Work Text:
Henry was still sipping his first beer of the night. He’d always hated the taste, honestly, but knew well enough not to mention that to the group. He would be teased mercilessly. The beer was both yeasty and tinny, the taste of the can permeating the liquid thoroughly. He was glad he and Pez had enough sense to do a couple of shots in Henry’s room before joining the rest of the group in one of the quads and then heading down to the bonfire.
Henry hadn’t exactly, per se, made friends at uni yet. Whatever social activities Henry did, he did with Pez alone or with Pez and Pez’s new friends—but what Henry did overall was few and far between. He mostly kept to himself. He hadn’t even attended freshers fair at the beginning of the term, which, in retrospect, was probably a mistake, but he couldn’t have brought himself to care at the time. (Henry later found out that Pez had been nice enough to sign him up for the English Society, the Poetry Society, and the Yacht Club after receiving emails for their events. Henry still hadn’t attended a single meeting yet.)
If Henry wasn’t in class, then he was in the library or in his room. He was fairly certain he was driving Pez mad by making plans and then canceling at the last minute. Henry had even tried to cancel on Bonfire Night, but Pez bullied him into attending anyway.
Henry wasn’t a complete arsehole of a friend, at least. He had dinner with Pez most nights here. Had helped dye Pez’s hair in a small dormitory sink, after years of hearing Pez’s complaints about Eton’s strict natural-hair-colours-only rule. And after Pez had had too much to drink at a pub last week, Henry had gone and picked him up, dragged him back to his room, and stayed awake til morning to make sure his friend didn’t choke on his own vomit.
So, all things considered, Henry could have been a worse friend. He could have told Pez to fuck off and leave him alone. But he didn’t, because he knew Pez didn't deserve that. But sometimes he wanted to. He wanted to tell everybody to fuck off.
Perpetually exhausted no matter how much he laid in bed, Henry felt like he was hanging on by a thread. His brain was a foggy mess. His sleep schedule was nonexistent. He was regularly up at three in the morning, bloodshot eyes trained on a too-bright laptop screen, staring at a blank document while trying, and failing, to write a paper. He was falling behind in two of his courses already. He had never had to deal with this before, struggling with academics. The only thing he’d ever really had any trouble with in school was maths, but here he was at uni anyway, turning in half-hearted, shitty formal analyses to art history professors. It was simultaneously frustrating and numbing. He wanted to care, but he just couldn’t.
His to-do list: five Toni Morrison chapters that needed finishing by Tuesday; a paper on Barthes due on Wednesday for a different English course; an art exhibition review, also due on Wednesday; multiple emails from Philip’s weaselly equerry to reply to, which Henry had been putting off for a week; and finding the will to live.
He was a man drowning.
Outside in the cold, Henry watched rowdy students get drunk off of lager and take selfies in front of the big bonfire. He was seriously considering heading back to his room during the fireworks that were scheduled to happen later. If he didn’t leave before the fireworks were over, then he’d be roped into going into town with the group, and then he’d really be done for.
As it were, he was standing off to the side of Pez’s group and trying to look semi-interested. The six or so people chatted idly about some elderly professor in the biology department who apparently still owned a flip phone. Instead of using energy to give a genuine reaction of his own, Henry just smiled and laughed whenever the others smiled and laughed. The story wasn’t that interesting. Though, not much was particularly interesting to Henry as of late.
The girl standing next to him, Arisha, was sipping on a glass bottle of lemonade. Henry was about to ask her where she got it so he could replace the disgusting beer when a series of shouts erupted from behind them, and something cold and wet sprayed against his back. Henry and Arisha both jumped forward in surprise, yelping.
A group of boys stood in a circle behind them, and most of them were too busy shotgunning beers to notice anything was amiss. A couple of the boys, who had noticed, were shouting and laughing at Henry, Arisha, and the apparent assailant—a boy standing close to them, beer can sputtering weakly in his hand, shirt positively soaked. The boy’s face was dry, giving Henry the impression that he hadn’t managed to get a single drop of beer in his mouth.
“Oh, fuck. Sorry,” the boy said. His friends continued to laugh at him. “Fuck me. Christ.”
“Are you serious?” asked Arisha. Though the beer had only splattered the back of Henry’s jumper, it had hit Arisha, who was significantly shorter than Henry, on the back of the head. She touched her headscarf, trying to assess the damage.
