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Texas has broken him. No, Alex has broken him.
The thought is stubbornly stuck in Henry’s mind as he scrapes another tiny bite full of food onto his fork and stares at it.
It looks fine, in all honesty. The same exact way it had when he was a child.
It’s been a while since he’s been here, he’s more than aware of it. Since he’s been away from Texas in general, disregarding the odd trip to California, New York or Mexico to visit Alex’s family. Even their last vacation - a long week in Rio for their wedding anniversary - has been more recent than the last time he stepped foot inside Buckingham Palace.
Maybe it was foolish to expect a sense of nostalgia when he’s done his very best to cut this place out of his life for years.
And yet, there is a whole plethora of things he does regularly long for - his favorite tea, Jaffa Cakes, scones with clotted cream. On the rare particularly cold winter day even a bowl of cawl that inevitably invites memories of family evenings in front of a fireplace in a Welsh cottage.
As it turns out, distance doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder.
He puts the fork to his lips anyway and wonders silently if chewing less and just getting it over with is an option. His stomach rumbles, clearly not in agreement with the rest of him.
But this. This is worse than realizing he hasn’t missed English food.
Alex throws him a questioning glance, tilting his head slightly, and Henry watches with morbid curiosity how his husband takes a perfectly normal sized bite of chicken and swallows it with a straight face.
“Alex…”
“Is there something wrong with your food?” Alex asks, brow furrowed in obvious worry. It makes Henry want to stretch out a hand and physically wipe the expression away. There is nothing to worry about after all, he is just being absolutely ridiculous.
With a slight shake of his head and a sigh, Henry takes another tiny bite. Chews carefully. At the other end of the table the Minister of Foreign Affairs looks up from his conversation for a second and Henry forces himself to smile back at him politely. He does not, under any circumstances, want to cause a scene.
Especially since the only reason they are invited to any state dinners these days is that they are still considered the poster children for international relations, a fairytale representing how well the States and Britain get along.
Beneath the table he feels Alex nudge his leg with his own. The fight for composure leaves him like air out of a deflating balloon.
How did all of this use to be so much easier?
He leans closer to Alex and whispers dismayed, “You were right. The food is awfully bland.”
Alex lets out a low, breathy laugh, his shoulders shaking and his mouth slightly open and Henry knows that his husband is a raindrop away from bursting out laughing.
Do not cause a scene. Hush.
The voice is quiet in his mind, an almost forgotten echo of a past life. Increasingly, Henry finds he doesn’t care to listen anymore.
Instead it makes him think of their dinner table in Texas. One of the legs creaks from the time they had pushed it aside too carelessly to play a Star Wars themed board game that had somehow demanded a massive amount of space.
He loves that slightly broken table, that dining room filled with laughter, the home he’s built with Alex.
Hidden by the pristine white tablecloth, Alex puts a comforting hand on Henry’s thigh. It doesn’t make the food taste better but it helps nevertheless.
“Tell me I’m not going insane.”
“You’re not, I just didn’t know you suddenly have working taste buds,” Alex says out of the corner of his mouth, a charming smile directed at Philip several seats down, who is throwing apprehensive glances their way. It wouldn’t surprise Henry if his brother still wakes up from cake induced nightmares from time to time.
“Asking for a spice that’s not salt would be an insult to the chef, wouldn’t it? Like, just a sprinkle?” Alex adds.
The etiquette lessons and stiff upper lip of his childhood might feel uncomfortable and constricting like an ill-fitting suit these days, but Henry does not snort. He counts it as a win.
“He should be insulted by his own chicken. It’s so unseasoned I’m afraid it will get up from my plate to call the manager,” he quips back, his frustration slowly bleeding into mirth.
The hand on his thigh tightens as Alex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. They’re playing a losing game and they both know it.
“Sweetheart. Stop trying to make me laugh.”
“You caused this. Fix it.”
“What if I tell you I have hot sauce in my pocket.” Alex doesn’t even bother phrasing it as a question.
“In your pocket? Are you serious?”
“You have travel sized lube, I have travel sized hot sauce, darlin’.”
It’s the last straw and Henry breaks. He lets out a clear, ringing laugh that echoes against the antique marble floors into every corner and interrupts the hushed conversations.
