Archive of Our Own

“Henry, we need help,” Bea had said, “and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

She’s right. They do. He does.

And when Henry needs help, this is how he gets it.

He thinks it’s Johnny who’s coming tonight. Or was it Bernard?

He’ll know soon enough.

He looks in the mirror, watching as his hands run down his sides, past the curve of his waist, over his hips. Smiles at himself. He owns more flattering outfits than the coral-toned button-down and black trousers he’s wearing, but it doesn’t matter much.

They won’t be on long, anyway.

He opens the door in response to Shaan’s soft knock.

“Good evening.” Shaan looks like he always does, like he always has: His face neutrally composed, but his eyes lit with what Henry’s always thought of as awareness. Of Henry’s predicament and Shaan’s role in improving it. Like if the only thing Shaan can really do to make life better for Henry is to ensure the NDAs are airtight, then that’s what he’s going to do. “Everything’s in order.”

“Thank you.”

And around Shaan’s back steps…Samuel. Henry smiles. Perfect.

Because as with everyone on Henry’s list, what Samuel will do tonight has been predetermined: Henry will tease him until he trembles, then ride him until Henry gives him permission to come. 

He tips Shaan an appreciative smile and closes the door.

Sometimes the hardest thing about needing help, he thinks as he presses Samuel’s lips to his own, is being satisfied with the help available to you. 

And never, ever wanting more.

_______________________

There’d been a time, around 15 years ago, when Henry had almost done it.

Almost stood up to his grandmother, Queen Mary, and told her he was going to be who he was publicly, proudly.

Exactly who he was. And nobody else.

He was intoxicated with the heedless hubris of 20, when there are still days that even the constraints you can’t deny seem like they might be surmountable, with the right amount of luck. 

But ultimately he couldn’t find the courage. And there was no one to advocate for him whose voice would have mattered to Mary: Mum was still recovering from his father’s death, Bea was still recovering from addiction and Phillip was … Phillip. 

So Henry hid.

Now he’s 35. And he hides.

But there’s nowhere to hide this morning. And really, if he were a better person, he wouldn’t be so ungrateful. Bea and Pez know how restless he’s getting, overseeing Gran’s seemingly endless Covid recovery. They told him a week ago they had an idea and wanted to talk to him about it. Together.

That’s when Henry suspected he was in trouble.

He knew it when he saw Pez’s face. He may have mellowed some since they were in their 20s, but the mischievous smile and sparkling troublemaker eyes haven’t gone anywhere.

Except that day both were missing. Henry was looking at the bland expression of someone sedately reliable.

Suspicious.

“Out with it,” he said.

“Your Gran may need a couple more weeks before she’s back on her feet,” Pez began with a disarming smile. “Bea and I know you could use a break.”

Henry forced himself to stop pacing. Resolved to have an open mind.

“I have a friend who loves old ladies.”

“Oh God,” Henry said, wincing.

“Henry,” Bea exhorted, “just listen. I don’t think it’s a bad idea. And it’s — different. Different feels like exactly what we need at this point.”

“— and he recently lost his own grandmother,” Pez resumed, as if neither Henry nor Bea had spoken. “He’s taking a leave of absence from work to deal with the grief and recenter a bit. He’s exceptionally bright and very sympathetic to your…situation.”

“Pez,” Henry said, reverting to his regrettable habit of clutching his own hair when most distressed, “the last thing she needs is another caregiver. We have five a day coming through — not including nursing staff, these are just people tending to her needs. Why in the world would we want to add another?”

“No, no,” Pez insisted. “He wouldn’t be a caregiver. He’d be —

“— a companion,” Bea jumped back in, her animated eyes bright with possibility. “No one can replace you, of course, but someone whose role would be more like yours.”

“A companion,” he echoed.

Pez bounced a bit on the couch for emphasis. “Exactly! You said yourself Gran has been more cooperative lately than you’ve ever seen her. This chap will be a new face. A friendly presence who can buy you a little liberty! A novelty to help Gran through the last stages of her recovery.”

“What do you mean a novelty?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s a…a he, whereas most of the care staff are female. And then he’s American.”

Henry discarded the idea of not pacing. It paired well with fisting his own hair.

“Pez, have you lost your mind? What makes you think Gran will want a strange American bloke sitting by her bed and what —“ Henry waved the hand not tangled in his hair, “telling her bloody stories?”

“You’ll understand when you meet him,” Pez said, and Henry remembers an eyebrow lifting enigmatically above a shining eye. “He’s…charming. He turned up to volunteer at the New York shelter, and no one could get enough of him. Including me.”

Henry sighed. “Wonderful. Perfect. Have you two talked to Mum about this? Phillip?”

“They said it’s up to you,” Bea said, eyes searching his face. “They appreciate that you’re spearheading this, Henry. We all do. And it’s only temporary, just til she’s strong enough to get around again. What’s the worst that can happen? She goes back to her old level of irritability?”

Henry’s gaze stayed on her. Bea had voiced something he’d been thinking about a lot but hadn’t discussed with anyone. “Do you think this change in her could be permanent?” he asked. “Once she’s fully recovered won’t she just go back to being…what she always was?”

“There’s no way to know. So for now let’s take a chance on Pez’s friend and get you out of the sick chamber a little more often, alright?”

“Will you at least meet him?” Pez jumped in. “Then if you like what he has to say, Shaan can start all the background stuff.”

And Henry had agreed. Even though Gran’s illness had gentled her in a way that brought back memories of his youth, it had still been a long month.

He looks out a window of his temporary apartments in Buckingham Palace. A misting rain obscures everything from view except the nearest shrubbery, a vivid green amidst the grey.

Henry fastens the top button of his white shirt. Straightens the cuffs.

Any minute now he’ll be meeting this charming American lover of the elderly.

Christ, maybe he can learn something from the guy.  

He needed Bea’s reminder that all of this is only temporary. Gran’s doctors are unanimous in their belief that she’ll make a full recovery, but Covid hits different when you’re in your 90s.

Mum’s free time has evaporated since she took over the majority of Gran’s duties several years ago. And especially since Gran’s illness, she’s needed all the help Phillip can provide.

Bea’s thriving recovery foundation claims most of her days.

And Henry is there. Available.

Helping out behind the scenes at the overflowing London branch of Pez’s youth shelter is the joy of his life. But of the four of them, his schedule was the easiest to clear so Gran could be top priority.

And it’s not the easiest thing: Overseeing the care of a person who’s denied your right to be who you are from the moment you knew who that was.

Even though that person is currently a nicer version of herself.

The irony is, this might have been the time for him to come out: Gran’s role diminishing even as society’s acceptance LGBTQIA+ people grows.

And Henry’s not naive. Even if he eschewed an official announcement and simply allowed himself to be openly seen with another man, it would still be coming out. And at least an announcement would spare himself and his family the circus of endless media speculation.

He’s considered talking to Bea, maybe even to Mum, about it many times in the past couple years.

But he always comes back to the same thing.

This method of conducting relationships is all he’s ever known.

What would it be like to attempt actual dating? In front of the press? The world?

He’s good at doing it this way. It may not be ideal, but it’s safe.

Comfortable.

Shaan’s signature knock pierces his thoughts.

Life throws enough variables at him, such as the one on the other side of the door, without his voluntarily adding more. Henry summons to his face the expression of flat impartiality he’s perfected.

He’s resigned to dealing with whatever happens next. 

______________________ 

Henry crosses his legs.

Pez’s friend — Alex Claremont-Diaz — sits in the chair across from him. He hasn’t stopped smiling from the moment Henry opened the door to admit him.

“Pez tells me you’re a lawyer.”

The smile wavers for a moment. “I am. I’ve been practicing for the past five years in New York City. But,” his gaze shifts away from Henry and toward the long bank of windows behind him, “it’s nice to have a break.”

Henry nods. This isn’t what he’d pictured when Pez said charming.

There’s an undeniable vivacity about Alex — that smile, the energetic buoyancy of his gait when he entered, the respectful yet easy aplomb with which he handled their introduction.

But in conversation, the dark eyes are earnest. There’s a penetrating intensity to them that suggests Alex notices more about you than you meant to reveal.

Henry was expecting something of a clown, a jester. The toast of the Brooklyn Youth Shelter. Someone Pez thought capable of charming away the ennui of Gran’s extended bed rest.

Alex’s eyes, surrounded by shockingly thick rings of lashes, seem to Henry more like those of a natural-born communicator.

Someone who’s seen a lot and knows you have, too.

Someone who wants to both talk and listen.

And right now, Alex is finished talking.

His curvaceous lips are closed. He’s not volunteering anything else but simply sitting and watching Henry, the wide-set eyes steady on his face with a persistence that’s slightly disconcerting.

Henry feels his cock twitch. 

Alex is distractingly attractive and statistically almost certainly straight. And regardless, that is not what they’re doing here. Henry clears his throat and silently chastises himself. There’s simply no excuse for Alex being the most focused person in the room right now.

“So you’re taking your break in London. And you’re here,” Henry indicates his sitting room with a flourish of his hand, “specifically, because…?”

The smile rises gradually this time, like dawn defeating the London fog.

“Because I could use some good grandma energy.”

Henry shakes his head, finding Alex’s insouciance offensive. And also inconveniently tantalizing. What would it be like to have the option of disregarding the pressure and influence — the authority — of the Crown that way?

“And you decided to seek out that…that ‘energy’ from a queen?”

Alex erupts into a rollicking laugh.

“That’s exactly what I said when Pez suggested this! I told him he was fucking crazy. But the idea of getting as far away from work as I could really appealed, and I’d never been to your country before, so here I am. Take me or leave me. It’s up to you.”

