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Alex is sure that Henry Fox could flirt with a mannequin and it would flirt back.
He watches Henry across the room, leaning lazily against the kitchen doorway, a picture of British composure in the American collegiate swamp. He’s talking to some guy Alex doesn’t recognize, tall, scruffy, physics-department, I-built-my-own-telescope vibe. Of course Henry is making him laugh.
The party is already at that unhinged phase where almost all the lights are off and the bass has been turned up so high on the shitty speaker shoved in the corner that the floor is vibrating. The smell of beer and sugary alcoholic drinks lingers in the air. Alex thrives in it. He moves through the chaos like a fish through water, he can slip into nearly any social group and emerge five minutes later with a couple new acquaintances and an inside joke.
He can’t stop seeing Henry tonight, like his whole body is tuned to Henry frequency modulation. Every time he drifts into view, the room seems to hush, like his brain’s forcibly redirecting processing power to the sight of him.
It isn’t surprising that he’s drawn to Henry. He has been since freshman year, he just didn’t know what to call it. Or, rather, he refused to call it anything until this past Christmas break when he met up with Liam, had one painfully honest conversation, and came back to campus with the bisexuality lightbulb finally flicked on.
Henry looks like a renaissance painting someone dumped into a college party by mistake. He’s dressed “casually”, which, for Henry, somehow means dark jeans and a soft sweater with a crisp white collar peeking out like he’s going to a piano recital. It should make him look out of place in the sea of graphic tees and crop tops, but it doesn’t. Henry wears it like a challenge.
He’s beautiful. Not even in the objective, I can see why people think that way that Alex used to defensively boil it down to. Just unreasonably, distractingly attractive. Alex wants to know what he looks like under that sweater, under those jeans. Now every time Henry’s in the vicinity, it’s like he’s making up for all the time he wouldn’t let himself get it by noticing everything. How he leans into physics dude, smile curling on his face, and how he laughs at something he says, throat bared in the dim light.
It’s fucking unfair.
And maybe Alex is jealous, a little bit. Not really of physics guy, Alex is secure in his own charm. He’s more jealous of Henry himself. He makes it all look so easy. Henry wears his sexuality effortlessly, almost flaunting it. Alex has had to come out to three people so far and managed to screw it up in uniquely humiliating ways every time. Nora had to walk him through his bisexuality like a toddler learning shapes. But Henry just is, his sexuality is worn and comfortable, beautifully broken in.
Alex is jealous of Henry in a very specific, targeted way. How he gets around, a lot, and somehow, nobody thinks of him as a slut. Truly, the numbers are probably groundbreaking at this point. Henry Fox is practically a campus elective, complete with prereqs and a competitive waitlist.
The reviews are always consistent. Concerned with your pleasure, holds you after, even lets you sleep over. It’s been said to Alex that Henry Fox will make you coffee or tea, give you a soft cheek kiss, and deliver the “this was fun, but I’m not looking for anything serious” message in a way that somehow leaves people feeling cherished.
It’s obscene really, the fact that he’s a one-man sex machine with built-in aftercare and no relationship intentions whatsoever, and somehow the entire campus gay community still wants to fucking propose. Objectively, Henry has a reputation for having a lot of sex, being very good at sex, and never, ever being a jerk about it.
Alex wants to get good at this whole “being attracted to men thing.” He knows it’s childish, but he can’t shake the belief that if he is going to do something, he should be good at it. Preferably great. And the person who is indisputably great at this particular topic, is undoubtedly Henry Fox. Sex-on-legs, humanities’ gift to flirting, Michelin-starred, Henry fucking Fox.
Henry is experienced, attractive, and kind. If Alex is going to have to learn, to get on the metaphorical bike and start pedalling, shouldn’t he figure things out with someone who knows how to steer? Someone gentle and trustworthy, who won’t laugh at him if he fumbles a little. Someone who won’t turn his first time with a guy into a cautionary tale.
It might not be the worst idea he’s ever had, but it’s close.
But it keeps making sense. Henry is the fucking patron saint of casual sex, the benevolent ruler of one night stands. If anyone could walk Alex through the practical aspects of his newly minted bisexuality, it would be Henry.
And hell, Alex is confident, charming, and hot. Why not him?
The next house party, he’s ready. He’s in his tightest pair of pants that take three business days to get on, spent a full hour meticulously grooming himself and finger coiling each and every errant curl, and has settled into the comforting buzz of one-point-five drinks. Just enough to feel bold, buoyed by the crowd and the glow of the room.
