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Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz is American through and through, so how he found himself going to graduate school in Scotland and working in a coffee shop is still a little beyond his understanding.

Well, sort of. He knows how he got here, and it's a mostly linear thing, but at the same time, it wasn't at all part of his plan and even though he doesn't hate where he's at, he doesn't especially love it either.

He's had his plan for as long as he can remember. Since he'd seen his parents rising through the political ranks, Alex knew that was the life he was destined for, too. He could make a difference. Could give a voice to so many Americans who looked like him and bring about real change.

His mom is Speaker of the House, eyeing a presidential run in the next election and his dad is a senator, so he's a public enough figure in his parent's states and in DC, and his plan to join them on the world stage goes fine. He's charming and handsome and smart, and can get away with pretty much anything.

Until a video of him making out with a decidedly male friend at a party had leaked and everything had gone to shit and his life irrevocably changed.

He doesn't remember much from the aftermath of it all. Just days of going through the motions of meetings about strategy and endless questions about if he was okay.

Physically he was. And if this horrible thing had happened to him a little later in life, when he'd fully figured himself out instead of being at the stupidly-formative age of twenty-one, maybe it wouldn't have shaken him quite as much as it did.

It wasn't as if he was ashamed of his actions, even though he felt like the world and even some people who worked for his mom seemed to think he should be. There was nothing wrong with what he'd done. But he'd been fine with not putting a label on his sexuality. It hadn't seemed all that important up to that point in his life. And maybe he hadn't labeled it because he wasn't exactly sure what it was anyway.

Yeah, he was really into girls, but he also found himself staring after attractive men and didn't mind making out with them either.

But there he'd been, at the far too tender age of twenty-one, not even graduated from college yet, and faced with no choice but to label himself in front of the entire fucking world.

He'd managed to graduate without any problems, hyperfocusing on his classes and blocking out almost everything else, because it was the only option. And when his diploma had arrived in the mail in late May, Alex was struck with an urgent and completely unfamiliar urge to leave.

Two days, way too much online searching and no sleep later, he'd applied to the University of Edinburgh to study International Relations and while he had no real reason to suspect he'd be admitted, it felt good to take charge of something in his life after the past few months had taken so much from him.

At the time, he wasn't sure at all what had called to him about Scotland, but the gloomy weather and medieval architecture fit his overarching mood a lot more than sunny Spain or Greece. And sure his dark skin and clearly American accent would stick out a bit, but Alex didn't want to disappear entirely. He just wanted his agency back, and traveling four thousand miles from home seemed like a really good start.

He'd packed his bags and moved with little fanfare, his parents agreeing to foot the bill for his tuition and rent, and while he knew it was most likely given out of a pretty extreme amount of guilt, he wasn't about to turn it down. His apartment was small but cozy, and he was determined to make it feel like home even when he didn't quite know what that meant anymore.

The first few months, he kept himself busy with adjusting to a new education system, a new city, new country. Meeting people wasn't hard. Even on his worst days, which he had a lot of since The Incident, Alex was still charismatic and bright, but he found himself turning down invitations all the time, opting instead to spend his time working at a coffee shop called The Milkman he'd found about a ten minute walk from school.

It's warm and quiet and he spends so much time there, that one day the owner walks up to his usual table and asks if he wants a job to help support his habit.

He doesn't. Not really, but his list of viable distractions as he finally settles into his new life are growing smaller, and he's allowed to work for twenty hours a week on his student visa, so he thinks, why the hell not?

Turns out, like he is at most things, Alex is pretty good at making coffee and the act of it soothes him. There's a process to it that he can get lost in. Going through the motions where he doesn't have to think too much.

He interacts with the customers. Smiles and makes polite small talk in a way only the son of a politician probably could. Some of the regulars come to know him by name and blessedly don't seem to know where he came from, or his story. He's just the guy making their favorite drinks and taking their money before sending them on their way.

It goes on like this for nearly a year. He likes Edinburgh well enough. It's alive in a quiet sort of way that's peaceful amongst the hum of city life. He's not happy or unhappy. Alex just is.

Until one day, everything changes. As life is wont to do.

Classes have just started the week before, and he's practically running to a study group after a morning shift, grabbing his things and rushing out the door without taking his apron off. There's free coffee in his hand (the main reason he said yes to the job in the first place) and he rounds the corner, swinging his bag onto his shoulder when he collides with a broad chest.

The force of it pushes him back so far he almost falls, coffee cup crushed in his hand as the liquid flys, soaking his arm and the entire front of the unfortunate person he'd crashed into.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, are you okay?" he asks while he tries to shake coffee off his hand. He looks up and into quite possibly the prettiest pair of blue eyes he's ever seen.

The first thing that strikes Alex when he looks at the man in front of him is that he's tall. He has at least four inches on Alex. He's striking in his paleness with a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones, looking like something straight out of a Ralph Lauren catalog with perfectly placed blonde hair and broad shoulders that looked like they could wrap someone up and shield them from the world.

Alex feels his pulse quicken while he waits for a response, giving only a passing thought to the fact that this is the first rush of real attraction he's felt for anyone since the video leaked.

The man is dressed casually in fitted jeans and a light blue sweater. It looks like something someone would wear when they want to blend in, but he doesn't seem at all that concerned with being covered in Alex's coffee. Instead, he's looking at Alex like he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

"Are you okay?" Alex repeats for lack of anything better to say, desperate to break the intense gaze that's being sent his way that he doesn't understand.

No one had ever looked at him like that, and it's unnerving to say the least.

"Y-you should really watch where you're going," an aristocratic voice says. It's jarring for a second, the smoothness of the accent that reaches his ears when he's grown so used to hearing the harsh phonation and rhotic nature of the Scottish accent. It's beautiful to his ears. Not any better than what he used to, but different and he kind of only wants to hear that specific voice forever.

And then Alex realizes he's been scolded.

Any initial attraction is quickly stamped down with a seething annoyance. He's never done well with being talked down to, and yes, this is absolutely his fault, but he apologized and asked if the guy was okay. He's not sure what more he can feasibly do in the situation.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself before he speaks again. "I know, I'm sorry. I was just in a hurry and–"

"You could have hurt someone," the man says and now Alex's mouth hangs open. "I was on my way to an important meeting, and now I'm going to be late because you weren't paying attention."

The way the man's mouth forms words, the way it draws out vowels and feels like it's the only English is supposed to sound, is as sexy as it is infuriating, and this makes Alex even more incensed as he tries to push down his ill-timed hormonal reaction to this one particular person's British accent.

"I mean, I'm going to be late, too," Alex says, irritation creeping into each syllable. "It's not like you're the only one with important things going on, your majesty."

"That's not how I should be–" he starts to say, but Alex interrupts, wanting to get away from whatever the hell this is as soon as he can.

"Listen, as fun as this has been, I've gotta go." He reaches into his wallet and pulls out several bills, pushing them into the man's (annoyingly) well-defined chest as he walks past. "Use that to buy a less boring sweater or a better personality. Whatever works."

He stalks off down the street, trying to focus on getting through the next few hours without coffee and ignoring the feeling of eyes on him as he goes.

oOo

A week goes by, and Alex only thinks about the man a couple times a day, emotions rolling dangerously between anger and alluring attraction. But it's not likely he'll ever see the guy again. Edinburgh is a huge city with half a million people, the odds are good their paths will never cross, and so he tries to will other images into his mind when he closes his eyes at night and fails to sleep.

So, when the door chime rings one afternoon and Alex looks up to find his collision victim walking into the shop, he hates how pleased he is to see him.

The store is fairly quiet in the mid-afternoon lull, and Alex is so singularly focused on what's in front of him that he barely registers the small gasp that comes from his coworker Olivia.

Alex grins widely, and it's only a little fake. It's been a long day and he feels like being petty, and the perfect opportunity has presented itself. Who is he to turn down the bone the universe is so obviously giving him?

He looks the man up and down, noting the soft pink sweater he wears. "I see you took my advice on the sweater, your majesty," he quips while admitting to himself that he looks unfairly good in it.

