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Alex was four, barely five years old when his mother first ran for house. By the age of twelve, he knew better than to ask for help, get so sick that he might need care or simply bother his mother with something that wasn’t as important as her work.
And well… After she started climbing the career ladder like it’s a fucking escalator, Alex at least had June.
When the only thing that can be heard is cicadas and Alex’s agonal heart, dripping blood onto the lake and Alex is left bereft, wet and shivering inside the lake, chest open, a Henry shaped hole desperately begging to be filled, he feels hopeless and scared as a four year old child.
There is a pathetic hope lingering, an echo of a ‘What-If’ inside of his head. What if this was just a horrible coincidence, what if Henry was just struck by a wave of emotions.
It could have happened. The brain is a peculiar thing. Even if the emotion is a positive one, sometimes the rush can make the brain feel overwhelmed, causing it to look back on all the other times it felt overwhelmed, searching for a solution in its memories.
Calling out even the most painful memories as if they were the savior, thrashing around in a sandpit that is sucking it in deeper and deeper with each movement. The brain tries its best, and it’s the trying that eventually kills. Roads of hell are paved with good intentions.
The nausea hits Alex just like the waves of the lake clashing him. How selfish, how truly a terrible excuse of a person he has to be to hope his (not even his boyfriend but still the love of his life) something, everything is having a depressive episode.
And not feeling like Alex is simply too much. Because that is the other option that’s left.
The thing is, he actually is too much. He knows he’s too much. His brain works too fast, his mouth works too fast and sometimes even himself is rendered too slow to catch up. He feels too much, especially love, especially for Henry. He talks too much, always filling the silence, having something to blurt out. Never letting even one second go unfilled.
Because if he lets even one second go unfilled, then it might give the person in front of him time to assess him. Time they can use to realize he is just not worth it.
He truly is like a shark isn’t he. If he slows down he’ll die. Everything has to be ‘too much’, over the top, or else, he doesn’t know how to exist.
Except with Henry…
Henry made him feel like if he was too much, that only meant there was that much more of him to accept, maybe even love.
And now Alex had gone ahead and ruined it.
But silences with Henry never felt like they were unfilled, they were always full of unsaid words, carrying everything they didn’t let themselves feel.
Silences knew Alex loved him even before he knew it himself. They held the longing, letting Alex try to place anger and resentment in place of desire and yearning like pushing puzzle pieces into slots that weren’t meant for them, letting Alex dig it all up on his own.
Maybe it was too soon. Another thing with the adjective too before it. In a small, delicate, miniature world, a huge balloon of Alex. An elephant in the china shop.
What if bringing feelings into the conversation was the swing of his trunk that knocked every priceless piece down. The plate of their first kiss, teapot of seeing Henry at the state dinner, saucer of their first morning in Paris, cup of their first time in L.A. all shattered.
He greets the familiar tell tales of a panic attack like an old friend, letting the tingling on his fingers and the numbness in his lips replace the fear, the constricting weight on his chest and his stuttering breath, suffocating him, a welcomed exchange for the possibility of losing Henry.
The coldness of the water -now that Henry isn’t here with him- pierce every inch of his skin like needles, not letting the attack take him. He should get out, go back inside, dry himself off and slide next to the warm body that is waiting for him in the bedroom.
Slowly, he climbs up, gathers his clothes and watches his feet mindfully. One step after another, feeling the splinters in the wooden deck tickle the calloused soles of his feet, the sliminess of the moss, the grass on the garden caressing his ankles. Knowing each step is carrying him towards Henry, he is able to keep taking them. Henry will soothe all of his worries, be the balm of his scars even if he’s the one who’s slashed them open.
Then like a jolt of lightning, a possibility hits Alex, splitting his entire existence open. What if Henry is not there to put him back together?
He tries to make a list, convince his spiraling mind that everything will be at least moderately fine but his mind comes up blank.
1.
.
.
.
1.
.
.
.
- Henry has left after kissing Alex under the linden tree
- Henry has ghosted him for weeks after the kiss
His mind should have stayed blank.
The possibility is so palpable, if Alex reaches for the door to it he can see the mattresses they piled on the floor together (simply because they couldn’t bear the thought of being in the same continent, same country, same state, same room and still not sleeping side by side, not an inch between them but on bunk beds and chose to sleep on the floor on something that barely resembles a bed) empty.
He thinks about the boy scouts camp, of haphazardly shoving everything into his backpack and fighting with the casing of his sleeping bag (because once that thing is out, there is no way of putting it back) and coming home to a half empty house.
Half of his childhood having left with his father, moving somewhere miles away. Leaving an improperly grown up Alex -half a boy, half a man- lost like the piece of his heart that went away with Oscar.
He remembers thinking about how if he never came home from that trip, if he drowned or died in a car crash on his way, he never would have grown up in a broken family.
He never would have grown up either, but maybe Peter Pan had a point.
He thinks about Schrodinger and his cat. The cat is not dead until you open the box. The cat is not alive either, forever in a state of purgatory. But isn’t it better?
If he never goes inside the room, the ridiculously expensive overnight bag will never be not by the bottom bunk, a sweater Henry only brought because he knows how much Alex loves stealing his clothes won’t be gone from the back of the chair, the toiletry bag holding Henry’s toothbrush and pills will still be in the bathroom right next to their bedroom.
He stands under the stars until his hair dries completely, until the dawn breeze makes him shiver, until time passes by.
I can do this. A breath in, a breath out. I existed before Henry, if push comes to shove I can exist after Henry. But that was all he ever did before Henry, wasn’t it? Exist. I wasn’t living before Henry, I won’t be living after him either.
It’s been too long since the last time he prayed. Catholic God may have shaped Alex into the person he is today, but he had forgotten to say his grace, too lost in the ephemeral world. Muchas gracias, Santa Maria. For giving him to me, even if the time I had with him was limited.
He lifts his head, eyes closed.
Amen.
When he blinks his eyes open, there are two stars among a million others in the sky, brighter than the rest. The pale gleam of others seem as if they are dimmed on purpose, letting those two stand out, shine the brightest, lead the way.
Rigel.
Betelgeuse.
Orion.
“Lead me to him.” Alex begs. “Let me be your eyes on him, looking out for him even if they are rendered useless like those of Tiresias. Let me be your hands, cradling his body, wrapping them around him like an armor not because he needs one but because he deserves one. Let me be your heart and love him even if mine gets ripped out of me, because my love for him can not be contained by the faint borders of my heart.
“You showed me the shoulders of Orion tonight. I had once thought through the place where our shoulders had touched, I could absorb anything that felt too much to him, let him take what his languorous existence can carry and surmount the rest. Let me be the shoulder he can rest when things get too much, not because he can not carry the weight himself but because I would die if I couldn’t.
“Promise me he will be there when I walk in, and I promise you I will never walk out on him until I am up there on the stars with you, Arthur.
“You know how much he has needed you ever since you left. I know you watch over him. But now, I need you.”
Wiping all the tears that have long streamed down to his chest, Alex tries to make out the rest of the constellation the way Henry had taught him. In the end it doesn’t matter. He knows damn well even if Henry is not there, even if the damn belt of the Orion falls out of the sky, he will get Henry.
With a newfound resolution, Alex takes the final steps towards the house, the daunting door to the room patiently waiting for him.
The mop of blonde hair that greets him among the mess of a bed they made, it simply is the most breathtaking view Alex had ever seen. ”Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
No statue, no painting, no sketch can live up to the pure ethereal beauty of Henry, no melody sweet enough. They say God sings with all of his creations, but Henry Fox is a symphony on his own.