Henry’s standing just over there, talking to a curly-haired woman. His smile is soft and he laughs lightly. He’s goddamn radiant. People should not be allowed to look so good next to a beer pong table.
When his conversation partner walks away, Alex makes a quick decision. He steels himself for the conversation and marches over, hyping himself up the whole way.
He is confident. He is capable. He’s not afraid of Henry Fox or his stupidly pretty mouth or the fact that much of the campus already knows exactly what his pretty mouth can do.
Henry notices him and smiles in a way Alex tries not to read into, but it’s encouraging.
“Alex,” he says, warm and pleased. An electrical shock travels down Alex’s spine at the sound of it. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Alex gives him a practiced grin, putting on the election-winning charm. “I like to make an entrance, keeps the fans engaged.”
Henry’s eyes practically twinkle. “Ah yes, your legions of admirers.”
“I’m always generous with my public,” Alex smirks. “Many would say it’s my greatest flaw”
Henry laughs, delighted. The banter flows easily, like it always goes, like they’re sitting in a cafe instead of surrounded by drunk undergrads and a speaker that sounds like a blender. Henry lets his hand brush Alex’s forearm, when the music gets turned up, he steps in closer to hear Alex better.
The attention is everything. It all makes Alex feel good, desired, admired. The air feels like it’s thrumming with potential. But despite that, and despite Alex’s transparent attempts at flirting, Henry doesn’t seem like he wants to go there. Like, at all.
None of it makes sense. The energy is there, it’s practically visible, swirling around them and crackling with heat. But every time Alex hints, nudges, directs, Henry responds with politeness instead of heat.
And Alex isn’t imagining it. Henry’s gaze lingers. They’ve been standing here for forty uninterrupted minutes and Henry hasn’t made a single move to step away, even though his drink’s been empty for a while. The man is interested in something, so, Alex concludes, he’s not being obvious. Alex is right there, sparkling like a goddamn bisexual lighthouse, and Henry is apparently determined to sail directly into the shadowy rocks of obliviousness
So he decides, fuck it. Go big or go home.
Preferably, go big and then go home. With Henry.
He leans in, summoning all the confidence he has ever possessed in his entire goddamn life. “So, random question.”
Henry nods, encouraging.
“Have you ever had sex with a… gay virgin?”
Henry seems taken aback. “Uh, yes,” he says slowly. “Once or twice, I suppose.” His puzzled expression deepens. “Why?”
Clearly he thinks Alex is asking academically, like he’s conducting survey research or writing a thesis on campus hookups. Alex shoves down the panic and leans in further.
“So that’s not like… a turn off for you?”
Henry furrows his brows. “It depends on the person, I suppose. I don’t choose these things based on experience level.”
Alex swallows. “Right. The person. So, say that person was me?”
Henry’s smile drops so fast it’s like someone yanked it off his face. “What?” He pauses. “You? As in, you and me?”
Alex forces a shaky smile. “Yeah. So… Would you be interested in that?”
“But you’re straight?” Henry seems utterly, truly baffled. It’s not an expression Alex has ever seen on that pretty face.
“Bi, actually. Surprise twist of the season, I didn't see it coming myself.”
“Oh, wow.” Henry says. Alex has no clue what that means, but now he’s gone silent with his mouth parted so Alex keeps talking, rambling.
“I mean, you’re clearly good at it. Like, streets are saying you’re like a god. And I just… I have no experience and I want some.”
Henry’s face settles into a wince, and Alex’s heart falls like an anchor and his confidence shrivels up like a raisin in the sun.
“Alex, I-. I appreciate the honesty, truly. But I… I don’t think I’m the right person to help you with this.”
“Oh,” Alex says, the embarrassment rolling over him all of a sudden. “Alright, yeah. No problem.”
Henry looks pained, he knows this is landing badly, and tries to correct it. “It’s not to do with you, it’s just… I can’t be that for you right now.”
“Yeah, I get it. All good.” Alex fights to put the smile back on his face.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Henry murmurs, taking a step toward him.
“You didn’t,” Alex lies. “I’m gonna go get a drink. See you around.”
“Alex-” Henry calls, distress clear in his voice, but Alex is already leaving, weaving frantically through the crowd trying to put distance between himself and Henry. He doesn’t look back, can’t, or he’ll just crumble into dust.
The worst part isn’t even the rejection. Not getting to have sex with Henry Fox is, sure, a bit devastating but, consent is king and all that. He’d rather be rejected than ever make Henry uncomfortable.
No, the worst part was the speed of it. The way Alex had misread all the signs, seen mere friendliness as flirting. How Henry’s baffled expression had made it abundantly clear that he’d never even been an option.
