Work Text:
The first rays of early morning sunlight stream hazily through the gauzy curtains, casting soft shadows across the hardwood floor and pale walls. It would be too early for any normal human to be up, but Henry always has a hard time sleeping when Alex is away. When he finally opens his eyes after a few fitful hours of sleep, he’s confused as to where he is. Then the word comes to him, suddenly, and spreads a jolt of warmth through his chest. He’s home. More specifically, he’s in the brownstone in Brooklyn that he bought just before the 2020 election night, and even more specifically, he is in his and Alex’s home.
After Ellen Claremont won the 2020 election and Alex received his acceptance to law school for the following fall at NYU, he and Alex had taken a few months off for vacation. It had been the most fun Henry had had in a long time. Exploring sun drenched blue and white buildings in Santorini, consuming too much tapas and wine in Spain, driving too fast down the roads in Wales (Alex still gets shivers every time Henry says Llwynywermod, and Henry eats it up), and eventually ending it all where everything began, Paris. If Henry couldn’t believe his luck then, he really couldn’t believe his luck when, a month after they had both returned to their respective countries, they were finally getting to move into their new home in Brooklyn.
Currently that’s where Henry is, laying on a stark mattress on the floor in one of the undecorated bedrooms. He had flown in yesterday morning and begun moving his and Alex’s things in while Alex was wrapping up loose ends with his family at the White House. Deciding that he wasn’t going to fall back asleep anytime soon, Henry got up and picked his way around the many boxes strewn about on the floor, making his way downstairs to the kitchen. While he hadn’t unpacked much of anything yesterday, he had made sure to keep his promise to Alex to get the tea kettle and coffee maker set up while he was gone.
“It’s coffee, Henry! How am I supposed to have the motivation to unpack if I can’t consume both of our body weights in caffeine when I get back?” Alex had implored over the phone, and Henry had agreed; Alex without coffee was unholy. So he put the kettle on and grabbed his favorite mug from the mostly empty cupboard: it had a cat in a cowboy hat and said “yee haw” across the bottom in comic sans. Nora had presented it to him when she last saw him, laughing her ass off when he opened it.
“Welcome to the good ol’ US of A, Henry!” she cackled, exuding the kind of chaotic energy only Nora could. Henry couldn’t help but laugh back, secretly warmed by the gift (not that he would ever tell her that). Once the water boiled, Henry dropped in a bag of English Breakfast tea, poured in a splash of milk, and padded out into the living room.
To be honest, having a space that was wholly his to fill up and make a home out of was incredibly intimidating. He was used to beautiful spaces, and the brownstone was definitely beautiful, but back in Kensington his rooms never reflected him. Every expression of his personality had been looked down upon by his brother, his grandmother, even sometimes himself. He had felt like a bird trapped in a gilded cage, now he was finally free and it was... a lot to take in. With tea in hand he sat down on the large tobacco colored couch and glanced around at all the empty space, feeling slightly dismayed. There were so many things about himself that he had always known for sure: that he was gay, that he was in love with Alex, that he wanted to use his royal money to do some good in the world, that he wanted to be a writer. But now that it was time to outwardly display all of these parts of himself, how did he get past the fear that it wasn’t allowed? He let out a small hollow laugh at that thought, he was twenty-four for fuck’s sake! He shouldn’t feel like he needs permission to be himself. His mind drifts back to a similar conversation he and Alex had before the official move, where Henry had voiced a similar concern. Alex’s voice had been soft from the other end of the line,
“You should do whatever you want, sweetheart. It’s your home, our home. You can be whoever or whatever you want with me, within those walls, and I will never judge you.” Henry had let out a wet laugh at that, he had been crying a little.
“Okay, well, I might judge you for reading Pride and Prejudice or Lord of the Rings for the millionth time” Alex amended, Henry could tell he had a shit eating grin on his face, “but I knew what I was signing up for, you ridiculously sexy nerd.”
Henry was grateful to Alex for not questioning his feelings or making him feel silly for them, for always accepting the bits of himself that he sometimes struggled with. Alex made him believe that he was brave, so he would continue to be so even when it felt impossible, even when being “brave” was unpacking all the boxed up parts of himself and putting them out for everyone to see.