"They're called jumpers here, in case you weren't aware," the man says back, while nervously eyeing Olivia as she stands eerily still just a few feet away. She usually rivals him when it comes to talking, and Alex briefly thinks it odd that she's so quiet, now. "Could I get a cup of Earl Grey, please? Lemon and one sugar."

Alex grabs an empty cup and starts to scribble on it. "How very upper crust of you," he says, knowing it's not fair. Tons of people in the UK drink their tea just like he'd ordered, but it's so predictable, Alex feels like it's a deserved criticism. "You got a name, your majesty?"

There's no one else in the store. There's no real reason for him to ask. He's literally going to make the tea and hand it over himself, but he asks anyway, curiosity getting the better of him.

The man hesitates, eyes darting to Olivia again before coming back to Alex. "Uh…Henry."

"Uh Henry," Alex repeats and writes in full on the cup, while Henry purses his lips and looks annoyed.

He busies himself with making the tea, forcing himself to not rush. To make the best goddamn cup of tea Henry has ever had just to prove he can. 

"Here you go, Uh Henry," he says, holding the steaming cup out, and trying not to feel anything when long fingers brush against his as the tea is passed between them.

Henry takes a hesitant sip, and Alex smiles smugly when bright blue eyes widen in surprise. "This is quite good."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, your majesty," he replies, not caring that the nickname lost its cleverness after the first use. It's much easier to be an ass than to examine how his nervous system is reacting to Henry.

Henry looks down at the cup in his hands, and when his gaze comes back to Alex, it's surprisingly bold. "It's Your Royal Highness," Henry says and Alex crosses his arms over his chest while he looks at Henry blankly.

"What?"

Henry smiles, and it's teasing in a way that leaves Alex wanting more even in his complete and utterly confused state. "The correct way to address me is Your Royal Highness."

Henry turns and walks out the door, the chime sounding much louder than Alex is used to it sounding. "What the fuck was that?" he says turning his head towards Olivia who is gaping at him like he's grown a couple of extra heads.

"Do you seriously not know what that was?" she asks, and Alex shakes his head.

"Should I?" he responds, frustrated that he's supposed to keep track of who some white guy from England is. Like he doesn't have a million more important things to hold onto in his head.

"That's Prince Henry," she says and something clicks in Alex's head. "He's like fourth in line to the throne, you idiot! You just acted like a complete asshole to a person one tragic plane crash away from being king."

"Fuck," he mutters.

"You better hope he doesn't tell his gran on you," Olivia says. "She might kick you out or something."

"Well, he should learn not to be an obtuse asshole," Alex says. "You should have heard him the first time we met. I accidentally ran into him outside and he talked to me like I was a toddler. He was way more rude than me. He's a prince, he should know better."

She shakes her head at him and Alex bites the inside of his cheek before grabbing a dish towel, setting to work wiping down tables he'd just cleaned half an hour before. But he needs something to do to combat the anxiousness that's rising up in him.

In the list of fuck-ups in his life, Alex supposes this might be fairly high up on the list. He's done a lot of stupid shit in his time, but most of it is easily explained away by youth, and usually he just flashes a smile with some witty remark and that's that. But since The Incident, he's not really sure about how he's perceived anymore, and while he's certain people in his mom's office have binders full of polling numbers on the issue, he doesn't really want to ask.

But being deliberately rude to a prince of the United States' closest ally? That's another thing entirely, and while his mom is pretty high up on the list of important people back home, she has nowhere near the theoretical power of the Queen of fucking England.

He starts to panic a little bit at the thought of being sent back home. He's not ready. He's trying to make a life here, and the more he thinks about it, the harder it becomes to breathe and he has to go into the bathroom and splash water on his face before he manages to calm down.

"Cheer up," Olivia tells him later. "It's not like he knows your name or anything. Maybe they won't know who they're looking for whenever the police come for you."

"Yeah, because there's so many other brown Americans working here, Liv," he snaps back, and she shrugs and Alex doesn't really remember what cheer feels like, but he's pretty sure it's nothing like this.

oOo

He definitely doesn't spend the entire weekend obsessively googling Prince Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor. At least, he doesn't intend to, but that's decidedly what ends up happening and Alex is absolutely screwed in so many ways.

There's so much information. Henry's had his entire life chronicled by various news sources and Alex starts to wonder how anyone could turn out normally being brought up in an environment like that.

He learns about Henry's birth, how his mom and dad met and fell in love and the rumors about how the queen disapproved. That his dad was James Bond. There's articles about Henry's time at Oxford, speculation about his dating life, the death of his father, the marriage of his brother, the birth of his niece. Alex also learns they go to the same school, that Henry is working on a PhD in literature just like his mom had. It's all there for the world to see, and Alex finds himself drawn deeper inside Henry's life. At least the part of it the world saw.

Deep into his information dive, he comes across a feature from a teen magazine that's more than ten years old. There's a photo of Henry with a bright smile and a cricket bat slung over his shoulder, and Alex finds himself wondering how the span of time between the boy in the photo and the man he'd spilled coffee all over. He wonders about the Henry they don't know, and he thinks he might have caught a glimpse of him in the moment when his smile changed and his chin jutted out as he told Alex who he was.

When he finally remembers he's a human who needs food, Alex forces himself to not bring up the internet browser on his phone or computer for the rest of the day, and when he falls into a restless sleep in the early hours of Sunday morning, Alex dreams of golden strands leading him out into a vast, blue ocean and he doesn't even try to stop it.

oOo

Nearly a week goes by and Alex hasn't been arrested or deported, so he hopes that bodes well for him staying and at least finishing his degree.

He's closing by himself on a Thursday evening when the door opens, and he curses himself for not locking the door first thing when eight o'clock rolled around.

"Sorry, we're clos–" He turns around to see Henry standing there, words instantly dying in his mouth. "Oh, it's you."

Henry visibly swallows before muttering, "Hello."

There's a part of him that would get a lot of satisfaction in throwing the prince out, and Alex is sorely tempted. He doesn't need anymore opportunities to mess up, and something about Henry leaves him feeling distinctly unfiltered.

But he looks sort of wind-swept, hair mussed and cheeks red, with the collar of his pea-coat turned up against the cold, and as much as Alex hates to admit it, he looks good. Like some modern-day version of an eighteenth century romance novel love interest.

So, instead of kicking him out like he probably should have, he finds himself asking, "Want a cup of tea?"

Henry nods but doesn't move, standing awkwardly in the middle of the shop while Alex moves around to make his tea.

"You can sit, you know," Alex says, tilting his head towards the table that's closest to the counter. "I'll be just a minute."

"T-take your time," Henry replies as he walks forward and places the chairs Alex had previously put on the table back onto the floor. There's a nervous air about him and Alex isn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Are you here to tell me the bad news?" he asks while plopping a single sugar cube into the tea.

"Bad news?" Henry repeats as he shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over the chair back.

"That I'm being deported for being rude to the prince?" Alex says as lightly as he can manage, watching Henry's face for any indication that might be exactly what he's there for.

Thankfully, his mouth quirks up at the corners. "Finally figured it out, did you?"

Alex rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, I've been told on a number of occasions that I'm oblivious, so, guess it's rather in character for me."

"It's actually quite refreshing to meet someone who doesn't know who I am," Henry says. "Being treated like anyone else isn't something I get to experience very often."

Treated like everyone else is just a nice way of saying treated like an asshole and Alex knows he's been given the perfect opportunity for some much needed damage control.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he says. "For how I acted."

"Are you apologizing to me because you want to or because you feel like you have to because of the whole prince thing?"

Alex pauses his stirring and decides to be delicately honest. "Maybe a little bit of both?"

"That's fair," Henry laughs lightly.

"Should I actually call you, Your Royal Highness, though?"

"Please don't," he says. "Henry is fine."

Alex finishes the tea and walks around the counter and into the seating area. Henry smiles gratefully and his stomach flips a little at the sight of it.

"Thank you, Alex."

Alex freezes with his hand still extended toward Henry. His name sounds heavenly coming out of Henry's mouth, but it shouldn't. Not yet. Mainly on account of the fact that he shouldn't even know Alex's name.

"How do you know my name?" he asks, eyes narrowed and suspicious, and Henry immediately looks like a child who's been caught trying to steal a cookie.

