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Alex has the perfect life. The perfect job–a human rights lawyer at one of the most respected firms in the country, a few years shy from being promoted to the youngest partner in the firm. The perfect apartment - a huge three-bedroom apartment overlooking Central Park that somehow doesn't require him auctioning off body parts to pay for rent every month. And the perfect boyfriend - Henry Fox, a gorgeous, British writer with legs for days and cheekbones people go to war for. They’ve been together for three years now, and Henry’s genuinely so perfect that Alex still wakes up every morning thanking God that he gets to be with him.
Unlike most people his age, Alex doesn't hate his job, isn't living in squalor or going broke, and has a stable, loving relationship with the love of his life. Everything’s perfect. He’s never been happier.
Except for the fact that his boyfriend’s dad fucking hates him.
“He doesn't hate you,” Henry huffs, slapping Alex’s hands away from his neck to work on the tie himself. “He’s never said he hates you. When has he said that he hates you?”
“He does,” Alex whines childishly. “Remember yesterday, when we got in? He looked at my tie for, like, two minutes and then said, ‘Interesting tie.’'”
Henry paused in his ministrations to stare at him. “And that means he hates you?”
“It was the way he said it. He might as well have told me to kill myself.”
His amazing traitor boyfriend snorts, continuing his work on Alex’s tie. “Yes, and I suppose the way he told me to stay for dessert was a veiled attempt at asking me to jump in the Thames.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“Hen,” Alex whines again, “he hates me.”
“Darling,” Henry says seriously, hands on his shoulders and tie in a perfect knot, “do you really think we’d still be together if my father actually hated and disapproved of you?”
“No,” Alex acquiesces, then, “wait, what?”
“I’m joking,” Henry laughs, a soothing balm to Alex’s worries. “He likes you. He does. He doesn’t make it obvious, sure, but I promise you he does.”
“Obvious?” Alex snorts. “The man acts like he doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me.”
“Now, that’s not true.”
“He literally hides behind columns when we come around the corner - ”
“That happened one time – ”
“ – I doubt he’d even notice if I didn’t show up.”
Henry pauses, then frowns. “Do you actually not want to go? Because we don’t have to if you don’t want to; I mean it, Alex.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Alex grumbles. “It’ll be fine. Really. And I can’t give him one more thing to hold over me.”
Henry looks up at the ceiling, defeated. “God help me.”
If Alex thought he was overdressed in his waistcoat and bowtie when he stepped outside of his shared room with Henry, it’s nothing compared to stepping into the foyer and seeing Arthur Fox in a goddamn cape. But from the way Arthur’s eyes flick over him from head to toe, he now starts to worry that he’s underdressed.
Before he has a chance to convince Henry to lend him one of his fancier suits, Catherine’s clapping her gloved hands with a, “Best be off, then!” and they’re shuffled out the door.
They climb into a long and extremely luxurious limousine that looks like something out of a cartoon. Alex presses up beside Henry as the rest of them all chat and laugh, passing around flutes of champagne like this is a totally normal thing people do.
Alex has to admit that the first time he met Henry’s family, he fully expected them to be completely out of touch with the world. Henry wasn’t anything like that, but he figured that he was, like he was for most things, an anomaly. But he was pleasantly surprised to see that for all of their pomp and extravagance, the Fox family was extremely humble.
Perhaps the strangest thing about them was how they acted when Henry’s grandmother died last year. They’d been perfectly somber during the ceremony, but didn’t bother with a reception – instead, they went to Nando’s, still in their black tie attire, and ordered an entire chicken, laughing and smiling all the while. Near the end, they ordered a cheesecake and sang “Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead” when they bit into it.
As strange as it was, Alex knew it was justified–Henry had told him how awful and disapproving she was of Arthur, and how she’d secretly threatened Henry into staying in the closet. Hell, they only ever visited her once a year, and none of them wanted to subject Alex to her, so he had never even met her. As Alex raised a chicken leg in a toast, he didn’t feel an ounce of remorse for celebrating the death of a woman he’d never met, and from the carefree look on Henry’s face, he was glad he didn’t.
Alex knows they’re close when he hears the crowd. They’re at a special showing for the thirtieth anniversary of the release of Decision To Leave, the first of four James Bond movies with Arthur Fox at its helm – which is a strange, full-circle moment for Alex.
On his first date with Henry – technically a blind date, set by Pez, who was a mutual friend – on the topic of favorite movies, Alex said, “Empire, obviously – but also Decision to Leave, with Arthur Fox? Literally one of the best Bond films, ever.”
Henry had laughed, and before Alex could recover from the gorgeous sound of it, said, “Decision To Leave is one of my favorites, too."
Alex didn’t think anything of it, and they swiftly moved on to another topic, where Alex fell deeper and deeper in love with him.
