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It starts when Alex shoves Prince Henry—well, nudges gently, really, and who’s to say it wasn’t the other way around?—into an intricate ice sculpture display at the prime minister’s New Years Eve Gala, or maybe it starts when Henry swears under his breath at him and shoves Alex’s face into the destroyed crumbles as he helps himself up.
However it officially starts, Alex knows he will never forget the humbling feeling of his face mashed into the remnants of what was once an angel cherub’s frozen ass cheek, splashed across the cover of the Daily Mail.
Or maybe it starts on Valentine’s Day.
Henry’s rude, he’s entitled, he’s snobby—and also one time he took the last croissant at a German environmental summit. Alex can’t prove he did it on purpose as retribution for the ice sculpture thing, but he’s hate-read a few of Henry’s interviews, a couple of which specifically mention his penchants for danishes. No mentions of croissants.
So when Alex finds himself in the nearly-empty Carlton in between two days at a conference in L.A. and sees Henry nursing a drink in the corner, he’s not expecting his legs to carry him across the room until he’s sitting across the table.
Henry glances up, and they lock eyes. He looks surprised for a brief second, but his face settles into neutral indifference almost immediately. God, his face and his cheekbones are so annoying.
“So why is Your Royal Highness slumming with the masses?” Alex asks. “The Penthouse not living up to your standards?”
“Alex,” he sighs. “I haven’t got the energy to endure your tirades. Just this once, can you leave me and my drink to pass the evening in peace?”
“Oh, rough day, was it? Such a strenuous day sitting in the corner, being condescending and silent while the rest of us actually, like, discuss reusable energy and carbon offsetting?”
“Alex,” he repeats. “Please.”
Alex opens his mouth to continue the string of insults he’s had queued up since Belgium, but something in Henry’s tone gives him pause. He doesn’t look indifferent; he looks…tired. Against his better judgment, he doesn’t proceed with the insults. Instead, he finds himself saying, “You look like someone kicked your dog.” And then, reconsidering the insult thing: “I assume even you take issue with animal cruelty.”
Henry looks upward, like maybe he’s looking for direction from a cruel deity unsympathetic to his plight, like he’s not a spoiled prince with a team of people at his very beck and call.
“I beg of you, please,” Henry tries.
And there’s something there, Alex notices. A thin thread of defeat, not the slight snark or obnoxious indifference Alex is used to. He sits back in his chair slightly and eyes Henry carefully. “You okay, man?”
Henry just stares at him, eventually opening his mouth to say something but ultimately deciding against it.
Alex waits for as long as he can—about four seconds—before pushing further. “You can tell me. You should tell me.”
Henry takes a sip of his drink and eventually settles on, “My brother announced his engagement this week.”
Alex frowns. Not exactly what he expected. “Oh. Right. I think maybe June sent me an article on that.”
(She didn’t—Alex made her watch the televised announcement on YouTube so he could hate-watch Henry’s pinched smile in the background of the photo ops.)
“Yes. Well,” Henry says. “Some days I’m reminded that that’s not something I can hope for.” He gestures around the hotel bar to the subtle red decorations, and Alex remembers it’s Valentine’s Day.
He arches an eyebrow. “You’re in your twenties, man. I think it’s a bit premature to get maudlin about being an old maid.”
Henry looks away. “I think it’s safe to say a marriage is not in my future. At least not one that matters.”
“And you know that now?”
“I do.”
“You do not.”
“I assure you I do.”
“Henry, I saw photos of you with at least four different girls last summer. On four different yachts.”
Henry shifts, and the defeat Alex heard in his voice earlier is suddenly evident in his posture. “Yes, well, when you see me on a yacht with a bloke, then maybe we can revisit my resignation.”
Alex’s mouth is already open to fire back, but that pulls him up short. “You. Oh.”
Henry looks at him warily. “I trust you can keep this between us? As you can imagine, my ‘selfish desires’ are not something the Crown cares to make public.”
Alex blanches inwardly at the words, and he briefly wonders who in Henry’s life has used them. “Oh,” he says again. “Yeah. Yeah, no problem. Of course. Consider it forgotten.”
Henry seems to relax then and offers Alex a small smile. He offers his glass up as a toast and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Alex.”
When Alex tries to fall asleep in his giant hotel bed an hour later, he tries to keep his promise to consider it forgotten.
But it is not forgotten. Alex has never forgotten anything less in his life.
