Archive of Our Own ^beta

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The moon hangs far above him in a waning crescent, more shadow than light. There’s no stars in the sky, all blocked out by the light pollution of the city. Alex lets the sticky late summer air cling to him.  Something about it feels like Texas, and entirely foreign. The heat feels right but the humidity is another beast all together.  A breeze tangles in his hair and chills some of the sweat on his face.  He scrubs his hands through the stubble on his jaw and gives up on whatever he was after up here.  He waves good night to the security officer stationed on his roof and heads back down to the top floor of the brownstone. 

He turns off the light of the hallway leading up to the roof on his way down and heads back to his office. By the time he makes it back to his desk, and is just about to sit down, he realizes, much to his frustration, that he’s simply not going to get any more work done. With that, he shuts his laptop and turns off the monitor and tells their smart home to turn off his lights. When it doesn’t respond to that or another request, he turns them off with his hands, like a fool, and heads down the hall to the bedroom. He’s still bursting with anxious energy and racing thoughts, but it’s nearly 3:00 AM and he’s supposed to meet up with June and Nora for brunch tomorrow morning. Usually he’s fine not getting his recommended eight hours a night, but he feels himself beginning to flag and droop under the weight of it.  

When he turns into the bedroom, he’s surprised to see Henry under the dim glow of his bedside lamp.  He’s fallen asleep with the light on, his book having fallen out of his hand and onto the floor next to his side of the bed. Alex heads over to Henry’s side to set it on his nightstand. He places a kiss right at his hairline and switches off the lamp. Henry stirs for a moment as Alex crosses their bedroom, shucking his clothes and going to grab some pyjamas. He pauses at the drawer of his clothes before pivoting to Henry’s and grabbing one of his sleep shirts instead. It’s comforting in a way that Alex can’t be bothered to place right now, and he feels it turn the noise down in his head. He is careful not to disturb Henry as he pulls the covers back and climbs into bed, setting his glasses on his nightstand. After at least half an hour of tossing and turning, he falls into a fitful sleep, one hand reaching across their bed for Henry. 

“You’re stealing my shirts again?” Henry asks Alex as he’s waking up. “Do you not have enough clothes?” Alex hears the joke in Henry’s voice, but it doesn’t stop something ugly from twisting in his chest. He takes his time letting his eyes wake up, vision blurring more than he can bear.  

“How does it feel to be colonized, Your Highness?” Alex bites back, but it’s half-hearted. He puts his glasses back on and takes a few long blinks. 

“I’d say you colonize me all the time, love. You colonized me quite aggressively this past weekend.” Henry retorts with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around Alex. And that rights the world in a way that lets Alex breathe, as if he had been hanging upside down and finally flipped off the monkey bars. “And I rather enjoyed it.” Alex leans into the touch and comfort in Henry’s arms, letting himself take a deep breath. If he could just come back and be here each time he feels this restlessness and anxiety and weight. But Henry is gone from behind him before he can finish his exhale, and Alex hears the shower turn on and his heart fall through the drain.

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Alex packs his bag with quick hands and a sluggish heart and heads for the door, Cash in tow behind him.  He thanks Professor Davies for the class and is met with a stiff hum of acknowledgement that feels like a wrecking ball. Still, he focuses on keeping his chin up, his face on the happy side of neutral, and heads back home.  Done with classes for the day at 2:30, he swings into a café down the block from the brownstone and grabs some seasonal drink that tastes like the autumnal decor section at a HomeGoods exploded with an extra shot of espresso. He would’ve liked to stop by the library just for the change of scenery, but has been so on edge today that he knows he needs to be home. If he’s going to break down, he’s got to be in the comfort of his own office for it. He gives a wobbly smile to Cash as they part ways, Alex walking up into the house and Cash sipping his iced “Autumn Bomb” while he heads back to the security base. 

The house is quiet as he moves through it, the tread of his shoes on the restored wooden floors breaking the peace.  Alex toes them off and does his best to put them in the shoe rack using just his toes rather than having to bend over. He slips into his house slides and heads up to his office, and David follows him lazily.  When he sets down his bag beside his desk and zips it open, the dog immediately puts his entire face into the hole. 

“Attaboy, Wishbone.” Alex says as he scratches his head and reaches for his tablet in the bag. He opens up a case book and thumbs to the cases they reviewed in class. He’s careful to take notes on what he missed earlier today.  He had read and taken notes on the assigned cases and even done a good chunk of the supplemental reading.  Even so, when he was cold called he didn’t quite understand what the professor was asking, and struggled to form a coherent answer, let alone the correct one. Pulling up his Corporate Crime and Fraud notes file, he begins augmenting what he’s already written, seeing where he missed key details, where things hadn’t come together in his head. 

Stupid, lazy. Are you even trying?

It’s easy enough to block out the voices of his mother’s critics, or people who don’t actually know him, those who rely on assumptions, half-truths and racism in their assessment of him and his ability. When it’s his own voice in his own head, it’s hard to discredit that. Maybe he worked hard, but did he ever work hard enough? Maybe he was smart, but was he smart enough? Maybe he tries, but if he can’t get it right, what does it even matter? He’s twenty feet underwater before he realizes he’s been dragged down, constricting his heart, pounding in his head. The thing is, Alex is good at words, he knows how to communicate with people effectively, in two languages! But recently, he’s been listening to what people say and not understanding.  Hearing the words and losing the meaning. It’s so frustrating and he doesn’t know what to say, how to explain. It feels like a silly thing to struggle with. Made it to law school and still struggling with listening comprehension.  

