Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens, Henry knows it’s the beginning of the end.

Truthfully, he’d known that this was a long time coming. He’d heard of Hanahaki disease for the first time when he was young; his grandfather had passed away because his grandmother, Mary, didn’t have the heart to care about anyone but herself. He remembers being young, dressed in a well-fitted suit, his hand clasped in his sister’s. He remembers feeling lost as he’d sat on the pew. He remembers looking at his gran, remembers that stoic look on her face, her eyes dry.

He remembers asking Bea about his grandfather, and how she’d explained it all to him shakily. Remembers how she’d told her that his granddad loved his grandmother so much that it had cost him his life. He remembers his gran talking to him the day after the funeral, about how she’d told him that love makes everyone weak and one must not open oneself to such desires. She’d told him that love was pedestrian, and Henry must stay away from it. Henry had believed it. He’d believed that love was a luxury he couldn’t indulge in, and he was ready to be miserable for the rest of his life.

Then, he met Alex Claremont-Diaz when he’d turned fourteen.

Perhaps, Henry thinks, that had been the beginning of the end. He’d met a pretty boy with the kindest eyes and fallen in love with him so hard that he knew that there wouldn’t be anyone else for him for as long as he lived. Alex… well, Alex was light. When they’d first met, Henry had been drowning because his father was sick and Henry knew he had mere months before he’d have to say goodbye. The grief of knowing he’d have to lose him was heavier than the fear of actually losing him. Henry had been mourning for longer than his father had died, and Alex had saved him.

It’d started off small, really. He’d met Alex when he’d moved to London with his family, full of hope for new beginnings. Henry’s mother had invited his family to come over as they’d moved into the house next to theirs, and he remembers how his father had joined them for a meal at the table for the first time in months. He remembers how Alex had made his father smile, and he remembers how his heart had started racing. After dinner, Henry had shyly invited Alex to his room, and they’d been inseparable ever since.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

Alex had been the first person he’d called when his father had passed away.

Henry had been there, at the hospital, sitting next to his father, catching up on his coursework. At eighteen, he was almost done with high school, and this is how he’d spend most of his evenings. Alex drove them to the hospital right after school, and then they’d spend hours at the hospital, trying to make Arthur smile.

The doctor had told them that Arthur had days left. The countdown had started. His mother, too lost in her own grief, tended to lock herself in her bedroom, too scared to go to the hospital. Bea was off drinking, trying to forget her own father was dying. Some days, Henry felt like he was the only one who cared. The only one who wanted to be there with his father, trying to clutch onto as much time they’d have left together, no matter how much it hurt. It was difficult, seeing the strongest man he knew like this. He’d drift in and out of sleep, the sedatives too strong. Some nights, Henry spent time starting at the slope of his father’s nose, trying to remember how his voice sounded. He’d feel his eyes well up with tears when he realised he couldn’t remember the tone of his sound without the painful rasp that had started accompanying it. Those times, Alex would push his chair closer to Henry’s, intertwining their fingers together. He’d rest his head against Henry’s shoulders, and Henry wouldn’t feel as alone anymore.

When Henry’s father had passed away, he’d been alone with Arthur. He had been awake– conscious– for the first time in days, and he’d looked at Henry with a smile so soft that it made him ache all over. He’d beckoned Henry closer. This is it, Henry remembers thinking. There was something in the air that had convinced him that these were his father’s last moments, and as much as he would’ve appreciated the rest of his family being here, he’d always known that this is how it was going to end.

Arthur had held his hand and told him that he loved him deeply, and that even if he wouldn’t physically be here, he’d always be here with Henry. Henry remembers crying, clutching onto his father’s hand like a lifeline. His father had pulled him close then, and told him that he must be strong, no matter how much this is going to hurt. He had looked at Henry with those knowing eyes, and had told Henry to stick close to Alex. Had told him that Alex is someone who loves Henry like Arthur does. That he would never leave him behind, no matter what comes. Henry doesn’t know how he manages it, but he still had the gall to tease Henry about being in love with Alex, and he tells him that he must make his move on Alex, or else he’d come back to haunt Henry until he actually does something about all the love he harbours for Alex.

He remembers sobbing, and then climbing into bed with his father, careful of the wires attached to him. Arthur had held him close as he’d cried. And then, Henry was the one holding Arthur close as his breathing had slowed down, and the machines in the room had stopped beeping in a rhythm.

He doesn’t remember what had happened after, he just knows that he’d called Alex before he’d called his own damn brother, knowing that his father had been right– there’s nobody who is going to love Henry like Alex does, which is wonderful because Henry knows deep in his bones that nobody is going to love Alex like Henry does.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

Despite the grief and the suffering, years pass. Alex is a constant in Henry’s life, and his love for him just keeps growing and growing and growing.

After Arthur had passed away, Alex and Henry had packed up their bags and left the country. They’d moved in together when they’d fled to New York, sharing the same dorm in university. Henry is not proud of it, but he’d followed Bea’s footsteps and turned to alcohol when the pain had gotten too much. He’d go to parties night after night without telling Alex because he didn’t want him to know what a mess he’d turned into.

His father was his best friend, and even though he’d prepared for it, the pain of losing him was simply too much to bear. He’d drink himself into oblivion, passed out in places he’d never been to. He never had the heart to go home with anyone, despite the men approaching him. Even when drunk, he’d think of Alex’s face, those beautiful, beautiful eyes, and instead of taking the man’s hand, he’d go searching for another drink.

Then, he meets a man called Pez. He doesn’t come onto Henry, but he picks him up from where he’d slumped on the bathroom floor, and takes him home to Alex. It’s a rough night, from what Henry remembers. Alex is more worried than Henry has ever seen him as he thanks Pez profusely for bringing Henry home safe.

Alex puts him to sleep, and slips into bed with him at Henry’s insistence. He brushes away the hair from Henry’s face with tender fingers, and Henry shifts to hide his face in Alex’s chest.

When Henry wakes the next morning, Alex is still there, holding Henry close. There’s just something so open in his face that it gives Henry the courage to confess everything, to tell him that he’s been struggling. Alex listens, and once Henry is done talking, he asks him how he can help.

He doesn’t judge Henry once, doesn’t pity him, and Henry knows that he’ll love Alex for as long as he lives.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

That first time Henry had met Alex and taken him up to his room, they’d bonded over wanting to work for the FBI. Now, at twenty-nine, that had become a reality.

Their families don’t know about their jobs, not really. As far as they’re concerned, Henry’s a writer, and Alex is a journalist. It’s safer this way, for everyone involved. Henry is glad that Alex is in this with him because he doesn’t think he’d ever been able to keep this a secret from Alex.

They’ve settled into a routine. They’d been living together since they were nineteen, and Henry is privy to every single of Alex’s faults. It’s awfully domestic. They don’t not sleep in the same bed together, and Henry tries not to read into it. Alex slips into Henry’s room after they’re done with dinner every night, and slips under the covers with him. At first, Henry had read into it. He’d read the fuck out of it. Then, months had passed and Alex had done absolutely nothing to indicate he felt anything romantic towards Henry, and that hope had been snuffed out.

It’s comfortable, that’s what it is. Being with Alex is everything that Henry wants, so he’d never dared to date anyone. Couldn’t afford to jeopardise anything. There had been a couple of flings here and there, and Alex had always gotten irritated when Henry had told him that he wouldn’t be coming home that night. He’d read into that, too. Over time, he’d learnt not to.

The thing is, none of those men had ever compared to Alex, so Henry was content to let things play out on Alex’s terms, praying he doesn’t get his heart broken. Knows he's going to.

There’s nothing he can do about it, after all.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

Even though he’d been preparing for this for what feels like half of his life, Henry is wildly surprised when it actually happens for the first time.

Being an agent for the FBI, he’s encountered people with Hanahaki disease before. They have a branch dedicated to research it. He’s been educated about it thoroughly because he wanted to specialise in Hanahaki, back in uni. He knows the warning signs that come before the symptoms. He’s seen the vines creeping up people’s throats when he shines a torch at the back of their mouths during check-ups. He has seen the tendrils wrapped around the lungs. He’s seen how the flowers make home between the cracks of the heart, the leaves filling in the blank spaces. He has seen people wake up from surgery completely forgetting about the existence of or their feelings towards their beloved. He has… God, he has also seen people die on the operation table, the flowers scattered on the floor around his feet as Henry watches the surgeon expertly try to undo the damage that has already been done.