Of course, when a month later Henry sat him down nervously and told him that they needed to talk, Alex’s first thought had obviously been that Henry was ending things – not that his father was Academy-Award-nominated, A-list actor and three-time People Magazine’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ Arthur Fox.
Alex knows Henry wasn’t lying to him – wouldn’t lie to him, and who’d randomly lie to their boyfriends about their dads being James Bond, anyway? – and he’d had the Google searches and baby pictures to prove it. But some part of Alex still didn’t quite believe him, up until he and Henry flew to London together and the door to Henry’s childhood home swung open to reveal Arthur Fox, James fucking Bond himself, in his beautiful, chiseled, six-foot glory.
Arthur had grinned and pulled Henry into a hug, ruffling his hair despite Henry’s protests. He then smiled warmly at Alex, extending a hand. “And you must be the infamous Alex. How are you doing?”
“Extraordinary,” Alex said, before inwardly flinching. It was just like him to meet his boyfriend’s movie star father for the first time and say his most iconic line back to him. “I mean – good! Great. Just great. Perfectly ordinary. Sir.”
“Call me Arthur,” Arthur shared a look with Henry, and then politely led them further into the house. Once he was far enough, Henry sidled up close to Alex and said in his ear, “Extraordinary?”
“I’m going to need you to murder me,” Alex said seriously, “I mean it. Shoot me. Run me over. Put whatever’s left in a garbage bag and throw me in the Hudson.”
Henry only laughed and tugged him forward.
But as the evening soon progressed, it seemed clear to Alex that he wasn’t gaining any favors. It started out well enough – Arthur asked him questions about his job, and his family – but the more Alex talked, the more distant Arthur became.
As Alex recounted a story about one of his cases, one that never failed to impress his audience, he couldn’t help but notice Arthur’s pleasant smile slowly dropping into a frown. It was barely ten o’clock when Arthur stretched his arms and said, “Well, I’m afraid I’m not as young as you lot, so I’d better be off to bed,”
They said their goodnights, and as Arthur went up to bed, Alex couldn’t help but feel like he failed some kind of test.
“You’re kidding!” Nora crowed on FaceTime that night when Henry was in the bathroom. “Oh, my sweet summer child. You fucked up. You fucked up so bad.”
“You need to get me out of here,” Alex hissed. “He hates me.”
“No can do, Alejandro,” Nora said. “Even if I was in London, which I’m obviously not, you’re on your own. You’ve piled the shit onto your mattress yourself, and now you must roll around in it.”
“Don’t bastardize common phrases.”
“Don’t act like an obsessive fanboy in front of your boyfriend’s dad.”
Alex hung up mid-cackle.
It’s not like he could help it – Arthur Fox is gorgeous. One of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen – second only to his son, who Alex staunchly believes is the hottest man in existence – who only seems to get more attractive with age. He somehow always looks like he’s just stepped off a movie set, which is extremely annoying. As it happens, it only makes Alex more attracted to Henry, because if Arthur looks that hot now, he can only imagine how devastating Henry will be when he gets older. Future Alex is a lucky, lucky man.
Even now, stepping onto the red carpet, Henry is beautiful. Alex doesn't think he’ll ever get used to the cameras and the shouting - granted, he hasn't been to a lot of these - but Henry takes it in as easy as breathing. He’s very good at it, posing and smiling like it’s effortless. Over the din of the carpet, bright lights flashing over his face, Henry is breathtaking. From the strong arch of his nose to the sharp edge of his jaw to the sly quirk of his lips, he looks every bit like the James Bond offspring he is. Alex has long thought that Henry had a face for the movies.
One of Arthur’s assistants ushers them in front of a camera.
“Henry, right? Arthur Fox’s youngest?”
“That never fails to make me feel like I’m eight years old.” Henry says in his ear, and then, louder, “That’s me.”
“Pleased to meet you – I’m Ingrid, I’m with Vanity Fair,” the interviewer says, shaking both of their hands. There’s a large and terrifying camera pointed right at them, red light blinking menacingly. “Tonight’s a very special night - thirty years since the release of your father’s first film as James Bond, Decision To Leave - tell me, how does it feel, knowing that your father’s legacy has spanned thirty years?”
“It feels surreal,” Henry admits, “I mean, I wasn't even alive when he filmed Decision To Leave so to be here, celebrating a film that’s so well-loved and adored that’s older than I am, is, not to quote my father, but nothing short of extraordinary.” Henry bumps his shoulder at this, and it takes everything in Alex to keep from elbowing him in the stomach.
“How does it feel to have James Bond as your father?”
Henry laughs gaily as if he hasn't been asked this question every other day for the past twenty-six years. “Like having any other father, I suppose. He’s always been Dad to me. Even when he was taking me on set and making me tag along on red carpets, it never felt like James Bond was my dad, you know? Nor Arthur Fox. He’s just been Dad.”
