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Chapter Text

junebug
begging you on my hands and knees to give it a rest

Alex has lost count of the number of times he’s sang through the callback cut, and the narrow hall separating him and June isn’t nearly enough to spare her. There’s a lot of good that comes out of sharing a college house with his sister, although he’s sure that June isn’t thinking about any of it right now. Nora had the good sense to book a practice room and clear out. Alex is convinced he sounds better in the house.

“Sorry!” he calls, and shuts his laptop for the first time all day.

June raps once on the door before letting herself in. She’s also been holed up in her room, organizing sides and sheet music and finalizing the schedule with Rafael and Zahra. Only snippets of her phone calls and his relentless rehearsing confirmed to each other that they were both alive. “I have to leave early to help set up,” she says. “You wanna do dinner before I go?”

“I’m just gonna grab something on my way,” Alex says. Truthfully, he’s so nervous that he doubts he’ll be able to eat.

His name appears once on the entire callback list. He’d wondered if Raf would try to drag him in for Angel, but thankfully they’d all been spared that. Instead, all he’s been able to do is sing One Song Glory into the ground and lose sleep worrying about how things might go.

And June knows. She’d snuck him a picture of “Roger callbacks- ACD” in Raf’s scrawl the night of auditions, admittedly only an hour before the formal list went out, but she wants to get him to the other side of this as badly as he wants to be there.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” she says. “And don’t forget to eat.”

Alex gets caught in the loop again when June leaves. He makes it to campus just in time, and he forgets to eat.

“He’s better than me,” he says between June supplied baby carrots and hummus, scrolling through the Instagram of a new sophomore who appeared on the Roger list.

“Okay,” Nora says. She knows better than to enable him when he spirals like this, and has been deflecting all of his insanity for almost an hour now. Roger callbacks are long done, but she hasn’t finished yet, and Alex won’t make her walk home alone. Privately, he thinks June arranged things this way so he wouldn’t be forced to pinball around the empty house and get caught up in his own head, and he’s grateful for it.

He knows he did well. Rafael Luna is an infamous brick wall when it comes to reactions, but June isn’t. Even if she was, he felt it. Very rarely is there the sort of click deep in his chest during a callback that there was tonight. He is so right for this role and worked so hard to prove it, and all he can do is pray that Rafael sees it, too.

The wild card is behind the piano.

Their program using a student music director was big enough news that it made it onto the university’s website. He was still in bed when he opened the link from fuck ass Hunter, and swore loud enough that Nora heard him from her basement bedroom when Henry Fox Mountchristen-Windsor’s infuriatingly perfect features greeted him from under the school logo. Full Moon Players book rare student music director for upcoming fall musical was a gushing piece about Henry’s talent and what he was bound to bring to the show. Alex had kept the tab open to glower at for at least a week after.

He closes the sophomore’s Instagram in favor of flicking through a playbill from last year’s show. Henry’s in there, with the same fixed, borderline joyless smile that had appeared on the website. Henry Fox Mountchristen-Windsor (Piano II) is a sophomore from London, double majoring in piano performance and English. He has been playing the piano since childhood, and this is his fifth production in the pit. He is very thankful for this opportunity. Love to Mum, Gran, Philip, and Bea. For Dad. Enjoy the show.

Nora manages to kick the playbill out of his hand, and he realizes that he accidentally scoffed out loud. “You haven’t memorized it yet?” she says.

“Shut up,” Alex says, but busies himself with reshuffling the sheet music they let him keep.

“You’re gonna have to suck it up,” she says. “He doesn’t just appear for tech week for this one. He’ll be there the whole time.”

Alex flops down on his back and props his feet up on the wall. The frayed laces of his boots dangle down towards him. “This is only going to make him more annoying,” he says. “He doesn’t need the ego boost. I mean, freshman year-”

“Please, God, not this again,” Nora says.

In the three years since it’s happened, Alex has told the Audition Story so many times that Nora and June have joked about using it as an audition monologue. Every time he finds out that Henry will be a presence during a show, it comes up.

During his freshman year, he’d gone alone to auditions. Nora had class and signed up for the second slot, and June’s duties as a PA didn’t start until rehearsals did. He didn’t know anyone yet, so he’d approached one of the other freshmen sitting on his own. He’d introduced himself, asked what he was singing, and received such a cold stare that it had almost withered him on the spot.

“I’ll be playing in the pit,” Henry said stonily. “I’m just waiting to meet with the music director.”

It’s been the same thing for as long as he’s known Henry; insufferable, British superiority, smugness, and frustratingly incredible skill on the piano that keep bringing him back.

“There was no one else in all of Washington available to MD?” he says.

“There probably was,” she says. “No one as good as him, though.” Alex just stares at the ceiling and stews silently, because there’s nothing he can say to argue.

After another hour, everyone is done, and he and Nora are waiting in the theatre to say goodbye to June. Only Rafael is onstage, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Alex is hoping they’ll be able to escape without crossing paths, but then June emerges from backstage, laughing at whatever Henry has said to her.

Nora elbows him when he rolls his eyes. She must be the only one who catches it, because June is still smiling when she comes up the aisle to greet them. She and Nora have been ripping on his grudge for as long as he's held it. “You deserve a fucking medal,” Alex says when she reaches them.

June follows his gaze to where Henry has settled back behind the piano and promptly smacks him on the arm. “You’re ridiculous,” she says. “He’s perfectly nice, you know.” Alex would laugh out loud if they weren’t in such sensitive company.