He has printouts of the warning signs. He has them memorised. He can recite them in his damn sleep. He feels terror take root when he feels the tingling in his chest, accompanied with an itch in his throat. At first, he passes it off as sickness. He tells himself that perhaps he’s coming down with a flu, even though he knows it’s something more sinister because it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before. As the days pass, the feeling of having something lodged in his trachea doesn’t go away, not even a little, not even for a bit.

He watches movies with Alex in his bed night after night, trying to ignore the fact that there’s a ninety-nine percent chance that he’s developing a life-threatening disease, choosing to bury his face in the crook of his neck instead. He tries to ignore how he needs to stop to catch his breath when he’s running after a target when he’s in the field, trying to capture them, and tries to convince himself that he’s just ill even though he knows he’s not.

He knows he’s truly, utterly fucked when he watches Alex laugh with someone in his office where Henry is supposed to meet him for lunch, and feels an ache in his chest so intense that it almost sends him to his knees.

Even though he's one of the best agents in the FBI, he has been compromised during missions a fair amount of times. He's had gashes on his head, he's had his spine split open. He's been punched more times than he can count. He thrives on danger. The pain gives him a rush of adrenaline so strong that he truly feels alive, and as much as he hates getting injured in the field, he feels like a part of him thrives on it. Danger.

He knows Alex hates it when Henry comes home so battered and bruised that breathing seems arduous. Henry thinks he has no right to talk, though. More missions than not, Alex comes home hurt, too. Henry feels the ache in his chest intensify whenever he sees Alex wince, and he wonders if this is what Alex feels as well. It pains him more to see Alex hurt than being hurt himself.

The thing is, he's been hurt over and over again. He's been bruised, he's bled, he's broken bones. That's why it's so shocking when all of that pales in comparison when he sees Alex laughing with a woman, and that hurts him more than anything has ever managed to.

He has to tighten his grip around the takeout bag, lest it slip from his fingertips. He staggers on his next step, and he has to place a palm on his chest as his breathing stutters. The itch in his throat is growing stronger, and it feels almost dry. Henry would be running to the nearest grocery store to quench his thirst if he didn’t know any better. All he knows is that no amount of water is going to help him get rid of that itch. He takes a deep breath in, rubbing his chest, willing the pain to go away. It just gets worse when he watches the girl lean in as he laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Henry watches her through the glass looking at Alex coyly, and he feels horror take root as she reaches out to wrap her hand around Alex’s forearm.

Alex doesn’t push it away.

Maybe that’s what finally does it. The woman is smiling, and so is Alex, and they look so goddamn perfect together that Henry chokes, feeling something in his chest give way. He gaps in pain as he shuts his eyes, coughing. He brings up a hand to cover his mouth as he heaves, feeling a tickle in his throat. He cannot describe the intensity of terror he feels when something soft lands on his tongue as he coughs it out.

Right there, in his hand, is a little white petal of what would be a daisy, pure as day. His eyes well up as he looks at the petal and the feeling of dread makes home in his chest. He knows he’s loved Alex for so long that it feels like the love has become a part of Henry– so deep it can never be removed– but seeing it like this? It’s bloody alarming because now he knows he’s just living on borrowed time. His love for Alex is going to kill him and there’s not a single thing he can do about it.

Henry is literally dying of unrequited love, and Alex can never know because he’ll tell Henry that he loves him back out of pity or obligation on the sheer goodness of his heart, and Henry will never believe him. So, he wraps his fingers around the petal tightly, and shoves it in the pocket of his trousers texting Alex that he can’t meet up with him because of work.

If he pretends hard enough, this never happened.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

Henry wonders if he should even bother reading up about Hanahaki. Then, he stops thinking at all because he has been researching it since before he’d even joined the Bureau, and there’s no possibility of finding a cure when he’d spent years studying this.

His only option is to get a surgery to remove these roots from his body, but that would also mean removing any feelings he harbours towards his beloved, and the thought of that hurts him more than dying of Hanahaki.

He is who he is today because of Alex. He’s given Henry the courage to be himself, the strength to stand up to his abusive grandmother, the belief that being Henry is more than enough. He loves Alex. He loves how he flutters his eyelashes as he rambles, he loves his dedication to his job, he loves how he gives himself away to Henry, never too afraid to get close to him. He’s known Alex since he was a child– he’s been in love with him for decades– and Henry would rather die than to forget his love for Alex.

He’s content to love Alex from afar, trying to give him the world because that’s exactly what he deserves, and wishes that he’d find someone who could love him as fiercely as Henry does when he eventually passes. He doesn’t know how long he has. Months, probably. He knows the stronger the feelings are, the faster he’s going to deteriorate. His sadness is bonedeep because he’d hate to leave Alex behind like this. He hopes Alex learns to cope without Henry because from the looks of it, it seems like he’s not going to be around for much longer.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

Despite it all, the decline is slower than Henry had anticipated.

It’s been three days since Henry had first coughed up the petal, and it hasn’t happened again ever since. He still experiences the tingling in his throat, and breathing still feels difficult, but he hasn’t been graced with the presence of more flowers. Having Alex all to himself helps. Alex doesn’t gush over any men or women when they spend time together, choosing to flop in Henry’s bed instead. He doesn’t go out when Henry declines his invitations, and he slips into bed with Henry with his pyjamas on. Henry has never dared to complain, or even question it. Not after this being a thing for years.

The only thing about Hanahaki is that Henry has never been so damn tired. No matter how much he sleeps, he’s never fully rested. He might look it too because when Alex lays his head on the pillow next to Henry’s that night, his brows furrow. He turns on his side as reaches a hand out, cupping the side of Henry’s face. His gaze is soft as he looks at Henry, worried, and he brushes his thumb under the crescent of Henry’s eye.

“Sweetheart,” Alex mumbles, “have you not been sleeping?”

The beat of Henry’s heart picks up as he feels the warmth of Alex’s touch on his face. He looks at the dip between his eyebrows, and he has to resist the urge to reach out to smoothen the wrinkle with a brush of his thumb. Alex is so close that Henry can count every eyelash, and it takes everything in him to not close the gap between them to brush their lips together.

“I have been having some trouble,” Henry confesses. “Sleeping, it’s getting difficult.”

He doesn’t mention that he can feel his breath catch in his chest every time he breathes. He doesn’t mention that he is deathly afraid that he’s going to cough up another petal. He doesn't tell Alex that terrified that he’s going to lose him forever and there’s nothing Henry can do about it. He can’t tell Alex that he’s fearful that every second they have together is their last and Henry lies awake, replaying the day over and over again, just so he can hear the phantom of Alex’s voice.

“What is it?” Alex asks, shifting closer. He slings a leg over Henry’s, holding him in place.

“It’s nothing really,” Henry says, biting his lip. “Just insomnia.”

“Is it getting bad again?” Alex asks, tucking his palm under his cheek.

He looks so soft like this, all sleep rumpled, skin glowing in the light from Henry’s lamp. He looks like he belongs here, in Henry’s bed. In his life. He looks like he’s Henry’s, and he pretends like he is, just for a second. Just for a second, he’s happy to play into the fantasy of pretending like Alex is his boyfriend, worried about him because he hasn’t been sleeping. A part of him aches to have Alex’s arms wrapped around him. He wants Alex to press a kiss to his head and tell him that everything is going to be okay. Alex, Alex, Alex, that’s who he ever truly wants.

“It is,” Henry confesses.

Alex frowns, reaching out to place a hand on Henry’s pec. It’s awfully domestic, and Henry has to blink back tears at the thought of ever losing this. Even though he is in love with him, he values Alex’s friendship more than anything in the world. He’s the best thing that has ever happened to Henry.

“After your dad died,” Alex starts gently, tightening his hold around Henry as if he’s going to bolt. “We slept in the same bed because it helped you, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Alex hesitates. Then, “Would it… would it help if we did that again? Me sleeping with you?”

Hope blooms in his chest, and he tries to push it away. Alex is just trying to help like he always does. It doesn’t mean anything. Helping people is just something Alex does, and this isn’t any different because Henry is his best friend. That’s all he is. Alex’s best friend.

The thought causes a discomfort in his chest, and God, this really isn’t the time. There’s nowhere to hide. He shifts, trying to get out of the bed. The itchiness is just intensifying and he needs to get out of the damn room if he doesn’t want Alex to know, but he’s a steady weight against Henry and won’t move. Henry coughs, covering his mouth. Alarmed, Alex shifts away to raise to his knees, patting Henry’s back. He gets up on unsteady legs as tears fill his eyes, his throat scratchy. He stumbles out of the room, and the door shuts behind him just in time. When the petals fall from his mouth this time, there’s three of them.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

Henry locks himself in the bathroom.

