Chapter Text
Henry felt royally out of place. He had underestimated the bite of the January cold in New York because the TV displayed the temperatures in Fahrenheit. His shirt was starched too much and fell ill-fittingly over himself, his loafers were squeezing his toes, and as he stood in front of St. Jude’s School, he knew he was never going to make it. Moving across the Atlantic Ocean was never easy, but moving after the death of a loved one and starting at a private school after growing up being solely tutored by hired professors had to be the hardest it could get.
Looking around the courtyard, Henry saw the cliques. These people grew up together, they have probably known each other since they were clad in nothing but Prada diapers. And it wasn’t that Henry wasn’t clad in equally as posh diapers, it’s that he felt he only had two options starting his first real school year: become the exotic Brit who everyone was obsessed with or become the loner outsider who talked weird and said things like “trousers”. And Henry didn’t have near enough confidence to think he could be the first option.
So he finally took his first steps up the luxurious steps of his new school and tried to ignore the looks and the hushed voices trading words like “blonde” and “proper” as he passed them. School had yet to start and as he entered the school, it seemed like most of the students socialized outside until then. It was thankfully quiet inside, and Henry walked into office in front of him to get his class schedule. The school was classy in an antique way, with the doors having ornate handles and the thick wood actually took effort to open. The floors were polished enough to use as a mirror, though their tile looked original. The modern computers and ceiling lights looked out of place, and the fire extinguisher by the door to Henry’s first class looked exactly how he felt— wrong.
Henry did have enough tact to not be the first to enter his humanities class, so he noted it’s location and wandered the halls until the bell rung and students came flooding through the multiple entrances from the courtyard. By the time he circled back to class it was decently full, so he entered, and had no idea where to sit. His father didn’t think to start his cancer stint earlier in the year and Henry couldn’t stand to be in house anymore to delay his leave until September. So here he was: alone and across the world from everything he’s ever known and he should be happy, but this felt more lonely than being in that house.
The desks were in pairs, so Henry took a desk in an empty one towards the back of the class and hoped he wasn’t taking the spot of some trust-fund, millionaire lawyer father’s son that would have him excommunicated from the school before his second class. He didn’t, thankfully, and Henry was blissfully paid no attention by anyone in the class. The teacher didn’t even say anything to him, and Henry suspects that’s because she doesn’t say anything to anyone to refrain from getting into Henry’s previous what-if. So the bell rang and Henry followed the group of students out and to his next class.
And it was going fine, he only had 3 more classes to correctly choose an empty seat in (he only went to half of his classes each day, which Henry would’ve died for back home), but it seemed his luck had run out. In english he was met with two hands slamming down on his desk. He jerked his head up from his book and saw a boy looking down at him. He was brunette, and had piercing, icy blue eyes that almost gave him the chills. “Hey,” he said. Henry quickly put his book away into his bag and started to get up, “Apologies, am I in your seat? I can move,” Henry started and the boy laughed. There were two boys behind him who did as well. “What are we in? Kindergarten? There’s no assigned seats here, London. That’s where you’re from, right? Can tell just by looking at this stiff ass shirt.” Henry was frozen in a half-standing pose, and the boy slapped his shoulder which pushed him back into his seat. He didn’t even know how he knew that when Henry hadn’t spoken to anyone other than the office attendant.
“Yeah go on,” he continued. “Sit there. I’m okay with that, are you Jaxson?” He asked to the guy behind him, who came and sat next to Henry. “Yeah, maybe this kiss ass will actually have good answers to copy, unlike you, Nate.” Henry wanted to crawl into a hole and die, respectfully. “Fuck off, asshole,” Nate said as he went to sit behind him, and the other boy in his entourage sat next to him. Henry didn’t even know what to say. He felt too embarrassed to continue reading Emma, so he sat there with his hands resting on the desk. Looking around the class, no one seemed to care about what just happened. They were probably used to it.
The boys didn’t say anything to him for the rest of class, and when the bell rang Henry shot out of the class before anyone else. He went into the bathroom and ran his hands under cold water. He slapped his cheeks with his hands and stared at his reflection. “C’mon, Fox,” he muttered to himself. “You’re better than them.” Staring at himself, he didn’t see much. Bea used to say he was the prettiest person she’d ever seen, but she stopped saying that long ago and Henry wanted to act like it’s because she had moved out and stopped seeing him, not because it stopped being true. But he was never as good an actor as his father.
He checked the watch on his wrist and noted the time— lunch. Henry was used to sitting at an ornate table by himself, a multitude of dishes in front of him that he rarely touched, a butler to his right by the wall watching him as he slowly descended into madness. As he stepped into the lunchroom and saw a plethora of equally as ornate tables, this time filled with conceited teenagers, he’d rather his audience be a lonesome butler.
Henry saw the looks, he knew people were looking. St. Jude’s was all boys, but the cafeteria must be joined with the girls’ side Constance Billard. Joining the line of kids waiting for food, Henry tried to not look desperate as he looked for an empty area to sit. He had yet to make a friend. As he was looking, he spotted a group of friends laughing. One was a girl with cropped, curly hair and bronze skin. The other girl was similar to the boy sitting with them. Both had dark hair, the girl’s long and straight, the boy’s shorter and curly. But their faces were similar, and they had the same tan skin. The boy’s face had a wide smile that made Henry want to know what was so funny just so he could share the joy.