Heads whip to stare at him. Mary is glaring at them but the sour expression is so etched into her face, it doesn’t have much of an effect on Henry anymore. He can see Pip’s eyeroll and Catherine’s fond smile. None of it really registers.
All that matters to Henry is Alex, his stupid, lovely proud grin and the sparkle in his eyes.
~🌶️~
“Sugar, please?” Bea asks, too chipper and innocent for the early morning. Pursing his lips, Henry hands over the little white porcelain pot. It matches the rest of the tableware in ugliness.
“Don’t look at me like that. I still can’t believe you talked your way out of attending that dinner.”
“You know I had that charity concert, I just couldn’t fit it in.”
Henry gives her a doubtful look. She smirks at him and adds a pointed shrug for emphasis. Events like this don’t fall out of the sky, they’re planned so far ahead that she could have made it work if she wanted to. But she does hate dressing up like a doll and making cordial small talk as much as he does.
“Mum asked me to fly across an ocean. You were a two hour car ride away.”
“You were also a requested guest by the Vice President. Have you considered being less popular? Works great for me,” Bea says and dumps a second and half a third spoon of sugar into her tea.
It’s a bald-faced lie. She’s plenty popular, her concerts sell out and on the rare occasion when she wants to give an interview, she’s buried in offers.
Henry tries to stay out of the business side of royal matters - even if Philip likes to derail their family video calls with talk about statistics and investments - but he would bet the only ones even close to Bea’s polling numbers are their niece and nephew. And really, which toddler wouldn’t be popular with the public, photographed while running through the Scottish highlands in shorts and knee high socks.
Next to him, Alex reaches for a bowl of yogurt and grins at Bea, all teeth and mischief.
“International scandals? Been there, done that. Didn’t really like the shirt,” he says as starts stirring the yogurt into the fruit salad already on his plate.
It makes Henry blink. He’s seen Alex break his dairy rules; it’s too easy to accept the consequences of his lactose intolerance for ice cream and slices of extra cheesy pizza. But yogurt?
Henry lets his eyes roam over the table, truly taking it all in for the first time this morning.
It’s not exactly an eight tier wedding cake but it’s always been a bit wasteful. He’s grown more appreciative of the wide spread on offer at the palace anyway after living off takeout during university and even more so after he moved away and began to teach himself how to cook.
Still, the sight of three types of white bread next to a pot of plain porridge makes him fiercely miss Alex’s breakfast tacos.
Finally he scoops some of the scrambled eggs onto his plate. They’re the perfect light yellow, fluffy without being runny - and they taste like nothing.
So, dinner wasn’t a fluke then.
There’s a tick of tension in Alex’s jaw, a tired droop of his shoulders, that Henry could easily write off as jet lag. But he knows it’s something else too, mirrored in himself: the discomfort of feeling far from home.
He holds out his hand, palm up and expectant.
Alex looks over and their eyes meet.
Henry loves this, the split second of silent communication, the intimacy of having years worth of knowledge and experience to draw from.
Grinning, Alex reaches for his jacket hanging over the back of his chair and Henry with a small glass bottle like it’s a long lost treasure. It feels oddly apt, Alex the roguish adventurer who has unearthed ancient gold. And god, if he doesn’t look good in a hat and leather jacket.
With a quiet sigh, Henry pushes the thought away and turns his focus to the hot sauce.
He examines the label with mild interest, three out of five little chili peppers are colored in. Which really means nothing to him if he doesn’t know the brand. Then he carefully drizzles some of the bright red sauce on his breakfast. He might have gained a taste for it, he’s still not reckless enough to drown his food in anything he hasn’t tried before.
“Thank you, love.”
“I’m a real boy scout, prepared for everything,” Alex jokes.
Henry doesn’t take the bait. He’s not going to let his husband lead him down the rabbit hole of travel and sample sizes in front of his siblings.
“Where did you even get this?”
“Buc-ee’s.”
“You went to Buc-ee’s without me?” Henry asks, affronted.
There’s never been a question that there’s cultural differences between them, but nothing short of being Texan born and raised could have prepared him for the existence of a store slash gas station the size of a small village.
Pip and Bea give him quizzical looks. He doesn’t give them an explanation, simply because he can’t. He still can’t even wrap his own mind around it completely.
“I had that appointment in Fort Worth, you were at the shelter all day. Open a shelter up north and you’ll get more Buc-ee’s,” Alex says.