“You want us to wait up for you?” Nora asks, and June’s face twists into something much more grim as she shakes her head.

“We’re gonna be here a while,” she says. Alex’s stomach drops.

When he looks past June, he’s startled to see Henry looking right at him. Alex lifts his chin a little, refusing to let Henry see how nervous he really is. To his satisfaction, his cheeks color, and he looks back down at his notes.

Alex checks June’s location every five minutes. If she leaves before he gets an email, it means his one callback wasn’t good enough, and he’ll be sitting this one out. He wonders who production will be arguing about to keep them so long, and there’s a gnawing fear in his gut that it’s him.

As soon as they announced the show, he tried to teach himself guitar. He wanted something to show for himself at auditions, something he could put on his resume and talk about honestly, but he failed. He was semi convinced he was going to come home one day to find June had sold or destroyed the guitar. So he told Rafael and, begrudgingly, Henry that he hadn’t mastered it yet, but was trying and willing to learn. For a show like Rent that’s so iconic, it’s enough to disqualify him, especially with everyone in such fervent competition and his mother where she is.

It’s almost midnight when three sounds ring out in quick succession. His phone buzzes to let him know that June has left campus, Nora shrieks from her end of the couch, and his laptop chimes with an email.

To: [email protected]
[cc: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]]
From: [email protected]

Good evening Alex,

I hope this email finds you well! After careful consideration, we would like to offer you the role of Roger in this fall’s production of RENT.

If you accept, please respond by 11:59 AM tomorrow. We will send a conflict form, rehearsal schedule, and other important details shortly after.

Best,
June Claremont-Diaz
Stage Manager, RENT

Nora wears cow print pants to the first rehearsal. On anyone else, it would be obnoxious, but she’s been a lock for Maureen since they announced the show, and she deserves to revel in it. The cast is milling about, chatting and congratulating each other, upperclassmen drawing the new people into conversation. June is cross legged onstage, surrounded by scripts and talking to Rafael. Henry is looking annoyingly posh from his place behind the piano, his eyes somehow bluer in his pale gray sweater. He’s the only person Alex knows who would put in this much effort for a Saturday morning rehearsal. Alex wants to mess up the perfect portrait he makes.

They’re halfway through singing through Act I when the side door opens, and Zahra sticks her head in. Her eyes the semicircle they’re seated in before landing on Alex, and she gestures for him to join her.

“You have to learn guitar,” she says without preamble.

“I know,” he says. “I’m working on it. I’ve been practicing, I got a book-”

“Great,” Zahra says. “You’re also gonna be taking lessons with Henry.”

Alex feels the floor go out from under him, and it must show on his face, because Zahra is already cutting him off. “This isn’t up for debate,” she says. “Luna wants it, Shaan wants it, I want it, it’s happening. You earned this, but you have to put in the work.”

He can feel that he’s practically pouting, but he’s so angry that he can’t think of anything else to do that won’t get him barred from the theatre. He can argue with June, and he can argue with Rafael if he’s feeling bold, but arguing with Zahra is basically a death wish.

“I can’t just teach myself?” he says petulantly.

“June says that was going less than stellar,” she says. God, he's gonna kill her. "Alex, this is the first time we've gotten the rights for this," she continues. "People go fucking crazy over this show. There's a lot of people pissed at the cast list, and we don't need the whole program shrinking or getting a bad rap because someone in the pit is doing half of your role. Fox is damn good. Suck it up."

He wants to fucking scream. The idea of being forced to listen to Henry, trying to reach his standards...he is so unbelievably grateful for this role, but he'd rather rip his own teeth out than deal with this.

But he doesn't have a choice, because the cycle is starting again- he's cast, June gets a good tech position, someone whispers isn't their mom Dr. Claremont? and the impostor syndrome hits. His mother has been President of University of Alexandria for years, before he or June even started applying to college, but people are still convinced that she orchestrates everything that happens in the theatre. He needs this for himself as much as the production team does. He just wishes he could do it on his own.

"Zahra, please," he says.

“Talk to him and set up your first lesson.” She’s halfway back down the hall before he has the chance to get another word in.

They’re on a break when he returns. Henry’s talking to a freshman who’s blushing and giggling, and Henry is giving her a smile that’s almost bored. Superior fucking asshole.

He approaches a minute after she’s gone. Henry is playing idly, long, slender fingers working easily through Seasons of Love, the ring on his pinky catching the light every few measures. For a minute, all Alex can do is stand with his arms folded, already fed up with him.

“Are you going to say anything or hope I just read your mind?” Henry asks without looking away from the score. Alex scowls.

“When are you free?” he asks.

“I’m not anymore excited about this than you are,” Henry says. “It’s not exactly the best use of my time.” He stands now, and Alex feels himself draw himself up to his full height. Henry notices, and that pinched little corner of his mouth quirks up. Alex has never come so close to the idea of being hopping mad.

“Can you do Thursday afternoons?” he asks.

“After one o’clock, yes,” Henry says.

“Great,” Alex snaps. “See you then.” Nora tries to stop him when he storms past and back out into the hall, but he keeps going, the door slamming behind him.

Chapter Text

The worst part of it all is that Henry is really, really good.

If he was only mediocre, Alex’s bitching (as June so lovingly puts it) would have a bit of a leg to stand on, but he’s the opposite. He’ll occasionally switch to guitar during rehearsals, and it’s just as effortless for him as the piano. Alex still tries desperately to teach himself, as if some sort of miracle will strike and he’ll master what he needs before he has to spend time alone with Henry, but then he hears him play. As much as he hates it, he’d be doing himself a disservice if he didn’t let Henry teach him.

