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Realistically, Henry knows that being brought up in a ‘decorum and appearances are everything’ environment has done a number on him, and probably traumatized him more than he cares to admit. He knows he gets easily embarrassed by mundane, everyday things that other people don’t think twice about. It took him months not to be uncomfortable with kissing Alex before brushing his teeth. He still cringes every time he has to use the bathroom and someone is in the other room, even if he always keeps the tap running. The last time his stomach growled loudly while Alex and him were watching a movie with June and Nora, Henry’s face stayed warm for at least ten minutes, even though no one teased him, and Alex just moved the snacks closer to Henry without ever taking his eyes off the screen.
So yeah, truth be told, Henry probably has some more issues to work through with his therapist. Knowing it, though, doesn’t make Henry’s current predicament any easier.
For once, he hadn’t been dreading a public appearance. It was a gala held in honor of Pez’s charity work in the US, so obviously, Henry wanted to be there for him. It helped that Alex was right there with him, holding his hand, his charm dialed up to eleven as he talked the ear off some potential investors who could help immensely with the youth shelters.
In fact, Henry was having a perfectly good time. The conversation was pleasant, and the food delightful, or so he thought, right until he felt himself getting nauseous twenty minutes after dinner. It wasn’t that bad at first, just a dull sensation in his stomach he hoped would quickly go away on its own. He tried to pay attention to the conversation at his table, but his nausea was quickly becoming a problem. He could no longer focus on what everyone was talking about, his mind too preoccupied with how awful he was starting to feel.
To add salt to the wound, Henry could feel his stomach gurgle in a way that was quickly becoming very uncomfortable. This was one of the worst places in the world to get indigestion, his mind supplied. He tried to sip his water, hoping it would calm his cramping stomach. It turned out to be the wrong decision entirely as he felt the nausea getting worse. Henry felt himself getting lightheaded, the pressure in his abdomen rising and his mouth filling with saliva, and just like that he knew he was going to throw up. He quickly excused himself from the table and rushed to the bathroom as fast as he could without anyone noticing.
He barely made it into the cubicle before he was emptying his stomach into the toilet bowl, his eyes watering, his fingers gripping the porcelain for dear life.
After what felt like a lifetime, but in reality could have been no longer than thirty seconds, the retching stopped, and Henry let his back hit the wall with a groan, still crumpled on the floor. He really hoped this was a one off. He couldn’t afford to be sick in public. He already pushed his luck today seeing as there wasn’t anyone else in the bathroom but him, so thankfully, no one noticed the Prince of Wales getting sick, and Henry might just be able to avoid being on the first page of all the tabloids again.
Henry gave himself one more minute of sitting pathetically on the floor before getting up, flushing the toilet, and rinsing his mouth in the sink. He felt disgusting and exhausted, but he knew he still had a few hours to go before he could whisk Alex away and go home.
Walking back into the ballroom he asked a waiter for a cup of tea, hoping the familiar taste would help his still convulsing stomach.
“Are you okay, baby?” he heard Alex whisper as he sat back down next to him.
“Yeah, just wanted some tea, is all,” he didn’t want to lie to Alex, but he didn’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to himself, nor did he want to talk too much in fear of making the situation worse.
“You’re so fucking British,” Alex whispered back in mock offense, before squeezing his hand and returning to the conversation he was having with one of the governors Pez invited.
Henry felt his stomach gurgle again and he winced, the smell of the food on the table making him even more nauseous.
“Your tea, Your Royal Highness,” Henry heard the waiter say, as a cup of Earl Gray was carefully placed in front of him.
“Thank you,” he managed to grit out through clenched teeth, feeling worse and worse with each passing second, his body tense, and stomach bloated.
He tried to sip his tea quietly, silently begging it to help, but he quickly realized he was fighting a losing battle, the tell-tale signs that he was about to be sick again back at full force. To make matters worse, he could feel the sudden need to use the bathroom hit him as well, and he was off his seat and rushing to the loo in seconds.
That’s how he finds himself now, sitting in the small bathroom cubicle, alternating between sitting on the floor to throw up or on the toilet itself, his guts seemingly trying really hard to escape both ways. He can feel his shirt stick to him uncomfortably with sweat as his body shivers. He feels absolutely dreadful, and embarrassingly enough, he feels like crying. He’s so, so tired. He wants to go home. He doesn’t want anyone to see him this way, it’s beyond humiliating.
He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t leave the bathroom, that one’s for sure. He can barely control his body for minutes at a time when someone ends up coming into the bathroom to do their business. He can’t stand the thought of someone seeing or hearing him be sick, but he has no other choice, really. There is no way he is leaving the loo anytime soon.
He can feel frustrated tears burning his eyes, and he stifles down a sob. He wants it to be over already. He can’t remember ever feeling so poorly. The last time he felt to sick he was twelve, down with a stomach bug, and also pathetically crying on the bathroom floor, unable to stop even after Philip told him his behavior was unseemly. The difference between then and now is that his dad had been with him at the time, holding him tight as he threw up, stroking his hair and whispering reassurances into his ear, not leaving him alone even for a minute. It makes Henry miss him something fierce now, the wound in his heart that never healed threatening to swallow him whole again.
