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Henry had never allowed himself to think about Valentine’s Day as anything more than just a day. ‘ A capitalist holiday just like the rest,’ he’d tell himself as he downed a second glass of red wine, a polished-off box of Jaffa Cakes discarded somewhere on the floor.
It was, in his humble opinion, just another reason for greedy corporations to drive up the prices of flowers, chocolates and pointless knick-knacks that nobody truly needed, knowing full well that there were plenty of people desperate enough to pay for them—love was a very lucrative business.
Somewhere between his third and fourth glass of wine, but not too soon before he’d turn on “In the Mood for Love,” he began to drop the act and admit that maybe, just maybe, the reason he was so bitter was because he wished he had a reason for it to be more than a day.
It had become a bit of a ritual over the past couple of years: faking it until the alcohol wouldn’t allow him to—a sensible plan for the most part.
The truth was that Henry Fox, who was, in actuality, incredibly romantic, thought about Valentine’s Day quite excessively—daydreamed about the day in all its vivid reds and pinks, secretly wanted to give and perhaps even be on the receiving end of those overpriced chocolates and expensive floral arrangements.
But above all, what he truly yearned for was someone that he loved to spend it with.
(Whether or not he truly believed he would ever find or deserved to have that love were different issues— reserved explicitly for his many long, insomnia-filled nights.)
Henry had no real expectations when he transferred to New York for school—he was merely seeking a change from the otherwise sombre life he’d been living for the past couple of years. Love was the absolute last thing on his radar—a sentiment he realized that made his life sound eerily similar to a sappy romance movie.
But Alex Claremont-Diaz had come out of left field, managing to defy Henry’s doubts that he’d never find the type of love that lit him up from the inside out— the kind that was tender, all-consuming and felt distinctly like home . He couldn't remember the last time he felt like he was home.
And now that he felt like it was finally in his grasp, he wanted everything .
So, when Alex had not-so-casually mentioned Valentine’s Day on their way to work one day in the form of commenting on a lavish-looking flower shop, Henry had practically jumped at the opportunity to plan it for them.
“Are you sure?” Alex had asked him, his arm slung around Henry’s shoulder. “I thought of like seven ideas in the shower this morning, and I’m not gonna lie, they only get more unhinged. One of them just involves a shit ton of whipped cream, if you catch my drift.”
“Consider your drift caught,” Henry chuckled. “And as much as I would love to enable your obsession with covering me in food, I’d really love to do this for us,” Henry replied as they approached The Buzzed Bean.
“Well, technically, the difference here is that all of those times were accidents resulting from a big, oblivious crush that I was harbouring. This time would be intentional,” Alex replied, joining their hands together, a sultry wink attached to the statement that made Henry bite the inside of his lip to keep himself from smiling. “What are your ideas then?”
“I think I’ll keep them to myself for now,” Henry said cryptically, squeezing Alex’s hands between them. “Though, I’d be more than happy to include some of those flowers you were staring longingly at a couple of minutes ago. Very subtle, by the way.”
Alex’s eyes lit up, a grin taking over his entire face.
“Not sure what you’re referring to,” Alex said, clearly trying to hide his elation with a nonchalant shrug. “But you’ll never catch me saying no to a dozen long stem yellow roses.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, love,” Henry hummed, leaning in to press a kiss to Alex’s lips.
“Oh my God !” their co-worker, Spencer, groaned as she stomped past them on her way inside. “I need you guys to not be so disgustingly in love for two fucking seconds. Some of us are spending Valentine’s Day sad, depressed and alone and don’t need to be reminded at their place of employment!”
If she said anything else, Henry didn’t hear it, too fixated on the alarm bells going off in his mind at the words “ in love” and trying not to let his panic play out on any of his features.
The thing about that was that Henry was very much disgustingly in love with Alex and had been since the moment he laid eyes on him. It was a truth that he kept to himself, much too fearful that he would scare Alex off, but one that was always at the very pinnacle of his mind.
Sometimes, it was difficult to catch himself before the words slipped out—like when Alex greeted him outside his lecture hall every Wednesday, a cup of tea in hand, letting Henry talk his ear off about what he’d learned all the way back to his flat.
Or last week, when Henry was concentrating hard on a complex paper, and Alex whisked by, kissed the crease that formed in between Henry’s eyebrows as if sensing the stress radiating off his body and wanting to soothe the places where its tension was appearing.
Or seeing Alex with his family on Christmas— how unapologetically happy he seemed to have Henry there with them. He would plant soft kisses on his temple, taking Henry’s hand every chance he got and gently caressing it with his thumb, whispering words of appreciation into his ear, thanking him for being there.
Henry had about a hundred instances from the past couple of months where he could have said it, often walking away from those interactions wishing he had. Deep down, he knew what he and Alex had built was solid and unwavering, but that knowledge alone didn’t make it any easier for Henry to express his feelings and take that leap. If Alex didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he didn’t know if he’d survive.
