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Henry regrets every stupid, horrible decision that has led to this moment.
He stares firmly ahead at Donna, absolutely enthralled in this conversation, laughing at all the right times and humming in agreement as needed, yet pointedly ignoring the last question he was asked. He doesn’t have a choice. He fears he might pass out otherwise.
To his left stands Alex. Alex isn’t pretending to listen to Donna. No, Alex is staring at Henry with one eyebrow raised and one side of his mouth quirked, as he presses his hand to the small of Henry’s back and leans in close. “I’m sorry to interrupt, I just need to have a quick word with Henry.”
Oh, Christ.
“Surely it can wait, Donna here is in the middle of such a captivating story,” Henry says, smiling sweetly, still not brave enough to make eye contact.
Alex reaches one hand down and wraps his fingers around Henry’s wrist. “Now, please.” He bats his long eyelashes at Donna, with all the confidence of a man who knows he can use them to seek forgiveness for any transgressions. “So sorry, we’ll be right back.”
Henry lets himself be dragged away, out into the hallway where no one can hear him scream.
So this is it. This is how Henry Fox dies.
————
Alex heard of Henry’s spare bedroom through Nora, who found out through Percy, who knew of it through Henry.
Despite their narrow and overlapping friendship circles, they had somehow never met before. Pez mentioned Alex frequently due to his relationship with Nora and/or June — Henry had never been certain of the specifics and it was too late now to ask — but he insisted that Henry would adore him, and he was rarely wrong about these kinds of things.
Henry had arranged for them to meet for a quick lunch one busy weekday, thinking that 45 minutes was somehow enough time to decide if they could share a bathroom and a kitchen, and sleep only one thin wall apart, knowing each other’s deepest secrets and dirtiest habits. They met at a nondescript taco place Alex had suggested, almost exactly in between their two offices, and immediately hit it off like two old friends. Alex ordered the spiciest dish on the menu and laughed good-naturedly at Henry’s extremely British taste buds. Henry coughed and spluttered at the mere scent of a chili, throwing back glasses of ice cold water despite the frigid temperatures outside.
45 minutes turned into an hour-and-a half without them even noticing, and Henry offered him the room without a second thought.
When Henry returned to the office and told Lara he’d had lunch with Alex, he didn’t think anything of it.
————
When Alex rang the doorbell early on a rainy Saturday morning, Henry was already awake. He’d woken up early and put on his raincoat to take David for a walk through the park. He'd stopped at a cafe and bought himself a tea, and came home and organised the fridge and pantry so that Alex would have space for his own food.
So perhaps he was a little excited to have a roommate.
Who could blame him? He’d lived alone for a long time, and quite enjoyed it, but Pez wanted to move in with Nora and June, so Alex had to move out. So when Pez told Henry that he’d told Nora who told Alex about the spare room, Henry was open to the idea. It would be nice to have someone to look after David if Henry was ever staying elsewhere for the night. That could happen, some time. So there he was, at 8:30 on a Saturday morning, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for Alex to arrive.
Henry buzzed him up to his — their — third floor apartment, and held the door open with a wide grin. Alex’s henley was pulled taut over his biceps under the strain of the boxes in his arms, and a cheery “honey, I’m home!” fell out of his mouth as he walked through the door. June and Nora followed right behind carrying coffees and pastries for the four of them, and Henry set out plates to eat from and put the kettle on for his tea, and it was all so immediately warm and familiar that Henry couldn’t believe they'd barely just met. Henry declined his coffee, so Alex had two, and Nora told Henry that Alex’s caffeine addiction was his responsibility now, and he smiled and nodded with no idea of what he was actually committing himself to.
David wandered into the room to see what all the commotion was, and Alex bent down to scratch behind his ears. The next time Henry looked over, Alex was sitting on the floor with David in his lap. David, the traitor, was acting as if he'd never been scratched before a day in his life.
Later that night, when the girls had left and all the boxes were unpacked, Alex and Henry collapsed next to each other on the couch. They had pizza on the coffee table in front of them and hard-earned beers in their hands while Bake Off played on the TV. Henry had helped Alex build his bed frame, had found space on his shelves for Alex’s books, and stored his linen on the top shelf of the cupboard when he noticed Alex couldn’t reach that high. Alex had ordered them pizza, and put beers in the fridge, and told Henry he could choose what they watched.
So on Monday when Marie asked Henry what he had done on the weekend, and he said that Alex had moved in with him, he didn’t think anything of it.