The food presented in the line looked good. It reminded him of home, but he didn’t feel nearly as shameful for not eating much when the girls ahead of him got small portions of everything. He scooped some pasta and broccoli on his plate and grabbed a piece of French bread. There was a separate drink area and Henry grabbed a glass and filled it with water. He turned, plate in one hand and glass in the other, and faced the eminent decision of where to sit. He saw an empty area next to a group of guys and went there. As he sat, they looked at him. Henry moved his head in acknowledgment and then started to eat. As he brought his first bite of pasta to his mouth, the guy closest to him turned to face him and said, “You can’t sit there. We’re saving that for our friends.”
Henry lowered his fork and closed his mouth. “Apologies,” he said, as that seems to be all he can say to this people, and stood up. He gathered his things and stepped over the bench. His second foot got caught though, and led to his physical and social downfall. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, his plate clattering and glass shattering. The sound seemed to echo across the entire room, everyone turning to see what it was. It was Henry. He felt a cold air on his cheek and brought his hand up to it to pull it back and see red on his fingertips. “Christ,” Henry whispered.
The boys who booted him from his spot started laughing, and that led to what appeared to be the entire room doing the same. No one came to help. Henry’s strict pedigree training went out the window when he left his mess on the ground and exited the cafeteria. And the school. He sprinted down the steps and didn’t look back as he went to the subway to go home.
He lived alone, just breaking the cusp of 18 and now in the hands of most of his father’s fortune, so no one heard him as he slammed his front door and sunk down to the floor in a sob.
The next day wasn’t any better, it was probably worse. He had new classes with new people who already knew him and not for anything good. The butterfly bandage on his cheek cemented yesterday’s events and there was no hiding his British accent when the teacher unfortunately called on him. Henry was ready to ride the next four months of school in monotonous invisibility to make it to university.
And school might not be good, it was horrible even, but Henry had more freedom than he’d ever had before. He could eat what he wanted, he could go where he wanted (which was subsequently the laundromat to sheepishly ask someone how to use a washer to get the starch out of his shirt. It was owned by an old lady who was more than happy to help and gave him a lollipop), and could even choose what he wanted to do in his free time, which was nothing. New York was exciting, but Henry didn’t have the gut to go anywhere that exciting. His dad loved New York City though, and he tried to think of that as he went to his last class of the day.
“Henry Fox,” a British voice said and Henry jerked up from his book once again. Expecting to be met with equal venom as yesterday, he was surprised to see a man with a purple buzzcut and dark skin smiling in his direction. “Hello,” Henry said warily. “You’re British?” Henry couldn’t help but ask. “Barely,” the man laughed. “Moved to the Big Apple when I was 10. I’m Pez Okonjo, loving to be in your presence. Big fan of the old man.” Henry felt his cheeks get heated as he took the hand Pez outstretched. “Let’s be seat partners,” Pez said as he sat down. “Really?” Henry asked. “You know my father’s dead, right? I can’t get you an autograph.”
Pez gave him a side-eye, “You’re weird. Making a dead dad joke within the second line of dialogue during a first meeting in an odd choice. Let’s be friends too.” Pez had a smile that could only be compared to the Cheshire Cat, but it looked good on him. “Are you sure you’re not going to ridicule me on SnapChat or something?” Henry asked as Pez pushed his shoulder. “Have some faith,” Pez said. “I can’t be the son of an African-based conglomerate and have poor social media etiquette. I’d have to choose one.” Henry felt himself smiling as he said, “True. I think I’d like to be friends with you, too.”
Pez had become Henry’s lifeline. Referred by teachers as “Percy” and to others as “Darling”, he knew everyone. Some people gave Pez a look of pity when they sighted Henry next to him, as if he was a humanitarian taking in a wounded puppy that was Henry, but Pez never paid it any mind. By the end of the week he even introduced him to a girl named June Claremont-Diaz, one of the girls Henry saw across the cafeteria before he crashed and burned. They were apparently joint-hosting a party this weekend, to commemorate the first week back to school, and insisted Henry came. Pez said he only invites the cool people, so Henry would more than likely be able to find someone else to befriend.
And Henry? Desperately did not want to go. “C’mon, Henry! People would kill to come to my parties.” Pez pleaded. Henry shrugged and said, “Okay, then let someone kill me and take my place.” Pea groaned and feigned light-headedness as they walked to the subway. Pez had a personal driver, but he said he wanted to pretend to be like a “9-5 worker” and take the subway with Henry. “Henry Fox. Come to this party. There will be hot gay guys there.” Henry stopped in his tracks and sputtered. “I’m- I’m not- I can’t,” he tried to get out words before Pez put a hand on his shoulder, “Please. I have a gaydar better than RuPaul himself. It’s okay, babe.” Henry bristled in place. He knew he was gay. It was one thing he wish he could’ve gained the confidence to tell his father before his passing.
But maybe know it’ll be different. He isn’t in suffocating London, he’s on the street in a queer activity center with another queer person. Maybe he won’t live in shame anymore. Henry nodded, more to himself than anything, and started walking. “Okay.” Pez skipped up back into his view, “Okay to my party? Or okay to being gay?” Henry hoped he didn’t regret it as he said, “Both.”