Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The concept of soulmates is one that has lingered in the forefront of Henry’s mind since he first understood what that meant. In his mind, his soulmate is an inevitability, not a potential. His grandparents had found each other, his parents had found each other, even his brother had found his own.

And if anyone is able to tolerate Philip for an eternity then, well, the system must be somewhat sound in theory.

His grandfather had passed when Henry was barely able to walk, his own father before he had finished Uni and he had seen the long lasting effects. He had grown up with a cold and callous grandmother, had watched his own mother spiral into a shell of her former self while her children were left to pick up the pieces.

Yet, a part of him still yearns, still hopes that maybe it could be different for him.

The final straw had been meeting Martha. It was nothing to do with her - she was lovely, albeit a bit plain and lifeless, but what more could he have expected from Philip’s other half?

He had brandished his soulmark to Henry one morning, on his right shoulder that read An Alright Fellow, the most recent thing Martha had said about him and it had taken every ounce of restraint Henry possessed to not laugh at him.

The last time he had seen his mother before he moved to the states, she had been wearing her soul patch - a small white bandage designed to cover up soul marks. They were mostly used for those who wanted nothing to do with their soulmates, people that chose to ‘rebel’ against the system.

Other times, they were for widows - like Catherine. Even with it covered, they all knew what lay beneath it, the last thing Arthur Fox had ever said about his beloved wife - Love of My Life.

Henry’s had remained entirely blank, how he fears it may stay for the rest of his life.

A small part of him wondered if moving to the states was the wrong decision, that he would be taking himself further away from his soulmate.

But after yet another breakfast between himself, his grandmother, Philip and Martha, he decided it was a risk he was very much willing to take. There were only so many times he could witness his brother taking a bite into plain, dry toast.

His sister Bea had been entirely on board, sending her love through dozens of late night facetime calls from wherever she had been jetting off to next on her tour through Asia.

And that had been that, the last time he had been to England was almost five years ago.

New York is much more than he had been expecting when he allowed Pez to drag him overseas.

It’s loud and it’s vibrant and often just on the right side of too much that he finds himself enjoying it. He and Pez share their brownstone in Brooklyn and he likes his life. He’s happy.

Even though there are no signs of a soulmark anywhere on his body.

Soulmarks appear once you have made physical contact with your soulmate. For his parents, it was a full on collision in the middle of a campus. For Philip, he had shaken Martha’s hand.

It has made society very touchy feely, something Henry loathes.

His only consolation is the fact that Pez’s also stays blank throughout their years together.

He’s dated, he’s ‘fooled around’ but it all seems to end in more pain for him, he gave up entirely when Hunter cheated on him - with his soulmate.

That’s the worst part of the whole system, he thinks, that you can get away with bloody murder, be an absolute asshole but it’s alright because it’s for your soulmate.

Wherever his soulmate is - he’s in no rush.

💒🍰

“You’re positive that the buttercream is the right choice? Not that I’m doubting you but…” Ms Garrison’s face scrunches up slightly as she absolutely doubts him.

Henry attempts to take it in stride, giving her a thin smile and nodding his head, “With what you’re looking for, it provides the best consistency.” Which he has told her three times already.

He understands the scepticism; he works out of the tiniest bakery on this side of the city and he’s currently covered in at least three different types of fondant. But he gets results, and she bloody well knows this, or else she wouldn’t be standing in his shop insulting his design choices.

Originally, he had been working out of the brownstone, before he quickly realised that crazy brides having his home address was not sustainable.

Ms Garrison’s face contorts into almost a pained look as she tilts her head at him, as though he’s being unreasonable, “Why not red velvet?”

It takes every ounce of British politeness he has in him to not sigh very loudly at her. Instead, he squares his shoulders and decides to cut his losses.

“We can do red velvet.”

“See!” She says, as though she’s caught him in a lie, “I knew you would see it my way. Buttercream is terribly gauche, don’t you think?”

“Quite.” He says through gritted teeth, “Now, in terms of the deposit…”

By the time she leaves, smug smile on her face while Henry is trying to imagine how six tiers of red velvet will stand under pressure, he’s exhausted,

It’s pre-wedding season - or as Pez affectionately calls it Premageddon. He’s well used to it by now, but even still he can feel the exhaustion wearing away at him and he hasn’t even had to make the cakes yet.

Being a baker - with a speciality in wedding cakes - was not what he had expected to be doing when he arrived in New York. But his writer's block had hit an all time high and he grew cooped up within the four walls of the brownstone while Pez was out working at his shelters, making a difference.

It had started as a joke, watching an episode of Bake Off and drunkenly saying I could do that. And it became an obsession, cookbooks ordered with Pez’s next day delivery, kitchen counters splattered in flour and dozens upon dozens of misshapen creations until he realised maybe I can do it.

Now, while he’s exhausted, overworked and completely unsociable, he still can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Babes!”

Pez’s crooning voice snaps him out of his daydream, looking up from his crude sketch of a red velvet monstrosity to see his best friend grinning at him from the doorway, shrouded in moonlight.

“Hi,” He says with a weary smile, “How was your day?”

Pez swans towards him, long sleeves billowing as he does, looking at Henry curiously, “Same old. Everything alright?”

Henry frowns, “Since when don’t you take an opportunity to talk about yourself?”

“Since you look like you’ve been hit by a train.”

“Cheers.” Henry sighs, running a hand through his hair and grimacing at the feeling of icing squelching between his fingertips, “I need a bloody shower.”

“The one thing in life I can’t help you with, mate.” Pez says with a pout, “Or having a piss, or a wank…let’s just say anything cock related I am taking a gracious step back.”

“Don’t say cock in my shop, it’s vulgar.” He glances around suspiciously, “These cakes are pure.”

“You just said it-“

“Can we go home?” Henry interrupts, feeling the beginnings of a migraine press against his temples, “I have a meeting in the morning and I need at least twelve hours of sleep.”

“And a wank?”

“Get out.”

Pez falls out the front door with an echoing laugh, nearly barrelling right into a pedestrian that shouts a curse over their shoulder at him.

“Ah,” Pez says as Henry locks the front door of the bakery, “I love New York.”

Henry hums non-committedly, his brain running too fast to come to any clear thoughts. As though sensing this, Pez takes pity on him and barrels into a story about sixteen year old Tonya and her ‘disaster of a day’.

“So,” Pez says much later when they’re sprawled across the couch, his dog David perched on Pez’s lap, “who’s your meeting with?”

“Not sure,” Henry takes a sip of his tea before placing it on the side table, “CD Wedding Planners?”

“Never heard of ‘em. Any clue what they’re enlisting you for?”

“Not a one. She was extremely vague over the phone and I’m half convinced she’s punking me.”

“Ooh, keep me posted. I’d love for you to end up on the news.”

