"I walked up to you to introduce myself," Alex starts, glaring daggers at Henry, "and you stared at me like I was the most offensive thing you had ever seen. Right after you shook my hand, you turned to Shaan and said, 'Can you get rid of him?'"

"Ah." Henry clears his throat. He remembers that as well. " I didn't realise you'd heard that."

Alex may think he understands what Henry had meant by that, but he is so wrong. That day, Alex had been so...well, Alex-like, and Henry was getting distracted. Like, really distracted. He had said that to Shaan, and he realises that it probably sounded like he was the biggest prick alive, but he really hadn't meant it. Shaan had understood perfectly, ushering Henry away and keeping him separate from Alex for the rest of the day.

"I feel like you're missing the point," Alex says, "which is that it's a douchey thing to say either way."

"That's...fair." He's too tired to argue with Alex at this point, so he keeps his replies short and clipped.

"Yeah, so."

"That's all? Only the Olympics?" Henry would be surprised if Alex's list of reasons to hate him stops here- his grudge seems to have been embedded in him for years; the product of hundreds of unfriendly meetings and chilling glares.

"I mean, that was the start." There it is. Just as he thought. Henry pauses, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm sensing an ellipsis."

"It's just..." Henry waits, heart thumping deafeningly in his chest and a sharp pain somewhere over his heart. He expects another snapped reply from Alex- something witty; a remark on the observational skills of the royal family, perhaps. So he blinks in confusion when Alex goes on, words flowing out of him in a rush.

"I don't know. Doing what we do is hard. But it's harder for me. I'm the son of the first female president. And I'm not white like she is, can't even pass for it. People will always come down harder on me. And you're, you know, you, and you were born into all of this, and everyone thinks you're Prince Charming. You're basically a living reminder I'll always be compared to someone else, no matter what I do, even if I work twice as hard."

Alex sags back against the wall, deflated and drained. Henry only gazes at him with wide-eyes, stunned into silence for a moment. He had no idea Alex thought like that- was even capable of thinking like that. He thinks he must be joking, because America's Golden Boy can't possibly be jealous of Henry. Can he? Only Alex isn't laughing, and there's no trace of mirth dancing in his usually sparkling eyes. Alex is obviously waiting for Henry to say something, and he pulls himself together, taking a deep breath of cleaning agent and sweat.

"Well, I can't very well do much about the rest. But I can tell you that I was, in fact, a prick that day. Not that it's any excuse, but my father had died fourteen months before, and I was still kind of a prick every day of my life at the time. And I am sorry."

It's the truth- his dad had died earlier that year, and Henry was going to pieces at the time- with Bea out every night, Phillip attempting to take their father's place and his mum absent- withdrawn and paralysed with grief. So what he tells Alex is true. It's just not the whole story. He has other reasons for what he said. And he is never telling those to Alex. Ever.

His hand twitches unbidden at his side, and Henry twists his signet ring on his finger, feeling the familiar bite of metal against his skin. He drags in a ragged breath, and Alex glances down at the floor, then up at Henry.

"Well, good to know you're not perfect." Alex had thought he was perfect? Henry wrinkles his nose, feeling a small thrill go through his body like a shock wave, before he crushes the idea and scolds himself. Pull yourself together.