The space between them seems so unjustifiable at that moment. There never should be miles, inches, clothes, even skin between them. He wants to rip his own heart out to make a place for Henry in his body, let Henry’s heart beat for the both of them, contend in his presence.
The mattress dips down under his weight, pulling Henry closer slightly more towards Alex, like two planets with their own gravitational pulls.
His fingers move their own accord, reverently pushing a stand of golden hair away from his face, revealing the side of Henry’s face. He lets his fingers stay there for a while, wanting, hoping, wishing to fill every liminal space in his fingerprints with Henry.
The exposed temple calls for his name, begging to be the altar of Alex’s lips, calling him into worship he has no choice but to obey.
The room is silent, unfilled and in the dead of the night the only thing that feels worthy enough to fill it comes out as if it were a prayer Alex has prayed every night since he was a child, etched in his mind, in his heart. “I love you so much, H.”
The habit of speaking to Henry when he is asleep has begun the same night Alex was doomed, their first night together in Paris.
Succumbing to the impulse to touch the ridges of Henry’s spine -ever so prominent when he’s curled up on his side- taunting him like not reaching out and touching would end him, that night Alex let his fingers explore the exposed skin the way he never did before.
Before that it was all rushed hands trying to cover as much as ground as they can, urgent touches dying to get their fill. But in the quiet of the hotel room, blanketed by the darkness of the night, Alex let his finger savoringly graze the skin.
“So soft.” The words came out hushed, awed, filling the room yet not shattering the fragility.
The way Henry had moved, for a second Alex thought he had woken up, but the body next to him only melted further into the mattress, his mouth going slack. Another layer of prince armor he is forced to carry even in his sleep, peeling off.
So Alex continued to talk, telling Henry how smooth his skin was, how the contrast between their skin mesmerized him. How he would have expected it to feel clashed, but how they actually complemented each other. How this scared Alex but how he also pushed it deep down among other things he wasn’t strong enough to deal with.
Then it became a thing. Alex would patiently wait for Henry to fall asleep and then revel in it, telling him everything he’s been too afraid to say out loud, everything he thought Henry deserved to hear. Hoping somehow those words would find their way into Henry, covering him like a vine.
This night seems as good as any, so Alex talks, hoping to grow the vines. He hopes he can get to do this until Henry is completely covered in green, all the faded exterior turning a luscious green. He hopes he can get to do it even after.
“I love you so much, it feels endless. Like I am just one small man in the vast ocean that is my love for you and I know I’ll spend my life swimming in it. I am sorry for rushing things if you weren’t ready to hear them. I’ll wait a lifetime for you if that is what you need.”
Because he needs Henry to know this. Alex will wait by the door of his heart day in, day out until Henry is ready to let the gates down and flood inside with Alex’s love.
“If this was just a coincidence, just bad timing and the beginning of one of your bad days, know that I love them just as much as I love you. I love every color and every shade you have in between them.
“I was so afraid to come inside this room and find it empty, I stalled coming back here. If I never came in and found it empty, you never would be gone. Schrodinger's boyfriend.” The words leave his mouth without his permission, the title bestowing itself upon Henry on its own accords. It feels natural, fitting for him.
Alex wants to wake him up and tell him all about Schrodinger, watch Henry listen with rapt attention even though he probably knows about it. He wants to tell him about his own box he puts his scary feelings in, how Liam was trapped inside, how his need for his mother is still flailing around. How he never wants Henry to be inside of it.
Then the helpless confession that follows feels more sacred than any he’s ever made inside of a church. “Thank god you’re still here. Always be here, H. I don’t think I can live without you now.”
“It is so funny that speaking to you while you’re sleeping has become something I do on a regular basis. Whether on a FaceTime call when we’re thousands of miles apart, or while you’re sprawled out on the bed, right next to me.
“I hope your brilliant mind is writing every little thing I say down, tucking it safe inside the corners of your subconscious and remind your conscious mind every day how incredible you are.”
Alex puts the image of Henry in front of him next to himself sitting in a confessional booth, and the golden halo of Henry’s hair sprawled on the pillow feels more sacramental than the former.
Keep worshiping Henry through what he considers to be holy, eloquent praises and odes spilling from Alex’s lips feels more like a sacrament than any other divine service he’s ever done.
“How brave you are, how pure and full of love your heart is even to those who don’t deserve it, how strong you are and mostly how loved you are. Not just by Bea and Pez or by me.
“You know June and Nora adore you and my dad is completely charmed by you too. Diaz men are weak for you I guess.”
He doesn’t even realize he started crying until his laughter comes out wet, choking on a hiccup on its way out.
“But no one can love you as much as I do. I love you so much I am surprised by how my body is able to keep it all inside, how it is not seeping out of every pore. Ew that sounded so gross.” Another chuckle escapes. “But baby, I do. When they find my skeleton, years from now, they might not know my name, how I died, how old I was but they will know I carried the biggest love there ever was, carved inside my bones.
“I hope one day I can say these to your face, while looking into your eyes as well. Thank you for letting me love you Hen. Good night.”
Alex must be getting real tired because in his vision for a split second he sees Henry’s shoulders move as if he’s crying. Instinctively he snakes his arm around his waist, pulling himself impossibly closer to Henry. He thinks about how they must look from the outside. His golden bronze body wrapping itself around Henry’s ivory one, shielding, being a rib cage around him as if he himself entirely is the heart.
Knowing sleep will not come to him easily, Alex still closes his eyes, letting the freshly cut grass and clean laundry smell filling his senses.
The first rays of the sun visit Alex before sleep does, his entire night spent watching Henry as if he would let him out of his eyes, he would disappear, run off to Kensington and erase himself out of Alex’s life.
Only when Henry stirs underneath his hands, Alex realizes the grip he has on the T-shirt Henry is wearing. Letting his fingers relax and splay on his stomach for a second Alex basks in the luxury of the skin beneath his fingertips.
He feels the accelerated heartbeat, the irregular breathing pattern. He feels Henry wake up before he sees it. “Baby, are you awake?”
The lack of answer answers his question for him, silence filling in the blanks. Whether it was caused by Alex's attempted confession or by anything else- or nothing at all, gray clouds are circling Henry, a bad day.
Even before Alex was aware of his feelings, foolishly thinking this was just an attraction, he knew he wanted Henry even on his bad days. He doesn’t love Henry despite them, he loves Henry with them.
It is a privilege he’ll get to cherish, being able to take care of him when he has his bad days. A true honor being the one who can help Henry through them, holding his hand.
Circling the bed, he squats down. The pair of blue eyes staring back at him make him realize that this is real, that Henry actually is here, the demons of the night finally disappearing in the light of their existence. “Good morning baby.”
Henry is unresponsive and Alex thanks each sleepless night of learning how to treat someone who’s having a depressive episode through deep dives; through psychological and psychiatric publishings, journals of people who went through them, reddit and any corner of the internet he can reach.
During those nights, he has learned to ask before a touch, to offer different ways of communication than speaking, to not force anything even if it’s just water (if not a life threatening situation). And he knows Henry, his Henry, so he doesn’t feel completely out of his depth.
He will take good care of Henry with everything he’s got, and then some more, asking for reinforcements. But he has to reassure Henry first.
“I am going to touch you.” Or else I might die.
“Blink once if yes, twice if no. I know talking can be hard.” After the first blink, Alex waits for two seconds for good measure before cradling Henry’s face in his hands, wiping away the stray tears with his thumbs.
One of his hands finds Henry’s, kissing each knuckle reverently, branding the dips and curves of it into his lips. “I have just a few things I have to do but I’ll be right back sweetheart. Then, if you want to be alone, I’ll give you your space.” The because I might have caused this by being too much at the end lingering unsaid between them.
