I saw a manicure on Instagram today. It reminded me of Christopher Stanton. Then I remembered Henry Fitzgerald used to do Mariana’s manicures, was trained in the nail polish arts. And here we are :)
Chris and Jake belong to @ashintheairlikesnow. Chris references a past piece called “It’s Not Hypothetical” where Chris goes off on another student, Callie. Who totally deserved it. I don’t know when these stories actually line up on the timeline, but I’m saying it’s New Year’s weekend right after Henry decides to get sober for good.
warnings | bbu, trauma survivors, trauma recovery, discussion of sobriety, hard discussions, bad memories, angst. Just a lot of angst.
~*~*~
“I’m almost done, I swear!” Henry giggled, trying to keep his shoulders steady as he painted on another line of top coat.
“You, you said that when you did the, the, the stickers,” Chris rolled his eyes, but grinned toothily.
“Well now I mean it for real,” Henry replied with an easy wink. “Besides, we had to do the stickers. The stickers are the best part!”
Chris nodded. His whole body hummed with energy, nearly vibrating the couch cushions underneath the pair of them. Henry liked it, found it familiar and settling. Jake hadn’t seemed to believe him the first time he said so, but the man — tall and strong as he was — seemed less and less suspicious of him over the last few visits.
Henry could have sworn he flashed him an approving smile when Chris had found the nail decals at the drug store, asking Henry if he new how to put them on.
Of course I do, Henry had grinned, plucking the package out of Chris’ hands. Besides, if I do mine too we can have matching Tree Rexes.
But he knew there were limits and quickly finished up the last nail with a decal on it. It was just for fun. It didn’t have to be perfect, no matter what Henry’s instincts told him.
He rested Chris’ hand back on the magazine cover, then screwed the brush back into the top coat bottle. He flashed a crooked smile at his friend. “All done!”
His hands were still a little shaky from drying out. Not every decal was straight and some of the glittery white polish had smeared, but Chris’ was flashing him that same thousand-watt smile.
Nothing about Chris and him had ever been perfect. He knew that. He had always liked that in the other boy, the ease and understanding, where a simple look meant more than saying the words that went with them. Dr. Hawkins said that knowing the different between perfection and contentedness was something he needed to work on. He agreed. He was getting better at keeping people close instead of pushing them away.
“Don’t t-touch anything right?”
Henry nodded. “Right. Only for a few minutes though.” He absently reached for the television remote. “Tell me what you want to watch and I’ll drop popcorn in your mouth.”
Chris told him. Henry changed the channel and reached for the popcorn bowl. With a wry grin, he tossed a piece at Chris knowing it would bounce off of his cheek. An homage to a singular good memory from years ago. The other boy blinked in surprise, then dissolved into giggles right along side him.
“Okay, here.” Henry picked up a few more pieces and dropped them onto Chris’ tongue. “I had to, you know? It was too easy.”
“You do that ev-every, every time.”
“Yeah, well. It wouldn’t do to forget how we became friends, would it?”
What surrounded that memory wasn’t nice. But remembering Chris was. Remembering that he could take those small moments out of a larger memory and see the good bits for all that crushing bad. Henry was learning to find relief in that. Chris and him still knew each other, still liked each other, were still friends after meeting briefly, being separated and put through the wringer, all before the age of 20. They were still here, a little rough around the edges, but happier. A lot happier. Period, end of chapter.
“Henry?”
“More popcorn?”
“Yes.”
“Open up then.”
Henry pulled a small handful out of the bowl and leaned his shoulder into Chris’. They had done this before, on another couch at another time. Henry stuffed a handful into his mouth and settled into the cushions. He’d been eating more since he quit drinking, had been gaining weight steadily since. He winced at the thought — he’d lost more weight than he realized and June’s dismayed realization still bothered him.
He slouched down and tucked his head to Chris’ shoulder. “Is it okay if I do this?”
Chris tilted his head so his cheek was resting on Henry’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s, it’s nice.”
“Let me know if it stops being nice,” Henry sighed. He glanced at Chris’ hands, fingers spread out over the glossy magazine paper. “They should be dry enough now. If you want to move around.”
Chris hummed back, focused on the television screen in front of them. When they discovered they both watched the same cartoon television, they’d nearly cleared the living room talking about their favorite episodes and characters; a near nonsensical back and forth of quotes and references that left them in stitches on the couch.
It was easy. Too easy, Henry supposed. Chris hadn’t seen him at his worst, at his sloppiest. Henry didn’t have to redeem himself to Chris. He hadn’t taken the affection and warmth between them and twisted it up until it was unrecognizable. He hadn’t lied to him; hadn’t kept secrets and hid behind an impenetrable wall of sarcasm in front of him. Chris didn’t know these things, hadn’t witnessed Henry’s slide into something worse than rock bottom. He hadn’t ruined their friendship like he ruined his relationship. He hadn’t broken the other boy’s trust.
Yet, a voice in his brain piped up.
