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“Is it all right that I have a dog?” is what Alex’s prospective roommate had asked at that first meeting. “He’s a beagle.”
The question had come as they were winding down the informal interview that Alex had been putting all of the potential candidates through, because he wasn’t about to sign onto a year-long lease with just anyone, even if he did desperately need to split the rent on his new Brooklyn apartment. Henry Fox had been a bit of a surprise—British, posh, and wearing clothes that suggested he did not need to save money on rent—but he was polite, intelligent, and seemed like he’d be a considerate roommate, plus he was easy on the eyes (not that Alex was considering looks in his evaluation, but it was true regardless). Alex’s apartment building was pet friendly. A beagle hadn’t seemed like a big deal.
Henry had neglected to mention that David—which Alex still maintains is a dumb name for a dog—was a puppy. It had been a not-insignificant strain on their relationship at the beginning, when they were first trying to figure out how to live together.
Look, it’s not that Alex doesn’t like David. David is fucking adorable and ridiculously lovable. And the way Henry dotes on him is— well, it’s really something. But David also sometimes forgets to ask to be taken out for a walk, and howls at the ass-crack of dawn for no reason, and chews on Alex’s shoes if he forgets and leaves them within his reach.
He also steals Alex’s glasses. Regularly.
Alex doesn’t even know how he does it most of the time. He’ll take his glasses off for five minutes while he’s working to rest his eyes, and somehow David will snag them off the coffee table and run off with them. He doesn’t chew them, thank god, but the slobber is bad enough. Plus, there’s the fact that Alex has to go on a search to find whatever random place he’s managed to hide them.
Except… the places the glasses end up don’t seem to be exactly random.
If Alex believed in such things, he’d think David was trying to tell him something. It’s kind of uncanny, how the glasses show up in the kitchen when it’s been too long since he’s eaten, or in his bed when he hasn’t slept, or once in the shower—which, rude. Then again, dogs have a better sense of smell than humans, and he might have had a point. But still. It has to be just a coincidence, because he’s a dog. He doesn’t have some kind of special sense about where Alex needs to be.
Henry is very apologetic about all of it, and he’s made real strides with David’s training, which has gone a long way to smoothing down the rough patches in their relationship over the last few months. It’s actually pretty endearing, how hard he works on it, not that Alex would admit that to anyone.
Here’s the thing: Alex wasn’t wrong in his first impressions of Henry, but these days it’s all the things he didn’t know about that make him thankful that Henry’s part of his life now. Yes, he’s polite and intelligent and considerate, but he also has a wicked, dry sense of humor and easily matches Alex when it comes to snarky, playful teasing. He’s passionate about his favorite books and movies, and he’s a gigantic romantic sap with a huge, caring heart. He can’t cook worth a damn but he makes Alex’s coffee exactly the way he likes it.
And he also happens to be really, really hot, and when he comes back from a run with his workout gear plastered to his body with sweat, Alex has to go be anywhere else in the apartment or else risk Henry catching him staring with his mouth open. Which is… whatever. Alex can have a healthy appreciation for the aesthetics without it meaning anything. They’re friends and roommates, and Alex doesn’t want or need anything more. The fact that Henry’s quickly become one of his favorite people to be around is a good thing, seeing as they live together.
It’s perhaps not surprising that Alex’s glasses go missing again on a Sunday when he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Henry all day. Alex has been pretty focused on his work, case files spread out across the coffee table and his nose buried in his laptop, but even so, it’s unusual that he doesn’t catch Henry shuffling around the apartment out of the corner of his eye. So when Alex comes back from the bathroom to find his glasses mysteriously missing, he’s pretty sure that the culprit just wants to be taken on a walk. Well, he could probably use the break, anyway.
Alex doesn’t find David (or his glasses) by the front door, though. He also doesn’t find them in the kitchen or his own room. The apartment isn’t that big, and Alex searches every corner until there’s only one place the dog could be. The door to Henry’s room is mostly closed, leaving only a David-sized gap, and Alex hadn’t wanted to bother him. Of course, there’s a chance he’s not even in; he could have slipped out earlier when Alex was distracted, or even before Alex got up this morning. It’d be odd for him not to have told Alex he was leaving, though. Alex hovers uncertainly for a moment outside the door before he finally gives in and knocks softly.
“Henry?”