Alex eyes are looking into his, still and patient, as before. 

But there’s something new in them now, and Henry recognizes it immediately.

It’s a challenge. 

Like Alex is somehow aware of the risk he is just by being present — the risk of New. Of Different. The risk it would be for Henry to introduce something into Gran’s reality that she didn’t initiate.

Attitude improvement notwithstanding, Gran dictates.

She is not dictated to.

“Would you like to meet her?” 

And for the first time since he entered Henry’s presence, Alex looks flustered. It’s so satisfying that a zing of adrenaline shoots through Henry’s body. He smiles.

“Oh, um. I haven’t signed anything yet.”

“We won’t stay long.”

Alex sits for a few moments without speaking, then he lifts his chin slightly. That provoking confidence is back on his face. “Okay.”

They both stand. Alex is closer than he anticipated.

Henry finds his own height advantage surprising, although he was already aware of it. Alex is a big personality, an expansive and magnetic presence. But physically, he has to look up at Henry. And both Alex’s proximity and the expression on his face cause desire to stir in Henry’s stomach.

His eyes are full of curious anticipation, as if he relishes not knowing what will happen next.

It seems out-of-place here.

“Mr. Claremont-D —“

“Alex.”

Henry sighs. “Fine. Alex. You can’t use language with Gran like you did with me.”

His lips curl into a parody of an angelic smile. “What language?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t. Tell me what I’m not supposed to say.”

Henry feels his face flood with color. He looks down on Alex imperiously, trusting his stern bearing will prove more effective than arguing.

“Okay, okay. I know what I said. I just thought you might want to say it. Do princes ever get to say things like that?”

Christ. How has he given the impression of being that repressed in a 15-minute conversation? And is he that repressed? Of course not. He’s simply an adult fulfilling his responsibilities.

“I can say whatever I want, Alex, as long as it’s said behind closed doors.”

…and with the appropriately-signed paperwork, but Henry doesn’t add that.

Alex looks up dubiously, as if preparing to question him. But Henry is thoroughly ready to move on from their tete-a-tete. Leaving Alex to follow, he heads for the door.

_____________________

“So?”

Henry sets Pez’s mug down in front of him and sinks into the chair opposite.

There’s no point in being coy. Pez is on his way to work, and he has detoured by the palace to hear about one thing, and one thing only.

“He’s charming, as you said. But not in the way I expected.”

Pez smiles over the top of his mug. “And what did you expect?”

“A comedian.”

“And what did you find?”

Henry thinks back to the previous afternoon. Remembers leading Alex to Gran’s bedside. The contrast between her paper-white, wrinkled face and Alex’s smooth bronze one. 

“This is my friend, Alex Claremont-Diaz. He would enjoy spending some time in here with you over the next few days, if that would be alright.”

Gran looked back and forth between the two of them. Her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes narrowed, creating an expression with which Henry was quite familiar. “Henry,” she said, “I need you to explain why Mr. Claremont-Diaz would be doing that.”

He opened his mouth to deliver a well-rehearsed defense of his behavior, but Alex interrupted.

“If I may, ma’am, I’d like to answer that.”

Henry’s eyes widened. Where had that accent come from? There hadn’t been a trace of it in his sitting room.

“I’m here because I recently lost my own grandmother, and His Royal Hi —“

“It’s Henry, please.”

Alex turned glowing eyes on him momentarily.

“— Henry invited me. He tells me you’ll be laid up for a while. I was thinking maybe we could help each other out. Just for a week or so until you’re feeling better and I head home.”

Alex sounded like an actor from one of those old American Westerns. It was impossible for him to know she loved them, wasn’t it? Henry had never mentioned it to Pez. Was that public knowledge? He’d Google it later.

He shifted his eyes from Alex to Gran.

She still looked skeptical, and Henry was certain he and Alex were both about to be dismissed. 

“I’ll allow it,” she said.

“Henry?” Pez was still waiting for an answer. “You didn’t find the comedian you expected. So what did you find?”

When he’d closed the door to Gran’s rooms behind them, Alex had looked up into Henry’s startled face with a smug smile and said, “I’m not from New York. I’m from Texas.”

“I don’t know yet,” Henry finally answered.

_____________________

Henry’s head falls back onto the pillow, and he reaches his hand down between his legs. His fingers close around coarse, close-cropped hair. Huh. He’d expected something different — a silky handful of curls. Now why —

Then Manuel’s tongue glides up, over and around his tip at the same time his first finger slides in. And he forgets all about it. 

Until Manuel is gone and Henry is dressing after his shower.

Alex must be on his mind because this is the evening Henry will end his sabbatical and visit Gran. It’s been two blessed days without any contact, the first two in a row since her positive test nearly a month prior.

He spent both days at the shelter.

Pez reserves the majority of his staffing budget for people who work directly with the teens, choosing to shoulder most of the administrative duties himself. That’s where Henry comes in.  

As often as he can, he sequesters himself in Pez’s tiny office and deals with paperwork. Which is where he was yesterday when Mikey knocked.

“Your Royal —“

“Henry, please.” He shook his head and grinned. He and Mikey have been interacting off and on for months, and they still have to do this every time.

“Sorry, Prince Henry. Sandra’s sad today. Would you play your piano for her?”

Pez approached the instrument as the room began to empty a half-hour later. 

“You look radiant.”

Henry had smiled, his fingers absentmindedly picking out a few more chords.

“Thank you. It’s nice to be here.” He looked up at Pez with what he hoped was nonchalance. “Have you heard anything from Alex about how it’s going? I haven’t gotten a summons yet.”

Instead of answering, Pez pulled his phone from his pocket. His wallpaper was a selfie of a beaming Alex and, in the background, Gran in her bed, looking in the general direction of the camera. Henry sees the balance of horror and amusement in her expression.

“That’s —“ Henry found he had no idea where that sentence was going.

Pez grinned. “My thoughts exactly. If nothing else, you’ve gotten a couple days off out of it and some fresh air.”

But it wasn’t long before Henry’s conscience began to bother him. Gran was primarily his responsibility during the course of her convalescence. He needed to check in.

He pulls the jumper over his head, watches in the mirror as his fingers smooth his thick, damp hair back into place. The muted pattern of greens imparts a crisp clarity to his azure eyes that’s almost startling. 

Smiling at himself, he looks more closely. 

There’s something else going on with his eyes — something beyond the jumper accentuating their color. He usually encounters a more relaxed iteration of himself in the mirror after a hook-up. But that’s not what he sees now.

The eyes look awake. Alert. Excited, even. 

His nod is a silent acknowledgement. Because Henry decided years ago that, even if he can’t be honest about who he is with most people, he can at least tell himself the truth.

And he’s acutely ready to be in the same room as Alex again.

_____________________

Reginald and Ronald, posted as ever on either side of the entrance to Gran’s quarters, give him nods so identical they might have been choreographed.

The rumble of Alex’s voice reaches his ears before the door is even cracked.

Henry turns the handle stealthily.

Alex’s back is to him, and Gran doesn’t see him right away. Her focus is on Alex. She’s sitting on a sofa wrapped in a blanket, legs extended and feet reclining on a stool. It’s the first time he’s seen her out of bed in weeks.

Henry realizes with a shock that Alex is sitting on Gran’s antique coffee table. 

Sitting on it.

He’s gesticulating as he speaks, and Gran’s eyes follow the animated motion of his hands. Her mouth is open slightly as if in concentration.

“And she said, ‘Alejandro, that's why we don’t play with dogs in our church clothes!” 

Henry watches as Gran’s lips close. And then it happens.

And he’s 10 years old again.

They were walking through the butterfly garden under a sun untroubled by clouds. He’d looked up to say something to her, then gasped and clutched her arm instead. “Don’t move,” he whispered, “it’s on your head, Gran!”

And Gran became very still, eyes on his face as he watched the Purple Emperor making its dainty, weightless journey through her grey hair. He felt it as her arm began shaking with suppressed laughter. And her humor seemed to pass into him at that point of contact, the butterfly soaring away when the giggles spilled from both their mouths.

Henry had forgotten all about that long-ago day in the butterfly garden. Until now. Because now, Alex Claremont-Diaz is making Gran laugh.

His eyes are full of tears before he even realizes it.

When he reaches up to dry them, the movement attracts Gran’s attention. Alex turns.

“Henry,” Gran says. He purposely doesn’t look at Alex in hopes his emotion will go undetected. But he can feel Alex’s gaze on his face. Of course there’d be no escaping those inquisitive eyes.

He steps closer, risking a brief glance at Alex and nodding.

“Hello, Gran. It’s wonderful to see you up. How are you feeling?”

“A bit better. And now that Alexander has agreed to help me at night, I suspect I will be doing better still.”

Alexander.

Christ.

He is such an Alexander. His mere presence a silent command, an edict. But he would be a benevolent ruler. He would preside over Henry with firmness and mercy.

Stunned, he feels his still-moist eyes blinking rapidly. He would never tolerate that in the bedroom — to be controlled? Absolutely not. And he has a literal list of men who are more than happy to provide what he does like: Henry directing, his partner submitting. 

Invariably.

Alex is here for Gran. Helping Henry in that regard, with absolutely no crossover potential into any other area of his life.

And the assumption must always be that a man is straight until proven otherwise. Wishful (and erroneous) thinking in that area is a specific mistake he will never make again.

“…so he will be just across the hall from you.”

Henry gives his head a nearly imperceptible shake. “I’m sorry, Gran. Can you repeat that?”

And although Alex could never suspect his thoughts, the blush spreads anyway — down his throat and over his neck. He feels Alex’s eyes on his hot skin.