Alex stared after Spencer, huffing out an amused laugh before returning his attention to Henry, his soft, brown eyes flickering over his face as if trying to gauge his reaction. Henry could only blink back up at him, frozen and physically unable to do anything else that may somehow diffuse the situation because, of course not.
It wasn’t until Alex was about to say something that Henry’s brain rebooted in a panic, and he was rushing to say, “Do you have time to come in for coffee? I can make you one.”
He didn’t know when this conversation would happen, but he did know that they definitely wouldn't be having it here— on a noisy sidewalk right before he clocked into work for an eight-hour shift.
Alex’s mouth snapped shut quickly; his face pulled into an oddly neutral expression that had Henry internally cringing.
“Gonna be late for class,” Alex said finally, taking a few steps back. “I’ll see you tonight, baby.” He turned to leave before pausing and circling back as if he’d forgotten something. His eyes were piercing as he gazed at Henry with a look so fond that he felt a blush creeping up the back of his neck. He didn’t understand how he’d gotten here— how he , of all people, got to be on the receiving end of looks like this.
Alex was the first to break eye contact, letting out a breathy laugh and scratching the back of his head, almost hesitantly, as if he was contemplating something. “I–uh. I’ve been wanting to tell you…”
Henry’s eyes widened comedically. Was he really about to… here?
“I’m defrosting a chicken in the fridge for dinner tonight,” Alex said quickly, giving Henry mental whiplash.
“Oh,” Henry nodded, unsure of what else to say to such a casual statement after the heated stare-off he’d just participated in. “Alright.”
“Yeah, uh. Just thought you should know that,” Alex continued with an awkward laugh. “Okay, see you later.”
He took three steps before turning back yet again, this time with a more playful expression.
“If you happen to get back to your place before me, could you do me a favour and, like, just not touch the chicken?” Henry must have given him a bemused look because he added, “Sorry, it’s not because I don’t trust you with it. There’s just not much else in your fridge, and I really don’t want a repeat of the macaroni and cheese catastrophe.”
With that, he pressed a quick kiss to Henry’s forehead before he was gone, leaving Henry blinking at the empty space in front of him, confused, yet his heart, miraculously, still soaring.
______
Growing up, Henry was every bit aware that he had the perfect representation of love in his mother and father. For him, they were the epitome of what it means to love someone. It took a mere glance at the two of them, at how happy they were together, to know that they were meant for each other.
There was a magic to them, something unspoken and beautiful that Henry could only describe as a universal force, some higher power at work. Two halves of the same whole come back together in this life.
It was often the little things Henry would find himself remembering: how they communicated wordlessly with their body language alone, how in tune they seemed with each other’s emotions, this look that they often shared when one of them was overwhelmed that said, ‘I got you.’ How he never, not once, witnessed the two of them argue—not that they didn’t, just that they seemingly refused to in front of Henry or his siblings—he realized now how rare that truly was.
Most of all, though, when Henry thought of love, his father’s voice came to the forefront of his mind.
The way he would find ways to bring his mum up in conversation, a sheepish smile on his face, as though he couldn’t help himself. The way he loved her loudly and wanted everyone to know it.
How fondly he spoke of her—like she hung the moon and the stars and was the reason that the sun set and rose.
The way he insisted that he knew that it was her from the very beginning, “from the moment I first laid eyes on her,” he would say.
Henry remembered always being puzzled by this last one as a child, unable to grasp what that meant, how it was possible to just know something like that. So one night, when he was around eight years old, he finally asked while his father was tucking him into bed.
His dad had smiled at him, his eyes crinkling in the corners, an all too familiar grin spread across his face.
“Well,” he said, sitting at the side of his bed. “First of all, I believe that everyone we come into contact with on this Earth is for a reason. Some people may only come into our lives for a short while, may that be because they were meant to teach us a lesson or to test us so that we can become stronger people.” He paused, smiling softly to himself. “But sometimes, people will come into our lives, and something inside our soul just knows that we were supposed to meet them in this life—almost like we already know them, but can’t remember from where.”
Henry thought about that for a moment, his eyebrows pinching together.
“So you think that you and Mum were meant to find each other?”
“I know we were,” his father said.
“But how?” Henry tried again, sitting up a bit and leaning closer. “How could you possibly know?”
“It’s hard to explain,” his father told him thoughtfully. “It’s more of a feeling than anything else. I’m not sure it can be described in words. You’ll just sort of know it when you feel it.” He chuckled when Henry groaned, not satisfied with the vagueness of the answers he was getting. “I know, darling. I’m sorry that I can’t explain it to you better. You’ll just have to take my word for it. I promise that it will make sense when you’re older.”
