Archive of Our Own ^beta

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• ———— •

“You’re speech was amazing” Moreau said as he buckled up his belt, beside him Henry roared the engine to life and peeled away from the sidewalk. A smile slipped onto his lips.

“Thank you, love. Alex put a lot of thought into it” he nodded, thinking back to earlier that week when he and Alex stood before a crowd with a plethora of cameras pointed in their direction, opening their mouths to talk . Talk about the current situation with Romeo, and their personal experience with their own outing.

They managed to release a lot off their chests, weight they weren’t aware of, and unknowingly lived with.

They felt free.

Romeo appreciated their kind words too, and congratulated them, especially Henry, for finally speaking their truth.

“You did, too. It was inspiring” Moreau said insistingly, Henry blushed and shook his head.

“You’re too kind”

The drive was an hour long, but he found that made it worse. Henry’s heart twisted when Alex told him the whereabouts of Moreau’s father’s grave; it was only one hour away . A place Moreau had always wanted to visit was within reasonable walking distance and he never knew.

Henry internally cursed Moreau’s mother with every new detail he learnt about her, especially after she called him recently. It was the day after the speech, he received an unknown voicemail. It only took a second to recognise her voice, he silenced his phone immediately, stricken with panic. Romeo comforted him while Alex took the phone and listened, just in case it was regarding anything legal. After all, Moreau was still under her care.

Henry had listened in; it was a long-winded slew of insults and unabashed hate, Henry could see Alex’s blood boiling beneath his skin. The way she spoke of him was sickening, both of them agreed unless Moreau wanted to know, they wouldn’t tell him.

Alex deleted the voice message, no one brought it up again.

He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel once he realised he was letting his frustrations get the better of him, sending Moreau a gentle, unspoken smile before flicking on the radio and basking in soft music pouring from the speakers.

“Classics?” Moreau said.

Henry nodded, “do you have a preference?”

He hummed, tapping the window with his index finger.

“Beethoven’s symphony number five?” He requested shyly. Henry grinned and flicked through the songs on the disc before finding his specific choice. Moreau relaxed in his seat as he listened, wagging his finger along to the tune. Henry would sometimes glance at him fondly and briefly wonder how both he and Alex didn’t think they’d ever grow as close to this boy as they had. He could distinctly remember the first day they met; how panicked he and Romeo were because of the breach of privacy, how torn he felt that they both had to go through such a horrible thing. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the last. Yet, they’ve taken this one in stride. Romeo attended therapy and doctor appointments, with his first testosterone shot in the coming week, he was happier than ever, with the world understanding his and Moreau’s relationship, Moreau was visibly thrilled whenever he could publicly display his affections.

They were both happier; although it has made them much more private. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but Henry hates how they feel like they have to hide themselves if in a particularly public area. He’s been through that; he’s lived that longer than he likes to dwell on. All he wants is for them to have a better, more fulfilling life, and he’d do everything he could to grant them that privilege.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Moreau asked when their surroundings became unfamiliar and Henry turned down a one-way road leading to a gravel parking lot. It crunched beneath the tires and garnered a few looks from others climbing out of their cars. The parking lot wasn’t anything grand; with a few trees creating an enclosed space, ahead of them a tall, metal fence saving the graveyard from any loiterers during the night. Right now it was mid afternoon; sun hidden behind thick, grey clouds, although set to rain later they were fine for now.

Henry stopped the car in the furthest spot, glancing in the rear view mirror he watched an SUV stop opposite them. Security guards; it was protocol, after all. With a gentler smile, he twisted in his seat, facing a curious Moreau who had sat up, peering out of his window. The only people he could see were adorned in black outfits, some crying, others comforting. His eyebrows furrowed; he turned back.

“A graveyard…?”

“Yes” Henry swallowed, “Alex found your father’s grave. He hired a private investigator and she found him quite quickly” he said, pinching the corner of his mouth. Was this too far? Moreau hadn’t asked them to do such a thing. He only sometimes lamented about how he wished he could visit. It was very near crossing a line, but from the look on his face, Henry could tell they hadn’t. Thankfully.

“Hen, you…” he trailed off, swirling to the graveyard entrance again. “You didn’t”

He smiled, “we did. Would you like to visit?”

Moreau didn’t respond, instead he threw his arms around Henry’s shoulders and slammed him into a hug. He let out a choked noise of surprise but immediately returned the embrace, clicking off both of their seatbelts in the process. Moreau shook against him, tears soaked into his shirt, Henry held him tighter, tighter still, waiting until he had composed himself minutes later.

“Thank you” he whispered shakily, parting and wiping his face. “Can we…?”