They go back and forth for a while, and Alex tunes out in favor of looking at the way Henry’s jaw flexes when he talks. To be fair, it’s a really nice jaw.
“And you?” It takes Alex a second to realize that the question is addressed to him.
“Oh, I’m just here as arm candy,” Alex grins into the microphone, and he can feel more than see Henry rolling his eyes fondly from beside him. “I’m Alex, Henry’s boyfriend.”
“And how is it, falling into the Fox family? This kind of thing doesn’t happen every day, I bet.”
“Not at all,” Alex agrees, “I always say it’s like a baptism by fire. But, you know, it’s been three years, and they’ve all been wonderful. They’ve really welcomed me into the family,” He’s lying through his teeth, but he’s a lawyer, so he knows it’s convincing. He can, however, see Henry’s amused expression in his periphery.
“We’re glad to hear that. Before we end it here, Henry, I wanted to know if you maybe had anything to say about your new book that’s releasing in the summer?”
“It’s one I’m very proud of,” Henry says winningly, “but I won’t say much about it. It’s Dad’s night, so he’s all that matters tonight.”
Alex never used to care about what people thought of him, though he’d never had to. He was extremely likable–everyone told him so. He was exactly the kind of guy people brought home to their parents, and parents loved him. He’s still Facebook friends with a lot of his exes’ parents, and they go out of their way to talk to him if he ever bumps into one of them. He’s had parents not like him before, sure, but he’d never let that bother him or his relationship.
But this is different. Never mind the fact that it’s Arthur Fox – of fucking course Alex would be hated by a literal icon, he probably pissed off a god in his past life or something – but Alex knows how much Arthur’s opinion matters to Henry. He idolizes the man. He talks to him on the phone almost every day and tells him just about everything. Alex has seen the way he looks at him – Arthur is, for lack of a better term, Henry’s best friend, in a way neither Alex nor Pez could ever be.
Which is why Alex is so broken up about it. He knows Arthur hates him – knows it in his bones – but nobody else seems to agree with him. Not Nora or June, who have only met Arthur once and with whom Arthur was perfectly pleasant; not Pez, who’s known Arthur for over ten years and who Arthur treats like an honorary son; and certainly not Bea or Philip, who are his literal children.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alex,” Bea said when Alex hesitantly shared his worries at brunch one morning as Henry went up to the counter, “Dad doesn’t hate anyone.”
“Except Gran,” Philip piped up.
“Except Gran,” Bea agreed.
“And that’s supposed to comfort me, how?”
“It just means that he doesn’t have a hateful bone in his body. Even to the people who disrespect him.”
“It’s true,” Philip said, “remember how he treated that electrician that tried to feel you up in year six?”
“Try to have a bit more tact, Philip, Christ,” Bea said flatly. “But, yes. I’d never seen Dad so mad, but even then he wasn’t really yelling or making a scene. Just threatened him and left him out in the cold three hours before the company was supposed to pick him up.”
Alex stared at them. “And how is that in any way comparable to me consensually dating his son?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Philip said comfortingly, “he probably hasn’t properly bonded with you yet. Give him time. You’re good for Henry, and he sees that.”
“Yeah,” Bea nodded. “None of us have ever seen Henry this happy, you know. He’s lighter now. More content. You did that. And we’ll forever be grateful for that. So stop. Worrying.”
It was easier said than done. Alex knew that he and Henry were rock solid – knew that Henry made him immensely happy and vice versa – but how could he show Arthur that?
While Arthur was his literal father, Alex is the one who knows Henry best. When they went to see a West End production of A Streetcar Named Desire to support one of Arthur's drama school friends, he and Arthur had been on opposite sides of Henry, but he was the first to notice the beginnings of a panic attack in the middle of the first act.
He’d felt it when Henry suddenly went tense beside him, and when he glanced down, saw that his knuckles were white as he gripped his knees. Alex’s stomach dropped. He slowly smoothed his hand down Henry’s leg and over his clenched hand, and Henry immediately clasped it tightly. It was so tight Alex had to clench his jaw, but he was determined to help Henry in whatever way he could. After a few minutes, though, Henry released his hand as though it burned him, and he scrambled up from his seat. He made his way down the row, all tense smiles and whispered platitudes at Arthur and Catherine’s worried questions. Alex only hesitated for a beat before he got up from his own seat to follow him.
“I’ve got it, you guys stay,” he whispered.
Outside the doors, Alex found Henry huddled in a corner, his back to the room. Alex’s heart clenched. He made his footsteps loud, moving closer toward Henry like one would approach a spooked animal. Once he was close enough, he squeezed into the place between him and the wall, bending his knees so he could be eye level with Henry, who had had his head ducked and eyes squeezed shut.
“Hey,” Alex said softly, making sure not to touch him. Henry’s eyes squeezed tighter. “Can you breathe for me? Just one big breath in and out.”
Henry did nothing at first, but after a few moments, took in a stuttered breath, then exhaled wetly.