Later that night, after his father had shut the lights and closed the door, Henry lay awake awhile, still deep in thought about everything he’d heard. He absolutely despised obscure answers, much preferring to just know right then and there. Interestingly, though, his father’s words that evening were enough for him not to inquire about it further because it somehow made sense. His parents were concrete evidence of everything he had heard. Maybe he just needed to pay closer attention to his parents–try to memorize what they were like so that he knew what to look for.
His mind drifted to the idea of him having a person that was meant for him. Although the concept seemed far off, Henry was still hopeful that they were out there somewhere—that they would meet because the universe had planned for it.
Whoever they were, he hoped they liked books as much as he did.
One day, me too, he thought to himself before sleep carried him away.
_______
“God, I’m so fucking single,” Liv sighed as she locked the door after the last customer a couple of nights before Valentine’s Day. His co-worker had been abnormally grumpy their entire shift, and he assumed it was about to come to a head now that the store was closed. “I’m sorry, but having to see all these couples everywhere isn’t good for my mental health. I’m starting to think I should just hibernate for the first two weeks of February so I don’t have to be reminded that no one loves me.”
Nora, who was de-scaling the espresso machine, nodded mindlessly in agreement, shooting a tired look to Henry, her mouth in a thin line as if wordlessly telling him that she didn’t get paid enough to hear this.
Henry, however, had a bit more empathy for his co-worker's state because it wasn’t that long ago that he felt similarly. Before Alex, he turned into a bit of a mess around Valentine’s Day, too.
“Hey, you have plenty of people who love and care about you,” Henry told her as he boxed up unsold pastries. “Being single on Valentine’s Day doesn’t detract from that.”
Hypocritical, but he wasn’t about to berate himself for personal growth.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Liv scoffed. “You have someone who loves you and literally worships the ground you walk on.”
Henry’s eyes widened.
“Oh, uh…he doesn’t—I mean, we haven’t…” Henry stammered, fumbling with the pastry box. He could see Nora perking up out of the corner of his eye, seemingly tuning in to the conversation now, which only made him more flustered.
“I just want it to be my turn already,” Liv continued to rant, stacking the chairs in the sitting area and definitely not being careful about it. “Like, when am I going to find someone who looks at me like I’m the human embodiment of the goddamn sun and just goes around telling everyone how much they love me?”
Henry halted his movements, his brain disconnecting from the rest of his body for long enough that the piece of cake he was handling dropped, splattering onto the floor. He sort of wished he could take its place.
“I–wait–he—” Henry sputtered, gripping the counter in an attempt to gain his bearings. “When did he—he told you that?
“Well, no, but he might as well have,” Liv told him, her back turned to him, clearly not paying any mind to his crisis-ridden state. “I don’t think you understand the power you hold over that man. He’s fucking whipped. Last week, he went on a ten-minute tangent about the colour of your eyes as if they were the eighth wonder of the world. And he was speaking so passionately that I left here fully convinced that ‘God Himself carefully crafted them out of specks of sapphire’ —that’s a real quote that left his mouth, by the way. I wish I were making that up.”
Henry could only blink at her because he had no idea how to respond. It wasn’t as though he didn’t think Alex cared for him; he knew he did. In fact, he made it a point to tell Henry every chance he got, never seeming to have a shortage of things to compliment him on.
But to hear that Alex was saying things like that and waxing poetic about him so openly to other people? It felt like an out-of-body experience—like he couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of those nice things being said about him .
“That’s nothing compared to the stuff June and I have to hear,” Nora chimed in from the corner. “But you look kind of flustered, and your face is an alarming shade of red, so we can just talk about those another time.”
_____
Henry had never wanted to get home faster in his life.
He had spent the rest of his shift quietly processing everything he’d heard as he mopped up the mess he’d made and, admittedly, internally debating whether he should indulge Nora—sue him for being curious as to which other of his traits Alex was likening to insanely specific phenomena.
The fact that love had come up twice tonight wasn’t lost on Henry, in fact it was the very thing that was occupying most of his thoughts. The way both Spencer and Liv now had said with so much surety, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world, had sent Henry for a bit of a loop. It was one thing for Henry to hope and fantasize about someone like Alex loving him, but it was another thing entirely for the people around them to pick up on it to the point that it came up during casual conversation.
The issue with all of this was that Henry was terrified. His mind had an unfortunate habit of ruining things for himself; it was as though its default was to automatically assume that the good things in his life weren’t real or wouldn’t last.
As much as Henry knew that Alex felt strongly for him, a small and very loud part of his brain was afraid that it was too soon, that he’d only scare Alex away by expressing it so soon. It had, after all, only been two months, and while he might look at Alex at least once a day and say to himself, with all the conviction in the world, I love him. This is my person ; Alex might not be there yet—if he was, wouldn’t he have said it by now?