“Yes. Some people might take photos” Henry warned, “are you alright with that? We can schedule a date later in the week to ensure we’ll be alone-“

“I don’t care” Moreau cut him off not unkindly, “I just- I want to see him. Please” his voice broke, and Henry couldn’t possibly say no. With an affirming nod, they both slipped out of the car. A few PPO’s took note and did the same, keeping a respectful distance as Henry took Moreau’s hand and led him towards the entrance. A young woman was sitting beside the open gate, reading from a newspaper. Her eyes lifted up, head following the subconscious movement of a nod, something she must do to all visitors, but when she caught up with who they both were, she did a double take, jaw slacking. Henry smiled at her politely, Moreau didn’t even notice and they stepped by with her ogling.

The graveyard was pretty empty except those attending the presumed funeral opposite from where they were heading. Henry had the location written down on an orange piece of paper; given to Alex personally from the private investigator. Henry couldn’t remember her name; he’d ask about it later. For now, he focused on following the directions. It was quite hidden amongst other graves, some big, some small, all of them covered with flowers and old photo frames.

His gravestone was nondescript. Medium in size, dark grey, rectangle. Moreau didn’t need Henry to tell him; as soon as he saw the name, he knew.

He stopped, squeezing Henry’s hand tight as his eyes welled up again.

“Dad…” Henry heard him whisper, and something within him shattered. The absolute heartbreak in his tone and the quiver in his knees made him want to hold him, hold him and never let him go, because he knew what losing his father was like and he didn’t want anyone to go through it. Especially Moreau, sweet Moreau, who had lived with such a tyrant for a mother, doing his best to be a good son; and in the end, was left behind. He didn’t deserve any of it, yet here he was, surviving . Because that’s who Moreau was; he was sensitive, and will cry during every single Disney movie, but regardless of anything he goes through, he’ll survive, and come out the other side stronger, with the same precious smiles and unapologetic love.

“He wrote- he used to call me-“ Moreau sniffled, “he used to call me Row, because I couldn’t say my own name… and he…” he bent down, placing his hand across the lower half of the grave. Behind some overgrown grass was a short sentence Henry didn’t catch at first. Bending down, he squinted to read the inscription.

“It was my favourite nursery rhyme” Moreau said on a shaky breath, slowly sitting down. Henry thought seeing Moreau sit on his father’s grave with a shocked yet brilliant smile was right. The image. The moment in time, it was right.

“He remembered… he remembered me, even after he left. He remembered me” he said, crying softly. Henry knelt down, being careful to not place himself atop Andy’s resting place.

“I don’t think anyone could forget you,” he said, squeezing his shoulder. Moreau’s laugh was mixed with a sob, reaching to cover his mouth as his emotions overcame him. Contentedly, Henry waited beside him, allowing him some time to cry, to exist with his father after years of being torn apart. He watched as he shuffled closer, practically hugging the cold, grey stone as he uttered whispered phrases of love, of forgiveness, of wishes and promises to see him again. One day.

One day I’ll see you again .

Henry almost started crying himself. He kept his hand touching the inscription, either running his fingers over the words or just pressed against them, constantly cleaning his face with his sleeve even if more tears would replace the ones lost. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed comforted. The most happy he’s been since losing his mother.

Henry tried not to listen as Moreau spoke, knowing it was between him and his father, but the final thing he said was louder; he could make out the words. It was enough to turn his head and tilt his eyes to the sky, internally demanding he wouldn’t cry.

“Don’t worry, papa” he had whispered, “I have Henry and Alex to look after me”

The next few minutes were silent. Moreau had sat up on his knees to properly hug the grave, pressing a gentle kiss to the roof of the stone. Afterwards, he settled beside Henry. He automatically wrapped an arm around him, kissing the crown of his head as a sort of symbol. He didn’t know if Moreau noticed, but that was besides the point. Cheerfully, birds chirped, the funeral had finished and as people walked down pathways their conversations reached their ears, yet still muffled enough to be pleasant background noise.

“Thank you, Henry,” Moreau said quietly, squeezing his hand.

“Of course, love” he said in the same tone, careful not to disrupt the peace bathed across them.

“I love you” he said, and Henry’s heart clenched.

“I’m sure he loves you, too”

Moreau blinked up, then smiled. “I know he does. I was talking to you”

Try as he might, Henry couldn’t help himself. He got choked up, swallowing a forming lump in his throat. He could feel his eyes run bloodshot and to hide his embarrassment, he pressed the lower half of his face to Moreau’s hair, chuckling watery.

“I love you too”

Romeo tucked the last of his books inside of his bag, sliding shut the zip and throwing it beside his door. He was starting school up again tomorrow; mentally prepared for the questions he was sure to receive, but thankfully it wouldn’t be as in his face as it would’ve been during the peak of this fiasco. The work on emails was fine, but he missed the classroom environment, talking with teachers and (most importantly) spending time with Anya and Moreau. Not that he could spend any less time with Moreau considering they lived together now; but he was gone for hours during the day and with Henry and Alex working, he was quite lonely.