In the dormant house, when every other occupant is still sleeping, the ringing of his phone feels piercing to his ears. After the third one, it picks up.
”Alex?”
“Bea, I need your help. It’s Henry.”
“Of course, love. Is he alright? Are you alright?”
Even though the accent is different with rounded vowels and posh precision, even when the voice is more of a mezzo than soprano, the familiar safety of a big sister cocoons Alex, releasing some of the tension he’s been feeling.
The sob comes out of its own accord, muffled by the hand Alex managed to slap on his mouth at the last second.
”Alex, I need you to breathe and tell me what happened. Can you do that darling?
A sisterly veil of tough exterior thinly covers the anxiety in her voice. When anxious, Bea's voice also goes half a pit higher, same as Henry’s. If Alex wasn’t so in tune with Henry’s every tell he might have missed it, derail and crumble and let Bea pick him up but he can’t worry her, not when Henry needs her more than Alex does.
Wiping tears with the back of his hand, he clears his throat. “He’s having a bad day.”
”Oh.” For some reason her voice deflates, disappointment seeping through instead of relief. ”And you want me to snap him out of it?”
“Wh- No.” If it was anyone else he was talking to and not Bea, he would snap at them, possibly ask if they were high or something. “He is okay with touch, I will bring him some tea but all I got is Twinings Earl Grey. Is that alright? There is this international market an hour out from where we are. I'll call and check before I go but I’m pretty sure they have Jaffa Cakes and Cornettos.
“Should I get something else? I don’t know, maybe HobNobs? Cadburys? I don’t think he’ll be up for watching Bake Off, at least not today. But what else can I do?”
“Oh, Alex.” A sigh that is too close to a sob comes through the phone. ”I think you’ve got everything besides David, love.”
The uncontrollable urge to pester and beg and annoy until he gets what he wants might be the worst vice Alex has. It was what got him into the Turkey Calamity, it’s what’s driving him now. Same compulsion speaking for him.
“Bring him.”
In lieu of a response, Bea squeals. That’s when Alex knows he's won the battle before he starts fighting.
“You heard me.” he pushes. “Bring him, Bea. We already have three more days planned here. I- I don’t know tell them he ate food that was too spicy and his colonizer white boy tummy couldn’t handle it. That he’ll need five to seven business days to recover.” This earns him a melodic laugh in return.
It relieves him knowing he can lean on her and support her all at the same time. Trust Bea to take care of him just as June and care for her in return just like Henry does.
The realization of Bea also becoming his family fills him with the urge to make her laugh again, a shared bubble of levity among the helplessness of their inability to absorb all of Henry’s pain like a sponge. And he has to do it again.
“No, I know! Tell them His Royal Highness Prince Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor of Wales has heard a Mexican man who dared to try to create laws for your former colony utter the words ‘y’all’ and his fragile British sensibilities couldn’t handle it. But his fainting chair was too far away for his peasants to bring under him in time.”
”You know, Henry might be a prince but with the way he usually is, I always thought of him as more of a queen, the drama kind. However, I do owe my little brother an apology. You truly are a bloody menace to society.” Her laughter ringing in his ears, Alex lets himself join her.
“That’s a yes, right? You’re coming and bringing him with you?”
There must be a shared upper consciousness of resigned older sisters because Alex can swear the sigh she lets out is the same one June does when she’s done with him. ”Yes.”
The unsaid thoughts swimming inside of his head hang between them, guilt dripping out of every article.
”Alex?”
“Yeah?”
”You can talk to me, you know that right. I would love to listen to anything that is eating you up.”
“I think I’ve caused it.” The words leave his lips in such a hushed tone, Alex fears Bea might have not heard them. He doesn’t have it in him to repeat himself, the weight of them too heavy.
”No. Oh Alex. No. Why? Did you guys fight?” The unwavering faith Bea places in Alex is what breaks him.
“I love him.” Wet words spill out, cascade into a safe river. “I- I wanted to tell him, but I must have pushed him too hard, forced him into something he wasn’t ready for. I thought- well I know he loves me too. I can feel it, Bea. I can see it, not with my eyes but with my heart. There isn’t a universe where an Alex doesn’t love his Henry and his Henry doesn't love him back.
“He is inside the lines of my palm, deciding my faith, my future, written in every aspect of it. I hold him in the possibilities of my body, in the laugh lines I will get with the joy he brings to my life, in the gray of my hair he will cause by insisting it is spelled with an ‘e’ instead of an ‘a’, in the creases around my eyes because he is the brightest thing I have ever seen.
“I can not bear the idea of dimming the light inside of him. I would let myself be burned if it meant he could get to keep his own light, I would cut myself up piece by piece, feeding his fire.
“When he left, just as I was about to say it with words instead of kisses for the first time, I was sure I was going to come back to an empty room. I wandered around the yard and stayed frozen for hours, afraid of what I would find inside. It’s second nature to him, instinct to run away when he’s afraid and I made him scared.
“I cried and begged and prayed to the gods, to the stars, to Arthur, to let me love him.”
”Oh, Alex. Love, Henry loves you so much. He loves you so much, he would die for you.”
“I need him to live for me. They are killing him enough over there.” And with that, everything becomes crystal clear for Alex. “If it weren’t for them.” he spits the word with as much venom as he can put in it. “Henry wouldn’t feel so scared and helpless just because I love him and he loves me back. I need him to live, I need him alive.”
He knows he’s crying and he knows Bea’s crying too. And somehow, with over three thousand miles between them, they share a hug, exchange silent promises to fight for the man they both love, to help him fight for himself.
“I’ll see you when you land, I’ll pick you up from the private landing strip.”
”Yes, sir.” Bea muses. ”Anything else?”
Alex always loved making his sister laugh. “Donate to a climate change organization, I need your jet to fucking hurry but I also kind of want to leave a decent world for my kids. Think of your nieces, Bea. Think of them.”
Mixed with the rustling of fabric, her laughter lets Alex know he’s accomplished this task. Now onto a much bigger fight. Peeking through the adjacent door, he watches Henry for a second. Both making sure he’s still there and reminding himself why he is about to do what he’s about to do.
Alex was around eight when he learned to assess a problem and determine if it was more or less important than his mothers work. Once she became president, well, there simply isn't anything as important as being the leader of the free world, is there?
Except Henry. Looking at the sight of the boy, all pale in the most wrong way, he doesn’t even pause to think. He hits the dial before giving it a second thought.
“Ma? I need your help.”
”Sugar, is everything okay?”
“No.” He had never asked anything of worth from his mother, never for himself. For Henry? There isn’t even one single thing he wouldn’t ask for.
Trust is a hard thing to build and in that second Alex realizes his trust for his mother, regarding Henry, is cracking. Ellen has never given him a reason for doubting her, but nothing against it either. For all the lacrosse games she had missed, all the debates looking at the audience only to be disappointed, all the sick nights June checked his temperature. He can not bring himself to place something as precious as Henry inside of her palms, not having received her care for so long.
“I am going to ask a few hypothetical questions, if you’re not otherwise busy?” And yes. He will ask even if she is busy.
”Sure, I’m all ears.”
“No other government would be able to enforce something on an American citizen, unless they have committed a jus cogens crime, or a crime on their own soil, right? Even then it still would be an issue of jurisdiction and determining which country has the right to persecution.”
”Y-yes?” There is no time to pause and assess the skepticism in her voice.
“And for someone to become a US citizen, they either have to be born on US soil or be naturalized, in case of marriage the statute of being a permanent resident lowers from five years to three.
“However, as the chief executive, you possess the power of prosecutorial discretion, ergo can grant someone political asylum. Am I right?”
