Work Text:
Henry flips the seventh pancake on the frying pan, making sure it’s a perfect golden color before placing it on top of the other six.
He smiles to himself as he recalls the night before; a Star Wars marathon and Alex talking his ear off about Henry’s poor choice of a favorite movie; lying through his teeth as Alex asked about the paint marks on his fingers; falling asleep on Alex’s shoulder as they sat so close it just felt right.
Presently, after a long, restful night, Henry fails to contain his smile as he hears footsteps on the floor, coming closer and closer to the kitchen. He doesn’t even jump when he hears the door hit the wall with a crash—typical for Alex to announce his presence in any room he enters. Henry finds it endearing.
“Just in time. Pancakes are almost ready.” He shoots just a quick glance over his shoulder, enough to catch a glimpse of Alex’s rumpled curls, before flipping the last cinnamon pancake and turning the stove off, his lips no doubt curled into a lopsided smile.
“I know these are your favorite,” Henry says as he grabs the coffee pot, Alex’s mug already on the counter—
“Get the fuck out.”
The coffee pot almost slips from Henry’s hands; he manages to catch it at the last second, but it’s a small feat compared to the ringing in his ears.
He turns, more confused than he’s ever been in his life, and looks at Alex, properly taking him in for the first time that day. Wild curls, like he didn’t even bother with them when he woke up; knuckles white where he’s gripping his phone, like his hand would shake if he loosened his hold; eyes fierce and red-rimmed, tears clinging to his lashes.
He looks angry. More than that, he looks downright furious.
“What?” Henry asks dumbly, not wanting to believe the words he heard, waiting for Alex’s smile to return. Instead, Alex’s eyes narrow.
“Did you not hear me?” His voice doesn’t shake but it’s overflowing with a rage Henry doesn’t understand. He fights the urge to flinch. “Get out. Out of my house, out of my fucking life. You’re not welcome here anymore.”
Coffee spills on the floor when Henry unconsciously tightens his grip around the coffee pot. The scent of cinnamon fills the air, the cinnamon Henry already mixed in the coffee because he knows Alex loves it like that. “Are you listening?” Alex hisses when Henry doesn’t move; there’s something about his voice – like it’s taking a lot of him not to yell. “I don’t want you here anymore. Get out. Now.”
Henry blinks. He feels his lips part in surprise and tries to say something, but no sound comes out at first. Nothing as his lower lip starts to tremble, his eyes searching Alex desperately. “I don’t understand,” he whispers. They had a lovely evening less than twenty-four hours ago, and now Alex is pushing him away and looking at him like that, and Henry is painfully aware he’s missing something—
“Are you being fucking real right now?” Alex says disbelievingly, like Henry is supposed to know exactly what he’s talking about. “What do you not understand? That you don’t get to shit on me all over the media and then stand here in my fucking house like you fucking care about what my favorite pancake flavors are? That you can’t walk around in my kitchen like you own the fucking place and then sell me to the wolves? That you don’t act like you care about me and cower behind your grandmother’s fucking lies the moment she says a word to the press?” Henry can’t stop his wince now, but Alex doesn’t stop. It’s like once he starts, he’s afraid to run out of words. “Guess fucking what, Henry? I’m not some D-list actor who’ll kiss your feet just to get my name up on the big screen. And I’m not gonna stand here and let you walk all over me just because you’re a motherfucking Mountchristen-Windsor.” His voice cracks when he runs out of breath, and it breaks Henry’s heart in half. Alex glares at him, rumpled curls falling on his forehead and lips pressed into a tight line, his eyes glimmering with a fervor Henry doesn’t want directed at him.
“I didn’t…” Henry tries to say, but he comes up short. His throat isn’t working like he needs it to. “Alex, I don’t know… Do you really think that I…”
“Do I really—” Alex scoffs at him, and Henry wants to scream. “You’re kidding me, right?” He’s watching Henry’s face intently now, like he’s expecting to find something there, some kind of understanding, some kind of proof Henry is just pretending not to know what’s happening. He must not find anything because he lifts his phone, unlocks the screen and starts to read an article out loud. Henry’s heart drops to his stomach. He can practically feel the blood draining from his face as the words echo in the room.