But moments like tonight back at the shop had Henry wondering if, perhaps, Alex did love him. Maybe he struggled to say it for his own reasons and was more comfortable showing Henry and everyone else around them, apparently, every day.
Henry was greeted by the smell of chicken and mixed spices when he entered his flat.
“Hey, baby,” Alex called happily.
Henry rounded the corner of his entryway to see his boyfriend standing at the stove, a spatula in hand, dressed down in grey sweatpants and a white tank top, a massive smile plastered on his face. Henry let out a long breath when he finally locked eyes with him, one that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There was something about seeing Alex like this, relaxed and making himself at home in Henry’s space, that was incredibly relieving. It felt like proof against that tiny, niggling part of his brain—he chose to spend his time here, making dinner for the two of them and waiting for Henry to come home. Maybe Alex did love him.
In the same breath, he had this feeling in the pit of his chest that he couldn’t quite decipher, one that had him wanting to run his hand gently through Alex’s soft curls but also wanting to rip the tank top clean off his body—Henry honestly didn’t have time to unpack the absurd dichotomy.
“Your fridge was empty again, so I picked up a couple of things,” Alex continued. “Hope that was alright. I just really didn’t think we should do take-out again—”
He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out before Henry was taking one, two long strides forward, grabbing the back of his head and kissing him hungrily. Alex let out a surprised exhale through his nose but responded immediately, moving his mouth with Henry’s and matching his intensity.
Henry heard the distinct sound of metal hitting granite to his left and could only assume that Alex had rid his hand of the spatula–if the way he was now pulling Henry closer to him by his waist was any indication.
Henry walked them backwards until Alex’s hips hit the island, swallowing the throaty sound that left his mouth. Alex matched his enthusiasm, sliding his arms around Henry’s back and hugging him tighter to his body.
“Woah,” Alex laughed when they broke apart for air, their foreheads pressed together. “What did I do to deserve that ?”
Henry pulled back to look at him through half-lidded eyes. He was fucking gorgeous , brown eyes twinkling, swollen lips slightly parted, curls dishevelled as he gazed at Henry as if he were the most precious thing he’d ever encountered. Henry didn’t know how he even survived being in this man’s presence on any given day.
“I, uh–” Henry started, ducking his head to watch as he ran his hands up Alex’s bare arms, his bulging muscles instinctively flexing at the contact. Just fucking say it, coward, he practically screamed at himself. Being here with Alex now, after everything that he’d heard tonight, only made him want to say it more.
But the last thing Henry wanted to do was ruin this perfect moment. He didn’t think he could handle it if Alex started to pull back because he said it too soon.
In the end, Henry peered back up at him with a look that he hoped meant something to Alex. “I just missed you.” Maybe one day, he would be braver.
Alex smiled at him, wide and with a fondness that made him feel dizzy, his hand coming up to grip the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. Henry closed his eyes, melting into the touch. He wanted to savour this feeling–of being so blissfully content and in love that he felt like he would combust with it. Alex’s hand moved down his jaw, his thumb catching on Henry’s wet lip.
Henry let out an involuntary whimper that was swallowed by Alex moving in to suck his top lip, his hands gliding down the small of his back to pull him closer.
Henry couldn’t say, “I love you,” not right now. But that didn't mean he couldn't show Alex that he did with every swipe of his tongue against his, every tug at the strands between his fingers, every roll of his hips. Maybe they were in sync enough that Alex would get the message.
Henry’s hand wandered south, fumbling with the drawstring of Alex’s sweatpants as he kissed down his neck, sucking below his collarbone hard enough to bruise.
“Okay, so yes to this, obviously,” Alex said, his voice husky as he ran a hand up and down the back of Henry’s head. “But, could you just— fuck —I just need to turn off the stove.”
Henry groaned, looking skyward before reaching over and turning the knob himself.
“Happy?” Henry rasped, a hand sliding into Alex’s pants, palming his already half-hard dick. Alex let out a groan, fingers finding their way under Henry’s hoodie and squeezing at his hips.
“I didn’t realize you knew how to do that,” Alex teased. “Did you have to watch a tutorial, or did you figure it out yourself?”
Henry let out a long sigh, shaking his head and muttering, “Such a fucking mouth on you,” under his breath.
He dropped to his knees, taking Alex’s pants and underwear down with him. Alex’s honey eyes darkened, his tongue peeking out of his mouth to wet his lips as he watched intently.
Henry flashed his blue eyes up at him as he took Alex into his mouth, smiling around his cock as he watched him throw his head back and grip the edge of the counter tighter.
“You’ll do anything in this kitchen except cook,” Alex joked, pressing soft kisses to Henry’s neck after he’d come down and eagerly returned the favour.
Henry snorted and shoved at his chest. “I hate you.”