“Sorry, sorry,” the boy said again. “Promise I didn’t mean to. My bad, really.”
Considering that the boy looked horribly embarrassed, Henry figured his apology was genuine.
“Oh, shit,” one of the other boys said loudly. He looked horrified for a moment, and then he burst into another fit of laughter. “Oh, fuck. You’re so fucked, mate. You’re like, so fucked.”
There was another round of laughter from the rest of the group, the tone different than before. Some oh-my-Gods. More oh-fucks. One nice-aim-Jamie. The boy, who must have been the Jamie in question, looked in confusion at his friends before turning back to Arisha and Henry. When his eyes landed on Henry, he blanched.
“Oh…erm, oh. Oh, fuck. I didn’t mean to, I promise. It was an accident.”
Henry put his hands up and shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. He hated when people reacted like that. “It’s really alright.”
Jamie did not look convinced.
Next to him, Arisha grumbled to herself. Lily, the girl that Pez had a thing for, tugged on Arisha’s arm. “Let’s go to the toilet and try to wash it off?” she suggested.
“Good idea.”
At Jamie’s still-distressed expression, Henry repeated to him, “It’s fine.”
The boy ran his hand across his buzzed hair. His white shirt was slightly see-through in the front, the beer making the fabric stick to his skin.
Henry tried to reassure him again. “It’ll wash out, you know. It’s completely fine.”
The thing was, this jumper was cashmere, which Henry was now realizing was an idiotic thing to wear to Bonfire Night. He probably needed to go with the girls to the lavatory.
“I think the Student Union is still open,” Lily said to Arisha. “Let’s go there, come on.”
Lily and Arisha set off, and Henry ran to catch up with them, leaving Pez and the group behind. A few seconds later, he realized Jamie was following him. A PPO trailed behind the four students and eyed Jamie warily.
“Sorry, mate, really,” Jamie said.
“I said it was fine. Honestly.”
“Yeah, but like. You know.”
Henry nodded. “Sure.”
He wasn’t really sure what ‘you know’ meant, but he was sort of done with this conversation. Maybe this was good, actually. He could put some water on his jumper, wait until he knew Lily and Arisha went back to the bonfire, and then sneak back to his room for the night.
Jamie caught up to him fully, and soon their strides were matching. Lily and Arisha walked a bit ahead of them. It was another five minutes, maybe, until they reached the SU.
“So,” Jamie began. Henry wanted to bury his face in his hands. He just wanted to be left alone. “You’re a fresher, right? Me too.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you study? Like, politics, or…”
“English lit.”
“Really?”
Henry sighed and pursed his lips. “Yep.”
“That’s kinda brilliant.”
“That so?” Henry didn’t believe him.
“Oh, yeah. I almost did that, you know, but I thought it would be kinda useless, a degree in English, like. So I decided to get a much more useful degree. In music.”
Henry squinted at him, trying to tell if he was serious. He decided he was. Henry snorted out a single, genuine laugh. “Why, that’s leagues more practical. Your mother must be so happy.”
“Oh, yeah. My mum’s awful proud.”
“I’m sure.”
They snickered to themselves, and Henry let himself untense a bit. The rest of the walk was silent, but pleasant. The SU was dead when they got there. Everyone was busy outside tonight with the bonfire and fireworks. Lily and Arisha headed to the women’s, and Henry and Jamie headed to the men’s. Henry’s PPO waited outside.
As soon as they entered, Jamie ripped his shirt over his head. Henry blinked in surprise, staring for a moment, and then resolutely turned away. He gently removed his own jumper while leaving his tee on, and then he inspected the back of the jumper to see how much beer was on it. One sink over, Jamie turned on the tap. He shoved his whole shirt underneath.
“I’m gonna reek of beer for the rest of the night,” Jamie complained. “Like, I was probably gonna reek of beer anyway, but this is just embarrassing.”
Henry struggled for a reply. He was noticing more and more lately that his social skills were regressing concerningly fast—not that they had ever been great. It didn’t help that Jamie was shirtless. Henry could see from the corner of his eye the boy’s skinny body hunched over the sink. From this angle, Henry was fairly certain he had a tattoo on the side of his ribcage, but Henry sure as hell was not going to check to confirm.
“Well,” Henry started. He turned the tap onto a low drizzle and carefully put part of the jumper underneath. He was being much more mindful about it than Jamie. “Well, at least you’ll have a funny story to tell at parties.”
