Chapter Text
Bea complains that she hasn’t had the pleasure of drinking with her brother on holiday since Rio. Henry doesn’t miss the obvious subtext.
He dodges her proposals for the coming of the new year for weeks. She brings it up at odd times, whether it’s at the table or over the phone. His excuses vary. He says it’s too far ahead to think about. In December, decidedly not too far ahead, he says England is just boring. She suggests they go somewhere else, maybe Italy or Spain. Then, he tells her it’s too late now to find a nice place out of the way. Bea gently reminds him that they’re literally royalty, and whether they like it or not, it can be pretty useful when it comes to finding places willing to accommodate you last minute.
His final excuse is the day after Christmas. He admits that he’d rather go to America but insists that his hand in managing the Young America New Year’s Eve Gala was important for maintaining relationships.
“You mean your relationship with first son?”
If Henry were younger, or hadn’t already told Bea everything since they day he came home from the Olympics, he would’ve spluttered. But she knows, and probably has known why he’s been so hesitant the whole time. Bea knows about their kiss last year, and that they wanted it to be a tradition. She knows that Alex was apparently “looking forward” to kissing Henry again.
And since she knows, Henry only says, “Yeah.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you,” she pouts, poking him pointedly on is chest. “You’re head over heels for him clearly, but it’s been two years. I want this to work out, believe me, but you need to… You need to do something, okay? If he breaks your heart, better do it now than later. He’s still your closest friend. I don’t care if there’s a royal wedding or not, but I know you need him in your life.”
Henry doesn’t like that Bea had to lay it all out in front of him, but he’s glad that she did. She’s right. He loves Alex, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about it. Tell him, is what Bea is implying.
He tries to imagine it. His eyes close with a heavy sigh.
Imaginary Henry and imaginary Alex are in a bar, south of the palace. He sees them at Alex’s family’s summer lakehouse. They’re in his room in Kensington, and at Alex’s in the White House. In seconds, Henry imagines confessing his feelings to Alex in all kinds of places. He gets as far as the confession, Alex’s rejection, and stops at the ever sinking feeling in his heart with every iteration.
The last one he imagines doesn’t include a rejection. It starts out with a rush of passion, and excitement, and then a week later, a pack of NDA forms to sign, and then Alex is giving him the cold shoulder. Moody, distant, and uninterested.
That one is the worst.
“I know,” comes Henry’s late and tired response.
Bea glares at him before her eyes soften. She makes a long drawn out humming noise as if she’s considering if it’s worth it to say whatever it is she has in mind. With a final huffed, “Okay!” she crosses her arms impatiently. “I have one more proposal I think you’ll be far more interested in.”
“Which is?”
“You still don’t go to the Young America New Year’s Eve Gala, tragic I know. On the thirtieth, we leave. You accompany me to… Wherever I choose when you say yes, and―”
He gawks at her certainty. “ When ― ? ”
“ And ,” she interrupts, “you get a plus one. A plus Alex.” She stops to gauge his reaction. He tilts his head in curiosity as she carries on, “I get a plus one too, naturally, since you’re going to be swept off your feet and useless to me all evening, and I need someone to shout with when you start making out. My only condition is that the four of us can genuinely spend time together for two hours at least.”
“If I can actually get Alex away from the gala, then… Yes.”
At his answer, Bea hops in delight and swoops forward to give him a tight squeeze. She scuttles away, finally satisfied that she’s got the holiday with him, and leaves.
Meanwhile, Henry is left alone to try and figure out how the bloody hell he’s supposed to convince June and Nora, hell, maybe even convince Ellen Claremont to let Alex ditch an event he helped curate.
Shit. He hasn’t even told Alex.
“Would you be terribly bothered by the idea of ditching the New Year’s gala?”
There’s some shuffling on the other end. A mix of papers and fabric, Henry supposes he’s studying in bed. Alex makes a noncommittal noise, “I mean… The gala... Shit, I guess it depends on who’s taking me. And where. You don’t happen to know anyone with that sort of thing in mind do you?”
“Oh no. No one. No one at all, just my sister wants to haul her dear brother somewhere to share a glass one more time on New Year’s Eve. Said I could bring a plus one.”
“Where do y’all plan on going?” he asks with a faux overly interested tone. He’s in, Henry realizes and releases tension in his shoulders he didn’t know he had.
“Honestly, I don’t know. We leave on the thirtieth.”
“I’ll see you then!” Alex pulls the phone away from himself as someone enters the room. The audio changes as Alex puts the call on speaker and says, “June! Great timing, what if I don’t go to the Gala?”
He can’t see then, but Henry can feel the suspicious look she’s making at the phone and at Alex. “...That’s Henry, right?”
“Hello, June!” he chimes uneasily.
“Yeah okay, hold on I just―”
Miraculously, by some astounding feat of persuasion, Henry and Alex are in Paris for New Year’s Eve.