“Alexander tells me he doesn’t sleep much, so he has agreed to take the rooms across the hall from me. And if I can’t sleep I will send someone to get him. He is willing to tell me stories of his home and family at night, if necessary.”

Henry faces Alex for the first time.

He’s dressed as conservatively as when they first met, though his suit jacket is lying on a nearby chair. The top button of his crimson dress shirt is open. His eyes return from Henry’s overheated throat to his face.

“Alex,” Henry begins, appalled when his voice seems to catch on the short syllables. He clears his throat. “Is this what you want? Percy told us you were meant to be on vacation.”

Alex shrugs, his full lips lifting in a soft smile. “I think this is a great idea, actually.”

He says the words casually, with a mild shrug, as if being invited to sleep at Buckingham Palace and tell the Queen stories in the middle of the night isn’t particularly novel. A knock on the door interrupts Henry’s reply. Gran’s nurse enters. Sheila stops when she sees her patient.

“You’re out of bed!” she gasps, eyes bulging with amazement.

Gran looks from Henry to Alex. “My grandson sent me some good medicine.”

Henry is red all over again, flushed with the delight of a teenager receiving praise from a trusted adult. Although his actual teenage years had been a trauma from which he and Gran’s relationship never recovered.

Alex stands, recalling Henry to the fact that it’s time for them to go.

He turns to Alex in the hall and finds he’s already looking up at him.

“Are you sure about this?”

Alex’s fingers reach out and brush his forearm. It’s the only physical contact they’ve had apart from the initial handshake. Henry feels his body straining for more, as if it’s famished.

It’s only fingertips. On his clothed arm. And they’re already gone.

Apparently it’s time to increase his number of evening visitors.

Both of Alex’s hands now hang innocuously at his sides. “I want to do this. Don’t worry about me.” His eyes fall from Henry’s face, long eyelashes sweeping downward. “I don’t know how much Pez told you. But I wasn’t there for my grandma. Not just for the day she passed but for any of those last couple weeks when she was going downhill.”

His eyes return to Henry’s, the lashes wet now.

“I was too fucking busy. Too busy to take some time off work, fly down there, and be with her. I started believing what people were telling me — that I was indispensable at the firm. Like things would go off the rails if my ass wasn’t sitting in the office every day. And because I believed that bullshit, all I got was a few minutes on the phone to tell her what I needed to say. And it wasn’t enough. I should’ve been there.”

Alex in pain is a grievous sight. But that isn’t what nearly overwhelms Henry — it’s a lofty, euphoric sense of privilege. That Alex is choosing to trust him. Letting him peek behind the curtain of quirky smiles and witty words. 

He has to struggle to find a response. 

“You not being there at the end didn’t change all the years you had together. All the — the love.”

Alex nods, damp face thwarting his smile’s attempt to reignite.

“I know. And when Pez told me about you, this other grandson in exactly the opposite situation from me — doing everything for your abuela and needing a break — I thought if I could do something to help it would, like — balance something, somehow. Because I can’t go back. But maybe I can make somebody else’s future better.”

The moisture in Alex’s eyes gives them a new lucidity. They shine with naked faith, and Henry’s mind reels in the face of it. His mouth is moving before he can stop it.

“I remember being that optimistic. When I was your age. What are you, 25 or 26?”

The smile finally catches and spreads. “35.”

Henry’s mouth opens and closes. They’re the same age.  

“Not gonna lie, Henry. I do all the creams and stuff.”

He does the creams, too. And the masks. It’s not because Alex looks so much younger than himself that Henry has no words. But the hope that emanates from those eyes and that smile has been absent from Henry’s life for a long time. 

And it staggers him to discover that, until this moment, he hasn’t even missed it. 

Alex’s fingers touch his arm again. But this time, they don’t brush it and move away. They stay. “Are you alright?”

He nods mechanically. “Thank you for helping Gran. For helping me.”

Then he turns away and walks blindly to his door.

Even after 35 years of life, Alex still believes it’s possible to at least partially compensate for the past by making changes in the present.

Henry’s reality, descending like a palpable weight as he closes the door to his rooms, is that lost years stay lost. The only compensation he’s ever known is the brief bliss of forgetfulness while he fucks someone who signed a contract agreeing to never speak about it.

He takes out his phone and scrolls to the List. Texts an invitation for tomorrow night to the first name he sees.

It doesn’t matter which one.

They’re all the same.

_______________________

Hans pulls back, his blue-green eyes blinking with surprise.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Henry answers, leaning into him again, lips and tongue traveling along his neck, “what would you like to do to me? You decide.” His hand coasts over Hans’ rigid cock. “Whatever you want.”

Hans pulls back. Again. Henry frowns.

“It’s just that — we’ve been doing this for years. And you’ve never…”

And he’s right, of course. Spontaneity is too much to ask of someone when there’s no precedent. The governing rule of these meet-ups is predictability.

Security.

Control.

Henry reorients his face into an alluring smile. “Of course. I’m sorry. Shall I blow you instead?”

The consternation melts away from Hans’ handsome features. “Yes. Please.”

Henry’s tongue slips between Hans’ lips and then makes its way down his body. His mouth wraps around Hans’ cock, his eyes close, and his mind disengages.

Now his eyes skim over a brown-skinned stomach, with dark hair that thickens the lower Henry goes.

A dick hard with want for him. A low-pitched moan — not unlike Hans’ but deeper — as Henry’s mouth takes it farther. Lush lashes parting to reveal eyes drunk with need, looking down at him. Watching his every movement. His every breath.  

It isn’t long before Henry returns to reality and they’re standing in the empty hallway. He pulls Hans in for one more kiss, his hand slipping down his back and over his jeans-covered arse. 

When the door across the hallway opens.

And Alex is standing there.

Hans is having a challenging evening. For the second time in an hour, his eyes are enormous with concern. “It’s alright,” Henry whispers consolingly. “I’ll talk to him. You just go. I’ll be in touch.”

Hans nods, still looking terrified. He gives Alex a wide berth as he passes, as if he’s a strange dog Hans isn’t completely sure won’t attack him.

Alex’s eyes are huge, too. But unlike Hans, he’s smiling.  

Henry opens his mouth.

“I’m a lawyer, remember?” Alex says before he can speak. “I know what I signed. You don’t have to say a word to me about that unless you want to, Henry.”

He feels the tension leave his shoulders, his mind now free to appreciate what he’s seeing. Alex is wearing a T-shirt, sweatpants, and slippers. There’s a book in his hand.

It’s one o’clock in the morning.

“What are you doing?”

Alex grins, raising the other hand to his face to put on a pair of what are evidently reading glasses.

Henry gapes.

Alex in a suit is sexy.

Alex like this is a level of effortlessly irresistible no fantasy of Henry’s could have generated. 

“Well,” he says, pushing the glasses higher on his nose, “Reginald just texted to say that, if I happened to be available, Queen Mary would be interested in hearing a story. So I’m bringing a book in case I start getting boring.”

Henry smiles. “But isn’t boring her the idea? As a prelude to sleepiness?”

“You know,” Alex says breezily, “I hadn’t even thought of that? I guess I expected to amuse her til the sun comes up.”

He moves closer.

Henry reminds himself to keep eye contact.

Because his inclination is to look lower, down where Alex’s hips are moving under his sweatpants. Alex stops just a few feet away. Henry is able to see his hair is wet and to smell his citrus-scented shampoo.

“You know you’re invited, too, right? To get bored and sleepy with us?” His eyes make a slow circuit of Henry’s face.

“Thank you, but I’m already a little tired.”

Alex’s smile tilts teasingly. “I’ll bet you are,” he says.

And Henry turns so red, so fast he actually feels a bit faint.

Alex raises a hand in apology, even though now he’s shaking with laughter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t. None of my business, didn’t see anything — all that good stuff.” He starts to turn away. Abruptly, without thinking, Henry grabs his arm.

Alex’s questioning eyes land on his face.

“Doing it this way was the only option I was given if I wanted to…be myself. Discreet encounters with a pre-approved list of people. It was either this or maintain a facade of dating women for the sake of public image. I chose this way.”

Alex comes even closer. The gentle warmth in his eyes causes Henry’s heart to lurch dramatically.

“Please don’t tell me that’s all you’ve ever had.”

Henry closes his eyes because he can’t stand to look at Alex’s anymore.

“That’s all I’ve ever had.”

Henry is unaware his hand is still on Alex’s arm until Alex reaches over to give it a brief, hard squeeze. “I would never judge you for choosing that. I’m just — I’m just sorry. That you had to.”

He opens his eyes again. Clearing his throat, he releases Alex’s arm and takes a slow step backward. “Thank you for that.”

Alex holds his gaze a moment longer before turning away and walking the remaining few feet to Gran’s door. Then he smiles, his eyes glittering behind the glasses in the lamplight of the hall.

“I’m glad I got to meet you, Henry,” he says quietly. “The real you.”

_______________________

He spends the next day with Mum and Phillip, back from their week attending functions in France.

They’ve been with Gran and have nothing but praise for Henry’s management of her recovery. “At this rate,” Mum says, smiling up into his face, “you’ll be back at KP before you know it.”

And prior to the week just past, he would’ve rejoiced to hear it.

Now, however, it serves to remind him that his time with Alex is drawing to its conclusion. Alex has been visiting Gran for a week. He’s never mentioned how long his leave of absence is, but surely he won’t be able to stay away from work much longer.

Henry’s mind strays to his List as he climbs the stairs to his temporary quarters. It’s changed a lot over the years, of course, as partners moved away, entered permanent relationships, or simply grew weary.