His head is loud with one thought, sharp and clean and more devastating than he could have possibly expected.
He doesn’t want me.
Alex didn’t realize how much it would hurt. And that probably means something, an uncomfortable truth he is not ready to unpack, but the humiliation is too busy eating him up to let him think straight. It doesn’t bode well for his little casual offer how much his chest feels like it’s caving in. The humiliation is hitting him full force as he descends the stairs of the house, headed outside, back to his dorm. He forces himself to slow before someone thinks he’s fleeing a crime scene.
Which, he kind of is. The crime: accidental sexual harassment at a fucking house party. He never thought he’d be the guy who corners someone with an unwanted proposition. He’s spent years loudly despising that frat-boy behaviour. It’s horrifying to realize he’s not that far off.
Jesus. His first foray into gay exploration. One second he’s cool, confident, and the next, he’s offering up his gay virginity to Henry Fox like he’s the prize-winning heifer at the goddamn county fair.
He finally makes it into his room and collapses down on the bed, shame sinking in, mortification complete. The thing is, he thought that would work because Henry’s the one who doesn’t do commitment. If he was ever going to settle down, Alex is sure it would be with someone gorgeous and unflappable who also looks like they belong on the cover of a historical romance.
But what hurts him even more is the fact that Henry Fox doesn’t want him. Henry. The man who has allegedly slept with a statistically significant portion of the student body. Who once hooked up with all the gay baristas in a campus coffee shop in a single semester, and still gets free coffee because he’s a “sweetheart”.
Henry, who has slept with at least three people Alex knows personally, none of whom are objectively hotter or funnier or smarter than him. As far as Alex can tell, he doesn’t have a ‘type’.
Except, apparently, not Alex. Somehow, in the buffet of available men, Alex is the one dish Henry didn’t want to sample.
Alex can’t fucking handle this. So he calls Nora. He gets up from his bed and paces the twenty feet of his dorm room while the line rings.
He launches into the story before she can even say hello, rounding the perimeter of his desk and bed as he recounts all the details. The approach, the flirting, and the gentle, mortifying rejection.
There’s a long pause on her end after he finishes.
“Okay..” Nora says carefully, voice full of barely contained laughter. “I want to be absolutely sure I’m hearing this right. You marched up to Henry Fox. The Henry Fox. Abruptly came out to him and then asked him to be your gay sex mentor, and you’re surprised he said no?”
Alex stops in his tracks, offended on a cellular level. “Yes! Because he sleeps with everyone. Not to slut shame because, hello, I wanted to be a damn member of the club, but it’s kind of fucked up that he’s giving out goddamn punch cards to everyone except me!”
“Oh my god,” Nora murmurs, amusement now entirely unconcealed. “You’re really upset about this.”
“I’m not upset,” Alex insists, lying, waving a hand in the air. “I’m confused. Scientifically baffled. Like, Henry slept with the fine arts student with great hair who talks about taxidermy all the time. He’s slept with all those agressively subpar business majors.”
“He’s allowed to say no. You approached him like he’s a TA for Homosexuality 101.”
Alex groans, frustrated. “I know he’s allowed to say no. I’m not upset that he said no. I just want to know why. Like, what’s so wrong with me that I’m the one person he rules out? I thought that maybe the straight-forward approach would work, offering casual sex without the need to do the song and dance that probably gets old.”
“Why didn’t you just say you like him?”
Alex scoffs. “Henry doesn’t do liking people.”
Nora lets out a long-suffering breath. “Well, everyone has different tastes. I know it’s useless to say, but try not to get hung up on this.”
“But he didn’t even hesitate. Said no, like it was the easiest thing in the world.”
Nora ignores that comment. “Everything is gonna be fine.”
“Nothing will ever be fine again,” Alex declares, collapsing into his desk chair like a Victorian era pageboy suffering from consumption.
“You’ll be better by tomorrow. And if not, I'll buy you nachos.”
“That helps.”
“I know.”
Alex sighs, defeated, heart bruised, ego hurting and absolutely no closer to an answer.
The days that follow settle into a strange rhythm, as if the universe has tightened itself around Alex’s embarrassment. It’s ridiculous to think that way, but every hallway seems narrower, every class more crowded, and every place seems to have Henry Fox. For a man he used to see like, twice a week at best, he’s suddenly a campus cryptid, appearing everywhere solely to torment Alex.
He tells himself that avoidance is the safest option. It keeps things simple and protects him from feeling even more foolish, especially after the frantic Google spiral he’d rather not revisit (“am i doing being bi wrong?” had yielded zero helpful results). But the truth is that the avoidance sits in his chest like a weight right next to the shame.
