Work Text:
Alex will always maintain that the Monarchy is wrong and pointless and just generally pretty fucked up, but apparently doing it for fifty years is cause for celebration. Elaborate, expensive, lengthy celebrations. And apparently, it also requires the Prince of Wales to be there to smile and wave and stand next to a woman Alex deeply despises.
For four days.
There are parades and church services and pageants and derbies and a trail of fire beacons. For four days.
Neither of them is looking forward to it, to put it mildly, but for slightly different reasons: Henry because spending four days with his grandmother (and the clawing, pervasive media) sounds unpleasant and tedious, and Alex because spending four days without Henry sounds, well… unpleasant and tedious. Naturally, the entire event falls immediately before Alex’s finals, so it's not like he can just up and leave.
How convenient the Queen started her reign on the exact same date as his exam. Fifty years ago.
As annoyed as Alex is about the whole thing—who the hell pays for this? Why do fire beacons exist?—he reminds himself that it’s way worse for Henry, who actually has to go to the parades and services and derbies. Maybe he even has to light a beacon; who the fuck knows.
While Henry packs, Alex lounges on their bed and watches him. Henry’s hair is soft and messy in the morning, and Alex is going to stare at him enough to make up for four days of not seeing it.
"Set alarms," Henry says, briefly looking up as he places some neatly-folded clothes into his luggage. "You'll need reminders to keep yourself hydrated—"
"I'm not helpless, Henry—"
" —to eat—"
"Yeah, okay, rude."
" —quite possibly a shower—"
"Fuck you, now you’re just being a dick.”
“—and most definitely to sleep.” At Alex’s narrowed eyes, Henry adds, “I’m simply saying you benefit from someone who reminds you to step away from the books, to keep you focused.”
Focused. Alex blinks. “Babe, if anything you’re a distraction.”
“A distraction,” Henry echoes, raising his eyebrows. "How am I possibly a distraction?"
“You know,” he answers, gesturing vaguely to Henry and everything about him as a person.
“I’m afraid I don’t, no.”
“Just, like, all of that,” Alex says, still gesturing to Henry.
“Existing?”
“Exactly,” he says. Henry’s wearing a faded t-shirt and his arms are just, like… there for the world to see. The sweatpants aren’t exactly form-fitting, but it’s not like they can do much to hide those goddamn polo thighs, either. Alex shouldn’t really have to explain himself.
Henry sighs, rolls his eyes, and returns to his bag. “Well, I expect these next few days to be quite productive for you then.”
Alex kind of wants to push the issue, but he also kind of wants to get rid of Henry’s shirt and pants, so he does that instead.
Later that night, only a few hours before Henry is supposed to leave, the conversation is still in the back of Alex’s mind.
"I could go a few days without contact, you know."
Henry looks over at Alex, who's splayed across the couch, and places a finger on the page he's reading to keep his place. "I'm…sorry?"
"While you're gone, I mean. I could handle a few days of not talking to you."
"I don't understand," Henry says, and Alex doesn't blame him. It's not like he’s been as fixated on the conversation as Alex has been.
"I just mean I'll be too busy studying and you’ll be taking photo ops with aging rock stars and holding babies and lighting beacons or whatever else they make a Prince do for a Gold Gala—"
"Golden Jubilee."
"—so I wouldn’t even find time for it."
Henry still looks a little baffled. "Is this something you want to do? I'm still unclear on the 'why' here."
And so is Alex, honestly.
“You don’t think I could go a few days without, like, basic interaction, but I could.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Henry points out, finally closing his book.
“Yeah, okay, but do you think I could?”
Henry pauses and then, with an amused smile he doesn’t even try to hide: “I’m not sure you could, no.”
Which is, like, completely the wrong thing to say.
So when Henry climbs out of bed later, hours before sunrise, he kisses Alex and quietly says, "Talk to you on Sunday, I suppose."
Alex narrows his eyes, awake only long enough to say goodbye before going back to sleep, because Henry doesn't seem too convinced.
"I can do it," Alex insists, voice still thick with sleep.
"I know you can," Henry says, with the tone of someone who does not think Alex can do it.
It’s not until he wakes up that morning that he thinks, wait why am I doing this again?
*
1.
It doesn't take long. It takes until breakfast, in fact.
His lack of restraint is predictable, yes, but still a little sad. He doesn't consider it that much of a failure, though—it's just a photo on Instagram: a textbook, a carton of leftover Chinese, and one of Henry's peely face masks all sitting side-by-side with a caption of What your weekend consists of when your boyfriend is @PrinceHenry and you're left unsupervised.
In the comments, June calls him out for stealing his boyfriend's skin care products mere hours after he left; Nora predicts there's a 100% chance he's eating a breakfast egg roll in bed; and Henry simply says, That certainly didn't take long.
The rest of the world will think Henry's simply implying Alex made poor choices so quickly after his departure, but Alex can read it for what it is: How did you fail so spectacularly so quickly?
Alex shrugs and finishes his egg roll.
*
2.
The second is slightly more obvious, but he's still got the situation under control.
