[ His gaze flicks over to watch Henry. The way he sits, the sketchbook on one knee, the strikingly familiar pencil between his fingers. He knew Henry would use the pencils, of course, but there's something weird about seeing it, and so soon.
Eventually, his eyes travel up to Henry's own, low stormy light locking with mismatched colors. ]
[ "I get to look at you more." HENRY PLEASE. Even with the addendum, Alec isn't entirely sure what to do with that tidbit of information. Henry's been.... watching him sleep? He's been drawing him while he's sleeping?
Every one of the many alarm bells in Alec's head should be going off. He let himself be vulnerable with another person. Vulnerability isn't something that Alec Brennan does. And yet, with Henry that's almost always been the case, hasn't it? Telling him things he doesn't dare tell other people, showing him memories he doesn't dare let other people see. Every crack and blemish and jagged edge, Henry's seen them all.
[Boy, you sure are. But Henry’s not any better off. And maybe it’s only fair they see each other’s vulnerabilities, their ugly edges, the things beneath the exterior. It’s a continuing trend.
Anyway. He sits up straighter and turns the sketchbook around. And there, worked in delicate care and attention to detail, despite the fact that it’s only pencil on paper, is a portrait of Alec as he sleeps. The expression’s serene, perhaps accentuated by a softer style of shading. Possible, now that he has nicer pencils to work with.]
Couldn’t put all the finishing touches on it since you just had to wake up.
[ Alec hauls himself up to a sit for a better look. Without really thinking, he reaches out to take the sketchbook from Henry, though he certainly isn't offering to hand it over. It's a strange thing to see. Like, that's clearly his face, but it's not how his face is supposed to look. Serene and unguarded, rendered with such care.
It makes something in his chest twist in a way he can't decide is good or bad. His eyes lift from the page back to Henry. Weird, that he suddenly thinks of his own Shadow, the boy standing in the rain, the past stained so deeply into his skin that neither the water nor magic could move it. What was it his Shadow said? That's all you had to do. Let someone in. God dammit. ]
[He won’t protest as Alec takes the sketchbook to get a better look at his drawing. His gaze never leaves his face, as if even now, he’s always, always committing every expression to memory. He wonders if he likes it, too — it must be strange, seeing oneself in such a vulnerable state. Like looking at someone else entirely. That’s how Henry would feel, at least.
He takes the sketchbook back when Alec’s done, finally turning his gaze downward to assess his own work.]
You think so? I’m so out of practice. I don’t think it really does you justice the way I want it to.
[But would anything?]
Like it doesn't exactly capture... [He trails off, trying to find the words.]
[His lips twitch, and he throws him a skeptical look.]
I don’t think anything could capture that.
[He shakes his head and lays his sketchbook flat in his lap. Softly-]
No. I mean how— [so many words he could use here, so many ways to say how impossible it is for Henry to capture exactly how he feels, how Alec has become the crux, the absolute heart of everything] —pivotal you’ve been recently. To my situation… Giving me another path to tread, when I never even considered it before.
[ For the second time in what feels like as many minutes, Alec's been rendered speechless. Blindsided by something vulnerable and genuine and so out of character for the both of them. ]
Henry...
[ What does he do with this? There's that feeling again, the sensation of something warm constricting his ribs. ]
I— You know I meant what I said before. In the graveyard, with your Shadow. You were failed at every turn, so... if just one person in this whole shitty multiverse can do right by you, I think it's the least you deserve.
[It’s the second time he’s heard that sentiment, but it arrests him just as poignantly as the first. Henry’s always had to fight for everything he wanted; to have it offered to him, out of a sense of fairness and even camaraderie, is so foreign. It still feels strange.
Warm, constricting in his chest. Strange in the best way possible, at least.
He rolls the pencil between his fingers, glancing back down at the sketchbook.]
Then I’m glad it was you. The one person in this whole shitty multiverse.
[ Alec isn't entirely sure just when he started moving, the quiet whisper of sheets heralding the way he suddenly closes the distance between them. All he knows is that if he doesn't do something, doesn't act on this moment of quiet sentiment, that he'll lose it.
I'm glad it was you, Henry says, and for the first time in his entire miserable life, Alec Brennan is utterly at peace with being the focus of someone's attention. The center of their universe. It's Henry, and somehow that makes it okay.
