Chapter Text
Alex Claremont-Diaz was too much. He had been too much all his life: whether he was filibustering Seaworld San Antonio, (“Their whale practices were inhumane!”) or grinding out fourteen-hour study binges in the library ("That’s what Adderall is for!”). But that was okay. Well, it wasn’t. But he was lucky. He could count on the important people to love him anyway: June, Nora, Liam.
Well, he could until that otherwise unremarkable Tuesday afternoon when his phone buzzed with the text that changed everything.
Alex ambled down Clerkenwell’s twisting streets on his way to meet June at this place she swore was a hidden gem. (“I’m telling you, Alex, you’ll never want to drink anywhere else!”) Spotting a likely turn, Alex found himself in a cobblestoned courtyard walled by blank doors to identical Georgian townhouses. Blinking, Alex scanned them. None of them looked like the door to a secret bar. But that was probably the point. Cursing, he grabbed the phone from his pocket, fully expecting a text from his sister berating him for being late (again).
But it wasn’t from June. It was from Liam.
Alex, it read. I wanted to tell you this in person, but obviously I can’t. And it can’t wait anymore.
Alex’s heart hammered. You know I love you. I’m just not sure I’m IN love with you. What. The actual. Fuck.
He kept reading.
We’ve been together forever. (If, by forever, he meant since they met three years ago playing club lacrosse.) And it was nice. But lately, it’s just felt like work. All the time difference, the missing each other, and never knowing when or how we’re going to see each other again.
Alex couldn’t feel his body. It was like seeing the world in a dream, or like it was a movie he was watching safely from a seat in a dark theater. Some part of his brain registered that he needed to sit down before he fell. He drifted to the far side of the courtyard to sit down on a stoop. Sucking in a breath, he turned back down to the screen and kept reading.
I can’t keep doing this anymore. We’re young, and love should be fun. It shouldn’t be this hard. I can’t keep doing this. It’s too much.
That’s it. No sign-off, no well wishes. Just: too much.
What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Did Liam expect him to say anything? What would he want: Permission? Approval?
Alex choked on a scream, letting out something that sounded horrifyingly like a whimper. He stared blankly at the ground, swirling in the tide of his confused thoughts until a gentle voice asked—
“Hullo, you alright?”
Alex snapped back to the present and realized he was staring at a pair of oxfords. He trailed his eyes up over a pair of long denim-clad legs up to the face of a man who was looking at him with blue eyes that radiated gentle concern. Tall and lean, there was something weirdly graceful about him even standing still. He clutched a set of keys in one elegant hand. The other was reaching out hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure whether a comforting touch would be welcome. Even under the perpetually leaden sky, his hair shone gold.
Alex swallowed. “Yeah,” he rasped. He cleared his throat. “Yup.” He pocketed his phone and stood up, brushing himself off in a vain effort not to look like a total disaster. “I just...got a little lost.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m looking for Wilde’s. Any chance you can point me the right way?”
The man cocked his head to the side, looking caught between a smile and a frown. “You’ve found us.” He gestured to the door over Alex’s shoulder.
“Oh. Oh!” Alex jumped out of the way. “I’m sorry! I thought...I was meeting someone here. But maybe I fucked up.”
“No, no,” the man reassured, stepping up to unlock the door. “It’s my fault. I’m running a bit late. We usually don’t have people this early. But, please,” He pulled it open and waved inside. “Come in,” he warmly, firmly insisted.
Embarrassed, but without any reason to refuse, Alex stepped into a small dark entrance hall. To his left stood a small brass coat rack and umbrella stand. To his right stood a small table with a mirror over it. Catching a brief glimpse of his red-eyed reflection, he flinched away. He looked up to see a large pride flag hanging above the doorway to the main floor and felt his heart swell at the sight.
“Sorry,” the man said from behind Alex, shifting around and shrugging his way out of his gray peacoat. He slung it on the coat rack before leading the way through the awning into the bar and flipping on some lights.
If someone had asked Alex to picture a gay bar, he probably would have imagined flashing rainbow lights, pounding club music, and a sticky dive floor coated in spilled beer and vodka. The last thing he would have thought of was this. It was like stepping back in time: the open space was stuffed with mismatched wingback chairs with plump accent cushions. Groups of them crowded around tiny tea tables with jars of green and purple flowers. Dark wooden shelves decked with antique knick-knacks and framed pictures allowed only glimpses of faded red wallpaper to peek through.
Most of the wall facing Alex was lined with crowded bookcases. Alex wondered if the books were real or just for show. Between the shelves, in pride of place, sat a white bust of a woman that looked like it belonged in an exhibit of Ancient Greek antiquities. She stared over one shoulder, appearing to look at a vase with a spray of the purple flowers that stood beside her. To Alex’s right, the room ended in a fireplace flanked by two long, leather couches. Lording above the mantel was a large portrait of a pale man with a long sweep of black hair. The subject was sitting, leaning forward to face the viewer with his long face propped up by his left hand. In his right hand, he held a walking stick canted to one side. His pale eyes were arresting.