”Alex, darling, you know I like entertaining your every whim but-”
The rest of her sentence gets curtly interrupted. “This.” he lets out through gritted teeth “Is not a whim. I am trying to protect Henry in any way I can. And though you have marginally done better at protecting me than Catherine did protecting him, I cannot bring myself to hand out the entirety of the issue in your hands. Because the last time I tried that-
“Well… let me check how my ADHD diagnosis went? It didn’t. Because you never took me to get tested. I understand the gravity of your work, in the grand scheme of things my inability to stop my leg from bouncing or studying like a normal human being are just infinitesimal specs.
“But Ma, he has been let down by too many people who were supposed to be protecting him. I cannot let you take on the role and fail him too simply because your dedication to your duty proceeds your desire to help out my boyfriend. I need to shoulder this, so please tell me. If Henry, in any way, becomes a US citizen, the crown cannot touch him, can they?
“From this day to the day I die, the answer to your one good, one bad thing; every day my one good thing will be Henry. I can not let my one bad thing be my inadequacy to protect him, on any day. Okay?”
For a second the line goes silent, then he hears Ellen clear her throat. ”I- Yes. I- Alex.” maybe for the first time in his life, Alex witnesses his mother losing her words, the fierce Lometa Longshot rendered speechless not by Supreme Court judges, not by Congressmen, not by Presidential candidates but simply by his son who is so in love, and so desperate to protect the person he loves.
”If he were any other person, you already would have all your answers. In fact, this phone call would be redundant. However, I am not sure even if Henry can become a US citizen without abdicating and giving up his title. I will do proper research and get back to you with answers as soon as possible”.
“Thank you, ma.” Even without the answers, hearing his mother promise that she will help loosens the knots on his shoulders a little bit.
”And, Alex?”
“Yes?”
”I do mean it when I say as soon as possible. And I am sorry for not being there for you when you needed me.”
One single apology will not erase years of neglect and unresolved hurt, yet this feels like a strong place to start. “I know, ma. You are here for me now and that’s all that matters.”
”I am, for the both of you darlin’.” With her familiar Southern drawl, it is not Madam President Ellen Claremont making a promise, it is his Ma.
Everything he needs to do out of the way, he creates a group chat for himself, Pez, June and Nora and briefly explains everything that has happened minus his almost love confession and two emotionally draining (three if counting the one with Arthur) conversations and goes to take his rightful place behind Henry.
But first things first. Seeing Henry’s face, even contorted in pain, even numb and empty still unclenches the hinges around his heart. Henry is here and they can work through it. They can live through it. Not shove feelings down or lock them away in dusty cupboards, live them and then let them go. Set the pain, set the grief free and themselves.
“Do you feel like you can talk?” Two blinks.
“Can you eat or drink anything?” Two blinks.
“A little water?” Two blinks.
Henry does so well, and Alex is so proud of him, he feels so privileged to be trusted with being by his side when he is at his most vulnerable. Alex takes this memory and holds it in his hands just as it is being created and tucks it in the same spot in his chest where everything about Henry is stored, squeezed somewhere between their defiance at Wimbledon and watching him play polo for the first time.
“Thank you, baby. Can I hold you?” I need to hold you, make sure you are safe, intact, physically feel the sense of protecting you. One blink.
As if he’s been waiting for this, Henry falls asleep, finally, fucking finally some of the tension in his body melting through their contact point. His cradled body in Alex’s arms twitch, face scrunching but Alex holds him through it, running his hands through his hair, moving his fingers up and down on his arm, and just talking.
“One of my favorite things to do is running my hands through your soft hair. I love how soft it feels under my fingers, I love how my hand smells like your shampoo afterwards and how pliant your body goes under my touch.
“But I think some part of why I love it is, it heals a part of the twelve year old boy who saw a picture of a prince in a magazine and came back to it day after day, wondering if his hair was as soft as it looked. Wondering how he could summon that effortless confidence, the brightness he radiated even through the pages.
“I did admire you back then, even had a crush on you that I couldn't name yet. It was like looking at a painting at a museum, not knowing who painted it, or what it was called, yet still admiring it. Letting the colors and brush strokes take you to another dimension, getting lost in it. I just needed time to name the painting I’d been admiring since I was twelve and I am forever grateful for your patience with me.
“You have been incredible with me, healing parts of me that you didn’t even break.”
His voice breaks at the last sentence, tears clinging to his eyelashes. They are not tears of sadness or tears of joy, they are simply his love for Henry breaking the confines of his body, finding their way out.
Sleep threatens to overtake his body, but the idea of sleeping and letting Henry out of his sight rattles him down to his marrow. The hail mary comes in the form of hiz buzzing phone.
Ignoring the few missed calls, not wanting to wake Henry up, Alex scrolls through his other notifications.
June texting him and letting him know they’ve woken up, will shove food and drive to Austin for a concert and spend the night there.
Bea texting him and letting him know she’s on the air and will touchdown in a few hours, all the goods and David secured. [Image: David looking out the plane window]
And an email notification from his mother.
From:Ellen Claremont [[email protected]]
To:Alex Claremont-Diaz [[email protected]]
Cc:HRH Prince Henry [[email protected]]
Subject: US Citizenship Possibility Of Foreign Monarchs
Attachments: [Precedent_of_citizenship_status_change.pdf], [Dangers_Of_Hasty_Decisions.ppx], [My_Boyfriend_And_Me.ppx]Alex,
I have found the attached precedent cases in which a figurehead of a certain country has changed citizenship. The cases are scarce and all are due to marriage into another royal family, i.e. gaining a title in the country they have married into.
I do hope in your plan to protect your boyfriend, in which you both have my full support, you will not marry him in haste and make wrong, rash decisions. Both of your mothers should be at your wedding, regardless if they deserve it or not. Simply because you two deserve it.
As you might read in the 17th slide of the attached “Dangers Of Hasty Decisions” PowerPoint presentation, I have listed other reasons why a shotgun wedding at Atlantic City would be completely disruptive.
In the following slide you might find the list of reasons why it would also contribute to the opposite of what you are trying to accomplish.
I have put in a request regarding getting in touch with a source that might be able to offer more information on the matter and shed light on your questions. I will keep you updated on my findings.
Once again I do apologize if you ever felt like you couldn’t come to me for anything. I am always available to you, 24/7 and the same goes for Henry.
P.S. One good thing: Started my day with a phone call with my son
One bad thing: We ran out of the good cheese Leo brought over from Italy-Mom
The attachments his mother sent keep Alex busy for a few hours, he gets lost in possibilities and opportunities. He wants to have an iron clad way to protect Henry against the crown. Have an indestructible protective layer on him so when they inevitably dare to bring their hammer down on him, they hit a solid rock, breaking their hammer instead.
The 52nd slide of “My Boyfriend And Me” is making Alex wish he could bleach his eyes when Henry starts thrashing around, sweat dripping down his temples.
“Shhh, it’s okay, H. I’m here baby. Shhh.” Rubbing a soothing hand on his back, Alex manages to calm Henry down in a few minutes. Even after his breathing evens out, Alex can not bring himself to let him go and get a damp washcloth to wipe the sweat off his face for a long time, gently rocking them both back and forth.
When he is almost done with wiping him up, fluttering his golden lashes open, Henry looks up at him with tired blue eyes. “Sorry sweetheart, didn’t mean to wake you.”
Henry is on his side on the bed, neck a little bit craned to look at Alex, the bags under his eyes are more prominent than Alex had ever seen in a long time and he looks too pale like he hasn’t seen the sun for months. His normally soft and plush lips are chapped and bruised in places from being bitten down.
He is the most beautiful thing Alex has ever seen. He instinctively reaches over and places a gentle kiss on his temple, the guilt of not having asked shadowed by the burning desire to touch Henry in any way he can.