His fingers come to rest on the line of Henry's jaw, his touch light, the only warning he gives before he brings their lips together. This kiss doesn't hold the hunger or the sharp bite that they normally share between them. There is no expectation that the two of them are going to tumble back onto the mattress.
For once, he kisses Henry simply to kiss him. And it feels good. ]
[The rustling bedsheets make Henry lift his eyes, but by the time he registers movement, Alec’s already closed the distance between them. And for once, he’s the one reaching out first, brushing his fingers across his jawline, a touch that’s uncharacteristically light for what has thus far existed between them. Whatever that happens to be.
The kiss that follows is just as gentle, a gradual press of their lips together. No dire heat, no impatience, no expectation of falling back into the tangled sheets of his bed. This is different. This is a single moment, frozen in time, caught in each other’s orbit. It’s utterly engulfing, and he does not mind giving himself over to it.
It does feel good. Who would have guessed?
He leans in, so, so slightly, returning the kiss.]
[ This moment that settles between them feels at once terribly fragile, like the wrong move will send it shattering into a thousand pieces, and shockingly ironclad. Whatever has changed has changed, has wrapped itself around them irrevocably and will not be moved.
Henry leans in and it feels like bliss, and he finds himself thinking that this makes every moment worth it. He told Henry once that delicate things weren't for someone like him, so perhaps something made of iron is better.
The kiss breaks after a long moment, and Alec just looks at him. At this man who has somehow found his way into every dark little corner of Alec's heart and against all odds is still here. ]
Yeah. [ He says it quietly, suddenly, like he's just remembered where the conversation was three steps prior. ] I'll stay.
[Like a spider’s web — fragile, yet strong. Both of them finding themselves caught inextricably between each thread, without ever truly meaning to. But Henry cannot imagine it differently, now; he cannot humor not being entwined with this man in every way possible, the future spreading out before them both as a path they can walk together, through a cruel and inequitable universe.
This moment is perfect. But time is as uncaring as usual. The seconds tick on, on, and on, and eventually, Alec pulls away.
And yet Henry doesn’t feel disappointed. Only warm and contented as he meets his gaze, his lips still half-parted.
I’ll stay.
The words resonate through him, down to the very atom. Tonight. Forever. They feel the same.]
That’s all I want. [Should he say something to ease the poignancy of this moment? It would almost be a shame. But eventually, he breathes out-] Do me one more, small favor?
[ He is quite honestly contemplating kissing him again, if only because he's realizing how much he actually likes it. But then Henry asks him for a favor, and Alec blinks at him. ]
[Oh, good. Then he’s propping up his sketchbook and placing pencil to paper again.]
But it’s true. [Alec is darkly, ruggedly handsome, in his opinion. The opposite of himself.] I’m sure you’ve heard it plenty of times, it can’t possibly be news to you.
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Eventually, his eyes travel up to Henry's own, low stormy light locking with mismatched colors. ]
That an invitation?
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His pencil taps against his sketchbook idly. He considers his reply.]
Only if you’re comfortable with it.
[He smiles faintly.]
I won’t deny that it’s something of a selfish invitation, though.
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How so?
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[Is that too much? Well. He latches on an addendum to make it less so (citation needed).]
You’re in my sketchbook now. Don’t worry, I won't show anyone — but do you want to see?
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Every one of the many alarm bells in Alec's head should be going off. He let himself be vulnerable with another person. Vulnerability isn't something that Alec Brennan does. And yet, with Henry that's almost always been the case, hasn't it? Telling him things he doesn't dare tell other people, showing him memories he doesn't dare let other people see. Every crack and blemish and jagged edge, Henry's seen them all.
Ohhh, he's in so deep. ]
... Yeah sure.
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Anyway. He sits up straighter and turns the sketchbook around. And there, worked in delicate care and attention to detail, despite the fact that it’s only pencil on paper, is a portrait of Alec as he sleeps. The expression’s serene, perhaps accentuated by a softer style of shading. Possible, now that he has nicer pencils to work with.]
Couldn’t put all the finishing touches on it since you just had to wake up.
[He kids.]
