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Every now and then, Henry had bad days.
Alex would sense it the moment he stepped into their apartment — the house would be just a bit too quiet, the rooms a bit too dark, there would be no soft jazz playing in the background, and David would not greet him at the door like he usually does. Alex hated Henry’s bad days, because he hated to see Henry so sad and vulnerable, unable to handle the painful thoughts overtaking his mind. But Alex would always try his best to make it a little less bad, leaving his shit workday outside the door, making tea, grabbing their comfiest blanket from the living room, and finding Henry wherever he ended up curled in on himself.
Alex would always try.
He would press up against Henry’s body, hold any part he could reach, just reassure Henry that he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere, and that it’s going to get better.
Henry would be grateful the next day, and everything would be well, until the next bad day. Between two of Henry’s bad days, they would laugh, and take walks, play with David, watch movies, meet their friends, make love, cook together. Between two bad days, Henry would be fine, and Alex would be happy for him.
But every now and then, Alex also had bad days.
He’s unsure when the bad days started, to be honest. Initially it was just him getting angry at random things, snapping at everyone in the office for no reason, his text message replies a bit angrier than usual. His coworkers would tell him it’s the stress, that he should take a break, and he would angrily do so. But then he would be pissed that he’s missing out on work stuff, so he would log into his computer from home, ignore Henry’s pleas to stop checking emails, and just get even angrier.
Then the bad days started to get slightly worse and more frequent. Alex would find himself struggling to complete basic tasks, like buying printing paper, because he would forget it the moment he took his eyes off of the printer. He would struggle to call the maintenance guy to check the doorbell system, because suddenly picking up the phone and making a request filled him with anxiety. Then sometimes he would find himself standing in the middle of their living room, completely overwhelmed, trying to decide if he should mop the floor, or take out the trash, or get some of his planned reading done, until he would just not do any of them because he would not be able to make the decision. Sometimes he would find himself starving in the afternoon, not having had lunch because he could not for the life of him decide what to order.
Choices and the unknown started to scare him, and the fact that they scared him, scared him even more. Multitasking was suddenly impossible, and if he had more than two people talking around him at the office, he had to leave the room to get some air. When Nora or June called him to meet for a coffee, he made up some shit excuse so he wouldn’t have to go. He desperately wanted company, but he just couldn’t stand how normal the life of others seemed to be.
Alex has never felt so terrible in his entire life, and considering the experiences he had so far, this was pretty fucking bad.
When Henry had bad days, Alex would always know what to do. He would always know how to be there for Henry.
But when Alex had bad days, he had no fucking clue what to do.
He though of talking to Henry, but the moment just never felt right. Mostly because Alex’s bad days always started with him growing more and more irritated throughout the day, and he wanted to avoid accidentally getting into a fight with Henry that he didn’t mean and would regret the next day.
He didn’t want to talk to his mom, because she was always busy with presidential stuff and even though Alex was pretty certain she’d drop everything if he asked, he didn’t want to burden her with what he internally referred to as his bullshit.
Alex also didn’t want to talk to Nora and June about it, because June was swarmed with interview appointments and Nora was always on a mission, and he didn’t want to interrupt them either. He thought about talking to Leo, but Leo would surely tell his mom and that lead Alex back to feeling shitty about disturbing her.
His dad — the same.
At one low point he even thought about calling Cash and just spilling everything to him, but that felt unfair, and Cash wasn’t responsible for fixing his inability to handle his mental state.
In fact, no one was responsible for fixing his fucking head, other than Alex. He felt it unfair to offload his problems to anyone, when the others were busy living their lives like normal people do.
So, whenever Alex had a bad day, he would try to suffer through, making as little negative impact on others as possible. He would try desperately to contain the fire, to not suffocate in the smoke, to ignore the pressing pain in his head, to resist the weight pulling him down.
Alex wasn’t sure when Henry had started noticing his bad days, but he knew he did. Somehow, the tasks Alex has abandoned would always get done in no time — the doorbell system would be working a day later, the printer would have paper in it by the next morning, the floor would be squeaky clean in an hour, and Alex’s books would always stay within arm’s reach next to the sofa.