“The only way that is happening-“

“-is when they try you for my untimely death. I know the drill, Haz.”

Henry chuckles, curling up more into the couch and tucking his socked feet into Pez’s side, “Maybe some good will come of it. I googled them, they’re a big deal, could help get more business.”

“Do you even want more business?”

He shrugs, “Couldn’t hurt. What else am I doing? If I’m not there, I’m here.”

“You know…Anna at the shelter was telling me about these mixers-“

“No.” He cuts in firmly, the volume of his voice making David raise his head, “I am not going to a soulmate mixer.”

“But-“

“Not a bloody chance.”

“Your soulmate-“

“Is likely back in England.” He groans, grabbing a cushion and burying his face in it, “I don’t need one.”

“You don’t need one, but you bloody well want one.” Pez says with a teasing lilt in his voice that makes Henry whack him with the pillow, “He could be right under your nose, you know.”

“An American?” He says with a fake exaggerated gasp, “The horror.”

“Well when me and my sexy American soulmate are living on a yacht, you and David can visit.”

“Much obliged, Percy, much obliged.”

It’s not that he’s avoiding any hopes of a soulmate, he just isn’t seeking one out. There’s a difference. His parents had met by complete chance, bumping into each other in the middle of the grounds at Uni. There was no reason for their paths to ever have crossed and they did.

That’s the hope that Henry holds out for, yet deep down, deep deep down, he is terrified.

At having that kind of love, then having to lose it.

💒🍰

By the time his bakery door chimes to alert him of a visitor the next morning, he has managed to entirely forget about CD and their meeting. He’s currently elbow deep in cake batter, smearing it across his forehead when he reaches up to wipe away sweat.

“Oh,” He says as he looks up, “Sorry. Can I help you?”

A man and woman stand across from the counter, staring at him in silence. The woman is short, tanned, with dark red lips curled up in a slight smile as she stares at him through a pair of dark sunglasses. Unfortunately for Henry’s sanity, she does not hold his attention for long.

That honour belongs to the man at her side, tall, dark and handsome in its truest form, with dark raven curls falling haphazardly across his face. Undoubtedly, unabashedly the most beautiful man Henry has ever seen. His eyes are a deep molten brown that catch his own, making Henry’s heart jolt in his chest.

There’s something vaguely familiar about him, the sight tugging something in his chest that he can’t quite decipher.

“Henry?” The woman asks, making his gaze slowly trail back to her, “Henry Fox?”

“That’s me.” He says, wincing as he feels batter drip from his forehead and land on the counter. The man’s eyes follow the movement, mouth set in a frown, “You are?”

“June Claremont Diaz.” She sticks her hand out to shake before quickly putting it back by her side, “We have a meeting at ten?”

“Shit.” Henry gasps, whirling around and yanking a tea towel from a hook, trying to wipe his hands clean, “I am so sorry, today has been insane already.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The man drawls, his voice deep and low, a slight twang breaking through, “It’s not like we’re busy or anything.”

“Alex.” June hisses as Henry turns to face them with a raised eyebrow.

Gorgeous or not - Henry is running on four hours sleep and has already had two phone calls with middle aged American women screaming at him; he does not have the energy for this.

“I apologised.” He says curtly, “I don’t know what more you want from me. Would you like to have this meeting or not?”

Alex’s eyes flash with something furious and he opens his mouth to retort before June slaps her palm over it, quickly shutting him up.

“We would love to.” June cuts in, “I apologise for my brother, he hasn’t had any coffee yet.”

“Don’t apologise for me, I’m not a child.” Alex hisses as he yanks June’s hand away.

“Could have fooled me.” Henry says before he even realises that he’s said it.

Alex’s eyes widen, “Ex-fuckin-scuse me?”

Henry clears his throat, seeing June’s stricken expression and really not wanting to poke this bear, “Shall I make coffee?”

Even with a freshly brewed cup of coffee half downed, Alex is still glaring daggers at him from across one of the tables.

“So,” June starts with a warm smile as Henry tries desperately to keep his focus on her. It’s insanely difficult, his gaze slowly drifting to Alex again and again, only to be met with absolute rage, “we are CD Wedding Planners, I don’t know if you’ve heard of us.”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t.” He says, which makes Alex scoff quietly, “Can I help you?”

Alex simply rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Anyway,” June continues, “we are currently contracted to do Alicia Thyme’s wedding next month.”

Henry nods, not entirely sure who Alicia Thyme is or why June put so much emphasis on her name.

“He doesn’t know who she is, Bug.” Alex chimes in, and Henry can feel him glaring at him.

He doesn’t understand how Alex has instant disdain for him, but judging by his behaviour, Henry is well on his way to feeling the same, no matter how beautiful he may be.

“Oh, sorry. She’s a New York socialite. Her father has money in oil. Twenty million Instagram followers.” June looks at him and he nods before she continues, “And she has come across your bakery and is demanding one of your cakes.”

“Me? My cakes? How did she even find it?” He’s certain that the Instagram page Pez runs for him has about two hundred followers at most.

“The wedding convention last year.” Alex says slowly, his tone very pointed and Henry can’t for the life of him figure out why, “Do you remember?”

Vague bits and pieces of the event filtered through his mind and he wonders how on earth he managed to forget an entire event -

Oh. Right.

That had been the day Hunter had met his soulmate, got drunk, and dragged him up to the room he and Henry shared. The day where Henry walked in on them and decided to get rip roaringly drunk before falling asleep on one of the couches in the lobby.

Not his proudest moment, but thankfully one he has shoved to the furthest reaches of his mind - until now.

“Um. Not entirely. Bit of a blur.”

“Of course you don’t.” Alex says, still looking extremely put out and Henry can’t understand why, “Well, she came by your stand and was obsessed with that one cake you made…the six tiers of gift boxes?”

“Oh yes, I do remember that one. She wants me?” His voice goes oddly small, gaze darting over to June who is looking at him with a wide grin.

“She’s insistent, actually. We are planning her wedding for the ages so she sent us here to hire you.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Six weeks.”

Henry cringes, thinking of the binder full of orders that he should be working on right this moment, “I appreciate the offer but I just have a lot of orders at the moment. I’m a solo operation I’m not sure if I could have it planned, design and made on time-“

“Oh of course.” June cuts in, eyes darting to Alex at her side, “Which is why Alex will be helping you.”

“What?” They say in perfect unison, Henry refusing point blank to look at the other man, the weight of his glare boring a hole into the side of his face.

“Bug, what the fuck-“ Alex’s hand smacks onto the countertop, inadvertently landing beside Henry’s, their pinky fingers brushing.

Henry jolts away as if he’s been burned, cradling his hand on his lap and ignoring the electricity that shoots through him at the innocent touch.