He really, really wishes his dad were here. He hates the thought of someone seeing him like this, but he doesn’t want to be alone, the two thoughts contradicting each other and making his head spin even more.
Henry hears the door to the bathroom open and he holds his breath, trying not to make any sound.
“Henry? Are you in here?” he hears Alex’s voice call out, and he doesn’t know whether to feel relieved of mortified.
He must make some kind of noise because he can hear Alex’s footsteps getting closer. He should probably answer.
“Hen?” Alex sounds worried, and Henry immediately feels guilty.
“In here,” he answers weakly.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Alex asks just in time for Henry’s stomach to constrict again, making him gag. Alex is knocking on his door in a second. “Hey, Henry, open up, sweetheart,” he says, his voice urgent.
Henry knows there is no getting out of this, so he unlocks the door and it swings open immediately, revealing a worried looking Alex on the other side.
Henry knows he must be quite a sight – sitting on the tiled floor, his suit wrinkled beyond saving, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his head resting on his hands on the disgusting toilet seat, small shivers running through his body.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Alex whispers as he kneels down next to him, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other in Henry’s sweaty hair, a gesture so instinctive and caring that it makes Henry’s eyes water again.
“Something I ate clearly didn’t agree with me,” Henry tries to opt for humor, but his voice sounds rough, even to his own ears.
“Oh, Hen,” Alex coos, and Henry is too tired to be annoyed about possibly being pitied. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know,” he whimpers pathetically.
Thankfully, Alex seems to know what to do, because he gets that determined look on his face that Henry loves so much. He moves closer, and before Henry can protest, tell him not to get any closer because he looks and probably smells disgusting, Alex is taking off his tie with skilled fingers, and Henry can finally breathe again.
His happiness is short lived though, because suddenly he is overwhelmed with another wave of nausea, and he can’t do anything else but turn his face into the gross toilet bowl and puke again. This time, however, he can feel a blissfully cold hand on his forehead, and another on his shoulder, Alex steadily holding him up, making shushing noises as Henry shakes.
When Henry’s done, Alex reaches over to flush the toilet, and pulls Henry more firmly against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he says, rubbing Henry’s shoulder. “Let’s get you out of this jacket,” he offers, and Henry feels like an idiot for not thinking about it before.
He immediately shivers when the jacket is removed, his dress shirt soaked with sweat, but he is grateful for the full range of motion nonetheless.
Alex is sitting on the floor with him, his lovely Tom Ford already starting to wrinkle.
“You’ll ruin your suit,” Henry says weakly.
“I don’t care, baby. All I care about is making you feel better,” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you want some water?”
Henry shakes his head. The thought of eating or drinking anything makes his nausea objectively worse.
“Okay,” Alex nods. “Do you want to go home?”
Henry flushes. “I don’t think I can get out of here quite yet,” he admits.
“That’s okay, sweetheart, we’ll stay here as long as you need.”
And Henry is grateful, he really is, but he is also embarrassed, even more so when he feels his stomach rumble again, knowing what it means.
“Alex, just go back out there, I’ll be fine,” he tries.
“Not a chance, sweetheart, you look like you’re about to keel over. I’m staying.”
“Alex, please,” he says urgently. “I need to… you know,” he flushes.
Finally, understanding flashes across Alex’s face. Henry looks away, absolutely mortified.
“Okay, I’ll go get you some water, but if you feel any worse, or get lightheaded, you call for me, okay? I’ll be right outside.”
“Fine, go,” Henry urges, and Alex rushes out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
Henry lifts himself up from the floor on shaky legs, holding himself up with his hand on the wall, and cringes as he tries not to think of Alex being on the outside of the bathroom as he uses the loo for the fifth time that evening.
When he’s done he sinks back to the floor, his back to the wall, legs stretched out in front of him as much as the small cubicle allows, his shoulders tense as he tries to listen for any footsteps outside. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe in deep. He must doze off from exhaustion for a minute because the next thing he knows he is startled awake by a knock on the door, followed by the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. Before he can do anything there is another knock, this time at his cubicle door, and then Alex’s voice echoes in the otherwise empty bathroom.
“Hey, it’s me. Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” Henry is too tired to argue. He feels so awful that even his mortification pales in comparison to his need for comfort that his brain associates with Alex.
“Hey, baby. I got you some water, and I managed to secure some Pepto,” Alex says as he presents him with a glass of water and a pink bottle of Pepto-Bismol.
“Thank you,” he says, as he reaches for the medicine, hoping he can keep it down long enough for it to work.
Alex puts his hand on the side of Henry’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek, and Henry finally gives in and leans into the touch. He is too drained to feel embarrassed anymore. He just wants it to stop.
“I also told Shaan not to let anyone else into the bathroom, so you can relax, it’s just us now. The car will be ready to take us home when you feel ready to go,” Alex explains as he strokes his hair.