He sits on the edge of the bathroom and stares at the petals on his palm for so long that they go all blurry. They’re just a white blob. He has not felt this anxious in a while, but he knows he must be strong if he doesn’t want to waste away completely. He can’t afford to think of the if-onlys, he can't even afford to think about the fact that Alex feels nothing for him. It’s only going to make him spiral and then his condition is going to worsen and having to lie will take everything from him.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he hears the knocking on the door. They’re accompanied by little sniffles and despite the fear, Henry feels himself smile as he pictures David outside the bathroom door, waiting for Henry.

“Sweetheart?” Alex calls, knocking again.

Henry doesn’t have it in him to reply. He hides the petals in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms this time, and pads over to unlock the door. Alex doesn’t waste a single second as he reaches out, wrapping his arms around Henry’s shoulders. They’re a perfect fit, Henry thinks, as he tucks his chin over Alex’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks worriedly. “You were coughing like that and then you disappeared. It’s been twenty minutes.”

“I just feel sick,” Henry mumbles, winding his arms around Alex’s waist. He’s so warm and Henry never wants to move.

Alex pulls away slightly to brush Henry’s hair away from his forehead. He lays the back of his hand to the skin, checking if he has a fever. Henry knows that he doesn’t. He also knows that he looks exhausted enough for Alex to buy this though.

“You don’t have a temperature,” Alex says. “Get into bed, I’ll get you the medication, just in case.”

Henry knows better than to argue with Alex, so he makes his way into his room, settling under the covers. Then, keeping an eye on the door, he pulls out a wooden box from under his bed. He pulls it open lightly, watching the slightly withered petal inside. He gently takes out the ones in his pocket, and places them in the box. It feels morbid, keeping them. Slightly disgusting, even. Still, Henry can’t get rid of them. He hides the box under the bed, and lays down just as Alex makes his way back.

They go through the motions, Alex watching him as he down the tablets. He passes Henry a cup of tea once Henry settles against the pillows, and he feels so thankful that he wants to curl up in a ball and cry. Alex gets into the bed with Henry, pressing their shoulders together.

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick, too?” Henry asks, looking at Alex over the rim of his cup.

Alex laughs. Says, “You don’t even have a fever, Hen.”

They sit in silence as Henry sips on his tea, and Alex browses through the selection of movies on Henry’s laptop. He’s a comforting weight by Henry’s side, and just his presence makes breathing feel easier than it had a minute ago.

“Hey, don’t you have to leave for Texas tomorrow?”

“Yes, I do. The mission should last for a couple of weeks, I think,” Henry says. “It’s not a hard one. It’s one of the smaller drug cartels.”

“Will you be okay?” Alex asks, worried.

“Of course, darling,” Henry promises, reaching out to squeeze Alex’s hand comfortingly. “You know I’m always careful.”

“I do know,” Alex says. “I’m just scared. You haven’t been feeling too well and you haven’t been sleeping. It’s a dangerous mission even if it’s a small cartel. One wrong move and you’re dead, Henry.”

Oh, well. He’s dying, anyway. Still, he’s stunning at his job, and he knows he’s going to make it out alive, no matter what. He needs to come back to Alex. He needs to see that damn smile for the rest of his goddamn miserable life, no matter how short it is.

“No wrong moves on my part,” Henry says, and it sounds a little cocky. Then, sincerely, “you have nothing to worry about.”

Alex’s shoulders relax, and Henry smiles as he lets go of Alex’s hand. His illness is a minor discomfort for now, and he’s going to work until he’s forced to stop. He needs a purpose or else he’ll go insane.

“I just hate that I’m not going to see you until May. You go away, and then before you come back, I need to leave for Santa Fe. Why are both of us agents, again?”

Alex is pouting, and he looks so adorable that Henry doesn’t know what to do with himself. He laughs as he elbows Alex in the side.

“Because we love our jobs,” Henry says, not for the first time. “It’s difficult, and sometimes we don’t see each other for weeks, but we love the job, and that makes everything worth it. It’s just two months, love. We’ll be back together before you even know it.”

“I guess you’re right,” Alex grumbles, playing with the lid of Henry’s laptop as the movie plays in the background. “I just… I just miss you so much when you’re not around.”

Henry melts and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping an arm around Alex’s shoulders.

“I miss you, too,” Henry says softly. “So much. You have no idea.”

“I might,” Alex says, a little too sincerely. “Tell me you’re allowed to have a phone on you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Henry says sympathetically. “I’m going undercover, remember?”

“Hate that for me,” Alex grumbles. “Call me when you get back?”

Henry wonders what would happen if he just… doesn’t. If he pulls back slightly when he’s away to make things easier for himself. Loving Alex like this is already too hard, but he wonders what would happen if he just… leaves. Then, he thinks of the devastated expression on Alex’s face. Thinks of how Alex would think that it was somehow his fault. How he would blame himself for Henry leaving. He thinks of the heartbreak Alex would feel from losing his best friend, and the thought hurts so much that he vows never to think of abandoning Alex again, no matter how painful things get.

“I will,” Henry promises. “Will you need to get a burner?”

“Probably,” Alex says. “I’ll leave you the number. I’ll tuck it in between your favourite Pride and Prejudice scene?”

“Sounds good, love,” Henry smiles. “Don’t forget to hide the book. Wouldn’t want it getting in the wrong hands.”

“You make our jobs sound so dangerous,” Alex smiles as he rolls his eyes.

“People have broken into our house before, if you have forgotten,” Henry deadpans. “I just don’t fancy packing everything and moving again.”

“Yes, that’s the only reason,” Alex nods, mock seriously. “You don’t care about my wellbeing or me being in danger at all.”

“Not even a bit,” Henry plays along.

“Liar,” Alex whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush the shell of Henry’s ear.

Henry turns to hide his smile, but he thinks Alex might have seen it anyway, if his laughter is any indicator.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

The mission in Texas goes well, and Henry comes out of it only with a few scrapes. It’s less than what he’d been expecting, if he’s being honest.

He doesn’t know if it’s the Hanahaki or just him, but he’s feeling worse than he had when he’d left Alex. The petals haven’t made an appearance yet, but he can’t run without having to stop a few minutes in, and it almost costs him his life. His partner shoots the man that had been about to kill Henry seconds before it actually happens. His heart picks up the pace, and he plasters himself to the wall, eyes wide.

He’s never worked like this before. Henry doesn’t get ill, not really, and he’s always been excellent at being physical in the field. There’s resentment building up in his chest because if he can’t even do his damn job properly, what can he do? This is one of the main things that keeps him going and if his reflexes get rusty, he’s dead.

He comes home, still unsettled. He finds the phone number Alex had left him and texts him, knowing that one word from him will have all his anxieties melting away, no matter how briefly.

Alex :)

Hi, love.

Made it home, in
case you were wondering

i was actually!!

i have done nothing but wonder
about that all day long

ok then!! go on!! check in!!

I think the damage is about
2/10 physically

Mentally? I’m at an
8/10. Feeling pretty
alright

okay those are good
stats!! i was so worried
bc you haven’t been
feeling the best

how are you feeling now?

Eh, still the same, I’d
say.

see a doctor!!

Perhaps I should.

How’s it going over
there?

exciting!!!!! i love
my job sm

miss you though :(

I miss you.

We’ll see each other
soon enough.

Good luck on your
mission. Call me tonight.

will do sweetheart

okay shaan’s here

gotta go, love you

Love you. Stay safe.

always :D

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

When Alex comes back home, Henry is in the kitchen, attempting to make them dinner. He smiles to himself as he hears the door unlock, and tries very hard to concentrate on the bell pepper he’s chopping.

He bites his lip as he hears the thudding on the footsteps, and before Henry can turn to greet Alex, there’s arms winding around his waist, pulling him back to a firm chest. Henry stops breathing, and the itch makes itself known.

“Sweetheart,” Alex breathes, nudging the back of Henry’s neck. “It’s so good to be back home.”

Despite how bad this is for his heart and his health, Henry slumps back, tipping his head to rest on Alex's shoulder. Alex tightens his grip, and Henry, not for the first time, pushes the damn hope away. It will just kill him faster.

“It’s good to have you back,” Henry says. “The house is too quiet when you’re not here.”