So Thursday comes, and he’s waiting in a practice room, messing around on his phone until Henry arrives. He’s finding it harder and harder to adhere to his self-imposed social media ban, but he’d really rather avoid making his day any worse than it’s bound to be. On their third day of rehearsals, Rafael asked if he was okay. It took hours of harassing Nora to find out what he meant, but she finally showed him the screenshot- someone’s Snapchat story, captioned “remember when fmp was good and you had to have something besides a last name that rhymes with shmaremont-shiaz to get roles.” He’s sure June showed him with no intention of it ever making its way to Alex, but Rafael knows what a nosy bastard Alex is. He probably wanted to spare him the shock of inevitably seeing it himself.

Alex is so happy with how things are going, but it’s still sometimes impossible to silence that little voice in the back of his head, especially when it speaks out loud. So he’s here, ready to prove that he earned this.

The card reader by the door beeps, and Henry lets himself in. He’s got his guitar case in hand, plain black except for one small Union Jack sticker. It’s so entirely Henry that Alex could scream.

“Alex,” Henry says curtly. “Were you waiting long?”

“Not long enough to change my mind,” Alex says. “Couple more minutes might have done it, though.”

“Well, from what I understand, you don’t have much of a say in this,” Henry says. “Let’s just get through it, shall we?”

He doesn’t even bother with sheet music. As soon as he has his guitar out, he effortlessly plucks out the riff that Alex has been fighting with for months. “Show off,” Alex murmurs.

“Yes, that’s quite the point,” Henry says. “Care to actually get your guitar?” He strums idly as Alex stomps over to where his guitar rests, a difficult feat in the small room, but one he manages all the same.

“God, you’re annoying,” he says.

Henry just shakes his head, blond hair falling into his face with the way he’s bent over the guitar. Alex wants to snipe at him again, but then he switches to Your Eyes, Alex’s soft, slow song from the end of the show, and something shifts a little. It’s as beautiful as everything he plays, a shimmer of something he can’t quite place in his face when he looks up. Alex feels, suddenly, very much like an asshole.

But then, “You know, when I first got started, I felt that it greatly helped things when I had the instrument in hand,” Henry says, and then it’s gone.

Alex’s fingers are a little slow and a little clumsy as he tries the first song. Henry watches intently, not with any sort of malice, but Alex feels scrutinized. “Not all of us have been doing this since the womb,” he says.

“I’m not here to judge, Alex,” Henry says. “I can’t tell you what to do if I don’t know where you’re starting.” He covers Alex’s hand with his own to move it lower down the neck. His touch is cold, even in the warmth of the room. “You’re a little too high. Watch the nut.”

Alex can’t help but flash Henry one of his megawatt smiles. “Buy a guy dinner first, sweetheart.”

Henry flushes a deep red all the way to the tips of his ears. “Barbarian,” he says, but without any of the sharpness Alex is used to. “Try it again.”

It’s slow going. Alex’s head start is almost negligible compared to Henry’s skill, but Henry is surprisingly non awful and has a tremendous amount of patience. Alex has spent his whole life hearing that he rushes too much, that he needs to slow down and stop being so short tempered. Every time he messes up or can’t get his fingers to move as fast as Henry’s, he huffs and gets frustrated and waits for Henry to get fed up with him, but he never does. He waits for Alex to settle back down and pick up the guitar and continues on like nothing happens. He is, contrary to everything Alex thought, considerate and kind.

When Alex finally makes it through Tune Up #1 without a mistake, then repeats it to prove it’s not a fluke, Henry beams. It’s so unlike the smile on the school website and in his headshot that Alex hates, instead something far more genuine. Alex catches himself wishing he saw it more often.

“That was great, Alex,” Henry says. “And that’s half the battle. Next time, we’ll look at the waltz riff and Your Eyes. Just keep practicing.”

Alex lets out a short laugh. “Yeah, me and all my free time,” he says. “Think I can play and write a paper at the same time?”

Henry glances at Alex’s drastically overfilled bag. “Legal studies,” Alex says.

“I know,” Henry says. “It’s just a lot to have on your plate, isn’t it?”

Alex hefts the bag onto his shoulder and leans on his propped up guitar case. The strain on his shoulder of books and way too long legal texts is almost comforting at this point. “Hasn’t killed me yet,” he says.

“I have to imagine that that sort of mantra can’t be good for your mental health,” Henry says, and Alex can feel a swell of annoyance rising in his chest. He spends enough time wearing himself too thin and worrying if it’s sustainable. He doesn’t need Henry doing it for him.

“You know, Henry, when my mental health becomes any of your business, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Alex says. “See you next Thursday.” He doesn’t bother sticking around to hear what Henry has to say after calling his name.

“Please.”

“Alex.”

“Raf, please,” Alex says.

“Has this strategy ever worked for you?” Rafael asks.

“Yes, actually,” Alex says, “and I’d like to keep the streak going, so please, please, please at least consider it.”

Rafael tosses his pen down and leans back in his chair. “When exactly do you propose that we have this photoshoot?” he asks. “We’re booked solid until tech.”

June, ever the enabler, turns her laptop to Alex as soon as he leans over her shoulder, the joint conflict form-rehearsal schedule pulled up. “You don’t need a whole day for me to run music with Henry,” Alex says. “Nobody with conflicts is in On the Street, so combine that day with the music, and it gives you a free day.”