“No,” June says calmly, “This wedding is the biggest thing we have ever taken on and the only thing more important to her than her dress, is this cake. So you can help Henry sketch and plan it, get everything ready so that the week before all he has to do is roll out of bed and bake it. Got it?”

Her voice is light and airy, but the tone undercutting it is enough to send a shiver down Henry’s spine, so he remains silent. Alex’s glare moves from where it had been directly pointed at Henry, back towards his sister.

All Henry can do is stare at them - at him - and wonder how the hell he is supposed to exist in this man’s general vicinity for the next few weeks when he is torn between wanting to strangle him and wanting to kiss him.

“Fine.” Alex says stiffly, eyes narrowed at his sister as he flops back in his chair, arms folded, “When do we start?”

As the pair bicker amongst themselves, Henry can’t help but think about the fact that he never actually agreed to do this.

He continues to watch them, his pinky finger still twitching in his lap.

💒🍰

June, Henry has found, is an absolute delight. She’s warm, bright and bubbly with a snark beneath the surface that never fails to make him laugh out loud. Her brother, on the other hand, has begun to leave a sour taste in his mouth each time he speaks.

They’ve visited three times in the following week, Alex trailing glumly behind her like a sullen child while Henry tries his best not to meet his glares head on. He’s utterly infuriating, a big child who wants to make it very clear that he hates Henry’s presence.

So Henry, the gentleman that he is, chooses to simply ignore him - which only makes Alex worse.

When Henry will give an idea to June, Alex will cut across him with a dozen questions that Henry has already given answers to previously. When June is speaking, he can feel Alex glaring at him across the table. When Alex is speaking, his eyes bore into Henry’s own, dark and narrowed.

Henry is sure it’s giving him some kind of complex; the mix of frustration and downright attraction making his head spin.

Each time June apologises profusely as Alex waits outside the front door - pointedly refusing to say goodbye - and Henry waves her off, both of them baffled as to why he’s acting this way. That’s to say, Henry isn’t completely innocent. By the third visit he’s giving as good as he’s getting, making their debates much more heated while June looks on glumly.

One night after a particularly long row between him and Alex, he storms into his apartment, drenched by rain to find Pez sprawled across their couch.

“Oh there he is!” Pez says, sitting up and tossing his magazine aside, “How is Mr Sexy?”

“I think you mean Mr Snarky.” Henry sighs, peeling his soaked jacket off and slinging it across the coat hook. He goes to unbutton his shirt, grimacing at the cool fabric pressed to his damp skin, “He’s being a right prick. Today he snarked at me for forty minutes over shades of red. He’s insufferable.”

“And yet you want to fuck him.” Pez trills in a sing-songy voice, looking absolutely delighted.

Henry rolls his eyes as he throws off his shirt entirely, “I can dislike someone and want to fuck them, that doesn’t mean - why are you looking at me like that?”

“Take off your pants.” Pez says, as if this is a normal thing to say to your best friend, but his face is utterly determined.

“Excuse me?”

“Off.” His tone leaves no room for argument and Henry is too stunned to argue, unbuckling his belt and peeling his jeans off of his body, “Lower your boxers.”

“Pez.”

“Do it.”

Henry frowns, dragging his boxers down slightly, looking down to see what the hell he’s on about until he notices it, “Oh.”

There’s a small black scrawl against his hip bone, extremely low and close to the crease of his thigh, resting directly next to his cock. His eyes widen, honing in on the black script that can only mean one thing - unless he managed to get a drunken tattoo.

His heart stutters in his chest, his breath almost choking him at the realisation that he’s found him, wherever he may be, he’s somewhere. His soulmate knows he exists. His soulmate has spoken about him, said his name aloud and whatever may have accompanied it.

Pez lets out an unholy shriek, almost tripping over his feet as he falls to the floor, crawling towards Henry and poking at his hip bone, getting far too close to his dick for comfort, “Oh my bloody Christ.”

“What does it say?” Henry asks shakily, fingers trembling where they’re pressed against his skin.

Pez laughs, his own voice shaking as he says, “Disney prince.”

“Great.” Henry groans, dragging a shaky hand down his face, “That’s what you want to hear.”

“Could be worse. He could have called you an ugly freak.”

“Small mercies.”

Pez stands, poking his soulmark as he goes up, grinning at the almost naked Henry standing in their living room, “Any idea who it could be?”

“No.” He says glumly, “It could be anyone. I was expecting it on my chest so I haven’t even looked…down there in detail.”

Pez looks at him carefully, eyes sparkling with curiosity in a way where Henry knows he isn’t going to enjoy the next sentence that leaves his lips, “Henry…I am asking this as your best friend. When was the last time you looked at your dick?”

Henry’s teeth sink into his lower lip as he wracks his brain, “I don’t know…a week ago? I’ve been showering when I get home and I’ve been so bloody tired I’m like a zombie.”

Pez rolls his eyes, “You could have had this mark for a week? How many men have you come across since then?”

“This week alone, I’ve had about ten gay men stroll into the shop.” He wants to slap himself, the fact that he had his soulmate within arms reach and didn’t even know it.

His mother’s mark had been on her collarbone, his fathers on his chest, Philip’s on his shoulder. Henry hadn’t expected himself to be any different, and his eyes fall to his chest each and every night as he brushes his teeth. Never once have his eyes strayed below his boxer line - why would they?

“Can you get their details?”

Henry splutters, cheeks flushing at the implication, “I am not stalking my soulmate.”

“It would be romantic!”

“It would be Dahmer-esque. There’s no point rushing it. It will happen when it’s supposed to.” The mantra that is said by everyone and their mother when it comes to soulmates.

“Ugh.” Pez picks up Henry’s wet clothes and begins to stroll to the kitchen, “You’re so boring.”

“I’m civilised dear,” Henry says as he makes his way to his bedroom, “there’s a difference.”

He goes to his chest of drawers, rifling through for a pair of shorts, one that ride low on his lips, that will make the delicate swirl of his soulmark remain visible for a little while longer.

“Hey,” Pez calls from the other room, his voice easily carrying, “what if it’s Alex?”

A beat of silence passes between them before they both burst into a fit of laughter, Henry shaking his head with a smile as he pulls out his pyjamas.

“Imagine.” He snorts. The very thought borders on insanity.

His soulmate, a childish, sullen man who lives to rile Henry up, to make him genuinely angry and rude in a way that Henry never thought he would be. A man who has gotten deep under his skin in three meetings. A man who is so otherworldly beautiful that it makes his chest ache when he looks at him.

The thought is preposterous.

He takes a moment before he pulls on his pants to look at it in the mirror, stroking the pad of his thumb across it. The moment he touches the skin, it begins to shift before his eyes, making him jolt. Even backwards in the mirror, he can make out the singular word etched in lowercase across his skin.

beautiful.