No answer. Apparently he is out, after all. Alex pushes the door open, expecting an empty room, only to find the distinct lump of his roommate curled up in his bed. David is lying next to him on the bed, his chin propped up on Henry’s hip; Alex’s slobbery glasses lay at his feet.
Alex curses under his breath, though Henry doesn’t stir. Asleep, maybe, but something about the rhythm of his breathing suggests otherwise, even though his eyes are closed. He’s not usually one for napping, and though Alex is now familiar with his bad days where he’s quiet and withdrawn, he’s never seen Henry like this.
“H?” he nearly whispers as he creeps a bit closer. “You ok?”
At first he doesn’t think he’s going to get an answer, but then Henry mumbles, “‘M fine,” and burrows a little further under the covers.
Right. Alex should probably just mind his own business and leave him alone. They might be friends, but that doesn’t mean he wants Alex butting in. “I’ll just… David took my glasses,” he mutters, snagging them off the bed before retreating back toward the door.
He pauses before he leaves to look back at the lump that is his roommate. Given the lack of dishes in his room and the fact that Alex hasn’t seen him, it seems unlikely that Henry’s eaten anything today. Maybe…
Alex has the electric kettle going before he’s even really sure of what he’s going to do. Tea seems like a good start, though. It’s getting late, so he grabs the chamomile instead of Henry’s usual Earl Grey and quickly Googles a recommended steep time. While he waits, he digs through the cupboards until he comes across an unopened box of Jaffa cakes that Henry got in a care package from sister a while back. There had been a few boxes included, and at the time Alex had made fun of him for hiding one of them in the back of the cabinet, but Henry had insisted that he needed to have a spare for emergencies only.
Now seemed like it might be just such a time.
Armed with tea and biscuits (what has Henry done to him?)—and his work now completely forgotten—Alex slips back into Henry’s room, where neither he nor David have moved. He walks quietly over to the bedside table near Henry and deposits his offerings, then crouches down next to the bed until he’s level with Henry’s face.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the endearment unexpected but strangely natural on his tongue. He reaches up and and pushes a lock of golden hair back from Henry’s forehead and, at his touch, Henry’s eyes flutter open. There’s something almost painfully sad in his gaze—not even taking into consideration how his eyelids are puffy and rimmed with red—and Alex’s heart breaks a little. “I brought you some tea and those weird cake-cookie things you like. Just in case it might help.”
Henry’s eyes flick over to the bedside table, and he sniffs once as he looks back at Alex. “You… made me tea?” he asks, his voice rough but unmistakably perplexed.
“Chamomile,” Alex confirms, then adds, with a self-deprecating smile, “hope it doesn’t suck.”
Henry just stares at him for a long minute, so long that Alex can’t figure out if he fucked up by overstepping. But then Henry’s moving, pushing himself up into a sitting position propped up on the pillows, and he reaches out to take the mug. Alex stands, lingering a little awkwardly as Henry blows on the tea and takes a tentative sip.
“It’s perfect,” Henry tells him. The corners of his mouth barely quirk upward, but the tiny, half-hearted smile doesn’t make it far on his face. “Thank you, Alex.”
“Cool,” Alex says, and has to forcefully stop himself from cringing at how stiff it sounds. “I’m going to take David for a walk, but if you need anything else, just say the word, ok?”
When Alex gets back, Henry has finished the tea and the box of Jaffa cakes has been completely demolished, so he was hungry after all. He’s still sitting up, absently scrolling on his phone, though he immediately sets it aside when David hops onto the bed and curls up next to Henry’s hip. A tiny smile flickers on Henry’s lips as he smooths a hand over the dog’s head.
“More tea?” Alex offers as he collects the empty mug.
Henry gives a little shake of his head, but he doesn’t look up. “That’s all right, thank you.”
“Ok, well, I got some stuff to make some chicken soup at the bodega on the corner, thought it might hit the spot, I mean, you don’t have to eat any if you don’t want, but I’m gonna make it anyway, so—”
“Alex.”
He stops halfway to the door and mid-ramble, but when he turns back Henry is still staring down at David. “Can you—” he starts before his voice falters. Finally, he looks up again. “Can you just… stay with me, for a little while?”
Alex’s heart gives a funny lurch in his chest at the request, and at how utterly vulnerable Henry looks like this. He’s wearing an oversized wool sweater with the sleeves pulled almost entirely over his hands, which has the slightly absurd effect of making him look small, and he’s giving Alex puppy dog eyes that could rival David’s, and there’s no way in hell Alex could ever say no. He sets the tea mug back down and, for lack of anywhere else to sit in Henry’s room, climbs into the empty side of the bed and sits back against the pillows next to Henry.