Rafael makes a vaguely displeased sound in the back of his throat, but nods when June quirks an eyebrow at him. “I’ll talk to Shaan,” he says. “This better be a damn good poster.” As stern as he pretends to be, he looks more than a little excited as he disappears backstage.

“You’re gonna be okay spending extra alone time with Henry?” June asks.

“It’s for the greater good,” Alex says. “Just call me a martyr.”

“I don’t think you get to be a martyr if this was your own idea,” she says.

The side door opens, and he’s there, sunglasses perched on his head, making his way to the piano with long, even strides. Alex watches him, all that polished perfection, and feels some of his frustration from the other day resurface. He has never, not once, looked the slightest bit disheveled or out of place. If Alex ever thought he was wrong about how self righteous he is, he was wrong. He doesn’t have the right to question Alex’s time management.

He drops his bag to the piano and crosses to June’s table. She opens her arms to him, and he wraps her in a hug. Alex knows that they’re friends and have gotten closer through production meetings, but he still wants to pry them apart.

“Alex,” Henry says. “Do you have a moment?”

June stands before Alex can make up an excuse. “I’ll be right back.” She gives him a pointed look, and joins Nora in the back of the house.

“I wanted to apologize for the other day,” Henry says. “I had no right to insinuate that you couldn’t handle things. It’s none of my business, and I’m sorry.”

For a moment, all Alex can do is stare at him. Every time he thinks he has a handle on who Henry is, he’s proven wrong again. “It’s alright,” he says. “You weren’t entirely off the mark.” He takes June’s empty seat and kicks out Rafael’s, which Henry takes.

“Can I ask you something?” Henry says. Alex nods, though the question sends any number of possibilities racing through his head. “What did I do?” Henry asks. “I mean, why do you hate me?”

It was only two years ago, but Alex remembers them both looking so much younger. Henry was blonder, he thinks, and didn’t yet have the small silver hoop in his left ear. So much has happened between now and then freshman year. He’s spent so much of that time hating Henry without a second thought; Henry was always the smug, superior asshole. Now, he’s not so sure.

“Pippin auditions,” he says. “I tried to talk to you, and you were kind of a dick.”

Henry smiles wryly, and looks down to where his hands are in his lap as he fiddles with his signet ring. “I am sorry about that,” he says “I’d only been in the States a few weeks, and I was a little overwhelmed.”

And he feels a two year long grudge come down like a house of cards. Of course Henry was anxious. Alex was nervous, but at least his sister, mother, and best friend were never more than five minutes away. He can’t imagine being Henry at that first audition.

“I probably could have been nicer for the last two years,” Alex says.

“Maybe a bit,” Henry says, but there’s a teasing edge to it. It’s the first time he’s heard Henry joke around at all.

“Thank you, by the way,” Alex says. “For helping me, even though I’ve been an asshole.”

The same vague something that crossed Henry’s face when he played Your Eyes is back. Alex doesn’t know what to make of it. He waits for Henry to break the moment and return to the piano, but he doesn’t until June calls the cast to attention. Alex doesn’t realize until he’s situated onstage that he didn’t either.

Halfway through a bit of choreography for the opening that’s taking way too long, Alex’s phone buzzes.

You look like you’re falling asleep over there.
This is Henry. June gave me your number.

Alex looks over at Henry, who’s returned to dutifully playing the same stretch of music without any indication that he’s done anything.

oh i am
peace love rafael but i can’t watch this scene anymore
i don’t think anyone in the world cares as much about electric candles as he does

The briefest hint of a laugh comes from the piano bench. June gives him a questioning look, but he shakes his head and picks his phone back up.

Shouldn’t you be in character right now?

if roger had access to a phone during this he would be using it

Ah, so it’s just a bold choice?

Rafael clears his throat, and Alex’s phone clangs down on the table’s metal surface. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m listening.”

“Sure you are,” Rafael says. “Come here.” Alex catches Henry’s eye over Rafael’s shoulder, and his nose is scrunched with the effort of trying not to laugh.

They keep texting. It’s not something he could have predicted if he tried, but just like during the lesson, Henry keeps surprising him. He is wicked funny with a passion for Rent that almost rivals Alex’s own. When Alex wants to ramble about the musical themes or the lyrical genius and Nora and June aren’t around, he goes to Henry, and Henry listens. If Henry can’t sleep, Alex gets dog pictures and links to performances of obscure Jonathan Larson songs. It’s a weird new source of joy in Alex’s life, and apparently a visible one.

“What’s going on with you and Henry?” June asks. They’re getting ready for a movie night to unwind before a full weekend of rehearsals. Nora is in the kitchen, baking the frozen Halloween cookies that Alex impulse bought, and June has already cocooned herself in one of Nora’s oversized sweatshirts and a thick, knitted blanket.

“Me and Henry?” Alex says. “Nothing. What would be?”

“No idea, but I do know that you two love to distract each other at rehearsal,” June says.

“I get bored when I’m just sitting there for half of Act I,” he says. “I lose my shit if I don’t have anyone to talk to, and we’re friends. Or at least I hate him less now.”

”Isn’t he in your pinned messages?” Nora says, tucking herself in next to June with the cookies.

“I like to know what we’re doing at rehearsal,” Alex says.

“Right, because the stage manager doesn’t live across the hall from you,” June says. Nora whispers something in her ear, and they both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“What?” Alex asks, but June just shakes her head.

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Nora says. Alex lobs a pillow at them, and June cackles.

By the time they reach the one on one music rehearsal, Alex has to admit that he might understand where June is coming from. He likes Henry, likes talking to him, likes lounging in the front row with him on breaks. He’s still insufferable, but he’s developed an appreciation for it.