"My uh…m-my equerry recognized you when you ran into me that day," he stammers out and Alex feels slightly at ease with the explanation.

It makes sense except for the fact that he has no idea what an equerry is. "Your what?"

"My equerry, Shaan, he…he's like a personal assistant," Henry explains before he clears his throat and seems suddenly very interested in the rim of his cup. "He was with me on the way to the meeting I had. He recognized you straight away."

Alex thinks back to the interaction, trying to place anyone else there, but he can't. The only person that comes to mind is Henry and his big blue eyes and boring sweater covered in coffee. "I didn't even know there was anyone with you that day."

"Apparently being oblivious is in character for you," Henry replies with a teasing glint in his eyes.

They smile at each other before Alex finally sits across from Henry. He starts to fidget with an imaginary string on his apron, feeling uneasy.

"So you know about my…thing?"

"The thing where you were forced to out yourself to the world?" Henry asks with a breathy laugh. "Yes, I'm aware of it."

It sits heavy in Alex's chest, feeling as if the worst of what he'd feared is coming true. That this one incident will be all he's ever known for. Even here, in a country so far from his home, sitting in a coffee shop with a literal fucking prince, he can't escape it.

"But I also know a lot of other things about you," Henry supplies right away, and it hits right at the heart of Alex's fears, but also sounds kind of creepy.

"That's not weird at all," he says, shifting in his seat and watching Henry's ears turn bright red.

"I don't mean it like that. I was only naturally curious about you after that disastrous interaction."

"Mhmm. Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Stalker," Alex says, leaning forward to enunciate the last one for added effect.

Henry blanches. "As someone who's had actual stalkers, I take real offense to that."

"Fuck, seriously?" Alex asks, momentarily forgetting the fact that Henry knows things about him.

"It's been a long time, but yes."

"God, that must be fucking violating," Alex says on an exhale that makes his chest hurt. "I'm so sorry."

Henry looks at him knowingly over the rim of his cup before he takes a sip. "There are worse things a person can endure."

Alex isn't sure if Henry is talking about his own experiences or hinting at what Alex has been through. Neither of them speaks and the quiet stretches between them for a long moment, but Alex has never much cared for silence so it isn't long before he asks, "So, what else do you know about me?"

Henry sits back in his chair, and lays his arm across the back of it, exuding a royal air that Alex is slightly envious of. "You're Alexander Claremont-Diaz. Son of Ellen Claremont and Oscar Diaz, but also a proud son of Texas. Graduated with honors from Georgetown University. Moved to Scotland a little over a year ago to study International Relations at the University of Edinburgh. Has a more than slight coffee addiction."

It's all surface level things that anyone with a limited knowledge of how Google works could figure out. It's not an impressive or exhaustive list, but Alex is weirdly touched that Henry took the time to learn about him at all when he'd acted like an ass. Besides, Alex is sure Henry has the intelligence at his disposal to learn what Alex had for dinner the night before, but if he's taken advantage of that, he doesn't show it.

"You read my Wikipedia page, I see," he says in an accusing tone like he hadn't spent an entire weekend pouring over every aspect of Henry's life.

Henry shrugs noncommittally. "Amongst other things."

A thought strikes Alex as a woman walks by outside the shop. "Hey, shouldn't you be, like, surrounded by security or something?"

Henry laughs loudly, and Alex enjoys the sound even though he has no idea what's funny about his question. "You would think, but no. Only when I'm on official Palace business. I managed to convince my grandmother I was safer without them, and I honestly think it's true. No one looks twice at me when I'm by myself, but when I'm surrounded by men in black trench coats and earpieces, it tends to attract more attention."

"Makes sense," Alex concedes. He certainly hadn't thought Henry was anything other than a blonde ass the first time they'd met.

"And besides, the Scots have a long memory," Henry says. "They're not too keen on my family or what it stands for."

"Then why move here? Why not just go back to your fancy Oxford or something?"

"Moving to Edinburgh, following in my mother's footsteps in getting a PhD, was the biggest rebellion I could muster for now," Henry goes on. "A trial run of sorts."

"A trial run for what?"

"I'm not entirely sure, yet," Henry admits, and Alex is glad for the man sitting across from him that he barely knows. That even in the midst of so many chains, Henry is still finding ways to choose. "But I'm working on figuring it out."

It's comforting in a strange sort of way. That even Prince Henry doesn't have his entire life figured out. A reminder that it's okay to be gentle with himself while he finds his way in a world that will probably never fully accept him.

Alex glances at his watch. He has a lot of work ahead of him when he gets home, but it's not enough to get him to tell Henry to leave just yet.

"So, if you're not here tonight to kick me out of the country, why did you stop by?"

"I dunno," Henry says, looking down, his eyelashes dancing across his cheeks. "After learning about you, I wondered if we couldn't benefit from knowing each other in some way. Kindred spirits and all."

Alex scoffs harder than he intends to. It's not that the thought of being friends with Henry is bad or anything, but the idea that he has anything in common with him is, quite frankly, laughable. "Listen, you've proven you're not as repulsive as I thought you were, but I don't really see how we have much in common."

Henry's head tilts to the side and he looks at Alex like he knows something Alex doesn't. "We have more in common than you might think."

Alex's barking laugh sounds bitter. "Unless you're the bisexual son of one of the most influential people in American politics, I highly doubt that's true."

Henry's eyes narrow and his chin juts out in defiance. "I think being a closeted homosexual fourth in line to the British throne comes fairly close."

The confession makes Alex feel like he's been dunked into a tub of freezing cold water. He remembers the numerous articles and blog posts on the revolving door of dates, all speculating what kind of girl it was going to take to finally capture the Prince of England's Heart.

He had wondered about the Henry the world didn't know. Who exactly the man was behind the title, and he never would have guessed the very expert on the matter would be sitting in front of him giving far more insight than he could have hoped to find.

His voice is weak and breathy when he speaks, unsteady from knowledge he doesn't think he's at all worthy to have. "Why would you tell me that?"

"You don't seem like someone that's too keen on spilling secrets."

And it's true. He would never tell a soul, but they barely knew each other. Alex wouldn't even go so far as to call them acquaintances, and this was the kind of secret that bound two people in an inseparable kind of way. "You don't even know me–"

"I'd like to," Henry says and the strained sound of it makes Alex think it cost him a great deal to admit, but the hard line of his face and the steely hue to his eyes reveals the truth of what he says. "And I wanted to apologize to you, as well. I've been less than generous towards you, and I'd like a chance to make that right."

Alex has never been good at relationships of any nature. He's a lot to handle on the best of days, and someone confidently proclaiming they want to know him is as frightening as it is exciting, especially considering where he's come from.

It doesn't make much sense. Why would this man want anything to do with Alex? What little he does know can't have been all that enticing.

He doesn't know much about Henry either aside from what he's read on the internet, but maybe that's the point. Maybe Henry is as desperate for someone to see the real him. It's something that Alex is beginning to realize he badly wants for himself, too. For someone to care enough to know who he really is and not just the circumstance of whom his parents happen to be.

It's what leads him to say, "Well, I'm working tomorrow from ten to three if you want to stop by. Maybe we can start there." It's all he can give right then, but he knows how quickly Henry has gotten this far, so he's sure it's only a matter of time before he gives more of himself away.

Henry relaxes and he smiles, a soft sort of look that Alex thinks he could get used to seeing every day. "I'll be here."

oOo

Henry starts coming by nearly every time Alex works, and Alex starts to feel like his days aren't quite complete without seeing him.

He sits in the same arm chair and drinks his tea while he reads or writes, and there's occasionally someone who thinks they recognize him, and Alex enjoys seeing them process it out. The whispers and shaking of heads, because of course that can't possibly be Prince Henry.

Alex watches him in the slow times and talks with him about what he's reading on his breaks. Turns out Henry is incredibly passionate about literature and it's not difficult to get him into a quiet rant if Alex pushes just the right buttons.

And Alex is not at all addicted to watching his blue eyes light up. Or his hair falling just a bit as he talks excitedly. Or the way his name sounds when it falls out of plush, pink lips.

It goes on like this for a couple of weeks before Alex finally grabs Henry's phone from his hands and inputs his number before he hands it back.