Alex tries to swallow it down, push it behind his persona of confidence and jokes, but by the time Friday night arrives, in the kitchen of another overcrowded party, he knows he can’t just outrun this.
The house is way too warm for January, airflow be damned, too many bodies pressed together. Music bumps from the living room where people dance and grind and make out with reckless, sweaty abandon. The sorority that’s hosting strung lights over the bannisters that make the whole place look dim and amber.
Normally, Alex would slip into this kind of scene like his favourite pair of jeans, aided by the motion and the noise, but today he feels off. He’s been off all week.
The giant plastic bottle of tequila on the counter calls to him like divine intervention. If it can’t be whiskey, it’ll do. He knows that it’s not a solution to the problem, but it feels like a shortcut. A route to getting lost in the moment, in the music, to feel less like a man living in a Truman Show of humiliation. He pours a generous amount of tequila, some juice that barely dilutes anything, squeezes in a lime wedge, and downs half of it in one swallow. The burn fades quickly, replaced by warmth that blooms through his chest.
He’s leaning back against the counter when he notices a small cluster of people just outside the dining room. Henry is there, standing with a girl, laughing and chatting easily. He’s smiling, and it’s obviously not flirty but Alex would take even a fraction of that smile right now. Maybe that makes him pathetic. Just looking at him feels like a bruise being pressed on.
He grabs the tequila bottle forcefully, refilling his cup, downing it quickly again. The buzz settles in fast, smoothing his thoughts and loosening his jaw when the girl at the next table talks to him.
He gets a third cup and moves into the living room, away from the Henry zone. The dancefloor calls to him and he listens, letting his body loosen to the music, the bass vibrating between his ribs. He accepts the shot that gets passed to him without thinking and the burn feels good, sending warmth into his stomach. It doesn’t take long to find a girl with glitter in her hair and press close to her, leading her in a sloppy drunken dance. It feels good to lose himself a little.
When he slips back into the kitchen, Henry’s still there.
Seeing him, all the emotions he’s been working hard to push down are at the forefront. Henry’s gentle rejection, the unexpected hurt in it for Alex. He presses his palms against the counter, grounding himself with the cool stone. The tequila pushes his thoughts forward anyways, accelerating them beyond sanity.
What the hell is so wrong with him to make him undesirable? Lack of experience? Possible, but it feels like more than that. It’s not like Alex is a blushing virgin, just… unfamiliar with certain mechanical acts.
Every time his eyes catch on Henry across the room, his body jolts with a spark of righteous indignation. It’s petty and wildly unproductive but there it is. Henry Fox, Mr. Campus Casanova, unofficial mascot of queer sexual enlightenment, said no.
His thoughts are no longer a whisper, but a shouting match, anger running through his head at a breakneck speed. He’s attractive, funny, can hold a conversation, pretty big dick, not that Henry would know, but it only strengthens the case. Those are not the problems.
And then it hits him.
Height.
Of course. Henry is tall. And he does seem to prefer taller men.
It’s ridiculous. Alex is not short! He’s a perfectly respectable height for a man. Average, even. And what’s wrong with average? Average makes the fucking world go around. He’s making himself mad just thinking about it.
Mad enough, in fact, for him to march over to Henry Fox right now. He’s standing near the patio door, talking in a group, oblivious to the rage currently headed his way. Alex reaches him, practically vibrating with righteous, drunken fury. He jams a finger toward Henry’s chest.
“I am a perfectly respectable height.”
Henry turns and blinks a few times, confusion across his face. “I’m sure you are, Alex”
“Five-nine is plenty.”
Henry’s mouth curves into an infuriating smirk, and he raises a skeptical brow. “Five-nine?”
Alex bristles. “Okay, fine. I rounded up. So what! That’s average.”
Henry nods solemnly, mouth twitching like he’s fighting laughter. “I see. A matter of political spin, then.”
“I am perfectly heighted for sexual activity,” Alex declares.
Henry smiles and shakes his head. “Is that what you thought?”
Alex looks around at the crowd, at the wide-eyed reaction from Henry’s group, and decides he can’t do this with an audience. He rips the sliding door open with unnecessary force and grabs Henry’s arm, swaying a little as he pulls him onto the patio, shutting the door behind him. Snow crunches under his toes.
“I just want you to admit that’s why you said no. Height bias. Because I’m short-king adjacent.”
Henry lets out a breath of disbelief and amusement. He steps toward Alex, the music of the party muffled behind the glass. “I promise you. Your height is not the issue.”
