn’t have the same hang ups he does when it comes to their dad, that hers are far more focused on her mom. Nora is good to talk at sometimes, but she’s not always the best listener. Henry, though, processes everything quietly and lets Alex talk. He asks questions and makes thoughtful interjections and when Alex is finished, he simply says. ‘I’m sorry, that must have been hard for you.’

It’s not often Alex lets himself think about how hard it was, how sometimes it still is. 

In the back of his mind, Alex wonders whether this much discussion about parental trauma is too much of a mood killer on a first date. It doesn’t feel like it though; there’s still a distinct current buzzing between them, and their conversations are still filled with teasing comments and sly smirks as well as the long pauses and deep thoughts. There’s more too though, a closeness from a secret shared. 

‘This is me,’ he says quietly as they pull up next to an Indian restaurant on a main road. It’s in the middle of a long terrace, with apartments above the shops and restaurants. 

Alex nods. ‘I didn’t know you moonlit as a chef, sweetheart.’ 

He slips his key into the lock of the door next to the restaurant and rolls his eyes. ‘You’re a nightmare. Are you coming in?’ 

Alex lets himself look at Henry properly – the open, focused gaze and the swoop of his sandy hair, bottomless blue eyes. There’s only one answer. ‘Lead the way, sweetheart.’ 

Alex follows him up the stairs and up the dark corridor to the top floor flat. It’s exactly what he would have imagined for Henry – a small one-bedroom flat with books lining the walls. It somehow manages to feel light and spacious though, tidy and reserved but bright and warm, just like Henry. There’s photos of him with Pez and his family and art prints on the wall, a line drawing of the torso of a man with his arms behind his head and earthy colours behind him. There are cushions in bright colours and covered with tassels on the velvet sofa, and a bar cart in the corner filled with different bottles of gin. He switches on a lamp in the corner and pulls the curtains closed. 

‘That’s gay,’ Alex says, nodding towards the picture. 

Henry’s eyes widen dramatically. ‘It is? ’ Henry steps towards him, the dim light of a lamp illuminating him. The light shines through the mosaic glass, casting a rainbow onto the wall. It splays across his face – red, blue, yellow and beautiful. He looks ethereal. 

Alex laughs, as Henry moves towards him, sliding his fingers gently into the belt loops of Alex’s jeans. ‘Well, that certainly explains a lot,’ he murmurs, low and husky and fuck, it sends something hot coursing down Alex’s spine. 

His mouth feels dry as Henry tilts his head and brushes his nose gently over Alex’s cheek. It’s light and teasing; Henry in his space so tantalisingly close and he realises that he’s been waiting for this all night. ‘Baby,’ he murmurs. 

‘Mmm,’ Henry hums happily like he’s enjoying this just as much as what might come next. Alex tilts his head slightly, trying to chase Henry’s lips. 

‘Fucking—  Henry, kiss me. Please.’ 

Henry does. Finally. His hand is gentle on the back of Alex’s neck, but his kiss doesn’t match that softness. It’s hard and hot and urgent, like he’s been waiting to be asked for a thousand years. It’s firm and nothing like he expected Henry to kiss, and that shouldn’t be surprising given that Henry is a bundle of contradictions and mysteries wrapped up in Burberry and tied up with a cable-knit wool bow but somehow it is. Henry looks like a perfect prince charming, the picture of a reserved academic but kisses like this, like it’s his favourite fucking thing in the world. For all Alex knows, maybe it is. He kisses like it’s the main event; nipping at Alex’s bottom lip and teasing with a swipe of his tongue, taking his time like he’s at a goddamn buffet that could go on for hours. It’s intoxicating. Alex isn’t sure he’s ever been with someone who has as much confidence as Henry, who knows exactly what they want and was willing to take it the second Alex asked. 

The thing Alex quickly realises is that the mechanics here are pretty much the same as he’s used to, and he knows how to kiss. Henry keens when he slides his lips down to his neck, lets out a stuttered half-breath when Alex works his mouth furiously over his pulse point until Henry is gasping and sliding his own hands down to Alex’s ass. He presses back slightly, and Alex’s own hands find the hem of Henry’s sweater, slide underneath to his undershirt, then slip under that too to touch the bare skin at his waist.

‘We don’t have to,’ Henry murmurs. ‘We don’t have to go any further than this if—’ 

‘Do you want to stop?’ Alex asks. 

‘Not particularly,’ Henry admits. 

Alex continues running his hand along the soft skin at Henry’s waistband. ‘Cool. Me either. So.’ He leans in to kiss Henry’s neck again. ‘Can I take this off?’ He tugs at Henry’s sweater. 

Henry lets out a breathy sigh. ‘Please,’ he murmurs, all dark pupils and kiss swollen lips.

He looks fucking indecent. It stirs something hot and tight in Alex.

