Chapter Text
"How lucky I feel,
To be in my body again,
How lovely I feel,
Not to have to pretend,
Shocking to feel,
A positive charge,
Innocuous thrill,
Big invisible spark..."
Watch Me While I Bloom - Hayley Williams
~ ~ ~
Henry only had a few more days in New York before he was required to fly back home. He could feel a migraine coming on just at the mere thought of all the appearances that had been scheduled for him – beginning almost immediately after he was due to land at the royal airstrip. Pez had made it one of his top priorities over the past year since the Brooklyn shelter opened to insist that Henry’s presence was required any time Pez himself made the trip overseas. It was only ever for a few days – a week at most, if they were lucky – that he was afforded to step away from his royal duties; but it was a taste of personal freedom he only truly ever experienced during those short stints in “the greatest city in the world” and he never spent a second taking it for granted.
Which is why he couldn’t find it in himself to deny Pez when he insisted on dragging Henry out in public to actually explore the city and witness the staggering multitudinous sights, activities, people – experiences – he’s sure he wouldn’t find in quite the same way anywhere else in the world. The city itself had a rather distinct personality that Henry was becoming startlingly familiar with the more time he spent there and surprisingly, he couldn’t bring himself to be anything other than thrilled by the prospect of having something like that for just himself, separate from the crown and all the international relations that came with it. He found it easier than he expected to remain mostly anonymous as they visited various museums and tourist hotspots, blending in rather seamlessly within the large crowds those types of attractions tended to draw. Even in the small cafes and dingy nightclubs they occasionally found themselves wandering into, Henry rarely, if ever, felt like he was being gawked at. His security team that was always accompanying them and scoping out the locations they found themselves at beforehand made it impossible to truly let himself believe people didn’t notice himself and Pez whenever they arrived after being assured it was safe for them to do so, but it was the closest he had ever felt to being allowed to just exist in the world.
Which is why he should’ve known something was going to happen to disrupt the sense of peace he’d found; that shoving all thoughts of royal duties and obligations into a box in his mind and leaving it to be dealt with when he got back home was something that would catch up with him eventually. He may be an ocean away from commonwealth headquarters of the world, in a country that literally fought a war of independence to separate itself from being tied to the British commonwealth in any way, shape or form – but he was still a Prince. The average American may not give a damn about the monarchy, but he had spent his entire life meeting with Presidents and Ambassadors, with both official and paparazzi photographs splashed across the front pages of newspapers and featured on countless glossy magazine covers around the world. He should have expected that at some point, he was going to be forced to confront that reality. He never, if given the opportunity, would have correctly guessed that it would happen at an art exhibit that he and Pez all but stumbled into on a random Friday night.
They check their coats at the door and graciously accept the flutes of champagne pressed into their hands as they walk into the large gallery space. Henry had always been an admirer of art but had very quickly found himself resenting his appreciation for it when he realized the approved list of classic works that were allowed within the walls of Buckingham and Kensington Palaces respectively bored him to no end after so many years. There was so much to admire about classic works, but modern art had so much to offer and the fact that he wasn’t allowed to admit to that publicly was so bloody frustrating. Despite what his grandmother seemed to believe, not all modern art was “distastefully unbecoming” or “unseemly and provocative” – not that he necessarily saw those descriptors as having a negative connotation the way that she obviously did. He often found the pieces he’s sure fit into those categories for his grandmother to be intriguing and personally invigorating. The only other instances when he’d felt that positively stimulated and unwearied were few and far between. Spending time with his father before he’d fallen ill made up most of them, the others divided between Pez dragging him out of the Palace walls and whisking him off somewhere to shed his responsibilities for as long as he could manage, and the writing he did that occupied most of his downtime.
Which is why he had to choke back a nearly hysterical bout of laughter when he glanced up and found a painting of his own face starting back at him. Out of all the places he could have possibly come quite literally face-to-face with himself in some art form, the last place he ever would have been prepared for it was at an exhibit for modern art in New York City. As they had walked in, he had noticed a poster that advertised the theme of the art being displayed that weekend, declaring in bold lettering that all the work had been inspired by the quote “they say the eyes are the window to the soul.”