Instead he thinks about it. A lot. Most of these thoughts involve reexamining truths he took for granted, but some of the thoughts are less…academic. Some of the thoughts involve Henry’s dumb cheekbones and his annoying shoulder-to-waist ratio.
When they see each other about a month later, the thing Alex has promised to forget is at the absolute forefront of his mind. It’s another American hotel—Chicago instead of L.A.—and Alex is immediately distracted when Henry walks into the event room. Even Chicago’s unforgiving winters take kindly to Henry because the wind has made his cheeks pink and stylishly dishevelled his perfectly posh hair.
Even the fucking seasons bow to him, Alex thinks, eyes narrowed. Henry looks over then, and happens to catch Alex’s eye across the room, over the sea of people there to discuss human-caused climate change. He offers Alex a small smile, and Alex’s indignation over the unfair favoritism of basic weather patterns fades immediately. He smiles back.
Alex spends the next several hours alternating between jotting down notes from the guest lecturers for June and thinking about cornering Henry after it’s all over. The decision between calling June and cornering Henry is embarrassingly quick.
“Hey,” he says breathlessly, having sprinted across the room.
“Alex,” Henry replies, startled. “Hello.”
Alex stares at him. He was so focused on catching Henry before he left that he forgot to figure out what the fuck he should say. You told me to forget about how you might be into guys and it’s basically all I can think about; also what cologne do you wear and what does your hair feel like, but like, not in a creepy way.
“Did you…need something?” Henry finally asks.
Instead of something useful coming out of his mouth, what Alex decides to say is, “Happy St. Paddy's Day.”
“Oh,” Henry says. “I—yes. Same to you?”
Alex isn’t quite sure what his agenda is here, only that he doesn’t want to leave without talking to Henry. “The hotel bar has a Shamrock-arita, if you want to stick around for a bit. You know, celebrate the holiday in style.”
“I’m not sure that association is exactly how the people of Ireland would prefer the day be celebrated. It’s actually a celebration of rich culture.”
“Yeah, I’m not taking advice on how to treat the Irish from anyone who lives in your house.”
Henry sighs. “I’m simply saying that the secular—”
“Henry.”
“What?”
Alex takes a brief look around to see the conference room clearing out, no one paying the two of them much attention apart from their respective security detail. “Get a shitty hotel margarita with me.”
Henry watches Alex for a few moments. “Yes, okay.”
Henry doesn’t get a Shamrock-arita because he’s lame, but he does get an Irish coffee, so Alex takes it as a win. The conversation is mild because Alex isn’t going to blurt out so you’re hot and I think I’m realizing things about myself in the middle of a hotel bar lobby, but when their knees accidentally graze under the bartop, Alex sort of snaps.
“Hey, can I show you something? In my room?”
Henry pauses in the middle of explaining the synthetic components of green food dye. He looks baffled but against logic, follows Alex down the lobby, up the elevator, and across the hall of his floor.
“Look, I know you told me to forget about, you know. You. And a non-existent dude on a yacht.”
Henry gives him a look that’s a weird combination of confusion and panic. “Alex—”
“And it made me think. About you. And me, mostly?” Alex cuts off, not sure the right words. “I’m saying this wrong, but I can’t stop thinking about it, and—”
Henry's mouth is on his so quickly that he doesn't even have time to register Henry closing the distance. Except—
Alex is vaguely aware of his hand on Henry's sternum, registers Henry's back pressed against the hotel door, feels his palm curled tightly around Henry's head.
He's about to pull away but suddenly Henry's kissing back, and oh my god it's nothing like Alex has ever felt before. One of Henry’s hands is in Alex’s hair while the other cups his face, and it’s overwhelming. He gets so lost in it that he forgets he’s standing in the hallway of a public hotel making out with a member of the royal family. A male one.
When his brain clears and he realizes what exactly he’s doing, he pulls back to find Henry staring back at him with a panicked expression. “I—I didn't know—you—”
“Yeah me fucking either,” he admits. His voice sounds soft and his chest is doing something weird, and it takes him a minute to realize it's just his heart beating double-time. “Do you want to, like, come in?”
Henry still looks a little panicky, so Alex is surprised to hear, “Okay. Er—yes. I could do that.”
He fumbles with the room card, and even though Henry has put a significant amount of space in between them, he’s still unfairly distracting.