💒🍰

“I am so sorry,” June says with a mournful sniffle, the line crackling as she speaks, “I think I might be going into a coma.”

“Don’t say that.” Henry tries his best to sound reassuring, “Cold induced comas are very rare these days.”

June barks out a laugh that quickly dissolves into a coughing fit. When she composed herself, she dryly says, “Thanks.”

“So it’s…just Alex then?” Henry’s half hoping the other man cancels entirely.

“Yes. It probably will be just you two from here on out. I need to start focusing on the floral arrangements. We are T-minus five weeks out and if she doesn’t have green hydrangeas the world will burn.”

“Do those even exist?”

“If they don’t, they’re about to.” June pauses, and he can feel the weight of her silence through the phone line, “Thank you, Henry. I know Alex is a bit…testy with you.”

“It’s alright, I’m sure we can manage a single evening together.”

“I’m sure.” June sounds doubtful, but it’s quickly covered by another coughing fit, “Let me know if he kills you - or you kill him. Mom will want to see the body.”

“Ha ha.” Henry says and hangs up as June has a laughing/coughing fit down the phone line.

The shop is blissfully silent as he hangs up, the sign on the bakery door flipped to Closed. His first wedding is next week, a massive sponge cake with three tiers that he somehow has to transport to upper Manhattan for nine am on a Saturday.

The weirdest thing about realising you’ve met your soulmate, is that life continues to move on around you. Wheels don’t stop turning just because your entire world has shifted on its axis. The man that Henry is meant to love more than anything or anyone else in this world, is going about his day, talking about Henry.

He realises it can be any number of men, Mark that comes in to gauge a wedding cake for his sister and absolutely flirts with him each time and how his land landed on his shoulder. It could be Jacob, the new barista that knows exactly how he likes his tea each morning, their hands brushing as he gives him his change. It could not be - despite Pez’s gleeful insistence - Alex.

He had entertained the thought, however briefly, but when the words on his skin remained entirely positive, he knew that couldn’t be the case. Whether he feels disappointed or relieved by this is still entirely up for debate.

When the door bell chimes, he knows it can only be one person.

“Evening Fox,” Alex drawls in that honeyed tone of his, closing the door behind him, flipping the lock, “How goes it?”

“Fine.” Henry knows his tone is clipped, but that familiar thrum that seems to run through his body every time Alex is in his presence has begun, “How are you?”

“Fuckin’ dandy. Shall we?” He gestures to one of the tables and begins to lay his things down before Henry responds, sliding into a chair.

Henry nods, sitting in the opposite chair and wondering how long they can make it without sniping at each other.

“So…” He starts slowly, “I thought maybe white with lime green accents, since she is getting the green hydrangeas.”

“Lime green on a wedding cake?” Alex says, face screwed up in disgust and managing to beat their record for shortest time between fights, “Sounds like toxic waste. Sage would be much better.”

“I am trying to make the bride happy.”

“You are trying to ruin my reputation.” Alex’s fingers drum against the tabletop, his foot incessantly tap, tap, tapping against the linoleum floor.

Every movement makes Henry’s anxieties rise, an itch beneath his skin that he can’t quite scratch.

Henry laughs at this, the sound echoing in the small space, “You manage to do that all on your own, Alex.”

“Listen here, you fucking-“

And he can’t take it anymore, can’t the pure hatred in Alex’s eyes, how it burns him down deep into his core.

“What is your problem with me?” Henry asks suddenly, his blood thrumming in his veins, begging him to do something, “I don’t understand what I did to you that has made you so abhorrent from the start.”

“God, you’re fucking unbelievable.” Alex says with a bewildered laugh, throwing one of his hands up, “Are we still playing this game?”

“What bloody game?”

Alex’s face runs through a mix of emotions, before settling on thundering, “Fucking forget it if you’re going to act like a child.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Henry can’t help the disbelieving laugh that spills from his lips, entirely frustrated and pained and bloody confused by the man sitting in front of him.

“The wedding convention? You’re seriously forgetting the night we met?”

“We met?” Henry’s voice is hollow.

Guess that rules out him being Henry’s soulmate. He isn’t quite sure why the thought makes his chest ache.

“Wow.” Alex says, “You’re a fucking asshole. I don’t know what the fuck June sees in you but I clearly can’t fucking get it. Whatever, design whatever fucking cake you want but I’m out of here.”

“Alex-“

“I’ll see you at the fucking wedding.” He stands, chair scraping back, the sound making both of them wince, before gathering his things and storming towards the door, “Asshole.”

Henry stands there long after Alex has left, the hollow feeling in his chest bordering on crippling agony as his brain tries to come to terms with whatever the hell just happened.

💒🍰

Henry puts on a soul patch.

He hadn’t been planning on it, but a glance down at his mark that reads infuriatingly oblivious makes his heart clench in his chest. The thought of those words getting worse hurts more than anything else. For some reason, he buys a twenty four pack, and hopes that maybe he can shake off whatever this is before they run out.

It had been the last thing he ever planned on doing. He had always thought he would cherish his soulmark and all that it means, that he would wake up each morning, giddy with excitement to see what it has changed to. Now, all he feels is a hollow ache at the fact that his soulmate may not even want him.

He cries the morning they arrive, slapping one over his latest mark, blue eyed bambi, whatever that may mean. His stomach churns as he does it, hands trembling as he struggles to lay the adhesive against his skin, but his heart can’t take it anymore - not yet.

He can’t take the fact that his soulmate might hate him.

For someone that has always wanted to meet his soulmate, he wishes he could go back to before this bloody mark even appeared. He doesn’t want it, and he cannot understand the sudden shift or why. It’s an uncomfortable itch that has lingered under his skin since the moment Pez pointed the mark out, an anxiety thrumming beneath the surface that he cannot find the origin of.

It’s driving him demented.

He thinks it would be better if his soulmate is Alex. Because he at least knows where they stand, knows that Alex dislikes him for a reason. But he knows it can’t be, not when they’ve met before.

Even if Henry doesn’t remember it, Alex clearly does.

He knows that night is entirely a blur, each time he tries to recall it hurts his brain more than the last. Utterly distraught, he had drowned his sorrows in liquor until he was barely capable of speech, which is how Alex likely found him.

If only he and Alex could have started out on the right foot. He wonders would Alex still look at him with disdain, or perhaps something else entirely.

The thought of his soulmate being out there, hating him is enough to make him nauseous.

Pez notices the white patch sticking out from the bare patch of skin between his pants and shirt when he raises his arms to get his tea bags from the cupboard the next morning. He thankfully doesn’t comment.

Throwing himself into work becomes easy, not thinking about Alex is the difficult part.