As he peered at the familiar face – his face – in front of him, he couldn’t help but be moved but what he saw. It wasn’t often that he was depicted this way; in fact, he wasn’t sure if he ever had been. Not that he had been made aware of, at least. There was so much raw emotion in those eyes, it was almost difficult for him to look at. He couldn’t help but wonder if his eyes truly gave away so much of himself so freely without his notice, or if the artist had just been trying to say something; to project or to speculate. There was an overwhelming amount of vulnerability there, an openness he rarely allowed himself to indulge in outside of the Palace walls, or so he thought. The carefully crafted, painstakingly workshopped, crown-approved PR smile that toed the line of being indifferent, was nowhere to be found. There was a light in his eyes; a spark that he’d nearly forgot his eyes were even capable of possessing.
“Oh my.” Pez remarked, almost breathlessly.
Henry cleared his throat, finding his mouth uncomfortably dry, despite the champagne he’d been sipping at. “Quite.”
The whole painting was gorgeous. His body was positioned almost at profile, turned slightly towards the viewer, one of his arms perched at a 90-degree angle at the edge of the bottom of the canvas. The painting was from mid-torso upwards, and he felt himself flush slightly when he was able to pull the focus away from the eyes and to the chainmail-esque top that covered his chest. It was sleeveless, showing off his shoulders and one of his arms. It traveled up to wrap around his neck and had somehow made to been look delicate on him, despite the harsh material and the overwhelming masculinity normally associated with it. His eyes traveled further up, purposely bypassing the eyes so he wouldn’t get drawn in again. He wanted to let himself fully engage with the piece as a whole; to really give himself permission to take it all in. His lips were set in a pout in a way that somehow also made it appear like he was holding back a smirk. It made him look confident. His head was tilted backwards slightly, exposing his neck suggestively. Henry’s hair in the painting was ever-so-slightly falling into his eyes, artfully tousled in a way he hadn’t been able to get away with since his Uni days. There was no sign of the neat, slicked back style that had been made his trademark style for as long as he could remember. While every detail in the painting had taken him by surprise thus far, it was the crown on his head that really had him fighting to keep his facial expressions under control. The shape of it was familiar. It was clear that the artist had taken the time to research the design and the size of the one Henry had only worn a handful of times. Although he was in the line of succession, it was so absurdly out of the realm of possibility that he’d ever be crowned King that he was rarely required to have a crown placed on his head. Though somewhat unfamiliar territory for him, even as a royal, the fact that he was wearing a crown in the painting wasn’t what had nearly stolen the air from his lungs. It was the material that this crown had been fashioned out of in the painting and how it was depicted that had him both wanting to flee the building as quickly as possible, leaving the evocative imagery far behind him while also finding a way to burn the painting into the back of his eyelids so he’d never forget it. Perched precariously on his titled head was a crown made of thorns. His other hand, connected to the arm positioned away from the viewer, was depicted as reaching up and holding the crown – either to keep it from falling or in an attempt to remove it, he couldn’t be sure. One of his fingers had clearly been pricked by one of the thorns, leaving a small trail of blood dripping down his wrist. The visual symbolism of both the biblical imagery, as well as confronting the viewer with a physical representation of a crown more fitting of a life bound by royal duty than the golden, bejeweled version they were presented with by the monarchy in reality, was brilliant and left him practically vibrating with the need to talk to the artist and ask them how on earth the theme of the exhibit had led them to create this.
“Did you know this was going to be here?” Henry asked, keeping his eyes trained on the painting as he spoke.
“As much as I wish I could take credit for any of this, I truly had no idea.” Pez replied.
Henry believed him without having to do any further poking or prodding into the situation. He knew Pez well enough after being friends for nearly half of their lives to know he wouldn’t be nearly as speechless as Henry himself if he’d known about it prior to them walking through the door.