Alex broke his stare from the portrait and turned around, looking across the room to the bar on the opposite side. A collection of bottles lined the back over a mirror that covered the length of the wall. The usual tools of bartending trade were artfully concealed below the counter, leaving the long surface gleaming and clear. A row of cushioned stools lined the length, their red upholstery adding a splash of color against the dark wood and black quartz of the bartop.
As Alex drank in the sight, his companion drew back heavy curtains, allowing sunlight to pour in from the quiet courtyard outside. He turned back with a smile at the look of awe on Alex’s face. “Welcome to Wilde’s. You said you were waiting for someone?”
“Oh, yeah,” Alex said. “My sister, June. She raves about this place. Said she wanted me to see it in the day before things get crazy—”
“Hang on—June as in Claremont-Diaz?”
“You know her?”
“I do. She and Nora are among our favorite regulars...Wait, your sister!” The man laughed. “Oh dear—so you must be Alex.” His eyes sparkled with delight. “I have heard an awful lot about you!”
“Oh god,” Alex cringed. “It’s all hearsay; they can’t prove anything!”
The man laughed, and it was such a warm, soothing laugh. The kind that made you want to sink into it like a bath or a blanket. “I’m Henry,” he replied, crossing the room with his hand extended, “and it’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”
Alex clasped his hand. Henry’s grip was steady and sure. “Hi, Henry. It’s good to meet you too.”
Henry stepped a little closer, instinctively guiding him into one of the chairs. He kneeled to look right into Alex’s eyes as he asked, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but are you sure you’re quite alright?”
Alex was touched by the little courtesy. Maybe that was why he answered so candidly. “Just...got some news.” He paused for a beat. “My boyfriend and I have been together for almost three years. Well, we were. He just dumped me.” He heard Henry draw in a hissing breath. “By text,” he added.
“Christ,” Henry sighed. “Alex, I’m so sorry.” He looked like he meant it.
Alex shrugged. “I should have expected it. He’s back in the States. We’ve been long distance...he said it was too much.” He clutched the arms of his wingback chair.
Henry stretched out a hand, but he hesitated and drew back. “Still,” he murmured. “By text...that was cowardly.” Alex noticed a slight flush pinken his cheeks, as though embarrassed by his own daring.
Henry coughed. “Well,” he said, “if there’s one thing we know how to do here in London, it’s how to handle a crisis. You either need a strong cup of tea or a stiff drink. So,” he smiled, “which shall it be?”
“I’m not much of a tea person.”
Henry gasped in mock outrage. “Quel scandale! You can’t live in England as long as you have and not drink tea. It’s unnatural.” He paused, suddenly grinning. “I bet I can change that.”
If there were any kind of magic spell to pull Alex Claremont-Diaz out of a slump, it would be a challenge. He felt his hackles rise in the best way. “Ok, you’re on.”
Henry grinned. “One question: whiskey or rum?”
Alex smirked. “Whiskey, hands down.”
“Perfect. Back in a tick,” Henry said, stretching himself up from his crouch. He strode over to the bar, where he fiddled with some unseen items under the cover of the counter. Alex heard the glass clinking and what sounded like the click and whirr of a tea kettle boiling away.
As he waited, Alex turned his head to his right to examine the nearest bookshelf. All the volumes looked battered and mismatched. He pushed himself out of his chair and wandered closer, running a hand over the spines before pulling out a single green clothbound copy of Sense and Sensibility. Alex traced a finger over the gold lettering of the title stamped upon the cover before opening it up and flipping through the pages.
“That’s one of my favorites,” Henry said.
Alex shut the book and turned to see he had returned bearing a large, steaming teacup. “Is it?”
Henry nodded, placing the cup on the nearest table. “Jane Austen is my favorite English author. People think she’s all about romance and bonnets and whist–which, you know, there’s a lot of, to be fair. But she has a way of capturing the truths that endure.” He drew a breath and added in a voice that made Alex feel sure he was quoting, “You lack nothing but patience. Or, to give it a more fascinating name, call it hope.”
Alex sat with the words for a moment, turning them over. “That sounds like something my sister would tell me. She’s always said I’ve had a fire under my ass for no good reason.”
Henry laughed. “You see? There’s something perfect about Austen’s books. Whether I’m happy or furious or...” he hesitated for a moment. “Or heartbroken, she always somehow has the words to help me find my way.”
“Huh,” Alex turned the book over in his hands. “Maybe I should try her out. See if she’s got any for me.”
Henry gestured to the book. “Take it.”
“What, really?”
“Of course. That’s why they’re here,” Henry gestured around at the bookshelves. “Sometimes we just need a place that’s safe from the wider world. Something like a home. And there’s no home without an excellent library.”
Alex felt weirdly touched. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat and nodded toward the steaming cup. “Okay, what have you got for me?”
Henry presented his cup with a flourish, manner playfully affected. “What I have for you is the best of both worlds. I give you a traditional hot toddy: hot black tea for the base, with some whiskey, lemon, honey, and a cinnamon stick.”
Curious, Alex walked over to the cup and picked it up, breathing in the fragrant steam. “In an ideal world,” Henry added, “I’d have other spices like nutmeg and anise to add. But needs must, and all that.”