Once they’re inside and the door clicks behind them, Alex launches himself at Henry. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Regardless, it’s a tangle of suit jackets, ties, and limbs. Henry nudges Alex towards the bed, and when he drapes himself over Alex, it’s way hotter than it has any right to be.
Henry goes down on him, cautiously at first until Alex’s obvious enthusiasm is impossible to ignore. Alex tries to return the favor with enough enthusiasm to make up for lack of experience. After, Alex stares at the ceiling and tries to remember what words are and how to use them.
“You're panicking,” Henry notes. “Are you panicking?”
“No,” he says. “I've just never. You know. Done that before.”
“Yes, I assumed.”
Alex arches an eyebrow. “Are you implying it wasn't good? Because those noises you were making sure as hell sounded like you were into it.”
He rolls his eyes and suddenly there's the same smile from before. “The kiss by the door seemed to take you by surprise, that's all. I assumed that if you've never kissed a man before, you certainly didn't do any—any of that.” He gestures vaguely to the rumpled sheets and their mostly-naked bodies.
“Yeah, well, no complaints,” Alex assures him. “Definitely no complaints. And I'd be, uh, okay with that, like, happening again.” There's a weird hesitance to his voice that he hates. It's Henry. Why does he care what Henry thinks? (Or why has he always cared what Henry thinks, his brain supplies unhelpfully.)
“What’s that? You accosting me in a hotel on a national holiday?”
It’s Alex’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not what happened.” He pauses. “It’s not a bad idea though.”
Henry cocks his head. “What’s not a bad idea?” He sits up and begins to grab his clothes from the pile at the foot of the bed.
“I mean, I got an epic blowjob, and you got an NDA-free hookup. Which, you're welcome, by the way.”
Henry chokes out a laugh as he continues to get dressed, and Alex realizes he's never heard that sound before. He's suddenly kind of obsessed with the idea of hearing it again.
“So yeah, I’m okay with it happening again. I’m selflessly proposing to be a holiday hookup. No strings attached, no NDA, no obligations.”
Henry doesn’t say anything, just gives Alex a bemused smile. Instead, he heads towards the door and shrugs his jacket back on.
Alex watches him. “Right. Well. See you, I guess.”
“See you,” Henry replies. He hesitates before leaning back down over the bed to give Alex one last kiss. He’s taken aback for a moment because he thought this whole thing was over the second Henry put his clothes back on, but he leans into it anyway.
“See you,” he repeats. “Thanks for everything?” He's not sure why it comes out as a question.
“Oh the pleasure was all mine,” Henry replies with a voice that makes a spark of something shoot down Alex's spine.
And then he's gone. And that's that.
Henry sends his first text about two weeks later:
Happy Mother’s Day.
two months early
buy a calendar
you won’t push your colonizer agenda on me
Wouldn’t dream of it.
If Alex didn’t know better, he would have thought Henry just wanted an excuse to text him. (Alex has firsthand experience with this, having just barely restrained himself from wishing Henry a Happy Earth Day or, tragically, a Happy Melba Toast Day.)
But, Alex realizes, restraint is overrated.
April 4
happy cordon bleu day, henry
And to you.
April 6
national pajama day
bust out your striped jammies, i know you have them
…
your silence speaks volumes
April 8
national draw a bird day
Image67.jpeg
That’s a bird?
Why does it have a human face? Where are the legs?
April 9
international be kind to lawyers day
national cherish an antique day
gin and tonic day
UNICORN DAY
I regret everything.
April 11
barbershop quartet day
national cheese fondue day
clean up your pantry day
national submarine day
Unsubscribe.
Alex finds out June invited Henry to the annual White House Easter Egg Roll mere hours before Henry actually arrives. She tells him carefully as if she’s wary about his reaction, and she clearly doesn’t expect his smile and the sprint back to his room to get ready.
As soon as Henry makes his appearance, Alex is restless. He probably shouldn’t corner Henry immediately, even though that’s exactly what he wants to do. Instead, he waits a cool fifteen minutes before sidling up to him in front of a table with mini eclair sandwiches.
Henry chokes out a startled noise and takes an awkward step back. “Alex.” He looks around furtively.
“Calm down,” Alex tells him, rolling his eyes and gesturing between them. “The three feet of space here doesn't exactly scream I had the president's son's dick in my mouth a month ago.”
Henry lets out a laugh, and yeah, Alex is as addicted to the sound as he thought he'd be.