“Holy fuck.”
He was startled out of the slight trace he had fallen into, his gaze leaving the painting since the first moment he saw it as he whipped his head around at the exclamation that had come from behind where he and Pez were standing. For the second time that night, he felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him. Henry had no idea who the man standing a few feet away from them was, but he was absolutely certain he was the most beautiful human he had ever laid eyes on; and he had traveled the world extensively and met more people in his 26 years than most people would interact with in several lifetimes. Before Henry could even think about formulating a coherent sentence, the man spoke again.
“Shit, sorry. You’re probably not used to people cursing at you when they meet you… or maybe you are? I don’t even know if I’m allowed to be talking to you, or if you have to be the one to start the conversation.” The man nervously babbled. “I clearly didn’t research royal etiquette because I never thought I’d find myself in a situation where I’d need to put it to use. I don’t even know what your title actually is? Your Majesty? Your Royal Highness? Should I be bowing right now?”
Pez cackled, throwing his head back and holding a hand to his chest. “Oh, please bow. He absolutely loathes that.” He encouraged with a wink.
Henry tried to bite back the fond smile he often wore around Pez, shaking his head and shooting him a playful glare before turning his gaze back to the stunning American man that was already far too endearing. “I beg you to not. A handshake will do just fine.” He offered, extending his open palm out in front of him. “Please just call me Henry.”
The man smiled brightly, his cheeks dimpling in a devastating way. “Alex Claremont-Diaz.” He offered as he reached out and firmly grasped Henry’s hand in his. Henry fought to swallow a pathetic whimper at the feeling of Alex’s soft skin sliding against him, his long fingers practically engulfing Henry’s entire hand. “And you are?” He asked, his eyes flicking over to Henry’s right.
“Pez, like the sweets.” He replied with a grin, taking his own turn shaking Alex’s hand. “I’ve held the highly sought-after title of Henry’s best mate for ages now.”
“You’re a lucky guy, then.” Alex complimented sincerely.
“Don’t I know it, babes.” Pez agreed with a wink. “Please tell me you’re the artist responsible for this absolutely breathtaking painting of my dearest Hazza.”
Alex’s smiled turned slightly bashful as he raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “That would be me, yeah. Though I have to say, I painted it without any intention of the subject ever seeing it so…” He trailed off with a shrug.
“No need for modesty here, love. It’s gorgeous. An absolute scandal waiting to happen that I insist on contributing to.” Pez replied. “Would you be willing to part with it? For generous compensation, of course.”
Henry’s eyebrows rose, knowing in his gut whatever Pez was scheming was going to give him a mild headache at best, and possibly cause an international incident of some kind at worst. “Where on earth are you planning on putting it?”
Pez smirked, slinging an arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulling him close. “I’m buying it for you of course, as a gift. I refuse to let us walk out of here without it in your possession.” He briefly glanced at Alex. “That is, assuming it is actually for sale, of course.”
Alex gaped at them for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the situation. “Yeah, man, of course. I’m sure we can come to an agreement on a fair price.”
“Brilliant. That settles that, then.”
“As lovely as it is, and would surely be one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given – where on earth am I supposed to put it, exactly? You and I both bloody well know I would never be allowed to display it anywhere in Kensington Palace.” Henry pointed out. Even though it was technically his, and Bea’s and Catherine’s home, they were exactly allowed to personalize the space.
“Don’t you worry your pretty head about that. We can keep it at one of my flats – London, New York, wherever.” Pez replied flippantly. “You can even put it in your office at the Brooklyn shelter if you like. There is plenty of wall space and the evil hag has no say over how you can or can’t decorate there.”
Henry wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of that as an option, but now he was itching to get it to the shelter and installed as soon as possible. The thought of sitting at his desk and being able to glance up and see it hanging there because he wanted it there and he was allowed was almost too much for him to process.
“I’m sorry, but the evil hag you’re referring to-”, Alex managed to ask around a laugh poorly disguised by a cough.