He drained the last bits of his tea, a little part of home he was thankful to have with him, he got to work before he could change his mind. He hadn’t been wrong, the apartment had a lot of space to fill. He had purposefully picked one with four bedrooms so that he and Alex could have their own office spaces as well as their shared bedroom and a guest room. But on top of that they also had to fill two bathrooms, a rather large living room with a fireplace, and an area that was both the kitchen and the dining room combined into one; it was a massive undertaking. He knew that he didn’t have to have it all unpacked before Alex came next Thursday, six days from today, but he would like to have as much done as possible. He turned on some music, a playlist titled “2000s Pop Hits” that Alex was forcing him to listen to to get the “authentic American middle school experience,” and began unpacking kitchen items. It was easy, methodical and mindless, and something about the satisfaction of seeing an empty space slowly come alive really lifted Henry’s mood.
Once the kitchen was done he stopped for a quick late lunch and then moved to the nearest stack of boxes labeled “Henry’s office.” Thankfully he had chosen the room on the ground floor, off the entry hallway, so he didn’t have to go far with his things. He didn’t give himself even a moment to feel self conscious as he began unpacking the boxes. He filled the built in bookshelves with all of his well loved favorites: the complete works of Jane Austen, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, poetry collections from Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman, Silvia Plath and Virginia Woolf. He even gave the Harry Potter series its own shelf. Yesterday the movers had dragged in his heavy oak desk and placed it below the large bay window, so he organized all of his writing supplies in it. Filled the drawers with journals and pens, placed his laptop on the square of leather on the smooth top, set an edit of a manuscript he was working on beside it . He unfurled a Turkish rug he had stolen from the music room in Kensington and smiled at the familiarity of the deep purple and red hues. Slowly, the room blossomed under his fingers. Every piece of artwork he hung (prints of tasteful male nudes, a photo of him and Alex at DC pride, a drawing of Han and Leia from a little girl he had met during a visit to the cancer ward in the hospital), every nook he filled with trinkets from his travels (a large conch shell from Greece, a mercury glass candle holder from Ireland, a cigar box from an antique store in Paris), the pride flag pennant he hung on the wall above the door, all of it allowed him to breathe easier.
When he had finished, he looked around and grinned widely, laughing a little manically. It looked amazing, it felt even better. He gave one last glance as he left, arms full of empty cardboard boxes ready to be recycled. He set those down at the end of the hall and padded back into the kitchen, blinking in the low light. He hadn’t realized how long he had been unpacking for, but now he could see that the sun was setting outside. When he walked into the kitchen, needing to grab a glass of water and to check to see if he had missed any texts, he noticed the song that was playing off of the dreaded “2000s Pop Hits” playlist and let out a startled bark of laughter. As he filled up a large glass from the sink, he began to swing his hips slightly, humming along with the lyrics
“To the window, to the wall! Til the sweat drop down my-” So lost in the New Year’s Eve nostalgia of “Get Low” by Lil Jon, Henry didn’t even notice that Alex had snuck in the front door and had come up behind him, wrapping his arms around Henry’s waist.
“Jesus fuck!” Henry shouted, dropping the glass into the basin of the sink and whirling around, eyes wide. Alex threw his head back and laughed,
“I don’t think Jesus would approve of that kind of command, your Highness.” Henry rolled his eyes, heart still jumping in his chest, but leaning into the embrace.
“What are you doing here?! You weren’t supposed to be back until next week.” The prince asked, pulling away and looking back up at his boyfriend, unable to hide the grin on his face. Alex pressed their foreheads together,
“I couldn’t wait to be here, with you. Plus, you seemed like you might need some help last night on the phone.” Henry melted at that, bending down slightly to capture Alex’s lips with his own. Alex deepened the kiss almost immediately. The two stood there like that for who knows how long, relishing in being together again. When they pulled back, Henry tugged at Alex’s hand and said
“Come look at my office, I got everything unpacked for it today,” leading the other man to the room. He opened the door and stepped back so that he could watch Alex step inside, something small, deep down in him, was still searching for approval. Alex stood in the middle of the room for a second, taking it all in, before looking back at Henry with a fond expression.
“It’s perfect, sweetheart. It’s so...you. Also, I’m making you decorate all the rest of the apartment because holy shit, this looks amazing.”
Henry felt his chest expand. How had he convinced himself that this would be hard, that he didn’t know himself? Of course he did, of course he could express who he was, take up space. He could really have this life here, with Alex. It wasn’t going anywhere.
He walked over to meet Alex in the center of the room, pressing his chest into Alex’s back and settling his arms around his waist. Alex leaned back into it, letting out a noise of contentment as he closed his eyes. Henry pressed his lips into the shell of his ear and whispered
“Welcome home, love.”