Alex raised the cup to his lips, taking a cautious sip. Spicy and rich with flavor, the drink reached right into him and warmed him all the way through. The shaky numbness brought on by the shock of Liam’s text retreated. Alex closed his eyes, taking a larger sip as a wave of peace washed over him. He looked up into Henry’s expectant face. “This,” he raised his cup with a mock-grudging salute, “is perfect.”
Henry’s answering smile was a little shy. “You don’t have to say that. If you don’t like it—”
“Seriously man, it’s kind of exactly what I needed.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh and held up his cup in a toast. “You win this round.”
Henry looked as if he were about to reply, but whatever he wanted to say was cut off by the sound of the front door opening, and chatter from people entering the vestibule. Alex felt his heart twist as he recognized the voices—relieved, but also a little disappointed.
A moment later, three people entered the bar. Leading the way was Nora, today sporting a shirt that read ‘Bi-nosaur’ with a cartoon t-rex painted pink, purple, and blue. Strands of her brown curly hair fell out of her ponytail as she gesticulated wildly, turning over her shoulder to shout at Pez. Alex’s sister, June, followed. Her black stilettos clacked against the aged wooden floor with every step, and she gave an irritated roll of her shoulders beneath her blazer like she was itching to shrug it off. Swanning past June and Nora with a swish of his turquoise kimono, Pez sang out “Hazza, Darling!”
“You’re late,” Henry replied.
Pez gave an insouciant sort of wave. “In the words of the great Julie Andrews: a queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early.”
Henry heaved a beleaguered sigh as Alex snickered. Hearing it, June caught his eye and click-clacked her way over. “What did I tell you?”
Alex grinned, putting up his hands in surrender. “Okay, Okay, you were a hundred percent right.” He turned to Henry as he added, “This place is great.”
Henry offered him a shy answering smile.
“That’s what I said when Nora and I found it,” June said. “I couldn’t believe our luck. I mean: a quiet place where you can work with afternoon tea and an elegant sipping drink date night? It’s the best kind of one-stop shop! So, we met Pez working the bar, and I told him it had to be the best in London."
“To which I said,” cut in Pez, “as I always do: ‘oh no, miss. It’s the best bar in the world!’”
“On that note,” Henry said. “Can we get anyone something to drink? Pez, I’ll handle this, can you grab some flowers to freshen the tables? I think some are starting to brown.”
Pez bowed grandly before sauntering off through a doorway to the side of the bar that led deeper into the building. Alex, June, and Nora followed Henry. He took his place behind the counter as the three of them chose seats.
“Whatcha got there?” Nora asked, eyeing the teacup that Alex had brought up with him.
“One of my hot toddies,” Henry answered with a touch of pride in his voice. “They’re known to cure all ills.”
June looked up sharply, glancing between Alex and Henry. “Everything alright?”
“You know, it’s your subtlety that’s gonna make you such a great journalist,” Alex snarked. “Really gonna make people want to open up to you.”
“Your sarcasm is noted, but your deflection is ignored,” she replied. “You want to tell me what’s up?”
Alex shrugged, staring down into the dregs of his cup. “Liam dumped me.”
“Oh, Alex,” she sighed.
“What, today?” Nora asked.
“He texted me like thirty minutes ago.”
“I’m sorry, he dumped you by text?” June looked stunned.
“Motherfucker,” Nora snapped. “That’s such a dick move.”
“Yeah, well,” Alex shrugged again. “So it goes.” His eyes watered, and he blinked furiously, trying to clear them without being obvious. He flailed around for a subject change, his eyes landing on one of the vases. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen green flowers before.”
As if on cue, Pez returned bearing bouquets of the same flowers all the vases held: green and purple blossoms. “Green carnations and purple violets,” he said. “For the greats, you know,” he gestured grandly to the white bust of the woman. “Violets for Sappho and,” he presented the portrait over the fireplace, “green carnations for the man himself.”
“Uh,” Alex said, looking blankly back up at it.
“Oscar Wilde,” Henry chimed in, rescuing him. “He was–among other things–a playwright. On opening night for Lady Windermere’s Fan, he asked a number of his friends to wear green carnations. It became a secret symbol to let other queer men know that you were one of them.”
“Huh, early flagging,” Alex said.
Henry beamed. “Precisely.”
Before he could reply, Alex noticed Pez’s eyes flick between him and Henry, looking strangely intent. Realizing he was caught, Pez grinned, unabashed, and laid aside his flowers.
“Right!” He chirped, clapping his hands together. “Well, so long as we have the place to ourselves, let’s gather our wild green carnations–and sapphic violets,” Pez offered a small bow to the girls, “while we may. Haz, let us get behind the bar and pour a measure round, shall we?”
“Little early for the hard stuff, isn’t it?” June asked.
“Bite me,” Alex retorted. Nora laughed.
“Why don’t I fix us a cuppa?” Henry offered. “We’ve got standard black tea, green if that’s your fancy...Oh, June, I brought in more of my favorite Earl Grey, if you’d like to try?”
And with that, the group shuffled over, taking their places on stools or behind the bar to brew up tea and settle in for the afternoon.