“The Queen.” Pez cut in, rolling his eyes. “Evil hag is about as polite of all the things I tend to call her that Haz can get me to use – in public where we must keep up appearances, that is. In private I’m not nearly as forgiving.”
“Right, well, in light of all that, my office at the Brooklyn shelter is surely the best place for it. As priceless as it would be to see the look on Gran’s face if I truly bought it home, I do believe me owning the painting at all is about as much rebellion as I’m capable of at the moment.” Henry admitted.
“I would have agreed to sell it to you either way, because I think it’s shitty to paint someone and then not give them the option to own it – especially since I had no way of getting your consent beforehand like I usually try to do – but I fuckin’ love doing things out of spite and if letting you leave with it is going to in any way be a middle finger to the monarchy, I’m here for it. I mean, the inspiration behind the painting in the first place was a commentary on how royalty as a concept and in practice is a political burlesque and I mean that in the most derogatory possible way. It’s all a giant smoke show that the royal family and arguably the British government takes seriously while basically everyone on the outside sees it as a tourist attraction. It’s like the Hall of Presidents at Disney World except actual people with real lives are on display to be gawked at instead of a bunch of creepy, hyper realistic animatronics. And I never really saw it that way until…” Alex paused, took a deep breath, and seemingly silently talked himself into continuing. “… until Arthur Fox died.”
Henry was sure no one in his life, outside of Pez and his sister Bea, ever spoke to him like this. His sister was his sister and understood him and the life he was forced into intimately, and Pez had known him for longer than anyone outside of his family ever had and probably ever would. This man that he had just met was ranting at him about Royalty and the monarchy and bringing up his father in a way that obviously every else he ever met was either too terrified to or simply had no interest in. Ironically, he was sure that his eyes were giving him away in that moment – that if he wasn’t so caught up in passionately talking about his art, Alex wouldn’t be able to miss how Henry was looking at him in that moment.
“I remember that day so vividly, which sounds ridiculous, believe me, I know. I never met him and didn’t have one of those weird parasocial relationships with him that people form with celebrities they don’t know. But I remember watching the fallout afterwards and how his family – how you guys – were expected to present yourself in public like nothing had happened. I remember seeing those fake as hell smiles on all your faces when you made appearances and it really clicked for me. I grew up in a house where both of my parents were politicians – they still are – so I know how to spot a PR approved, media trained face when I see one. Even though you were young at the time, you were scarily good at it, and it was infuriating that that was the priority. It was obvious that none of you were fine but could never acknowledge it. And I hadn’t really thought about any of that in a while until the theme for this exhibit was announced and I started brainstorming. I wanted to find a unique subject that wasn’t just my sister or my best friend or do some kind of psychoanalyzing self-portrait. There’s not enough time in my schedule for me to attend the amount of therapy sessions that would be required for me to tackle that.” Alex admitted with a grimace.
“But then I was bored one day, scrolling through Netflix, just trying to find something to put on in the background while I worked, and then it just hit me. They had a section dedicated to the classic Bond films – the ones that critics and fans both hold in high regard, which is a fucking miracle to achieve – and the Arthur Fox ones were all there at the very top. So, I started watching them, which is definitely not a hardship under any circumstances, and I noticed something this time around that I hadn’t picked up on all of the other times I’d watched them.”
Alex smiled softly to himself before making eye contact with Henry for the first time since he started his rant. “I noticed his eyes and how expressive they were. Everything about his acting has always been impressive. He always knew how to nail the fight choreography, he had great comedic timing, his facial expressions were always on point – but the way he was able to emote through just his eyes was something I had somehow taken for granted before that day.” He revealed, seemingly disappointed in his past self. “And then watching that scene in the second movie where his partner dies and Bond is heartbroken, and your dad displayed so much vulnerability in a way we rarely get to see from such a hypermasculine character, that it genuinely made me emotional. And just as the scene was ending, and the camera pans to a close-up of his eyes, it was like a gut-punch. I knew those eyes, and not just because I watched a lot of his movies growing up. I knew I had seen them on someone else, with that same, intensely personal pain, but in a real context. I had seen that look in your eyes all those years ago and I don’t think I’ve ever scrambled for a pencil and my sketchbook so fast in my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been inspired quite like that before.”