“That’s so good, baby,” Alex continued to whisper, “so good. One more breath, sweetheart, can you do that? I’ll do it, too, watch.”
Alex took an exaggerated breath, and Henry followed suit, eyes still shut and fists clenched at his sides. They exhaled loudly in unison.
They did this a few more times until Henry finally unclenched his fists. His back was still ramrod straight, so Alex maintained his distance. After a few minutes, he tried to break the silence with a light, “Hey, how’d you know I wanted to leave, huh?”
Henry started shaking his head furiously. “Alex,” his voice broke, hands outstretched towards him.
Alex felt the back of his throat burn. “Hey, hey,” He stepped forward, and Henry immediately clenched his fists into the collar of his shirt, pressing their foreheads together. Alex wrapped his arms around his waist, firm but with plenty of space lest Henry felt trapped.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly.
“It’s dumb,” he gasped, pressing his palms into his eyes.
“Baby, hey,” Alex said, prying his hands away. “It’s not dumb. It’s not dumb, you’re obviously not fine – ”
“I am – ”
“I think we can both agree that you’re full of shit right now,” Alex said gently. Henry kept his head down, and Alex tipped his jaw up with his finger. “Hey. It’s okay that you’re not fine. You don’t need a reason to not be fine. And if you do have a reason, it could never be dumb. Okay? Not if it’s hurting you or making you uncomfortable.”
Henry said nothing, and his eyes were so fucking sad Alex could feel his throat closing up. It never really gets easier, but Alex learns a tiny bit more about what to do every time it happens, so he thanks God for small mercies.
“Let’s go sit down.”
Haltingly, Henry moved to walk back inside, but Alex gently pulled him aside towards the empty benches. “C’mon, let’s sit down over here.”
Henry followed wordlessly and continued to say nothing when Alex leaned against the wall and folded Henry up beside him. He was still impossibly tense, but as Alex continued rubbing his back and stroking his hands, he could feel Henry gradually getting more relaxed. After about twenty minutes, Henry fell into unconsciousness. He continued doing this until about an hour later when the doors opened for the interval and theatergoers started rushing out.
They were in the same position when the rest of Henry’s family found them. Henry was still asleep, head tucked in the crook of Alex’s neck. “I’m gonna take him home, I think,” Alex said softly.
“We’ll leave, too,” Catherine said, but Alex shook his head just slightly.
“No, it’s fine,” Arthur opened his mouth to object, but Alex was faster. “He’s more important than a play, I know – but didn’t you promise your friend you’d see them after the show? Henry would feel awful if you all left because of him, you know that.”
They all shifted on their feet, hesitant. “It’s really fine,” Alex assured them. “I’m not a fan of plays, anyway. He won’t feel that guilty I missed it.”
Arthur opened his mouth again, but this time it was Philip who interrupted him, “Alright, then. You drive home safely, alright? Take my keys.”
He dropped the keys into Alex’s palm. “Thanks, Philip. Help me get him up?”
Alex, Philip, and Arthur helped get Henry to a standing position. Miraculously, he stayed unconscious, although he did shuffle in closer and wrap his arms tighter around Alex. They walked them back to the car, helping Henry into the passenger seat. Alex turned to get into the driver’s seat next, but started when Arthur clasped him on the shoulder. His expression was unreadable. “You take care of him, now.”
Alex nodded. “I will.”
They’re laying in their bed in Brooklyn, sweat-slicked and panting, sheets sticking to their bare skin. Henry has an arm slung over his eyes, skin flushed red. Henry post-orgasm is fucking beautiful, but Alex has his eyes trained on the ceiling, distracted.
“Do you think he still hasn’t forgiven me for spilling juice on your shirt that time on your birthday?”
“Who?”
“The Dalai Lama - who the fuck else could I be talking about?”
Henry turns to look at him in disbelief. “Do not tell me you were thinking about my father during sex.”
“I wasn’t thinking about your dad during sex,” Alex rolls his eyes. “I was thinking about him after.”
Henry rips the blanket from underneath his head and hits Alex in the face with it.
“Fucking ow, Henry – !”
“Let. It. Go,” he accentuates with every hit. Alex manages to catch the pillow and throws it across the room. In retaliation, Henry climbs on top of Alex, pinning his arms above his head. Alex leers up at him. “Ready to go again, huh?”
Henry ignores him. “I promise you my father couldn't care less about you spilling a little juice on my shirt on my birthday two years ago. ”
“Okay, one – it wasn’t a little juice, it was a lot of juice, and you had to change your entire shirt – ”
Henry groans and flops back to the bed beside him. Alex continues, “ – and secondly, it was fucking embarrassing. I tripped over a fucking lego.”
“Legos are hazardous. Anybody could have tripped.”
“Yeah, but the things were everywhere and nobody else fucking did, did they?”