“Have you ever been to the White House before?” he asks, taking a few steps forward and lowering his voice.
“Alex, I was here not six months ago. You threatened to shove me into a cake.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Nice memory.”
Henry looks away. “Yes, well,” he says, clearing his throat. “There was no cake. One of your less inspired threats.”
“Whatever, fine. Are you sure you've been here before? Because if not, it would be totally normal for me to show you around. The East Wing specifically.”
“Oh. Right. Lead the way then.”
Fifteen minutes later, he’s got Henry on his bed under him, half naked and breathless, with a telltale flush that Alex is sort of fixated on. It’s kind of like the last time, but it’s more. This time Alex has a bit more experience (thank you, internet), and he vividly remembers how to get Henry to make truly impressive noises.
Alex lasts a bit longer this time, even though Henry pulls out all the stops, and he can’t keep the smile off his face when Henry laughs as he comes. Alex has always enjoyed sex, but he can’t remember the last time it was this good. They don’t spend too long lingering in bed once they’ve finished—that’s not what this is—because his mom will murder him if he doesn’t show up to one of the White House’s biggest PR events of the year.
“So I accept your proposal,” Henry says once he’s made himself presentable to rejoin the guests. “Holiday hookups.”
“Yeah?”
He pauses by Alex’s bedroom door and shrugs. “Why not? Just a bit of fun.”
Alex winks. “That’s the spirit. I mean, I’m no ‘bloke on a yacht’ to get engaged to, but I’m a good time.”
“That’s good,” Henry says, cutting him off with a quick kiss. “That’s the one I’m allowed to have.”
American Mother’s Day charity polo match next week in Connecticut. Shall I put you on the list? Lunch included.
Alex grins and immediately texts back.
filet and escargot or no deal
Not on the menu. I'm sure you'll appreciate what I've got prepared.
idk, you're a shit cook
The President is, of course, welcome to attend .
my mom is in a cabin somewhere with leo
and in no universe do I want her in the same zip code while I do filthy things to you
Alex does like what Henry’s got prepared, which is a locked tack room. They’re on borrowed time again—lunch is being served in less than twenty minutes and it’ll look oddly suspicious if the Prince of Wales suddenly disappears—so Alex makes short work of it. Henry’s barely locked the door before Alex is in front of him, dropping to his knees, and it’s somehow hotter than it’s ever been. Alex chalks it up to his exhibitionist streak and the idea that he’s blowing the Prince of England while the general public mills around, having no idea what’s happening in a locked closet. The thing his stomach does when Henry stares down at him and says, “So good,” has nothing to do with it.
Once their clothes are properly sorted, they’re seated at an outdoor table, and Alex can feel the smile on his face. The conversation is easy, and Alex effortlessly ignores all of the eyes on them, people starstruck at the President’s son and England’s prince laughing together.
“Is your mom here?” Alex asks. This thing they’re doing where they take each other’s clothes off on the holidays isn’t exactly meet-the-parents worthy, but still. He’s interested.
Henry’s smile falls slightly, replaced by one he immediately recognizes as a phony press smile. “I’m afraid not,” he answers.
There’s something there, but Alex doesn’t want to pry, so he just nods. Henry goes back to explaining the Roman and Germanic roots of May Day, and Alex goes back to making sexual euphemisms about erecting maypoles.
A dozen photographers ask to take pictures, and Alex maybe leans too close to Henry when they pose for them, but Henry doesn’t seem to mind. He leans in instead of putting a socially-appropriate amount of distance between them, and Alex can’t find it in him to do it himself.
When the end of May rolls around, Alex is swamped with schoolwork, and Henry is on some kind of retreat with Pez and potential investors for a non-profit organization he’s founded. (Alex has possibly fallen into more than one Wikipedia blackhole about Henry’s charitable involvements.) He FaceTimes him without even thinking about it. Sure they’ve never actually called each other before, but hey, it’s a holiday, an American one at least.
Henry’s face lights up the screen, looking confused but pleased, and Alex’s heart does something weird that he blames on the pot of coffee in his bloodstream.
“Hey,” Alex says. “Happy Memorial Day.”
Henry’s confusion is replaced by something else but it’s too quick for Alex to recognize. “Ah. Of course,” he says in response.
Alex refuses to look too closely at it, but his heart doesn’t stop acting weird for the entire conversation. (The call lasts almost two hours, though, so he vaguely wonders if there’s an underlying health concern he should know about.)