Alex’s voice doesn’t shake, but the tears fall freely from his eyes now. Henry aches to reach out and wipe them away but he’s rooted to the spot, pinned in place by Alex’s voice and the words he’s reading – they make Henry’s head spin in the worst possible way, his stomach twisting violently.
Alex’s voice doesn’t shake – until the last moment anyway, when he says Henry’s name, and Henry’s heart squeezes so painfully in his chest it’s hard to breathe. Tears pool at the corners of his eyes.
“‘My grandmother is one of the greats of Hollywood. I’m lucky to be a part of her family.’” Alex reads the quote in a hollow voice, looking up at Henry with tear-stained cheeks and fierce eyes, and Henry can finally see his anger for what it really is.
Exhaustion. Betrayal. Heartbreak.
The tears keep escaping Alex’s eyes and rolling down his cheeks in earnest. “Tell me this is a joke,” he whispers. His eyes flicker to the pancakes on the counter only to look away a second later. “Tell me you don’t believe in your grandmother’s bullshit.” He studies Henry’s face and simply waits for him to speak, standing there open and vulnerable. Henry feels something delicate form between them, a second chance made of glass dangling dangerously from Henry’s fingertips.
Henry has to look away when he speaks again in a small voice, feeling the fragile chance shatter on the floor and his heart with it. “I can’t.”
He wants more than anything to tell Alex that no, by God he doesn’t believe it, doesn’t want anything to do with Mary and her image, but… That’s the thing, isn’t it? He can’t. For reasons he can’t even begin to explain, he just can’t. And it hurts him beyond words to hurt Alex like this.
Alex looks down as fresh tears paint his cheeks, though not before Henry can see the pain written all over his face. “Get out,” he whispers; his voice has no anger left in it, resigned and empty, and that’s what makes Henry flinch most of all, arms curling into himself. “Now.”
“Alex—” he tries – to explain somehow, to make it right, to say something – but Alex doesn’t give him the chance. He’s already shaking his head and looking up with trembling lips.
“Don’t.” He doesn’t quite meet Henry’s gaze – it’s at that moment Henry realizes it’s a lost cause. Something inside him breaks, something other than his heart, deeper and more painful as Alex stares firmly at the wall. “You might not care about this movie, or even me as an actor, but I know what I’m worth. I know what this movie is worth, and you don’t get to shit all over it just because you think it’s beneath you.” The knot in Henry’s throat feels so large it doesn’t let him breathe right. Alex shakes his head. “You were right,” he says finally. “You don’t deserve this movie.”
Henry knows it’s no use to fight anymore – not when he can’t give Alex the answers he needs, the answers he deserves. Instead, he forces himself off the counter and circles around Alex with shaky steps. He hovers at the door for only a few seconds, heart in his throat. “I’m sorry, Alex,” he whispers, too little too late. Alex’s eyes flutter closed.
Henry steps robotically into the hallway, opening the front door and feeling the cold doorknob under his skin before walking out and closing it behind him. Then he stands there, hands shaking at his sides, no idea what to do next.
Staring at the steering wheel of his car as tears blur his vision and sobs hitch in his throat, Henry can only think how fucking stupid he was to think this would ever work out in the first place.
Did he really think he could have this movie? Have Alex, when Alex hates him and with good reason to? When Henry has known his entire life that there’s a part of him he’s just not allowed to have, not like this, and fighting for it anyway could only end in heartbreak?
This is it, then. Henry should’ve known the moment he saw Alex that it was too much for him to have; those warm brown eyes and wild curls Henry wishes he could… he wants to…
It’s not important anymore.
Through the heavy feeling in his brain and the tears clouding his vision, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He opens it with shaky fingers and takes out a picture of a man with Henry’s blue eyes and a crooked grin. Henry has stared at this picture for so long he knows it by heart now: Arthur Fox’s smile, frozen in time.
Drops of salty water fall on the fragile paper, and the sobs threatening to push past Henry’s lips finally escape.
“I just wanted to make you proud,” he gasps out in between breaths, holding tightly onto the picture. His father’s smile doesn’t falter even as Henry feels his lips tremble violently. “I-I’m sorry, dad. I’m so sorry.”
He hugs the photograph close to his chest and cries, shutting his eyes tightly even though it won’t stop the tears. The sobs he was holding back in front of Alex come back in full force and he doesn’t try to hold them back, letting out all the ugly feelings in his chest until he physically can’t anymore.