“Well, you’re clumsy, it happens.”
“It's not supposed to happen in front of your boyfriend’s dad.”
Henry puts his face in his hands. “Darling, when will you believe that he doesn’t actually hate you?”
“When he doesn’t.”
“Why is this so important to you?” Henry asks finally, letting his hands drop to his sides. “It’s not like he’s actively trying to break us up or anything. And trust me, if he hated you, you’d know.”
“That’s not what Philip and Bea told me.”
“What did Philip and Bea tell you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alex says, tugging at his hair. “It’s just. It’s easy for you to act all indifferent about this – my dad fucking loves you. But imagine if he didn’t - you’d be pestering me all day, too. You’d be begging me to teach you how to make tres leches or tamales or whatever the fuck and shove food into his mouth until he couldn't help but like you.”
“Perhaps, but – ”
“And he might be okay with us now, but what if one day he decides he doesn’t want you with me anymore? I don’t want to be standing at the fucking altar and then suddenly have your dad stand up to object – ”
“Wait, what?” Henry interrupts, looking up at him. “You mean, like – at our wedding?”
“Yeah, who else’s wedding?” Alex looks up at the ceiling and tries to say it casually, like he hasn’t just dropped a huge, life-changing, momentous bombshell in bed on a Sunday morning. “What if he doesn't even attend – ”
“You want to marry me?”
Alex looks at him in disbelief. “Yeah, of course,” he grumbles. “Of course I want to fucking marry you, are you fucking crazy.”
“Oh,” Henry hiccups.
Alex stares at him, feeling something drop to the pit of his stomach. “Do you. I mean. Do you not want to – ”
“I do!” Henry rushes to say, then flushes crimson at his word choice. “I mean, yes. I’d like it if we were to get married. One day. Very much.”
Something large and monumental expands in Alex’s chest as he huffs out a laugh. “Okay. Cool.”
“Cool,” Henry echoes.
They stare at each other for a beat, matching deranged grins on their faces before Alex is reminded of the topic at hand. “Which is why we need to find out how to make your dad like me – ”
When Henry drops a stack of loose papers in front of him, Alex thinks it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to him. This will be Henry’s second published book, and the first one Alex is around for. He’d been incredibly secretive about it – he refused to let Alex see a page of it; would slam his laptop shut every time Alex walked into the room. If Alex didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Henry was watching porn.
So when he’s finally handed a copy of the book, days before Henry’s supposed to send it to his editor, Alex, ridiculously, feels like crying. But then he actually flips open the page and sees the dedication.
To Alex, the love of my life. I have never imagined being this happy.
Alex can’t help it this time – he bursts into tears.
Henry’s book tour includes a few stops in England, so Alex takes a week off from work to join him across the pond. At a book signing in London, Alex is chatting with Henry’s manager when he sees Arthur from the other side of the shop. Henry’s manager, Shaan, follows his gaze. “It’s quite something, isn’t it, being in Arthur Fox’s presence?”
Alex hums noncommittally. “Sure is.”
“You know Henry used a pseudonym when he sent in his first book? I did manage to convince him to go by Fox because I thought it sounded cooler, but I never imagined he was the son of Arthur Fox, you know? I didn’t even know he was his father until he showed up at the first book signing! But he’s been so lovely – he’s always been lovely. Everyone says so. Well. I’m sure you know.”
Alex almost laughs. That’s the thing: he doesn’t. He smiles and nods at the appropriate times, but his head becomes a cacophony of noise. He glances over at Arthur again. He makes a decision.
The next day, while Henry’s out for a meeting with his UK publisher, Alex hesitates outside of Arthur’s office. The door is left slightly ajar, and he can hear music playing faintly inside. He steels himself and knocks twice.
“Come in.”
Alex steps in. Arthur is sitting at his desk, which is covered in scripts. He’s holding a highlighter in one hand and a pen in the other, a heavily annotated screenplay in front of him. He’s probably been working for hours, but the effortless way his hair is tousled makes it look like he’s about to step out for brunch. It’s incredibly unfair.
“Hey, I wanted to know if I could talk to you for a bit.”
Arthur’s face is carefully blank. “Of course,” he says, then gestures at the armchairs in front of his desk. Alex heaves himself down on one. Arthur puts down the pens. “I’m all ears.”
“I want to know why you hate me.”
Arthur blinks, and Alex doesn’t blame him. He’d meant to lead up to it–had an entire speech planned and memorized for weeks – but far be it for anything to go the way Alex plans it to. He’d be damned if it looked like he didn’t plan this, though, so he squares his jaw and looks Arthur dead in the eye.
Arthur clears his throat. “I’ve never hated you, Alex.”