He makes it sound so simple; they both know it’s not. Henry loves the work but sometimes getting more shelters up and running feels like a Herculean task. All the more reason to be proud how many he has opened already, Alex always tells him when the doubts creep in.
“Remember the first time I took you there? You had an anxiety attack in the snack aisle.”
“You reassured me it’s a very reasonable reaction. And I’ve gotten better, I go to H-E-B alone all the time now.”
“That is why you made a scene yesterday,” Philip interrupts, sudden understanding flashing across his face.
A scene. The choice of words prickles hotly at the back of Henry’s neck.
Philip has mellowed, he continuously tries and Henry appreciates it. But this place makes it too easy to fall into old patterns, carved into the very foundation of the palace by them and everyone who came before.
He wishes Martha hadn’t stayed at Anmer to look after the children. Just like the food here, Henry finds his brother more palatable with a little bit of extra help.
For one rash, immature moment, Henry considers emptying the whole bottle of hot sauce onto his scrambled eggs just to see Philip’s reaction.
“Henry made a scene? That doesn’t sound like him at all. Surely you’re thinking of someone else. Oh, I think I’ll have a nice slice of cake for breakfast,” Bea replies innocently and reaches for the platter of grilled sausages instead.
Wiggling his eyebrows, Alex offers her the hot sauce too but she scrunches up her nose and declines with a shake of her head.
It’s worked to dissipate the tension, however.
“I might have complained to Alex about the food and he let me know that he carries around hot sauce for occasions like this. I will not apologize for laughing.”
Philip gapes at him. The corner of Henry’s mouth twitches up. This is his favorite version of his brother - as uncontrolled and human as the rest of them.
“We have world renowned chefs, Henry.”
“Whose main goal is to please the tastes of a ninety year old white woman who refuses to believe any place south of Italy even has electricity?” Henry asks, unimpressed. He finally takes a bite of the eggs and almost moans at the phantom impression of home.
“What more could you possibly want?” Philip presses on.
Henry looks straight at him, mournful that his brief instant of árbol pepper flavored peace has already been disturbed, and says, “I don’t know. Some of the spices our family murdered for, maybe?”
Bea’s hand flies to her mouth.
Just like that, the wind is taken out of Philip’s sails. He visibly deflates, his embarrassment painted on his cheeks in bright red splotches.
“This isn’t an argument I can win, is it?”
“Don’t be daft, Pip. I love a good argument, don’t give up already,” Alex says, a playful glint in his eyes.
With a deep sip of tea, Henry studies him. No wink or smirk, only the same old penchant for arguing that has carried him through law school. Henry files it away for later.
Philip shakes his head ruefully. “I apologize, I got carried away again.”
“That’s real personal growth. I’ll have to tell Martha.” As Alex raises his coffee mug in an enthusiastic gesture, the liquid almost spills over and he laughs.
Henry’s heart skips a beat. At the sound of Alex’s laughter, at his infectious vibrancy, at the fact that he gets to call him husband.
Philip catches his eye, suddenly so much fonder. They might not always be on the same page, sometimes Henry wonders if they’re even part of the same book, but he knows Pip is happy for him.
His phone vibrates and draws his attention away. A group chat notification lights up the screen. Confused, Henry swipes.
buzz it like a 🐝
Update: Henry complained that dinner was ‘bland’ and now he emptied half a bottle of hot sauce on his eggs. You successfully assimilated him.
“You snitch!” Henry gasps but it’s too late. His phone keeps buzzing as new messages start coming.
empress of chaos 😈
ONE OF US ONE OF US
knight pezza of the chaos table 🦄
I will not say I told you so
Repeatedly. For years.
But thank you for turning him into a real boy, alexander dearest
cowboy princess 🤠
ONE OF US
I despise all of you.
queen consort of chaos 👑
Welcome to the family, Henry.
Excuse me? You were at our wedding, June. I have called you my sister.
empress of chaos 😈
one day you could wake up and realize alex leaves his dirty socks everywhere but a functional sense of taste is forever, baby ✨️
cowboy princess 🤠
wooow y’all are supposed to be on my side here
i see how it is
queen consort of chaos 👑
Henry annotates my first drafts with helpful commentary, he is automatically my favorite. Sorry you had to find out this way.
