[ It occurs to Alec that he doesn't care to let go as he's led to Henry's room, and neither does he let go as he moves to plop himself down on the bed, back against the headboard as before. He simply tugs Henry along with him.
(He does, however, kick off his shoes first. You're welcome Henry.) ]
[Tugged along, Henry happily joins Alec on his bed, settling close and folding his legs beneath him as he sits, opposite and facing the other man. (But not before nudging his shoes off, too; thanks for the courtesy, Alec.)
Notably, he still isn't releasing his hand, though he quirks his smile.]
Same as last time, then. [Same as always for Henry, but minus any murderous attempts.] When you're ready, close your eyes and focus on home. On your city.
[ If he sat back and thought about it — really thought about it — Alec would realize that after that first time, there has never been a moment where he wasn't letting Henry in. Since the very first instant this man somehow slipped past his defenses, he's always been there. A constant, eking through the cracks, settling in as if he was here from the start.
Alec lifts his free hand, rests his fingers along the line of Henry's jaw, and leans in for one more brief kiss before he settles back. His eyes slip closed and his mind slips back — it's easier now, knowing they're not going back to the darkest day of his life. Easier knowing just what it is that's settled between himself and Henry.
Alec's mind bears them back to the morning before he appeared at the prison. His apartment. It's fairly nice, though certainly far from luxury. A middle of the road sort of dwelling in an older building on the fringes of downtown proper. They end up in the living room, with its three large windows that look out at other apartment buildings and businesses and the busy street below. It's a chilly autumn morning, and rush hour is in full swing. A few rays of orangey October sunlight pokes through clouds and bounces off the windows of the neighboring buildings to paint the room in warmth. There's large couch and a TV mounted on the wall. The space opens up to a kitchen — a nice kitchen, though certainly Alec wouldn't have it any other way.
[He’s always had to crack open the door to a mind with some effort, and even after that, his ease of entry—like a shadow sliding through a small open space—has always been insidious at worst, and unsettling at best. But things with Alec are different. Trust (and care, still warmly strange to him) make such a difference. The door is wide open, and Henry only needs to step though.
(Not without a kiss first, though, if Alec has his way. And he does. It’s almost a distraction — but a most pleasant one, all the same.)
And just like that, he’s in. Warm fingers are still clasped around his own, and when Henry opens his eyes, that’s the first thing he sees — his gaze trails up Alec’s arm and onto the man’s face, before widening his interest to the rest of the apartment around him.
It’s the most modern living space he’s ever seen that wasn’t the white, sterile walls of a lab. The windows let in so much light, and the murmuring bustle of traffic and people eke in, acting as gentle white noise. There’s a— Television? On the wall? What a novel idea.]
[ Perhaps he's being greedy, seeking out a kiss from Henry over every little thing. He's yet to hear the other man argue, though, so he's going to keep doing it.
ALec's apartment is such a stark contrast to the lab, made of warm brick and wood floors. The furniture is simple shades of browns and grays. Nothing too remarkable. Nothing Alec couldn't afford to lose if it came down to it, but it's his all the same. ]
That's right. I figured it'd be the easiest place to start.
[ It smells like coffee. There's a pot brewing in the kitchen. ]
Creel house was all rosewood furniture, dark rugs, and a fireplace that tossed out hues of warm light. But to Henry, it never felt like a real home, his biases and discontent twisting everything up to feel artificial. This, however, is Alec’s home, and by default that makes it somehow warmer, more welcoming, even if the furniture is simple and the walls are plain.
And yes, he scents coffee brewing. Morning, then? Judging by the light though the windows, maybe.]
It’s nice.
[It really is, to him. The bar is both very low and the current environment very heightened by present company.]
[ In fairness, it's not as if Alec's home isn't nice. There's a reason he's still in this city after all these years. He likes it here, and to someone like him, his own space is important. It's where he thrives. ]
Mid-October. In about... oh, four or five hours, I black out and wake up in a prison cell wearing pink stripes.
[The lack of a physical connection feels like a dearth, which is hilarious considering that Henry is literally inside of Alec’s head. But he lets his hand drop to the side, too, a small smile teasing at his lips, and once more casts about the apartment.
So. Where to start?
...Speaking of coffee, actually. Probably the most obvious place, and where he suspects Alec spends plenty of time, would be the kitchen. He can see it from here, but time to get a closer look, crossing in that direction.]