He designs the cake, the lime green toned down to an earthy sage - a decision he makes entirely on his own. He then sends it to June who readily approves of it, inviting him out to drink with her, her girlfriend and Alex. He quickly declines and turns his phone off.

Part of him considers texting Alex, extending the olive branch, but he quickly shuts the idea down. The other man hates him enough as it is and, despite himself, Henry is well on the way for that feeling to be mutual.

He knows he can’t avoid Alex forever, but he is going to make it as long as possible.

Henry isn’t one to hold a grudge, he isn’t one to hate people. But when he thinks of Alex, all he can feel is anger bubbling beneath his skin, and maybe that’s what hatred truly is.

For now, he isn’t thinking about it - an absolute lie, but one he tells himself daily with absolute certainty. Each and every day as he goes about his day, designs his cakes and even bakes a few, turning up to weddings with a thin smile as he pretends that his life is entirely normal and that his soulmate isn’t out there somewhere with utter disdain for him. Each time he has to change the patch, he keeps his eyes trained upward.

The wedding rolls around much quicker than Henry had been anticipating, and before he knows it, he’s carefully transporting a six tiered wedding cake into a highly secured venue. Men in black suits guide him through the lobby as though he’s the president of the United States, talking into ear pieces and glancing over their shoulders every few seconds.

June is already there when he arrives, standing in the centre of the ballroom with her hands on her hips, calling up to a man hanging a banner.

“That’s not the way - Oh Henry!” She cuts herself off when she spots him, pulling him into a tight hug, “How are you? It’s been ages.”

He fidgets with the button on his sleeve before dropping his arm, “Good, good. How are you?”

“Fine, the cake looks gorgeous.” She stares at it on the table nearby, currently being wheeled out by one of the Men In Black looking security team, “Managed it without Alex, did you?”

“He had some input.” Before he promptly ignored Henry for five weeks, which he happily reciprocated.

“I would love to know what his fucking problem is.” June sighs, “Whatever. I’ve warned him to be on his best behaviour or we will be having words.”

Henry simply nods, wondering if the sight of Alex after five harrowing weeks will be enough to send him into a coma. Once June is distracted by the decor again, he moves across the room towards where the cake has been set up, circling it and peering closely to make sure nothing has smudged in the thirty minutes since his last inspection.

“Well,” A voice says behind him, “you finally saw sense, did you?”

“Alex.” He says stiffly, keeping his eyes on the cake, his back now ramrod straight as he fights the urge to glance over his shoulder, “You made it.”

“Of course I fucking did, where else would I be?”

“Down a well? I don’t know what you do with your life, Alex.”

He can feel movement behind him until Alex is standing directly at his side, their shoulders pressed together. The contact is too much, yet not enough all at once.

“Is that how you thank someone for a compliment, Fox?”

“I would thank you if you had given me one.” The thrumming beneath his skin has raised to obscene levels, his skin flushing, spreading to every part of him.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Now, Henry can’t help the way his head violently snaps to the side, gaping at the other man who is scowling at him, “Excuse me?”

“You swan in here after five fucking weeks, cut me out of the cake entirely and you’ve barely even looked at me. You think you’re better than me and it’s not fucking true.”

“I changed the cake for you. Did your bloody sage green.” He pauses, frowning as the words catch up to him, “I don’t think I’m better than you.”

“Sure you don’t.” Alex scoffs, leaning in closely to inspect the cake and Henry’s hands twitch at his sides with the overwhelming urge to yank him back, “You act like you just scraped me off your shoe.”

“Because you’re so…mean to me.” It sounds entirely petulant when it leaves his lips, which he quickly realises.

Alex straightens up, slowly turning to face Henry, glancing up at him with a doe eyed expression, “Mean? Did I pull on your pigtails a little too hard?”

“Forgive me, here I thought you would be capable of an adult conversation.” Henry sighs, turning to walk away, eyes scanning across the room to see if he can find where June has wandered off to, “I’ll see you after, Alex.”

“Wait-” Alex’s hand clamps down on his shoulder and he freezes, body stiffening at the contact. Something feels wrong, a nauseating feeling spreading from head to toe and he needs air. He needs to get out of here.

Jerking away, he tries to move out of Alex’s grip but the other man is steadfast, fingers digging in and curling against his shoulder. Panicked, Henry pulls himself away with a yank, which has the adverse effect of Alex stumbling backwards, directly towards the cake.

“No!” He says with a squeak, shoving Alex to the side so that he thankfully doesn’t send the cake careening towards the floor.

Instead sending Alex sprawling into the champagne tower, his arm flying out and managing to grab Henry’s arm, dragging him down with him.

Perfect.

💒🍰

“-stay in there until you sort your shit.” June snaps, slamming the bathroom door behind them, leaving Alex and Henry standing in stunned silence.

They’re both dripping onto the tiles, Henry wincing at the squelching sound when he takes a step forward. June has left them chef’s whites and pants for them to change into. He wordlessly steps forward, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it into the sink.

“Henry.”

He doesn’t answer, using the napkins from the wall dispenser to pat down his chest, feeling how sticky his skin has already become. Thankfully, the bride and guests are still at the ceremony, and June is already fixing the mess that they’ve made.

“Henry, come on.”

“What, Alex?” He says with a sigh, looking up and catching Alex’s eyes in the mirror. Alex is staring at him with an expression he can’t even begin to decipher, “What else is there to say?”

“I don’t-”

Frustration bubbles within him and the words begin to spill out before he can try and stop them, “All we had to do was get through one day, then never have to see each other again. And you couldn’t even do that.”

Alex’s entire face turns into a glower, taking a step forward as he begins to unbutton his own shirt and Henry can feel his entire body flushing, eyes honing in on the bare skin being revealed with each button, “This was not all my fault.”

“Wasn’t it? You were the one that started on me, being a bloody prick the moment you laid eyes on me.”

"Oh yeah? Well, you're an obtuse fucking asshole!"

"Really?" Henry scoffs, whirling around to face him, damp tissue still in hand as he points a finger at the other man, "You're such a bloody child!"

"I am not!" Henry is very surprised Alex doesn’t stomp his foot petulantly as he says the words.

"God, Alex, I don't know how you get through life being so-"

"...So?"

But Henry isn't responding, his train of thought cut off entirely at the sight of the cursive scrawl on Alex's now exposed chest, shirt entirely unbuttoned. The font is in perfect cursive, looping around the letters as his eyes hone in on two words in startling clarity, black ink against tanned skin.

Bloody child.

"Prick." Henry says, nothing more than a breath, and watches as the font curls and changes to reflect the word.

"Ex-fucking-scuse me?"

Panicked at the thought of Alex being stood directly in front of a mirror, he whispers underneath his breath the first word that comes to mind, “Gorgeous.”

“Are you having a stroke?”