"You know, just in case you ever wanted to talk outside of this place," he says while Henry looks as if he's just been handed the Holy Grail, and it does wondrous things for his ego.

Three hours later, Alex's phone vibrates in his pocket with a text from a number he doesn't know.

Unknown number [18:34]: If you don't have any dinner plans this evening, the chef has made far too much spaghetti bolognese and it would be a shame for it to go to waste.

Unknown number [18:35]: This is Henry, by the way.

As if Alex couldn't immediately tell from the formal tone and the fact that the person has a private chef, a fact he's sure to give Henry shit about when he inevitably accepts the invitation.

And that's how he finds himself at Henry's opulent townhouse, ridiculously good pasta warming his insides against the October cold, and he's smiling and laughing like he hasn't in years.

It's not put on. It isn't fake. It's real, and the ever present ache in his bones is replaced by something that if he was forced to name, he'd call it hope.

oOo

They slip easily into a routine with each other. Spending most evenings together eating dinner and working on school work before Alex walks himself home while wishing desperately he could stay.

The thought of curling up next to Henry on the couch or in his bed, kissing until they're both breathless becomes more enticing by the day, and he thinks sometimes when Henry looks at him for just a beat too long, he might be imagining the same thing.

It becomes a personal sport to see how easily he can fluster Henry or make him blush. He's pretty good at it, even when he doesn't try. He'll always remember the look of wide-eyed wonder on Henry's face the first time he'd felt comfortable enough to wear his glasses in front of the prince. The way Henry's lips had parted slightly, the creep of flushed skin up his neck, the uninhibited want on his face was enough to keep Alex up at night, if he wasn't already terrible at sleeping.

But what surprises him is Henry's ability to do the same to him. He's wicked smart with a sharp tongue and dry wit that keeps Alex on his toes and challenges him like he never knew he'd been missing.

But Henry's also so sweet and unfailingly kind. He holds his umbrella high over them as they walk towards Henry's house when Alex absentmindedly forgets his. He shares his blanket on the couch when they take breaks from work and watch hours of mindless television. He doesn't ask Alex about anything he's not willing to share, and that makes Alex want to tell him anything and everything.

And one evening, when he opens Henry's cupboards for a snack and finds an entire shelf stocked full with his favorites that he'd mentioned in passing, some of which he knows had to have been purchased from an international store, Alex knows he's completely fucked in the best possible way.

oOo

He has mostly good days now, but the bad ones still creep up on him, and when the first one hits since he's started spending so much time with Henry, he almost doesn't go over, though his need for company eventually wins out.

When Henry answers the door, he seems to sense right away that something isn't quite right. He sits on the couch, but Alex doesn't, instead opting to pace, his frustration manifesting physically because he has no other way to express it. Henry patiently waits him out while David's head volleys back and forth as he watches Alex move.

"Sometimes, I still get really angry about it," Alex says after a few minutes. There's no preface, and it's the first thing he's said since he walked in the door, but of course Henry catches his meaning.

"I would find it odd if you didn't," Henry says from his place on the couch before he takes a long sip of tea. "I have days like that, too, about my father. Sometimes I can feel them coming on, and other times it hits me out of the blue. Grief is funny like that."

Grief.

It feels strange to consider what he feels as grief. It's not a word anyone has ever associated with what happened to him. But when Henry says it, the description fits.

He's lost a lot in the past couple of years. His home. His sense of safety and trust in most people. His plan.

"Have you ever stood still and just let yourself feel it?" Henry asks, and ironically enough, it makes Alex pace even faster.

"What good would that do?" he grinds out, resisting the urge to pull at his hair. Alex is always moving. He has to. It's what keeps him from sinking.

Henry looks at him with an understanding Alex isn't sure he likes. "My therapist has told me many times that crying can be very therapeutic."

Alex only just keeps himself from rolling his eyes. It's not that he has anything against crying. He's never bought into the 'boys don't cry' bullshit the rest of the world seems obsessed with. But it's never been his way of coping.

Not that he's convinced he's really been coping at all.

Henry rises from the couch and makes his way toward the piano, and Alex stops and watches as he seats himself at the bench, fingers trailing over the keys as he thinks, before he looks back at Alex and pats the space next to him.

He obediently follows, setting himself next to Henry, content to let himself drift to whatever music is about to flow out of Henry and into the room.

Henry's hands find their place, and he starts to play, the melody unfamiliar to Alex's ears.

"This is one of my favorite pieces," Henry says, his voice low and soothing. "It's part of a large orchestral work by an English composer. Fourteen variations on a hidden theme that no one has quite been able to figure out in more than a hundred years."

Alex doesn't respond, forcing himself to breathe steadily. In and out as the phrases of serene music start to swell and fall back down.

"It's also famous for its consistency in making people cry."

Alex wants to feel annoyed at him, at the obvious attempt to get him to do something he doesn't want to do, but the music is really beautiful and he has enough negative feelings that he lets any aimed toward Henry go.

"There have been studies as to why," Henry says, and Alex can picture him sitting in a palace somewhere reading up on music that makes people cry while sitting at a piano and testing it out himself. "And it's believed that the rise and fall of the phrases, the way it slowly builds over the piece to the climax, along with the constant tension that's so easily resolved in the next chord, how it undulates, naturally leads us to cry. To feel overwhelmed."

Alex lets his eyes flutter closed and leans against Henry. He's not going to cry. He won't, but he can let someone else hold his weight for a moment.

Henry doesn't say anything else, just lets his hands press on keys that say more than either of them could. And he's right. Alex does start to feel overwhelmed with so many things. The gravity of the decisions he'll have to eventually make; the loss of the life he'd so desperately wanted to lead.

The first tear slips out and it's followed by at least a dozen more in rapid succession. He isn't sure if it's the music or Henry or just a combination of so many things that have culminated in this one moment, but he feels he's finally been given permission to feel and grieve the loss of the life he should have been allowed to have, and Alex cries in a way he hasn't since he'd returned home from camp to find his father gone.

It's painful and hard and exhausting, but as Henry wraps him in a hug, it also feels a lot like release.

oOo

"I think I've met someone," he tells June over a video call the next day.

She drops her pen and stares at him for thirty full seconds with wide eyes through the screen. "Tell me everything," she eventually says and Alex does, though he conveniently leaves out the part about Henry being Prince Henry.

June hangs on his every word, and tells him how happy she is that he's even considering dating someone, and he couldn't agree more, except for one, seemingly very important detail.

It must have registered on his face, because June asks, "What are you not telling me?"

Alex sighs. "Henry isn't just a regular Henry. He's Prince Henry."

His sister appears to flounder a bit, mouth opening and closing while a few strangled sounds escape. "Okay…wow, that's…wow. Have you told mom?"

"Fuck no, are you kidding me?" Alex replies. "I'd really like to avoid Zahra flying over here to castrate me."

"I mean, yeah," June says, and it's not at all comforting. "And I know mom is mom, and we have our issues, but she wants our happiness more than anything. That's always been genuine."

"Even when it could cost her her career?" Alex asks, because he knows it's possible that's what this could mean for her. Potential First Son of the United States in love with a gay prince from the UK doesn't exactly play well with voters.

"Listen, I don't know Henry, but just based on casual observation through trashy tabloids, he doesn't really seem all that into being a royal. And if he happens to step back from his duties or takes on a much more limited role, I think that could be okay with mom running for president. Or even if it doesn't work out that way, it doesn't necessarily mean everything is doomed. Hell, she won reelection after that asshole sold that video of you. It wasn't even a close race."

"Maybe," Alex says, though his tone makes it clear he's not convinced.

"Alex, let yourself have this," June says, though it sounds like a command. One he will probably only listen to because it's her. June's always had a way of getting him to listen. "If he makes you happy, let yourself have this."

He lets out a stuttering breath, ready to list a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea, but June interrupts before he can even start.

"You've given up enough," she says. "If this is what you want, take it. Don't let yourself believe you don't deserve it just because the world has convinced you you don't."

He so badly wants to believe that June is right that he lets the opposition melt away, even for just a moment.