He doesn’t have time for this. He needs to get these notes updated to be useful, he needs to draft some ideas for his ConLaw essay and he needs to make dinner. Henry had a board meeting for the shelter today and was nervous about it and Alex promised him something special and homemade to enjoy when he got home. It was going to be simple – roast chicken and veggies with home style potatoes.   

Following a remarkably unsuccessful study session, Alex heads downstairs to prep dinner. He can just stay up and try again after.  It’ll be fine. He just can’t give up. His mind is laser focused on options for his paper while he preps the chicken, rubbing butter and herbs into the skin, salting and….did he already salt it? Should he salt it again to be safe? Or would that be double salting it? The salt shaker is out of its home, but Alex can’t remember if he actually did anything with it. Shit. 

In any case, he tosses the fingerling potatoes with fresh rosemary and sage and a hint of red pepper flakes before popping them into the oven. He chops carrots and halves brussel sprouts and slices a lemon and puts everything just so around the chicken before putting it in the oven.  Henry’s supposed to be home in 20 minutes, so he takes the bottle of white wine from the fridge to pair with dinner. It’s a nice Sauv Blanc, albeit from California, but Henry is a very worldly man, open to new experiences. 

With everything in the oven and the timers set, Alex works on cleaning the kitchen. He’s practically buzzing out of his skin, moving somehow erratically and robotically to wipe up behind himself and load the dishwasher. He’s setting the table when Henry comes home, having just put out water for both of them. 

“Hi, love,” Henry says as he crosses the floor to come up to Alex. He turns from the table to catch Henry in his arms and kiss him deeply. He’s warm and languid and happy - Alex could use some of that, that happiness. He smells like a fresh batch of conchas, and frankly, Alex could use some of that too. 

“How was your day, baby? How’d the board meeting go?” Alex asks while his hands find themselves in the space right above Henry’s hips where he loves to be, where he feels everything slot into place. Henry updates him on his day - the nerves, the excitement, the success of the shelter over the last fiscal quarter. It feels good to turn the ordeal of being forcibly outed into a net positive. Even so, it drags on both of them. 

The second of Alex’s timers go off, and he steals one more kiss from Henry before heading back into the kitchen and opening the oven.  He pulls the roasting pan out and feels pride swell in his chest at the aroma that fills the air. Henry pours them both glasses of wine and continues to regale Alex and David with his day. In a few minutes, Alex is carrying two beautiful plates of dinner to the dining table and sees a pink pastry box on one side of the table, tied with twine. He sets the plates down at each of their place settings and sees the stamp on the top of the box showing it’s from one of his select Mexican panaderías, the one right by the shelter. 

“I got us a few treats for after dinner, and some for breakfast tomorrow.  I checked my work with June, so there should be a good variety of options,” Henry says with a swell of nerves in his voice. “The owner remembers you, you shou–” Alex practically rushes him for another kiss, a spark of joy in his heart: it’s stronger than the frustrations from earlier in the day. He opens the box to see some of his favorites - conchas, pan dulces, buñuelos, and two slices of tres leches cake with bright red strawberries on top. They’re beautiful, fresh and Alex is in love all over again.  

“Let me put these in the fridge,” Alex says as he takes the box back to the kitchen. He puts the slices of cake on plates to set in the fridge, and puts the rest of them in a large tupperware to keep them airtight and fresh. There’s a flush of joy in his cheeks, in his chest, that makes the rest of the day melt away.  He comes back to the dining table, unable to manage the smile on his face. Henry is waiting for Alex, having poured a glass of wine for each of them. They clink their glasses together in a cheers and start eating. The whole thing feels so domestic and sweet, Alex feels a cavity coming on. Henry cocks his head to the side in a question. 

“I just, like, really love you,” Alex says simply. Henry’s face flushes pink a bit as he finishes chewing on his food. 

“You did a wonderful job with dinner, love. It’s delicious.” Henry is looking at him with those shining eyes that feel like an ocean that you could see down to the floor of. So it’s kind of poetic when Alex finally takes a bite of the chicken and realizes he has certainly double-salted it, at the very least. 

“Ugh, I put way too much salt on the chicken,” Alex says before gulping down some water. The elation of Henry coming home is punctured as frustration swells in Alex again. Disappointment tastes like bile in his throat and coils around his heart. 

“Maybe it’s my blunt English sensibilities, but I think it’s great,” Henry offers. Alex looks at him and just knows he can see the storm cloud over his head. He takes a long drink of wine to shake it, and remembers he should be sober enough to finish cleaning the kitchen and make up for lost time on the notes. 

Alex shared an abbreviated, sanitized version of his day, skipping over the hard things. Henry is pretty quiet after giving Alex a run down of the board meeting. It makes sense - a six hour long meeting, no matter how excited Henry is about the shelter, is going to be draining. They finish dinner, Alex picking at the chicken on his plate.  He clears their plates and refills Henry’s wine glass, bringing his back to the kitchen.  While he loads the dishwasher, Henry joins him. 

“Would you like to have some of the tres leches with me? I was going to put on a movie and wrap up a few things for work.” Henry offers with a smile. It’d be so nice to sit on the couch with Henry and catch up on emails and turn his brain off. Something ugly constricts in Alex’s stomach at the idea of taking an easy night when he doesn’t feel he’s earned it. 

“I’m pretty full, maybe I’ll have it later. I have some more work to do for class tonight, I have to get a proposal together for my ConLaw paper that’s due at the end of the week.” Alex kisses Henry before turning back upstairs to exile himself to his office.