“Because it’s about community,” Alex says emphatically. “I mean, the Life Support group, Roger finding happiness when he leaves the house, literally all of What You Own. If you think that Mimi should stay dead, you miss the whole point of what Jonathan was trying to do.”

“I completely agree with you,” Henry says, watching Alex pace the side room they’re rehearsing in with an amused fondness. “I’ve never liked those edgy versions. Thank God Rafael doesn’t have any inclination towards that.”

Alex perches on the stool next to Henry’s keyboard and reaches over to flip through the score. “Where are we starting?” he asks.

“Wherever you want,” Henry says. Alex’s shoulder brushes Henry’s when he moves in closer to find what he’s looking for, and Henry lets out a strange, aborted cough. When Alex faces him, they’re so close that he can see every fleck of silver in Henry’s blue eyes. “Santal 33?” Henry says.

“Right on the money, sweetheart,” Alex says, and finally backs off. “If I ask to start with the opening so I can hear you do the count off in that posh voice, will you kill me?”

Henry doesn’t answer right away. He is staring very intently at his score, shaky hands turning back to the opening. “Hen,” Alex says, and he starts out of the haze. “I was kidding,” Alex says. “Can we do I Should Tell You?”

He doesn’t know what to make of the way Henry has gone quiet, or the dusting of pink over his fair cheeks. He does this sometimes, slips into a strange mood Alex can’t quite pin down. Silence is foreign to Alex. He explodes outward into non stop talking and energy when he’s on edge. Henry’s just the opposite.

Tatiana, who plays Mimi, is in the theatre for choreography, so Henry sings her lines. His voice is deep and raspy and fairly untrained and he’s not trying all that hard, but he blends with Alex and the piano like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Alex is usually so worried about reaching the high notes. It’s a lot more distant when he’s singing with Henry.

The music fades out, and Henry swivels around to bump Alex’s knee with his own. ”Beautifully done,” he says. “Is there anything else you want to work on?”

Alex abandons his stool in favor of joining Henry on the piano bench and lazily plunks out Roger’s waltz riff. “Nah,” he says. “I want to save my voice if I can. I don’t want to risk anything. I’m scared enough as it is.”

“Why’s that?”

Alex focuses on his own hand moving across the keys. “It’s hard to feel like I’m good enough,” he says. “I don’t want to give anyone any excuses.”

“Alex,” Henry says, and he reluctantly looks at him. “You are phenomenal in this role,” he says. “Don’t let anyone for a second make you think otherwise, yourself included. You earned this.”

The last note Alex played rings out into the quiet. They’re so close again, and Alex doesn’t mind.

Henry stands so abruptly that his side of the bench skitters backwards an inch or so. “Um, I’m going to go see if they need me to play,” he says. “The tracks are pretty unreliable.” Alex wants to stop him, but he doesn’t know what to say.

hunter in those sunglasses is going to give me nightmares

Henry Fox Mountwhatever liked your message.

Alex waits outside the theatre when they finish. Henry takes so long that he’s on the verge of giving up, but then he spots him leaving out the side door and making his way towards student parking. “Hen!”

It’s a wonder he doesn’t run away when Alex approaches with the way his eyes go wide at the sight of him. “You waited?” he says.

“Yeah,” Alex says. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Henry just stares at him, like he still can’t believe Alex is in front of him. “Henry-” Alex says, and Henry grabs the front of Alex’s shirt and kisses him.

Alex’s heart misses several beats in quick succession. He feels himself exhale into Henry’s mouth and draw closer, grabbing at his hips like it’s the last thing he’ll do, everything happening without much input from his mind. This is not something he’s ever thought about, but now that it’s happening, he doesn’t want it to stop.

But then it does, because Henry pulls away, absolutely horrified. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m- fuck.” He drops the front of Alex’s now crumpled shirt and makes a beeline to his car, leaving Alex alone and stunned in the parking lot.

are you okay?
can’t leave a guy hanging like this sweetheart
henry?

Henry doesn’t answer any of his texts all weekend. Alex is going absolutely insane, but forces himself to jut make it to Monday, make it to Monday and talk to him at rehearsal. Then June’s next weekly schedule comes with a note attached.

CAST- Please be sure to listen to the tracks! Henry will be out this week, so we will be using them for everything we run.

Best,
June Claremont-Diaz
Stage Manager, RENT

Chapter Text

“Henry, please call me back. I’m not mad. I just wanna talk.” Alex glances into the living room, where Nora is watching him intently and June is pretending not to. “I miss you,” he says. “Just call me, okay?”

He’s too wired to sit, instead paces the length of the living room until Nora catches him by the sleeve and hauls him out of the way. “You keep blocking the TV,” she says.

“Thanks for your sympathy,” Alex says, but changes his path anyway.

“Okay, we need to talk about this, because you’re losing your mind,” June says, and shuts off the TV through protests from Nora. “What the hell is going on?”

Alex finally stops, but his foot is tapping relentlessly. “Henry kissed me,” he says.

June and Nora just look at him, like they’re waiting for more. Alex didn’t know what to expect from them, but it definitely wasn’t this. “Feel free to react,” he says.

“Oh, I mean- well, yeah,” June says. “I could have called that one two years ago.” It’s Alex’s turn to go blank now. June of all people should know how much Alex and Henry hated each other until a few weeks ago. He’s never been subtle, and knows firsthand that Henry wasn’t either. He’d love to know what she’s been thinking all this time.

