Chapter Text
To say Henry is worried barely scratches the surface.
When Alex settles into his arms, the sound that escapes him is enough to tear Henry apart. The kind of crying that comes from somewhere deep and broken, the kind that steals the air from your lungs. By the time the sobs soften into uneven hiccups and quiet, fractured breaths, Henry’s chest is already tight with rage and grief and helplessness all tangled together.
He wants to get on the next flight to California and scream at Óscar until his throat gives out. To yell about how he could leave his son like this. How he could walk away without a word. Henry knows family is everything to Alex; there is no place where he shines brighter, no version of him is more alive. Friday nights in pajamas, hair a mess, nudging June with his shoulder as they laugh until it hurts, those moments are sacred. Few people get to see that Alex. Henry holds that privilege close to his heart.
He knows Óscar loves his son. He has seen it, the pride, the unmistakable warmth in his eyes when Alex comes home victorious from a tournament. That kind of devotion can’t be faked. And yet Henry cannot understand how love like that still led to silence. To absence. To whatever is this.
So Henry is angry. At Óscar. At Ellen, who is probably still working, even now, as if nothing has happened. And at himself, most of all, for being able to do nothing but hold Alex tighter, wishing his arms could say what his voice cannot.
…
After that day, something in Alex changes.
The smile is still there, bright as ever, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. The restless bounce of his leg remains, only now it’s subdued, restrained, as if he’s learned to fold himself inward, to take up less space.
He is still Alex, of course, he still loud, affectionate, passionate but it feels muted, diluted, as though the world has asked him to become easier to carry.
Henry hates it.
He wants the unfiltered version of him. The loudest laugh, the reckless joy, the freedom that once poured out of Alex without restraint. He wants to bring him back really bring him back. He tries everything. Jokes, late nights, gentle touches. None of it quite reaches the curly-haired boy slipping through his fingers.
And then there’s Liam.
Henry knows he’s good. He can see it in the way he listens, in the steadiness of his presence. On the court, especially, Alex seems more like himself lighter, looser. Still, Henry can’t ignore the quiet fear that Liam’s closeness might pull Alex further away from him.
He isn’t blind. He isn’t naive. He sees the way Liam looks at Alex, eyes soft and aching, always one heartbeat away from giving him away. The longing sighs. The careful touches.
After all recognizing someone in love with Alex is easy, Henry only has to look at his own reflection.
And he wants God, he wants to be okay with it.
He watches how Alex responds to Liam’s hand on his back, the shared smiles after a match, the way exhaustion makes Alex lean instinctively into him. Henry swallows his jealousy, bites back the words, forces his mouth into something that resembles a smile.
But he can’t any longer.
He is selfish. He wants to take Alex somewhere far and quiet, away from everything that hurts him. He wants to be the one carrying the weight of him body, soul, heart alone. He could handle it. All of it. Alex’s love, his fears, his storms. Henry wants every piece for himself.
But wanting doesn’t make it possible.
He has already lost Alex. In small ways. In silent ways. In ways neither of them knows how to name.
And there is nothing he can do to stop it.