Henry looks up from his phone and straight at a humming Bea.
“Are you happy with the mischief you caused?”
“Perfectly.”
And really, Henry can’t say anything. He is pretty happy, too.
~🌶️~
Henry stares at the potatoes. He can’t do this any longer.
The day has been stretched out so thin it’s threatened to snap, every minute stuffed with plans and barely any time to breathe.
The crown doesn’t have a claim on him anymore, yet his grandmother’s minions are utterly inclined to ignore this pesky little fact.
He’s fought for so much in his life, half a week of appearances with his family didn’t seem worth it to kick up a fuss. They’re here anyway.
Henry didn’t expect unseasoned potatoes to push him over the edge.
They’re in the smallest dining room Kensington Palace has to offer, an informal dinner with his mother and siblings. There is nothing stopping him from asking Alex for the hot sauce again.
Except… He doesn’t want to explain it all again to Catherine. He doesn’t want Philip and Bea to look at him again. He smiled for enough cameras and shook enough hands today.
What Henry wants is a mountain of home-cooked Mexican food and to curl up under three blankets with Alex. A pipe dream.
He clears his throat and Alex throws him a curious glance that gives Henry a dreadful sense of déjà vu.
If he can’t have exactly what he wants, he’ll settle for second best.
So he folds the napkin on his lap, puts it aside and smiles at his mom.
“If you will excuse us. It’s been an awfully long day” Henry says.
He tries to reassure himself that it’s not even a lie.
“You’ve both barely eaten anything. Are you feeling quite alright?” Catherine asks, brows furrowed in concern.
It makes a nauseating guilt flicker somewhere deep in his stomach. For a second, he hates his subterfuge.
He misses her, a feeling that only ever gets exacerbated by short phone calls at odd hours and text updates about how everyone is doing.
Henry has made a life in Texas, a life that fills him with joy and purpose at the side of the man he loves. Nonetheless, a part of him always just wants to hug her.
He gives her a soft, reassuring smile.
“Of course. We had a rather late lunch. And the long travel is catching up with me, I’d like to call it an early night, mum. But I’d love to have breakfast with you tomorrow.”
The world will look brighter after some sleep without a doubt. The eggs will still be boring but such is life, he supposes.
Neither Philip nor Bea look convinced in the slightest. After breakfast and that blasted dinner they can see right through the way Henry has been pushing the food around on his plate.
He silently begs them not to expose his lie. By some miracle, they seem to listen.
By an even bigger miracle, Alex’s questions don’t burst out of him until they’re well out of earshot. “H, sweetheart. I love a good improv performance but I’m still hungry.”
“Yes, and?” Henry asks, amusement lacing his voice.
Alex sticks his tongue out at him. In a graceful motion he turns on the ball of his foot just to walk backwards while facing Henry.
His hands hovering in the air an inch off Alex’s arms, Henry tries to keep him from barrelling into any antiquities. It’s a bit like herding sheep, he imagines.
With every birthday he thinks Alex might slow down, that he will finally expend energy like the rest of humanity. But so far no luck.
“Hilarious. What was that? Please tell me we’re not going to sleep.”
“No, we’re going out.”
“Out? Where?”
“Just trust me, love.”
There aren’t many quicker ways to shut Alex up. Because as nosy as he is, he does trust Henry.
They pick up jackets and hats in Henry’s apartments, then he leads the way out of a side entrance of the palace, which only adds to the growing confusion on Alex’s face.
It reminds him awfully of the time he brought Alex to the V&A. How easily Alex followed him then too. Maybe another day they can make a trip there again as well, they’ve gotten rather good at dancing together in moonlit rooms since the first time.
By the time they make it to their destination dusk has given way to darkness in London and Henry is thankful that passersby seem solely interested in enjoying the crisp evening air. Nobody is paying them any mind.
Despite the closeness to the tourist spot that is Kensington Palace, the line at the falafel stand is short. Alex perks up in recognition.
“That’s the one you always raved about.”
Henry nods, charmed that Alex remembers. It’s such a small detail, told in passing more than a decade ago. Yet, Alex made space for it somewhere between the wording of international laws and an impressive amount of Star Wars lore.
The couple in front of them take their food and move to the side. When the woman spots Henry and Alex, her face goes slack. He can see the cogs turning in her head but the obvious answer to her question seems thankfully out of reach for her. Before she has time to ponder further, the man takes her hand and they start making their way into the opposite direction.