One of these bad days found Alex when Henry was away meeting Philip and Martha for dinner, who visited for a charity event. Alex got home late in the afternoon, after yelling at a client on the phone, missing two meetings, and picking a fight with his boss over a complicated contract modification, which ended with his boss threatening to send him on a mandatory sabbatical if he didn’t get his shit together, and Alex kicking the trashcan on his way out of his office.
When he opened the front door of the brownstone, he kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his coat, dropping it on the floor. He threw his messenger bag blindly in the direction of the living room, narrowly avoiding a mildly confused David on his way to greet him, and headed over the stairs to get to the bedroom. He barely made it inside, before he fell on his hands and knees, breathing heavily and feeling like the roof is about to collapse on his head.
Alex knew this wasn’t a panic attack, but something very close to a mental breakdown. He clambered towards the bed, pressing his back to the soft side of the mattress and throwing his head against it. His chest felt heavy, his limbs felt numb, and his head felt like a million tiny hands were pressing on his skull from the inside, trying to break the bones.
Alex spent a good thirty minutes just trying to breathe, head thrown back and eyes closed. Eventually he felt something wet pressing against his hand, and glanced down to see David sniffing at his side and looking up at him with all the curiosity and worry a 25-pound beagle can muster.
“Shit,” he cursed quietly. “I scared you, didn’t I?” Alex opened up his palm for David to push his nose into, and sat up to make space for him in his lap. David climbed over Alex’s leg, and made a few turns until he found a comfortable position, continuing to lick Alex’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” Alex sighed. “I’m having a shit day and I’m making it shit for you, too. It’s unfair, David.” The dog huffed, and gave a tiny forceful push to Alex’s lower arm, to indicate that an apology petting was in order. Alex scratched David’s back thoroughly, before thumping his head back against the bed.
“It’s just so, so fucking unfair. Like, I hate getting angry, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop it? I know it’s stupid, and I know I’m getting pissed off over fucking nothing, but I can’t fucking do anything about it, David! It’s like there’s the logical thought in my head, and then there’s the instinctive reaction, you know?” David glanced up at Alex, clearly not knowing, which did make Alex laugh out a little. “Yeah. It’s just… I don’t know either? I don’t know why I’m like this, and I don’t know why I can’t fix it. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. It doesn’t make sense. It wasn’t always like this, though? I used to be fine. I fucking excelled at everything. School? Straight As. Lacrosse? Most valuable player thirty fucking games in a row. Debate club? Fucking president. Job interviews? Nailed every single one of them.”
Alex dropped his hands and closed his eyes. “And now it’s just fucking hell. Phone calls? Terrifying. Remembering all the items on the shopping list? Impossible. Making plans for the next day? Fucking overwhelming. I feel like I’m not interested in anything, stuff that used to make me excited don’t do anymore, sometimes I barely have the energy to get out of bed and cosplay a normal human being for the day.” David pushed at his arm again, and Alex absentmindedly returned to stroking his back. “It doesn’t make sense,” he whispered. “It’s not fair.”
“And the worst part is, I so fucking wish I could talk to someone, but I feel like no one deserves to have this fucking burden, you know? It’s my shit. My fucking head being a fucking mess. I can’t put this on anyone else, David, they have their own issues to deal with anyway. They don’t need mine. They shouldn’t see mine.”
“You know that’s not true.”
Alex jumped a little as he whipped his head towards the door. Henry was sitting on the floor, leaning against the doorframe, one leg pulled up to his chest, chin resting on his knee. Even in the dark of the room, Alex could see his eyes were full of pain and there was a hint of a sad smile on his lips.
“When did you get home?” Alex asked quietly, cursing himself for not paying attention.
“About five minutes after you did. I wanted to surprise you, but I guess that backfired.”
“Henry, I—”
“Alex.” Henry got up and walked over to where Alex was sitting against the bed, dropping down to the floor next to him and immediately taking one of his hands in his. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me about this?”
Alex looked at their joined hands, and moved his thumb over Henry’s. “I couldn’t, Hen. I— I don’t know what’s going on with me and I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Alex, I love you and I will always worry about you. It’s my right and privilege as your husband.”
“I love you too,” Alex whispered. He felt tears forming in his eyes, and started to blink rapidly as David moved to sit between the two of them, looking back and forth, trying to decide which side needs more support. Henry petted his head, murmuring, “Good boy, Davey, comforting your dad.”
