Chapter Text
Alex wakes to the ghost of a touch on his hip, but when he feels through the sheets, they’re empty, not even warm. Still, he can’t help feeling that touch, that body. Groaning, he opens his eyes to the early morning sun slanting through gauzy curtains and frowns.
He looks over at the digital clock he keeps beside his bed, and frowns even harder: it’s where it’s supposed to be, but, like, off in a way he can’t explain until it clicks: the numbers are red, not blue.
Combined with the curtains he doesn’t recognize, he throws the covers off and pushes himself out of bed, looking wildly around what is decidedly not his tiny college bedroom, where he definitely fell asleep last night. Or…right? He rubs his temple, trying to remember how he fell asleep last night. He remembers heading to the corner bodega for ice cream, because his roommate Henry had been having one of his down days, and Chunky Monkey tended to turn that frown upside-down. He doesn’t really remember returning to their shitty - wonderful - little apartment, though. He kind of remembers the flash of bright lights but- He blinks in annoyance, willing anything to come to his brain, but it stubbornly stays blank.
Has he been kidnapped? No, that would be outlandish, and also, why would his kidnappers leave him in a huge bed with wonderfully soft sheets? He turns around again to look at the clock, and notices an iPad laying on the bedside table with a big Post-it in Henry’s writing that says, “Unlock me and play the only video. -H” with a little heart underneath that makes Alex’s heart flutter in a strange way. That strange Henry way that he’s only started exploring within himself recently.
He’s never seen an iPad this thin, and he’s wondering how the hell he’s supposed to unlock it without a passcode, but it apparently recognizes his fucking face and just opens, as if that’s not the weirdest fucking thing in this dream - nightmare?
The background picture is one he recognizes, one from his sophomore year at NYU, like nine months ago. They’re at a party somewhere, and Bea had been visiting, and Alex had used one of his selfie-stick arms to grab a picture of all of them, the ‘Super Six’ - all of his friends and family, there in one shot. It’s the background on his phone, actually, or - wait, where is his phone?
He opens the album app and finds that indeed, there’s just one photo - the Super Six one - and one video on the entire tablet. Fingers shaking, he clicks on it.
A picture of Alex appears across the screen, along with the words “Good Morning, Alex.” Music starts playing, nothing Alex recognizes, just something lightly instrumental. More images that Alex recognizes, from across his entire life, pictures with June, pictures with Nora, pictures with Henry, all float across the screen as the music continues to play.
A voice, one that Alex recognizes as Henry’s: “Good morning, love. I know you are very confused right now, and perhaps upset, but I need you to know that you are safe, and you are loved, and everything you’re feeling right now is completely normal and valid.”
Alex’s heart stutters at the use of ‘love,’ but then he brushes it off as one of Henry’s Britishisms. Still, curiosity piqued, he sits back down on the bed, crossing his legs and laying the iPad in his lap to find out what the fuck is going on. Henry’s calm voice soothes him, though. If Henry says he’s safe, he believes him.
The music and photos fade, to Henry sitting cross-legged on the very bed Alex is sitting on. This Henry looks...a little different than Alex remembers. A little more mature, with crinkles at the edges of his eyes that get bigger when he smiles. He’s not quite looking at the camera right now, but beyond it at someone, and Alex feels a pang of something, some Henry feeling, at seeing that look on Henry’s face, not pointed at him.
“We’re ready? Got it,” Henry’s softest voice says to the mystery cameraperson before he looks directly in the camera. “Hello, Alex, love. I need to tell you a story. It’s a story I’ve told you a lot over the years, and please know that whatever reactions you have to the story are completely natural.
“Ten years ago, you went out to get me a pint of ice cream from the bodega, because I was having one of my gray days, and you always take such good care of me. And this-” Despite the fact that Henry appears calm and collected, his voice hitches. “-This time, when you were coming back, although you had the right of way, a bloody drunk driver hit you as you crossed the street. Christ, it never gets easier to say.”
Those bright lights from earlier - the headlights? - flash in Alex’s mind again.
“A pedestrian, a good Samaritan, immediately called 911, but- things weren’t looking good. They had to revive you in the ambulance, love. But you were- you are such a fighter, Alex. They rushed you into surgery, they reset so many broken bones and put in plates and rods and- but what we didn’t know, what we couldn’t know, was how badly your brain was hurt by both the concussion and the loss of oxygen before they resuscitated you.” Henry almost sounds clinical now, but Alex knows that’s his way of powering through something very emotional for him. He'd used the same tone when talking about his father’s prognosis, treatment, and eventual death.
