#userthai

Henry smiles softly. “We were being inconspicuous.”

“We?” Alex questions, raising a brow.

Henry nods. “My sister Bea is accompanying me. Along with my best mate, Pez. He's a fan of yours.”

Alex holds onto that for a moment and stares at Henry before he can't help it. “And you?”

The corner of Henry's mouth twitches as if wanting to pull up into a smirk. “I did say you were talented, didn't I?”

Alex accepts the challenge. “That's different. Anyone can have talent, but that doesn't mean one has to be a fan of theirs. They just accept it and move along.”

This time, Henry does allow the smirk to slip, and he raises his glass to take a drink. Without thinking, Alex’s eyes drop, watching as Henry’s lips part and then further tracking the movement as he swallows.

“You're very talented, Alex,” Henry starts before settling the now empty glass back onto the bar, and Alex’s gaze snaps back. “Perhaps, I can buy you another drink, and we can see how the rest falls into place, yes?”

Alex grins. “Deal.”

Outside, the weather had turned quickly, dark clouds rolling in and bursts of thunder rumbling before the sky opened up and now rain pelted his windows. During this time, David had tucked himself up on the floor near Henry’s feet, for his own comfort and reassurance just as much as Henry’s. 

A particularly loud crack of thunder sounds, startling Henry out of his trance and he lets out a long breath, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his eyes. He leans forward once again, resting his forearms on the table before reaching and slamming the laptop closed, finally silencing the damned cursor. 

The letters and others love stories will have to suffice for right now. 

Henry reaches for another stack, tucked into the small basket and begins to tear them open. He had never imagined this, becoming one of the Secretaries of Juliet, but after his publishing career had come to a startling standstill and the desperation for his hands to write words; the opportunity had sort of fallen directly into his lap. He was a romantic at heart really and if he couldn’t write one, couldn’t have his own love, he would help others find theirs. It was only fair. 

The thing was, he has grown used to being alone. Of course, he had people in his life, his family would often visit along with his best mate, Pez and there a few of the townspeople that he has gotten acquainted with. But he had begun to make peace with the fact there probably wouldn’t be anything long term for him. He figures that, perhaps, it is simpler that way.

The fourth envelope, Henry quickly discovers, is not like any of the others. While most were crisp and white, had been dated far more recently, this one was aged and tattered. The date at the top corner reads 1957 and the address line tells him that it has been received from Austin, Texas. Henry swallows hard, staring at it as if it’s going to fall to a thousand pieces if he’s not careful. How were they only receiving this now? How did something so fragile and important get so lost? 

Henry carefully rips it open, pulling the dated piece of paper out and unfolding it, beginning to read the curled words that had been written, an ache settling deep within his chest. Sometimes he wonders if he absorbs far too much, feels the heartbreak of each letter as if it’s his own. But he consistently pushes that thought aside, tries to remember that his words enact change in whatever way they are needed. They help people to move forward, or be brave, or allow love into their lives. That is what he’s always wanted. Allowing himself to feel these things allows him to understand. 

He pulls a fresh stretch of paper from the pile set on the corner of his desk and grabs a pen, immediately allowing the ink to seep into the surface of the paper, the words seemingly flowing from him. It was why he loved letter writing so much, why he would never give it up. 

“This is beginning to feel a lot like finding a needle in a haystack,” Alex says from where he’s sitting on the floor in a position that Henry is certain cannot be comfortable. It’s a statement that voices Henry’s exact thoughts. He’s thankful Alex had said it because Henry had found himself unable to, not wanting at all to break the hope Alex has.

Henry raises his mug of tea in an attempt to hide his smile. “Yes, well, if only someone had warned you about that from the start.”

It’s meant to be light-hearted, but Alex’s shoulders seem to sag just slightly, and when he chuckles, it seems sad. “This has to be a new record for me, knowing someone for ninety-two hours and already getting an I told you so.”

Ninety-two hours of knowing him and Henry has already made the decision that Alex, being any form of upset, will simply not do.

Henry stands from the couch where he had collapsed earlier that afternoon and walks across the room to where Alex is, sitting down cross-legged on the floor next to him. He places the map down onto the ground and points to one of the marks he had made.

“We should begin here,” Henry tells him. “It’ll be easiest. That way, we can then curve back around and—” He glances up to find Alex staring at him, confusion in his eyes. “—what?”

“I just—” Alex starts and then stops, his brows furrowing. “You still want to go? Even if it may be nearly impossible? I mean, maybe it was a stupid idea.”

Henry smiles reassuringly. “Nearly but not entirely,” He says, mirroring Alex’s words from when they had first met. This earns him a grin from Alex. He wants to find every way in the world to bring Alex joy. Henry doesn’t exactly know when it happened, but he figures he would go anywhere with Alex no matter the possibility of the outcome. “This story deserves to have its ending. You wanting that for the people you love is not stupid.”

Alex stares at him, and Henry has to resist the urge to react under the attention of the breathtaking gaze. It’s almost too much, and he has to pull his own gaze to where the map lays on the floor.

“Well, who can argue with that reasoning?” Alex asks softly, and when Henry glances up to him once again, he’s smiling softly. Henry returns it, their eyes locked for a brief moment that makes something deep within Henry’s stomach turn. Suddenly, Alex clears his throat and reaches for his mug of coffee, nearly spilling it on himself. “What were you saying?”

Alex turns his attention to the map near Henry’s folded legs, but for a beat, Henry’s eyes remain on Alex.

Ninety-two hours of knowing Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry figures he’ll never be the same.