Before he can ask anything further, his phone starts buzzing somewhere inside the pile of blankets, startling Henry. Scrambling to find it, Alex goes to silent it, but Bea’s name flashing on the screen stops him.
“I’ve gotta take this baby I’m sorry. But I’ll be right back.”
Usually it’s Alex who jumps into the conversation without any greeting but apparently Bea can do it better than him. ”Alex, care to explain why the hell my mother has called me, frightened, asking if my little brother had gotten married to his boyfriend?”
“Wait. What?”
”Your mother, the President of the United States of America, has called our mother. Had a ‘come to Jesus’ talk with her, which worked wonders if I might add. But I did have the most awkward conversation with her just now. You owe me for that mess.
“Also you owe June a favor as well since your frantic mother has called her asking about you guys’ current marital status. Apparently you did not reply to her email and she took it as confirmation of your Atlantic City wedding.”
Brain swirling with information, Alex has to cut in. “Why the fuck would we get married in Atlantic City? Nevada is closer to Texas, we’d obviously drive up to Las Vegas.”
”Nora said the same thing! Anyways, I’ll be landing in 30, darling, I will meet you at the landing strip."
As promised, more to Arthur and himself than Henry, Alex rushes to return to the bed as soon as he hangs up the phone.
Henry had always called him a sun, bright and warm and shiny. But with the pull he feels in his solar plexus, it feels more like a black hole, a dead star with too much energy, pulling everything in its chaos. Isn’t the sun also a star doomed to die?
The ache he feels when he’s not around Henry is almost like a physical sensation, a pain he feels deep in his body. As if some parts of him are taken out against his will and now his body is fighting to get them back.
It must be how a back hole also feels.
But now he is in the vicinity of Henry, existing in his orbit, following him like a satellite. This time he sits in front of him cross legged on the floor, the slight advantage the mattress gives Henry makes them almost at the same eye level.
He still looks pale and exhausted, like all the life is drained out of him. He still looks just as beautiful as ever. There were a lot of things Alex never would have considered before Henry; his sexuality, holding a love so big it breaks the rules of physics, trying to carve himself a home inside of somebody everytime they made love, wanting someone else to carve a home for themselves inside of Alex…
But one more thing he never would have considered was calling a man beautiful, or pretty. Maybe it was because he had ever seen Henry. Looked at him? Yes, maybe a million times. But seen? No, not until his life has already shifted on its axis.
But Henry is so beautiful.
There have been many times Alex wondered how he would fit into history one day. The son of the first female president of the US. The biracial son of the first female president of the US. The biracial and bisexual son of the first female president of the US.
And there have been times Alex thought about how Henry was going to fit into history one day. The perfect Prince of England's hearts whose own heart has never been cared for (until Alex). The spare. Son of the beloved English actor Arthur Fox. Son of the first princess with a PhD. As the first openly gay prince in Alex’s dreams, out and proud and loved and accepted.
But even if Henry wasn’t a prince, or son of a famous actor, Alex knows he would have taken a leaf for himself in the pages of history. There can be no history of art that prescinds the most beautiful man that existed in the 21st century. Maybe ever.
So he lets himself watch Henry, watch until the deep burning need for him can not be satisfied by just looking, watch until his carnal need to be closer and touch can not be reined in.
“Can I touch you Hen?” He feels the deprivation of physical contact so deep, his eyes start to get glassy. He can not cry, not when Henry needs Alex to take care of him. “If you don’t, it is totally okay, baby. I just want to offer you any kind of comfort I can provide. Anything you want, anything you need and it's yours.”
You already have all of me, completely. ‘You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. And I never wish to be parted from you this day forth’
One blink. Yes.
Unsaid words hang in the air and instead he takes Henry’s hands into his own. “Your hands are cold.”
They resume their previous position until June comes softly knocking, without trying to move his torso, Alex just cranes his head in her direction.
“We are heading out, dad is staying here in case you guys need something. Keep us updated when you can. See you guys tomorrow afternoon”
He mimics June’s hushed whisper tone. “Thanks, Bug. Have fun.”
Pez mouths a silent ‘Thank you’ and the look they share speaks for everything they both could want to say.
His fingers find Henry’s hair once again. Alex can not be sure how catatonic Henry is right now, or how aware he is of his surroundings, yet he still tells him. Even if there is a tiny chance he registers some of what’s happening and not all, Alex doesn’t want him to feel anxious over the unclear part.
“Nora, Pez and June left, baby. It’s just you and me- well and my father now. But if you’d like it to be just us, he can give us the space as well.” He only gets a barely there nod in response.
Bea’s text comes an hour after June and the rest leave.
”Ready when you are. Got the goods x”
[Image: David and three bags filled to the brim with snacks]
“Hen, I’m going to go but I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”
Grabbing the house keys and the keys to the jeep, Alex is rushing to the driveway when Oscar stops him. “Mijo?”
“Hey, dad. I was just gonna go pick up Bea.”
“Oh, I know. Nora told me over breakfast.” He comes closer and takes his flip flops off with flicks of his feet. “Can’t drive a fucking jeep barefooted, can you?”
When Alex looks down he realizes he really was about to do just that. “No, I guess not. Thanks dad.” And he doesn’t just mean the flip flops. The knowing soft smile on Oscar’s face tells him he knows it too.
“Is it a touching day?”
“What?”
“When I check in on Henry, can I hold him if he needs comfort?”
The lump on his throat prevents Alex from speaking, so he nods instead before closing in the distance and hugging his father.
“Go and get Bea, I’ve got your boy.”
The sun has barely set, sky is painted in the prettiest shades of orange, pink and purple, moon and stars are yet to be seen. But Alex still lifts his head and looks up after Oscar goes back inside. We all got him.
The drive up is silent, Alex’s head feels too full and empty all at the same time. He wonders if this is how Henry is feeling right now too, he wonders if he borrowed some of Henry’s sadness when he walked out the door, leaving Henry a little bit relieved with something a little more manageable.
He hopes so. Like the Atlas, he’d shoulder it all for him.
Oblivious to the circumstances surrounding him, David is extremely happy to see Alex when he gets out of the jeep. His cheer spreads immediately, making him feel light and happy. “Hi, good boy. Whosagoodboy. Youreagoodboy. Yougonnamakedaddyhappy? Yesyouare. Yesyouareee.”
The PPOs that accompany Bea are possibly the most professional people in the entire world because sight in front of them must be one of the most bizarre things they have ever seen. The first son of the United States sitting down on the tarmac on his ass wearing swimming shorts and an Oxford t-shirt, flips flops scattered on the floor, the dog of the spare prince in between his legs licking his face while he coos at him. And the princess placing bags and bags of snacks around them, then going in front of them to take pictures, kneeling on the floor in a sundress and kitten heeled sandals.
Once they are done with their shenanigans and David has received what he deemes is enough belly rubs and ear scratches from Alex, Bea holds her hand out to the PPOs who make a move to follow her. “David and I will be riding with Mr. Claremont-Diaz. If you wish, you may follow us with another vehicle.”
Alex uses the roar of the engine coming alive to muffle his words, for some reason feeling paranoid over the PPOs. “It is truly fucking astonishing how it is brain numbingly hot when you and Henry use your regal authority. But when Phillip does it I want to chew my own arm off and hit my own dick with it just to feel a different kind of pain.”
The drive back feels shorter, much more alive. It is so easy to talk to Bea, exchange dumb stories about older sisters and younger brothers. And having her by his side makes Alex feel stronger as well, having someone who is better equipped to help Henry. And he tells her such.