An image of Alex appears on the screen. He’s in a hospital bed, with most of his body stabilized by casts, and his face is still a bloody mess of road rash. Henry’s sitting beside his bed, his hand clasped in Alex’s, his face red and blotchy from obviously long bouts of crying. Alex pauses the video, studying his casts, then holding out his right forearm. There’s a long, silvery-brown scar along the outside of his forearm that had never been there before, and, yes, he can feel something hard slide underneath.
Panic spikes through his blood at the sudden realness of Henry’s story. Ten years ago? No. Last night he- Last night he- Last night. Right?
To shut down the panic, he hits play again.
“When you awoke, it was clear you had only the barest memories in the lead up to the crash. I’m so grateful for that, love. I would never- I’m so glad you don’t have to relive that.” Henry’s eyes start watering up, and he dashes away the moisture with a curse. “Christ, keep it together, Fox.”
“You’re doing great, baby,” comes HIS voice from behind the camera. And, well, he does tend to overuse endearments but that seems a little over-familiar, even for he and Henry.
The way Henry looks at camera-Alex, the amount of gratefulness and…love? It takes Alex’s breath away, those Henry feelings threatening to burst out of him.
“Right you are. Thank you. After a few days, it became clear that you were having lasting memory issues. I’ve - we’ve,” Henry continues, gesturing at the Alex behind the camera, “put together a medical file for you to go through, but if you want to pause and look right now, it’s in the third drawer down in the dresser by the window. But very basically, you have a sort of amnesia, Alex, where you retain very few memories from anything that has happened to you after the brain injury. The brain was damaged in the area where short-term memories turn into long-term memories, and so basically, when you hit REM every night, instead of that transfer, you get…reset. Sometimes, things make it through, but they are few and far between. You have a whole series of coping mechanisms to help get you reacquainted with yourself, and this video is one of them. I realize this may all come as a shock, love, but…there’s more to this story.”
Henry looks down at his left hand, and Alex is stunned to see the wink of a gold band on his ring finger. Reflexively he looks at his own, even more shocked to see that he has a similar gold band. Automatically, he reaches to twist it around his finger, and is doubly, triply?, flabbergasted to see that he has a tan line, that it’s extremely obvious he has worn this ring for a long time.
“Everyone stepped up to help you recover, of course. You were in physical therapy for ages. You went back to Texas for a bit, where we didn’t have to worry about you slipping on ice on crutches or anything like that. I followed you, finished out my degree at UT: Austin. We helped you develop your coping mechanisms, like this video, and your binders. You have so many binders, love,” Henry continues, fondness seeping in your voice. “And despite the resets, despite everything, you-”
Henry stops, looking away, then back at camera-Alex. “You should tell this part.”
Alex hears his own deep laugh from behind the tripod, and then his face and bouncy curls pop into frame. He runs up to the bed and jumps into it, pulling Henry into a hug before taking his chin and pulling him in for- for a fucking kiss.
With a sly smile, past-Alex looks at the video camera. “Dude, you are so fucking bisexual. I know you were thinking about it, because I’m you, yeah? So I know. It’s not theoretical, my friend. You are 100% grade-A, fan-fucking-tasically bisexual. And this?” Past-Alex gestures between he and Henry. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, so don’t fuck it up. You fuck it up sometimes, okay? That’s okay though. Everything you’re feeling right now is valid. Just, my advice, don’t fuck it up. Okay.”
Past-Alex holds up two peace signs and then finger guns the camera before moving back behind it, and now-Alex is left wondering how he could have possibly missed the signs of his own queerness.
“Okay, so. Practicalities, right. We started dating. We both fucked it up, but then…here we are. Married. You’re my husband, Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz-Fox, and I’m yours.” Images of Alex and Henry wearing white linen and standing under an arch on what must be Lake LBJ, exchanging vows and rings, cutting cake, and kissing all appear. “I’m very sorry to tell you that David passed away a few months ago, but you loved him, and he you, until the very end. We had a final, wonderful day with him.” Some more images flash on the screen of Henry and Alex both cuddling David on the couch, going to the park, one of David snuggled up against Alex in the bed as he sleeps. “You weren’t able to finish college, which I know is a blow, darling, I know. You aren’t a lawyer, or a senator. But, Alex, my love, you are so much. You are so much. When your ability to retain memories left you, you pivoted, instead using your ability to deep-dive research on any topic you please. You’re a research assistant at the university I work at, Alex, and everyone loves you, and your attention to detail. You find it extremely fulfilling, but it’s okay to grieve what you can’t have.”
