Chapter Text
Henry Fox-Mountchristen has always been an excellent liar.
He’s had lots of practice. He lied at age five when Beatrice pushed him off the swings; he saw her teary face and told Mum that he slipped. When he was seven, he whined until his brother took him sledging on the Big Hill that Dad said he was too little for, and he lied when Philip asked if he was scared, stuck his nose in the air and got on the sledge despite the fluttery feeling in his tummy. He’s lied about David eating his homework, but really, who hasn’t done that? He’s lied every single time the boys at school shove him and ask if he fancies boys.
It’s far easier than telling the truth. Simpler, for Henry to shape his mouth around the falsities and keep the things he thinks and feels to himself, rather than show the world any part of himself that is real. He’s built a castle for himself out of lies, born of the bricks the world throws to him. Too special, are his truths. Henry has a thousand secrets, and he doesn’t want to share them.
So Henry’s great at steeling his features into a neutral expression, is exceptionally good at keeping his voice level and pretending that he’s not feeling any of the consuming and unbearable things that rattle around his head when he’s alone. That’s why it’s so easy to lie when Alex Claremont-Diaz crashes into his life and his heart stops.
He’s sixteen and in the middle of his summer holiday when the Claremont-Diazes move in next door. They’ve arrived from the States, Texas; Henry heard Dad telling Mum last night. He’s reading on the porch when the moving van pulls up and a girl runs out of the house to meet them. He puts his book down and wanders over.
“Do you need some help?” he calls to the girl, who has jumped into the back of the van to sort through meticulously labelled boxes and assorted furniture. He looks over her shoulder at him where she’s perched Spider-Man style on an armchair.
“Huh? Oh!” she launches over a box labelled Mom’s files to shake his hand, “Hey! I’m June. You from next door? Think we’re your new neighbours.” Her voice draws out her vowels in a Texan twang, her smile delightful.
“Henry. Do you want a hand with these?”
“Aw, man, that’d be amazing. My mom had to run to the office to get some things started up, and I don’t know where Alex ran off to - that’s my brother.” She shuffles off the armchair, looking thoughtfully at the boxes before pushing one towards him - kitchen stuff - and grabbing her own before she hops down.
“Are you starting at the sixth form?” Henry asks as she leads him inside the house. June nods.
“Yeah, feels a little weird to be starting a new school in my senior year - and learning a whole other school system to boot.” She puts the box down on the kitchen counter and flicks her ponytail over her shoulder; she’s pretty, Henry thinks, brown skin and curly hair and a bright smile. If Henry were Philip, he might tell her so, or ask what she was doing later. But he is most definitely not Philip.
“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it,” he says, “I’ll be in the year below you.”
“A year above Alex then - he’s a sophmore,” she pauses, scrunching up her nose, “I think that’s year eleven for y’all? He’s fifteen.”
Henry laughs. “Yeah, that’s right - GCSE year for fifteen and sixteen year olds.”
“Yeah, Alex has a lot of opinions about y’all’s standardised testing system.”
They natter happily as they ferry boxes inside. June loves crystals and sci-fi novels. She wants to do Journalism at university and arrived here a few days before her mother and brother so that she could visit some prospective schools, but she hasn’t made her mind up yet. She asks about Henry’s family, about their small, sleepy town and what kinds of things people do for fun around here.
“Not much, if I’m honest,” Henry says, hefting a box labelled Alex’s shit in one arm, “There’s a youth centre, it’s got some arcade games and a cafe, but honestly most people just take a bottle of something questionable up to the Big Hill and get sloshed.”
“The Big Hill? I heard the capitalisation in your voice,” June laughs, “Do you ‘get sloshed’ as well then?”
Henry looks down. “Well, my sister’s eighteen - she gets us vodka sometimes.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot the legal age is eighteen here,” she says with a wink, “Two months and I am gonna have fun.”
Henry likes this girl. “Me and a couple friends - my dad takes us camping sometimes too. You could come along if you like?”
“Sounds like fun - I love camping!”
“Bug, you’ve never gone camping in your life,” says a voice at Henry’s back. Henry turns, catches sight of rich brown eyes and a crooked smile-
-And drops the box he’s holding on his toes.
“Shit!” says the boy with the gorgeous eyes and gorgeous smile and gorgeous everything while Henry’s eyes water and he drops to one knee to cradle his bruised foot. “You okay, man?”
“F-fine, fine!” Henry chokes, keeping his eyes trained firmly on his trainers so that he isn’t tempted to look at the face above him that is turning his insides into jelly. There’s a brown skinned hand, reaching into his vision to help him up but he ignores it, grabbing the box and stumbling to his feet.
The boy is watching him when he looks up, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “Careful with that,” he jokes, “That’s my shit you got there.” He gestures to the label on the box, eyes alight with humour. Henry is a goner.
“Then you should be carrying it, asshole,” June chides, flicking her brother’s ear, “Henry, this is Alex, he’s a dumbass.” They couldn’t be anything but siblings; they have the same shiny dark curls and - frankly - stunning bone structure. But Alex has a bounce to his step that June doesn’t; his face is a touch more mischievous than hers, his smile just that little bit more utterly enchanting.
Henry knows immediately that Alex is the kind of boy that could completely destroy him, knows that he needs to keep him as far away as possible.
“Stop introducing me as a dumbass to everyone we meet, people are gonna start believing it,” Alex is saying now, as though Henry isn’t currently having a crisis over his cheekbones.
“Why not? It’s the truth; people deserve to know what they’re getting.”
Alex makes a cross noise in the back of his throat, while Henry looks on dumbly, the box still in his arms.