“Don’t be silly Alex. Sure, I might have more experience caring for him. But the bond you guys share is beyond comprehension. It is like watching a pen searching for a paper for so long, aimlessly wandering and then finally finding its purpose when it runs into the paper.”
A joke runs to the tip of Alex’s tongue about Henry being the white sheet in the relationship, but it all fizzles.
“You guys are going to write history together.”
And how is Alex expected to turn off the ignition and walk out of the car after that sentence.
Both the hallway and the kitchen are empty when they walk inside, Alex haphazardly leaves the flip flops behind and walking towards the ajar door, he gestures to Bea and David to stay a few steps behind. Itching to surprise Henry, he lifts his hand to push the door open but hearing Henry’s voice, he stays frozen, hand suspended in the air.
“...out to tell me he loves me, and I ran. I wanted to leave, but the weight of it kept me in place. I can not love Alex the way he deserves, boldly, openly. Loving him is the thing I’m proudest of in this life, but I am not allowed to be happy or proud. My birthright is a country, not peace, not love.
“I thought I couldn’t bear to hear those words. But when he came in that night, thinking I was asleep, he said it anyway. He thought I was asleep but believed I deserved to hear it anyway.”
His own tears are running down his face, mirroring Henry’s ones judging by the little hiccups he’s hearing. His fathers soft ‘shhhh’ reminds him of the times he cried in Oscar’s arms as a kid, the safety of his fathers hands on his head, caressing his hair. Alex hopes with his entire heart he’s now doing it to Henry too.
“Yeah he is a stubborn bastard like that.” Oscar’s response is amusingly presumptuous. His stubbornness didn’t come from the fucking milkman.
The melody coming from the room takes Alex to another place, to another time. Where they are in Mexico, and he is 5, wrapped up in a towel at a beach, freshly out of the water, safe in his fathers arms.
He is a little bit grumpy, arguing with his mother about being a grown up and not needing a nap but the lullaby his father is singing is already making his eyelids heavier, bringing him closer and closer to the land of dreams.
A new image forms in his head, Oscar wrapping a pale Henry in his arms and singing the same old melody he used to sing to Alex. Then the vision morphs into something else, a little girl with Alex’s curls in golden blonde resting her head on his lap, her feet stretched out to familiar strong thighs, same melody carrying on. In his vision Oscar calls them and the little girl starts running towards him…
“I know it is your family. But I don’t give a flying fuck about your birthright. What I do care about is yours and Alex’s happiness. If he makes you happy, if you feel like he is worth fighting, we’ll all go to war with you. You’ve got an army of us here.”
His fathers stern voice brings him out of his reverie. He knows eavesdropping to such a private conversation is fucked up, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He should just scurry back to the kitchen and make some tea for Bea or get himself some whiskey or something but he is aching, yearning, dying to hear Henry say he’ll fight for them too.
The fire burning within Alex is blazing, it’ll burn down Phillip, Catherine, Mary; all of them. He will turn Kensington and Buckingham into ash, single handedly end monarchy if it means he’ll get to have Henry. But he needs Henry by his side, his hands are so cold, so alone without another pair slotting in between his fingers. He needs those hands to set the fire ablaze.
“I- I can’t ask anyone to fight my battles. Especially ones that are doomed to fail.”
The copper taste in Alex’s mouth registers in his brain when a delicate arm wraps around his shoulders, peeling his hand away from the doorframe. “Give him time, trust the love you have, he is still here, there is still fight in him.” Bea whispers.
Getting impatient, David starts pawing the floor right next to them, forcing Alex to compose himself and walk inside if he’s going to do this right.
“Hi baby.” leaning down he places a kiss on top of his head, inhaling the innately Henry smell, begging his lungs to hold it inside, to never let it go. In that moment Henry shatters him and simultaneously puts him back together.
It takes every single drop of self restraint he has to not bury his head in the crook of Henry’s neck, hold him and never let go. Cry and beg for him to never leave. But he shoves it all down, gets up and gives Henry everything he needs to feel better: David and Bea.
“Someone’s here to see you.”
Hearing Bea’s voice, Henry moves his body properly for the first time in 24 hours. Alex’s battered heart starts beating again, soaring with the sight of Henry shedding some of the layers of the weight holding him down.
“I’ll let you guys talk. I have groceries to put away anyways.” He kisses Henry’s hair again, staying there for a few seconds too long, then his neck, feeling the pulse there with his lips. Then comes back to his temple, letting his lips rest on the little dip there as if it’s carved to be a home for Alex’s lips.
His resolve breaks when he is in the kitchen, tears streaming on their own accord. His vision gets blurry but the cloudy outline of his father comes closer and closer until he feels a bear tight hug.“And I thought I was the one cutting onions.”
The laughter he lets out gets muffled on Oscar’s shoulder. He lets himself be held until the tears stop, hiding from the world in the crook of his father's neck. Then he peels himself off. “Cooking for two white people is going to make every one of our ancestors roll in their graves with the lack of spice.”
They are in the middle of chopping vegetables when Bea walks in. “I was tasked with fetching Cornettos and one mouthy American.”
“Ice creams in the second drawer in the freezer.” Oscar taps the freezer part with his foot. “And as for the second, I’m kinda busy making chicken burritos for dinner.”
He moves out of the way to let Bea open the freezer. “But making a tofu one for you, you’re vegetarian, correct? I’ve also adjusted the spice level to your brother, so hopefully you can eat it too.”
The picture in front of Alex looks almost as if it’s out of one of the future projections he has, one that he hasn’t even admitted to himself. Ones where he doesn’t have the ‘perfect family’ but he has the best family, complete with Bea and Pez and Henry.
It is so easy to picture Bea and Oscar joking around under different circumstances, imagine Ellen is out fanning the barbeque with Leo by her side, providing nothing but emotional support.
June and Nora swimming in the lake and Pez taking their picture. It is so easy to imagine Henry choosing him and currently reading on the hammock outside, or dozing off under the sun, cheeks slightly burnt from before Alex applied sunscreen to his napping boyfriend, his book crookedly lying on the grass when his hand went lax with sleep.
He misses most of the conversation Oscar and Bea have, only returning back to present with Bea asking him what mija means in his ear.
“Daughter.”
She clears her throat, wipes her eyes under the guise of fixing her hair and squeezes Oscar’s arm before grabbing the ice creams with one hand and gesturing to Alex to follow suit with the other. “We better get to Henry.”
How incredibly accepting of people his father’s heart is never seems to amaze Alex.
“Come taste this, I don’t want to have two members of the British royal family die in my house just because their ancestors lacked the genes to handle the spices they fucking colonized the world over.”
Whether it’s due to the lack of sleep he’s got, the caffeine withdrawal his body must be going through or his mind finally snapping and disassociating, he doesn’t remember anything about coming inside and laying down. He slowly comes back to his body in increments with each sweep of Henry’s thumb on his knuckles.
The firm grip anchors Alex, reassures him without any words. That’s how it’s always been between them, even from the start. His body told him he craved Henry before his heart and mind, he learned Henry’s body inch by inch before his heart and mind. Now long lithe fingers tell him that he’s here, that he’ll always be here.
And with that reassurance, he falls asleep. He dreams of endless fields with freshly cut grass and warm sheets fresh out of the dryer.
When he wakes up, even before he opens his eyes, the weight of a body on top of his greets him. His mind still ladened with sleep registers it is not exactly right, but scrambles to find why it is wrong. The smell of clean laundry is there, but for some reason, a soft vanilla aroma accompanies it.
It almost feels like he’s woken up in a wrong dimension where everything is slightly off. When he opens his eyes, he understands why. Bea is starfished on the bed on her stomach, and half of her is on top of Alex. Her light brown hair is up in a messy bun, scrunchy almost falling out and she is wearing a babydoll with koalas on it.