An email titled simply Fun Facts:
————————
H,
Did you know a kid in Connecticut sued his teacher for waking him up in class? Or that a guy sued Michael Jordan for just looking like him? There have been some batshit tort lawsuits in the last decade and I've spent the last hour in a black hole.
My favorite is Dhanowa vs Subway, in which a guy sued over the meat in his footlong (not a sex joke). Or Erwin vs Blistex, in which the defendant couldn't get all of the cream out of the tube (not a sex joke). Or Ayala vs Wendy's, in which a woman fingered some chili (sex joke).
I'm pretty sure none of these will be on my exam, but it's fine. The distraction was worth it. If I have to read one more sentence with vexatious litigant, I'll throw myself down the stairs. And you know what? This is your fault. If you were here, you wouldn’t let me throw myself down the stairs. So really this is on you. My lifeless body will be on your conscience, Henry.
I know there was a marginal blip this morning but that doesn't count against me, okay. And neither does this. Your laptop is here and you're spending the day on a terrace waving at the British masses, so you won't even see this until you get home.
Love you.
A
————————
Re: Fun Facts
Alex,
I'm not sure you quite understand how a mobile phone works. In addition to telephone calls and text messages, they also receive emails and, incidentally, notifications of said emails.
While your previous form of contact may indeed have been marginal, this is unquestionably 'contact' and you have, inarguably, failed your self-imposed challenge.
I wish you much success in your future endeavors this weekend.
xo
*
3.
But by noon, the spiral has officially begun.
[From: Alex]
hey you're on cnn
i'm studying
but i'm also watching cnn
why are your pockets so big
what are you keeping in those pockets, henry
i hope your phone is on vibrate
i just saw you look down
did you check your phone
blink twice if you checked your phone
seriously though what's in those pockets
another boring tie, jfc have i had no influence on you
that belt is so bright
it's kind of hot though
definitely doing things for me, babe
bring it home
and wear it
like, just that
only that
to clarify
[To: Alex]
Christ, Alex. Read your book and stop ogling me.
[From: Alex]
I KNEW YOU CHECKED YOUR PHONE
baby, i wouldn't know how to stop ogling you even if i wanted to
which i don't
hey…
i miss you
[To: Alex]
I miss you too.
Turn off CNN and start studying.
I'll be home soon. With a waist sash, it seems.
[From: Alex]
you shouldn’t have been checking your phone
so technically i wouldn't call this a fail
[To: Alex]
Read your book.
It is most certainly a fail.
*
4.
By dinner, which consists of more (cold) Chinese, the inevitable has come to fruition. He sighs, presses the call button of his recent contacts, and waits for Henry to answer. It's fine. He's mostly-but-not-technically failed but it's fine.
"Hello, Alex," Henry says as the call connects.
"You don't have to sound so goddamn smug about it," Alex says by way of hello to you, too.
"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."
"Uh huh."
"I'm not smug," Henry insists and actually—he doesn't sound smug. "I'm just happy to hear your voice."
"Oh. I. Right, you too."
"It's been… a day," Henry sighs, and Alex's indignation immediately fades.
"Hey, you okay?"
"I'm fine, it's just been… a lot. It's been a while since I've been here like this. Feeling like I'm trapped between these walls."
Alex wishes, not for the first time, that teleportation was just, like, a basic thing. Accessible. Anyone could use it. A major scientific discovery he would use primarily to rescue his boyfriend. And grab takeout, probably.
"Philip?" Alex guesses.
"Unpredictably, no. He's definitely been… trying. He even asked how you were and brought you up—unprompted—into conversation. He tried to make jokes, in fact."
"Really," Alex says with raised eyebrows.
"Yes. He called you selfish, for starters. He insisted that if you really loved me, you would have come up with an excuse for me to miss the celebration. He was quite proud of himself for that one."
Alex scoffs indignantly. "Uh, I did come up with a reason. Multiple of them."
"Yes, none of which would have been appropriate to say aloud, much less to one's older brother, who is currently the heir to the throne of the entire British Empire. I let him know as much."
"Some of them weren't inappropriate—"
"'Motivational study-break blow jobs' are not considered valid reasons for the Prince of Wales to miss the Queen's Golden Jubilee."
"I mean, they are to me."
"Nor is an 'end-of-exam celebratory blow job,'" Henry continues.
"Okay, says who though," Alex argues before turning quiet. "Oh my god, did you say 'blow job' to your brother? Please tell me you said 'blow job' to your brother."
"You absolutely must know that I did not."
Alex wishes he could see Henry's face. He wishes that most of the time, but he especially wishes it now.
"It's weird to hear him making jokes but whatever, I'm just glad he's not being a dick." Alex pauses. "You could have called me, you know. Instead of trying to prove a point."
"I wasn't trying to do that. I haven’t had an excuse to break away until you rang me."
"Right, well, happy to help." Alex pauses again. "And we agree that this doesn't technically count as a loss because, like, it's just a phone conversation."
"We do not agree, no."
"I'm just saying it could be worse."
"Alex, a telephone call is quite literally one of the most basic forms of communication. I'm confident it would be the top answer on Family Fortunes."