Of Henry. Of all of it.

It’s disturbing he would even think of Alex in connection with the List. Even apart from his apparent heterosexuality, he could never be on it. It’s no place for someone with eyes that full of hope. 

He will miss Alex, nevertheless. They might have been friends under different circumstances.

There’s something white stuck on his door. A note.

Hi Henry,

Your Gran says she would like to see the ocean. Told me to tell you she talked to Sheila, who talked to the doctor. Sheila said the doc was okay with it if you approve and she agrees to the wheelchair. Weather’s supposed to be good tomorrow. She wants you and me to go along. I’m in. You?

Alex

And his phone number.

Henry lets himself into his apartments and drops into the closest chair. Goes on staring at Alex’s number.

Maybe he has found a friend. 

The phone buzzes in his hand. 

“Henry, is it true? That Gran wants to go out? Mum just called me.”

He smiles and sinks into the cushions. “It’s true. Are you free tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” Bea answers.

He tries Alex next. When the call goes to voicemail, he hangs up and texts.

Received your note. I will be there and can introduce you to Bea.

He’s in bed reading when he receives a reply.

Went out and got a haircut for tomorrow. Can’t wait to meet Bea/see you.

Henry chokes a little and then chides himself for being utterly ridiculous. It’s something a 15-year-old would do: Picturing Alex just across the hall, texting those words.

Perhaps fresh from a shower like when they accidentally met in the hallway. Curls wet and a little bit shorter. Henry could run a hand up the back of his neck and let his fingers glide into that hair. He could pull Alex against him with his other hand — Alex is wearing the sweatpants again. Their bodies press together one segment at a time: chests, pelvises, lips. He curls the fingers in Alex’s hair, and Alex groans into his open mouth.

And Alex’s hands —

He simply has to stop.

His dick is straining against the fabric of his pajamas and he’s two seconds away from having a wank while thinking about the straight friend he’s apparently made.

He closes his eyes. Breathes deeply. 

Picks the phone back up to distract himself and makes the mistake of rereading Alex’s text.

Bloody hell.

It would be easier if his new straight friend weren’t mind-numbingly hot. But he’s not going to discriminate against Alex for being attractive. Besides, Henry’s had a lifetime to practice self-control. He’s a professional.

Another deep breath. And then he answers.

Same. I’m told we’re meeting out front at 1 p.m. Sheila will accompany us, too, should medical needs arise.

Alex’s reply is immediate.

See you then. Lmk if you need a bedtime story.

Henry tosses the phone away as if it’s burned him. Finds his slippers, then his robe. He’s off to the kitchen for Cornettos. He’ll look the worse for it in tomorrow’s unremitting coastal light but knows it’s useless to even try.

He won’t be sleeping tonight.

_________________________

Gran is just ahead of them, dutifully riding in her wheelchair. The sound of Bea’s laughter drifts back to where he and Alex walk behind.

The rainy morning has unfolded into a resplendent afternoon, the ocean glistening in sunshine beyond the cliff’s edge they’re approaching. Gran’s security team hovers nearby.

It’s warm for November. The citrus scent of Alex’s shampoo rides up to Henry on a sultry breeze.

When Henry introduced them at the palace, Alex chatted unreservedly with Bea. But he’s been quiet ever since they arrived at the overlook and Bea went ahead with Gran and Sheila. Henry glances surreptitiously at him.  

He’s wearing jeans and a soft-looking, 3/4-sleeved shirt with a wide, open neck. Henry’s eyes are drawn once again, as they have been all afternoon, to the exposed skin of his neck and collarbones.

“Have you ever wondered if your grandma has some regrets?” Alex asks unexpectedly, turning to meet his eyes. “About the way she’s handled things with you?”

Henry gives him a quick, shocked glance. “Why would I wonder that?”

“Just a look on her face, sometimes. When I bring you up.”

Henry stops. Gran, Bea and Sheila have reached the end of the path, and Henry isn’t ready for this conversation to be over.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Yeah.”

Henry looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“How am I not going to be bringing you up all the time? I like you.”

The rosy hue suffuses his face in a matter of seconds, but Alex doesn’t seem to notice. He’s looking pensively out over the water.

“I mean, any friend of Pez’s had to be cool. And of course I know members of royal families are still real people. You’re just…” Alex’s eyes leave the sea and return to Henry’s face. “…you’re more real than I expected a prince to be.”

It’s obviously a compliment. Alex’s voice is gentle and fond, and the only reaction Henry can manage is an ambiguous monosyllable.

“Oh.”

“Like what you told me about yourself the other night. That was real. And it made me want to be real with you.”

Alex’s eyes are dark and serious. Henry recovers enough to nod encouragingly.

“It’s nothing bad. It’s actually really good. I just don’t…I don’t go around telling a lot of people. I’m more into just living my life, and if it becomes relevant then I bring it up. But you shared, so I’m sharing. That I’m bi.”

Henry is staring.

He’s not speaking.

He’s just staring.

For so long that now Alex is laughing.

Alex is bi.

“Henry! Is your gaydar that shitty? Did you really not have a clue?”

Alex is bi. Henry never let himself even consider the possibility. Assuming he was straight made everything so much less complicated.

“Oh. Um. No, I really didn’t. Do most people you come out to say they already knew?”

Alex tips his chin up to study the cloudless sky, considering. Henry’s eyes trail down his dark-gold throat and then linger on his muscular neck.

“It’s pretty funny,” Alex resumes. “Anytime the person I’ve told was someone I was attracted to, they always said they figured I was. Like they were picking up on a vibe or something?” A meaningful grin suddenly illuminates his features. “Well — until now.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Henry!” Bea calls. “Gran has a question for you.”

Alex is still smiling at him as Henry walks away. 

It’s Gran’s first outing in over a month, and she’s quite ready to return home after enjoying the view. Henry’s eyes are never far from Alex on the walk back to the cars. He’s gone ahead with Gran and Sheila while Henry and Bea now bring up the rear.

Bea slides her arm under his.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me the other day. About whether the change in Gran could be permanent.” Bea’s normally melodious voice thickens. "I think we have to believe it is. If I hadn’t believed I could change — if you hadn’t believed it with me — I wouldn’t be here right now. Of that I’m certain.”

Henry covers her hand with his own, his own throat tight.

“And by the way,” Bea continues in a lighter tone, “I’m not sure things could be going any better with Alex and Gran. Although I suspect she’s his second-favorite person in our family.”

“What are you —“

“He obviously enjoys your company, Henry. Is there some reason I shouldn’t have noticed that?”

Henry shrugs, his face scarlet. “I’m glad he came. He’s made a real difference for Gran.”

Bea doesn’t say more, and he ignores the pressure of her eyes by silently planning his evening. He simply has to sleep after going without last night. But first, a cup of Earl Grey and maybe some journaling? He knows sleep won’t come until he’s processed an outing that, though ostensibly for Gran, seems to have had the biggest impact on him.

________________________

Ultimately he did sleep — so late, in fact, that he missed breakfast entirely. He went down to the kitchen to make some tea and bring up a scone or two. All that’s left are crumbs when Shaan calls.

“Your grandmother would like to see you as soon as it’s convenient.”

She opens the door herself when he knocks, leaning on a walker and looking tired but triumphant.

“Gran — is it alright — is it safe for you to be walking?”

She chuckles and begins heading slowly for the nearest sofa.

“Dr. Nguyen wants me up and moving as long as I use this thing.” She arranges herself among the cushions and gives the walker a small, reproachful push. “I won’t keep you, Henry. But if you’ll sit a moment I have a few things to say.”

It’s hard not to feel wary in Gran’s presence. Flashbacks to past meetings bombard him: Her accusing. Him defensive. Both of them frustrated and incapable of relating to the other’s position. But Bea’s words about believing in the possibility of change are a fresher memory.

Right here, right now, Gran is smiling.

He’s going to hold onto that.

“I want to thank you for being here this past month. You’re free to go back to KP whenever you like. But since Alexander is staying one more week, I confess I’d hoped you might, too.”

He loses his breath for a moment. “Alex is…staying?”

Still smiling, Gran shakes her head bemusedly. “I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. I wanted to thank you for him, too. For introducing him into this situation.”

“Well, he’s actually Percy’s friend. And Percy is the one who —“

“But he’s your friend now, too. Isn’t he?”

Henry swallows. “Yes, Gran. Yes. He is.”

“And so I thank you for him. He’s been a good friend to you and to me.” 

He’s nodding, nonplussed by how surreal it all feels, when there’s a knock on the door. Gran consults her watch. “That would be my physical therapist.” Her hand makes a jerky movement toward him, but she returns it to her lap before it makes contact.

The knock comes again. He stands. “You’re welcome, Gran.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. Her gratitude isn’t something he’s been exposed to for a very long time. Opening the door, he ushers the therapist in without even knowing what he’s doing.

His phone chimes in his pocket.

The text is from Alex.

Pez says you don’t play but you should come watch an epic SOCCER game at that field behind the shelter. Come now or you’ll be late.

_________________________

Henry makes the decision that afternoon.

He can’t recall the last time he made a willfully poor decision. Decisions that turned out to be bad — yes. But walking purposefully, blithely into a mistake?

It’s been awhile.

But he decides, anyway, while he watches Alex extricate himself from a pile of teens. He’s covered with mud, face glowing with exertion and elation, and his eyes seek Henry’s across the green distance with an expression that says, There’s nothing I can do about this.

Precisely.

Henry’s premonition at their first meeting has proven true. Alex is an incalculable risk, a disruption to Henry’s meticulously-constructed survival system.