“Oh-ho, good point," Jamie said. "Are you using soap with this, or just getting it wet? What stain level do you think we’re dealing with here?”
Henry had no idea. He was horrible with laundry. Still, he didn’t want to come across as an inept idiot, so he said, with as much confidence as he could muster, “Soap, for sure.”
They both reached for the soap dispenser at the same time. Henry quickly pulled his hand away, willing himself not to flush.
When Jamie was finished loading what looked like way too much soap into his palm, Henry got some for himself. He started rubbing it into the fabric.
Next to him, Jamie tsked. “No, no. Don’t rub. Dab. That’s what my mum always says. You’ve gotta dab at it.”
“What?”
“Like this.” Jamie reached over and took the jumper from Henry’s hands.
“No, it’s okay—”
“Come on, I fucked it up. Let me help.”
Jamie started blotting aggressively at the fabric with his fingers. Henry furrowed his brow. Blotting might have been the correct thing to do, but it didn’t look like Jamie was doing it right. In the other sink lay Jamie’s abandoned shirt, now completely soaked through from the still-running tap.
“Your shirt,” Henry supplied unhelpfully.
“Hm?” Jamie didn’t look up.
Henry was frozen on the spot. Their shoulders were pressed together. With Jamie’s head bowed low as he focused on Henry’s jumper, Henry could get a better view of the boy. He did have a tattoo, as Henry had guessed. It was a boxy-looking dog, its mouth open mid-bark. Henry recognized it immediately as a Keith Haring, its thick lines and geometric form unmistakable. Henry’s heart thudded unevenly in his chest. He wanted to reach out and touch it.
Jamie was queer. Henry was sure of it. You didn’t pay money to get a Keith Haring artwork tattooed permanently on your body if you weren’t queer.
Fuck. What should Henry do? He should probably do nothing at all. He should just thank Jamie for helping with his jumper and leave. That was the smart thing to do. But his feet were stuck to the floor.
Henry’s body buzzed. He twisted his signet ring discreetly. An anxious habit. His gran always got irritated when she saw him twisting it.
Finally, Henry said, “I like your tattoo.”
Jamie looked up. He eyed Henry’s face, assessing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Keith Haring, right?”
“Uh-huh. Got it this summer.”
“It’s nice.” God, that sounded too intimate. Henry forced himself to breathe. Jamie was still looking at him. “I mean, it healed nicely, is what I meant.”
“Hurt like a fucking bitch. Thinking of getting one?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” In other words, absolutely not. He didn’t like needles. They reminded him of doctor’s offices, of hospitals. Plus, his grandmother would kill him if he got a tattoo. She would make it look like a heart-wrenching, tragic accident.
“Well, I can tell you, the ribs hurt. But there are other places that don’t hurt so bad.”
Henry pretended to consider it, though there was no way he was going to actually get a tattoo. Jamie didn’t need to know that, though. “Oh? I feel like everywhere would hurt.”
“Upper arms aren’t bad, I’ve heard.” Jamie reached up and touched the outside of Henry’s arm just below his shoulder. A couple of the boy’s fingers, cold and wet, brushed Henry’s skin. He slipped them underneath the sleeve of Henry's tee. Henry shivered. Ripping his eyes away from the hand on his skin, Henry gripped the side of the sink and turned to look at Jamie’s face. The boy was standing awfully close. Henry could smell stale beer on his breath.
Henry forced himself to nod. “Good to know. Anywhere else?”
Jamie did not break eye contact as he removed his hand from Henry’s arm and moved it lower to touch the outside of Henry’s thigh. Henry sucked in a sudden breath. Jamie squeezed. “Here’s good, too.”
Henry leaned in first. At least he was pretty sure he did. All that was important, though, was that they were kissing, rough and open-mouthed, and soon Henry was pressing Jamie against the edge of the sink. Jamie kissed back with equal enthusiasm. Their hands roved each other with little logic or direction, trying to touch as much of the other as possible. Henry lifted Jamie onto the sink so he could stand in between his legs. Jamie broke off from Henry, cursing.
“Fuck, my arse,” Jamie said. The back of his trousers was wet from the running sink. Henry shut off the tap quickly. He thought Jamie would be angry, but the boy simply started laughing. It was a delightful sound. He kept on laughing until tears were streaming down his cheeks. Henry didn’t know what to do, so he just stood there holding Jamie’s waist so the boy didn’t fall off the sink and waited for Jamie to collect himself.