“Are you saying I don’t ever shut up?” Alex teases, pinching Henry’s waist.

Henry yelps as he shoves Alex away, turning around to glare at him. Still, he can’t help but smile at Alex’s smiling eyes, the curve of his lips. His curls are unruly, and Henry clenches his fist so he doesn’t reach out to tame them. It’s not his place, no matter how much he wishes it was.

Henry tries to not say it. He really, really does. He wants to play it off as a joke, but there’s an undercurrent of insecurity in Alex’s voice despite the years Henry has spent telling him that he loves it when Alex talks. So, instead of teasing Alex right back, Henry says, “no, you just make this place feel like home.”

He’s not prepared for Alex basically throwing himself at Henry, his arms around Henry’s shoulders. Alex buries his face in the crook of his neck and says, “thank you for always saying the right things.”

“Thank you for being you,” Henry says softly, holding Alex close.

They stay there like that for a long time, and it’s the smell of the soup burning that finally makes Henry pull away. He’ll get them the next time, he vows.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

The great thing about working for the same department is that Henry’s office is right next to Alex’s.

They spend more time together at work than not, and their bosses have stopped pulling them up on it because they get their work done. Some days, when Alex is having trouble concentrating on paperwork because of his ADHD, he will ask Henry to get his paperwork over so that they can work in silence. Alex finds it helpful to have someone with him when he’s struggling, and Henry is more than happy to help.

That Wednesday, Henry has his paperwork spread out over Alex’s desk as he fills out the forms he needs to. It’s then when Zahra, Alex’s boss, walks in, a woman following her. Henry isn’t attracted to women, but even he can tell she’s gorgeous. He watches as Alex watches her, and he has to look away at the dreamy look on Alex’s face. He rubs a hand over his chest, and feels the weight of Alex’s gaze on the side of his face at the action. Still, Henry doesn’t look back.

“Alex, Henry,” Zahra starts, “this is Michelle. She’s internerning here. She will shadow the both of you over the following months. Henry, Shaan will speak to you more regarding this.”

Henry nods.

“Hi, Michelle. Nice to meet you,” Alex says from behind the desk, a smile on his face. It hurts to look at it. “I’m Alex.”

“Henry,” he smiles politely as he introduces himself. “A pleasure.”

There’s a blush on Michelle’s face as he looks at Alex, and the hurt keeps ballooning in his chest, it keeps hurting him. It’s painful. Michelle is looking at Alex, biting her lip, and even Zahra looks bothered. Henry knows it’s bad when he can read their boss because she never shows her emotions this clearly.

He coughs, and he knows he has to excuse himself if he doesn’t want anyone to find out. He struggles to breathe as he stands up, his hand covering his mouth, and he stumbles out of Alex’s office. He hears Alex calling out to him, worried, but he rushes faster, locking himself in a stall. He sniffles as he keeps coughing, rubbing his chest with his knuckles.

He hears the door to the bathroom slam open, and Henry closes his eyes in dismay. Of course, he’d follow Henry.

“Hen,” Alex says, knocking on the door of the stall frantically. “Henry, let me in.”

Henry heaves, feeling the softness in his mouth. It’s a whole flower, but it’s missing two petals. It’s not stained with blood, not yet, and Henry looks at the little daisy that sits perfectly in the palm of his hand. There’s blood rushing in his ears, the sound of Alex pounding on the door, but none of it matters.

Henry flushes the flower down, and wonders if Michelle is going to be the reason Henry finally keels over.

“Henry,” Alex shouts, banging on the door of his cubicle. “This isn't funny. Don’t fucking ignore me. Open the door this fucking second, or I swear to God, I will kick it down.”

Henry stares at the lock, lost in thought. He doesn’t know what to do. His love for Alex is killing him, but it’s the only thing that’s making him feel better, too. He doesn’t want to let Alex in. It hurts, watching him look at someone else the way Henry wished Alex looked at him. It pains him to see him laughing with someone else. It makes him feel like his world is ending when he pictures Alex falling in love with someone who isn’t Henry. It makes him want to die faster when Alex does all these things like he cares for Henry, and isn’t that the worst part? Henry knows it’s genuine, Alex’s worry for Henry. He knows there’s no faking it. Alex genuinely does love him, even if it’s not romantic. Henry can’t hurt him by pushing him away for it. So, he unlocks the door with shaky fingers, trying to ignore how his head had started pounding.

“Sweetheart, oh my God,” Alex says the second Henry pushes the door open. “Are you okay?”

Before Henry has the chance to react, Alex is tugging at his arm, pulling him out of the cubicle. He pulls Henry to his chest, hooking his chin over his shoulder, holding him close.

“You worry me,” Alex says. “That sounded bad, Hen.”

“I’m okay,” Henry rasps, sinking into Alex’s warmth even when he knows he shouldn’t. “Just a little under the weather.”

“No,” Alex snaps, but doesn’t pull away. “It’s not just you feeling under the weather. There’s something going on. You never get sick, Henry. Even when you do– rarely– you always, always get better in a matter of days. It’s been weeks. Something is wrong.”

Henry hates to hear the anxious lilt in Alex’s voice, so he rubs his back soothingly, trying to calm him.

“I’ll see the doctor if that makes you feel any better,” Henry says, knowing what they’re going to tell him.

“It would,” Alex insists. “I’ll come with you. Get an appointment as soon as you can.”

“You don’t have to,” Henry says. Then, closing his eyes because he knows it’s going to hurt, “you have to train Michelle.”

Alex pulls away then, gripping Henry’s jaw in his hand tightly as he glares at him. Says, “if you think work or some lady I barely know is more important than you, then you don’t know me at all.”

Henry wants to fight him. Wants to tell him that it’s best for him to go alone so that Alex can do his damn job, but Alex looks so fierce like this. Like, he wants to protect Henry from the world, so he simply nods, wanting Alex to be there with him always, all the time, everywhere.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

The worst thing about working for the same department is that Henry’s office is right next to Alex’s.

He doesn’t know why, but Michelle doesn’t like him as much as she likes Alex. She always flocks to him for help, she’s always touching him, and it makes Henry sicker. They’re flirty, and even though Henry avoids being in the same room with him, there are times when it happens. He’s noticed Alex brushing her off. He’s noticed the way Alex stares at Henry when they’re in the same room with her. A part of him knows that there’s nothing there. Still, he overthinks.

He overthinks, and it makes him ill.

Alex has to stay back to catch up on work, and before Henry can even offer, Michelle volunteers to stay back with Alex. Henry has to rush out of the office because the pounding in his head gets too strong, black spots dancing in his vision. He feels the heat of Alex’s stare on his back as he hightails out of there. There’s a text on his phone by the time he gets an Uber.

Alex :)

why

Why what?

why haven’t you
booked an appointment
with the doctors yet

don’t act like i
didn’t notice that you
were about to pass
out when you left

It slipped my mind.

fine i’ll do it

Alex, you’re working.

I’ll do it.

no you’ll ‘forget’
again

i’ll grab dinner on
the way home. just
please get some rest

I will.

something’s wrong, hen

i know that you know
that something is wrong
but you won’t tell me

why won’t you tell me?

There’s nothing wrong,
my love.

I’ll be fine.

Go on, Michelle is
probably waiting for you.

fuck you stop trying to
pass me onto her

I’m doing no such thing.

it’s always michelle
this and michelle that
and alex she’s waiting
for you go talk
to her right now

why are you pushing
me away

i know something is
terribly wrong

Nothing’s wrong, darling.

i don’t believe you

Henry doesn’t bother replying.

It’s his own doing, Henry thinks, as he curls into a ball in their bathroom back home, thinking about how it’s nine at night and Alex still isn’t home. He pictures the take out boxes on his desk, pictures him laughing with Michelle.

He heaves again, petals falling from his lips. He knows he’s fucked when it’s not just daisies. Petals of yellow roses that accompany the daisies, and Henry closes his eyes, thinking back to the time Alex had told him how yellow roses were a thing in Texas when Henry was fourteen, and how he’d dreamt of getting Alex a whole damn bouquet of them.

He flushes the petals, throat sore. He knows he needs to move. He needs to make it back to his bed. The floor is cold and feels so soothing against his heated skin, so he closes his eyes, content to drift off.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

When Henry wakes, he feels like he’s floating.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, and is greeted with the cut of Alex’s jaw as it clenches. He exhales as he murmurs, “Alex?”

