Chapter Text
Living in one of the many rooms in the estate always gave Hal the distinct feeling that he had never really been a child. In fact, he became a teenager so quickly that he began to wonder when the transition started -- from adolescence to young-adulthood. His life was odd in the way that he couldn't fit the stages of his life into any particular mold: sitting at business meetings on his father's lap quite attentively as a small child like a young adult might, and lying on the floor, babbling (albeit, drunkenly) as a young adult like a child might.
Nonetheless, Hal, the heir to his father's position in a fabulously wealthy company, was labeled as a disappointment early in his life before he could ever really do anything disappointing. His younger brothers had, too, sat on their father's lap during business meetings, listening attentively, and through their younger years had continued to do so, unlike Hal.
"Henry." Hal heard his dad's cold voice ring through the halls, and he tried to imagine what it would be like if he didn't immediately run to his call. That being said, Hal hated the fact that his full name was "Henry Bolingbroke the Fifth", and tried to respond to 'Henry' or 'Harry' as little as possible.
A minute later, he was leaning into his dad's office. "Hey, dad." He said, with weak enthusiasm; at this point, he didn't try as hard as he used to to hide his dread for the whole business-office-cubicle scene. But this time, he was actually surprised that his father didn't have a look of sternness on his face -- his lips weren't pursed in that way they were when Hal was about to be chid. Henry Bolingbroke the Fourth, Hal's father, looked anxious and almost irritated.
"What did I do?" Was Hal's first reaction.
Henry IV allowed a nervous chuckle to break the ice of his expression, but it didn't last long. "Nothing, you didn't do anything. -- Did you do something?"
"-- No, no, no." Hal denied quickly, almost interrupting. He crossed his arms awkwardly while trying not to sound too casual -- what his father didn't know wouldn't hurt him. (Hal tried not to think of he and Ned getting completely plastered a few nights ago; the memory flew away as quickly as it had come.)
"Henry," (Hal cringed at the use of his name two times in a row, wishing his father wouldn't use it.) "You know the CEO of our company?" Before Hal could interrupt (he had planned an "OUR company?"), Henry IV continued on, "Well, he's coming over this evening. I need to work. I need you to clean and plan dinner and... well, make this place look acceptable."
Their place always looked acceptable. Hal crossed his arms with a more firm sternness than before, leaning against the doorframe. "We have people for that, dad. I was planning on going out with Ned, John, and the boys later tonight, and--"
Henry IV's nose crinkled in distaste. His voice lowered considerably, as if they were having this discussion in public. "Hal, you know I don't want you to hang out with those people."
Hal only smiled at the correct name being used, carefully deciding to brush off his father's reminder that he hated the crowd of drunkards and thieves that he spent his time with.
Henry IV pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed tersely, as he did when he was considerably irritated. Hal knew that he was a thorn in his father's side, but personally, he had decided long ago that he wasn't going to let the man dictate his life completely. Hal wouldn't be misunderstood; he loved his father dearly, and part of him hurt inside to know the frustration that he caused him. He looked upon the graying man with utter fondness and respect. Sometimes, however, he couldn't help but wonder if his father looked at him the same way.
Then again, did he really deserve it? (The memory of getting drunk with Ned crept its way into his brain again. Had they kissed? They must have. He pushed it out again, feeling a stab at his heart, feeling his smile waver. He really must've been a disappointment to his dad.)
"I'll get it clean, dad." He said, hiding the guilty tone in his voice. He knocked absentmindedly on the doorframe as he sauntered out of the office room, not waiting to hear a mumbled 'thank you'.
As Hal picked up stray clothes and cautiously disposed of empty bottles of wine, he thought about his father's-- not his, his father's-- CEO that would be coming to dinner. He had gone on a brief business trip to Ireland with this man, and during that time, had barely laid eyes on him. He wasn't complaining; the trip was lovely, earned him extra money, all expenses paid -- first class on the plane, and everything. One time, though, he had seen him during one of the aforementioned meetings he attended on Bring-Your-Kid-To-Work-Day.