Jamie had a little hoop earring, which Henry hadn’t noticed before. His front teeth were slightly crooked. He was beautiful.
Reaching up to grip either side of Henry’s face, Jamie grinned at him. It was a big, bright view. “I’m snogging the prince.”
Henry rolled his eyes and slapped him lightly on the hip. “Fuck off.”
“Let’s head back to my room,” Jamie said excitedly. “It’s a quick walk from here.”
Henry suddenly became apprehensive. If they went back to Jamie’s room, Jamie might want to go all the way, and that hadn’t gone too well for Henry last time. He didn’t want a repeat performance of that awful night in Switzerland. Christopher hadn’t exactly been gentle.
Henry didn’t have any supplies with him, anyhow. Maybe Jamie would have stuff in his room. But maybe he wouldn’t. And what if his room was connected to a common room with other students who might see Henry come in with Jamie?
Plus, there was the issue of the NDA. God, this was about to get awkward.
“Er,” Henry said. “About that, you kind of have to sign a couple forms first?”
The boy looked confused.
“Like, a non-disclosure agreement. It’s not that big of a deal. Just a couple of signatures, and you’re good to go.”
Jamie looked hurt. He didn’t say anything at all for a while, just tipped his head back until it rested against the mirror. Then he hummed. “Wow.”
Guilt crawled up Henry’s throat. “It’s perfectly standard. I promise. All my friends sign one.”
Jamie quirked an eyebrow. He looked unimpressed. “Oh, yeah. Real friendly activities about to go down.”
“I just meant that I’m not singling you out or anything. Everybody signs one. It’s standard procedure.” Henry’s face was heating up as he became more embarrassed. Why couldn’t his life just be simple? “Everybody signs one. I wish you didn’t have to, but—”
Jamie pushed Henry back a few steps, then hopped off of the sink. One half of Henry’s jumper lay forlornly and forgotten in the basin.
Jamie sighed. “Fine, I guess.”
Not exactly the enthusiasm Henry was hoping for from somebody he was about to hook up with, but it would just have to do. Henry leaned in and kissed him, once, on the mouth. It was soft. He’d never kissed anybody that way before. It was nice.
Then, Henry took out his phone and texted Shaan asking for an NDA. He hoped Shaan wouldn’t ask why. Shaan was discrete and good at his job. He had worked within Arthur's office before splitting his time between Arthur and Henry when Henry turned sixteen, and then he was transferred permanently to Henry at eighteen. Shaan had always been Henry’s favourite, the one who had given him and Bea sparring lessons during the summers.
“So, my place?” Jamie ventured.
Henry froze again. It was safer if they stayed here. They couldn’t fuck here. And Henry’s PPO outside would make sure no one else came in.
Henry texted the PPO separately and told him to watch the door. He got a confirmation back a few seconds later. Henry put his phone away.
“We could do that,” Henry began, leaning into Jamie’s space and ghosting his lips over the boy’s ear, “but I kind of want you right now.”
“Won’t someone come in?”
“Security is watching the door.”
In response, Jamie cupped the back of Henry’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss. They kissed and grinded against each other until their trousers were strained. Then Jamie wiggled downward, getting on his knees in between Henry and the sink. He started undoing Henry’s zipper. Henry put his hand on Jamie’s cheek to stop him.
“You don’t have to," Henry said.
Jamie scoffed. “Are you kidding? Fuck yeah, I’m doing this.”
“I haven’t been tested recently, is the thing.”
Henry had never been tested at all. He had wanted to, after Christopher, but he had been terrified of the media somehow finding out about the appointment. His fear of being outed via leaked medical documents clashed with his fear of contracting something dangerous—one an unstoppable force, the other an immovable object. It had made Henry paralyzed with inaction. In the end, despite his better judgment, he had done nothing at all. Objectively, he knew this was foolish. Reckless, even. But there was a small, tiny part of him that hoped he had contracted something, if only to take the easy way out. And he knew that that was not a healthy thing to think.
Now, with the glorious sight of a boy on his knees in front of him, Henry was cursing himself for his stupidity. What the hell had he been thinking, not getting tested? Had he lost his damned mind?
“You can just use your hand,” Henry said meekly.
“I’ve got condoms. That good?”
“Oh. Okay.”