By the time Alex had finished speaking, Henry felt like he had swallowed his tongue. He was so debilitatingly overwhelmed by how seen he truly felt. Over the years, most people he met expressed sincere condolences and tried their best to sympathize with him and the immeasurable pain was sure was never going to truly heal. So many people felt the need to tell him how much he looked like his father; and he did. He knew he physically resembled their father more than Beatrice or Philip did. But Alex, who had never met him or his father, who had no experience with the monarchy or how stifling being a member of the royal family truly was, who lived an entire ocean away, saw him. He saw him and he understood him in a way he’s not even sure Pez has ever managed to. He looked in Arthur’s eyes, and into Henry’s eyes and he simply got it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been seen quite like that before.” Henry quietly admitted. “That is, I hope I haven’t. If everyone sees me the way you do, other than Pez or Bea of course, all those years of mandatory media training and etiquette lessons were truly a dreadful waste of time.”
Pez scoffed. ‘Hazza, if that was the case, you’d never hear the end of it. The bloody wicked witch of Westminster would keep you locked in a tower.”
Henry laughed, thankful for Pez and his innate ability to cut through the tension of a situation. “I’m surprised she hasn’t done that regardless. It would make her life much easier, I’m sure.”
“You’re far too pretty to be locked away in a tower.” Pez remarked. “And I know that karma is real because out of his three children, you look the most like Arthur and the public would notice if she tried to hide you away. There would be a revolt. Riots in the streets. Crowds gathered at the gates of Kensington Palace and Buckingham Palace demanding your release.”
“Now that I agree with.” Alex added. “That is definitely a face worth starting riots for. Hell, with a face card like that you could probably convince people to overthrow the monarchy completely.”
Henry choked on his own spit at the admission, ducking his head as he felt his cheeks flushing.
Pez grinned, eyeing Alex appreciatively. “I like you; we are definitely keeping you around.” He declared, leaving no room for argument. Not that Henry would have been able to bring himself to argue against seeing Alex again, no matter the detriment it was sure to be to his sanity. “Do you live here in the city or are you just in town for the exhibit?”
“I live a few blocks from here.” Alex replied. “I moved here when I got accepted to NYU and just kinda stayed when I got offered a job right after graduation.”
“Does that mean you’ll stop by the shelter the next time we’re in town?” Pez asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “We’ll have the painting installed in Henry’s office by then and we’ll want to make sure you approve of how your work is being displayed, of course.”
Alex glanced at Henry, their eyes connecting for what felt like the hundredth time that night and the first time ever. The pull he felt towards Alex was new and terrifying, exciting and comforting, and inevitable. It felt wildly impractical and wholly inappropriate and like it had the potential to be everything he ever wanted yet rarely allowed himself to hope for. For the first time in a long time, he hoped that his eyes were giving him away. He needed Alex to be looking into them the way he was in that moment and seeing everything.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Alex assured with a soft smile, still looking at Henry. “Give me a time and place, and I’ll be there. A few hours’ notice would be solid, but I can always clear my schedule if I have to.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure we can work around your schedule is, whatever that may be.” Henry insisted. It was rare that either of them had an inflexible schedule, outside of a few meetings, whenever he was in town with Pez. From the sounds of it, Alex worked an actual job that most likely wasn’t as forgiving.
“Absolutely, we can always shuffle things around to make it more convenient for you.” Pez agreed. “Now then, I’m going to go see the cashier about getting this wrapped and delivered to the shelter and settling the payment, of course. Won’t be gone a moment.”
After Pez walked away, Alex and Henry stood in comfortable silence, both of their gazes fixed on the painting.