Alex laughs humourlessly. “Ok great, not height. So what the hell is it. Cause I’ve been running the numbers.” Alex gestures widely with his mostly empty cup.
Henry’s lips twitch. “The numbers?”
“Yeah.” Alex can hear the whine in his voice but he’s too drunk to care. “I’m not an asshole, I swear I respect your decision and I’m gonna leave you alone after this. Just… You're like the gold standard for hook ups.“ he waves his hand in a sweeping arc at Henry’s body. “The peer-reviewed, absolute preference when it comes to gay sex.”
Henry lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing his jaw. “Peer-reviewed?”
“I’ve heard things,” Alex says, a little offended Henry would question the legitimacy of his sources. “People talk, people rave. You’re like, an experience. A tourist destination.”
“Good lord,” Henry laughs, sounding amused and mortified all at once.
“So!” Alex continues, raising a pointed finger to the sky. “When a man of your, admirable statistics, rejects someone like me, it raises questions. If the average man attracted to men is into the whole, uh, casual hook up situation, then I shouldn’t have been rejected without at least a brief pause for consideration.”
Henry doubles over a little, laughter shaking through him, his exhaled breath turns into a cloud of white mist. “A brief pause for consideration?”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Yes. It’s like when you get offered a weird snack. Even if you know you don’t want it, you pretend to consider it. Politely. You mull it over.”
“Are you,” Henry says, utterly endeared. “Comparing yourself to a weird snack?”
“A weird delicious snack,” Alex corrects. “A very solid, respectable snack.”
Henry chokes on a laugh.
Alex ignores him and barrels on. “So I thought, it has to be my height. Or my personality. Or I laugh too loud. Or maybe I did something wrong with my face.”
“Alex,” Henry says softly, but Alex is too drunk to hear the gentleness in it.
“I just need data,” Alex says, as if this is entirely reasonable, a noble scientific pursuit. “I just need to know what’s wrong with me.”
Henry’s smile falters. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Alex’s hazy mind registers this might come across as creepy or invasive. “Like, you don’t have to tell me. You can tell me to fuck off. I just want to know. In a purely academic, non-creepy way.”
“This is academic?”
“Am I not collecting information leading to a potential hypothesis?”
Henry lets out a long sigh. “I didn’t say no because of you. It was all me.”
Alex scoffs. “Come on. As far as I can tell you don’t have a ‘type’. You’re like the Sisterhood of Travelling Pants of gay hookups.”
Henry raises a brow.
“Universally flattering! Everyone wants a turn, loved by one and all. So like, the fact that you immediately hit the nope button on me is concerning.”
Henry frowns. “I didn’t.”
Alex rolls his eyes, swaying enough that he has to grab the door handle for balance. “Of course you did. Bzzt. This one’s defective.”
Henry laughs again, but it’s strained. “Alex-“
“I’m perfectly sexually viable!”
Henry smiles. “Yes, you are.”
And then it’s Alex’s turn on the back foot. “Huh?”
“As I said, you are not the problem. It’s me.”
And now Alex is generationally confused. The tequila is circling his brain and the words rearrange everything in his head, spinning round and round. “What do you mean it’s you?” Alex asks, narrowing his eyes at Henry. “You’re the gorgeous one with five star reviews.”
Henry huffs a tiny laugh but it sounds tense. “Please, just-“
“No,” Alex insists, leaning in, stubbornness sharpening within the haze of the alcohol. “Just be honest with me. I’m drunk but not stupid. If I’m not on your list… that’s fine. But just tell me what the issue is so I can adjust accordingly.”
“Adjust…” Henry shakes his head. “You are not a malfunctioning kitchen appliance.”
Alex waves it off like that’s entirely irrelevant. “Clearly, something made you say no. And if you don’t tell me I’m gonna assume the worst possible thing because that’s how my brain works. I’ll convince myself it’s because my breath smells weird and then spend seventy bucks on all the mouthwashes to cure my self-diagnosed halitosis. I’d just prefer to know so I can move on.”
Henry’s eye twitches. “Move on?” His voice is low.
Alex sways on his feet. “Yeah, figure out something else. Someone else who actually wants to-.”
The sentence dies on his lips as Henry steps closer, as the playful, drunken bravado that fuelled Alex’s words evaporates into the cold air. Henry is impossibly close, eyes narrowed and the cool, hard reality slaps Alex in the face.
“Oh my god, you’re jealous!” Alex crows, accusation full of disbelief and bitter triumph. “Why the fuck are you jealous? You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t even want me!”