————
They spent their weekends walking David in the park, or having movie marathons, or shopping at the farmers market. Alex spent most Saturdays cooking up a storm for the two of them — you really buy your lunch every day, Henry? — while Henry vacuumed and tidied.
Their daily routines seemed to find them rather quickly. Alex took David with him on his morning run, then fed him breakfast while Henry stumbled out of bed, rubbing his eyes with his hair askew as he put the kettle on. Alex cooked dinner while Henry kept their wine glasses topped up and chatted about his day. Henry rolled up his sleeves and did the dishes while Alex packed the leftovers into their lunches for work the next day.
It was domestic and it was predictable and it was everything.
Henry was surprised by how much he enjoyed having someone to come home to. To have someone happy to see him when he opened the front door after a long day, someone to ask him what he wanted for dinner, and someone to sit next to him on the couch late at night basking in the warm glow of the television.
His daily lunches had become the talk of the office. The chicken and rice reheating in the office microwave was making Henry the envy of his entire floor, as the aroma wafted out of the lunch room and across the cubicles on level seven.
Sue asked what was for lunch and Olivia asked if Alex had made it and Donna said Henry is so lucky, and all he could do is agree. He is so, so lucky.
The thing is, lunch was never just lunch. Lunch was a personally packed container, in a cooler bag, with snacks, and cutlery, and often a hand-written note. Lunch was curated to Henry’s tastes and preferences; half of Alex’s meal prep was always cooked with less spice or sauce, often without even asking.
Henry didn’t take it for granted. He’d offered to cook Alex a meal in return, but Alex had only laughed in response. He’d seen Henry burn his toast too often to even consider it. Alex offered to never make Henry a cup of tea if Henry agreed to never cook dinner, and though Henry thought the arrangement seemed a tad uneven, he enjoyed it too much to bring it up again. Instead, he remained fed and happy and the envy of the level seven lunch room.
————
Alex was sick. He’d already taken two days off work and he only seemed to be getting worse. Despite Alex’s protests, Henry worked from home on both days — I will not come home to find you’ve coughed yourself to death, Alex — and let the rest of his team know that he wouldn’t be in the office while Alex was unwell.
“Of course,” Donna said, “take care of your boy,” and Henry didn’t think anything of it.
In between Zoom meetings and responding to emails, he limited Alex to one coffee per day, and ensured tissues were always available, and scrolled through the Netflix menu when Alex needed something to watch. Henry ordered takeout for dinner and took David on his walks, and let Alex sleep as long as he needed.
On Saturday, Henry put on his warmest coat, rolled up his empty tote bags and walked to the farmers’ market a few blocks away. He hadn’t known it was there until Alex suggested they go, a few weeks after he’d moved in. Now it was part of their weekly routine, always stopping at the stall just inside the entrance to buy fresh pastries to snack on as they wandered through the fruit and vegetable stands. This was his first time going alone, but he’d been enough times over the last few months to know what they needed.
He bought his almond croissant as he entered and then stopped at the avocado stall, and the seller looked at him with a curious expression.
“Where is your boyfriend?” she asked.
Henry looked behind him, assuming she was talking to someone else in his direction. She wasn’t.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Yes, you do. Dark hair, devastatingly handsome. I see you with him every week.”
“Oh, that’s… he’s not my boyfriend.”
She furrowed her brow and tilted her head; her mouth was open but it was clear she didn’t know what to say next. Henry didn’t bother to explain any further. “He’s at home sick today.”
“Oh no, I hope he feels better soon. You give him this one, from me,” she said, as she tossed another avocado into Henry’s tote bag.
He wandered down to the tomato stall next. Alex was very picky about his tomatoes, but he’d trained Henry well enough to know how to choose the best ones. It took him a few minutes to find enough tomatoes he was confident Alex would approve of, and the tomato man watched him intently the entire time.
“No boyfriend today?” the tomato man asked.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“The funny man with the dark hair?”
“Yes, that’s Alex, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Did you break up?”
“No, we were never — “
Henry sighed and said “he’s at home sick today” as he paid for his tomatoes.
He stopped at the orange stall next, knowing some vitamin C would be helpful for Alex’s illness.
The orange lady looked him up and down as he approached. “Where’s the boyfriend?” she asked.
He didn’t see the point in explaining a third time. “He’s at home sick today.”
“That’s no good, you give him some extra from me,” she said, adding a few more oranges into Henry’s bag.