“I can take that, man,” Alex is reaching for the box; his hands brush Henry’s bare forearms, warm and dry, sending a jolt of fire through his arms. He jumps back and Alex lets out a little ‘ooft’ as the box falls into his arms before he can properly centre his weight for it.
“I-I have to get home, I’ve just remembered-” Henry stammers. Alex is frowning at him.
“Henry! Hen!” Henry winces at the voice. His dad is striding across their front garden towards them, dressed in chinos and a button down. “Hen, come have some lunch; Mum’s put some bits out in the garden- oh, hello! Who are your friends?” Dad gives Alex and June a smile; Henry wants the ground to swallow him.
“Alex Claremont-Diaz, sir,” Alex puts down the box to shake Henry’s father’s hand, his voice cheerful and full of stereotypical Southern charm. It makes Henry weak at the knees. “We just moved in. This is my sister, June.”
“Hi there,” June says. Henry notices a tiny blush on her cheeks as she shakes his dad’s hand, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. People finding his dad attractive isn’t new to him, although he wishes it was.
“Hi June, Alex! I’m Arthur. We were just about to sit down for a spot of lunch - would you both like to join us?” Henry looks at Dad in horror.
“Dad, no,” he says frantically, catching Alex frowning at him, “I-I mean, I’m sure Alex and June have a lot going on-”
“All the more reason to come and sit down for something to eat,” Dad says genially.
“We’d be delighted, sir,” Alex says with a bright smile, pushing past, and Henry prays to whatever god that can hear him for strength.
This is how Henry ends up sat next to Alex with his face burning as Alex inspects a pork pie as though it has insulted his ancestors.
“Why is there jello in it?” he hisses to Henry, who bites his tongue around a laugh.
“It’s agar jelly - it binds the pie together. Try it, it’s nice.” Alex takes a tentative bite, before scrunching up his nose in the most adorable way.
“You lied to me.” He looks so betrayed, a tiny giggle escapes Henry, making Alex’s face melt into a grin.
“Would you like a scotch egg, June?” asks Dad, passing a plate over to her.
“What is it?” June asks.
“Spiced sausage wrapped around an egg and coated in breadcrumbs - English picnic delicacy.” Dad winks, and June blushes again before helping herself and taking a bite. She nods in appreciation.
“These are good, Alex.” Alex takes one as well, and Dad smiles as their two guests chew happily. He loves feeding people.
“You’ll have to come with us to the farmer’s market - it’s the first Saturday of every month - cheese, sausages, all sorts of pies.”
“Are your mum and dad excited about being in England?” asks Henry’s mum during a lull in the conversation. June looks at her lap and Alex’s bubbly expression darkens.
“It’s just our mom with us, ma’am,” June says, “Our dad’s in California with his boyfriend.”
“Your dad’s gay?” Phillip asks abruptly from the end of the table.
“Phillip, shut up!” Henry snaps.
“Pip!” Mum chides.
“He’s bi.” Alex lifts his chin at Henry’s brother, the unsaid end of his sentence held between them: Got a problem with that? Watching Alex stare down Phillip, Henry knows absently that it’s far too early for him to be thinking in such absolutes, but at the same time he thinks he might love Alex until he dies.
“You must miss him,” Dad says kindly, ever the mediator.
“We do,” Alex nods.
“But it was such a good opportunity to move here,” June says, her voice dripping with sarcasm and pain, “So it doesn’t really matter whether we miss him or not.”
“But he’s coming to visit before we start school,” Alex says, “So we’ll need to learn all the best places to take him.” The siblings have a quick, silent exchange of stormy expressions and furrowed brows.
“Oh, Hen can help you with that! He knows all the spots!” Dad gives him a wide grin, as though he’s done Henry a favour.
“I do?” Henry says nervously, feeling Alex’s shoulder against his own and feeling very warm.
“Why don’t Alex and June come round tomorrow afternoon and you can take them up to the Big Hill and the stream? Invite Nora and Pez, too.” Henry sighs. He knows what Dad is doing - Mum and Dad both think that he spends too much time on his own, which isn’t true. He has friends - he talks to Nora and Pez all the time - he just also enjoys his own company, and a quiet afternoon in the sun with a book is nothing to sniff at.
Without Henry having to say even a word, it is decided that Alex and June will come round for twelve, where Henry will act as tour guide for the rest of the afternoon. His dad will even pack a picnic. Henry thinks of the prospect of spending the day faced with Alex’s beautiful smile and trying not to look at it, and puts his head on the table.
A hand slaps him on the shoulder. “C’mon, man, hanging out with us won’t be that bad, promise.” Henry glances up at Alex. There’s a slight bite to his voice, a certain judgement in the quirk of his eyebrow.
Henry swallows. “You’ll need wellies for wading in the stream.”
“Bro, I ain’t never heard of a welly.”
Being called ‘bro’ by Alex Claremont-Diaz might be the worst moment of Henry’s short life.
The trip to the Big Hill the next day goes about as well as expected. Henry texts his friends; Alex takes one look at Nora and his eyes are glued to her for the rest of the day. Henry keeps himself busy, pointing out wildlife for June to see, organising the picnic spread and studiously avoiding looking at or directly addressing Alex. He catches Alex scowling at him once or twice, but resolves not to think about it. He’s not going to play his heart’s stupid game.
When he gets home, slamming the door behind him, Dad is waiting in the living room with a book before Henry can stalk up to his room. “Good time?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Henry says, thinking of Pez’s jokes and June’s smile instead of the overwhelming sense of Alex’s eyes on him.
“That Alex is a character - me and Mum quite like him,” Dad says, and Henry senses something careful in his tone. “Quite a handsome boy, do you think?” Henry stands up ramrod straight.
“No,” he lies, “He talks too much.”
“Hm,” Dad says, looking back to his book, “If you say so, Hen.”