Henry doesn’t flinch away from it. He just responds with a low voice, “I never said I don’t want you.”
Alex can only stare, wide-eyed and breathless, can’t even form words, until Henry finishes the thought that leaves Alex feeling exposed
“I said no because I do want you. I want you too much.”
For a moment, Alex can only stare, let the words hang and the cold night air whip across his uncovered arms, and he has the distinctly unhelpful thought that he’s never hallucinated from tequila before, because there’s no way Henry Fox just said that.
He blinks hard, trying to clear his blurry vision. “Alright. I’m… I’m definitely drunk, but I’m also smart enough to know that sentence made no logical sense.”
He twirls in a circle, scratching his head. “You- you do want me? Too much? What the fuck does that even mean? If anything that should be a point in my favour. Should get me upgraded to business class on the Henry Fox train.”
“Alex,” Henry says gently. “You’re very drunk.”
“Exactly. So I need you to explain this in normal people words,” Alex reasons.
Henry smiles softly. “I didn’t mean to confuse you.”
“Well you did,” Alex accuses, but there’s no heat behind it, only bewildered, open sincerity. He doesn’t have the mental wherewithal to hold back with all the alcohol swimming through his system. “You confused me so much I started accusing you of height discrimination.”
“You did.”
“So please. Translate for me,” Alex pleads. “Because I am drunk and I'm trying very hard and my brain is like…” Alex makes a swirly motion near his head. “Soup.”
Henry stares at him for a long moment, expression unguarded. And then he takes a step forward. “Saying yes to you would have never been casual.”
Alex blinks, calculates. “So, you don’t want to sleep with me because you like me?”
“I didn’t sleep with you because I care,” he murmurs.
And that somehow makes the most sense of anything Henry has said all night.
Henry looks down at him, his eyes all twinkly and soft in the glow of the porch light, and Alex is sure that he’s probably embarrassed himself on a historic scale during this entire conversation, but Henry is still here. Basically saying he likes him. Still looking at him like that, all mushy and beautiful.
“Can I tell you something without you turning it into statistical analysis?” Henry asks softly.
Alex nods because he is absolutely gone and incapable of anything else.
“I thought you were straight. Everyone thought that. You flirt with everything that moves but never with intention. And you’ve always been so bright, brilliant, untouchable. I just figured you weren’t an option for me, even if you were into men.”
Alex blinks at him. “Me? Untouchable?”
Henry nods, looking shy. Alex isn’t sure he’s ever seen Henry like this.
Alex makes a noise in the back of his throat. “What the hell are you talking about? I literally fell asleep in my coffee in my government lecture last week and then saw myself on multiple IG stories with ‘mood’ as the caption.”
Henry shrugs. “Still.”
Alex opens his mouth but Henry keeps going.
“And then you asked me, and I thought… you were just trying to experiment. I couldn’t handle that from you.” Henry looks down at his feet, his shoulders drawing in slightly.
Alex groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, Nora let me know how much my delivery needed work. I thought that was gonna work better, like it would make it easy for you to agree.”
Henry smiles wryly. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
Alex feels like he needs to say something serious but the haze of tequila makes it challenging. “I don't want to sleep with you just for an experiment.”
Henry nods, but Alex can tell he’s not really getting it.
“No, listen. You’re… like the gay Rolls-Royce.”
Henry barks out a laugh. “I’m a car?”
“A Rolls-Royce. The car. Listen up because I’m drunk so this is fucking honesty hour.”
Alex takes a deep breath.
“You are literally the premium luxury man,” he announces. “If someone offered me a Rolls-Royce as my first car, do you think I’d be like, ‘Well, I’ll take it for a test drive, but I also want to take the Corolla and Prius for a spin?’ Absolutely not! That would be deranged, nobody does that.”
Henry stares at him, lips parted in an amused smile.
Alex presses on. “You thought I asked you to be, like, my sex tutor, for convenience or whatever, and that’s on me because I made it sound like that. But I asked because you’re you. You’re the Rolls-Royce. And I really like Rolls-Royces. Like, a lot. And I’m not too proud to admit that yes, learning to drive in one is probably a religious experience.”
And then Henry laughs, a low, startled laugh that breaks out of him like sunlight though the trees. His shoulders drop, tension loosening a little.
Alex takes another step closer. “And, I like you,” he says, voice softer. “Like, you specifically. Not the idea of you, or the mythology of it all. Just you, who talks to everyone like they matter and smiles like that. I just… picked the wrong strategy”
Henry’s gaze flickers and he furrows his brows. “I never thought I’d be an option.”