Henry watches as the word shifts before his eyes to reflect the word he’s just spoken, one Alex has not heard and will absolutely never associate with him.

“Hello? Anyone in there?”

Henry’s hands are shaking by his sides, his head a whirl of nothing but Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex. What the hell is going on?

“Dude, do I need to call a fucking ambulance?” Alex reaches forward and knocks on his forehead like it’s a door, making Henry jolt out of his reverie and fly backwards until his back is pressed against the sink.

He has no clue how this is happening, they’ve met long before last week, so how on earth are their words only showing now? How the hell are they soulmates?

“I’m fine.” He croaks, choosing his words very carefully, “Just startled me. I need to change.”

He can feel the dampness of his trousers, pressing directly against his definitely drenched soulmark as he can already tell what it says. Alex’s face contorts into something much softer, an expression that makes Henry’s already fragile heart ache that bit more.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, and the tone, combined with the words, are enough to spring tears to his eyes, “Oh, woah, Henry-”

“You can’t just ask someone if they’re alright.” Henry hisses, briefly squeezing his eyes shut to fight off the tears, “That is a surefire way to make someone cry.”

“I’m…sorry?”

“You should be.” Henry sniffles, heart tugging in his chest at the breathless laugh Alex lets out, “We’ve made a right mess of this, haven’t we?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure June’s going to kick my ass. You’re safe because she’s quite unfamiliar with your ass, but I think that means she’ll kick mine twice.”

“Maybe you deserve it.”

“A foot up my ass? Thanks, Fox.” Alex says dryly, but he’s still smiling at him in a way that makes Henry want to scream.

None of this makes sense, and if Henry didn’t know any better, he would assume this is an elaborate coma dream. Because Alex is standing here, smiling at him, baring his words on his chest while being none the wiser. He tries to keep his gaze locked on Alex’s, but his eyes keep trailing down to the word Gorgeous, painfully stark against the other man’s skin.

He wonders if he should say something, let Alex know, when he glances slightly downward to see a soggy white strip falling from Alex’s stomach.

“Is that a soulpatch?” Henry asks timidly, wondering if Alex is going to brush him off entirely.

Alex squints, glancing down at his body, “Oh. Yeah. Must have gotten drowned in the fuckin’ champagne. Yeah, I always wear one.” He doesn’t seem to pay any attention to the mark on his chest, picking up the soaked patch between two pinched fingers and dropping it in the sink.

“Any particular reason why?”

It looks as though Alex is going to tell him to fuck off for a moment before he shrugs, “I don’t want a soulmate.”

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting, but the words are still like a knife to his hollow chest, twisting when he attempts to breathe.

The air rushes from Henry’s lungs and he nods as though his heart isn’t shattering entirely in his chest, “Understandable.”

“My parents were soulmates.” Alex continues to explain as if Henry isn’t falling to pieces directly in front of him. He doesn’t want to know, he wants Alex to stop talking, “All they ever did was argue until they finally called it quits. I can’t stand the thought of it all. So I wear a soulpatch.”

Henry continues to nod like a bobblehead, his stomach making a valiant attempt at tearing itself to shreds, “That makes sense. Is this…a recent development?”

Like a I know you’re my soulmate and I hate you kind of recent development.

Alex shrugs, “Kinda? Maybe the last few weeks? I slapped this on the second I saw handwriting. Honestly I try to avoid looking at all.” When Alex realises that Henry isn’t going to respond, he continues, “What about you?” Alex’s eyes hone in on Henry’s chest, as though searching for the script.

Henry clears his throat, feeling his skin flush from the attention, “It’s complicated.” He turns back to face the sink, grabbing the chef’s whites and tugging them over his head, “We should get back out there.”

“Right…” Alex says quietly behind him, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, thank you.” If by ‘fine’ he means he is moments away from crumbling entirely, then yes, he is fine.

The pair change in silence, stuffing their wet clothes into a plastic bag that Henry carries, swinging limply by his side as he tries to remember how to put one foot in front of the other.

Alex doesn’t want him. Alex doesn’t want him. He knows he can’t take it personally, that it’s not him in particular that has Alex so vehement, but the fact is, even if he knew, he would feel the same, if not more so.

He feels like he’s going to vomit.

Instead, he plasters a smile on his face and parts from Alex immediately as they step outside of the bathroom, ignoring the soft calls of his name behind him.

He just needs to get through one night.

💒🍰

“Mate, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Henry says, swallowing a spoonful of ice cream before waving his spoon angrily at Pez, “It is that bad.”

“So, he’s your soulmate. Isn’t that kind of…a dream come true?”

That’s not the point, it isn’t even in the same vicinity as the point he is attempting to make, “Pez-”

“Have you seen the man’s arse? You have always been an arse man.” Pez waggles his eyebrows and Henry can’t even find it within himself to smile at the goofy gesture.

His heart has taken up permanent residence in his stomach since yesterday. The moment the wedding had finished, he had ducked out of the ballroom, making sure he and Alex’s paths didn’t even cross for a moment.

“Don’t be perverse.” Henry shakes his head, though Pez is bloody right, “That is not the problem here.”

“The problem is?”

“He wears a soulpatch.” He scrapes his spoon along the end of the tub, getting the last liquidy remnants before putting it on the side table, folding his arms with a huff.

“As you have been doing recently. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Pez says lightly, offering Henry a heaped spoon of his own ice cream, which he readily takes.

“He wears his because he doesn’t want a soulmate.” Henry says once he swallows, the words making that uncomfortable feeling beneath his skin flare up once more, “I wear mine because the words were too negative. I can now see why.”

“Do you think that maybe he would feel differently if he knew it was you?”

Henry’s response is instantaneous, “No. Absolutely not. I think it would make him feel more so.”

“Haz-”

“No, Pez. This is fine. He’s a bloody prick on a good day and I am definitely not what he’s looking for.”

He can feel his own soulmark tingling from beneath his trousers, and a very large part of him wants to peel back the patch and see what Alex is saying about him. The urge is fairly quickly tampered down and he turns back to face Pez, who is looking at him with something close to pity in his eyes.

“Haz…you’re soulmates, you can’t just…not be soulmates.”

“Soulmates don’t end up together all the time.” He quotes the statistic, “It’s very common. Besides, it’s not like our paths will have to cross again. The wedding is over, he wants nothing to do with me, I want nothing to do with him. It’s fine.”

Maybe if he says it enough times, it will become true.

💒🍰

“It looks…”

Henry inhales deeply, hands clenched into tight fists beneath the counter as he stares at Ms Garrison and wonders why he ever thought this career path would be suitable for him. In another life, he could have been a writer, maybe a doctor, even a monarch might have been less stressful than dealing with this woman for another second.

