Chapter Text
Rio
Henry never liked his house. The lavish furniture, the absurd opulence it radiates, yet gives off a smell. A lingering stench of genocide could never be washed out of the sheets.
It's like that feeling after leaving a room where a good memory took place. As if something was left behind. Searching every nook and cranny would prove useless and you'd only find that no material possession belonged to you. Yet something is still missing.
So one goes on with life because as Freddie Mercury says, "time waits for nobody" but it's as if a piece is missing. A piece is missing because for the time being, that place was home.
Henry once had a home. Now he has a hollow empty house with only the illusion of safety. Now he drifts, for any sort of feeling at all, some sense of home and then Henry sees him. Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz.
A face he'd seen on television, something about him was utterly enamoring. He'd promptly searched for him on Instagram and was too afraid to interact with his account, so he watched from afar. Seeing glimpses, of his life could not compare.
A camera couldn't properly capture the glint in his eyes, nor the îpê amarelo peeking out of his pocket.
Spirited. Vibrant. Alive. Adorable chin dimples, eyelashes that make his stomach churn, unruly curls in which he wants to interlace his fingers.
Maybe that bloody charming smile could make him forget the ache that had been plaguing him for fourteen months. Henry could use some fearlessness and feeling at the moment.
Beautiful.
Deadly.
Henry’s mind kept opening the same goddamn door, a hollow room only containing the echo of gran's voice: 'no one is to know about any of your deviant desires you may begin to harbor, do not reflect poorly upon the crown.'
They repeat over and over in his head. It's said that the more times you repeat a word the more hollow and meaningless it becomes, that never seemed to be the case for Henry.
Suddenly, Alex is right in front of him, extending his hand out to Henry’s.
He’s too close, too damn close, Alex would set him aflame and Henry would let him. But, the vultures would find out and tear him apart. Alex's fire entrances him, he's a moth fascinated by its orangey glow. After years of a piercing, numbing chill, Henry is frostbitten and Alex burns brightly, radiating warmth and feeling. But if he were to entangle himself within the flames, they would scorch Henry.
As his gran’s words stuff his 'deviant desires' into a vase, Henry grimaces. It doesn't quite fit, but it will have to do for now.
"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed." As a child, he had always marked Mr. Darcy as a fool for not expressing his affection openly. That they could've avoided all the heartache, but looking back, Henry finds himself at a hypocritical crossroad. It's a decision that never really was a choice, so long as his gran remains master of the house.
“Hi, I’m Alex Claremont-Diaz,"
I know, Henry thinks to himself.
Henry can’t bring himself to shake his hand. Love at first sight, perhaps. It’s like dipping one’s toes into the water at first sight, the water is frigid, but one gets used to the sensation and steps in further. Ankles. Calves. Knees. Thigh. Waist. You couldn’t tell what awaited in the depths, if there was a piranha or if you were to drown.
Despite the possible danger, Henry can't bring himself to step out of the water. He hates himself as he whispers to Shaan; “Can you get rid of him.”
If he got too close to this boy, he'd burn.