[ It's an open kitchen, island and all. It is also not bright pink. It does look a bit newer than everything else; either Alec has had it redone recently or the updated kitchen was a selling point. Hard to tell. ]
It's better just by virtue of having all my shit in it.
[An open kitchen. Also a novel idea for a man raised in the 50s… Were it not for the fact that Unicorn’s kitchen was set-up similarly. Minus the bright pink.]
I don’t know. It’s not nearly as colorful.
[That’s not a serious remark. Henry has no real opinion on their dorm’s bright pink kitchen or the unicorn wallpaper, but it’s definitely not an Alec thing.
Anyway, are you going to let him be nosy? HE LOVES BEING NOSY. What if he opens the fridge to peek in—]
But I at least assume there’s more than just eggs in here.
[ Please he wouldn't know what to do with a bright pink kitchen.
And Henry is free to open the fridge. It's well-stocked with a good variety of pre-cooked dishes and various ingredients, but Alec is just one man so it lacks the sheer quantity of food that the Unicorn fridge normally holds. ]
[ Flat, dry. And undone by the way he watches Henry, takes in the sight of him in his space — in his home — rifling through the fridge. It throws into perspective just what they're trying to achieve by leaving the prison together. The corner of his mouth quirks upward without him seeming to realize it. ]
You probably shouldn't critique the guy who'll be making your meals.
[It's keenly domestic, isn't it? Henry does not apply that word to the situation, though the sentiment still nestles in his chest, thinking about his future day-to-day life in this apartment. What would it be like, to really live with someone? To share a space, to settle into a routine?
(Routine is yet one more word he has always avoided, but it does not sound so terrible, now. Not with him.)
He straightens, closing the fridge door.]
I’d apologize for the extra effort, but you know you’ll enjoy it.
[ Alec makes a face, wrinkling his nose at Henry as if to say, yes, he will like it. But that doesn't mean he has to like that he likes it. (He will.)
In any case, there's more of the apartment to see. A door just off the living room, and yet another around the corner from the kitchen, before the short hall that presumably leads out of the apartment altogether. ]
But is just as soon eager to continue being nosy. He doesn't even ask which door leads to where, Henry just decides to head toward the one around the corner from the kitchen.
[Why is this shut-- (It's because it's his apartment, he can shut what doors he likes, Henry.) But Mr. Vecna is ever obsessed with secrets, and though a shut door is not a secret, it obscures something, and is therefore compelling.
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You mean by letting me wander through your head again?
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[Okay, this level of trust is the real romance. He leans forward a little, tilting his head in consideration.]
If you're willing, I'd like to see it. Though we might want to move to your room or mine.
[You know, so they aren't interrupted mid trance-like state.]
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[ Cheeky.
A second later, he swings his legs off Henry's lap and the couch, hauling himself upright anyway. He offers Henry a hand. ]
You choose the venue. I don't care.
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[But he reaches out and takes Alec by the hand, hefting himself up in the next moment. Henry doesn’t let go as he leads them both away.]
My room this time.
[To his room they go! And like always, he takes care of the door.
Once they’re in, he gestures outward with a free hand.]
The process is the same as always. Make yourself comfortable.
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(He does, however, kick off his shoes first. You're welcome Henry.) ]
"The same as always." I've only done this once.
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Notably, he still isn't releasing his hand, though he quirks his smile.]
Same as last time, then. [Same as always for Henry, but minus any murderous attempts.] When you're ready, close your eyes and focus on home. On your city.
And then relax and let me in.
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Alec lifts his free hand, rests his fingers along the line of Henry's jaw, and leans in for one more brief kiss before he settles back. His eyes slip closed and his mind slips back — it's easier now, knowing they're not going back to the darkest day of his life. Easier knowing just what it is that's settled between himself and Henry.
Alec's mind bears them back to the morning before he appeared at the prison. His apartment. It's fairly nice, though certainly far from luxury. A middle of the road sort of dwelling in an older building on the fringes of downtown proper. They end up in the living room, with its three large windows that look out at other apartment buildings and businesses and the busy street below. It's a chilly autumn morning, and rush hour is in full swing. A few rays of orangey October sunlight pokes through clouds and bounces off the windows of the neighboring buildings to paint the room in warmth. There's large couch and a TV mounted on the wall. The space opens up to a kitchen — a nice kitchen, though certainly Alec wouldn't have it any other way.