He doesn’t belong on Henry’s List.

The sensible thing is to cultivate a friendship. He doesn’t have many of those apart from the one with Pez. It wouldn’t be that hard to stay in touch, even with an ocean between them.

Yes.

That would be the sensible thing.

The self-controlled thing. The Henry thing.

But when Alex — filthy and laughing, boldly alive and untamed — looks Henry’s way again, the resolution solidifies in his mind.

Henry’s going to fuck him.

________________________

He stays behind after the game, after Alex returns to Buckingham, and puts in a couple of hours helping Pez in the office.

Now that he knows what he’s going to do, he’s a bit nervous. 

Because the men on his List come to him knowing exactly why they’re there. Even when he approaches someone new, nothing at all happens until all the relevant paperwork is complete. 

Alex has already signed every NDA the Crown has to offer. His access to the Queen made that mandatory.

But he won’t be expecting this.

After eating a light dinner in the palace kitchen, Henry’s impatience to be alone with Alex conquers his trepidation. His teeth are brushed. His hair is combed and styled. He’s replaced his customary trousers and jumper with jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt that clings to his broad shoulders. 

He sends the text.

H: Are you available for a visit from your across-the-hall neighbor?

A: Let me get decent. Give me five minutes then come on over.

An image of Alex not decent darts through Henry’s mind.

He takes a deep breath and sets a five-minute timer on his phone.

“Hey!” Alex opens the door, flashes a smile and then immediately turns away, whirling through the sitting room collecting items of clothing, mugs, and stacks of paper. He dumps the armful around the corner into a bedroom and returns.

“Well shit,” he says slowly, wide eyes roaming over Henry from head to toe. “I guess I’ve never seen you dressed down. You — damn, you wear it well.”

Meanwhile, Henry has taken the opportunity to notice that, whatever Alex meant by “getting decent,” it didn’t include putting on underwear. He’s wearing the same sweatpants from the other night. They’re thin with age and faithfully follow every bulge and curve of him. Henry can’t look away. He’s not even pretending to.

In a few long strides, Henry comes so close so fast that he can hear Alex’s shocked intake of breath. He looks into the huge dark eyes before lowering his gaze to Alex’s parted lips.

“Can I kiss you, Alex?” he whispers.

“No.”

Henry’s eyes narrow. He may not be an expert at doing this the all-natural way, but it wasn’t possible to misinterpret the way Alex was just looking at him. Then there was all the staring at the football game. And Alex’s words at the overlook, when he admitted being attracted to him. 

“No?”

“No.” Alex’s shining eyes continue to hold his. “Because if I let you do that I won’t be able to stop until I’ve had all of you.”

“Okay.” He brings the fingers of one hand to Alex’s waist.

“No. It’s not.”

Henry pulls back to see him better. But he doesn’t remove his hand. “So you want to have sex with me. But you won’t?”

“Right. Because that’s not all I want. I don’t want to be like everyone else. All the men on your list.”

“So then — what?” Henry takes a step back, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice. Never has he been so devastatingly aware of not knowing how to have a normal relationship.

But Alex comes close again, erasing the distance Henry created. “I want to date you.”

“What does that even look like, Alex?”

“I’m going to romance you.”

He sure it’s rude to be laughing, especially this loudly. And he honestly hates being such a jaded skeptic. Alex is kind to have such thoughts, but it’s truly preposterous. “What? What does that mean?” he finally manages.

“Let me worry about that.” The bright eyes watch Henry carefully. “Tell me this. Don’t you always get what you want? When it comes to sex?”

He opens his mouth to deny it.

Looks at Alex’s elevated eyebrows, his lips tightened in mock solemnity. 

“Yes.”

“So relax. I’m sure this time won’t be any different. Except I’m going to prove you deserve better than NDA-endorsed hook-ups. I’m going to ruin you for your Authorized Men to Fuck list.”

“And then you’re going to leave.” Henry clenches his jaw. Balls his hands into fists and squeezes. All in preparation for what he knows is coming: A rousing reminder of just how good the future could be. Since he now knows Alex believes in such things.

But Alex tilts his head. Shrugs.

“I guess we’ll see. How about one day at a time? I don’t know what comes next, but I can’t stay where I am. That job wasn’t good for me even before I made those fucked-up decisions when my abuela got sick. So can we just leave tomorrow where it belongs? Can you let me do this?”

The big eyes are pleading, promising Henry impossible things.

Christ, what must this man be like in a courtroom?

“Okay, Alex. But I still don’t see —”

He comes dangerously, impossibly close and rises up on his toes. Henry stops breathing.

Alex touches his lips to Henry’s cheek as a hand comes up and wraps around his jaw on the other side. The soft mouth presses against his skin. He feels Alex’s thumb brush across his cheekbone, and his eyes slip closed. His cock stirs to life. 

Slowly, Alex releases him and steps away. “Don’t worry,” he whispers.

__________________________

That night, alone in his bed, Henry is worrying. How can he not be? He’s unleashed an unpredictable Force in his own life.

But he’s not only worried.

He’s also very, very excited.

He reaches up with one hand, laying it against his cheek, remembering the feeling of Alex’s lips there. He reaches down with the other.

Wonders if anyone on his List is available at such short notice to help with his body’s reaction to the thought of eventually being with Alex. That was what he said, wasn’t it? That Henry would get what he wants.

He wants Alex between his legs. Touching him, kissing him, sliding into him. He presses his hand more firmly against his stiff cock and groans. 

Picking up his phone, he looks through the List, but the names and the notes he’s added beside them seem to blur together.

Alex is going to romance him. No one’s ever done that before.

He sets the phone back down.

Perhaps he’ll wait.

_________________________

He’s just returned to his apartments the next day after a visit to Gran when the text comes.

Will you meet me at the shelter tonight at 7 for our first date?

“What?!” Henry releases an explosive laugh and launches himself at the sofa. He stares at the text, shaking his head disbelievingly. What has he gotten himself into?

H: What does one wear to a date at a youth shelter?

A: Don’t dress to impress. I’m impressed already.

Henry lays back on the sofa and closes his eyes.

Then it hits him.

Pez.

“Henry, dear. How are you this afternoon?”

“What’s going on at the shelter tonight?”

“I knew our mutual friend had many gifts. I did not know one of them was prophecy. He told me I’d be hearing from you, and that you’d be asking questions. I’m not authoriz — “

“Who’s been your friend longer? Alex or me?”

Pez gasps theatrically. Henry has no trouble visualizing an aggressive eye roll.

“Coercion is beneath you, mate! All I can say is that you will enjoy yourself.”

Henry takes a calming breath. “But did he tell you…” He’s suddenly reluctant to complete the question. Because if Pez says yes — what does that mean?

But Pez doesn’t need to hear the rest. They’ve known each other a long time.

“Did he tell me he’s wooing you? That this is your first date? Yes. He did.” Then the bantering cadence of Pez’s voice vanishes. His next words are soft and sincere. “And Henry, there is no one on this planet I’d be happier to see you dating. No one.”

Henry swallows. “But Pez, it makes no sense. He’s an American. And I’m — me.”

“I’m not sure any of us knows who we are just yet. I think you should try to be open. He really likes you, Henry. In fact, I think he may be twitterpated.”

He’s alone, but his self-conscious embarrassment has a long history of flaring up even in the absence of spectators. He places a cool palm on his burning cheek. “Pez what are you on about? Twitterpated? What did he say?”

Pez laughs, and the playful tone is back. “Unauthorized, as I tried to explain before. You only have a few hours to try on outfits. I suggest you get started.”

___________________________

Pez is a wanker.

He doesn’t need hours to pick his outfit. One will suffice.

In the end, he goes with the jeans and blue-grey, long-sleeved tee that seemed to make such an impression on Alex the previous evening.

Henry’s stomach is a coil of nerves when his car pulls up at the shelter. Alex emerges from the building immediately, smiling and jogging to the curb. He’s wearing jeans, too, and a snug black T-shirt. 

And an apron.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, holding out another apron to Henry. “Dinner and a movie? Classic first date stuff, right?”

Henry nods absently. A swell of raucous laughter rolls out of the shelter’s open front door. The smile Alex angles up at him is so joyful Henry can’t help but return it, even in the midst of his perplexity.

“Put it on, put it on.” He’s shoving at the apron in Henry’s hand.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it’s impossible not to be infected by Alex’s enthusiasm and the excited noises of whatever’s going on inside. Henry slips the loop of the apron over his head. Alex immediately sidles around behind him to tie the sash. His hand rests, just for a moment, on Henry’s back.

Henry gestures toward the building. “Alex, are you sure this is alright?”

“Yep. Pez worked it all out with Shaan. Your security team is already in there. They’ve got everybody cleared, and the doors close behind us.”

An astonishing number of pizza boxes are collected on tables at the back of the assembly room. The teens, most of whom Henry recognizes as after-school regulars and some he’s never seen before, have formed a queue that snakes through the space.

Pez spots them from his post behind the pizza table. He claps his hands for quiet.

“Alright. Our honorary servers have arrived. We’re going to start the movie as soon as everyone’s got their food, so those of you who aren’t sleeping here can get home at a decent time.”

Henry feels fingers brush his hand. He looks down to find Alex wearing an expression of shy vulnerability he’s never seen on his face before. Henry’s heart answers with a pang of longing — different than the kind he’s become accustomed to in Alex’s presence.

It’s the desire to comfort, to reassure.

It’s uncomfortably unfamiliar.

“I hope this was okay,” Alex says above the reviving noise in the room.

Henry smiles at him, trusting his eyes to say what he can’t. “More than. Let’s go feed these hungry people.”