Henry’s absence freezes his blood for a millisecond, but then he hears voices coming from the kitchen, Henry cheering “I did it.” and it all dissolves, the happiness in the voice he’s hearing melting every bit of anxiety away.
When people get lost in the desert, the light passing through two different layers of air with different temperatures, creating a mirror effect gives them the illusion of something that is far far away being right in front of them.
The image of Henry cooking beside Oscar in their kitchen must be a mirage as well, because Alex is pretty sure he is watching the illusion of something that is far in his future right now.
But the smell of bacon tells him that this is very much real and very much present. He waddles over to Henry, giving in to the pull he feels towards him, like a rope attached to his chest, pulling and pulling until he wraps his arms around Henry, his chest safely tucked at his back.
“Hmm, this smells good. Dad, where is my boyfriend? You know the prince. The one who can’t cook for shit.” And if his anxiety isn’t back with a fucking vengeance and a knife it its hand.
Involuntarily, uncontrollably, Alex has called Henry his boyfriend in his head a few times, but this one is out to the world, he can not grab the word and stuff it back into his throat. He waits for Henry to stiffen, for his spine to straighten, or motions to freeze.
But instead, Henry smacks his arm with his free hand accompanied with an “Oi!” and when Alex laughs at his antics, Henry, his stubborn Henry who goes toe to toe with him, brings out the big guns. “Hey! No pancakes for you if you keep the attitude.”
“He’s doing better than you did the first time.”
If you told Alex from six months ago that he’d have to defend himself from his boyfriend (?) -They are due for a good discussion- and dad ganging up on him, he’d probably… Well… he’d probably scream, throw up, hug his legs to his chest, have a panic attack but then believe you. That doesn’t mean it still isn’t perplexing.
He wants to clutch his hands to his chest in mock offense, but Henry being in the middle, he uses his chest. “I was four.”
The breakfast is more or less the same, Oscar telling embarrassing stories of Alex and Alex acting like he is annoyed by it all when in reality the whole domesticity of everything could kill him.
The bubble of domestic bliss gets shattered when Bea and Oscar conveniently stage their escape and give them the metaphorical floor. Henry is looking at him with uncertainty, summoning the anxiety back. Rubbing his neck, he braves the conversation, eyes not leaving Alex’s for one second. “I guess it’s our cue, right?”
Alex doesn’t want this. Realistically if Henry was going to break up with him or leave him, he wouldn’t have cooked breakfast with his father, listened to his childhood stories during breakfast or give him one of his smiles that is only reserved for Alex.
But still, a small, traitorous part of his brain poisons him with the possibility of a breakup conversation. That he might get left behind again.
And Alex doesn’t want this if Henry isn’t ready to have this conversation, regardless of what this is. There once was a time, after the DNC, when Henry offered less of himself if that was what Alex wanted. Alex can do the same. Offer less, be less. If that’s what Henry wanted.
“H.” he says, voice incredibly soft. He holds Henry’s hands in his own, cradling them, sweeping a thumb over each knuckle, both for Henry’s sake and for his own sake. Keeping himself grounded, needing the touch like he needs oxygen.
“We don’t have to… Anything you don’t want.” Alex hopes that conveys everything he’s trying to say. He just doesn’t mean this conversation, if the thing he doesn’t want is for things between them to become something more, not yet at least, Alex will wait.
“I know love, but I think we need to.” Lacing their hands together, Henry guides him to the porch.
The touch grounds Alex, keeps him moving, keeps him breathing. They sit down, and Henry seems as reluctant to let go as Alex, both of them drawing strength from their point of connection. A physical manifestation of their need for each other.
Henry looks at their joined hands, grip getting stronger. His fingers are longer, reaching further on Alex’s hand, almost touching his wrist. But Alex’s palms are larger, enveloping Henry’s, cradling his hand.
A concrete representation of their entire relationship. Henry reaching inside of Alex, touching further than anyone has ever done, teaching him the depths of love. And Alex cradling Henry, treating him cautiously not because he’s weak or because of his title but because he sees the man behind the title, protecting the gem that is Henry.
“I- I was going to leave.”
Even though Alex had heard it when Henry was talking with his dad, hearing it again, it shatters him. Knowing he was going to be left behind again, by the man who has the possession of his heart no less, Alex feels as if he has been broken into millions of shards.
But Henry was going to leave, he didn’t. He stayed. He is here again. So Alex patiently waits, he holds down his tears with the force of holding back an army and patiently looks at Henry, waiting.
Henry is here A squeeze to his hand. I am holding him, he is here.
“I don’t know how to be loved anymore… I don’t think.” and Alex’s entire resolve dissolves. His heart breaks into a million little pieces, but for entirely different reasons. It breaks because it belongs to Henry now. It breaks because he feels everything they made Henry feel.
“I have stuffed every centimeter of my being with such painful memories, holding onto each and every one, locking them up in my mind and body and soul and heart one by one; I ran out of space to hold your love.”
I will hold it mi amor. I will carry all of your pain and suffering, mi corazón. I will carry my love for both of us.
“And you love so fiercely, Alex, you do it with your entire being. Like everything you do in life, you also love so competently. You are like a fresh breath of air, cooling and freeing whereas I feel like a library with locked doors, dusting, forgotten.
“For years I hadn’t bothered to open my doors, my windows, let sunshine in. I let all my books collect dust, let their pages turn yellow and wither. You forced yourself in, a draft running through me, swaying my curtains with the wind, flying my dust off. How could someone as sepia as me, afford to be loved by someone as bright as you. I was afraid of breathing you in, fearing that my lungs had forgotten how to breathe.”
For days, Alex’s been feeling so in love, he thought he was going to die. In the face of Henry’s confession, he knows it was nothing compared to how he’s feeling right now. His chest expands, his ribcage ripping open, he scrambles to fit all that love inside of him and fails spectacularly, drowning inside his love and finding heaven in it all at the same time.
“So I was going to leave. I was going to leave you, so you wouldn’t be trapped inside of me.”
An uncontrollable laughter bursts out of him, wet and free. “I wouldn’t mind being trapped inside of you.”
And Henry is looking at him, head tilted forward, just enough that he can look at Alex under his lashes with both exasperation and fondness in those blues. One side of his lips quirk up, and Alex knows they’ll be alright. “Don’t laugh, you cretin. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know, baby, I’m sorry. Please continue.” He squeezes their joined hands one more time, reassuring Henry, but the smile on his own face stays put. He knows they’ll be alright, he knows he’ll hold this man’s hand as long as he’s alive, he knows he’ll love this man all through eternity.
“But you are an audacious bastard who dares to do the most unthinkable, unimaginable- most ghastly things, you went and loved me anyway.
“I was awake when you came, when you told me all the things you said. The weight of your words, the weight of your love, the responsibility of not only holding your heart but also protecting it.
“I couldn’t get up under the weight. I was ready to leave; break your heart, my heart, let you go, let every ounce of happiness go. I thought to myself, I would die for this man. But why don’t I fight for you, if I’m willing to die?”
Alex sucks in a breath. Henry has heard it all? Henry has heard it all. And stayed. He heard it and decided to fight for them. For Alex.
His tears are rolling down but they feel like relief. Like running and walking, wandering lost and finally reaching his destination. Finally finding home. Henry stayed on purpose, he chose Alex even after seeing every little jagged part, every broken piece. He loves Alex with intent, on purpose.
“Wars are fought. Sometimes you win, sometimes you die. If I was already ready to face death, why not go gloriously on the battlefield? I love you so much it scares me Alex.”
They did fall in love, somewhere between his room in the White House and Paris and L.A., they simply fell in love. Because love happens on its own without prompting. But at this moment Alex knows they would gladly walk in love as well. Take each step deliberately knowing what they were walking towards, towards each other.