He takes a shuddering breath, and it doesn’t help. His voice cracks around the next whispered words. “I wanted to be proud of myself.”
He drives to the shelter. He has no memory of the drive but he needs to get away, away, away. He’s moving automatically until he reaches the building he’s known for years, where he’s spent countless hours getting to know dozens of kids. He doesn’t know why he came here, but a part of him feels it makes sense. If nothing else, he knows he’s doing something right here.
He steps out of the car with slow movements and enters the building through the back room to avoid running into many people. He looks at the long hallways, trying to remember where the nearest bathroom is so he can wash his face – he doesn’t want to meet with the kids if he looks half as bad as he feels.
He’s turning the corner when he bumps into someone, so lost in his head he doesn’t even see where he’s going, and sends a book flying to the floor. He bends down to pick it up. “Christ, it’s my fault, I’m so sorry—”
“Henry?”
He lifts his eyes at the familiar voice to find Nora Holleran in front of him, her signature smirk plastered on her face. “Hey. I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”
I wasn’t expecting to come, Henry doesn’t say as his heart squeezes in his chest. “Change of plans,” he says instead, voice quiet, and gives her the book back. He watches as Nora’s smirk morphs into a concerned expression and hurries to change the subject. He nods towards the book in her hands, a queer romance novel about a boy and a prince he read a couple months ago. “Who is it for?”
She takes a moment to answer. “Amelia,” she says, a small smile on her face. “She’s been wanting to read it for ages, and I finally found it at that bookstore downtown. I was just about to surprise her.”
The reminder of what they do here is at least comforting, even if the rest of Henry’s world is falling apart. “That’s sweet of you,” he whispers, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around himself. He tries to show Nora a convincing smile but probably doesn’t do a very good job, if the way she is squinting worriedly at him is any indication.
She touches his arm gently. “Are you okay?”
It feels impossible how quickly tears spring in Henry’s eyes again; he didn’t think he had any left. He nods and tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, even says a quiet “Yeah,” but Nora looks nowhere near convinced. She eyes him for a moment before wrapping her arms around him and hugging him close.
Oh. He wasn’t expecting that.
Gingerly, he brings his arms around her too, testing if it’s okay to accept the touch. Nora doesn’t move away, only holding him tighter, and he leans down to hide him face in the crook of her neck, horrified to feel his eyes wet again. He refuses to sob but silent tears escape him without his consent, and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to muffle any sound.
“What happened?” she whispers next to his ear, gently patting his back.
He swallows and closes his eyes forcibly. “I’m quitting the movie,” he says, and his voice is too quiet even to his own ears.
“What?” she almost yells, lowering her voice when he winces. “Why?”
Because I have to. Because someone else should tell this story. Because Alex deserves better than this. “There was an article,” he says eventually. “Alex, he… we fought and—”
“Eighty-eight percent chance he was being a dramatic idiot,” Nora says immediately. “Ninety-five percent chance it can be fixed if you talk—”
“Nora, please,” Henry whispers, no more fight left in him after crying his eyes out again. He’s come to realize Nora’s numbers are never wrong, but this isn’t that simple. Alex wants nothing to do with him, wants him out of his life; he said so in those exact words. “I appreciate it, but… I don’t think it’s fixable this time.”
She doesn’t say anything else. Her arms tighten around him, and he rests his forehead against her shoulder, grateful for the comfort.
He doesn’t know how long they stay like that for, but eventually he pulls back, not wanting to keep her for too long. Nora’s hands come up to cup his face and wipes his tears away, and Henry tries to curve his lips into something he hopes resembles a smile, but he’s not so sure he achieves it.
“You deserve this movie, Henry,” Nora says as if she’s read his mind. Henry’s breath hitches in his throat. “Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”
He doesn’t say anything – he’s afraid his voice would break too much if he tried to use it.
Nora smiles and drops her hands, stepping next to him. “Let’s get you to the bathroom to wash that movie-star face. Dawn has been asking for you, you know?”
He lets her guide him through the hallways of the shelter and listens to her talk about the kids he’s met months ago and some new ones he hasn’t yet. He’s never been more grateful for her presence than in that moment.
