Henry doesn't register how far he's wandered until he's hit by a wave of icy air. He huddles further inside his suit jacket as he trudges further into the garden, turning his glassy, listless eyes from the warm, twinkling light streaming onto the grass through the windows.

Dark silhouettes are visible through the glass, and as Henry shoves his fists in his pockets, he wonders if one of them is Alex- kissing Nora again, not knowing what's he's done- what he's doing to Henry.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, staring slightly cross-eyed up at the inky sky and distant stars. One finger traces the shape of Orion, like he's done so many times from the window seat in his bedroom at Kensington palace.

That feels like years ago.

Another place. Another time. Another life.

***

The soft sound of a door opening, the music echoing tinnily into the night, snuffed out the next instant by it closing again. He knows it's Alex even before he turns and catches sight of him- tripping over a bench in his usual dramatic entrance.

Moonlight tangles in his hair, his eyes glinting with stars, reflecting the sky, and as Alex trudges up to stand next to Henry, in the shadows clustered underneath a dark tree, it feels as though the night holds its breath. Waiting. Waiting for what Henry's going to do- how he's going to act. Waiting, and watching.

"What're you doing out here?" Henry squints down at him. Distantly, he knows he's drunk, knows the world feels like it's spinning out of his control, but he doesn't care. The corners of his vision are blurred with drink, but his eyes, when they look on Alex, are clear.

"Looking for Orion." He murmurs, distracted by the way the light throws Alex's face into sharp clarity- the way alcohol softens the curve of those lips and turns them upwards in a smile that makes Henry light up from the inside.

He's surprised he's not actually glowing.

Because however much pain Alex has caused him- however much pain Henry has had to endure for his sake, he's ready to forget it all. He already is forgetting it; all he can think about is Alex, and the way that if he bent down right there, he could kiss him. He could kiss the corner of that painfully beautiful mouth, and forget who he is- forget who they both are for those few precious moments he could steal from time.

Then an image of Bea flashes through his head; of Phillip, and his family, and the light inside him is snuffed out as he remembers what kissing Alex would do to them- to him. To his country. And he can't do that. He can't make them all suffer for one stupid, drunken mistake.

Only it wouldn't exactly be a mistake. It would be perfectly intended; if he did do it, he would kiss Alex knowing exactly what it would do to his life. Knowing exactly how it would destroy him- would leave him ruined.

He supposes Alex has always been like a storm to him- beautiful, but distant, destroying all those who get close enough to care.

But that's not fair- Alex has June and Nora. People who care about him, who love him. He's happy with them. He wouldn't want Henry messing everything up for him, and Henry seems to be very good at messing things up.

So when Alex huffs out a laugh, Henry takes a deep breath and looks away- away from that perfect face, even as every part of him rebels, every inch of him filling with longing.

"You must be really bored with the commoners to come out here and stare at the clouds."

"'m not bored." Henry mutters. And it's true- he could never be bored. Not around Alex. "What are you doing out here? Doesn't America's golden boy have some swooning crowds to beguile?" He tries not to sound bitter, and fails. But Henry needs to keep talking- needs to keep himself distracted- to stop himself from thinking about how close they are- how he can feel the heat from Alex's body, how his breath tickles the side of his face as he turns to look at him.

"Says Prince fucking Charming." Henry pulls a face at the clouds, a pang running through him. He'd thought Alex could see through that mask- had purposefully let him see it slip, if only for an instant. Maybe he's a better actor than he'd thought.

"Hardly." He feels the back of his knuckle brush Alex's hand, and almost jerks it back as a tiny jolt goes up his arm from the point of contact. He becomes aware of how utterly alone they are out here- how the wind whips away any of their words; how the tree hides them from the rest of the party.

"You didn't really answer my question, though," Alex remarks, and Henry lets out an involuntary groan.

"You can't ever leave well enough alone, can you?" He slumps back against the trunk of the tree, rests his head against the rough bark, savouring the bite of it against his skin.