Alex eyed him disbelievingly, his hands squeezing Henry’s hips lightly.
“No, you don’t.”
Henry was about to fire a retort back, but something in Alex’s expression changed, his features softening. They gazed at each other for a heated beat, Alex’s mouth twisting into a slight, knowing smirk as though he could read every thought running through his mind. Henry was pretty sure he could do the same.
“No,” Henry admitted, matching his grin. “I really don’t.”
________
It was no secret that Henry had little to no confidence in himself when it came to his culinary skills. Prior to moving to New York six months ago, his experience in the kitchen was pretty minimal. Or non-existent.
Until recently, Henry hadn’t bothered to learn, enjoying the simplicity of his current routine: toast or cereal in the morning, pre-made store-bought meals for lunch, and takeaway for dinner.
However, he had been on the receiving end of one too many of Alex’s teasing quips about his lack of cooking skills and was, therefore, determined to prove him wrong. The other night in the kitchen had ultimately been the deciding factor in what Henry could only hope wouldn’t come back to bite him in the arse—he was going to cook for Alex on Valentine’s Day.
In hindsight, he knew it was definitely a choice , considering he had no idea what he was doing, but figured he could probably find a way to twist this into some incredibly romantic gesture regardless of the outcome. This was actually peak romance if he’d ever seen it—him being willing to go out of his way to do something he didn’t know how to do, knowing it would make Alex happy.
He figured that if Alex could wake up one day, decide he was a carpenter, and build Henry a bookshelf, then Henry could figure out how to make a quiche. Exactly why he’d decided that quiche was a beginner-friendly option when he’d never so much as boiled an egg was beyond him, but it was long past the time for him to change his mind now.
And if he somehow managed to screw up dinner beyond repair—a real possibility if he was being honest—he had another, more explicit plan that would likely make up for it.
Henry had been researching tirelessly for days, and when Valentine’s Day finally arrived, he not only knew the recipe forward and backward but had a very deep understanding of the many, many ways one could ruin a quiche during any stage of the process. In other words, he didn’t know if he could be any more prepared than he was.
Alex was working until 7, so it had given Henry plenty of time after his morning class to go grocery shopping, prepare all of his ingredients and decorate the house before he started cooking.
The entire process had gone extremely smoothly. Henry had opted to make the dough for the crust from scratch. It was the part that he was the most nervous about, so he checked and double-checked that he was doing every step correctly before he did it. At 6:15, he put the dish in the oven and said a silent prayer. Out was officially out of his hands.
He was just putting the finishing touches on the table when his phone dinged, and he realized he had some unread texts from Alex.
Alex (4:53 PM): hey ❤️
Alex (4:53 PM): i can’t wait for tonight
Alex (5:46 PM): im so excited that not even hunter can bring me down. and trust me, he’s tried. he told me my cappuccino “needed work”
Alex (5:47 PM): spencer told him to be careful or else my boyfriend would come after him. his response? “since when are you seeing someone” 💀
Alex (5:47 PM): he was * very * surprised to hear that it was you
Alex (5:50 PM): said he thought you could do a lot better lmfao.
Alex (5:51 PM): spencer keeps “accidentally” pouring his chamomile out. it’s driving him crazy, he thinks the place is haunted now.
Alex (5:56 PM): anyway, sorry for spamming you.
Alex (6:02 PM): i miss you
Henry huffed out a laugh and typed out a reply.
Henry (6:27 PM): Prick. I open with him tomorrow, so I’ll make sure to keep the act up. Can’t wait to see you either ❤️
Henry stared at the last text for a beat, “i miss you.” It was the same thing he had said the other night when he couldn’t say, “I love you.”
Looking back on it now, he could think of a number of instances from the past month alone where he had randomly told Alex that he had missed him. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t miss Alex in those moments; it just wasn’t what he wanted to say. The phrase had become a crutch for him to lean on when his emotions were too big or too scary to verbalise.
Did Alex also use it as a replacement for I love you? Had he caught on to what Henry was doing and started to do it, too? Henry had always felt like he and Alex were connected in a way he couldn’t explain, that they understood each other without having to say much—something unspoken that was like breathing. Was it possible that the entire time that Henry had been worried that he’d scare Alex away with his feelings, Alex had understood that something was holding him back and was giving him time to process? Or maybe he, like Henry, was holding back for his own reasons?
He allowed himself to spiral with it for a couple more minutes before he found himself unlocking his phone and absentmindedly dialling.
“Hey, H!” Bea’s cheerful voice greeted him, the familiarity allowing him to let out a breath of relief. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
“Thanks, you too,” he replied with a snort. “What are you up to?”
“About to order an extra large pizza and watch telly,” she laughed. “Probably not as interesting as whatever you’re doing, I’m sure. What do you and Alex have planned?”