"Okay," he says quietly. "I'll try."

oOo

Henry insists he comes over on what Alex thinks is a random Thursday in November, so he goes over two hours early as a surprise, because Henry had told him the week before that he was welcome whenever he wanted as he pressed a key into Alex's palm.

He lets himself in and is immediately alarmed by smoky air, the smell of something burning, and an incessantly beeping alarm.

"Henry?" he shouts, springing into action and taking the stairs up three at a time until he reaches the second level where the kitchen is.

When he finds Henry, he's standing on a chair waving smoke away from the detector while David barks and jumps on the ground. "Alex?" he says through a cough. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing–?" Alex repeats incredulously, looking to make sure he doesn't see any burns or injuries on the man, and when he's confident enough that Henry is unscathed, he asks the question begging to be answered. "Henry, what are you doing?"

Henry finally manages to get the smoke detector to stop its incessant warnings, and when he steps down, he looks exasperated. "I was trying to make you dinner," he says through gritted teeth.

"What? Why?" Alex asks. "You have a fucking chef, H."

"Yes, but he's trained in French technique," Henry says as if it's the most obvious thing. "That doesn't necessarily translate to classic American cuisine. And besides, I wanted to do it myself. For you."

Well, that made him feel a lot of things that he'd examine later after he got to the bottom of whatever the fuck was happening. "American cuisine?"

"It's Thanksgiving," Henry says.

"It is? No way, I would have–" Alex pulls out his phone and checks the calendar, and sure enough, it's the fourth Thursday in November. Holy shit, he'd forgotten Thanksgiving.

"I thought you might like some comfort food from home," Henry says, and Alex catches sight of a very burned looking turkey sitting on the counter.

"And you thought you'd make me an entire Thanksgiving dinner by yourself?"

"Yes."

It's Alex's turn for exasperation. "Henry, have you ever cooked a day in your life?"

"No, but I didn't think it would be that hard to follow a recipe!"

Anyone who's ever cooked a Thanksgiving meal knows it's far more detailed than just following a recipe, and of course sweet, too-good-for-this-world Henry actually believed he could just pick it up and make it happen.

He's a total idiot and Alex is so smitten it should be illegal.

Alex's chest starts to shake with laughter and he walks to Henry, placing his head on Henry's shoulder. "You're incredible," he says, and he can feel Henry start to vibrate too.

"That doesn't feel like a compliment," he says and Alex only laughs harder, and he keeps laughing until there's tears in his eyes and his heart feels like it could burst from pure affection for the man he's leaning against.

"Come on, Julia Child," Alex says when they eventually calm down, grabbing Henry's hand and leading him into the familiar sitting room. "Let's just order in. I'd really like the history books to not remember me as being the one responsible for your death."

oOo

"What are you doing for New Years Eve?" Henry asks as he bundles himself up to go out into the ever deepening winter. They're alone in the shop and it's an hour past closing.

Alex presses a fresh cup of hot tea into his hand for the walk home. "You don't really strike me as a New Year's Eve type of person."

"Oh, I'm not. I quite hate it," Henry says, straightening his scarf, and Alex shamelessly licks his lips at the sight of him, because fuck, he always looks so good despite the typically netural nature of his clothes. Who would have guessed the boring white boy aesthetic could work this hard for him. "But you strike me as someone who enjoys that kind of thing."

It's true. The New Year's Eve ragers he threw at his Georgetown apartment were still the stuff of legend. Last year, however, he'd spent the night in, still wary of crowds and people in general. But the thought of an evening with Henry didn't seem so bad.

It sounded really fucking great, actually.

"What do you have in mind?" he asks, but Henry is tight-lipped.

"It's a surprise," he says while giving Alex a look that makes him feel bold.

And so he asks, "Is this a date?"

Henry takes his hand, the soft leather of his glove meeting Alex's skin, and their fingers wind together in an answer just as clear as words. "I would like for it to be."

"Me too," Alex breathes.

It's late and they don't really worry much about anyone seeing them. Henry was right when he said he's pretty much left alone these days, and Alex has extensively searched every corner of the internet to make sure no one has caught wind of Prince Henry spending an inordinate amount of time at a certain coffee shop. So far, no one seemed to be the wiser.

They're standing so close together, now, it wouldn't take much for them to close the little space that still separates them, and he wants that, he really does, but when Henry starts to lean down Alex puts a hand to his heart to stop him.

"You are not kissing me for the first time in this coffee shop," he says sternly while Henry looks concerned and a little dejected.

His eyes search Alex's face. "Why not?"

Alex tugs on his scarf so that their foreheads touch, enjoying the hitch in Henry's breath. "Because you're going to kiss me for the first time at midnight on New Year's like the proper romantic cliché that you are, thank you very much."

"Isn't kissing in a coffee shop in which we met also a romantic cliché?" Henry grins and it's infectious, bolstering Alex up so much, he feels like he could float away.

"You're a prince," he teases, leaning up to place a kiss at the corner of Henry's mouth as a placeholder. "Do better."

So, it's really no surprise that he finds himself tucked away in some ornate room at Edinburgh Castle on New Year's Eve. It's a favor, Henry claims, from the First Minister of Scotland, and Alex makes a mental note to give him a hard time about it when he's not extremely grateful to be high above the massive crowds celebrating Hogmanay.

When midnight comes, and Henry kisses him like a prince, hands cupped against his cheeks, lips soft and a little unsure, Alex wraps his arms around Henry's middle and resolves to hold on as tight as he can.

oOo

He tells himself he should go slowly. Their new relationship is littered with landmines that the smallest misstep could set off into a chain reaction that would leave both of their lives in pieces.

It lasts all of three days. Because despite evidence to the contrary, Alex is just a human, and it's been so long since he's been attracted to anyone, and even then it's never been like this. So, when Henry shows up at The Milkman in the middle of the afternoon, and looks at him like he's the best thing in the world when Alex hands him his cup of tea with a soft, "Thanks, love," well, Alex is infinitely glad his shift is ending.

He breathes through his nose while Henry takes a seat in his usual arm chair. Watches while his eyes close in bliss while he takes a sip of warm tea. Sees his throat bob as it swallows and Alex imagines what he would look like swallowing other things.

Whipping out his phone, he hurriedly types:

You're going to go home and I'm going to follow you in twenty minutes, and when I get there, we're going to do unspeakable things to each other.

He looks on as Henry's expression changes as he reads the message, from shock to slightly embarrassed to the one that Alex has been waiting for, pure want.

A wicked grin lifts his lips as he watches Henry quickly stand and gather his things, gulps down his tea and exits without another word.

"What's up with him?" Olivia asks, her starstruck reaction to Henry long gone since he'd become a fixture at the shop.

"No idea," Alex says, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushes to get through his end of shift chores, pointedly ignoring her confused stare.

He practically runs to Henry's, hands shaking when he tries to put the key into the lock at the back entrance. Thankfully, the door swings open and he's dragged inside where Henry wastes no time in kissing him thoroughly.

Alex lets him take control, reveling in the authority Henry holds, grateful for once to be the inexperienced one so that he can do something he's not used to doing. Letting go. And when Henry licks into his mouth, Alex doesn't have any desire to dampen the moan that heaves itself from his lungs.

They break away to stumble up the stairs, stopping on the second floor landing to kiss again, their separation physically painful, and Henry gains access to his mouth again with a squeeze to Alex's ass that's full of intent.

When they finally make it to Henry's bedroom, Henry unbuttons Alex's shirt, fingers trailing down his chest before he drops to his knees, sure hands undoing Alex's belt while Alex runs a reverent hand through Henry's hair, their eyes locked in such an intimate way that a shiver runs through him despite the heat of it all.

When Henry takes him into his mouth, cheeks hollowed while he grips at the small spanse of Alex's waist, Alex marvels at his life. That a literal prince is on his knees for him, and he doesn't take it for granted. Forces himself to memorize the exact hue of Henry's eyes for the thousandth time and the way he feels with the softness of Henry's mouth around him.

When Henry comes off him with a pop of his lips, Alex barely has time to groan at the loss before he's kissed again and they tumble toward the bed where Alex does his best to keep his fingers steady as he strips Henry down to the skin, unable to keep himself from kissing each new spot thats unveiled to him.