Exhaling in relief, Henry steps up to the front of the cart.
Lines are deeper, hair greyer, but the welcoming expression is an exact copy of Henry’s usually hazy memory.
“Little prince, welcome back!”
Henry blinks. Maybe it was naïve but he has always assumed that nobody who worked the stand knew him.
“Oh, thank you? I wasn’t aware you knew who I was.”
“You always wear a hat but no subtlety.”
Sheepish, scratches at his chin. He had been so proud of himself, one of the only acts of rebellion he had allowed himself even as a teenager. The exhilaration of sneaking out and pretending to be an anonymous person.
It’s humbling to find out that someone has kept his secret, has stayed quiet for his own comfort.
The email leak will never truly leave him. A permanent reminder that people can be vicious. But this has to count for something too, Henry thinks. People can be good as well.
His order of ‘two falafel boxes, extra hot, please’ garners him downright delighted surprise and Henry wonders how many more times he can shock people in one short trip.
Comfortable silence stretches between them on the walk back to the palace, Alex’s fingers laced between his and the bag of food in the other hand.
Dark clouds are starting to hang deep and heavy in the sky, the scent of impending rain tingling in Henry’s nose. Even on a clear night London is too bright to see the stars. He can’t help but miss them anyway.
It’s a marvel how spoiled he is in that regard now. Every night he gets to sit on a patio in Texas with Orion shining down on him. It’s what seventeen year old Henry would have needed, drowning in grief and alone.
When they near the gates, Alex launches into a story - a charming anecdote about a time he thought a barista had recognized him but it had turned out to be a misunderstanding - and Henry listens, watches him gesticulate and laugh all the way back to his rooms.
Without taking a breath, Alex flings himself onto the monstrous old four-poster bed and eagerly motions for Henry to hand him some of the falafel.
Henry settles in next to him with his own cardboard box, their legs touching from foot to thigh.
Nora frequently jokes they’re attached at the hip and he can’t say he minds when it’s so literally true.
Alex, the stars, his life. Henry hopes he’ll never take any of it for granted.
“Oh, these are good. I can’t believe you never took me here when we started dating,” Alex mumbles around a mouthful of food. Henry should really find it more disgusting than he does.
“I couldn’t get away fast enough, I suppose,” he replies simply.
The first falafel gives a satisfying crunch when Henry bites into it. There is a hint of sweetness to the sauce, chased by heat that is just on the right side of bearable. Henry licks his lips, chasing the salty taste, but the touch of his tongue leaves a sting in its wake.
They really are as good as he remembers.
Before he knows it his fork hits the bottom of the cardboard. He discards it on the bedside table and sinks contently into the mountain of pillows.
There is something to be said about royal bedding if nothing else.
Henry is about to suggest they pinch some of it when he notices the furrow in Alex’s brow and the way he’s chewing at the inside of his cheek.
Immediately all thoughts about silk pillowcases and down feather fillings are wiped away.
“What’s on your mind, love?” Henry asks and nudges Alex’s leg with his. The gentle push back he gets in response eases his worry at least somewhat.
“It’s kinda serious? I don’t want to ruin your mood.”
“Did you break something? We can pin it on Vicky. She’s so tiny, everyone’s going to blame it on Pip’s bad parenting.”
“He’ll throw you in a dungeon if he hears you call his daughter Vicky,” Alex grins and Henry grins back, all teeth and crooked imperfections and comfort.
He turns on his side to properly face Alex and reaches for his hand.
“C’mon, talk to me.”
“Are you happy?”
Alex’s eyes are wide, framed by his long dark eyelashes; he looks oddly young and honest. Henry doesn’t know where the question is coming from. He trusts Alex with every fiber of his being but his chest caves in with vulnerability anyway.
“Are you not?”
“It’s rude to answer a question with a question. I’m sure someone taught you that during your gazillion etiquette lessons.”
“I’m a real rulebreaker, didn’t you know? Of course I’m happy, darling. Did I give you the impression I’m not?”
“It’s not that. It’s… You know I adore that you’ve started to sound a little Southern sometimes, especially when you’re about to fall asleep, and that you suddenly got a taste for seasoning. It means the world to me that you embraced life in Texas, with me.”