“I just—” Alex started, not quite knowing what to say. Henry looked at him, face soft but intent, stroking his hand and shuffling closer so their shoulders were pressed together. “I feel like I’m failing at everything, H. I feel like I’m disappointing our friends when I decline their invitations, I’m disappointing the guys at the office when I can’t focus on anything, and I’m disappointing you by just not being okay.”
“Alex,” Henry shook his head. “You of all people should know how untrue this is. You’re not disappointing anyone, especially not me.”
“But I feel like I am.”
“And I’m telling you, you are not.” Henry put an arm around Alex’s shoulder to pull their bodies together, and Alex was once again fucking grateful how his head fit perfectly into the crook of Henry’s neck. “If you don’t believe me, then tell me this— are you disappointed in me when I have one of those terrible bad days? When I literally can’t get out of bed, when you come home to find me in the same pathetic fetal position you left me in the morning, when I can’t even get up to brush my teeth, and you have to do every chore even though you’ve been working the entire day?”
“No,” Alex whispered. Understanding started to dawn on him, but as always, the instinct to disagree with logic was fucking difficult to fight. “But it’s not your fault. You have your reasons for having those days. Valid reasons.”
“And you don’t?” Henry laughed softly, voice laced with disbelief. “Alex, love, if you think you don’t have valid reasons to have bad days, I’m sorry, but you are quite wrong.”
“But I don’t feel like I do,” Alex said, burrowing his head a little further into Henry’s neck, pressing his nose against the soft flesh. “I feel like I’m just making shit up for myself. Like my problems are not real problems, when you compare it to other people’s problems? I’ve met a single mom yesterday who had an insane stupid lawsuit against her because her fucking abusive ex-husband wanted to fuck with her for leaving him, and now she’s on the verge of losing her job and her child, and like, that’s a real problem. Me getting anxiety over replying to an email? That’s not fucking real.”
“Alex,” Henry shook his head, gently pushing his fingers in Alex’s curls, massaging a spot above his ear. “You can’t compare your problems to other people’s. What’s happening to that woman is terrible, but it doesn’t make your issues any less valid. Love, you need to understand that you are allowed to feel bad. Don’t measure your life on someone else’s scale. You are allowed to struggle. You are allowed to be unwell. You are safe with us. With me.”
Alex squeezed Henry’s hand where their fingers were linked together. “I hate everything about this, Henry. I don’t understand why I can’t just fix this.”
“This isn’t something that you can just fix, Alex. It needs work. You’ve seen me down at my worst and you’ve seen me try so hard to pull myself up. I’ve had years of therapy and practice and even I can’t deal with it sometimes. Sweetheart, you need to allow yourself to ask for help, and you need to let me try to help you. You need to talk to me, when you feel like it’s too much. I love you, Alex, and the thought of not being able to be there for you just kills me.” Henry turned his head to press a kiss on the top of Alex’s head, and buried his nose in his curls. Alex shivered at the touch, and leaned closer. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Alex replied. They stayed quiet for a few minutes, until Alex whispered, “I’ll try, Hen. I promise I’ll try.”
“And I promise I will be here,” Henry replied. “I can’t promise to always be able to make it better, but I will be here until it gets a little less bad.”
And then the next time Alex would have a bad day, he would make sure to not shut Henry out. He would leave work early, he would silently climb into Henry’s lap when he gets home, and they would hold each other until the storm in Alex’s head passes, trading soft kisses and Henry whispering praises in his ear.
And when Henry would have his next bad day, Alex would do what he always does, and when he ends up holding Henry close to him sitting in the bay window and looking up at the stars, he would swear he’s going to love this man forever, and no bad days could ever change that.
And sometimes, when they would have their bad days at the same time, they would both feel so miserable that they would actually end up laughing, facing each other in bed, with David starfishing between them, offering therapeutic bellyrub opportunities. They would agree that they are both ridiculous, that Henry’s breath is terrible, that Alex’s bedhead looks stupid, and they would pull each other up and take a shower together, and then order a greasy pizza and eat it on the floor of the living room, and watch Star Wars movies until they fall asleep on each other in the middle of the afternoon, David munching on a piece of sausage that fell from Alex’s slice of pizza on the rug that Henry would have to clean the next day.
And all, Alex would think, just might be well.