Chapter Text
8:09 a.m. January 11, 2025.
Alex stumbles into the hotel breakfast room at an unholy hour (eight) mildly hungover and in desperate need of acquainting himself with the coffee machine on the corner of the counter.
It’s colder here than anything he’s ever experienced in his life, a chill his Texan blood isn’t accustomed to.
Mercifully, he’s the only one stacking his plate with dubiously fresh bread and draining the drip coffee supply into his travel mug. He’s spent the week in Stockholm for a healthcare convention which, in Alex’s opinion, droned on four days longer than necessary. He celebrated its end by getting more than tipsy on overpriced minibar whiskey last night and is currently suffering the consequences.
The hotel he stayed in through week was always busy, important people running this way and that, but there’s a quiet peace here that he gratefully settles into. It’s still dark outside, and he nurses his uneasy stomach with his cup of steaming coffee: a feeble attempt to wake himself up before he leaves for the airport in an hour.
He blinks blearily towards the TV, eyes tired and unfocused. A Swedish woman is narrating what is apparently a particularly riveting opening ceremony. From what Alex can tell, the gray building behind a cluster of very excited Dutch people is a big fucking deal. They’re even cutting a ribbon, how cute. A bite of his croissant— yeah, definitely not fresh— And some guy’s walking onto the stage with way more pep than anyone could possibly need before nine a.m. He taps the mic, wincing when it sends a ringing sound directly from the Netherlands to Alex’s oversensitive eardrums—
Oh God.
Oh God.
It’s Henry, his Henry, on the TV, on the podium, on the microphone.
Alex’s mind kicks into overdrive and he’s scrambling closer to the TV while Henry starts talking about how important this shelter is to him, how important it is for young LGBT people to have safe places to express themselves…
Did Henry come out? Did he miss that?
“Like many queer people, I know what it means to live in fear of telling the world the truth about who I am.” He doesn’t stutter or hesitate. He’s so sure, a confidence Alex has never seen on him before. It looks good. More than good. It looks right. “Like many others, I didn’t believe I had a choice. I’ve made sacrifices, given up…” A heavy pause. “Loved ones.”
Given up loved ones? Alex can’t help the incredulous laugh falling from his lips, because it’s funny how six minutes in a room of empty tables is all it takes to unfurl nearly five years of determination.
“I’ve spent so much of my life dwelling on what nearly happened, what could’ve been if I’d just made one choice differently.”
Seriously, fuck this guy’s thoughtful pauses. Alex can’t process it, doesn’t want to— there’s no time— just stands with eyes locked on the TV, waiting for Henry to continue.
“It’s all a waste though, isn’t it? What a waste of time. What matters is the time I do have. The decisions I’m making now. And now what I want more than anything is to do my best to prevent anyone from feeling the things I felt when I was too young to realize I had a choice.” He glances back towards the shelter with a proud smile. “I want to make sure kids who are scared and alone have a place to go that is safe and where they can be loved.”
What. The. Fuck.
There’s that hope: unbidden and relentless and always, always, sure to follow where Henry is concerned.
He's still reeling as Henry glides through the Q and A segment like he didn’t just send Alex into cardiac arrest in a hotel breakfast room at eight in the morning.
Some kid asks Henry if he’s in love and he chuckles— the bastard. Alex honest to God thinks he’s going to pass out— before dropping the bomb that is: “You know, I think some people are meant to love multiple people in their lifetime, while others are only meant to love one person.” A twist of his lips, a sorrow his practiced smile can’t mask. “I think I met the love of my life a long time ago, if that answers your question.”
It absolutely does fucking not.
What in the vaguely pointed bullshit of Alex’s wildest fantasies was that?
It could be him, right? Okay. Henry didn’t say he was in love at the moment, necessarily. He also didn’t specify whether he was the kind of person who only loves one person a lifetime and maybe it isn’t about him at all, maybe Henry’s moved on and forgotten them—
But if he hasn’t… If he’s spent the years separating them in the same kind of misery as Alex. Fuck, then they’ve wasted so much time. So much time thinking the other didn’t want to call. Could Henry have been waiting for Alex, the way he was waiting for him?
Then Henry’s walking off the stage, disappearing off the screen and Alex can’t stand not seeing him anymore, the need to talk to him overwhelming every other sense in his body.
Because his heart has been dormant since that night Henry sent him away, but Henry’s speech is pumping spring into his bloodstream, vibrant colors electrifying his body, from his bones to his fingertips and, God, could he be blamed for hoping maybe Henry is that way, too? Maybe all it’d take to release his heart from that barren five year winter would be some fucking honesty.
He’s terrified. Goddamn, he’s terrified. But he has to try. He’ll hate himself forever if he doesn’t.
So: two impulse decisions. The first: canceling his ticket home, not bothering to book a new one. The second:
Henry
8:21 a.m.
I saw your speech
could we talk?
8:22 a.m.
Where are you?
8:26 a.m.
what?
8:26 a.m.
Where in the world are you?
8:27 a.m.
oh
Stockholm
8:27 a.m.
I’ll be there tonight.