“I’m cooking him dinner—”
“Oh my. Is there a backup plan?”
“Hush, it’s going fine! It’s already in the oven, and nothing has blown up yet. I followed the recipe exactly, and I even bought doubles of all the ingredients in case I messed up the first go around, and—”
“I’m joking, Hen,” she laughed, the amusement in her tone evident. “It’s going to be perfect. I know I don’t know him that well yet, but Alex seems like the type who would love absolutely anything you did for him anyway. So even if something did go horribly wrong, you have nothing to worry about. Valentine’s Day is less about what you do and more about who you do it with. Everything else is just a bonus.”
Henry felt himself relax a bit, relieved that an impartial party was reiterating everything the logical side of his brain was telling him.
“Is that the reason you called? To brag that you’re the first Fox kid to learn to cook?” she asked, and Henry could tell she knew full well that it wasn’t. She always seemed to.
“I just…” he started.“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt as happy as I have these past couple of months. For a while, I didn’t think I ever would be again…” he trailed off, his mind suddenly wandering off to a time before he’d moved, the loneliness he felt, how he felt like he was drowning in grief with no one around to pull him out. “And I think it’s because of him. He just…” he smiled involuntarily, trying to find words to describe it that would make sense. “He just does something to me, I suppose.”
He heard muffling on the other end of the line and then—
“You love him,” Bea said as if it were the plainest of truths.
“Is that crazy?”
“Absolutely not!” Bea assured him. “I’m a firm believer of ‘when you know, you know,’ and if you feel it, he deserves to know, Hen. And you deserve to tell him.”
“It’s only been a few months, Bea,” Henry said quietly. “Isn’t that a bit…soon?” He groaned, running a hand down his face. “I don’t know, I’m just so afraid of messing this up for myself that I feel like I’m losing sight of what I think I know.”
“And what do you think you know?”
Henry stayed quiet, mulling things over in his mind again quickly.
“Sometimes I think that he might love me too,” he told her, the corner of his mouth upturning at the thought. “Sometimes he’ll say or do something that reminds me of how Mum and Dad were, and I just know .
But then my mind goes back to the fact that I don’t know for sure , and because I don’t, there’s a chance that he doesn’t and will just get scared and run away. I just can’t bear the idea of having something so good only to have it disappear because I couldn’t wait just a bit longer to say something.”
There was a brief silence on the other end before she spoke again.
“Look, I can’t tell you what you are or aren’t ready for,” Bea said. “But what I can tell you is that if I've learned anything from Dad's passing, it's that life is much too short to leave things unsaid. If you feel this way about him, you should tell him. You just admitted that sometimes you think he loves you–that feeling doesn’t just come from nowhere. If your gut tells you something, you should listen to it and let yourself have it, Hen. And if he runs away, then let him. You deserve better than that anyway.”
Henry nodded to himself. She was right, and he knew it.
“But honestly,” she paused and let out a chuckle. “I’m not sure you have much to worry about. That man DMed me on Instagram a couple of weeks ago to ask me what your favourite ice cream flavour was because he was at the store and you were at work and couldn’t answer. He said you’d been stressing about a paper for a few days and wanted to cheer you up, so he figured that ice cream would help because it usually helps him. Once I picked my jaw up from hell and wallowed in my loneliness, I steered him in the right direction. Needless to say, I would be very, very surprised if he ran off on you for any reason, but telling him you love him would be the most surprising because if he’s doing all of that and doesn’t love you, then I don’t know what love is.”
Henry bit his lip, trying to keep himself from letting out a giddy laugh.
He had been so focused on not ruining this for himself that he hadn’t even considered that his mind was already doing it by telling him not to trust his feelings or what he and Alex had.
He was about to reply when he heard the front door being unlocked. Christ, he’d given Alex a key to his place after just a couple of months, but he still thought he’d run away. It was beginning to sound silly now that he thought about it.
“Oh, uh. He’s here,” Henry said into the phone. “I should probably go. Thank you for this. It really helped.”
“Anytime, love,” Bea replied. “Tell him and let me know how it goes.”
They hung up just as the door opened.
“Hey!” Alex’s voice called as he kicked his shoes off. “Sorry, I’m a little late. You wouldn’t fucking believe the disaster I had to deal with at the shop—wait, why does it smell so good?”
He rounded the corner, his eyes lighting up upon entering the room and seeing the atmosphere that Henry had created.
He may have gone a bit overboard with the decorating. Admittedly, his flat looked like Saint Valentine had thrown up all over it. He had covered the table with a white tablecloth, a red table runner going down the centre. The surface was littered with Candy Hearts and faux rose petals, two long candlesticks, and, as promised, a bouquet of yellow roses in the centre. It might all be a bit flashy, but he thought Alex would like it—and it would seem as though he was correct, judging by the way Alex was darting over to him and scooping him into a tight hug.
