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Being able to get out of the trip to Germany, being able to go to Paris, to see Alex, feels like something out of a fever dream. Like something that would be dangled in front of his eyes, but too high up and out of reach for him to be able to snatch it, enjoy it.
Even now, on the plane to the city of love, he waits for the inevitable shoe to drop. For the announcement to be made that, no, he isn’t in fact going to Paris, that he’s misheard, and he’ll find himself at the summit in Germany after all. Or, worse, that he hasn’t misheard, but has done something to infuriate Gran, and as a result will have this outing taken away from him, international relationships and making amends for the fiasco at Philip and Martha’s wedding be damned.
Of course, Henry knows that he probably shouldn’t have entertained this. Shouldn’t have even tried, no matter how tempting Alex had been. Knows that one way or another he’ll end up with a broken heart, because this will not, can not, continue.
Alex will never return his feelings. This is merely fun, no feelings involved, at least not on Alex’s side. And no matter how much Henry wishes for it to be different, both the feelings and the circumstances surrounding it all, he has to be honest with himself.
But Alex is willing, still. Regardless of how well Henry knows it has to end, knows he has to stop this, he keeps coming back, like a moth to a flame.
No matter how terrified he is of the fallout, of the moment it will all inevitably end — either because Alex finds someone more worthy, or Gran finds out, and the ramifications that would follow from that.
But these little moments, short though they may be, are the moments when Henry can be himself the most, when he can just be happy. Can pretend like everything is alright, because in those moments it is. And isn’t that an entirely rare experience for him?
So he keeps coming back for more.
The feeling of what if doesn’t really dissipate until he sees Alex at Place du Terre, and a grin slides across his face.
It’s entirely unbecoming. It’s asking for trouble with his grandmother if pictures of it arise and his smile gets dissected — something the royal watchers are wont to do - for it’ll get back to her and she has no trouble reading between the lines, seeing things that are utterly true, and absolutely not allowed. Henry shoves those thoughts into the back of his mind, focused on Alex. His mind is already going to later, to the promise of what is to come.
First, though, first they sit down at a café, with a bottle of wine, then two, shared between them. It’s… well, as close to perfect as Henry could wish, if he’s entirely honest. He can pretend, almost, that this is a date, that they’re allowed to date.
Sure, they don’t hold hands or share a kiss in public. But that doesn’t stop him from imagining that it could be this way, that it is this way. Except that they leave all the PDA for when they’re behind closed doors, something they keep for themselves, entirely private. It isn’t even a lie.
Being in Paris with Alex is like almost all his dreams come true, after all. He’d always wanted to be a writer in this city: To stroll around the streets and along the Seine, take his boyfriend out to a café, point out all his recommendations and share them with the person he wants to share this city with the most. And now he gets to, at some point, limited time be damned. Alex asked for it; Henry isn’t about to let him down. And, okay, they’re not boyfriends, more… friends with benefits. But the point still stands. If Henry has an opportunity to show it off, he will do it. Especially if it makes Alex smile.
Or gasp. He finds himself doing just that a while later, looking up at Alex from where he’s on his knees before him, safely tucked behind the door of Alex’s hotel room. It’s… Henry still can’t believe he gets to do this. That Alex specifically asked Henry to do this for him. And he knows the time is limited, that this might be one of the last times he gets to do this, and so he puts his all into it. Shows him how much he wants to do this, how good he wants to make it for him.
Seeing Alex unfold like this, trust him like this? It’s more than he could ever ask for.
And then he spends the night with Alex.
It’s unplanned. It’s not the way it’s meant to go. But he falls asleep before either of them can think of Henry going back to his own hotel, and when he wakes up, the world doesn’t seem to have come to an end. He’s sure his gran will have words for him when he gets back to London, but the security doesn’t complain when they get food delivered up to Alex’s room, don’t make a fuss as they eat it, savor it, and Henry takes the time to translate Le Monde for Alex.
They separate eventually, Henry leaving a note for Alex with the directions to the fromagerie he asked for, then walking out with the copy of Le Monde tucked underneath his sweater for safekeeping. The security doesn’t breathe a word, and the lecture he expects about sharing a room with Alex never comes.
Instead, he gets to go on with his life, gets a compliment about the good press this outing got. Is told to keep it up.
So he does.
It goes on like this for months. They keep meeting up, keep sleeping together as much as their schedules allow. It takes a lot of finagling, and he does get several warnings to keep his deviant behaviour to himself. But pointing out that the press is eating it up keeps his grandmother at bay, at least for now.