He strips Henry down to his tight black boxers, and lets Henry do the same to him, revelling in the way that Henry treats every stage like an experience. It’s as if he’s unwrapping the most precious gift, slowly peeling back each layer with a care that makes Alex feel weak at the knees. He pushes Alex’s shirt off his shoulders and to the floor. 

‘Alex, I— God, I want to get my mouth on you. Please. I—’ 

Alex isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone look quite so desperate to give a blowjob, and he’s hardly a stranger to them. Henry’s eyes are dark and his lips rosy pink. The immediate vision of those lips around his cock sends all other thoughts out of Alex’s brain. 

‘Fuck. Fuck yeah, let’s do that. Where do you wanna—’ 

Henry doesn’t even answer. He just steps over to the drinks cart and opens a small box, then drops to his knees in front of Alex and starts to unwrap a condom with his teeth. 

This man might be the death of him. 

‘So beautiful,’ Henry says quietly. 

It pulls Alex up short for a second. It’s not a feeling he’s ever had before. Hot, yes. He’s not completely oblivious to his looks but Henry is beautiful; he looks like he was carved from marble. In another life, he’d be a movie star or a model or a stately prince who could command a nation with his strong jaw, sloped nose and bottomless blue eyes. Alex is the loveable rogue, the approachable boy next door. Henry though, well, Henry looks at him like he’s staring into the fucking sun and it’s somehow both terrifying and a relief to see the intensity in his eyes when he drops to his knees in front of Alex. It’s terrifying because it’s so soon, but a relief because he feels it too; he knows Henry is seeing the same thing in his own face when he slips his hand into Henry’s hair and cradles the back of his head. 

Henry drops Alex’s underwear to the floor, settles in on the plush carpet of his living room and rolls the condom onto Alex’s dick, then finally, finally puts his mouth on him. It’s all-consuming and almost instantly both too much and not enough. Henry’s mouth is hot and wet and precise, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Somehow, he seems to know every button of Alex’s to press as though he’s memorised the keyboard and learned to touch type. Henry flattens his tongue and takes Alex’s cock deeper, and Alex realises, not for the first time, that there’s so much more to Henry than he’d ever known. He’s desperate to know more, to know everything; to understand the man who has elbow patches on his cardigans and is doing his PhD on Jane Austen, who is moaning around Alex’s dick like this is his favourite fucking thing in the world actually. There’s heat curling in Alex’s groin, shooting up his spine and travelling down to the tips of his toes.

‘Sweetheart, fuck,’ he moans, tightening his hand in Henry’s hair. Henry bobs his head, single-minded in his focus and it’s all so intoxicating that Alex can’t help it when his hips stutter forward. ‘Shit. Sorry. Fuck.’ Alex loosens his grip. 

Henry looks up at him, mouth still around Alex’s cock and blinks once then hums. He presses his head back into Alex’s hand, and waits. He reaches behind his head, to where Alex’s hand is now lightly cupping Henry’s and covers it with his own hand. 

Oh. 

‘You like that?’ Alex asks, sliding his hand back into Henry’s hair more firmly. Henry nods infinitesimally in response. ‘God baby, you’re— you’re so fucking good at that. Your mouth, fucking— Jesus.’ Henry picks up his pace, fast and firm and Alex is teetering on the edge, tension rising in every cell of his body, threatening to tip him off balance and over a goddamn cliff. He’s so fucking close and just as he glances down, Henry moans, slipping his own hand down to his underwear and setting his own cock free. He takes it in his hand and Alex loses it at the sight of Henry’s lips around him, jerking himself off. Holy fucking shit. Alex can’t believe his literal fantasy is coming true right now. ‘Oh shit. Henry— Fuck, I’m gonna— Fuck.’ 

He comes with blurred vision and weak knees, feeling like he’s fallen upwards into the goddamn clouds. Everything about the world feels rearranged, upside down, inside out and somehow completely right at the same time. 

He glances down, feeling delirious and hazy to see Henry, panting slightly. There’s a length of pale skin dotted with moles that Alex wants to trace and connect together. He’s still got his cock in his hand, staring up at Alex. He’s biting his lip, pristine white teeth digging into plush pink. 

‘Lemme,’ he says, dropping to his own knees and reaching out to push Henry backwards onto the floor and rummaging in his own pants for his wallet. He pulls a condom from it. ‘Not the only one who came prepared, sweetheart.’

‘Alex, you don’t have to—’ 

‘I want to,’ he says, cutting Henry off because well, he really fucking does. ‘I just… I haven’t before so…’ 

He’d told Henry over beer about his realisation, how so much of it had been fuelled by Henry and his goddamn face and stupid smart brain, but how it pieced together so much other stuff too that had never made sense before. 