In the end, though, he was sort of glad this happened. He wished it could’ve been handled on his own terms but having it out there was enough for him. Seeing people use his name and pronouns made him feel something he’s never experienced before; insurmountable elation. Similar when his family started; but something more intense. Although, with the support came the hate. He’s seen a plethora of insults and general transphobia from a growing number of people. Alex and Henry insist he ignores it because people like that are closed-minded idiots who will never understand him for who he truly is.

So, he ignores them. Tries to. But sometimes if he can’t sleep and Moreau has passed out, he sneaks his phone and looks, because he can’t help it. It hurts every time; he’s planning to bring it up in his next therapy session. He’d tell his parents once he understands why exactly he insists to put himself through such torture when he doesn’t need to.

For now, he’d focus on the positive and push the desperate desire to search for the negative away. Everyone in his life loved him the way he was; that’s all that should matter. With a resolute nod and a growing smile, he plopped onto his bed and drew out his phone, going to text his cousins.

They had all been amazing during this; especially Rose. They’ve privately messaged each other more than they ever had their entire lives, to just talk and relate to each other. Understand each other’s struggles without worrying about making the other uncomfortable or concerned. Romeo enjoyed talking to his family about things; but with Rose, it hit different.

Jane and Matilda too; Jane had a lot of things to say about the press, half privately, half in a surge of tweets that were promptly deleted, but screenshots floated around and articles captured them up to make cash. Jane didn’t care, the royal family dealt with it accordingly. She’d do it over a thousand times until the press finally received the message.

Romeo knows they already had; but nothing would stop them. Now, he’s learning to deal with them, because truly, there was nothing else he could do. Money and power within journalism was too big to dismantle now. He’d leave it for someone with more fire in their spirit; someone who wouldn’t conform as easily as does.

Of course, Ana and Vivi were perfect too, along with Anya who has stepped outside of her comfort zone multiple times to be more comforting when needs be. Romeo appreciates it; but wouldn’t say too much. He knew it would make her uncomfortable. Their friendship wasn’t conventional; but neither would give it up for the world. Not that Anya would admit such a thing out loud; but that was sort of the point. Romeo recognised that without her needing to, that’s what made them so perfect.

He smiled idly at the thought of her, and how her mother still likes him, even if she’s getting used to him being trans, and gay. She’s getting there, and secretly, Anya is happy about it. Even if she is undeniably straight.

“Your smile is my world” Moreau said, bringing his eyes up from his phone and glued to his face. He blushed, shaking his head.

“Flatterer. Hey, babe” he reached out, cupping his face and dragging him into a kiss. Moreau hummed, circling an arm around his waist and kissing back, their lips moulding and moving together in sync.

When they parted Moreau was sat beside him, an eager grin on his face. Romeo eyed him curiously, setting aside his phone and crossing his legs.

“What?”

“Birthday tomorrow” he said, only then did Romeo notice he’s keeping one arm resolute behind his back. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah… and?”

Moreau, jittering excitedly, withdrew his hidden arm, revealing a cleanly wrapped box with blue wrapping paper. Birthday boy , it read all over. Something for kids, but Romeo couldn’t help eyeing it fondly, his heart melting.

Gently, he took it, soothing his hands over the paper and taking the small piece of card stuck to it by a piece of string. It read;

He hummed curiously, looking up at a giddy Moreau. “I was worried until you said the jealous part,” he joked. Moreau needed a moment to understand, his cheeks burning pink at the realisation. Quickly, he shook his head, panicked.

“No, no! No. Never. Not- not- no” he took Romeo’s hands, kissing his knuckles. “Not until you’re comfortable with that sort of thing, baby” he went on, genuine apology gleaming in his eyes. Romeo grinned and kissed his nose.

“I know, babe. Thank you, I really appreciate it”

“Of course” Moreau agreed smoothly, kissing him again before bringing his attention back to the gift, insisting he must open it because it’s the best gift ever and he’s going to love it. Romeo laughed, beginning to tear off the paper, because he couldn’t say no to Moreau’s joyous expression.

Once the paper was off, he flipped the box to the front, eyebrows raising in shock. It was a…

“Shaving kit,” Moreau said, pointing. “Because you’ll start growing facial hair soon and, well” he rubbed his neck, “you’ll need it. Eventually. I can show you how…?” He offered, visibly nervous.