“Alex, you can’t dwell on someone as much as you do Henry in a heterosexual way,” Nora says. “And with the way he’s been acting around you since the literal day you’ve met, this wasn’t too hard to see coming.”

He glances at June, who shrugs in a half apologetic way. “Sorry,” she says. “We thought you knew.”

All he can do is stand there with his hands on his hips. His mind is moving too fast for him to keep up, flipping through every moment with Henry like the world’s worst movie montage. “Do you wanna talk about it?” June asks, reading him like the open book he is, and all Alex can manage is a nod.

“Alright, well…how was it?” June asks. “Did you like it?”

Alex thinks back. The kiss was, first and foremost, a shock, but after that…he can still feel Henry gripping to his shirt like he’ll die without it, the give of his full, plush lips, the barely there push of his hips against Alex’s own. He can’t remember a kiss ever affecting him so deeply, as unexpected as it was.

“It was good,” he says. “I mean, I- I liked it.” He hopes he isn’t as flushed as he feels. Nora’s expression tells him he is.

“So what does that tell you?” she asks.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, trying to keep from pacing again. “I don’t know,” he finally says.

Nora sighs so loudly that June jumps a little. “Alex, Henry kissed you, you liked it, and you’re losing your shit because he ghosted you,” she says. “If I remember correctly, you and Liam vanished for a good amount of time during your senior year cast party, you’ve been doing theatre for years-”

“Hey, there are plenty of straight theatre boys,” Alex says.

“There are,” Nora concedes. “I don’t think you’re one of them, kiddo.”

Alex flops onto the empty chair like a Dickensian maiden. He thinks, vaguely, that making that comparison isn’t helping his case.

He remembers the night Nora is talking about. They had recently ended their brief relationship, and he was biblically drunk at the Midsummer Night’s Dream cast party. He and Liam already had a strange history of dark, secret nights together and crossed each other’s paths. That night, Liam was dusted in glitter, giddy after a near perfect closing, and as far from sober as Alex was, and they’d tumbled into bed together in a whirlwind of hands and sloppy kisses and soft sounds that still sometimes rattle around Alex’s head. He should have known then, and maybe he alway has, but after that kiss with Henry, he’s out of places to hide.

“Do I have to formally say something if y’all have apparently always known?” he asks.

“If you want,” June says at the same time that Nora turns the TV back on.

He hates rehearsing with the tracks for all the obvious reasons, but the emptiness where the piano and its charming, blue-eyed companion should be frustrates him to no end. He thinks, petulantly, that he doesn’t deserve this.

So after a torturous week of a placid voice interjecting with horribly timed rehearsal tracks and some more ignored messages, he almost sprints down the aisle at the sight of Henry. He reaches the piano before Henry has a chance to turn around, and his eyes go almost comically wide when he turns and faces Alex.

“I need five minutes,” he says. “Please.”

Henry looks like a cornered animal, but nods.

The prop and costume closet is quiet and off the beaten path and fuck, it’s so cliche, but Alex will take what he can get. “Alex, I am so sorry,” Henry says when the door is shut. “I shouldn’t have-”

Alex kisses him. Henry’s hair is just as soft as it looks, and Alex grabs at it like a lifeline, like he’s been drowning since he was left alone in that parking lot and he’s only now coming up for air. He waits for Henry to push him off and run away again, but he doesn’t. He just gasps a little and presses a hand to the small of Alex’s back, drawing them even closer.

“It’s- Alex, it’s five o’clock,” he says, but doesn’t resist when Alex pushes them back against a wall of women’s blouses and moves his mouth to the junction of Henry’s neck and shoulder. “I have to go start rehearsal.”

“Who cares?” Alex breathes, and kisses his way back up to Henry’s mouth to nip his lower lip.

“Your sister, for one,” Henry says. At the mention of June and the thought of her hunting them down, Alex forces himself back. Henry’s mouth is swollen and deliciously red, pupils so blown that his eyes are hardly blue anymore. Alex wants to devour him.

“I don’t mean to be forward, but please tell me I can see you later,” Henry says.

“I live with June and Nora,” Alex says. “Give me your address.”

Henry lives a few streets away from the Claremont-Diaz-Holleran house in an apartment building popular with U Alexandria students. He’s listed as a succinct H. Fox on the directory, and buzzes Alex up before he can even finish saying his name, waiting for him with his door open when Alex reaches his floor.

There’s half a second of awkwardness when Henry shuts the door behind them. The newness of the two of them being in such an intimate space isn’t lost on Alex, and he knows they should probably talk, but he also thinks he’ll start bouncing off the walls if he can’t get his mouth on Henry’s soon.

Blessedly, Henry takes a step that backs Alex against the front door. His eyes are darker than Alex has ever seen them. “God, you’re gonna kill me,” Alex says, and kisses him.

There’s a doorknob digging into the small of his back, but Henry is kissing him like a man starved and wedging a thigh up between Alex’s legs, and he couldn’t care less about the ache. “If I knew this was all it took to shut you up, I would have done it a long time ago,” Henry says. “I have to say that this is a much better use of your mouth.”

Alex whites out for a moment, heat pulling low in his stomach at the pure filth Henry is saying inches away from his lips. He got a glimpse of the man behind Henry’s cool, buttoned up facade today, but watching it crumble away entirely is doing things to him that he didn’t anticipate.

“When did you- I mean, how long-?” Alex asks between desperate gasps for air and more all-consuming kisses.