He wants to return the favor, to reduce Henry to a stuttering mess, too, but when he tries, Henry brings his head back up and murmurs his absolute need against Alex's mouth. He coats his fingers in lube and shows Alex how he opens himself up, Alex's mouth running dry at the sight, while he struggles to bring in enough air and his entire body aches with the unfulfilled promise of pleasure.

When he replaces Henry's fingers with his own, he watches with a devoted and worshipful gaze. Amazed that he has the capability to turn this particular man into a writhing bundle of desire.

"Ready," Henry mutters, his fingers around Alex's wrist in a death grip. "Please."

Ever the loyal subject, Alex can't and won't deny him, rummaging in the nightstand for a condom and more lubricant, and when he finally, finally sinks inside, he's frozen for long seconds, too overwhelmed with everything this means. How irreversibly he's changed because of this one moment.

Henry holds his face and kisses him, urges him to move, and when Alex does, it feels so good he swears he could die from it.

It doesn't take long for either of them, but Alex can't bring himself to be self-conscious about it with his own hand wrapped around Henry, moving in time with his own thrusts, and when he sees Henry come undone, he thinks he's witnessed an entire kingdom crumble to the ground, and something freer built up in its place.

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed, and when the part of him that's still terrified threatens to break loose, he pushes it down, choosing his belief in Henry over anything else.

The world could take everything from him, but not this. Never this. And he locks it in a place no one else can ever touch; presses it into his mind and heart and the deepest part of his soul.

oOo

"Tell me about your family?" Alex asks later that night as Henry dozes lightly on his chest.

Henry sighs and Alex can tell it's bogged down with things seldom spoken about. "That's quite the loaded question."

"Never anticipated it wouldn't be."

He traces the outline of the muscles on Alex's chest. "My grandmother is about what you'd expect."

"Terrifying? Racist? Homophobic?"

Henry lets out a humorless laugh. "All of the above and then some."

"But what about the others? You talk about Bea like she's the perfect sister."

"She is. Bea is…wonderful. Truly, she's one of the only people who's ever even tried to understand me. And then there's my brother. Philip is the dutiful heir. It's all he sees. All he cares to know."

"And your mom?"

"My mum has been absent for a long time."

"Because of your dad?"

"She loved him so deeply," Henry says, and there's a wistfulness in his voice Alex hasn't heard before. "There will never be anyone else. She can't see past her grief. And I don't blame her, but…" his eyes roll to the ceiling, "at the same time I do.

"I needed her. We all did, and we all dealt with my father's death in different destructive ways. Mum withdrew completely. Philip ran to my grandmother. Bea turned to drugs. And I desperately tried to keep us together like it would somehow matter."

"They're your family, H," Alex says, carding his fingers through Henry's hair. "Of course it mattered."

"I couldn't be who I actually was with them, so I clung to what we were supposed to be. I begged Bea to get help. I appeased Philip however I could. The Palace used me in whatever they saw fit even when I wasn't remotely ready to process my own grief."

"You want to leave, don't you?" Alex asks. They've never talked about it explicitly, but he can tell in the way that Henry speaks of his obligations, the way he's been used as a prop for his entire life, that it's not what he wants.

"I wasn't quite ready to have this conversation."

"Then you don't have to," Alex replies, a little hurt but understanding how personal of a decision it would be, and how difficult it might be for Henry to voice it out loud. "You don't owe me anything."

"I do, though," Henry says, his fingers brushing against Alex's cheek. "I owe you so much."

Alex's brow furrows in confusion. "I don't follow."

"I don't expect you would," Henry says with a soft smile, and Alex doesn't like that one bit.

"Henry."

Henry heaves a dramatic sigh, and then says, "I knew who you were the second you ran into me outside The Milkman."

"What?" Alex breathes, raising himself on an elbow to look down at Henry with wide eyes. "What do you mean you knew who I was? You said Shaan recognized me. How did you know who I was?"

"I follow world politics, Alex," Henry says, and Alex can tell he's fighting off embarrassment and failing if his pink ears have anything to say about it. "Despite what my grandmother might have us think, I always felt it important to know what was going on in the world. So, when the son of the House speaker was outed, of course I knew about it."

Henry picks up one of Alex's hands and raises it to his lips. "I knew you lived here, that you'd moved here for school, but I never imagined I'd actually meet you no matter how badly I wanted it to happen."

"But…why–" Alex starts, mind spinning at the thought that Henry knew all along. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know, Alex," Henry says in that sarcastic way he's pretty sure only British people can accomplish. "Maybe it was the gigantic crush I had on you?"

Alex sits up fully, the bed sheet slipping down to his waist. "You had a crush on me? What the fuck, H?" He's not mad, not in the slightest, but this knowledge colors their first interactions so differently.

To his credit, Henry just continues to blush. "Why do you think I acted like a complete idiot the first time I met you?"

"Wait, was that your attempt at flirting?"

"For Christ's sake, no," Henry moans while Alex stares at him with his mouth open. "I was covered in coffee and you just flustered me. I wasn't anticipating seeing you, that's all."

"What are you, twelve? My god, Henry," Alex says, fully laughing now. "You're supposed to be a fucking prince."

Henry grabs him around the waist and pulls him back down the bed, arms wrapped tightly around Alex as the latter continues to laugh. He buries his face in Alex's neck and lightly nips at his neck. "Stop making fun of me," he growls rather petulantly, but it only makes Alex laugh harder.

He eventually reaches up and grabs Henry's face in his hands, squeezing his cheeks a bit so his lips pucker. "Don't worry. I had a crush on you, too."

"You didn't even know who I was," Henry's eyes narrow, while Alex grins. "You literally told me to buy a better personality."

"I think that was a fair assessment at the time." He laughs to cover up his far too late embarrassment over his behavior.

"And besides," Alex replies with raised eyebrows and a wicked grin that leaves a blush flourishing on Henry's chest and neck. "I know who you are now."

Henry shakes his head and mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like, "fucking menace."

"But that still doesn't explain why you owe me anything?" Alex questions as he settles back against the pillows of his bed, where he faces Henry. He slips his calf up against Henry's underneath the soft bedding, their legs tangling up.

Henry is quiet for a long moment, an array of emotions scatter across his face, the most prominent of all looks a lot like awe. "I'll never forget your speech," he finally says with a short of hushed reverence Alex can't believe is directed towards anything he's done in life. "You were so steady. There was no hesitation to you at all, and an anger that was just under the surface that fueled you."

Alex's breaths come in short spurts as he listens. So much of that time has been blocked from his mind, including the speech that apparently made such an impact on Henry. He remembers asking June to write it. He remembers giving it, but the finer details of its contents are lost to him.

"I don't even remember what was in the speech," he says and Henry brushes a thumb against his cheek with a soft smile.

"I do," he replies. "It was beautiful."

"My sister wrote it for me. She's always had a way with words that I didn't."

"Well, it was what you said afterward that stuck with me most. You were being led away and a reporter asked you if you wanted to apologize for your actions and you looked them straight in the eye and said, 'I refuse to apologize for who I am. And you're not entitled to any part of that.'"

Another thing he apparently has no memory of. Alex hums in his throat, a little in awe of himself. "That was pretty good," he says and Henry's smile grows wide.

"It was," he says. "You were so brave, Alex. It was something to behold. Truly. I've never been brave, but you gave me hope that one day, I could be just as unapologetic as you about who I am. You gave me the courage to set it in motion. Leaving. Before I even knew you."

Something clicks into place in Alex's mind. "That's why you're here. A trial-run. To break away."

Henry nods and Alex wraps his arms around him, burying his head underneath Henry's chin. He thinks for not the first time in the past months that maybe it has all been worth it. Maybe all of what he's had to endure was worth it because now he has Henry. And to know that his plight had been the catalyst for Henry's first steps toward freedom is a salve on a wound that had refused to heal.

It doesn't make it okay, but it does make the weight feel like it's not just his to bear anymore.

He thinks about everything Henry has gone through in his life. The death of his father. The loss of his family. Being raised to fit into a box he could never hope to conform to the shape of, and the sheer amount of courage it must take to try and escape it every single day.