“Henry,” Alex says, looking down at him. “Go back to sleep.”

Henry flutters his eyes shut, realising that Alex is carrying him back to his room. He remembers passing out on the floor, and Alex feels heavenly against him, so he snuggles into him, letting himself drift back off.

Still, he isn’t fully unconscious.

He feels how Alex sets him on the bed gently. How he takes Henry’s clothes off, how he washes him with a sponge, making sure he’s clean. He leans his head against Alex’s shoulders when he pulls him close, helping him into his pyjamas. Alex slips into bed with Henry, holding him close, tugging the blanket over then.

He feels loved, he feels cared for, and he takes a deep breath for the first time in months, when he’s somewhere between reality and dreams.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

To say Alex is worried would be an understatement.

He’s angry at Henry, and he detects where the anger is coming from. Even if it’s just to soothe Alex, Henry books the damn appointment. He already knows that there’s no cure. That he needs to endure and suffer until it’s finally over.

Alex comes with him to the doctor’s, and Henry asks him to wait in the lobby. When Henry goes in, he tells the doctor he knows what’s wrong.

“It’s Hanahaki,” Henry says, looking at Dr. Amy. “I know there’s no cure. My… my best friend doesn’t know, and he’s worried.”

Dr. Amy looks at him, just for a second. Henry tries not to squirm.

“You best friend,” she starts. “Is he your beloved?”

Henry hesitates. Thinks there’s no harm in telling her. He has had nobody to talk to this about, and he doesn’t want any of his friends or family knowing. It’d kill them.

“Yes,” Henry confesses. “I know surgery is an option. The thing is, I don’t want to get rid of these feelings. Even so, I have been in love with him since I was fourteen, so I believe that these flowers and roots are just too deeply intertwined with my being. These feelings and my love for him is foundational to who I am and I fear that extracting them is not an option.”

“I see. If your love for your beloved is as deep as you say it is, surgery would not be a viable option because it would put your life at risk. Still, I think that we should get you a check-up, so that we can determine what stage the Hanahaki is at.”

“Thank you,” Henry says politely, “but I would rather not know.”

“You’re not the first person to do this,” Dr. Amy says . “I know it’s difficult to process this. It’s what’s best for you though. I would still suggest-”

“Thank you,” Henry cuts her off. “I do appreciate the concern, but I’m happy to let this play out. Are we done here?”

“Yes,” she says. “Henry-”

“Thanks for the help,” Henry says, standing up. “It was nice, talking about it.”

When he meets Alex in the lobby again, he tells him that the doctor had told him that it’s nothing to worry about. He lies and tells him that he’d been given some antibiotics and that she should be fine in a few days. From the frown on Alex’s face, Henry knows he doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t call Henry out, so Henry doesn’t say anything either.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

It’s been a rough few weeks. Henry has started losing weight. His face has gone all gaunt, and his cheekbones stand out. It’s concerning, if he’s being honest. He’s scared for himself. He has started coughing up whole heads of yellow roses. The last time, the petals were tinted with a hint of blood. Henry had panicked and locked himself in his room for hours.

Alex has noticed the change. He’s always hovering, always trying to feed Henry. Henry doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he has no appetite, so he swallows bite after bite, even if it makes him feel like he’s dying. He’d seen Henry shirtless and the ribs poking out had worried him so much that he has not let Henry skip a single meal, always making sure to include extra butter in his meals. Henry doesn’t have the heart to tell him that none of this is going to work. Not now.

It doesn’t help that Alex has taken a liking to Michelle, and even though Henry knows that they’re just friends, he feels an ache in his chest every time Alex brings her up. Every time he watches her laugh with Alex he feels like he’s losing a part of himself. Henry knows he has no right to feel miffed over Alex forming new friendships that could possibly develop into more. He knows he has no damn right to feel like something in him has cracked open when Alex grins that beautiful smile at someone that’s not him. He does, anyway.

It doesn’t help that Alex invites Michelle over for dinner at their apartment, and insists that Henry join them. Alex is enthusiastic as he puts the finishing touches on his dinner, letting Henry set the table. He’s humming under his breath as he stirs the pot that sits on the stove, and Henry tramps down as smile as he straightens a fork. Alex is off-key, borderline terrible, and Henry loves him.

“Hen,” Alex calls, switching off the stove. “I’m almost done here. Do you want to shower first?”

“No,” Henry declines, walking to the cabinet to pull out their fancy dishes. “You can have a go first.”

“Sounds good.”

Henry lingers by the table, his hand on the back of his chair, nervous. He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t notice Alex sneaking up on him, his chest almost pressing up against Henry’s back. Henry jumps a little as Alex presses a fleeting kiss to his temple, ruffling his hair as he lets go. He hears Alex chuckle as Henry places a hand on his chest, willing his heart rate to calm down.

“Alex!” Henry chides, but he’s already gone, laughing as the door to the bathroom closes behind him.

He sits on the couch. Closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but he hears the door to their bathroom creak open and hears Alex’s footsteps pad to his bedroom. As he makes his way over to the bathroom, Henry tries not to think about Alex, naked in the shower, as he undresses, the steam from the shower billowing around him. There’s condensation on the mirror, a little smiley face on the corner. Henry’s chest tightens, feeling his love for Alex growing, and growing, and growing. Alex is so bloody endearing without even trying, and Henry can’t stop thinking of Alex, of him drawing a little smile on the mirror just because he knows Henry is going to see it.

During moments like these, a part of Henry can’t help but hope for something deeper than friendship. He’s been in love with Alex for so long that it has become a part of him. Sometimes, he can physically feel it— that love. There are instances where it lights him up from within, making him feel like he’s worth something. Other times, he can feel himself choking on it. Sometimes, he can feel the confession fighting to fall from his lips, changing everything. He has to push it back down, never letting those words escape his lips. He wonders if Alex can ever tell.

He can’t risk rejection. Spending his life with Alex means everything to him, and he can’t risk it. If Alex tells him he doesn’t feel the same, Henry would just deteriorate further, taking himself away from Alex.

He lets the soap wash away his thoughts down the drain too as he rinses himself off. He wraps a towel around his waist once he’s dried off. Once Henry is back in his room, he browses through his clothes. Debates between a sweater vest and a button down. He thinks of Alex in his room, spraying on his favourite cologne, the collar of his shirt falling open. So, he puts on his best shirt, undoing the top two buttons. He rolls up the sleeves up to his elbows to look more casual, and sprays on the cologne Alex had gotten him for his birthday.

When he makes his way to the living room, Alex is lounging on the couch. Indecent is the only way to describe him, truly. A fair bit of his sternum is on display as he slings an arm over the back of his sofa, his legs spread open. His curls fall over his forehead perfectly, and the curve of his smile as he spots Henry is simply devastating. Henry wants to make home between the vee of his thighs.

When Alex spots Henry, his smile drops and the air feels charged. Alex’s eyes are dark as they drag over Henry’s frame, and he notices the hitch in Alex’s breath as he fixates on what seems like Henry’s clavicle. His gaze is intense when he looks back at Henry, and Henry can’t help how his eyes dip to Alex’s collarbones, and he fights the urge to bite in mouth-shaped bruises there; easy to hide, but easier to spot. Henry breathes in shakily, licking his lip, because the tension is just so damn thick. It’s lingering in the air, making him want to do something unspeakably insane. Still, he knows he has to break this moment. He must if he knows what’s best for him.

“You look good,” Henry praises, watching how Alex melts into the cushions. How his throat bobs. Then, wanting to break this tension between them, he says, “Michelle, is she almost here?”

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs, refusing to answer Henry’s question as he keeps staring at him. “You look so damn gorgeous, sweetheart.”

Henry feels his cheeks heat up, knowing Alex notices him blushing. He smiles as sits beside Alex, some distance between them. The tips of Alex’s fingers brush against Henry’s shoulder as he moves, his back resting against the arm of the couch. The press of Alex’s fingers grows firm as Henry shifts, as if he’s trying to keep him in place. Henry tries to brush the thought away.

Alex moves closer. Their kneecaps bump, and then suddenly, there’s a hand on Henry’s thigh. He watches the spread of Alex’s fingers, how long they are. Just for a fleeting second, he imagines how they’d feel inside him. Henry’s blood is thumming within him, and he’s a moment away from doing something that would momentously change their friendship when he feels Alex’s phone buzzing. Alex’s fingers dig into his flesh, and Henry silently passes him the phone, not daring to shift away.

“Michelle,” Alex greets as he picks up the call. “Find the apartment alright?”