“It’s the anniversary of my father’s passing,” Henry murmurs after a long silence, so quietly Alex almost doesn’t hear him.
“Oh, Henry. I’m so sorry,” Alex sighs, feeling his heart ache at the words. He’d known about Henry’s dad, but not about the date, and everything makes so much sense now. Without really thinking about it, he extends an arm toward Henry, and Henry more or less collapses into his embrace, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder.
They stay like that for a while. At one point Henry tells him about Arthur, laughing a little wetly through stories of his childhood in England, and Alex feels his arm tightening around Henry’s shoulders. It’s not that late, but he’s been more than a little sleep deprived lately and, as the hours creep on, his eyelids get heavy and they both sink further into the bed, bit by bit.
Alex wakes to sunlight streaming through gaps in the curtains and a completely numb arm where Henry’s laying on it. He’s also exceedingly warm; besides the heat from Henry’s body, David has wedged himself between them on the bed. He gives a quiet snuff when he sees Alex is awake, but apparently this morning isn’t one for howling. Alex fishes his phone out of his pocket and squints at it blearily; it’s early, and he’s missed a decent number of texts from Nora since he fell asleep at, like, eight o’clock last night. Fuck, he doesn’t know the last time he slept that long.
It’s also Monday. He has work, and he’s pretty sure Henry has to be on campus soon. Also, he’d really like his arm back before it has to be amputated. Dropping his phone on the bed, he reaches over and gives Henry’s shoulder a little shake, and a moment later, Henry groans and rolls over to face him. Alex had been wondering if Henry would be surprised or upset or uncomfortable to find Alex still in his bed, but instead a tiny, pleased smile curls onto his lips, and Alex stomach swoops like he’s falling.
“Alex,” he murmurs, something like wonder in his groggy voice. “You’re still here…?”
“Well,” Alex says with an attempt at a teasing smirk. He gives his arm a little tug. “Kinda trapped, actually.”
Henry rockets up into a sitting position, looking particularly guilty when Alex can’t help but wince and hiss at the pins and needles as feeling floods back into the limb. “Oh bloody hell, are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Alex says, perhaps somewhat unconvincingly. Now that they’re both fully awake, a thread of awkwardness is winding up between them. Henry looks uncomfortable and a little embarrassed, and Alex bites his lip uncertainly. “I— I hope I didn’t overstep last night?”
“You didn’t,” Henry replies immediately before adding, a little quieter, “You were… perfect, in fact.” He drops his eyes to where his fingers are twisting together on his lap. “That was exactly what I needed. Thank you, Alex.”
Something impossibly warm fills Alex’s chest at the look of gratitude on Henry’s face when he looks back up. Something that he absolutely is not going to look too closely at. “C’mon,” he says instead, “I’ll make a solid breakfast since neither of us ate dinner last night. Omelet?”
“Sounds wonderful.”
They do both need to eat, but Alex has plenty of other reasons for something to try to keep himself from dwelling on what happened last night. It doesn’t entirely work; he can’t help but think that if not for David stealing his glasses, he might not have ventured into Henry’s room. He never would have known what was going on, that Henry could use some help.
He looks down at David, who looks back up at him out of the corners of his big, dark eyes.
Huh.
Alex’s glasses disappear almost exactly two weeks later, one early Saturday evening when he’s buried in work. Henry had come home from an afternoon shift at the shelter and somewhat uncharacteristically jumped into the shower, then shut himself up in his room; Alex hasn’t seen him since. His coffee mug is empty, though, so he uncurls from where he’s bent over his laptop, drops his glasses on the coffee table, and shuffles off to the kitchen to refuel. When he comes back, fresh coffee in hand, the glasses are missing.
“David,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Another exhaustive search of the apartment yields no sign of the glasses. Alex thinks he liked it better when David was just trying to get him to shower. Just as he’s emerging from his bedroom, he catches sight of the little thief standing in the hall looking annoyingly pleased with himself, and as soon as he sees Alex, he turns and scampers off down the hall before finally slipping into Henry’s now partially open door. With another sigh, Alex follows him.
“Henry, did David bring my glasses in— oh.”