“Since we were freshmen,” Henry says. “Watching you from the pit.” He grabs Alex’s belt and pulls him over to the couch. Alex has to try very hard not to think about what being manhandled is doing to him, especially when Henry falls back onto the couch and reels him in with the same grip on the buckle.

“Jesus,” Alex says hoarsely.

“Not quite, love,” Henry says, the same deft fingers that make him so talented behind the piano easily undoing Alex’s belt. It’s all Alex can do to take hold of Henry’s hair and try to stay standing as Henry takes him in his mouth.

This is another moment on the long list of things he never could have imagined a few weeks ago, quite possibly the one he would have thought the most outrageous. He’s so blissed out that it’s a wonder he can even string together the thought at all. Henry’s mouth is warm and skilled and Alex is so keyed up. Maybe June and Nora were right and they should have been doing this all along. He thinks, distantly, that he owes Zahra anything she asks for the rest of her life for forcing them together.

His knees almost buckle when Henry brings him over the edge. It’s a little fast, but so is all of this, both of them still more or less clothed, the adrenaline from the costume closet back in full force. Below him, Henry pulls off with a satisfied smile, undoubtedly enjoying the way Alex is still falling apart at the seams. “Aren’t you pretty like this?” he says, reaching up to brush a thumb over Alex’s cheek.

”I wouldn’t know,” Alex pants. Henry swats playfully at his hip.

“Always with the mouth.” A handful of retorts swim at the corners of Alex’s mind, but they’re behind a haze he can’t bother fighting.

What he does do is drop to straddle Henry on the couch and slip a hand between Henry’s legs. His pretty pink lips part in a slightly startled gasp, but he doesn’t stop him. Alex works his hand below the waistband of Henry’s sweats, touching their foreheads together as he works Henry over. He’s only ever done this for someone else once before, but he slips into something like autopilot, and Henry is far from complaining.

“Alex,” he breathes.

“I’ve got you,” Alex says. “I’ve got you, Hen.”

Henry's forehead creases suddenly, then smooths out just as fast as he shudders and snaps. Alex works him through it, his own dick twitching weakly at the sight of Henry’s pleasure.

They’re quiet as Henry passes Alex a box of tissues and helps him to clean up, but then they both lie back on the couch, pressed side to side. “I think we should do that again,” Alex says.

“We should,” Henry agrees. His fingers toy idly with Alex’s own.

The quiet returns, but not uncomfortably. Alex is still trying to grasp that this actually happened. He somehow doesn’t doubt that Henry feels the same.

“So,” he finally says, “freshman year?”

Henry hums his assent. “It didn’t make you any less impossible to work with,” he says. “But at least now I know a way to turn you off for a little while.”

“Well-” Henry shoves him hard enough that he almost falls off the couch, and gets up to start down the hall. Alex cackles.

“You’re welcome to stay the night if you’d like,” Henry says.

“That’s awful noble of you, sweetheart, even if you do have ulterior motives,” Alex says.

Henry stops in the doorway and turns back to where Alex is lounging on the couch. He sighs so heavily that Alex thinks he might actually kick him out. “Insufferable.”

Chapter Text

Henry Fox Mountwhatever
I’d quite like to see you in those blue leggings

‘quite’ jesus christ

There are callouses starting to crop up on Alex’s fingers, proof positive that his guitar skills are worlds away from where they were a few weeks ago. He can’t deny how hard he’s been working, but he thinks the way Henry’s hand feels between his legs when he gets something right has been a driving force in making progress.

Between rehearsals, their campus jobs, and class, their time together is scattered, but Alex catches himself counting down the minutes whenever they plan to see each other. With all the chaos in his life, the anxiety that still clutches at him when he’s spent too much time in his own head, the hours of sleeplessness when he can’t slow down, Henry is a place of quiet and surety. He didn’t think he’d ever find that.

Today, the theatre is buzzing with activity. They’re finally photographing the poster, and it’s devolved to also include headshot sessions and costume fittings. Nora’s bag is haloed with makeup and hair supplies, touching up the nervous underclassmen whenever they ask. June comes on the mic every few minutes to call the next headshot. Alex finished his section of the poster almost an hour ago, so he’s been lolling on the edge of the stage, fiddling with his guitar and texting Henry.

Henry Fox Mountwhatever
What have you got planned after this?

theoretically lunch with june but i dont see her getting out on time
you?

Henry Fox Mountwhatever
Packing to go home for a few days. Family obligations.

count me in

Henry looks up and catches Alex’s eye. He’s doing a poor job of hiding his smile.

Sure enough, June barely has time to toss a see you at home to Alex when he tells her he’s leaving, engrossed in her laptop and a color coded schedule on a clipboard. Henry is hovering by the door, and Alex makes quick work of bounding up the aisle to meet him.

“Why are you going home?” Alex asks as Henry pulls out of the lot.

“My grandmother’s birthday,” Henry says. His mouth is pressed into a grim line. “I tried to get out of it, but she knows we’re off on Monday. Told me I could spare the weekend.”

Alex can count on one hand the number of times Henry has mentioned his family, and every time, it’s been about his sister, Bea. He knows vaguely that he also has a brother and that his father has passed, and the rest of his family life is shrouded in mystery. Alex admittedly has a leg up considering Henry spends almost as much time with his sister as he does, but he’s willing to bet Henry could construct a passable Claremont-Diaz family tree without help, while Alex is only sixty percent sure of his brother’s name.

“Not looking forward to it?” he says.

“No,” Henry says tersely, and doesn’t elaborate. Alex drops it, but it lingers in the back of his mind.

