Alex doesn’t know why Henry never responds to his selfies from bed. His selfies from bed are hilarious, he thinks, lying back against his pillows as the lamp casts a soft amber glow across his sheets.
He flips the camera, angling it just right. 1/7
He flips the camera, angling it just right. 1/7
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His chest hair curls dark against his skin, a teasing trail disappearing under the covers. 2/7
He smirks lazily, a cocky, half-lidded expression—head tilted back just enough to seem like an invitation. 3/7
“finished my run. what r u up to?”
And sends it without overthinking.
Henry sees it almost instantly but doesn’t open it right away. 4/7
Henry’s heart does a low, traitorous thud in his chest. He’s sitting at his piano, fingers sliding on the keys, tea gone cold on the table beside him. 5/7
Henry finally opens the message. Studies it like it’s a test he knows he's going to fail. 6/7