Despite his best efforts, the next 20 minutes would’ve been the death of his carefully-selected outfit if not for the apron Alex insisted he wear. Henry’s still wondering how that much pizza sauce ended up so many places it wasn’t meant to be when Pez comes over to evict them.

“My clean-up team is taking over now. Don’t forget to feed yourselves, then there’s two spots reserved in the back for you.”

He thinks it may be an action movie of some sort. It’s certainly loud.

But the only thing Henry’s been fully cognizant of for the past half-hour is the place where Alex’s knee is pressing against his own in the darkness.

The irony of it all is inescapable.

Henry is sitting in a roomful of teenagers, outwardly watching a movie but inwardly infatuated with the part of his body that’s in contact with another boy. 

If it were 20 years ago and his life had been a typical one, he could be a teen right now.

“I was just thinking about it,” Alex says quietly, his breath warm against Henry’s neck, “and I’ll bet guys have taken you to some really nice restaurants.”

Henry glances over at him, and his mind produces an involuntary parade of memories: Many men, in many cities around the world. Many Michelin-starred restaurants. Many lust-fueled romps in many hotel rooms.

Many men.

None of whom he’s ever seen or heard from again. None of whom he wanted to.

Moving closer to Alex, he allows his nose to dip briefly into a cluster of curls just above his ear. A shiver dances across Alex’s shoulders. Henry smiles.

“They have,” he whispers, “but I’d rather be here.”

Pez refuses their offers of help afterwards. “You boys get on home,” he says with a comprehensive wink. Alex doesn’t say much in the car or during the walk through the palace. Finally, at the entrance to his rooms, he stops and faces Henry. 

“Um, I know this was — different.” He's looking everywhere but at Henry, fingers fidgeting with his own hair. “And I don’t know if you’re available tomorrow, but if you are it will be even more different.”

He was able to stifle it before. But now Henry finds his need to comfort simply must have an outlet.

Reaching up, he wraps a hand lightly around each of Alex’s biceps. Alex stills instantly under his touch. “Tonight was the best first date I’ve ever had. I can’t wait to see what you have planned for tomorrow.”

The smile, tentative at first, grows until it consumes Alex’s face. “Really? Then 5 p.m. at the greenhouse.”

“The — the greenhouse?”

Alex nods. His eyes shine like stars in the low light of the hall.

Suddenly the reality of how much of himself Alex is putting into this — the effort of creativity and planning and coordination — washes over Henry like a revelation. He steps closer and rests a hand against Alex’s cheek. Alex’s eyes slip closed.

“Can I kiss you good night? That’s a legitimate thing to do at the end of a first date, you know.”

Alex’s eyes slowly open again, but he doesn’t pull away. His voice comes out lower than Henry’s ever heard it and slightly slurred. “I have to say no for the same reason I said no last night.” 

Henry tilts his head. Runs his fingers over the light stubble on Alex’s cheek. “Because you won’t be able to stop?”

“That’s right.” Alex’s eyes are closing again. Henry bends a little closer to his mouth. “Too many fucking beds around here.”

Bloody hell. Henry’s dick became fully engaged at the phrase “fucking beds.”

“What makes you think I won’t be able to stop us?”

Alex opens his eyes in order to twitch a brow sarcastically.

“Right,” Henry mutters. “I see your point.” He lets his hand fall from Alex’s face and back to his side.

“Henry, I’m not trying to tease you.” Alex’s voice is heavy with emotion, his eyes imploring. “I know this isn’t how you normally do things, but you’re worth so much more than a casual fuck. Will you be patient?”

And in that moment, standing in Gran’s hallway with an American he’s known a couple of weeks, Henry wonders for the first time in his life if Alex’s words could be true — that he’s someone worth waiting for.

It’s never crossed his mind. No one’s ever wanted that before.

To wait. 

People just take what they need — whatever he’s willing to give — and go.

He’s disgusted when he feels tears glaze his eyes. But Alex doesn’t balk. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just waits.

“Okay, Alex,” he says. “I’ll be patient.”

__________________________

He spends most of the next day with Mum and Phillip. The opening of a new wing of a hospital, welcoming the South Korean ambassadors.

Keeping an eye always on the time.

It works out well, so that when he’s showered and dressed again (“dressed down,” as Alex would say), he still has time to check on Gran before heading to the greenhouse. 

Reginald and Ronald aren’t posted outside her door. Strange.

Henry knocks. And knocks. And knocks.

He calls Shaan. 

“Do you know where Gran is?”

“I was informed she’d be spending a portion of this evening with you. So, based on the time, I’d say she’s probably on her way.”

He lets the phone drop to his side for a moment.

Alex.

Of course their second date will be in a greenhouse with his grandmother. Their first date was at a youth shelter with 30 teenagers.

“Thank you, Shaan,” he says when his laughter fades enough for speech.

R&R are waiting on either side of the greenhouse entrance to greet him with their synchronized nods. An empty wheelchair waits nearby. Stillness envelopes him as the door closes, and warm, humid air fills his lungs. It’s a solitary place whose quiet green monotony has always soothed him.

He’s never mentioned that to Alex. Or to Pez.

Paths lead off in several directions. Henry follows the deep tones of Alex’s voice.

Their backs are to him — Alex’s strong, erect body a striking contrast to Gran’s thin and bent one. She’s ambling slowly down the path with the help of her walker, his supportive hand on her back.

Henry approaches quietly. Rests his fingers on Alex’s waist, out of Gran’s sight.

“Are you giving him the complete tour, Gran?”

She glares at him, but her eyes are gleaming with humor. “Not today. Just showing him a few of my favorites.” She scowls at Alex. “You don’t have to hold me up, Alexander. You walk with Henry, and I’ll go first and tell you about the plants.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex murmurs obediently. He sends Henry a significant glance, the meaning of which soon becomes clear.

As Gran shuffles ahead of them, droning on about the genus of this fern or that, Alex lets his fingers tangle with Henry’s. A thrill travels up Henry’s arm and his head snaps in Alex’s direction. But Alex doesn’t look over. “Is that so?” he responds to Gran as he twines their fingers together.

Henry gulps. Alex is holding his hand. His thumb slides back and forth over Henry’s skin. 

Gran looks back at them, and Alex lets go.

It happens several times.

Alex never returns Henry’s stare, only smiles and answers Gran so Henry doesn’t have to, dropping his hand every time she looks their way.

Which leaves Henry free to experience again that queer, disorienting sense of being in two places at once: Both a fully-formed adult man and an insecure teenager, sneaking furtive handfuls of the boy he likes and hoping the adults won’t notice.

Eventually, though, Gran turns to them and doesn’t look away.

“I think that’s the end of today’s tour,” she says with a weary smile. 

“Shall I go for the wheelchair, Gran?” 

“Yes, thank you.”

Once she’s safely on her way back to her rooms under the care of R&R, Henry is finally able to look at Alex as closely as he’d like. The first two buttons of his shirt are undone. Henry eyes flit over the golden-brown skin.

One of the dimples Henry’s glimpsed a few times is on display beside Alex’s smile. “Do you like my shirt?”

“I like your neck.”

Alex’s smile falters. His eyes drop briefly to Henry’s mouth. “Are you hungry?” he asks, his voice low.

“I could eat.”

Henry is flabbergasted when Alex leads him to the deserted palace kitchen. The staff’s dining table is set for two. Alex holds out a chair and motions for him to sit.

“What are we doing here?”

“I wanted to cook for you — some of my favorites from home. Shaan helped me get everything I needed, and the cooks gave me an orientation on using the kitchen this morning.”

“You’re going to…cook for me?”

“Yep. I did all the prep already, so it’ll go really quick. While I’m working you can entertain me.”

But Henry is useless for what seems a long time. He’s incapable of anything but sitting in a stupor, watching Alex fly around the kitchen. His deft movements, accompanied by a combination of humming and whistling, eventually help pacify Henry’s overwrought brain.

He can’t bring himself to ask the question dominating his thoughts.

Alex, why do you care so much?

So he chooses another. 

“I’m curious about why you invited Gran on our date. Couldn’t we have walked around holding hands and looking at ferns on our own?” Henry doesn’t add that, if Gran hadn’t been there, he would have tried again for a kiss in spite of his agreement to be patient.

Alex chuckles from the stove. “I thought if the three of us spent some time together she might be more likely to agree to my plan for tomorrow.”

“Your plan for —“

Alex whips toward him, spatula raised menacingly. “Don’t even try, Henry. It’s a surprise.”

He lifts both hands in surrender. “How about another question, then?”

“Shoot.”

“You know about my, um, relationship history. But I don’t know anything about yours. Only if you’re comfortable sharing that with me, of course.”

He looks back, and Henry isn’t sure if the color in his face is from the cooking or the question.

“Yeah,” Alex says firmly, “I’m comfortable. It’s pretty straightforward. I’ve only had two that were exclusive: One guy that lasted about a year, one girl that lasted about three. One said I was too serious. The other said I wasn’t serious enough, and they both left me.”

Henry shakes his head at the thought of someone having an Alex-filled life and deciding to relinquish it. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Alex counters swiftly. “Because if either of those had worked out, I wouldn’t be here.”

Indeed, Henry's mind agrees, though he thinks it wiser to stay silent.

The meal is delicious, their rapport lively and uninhibited, but all the while a disturbance is brewing in Henry’s mind. It pains him to disrupt the mood Alex’s act of kindness has created. But he knows it has to be done.

Delaying won’t benefit either one of them.

“Alex, I, um, I need to say something to you.”