“It is truly a remarkable work of art.” Henry said, breaking the silence. “Is it terribly vain of me to say?”
Alex smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think it is.” He paused as if to gather his thoughts before he continued. “Obviously I don’t know you well at all, but I find it hard to believe that you look at it and admire it because you’re looking at your own face. I painted you as beautiful because you are, but I don’t think that’s what you see when you look at it. So, I’m not sure how that could be considered vain.” He said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. As if reading Henry like an open book was a normal occurrence rather than Henry’s entire world being tilted off its axis.
“I don’t know how you do it.” Henry replied. “I’m finding it hard to comprehend how it seems to come so easily to you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alex admitted.
“I wasn’t lying, or exaggerating earlier when I said I don’t think I’ve ever been seen the way that you see me.” Henry explained. “You just seem to understand me, and you just bloody met me twenty minutes ago. I didn’t realize how desperately I wanted to be seen – have wanted it for a long time – until I saw your painting.”
Alex shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe people just don’t care enough to put in the effort; maybe they don’t really want to understand. Maybe they’re all just idiots.” He offered. “Maybe you’re really great at hiding that part of yourself away after doing it for so long.” He paused before adding. “Maybe I’m just special.”
Henry could hear the grin in his voice as he finished speaking and had to bite his lip to keep himself from matching it. “There is no ‘maybe’ when it comes to that last one, I assure you. Anyone who pours their heart and soul into their work the way that you clearly do is special. Though, that doesn’t even feel like a big enough word. I’m not sure ‘special’ truly captures the enormity of how you’ve made me feel.”
A beat of silence passed between them before Alex replied.
“Despite how proud I am of this painting and all of the compliments I’ve received since I’ve actually started showing it to people… it’ll never be enough.” Alex explained. “No matter how much of my ‘heart and soul’, as you put it, that I pour into it, I’ll never truly be able to capture what it feels like to stand next to you; to look into your eyes and get to witness the depth of your emotions that even the most expensive cameras in the world can never seem to capture. I could spend hours getting lost in them and spend weeks or months or years painting them, and I know, without a doubt, I could never do them justice. I’m not sure there’s an artist on this planet that could achieve that, even if they spent an entire lifetime trying.” Alex revealed. “What I’m trying to say is, the fact that I’ve made you feel anything at all with this version of you that I’m capable of presenting, even though it could clearly never measure up in any way to the real you… that’s everything. That’s how you’ve made me feel.”
They stood in comfortable silence again for a few more minutes before Henry broke it once again.
“Would it be terribly forward of me to ask for your number?” Henry asked. “To arrange the meeting after the painting installation, of course.”
Alex smirked, turning to face Henry. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on that because you don’t have a way to contact me, obviously.”
Henry handed him his phone and watched Alex input his contact information quickly before handing it back. “No booty calls, Your Majesty.” He teased.
The startled laugh that Henry let out in response seemed to surprise both of them, but the smile on Alex’s face just widened while Henry tried to fight off the flush that he could feel making its way down his neck. “Your Majesty is reserved for the Queen; I’ll have you know. If you insist on using my title, you should refer to me as ‘Your Royal Highness’.” This was the closest he had come to openly flirting with someone he actually found himself attracted to in an embarrassingly long time.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time, Henry.” Alex replied, playfully.
It was mildly alarming how much it was doing it for him that Alex seemed comfortable calling him his given name, rather than any of his ridiculous titles or adhering to any kind of formality when it came to addressing him. “If I text you-“
“When you text me.”
Henry sighed, feigning an annoyance he could barely bring himself to pretend to feel. “When I text you, am I going to come to regret letting you have my number?”
“Probably almost immediately.” Alex replied without hesitation. “My sleep schedule never recovered after law school and helping both of my parents campaign over the years. You’ll get texts at odd hours of the day and night. I talk about my sister and her girlfriend – who is also both my best friend and my ex – a lot. You’ll probably learn the name of everyone I work with at the firm with how much I bitch about them. I go on tangents about whatever is on my mind at any given time, which usually means paragraphs about something you’ve never heard me mention once before and suddenly I’m like hyper focused on it.”