Jamie tugged the waistband of Henry’s trousers and boxer briefs down, letting them pool at Henry’s ankles. Jamie let his hand skim the length of Henry’s cock a few times, getting him to full hardness. Henry breathed heavily.
“You’re really pretty,” Jamie said.
Henry blushed profusely. “Oh. Er, thank you.”
Jamie giggled, looking up at him. “I meant your prick, but your face is pretty, too.”
Henry shook his head in embarrassment, but mostly he laughed in return. Jamie was sweet.
Then Jamie reached into his pocket and pulled out a foil wrapper, opening it. He placed the condom on the tip, put his lips around it, and slid it on with his mouth. Henry gasped. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a moan. That was, most definitely, the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. He would have to remember that move. The condom itself felt odd, Henry unused to the feeling, but he was relieved that Jamie had used one. Christopher hadn’t even been kind enough to do that.
Jamie bobbed his head up and down, working Henry with his hand at the same time. Henry kept a palm over his mouth to keep quiet and used the other to steady himself against the side of the sink, intentionally placing his hand on the edge behind Jamie's head so that if Jamie pulled back too far, the boy wouldn’t whack himself.
It felt so good—his mouth, his tongue. The feeling was all-encompassing, and Henry felt it in his bloody toes. Even just watching Jamie was driving Henry mad. The boy was groping himself through his trousers while he gave Henry head. It was terribly, unbelievably hot.
Soon, Henry was biting his lip and hunching forward. He was close. He told Jamie as much. In response, Jamie doubled down. The boy quickened his pace. Henry gave a full-body shudder as he came, careful not to push too far into Jamie’s mouth. He could feel himself spilling inside the condom. His whole body felt like dead weight, and he was positive that the only reason he was standing upright was because he was white-knuckling the sink. Jamie worked him a little more, then pulled off when Henry started to soften. Tying off the condom, Jamie put it on the sink behind him and stood.
They kissed again. Henry leaned against him, lifting him onto the sink. Jamie’s mouth tasted like latex. Henry fumbled with Jamie’s zipper, wanting him. When he finally pulled Jamie’s cock out, Jamie was gripping Henry’s shoulders like a vice and arching his back.
“Fuck,” Jamie breathed. “I’m not gonna last long.”
“Got another condom?”
Jamie nodded and searched blindly in his pocket for one, shoving it into Henry’s hand. Henry opened it with ease but had to pause when he pulled it out of the wrapper, needing to squint at it for a couple of seconds to tell which side was supposed to go on first. When he finally figured it out, he slid it onto Jamie’s cock with his fingers. The surface of the latex was tacky with lube from the package. Henry knelt down in front of him and licked an experimental stripe up the boy’s cock. This condom was definitely flavored. Cherry, Henry thought. Henry took him in his mouth. Despite the flavoring, it still tasted overwhelmingly of rubber. Henry didn’t mind. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Jamie in his mouth. The tip of the condom brushed the back of Henry’s throat a couple of times, which made Henry gag a bit, but his gagging was still nowhere near as bad as it had been with Christopher.
He would get better with practice. (He very much wanted to have a lot of practice. As much as he could possibly manage.)
Henry eventually found a steady rhythm. He kept to it.
A few minutes more, and Jamie was coming. Henry pulled off and worked him through it with his hand. He wanted to watch Jamie fill the condom. Jamie was a mess above him, head thrown back and both hands gripping the side of the sink. When he finally looked down, his face was wrecked. Henry carefully removed the condom and tied it off like he’d seen Jamie do. He laid it next to his own on the sink. Massaging Jamie’s hips with his hands, Henry kissed his stomach, then moved upwards with his mouth as he stood, making sure to kiss the tattoo on his ribcage. When Henry finally made it up to his neck, and then to his mouth, Jamie met him in a lazy, filthy kiss.
After they pulled apart, they both silently started getting dressed. Half of Henry’s jumper was wet from the sink, but at least his tee, which he’d never taken off, was wearable. He looked over at Jamie, who was poking uselessly at his soaked shirt in the other sink. Jamie sheepishly laughed.
“Well, fuck,” Jamie said.
Henry handed his jumper over. The back was wet, but it was better than Jamie's soaked, white shirt. When Jamie didn’t take it immediately, Henry shoved it toward his chest. “Go on, take it.”
Jamie pulled it over his head. It was too big, the boy more skinny than Henry. He looked soft in it. “Thanks.”
Henry felt lightheaded and warm. He liked Jamie. He wanted to see him again.