“You know,” she continued, “you two are my favourite customers. You’re always so happy together, and my goodness, the way he looks at you? You’re the luckiest man alive.”
Henry paused, taken aback by her comment, but he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “I am.”
On the walk home from the farmers’ market, Henry stopped in at the grocery store to get some other essentials. Amongst his tea and his imported Jaffa Cakes, he bought a large box of those ultra soft tissues that are gentler on your nose, and he bought a box of Alex’s favourite Helados, and then he stopped at the deli on the corner and purchased a large container of chicken noodle soup. It was almost impossible to carry it all back to their apartment alone, but he managed.
When he made it up to their floor, his arms practically numb from the weight of the groceries, he found Alex bundled up on the couch with David in his lap. When the smile on Alex’s face reached from ear to ear, and when Alex said “I’m so happy you’re home” in the sweetest, softest voice Henry had ever heard, Henry didn’t think anything of it.
————
Henry is an introvert. He’s not ashamed. He’s lived on this earth long enough to know what brings him joy and contentment, and being at home with his dog and his books and now, his roommate, was a big part of that.
But, Alex. Alex was not. Every now and again he would say something insane like we just need to fucking dance, Henry! and before Henry could do anything about it, he found himself on the nearest dance floor with a drink in hand.
Alex had picked his outfit, declaring that Henry needed to wear his sluttiest shirt, which apparently meant his tightest button-up half-unbuttoned. Alex looked similarly debauched, his shirt hanging even lower than Henry’s, except now with sweat dripping down his clavicle and his curls hanging loose from where he ran his hands through his hair.
There might be 50 people on the dancefloor, or there might be 500, but as far as Henry can tell there’s only the two of them. Alex hasn’t left his side the entire night, dancing alongside him or waiting at the bar with him. So when they ran into Sophie from Henry’s office and she immediately said “oh, you must be Alex. I’ve heard so much about you!” and Alex grinned that big infectious grin that Henry adored, and Henry’s throat dried up and his hands went clammy and he suddenly realised.
Oh.
That’s what that feeling is.
Alex whispered “have you been talking about me?” in Henry’s ear and Henry blushed a shade of red he didn’t think was humanly possible. All Henry could do was swallow his drink and nod. Because if he could open his mouth, he risked blurting out the words that were stuck at the back of his throat. The words that would change everything between them.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk acknowledging them or thinking them or, Christ, speaking them aloud. Because what he has with Alex is so good and pure and if he dared to change that, if he dared to throw himself onto the fire, he surely wouldn’t escape unscathed.
Henry thinks about who is when he’s with Alex. Alex is charming and alive, and Henry in turn feels like a more interesting, more joyful person when they’re together. But they’re not just good when they’re together, he’s come to realise. It’s when they’re apart, too. It’s when he opens his lunch bag and finds a note from Alex, and wonders if Alex is thinking about him in his own office a few blocks away as they separately eat their packed lunches. It’s when Henry falls asleep reading on the couch and wakes to find a blanket delicately placed over him. It’s when they’re dancing at the club and Alex is lined up at the bar but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Henry the entire time, constantly checking in to make sure he’s comfortable.
What they already have together is so good, so strong. Why would he risk changing that?
————
“What are you doing, Alex?” Henry hisses, trying not to cause a scene but desperate to get his irritation across.
Alex has come to Henry’s after work happy hour as his plus one; the whole team has been dying to meet him after Sophie ran into them at the club last weekend. Now, mid-conversation with Donna, Alex has rudely grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him out into the hallway.
Alex pushes Henry up against the wall and stands in front of him with his arms crossed against his chest. He’s leaning in close, so close that Henry could just lean up and — “What do they think I am, to you?” Alex asks, rudely interrupting Henry’s train of thought.
“You’re my roommate.”
“I know I’m your roommate, but Donna was telling a long story about how she met her husband and then she was asking about us, and I’m now connecting that Sally made a fairly lewd comment about me when I walked in, and I’m starting to realise that’s not what they think.”
Henry sighs. He knows it was a mistake to bring Alex here. But the work ladies had all begged to meet Alex, and Henry didn’t think anything of it. He knows they love hearing about him, but he thought that’s because everyone loves Alex. He’s outgoing and enigmatic and he knows how to hold an audience. Even an audience full of people who have only ever heard about him second-hand.
Everyone loves Alex.
As it turns out, so does Henry.