He closes his eyes, zoning out deliberately. He just can’t hear Alex talking to her in that sweet tone, the fondness in his voice. He can’t hear him laugh for her. Because of her.

Suddenly, Alex is close to him, the tip of his nose brushing Henry’s cheek. He jolts, his eyes flying open. Alex is laughing, but something in his eyes makes Henry stop.

“Tired?” Alex asks.

“A little,” Henry says. “I’ll be fine.”

Alex doesn’t believe him, Henry knows. He’s lied to Alex about this more times than he could count. Henry is dying and he’s never going to be alright.

“Shelly will be here in ten,” Alex says.

Shelly. A nickname. Henry doesn’t know why, but that hurts more than Alex spending time with her.

“Okay,” Henry says. “You sure you want me here?”

“Hen, she’s friends with you as well. Of course, I want you here. Don’t you know I always want you here?”

Alex is looking at him intensely, something Henry can’t place in his eyes. Henry so badly wants to close the gap between them. Wants to kiss those perfect lips, wants to bite at them. He can’t. God, he can’t.

“I always want you here, too,” Henry says, a little too honestly. “Always.”

The moment feels like a Moment, and Henry needs to break this or else he’ll start hoping for something more and Michelle will get with Alex and Henry will break his heart and lose everything in one go. So, despite how intensely Alex is staring at him, at how his lips part, Henry pushes up from the couch, making his way to the kitchen. He pours himself a drink. He knows he’ll know one– or several– to get through tonight.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

The dinner goes better than Henry had expected. Henry had been avoiding being alone with Alex and Michelle because he didn’t want to look at them being all flirty, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Now, looking at them talking, no matter what Henry had imagined, there’s nothing flirty going on here. They seem like genuinely good friends, and Henry feels so lost that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Every time Henry looks at Alex, he’s already gazing back at Henry, unblinking. There’s something challenging in his eyes, and Henry doesn’t know how to react. He’d been running away from this because he was scared of hurting himself, but… but there’s nothing to be hurt over.

When Alex makes a joke and Henry smiles, his hand that Alex reaches for. When Alex gets drunk and giggles, it’s Henry he slumps against. He shifts closer to Henry and sets a hand on his thigh when they move to the couch.

Henry realises he’d been jumping to insane conclusions, and when Alex raises an eyebrow at him, Henry realises he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought.

When they walk Michelle to the door at the end of the night, Alex drapes himself over his back, and as she leaves, it’s his cheek Alex places a kiss on before he makes his way to the kitchen to tidy up.

Henry stands there for a second, cheeks flushed, a hand placed over where Alex had kissed him.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

It’s not a secret that people love Alex. That people want to be with him. That’s exactly why it’s not a surprise when Henry’s coworker comes up to him and asks him if Alex is available. If Henry had any say, he wouldn’t be, but he is, and Henry tells her as much. The worst part is that they’ve met before and there’s no point in dragging Henry into this, but as Alex’s best friend, he’s no stranger to people coming up to him and asking him to pass on a message.

So, that night, despite coughing up three roses at the thought, Henry dares to bring it up before dinner.

Henry thinks about Lucy, thinks about her hopeful eyes as she’d looked at him through her lashes and begged him for Alex’s number. He thinks about the way Alex’s eyes had lingered on her for a second too long when he’d come to pick Henry up at work at three in the morning two Tuesdays ago. He thinks of them together, thinks of how utterly perfect they’d look.

He curls his fingers in a fist, the nails digging into his palm, and he thinks of the roots that have curled around his lungs, making home there. He thinks of the flowers blooming inside him, making breathing difficult. He thinks of the yellows and pinks and whites, thinks of the petals stained with blood as he coughs them up. He thinks about how he’s so in love with Alex that it’s literally killing him.

Then, he doesn’t think at all as he murmurs, “Alex, darling.”

Alex hums, his head pillowed on Henry’s thigh. Henry looks at his hand that’s carding through Alex’s hair as he feels the itch in his throat. There’s spots dancing in his vision as he feels lightheaded, the weight of Alex falling in love with someone else too heavy to carry. Alex doesn’t know, he can’t know. Still, Henry pulls in a breath that rattles, thankful that Alex is too preoccupied with his phone.

“I got coffee with Lucy after work today,” Henry starts, levelling out his voice deliberately.

He takes a minute to clear his throat. Still, he can’t help but notice how Alex has tensed in his lap. He watches how his jaw locks, and even though he hasn’t taken his eyes off of his screen, Henry knows he’s listening. Henry can tell by the harsh set of those broad shoulders.

“She asked for your number,” Henry continues, working out the tangles in Alex’s hair. “Should I give it to her?”

Alex acts like he hasn’t heard him. Henry watches him scroll to a different video– a cat strutting on a treadmill– and even though it would normally have Alex cooing, his lips don’t twitch. Alex’s eyes are fixed on the screen, and Henry stares at it too as he gathers the courage to ask Alex the question again even though it makes everything within him ache.

“So?” Henry coughs.

He has to bring his palm up to cover his mouth, but he’s not expecting to cough up a flower now. Still, his fingers wrapping around the single petal that falls from his lips. He holds onto it tightly as he swallows, trying to ignore the pain.

“Should I?” Henry continues, trying to blink back his tears. “Give her your number?”

Alex sits up abruptly, glancing at him. Then, as if Henry had never spoken at all, Alex asks, “Dinner? I was thinking Thai?”

Henry blinks, stunned. There’s something warm that’s spreading through him at Alex’s feigned ignorance, at the way he hadn’t even bothered to say no. Just for a second, breathing feels easier. Just for a second, it’s easy to forget that there’s a goddamn garden growing inside him, choking him to death.

So, Henry nods simply, a slight smile on his face.

Alex rises from the couch, stretching as he rolls his shoulders. He tosses his phone to Henry as he makes his way to the kitchen. His shoulders haven’t lost their tenseness. He stops just before he reaches the doorway. Turns. He looks at Henry, eyes calculating. He must find whatever he’d been looking for because Alex relaxes, his jaw unclenching.

Then, “Henry?”

Henry glances back, the petal still held in his fist. He doesn’t dare loosen his grip. He stares, and stares and stares, but manages to murmur a quiet, “yes?”

“Don’t ever bring this up again,” Alex commands, his voice firm.

Before Henry has the chance to say anything, to acknowledge it, Alex disappears. Henry smiles to himself as he hears the clinking of the glasses and reverently traces the soft edge of the bloody petal, uncaring about how his love for Alex is just growing deeper, killing him faster.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

Even though the hope of Alex returning his feelings keeps rising and falling, Henry thinks he truly gives up when he realises that if Alex loved him back, they’d already be together. They’ve been best friends for almost two decades, have lived together for almost half of that. Alex doesn't love Henry, he’s never going to love him back.

It all goes downhill after that. Realising that they truly can’t be together makes Henry ill in ways that he didn’t even think was possible, and he knows that it worries Alex. It’s a curse, having him care for Henry so deeply. Henry loves him as a friend and more, but sometimes, he really wished Alex didn’t love him like this too deeply.

Henry is always queasy, always nauseous. The pounding in his head never goes away. There are dark circles under his eyes, and even sharing a bed with Alex doesn’t help him get any sleep. He knows that his time is coming. Now, when he coughs up flowers, they’re drenched in blood. Sometimes, the coughs up the stems with the roses, the thorns bloody. His throat is so sore that eating or drinking feels like torture, and he picks at his meals instead of eating them.

He hasn’t had a moment of peace in the weeks since he’s come to realise that Alex doesn’t see him as anything more than his best friend. That night, as Alex sleeps, his arm slung across Henry’s waist, he feels the tears trickle down his cheeks.

There’s a rattle in his breathing as his breath catches, and he slips out of bed, watching as Alex curls himself around Henry’s pillow instead. The itch in his throat doesn’t let out and he lets out a loud cough as he locks himself in the bathroom. He grips the sink with white knuckles, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looks like a sickly Victorian child, his hair matted to his forehead. He thinks of Alex, of how he’d been insanely worried about Henry to the point that he hasn’t left Henry alone, even for a second because he’s scared of him kneeling over.

