Red, White, & Royal Pain

5.1

Henry sighed as he tapped his fingers against the smooth surface of the table. He sat alone with a cup of earl gray tea, and stared at the empty seat in front of him. A seat, that should be filled by his boyfriend. His infectious laugh and usually inappropriate humor were missing, and their absence did not go unnoticed. Alex had been so involved with his work lately that they'd barely had any time to just be together, so they'd make a plan to meet at "Le Petit Paris" coffee shop which was small and comfortable. It used to be their favorite date location before Alex became so withdrawn. Alex should have arrived an hour ago, and this was not the first time that this had happened. Henry avoided the sympathetic looks from bystanders as well as the occasional flash of a camera as he awkwardly got up and left.

After a few minute walk, Henry wiggled his keys through the door and half heartedly called "Alex?" No reply, of course. He wasn't home, of course. Of freaking course. Because when was Alex home lately? When did Alex even acknowledge him lately?

Sighing for what felt like—and probably was—the tenth time of the hour, Henry kicked off his shoes.

"Here," he heard Alex's voice call from his office. Here? This was their home, but not school attendance. Despite his anger, despite how angry he should be, he went right to Alex's office. No matter what they were working through, Henry's adoration for the love of his life clouded all sense of what should be. And there was his beautiful boyfriend, clad in only a sweatshirt and sweatpants, staring into the blue light of his computer, sheets of paper and notebooks sprawled around him.

"You look nice," Alex said, no affection or anything of the sort in his voice.

"Thanks, you look casual," Henry managed to get out, forcing back an eye roll before slipping from the room and crawling right into his bed. He silently wept at everything. At Alex for standing him up for the third time this month. At himself for his inability to even be angry with his boyfriend. At the world for expecting so much of Alex Claremont-Diaz, so much so that he can't even spend time with his boyfriend. Everything sucked.

--

    Days became weeks and weeks became months. Months since Alex spent any sort of time with Henry besides sleeping which was barely anything. Months since Alex so much as looked at Henry without any twinge of urgency to continue his new project of the day. No contact whatsoever. But today was the day Henry decided he would change this.

    "Alex," Henry called, entering the house after a day at the shelter. No response. Shaking his head, he walked into the office and sure enough, Alex was sitting gazing into the computer. How he didn't have migraine from this, Henry hadn't a clue. Maybe he did have migraines. It's not like Henry knew what was up with his own boyfriend these past weeks.

    "Alex?"

    "Busy," Alex snapped, frantically flipping through pages and then typing some more.

    "I see that, you have been lately, that's actually what I came in here to—" Henry began as he fiddled with his fingers before Alex cut him off.

    "Why are you in here? What do you want? I'm busy?" He snapped, his eyes turning to Henry's for a brief moment, an icy stare present in those dark orbs.

    "I just want to know if—"

    "If what, Henry? If what?"

    "If we could just spend some time together," Henry spoke louder this time, his face turning redder than ever. And Alex laughed, a harsh, rageful laugh that Henry took a step back.

    "Has it not occurred to you that I'm busy?" He snapped.

    "Alex, I-"

    "GET OUT!" Eyes wide, Henry stood frozen. This was not Alex. Alex wouldn't yell at him. His Alex would never—

    "I SAID GET OUT!" And so Henry left, ran out of the room—shaking, slightly— but not before packing a bag and taking a pen and a piece of paper

Alex,

You told me one time over the phone that you'd have thought that I would like to kill you in a personal and sensual way. It was a joke when you'd said it, a form of our early stages of banter. The irony to this statement is that you are in fact the one killing me—in the most personal way possible I might add. These past few weeks have been absolute torture on myself, and you haven't the slightest clue what you're doing to me. Which makes it that much worse. You also said once that I was your first love, your first and only love. But now it seems as though you've found another love; your work. I guess I should be glad, right? Glad that your second love isn't a real person, more so an idea. But really, how am I to know this? With the amount of time you spend out, how can I really be sure?

You yelled at me Alex. Not raised your voice, not expressed your concerns with me, you yelled. And that look you gave me, that wasn't you, Alex. That wasn't you. But it was. It was you, Alex.

Contact me when you're ready to make a change. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even next week.

- Henry

And with that, without a second look, Henry left.