He hadn’t always been able to name the feeling, thinking he just liked the co-dependence of having a roommate. But over time, they had become one unit like those dolls boxed in pairs, not to be sold separately. His office Secret Santa gift just last month had been a framed picture of Bert and Ernie, for Christ’s sake. For your home, the anonymous note had said. He’d hung it in their kitchen, next to their shared wall calendar that Alex insisted they use.
Henry looks intently at Alex, fighting every urge of self-preservation, thinking how easy it would be to just say Oh no, Alex, you must misunderstand. They know we’re not together.
But that would be a lie.
Instead, he shrugs and finds every last reserve of nonchalance in his body, and says:
“If it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck.”
Alex wasn’t expecting that. He rubs his hand over his face hurriedly, and leans in close. “What are you saying, Henry?”
“I’m saying that you slept in my bed last night.”
And, well. That’s true. But when Alex had knocked on his door in the early hours of the morning, in his faded t-shirt and plaid pyjama pants, hair mussed and rubbing his eyes, Henry didn’t think anything of it. He’d simply pulled back the quilt and patted the empty side of the bed next to him. When Alex had crawled in beside him, whispered thank you, and promptly fell asleep, what else was he to do?
He'd lain awake next to Alex, watching him sleep, watching him dream, unable to look away for a second. But it all felt so normal, so natural, just another extension of their friendship.
Henry had woken up with Alex’s arm slung low around his waist and his breath hot against Henry’s neck, and it all felt so right that he hadn’t dared move in case he woke up from this dream. Instead he nestled back against Alex and willed himself back to sleep. When he woke up an hour later, Alex was already up and making them breakfast, dancing along to the radio as he scrambled their eggs and unknowingly released a swarm of butterflies in Henry’s insides. They didn’t talk about it, what could they possibly say that could explain the boundaryless nature of their relationship. How the demarcation between roommates and friends and whatever comes after that had been firmly eroded until there was nothing left in between. How their lives were so intertwined that sleeping together just made sense. How, at first, Henry had wanted a roommate so he could go off on dates or one night stands without worrying about his dog, and how, in reality, he had not once even thought about doing that.
Come to think of it, neither had Alex. No guests staying over, no overnight stays elsewhere, both of them coming home to each other night after night. Choosing each other, night after night. And now Alex’s arms are around his waist and he’s leaning in close and Henry has stopped breathing because what is happening right now.
“Alex, what are you — ?”
Henry can’t finish that sentence because Alex’s hands are pressed up against his back, and Alex’s tongue is in his mouth, and his heart has stopped beating.
Surely this is how Henry dies.
Alex pulls back, mirth dancing in his eyes as he says, “I think they’re right.”
“What are you saying, Alex?”
“Quack,” Alex says with a breathy laugh, his mouth pressed against Henry’s ear, his voice low and overwhelming and all-consuming. “I’m saying that if everyone we’ve met thinks we’re in a relationship, maybe we are. Or maybe we should be. I’m saying that I want to be, with you. With us.”
Henry presses his forehead against Alex’s and closes his eyes, focusing on the electricity circling around them and the changing current between them and all that could possibly mean. “Are we really doing this?”
“We've already been doing it.”
Henry runs his hand through Alex’s hair, pushing his head forward. He cradles Alex's cheek in his hand, the stubble scratching against his palm as he leans in, closing the gap between them for a deeper, firmer kiss that signals the start of something new. That signals yes, they’ve already been doing this, but also yes, Henry is marking an invisible boundary that says this is real.
Alex breaks away from the kiss, his eyes roving all over the hallway. He finds his target, and grabs Henry by the wrist and pulls him toward the bathroom, locking the cubicle door behind them. Alex slams their mouths together as he slides his hands down Henry’s waist, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.
“Is this ok?” Alex pants. “Is this too fast? We can slow down if you want, I — “
Henry pulls away from the kiss and says with a grin, “How could it be too fast? We’ve already slept together.”
————
After a questionable length of time they return to the main bar and seamlessly insert themselves back into Donna’s conversation, as the office ladies communicate amongst themselves in silence with pointed stares and raised eyebrows. No one needs to mention that Henry’s shirt is untucked and Alex’s hair is sticking up at all angles.
With their fingers intertwined and cheeks a little pink, Alex says with confidence, “I’m so sorry for leaving, but back to your question, Donna. We’ve been together since I moved in, six months ago.”
And, well.
Henry doesn’t think anything of it.