Henry has looked this pale before, all the colour drained from his skin. His hair is so limp it makes him itchy as he mourns the loss of his shiny hair that would swoop over his forehead perfectly. He doesn’t stop coughing, tears running down his cheeks. His stomach feels like it’s twisting around itself, his chest heavy. There’s a flurry of flowers falling from his lips, all pinks and yellows and reds, tinged with Henry’s blood as he scratches at his throat, trying to get some air in him. It’s agony, plain and simple. His joints ache, knuckles hurting from how tightly he’s clutching the sink. There’s speckles of flood in the white porcelain of the basin, and Henry stares, unblinkingly.

When he looks back in the mirror, there’s blood around the corner of his mouth, and he swipes it away with a harsh swipe. Still, the coughs don’t stop. The flowers don’t, either. The sleeve of Henry’s sleep shirt has turned red from him spitting out blood, and he settles on the floor, his back resting against the bathtub.

He thinks of his father, of how he was this sick, too. Love hadn’t killed him, but cancer had. Henry wonders if that was a better way to go.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, surrounded by blood-soaked flowers, picking at the skin on his lip. He doesn’t have long to live, he knows. He thinks of his family. Thinks of how he could’ve tried to be closer to them. Thinks of his sister half-way across the world, drowning herself in music instead of drugs. A part of him is tempted to turn back to alcohol, but he knows he can’t afford that. Not when his days are already numbered.

The beginnings of the sunlight pour into the room and Henry stands up on shaky legs, washing the blood from the sink. The flowers, he flushes them getting rid of the evidence. Despite how painful it is, a part of him is amazed about how he’d managed to hide this from Alex for so long. He knows that Alex knows there’s something severely wrong with Henry. His exits from rooms are strategically timed, and Henry doesn’t know if he has it in him to keep this hidden for any longer.

Dragging himself to the bathroom is already difficult, but he knows he can’t hurt Alex like this. So, he suffers.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

Henry has to leave for California in three hours for a mission, and Alex has hidden his packed suitcase. Henry wants to scream in frustration.

“Alex,” Henry says, trying very hard to keep his voice levelled. “Where is my suitcase?”

“I’m not telling you,” Alex says, his arms crossed.

His biceps are bulging in that well-fitted t-shirt he’s wearing, and he’s sent from the heavens to end Henry. He looks utterly pissed, and it leaves Henry feeling unsettled because he has never seen Alex this mad at him.

“Alex, please,” Henry says tiredly, having to lean against the wall to hold himself up. “I’d pack another bag instead of arguing with you, but my ID is in there.”

“No,” Alex snaps, his jaw clenched. “You’re not going.”

Henry takes a deep breath, irritated. “I am. Alex, it’s work.”

Alex throws out his hand, peeved. He’s glaring at Henry, storms in his eyes. “I don’t fucking care. Cancel it.”

“I just can’t cancel a bloody mission!” Henry snarls. “Alex, I don’t have the time for this.”

Alex walks towards him, shoving Henry into the wall with a hand on his chest. He stumbles, and Alex pins him in place, leaning in so close that their noses touch. The set of his shoulders is tense, and Henry tilts his chin out, trying to appear stronger than he feels. He clenches his fists because his hands are shaking.

“Listen to me,” Alex growls, nails digging into Henry’s sternum. “You’re sick. It’s not a fucking flu. If you go, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“It’s not that serious,” Henry snaps, struggling to get free. Alex’s grip doesn’t let up.

“It’s not that serious?” Alex scoffs. “I had to carry you here from the bathroom because you passed out this morning, Henry. I’m not letting you go.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that I’m not asking for your permission, then,” Henry glares. “I’m leaving. Tell me, where is my bloody suitcase?”

“Henry, you’re not leaving my sight,” Alex commands. “You’re staying here with me.”

“I am not,” Henry glares. “Zahra is waiting for me.”

Alex’s glare intensifies, probably thinking back to how she’d refused to let Henry skip out on this mission. He knows Alex had given her a call earlier this morning , trying to get Henry out of his. It hadn’t helped that Henry had called her right back to tell her that Alex was exaggerating, even when he hadn’t been. He knows Alex is worried, but Henry can’t sit at home, wasting away, letting his illness win.

“Fuck her,” Alex curses, fisting a hand in the collar of Henry’s shirt to pull him closer. “Fuck her. I don’t care what she says. I’m not letting you go.”

“Who are you to tell me not to go?” Henry snaps, furious. “What right do you have?”

“Who am I?” Alex laughs humorlessly, leaning in to brush their noses together. “Are you being serious?”

Henry latches onto Alex’s hurt, trying to get an out. He needs to leave the damn house, even if it’s for a bit. Even if he never comes back. Ever since Henry has started getting worse, Alex hasn’t left his side and Henry just can’t bear that anymore. He can’t bear feeling so loved even when he isn’t.

“Yes, I’m being serious,” Henry says, trying to shove Alex away with a hand on his shoulder. “My ID. Now.”

Alex stares at him, eyebrows dipped. Henry has never seen him this angry, and it scares him. It scares him because of what it means, and Henry has to leave before he reads into this. He can’t afford to.

“I won’t ask again,” Henry says, voice low.

“I don’t know why I even bother with you,” Alex scoffs. “See if I care if anything happens to you.”

Alex huffs, pushing away from Henry. He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and Henry thinks that it oddly sounds like his heart breaking.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

There’s a bullet in his shoulder.

He should have listened to Alex, Henry thinks hysterically, feeling the blood seeping from the wound.

He’d been so close to capturing Lesley, the ringleader of the gang they were chasing, but his right-hand man had spotted Henry before he had the chance to. Then, before he knew it, there was a gun in his face, and Henry’s reflexes were shit because of the aches in his body, and instead of dodging the bullet, he’d gone and managed to get himself shot.

See if I care if anything happens to you, Alex had said before he’d given Henry his suitcase back. He didn’t come out to say goodbye to Henry. He hadn’t even said a single word since Henry had left home five days ago.

Now, as he’s bleeding, he thinks of Alex’s beautiful smile. He thinks about those eyes that always shine with adoration. Thinks about how witty Alex is, and mourns that he’s probably never going to get to hear him joke again.

He coughs and coughs and coughs, the flowers surrounding him. The blood from his shoulder engulfs the petals. He blinks at the scene. It feels like an omen.

There’s a part of him that aches more than the wound and the flowers and the vines wrapped around his lungs when he realises that Alex is probably going to blame himself for this. He’ll blame himself that he didn’t try to stop Henry hard enough. He’ll regret telling Henry he wouldn’t care if anything happens to him. It hurts everywhere because Alex can’t blame himself for this, not when it’s Henry’s fault.

He feels himself slipping from consciousness, curled up all alone in a damp alley, thinking of Alex, Alex, Alex.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

“Henry,” someone says, a hand on the side of his face. “Fuck, Henry, wake up.”

“Alex,” Henry mumbles, trying to burrow in the warmth. “Love.”

“Henry, please,” the voice chokes.

“Love you,” Henry tries to say, the pull of the darkness too strong to ignore.

❀ ◦• ✾ ◦• 𓆩✿𓆪 ◦• ✾ ◦• ❀

When Henry comes to, the first thing he notices is the beeping of the machines.

Ah, well. Not dead, then.

He blinks his eyes open, wincing at the light. There’s a bin sitting by the bed, half-filled with bloody flowers. Henry feels the dread take home in his heart. Everyone knows, then. His secret is out. He thinks about pretending to sleep, not wanting to deal with any of this. He can’t. Before he can close his eyes though, he feels someone’s grip on his hand tighten.

“Henry!”

That voice. That damn voice. Henry has had visions of them. Has dreamt of it. He turns his head slowly, looking into Alex’s red-rimmed eyes. His hold on Henry’s hand is tight, like he’s scared of letting go.

“Alex,” Henry rasps, coughing.

Alex rushes to pour Henry a glass of water, never letting go of his hand. As Henry gulps it down, he winces at the pain, reaching for the bin. He doesn’t want Alex to see him like this, but there’s nowhere to hide. He retches, the flowers falling from his lips. He doesn’t stop, and Henry wonders if getting shot had made everything worse. When he stops, he had to rest his head on the rim of the bin, trying to catch his breath. Alex rubs his back soothingly, his lips pressed to Henry’s temple.

He gently takes the bin away from Henry when his breathing slows, and looks at Henry imploringly. His eyes are sad, and Henry pats the bed, asking Alex to join him. He sits on the edge of the bed gingerly, still just looking at Henry.

“Hanahaki?” Alex asks hoarsely.

Henry nods. His shoulder is throbbing and he’s in pain but Alex is here, looking at him so softly that all of that fades in comparison. He’s here, and Henry’s alive, and Henry fucking loves him.