At that moment, a knock sounded on the door. They both jumped. Henry's heart kicked into overdrive, and he thought, for the briefest of moments, that he was going to throw up. He and Jamie stared at each other in silence, waiting. Almost a minute passed. Then, there was another knock. It sounded more urgent.
Henry did his best to tamp down the queasy-feeling panic that was rising inside of him. He told himself it must be his PPO. It must be.
Henry slowly peaked his head out the door to check.
Shaan was standing on the other side, looking sternly at him. The PPO was nowhere to be seen. Henry wilted underneath Shaan’s gaze. The man held out a stack of paper and a pen. Henry tried to take them, but Shaan wouldn’t let go.
“Next time,” Shaan whispered, “the NDA gets signed before.” He sounded angry. Henry had never seen him like this.
Henry nodded quickly. “Understood.”
“Do not let this happen again.”
“Yes. Got it.”
Shaan finally let go of the paper and pen. Henry slammed the door shut.
He turned awkwardly toward Jamie, who had clearly been eavesdropping.
“Those the forms?”
“Yeah.”
Henry gave Jamie the pen and then flipped to the first tabbed page. “Sign here…” and then the next tabbed page, “and here…” and the final tabbed page, “and then here.”
When Jamie was done, Henry rocked back and forth on his heels, not sure how to properly end the interaction. He really wanted to see Jamie again. They ought to exchange numbers.
Henry was about to open his mouth to speak, but Jamie beat him to it.
“So, this thing,” Jamie said, waving the NDA around, “means I can’t tell anyone about this.”
It didn’t sound like a question, but Henry nodded anyway.
“So, what do I tell people when they ask why I was gone for so long?”
Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose you should just say that you were cleaning your shirt.”
“And that I came back, forever later, wearing your jumper?”
Henry formed his lips into a thin line. Right.
“And,” Jamie continued, “what about you? What’re you going to say?”
“I don’t know. Same thing, I guess.” In reality, Henry was planning to go back to his room. He was done with Bonfire Night.
“Nobody’s going to believe that.”
“Well, what do you want me to say?”
Jamie shook his head. “This is stupid. No offense.”
Henry sighed in frustration. “Look, I don’t make the rules. That’s just how it works.”
Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Jamie narrowed his eyes at him. The sleeves of the too-big jumper pooled around his wrists. “Is this how the rest of your life is going to be? It's kind of pathetic.”
The words felt like a slap to the face. Henry took a step back. He tried to form a reply, but he couldn’t come up with anything. His gut reaction was to say no, that this was not how the rest of his life was going to be. But he knew, deep down, that that was not true. Of course he knew that the rest of his life was going to be like this—secret rendezvous, nondisclosure agreements, broken hearts—but he’d been doing his bloody best to not think too hard about it. ‘The rest of one’s life’ was such an abstract concept. But hearing it come out of someone else’s mouth made it concrete. Henry felt rotten. His throat tightened, and he feared he might cry.
He hadn’t even wanted to go out tonight. He had wanted to stay in his room and do his fucking Toni Morrison chapters.
He stepped forward and yanked the NDA out of Jamie’s hands. Flipping through it to make sure all the signatures were there, Henry tucked it under his arm and pushed out his jaw.
“Just get out.”
Jamie stared at him, mouth open like a fish. When he didn’t move, Henry repeated himself.
“Get. Out.”
Jamie didn’t need to be told again. He gave Henry an offended look before turning on his heel and storming out.
Henry knew, from the outside, it looked like he was some grand, repressed closet case. He knew, to people like Jamie, to any future NDA-signers, that they would view him like this. It was infuriating. He wasn’t a fucking closet case. At least, he didn’t want to be. For all that it was causing him problems, Henry liked being gay. He liked men.
Henry stared at himself in the mirror above the row of sinks and finally let his lip wobble.
When he was younger, his brother would always tease him for how easily he cried. Their mum and dad would tell Philip off, but it always remained something that Henry was insecure about. He had, of course, gotten better about it as he grew older. His gran had made certain that a stiff upper lip had been drilled into him. There was no room for sensitive boys in the family. But, sometimes, his defenses didn’t hold up. Now was one of those times.
Another knock on the door. Then, the door opened.
Henry quickly wiped his eyes as Shaan walked in.
