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Why does this place have to have this much lighting? Alex wonders angrily as he scrunches his eyes shut and takes a sip of his drink for the hundredth time that evening. He's at some mandatory fundraiser in London with Henry and it's only been an hour but he really wants to leave.
He's at a fundraiser and he forgot to pack his fucking glasses with him and everything is blurry and the excessive lighting of this damn room is hurting his eyes and he has the worst migraine he's had in a very, very long while.
It's all getting on his fucking nerves, steadily driving him towards some breaking point.
Alex cannot believe he remembered to pack their favourite sex toys but not his fucking glasses.
It's not that he can't see or function without them, he has just been more dependent on them lately, wearing them all the time while studying and even when he's outside instead of his contact lenses. He was starting to grow to like them.
But now he doesn't have them and his head is pounding and it infuriates him even more whenever someone walks up to him and Alex can't fucking recognize them until they're close enough for his eyes to see clearly.
He wants to fucking leave already.
He wants to lie in Henry's uncomfortable Kensington bed and just shut his eyes and listen to Henry's warm soft voice talk to him until he peacefully falls into a deep sleep where he can't feel his pounding headache.
He wants Henry's gentle hands massaging his scalp and Henry's soft lips tenderly kissing his temple in his dimmed room where he doesn't have to worry or think about anything.
He just wants Henry. And maybe some painkillers.
He looks around and tries to spot Henry between the crowds of people in front of him. And even without his glasses, it wasn't hard to spot him considering Henry's height and how his blond head stands out in a crowd.
He can't see if Henry is actually enjoying himself or if he's plastering that pinched press smile and holding himself back from calling out the person in front of him on their bullshit.
Fuck. He hates that feeling. He hates not even being able to check on his boyfriend.
He narrows his eyes in an attempt to see better but he can't even make out Henry's face. He can't even see how he's doing in that conversation with that person that Alex doesn't recognize either and read his expression.
But then at some point, Henry turns around and looks in Alex's direction for a long second before seeming to excuse himself from the conversation and walking towards him.
God, is he that obvious?
“Hey, love, are you alright?” Henry says as soon as he's in Alex's space, his hand resting subconsciously on the small of Alex's back.
“Yeah,” he lies, “I'm doing great. Stellar. Why would you ask?” Alex can –now that Henry is close enough– see that Henry isn't buying any of his shit. He just looks at him with soft concern in his eyes and Alex feels like he wants to shy away.
“Are you sure you're alright?” Henry asks again, not pressuring Alex into giving him an answer but just silently telling him that he can see that Alex is not alright.
He loves that Henry sees him and understands him like that –loves that Henry could read him that easily, but in situations like the one they're in now, Alex would just love for Henry to leave it alone. Nothing could possibly make this situation better right now and he'd just like to suffer in silence.
But Henry doesn't seem to relent though. And he's still looking at Alex with that soft look that has so much love and concern in it it makes his heart soar.
So he just sighs and gives up. “Yeah, I'm okay. It's just—” He takes a deep breath. “I have the worst fucking migraine right now, it's making my head pound. And I don't have my glasses, on top of it all. It's making everything ten times worse.”
“Your glasses,” Henry thinks out loud. “I have them with me.”
“What—”
And Alex watches as Henry just puts his hand into his suit's inner pocket and magically produces Alex's glasses.
He has no fucking clue how the glasses that he knows are –for fact– forgotten on his desk, in their home, an ocean away from here are somehow now in front of him held carefully between Henry's fingers.
He has so many questions right now in his head that are making his migraine worse.
“I— you—” he tries, “How?”
“I saw them on your desk before we left and packed them with me in case you'd need them.” Henry has the audacity to look confused by Alex's question. Like he's stating the obvious. “You know? Now that you wear them almost constantly.”
“I get that— I just—”
He takes the glasses from Henry's hand and slides them on. He looks around and suddenly he can see the world in 4K again. He can finally see the faces of the people around him. He sighs and feels the strain on his eyes lessen and the pounding in his head gets slightly better.
He feels so grateful for Henry right now he could kiss him in front of all these people and not regret it in the slightest. Not even when Zahra would rip him a new one.
“Sorry, I didn't give them to you on the plane. I totally forgot I had them with me,” he says and he dares to look apologetic. Alex can't fucking believe him. “You must have needed them.”
“I mean, I did, but Nora had suggested this true-crime podcast to me before. She said it was amazing and stuff. But having people talk with super dramatic music playing in the background in my ear for almost four hours only made me start feeling the migraine coming and it all just… went down from there.”
“I'm so sorry, love,” Henry says, taking Alex's hand in his and intertwining their fingers, “Are you feeling any slightly better now?”
“Well, I can at least see the people around me now, not just blurry, messy faces.” He laughs weakly. “Thank you, baby.”
Henry smiles sweetly at him. “We could leave now if you'd like,” he says, his tone is gentle and his hand gives Alex's a tiny squeeze. “We don't have to wait for this to end if you're tired.”
“No, no, we can stay. I can handle it. I'm okay,” he says but then he shakes his head and winces a bit loudly at it and Henry looks like he doesn't believe a word of what he just said.
“You're clearly not okay, darling—”
Alex sighs. “I don't want them to start something like how we were sneaking out to go fuck somewhere. I don't want to wake up tomorrow and find headline after headline wondering where the First Son and the Prince disappeared to after barely two hours of an event passing. I—”
It sounds pathetic when he says it out loud –how he'd rather stay at an event, totally uncomfortable and in pain, rather than go home only because he doesn't want to start a new rumor about him and Henry. He is so sick of people making assumptions and analyzing his relationship all the fucking time. He doesn't want to help it further.
Also, Zahra would probably kill him if that happened.
“Whatever they think doesn't matter, Alex,” Henry tries to assure him, “It wouldn't be the first time they make such speculations about us, and it always dies down after a day or two.” He squeezes Alex's hand again. “Your comfort and health are much more important than anything, love.”
He usually hates it when Henry has a point, but right now he just really wants to hug him.
He doesn't. But he lays his head on Henry's shoulder instead. “I'm just so sick of everything, right now.”
Henry's hand finds his hair and massages his head gently and damn if Alex doesn't feel like he wants to fucking cry at how comforting Henry's touch feels. “I understand, darling. It's gonna be okay, I promise.”
“I…” he trails off and sighs, enjoying the soft pressure Henry is applying on where his head hurts the most without Alex even needing to tell him.
“What, love?” Henry asks softly.
“I love you,” he says, feeling grateful and so stupidly in love, “And I'd really like to leave, I honestly feel like I'm dying here.”
“Knew it,” Henry says almost triumphantly, and Alex can hear the quiet smile in his voice. It makes him smile too. “Give me a second I'll text Shaan to get the car.” Alex takes his head off Henry's shoulder and Henry takes out his phone. “And maybe get some painkillers with him.”
Alex just smiles. God, he loves him so much, it feels consuming. It feels fucking heavenly. “Did I tell you that I'm like… in deep, gross love with you?”
Henry laughs, pockets his phone, and pulls at Alex's hand, leading them out of the room. “I love you too, darling.” He squeezes his hand gently, reassuringly. “Let's go home now.”
And that night inside the boring white walls of Kensington and on Henry's uncomfortable bed that he never got around changing, Alex falls asleep feeling better than he did all day. With Henry's hand mindlessly carding through his hair and the sound of Henry's heartbeats lulling him to sleep, Alex really couldn't wish for anything better. It was all just what he needed.
Just perfect.