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Shame pours down the ridges of his spine like a torrent of rain. This is the third man he’s had this week. The day before yesterday he was on his knees in the kitchen of his flat. Yesterday, it was the bathroom of a filthy dive bar. Today he’s in a bed, at least. He’s staring into the creases of a goose-down pillow; his knuckles are as white as the pillowcase.
The other man is speaking absolute filth into the air, and Henry can’t help but enjoy the depravity of it all. This is the last thought he wants to have while getting off, but he takes in a sick satisfaction of knowing his Gran would die if she could see him right now. His proclivities be damned; for now he is a normal uni student—if he can forget the NDA folded messily in the pocket of his slacks thrown haplessly in the corner of the room and the weight of expectation. He can, because Charles? Christopher? Chandler? Whoever it is, is calling him a gorgeous little slut, and giving him everything he didn’t know he wanted.
—
Although their emails are out there for the world to see, Henry is grateful he never went into details about his Oxford days. He talked about his first time with Philip’s mate—and Alex raged on his behalf, but he never talked about…everything else. It’s a secret he wants to bury. He doesn’t know why. Alex is the last person who will judge him about questionable coping mechanisms; the pot and the kettle get along so splendidly. But still, the idea of talking about the full extent of his dark days makes his skin feel too tight on his bones. He shakes the thought away when he stares at the man who fits into his arms like he was meant to be there all along.
—
It comes out, as all things do, because of vodka—it brings something out in him he tries to lock away. He moves more easily, floats above the surface, swaying easily in the cradle of Alex’s arms. He presses his lips to the sweat on Alex’s collarbone, laughing softly at whatever Alex is saying. He isn’t picking up on the words over the music. Pez is dancing next to him; he’s sandwiched between June and Nora, mouthing along to the words of the song.
The song ends and they all make their way back to the roped off table away from the action. Henry is leaning into Alex, content at the warmth of the other man’s hand on the back of his neck, rubbing slow circles in.
Pez and the girls sit down first, and Pez makes a statement that takes Henry right out of his content haze.
“Haz, you were moving like you were at Oxford again. I didn’t know you still had it in you.” The statement is harmless. Pez would never do anything to hurt him, but it sends a chill down his spine. Henry blinks rapidly and shifts away from Alex immediately.
“Erm…excuse me. I need to…um. Freshen up.” He stutters over his words and nearly trips over his feet as he moves towards the bathroom. He can hear everyone calling his name as he dashes away.
—-
The bathroom is pristine and quiet, especially for a club. The dark tiles match the theme of the rest of the club and the mirror doesn’t have a single smudge. It’s a nice thought, in theory, to be spotless, but Henry doesn’t know what it’s like. It’s amazing how a simple word can make him feel small and sad in all the ways he’s working against.
He doesn’t know how much time passes before he hears a frantic knock. He didn’t lock the door behind him, but he knows the person who’s knocking would never barge in on him without permission. Although their relationship is still relatively new, Alex is the epitome of respectful. He knows when Henry needs space and won’t push. Alex is everything Henry needs; they complement each other perfectly.
He moves to the door and lets Alex in, avoiding the concerned eyes watching his movements. Alex pushes it shut and makes sure to lock it. The click of the lock is the thing that sends Henry inwards. His breath hitches and he bends down to fold himself into Alex.
“Hey. Hey, sweetheart. What’s going on?” Alex’s voice is soft, warm hands rubbing circles into his shoulder blades.
“I. I just had a moment. I’m fine, love.” Henry says, words muffled by Alex’s warm skin.
Alex holds him impossibly tighter, trying to meld their bodies into one. “I find that hard to believe. We were dancing, and then Pez said one thing and you’re bolting off to hide. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but I’m here to listen if you want me to.”
Henry wants to know what he did to deserve Alex, but he can ponder that later. He takes another shaking breath and swallows the thick feeling of his tongue.
“I’ll talk more about it another time, because I don’t want to ruin the evening, but I was a different person when I was at Oxford. I didn’t like that person, and when Pez said that I lost it a bit.”
It’s a very simplified version, but he can’t think of the words to explain everything that period of his life was to him.
Alex isn’t saying anything. He’s just listening, even though Henry didn’t say a lot.
“Do you want to head out? I can make an excuse for us. No one will care.”
Henry nods into Alex’s chest, grateful for his boyfriend’s easy understanding. He knows they can’t stay in the restroom forever, but he wouldn’t mind staying in this moment, just the two of them in the quiet with muted sound leaking through the crack in the door.
Alex leads them out, keeping a firm grip on Henry’s hand. He makes up an excuse for the both of them, and the group understands without an argument. They leave in short order and sit in comfortable silence in the car on the way back.
Henry asks Alex to stay at the brownstone instead of going back to his own apartment, and Alex obliges easily. When they get back, they bid Cash goodnight and move upstairs. They change into pajamas and settle into their evening routine with David trailing behind the both of them.
Alex doesn’t bring it up again, and neither does Henry, for now. When they get into bed, Alex holds Henry close, instead of their usual arrangement.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Hen?”
“I’m thankful for you. That’s all. I know tonight ended on a strange note, and I’m still making sense of it all in my mind.”
“I’ll be here whether you want to talk about it or not. It’s different now, baby. You’re allowed to have things for yourself. It doesn’t mean it’s a secret.”
Henry doesn’t say anything else, but he shifts in the safety of Alex’s arms to kiss him softly on the lips.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve got you, Henry. You know that, right?”
Henry nods into Alex’s chest, feeling settled. He knows shame doesn’t have a place in the home of Alex’s arms.