He ends up staying for hours. He wraps the rainbow flag around his shoulders like he’s done a thousand times before – every time he comes here – letting the familiar space calm his racing heart a little. He sits on the couch among purple haired teenagers and braids Dawn’s hair, smiling shyly as the little girl giggles at him. As the hours pass, the smiles feel easier on his face.
It’s just past seven pm and he’s about to leave when his phone pings with a message. He pulls it out of his pocket and almost drops it on the floor when he sees Alex’s name on the screen.
Alex (7:04 pm):
ur stuffs still here
if u wanna come get it
tonight
It’s a hardship for Henry not to start crying all over again there and then. It shouldn’t surprise him that Alex wants him out of his life as soon as possible – he specifically said so just this morning – but his heart still feels like it’s been pierced with a sharp knife and cut into a million pieces.
He looks for Nora to say goodbye – she’d disappeared mysteriously for a while, Henry doesn’t know for how long – and waves at Dawn and Amelia and all the kids one last time before leaving.
The cold air feels refreshing on his skin as he walks out of the building and gets into his car. He unlocks his phone and stares at Alex’s texts for long minutes before typing a response with shaky fingers.
Henry (7:12 pm):
You can keep it, it’s okay.
Or donate it, if you’d like to
He’s not expecting Alex to answer right away, but three new texts appear less than a minute later.
Alex (7:13 pm):
im not gonna donate ur stuff
pls come?
i just wanna talk
Can he handle facing Alex right now? To see him so angry, lips pulled into a tight line, lips Henry wishes he could—
Henry (7:15 pm):
I don’t know if there’s anything else to be said
Alex (7:16 pm):
god ur fucking insufferable
please?
you even made me write out the word
It almost makes him smile, Alex’s familiar exasperation, but Henry is too scared to even breathe. And… he can never say no to Alex. Even when it means getting his heart broken all over again.
Henry (7:20 pm):
I’ll be there soon
He locks the screen and takes a deep breath through his nose, and then another and another with his eyes screwed shut until he feels well enough to think without the floor opening beneath his feet.
Then he turns the engine on and drives up to Alex’s house.
He doesn’t remember the drive until he reaches Alex’s front door, but he remembers everything else that followed.
He remembers the door opening to reveal Alex with messy hair and dark circles under his eyes, fingers closing on Henry’s upper arm when he so much as mentions leaving.
He remembers Alex asking him in a whisper not to quit the movie, begging until Henry agrees to listen to him.
He remembers two steaming mugs and settling down on the couch, waiting until Alex comes back and shows him a DVD – an old, fragile DVD of a movie that makes Henry’s heart squeeze so tightly in his chest when he recognizes the title that he fears it might never work right again.
He remembers Alex saying Henry inspired him; how he could inspire so many more with this movie; how he deserves it, for others and mostly for himself. He remembers silent tears on his face as Alex’s hand slips into him and squeezes reassuringly.
He remembers Alex forgiving him.
He remembers Alex’s whisper and the arms around his shoulders as Henry grabs his shirt tightly, scared Alex might disappear if he dares to let go. He remembers falling into Alex’s open arms, collapsing on his chest as his entire body shakes, silent sobs escaping his throat. He’s cried so much already but he still can’t contain them, and once they start he can’t stop.
Presently, all he can think about is the sheer relief he feels coursing through his veins, head to toe, as the realization dawns on him – he didn’t lose Alex.
So close – he was so fucking close to losing Alex for good, losing this movie and the opportunity to live some part of his life away from his grandmother’s greedy thumb. How in less than twenty-four hours he felt some of the worst heartbreak he had in years, fully convinced Alex would never look at him with kind eyes again.
Alex, who means more to Henry than he can ever know.
Henry falls asleep with his head resting on Alex’s shoulder, nose tucked into the crook of his neck as Alex whispers “You’re good. You’re good,” in Henry’s ear over and over again. Somehow, it makes him cry harder, his tears no doubt wetting Alex’s shirt, but he doesn’t complain. He just lets Henry cry and keeps whispering reassurance in his ear until his body relents, drained from its previous tension, until he’s cried so much he doesn’t have energy for more.
He falls asleep knowing, for the first time in too long, that he’s safe. Alex has never made him feel anything but.