“See, that’s the thing,” Alex says, “everyone has said that. Everyone. But there’s gotta be something. You don’t treat anyone else like you’re keeping them at arms’ length. Hell, you made plans with Nora to catch a baseball game after meeting her for forty minutes. I’ve been dating your son for three years. I have been wracking my brain for three years trying to find what you could possibly have against me. Is it that you don’t think I’m good enough for Henry? Because I am. He makes me so fucking happy, and I try my goddamn best every single day to make him happy, too, and he is – I know he is, because he tells me he is. So that can’t be it.
“I want to marry him someday,” Alex says, then shakes his head slightly and says, more firmly, “I’m going to marry him someday. And, with all due respect, sir, I normally wouldn’t give a flying fuck about what you’d think about it, but Henry worships the ground you walk on and really cares about what you think, so I need you to like me. Or, at least, find out why you don’t.”
There is silence for a while as Alex composes himself. Arthur is not looking at him–instead, he’s looking at the grandfather clock on the other side of the room, thinking intently. “Alright, then,” he says finally. “I’ll tell you.”
“Good,” Alex says faintly, genuinely surprised that this actually worked, “that’s great. Good.”
Another pause. “You remind me a lot of myself.”
“Why?” Alex blurts, then immediately snaps his mouth shut with an audible click. His face flushes. He hadn’t meant it in that way, really. He tells Arthur exactly that.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it in that way, promise – ”
“I know, it’s alright. Henry says you have a habit of doing that.”
Alex looks at his inscrutable expression, but can’t figure out what he means by that. He decides not to look too deeply into it.
Arthur pauses for a second. “Did you know I had cancer?”
Alex does. When Henry first told him, he’d never looked so small. Vulnerable. Alex hated the sight. He nods his head in response.
“Obviously, I got better. I am better now, the cancer hasn’t come back in ten years, but it hurt Henry. Deeply. And I know it’s a hurt that’s still in him. Perhaps Henry has told you this, but there was a moment where the doctor said I only had several months left, at the very most.”
He hadn’t. Alex simply stares, not knowing what else to say.
“He sat by my bedside every single day for three months. We had to take him out of school because he refused to go. Would stubbornly be my little guard at fourteen, reading all of his books out loud so that I could enjoy them, too. He was terrified. I could see it in his eyes – the kind of fear that could swallow you whole if you weren’t careful. After I got better, I vowed I’d never see that fear in his eyes ever again.
“But then he met Jamie.”
“From Oxford?” Alex asks. From what Henry’d told him, Jamie was his first real boyfriend. They’d been happy for a few months before Jamie suddenly started getting paranoid about being seen with Henry in public, so Henry spent the next year meeting him in hidden alcoves and loving him in dimly lit rooms. Jamie didn’t call him his dirty little secret, but he didn’t have to – it took Henry another year before he could bring himself to break up with him, and even longer to get over the fear of being seen with someone in public.
“The very same,” Arthur responded. “Jamie was a charming young man. Smart. Witty. But he wasn’t ready to be seen with a man. He was out, sure, but not in high society. He didn’t want the people he deemed important – the polo players, the people at high tea – to know he was gay, especially that he was dating Henry. So he made Henry hide, told him that if people ever saw them together his life would be ruined, and Henry didn’t want his life to be ruined, did he? And so I saw the same fear I vowed to never see in his eyes again make an appearance. He was afraid to go anywhere, worried he’d accidentally slip and make a mistake.”
Alex appreciates seeing Arthur’s view on things, but this isn’t anything particularly new. “I don’t see what this has anything to do with me. I’ve never hidden Henry. I’m proud to have him.”
“I know you are,” Arthur says gently. "You're passionate. Ambitious. A risk-taker. A lot like I was at your age. Maybe a bit too much.” He heaves a big sigh. “My Henry likes security. He wants comfort. I never want to see him scared ever again. I saw a lot of myself in you, and I suppose I was afraid I treated you so unfairly because I was afraid you’d do the same to my Henry what I did all those years ago.”
Alex is uncharacteristically silent. And then, “With all due respect, sir, you need to stop coddling Henry like a baby and actually let him go.”
Arthur blinks. “Pardon?”
“You keep saying my Henry. I get that you’re his dad and he’ll always be your Henry, but he’s his own person now. His own Henry. But that also means that sometimes, he’s my Henry. Henry’s ours now – not just yours, not just mine. You’re going to have to learn how to share.”
Arthur is silent for a long while, just staring at him. Alex squirms slightly but stands his ground, holding his gaze. At last, Arthur groans and rubs a hand over his face.
“You’re right.”
Alex exhales, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “I know I’m right.”
Arthur lets his hands drop and gives him a look. He then slumps back into his chair. “I can’t help it. He’s too sensitive for his own good, you know. I’ll always worry about him.”
“I’m not saying you have to stop worrying about him,” Alex says softly. “Just that you can let me worry about him, too, and trust that I can do just as good of a job.”
Arthur stares at him, and for a long while they say nothing. Miles of unspoken conversation and quiet understanding pass between them. For the first time since they’ve met, they’re in agreement. “Okay,” Arthur says finally. “I trust you.”