Suddenly Henry is hit with such overwhelming feeling of affection that he immediately gets choked up. He looks at Alex – his beautiful, loving, caring Alex, sitting on the floor of a quite disgusting bathroom, not caring about his fancy suit at all, bringing him water and meds with the most determined look on his face – and he feels the sudden urge to cry again.
Henry loves him so much. He’s never really felt this comfortable around another human being before. Sure, he lets Pez and Bea see him on his bad days, but there are still things he likes to keep private, things he doesn’t want to advertise, doesn’t want the whole world to see, lest they scrutinize him or come at him with pitchforks. With Alex, though, the feeling is slowly fading away, Henry notices with barely concealed astonishment. He’s like a moth to a flame, always in Alex’s orbit, letting him strip away parts of his armor one by one, until there is nothing protecting his bleeding, hopeful heart. He doesn’t mind, though. He knows it’s safe with Alex.
“I love you,” he chokes out.
“I love you, too,” Alex answers immediately. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I don’t know yet. Can we sit here a bit longer?”
“Of course, sweetheart, relax, I will take care of you,” he says as he maneuvers Henry, so that he’s sitting with his back against Alex’s chest.
“Thank you,” Henry slurs, his exhaustion making itself known again. Alex continues to stroke his hair.
After what could be minutes or hours for all Henry knows, Alex’s voice brings him back from the edge of sleep.
“Baby? Are you with me?”
Henry nods weakly.
“Are you okay to go home now? I can have a car ready in a minute, and we can use the back door, so you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you,” Alex explains earnestly. “So what do you say? Ready to get out of here?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Henry really hopes the worst is over now, and he experimentally uncurls from his spot against Alex’s chest, waiting to see if the change in position will make his nausea come back again. It doesn’t, and Henry could cry with joy.
“Okay, let’s go,” Alex says and he carefully untangles himself from Henry and helps him up.
He brings Henry over to the sink and wets a few paper towels, cleaning Henry’s sweaty face with so much care it makes Henry’s heart hurt.
“There you go, all good now,” Alex whispers, a small, private smile on his face.
When they emerge from the bathroom they are immediately escorted to the back door by Shaan and two of his PPOs, hopefully without anyone noticing.
Alex helps Henry into the car before he gets in himself, and it’s when they’re both sitting down that Henry notices that Alex placed a bucket on the car seat next to him.
“Just in case,” he says, reaching out to hold Henry’s hand.
The car ride isn’t pleasant, the motions making his nausea make itself known again, his eyes watering pathetically once more. He stares right ahead, not wanting to make any sudden movements, and he reaches for the bucket blindly. He holds it in his lap, his knuckles undoubtedly turning white with the force of it. He feels Alex freeze next to him, but Henry’s grateful that he doesn’t say anything.
Luckily, they reach their brownstone without any incidents, and by the time they get out of the car, the fresh air has helped Henry feel marginally better.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes and into something more comfortable,” Alex starts when they reach their bedroom.
David rouses sleepily from his spot on the bed, stretching before making his way over to them, his tail wagging happily.
“Be careful, Davey, your dad isn’t feeling well,” Alex explains in his puppy voice, as he crouches on the floor next to the dog, scratching him behind his ears. It should be ridiculous, but Henry finds it endearing.
David seems to understand, though, because he sniffs at Henry’s pant leg, but doesn’t jump up his legs.
“Hey, boy,” Henry says weakly, but it makes David yap happily anyway.
Alex helps him undress, and takes out Henry’s fresh pajamas out of the closet.
“No, I should wash up, I’m disgusting,” Henry tries to protest, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.
“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart, you can take a shower when you feel better. Just put on your PJs, and get in bed.”
Henry is too exhausted to argue, so he does as he’s told. His fatigue makes itself known as soon as his head hits the pillow while Alex tucks him in, his eyes closing of their own accord. He can feel Alex’s hand on his cheek again, stroking softly. He feels slightly better, like the worst of it is over now, his nausea not as strong anymore, and his stomach more or less settled.
He’s so grateful to Alex for taking care of him, protecting him from the preying eyes of the public, and bringing him home without ever being asked to.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “For taking care of me. I know it wasn’t pretty,” he adds somewhat self-depreciatingly.
“Don’t you even worry about it, baby. I will always take care of you. In sickness and in health, right?” Alex kisses his forehead as Henry hums appreciatively.
“We are not married,” Henry feels the need to add.
“Not yet, but we will be,” Alex says with conviction that makes Henry’s heart flutter, even in his weakened, sleepy state. “Take it as a test trial,” Alex chuckles, like he hadn’t just altered Henry’s brain chemistry permanently.
“I love you,” is all he manages to say.
Alex smiles. “I love you more,” he answers easily. “Sleep, I will be here if you need anything.”
Henry lets his eyes close as his hand reaches for Alex’s blindly. Alex intertwines their fingers together, and Henry finally lets sleep overtake him.