Richard Plantagenet II was his name, and he was a tall and healthily thin man. He dressed superfluously, he noticed as a child: all creams and golds and whites. Richard was a fashion trendsetter among his peers, and you could tell by what he wore on a daily basis: a tasteful amount of rings adorning his fingers, expensive italian shoes and suits and ties. Richard's feminine appearance had interested Hal as a child, and, in fact, he had to be shushed quite audibly by his father after the meeting when Hal presumed that Richard had been a woman. Perhaps it was the wavy, brown hair that went to the man's mid-back, perhaps it was just the divine air that surrounded him -- Hal had always been interested, and the inability for them to cross paths in Ireland sometimes sparked a thought in the back of his head.
And he was coming to his house. That evening.
Hal pressed his expensively-cased Iphone between his shoulder and his ear, Ned's phone ringing on the other line.
"Hey, babe." Ned Poins yawned after the 5th ring, sounding quite tired. The man was your typical rapscallion; all five o'clock shadow that never resulted in a beard, all disheveled inky hair and dark eyes that gleamed with mischief.
Hal's heart fluttered. He was disgruntled with the feeling; Ned remembered the kiss, to his embarrassment. "Hey," he responded, trying not to sound like his ears had just turned red. "I can't make it tonight."
"Aw, why?" Hal could hear the faint shuffling of his bedsheets on the other end as Ned sat up in bed.
"Richard freaking Plantagenet is coming to my house later." Hal said, not even trying to mask the excitement that bubbled into his voice.
"The first, or second?" Ned asked, quite reasonably.
"Ned, the first has been dead for like, a billion years."
"How the hell am I supposed to know? My mom owns a dry cleaners, dude. Not all of us can be business heirs and whatever you are." He laughed into his drink, which Hal assumed was some kind of cheap alcohol. Hal laughed as well, echoing business heir to himself.
"Point is, I gotta look good for RPII tonight so I can earn business heir points. Don't let John drink too deep." Hal paused, reconsidering. "-- I take it back. Let him, and record videos. Kisses." He hung up just as he caught the sound of Ned laughing, and threw his phone away on the couch, his face burning. He liked Ned a lot, but refused to think of it and focused on the task at hand: cleaning.
Hal glanced at his kitchen, imagining Richard sitting at the head of the table. He strode over to the refrigerator, deciding to figure out what kind of wine to serve first -- that was when he realized that he and Ned had drained the whole supply the other night. Damn you, Ned!
"Daaaaad....?" He called out uncertainly to his father down the hall, not bothering to hide the uncertainty in his voice.
Henry IV knew that tone. He left his solitude to join his son in the kitchen. "What did you do?"
"No wine left." Was all Hal said, smiling a very nervous smile to his father.
Henry Sr. was on it -- he immediately walked over to the closet, grabbing a tasteful dark overcoat to brace the cold with. "I'll go to the store." His voice was utterly resigned; it wasn't hard for him to figure out what his son had done with all the drinks. Hal knew he was in for it later. He would've been in for it then, if they weren't so tight on time.
Hal found himself alone. After 30 minutes of halfhearted cleaning passed and his father hadn't come home, he heard the doorbell ring. He laughed to himself as he raced to the door, figuring his father had forgotten his house key.
But when he opened the door, aforementioned Richard freaking Plantagenet (the second, of course), was standing in the doorway, brown eyes sparkling with pleasure. Hal looked down at himself, in a v-neck long-sleeve and blue boxers, and then at Richard, who was wearing an awfully stylish gold sweater and white dress pants, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Hal could have screamed, but before he could properly begin his fit of appropriate shrieking, Richard said in a voice that sounded like caramel, "My apologies, I quite enjoy being fashionably early." Hal only gestured to the dining room, at a loss for words.