“Shaan—” Henry said. The two condoms were still sitting on the side of the sink. Henry lurched forward and quickly grabbed them, shoving them deep into the bin, underneath as much as he could manage. When they were hidden, Henry went back to the sink and started vigorously washing his hands. “What do you want?”
It was silent for a beat. Then Shaan said, “You’re crying. Did he hurt you?”
Henry focused on scrubbing his hands. He felt like Lady fucking Macbeth. “No,” he said.
When Henry finally met Shaan’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror, he laced his hands together tightly underneath the flow of water to get them to stop trembling. Henry expected Shaan to demand answers, to ask what the hell Henry had been thinking. But Shaan did not look outraged, or alarmed, or frankly even surprised. The man mostly looked worried.
“He didn’t hurt me,” Henry said again, trying to reassure him. “That’s not why I’m crying.”
Shaan nodded once. Then, he hesitated. Henry rarely saw him hesitate. It was unnerving. “Sir, I sent Ross home. I figured there was a reason you asked me for the NDA instead of him.”
Shutting off the tap, Henry walked numbly over to the other sink and picked up Jamie’s discarded shirt, squeezing it to get rid of the excess water.
Shaan continued, “I just want you to know that if you’re uncomfortable with the other staff being here for these occasions, we can coordinate both of our schedules until we find a system that better suits your needs.”
Henry kept his eyes on the boy’s shirt. He kept squeezing. Water dribbled into the sink.
The thing was, Henry didn’t entirely trust his team of PPOs. Some had been with him for years (trusted), some had been his dad’s (trusted), and some had been assigned to him when he set off for uni by Mary herself (not trusted). Henry could still hear the way his gran’s lips had curled around the words deviant desires. He could still remember the way her eyes had bored into his when she told him that she was sure that this wasn’t going to be a problem anymore. There was an unspoken implication to her words: if Henry didn’t fix this himself, then someone else was going to.
He didn’t know if the PPOs Mary had assigned to him would report back to her about the things he did, but he felt paranoid about it anyway. If he stepped too out of line, what would she do? She could remove his honorific title if she wanted to, but Henry didn’t care about that. Given his clear lack of enthusiasm for his royal obligations, Mary could probably conclude herself that the threat of removing Henry’s title would not be an effective enough form of blackmail to keep him behaved. Besides, there was no way that Mary would want to cause such a public scene, removing the third-in-line’s honorific title. No, she would not remove his title. She would think of something else.
Henry had always been told he was over-imaginative. Sometimes this was in the form of teachers praising him for his creativity, and other times it was in the form of Bea or Pez telling him to stop overthinking things. Ever since that private meeting with his gran over the summer, Henry had had a dreadful, recurring scenario running though his mind: he would be asleep at Kensington, or perhaps in his dorm room, and suddenly he would be awoken by a hand over his mouth, keeping him quiet as he was taken. Taken where, Henry didn’t know, but typically he imagined that it would be dirty and abandoned, in the middle of nowhere. Other times, he imagined that it would be someplace official-looking: hygienic, modern, sterile. The location perpetually changed in his mind.
He did not know what conversion therapy actually involved. He was too scared to look it up. So, this part of his daydreaming was always more nebulous. Whatever he imagined, though, it was never anything good.
Normally, this thought-spiral overcame him when he was trying to go to sleep, and he would become so freaked out that he would stay awake the whole night. Occasionally, however, the thoughts would occur during the day. Every time he got into a royal car alone and the driver was one he hadn’t met before, there was always a pause, a moment of hesitation, where Henry would be half-in and half-out of the car, thinking to himself how opportune the moment was for him to be driven somewhere he shouldn't be.
It sounded ludicrous. It sounded insane. Henry knew it sounded insane. He was, by all accounts, clinically fucking paranoid. Mary wouldn’t do that. Henry objectively knew this. But she could do that to him, if she wanted. She could get away with anything she wanted to. There would be no consequences for her.
He had never told anyone about this particular, unhinged fear of his, but clearly he was not hiding his anxieties well because Pez had looked at him one time last month after Henry had had a sleepless night and told him, in all seriousness, “You look like a nervous wreck.” Henry had just smiled and laughed, brushing it off. But what he had wanted to reply was, I fucking feel like one.
His nervous-wreckage, as he liked to call it now, extended beyond just daydreaming. The meeting with Mary had been a wakeup call, indicating to Henry that he was clearly doing something obvious and that, whatever that obvious thing was, it needed to stop. He was always checking himself now, examining how he carried himself, how he spoke, and what he spoke about. Not knowing exactly what it was that had told Mary he was different plagued him. Half the time, Henry was more busy observing himself from the outside of his body than he was paying attention to what was right in front of him.