“Perfect.” She finishes with a clap of her hands, making Henry gape at her incredulously, quickly snapping his jaw shut, “I told you the red velvet was the correct choice. And you didn’t want to listen.”

“You were right.” He grits out, pained smile threatening to split his face in half, “Are you taking it today?”

“Yes,” She nods, rifling through her purse, “You are a miracle worker. You just need to learn to listen to others dear.”

“Mhm.” Henry says, gaze drifting over her head to the two familiar people in the doorway. Shit.

“Just slightly oblivious dear, something to work on in the future.”

“I completely agree.” He says distractedly as the pair come through the door, bell chiming in their wake. He snaps out of it as a pair of dark brown eyes meet his own, “Thank you Ms Garrison, I hope your daughter’s day is magical.”

She smiles, scoops up the cake box with extraordinary strength before making her way out of the bakery. A beat passes as the three of them stare at each other, Henry unable to tear his eyes away from Alex.

His soulmate. The man the universe has deigned belongs with him, beside him. The man that would likely rather die than do anything of the sort with him.

“Henry!” June greets him first and she rounds the counter, pulling him into a tight hug with an affection he still isn’t quite used to, but hugs her back readily, “How have you been?”

Tortured, mostly, he thinks, but does not say aloud, his eyes instinctually drifting towards Alex, who is staring at him blankly, his mouth set in a firm line.

“Busy.” He says instead, “How are you…both?”

Alex snorts out a quiet laugh, eyes narrowing at Henry, “We’re great. Thanks.”

“Oh…kay?” Henry looks back at June, who’s smiling at him slightly manically, her hands clasped together in front of her, “How can I help?”

“We have a proposition.”

“We?” Henry’s eyes dart back to Alex, whose arms are folded as he leans his hip against the counter, “Really now?”

“Yes. We.” Alex grunts, rolling his eyes, “Mostly June.”

“Right.”

“Anyway!” June continues, “Your cake was a massive hit at the wedding, I mean massive. We got about twelve cards that night from socialites who want CD weddings.”

He smiles warmly, “Oh June, that’s wonderful.”

“Mhm…and with that…well they are very insistent on Henry Fox originals for their wedding cakes.”

“Oh.” He blinks owlishly, taking a small step back, “Really?”

“All of our emails for the past week have mentioned you.” Alex chimes in, for once not sounding entirely disgusted by Henry’s general existence, a welcome change, “It seems to be a dealbreaker for a lot of them.”

“Me? So you want me to make you guys some more cakes?”

“Well…” June looks up at him with wide brown eyes, so similar to her brother’s as she tilts her head to the side almost innocently, “We had something a bit more…in depth, in mind.”

“In depth.” He repeats.

“Bug, will you tell the parrot your plan before he manages to repeat everything we say?”

His glare is hopefully scathing as he levels Alex with it, hoping anger is enough to explain the flush that spreads across his cheeks. Alex’s eyes sparkle when they meet his, the beginnings of a smile curling at his lips. It’s enough to make him look away.

“We want to work together.” June says, “Combine businesses.”

“What?”

“You’re a one man operation, so are we. Alex only counts as half.” She waves off his indignant protests, “We could make a killing here, Henry. Your cakes, our weddings, we get the business. You get the exposure. And I know you have an eye for flowers too.”

“You want to bring me into your business? Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Why? Planning on cutting us out?” Alex asks amusedly, raising a singular eyebrow and making Henry’s brain short circuit for a few blissful seconds.

“I’m just saying that it is a very big decision to centre around a man you barely know.”

“We know you well enough.” Something in Alex’s tone feels pointed, like he’s baiting Henry.

He chooses not to rise to it.

“I still have some existing orders to deal with-”

June is quick to chime in, clasping one of Henry’s hands in two of her own, “Of course. We wouldn’t want to interfere with your own business. We tend to do only one big wedding at a time anyway. You don’t have to make a decision now, but-”

He thinks about it. Truly thinks about it. It would be a wonderful opportunity for his business, but he would have to spend a lot of time with Alex. He would get to hone his skills more - but he would have to spend countless hours pouring over colour wheels and working late into the night with Alex. He could take his business to the next level, perhaps hire more employees, but he would have to spend days by Alex’s side without acknowledging the fact that his soulmate is his soulmate.

“I’ll do it.” His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, but this is quickly drowned out by June’s resounding squeal as she throws her arms around his neck, holding tightly.

He pats her back as his eyes drift to Alex’s over her shoulder. They’re curious as they look back at him, his smile a lot more genuine as he gives Henry a small but barely there nod.

Above all else, Henry Fox is a consummate professional, and it will not be an issue for him to work day in and day out with his soulmate by his side without ever telling the other man that they are, in fact, soulmates. A man that hates him on principle, can’t even look at him without heat in his eyes and a snarky comment on his lips.

A man that would likely be infuriated to find out who his soulmate truly is.

While his father may have been the actor in the family, Henry believes that he can pull this off.

It’s not like he has a bloody choice.

💒🍰

Life has become particularly torturous in the following weeks.

“You know,” Alex says around a mouthful of ground beef, “that is the ugliest fucking orange I have ever seen.”

“Alex-”

“Seriously, somewhere out there, Trump is showing his makeup artist this swatch.”

“For Christ’s sake-”

“-and his artist is going, even for you, you absolute bag of human waste, that is far too orange.”

“Alright, alright!” Henry can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest, flipping to the next page in the book, “Ix-nay on the orangeyay.”

Alex makes a show of crossing his heart, his fingers dangerously close to where Henry knows his soulmark lies beneath his shirt, “That’s all I ask. Now…a burnt umber colour could greatly work with this bride’s complexion.”

“You’ve met her?”

“Briefly.” Alex makes grabby hands at the bottle of water closest to Henry’s side, which he passes to him, “Her soulmates a dick.”

“Mhm?” Henry asks, voice muffled as he digs into his own taco, “How?”

“Smarmy, WASPy motherfucker. Trust fund, born and bred. Has never had to do a thing in his entire life.”

“Sounds like my type.” Henry jokes, but it falls flat at the way Alex’s shoulders stiffen, his easy smile falling.

The tentative truce between the two has been interesting to say the least. They have even managed to coexist one on one without June there to mediate. It’s been nice, despite the anxiety settled deep in Henry’s core at being in such close proximity to his soulmate - who doesn’t even know.

But there are subtle moments, much like this one, where Alex shuts him out entirely, walls clanging back up with enough speed to make his head spin. And he can’t figure out why.

“You said your situation with your soulmate is complicated.” Alex begins, fingers thrumming against the countertop, “What did you mean by that?”

“That’s a bit personal, is it not?”

Alex shrugs, “Humour me.”

Henry bites down on his tongue, enough to send a sharp pang through the nerve as he considers how best to approach this, “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“You’ve met?”

“Yes.”