Alex talks about June and Nora, and Henry finally opens up about his family. He hears about Henry’s final days with his father, about the stilted relationships he has with his emotionally-distant mother and emotionally-stunted brother, and about the sister he idolizes as a lifeline. He hears about the larger-than-life Pez, and by the end of the conversation, Alex wants nothing more than to reach through the phone and do…something. Hug him, kiss him, get naked, a combination maybe. Whatever it is he wants to do, it’s loaded with something more than just a holiday hookup.
“Well,” Alex says awkwardly after a long pause and another yawn Henry tries to hide. “See you.”
“Good night, Alex,” Henry tells him. They stare at each other, and something hot stirs under Alex’s skin.
After the call ends, he finds himself mentally scrolling through upcoming holidays, wondering for the first time what it would be like to just see each other outside of a holiday hookup. Just the two of them, any old day of the week.
I’ll be in Boston next Saturday for a speaking engagement if you’re free. Unless you have other Flag Day celebration plans.
Alex is definitely not free.
He buys a plane ticket anyway.
weirdly, i do not
Sunday is Father’s Day, in case that makes it acceptable to spend the night.
Alex has no idea what that’s supposed to mean, unless it’s Henry asking for some emotional support. It feels like it’s been ages since he’s been in the same timezone as Henry, even though he knows objectively it’s only been a month, and waking up next to him is the only thought on Alex’s radar.
pack the jammies
you promised i could see them
At no point have I ever made that promise.
SO YOU ADMIT YOU HAVE THEM THEN
Alex makes a flimsy excuse for disappearing for a weekend, but no one seems to much care. Apparently he’s not the center of their universe, who knew. (Although June sends him a link Saturday night to a TMZ tweet, a photo of him and Henry walking out of a wine bar, and texts “Oh is this what ‘holing up at the library’ looks like now?)
They eat and drink and have sex and make out and talk and wake up next to each other—which is new. It’s the best Alex has slept in months, truth be told, and he never realized how much he’d love being a little spoon until he wakes up to Henry’s body curled around his own.
The weekend passes in blur, and it’s Sunday afternoon before he even realizes it. Packing his suitcase and leaving Henry feels like an actual physical feat.
what are you doing july 4th
for some reason I’m relevant enough for an invite to the Wes Anderson premiere
You’ve truly made it.
i know, right
wanna be my plus one?
it’s called “the petulant tram” though so
be warned
Intriguing but frightening
title of your sex tape
I feel that’s more of an insult to you than to me.
Regardless, I’m in.
Posing with Henry on a Hollywood rep carpet is more intoxicating than it should be. Henry seems to be more aware of healthy boundaries than he was at the Mother’s Day polo match, which is slightly annoying. There aren’t that many holidays, so it feels like a hassle to pretend to be bros when they could be doing a lot more.
Although, the thing is. They’re not doing a lot more. They’re not doing anything. The premiere consists of sitting in a theater with Henry before they go their separate ways. No hookup tonight, but Henry still came. Alex still invited him.
The movie is…complex. Alex isn’t sure he totally understands the themes, even though he can appreciate the motifs, but he’s living for Henry’s accidental commentary.
“So the tram represents Sisyphus, then?” Henry whispers to himself. “Resilience through adversity, surely.”
Alex bites his lip and doesn’t say anything.
“Is this a visual representation of its generational trauma?” he says to himself later. “I’m confused.”
“I don’t know, man,” Alex whispers. “I think the tram is just a tram. Wes is just really into stop-motion.”
Henry’s on a flight mere hours after the premiere ends for a ribbon cutting the next day. Alex keeps his distance—even though there’s no one around—as Henry climbs into his private car. “Come to Texas for Labor Day,” Alex tells him in a rush, even though he hasn’t even asked his dad about staying at the lakehouse.
Henry blinks then gives Alex a lopsided smile. He agrees to come, and Alex texts his dad as soon as he’s in the taxi to the airport. He’s desperately relieved when his dad says he can show up with a friend, and even more relieved when his dad says he’ll be in California that weekend and won’t be able to make it.
Despite having said goodbye only ten minutes ago, Alex texts Henry. His finger hovers over the send button for almost a minute straight before deciding to send it.
see you in a couple months ♥️
It takes Henry several minutes to reply, and Alex regrets all of his life’s choices until he finally gets a response.