Their first day is really more of a first night. They arrive after sunset and Henry, Alex, Bea, and her choice of a plus one are on their way to the hotel. Alex is noticeably little more time skewed than the rest of them, and Henry is keen on pointing it out as much as possible. They’re trying to remember what cafe they ate at during their last trip.
They check into their rooms and drop their bags onto the one large bed. Likely Bea’s doing. Alex doesn’t seem to notice or mind that they’re going to share, so Henry doesn’t pay attention either. Alex, still feeling like it’s just late afternoon, wants to go out at 1:14 am, and Henry complies.
They start with a walk. Alex wants to stretch his legs; his flight was eight hours in comparison to their one hour flight. They’re strolling along the Seine, under the fusion of pale yellow light from the city and moon. Paris isn’t unfamiliar. Both of them have been here for international affairs and public appearances. For business. For the first time, the two of them are together in Paris as tourists. Henry pretends they’re no different than any other pair on holiday.
They push each other around, take each others’ hats and gloves and run for it, chasing each other down up and down the reflective waters until they move deeper into the city. They walk into the first cafe they find open and order cold drinks despite the fact that they’re already bundled up in layers of sweaters, coats, and scarves. They play silly games of I-Spy, and take candid photos of each other under yellowed street lamps.
Alex, wired from caffeine and the disconnect between his original and current time zones, turns to Henry as they adventure through streets they can’t name and tries to convince him to stay awake until midnight.
The idea dances through his head until 5am, where even Alex agrees that a luxury Parisian bed sounds nicer than standing on two legs.
So, they drag their feet into an elevator, fumble with keys, and fall asleep tangled together in their day clothes.
Henry wakes up first to a knocking at their door. His hand squeezes the fabric of a pillowcase as he yawns. He doesn’t remember either of them asking room service for extra pillows, but damn if this isn’t the best pillow he’s ever held. It felt warm and solid with the right amount of give. Henry loathes letting go. The knocking hasn’t stopped, though, so he sits up to stretch and finally opens his eyes with a tired rub.
At his hip, Alex groans. Ah. Alex was the pillow. Of course.
The knocking becomes incessant. The familiar voice of his sister pushes into the room.
“Rise and shine, darlings! It’s time for a day out!” Henry and Alex silently argue over who should get up to tell Bea they don’t want to. It’s a battle of glares and sharp head tilted to the door, until Alex wins by turning to lie down face first.
“You guys aren’t still asleep are you?”
With a final roll of his eyes towards Alex, Henry pushes the covers off of himself at a snail’s pace before lumbering over to the door. It’s an arduous task to open it. “We’re… not in any condition to go out until later. We stayed up rather late.”
A hand flies over Bea’s mouth and her eyes widen. She tries to peek inside their room as she whispers, “Did you finally tell him? Did you finally tell him and really spend the whole night having loud and rowdy sex?”
That temporarily shakes Henry out of his fatigue. “What? No! No! No, we spent the night, and I guess morning, just wandering around the city.”
Bea, looking only slightly disappointed, clicks her tongue. “I suppose exploring the city of love at odd hours of the morning is about as romantic as you’re going to get until you decide to confess. Alright. We’re still going to get drinks together though, okay? Be ready at seven. We’ll go to a bar. Then, we’ll find someplace in Champ de Mars to watch the fireworks. It will be crowded, but we can elbow our way in. See you then?”
“Of course,” Henry reassures, offering an apologetic smile.
He returns to bed, and Alex is there laying there, propped up on an elbow in a warm set of pajama pants and a t-shirt with a union jack that Henry once bought him as a joke. He’s wearing his reading glasses. Henry does his best to not melt on the spot.
“Why did you even put them on? We’re going back to sleep.” Henry crawls over and snatches them off his face and puts them on his bedside table, out of Alex’s reach.
“Eh, thought we could talk or something. I’m tired, but like, not that tired. Can I have them back?”
“No! You might just use them to read dull news articles, which you are not allowed to do on New Year’s Eve.”
“It’s fine! Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t stay up if you went to sleep anyway. Wouldn’t be as fun. Hand’em over.”
Begrudgingly, Henry drops them in his hands and rolls back over again. After an alarm is set for 6:15, they fall asleep.
Bea is at his door at exactly seven and drives them to the bar, and her friend agrees to be the designated driver so that Henry and Bea can share their pint. It’s cozy, well lit, and Henry is glad that Bea swayed him to join her. They swap stories and embarrass each other in front of their friends.
Friend, family, and a family friend drink together on a holiday night in Paris, and Henry relishes their presence in the bar and on the crowded lot of Champ de Mars.
They stick together until it’s just 5 minutes shy of 2019. He taps Bea on the shoulder and she gives him a knowing look and a nod before she distracts her friend so they can slip off to find a quiet empty space.
Except, there’s no quiet empty space because this is a public space in the tourist trap of France. In the end, the best they find is behind the crowd in the shadow of a tree. They cross-legged across from each other, Henry keeps his back to the crowd while Alex sits at the base of the trunk.
