Abroad

Two

As soon as they got to the speakeasy, Alex went off to use the bathroom so Henry turned to Pez and glared at him.

"Why would you ask him to come with us?"

Pez frowned at him and raised an eyebrow. "He's hot and he looked lonely."

Henry huffed and ordered a drink before turning back to Henry. "Pez, do you know who that is?"

Pez shook his head, looking completely baffled. 

Henry sighed. "That's Alex Claremont-Diaz," he said. Pez blinked at him. "The guy from my literature class."

Pez stared at him blankly for another moment before gasping. "Oh, the one that you're in love with?"

Henry huffed at him and took his drink from the bar, holding it in his hands but not bringing it to his lips. "I'm not in love with him. I just––"

Pez laughed at him and put a hand on his shoulder, literally doubling over like this was all hilarious instead of extremely embarrassing. "Hen, you ranted for an hour about the complexity and beauty of his hair!"

Okay, well, that might have been correct, but it didn't matter. His crush on Alex Claremont-Diaz was fine because it was from a distance. He made sure to never talk to him or sit near him because he thought that, if he got too close or attached, he would burn up on impact. Alex was so infuriatingly American––loud, obnoxious, headstrong––but he always also so infuriatingly beautiful. It was a constant internal battle for Henry––hate him or love him. Literature was obviously not his strong suit, but he still always tried in class. Had the fucking audacity to challenge Henry on certain points. It didn't matter if Henry was always right, it was the principle of the thing. Alex was the sun and Henry never had sunglasses. It was blinding just to look at him, let alone try to speak to him without making a complete and utter pillock of himself. 

"I––look," he said, glaring at Pez, "I just don't want him here, okay? Get rid of him."

Pez frowned and hissed air through his teeth, nodding his head behind Henry. "I think he'll get the message."

With some kind of question on his lips, Henry, eyebrows furrowed, turned and saw Alex standing behind him, eyes narrow and fists clenched. His jaw was clenched and everything about his current stance and body language read that he was just angry at Henry, but his eyes gave him away. Hurt. Alex was hurt and offended and probably feeling pretty miserable about himself now and it was Henry's fault. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Alex turned on his heel and started to leave. Desperate, Henry turned back to Pez with his mouth open.

"I––"

"You need to fix this," Pez warned, wagging a finger at him. "He's a perfectly nice guy who is having a miserable time here and wants to make friends."

"He won't want to be my friend," Henry replied without blinking. No one really wanted to be his friend. Pez was his friend, his roommate, even, but it was more circumstantial than it was due to Henry's personality.

"You haven't given the poor guy a chance to find out!"

Well, that was true. Even though Henry knew that Alex probably wouldn't be keen on hanging out with him now, he knew that he had royally fucked up and that he had to try to fix things. It wouldn't kill him to apologize to him. Then, once he'd apologized, Alex could sleep well at night knowing that this wasn't his fault and that Henry was just a closed-off, dickish guy afraid of letting too many people in. Once that was done, he could go back and try to enjoy his evening with Pez and Alex could continue to hate him from a distance while Henry stole looks at him during literature and it could all go back to normal. And normal was fine. Normal was what kept Henry protected. 

The night was cool and wet. It wasn't really raining, but a few drops spat down from the sky every so often. Alex wasn't far from the speakeasy––he was seated on someone's steps. His head was in his hands and his phone was in one of them like he wanted desperately to call someone but had no one to talk to. Henry's heart jerked at the sight of it: Alex illuminated weakly by the streetlight, his hair falling in sad curls around his hands. Henry sighed and sat down next to him. 

"Find your own––" Alex pulled his head out of his hands and saw that it was Henry sitting next to him. He groaned. "First you say you want me gone, and now you follow me outside?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Un-fucking-believable."

Henry sighed and pulled his knees up against himself, resting his arms overtop them. "I'm sorry," he tried. "Truly. I obviously didn't mean for you to hear that."

"Wow, thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

Henry opened his mouth to say something, probably just to reiterate his apology, but Alex wouldn't let him speak. 

"This is what I hate about this fucking country and the stupid people," Alex huffed. "Y'all can't make up your minds. It's like half of you wants to be the rude, feelingless Brit, but the other half is too hung up on old pleasantries. It's fucking infuriating." He took a breath. "People actually liked me back home, you know? I was the life of the party. People asked me to hang out with them. And no one's liked me here or had any interest in me as a person until your friend Pez came over and started talking to me like I was an equal and not just some stupid American guy. And I don't care if you don't like me, but at least let your friend find out for himself."

Henry was torn between keeping his mask on and tearing it off forever. He wanted to protect himself––he was so good at hiding that it was often his go-to move. But Alex had been vulnerable with him even after Henry had behaved in such a manner, so he decided to repay him in kind. 

"I do like you," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I think you're an overconfident arsehole––"

"Hey!"

"But I like you. You're so very...yourself of all the time and it makes me angry because you don't really seem to care what other people think." He sighed. "And, well, all I do is care about what other people think."

Alex raised an eyebrow at him. "So you hate me because you like me?"

"That sounds rather foolish, I suppose. I'll just––" He made a move to stand, but Alex grabbed his wrist. 

"No," he insisted, giving Henry's arm a tug. "I want you to stay."

Henry gave in and sat back down. 

"I think I judged you too quickly," Alex said. "I thought you were pretentious and unfeeling, and you are, but you're also..."

"Also what?" Henry really wanted to know. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat hinging on the answer. He didn't know what he was hoping for––beautiful? Lovely? Annoying? Honestly, any answer would do. Some adjective for him to hang onto for the next little while would be enough. 

"I don't know," Alex replied honestly. "I think you're hurting and I think that the whole pretentious thing is just an act you put up to protect yourself. Which I get. Big time. But I...I'm hurting too, you know? So maybe we'd both hurt a little less if we hurt together." He laughed. "I'm sorry. That sounded––"

"No," Henry insisted, moving so he could look into Alex's beautiful brown eyes. "I liked it. And I would like that very much."

Alex grinned at him and Henry felt some of the tension melt out of his shoulders. It wasn't everything he had ever wanted, but it was still Alex and that felt like enough.