‘Hey,’ Henry says, sitting up on his elbows. His hair is so far beyond tousled, it looks like he’s been through some sort of fight. ‘It’s okay.’ He doesn’t try and talk Alex out of it, he just smiles as Alex leans forward to capture his lips. ‘I’m ah…’ Henry clears his throat. ‘Not sure I’m going to last all that long. Doing that… well, I enjoy it, and I—’ 

Alex lets out a pathetic, wounded noise. ‘Are you trying to tell me you get off on giving blowjobs?’ he asks, and Henry flushes slightly pink before he clenches his jaw slightly, which just will not do. Henry simply cannot feel embarrassed about that.

‘Well—’ 

Alex cuts him off with his lips. ‘That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. I want to— Just.’ Alex exhales. ‘I want it to be good for you. I want to be good at it so like, fucking, y’know, feel free to tell me.’ 

‘Are you asking for feedback? You don’t normally like my marking,’ Henry says wryly. ‘You quite frequently raise it with Shaan actually.’

Alex rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t like it when you’re wrong, sweetheart.’ 

‘Alex,’ Henry says softer now, moving in for another kiss. ‘Being honest with you, I’ve ah, I’ve wanted this for an embarrassingly long amount of time so…’ 

It’s something Henry has hinted at a few times already. That he’s been interested in Alex for months. It never sounds hurt or malicious, but Alex can’t help feeling bad that he spent so long insisting to himself that Henry was a stuck up prick when he was the one with his head up his ass. Still, he’s here now.

‘So I better get on with it?’ 

‘So it’ll probably be incredible no matter what.’ 

Alex nods and looks down. He slowly rolls the condom onto Henry’s cock. This whole thing is both new and entirely familiar, he realises. He might never have given a blow job before but he’s received them. He’s pretty familiar with the mechanics, then it just becomes about tailoring it to Henry and working out how to unravel him. He starts slow, with teasing, searching licks and movements and listens carefully to every single noise Henry makes. He’s responsive and giving. He guides Alex with tight breathy little noises and the occasional ‘slower’, ‘yes, like that’ and, ‘that’s so good, love’ that sends something warm spreading through his entire body.

Alex relaxes his jaw and lets instinct take over, and he gets Henry’s reaction now. It’s intoxicating to hear him fall apart and know that it’s him doing that. Alex has always been a giver, but he never expected to enjoy the slight ache in his jaw this much or to feel drunk on the heavy weight of Henry’s cock on his tongue. Alex reaches up and finds Henry’s hands and Henry moans as he pins his wrists to the floor under his own before bobbing his head again and doing the same thing with his tongue that Henry had done to him. 

‘Alex, oh God. Christ.’ His voice gets threadier and Alex knows it’s coming, the cresting wave when Henry is babbling, reduced to a pile of limbs and moans. He can’t help but feel a little proud of himself. ‘Yes, just like that. Oh. Alex.’

Henry comes with his mouth open around an inexplicable breath of laughter, hips stuttering forward and his wrists pinned under Alex’s hands. He looks strung out, a tired smile slipping onto his lips as he turns to Alex. 

‘Well,’ he says. ‘Practice makes perfect.’ 

Then, his mouth slips into a wide, goofy smile and Alex feels the anxiety his chest release at the sight of Henry looking so deliriously happy. 

‘Oh, you asshole,’ Alex says, reaching for the nearest cushion and diving for him. 

Henry meets him halfway, stretching upwards to meet his lips, arms coming up to wrap around Alex’s bare torso as they fall back to the floor, naked and laughing and kissing. Alex is pretty fucking sure he might end up with carpet burn, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

On Monday, Alex strolls into the pub at 7pm with June and Nora in tow and sits down next to Henry on the bench. The pair of them have barely left each other’s sides at all for the last week – coffee with June and Nora on Friday, brunch with Bea and Pez, a games night with all six of them on Saturday and countless, countless hours spent alone, talking, kissing, learning the maps of each other’s bodies. 

Shaan approaches them with the usual papers and a raised eyebrow. ‘I don’t know if I’m pleased by this development because we might finally get through this quiz before last orders if the two of you aren’t bickering, or if I’m about to get complaints from everyone else that you win every week.’ 

Alex grins brightly, taking the pen from him. ‘Sounds like a them problem.’ 

Shaan lets out a long suffering sigh and turns to Henry. ‘You sure about this?’ he asks.

Henry responds by throwing his arm around Alex’s shoulder and pulling him closer. ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ 

Shaan nods and gives him a smile. 'Well congratulations then. £2 each, please,' he says, shaking the pint glass at them.

Alex grins and looks around the table – June deep in a conversation with Pez about fashion, Nora and Bea scrolling through Spotify playlists while they wait for the quiz to start properly, Henry staring down at him with a soft private smile. He looks down at the space for their team name on the sheet, and with a grin he writes their new name. 

The Super Six. 

(After a few months, Shaan thinks about subtracting points whenever he hears, ‘Baby, sweetheart, I love you, but what in the everloving fuck did you just say?’ come from their corner of the room as they bicker over their answer sheet. Every time he looks over at them though, Henry’s grin is so wide and Alex is looking at him with such fondness, he can never bring himself to care).