Henry is under no illusions that it won’t bite him in the arse eventually, despite what Pez and Bea tell him. He keeps shutting them down, preventing them from saying things, especially to Alex, that make it too real. Because once Alex realises, once he learns that this is all too real for Henry, that nothing about this is just fun, a game, Henry knows he’ll bolt. Even sooner than Henry already knows he will, eventually.
He’s absolutely terrified of that moment. But for now, Alex remains willing, says that he misses Henry. Even if Henry knows he can’t let it get too far, he keeps coming back.
He knows it’s wrong. He knows he’ll end up hurting himself, and that it’ll be worse the longer it goes on. But it feels too good. He feels too happy to let it go.
So it goes on.
Henry will deal with the aftermath later.
L.A. is heady, and not just because of the alcohol that Pez, and then Alex, supplies them with. It’s a glimpse of how life could be, surrounded by people who know and don’t care.
Even in the club, even at karaoke, people seem more taken by the fact that they’re amongst royals and the White House Trio, than they seem to notice anything they get up to. Maybe it’s because it’s L.A., where it seems likely that one could run into someone famous, or maybe it’s just because people here are too drunk to properly pay attention. It doesn’t matter why. Henry takes it all in and soaks it all up and just lets loose, for once in his life.
Alex bullies him into karaoke after a truly memorable moment in a toilet stall of all places, and he doesn’t hide his affection for Alex when they lock eyes and Henry sings to him. Time flies after that; the night is a collection of moments too fleeting to fully grasp. Yet the feeling of happiness and contentment and bravery is something that doesn’t leave him.
Henry fights Nora for a place in Alex’s lap on the drive back, not even caring how it might look if someone sees them through the window of the drive-through they’re going through. He just… soaks it all up. Lets himself be happy. Lets himself have fun. Be brave.
He’s still terrified, later, when he tells Alex, without using so many words, what he wants. He's terrified he’s going to be shut down, that it’s a bridge too far. But Alex agrees to it, actually makes sure it’s something Henry wants, and then all bets are off. Henry goes for it, regains his confidence, eager to make this good for the both of them. It does more than Henry likes to admit to see how effectively he’s able to shut Alex up, to reduce him to nothing but want.
It’s intoxicating.
He lets himself have it, fully gives himself over to Alex, lets him knock another wall of Henry’s defenses down. It’s terrifying how easy it is, how utterly right it feels. How quickly he opens up for him.
It’s more perfect than Henry had ever let himself dream of. He feels more cared for and loved than he can remember ever having been. He knows that’s not true, that it can’t be true. He knows Alex doesn’t return those feelings, not the way Henry feels them. But for one night he lets himself believe. Lets himself be loved.
It’s fun, really. It’s the most fun he’s had in a long time. And while that says nothing about his previous escapades with Alex — they’ve all been amazing — there’s something deeper here. He reckons it’s because it didn’t backfire, how they were able to joke afterwards, despite how wrecked Alex had looked. How they made out after. That made it feel so domestic, especially when they finally found a spot to sleep in, Henry’s body bracketing Alex’s.
Henry can easily say he hasn’t slept this well in months, years even. Maybe ever, despite how few hours they end up getting. Even then, the domesticity doesn’t fade, as they shower together, get themselves ready for the day.
It’s amazing. It’s brilliant, but the pain also starts to creep in. Because this is not something he’s allowed to keep. London looms over him like a dark cloud, and despite his best efforts, it darkens his mood.
Alex does his best to cheer him up. Henry gets kissed within an inch of his life. Alex will try anything to make him feel better. And it does, it does — except it also doesn’t. Because now there’s more that Henry knows he’s missing out on.
Still, he can’t complain. Shouldn’t complain. And so he doesn’t.
What he does do is kiss Alex goodbye, just because he can. Just to have something more to tide him over for the road, for the times to come. What he also does, over the next days, is continue to text Alex. Let his Alexness wash over him, make him feel less alone and more lonely all at the same time.
He risks sending an email, detailing how much he misses Alex. How much Alex still haunts his thoughts to the point he can’t get anything done.
It’s risky, it’s terrifying, it’s everything he shouldn’t be doing.
But he does.
And he gets a response. For the first time in a long time, Henry returns to prayer. He prays to a God he isn’t sure he believes in anymore, to just let him have this, just for a while longer. To not let him down, not again. Not after everything with his father, with his mother, his grandmother, and the fact that he has to hide who he truly is as if it’s so utterly wrong when it feels so utterly right.
Maybe this time, Henry thinks, his prayer will be answered. Henry knows that nothing about being with Alex feels wrong. Maybe this time God will agree, and let him keep Alex in his arms. Just for a little while longer.
Maybe this time, he won’t be let down.
He can only hope.