Alex doesn’t know what he thought he might find, but it wasn’t Henry engaged in what can only be described as primping. He’s dressed up in a crisp white button-down shirt and a pair of dark gray slacks that skim over his ass and thighs so perfectly it should be illegal. He’d been frowning into a mirror and fussing with his hair when Alex entered, but almost immediately he straightens, looking slightly caught out for reasons Alex can’t quite fathom.
“Fuck, sorry, I just—” Alex starts, only to have the sentence die in his throat when Henry turns toward him. The top buttons of his shirt have been left undone, and the sliver of collarbone that peeks out is extremely distracting. He swallows hard and forces his eyes up to Henry’s. “David stole my glasses again, and I thought he might have brought them in here?”
“Oh David, again?” Henry scolds, frowning down at the dog before he looks back up at Alex. “I’m really sorry about that, I don’t know what gets into him.”
“It’s not a big deal, really, only— ah, there we go,” Alex says as he catches sight of a glint of glass and metal partly under Henry’s bed next to where David is sitting. He bends down to retrieve them, grimacing slightly at the dog slobber covering them. And now, since he’s got them, he should obviously leave Henry to whatever he’d been doing, but instead he finds himself asking, “So, uh. Looks like you’re going out tonight?”
“I have a date,” Henry answers, though it comes out almost as a question.
“Oh,” Alex says. Like that’s a reasonable response in this situation.
He doesn’t care if Henry’s going on a date. Henry’s single and ridiculously hot—he deserves to find someone. Of course, there aren’t many people who are good enough for Henry, but that’s beside the point. Alex is happy for him, truly. So why does it feel like someone socked him right in the gut? He tries to keep his abrupt discomfort off his face, but some of it must show through anyway because Henry’s brow furrows.
“Is everything all right, Alex?”
“Of course,” Alex says quickly, forcing on a smile. “That’s great, man. Did you, uh, meet him at school? Or the shelter?” Henry doesn’t spend time on much besides grad school and volunteering, so it’s unlikely he met him at a bar. The last time they went out with Nora, June, and Pez, Henry had spent most of his time talking to Alex, as if they didn’t already see each other enough every day (a fact that did not remain unremarked upon by their friends).
“Coffee shop on campus,” Henry says, a little absently. He’s still frowning at Alex, who admittedly is kind of fidgety. “He’s a business student.”
“Please tell me he’s not a finance bro,” Alex tries to joke. God, this is uncomfortable. Why is this so uncomfortable? Henry’s been on plenty of dates while they’ve been living together, though this is the first since the night that Alex slept in his bed. Nothing has changed.
A little smile tugs on the corner of Henry’s mouth at the teasing, though. “Honestly, Alex. What do you take me for?”
“Ok, fair enough,” Alex allows, huffing a soft laugh. His eyes are flitting around the room, unwilling to linger too long on Henry, and he catches sight of David sitting at his feet, looking up at him. “You’re losing your touch, Davey,” he says to the dog as he crouches down to scratch him behind his ear. “There’s no reason for me to be here, except maybe to save Henry from wearing that boring-ass shirt.”
“What?” Henry asks, obviously confused.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Alex says. “It’s just— well, sometimes it seems like David likes to hide my glasses in places where I should be instead of working. Like in my bed, or in the kitchen when it’s been too long since I’ve eaten. Which sounds pretty stupid now that I’ve said it out loud.”
“It doesn’t,” Henry replies softly. He’s silent a beat, and then: “He brought them to my bedroom, that day…”
“Yeah.” Alex stands. Scrubs a hand behind his neck. Looks anywhere but at Henry. “Anyway, like I said, losing his touch,” he adds with a stiff, forced laugh. Suddenly he can’t be in this apartment any longer. “Hey, so I’m gonna head out to the library, I think.”
Now Henry’s frowning again. “On a Saturday night?”
“It’s just this case—it’s driving me crazy, and I need to get it done, and thought maybe a change of scenery will help, so yeah, have fun tonight and don’t stay out too late— or, like, do if you’re having a good time, not that you need my permission of course, but like, maybe text me if you’re not coming home so I know you’re not dead? Right, so I’m just gonna. Go now.” Then, having made a complete ass of himself, Alex turns and flees before Henry can respond.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
Unfortunately, a change in scenery does not help. Sitting in the nearly-deserted library, Alex stares down at the case files and does not think about the brief he has to write even once.
Instead, he thinks about Henry.