See you then. ♥️
He tries not to think about how a single emoji has made his heart wildly erratic again.
On Labor Day, Henry steps off his private jet in Texas looking like a Greek fucking god. Alex’s mouth is dry, and he redlines it to the lakehouse. They’ve talked plenty since the movie premiere, but Alex is ready to have his hands on Henry again.
He takes Henry to some of his favorite places, and they get tipsy on cheap wine at a small dive bar, both wearing hats in hopes they don’t get recognized. Alex couldn’t give a fuck if someone recognizes them and photos end up plastered online; he just doesn’t want to share Henry with anyone tonight.
Being at his favorite place with one of his favorite people in the world—well, It takes Alex all of four minutes to realize he might be in a bit over his head.
He knows this was supposed to be Henry’s chance at a casual, NDA-free hookup, and Alex really wanted to be that for him. But now he’s not sure he can remember how. He’s not sure he wants to.
“Henry, I—” he starts as Henry moves to re-board his private plane at the end of the weekend.
Henry waits. When Alex doesn’t say anything, he leans down to give him one last kiss, even though they both know it’s probably a little risky.
Although, really, what would it matter anymore if the world knew?
merry guy fawkes day
is that a thing people say?
It is not.
it’s morbid af btw
none of our holidays involve burning effigies
Right, just crucifixes.
hey
miss you ♥️
Miss you too.
Alex loves his family but twenty minutes after Thanksgiving dinner is served, he’s already impatient to call Henry. They haven’t spoken much over the past few weeks, much less been in the same room, and he knows Henry will be the best way to untangle the level of stress he always feels after Thanksgiving dinner. It’s the worst holiday.
When the call connects Henry gives a strained smile and won't really meet his eyes. Alex has come to increasingly hate the distance Henry has started to put in between them. He can read Henry by now—probably more than he wants him to—but when he turns away like this, Alex can't see what he's thinking.
“How was Thanksgiving dinner?” Henry asks.
Alex shrugs. “I mean, fine. Everyone’s yelling at each other by now, I’m sure.”
Henry nods.
“So I was thinking—” Alex starts, heart in his throat.
“We should probably talk—” Henry begins.
Alex blinks because those words, well. Nothing good has ever come from them.
At his silence, Henry continues. “These past months have been lovely, they truly have. But I think it's—we've run our course.”
Alex stares. For once in his life, he feels absolutely speechless. His heart isn't in his throat; it's settled in his stomach, and there's a humiliating sting in his eyes.
“We knew from the beginning this couldn't go anywhere, and we've reached a crossroads, haven't we?”
Before Alex can speak, or even just think of words in general, he flashes back to that Valentine’s Day at the Carlton, the day Alex’s life started to shift. “I think it’s safe to say a marriage is not in my future. At least not one that matters,” Henry had said to him.
“I mean, it could go somewhere,” Alex tells him when his brain finally catches up.
Henry shakes his head. “It can’t. And you know—you’ve known—it can’t.”
“I—”
“Let’s not make this into more than it was, Alex.”
Alex flinches, and it hits him at full force. Henry doesn’t love him back.
There’s really not much to say in the face of that, so he simply says, “Okay. Yeah, okay,” with his heart in his throat.
Henry looks at the camera and finally meets his eyes. “Goodbye, Alex.”
“Bye, Henry.”
It’s the worst holiday.
December is miserable. Henry doesn’t text him, not even once.
June tries her best to pull him out of his funk, but when she sends him a link on Christmas Eve, he almost doesn't click. He's not really interested in more fanfiction about himself; the Paul Ryan one was deeply unsettling, and the Henry ones are too depressing. It's not fanfiction, though; it's a Twitter thread, a poll: who fell first and who fell harder? He frowns when he sees Henry leading both.
He scrolls down to see a well-mannered debate:
!!! Henry's heart eyes are visible from space!!!
Alex first, Henry harder, no doubt in my mind, poll is rigged
no way, have you seen alex's face in that people article?
lol Alex has been so obviously in love with Henry for like 5 years now, check out Rio
ALEX for both, he's practically holding Henry's hand in the video that girl took at the polo match
yesssss, you can tell Henry's got some tortured unrequited thing and Alex is like…. totally unaware???