His jovial demeanor sobers immediately. He draws his chair a bit closer. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“I — well, I really like you. And I remember you saying at the overlook that you like me, too, because I’m real. But, Alex, I don’t know how to be real in…in this context. I never have been. I’ve just been — a role.”

Alex’s dark lashes raise and lower slowly. He leans forward. Henry’s heart stumbles over its next few beats when Alex takes his hand.

Instead of holding it, though, Alex uses his own hand to press Henry’s to his chest. He holds it there, atop Henry’s pectoral muscle.

“Feel that?” he asks quietly. “You’re still breathing, Henry. That means nothing’s been decided yet — your story isn’t over. You’re still breathing. So there’s still time.” And he smiles with a tenderness Henry finds even more enchanting than that trademark confidence. 

They sit silently, both of their hands rising and falling on Henry’s chest, until tears come to Henry’s eyes. Two dates. Two crying episodes.

Christ.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling away from Alex and wiping at his eyes.

“I’m not,” Alex answers for the second time that night.

Prior to that interaction, Henry had intended to try once again to persuade Alex to accept a kiss at the end of the evening. But he’s changed his mind by the time they reach their common hallway.

Alex asked him to be patient.

He can wait.

It’s a surprise when Alex stops, not before his own door, but before Gran’s.

“I cleared it with R&R. She’s expecting me.” When Henry continues to stare at him, dumbfounded, he adds, “It’s about tomorrow. I’ll text you, okay?”

Henry merely nods. 

He’s lying in bed several hours later, sleepless, when the text comes.

A: Will you come to the East Ballroom at 7 tomorrow night? Dress nice.

___________________________

Henry gives himself one job the next day: To stay as busy as possible.

He puts in several hours at the shelter office, covertly hoping to try Pez for information, but is told he’s off-site in meetings all day. He has a late lunch with Mum. Then he works with his PPOs to get safely in and out of one store for an indispensable purchase.

The last couple of hours find him vibrating between the depths of his closet and his mirror.

Henry has no idea what he’s getting ready for. But he finds a certain solace in Alex’s injunction to “dress nice.” He’s been dressing nice for things he’s cared little about for many years. 

Tonight, he cares a lot. 

When Henry closes the door to his rooms a few minutes before 7, he sees Shaan at the end of the hallway, standing at the top of the stairs.

“Do you have any idea…?” he says as he approaches, before realizing he doesn’t have any more words.

Shaan smiles and reaches up to straighten Henry’s tie. “I do,” he says. “Everything is in order. Mr. Claremont-Diaz is waiting for you.” 

“But —“

“Forgive me, Henry,” Shaan says, which only enhances the feeling that’s followed Henry all day of having fallen into a dream. In the many years they’ve worked together, he’s never been able to convince Shaan to call him by his first name. Not once. “But is that a new fragrance?”

Henry blushes for what he suspects will be the first of countless times tonight. “Yes.”

“It’s very pleasant.” The affection in Shaan’s normally undemonstrative eyes stuns him. Henry blinks quickly and nods, speechless yet again. Shaan’s fingers give his collar a final tweak. “Now off you go,” he says.

The walk from Gran’s residence to the East Ballroom is a long one. Henry has time to reflect on the fact that very little would surprise him at this point — not even finding everyone from the shelter and his entire family, Gran included, gathered behind that heavy, gilded door. 

But when he pushes it open, there’s only Alex.

Standing in the middle of the room in a tuxedo.

And Henry had been afraid he might be overdressed in his black jacket and tie.

As he crosses the room, he realizes his error: This isn’t a dream. It’s a fairy tale gleaned from remote regions of his mind, a storyline composed of things he never imagined wanting, since the prospect of having them was so impossible.

“You look — Alex. You’re gorgeous.”

Alex doesn’t blush, of course. He grins. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

“What are we —?”

The grin builds into a blinding smile, all white teeth and dimples. “We’re going to dance,” he says. “I started thinking about how you probably don’t have great memories of this room, never able to dance with the people you wanted. So I talked to your Gran.”

Henry is fighting to keep up. “You —“ He stops. Of all the awkward evenings in his life, this one must hold the record for broken sentences and incoherence.

Alex laughs gleefully at his confusion. “She actually offered her chefs and a whole-ass waitstaff. I’m pretty sure she thought I was throwing you a party. But I told her we wouldn’t be eating, and that it would be just the two of us.”

Henry feels his eyes widen. “You said that?”

“I did.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She just gave me that look.”

“What look?”

“I don’t know — the one she always gives me. Like she knows I’m up to something but is going to let me get away with it.”

Henry takes a step closer, his eyes locked on Alex’s glowing face. “I suspect you get that look a lot.”

“Yeah, I probably do.”

Alex turns away to do something on his phone, and Henry looks around the room. He really has danced in here a lot. But whatever Alex has in mind will be a completely different experience. 

Music begins to filter out of the tiny speaker of Alex’s phone, incongruously modern in that dense atmosphere of tradition and history.

“Alex, is this country western music?”

“Yeah, it is. I never was much into it. But my parents played it all the time while I was growing up, so it’s in my roots. I mainly picked it because I want you to dance to something you never have before.”

He smiles indulgently, and then Alex is in front of him.

He reaches up slowly but determinedly to join his hands behind Henry’s neck. Henry’s arms wrap around him, hands finding his lower back.

It’s the closest they’ve ever been.

Alex begins to sway.

And it’s so simple — merely a rhythmic shift of weight between one foot and the other. But when Henry begins to mirror it, the distance between them vanishes. He feels his cock filling in response to the contact of their hips. At this rate it won’t be long before Alex feels it, too.

He angles his mouth up toward Henry’s ear. “Everything I said about wanting to give you a good memory here was true. But I also just thought it was time we got a little closer.”

“I agree,” Henry answers, his chuckle a little rough.

He lets one of his hands run up Alex’s back, pulling him in. Alex’s fingers slide into the hair at the back of his head. “Fuck, Henry,” he murmurs, breath moist on the skin just above his collar, “you smell amazing.”

Henry smiles. His last-minute shopping trip was a success.

Alex turns his head so his cheek lays along Henry’s collarbone. This brings their bodies even closer, and Henry barely avoids an audible gasp. Alex’s dick is hard against his thigh. Henry feels his heart rate accelerate, and his hand begins to move.

It slips down Alex’s lower back and settles lightly over his arse.

“I have a confession,” Alex says. “I’ve been thinking about this since I saw your hand on that dude’s ass in the hallway.”

Henry responds by reaching lower and, with a squeeze, drawing their hips together. A shudder rips through Alex’s entire frame. He groans against Henry’s jacket, and a shock of corresponding pleasure possesses Henry at the friction of their straining cocks.

“Alex, please,” Henry moans, burying his face in the thick curls.

“Have you had enough romance?”

“I’m sorry — yes.”

Alex pulls back enough to look at him. “Me too. It’s been a really long time for me.”

“A really long time? That’s…I find that hard to believe.”

As Henry watches, Alex’s face grows thoughtful — contemplative, almost. “Take my word for it. Since Jordan broke up with me, all I’ve really been doing is working. And jerking off a lot.”

He pulls Alex against his chest again and threads fingers through his hair. Wonders how long this unintentional celibacy has lasted. Months? Years? He’s not about to ask.

It doesn’t matter.

It ends tonight.

“Well,” he says, rocking his hips into Alex’s once again, “I can’t do anything about before. But I want to do something about now.”

Alex is silent, his weight resting against Henry’s body. His eyes are damp when he finally leans back and looks up. And the desire to care for him rekindles in Henry and scorches through his body like fire, stealing his breath away.

He doesn’t ask this time.

Moving slowly, he places a hand on each of Alex’s cheeks and tilts his face up. The black eyelashes, clumped with moisture, come together as his eyes fall closed. Henry takes a moment to study that face — open, trusting, unimaginably beautiful. He closes his own eyes and touches his parted lips to Alex’s. 

“Are you ready?” he whispers.

Alex nods without opening his eyes. Henry steps away just long enough to retrieve the phone. He silences the forgotten music of Alex’s roots and takes his hand, and together they leave the ballroom.

________________________

“I’m. Really nervous.”

The sensation of Alex’s hand in his engrossed Henry’s thoughts for the first part of their walk — firm and constant, not extracted every few minutes like in the greenhouse. But worry began to erode his sense of security the closer they got to his rooms.

Because…what now?

Now he stands in front of Alex, immobilized and working to repulse an onslaught of shame. He’s meant to be good at this. Never before has he wanted so badly for that to be true.

Yet here he stands.

Fear-frozen.

“I’ve never — I’ve never done it this way before.”

Alex comes closer, his eyes fixed on Henry’s face. 

“Then maybe hearing this will help. I don’t really care what happens next — who does what. I just want more. More of you.”

Gradually, those clear, steadfast eyes begin to influence Henry’s fevered mind. They never leave his face as Alex works his arms out of his jacket, then releases his bowtie and the first few buttons of his shirt.

“Can I do yours now?” he asks quietly.

Henry nods. He can see a swath of Alex’s dark chest, and it’s causing his pulse to reverberate furiously in his own ears. His cock begins a rebellious rise despite his mind’s hesitancy.

And as Alex slips the jacket off his shoulders, Henry hears again the words he couldn’t digest when Alex said them: I don’t care what happens next.

Alex just wants more. More of him.

And it really is that easy, isn’t it?

The breathtakingly erotic dynamic possible between two people who just want to experience more of each other. It’s a raw simplicity he’s never known. And as Alex’s fingers pause on the buttons of his shirt, Henry realizes it’s what he wants, too — tonight, in this palace, with this person.