Alex snorts. “Well you are. A top-tier option. A stupidly attractive, annoyingly well-reviewed option.”
Henry is right there, close enough that Alex can smell his cologne, soft and clean, a bit grassy. Alex wishes he was more sober for this, it’s so stupid that this all happened given how sloshed he is, but he can’t exactly bring himself to regret the chain of events.
He reaches out and steadies himself with a hand against Henry’s chest, not where he meant to aim, but it works. It keeps him from sliding down the wall, and gives him an excuse to cop a feel of the very solid chest muscles beneath Henry’s sweater. A win is a win.
“So, you like me and I like you. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”
Henry’s eyes widen.
“I want to go on a date with you,” Alex says.
Henry freezes, and his eyes dart over Alex’s face. “A date?”
“Yeah. You know, sitting down, food, beverages, me looking at your stupid face.”
That gets a full smile. “I thought you liked my face.”
“I do,” Alex admits easily.
Henry’s face falls a little, his breath catching. “Alex, you’re drunk.”
“I know,” he says, leaning forward a little until their foreheads almost brush. “But I also know what I want. I wanted it two hours ago, when I wasn’t drunk. I’ll want it in the morning when I have a hangover the size of Texas.”
Henry swallows and his voice is low. “You want to go on a date with me.” It’s almost like he’s talking to himself, almost convincing himself. It’s adorable.
“Obviously,” Alex replies. “You’re gorgeous and sweet and you laughed when I stormed in and accused you of short-king discrimination. And my stomach gets all swoopy when you smile at me and I’m pretty sure that’s not just the tequila. So yeah. Is a date so crazy?”
Henry’s expression goes so fucking soft. “No, it’s not.”
“Good,” Alex says, relieved, sliding his hand down to Henry’s sternum. “Because if you say no a second time, I’m going to assume it actually is the height thing, and then I'll sue your ass for vertical discrimination leading to emotional distress.”
Henry shakes his head with a smile. “When you’re sober, I’ll ask you properly.”
Alex just shrugs. “Okay. But you should know I’m absolutely going to say yes. So like, save yourself the suspense.”
Henry shakes his head fondly.
And Alex, dizzy with the booze and the feeling and something like happiness bubbling in his chest, leans forward and rests his head on Henry’s shoulder, whispering, “Best terrible plan I’ve ever had.”
Henry laughs again, arms coming up carefully to Alex’s lower back.
“It isn’t terrible,” he murmurs into Alex’s hair. “Not one bit.”
Henry keeps an arm around Alex on the walk home, the cool night rushing over them. They’re both giddy. Alex leans into him more than he means to but Henry doesn’t seem to mind, just adjusts his hold and smiles down at Alex.
He lets Alex ramble the whole way, stream of consciousness taking over, only interjecting to softly correct his path, murmuring things like, “Careful,” or, “This way, darling,” or, “Alex, love, that’s a recycling bin,” steering him around obstacles Alex absolutely would have walked into.
“You know, you were a whole part of my sexuality realization?” Alex muses, leaning heavily on Henry’s shoulder.
Henry looks shocked. “Me?”
“Indirectly. Just… a benchmark or something.”
Henry huffs a laugh, but lets Alex continue, his grounding arm around Alex’s waist making him bold enough to say it.
“So, okay,” Alex says, stumbling lightly over a crack in the sidewalk that Henry instantly steadies him from. “There was this thing with my best friend from high school, Liam. Teenagers hooking up without naming it, and we never talked about it, ever. And then I moved, and he stopped talking to me, and it all got shoved into the mental junk drawer labeled ‘teenage nonsense.’”
Henry smiles at that. “Quite a label for one’s formative years."
“Oh, it was a full fucking drawer,” Alex says dramatically. “Anyway, I met up with him over Christmas break. Turns out he’s gay, has a boyfriend, the whole thing. And he made a little throwaway comment about us, what happened, how he’s over how I hurt him.”
Henry doesn’t look judgemental, just interested. Alex continues.
“So of course, that was like, great, now I have to re-evaluate my entire adolescence. And that I hurt someone cause I was too chickenshit to look at my own feelings,” Alex shakes his head sadly. “Then I come back to school and my brain is reviewing every interaction with bisexual glasses. And do you know how many of those involved you?”
Henry blinks, surprised and delighted. “How many?”
“So many,” Alex groans. “Because you're always there. And I could not figure out why I was so interested. I chalked it all up to admiration. Like, oh, wow, look at Henry and his effortless game, I wish I had that. But I was deeply in denial about how much I wanted that confidence directed at me.”