“Baby.” he rushes towards Henry. The kiss comes on its own as the breath Alex breathes, as the water he needs. The kiss is what sustains him, keeps him alive. He sucks a lip into his mouth, savoring the taste. He did promise Henry he’d let him finish, but there isn’t much he can do in the face of such urgent lips. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
“You not only gave my lungs air to breathe once again, but you also have enriched my life in ways which I couldn’t even dare to dream. You made me so happy, even if I never feel the emotion until the end of my days, only use up the one you gave me so far, I still would die clutching a handful of happiness.
“So, Alexander Gabriel Calaremont-Diaz. I love you. And I would like to fight for you and our right to be happy. If you’re amenable, that is.”
Alex can not believe he loves this man who uses words like amenable while they are pouring their hearts out this much. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He takes his hands away only to wipe the tears away from Henry’s pretty cheeks, touching him reverently.
His lips worship every inch of Henry’s face, not leaving even the tiniest sliver untouched by his kiss. “I love you so much, H. So fucking much.” Now it’s his turn to be a big boy and speak.
“I could kind of already see it in your eyes, you wanting to run away that is. You may not realize it but I can guess what’s going on in that pretty head of yours quite accurately by now.” And he has to roll his eyes.
But the scary part comes now, confessing to Henry that he had broken his trust, stole a part of knowledge that wasn’t his to take. “But I also heard you talking to my father. I swear I didn’t mean to, but I just accidentally did.” There is no way to explain he was frozen, nailed to the ground by the hurt without hurting Henry, so he keeps that part to himself.
The disbelief in those blue eyes are softer than they should have been. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Hen, those words weren’t mine to hear. You never intended me to know, not then at least. I would wait and accept what you were willing to give me, because I mean it baby. I love you with anything you’re willing to give me. I love you with things you’re not willing to give too.”
Their hands are still together, intertwined and in between them. All the reassurance Alex needs. He takes them to his lips, feeling Henry’s skin on them, not kissing but breathing him in. He lingers for a second too long on the spot where he’ll one day place a ring.
“I will give you anything you want and take whatever you’re willing to give. I’m all in. You’re it for me, baby.” The words should be scary, but they are anything but. They are the blanket Alex has on his shoulders on a world that’s against them in so many ways. They are their future, everything interchangeable but each other.
‘You Never Can Tell’ by Chuck Berry vibrates his leg, phone long forgotten in his pocket, blending into the background with everything that isn’t Henry. But this is his mothers private line, the only one that has its notifications on. “Shit baby, sorry, it’s my mom.”
Should he leave, take this call somewhere? Not put even more pressure on Henry. He looks at Henry with questioning eyes, giving him an option. Their hands stay linked, like a chain holding Alex in place gladly.
”Hello sugar.”
“Hi mom.”
”How are you? Both.”
That one little word warms something inside of him. That one little word means effort. “Yeah- we’re good.”
”I just wanted to follow up and let you know I’ve talked with Catherine. I did have a pretty well educated guess on the issue of Henry’s citizenship but she has confirmed-”
“You wh- Why did you talk to Catherine?” Oh god, leave it to Ellen Claremont to completely obliterate any kind of boundaries and crush through the walls.
When his mom explains herself, it’s as if she’s talking about the weather and a conversation with the literal future Queen of England. “Well… Sugar it was you who opened my eyes and made me realize we both have been lacking in the mothering department.
“It might have been for different reasons but that didn’t change the outcome of our children growing up neglected, on their own. It shouldn’t have taken you having a breakdown over your concern for your boyfriend's safety for me to wake up.
“The forms I had made you fill does not constitute the entirety of your relationship with Henry but I was at fault and never asked. I was so concerned with how this would affect you, with how you could be safe, I hadn’t even bothered to ask even how you guys became an item.
“It is on me and it is on Catherine, so I politely and diplomatically expressed my concern over her lack of care for Henry, told her she should put a leash on her own mother, protect her son because it is not my son’s duty to protect him.
“And politely and diplomatically reminded her that I was the President of the United States of America and wouldn’t hold anything back when protecting my sons.”
Growing up, Alex always tried to be perfect so he wouldn’t have to bother his mother. He never got in serious trouble at school, he didn’t fight with people out of school; never putting her mother in a place where she would have to defend him. He actively worked against it. Not once did he thought, she would do it herself, unprompted, standing up for him and his boyfriend against a fucking princess.
He’s not sure how his face looks, but judging by Henry’s reaction to it, it’s doing something funny. “Jesus mom, you can’t give my boyfriend’s mother a shovel talk.”
Quietly he whispers an apology to Henry, the word ‘boyfriend’ once again slipping out of his lips on their own accord, and immediately turns all of his focus back to his mother who’s frantically searching for a way to ask something in the most formal way.
”Can you please confirm for me? Has your marital status changed?”
“No.”
”So you didn’t go to Atlantic City and obtained a marriage license?”
“Yes, I promise we didn’t get married. And why would we get married in AC? We’d go to Las Vegas.” Logically, it makes more sense. Objectively Nevada is closer to Texas.
”Thank you, darling. I very much would like to be there when you and Henry do eventually get married. Catherine and I did come up with a few ideas already. We know just what to do for the cake.”
He hums, and nods even though she won’t be able to see it. “Yes, you definitely will know when I get married.”
”And please do not go against the Queen. I do not want to save you from another international scandal in the UK. Are we clear on that sunshine of my life? Besides, Catherine's got it handled. Said she was going to take care of Mary herself. .”
“Yes, I swear I won’t go against the Queen.”
”And I’m sorry but Henry can not become a U.S. citizen or citizen of another country without giving up on his claim to the throne. Catherine confirmed it for me. She’s a wonderful woman, did you know? Once she snapped out of it, she became so helpful.”
“Yeah mom, I kind of guessed Henry technically couldn’t be a US citizen without abdicating, but glad Catherine confirmed.”
”Alright, sugar. I have a meeting with the Norwegian Prime Minister. But I’ll talk to you soon. Try to convince Henry to come back to D.C. with you. Bea too. Love y’all.”
“Yes, love you, bye.”
”Bye, honey. Kiss June for me, I did give the poor girl a good scare when you didn’t answer your phone.”
There is a slim chance Alex inherited his ADHD from his mother, that much is certain. But all the attention she poured into this conversation, almost as if trying to make up for all the parenting she neglected to do. It settles something inside of him.
When his attention turns back to Henry, his expression is unreadable. Alex’s anxiety steps up the pace, finding all the things that might have spooked or upset Henry in the last few minutes when he talked with his mother.
He decides to start with the obvious one. The officialization of their relationship. It needs to be done especially if their mothers are joining their forces together like the fucking Voltran of diplomacy and discuss fucking wedding cakes behind their backs. “Did you mind that?”
“Yes, love.”
Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…
“I’d rather not get married at a 24/7 chapel and have an officiant dressed as Elvis when we get married.”
Forgetting they are on a porch swing for a second, Alex smacks his boyfriend, rattling them both. “You are a fucking asshole, Wales.” Then just because he can, he kisses everywhere he just hit.
“Yeah, but you love it.” Henry’s face is scrunched, sun hitting him just right so his hair looks like a halo sitting on top of his head, his shoulders are relaxed, lips stretched over in a huge gummy grin.
Alex is so in love he could die.
And Alex lets himself sit with the fact that he is loved too much, cherished too much, protected too much. More than a person deserves, more than he himself deserves. But he lets this ‘too’ sink into his bones because Henry has too much to give away and he is all too willing to take it all for the rest of his life. “That, I do baby.”