He knew that everything Alex had just told him was meant as a warning of sorts, but rather than any sort of dread at the prospect of being in contact with Alex on a regular basis, he found himself looking forward to it. “Sounds far more entertaining than any texts you’ll be getting from me in return.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, man.” Alex replied. “As I’ve said a few times now, both of my parents are politicians. I’m sure there’s plenty you can rant to me about when it comes to the monarchy and the British government that will keep me plenty entertained. Political rants are like a specialty of mine.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Henry said. “I’m sure you can teach me a thing or two about American politics. I’m afraid most of my knowledge is limited to whoever holds the office of President and a handful of their most and least popular policies.”
Alex smiled brightly. “Talk dirty to me, baby.” He laughed. “Be careful what you wish for, because I have a lot of very strong opinions when it comes to that.”
Henry felt a shiver run down his spine at being called baby and knew that it was specifically Alex calling him that, that had done it. He was already in over his head when it came to this man, and he barely knew him.
Pez chose that moment to rejoin them, his gaze darting between them incredibly unsubtly in a way that meant Henry was absolutely being interrogated for all the details of their conversation the moment they got back to Pez’s flat. “You are officially the proud owner of an Alex Claremont-Diaz original, baby Fox.”
Henry groaned at one of his least favorite nicknames that Pez insisted on using. He usually only did so in private, and Henry felt personally attacked that he had pulled it out in front of Alex, of all people.
“Baby Fox?” Alex said, somewhat incredulously. “That’s fucking adorable, oh my god.”
“Pez.” Henry felt his entire face turning red and glared at the man who was somehow the bane of existence and one of the best things that had ever happened to him.
“What?” Pez asked, feigning innocence. “I happen think it’s adorable and Alex agrees. You’re clearly outnumbered here, love.”
Henry rubbed a hand over his face, resigned to the fact that Alex and Pez meeting each other might end up being the true bane of existence and that there was nothing to be done about it now. “I’m not sure what heinous crimes I committed in a past life to deserve the two of you meeting and deciding it’s in either of your best interest to tease me like this.”
“We do it purely out of affection.” Pez replied. “Because we love you.”
“Exactly.” Alex agreed. “Wouldn’t be anywhere near as fun if we didn’t care.”
“You barely even know me.” Henry pointed out.
“And I already care. You make it easy.” Alex replied without hesitation.
Before Henry could respond, Pez cut in. “He does, doesn’t he? I must warn you though you may wake up one day and love him quite fiercely, without realizing how or when it happened. Big emotions like that tend to sneak up on you, when it comes to my dear Hazza here.”
“When that inevitably happens to me, because at this point I’d be surprised if it doesn’t, I’ll consider myself a lucky man.” Alex said to Pez while looking directly at Henry.
Being loved by Alex would be irreparably destructive, he was sure. If he was lucky enough that Alex stuck around long enough for that to happen, and it did happen, Henry would be more than happy to let it consume him. “I assure you, if that were to happen, I would be the lucky one.”
Alex smiled, a determined look in his eyes, as if he’d just been issued a challenge. “Guess I’ll have to stick around long enough to prove you wrong.”
“I suppose you will.” Henry replied.
“Look, it was obviously the highlight of my night getting to meet you both, but I really, really should go talk to some of the other patrons who came to see all the art on display tonight. I realistically should have excused myself and done that like, ten minutes after we started talking, but…”
“Go on, darling. We’ve monopolized your time tonight enough as it is.” Pez assured him. “We’ll be in touch.”
“You better put that number to use, Fox! I’ll be expecting a text!” Alex smiled gratefully, winking at them before he turned and walked towards a group admiring paintings on the other side of the room.
As soon as Alex was out of earshot, Pez turned to him and said, “You might just send your gran to an early grave the first time he steps foot in Buckingham Palace.”