The next morning, Henry walks into the kitchen to an alternate universe.
Arthur’s leaning over Alex as he folds in blueberries into batter. “Gentler, Alex – ”
“I am being gentle – ”
“Well, one of the blueberries just burst so I’m inclined to disagree – ”
“Good morning?” Henry says. Both Arthur and Alex’s heads snap up, and matching grins light up their faces. Alex lets go of the spatula and walks over to Henry to kiss him on the cheek. “Morning, baby. Sleep well?”
“I don’t think I’ve woken up yet,” Henry says, his voice distant. “What the hell happened last night?”
“We had a talk,” Alex shrugs. “We’re good now.”
Henry stares at him. “We’re good now? Three years you’ve both known each other, and you’ve never willingly been in the same room, and now you’re, what – making pancakes together?”
“Oh, come off it, Henry,” Arthur says from the stove, where he’s begun pouring out the batter onto the pan. Alex rushes to his side. “Just because you’re hopeless in the kitchen – ”
“I’m not hopeless in the kitchen,” Henry says hotly, the tips of his ears turning red.
“You definitely are, sweetheart,” Alex chimes in. “Remember that time you burned soup?”
Arthur throws his head back in laughter.
Henry crosses his arms. “I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.”
“We never hated each other – ” Alex says.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d like that – “ Arthur snorts.
Alex stares at the older man. “This is the part where you say, 'I never hated him, what gave you that idea?’”
Arthur pauses. “Well…”
“Are you fucking kidding me – ”
Arthur barks out a laugh, grasping Alex by the shoulder. “Son, I’m kidding. Of course I’ve never hated you. From the moment I met you, I loved you like one of my own.”
Alex turns back to his pancakes. “Now you’re just doing too much, but okay,”
Maybe he shouldn't have worried so much about Arthur liking him, because now Arthur’s slinging an arm around his shoulders and dragging him away from the stove, crooning John Lennon’s Beautiful Boy in his ear. But then he glances at Henry and sees the awed, wide-eyed look he gives them, and he decides he really doesn’t care about anything except making Henry look like that for the rest of his life.
“I’m buying an engagement ring,” Alex says without preamble once the line connects, “and I’m not asking for your permission, because it’s 2023 and asking fathers for their blessing to marry their children is fucking archaic and unnecessary, but I’m buying an engagement ring and I need to know if my choices are good or if I’m going fucking insane and overthinking everything.”
At the other end of the line, there’s a pause as Alex breathes heavily. “Okay,” Arthur says, amused. “I don’t think you should buy a ring, though.”
“Didn’t I just say - ”
“I mean that I might have something for you,” He interrupts before Alex can descend further into hysteria. “I’ll mail it to you. Just hold off from the ring buying for now.”
Two weeks later, Alex smuggles a little box from their mailbox and into their room when Henry leaves to walk David. There’s a small velvet blue box, and he opens it to reveal a simple silver band. Alex stares at it. Picks it up. Stares at it some more. And then picks up his phone.
“You’ve got it, then?” Arthur says when he picks up.
“Yeah,” Alex says, his voice hoarse. “Is this – ”
“My engagement ring, yes,” he says. “I’d always meant for Henry to have it, to give to whoever he chooses to marry. But I can’t say I’m not equally happy, perhaps more so, that you’ll be the one to give it for him to wear.”
“I,” His voice is still hoarse, so he clears his throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Perhaps, ‘Wow, Arthur, you shouldn’t have,’ or‘Thank you, Arthur, I’m eternally grateful for – ”
“Alright, alright,” Alex says, but there isn’t any heat in his voice. He’s still marveling at the ring. “This was really yours?”
“When Catherine and I first got engaged, it would be a while until we got married because I was traveling abroad so much, so she was adamant I also had a ring because she was possessive and wanted the whole world to know that I was no longer available. So she bought this for me with her own money, and I wore it for those fourteen months we were engaged, and kept it safe after we were married. I’ve never told the children this part – I wanted it to be a surprise for Henry, and I didn’t want the others asking questions. None of them know I even had an engagement ring.”
Alex feels his throat going dry. He doesn’t know how he’s been trusted to know something neither Henry nor Arthur’s other children don’t, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t understand the weight or implication of it. He brings the ring closer to inspect it. It really is gorgeous. There are small diamonds all around it, understated and beautiful. It’s then that he notices an engraving on the inside of the band, and his breath catches as an idea pops into his head.
“Can I – ” he stops, wonders if he should ask, but then barrels through anyway, “ – can I have it engraved, on the other side?”
He knows exactly what he wants to have engraved, and from the smile in Arthur’s voice when he says, “Of course you can, my boy,” he thinks Arthur knows, too.
Henry cries when Alex gets on one knee.