“Just don’t grieve too hard, because honestly, it’s fucking awesome, like solving a completely new puzzle every day,” past-Alex’s voice adds from behind the camera.
“You also volunteer - we all do, the Super Six, your whole family - at the memory care facility, and also at the queer youth shelter. The kids there love you, too.” More images of Alex at work, at what must be the youth shelter serving food to a bunch of teens, of the whole Super Six laughing and smiling at some restaurant or bar.
“And I, Alex, I love you so much. So when you’re ready, if you’re ready, come find me. I’ve left a note on the white board on the outside of our bedroom door about where I am this morning. I love you.”
“Go find him,” past-Alex adds. His face comes briefly into camera, way too close and blurry. “And if you’re wondering, we’re both vers, and you definitely don’t mind butt stuff.”
There’s a crash in the background of the video as Henry rushes the camera, “You can’t leave that kind of thing in, what if your mother sees this?”
“Too late, baby, it’s my video, my say-mmph.” Past-Alex is quickly shut up with a kiss, and then the screen fades to black as Henry covers the lens with his fingers to block the sight of their kiss.
“What…the fuck,” Alex mutters to himself as the video ends. “Okay, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-”
Tossing the iPad onto the sheets, he jumps out of bed and rushes to the bedroom door, pulling it open. There, in Henry’s handwriting, is his message: I’m working on my novel this morning. I’m in my office, which is the bright blue door on the left, down the hall from where you are now. Next to the white board, there’s a map of the whole fucking house, seemingly, and as he looks down the hallway, he notices that the decorating is very…well, color coordinated. There’s a blue door, and a red door, and a black door on one end of the hallway. Their white bedroom door is at the other end.
He doesn’t take too much more time to analyze it, instead rushing for the blue door. He gives the barest knock before he bursts in. “Henry-”
The Henry from the video, who is older than Alex remembers, but who Alex also has to admit has aged like a fine wine, turns to look at him. “Hello, love. What are we feeling this morning?”
“Panic,” Alex blurts out, before shutting his mouth and second-guessing his honesty.
“Perfectly reasonable,” Henry says as he rises from his chair and comes to stand before Alex. “May I hug you? You’ve always loved physical touch.”
The calm way Henry handles him is already working to soothe the anxiety, but he nods anyway. Henry smiles at him before wrapping him in a warm hug. “You’re safe, darling. I have you, and I love you.”
“I- I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s okay, you don’t have to be verbal at all right now if you don’t want to, love. I could make you some coffee, we could grab a bite to eat, and put Bake Off on.”
That’s their typical ‘Henry is having a gray-day’ Saturday, if Alex doesn’t have to go to the library. Although, he supposes, he doesn’t have any schoolwork due. He feels a pang at the loss of his education, his plan, his life. And then Henry’s arms squeeze him, center him, and his breathing evens out again.
“I guess I’ve probably missed a lot of Bake Off by now, huh?”
“It’s never a hardship to rewatch old episodes, love.”
Alex pulls back, searching Henry’s face for the truth, and finding it. “It’s not a hardship at all to you, is it?”
Henry smiles. “We have difficult days. I still have gray days, or days where I forget to set my vibrating alarm and you wake up beside me and are very confused. It’s not perfect but…it’s us. And you, my love, are never a hardship. ”
“Do…am I keeping you from anything? Your writing?”
“It’s Sunday, so we have no place to be, and there’s no place I’d rather be than hanging out with you. But I understand, of course, if you want some time alone in your office to acclimate yourself to the day.”
“My office?”
“The red door. I rarely touch anything in there, truthfully. It’s entirely set up how you wanted it to best suit your mind. It’s a little chaotic for me, to be honest, but you find it soothing.”
Alex considers his options, and settles on the one he’d found the most intriguing. “Since we have nowhere else to be…I heard something about butt stuff?”
Henry cackles, pulling him into another hug before kissing him soundly. A part of Alex knows this isn’t their first kiss, but it still feels like it. The softness of Henry’s lips on his are a revelation, as is the way Henry lets out a little moan when Alex licks along the seam to deepen the kiss.
Grabbing his hands, Henry pulls back and tugs them out of the office and back towards the white door. “I can’t wait to show you, love.”