Alex looks impossibly soft with the spots of light threaded through the leaves. It’s artistic and sweet, and Henry is only a little disappointed because he can’t see the flush on his cheeks in the cold. But he can make out the way Alex pulls down his scarf, and the darting of his eyes. Alex parts his lips, and Henry hears the soft exhale, and though it’s too dark to see the frosty cloud of breath, he can feel it.
The count down hasn’t even started, and Alex is so, so close. Have they been leaning in already?
Alex is looking at the ground, the crowd, the Eiffel Tower, and their hands where they’re not holding each other. Henry looks only at him, and he wants him to look back.
He takes one of Alex’s hands in his and uses the other the lift up Alex’s chin with a finger.
“Hey, I’m glad that I ditched, ya know? Like, I thought about not coming here, and I’m just sorta taking it all it, and I’m so glad I did. Tradition and all, right?” he rambles unprompted, when he’s forced to make eye contact.
And Henry just wants to know what else is going on in Alex’s head. He forms an absent response. “I… Yes. It’s… We’re lucky.”
Alex tries to turn his head away again, but Henry’s confused and his heart is heavy and strange.
“Dude, I can’t fucking look at you right now.”
“What?”
“We’re about to kiss in the city of love, and you really came out here with the audacity of being Adonis backlit by the lights of the goddamn Eiffel Tower. I cannot look at you right now.
“Oh.” Henry suddenly feels awkward. He knew it was the city of love. Bea knew it was the city of love, and probably chose it for a reason. But Alex knew too, and that suddenly paints everything rosy. All night, everything they’ve been doing gains some odd unspoken romantic context, and this, sneaking out of camera view to sit under a tree and kiss at the new year, is pretty damn romantic no matter where you are. “Do you not...” he starts.
“If you think for a second I'm backing out of this, you’re wrong. I’m going to kiss you, and it’s gonna’ be fantastic and even better than last year.”
“Please. I’m waiting for it.” He tries to come off as playful, but it sounds more sincere than what he’d like.
“Really?”
Henry is hoping he doesn’t sound as eager and lovesick to Alex as he does to his own ears, but part of him thinks maybe Alex wouldn’t mind. “Absolutely,” he confirms.
“Well, okay. Good.”
At last, the countdown begins. The people begin counting down in French, and the hand under Alex’s chin slips to the side and then reaches under his scarf to feel the warm skin underneath. Alex shimmies forward, their knees touching, and now they’re so close that if either one of them so much as breathes wrong, their lips ghost over each other’s.
Alex kisses him after one. Not, he notices, at the loud cheering of zero and “Happy New Year!”, but in that brief time span after. The kiss, despite its hasty initiation, is chaste. It’s slow and sweet, and Henry’s practically in secondary school with they way they’re sitting in the grass holding hands. They’re not closely pressed together like before. Henry wants to pull him closer or to lean over him just for the sake of feeling his presence, but he’s almost shy.
It’s not a bad kiss. Alex is physically incapable of that. Henry is simply struggling to comprehend how carefree and soft they’re being.
He translates the circles that Alex’s thumbs rubs over the back of his hand as “I’m comfortable with you,” and the deep and leisurely movement of Alex’s lips as “I wouldn’t do this with anyone else.”
And Henry would never claim to be an expert at reading body language, but Alex seems happy.
Not like the first kiss, where he wanted to fulfill a task, like checking off a box, and he was happy with the completion. Not like the second kiss, where it was all entertainment, thrill, “What’s this like while not blackout drunk?”, and something that felt like a beginning.
He just seemed like he was enjoying himself.
“Why are you…” he mumbles against Alex’s lips before kissing him again. He doesn’t finish his question until they pull back for air. “Being such a tease?”
“You tired of it yet?”
“You’re doing this on purpose you little―”
Henry grabs a fistful of Alex’s scarf and pulls him in. It’s awkward, and they mostly just fall back. They both have to readjust themselves, and end up sitting side by side on the side of tree away from the crowd. It’s not what he’d like, but at least he can feel Alex’s shoulder against his. He holds his face with a gloved hand and curses the barrier between their skin. But, he enjoys the warmth of Alex’s incredible open mouth kiss.
The warmth is there for an unfortunate few seconds before it’s wrenched away. Henry, at least, he muses to himself, doesn’t dumbly follow the disconnect, which he is proud of.
Was the kiss better than last year? Probably not. But, it left Henry wanting infinitely more. That in itself is a feat. He’s been thinking for months, no one in the vast span of time and existence, past, present, and future, can compare their love to the love I have for him .
He thought his love had peaked, but he supposed he should’ve known better. When Alex extends a hand to help Henry up and doesn’t let go until they reach the hotel room, he decides this love is a steep, endless rock face that he’ll never cease climbing. Henry just wonders when he’ll slip and fall.