Henry laughs. “If it helps, I did a lot of re-evaluating myself when I thought you were straight. It would have been better to avoid you entirely, but I couldn’t make myself.”
It does help, kind of. Taking the sting out of Alex’s rejection, of his own mess of feelings.
When they reach Alex’s dorm, he fumbles with the key twice before Henry gently takes it, unlocks the door, and nudges him inside. When Alex starts taking off his clothes in his bedroom, Henry turns on his heel so fast that his shoulder bumps the doorframe, averting his eyes. Alex thinks it’s stupid, but also unbelievably sweet.
He fills Alex’s water bottle and brings him the Advil for the morning and literally tucks him into bed.
Alex, eyes heavy and limbs loose, looks up at him. “Youre gonna ask me out tomorrow, right?”
Henry’s expression is soft and glowing. “I am.”
“And I’m gonna say yes.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Alex nods, drowsy, satisfied with the terms of the contract. “Ok, goodnight. Thank you.”
“Goonight, Alex.”
Henry hesitates for a second, before he leans down and presses the lightest kiss imaginable to Alex’s temple. Then he leaves.
Alex wakes up with a head full of tiny jackhammers and the distinct feeling that something very, very wrong has happened. His tongue feels like it’s made of wool and his eyes are full of gunk and as he assesses the situation, memories immediately invade his brain.
The height speech and the weird science metaphors and the fact that he compared him to a car? The date?
He groans to himself burying his head into a pillow. He remembers everything with a shocking amount of clarity given the level of intoxication. He remembers Henry’s face and how stunned he was to hear Alex likes him.
His phone buzzing on the nightstand takes him out of his thoughts. He turns his head and there it is. Plugged in. Alex is sure he is not the one who plugged that phone in. It buzzes again.
He reaches out and pulls it to him.
Unknown Number
Good morning, I hope you’re hydrating and you don’t feel too horrible.
If you’re still interested, I’d love to take you on that date. Let me know when you’re free, as soon as you start feeling human again.
Alex stares at the screen. And stares, and stares. And then flops back onto the bed with a laugh that bubbles out of him.
Yes he feels like shit, and yes, he tells himself he’s never drinking again. But Henry wants the date. Still.
Alex can’t believe he pulled that off. His mind feels like fucking Hercules when his body feels like trash. He doesn’t text back right away. He needs coffee and food and a litre of water before his brain will be able to form a properly coherent thought, but he will soon.
The date happens the next day, neither wanting to wait too long. They meet at a quiet cafe just off campus, a cozy place with soft seating and softer lighting. Alex gets there early because he refuses to be the one caught walking in, so he spends a very tense eight minutes reading the menu and pretending to be chill.
Henry arrives right on time, stepping though the door with a hesitant smile that makes Alex’s brain go mushy. He sits across from Alex and they greet each other a little nervously. It starts out awkward, but in the charming way Alex always secretly hoped dating would be like. Henry talks about the book he’s reading and Alex listens in earnest.
They trade bites of croissant and bump knees under the table and it’s all just hopelessly endearing to Alex. He must have done something in a past life to get something this good, especially with that beginning
When the bill comes, Henry tries to pay and Alex fights him on principle, finally relenting with a promise that he’ll get the next one. After, they walk out into the cool afternoon and Alex reaches over to grab Henry’s hand.
“So,” Henry asks. “Can I ask you out again?”
Alex smirks. “I asked you out the first time, so it’s not really again.”
Henry rolls his eyes. “You were drunk, it didn’t count.”
“Of course it did! That was me asking you out. So yes, you can ask me out. For the first time, for a second date.”
“Alright. I’m asking.”
“And I’m answering,”
Henry laughs. “And the answer is..”
“Of course I will,” Alex's smile is probably embarrassingly big, but Henry’s answering one isn’t much different.
They part that evening with a lingering kiss and a promise for a date sooner than later, and Alex walks back to his dorm in a state of quiet disbelief. He closes the door behind him and leans back onto it like he’s in a shitty teen movie, playing pretend a bit, but it feels so good to revel in it.
And later that night, much later, after texts that start innocently and slide into flirting, after Alex stops pretending he isn’t checking his phone every thirty seconds, Alex finds himself slipping out into the dark, giggling to himself.
Henry opens the door of his apartment with a heated look that tells Alex he wasn’t the only one counting the seconds.
What happens after is special. Soft laughter and low voices, not trying to get to everything but thoroughly enjoying where they do get. And as Alex falls asleep, Henry wrapped around his back, all he can think is:
Yeah. The reviews were extremely accurate.