“You didn’t tell me,” Alex accuses, sniffling slightly.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

Alex’s face crumbles as he bows forward, as if he wants to be in Henry’s space but is too scared to touch him. Henry reaches out, careful of the wires attached to his hand. Just for a brief second, his mind flashes to his own father. Then, carefully, he pulls Alex close, letting him hide his face in the crook of his shoulder.

“Hen, this is not what you do. It’s not. If you’re dying, you tell the people around you. Everyone has been worried sick. Everyone. Your mother is flying out,” Alex cries, his tears covering Henry’s neck.

“My… my mum?”

Henry feels something within him jolt. He hasn’t felt the touch of his mother in years, and even though he’s still bitter and holds resentment for her abandoning him, he can’t think of anything better than being wrapped in his mother’s arms.

“Yes. And Bea. And Philip. And my parents. June. Nora. Pez. People are worried sick, you know.”

Henry doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He reclines against the headboard, pulling Alex with him. He hasn’t let go of Henry since he’s woken up, and Henry isn’t going to complain. Breathing is difficult like this, and every breath he takes just exacerbates the pain in his shoulder, but he’s alive and he’s holding Alex.

“You got shot,” Alex says then, his voice petulant. “I told you not to go and you got shot.”

“I know,” Henry says, lip trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shaan found you. He said you looked dead, Hen. He thought you’d died,” Alex chokes. “He found you laying in a pool of your own blood, surrounded by flowers.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry repeats, pulling Alex closer. “I’m sorry I didn't listen to you.”

“I was worried sick!” Alex exclaims, tilting his chin up to glare at Henry. “I told you! I told you not to go! If they’d found you any later you would’ve been dead! You still could be! Those fucking flowers are going to fucking kill you!”

Henry can’t help it, alright? He’s tired and he’s been through hell, so he allows himself to have this. Alex. Fuck, if he’s going to die anyway, he’d rather have Alex. All he has to do is ask.

Henry shifts, wincing in pain. He bites down a whine, and Alex turns, too. Henry reaches out to hold Alex’s face between the palms of his hands softly. He wipes away his tears with gentle swipes no matter how much it hurts. He just… he can’t see Alex like this. He hadn’t dared to think about how Alex would react if Alex ever found out, but seeing him in such distress is genuinely so painful and Henry never wants to hurt Alex, not like this.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Henry says, clearing his throat. “I know I should have. I couldn’t.”

Alex is still glaring at him, but Henry can see the hurt behind it, too. He leans in to press a kiss to Alex’s forehead, letting his lips linger there for a second more than necessary. He feels Alex’s breath stutter as he leans into Henry’s touch.

“Who is it?” Alex asks, eyelashes fluttering as he looks at Henry, jaw trembling. “Who is he?”

Henry laughs helplessly, tracing Alex’s cheekbones with his thumbs. He leans their foreheads together, biting back a smile.

“Christ, Alex, you’re as thick as it gets.”

Alex’s eyes widen in surprise as he stares back at Henry, his hands coming up to wrap around Henry’s wrist to hold him in place. He’s so close that Henry can feel Alex breathing against him and the air is charged and the monitor is going crazy because Henry’s heart has picked up its beat, but none of that matters.

“Me?” Alex asks, awed. “It’s me?”

“Alex, it’s always been you,” Henry confesses. “Ever since the first time I saw you.”

“Fuck all the way off!” Alex cries. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Henry insists, knowing that this isn’t a good time to make light of the situation. “As I said, there’s never been anyone else. Not for me.”

Alex's eyes are tearing up again, and he pushes into Henry’s space, letting go of his wrists to cup the back of his neck. He pulls Henry close, careful of his shoulder.

Says, “you’re such a fucking idiot.”

Henry huffs out a laugh, “excuse me?”

“You should’ve fucking told me you loved me. There’s only ever been you for me, too. Since the beginning. How could it not be?”

Henry doesn’t dare to breathe. “No.”

“The fuck do you mean no? It’s true,” Alex bites. “You’re so dramatic. Dying of unrequited love when you should’ve known there’s no such thing when it’s you and me.”

“I’m sorry?”

Alex is grinning at him now, a twinkle in his eye. They’re still red-rimmed, but he looks lighter. Happier.

“You should be,” Alex rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you thought I didn’t love you back. I can’t believe you almost died because of that. Here, sweetheart, listen to me. I love you.”

“What?”

“Henry, sweetheart,” Alex laughs. “The prognosis will stop only if you believe me. So, you better believe that I’ve been in love with you all this time. It’s you and me. Can’t have you dying on me now.”

“Oh,” Henry breathes, blinking. “I’m… processing.”

“Well, can you hurry that up so I can kiss you? I’ve been dreaming about it for the past fifteen years or so.”

Henry blinks. Then, Alex is rolling his eyes, rising up on his knees to settle in Henry’s lap. His body protests, but he doesn’t bloody care. All he cares about is the boy he loves being in his lap. Who loves him back, from the looks of it. Goddamn, he’s the luckiest bastard on the damn planet. Henry rests his hands over the divot of Alex’s hips, a perfect fit.

“I love you,” Henry says, still dazed. “I love you.”

Alex laughs, delighted. He nudges their noses together, an action so soft that Henry has to close his eyes to will back his tears.

“I love you,” Alex beams. “Kiss me, asshole.”

He doesn’t give Henry a chance to do so because he dips his head, kissing the smile off of Henry’s face. Henry believes he’s allowed to be corny, having had a near-death experience and all. Kissing Alex feels like breathing, as simple as that. The second their lips touch, Henry feels the air blooming in his lungs, the feeling of vines snapping away. He knows the symptoms don’t revert instantly, but God, Alex makes him feel like they do. When Alex brushes his tongue against Henry’s, he feels his blood singing.

It turns heated very quickly. Alex is grinding down and Henry pushes up, trying to get as close as possible, and the friction is delicious, but they pull back laughing as the monitor in the room starts beeping wildly. Alex giggles as he tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving. Henry slides a hand in his curls to kiss him again because apparently, he’s just… allowed to do that now.

“Baby,” Alex murmurs against his lips, and Henry is entirely unprepared for how he reacts.

Henry moans slightly as the monitor picks up its pace, and Henry feels himself jolt. A blush settles over his cheeks as he looks at Alex, who looks as stunned as Henry feels. Then, there’s a devilish smirk growing on his face as he nips Henry’s neck.

“Baby, huh?” Alex teases. “That do it for you, sweetheart?”

The damn monitor exposes him again and Henry groans in embarrassment, closing his eyes, slumping against Alex’s chest. Alex laughs as he holds Henry in place by cupping the back of his head.

“It’s cute,” Alex comments.

“It’s bloody humiliating, that’s what it is,” Henry says.

“It’s cute,” Alex insists. Then, because he’s a menace, “baby.”

“I will break up with you,” Henry threatens.

“As if,” Alex scoffs. “That’s not even in the question. You’re not allowed to.”

Henry laughs, turning to look at Alex. “Oh, I’m not, am I?”

“No,” Alex says, kissing Henry’s nose, making it scrunch. “Can’t have you almost dying on me again. Which, by the way, is also not allowed, so jot that down.”

Alex lifts off, laying down beside Henry in the cramped space. Henry basks in the comfort he feels as Alex kisses his shoulder.

“Jotting it down,” Henry plays along. “Hey, how did the mission go?”

“Nuh uh,” Alex protests, pulling Henry close. “No work talk. The only thing you’re allowed to talk about is how much we love each other and how you’re never going to keep secrets from me ever again, especially when it involves you dying.”

Henry hums. “Fine. No secrets.”

Alex huffs, rising up on an elbow to glare at Henry. “What about how much we love each other? Tell me you love me.”

“I think it’s quite clear that I do,” Henry says, raising an eyebrow. “Almost died and all.”

“So stupid. Never do that again,” Alex huffs, pouting. “I love you insanely. Don’t you dare forget it and die or else I’ll haunt your ghost.”

“Shouldn’t the ghost be doing the haunting?” Henry asks, amused.

“No, asshole, because I’ll be mad at you, and not the other way around. Keep up.”

Henry smiles, reaching out to cup the back of Alex’s neck. He pulls him closer, kissing him softly.

“I love you. It’s you and me,” Henry says.

“You and me, baby,” Alex murmurs against Henry’s lips.

Alex smiles widely. Kisses him like they have all the time in the world. Well, Henry supposes, they do now.