Henry blinked, catching himself before he got too maudlin. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye, stymying the sting of tears there. It was New Year’s weekend. He was with his best friend. They were watching their favorite show. He had no reason to get choked up and weepy.
Henry stuffed more popcorn in his mouth, then pushed the bowl closer to Chris. He motioned for the other boy to take more, mouth too full to talk as he intended.
“We, um. We talked about you in, in, in class,” Chris began in a soft voice.
Henry exhaled a laugh, more relief than humor. “My fifteen minutes of fame, I assume?”
“Y-your trial, last year.” Chris shifted. He grabbed a blanket and sunk down next to Henry, lowering his voice like they were telling secrets at the ski resort again. “It st-started a, a, an argument. I, I, I got sent out of c-class, this one g-girl she thought we, we, we were happy.”
“What class?” Henry asked, his words stuck in his throat.
“Political h-history.”
Henry let out a harsh laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth as soon as the sound was out. He glanced sheepishly over at Chris, a pink flush heating his cheeks to burning. He swallowed then spoke through his fingers. “Sorry, it’s just. It’s a little funny, in a shitty sort of way. I mean. If anyone’s talking about me at my school, no one’s told me about it and I hope they don’t.”
“I wish they h-hadn’t…” Chris mumbled something that sounded like golden retrievers then went quiet for a few long moments. “I know you and, and, and-… And I was, um, right there. I c-could have s-said I was too, but-.”
He let out another breath as his fingers found the inside of Henry’s wrist, tapping that exact pattern. The one Henry would know anywhere. The one that, once or twice, he found himself replicating under the table at his trial.
“Why are you telling me?” Henry asked, hoping his sounded curious more than worried.
“You w-wouldn’t ask me, um, why it was fucking awful to, to listen to,” Chris said. A little tight, a little sour. He raised his hands over his face, waving his fingers so the glitter polish would sparkle in the light. Henry nodded against Chris’ shoulder. He didn’t need to ask how awful. He already knew in his gut. “It was on th-the final exam.”
Henry leaned into the touch, into Chris’ side and the soft scent of his blue hair. “Did you get the question right?”
“I d-don’t know.”
“Are you, um…” Henry’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. He knew he brought it upon himself, but the idea of people talking about him when he wasn’t in the room made his skin crawl. The idea that people were, all over, calling him Nicholas Aldersky and talking about whether or not he deserved what he had earned sent a small shiver through him.
Tell him, a voice in his head said again. Tell him how much of a mess you are.
Henry squeezed his eyes shut. He focused on the pattern of Chris’ fingers on his skin to block it out, to put it in a box and push it away. Dr. Hawkins was telling him that the more he talked about it — even to himself, so long as it was out loud — the shame of it all would lessen. The sting would diminish and soon it would all smooth out into just another part of him, like a freckle or dimples.
Tell him. He already knows everything else. More than you know about him anymore, you know. You’ve been splashing your photo all over, so of course he’s seen.
The voice didn’t sound like Hawkins, but it was tempting. So very tempting. A little vestige of the self-destruction that had put him there to begin with.
“What?” Chris asked gently, somewhere above him.
“I, um…” Henry cleared his throat. He opened his eyes, quickly finding the green and yellow sticker of the T. Rex dressed up in lights on Chris’s pointer finger. “If you’re ever in a class where they bring me up again… if you want to tell them all the nasty bits, you can.”
“Nasty bits?”
“Yeah… nasty bits. Lots of nasty bits.” Henry swallowed hard. Dr. Hawkins voice still hadn’t come to him, and he silently willed it into existence. “I um… I’ll tell you. If you want. It’s a lot though, and I don’t want to… to ruin the weekend.”
Chris was quiet for a moment, fingers still dancing. Then, all of a sudden, his fingers stopped tapping and slide in between Henry’s to squeeze tightly. “It can’t be, um, worse than what happened to us, um, before.”
There was a certainty, a confidence in his voice that Henry felt himself latch on to. Gripping fast and tight, soaking up the strange kind of safety in that simple acknowledgement. He took a steadying breath, feeling the tightness in his throat loosen. Chris understood, Chris would always understand. It was an unfortunate core in them, but it helped now more than it hurt.
They had been through worse and had made it through more or less whole. Everything afterwards would always be easier by default.
What would Henry cook for Chris - or Karen Renford?
For Chris: Absolutely nothing that Henry remembers cooking whenever Alexander would have Oliver over for dinner. None of that. In fact, Henry would probably immediately default to things he and Chris could make together! I’m thinking homemade pizza with whatever they wanted on top.
If Laken came with Chris, Henry would probably kick it up a notch and make dumplings (Harry taught him once and he’s very proud that they stay closed when he folds them now!)
For Karen: Henry would default to exactly the same meal he made for Mariana’s celebration dinner, which Karen was invited to -- butter lettuce salad with radishes and vinagrette, rabbit and mushroom sugo over pappardelle, and five-spice and honey poached pears + a lot of good red wine.
(Yes, I have in fact thought a LOT about that dinner party that I still have not written.)