He scrolls and sees gifs of his own face, memes of Henry’s, and more debate on their relationship than he even knew existed. He stops when he sees an image of Henry staring at him—the dive bar in Austin, Alex recognizes. Henry looks…
Well, Henry looks like he’s in love.
Alex grabs a credit card and ignores the genuinely disturbing amount an international, last-minute Christmas Eve flight costs. Most magical fucking time of the year indeed.
Is it Christmas morning when Alex shows up to the Prince of Wales’ palace to interrupt his time with family? Yes. Is Alex fine with the choices he made? Also yes.
It’s roughly a hundred and fifty degrees below zero when he shows up to Kensington to stand outside in the cold, and Shaan shows mercy on him by allowing him into the apartments to wait while Henry takes his sweet fucking time to meet him at the door.
When he does, he’s in a pair of goddamned striped pajamas, and Alex's anger immediately floods out of him.
“Are you in love with me?” Alex asks with no preamble.
“What?” Henry says.
“Are you. In love. With me. Simple question.”
“What on earth are you on about?” Henry asks. Alex notices he won’t meet his eyes.
“I'm in love with you,” he says bluntly. “And I'm trying to find out if you love me back.”
“Christ, Alex, where is this coming from?”
“The internet thinks you're in love with me. I just read half of Twitter explain why, and I want you to tell me.”
“Oh right, because the internet is a beacon of truth—”
“Answer the question, Henry.”
Henry is silent, but he finally meets Alex’s eyes.
“ Henry—”
“Yes!” he shouts irritably. “Of course I'm in love with you. What does it matter?”
They stand in silence for a few moments, the wind howling on the other side of the door. “What does it matter? ” Alex asks incredulously. “It matters because I want to be with you. If this isn’t just a holiday hookup for you, if you want to be with me, then—”
Henry lets out a frustrated groan. “Alex, please. It’s not that simple.”
“Why, though?” Alex asks. “Why can’t it be that simple?”
“I’m an heir to the throne!” Henry says.
“Okay, and that means you’re not allowed to be happy?”
“Yes!”
They stare at each other in silence.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t buy that, Henry. You can’t spend the rest of your life miserable, never letting yourself have what you want.”
“I don’t get to choose that,” he argues.
Before Alex can respond, Henry motions for Alex to follow him. They walk in silence, up a staircase and through more than one hallway until they’re standing in some sort of sitting area with a few couches and a guitar propped against a beautiful piano. There’s no tree, no presents. Alex’s heart aches for how lonely he must be.
“There was a photo of us,” Henry tells him after a long pause. “Gran saw it, and she knew. It was harmless, just the two of us at the premiere, but she knew. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to…well, it needed to end.”
“Henry,” Alex says, taking a cautious step forward. “I’m not trying to be insensitive, and I’m not trying to say I can appreciate your circumstances—because I can’t—but fuck your gran. You get to have a life; you’re allowed to be in love, just like everyone else.”
Henry stares at him, and Alex can see how exhausted he truly looks. He takes a few more cautious steps forward. “Just give us a chance, Henry. It’s been good, right? These past few months have been good. And not just because the sex is next-level.”
Henry lets out a laugh despite himself.
“I know it’s scary, H. I’m fucking terrified. So if you don’t want this, tell me now.” When he doesn’t say anything, Alex continues, “I think you do, though. According to Twitter, which is obviously indisputable.”
Henry closes the last steps between them. After a long pause, which feels like six years, he pulls Alex’s hands into his own and says, “I want this. You. Us.”
“Yeah?” Alex says, a smile spreading across his face.
Henry rolls his eyes. “Don’t act modest now. You were certainly confident in the outcome when you showed up at my door, on Christmas Day, by the by.”
Alex doesn’t even pretend to act sheepish. “Sorry.”
“Are you?” Henry asks, eyebrow raised.
Alex grabs Henry by the shirt and says, “Not even a little,” before tugging him down into a kiss. It’s messy and uncoordinated, but it’s everything.
After a few minutes or a few hours, they pull apart and try to catch their breath. “If you show me your room, I can promise you an amazing holiday blow job,” Alex says.
Henry doesn’t sigh or roll his eyes like Alex expects him to. Instead, he sticks out his chin and asks, “Would you like to meet my family first?”
His heart does the erratic thing again. “Yeah,” Alex says thickly. “Let’s do that.”
(New Year’s Eve ends with the two of them on top of each other on the floor again, but this time with fewer desecrated ice sculptures.)