He thinks about how Henry is the last person he wants to talk to at night, and the first person he wants to see in the morning. He thinks about how making Henry laugh has become a significant reason that Alex does anything these days. He thinks about how he’d dropped everything to make sure Henry was all right, and how he’d do it again in an instant. He thinks about how he can’t really get enough of how Henry smells, the way the clean, grassiness that Alex always kind of assumed was part of his cologne had clung to him on a day when he hadn’t even gotten out of bed. He thinks about how perfect Henry had felt in his arms, and how he’d put up with a lifetime of his arm going numb every night if it meant Henry was sleeping next to him.
Basically, he thinks about how he’s completely fucked, because Henry’s out on a date and clearly not interested in Alex besides, and why oh why did he have to go and fall for his fucking roommate?
He doesn’t know how many hours have passed when he finally admits he’s not getting any work done. Tearing off his glasses, he drops them on the table in front of him and lets his head fall onto his folded arms in frustration.
When he finally lifts his head again, the glasses are gone.
Not his phone, or his computer, or anything actually valuable. Just his glasses. If he were at home he would know who had taken them, but there’s no David in the library. None of the few other people inhabiting tables nearby seem to have moved. With a sigh, he gets to his feet and packs up all his stuff—since he’s clearly not getting anything done anyway—then approaches the nearest person, a guy who does not look up from his laptop even once Alex is standing next to him.
“Sorry to bother you, but did you happen to see someone come by and take my glasses?” Alex asks hopefully.
“No,” the guy responds shortly. He still hasn’t even looked at Alex. Quite possibly he’s telling the truth, since it seems he’s stuck in some kind of intense tunnel vision.
“Yeah, ok, thanks,” Alex says, too tired to mask the sarcasm in his voice. Not like the guy’s listening anyway.
Apparently, everyone here takes minding your own business extremely seriously, because he strikes out several more times. He’s just about to give up entirely when a girl with reddish-brown hair flags him down. “I didn’t see if he took your glasses, but there was a guy that stopped by your table while you were having a breakdown. Tall and blond. I think he went that way?” she tells him, pointing toward another part of the library.
“I wasn’t—” Alex starts to protest, then shakes his head. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
Even with that description, Alex does not expect to find Henry sitting in a reading chair in an alcove on another floor. He’s wearing a different shirt than when Alex last saw him—a blue one that brings out his eyes—and his hair is flopped down over his forehead as he stares down at the book in his lap. It must be a book he got from the shelves, though Alex can’t fathom what it could be, since this is the law library. On a small table next to him sit Alex’s glasses.
“I thought you were supposed to be breaking your dog of the larceny habit, not joining him,” Alex says as he drops into the chair opposite him.
Henry looks up at him unrepentantly. “Hmm,” he hums, eyes skating up and down Alex, no doubt taking in his disheveled state. “How late would you have stayed here if I hadn’t taken them?”
“Until they kicked me out.”
“Without eating,” Henry says, frowning. It’s not really a question.
Alex shrugs and lifts his travel mug. “I have coffee.”
Henry just sighs. He pauses for a moment to close his book and set it to the side, then leans forward with his elbows on his knees and pins Alex with a frankly devastating look. “Come get something to eat with me.”
“Didn’t you already eat?” Alex asks. “I thought you had a date tonight.”
“We went to one of those restaurants that offers minuscule portions at astronomical prices,” Henry tells him. A corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Frankly, I’m still famished.”
“So I take it things didn’t go well?” Alex hates how fucking pleased he feels by that thought, how much relief he feels as he says it. Henry probably came here to find him because he needed a friend after a shitty date, and Alex is the fucking worst.
“Oh, no,” Henry says pleasantly. “It was perfectly lovely, small portions aside. He was sweet and charming and funny.”
“But?”
“But I sat there the entire time thinking about someone else.”
“Who?” Alex blurts involuntarily, because it can’t be, it can’t—
“Who?” Henry scoffs incredulously. He sits back in his chair again and wipes a hand over his face. “You, you menace. It’s always you. I’ve spent the last six months resigned to the fact that you weren’t ever going to be interested in anything more than friendship, but then today you stood in my bedroom and looked bloody distraught that I was going on a date with someone else. And if I’m misreading the situation, I am very sorry, but I—”
“You’re not,” Alex interrupts. He swallows hard. “Misreading things.”
“Oh,” Henry says, looking slightly taken aback even though he was the one who figured it out in the first place. Like he half expected to fail but took the leap anyway. “Well. That’s good, then. So can I take you out for dinner?”