"Sometimes it gets a bit...much." Alex stares at him, and Henry basks in that gaze; under those hazel eyes, flecked with shards of gold, he seems to melt. His face relaxes and he sinks back, then exhales sharply and straightens again, gathering himself and pinning his guard in place again, praying his ears aren't flushed crimson- hoping the dark will hide it if they are.

He's definitely blushing scarlet as Alex leans back against the tree too, nudging their shoulders together. Henry tenses, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly and a flicker of surprise flitting across his face for a moment, before he carefully carves his features into stone again.

Henry wishes he didn't have to do that; have to put on a mask, even with those he trusts, those he loves. So many lies; so many half-truths and deceptions and masks. Too many.

Henry's had enough of lies. Had enough of hiding who he is. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and goes on, a small, soft, bitter smile tugs at his lips.

"D' you ever wonder," He starts slowly, voice low, as if confiding a secret, "what it's like to be an anonymous person in the world?" With no masks. No lies. No photographers trailing after you. No pointless publicity stunts, no pretending to be someone you aren't.

A frown ghosts across Alex's face.

"What do you mean?"

"Just, you know, if your mum weren't the president and you were just a normal bloke living a normal life, what things might be like? What you'd be doing instead?"

"Ah," He makes a show of thinking deeply, then stretches one arm in front of him, flicking his wrist dismissively. "Well, I mean, obviously I'd be a model. I've been on the cover of Teen Vogue twice. These genetics transcend all circumstance." Henry rolls his eyes, though he's rather inclined to agree with Alex. "What about you?"

"I'd be a writer." Alex gives a small, soft laugh, as if he'd expected that somehow.

He doesn't tell Henry not to be stupid- doesn't say it's a stupid dream; a stupid thing to want. He accepts it. Like he accepts Henry's thing about parties being too much. Like he's always accepted everything about Henry.

"Can't you do that?"

"Not exactly seen as a worthwhile pursuit for a man in line for the throne, scribbling verses about quarter-life angst." He says dryly, a tinge of real pain creeping into his voice at the statement- Phillips' words, not his. "Besides, the traditional family career track is military, so that's about it, isn't it?" Alex is silent for a moment, and Henry bites his lip. He waits for a beat, then adds.

"I'd date more, probably." Alex laughs again, like he thinks it's a joke.

"Right, because it's hard to get a date when you're a prince." Henry glances down at him.

"You'd be surprised."

"How? You're not exactly lacking for options." Right. Maybe he isn't, but...it is hard dating as a prince. All those NDAs and all the secrecy and information carefully hidden from the press. It's especially hard if you're a prince and gay. And hopelessly in love with someone who is turning out to be the most oblivious man on the earth.

Henry holds Alex's gaze, dragging his words out.

"The options I'd like...they don't quite seem to be options at all."

"What?" Alex blinks, and Henry runs a hand over his face in exasperation. Maybe it's better this way- with Alex thinking he's talking in riddles, not knowing, not realising what's right in front of his face. But Henry's done with 'maybes'. Like he's done with lies and deceit.

"I'm saying that I have...people...who interest me," He continues, picking his words carefully, skirting around the topic- surely Alex can't mistake him now. He turns his body towards him, close enough that their breaths mingle between them. "But I shouldn't pursue them. At least not in my position." Alex blinks again, clearly either too drunk or too dense to understand. Possibly both.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"You don't?" Henry sighs.

"No."

"You really don't?"

"I really, really don't."

Henry casts his face skyward, grimacing and carefully keeping his eyes away from Alex, who's brow is furrowed in confusion and his lips curled adorably in a bemused and tentative smile. Something infinitely tender wells up in Henry, flooding him completely. And it feels like the product of months of texting and phone calls and rabid turkeys and storage closets and $75,000 cakes.

He's waited so long.

He's not going to wait any longer.

He has to do this now.

"Christ, you are as thick as it gets." He chokes out, and then he grabs Alex's face in both hands and kisses him.