He cries even harder when Alex actually says the words – barely lets him finish before he tackles him to the ground, a litany of yes yes yes muffled into his shoulder.
His brows scrunch in confusion when he sees For Arthur engraved opposite For Henry on the inside of the band, but when Alex tells him, he bawls.
Then, there are kisses and more tears and the ring slipping over the finger, finally – a perfect fit–and more kisses and tears.
“Don’t you want to tell your dad?” Alex asks where they’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor, tear-streaked and breathless.
Henry shakes his head. “I just want to stay in this with you for a while, if that’s alright.”
Alex grins, feeling his heart expand impossibly bigger.
“That’s more than alright with me.”
Later, though, when he does call Arthur, Henry’s crying so much he can’t even get the words out. Arthur looks halfway ready to call Alex up to give him a piece of his mind before Alex comes into the frame himself and holds up Henry’s left hand.
“Oh, finally!” Arthur says, before calling for Catherine. “What took you so long?”
“It’s only been a week since you sent me the ring,” Alex rolls his eyes, but his voice is fond.
“Seven days too long."
“Yeah, yeah,” But they’re all grinning at each other, pixels doing nothing to dim the pure happiness radiating from all three of them. Alex doesn’t think he could ever be happier. He is, of course, pleasantly proven wrong.
Arthur makes a speech, because of course he does.
Alex doesn't know how he got a microphone - remembers telling Pez under no circumstances is Arthur Fox allowed a microphone at his reception - but he’s a little tipsy and a lot in love with his new husband, so he supposes that lapse of judgment is how Arthur ends up in front of the band, microphone in hand.
“Good evening, everyone,” Arthur starts as Alex begins to groan. “Thank you all for coming. My son Henry and Alex have just gotten married, and I’m incredibly happy for them, but this also means that this is the only time it’s socially acceptable for me to embarrass them in front of all of our family and friends.” Alex boos as everyone cheers and claps.
“Contrary to popular belief, I actually did like Alex from the start,” Arthur says with a wry smile, “or, I suppose, contrary to Alex’s belief.”
Alex glowers at him from his seat while Henry throws his head back in laughter.
“I liked him alright, but I kept my distance from him. I’d kept him at arms’ length for a good few years before Alex told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to get my head out of my arse and stop treating Henry like a child incapable of caring for himself. He was right, I have to admit,” His hands are raised in defeat as the crowd laughs. “But could you blame me? My baby. My youngest.”
“Dad,” Henry says, embarrassed, cheeks a brilliant red.
“I’ve always been worried about you. I worried nobody would ever understand you; that nobody would know how to cherish your light, how to keep it from dimming. It seemed an impossible task. Call me an overbearing father all you want, but for twenty-three years I fully believed nobody could ever deserve you. But then, of course – in walked Alex Claremont-Diaz.
“I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you crossed paths. I will be paying for every single drink Pez desires for the rest of his life as gratitude for introducing you boys together.” Pez hoots loudly, holding up a martini.
“Alex,” Arthur starts, and Alex has to bite his lip to keep it from quivering. “I am so lucky you met my son. I am so lucky you fell in love with him, and I am so lucky you choose to fall in love with him every single day.
“I don’t doubt that you will take care of my son. I don’t doubt that you will bring him happiness. I haven’t doubted it for a very long time. I just hope that you get to find happiness in us - it’s our way of repaying the impossible debt you have given us in bringing Henry so much joy. I am so happy to have you in our family, my dear boy. Congratulations to you both.”
They all raise their glasses in a toast as Henry and Alex try not to openly sob.
“And,” Arthur adds, before he relinquishes the microphone, “as my final wedding gift to you, I’d like to introduce you to my good friend, Sir Elton John.”
“What,” Alex says as the entire room erupts with cheers. Henry scrambles out of his chair. “Oh, my God,” he says, and then, more forcefully, “oh, my God.”
“Hello, everyone,” Elton fucking John says from behind the piano. “Congratulations to Henry and Alex, I hope you have a lasting and loving marriage, and I wish you every happiness. Now I’ve been told a certain song of mine is very special to you, so it would be my pleasure to sing it for you tonight.”
The opening notes of Your Song start to play, and Alex is still reeling when Henry manhandles him out of his chair and pulls him to the dance floor. They begin swaying, and Henry - beautiful, drunk, wide-eyed Henry - can’t keep his eyes away from Elton, mouth open with awe.
Alex catches Arthur’s eye from the edge of the dance floor, and tries to give him a glare but thinks it turns into something vulnerable and soppy from the way Arthur’s grin widens. You’re welcome, he mouths.
“Of course he has to one-up me at my own fucking wedding,” Alex grumbles into Henry’s hair.
“My husband,” Henry says sweetly, “shut the fuck up.”
Alex laughs loudly, bright and in love and so, so happy he feels like he might burst. “Anything for you,” he promises. It’s a promise he intends to keep.