“Sir?” Shaan asked. “Is that something you’d be interested in, or am I overstepping?”
Henry cleared his throat. “That’s something I’d be interested in, yes. Hudson and Paquet should only be assigned day-shifts.” Those were the PPOs whom Mary had assigned.
“Okay. Anything else?”
Henry lifted the damp shirt up. It was as dry as he could manage. Folding it badly, he turned to Shaan. Henry took the NDA out from where it had been stuffed under his arm and gave it to him
“Er,” Henry began. He couldn’t make eye contact with Shaan, so he focused instead on Shaan’s tie. The man usually wore a tie bar, but not tonight. He must have hastily put on his work clothes to meet Henry here. Henry felt bad. “You aren’t going to put this in a report or anything, right?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t want you to. And, uh, while we’re on the subject of off-the-record things, could you do something else for me?”
“Of course.”
There wasn’t a good way to beat around the bush, so Henry just went for it. This evening was already mortifying. He might as well slather the mortification on and get it over with now instead of later. “If I go to student health services sometime next week, would you mind being the one to come with me instead of a usual PPO?”
“Let me know the date, and I’ll be there.” Then, Shaan hummed. “Do you need to go sooner…? Some medications need to be taken in the first couple days after, if that’s what you’re looking for. Ideally within the first twenty-four hours.”
Lord, this was terribly embarrassing. PEP might have been helpful after Christopher, but it was too late for that now. “No. I’m fine,” Henry gritted out. “I don’t need—” He sighed. He didn’t want to explain. He just wanted to get tested for everything under the sun and, assuming he was negative for HIV, get on PrEP. That would make hookups easier in the future. Less stressful, less awkward.
Shaan nodded. “Great. Do you need anything else? Sexual health supplies? I can pick some up for you if you want, since you shouldn’t be seen picking up your own.”
Why did Shaan have to be so formal all the time? Sexual health supplies? Henry groaned and put a hand over his eyes. This was almost, almost as embarrassing as when his dad sat him down and gave him the talk.
“Shaan,” Henry said. “Fine. Whatever. Yes, please. But never mention this again.”
“Understood.”
When they left the SU, they walked together to Henry’s college. Before Henry shut the door to his room, he thanked Shaan.
“Of course,” Shaan replied. He put a comforting hand on Henry’s shoulder. The last time Shaan had touched him, it had been the morning of the funeral. “And if anybody ever does actually try to hurt you, let me know, and I will kill them.”
Henry was only eighty percent sure Shaan was kidding. He smiled. “Night, Shaan.”
The next morning, Shaan handed him a large, nondescript bag. Since he knew what it contained, Henry found it worryingly heavy. After shutting the door, he dumped the bag onto his unmade bed to inspect the contents. There were a profuse number of condoms, of all different kinds: latex, non-latex, flavored, unflavored. There was both water- and silicone-based lube. Half a dozen pamphlets discussing safe sex were there, too. And then there were the dental dams, which Henry had to look up. That only made him more confused, wondering why Shaan had thought them necessary to buy, before he more closely read the article he had pulled up and figured out that dental dams were also good for rimming.
Henry whispered out loud, “Oh. My. God.”
This was wholly too embarrassing. Henry was not awake enough for this, and Shaan was most certainly not getting paid enough for this.
Lastly, there was a table, clearly drawn in Shaan’s hand, categorizing which types of lubricant could safely go with which types of condoms. At the top of the paper: Did my best to cover basics, info mostly from Planned Parenthood site. Do more research yourself. Whatever Eton taught you, take with serious grain of salt. There was even a column for silicone sex toys, which—apparently—could not be paired with silicone-based lube.
“Oh my fuck.”
Henry shoved the supplies and the note back into the bag and hid it underneath his bed. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He could not fucking deal with this. He was already late meeting Pez for brunch, which Pez had insisted on over text earlier this morning as recompense for Henry ditching him last night.
Pez was surely going to wrangle the story of Jamie out of him. Henry tried to prepare himself to admit what had happened last night. He had never told Pez about Christopher, which meant that Pez was going to understand Henry’s story with Jamie as Henry’s first hookup.
Henry took a shaky breath and grabbed a jacket.