“Fuck,” he said into Henry’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you did this, it’s perfect. It’s–thank you.”
He could feel Alex’s heart working in overdrive from where their chests were connected, and instinctively pulled him tighter to his body.
He wanted to give Alex the world. He wanted Alex to know that he would.
Henry pulled back then, his eyes meeting Alex’s.
Sometimes, Alex looked at him in a way that made him feel so much that it was almost overwhelming. This was one of those moments, but this time, Henry wanted to feel everything. What was more, though, was that Henry felt like nothing else in the world existed when they looked at each other like this. It was just them and this mutual understanding of their bond that nobody would ever understand.
Henry smiled shyly at him, dizzy and so fucking in love. This, he thought to himself, the realisation hitting him like a tidal wave, this was what his father had been talking about.
“I love you,” Henry said lowly and suddenly, causing Alex to freeze.
And while his mind screamed at him to say something like, ‘You don’t have to say it back’ or ‘I know it’s only been a couple of months…’ he allowed the words to linger there, allowed Alex the time to process and respond the way he wanted to.
Alex let a long, shaky breath out through his mouth, his eyes softening, but then—
“No fucking way you just said that.” Is what came out of Alex’s mouth, which, to his credit, wasn’t even on Henry’s radar of possible reactions. He had to admire Alex’s dedication to keeping him on his toes.
“Uh…it’s okay if you don’t—”
“What?! No! No . Of course, I love you, you idiot! Fuck , I’ve loved you for weeks, months, even. I just can’t believe you said it first. I had plans! I had a whole speech prepared! There was gonna be confetti! A fucking string quartet playing a series of carefully curated classic love songs in the corner! It was gonna be a whole thing!”
Henry gazed at him through glassy eyes, a huge smile plastered on his face. Alex loved him, had loved him for a while now. It was so surreal hearing the words come out of his mouth after all of the weeks of stress he’d put on himself, but he felt so relieved and so, so fucking lucky.
Alex smiled back at him, reaching out to take one of Henry’s hands in his. “Sorry. I just had planned on saying it tonight, and you caught me by surprise. I just…” He paused, staring at their joined hands. “ God , I fucking love you so much, baby.”
He leaned in then, capturing Henry’s mouth in a long kiss, pushing his tongue into his mouth when Henry gripped the strands of hair at the back of his head.
The timer on the oven dinging interrupted them.
“Oh! My quiche!”
“Your what ?” Alex sputtered. “What the hell is going on here tonight?”
“I cooked,” Henry told him, jogging over to the oven and praying that the quiche was still intact when he opened it. “What, you thought I set the table, and we were going to sit and stare at each other and starve?”
“You cooked ?” Alex trailed behind him, practically vibrating. “You made a quiche? A quiche ?”
Henry opened the door to the oven ever so slightly and breathed a sigh of relief before opening it all the way. It looked good—or at least, it wasn’t burnt—a win if he’d ever seen one.
“Yes, Alex. A quiche. And it looks to have turned out rather well, so what do you have to say?”
Alex took his lips into his mouth, one of his brows raised.
“I love you?”
“Shut up. You can’t just use that for everything, now,” Henry told him, pulling the tray out with an oven mitt and placing it onto the stovetop. “Try again. And maybe this time, in the tune of an apology for not believing in my cooking abilities.”
Alex looked from Henry to the quiche several times as if trying to mull over whether Henry had actually made it or if he’d bought it and staged it in the oven.
“Okay, let the record show that I always believed in you. I was just trying to push you to your full potential,” he said defiantly, moving to press a kiss to Henry’s temple. “Also, I’ll never shut up about how much I love you. The floodgates have opened. You’re just going to have to deal with it.
“You’re a menace and a plague,” Henry said, throwing off the mits. “Go sit down so I can serve this to you. I’m pretty sure that’s how this works.”
Alex chuckled but obliged, but not before taking Henry’s hand and kissing the top of it, his eyes flickering up to meet Henry’s—a move that Alex sometimes made for the sole purpose of seeing how flustered Henry would get.
Henry looked away, his cheeks reddening immediately. “Get out of here,” he said, with no heat.
The quiche, to Henry’s credit, was actually delicious. Alex had three helpings, the backup salads Henry had bought from the store going untouched. They bantered back and forth about who was the better cook now, Henry arguing that it was him because this was a complex recipe and Alex disagreeing because he technically knew how to make more things. In the end, Alex let him have it “in the name of love,” which only made Henry roll his eyes fondly.
“Can I ask you something?” Henry said, once they finished and the food was settling in their stomachs. Alex nodded, so he continued. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That you loved me.”