“Are you…together?”

“No.” He can’t help the self deprecating laugh that spills from his lips, “Absolutely not.” His eyes remain firmly trained on the colour swatch in his hands, unable to meet Alex’s eyes in case he can see it emanating from every part of him.

“Yikes, that bad?”

His lips quirk up in a smile, “No. Now…this kind of burnt umber?”

Alex, blissfully, lets the subject drop, though it isn’t long before old habits come back to life.

“For Christ’s sake, Alex, must you be so bloody obstinate?” He flips his book closed and shoves it towards the other man, “Everything I say, you have to dispute!”

“Well, you’re making insane suggestions!”

“In what world, are orange roses insane?”

“They don’t go with burnt umber!”

“We never bloody agreed on burnt umber!”

“We don’t need to agree. I’m the wedding planner, you’re the baker.”

“We’re partners now, sweetheart.” He manages to push every lingering feeling of resentment into his tone, “Remember?”

Alex’s face darkens, a low flush rising in his cheeks as his glare becomes murderous, “You haven’t changed a fucking bit, have you?”

“Back to this. I have told you countless times that I don’t remember the day we met, Alex.”

“Why would you?” Something in Henry stops at the despondent tone in Alex’s voice, “Forget it.”

“Tell me?”

He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that Alex has given up on him entirely, or the downright pathetic tone in Henry’s voice but he sighs, leaning back in his seat.

“It was the last night of the wedding conference last year. I followed you on Instagram and wanted to come say hi. I was a,” He huffs out a bashful laugh, ducking his head, “uh big fan. I leave it until the end of the night and I find you at the bar. Immediately, you start spouting off to leave you alone, barely speaking fucking English. I thought maybe you were just drunk but when I reached out to make sure you were alright, you practically threw yourself off the chair so I wouldn’t touch you, snapping about ‘eyelashes’ before running away from me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” Henry parrots, staring at Alex as his brain tries to piece together any recollection of that night.

Then it hits him like a bolt of lightning.

“Two ssshots please.” Henry saluted the bartender, a gummy grin on his face as the man did so, sliding them towards him, “You, good sir, are a gentleman and a scholar.”

Henry couldn’t remember the last time he had drank, let alone to that extent but the warm fuzzy feeling managed to outweigh the utter shame and disgust in his system at walking in on his boyfriend fucking someone else - on their hotel bed.

“Mayhaps more shots.” He murmured to himself, tracing his finger along the trail of salt he spilled on the countertop, “Lots more shots.”

“Excuse me, Henry?”

He spun on his stool, letting out a little giggle at the rush it gave him before he found himself face to face with the most beautiful man he had ever seen, with long lashes fanning across deep brown eyes, piercing into his own.

“Oh.” He said.

“Hi…my name’s Alex and I-” His hand reached out, likely to shake his own but Henry’s body moved on instinct, practically throwing himself off the stool.

Henry had never been one to shy under the attentions of a beautiful man, but in that moment, drunker than he had ever been, the knowledge of his boyfriend upstairs sleeping with someone else, his stomach churned.

He was going to be sick. He needed out.

“Fucking eyelashes.” He grumbled, stumbling away from the stunned man who seemed rooted to the spot when Henry chanced one last glance over his shoulder.

His hands are trembling on top of the counter, a fact he only notices when one of Alex’s lands over them, pressing into the cool stone.

“Hen?”

“I’m sorry.” He manages to say, feeling the tears spring to his eyes.

He and Alex had never touched that night. All he can think about is what if he had allowed Alex to grasp his hand? What if he had shaken Alex’s hand, allowed them to sit side by side and talk the night away.

Would they be together now? Would Alex even want to be?

“I…” He exhales sharply, “I was having a bad night. One of my worst, really. My boyfriend at the time had just found his soulmate at the event. And he had taken it upon himself to bring her upstairs - to our room.”

“Oh. Fuck. Hen-”

“I then proceeded to get blindingly drunk, horrifically so. When you stopped me I was seconds away from emptying my stomach all over your shoes. So I’m sorry. I was horrible to you.”

Alex doesn’t respond for a long moment, the only sound in the room the loud ticking of the clock above their heads.

“Alright,” Henry says with a sigh, “what else?”

Alex’s eyes dart up to finally meet his own and he is immediately thrown off guard by how vulnerable they look. The urge to reach out and cup the other man’s face between his hands is almost painful, to smooth the furrowed ridge between his brows as he clearly debates something in his mind.

“Uh…”

“Why else do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, Hen.” He says softly, resting his chin in his hand against the counter, “Not even a little bit.”

“Oh.” The boulder that has settled in his stomach chips slightly, leaving way for small cracks, “You don’t?”

“Of course not. I thought you were a dick, that’s different.”

Henry almost laughs at the idea of his soulmark, nestling right beside his dick, reading those words.

“That’s why you’ve been acting this way?” Henry laughs disbelievingly, leaning in closer over the counter, “Because I hurt your feelings?”

“Oh what, sweetheart?” Alex says with a teasing grin, only a breath away, “You’re the one who said I was mean.”

“You were mean.” His voice drops to a low murmur, gaze dropping briefly to Alex’s parted lips before meeting his eyes once more, “Extremely.”

“Am I being mean now?” Alex’s voice is soft and warm like velvet, washing over him. His lips are no more than a breath away from his own and Henry wants to lean in, so badly.

Henry can hear as much as feel the way his heart is pounding in his chest, making its way up his throat and is likely minutes from leaping into Alex’s arms.

One singular thought stops him.

Alex doesn’t want a soulmate.

He clears his throat, pulling back with maximum effort, pushing against the invisible force driving him towards Alex’s lips, “I suppose you’re alright now.”

His heart is screaming at him, his brain not far behind and his soulmark is burning against his skin, a searing pain that he can’t help but press the heel of his hand against. Every part of him is telling Henry that he is making a major mistake, to throw himself into Alex’s arms.

But he can’t.

Alex may want him, but Henry can’t stomach the thought of that being all it is. He has made it very clear that he doesn’t want a soulmate, and whether or not that happens to be Henry should make no difference.

But Christ, if the thought doesn’t hurt.

Alex’s face falls slightly before he leans back in his seat, his smile faltering on his face, “Thanks, Fox.”

“So…uh…burnt umber for…Christ, her name is Amber?”

“Yeah. Bit on the nose.” Alex’s voice is stilted, slightly awkward as he speaks, “She’s…interesting. Her and her soulmate met last year, at the wedding conference, no less.”

In normal circumstances, Henry would in no way link these events to himself. He is a regular man, who goes about his life normally. But, given how life seems to be aiming for his jugular at the moment, he has to ask.

“Is the groom’s name Hunter?”

“Yeah, how’d you guess?”

For fuck’s sake.