To find out what sex is like between two people whose intimacy is based not on paperwork but on trust.

He’s not sure why he trusts Alex.

But he knows it’s not because he’s signed all the right forms in all the right places.

“Can I?” Alex asks, his eyes sparking with the ardor of hope. 

“Yes,” Henry answers.

Alex makes his way down Henry’s shirt, releasing buttons as he goes, until all are open except the ones tucked into his pants.

There’s no regulating the rapid rise and fall of his chest as Alex’s lips begin to touch it. His fingers weave into those curls. When the warm moisture of Alex’s tongue and teeth press against one of his nipples, Henry’s back arches and he gasps.

He uses the hand in Alex’s hair to pull the open mouth up to his own.

And every last anxious thought and philosophical musing drowns in the flood that saturates his senses.

Alex smells like spring under a blue Texas sky Henry’s only seen in pictures. His sighing moan flutters against Henry’s lips, and the taste of his tongue is sweet. They break apart in search of air. And when Henry sees him, he knows Alex was right about ruining him for his List.

He’s used to being looked at by eyes heavy with voracious hunger. And he’s used to panting mouths whose owners are counting the minutes until they can get them on a prince’s cock.

But this. 

Isn’t that.

Alex is panting, all right. But he’s doing it through a smile brimming with delighted wonder. “Seems like I’ve been thinking for a long time about how you might taste,” he says, shaking his head, “and Henry — you taste like heaven! My idea of it, at least.”

Henry knows his face has just become the reddest object in the palace. “Would you like to come to the bedroom?” he asks. The nerves make a bid to return, but Henry keeps his focus on Alex’s smile. And on how good it’ll be to have More.

More of this person who wants more of him, too.

When Henry returns to him after switching on his bedside lamp, Alex is looking around the room as if fascinated.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh. Sometimes I would imagine you in here. I’m checking out what it actually looks like.”

And once again, just a hint of Alex’s vulnerability captivates Henry more completely than his charm ever did. “I have to tell you,” he says, his hands closing around Alex’s hips, “that I’m tired of imagining.”

Alex nods, his eyes closing, “Yeah. Me too.”

“Is this okay?” Henry asks as he brings his hands to Alex’s belt buckle.

“Yes.”

Alex’s erection is visible just below where Henry’s fingers are working, and the sight sends passion pulsing through him. He unbuttons Alex’s trousers but doesn’t touch the zipper. Instead he opens his shirt the rest of the way. 

He places both hands at the top of Alex’s chest and lets them slide down — over the taut skin and the muscle and the soft hair. Alex’s eyes are still closed, his breath coming fast through parted lips. “Oh, fuck,” he groans deeply when Henry allows his thumbs to circle his nipples.

“Alex,” Henry says in the steadiest voice he can muster, “will you get on the bed for me?”

On the way, Alex sheds his shirt and shimmies out of his pants. Henry can’t help but smile. Then he wastes no time doing the same thing.

And here they are: Sitting in their underwear and smiling at each other.

Henry can hardly believe what he’s about to say.

But he’s so far outside his own rulebook now that it somehow seems fitting.

“This is probably skipping several steps.” He picks up Alex’s hand and runs his fingers lightly over the back of it. “But I wanted to ask if you’d like to fuck me?”

Alex’s eyes lift from where their hands are touching to Henry’s face.

“No,” he says.

Henry recovers quickly from the visceral dismay because 1) Alex is smiling and 2) Alex said the same thing about kissing. And though it was an excruciating wait, he finally got what he wanted.

Armed with these assurances, Henry decides to play along.

“No?”

The smile widens. “No. That’s what the other guys do — the ones from your Authorized to Fuck You list. I told you I didn’t want to be like them.”

Henry smirks at him, letting go of Alex’s hand and placing his own high on Alex’s thigh instead. “Okay,” he murmurs. His fingers trace light circles around the inside of Alex’s leg. “What are you going to do instead, then?”

And without ever losing eye contact, Alex picks up Henry’s hand and repositions it — directly on top of his dick. He holds it there with his own hand, pressing lightly.

“I’m going to make love to you,” he says.

“Oh.” It’s not a word. It’s a sigh. Then his hand closes around Alex’s cock.

“Holy shit, Henry,” he breathes. “Can I do it now?”

“Please,” he answers.

He reaches into his bedside table for the condoms and lube. Then he hands them to Alex and lies down.

Alex stands up and slips his boxers over his hips. His body looks strong and athletic — not a gym body like the ones Henry is used to seeing — but firm and lean. The sight of his thick, dark cock is so arousing that Henry can’t resist stroking his own, just for a moment.

“Alex, love,” he says quietly, “will you touch me?” 

For an answer Alex crawls up between his legs and rolls the condom over Henry’s moist head. As soon as it’s on he slides his mouth down the shaft, all the way to the base.

Henry throws his head back and grabs two handfuls of sheets in an effort to keep his hips still.

“Christ, Alex. You — “ He loses the rest in a helpless groan.

He feels Alex remove his mouth, and Henry looks between his legs to find him smiling, the eyelashes fanning slowly open and closed. “We’re going to get you loosened up a bit, okay?”

Henry just nods and lets his head fall back again.

Alex’s slick fingers begin to skate across his entrance, and before long his mouth is on him again, tongue dancing up the length and around the head until Henry is gasping. Alex’s first finger slides in.

Henry pushes against the pressure, his hand grasping at Alex’s curls. 

“Please,” he pants. “More.”

Every time he looks down, Alex is looking back at him. And his eyes are speaking. Saying the same things his mouth does.

I like you. I like that you’re real.

So even though others have been with him this way, it’s never felt like this before. No one else’s eyes have ever spoken.

Alex rises up on his knees and rolls a condom on himself. Henry’s eyes follow every movement as Alex helps him get his hips elevated, legs spread, knees bent.

He wants to say something. Opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Henry gets the unsettling feeling that his own eyes are speaking, too. And though he doesn’t know what they’re saying, he suspects Alex does. He’s always seen more than Henry intended.

Fissures begin to cross Alex’s forehead, and the ever-present smile fades.

He brings his face nearer to Henry’s.

“Is this good? Is this what you want, sweetheart?”

And Henry winds his hand into the curls again, pulling Alex’s mouth to his own. He kisses him slowly, deeply, with all the meaning he can’t express in words.

“Alex,” he whispers, “I want you. Yes.”

He nods, the dips of his forehead resolving, tense muscles around his mouth unclenching. He returns to his spot between Henry’s legs and takes his cock in hand. Henry can feel the tip hot against his hole.

“Okay?” Alex asks.

“Okay,” Henry answers.

Alex moves forward incrementally, and it’s obvious to Henry that he’s planning on checking in about every half-inch or so. Affection grips his heart with astonishing strength.

But he bends his back and reaches down, grasping Alex’s arse with both hands and thrusting his hips up, driving Alex’s cock all the way in. “Henry, motherfucker! What are you doing?” Alex’s burst of indignation smooths into a prolonged guttural groan. “Holy fuck you feel so good.”

When Henry’s own pleasure subsides enough that he can speak, he looks at Alex, gasping above him, and smiles innocently. “You said it had been a long time. I thought you needed some encouragement.”

And Henry probably would’ve paid for that cheek if Alex weren’t so lost in ecstasy.

Henry’s body is accustomed to a faster pace. But Alex’s long, thorough thrusts are unlocking heights of euphoria he’s never accessed before. Whenever he’s able to open his eyes, he finds Alex looking at him, a tremulous smile on his lips.

Finally, Henry reaches up and touches a hand to his warm face.

“Alex,” he says, “You’re just — it’s too good. I can’t last. Much longer.”

He nods as Henry brushes a sweaty curl away from his eye. “I know,” he answers. Leaning back, he wraps his hand around Henry’s cock. 

“Oh Alex. Bloody hell.”

He hears Alex chuckle as if from far away, then the orgasm is rattling his bones like a tumult of thunder. Alex curses loudly not long after and collapses on Henry’s chest.

“Just…stay,” he whispers into the curls when he feels Alex’s body begin to shift. 

“Henry, I have to —“

“Stay,” he repeats, his hands caressing Alex’s damp back. 

And he does.

__________________________ 

It’s around 3 a.m. Alex’s head is lying on his chest, and his respirations are quiet and even.

“I’m going to tell Gran tomorrow,” he whispers.

He knows Alex is asleep. But he needed to say it out loud.

“Whatever happens when you do that, baby,” Alex answers, and Henry jumps a little at the sound of his voice, “you’re the bravest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

__________________________

She’s sitting in her favorite chair, which Alex positioned next to the window for her. Outside, fragile sunshine filters courageously through a rainy dawn. Her head turns slightly toward him as the door clicks closed.

Regardless of what Alex decides to do — to stay or to go — this must be done.

Must be said.

He’ll be saying it soon to many people: To loved ones in private rooms like this and to strangers in huge rooms full of cameras and lights. But he must say it first to this person, whose disapproval silenced him for decades. 

“Gran,” he says softly, stepping up beside her, “I’ve decided to be me in the world. And to deal with the consequences.”

He’s ready — he thinks he’s ready — for her response: That they will all be dealing with the consequences.

Instead, Gran doesn’t say anything.

He watches her profile as her eyes close. Then she nods one time and reaches for his hand.

Henry looks down and sees the thin skin, the prominent bones and bulbous blue veins against his long, nimble fingers. All the history is there, displayed in those joined hands: All the years, all the conflict, all the sadness and shame. 

Neither of them can do anything about any of it.

But under her silk blouse, Gran’s chest rises and falls. And under his jumper, Henry’s does, too.

Alex was right.

There is still time.