“But?” Henry asks. It’s an open secret between them that phrases like y’all have steadily crept into his vocabulary over the last few years. He isn’t truly embarrassed but his cheeks are warm anyway. It’s proof his life doesn’t have to be defined by a rigid childhood in a golden cage.
“Does it ever feel like everything that’s important to me is starting to swallow you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Being back here made me realize how much you’ve changed since we met. Because of me. I don’t want you to lose yourself. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”
“Alex, love. I’m happy I’m not the boy who used to live in this place anymore. You have never forced anything on me, quite the opposite, in fact. You’ve made me braver to try new things. To be more. People change and I couldn’t be prouder of the person I have been allowed to grow into because you’re by my side.”
“Me neither. I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” Alex says and Henry can see the truth written all over his face, in a warm smile and the weight of a hand in his.
This is the man Henry married. In good times and in bad. And time has been endlessly good to them, he doesn’t mind giving reassurance when doubt manages to dig its pesky little claws into Alex once in a while.
He’s promised to lift Alex up, always, and he intends to honor that.
“Besides, it’s not like I haven’t influenced you.”
Alex blinks.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t changed.”
Henry bites his lip. He is going to savor this moment.
“When you bring home Jaffa Cakes, what do you say?”
“I got your biscuits,” Alex replies, color starting to rise in his cheeks. “But I do that ironically. And they’re weird, they’re not cookies.”
Henry ignores the excuses.
“What did you say earlier when you disagreed with Philip?”
“I don’t know. Probably not what I really wanted to?”
“You said ‘don’t be daft’ to him.”
“Well… That’s because… daft is a fun word to say. Daft. And rubbish. Y’all have a lot of funny words.”
“We’ve been slowly inching closer to meeting in the middle for years, darling. It’s just a bit skewed towards your side because we do live in Texas.”
“So I win,” Alex says with a smirk.
Henry gives him a small shake of the head, amused. Still absolutely incorrigible.
“Yes. There wasn’t a competition, but you win.”
“I like that. Meeting you halfway,” Alex says, his voice soft and deep with emotion.
And really, so does Henry.
He’s found a peaceful sort of pleasure in compromising, whether it’s quick discussions about splitting tasks every Chore Sunday or lengthy pro and con lists where to spend Christmas and New Years.
Even if there are things they can never quite agree on.
“Let’s do Franklin Barbecue when we get back home,” Henry says casually. He almost bursts out laughing at Alex’s bewildered expression.
“You’re having me on. You always say no when I suggest that; you hate waiting in line.”
Henry rolls his eyes but there is no heat to it. He doesn’t hate waiting, he hates how much time it gives people to stare at him and Alex and slowly piece together why their faces are familiar. Sometimes the reward is worth it, however. And unlike him, the restaurant is nationally famous for a good reason.
“Maybe the food here is sending me into delirium. You should probably take advantage of that before I change my mind.”
It’s only half a joke. The thought of brisket smoked on oak wood and kissing the spices off Alex’s lips makes his heart ache with want.
“Tempting but… I saw a flyer that the Wildflower Center down in Austin is doing Tuesday Twilights again. Remember the Caribbean food truck?”
“God, the one with the tacos?”
Alex grins at him. It’s one of the first dates they went on after they moved to Texas. The botanical gardens in full bloom, all their edges softened by the golden color of the setting sun and a band playing somewhere in the distance.
With the ghostly scent of spring flowers tickling his nose, Henry realizes it’s not about the food. He would eat all the unseasoned chicken and tasteless eggs for the rest of his life if it meant more time with the people he loves.
It’s a sacrifice Alex has already made for too long, after all.
“I love you,” he whispers and raises Alex’s hand, pressing his lips softly to the back of it.
Henry has been right all along, Alex did break something once upon a time. But it was neither him nor some hideous antiquity. It was his safety glass, keeping Henry contained in a perfectly curated state.
He stepped over the pieces and experienced life with Alex and he’s more for it now. A little bit more like Alex, yes, but also a lot more himself.
“I love you, too,” Alex says as he moves closer, his breath hot on Henry’s skin. It’s familiar and yet, it still sends a thrill of excitement through him when they meet in an open-mouthed kiss.
Henry can taste the last remnants of chili flakes on Alex’s tongue. It tastes like home.