They are, notably, still holding hands. ]
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(Not without a kiss first, though, if Alec has his way. And he does. It’s almost a distraction — but a most pleasant one, all the same.)
And just like that, he’s in. Warm fingers are still clasped around his own, and when Henry opens his eyes, that’s the first thing he sees — his gaze trails up Alec’s arm and onto the man’s face, before widening his interest to the rest of the apartment around him.
It’s the most modern living space he’s ever seen that wasn’t the white, sterile walls of a lab. The windows let in so much light, and the murmuring bustle of traffic and people eke in, acting as gentle white noise. There’s a— Television? On the wall? What a novel idea.]
So this is yours?
[This apartment. A safe assumption.]
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ALec's apartment is such a stark contrast to the lab, made of warm brick and wood floors. The furniture is simple shades of browns and grays. Nothing too remarkable. Nothing Alec couldn't afford to lose if it came down to it, but it's his all the same. ]
That's right. I figured it'd be the easiest place to start.
[ It smells like coffee. There's a pot brewing in the kitchen. ]
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Creel house was all rosewood furniture, dark rugs, and a fireplace that tossed out hues of warm light. But to Henry, it never felt like a real home, his biases and discontent twisting everything up to feel artificial. This, however, is Alec’s home, and by default that makes it somehow warmer, more welcoming, even if the furniture is simple and the walls are plain.
And yes, he scents coffee brewing. Morning, then? Judging by the light though the windows, maybe.]
It’s nice.
[It really is, to him. The bar is both very low and the current environment very heightened by present company.]
Did you choose a specific day in particular?
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Mid-October. In about... oh, four or five hours, I black out and wake up in a prison cell wearing pink stripes.
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His brows raise.]
Really?
[For some reason, that lends this scene a bit of poignancy that wasn't present before.]
Your poor coffee's gone stale by now.
[helpful]
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At least I took it off the heat beforehand.
[ At long last, though not without some hint of reluctance, ALec lets go of Henry's hand. ]
Feel free to take a look around.
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So. Where to start?
...Speaking of coffee, actually. Probably the most obvious place, and where he suspects Alec spends plenty of time, would be the kitchen. He can see it from here, but time to get a closer look, crossing in that direction.]
So how does your kitchen compare to Unicorn’s?
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It's better just by virtue of having all my shit in it.
[ His SPICES and COOKBOOKS. He misses them. ]
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I don’t know. It’s not nearly as colorful.
[That’s not a serious remark. Henry has no real opinion on their dorm’s bright pink kitchen or the unicorn wallpaper, but it’s definitely not an Alec thing.
Anyway, are you going to let him be nosy? HE LOVES BEING NOSY. What if he opens the fridge to peek in—]
But I at least assume there’s more than just eggs in here.
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[ Please he wouldn't know what to do with a bright pink kitchen.
And Henry is free to open the fridge. It's well-stocked with a good variety of pre-cooked dishes and various ingredients, but Alec is just one man so it lacks the sheer quantity of food that the Unicorn fridge normally holds. ]
Do you think I live off eggs alone or what?
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Oh, no. Eggs and waffles, of course.
[Giving him shit.]
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[ Flat, dry. And undone by the way he watches Henry, takes in the sight of him in his space — in his home — rifling through the fridge. It throws into perspective just what they're trying to achieve by leaving the prison together. The corner of his mouth quirks upward without him seeming to realize it. ]
You probably shouldn't critique the guy who'll be making your meals.
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(Routine is yet one more word he has always avoided, but it does not sound so terrible, now. Not with him.)
He straightens, closing the fridge door.]
I’d apologize for the extra effort, but you know you’ll enjoy it.
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In any case, there's more of the apartment to see. A door just off the living room, and yet another around the corner from the kitchen, before the short hall that presumably leads out of the apartment altogether. ]
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But is just as soon eager to continue being nosy. He doesn't even ask which door leads to where, Henry just decides to head toward the one around the corner from the kitchen.
WHAT'S OVER HERE]
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You going in there?
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[Why is this shut-- (It's because it's his apartment, he can shut what doors he likes, Henry.) But Mr. Vecna is ever obsessed with secrets, and though a shut door is not a secret, it obscures something, and is therefore compelling.
He tries the doorknob.]
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