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It makes something in his chest twist in a way he can't decide is good or bad. His eyes lift from the page back to Henry. Weird, that he suddenly thinks of his own Shadow, the boy standing in the rain, the past stained so deeply into his skin that neither the water nor magic could move it. What was it his Shadow said? That's all you had to do. Let someone in. God dammit. ]
Yeah, well, whose fault is that?
[ He offers the sketchbook back. ]
That's pretty impressive.
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He takes the sketchbook back when Alec’s done, finally turning his gaze downward to assess his own work.]
You think so? I’m so out of practice. I don’t think it really does you justice the way I want it to.
[But would anything?]
Like it doesn't exactly capture... [He trails off, trying to find the words.]
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[ When it doubt, default to sarcasm. ]
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I don’t think anything could capture that.
[He shakes his head and lays his sketchbook flat in his lap. Softly-]
No. I mean how— [so many words he could use here, so many ways to say how impossible it is for Henry to capture exactly how he feels, how Alec has become the crux, the absolute heart of everything] —pivotal you’ve been recently. To my situation… Giving me another path to tread, when I never even considered it before.
And to me. The paper's just not enough.
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Henry...
[ What does he do with this? There's that feeling again, the sensation of something warm constricting his ribs. ]
I— You know I meant what I said before. In the graveyard, with your Shadow. You were failed at every turn, so... if just one person in this whole shitty multiverse can do right by you, I think it's the least you deserve.
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Warm, constricting in his chest. Strange in the best way possible, at least.
He rolls the pencil between his fingers, glancing back down at the sketchbook.]
Then I’m glad it was you. The one person in this whole shitty multiverse.
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I'm glad it was you, Henry says, and for the first time in his entire miserable life, Alec Brennan is utterly at peace with being the focus of someone's attention. The center of their universe. It's Henry, and somehow that makes it okay.
His fingers come to rest on the line of Henry's jaw, his touch light, the only warning he gives before he brings their lips together. This kiss doesn't hold the hunger or the sharp bite that they normally share between them. There is no expectation that the two of them are going to tumble back onto the mattress.
For once, he kisses Henry simply to kiss him. And it feels good. ]
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The kiss that follows is just as gentle, a gradual press of their lips together. No dire heat, no impatience, no expectation of falling back into the tangled sheets of his bed. This is different. This is a single moment, frozen in time, caught in each other’s orbit. It’s utterly engulfing, and he does not mind giving himself over to it.
It does feel good. Who would have guessed?
He leans in, so, so slightly, returning the kiss.]
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Henry leans in and it feels like bliss, and he finds himself thinking that this makes every moment worth it. He told Henry once that delicate things weren't for someone like him, so perhaps something made of iron is better.
The kiss breaks after a long moment, and Alec just looks at him. At this man who has somehow found his way into every dark little corner of Alec's heart and against all odds is still here. ]
Yeah. [ He says it quietly, suddenly, like he's just remembered where the conversation was three steps prior. ] I'll stay.
[ The night? Forever? Hard to say. ]
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This moment is perfect. But time is as uncaring as usual. The seconds tick on, on, and on, and eventually, Alec pulls away.
And yet Henry doesn’t feel disappointed. Only warm and contented as he meets his gaze, his lips still half-parted.
I’ll stay.
The words resonate through him, down to the very atom. Tonight. Forever. They feel the same.]
That’s all I want. [Should he say something to ease the poignancy of this moment? It would almost be a shame. But eventually, he breathes out-] Do me one more, small favor?
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And what's that?
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This might, in fact, just be an excuse to touch him, but he does have a practical reason—]
Keep your head like that for just a few minutes so I can finish my sketch. Your browline's difficult.
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He makes a face. ]
Maybe I should just go back to sleep.
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He drops his hand, though. Whether or not Alec wants to hold that angle is up to him.]
Humor me a little as I try to capture your handsome features on paper.
[Maybe using flattery (though not untrue) will get him what he wants.]
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[ He says, as he holds still anyway. ]
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But it’s true. [Alec is darkly, ruggedly handsome, in his opinion. The opposite of himself.] I’m sure you’ve heard it plenty of times, it can’t possibly be news to you.
[sketching time]
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I make it a point not to be noticed long enough for someone to tell me if I'm handsome or not.
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Seems like a waste.
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Does it?
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