Henry shook his head in amusement at the sentiment, confused as he was by the statement. “Under what circumstances would I bring him to that dreadful place?”
“The way I see it, even if you do decide to abdicate and don’t have to follow royal protocol, at the very least you’ll want your mum and Bea to meet him before you propose and logistically speaking it’ll be a bit of a nightmare to bring them both here.” Pez explained, like him asking Alex, a man who he just met, to marry him at some point in the future was a foregone conclusion.
“I’m not even allowed to publicly date men or acknowledge my sexuality in any form, and you’re somehow living in a universe where I get to propose to a man and bring him home to meet my family?” Henry asked, incredulously. “And not just any man, a man that I met half an hour ago, who also happens to be an American, who lives in a country I’m never in for more than a few days at a time?”
Pez rolled his eyes like Henry was being the unreasonable one. “You could be living in that universe too, you know. I know you’ve never believed that, but I think Alex may just be the one to finally open your eyes to that reality if you let him.”
Henry let his gaze wander, scanning the room until his eyes found Alex. He was surrounded by a group of people, looking at him with stars in their eyes as he gestured passionately with his hands, engaging each one of them with a bright smile on his face. “I’m afraid I’ve already come to the conclusion that I’d ruin myself for him if he asked me to.” Henry admitted. “I can see myself falling with him, if given the proper chance… and in that scenario, if he were to find himself in love with me and he desired to get married, proposing to him or accepting a proposal from him would be the easiest, most personally gratifying thing I think anyone would have ever wanted from me or asked of me – tradition and protocol be damned.”
Pez all but squealed next to him and he pulled him into a hug. “There he is! I knew that romantic sap I met ages ago had to still be in there somewhere.” He teased. His expression sobered slightly as he looked at Henry fondly. “It’s a good look on you, Haz. I’ve missed seeing it.”
Henry couldn’t help but smile back at him, a sense of hope swelling in his chest that he didn’t frantically try to bury or disregard as something simply not meant for him. “It feels good.”
“Good. You deserve it.” Pez confirmed. “Now, why don’t we head to the shelter, order some takeaway, and reorganize that office of yours. I’m sure between the two of us we can find the perfect spot to hang your stunning new painting. It simply must be displayed where it can be appreciated properly.”
“You mean somewhere you can see it without having to walk into my office and pester me while I’m trying to get work done?” Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh Hazza, have a little faith in me. I don’t have entirely selfish motivations here, I’ll have you know. I think everyone spending time at the shelter deserves to admire it without having to barge into your office and disrupt your peace to do so.” Pez explained. “A work of art like that shouldn’t be hidden away from the world, now, should it?”
“And if word gets out that I own such a painting and am proudly displaying it for the world to see?” Henry countered.
“We should be so fortunate.” Pez replied. “That’s exactly the kind of good trouble we should endeavor to find ourselves in more often.”
Despite how inadvisable it was to even entertain the idea, and the unimaginable nightmare he’d find himself in if word ever got home about it, he couldn’t help but agree with Pez. It would be scandalous, and he would be required to do an absurd amount of damage control, but the thought of hiding the painting away as if he was ashamed of it was unbearable to even think about. Alex deserved better than that; he and his beautiful work deserved to be appreciated freely, and loudly, and on purpose. He deserved for Henry to choose him, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. Choosing to hang a painting where anyone who walked past his office could see it wasn’t a huge declaration in the grand scheme of things, but for Henry, it was an act of defiance he rarely if ever allowed himself to indulge in. He had a feeling that spending more time in New York, because of both Pez and Alex, it was only going to become more and more difficult to resist those kinds of indulgences when the company he was choosing to surround himself with were only going to encourage it.
Two months later when Henry found himself standing in his office, admiring the painting proudly hanging on the wall next to his desk and purposefully visible through the large floor-to-ceiling windows that separated his office and the hallway, with Alex standing next to him sporting an absolutely blindingly bright grin on his face, Henry knew he made the right decision.