This can’t be real. It can’t be really happening, there’s no way, but Henry is sitting there looking at him expectantly, and Alex has just been asked out by his roommate who he’s pretty sure he’s in love with, and all he can do is laugh and smile too broadly as he says, “I’m not really dressed for a date.”
Instead of responding immediately, Henry stands up and holds out a hand for Alex, and when their hands slide together, smooth and warm, Alex feels his heart pick up tempo. Henry tugs him to his feet, but doesn’t let go. “I don’t need you to be prepared, love,” he says simply. “I just need you to be you.”
And oh, that’s a thought that leaves Alex a little lightheaded, frankly. He lets himself be dragged along by the hand as they walk through the library, unable to tear his eyes away from Henry to look where they’re going. It’s only once they’re outside that he finds some kind of equilibrium, a firm footing on untrodden ground.
Henry likes him. Henry wants to be with him.
“Can I have my glasses back now?” Alex asks eventually. He knows he’s grinning like a loon. He doesn’t much care.
Henry glances over at him, a teasing smirk curving his lips. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll keep them.”
He pauses just long enough to disentangle his hand from Alex’s, then slips the glasses on and looks over the top of them. Somehow, impossibly, he’s even hotter like this. The fact they’re Alex’s glasses is really doing something extra for him. Alex takes a step closer, into Henry’s space, and looks up at him through his eyelashes; his grin broadens further when Henry swears softly under his breath.
“Trade you?”
“And what are you offering?” Henry asks breezily, though some of his composure is slipping.
“This,” Alex says, then pulls him into a slow and deliberate kiss that feels remarkably like coming home.
“Baby, have you seen my glasses?”
Ever since they converted Henry’s bedroom into an office and Alex now works at a desk rather than the coffee table, his glasses largely have been safe from canine thieves. It also helps that Henry’s more willing to drag him out of his work when he needs a break, wrapping his arms around Alex from behind and pressing soft kisses to his neck until he relents (it usually doesn’t take long). Stealing Alex’s glasses is not his M.O.—excepting that one important instance—so Alex can’t figure out how they’ve managed to disappear now.
“Can’t say I have,” Henry calls from the kitchen. His voice sounds a little strained, which is odd enough that it draws Alex down the hall, his curiosity piqued.
“Everything ok in there, H?”
“Just— hunky-dory!” is the strained reply, followed by a clatter and a muttered curse.
Henry doesn’t notice when Alex appears in the doorway and leans against the jamb, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes in the scene before him. Whatever his boyfriend is working on is blocked by his body as he hunches over the counter, but there is a staggering array of dirty bowls and utensils surrounding him. David sits at his feet and stares up at him, clearly hoping for falling scraps.
“Whatcha working on, sweetheart?” Alex says eventually.
Henry nearly jumps out of his skin, whirling around to face Alex. His eyes are wide and wild, and he immediately tries to step in front of what appears to be a cake to block it from sight. There are smears of flour and frosting all over his apron and hands, and also on his face.
“A-Alex! What are you—” he stammers, flushing pink. Then his eyes drop down to the dog… and Alex’s glasses on the floor next to him. “David, you traitor,” he sighs.
He looks so crestfallen that Alex can’t help but cross the room and pull him into the circle of his arms, turning them slightly as he does so he can look down at the wreckage on the counter. Now he can tell it’s definitely a cake, though one currently sitting in a pool of melted and possibly under-whipped frosting. The top layer is cracking where it’s trying to make a run off the stack.
“Gonna tell me what this is supposed to be?” he asks, reaching up to rub a bit of frosting off Henry’s cheek with his thumb.
“Nothing really, just a lark,” Henry tries, but he must see that Alex isn’t buying it. “It’s been a year since we met,” he admits, not meeting Alex’s gaze as he gives a little one-shouldered shrug. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but I thought it might be nice to surprise you.”
“Consider me surprised,” Alex says with a grin. He tips Henry’s face upward and presses a gentle kiss to his lips before looking thoughtfully down at the cake again. “You can’t frost it while it’s still hot, baby.”
Henry sighs. “Well I know that now.”
Alex just smiles at him, hopelessly head over heels, and plucks the cake plate off the counter. “C’mon. We’ll put this in the fridge and make a new batch of frosting while it cools.”
“I thought you were swamped with work,” Henry protests half-heartedly. “Don’t you need to be getting back?”
“Nah,” Alex says as he crouches down to retrieve his glasses and gives David a pat. “I’m right where I need to be.”