Romeo’s smile almost split his cheeks, he put the box to the side and dragged him into another kiss because words couldn’t describe the overwhelming love he held for this boy in that moment. He had considered facial hair, his gender therapist had spoken to him about it amongst other things; he was beyond ready to start growing it, but he knew it would take some time as he’s only recently taken his first testosterone shot.

“I fucking love you so much” Romeo giggled on a breath once pulling away, cupping both sides of Moreau’s face and gazing into his bright, green eyes. He’d never get over their beauty; or Moreau’s beauty, for that fact. He was so darn pretty.

Moreau laughed; loud and brilliantly, his hands finding Romeo’s waist.

“I love you too,” he said vibrantly. Romeo sighed and pressed into him, shuffling into his lap comfortably. They held each other for awhile, it must’ve been twenty minutes, existing with each other, in each other’s gentle, soothing presence.

“Thank you for this, thank you” Romeo said, pulling his head up, grazing a hand over the box. “I really appreciate it”

“Of course. I like to think my dad would’ve done the same when I grew older” he coughed, rubbing his neck. “So I- I want to follow in his footsteps”

Romeo’s smile softened, he kissed his cheek. “He would’ve” he whispered, making Moreau beam. “I know he would’ve”

They shuffled up to the pillows and laid with each other, pulling up Netflix and watching random episodes of Doctor Who until they were called for lunch.

Downstairs, the table was set, Henry already occupying a chair. Alex brought in the plates, swaying his hips to a song playing from their speakers. He moved with the flow of the tune, managing to kiss Henry’s head on the way, resulting in the curve of his lips and the infamous twinkle of his eye only ever seen by family and close friends.

Moreau and Romeo sat beside each other, holding hands, displayed on the wood. Henry looked over, smiling.

“How are you two?”

They both chorused a response, Alex returned with his own plate and flopped beside Henry, giving him a last, wet kiss to his cheek. He grimaced, the children laughed, Alex grinned in triumph.

“Birthday tomorrow” Alex said, chowing down on his food. The others took that as permission and scooped up their cutlery, filling it with the warm, steaming spaghetti.

“Yeah. What time are we leaving again?” Romeo tilted his head.

“Seven? We should arrive mid afternoon. Enough time to shower; nap; prep for the dinner” Alex responded, all the while twisting his fork between the pasta. The four of them, along with Nora, June, their kids, Ellen, Leo and Pez were travelling to Britain in the ripe, early morning to make it in time for the booked dinner at a fancy restaurant with the royals. Including Anya, of course, she was being picked up on the drive to the airport. Once she was first told, she wouldn’t stop gushing about Jane, enough for Moreau to question her loyalties to men, in which she punched him and told him to never imply she would be loyal to a man.

He acquiesced immediately.

“Cool,” Romeo said.

“Are you excited?” Henry said.

Romeo smiled, “I am! I get to open presents, too”

“That’s all he’s excited for” Alex said with a stuffed mouth, “doesn’t care for family. Just wants presents”

“Well, duh” he replied and laughter rang around him.

“He deserves it. I’m incredibly proud of you, love” Henry said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “You’re insanely brave and handled this all amazingly” he went on. A blush zipped across his cheeks. Bashfully, he looked away, but intertwined their hands together nonetheless.

“Thanks, dad,” he murmured shyly.

“Cute” Moreau hummed, Alex snapped his eyes towards him.

“You, too, niño” he pointed, Moreau’s expression went from amused to deer-caught-in-headlights within seconds. It was pretty comical.

“We’re proud of you, for how far you’ve come” he clarified, Moreau dipped his head, shrinking in on himself, flustered, shy, but appreciative nonetheless.

“Thank you… my um- I told my dad. About you” he met Alex’s eye briefly, “I think he’d um- he would’ve uh- really appreciated what you’ve done for me. So. Yeah” he said, stumbling over his words. Alex’s smile softened, mimicking Henry to Romeo, he reached over and squeezed Moreau’s hand.

“Good. You’re lucky I did, I still don’t really like you” Moreau sat up and laughed, pulling his hand away and rubbing them against his neck. Whenever Alex was sweet, he still didn’t entirely know how to act, and watching him combust would always be amusing. At least, Romeo thought so anyway. Although, his favourite sight was laying on the couch against Henry’s chest and glancing over to see Moreau sleeping contentedly in Alex’s lap, with him idly stroking a hand through his hair.

It was a beautiful sight. Originally, he couldn’t imagine such a thing. Now, they had each other wrapped around their fingers.

Romeo looked towards Henry and grinned; while there were a lot of things he wished happened differently, he was still glad they happened, otherwise he mightn’t have ended up here, with Alex and Moreau falling into a bickering, childish argument, and he and Henry watching on in poorly hidden fondness.

His heart relaxed within his chest.

He was happy.

• ———— •
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