"You are brave," he whispers into Henry's skin. "The most brave person I've ever known."

oOo

Alex falls for Henry harder and more quickly than someone who's been burned should. He knows he should keep him at arm's length. That he should remind himself every time he falls asleep curled into Henry's side that this is something casual. That it won't last because how could it possibly?

They're two people from two different worlds, and he knows everything about this calls for him to tread lightly. But he doesn't want to, because there's something about Henry that feels like forever, and instead of burning his skin, the ever present fire just makes him want more.

A conversation he had with his mom before he left won't leave his mind. "You'll find someone one day, sugar. You'll find someone that you feel forever about, and it won't make this okay, but hopefully on the good days, you can forget sometimes."

At the time, he'd thought she was just feeding him a line to help make him feel better. He'd rolled his eyes afterwards and brushed it off as he angrily packed his life away into boxes. His mother talking about forever didn't exactly mean much. She'd probably felt that way about his father once, and look where it got them?

But after their conversation where Henry confessed to knowing who he was the entire time, Alex can't even begin to pretend what they have is casual. It's not. It's real and comforting and it makes him so fucking happy he does forget most days.

But the most important thing isn't that he forgets. His relationship with Henry is healing.

Henry shows him it's okay to feel and cry. To be angry. He finds empathy again and finds it's not so hard to be kind without expectation. He doesn't look over his shoulder as much anymore. Doesn't assume the absolute worst in people.

It's a subtle shift, but everything seems lighter even when he knows there's always more work to be done. He's even considering therapy for the first time and finds himself starting to see Scotland, to see Henry, as a home. It's not at all like the one he thought he'd ever have, but it's fucking beautiful all the same.

They see each other through all the days, good and bad and Alex comes to know every facet of Henry, including his propensity to withdraw into himself when things feel insurmountable. But Alex considers it a privilege to sit with him through it, to help draw him back out when he's ready.

Whether it's at his place or Henry's they continue to spend nearly every night together. Sometimes they have sex until they both fall into a boneless, fucked-out heap. Other times they lay wrapped up together without speaking, but both types of nights they sleep; a thing that's been fairly elusive to Alex even before he was outed, and if the bags he used to see under Henry's eyes are any indication, it was a rarity for him, too.

He's pretty sure he's so deep in love that there's never going to be a chance of escaping even if he wanted to (which he doesn't). This doesn't feel like anything he's felt before. It's not some passing infatuation that's satiated by a night of sex. This is an all-encompassing thing that grips his heart and squeezes until he has no choice but to surrender fully.

One day, when he walks into the kitchen still half asleep to find Henry struggling to get the coffee maker to work, morning light streaming in and hitting his blonde hair like a halo, Alex knows.

I love this man, his brain tells his heart as if it doesn't already know.

It's way too soon. It's only been two months since the first time they kissed, and the old Alex would have never admitted it to himself let alone someone else. But he's not that person anymore, and the words fall from his lips in the most important confession of his life. Far more sacred than anything he ever felt the need to say to a priest inside a confessional.

Henry doesn't immediately respond with words, but the way he crosses the room and kisses Alex tells him everything he needs to know, and when Henry finally does respond, words uttered softly as Alex slips inside him, Alex is helpless to do anything but love him even more.

oOo

Alex flies back home to surprise his mom for the vote on gun control legislation she authored. It's the first time he's been back and something tight grips his lungs the whole time, but the look of pride and relief on his mom's face as the bill passes eases it a bit.

He's debated on telling her about Henry, and even with Henry's approval to do so, Alex hesitates. But when Ellen hugs him so tightly in pure joy when she sees him, he realizes that he wants her to know.

"I met someone," he says as they eat in her office later that day, an echo of the exact words he said to June a few months before.

"That's great, baby," Ellen says, her entire face lit up in pleased surprise. "Who are they? Tell me everything."

He tells her about Henry. About how they met and got together, how this is different from anything he's felt before, and despite his nerves about how badly it might go once she finds out the rest, it feels good to tell her.

"Do you have any pictures? I want to see him," she says and Alex feels his hands start to sweat.

He knows his mom will recognize Henry as soon as she sees him. She's a politician who actually pays attention to the world around her. There's no way she won't know. There's no way she won't realize the implications this might have on her running for president when the current term is up.

His assessment is right as Ellen nearly chokes on her drink as he passes his phone over for her to see the lockscreen. It's a photo of the two of them laughing at some snarky comment Alex had made when they'd been trying to take a regular, smiling photo.

"Is that…?" Ellen says, tucking her hair behind her ear, eyes nervously darting between the phone and Alex.

"Yeah," Alex says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Henry is Prince Henry."

He watches as Ellen swallows, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she tries to form intelligible words.

"I know this is a big deal," Alex goes on. "And that it has huge implications for you and running for president, but Henry wants to give up his title, and live quietly away from the Royal Family. I love him, mom. This is it for me, and if I need to disappear for good so I don't cause anymore problems, then I–"

A determined expression takes over Ellen's features and stops Alex from his prepared list of points. He's no longer in the room with his mother, but instead, he's with Speaker Claremont, and Alex suddenly understands her ability to command a room with a single look.

"You're sure about him?" she asks, and Alex's answer comes without hesitation.

"A thousand percent."

Ellen smiles and his mom is back in full. "Then we'll figure it out, sugar. Don't worry about anything."

Unlike the version of himself that left nearly two years before, this Alex chooses to listen.

oOo

They decide to try and go on a few outings to test the waters of the public's reaction to them. A few dinners here. A movie there. Runs in the park and homework on blankets in the grass as the weather warms. They don't touch and try to keep the disgustingly in love looks off their faces.

It takes two weeks before someone spots them and thinks anything of it, and pictures splash over the internet and papers the next day with headlines that joke of the UK and US 'special relationship' deepening because of the friendship between the prince and the son of the House Speaker.

They laugh at them together in bed, and Henry only gets a slight dressing down from the Palace at his choice of friendship without consulting them first. They issue a statement about being thrilled with Henry's budding friendship and it feels like they're one step closer to having what they want.

Bea and June make a visit in late March for a collective birthday celebration for Alex and Henry and the four of them get along swimmingly. It's as if they've been in each other's lives forever, and Alex hopes it can stay this way after Henry eventually leaves his current life behind and everything gets exponentially more complicated.

June gives him knowing looks all weekend that Alex pointedly ignores and Bea beams at Henry as if his happiness is directly responsible for hers.

They all have dinner out one night and rent a room at a local karaoke place where they get smashed drunk and take turns singing horribly to everything from Britney Spears to Queen, and when Henry passes out in his lap, June leans over in a moment of clarity and tells him, "Whatever you do, don't let him go."

"I won't." And he means it with everything he has.

oOo

"I think after I graduate, I'll start the process," Henry tells him one day in mid-April as they sit in their usual corner at The Milkman.

Alex looks up from the frenzied typing on his laptop. His program is coming to an end and he'll be graduating himself in just a few weeks time if he can manage to get the rest of his dissertation written.

"You'll be ready, you think?"

It's a huge step for Henry. Going from the theoretical to a concrete decision.

Henry nods. "It'll be a shock to everyone but Bea, but it's time I start actually doing something about what I want. These last few months have been the best of my life, more than I ever thought I could have, and I won't jeopardize that for something I don't even want."

Alex knows the feeling all too well. He'd rearrange pretty much anything to keep this.

Henry looks nervous as he goes on, words spilling in a way they normally don't from him. "And besides, that gives us another year of getting the public used to us being together. Even if they think we're just friends. I know it's presumptuous to assume this is long term, and it would require you to stay past your graduation, but we can be long distance for a while if you don't want to. I know you had plans for your career, and I don't want to–"

Alex interrupts Henry with a nudge to his leg under the table. "Hey. Baby." he says, voice quiet yet earnest. "This is real for me. So real."

Henry looks relieved, his upper body collapsing a bit from a hard exhale.

"I wouldn't mind staying," Alex continues. "Even if I have to work here at the shop or start on another degree, I'm not ready to go back yet. Not now."

There's lots of reasons for it. He's not emotionally ready. He's not sure if he wants to dedicate his life to a country that turned its back on him. He likes Scotland. He can't fathom leaving Henry.

"You're sure?"