Alex’s expression fell slightly, his eyes moving down to his lap. Henry knew immediately that the answer was likely more complex than he’d realised.. He scooted his chair closer, his hand resting on Alex’s thigh, whose lips twitched upward at the contact.
“I…sometimes worry that I come off too strong,” Alex said, his voice quieter than it had been all night. “Like, in general, I’m aware of it, but also with us and how we started. I have this tendency to go hard for things I care about and then spiral over whether it was too hard. I just didn’t want to put you in a position where you felt pressured to say it because I did. I didn’t want to be too much.”
And, well. Henry’s heart physically hurt hearing Alex say that he felt like he was too much, that he cared too much or loved too hard because those were some of Henry’s favourite parts of him.
“You,” Henry said, squeezing Alex’s leg gently, “are so far from being too much. I want every part of you. I’ll take anything and everything that you’re willing to give me. Please know that I’m completely obsessed with you for everything you are, even the things you are insecure about. Especially those things. Where you may get down on yourself for ‘going too hard,’ I see someone who is passionate and loyal, and so fucking selfless. Someone who has a heart that is so pure that it makes me wonder what I did to deserve it. I fall in love with you more every single day because of those things. Don’t doubt it for a second.”
Alex appeared to be very moved by this, his eyes welling up with tears by the time Henry had finished. He squeezed the hand that was on his thigh, caressing the top with his thumb.
His reaction gave Henry the impression that Alex had never been told he wasn’t too much. And while the thought killed him, he knew he’d spend however long he needed to ensure Alex knew it.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Alex got up and declared they weren’t allowed to talk about sad things anymore and that he had a surprise. He ran over to the entryway, returning moments later with his hands behind his back.
“Um, so your present is…still under construction,” he winked.
“Alex, you aren’t—“
“I am,” Alex confirmed. “I told you, I’m not stopping until all of your books have a home. I’m dedicated to the cause, baby. There’s no stopping me. Anyway. That will be coming soon. There was a bit of an issue with, well. I measured the wood wrong.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “In the meantime, I just happened to come across this one day. I was going to save it for your birthday, but…” He thrust a gift bag into Henry’s hand. Henry took it, giving him a disbelieving look.
He pulled the item out, revealing a leather book sleeve, the letters “HF” etched onto the front. Henry peered up at Alex, who was smiling back at him, practically vibrating at how excited he was for Henry to have it. Henry felt like crying.
“You’re always carrying your books around or shoving them in your bag,” Alex explained. “I thought this would be—“
Henry practically knocked him over with how fast he stood up from the table and burrowed himself in Alex’s chest. He had no idea how this man was real.
Alex snickered softly. “So you like it?”
“I love it,” Henry replied, overwhelmed, his voice muffled from Alex’s hoodie. “Love you more.”
Half an hour later, they were clearing the plates off the table and bringing them to the sink. Henry slid behind Alex as he washed them, his arms winding around his waist, chin tucked on his shoulder. It all felt so incredibly domestic.
Alex dried his hands and turned in his arms, smiling down softly at him.
“Thank you for this, baby,” Alex whispered, his forehead brushing against Henry’s. “It was perfect. You’re perfect.”
Henry chuckled. “I’m actually very relieved that everything worked out. I was so nervous about messing it up.”
“Well, I had full faith in you,” Alex said, affectionately caressing his hips.
“Well, that makes one of us,” Henry laughed. “I even had a plan that was a bit more, well, obscene in the event that this didn’t work out.
Alex’s eyes darkened at the implication, his grip on Henry’s hips tightening.
“Care to share what that might have been?” he asked in what was a feeble attempt at being nonchalant.
Henry chuckled lowly, leaning in to whisper in Alex’s ear, not sparing a single detail and relishing how Alex’s breath hitched.
Alex groaned loudly, his head coming to rest on Henry’s shoulder, his hands sliding down the small of his back. “Fuck I wish I didn’t ask. You can’t do this to me!”
“I mean, I supposed I could be persuaded if you’re amenable–oh…” Henry smirked as he was pulled to the staircase leading to the bedroom.
Alex pushed him ahead, whispering hungrily in his ear, “Get on the bed. I’ll be up soon.”
The sudden change of his tone, his hot breath on the back of Henry’s neck, sent a chill down Henry’s spine, his stomach pooling with heat at the realization of what was about to happen.
Henry spent the rest of his Valentine’s Day with Alex, lining Candy Hearts across his naked body, reading off their affirmations one by one before lapping each up with painstaking patience.
He couldn’t have ever imagined finding someone so willing to humour even his wildest of fantasies. Someone who was so in tune with him and knew his wants and needs as if they were an extension of his own. But Alex was unlike anyone he’d ever met—a gift from the stars, some higher power—that was meant just for him .
Alex Claremont-Diaz was for him, cut from the same cloth in some faraway realm and destined to be sewn back together in this life.