"Yeah, well, I say it doesn't count because I can tell you needed this, and I was being selfless."
"Mhm, selfless," Henry says, and now he does sound smug.
"Those are the parameters I set."
"Your parameters are arbitrary."
"Whatever," Alex says, not ready to admit defeat for some unknown reason. Whatever point he's trying to prove to himself, he is not proving it. Like, at all.
There are faint voices in the background, and then: "Well, apparently I'm needed for more photos," Henry says. "It was nice to hear your voice. I love you."
"I love you, too, baby. See you soon."
When the call disconnects, Alex sighs to no one in particular and is almost—almost—ready to admit defeat.
*
5.
By eight, Alex is prepared to accept his loss. No one will be surprised, least of all Henry. But also—Alex doesn't particularly give a shit. It's been a long day, he misses his boyfriend who, incidentally, is super hot and therefore always nice to look at, and seeing Henry's face and his eyes and his smile and his ugly tie will all be worth the loss.
He hits the video call button on his phone, hoping Henry is still awake.
He takes longer to answer than Alex would expect, and he doesn't recognize the wall behind Henry when the call finally finally connects, but there are two-fucking-thousand rooms at that palace and he hasn't seen even a fraction of them, so he shrugs it off. Not exactly a priority.
"Hello, love," Henry says immediately, and something inside Alex shifts and slides into place. Henry's wearing a soft gray sweater and Alex is weak for this man because he's a grown adult practically swooning over some cotton during a fucking video call.
"Hey, sweetheart," Alex says. "Just wanted to see you before you went to bed."
"Ah. Well, yes. I'm still awake."
Henry looks at something off-camera and Alex says, "Is that Bea? If it's Bea, tell her I said hi." He pauses. "If it's Philip, say 'blow job.'"
"You know, I'm feeling a bit knackered," Henry says suddenly. "Can we talk in the morning?"
Alex looks at him quizzically. "You don't even want to rub it in? Gloat over my failure?"
But gloating isn't so much Henry's style as it is Alex's, and he's pretty sure Henry isn't complaining. He thought the whole exercise was dumb in the first place, and Alex can't say he disagrees.
"I don't think that will be necessary," Henry says, and Alex notices how exhausted he actually looks.
"Yeah, okay," he says reluctantly. "Talk to you tomorrow."
After they hang up, Alex realizes how easy tomorrow will be, now that he doesn't have to tamp down the urge to stare at Henry's face over a phone anytime he wants.
*
(+1.)
It's late mid-morning when Alex hears the door open and softly click shut. His hand freezes on the coffee pot until he hears, "Alex?" in the posh voice he'd recognize anywhere.
Alex is in the foyer and pulling Henry into his arms before he even registers what he's doing. "Oh my God, what are you even doing here?"
Henry looks exhausted, hair rumpled and the collared shirt under his sweater askew. "I was just… ready to come home."
“Didn’t you have parades and derbies tomorrow? Did you have to light a beacon?”
He shakes his head. “I stayed for the service and realized—well, I realized I didn’t want to be there. I’d much rather be here. Gran was displeased, to put it lightly, but I waved and took photos for ages, and that’s enough.” Henry offers him a weak, exhausted smile and says, “I hate that place and I wanted to be here. Home. With you.”
Fuck, Alex is so in love. "Shit, you must be so tired. How are you awake?"
"I slept for a bit on the plane," Henry says, shrugging, and Alex notices the weekender slipping off his shoulder.
"Hey, come on, let's get you upstairs. You need sleep."
He guides Henry upstairs, helping him remove his coat (and his shirt and pants; he's no saint) as they make it to their bedroom.
Alex can't help but notice the residual tension in Henry's shoulders, a tension that might always make an appearance after any brief stays in Kensington. He knows he can't prevent it, but at least he can help ease it away. For whatever that's worth.
They both slide into bed after Henry's shrugged on a t-shirt and worn-in sweats. Alex isn't tired at all, but he'll do most anything to get his body next to Henry's, in whichever way he can do it. He can tell Henry is a weird combination of exhausted-but-wired, so he grabs Oscar Wilde from the nightstand and leans against the headboard while Henry drapes himself on Alex's legs and tries to sleep.
He reads aloud, and it's a soft moment, relaxing and quiet, but:
"You know you lost so much harder than I did, right?"
Henry sighs. "Yes, but the key is: I wasn't trying."
"Okay, point. But, like, as long as you can admit that a red-eye to talk face-to-face is way more intense than an Instagram shoutout or a video call from what I'm assuming was some kind of private airstrip."
Henry ignores him, and Alex goes back to reading. As he flips the pages, he realizes he doesn't care because his loss is actually kind of a win. Henry is in their bed, a soothing presence, and he just doesn't care about whatever game he was trying to play.
Once Henry's breathing fades into a soft rhythm, Alex gently maneuvers his head from Alex's lap onto his pillow then carefully molds himself around his sleeping boyfriend.
Maybe Henry distracts him, maybe he keeps him focused, maybe it’s both. What matters is that Henry’s his.