They never made it past Henry’s couch that first day, but over the last few weeks, Alex has developed an appreciation for his bedroom. Impeccably neat, usually sunlit, posters from the last few Full Moon productions lined up on one wall. He’s got two framed photos on his desk, one of him and Bea, and one of him with Pez, who plays Angel. He and Alex have always tangentially been friends, but becoming a fixture in Henry’s life has brought them closer. He’s grateful for it. Pez is wickedly funny, unbelievably talented, and brings out a side of Henry that’s all too rare.

Alex flops on Henry’s bed like he owns it, earning him a folded sweatshirt to the face. “I seem to recall that you invited yourself here,” Henry says.

“You wanna kick me out?” Alex asks. He flashes Henry a megawatt smile when he turns, and though he heaves an exasperated sigh, there’s a fondness in his eyes.

“Is your house hosting the cast party?” Henry asks.

“As far as I know,” Alex says. “I can’t think that far ahead, though. I’m barely gonna make it to opening night.”

“Why’s that?”

Alex gets off the bed to instead perch on the edge of Henry’s desk, dropping clothes in his open suitcase as Henry passes them to him. The Pippin poster is right over his shoulder. “I’m scared,” he says bluntly. “I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Henry stops, a pair of dark blue pants that Alex happens to know make his ass look lethal slung over his arm. “Why on earth would you think that might happen?”

Alex shrugs. He doesn’t yet have the words to explain the persistent fear that’s hounded him since Raf showed him that Snapchat. “I don’t know,” he says. “People already think I’m a nepo cast. I just want to prove them wrong.”

The pants are abandoned, and Henry smooths a hand down over Alex’s hair and stops to squeeze at the nape of his neck. “You will,” he says with such surety that Alex can let it wash away that gnawing feeling, if only for a minute. He tilts his head into Henry’s touch, practically purring when a thumb brushes over his ear.

“You’re a horrible distraction,” Henry says. Alex kisses the palm of his hand before finally putting the pants in his suitcase.

“Are both your siblings going to this shindig?” he asks.

Henry hums. “And Philip’s wife.” Philip. Alex never would have been able to guess that.

“I’m sure that’ll be nice,” he says. “Seeing your grandma and your siblings.”

“Nice is a strong word,” Henry says. He shuts the dresser a little too hard, rattling the photos. When he kneels to close his bag, the zipper gets stuck from the force of his pulling. Alex hasn’t sene this hardened edge since the early days of the semester.

“I’m feeling like there’s a story here,” he says. Henry’s at the closet now. The door opens with enough force to bounce off the wall. He has no response this time. “If you want to talk-”

“I don’t,” Henry says sharply. When he stalks back towards his bed, Alex manages to catch his hand. The furrowed line between Henry’s brows loosens, if only a touch. Alex can feel the anxiety rolling off of him. He wraps his other hand around Henry’s, hoping to anchor him in any way he can. The touch must do something, because Henry’s shoulders drop an inch or two.

“Hen, it’s gonna be okay,” he says. “It’s just a couple of days, and I’ll be here when you get back.”

And he doesn’t know what he’s said, but Henry snatches his hand from Alex’s grip. “I told you that I don’t want to talk about this,” he says coldly. In a rare moment, Alex is speechless. It takes several minutes of Henry storming around his bedroom and throwing things at his bag for him to find his voice again.

“I just want to help,” he says.

“Alex, this isn’t something you could understand,” Henry says. “I told you I had no interest in discussing it. I’m asking you to drop it.”

“But-”

“I think you should go.”

He’s got his hands on his hips, jaw set. Alex hates the twisted feeling in his stomach.

The thing about Henry, the thing he only sees every now and again, is that when his walls go up, it’s near impossible to take them down. Alex wants desperately to figure out how to solve it when it happens, but it’s like Henry retreats into himself. He’s no stranger to these bursts of panic and anxiety. It just looks so much different on Henry.

His legs feel weak below him when he gets off the dresser. “Have a safe flight,” he says, and the front door closes heavily behind him.

Alex didn’t mean to break the champagne bottle. He’s a little too into the anger and brings the bottle down a little too hard, shattering it scaring the shit out of him. Tatiana shrieks when pieces skitter towards her, understandably so, and Raf scowls at him from his place two rows back. The pit screeches to a halt. Henry’s the only person in the theatre not looking at him.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. Jesus-” Raf’s anger turns to concern when Alex looks down. Blood is pooling in the palm of his hand.

“Are you okay?” June calls.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I just- two minutes.” He lets the last few shards fall out of his hand and retreats to the bathroom, cupping one hand in the other to stop the mess as best he can.

He’s only been cleaning himself up for a minute when the door opens. “I’m okay,” he says, fully expecting Nora or June. “I just need a bandage.”

Strong, sure fingers uncurl his hand to examine the wound. Henry doesn’t say anything as he carefully cleans off the cut.

“You don’t have to do this,” Alex says, even as he winces.

“I have a feeling it’s my fault,” Henry says. He’s got Alex wrapped up in what feels like record time, and closes his hand with such delicacy that it makes Alex shiver. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

Alex tucks himself into Henry’s embrace without waiting for an invitation. He figures it’s the least he deserves.

“My family is…” Henry says. “It’s complicated. I just wasn’t ready to bring it all up.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Alex says.

“I do if we want to avoid any more broken props,” Henry says. He pauses, lets Alex rub a hand up and down over his back. “It’s going to take time,” he finally says.

Alex lifts his head and presses a kiss to the underside of Henry’s chin. “I have time.”