"Definitely," he says, wishing he could scoop Henry into a hug, knowing he's not used to anyone choosing him and his life. Alex is grateful for the insight his pain has given him, that he can give to someone else what wasn't afforded to him. "Take your time, Hen. We'll do this on your timeline. You don't have to rush. I'm here."

oOo

Alex finishes with flying colors. Praise from his professors and program director and classmates, and he's really fucking proud of himself for doing something hard. For stepping outside his comfort zone and succeeding instead of giving in to the overwhelming urge to drown in his circumstances.

His family flies in and they all cram into his tiny apartment to celebrate with Henry in tow. They're loud and brash and Henry seems a little intimidated by them at first, but he warms up quickly with Alex's thigh against his on the couch and a little bit of liquid courage, and by the end of the night, he's practically one of them, with firm handshakes from Alex's dad and Leo, a hug from June and his mom's lipstick on both of Henry's cheeks.

When they leave for the airport the next day his mother hugs him tightly. "I support you all the way, kiddo. Just give me a heads up before you make any big announcements, okay?"

"I will," he says, thinking it'll be at least a year down the line though his heart is warm with the possibility.

He and Henry start to go out more. To dinners and movies and the symphony, and with the promise of a future, even if it's a slightly uncertain one, in their hands, they grow mildly reckless.

They hold hands when the sun sets and make out like teenagers in the back of a mostly empty theater. Henry slings his arm over Alex's shoulder as they walk down the street and Alex steps up onto his toes to kiss Henry's cheek when he closes The Milkman one night.

In the back of his mind, Alex knows he should be more careful, but of course his mother was right and Henry makes him forget. Henry heals. Henry is perfect and none of it matters really, because no one pays them any mind. No one is going to see.

Until inevitably, they do.

oOo

He lets himself into Henry's house one afternoon in mid-June to find a nervous looking Henry and a very serious Shaan.

"Who died?" he jokes but when Henry winces and Shaan tells him to sit, Alex's legs obey without question.

His breath starts to quicken, anxiety rising up to meet him like an old, unwanted friend. A hundred terrible scenarios swim in his head, and somehow, none of them come anywhere close to what's actually happened.

"The Daily Mail knows about your relationship," Shaan breaks the news as gently as his matter-of-fact nature will allow. "Someone has sold them images of you kissing outside of Mr. Claremont-Diaz's place of employment. They are going to publicize them in the paper tomorrow morning, and they claim to have sources that corroborate the story. "

Panic starts to rise in him, control slipping through his fingers in an all too familiar way. He hears his pulse in his ears and his limbs go numb. It's almost like he's going into shock, and he knows it's a response to his trauma. But he doesn't let it take over this time, not when Henry needs him. Not when he has to find a way to make sure Henry never has to experience this exact thing.

Alex's mind races as he tries to find solutions. Denying seems like the best option, even if whatever evidence they have is as damning as it sounds, Alex is certain Zahra could find a way. They can get ahead of this. Henry doesn't have to suffer the same fate as he did. They've been given the gift of time. No matter how short it was.

But then Shaan drops another bomb, and Alex feels like all the air's been sucked from the room.

"The queen has demanded your return to London immediately, sir," Shaan says. "And she made it clear Mr. Claremont-Diaz was not to accompany you."

The thought of being separated from Henry sends his already fragile mind into a spiral. He's simultaneously sweaty and freezing. His hands shake and his vision narrows. How could he have possibly ever thought they could take on an establishment as old and powerful as the British Royal Family? They're only two idiots in love, how can that ever be enough in their positions? If Henry leaves, what if never comes back–

"Shaan," Henry's voice cuts through the haze of fear. "Go home."

"Sir, you know I can't do that," Shaan replies, looking worn out and more than a little worried.

"You can, and you will if you want to have any plausible deniability in what I'm about to do."

Shaan opens his mouth to protest again, and Henry looks pained when he says, "I will order you if I have to."

"It's my job to protect you, Henry," Shaan says and Alex is startled to hear Henry's name leave Shaan's mouth, but the effect on Henry is minimal. He still stands tall and unmoved.

"Let me return the favor for once," Henry says and Shaan appears to search Henry's face for something before his eyes flick briefly to Alex.

He doesn't say anything else, simply walks forward and claps his hand to Henry's shoulder before he leaves the room.

Henry waits until he hears the door click shut and then turns back to Alex. "I have an idea," he says, and there's a quiet determination about him that at least momentarily calms the ever rising tide of Alex's fear. "It's probably stupid and bound to make my grandmother so angry, she might disown me of her own accord, but–" he stops and laughs lightly in incredulity. "What if we make what they have useless? What if we announce it ourselves on…on Instagram or something equally modern and offensive?"

"But the Palace–"

"Fuck them," Henry says with a vehemence Alex didn't know he was capable of.

"We don't have to do that," Alex says, with a furious shake of his head. "We can deny it. Say that we're just friends or…or something. I'm sure my mom's people can find a way to spin it. Pin it on me or something. Everyone already knows about me. But you don't have to–"

"No," Henry says and Alex can already tell it's final. "I won't deny it. I won't deny you."

"But this will change everything," Alex pleads, trying to get him to understand the sheer gravity of what he's saying. "They'll know, Henry, and we can't go back from that. There's no going back."

He feels more than a little unhinged. He's trying to protect Henry, goddammit, but the man seems intent on taking control and bringing about his own demise while Alex can only sit by and watch.

He is about to beg Henry to reconsider. To deny this at least until they've had more time to think of a better course of action, but Henry drops to his knees in front of Alex, face unyielding in the midst of it all, and Alex wishes he could shield Henry from everything that's to come. Because Alex knows what this has the potential to do.

"I'm ready, Alex. I've been ready for a long time," he says. "I won't live in the shadows anymore. Not when I can step into the light with you."

Alex's eyes flutter shut, and when opens them Henry is still there kneeling before him. As steady and sure as he'd been the night he'd boldly declared he wanted the chance to know Alex.

"O-kay, say we do this. I–do you know what you want to post? This is huge, Hen. It's not fair that you have to–"

"I want you to do it."

"What?" he gasps, mouth hanging open in confusion. "Henry, I can't, this is yours–"

"I want everyone to know," Henry interrupts. "And I want you to tell them. Take back some of what they took from you."

Alex continues to gape at him, as Henry holds out his stolen agency on a silver platter. It's mangled and barbed, and needs to be melted down and reforged, but it's his. It's theirs to take.

"Shit," he half sobs and he's pretty sure he's crying if the sudden wetness on his cheeks is any indication. "I love you."

Henry lowers his head over Alex's clasped hands, places a kiss to his almost white knuckles. "I love you, too."

oOo

He calls his mom, and tells her as briefly as he can what's going on. She gives him her full consent to go public even as he can tell she's worried about what this will mean for them. Having the disapproval of the American people is one thing. Pissing off The Crown is totally another.

Alex opens Instagram on his phone, preparing to post to his public account for the first time in over two years. He knows the exact photo he's going to use. A candid that June had taken of them at Alex's apartment in March.

They're sitting beside each other on the couch. Alex is curled into Henry's side, his head leaned onto Henry's shoulder while Henry places a kiss into his dark hair. They look at complete peace. Stupidly, hopelessly, jumping off a cliff and never doubting you'll find a place to land, in love. It's his favorite of the two of them and there's no mistaking what it means.

He briefly considers having June write something for him, but decides against it. He's already given his speech years before, and this time, he gets to decide how much he's willing to give.

His fingers stall and hover over his phone as he struggles to find the perfect thing, and then Henry hands him a small book of letters from the French poet and playwright Jean Cocteau to his partner, and the perfect quote presents itself almost immediately.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look.

He types it out, tags Henry's official account and his thumb presses to post the photo. Then, he turns off his phone, gladly plunging himself into a communication-less void.

oOo

Henry emerges from the bedroom after half an hour, a packed bag in each hand and Alex stops his pacing to look at him quizzically. "What's going on?"

"You and I are disappearing for a few days," he says, placing the bags on a nearby chair and calling David into the room to attach his leash.

"To where?" Alex asks as Henry hands him a bag that's full of various clothes he's left there over half a year of sleeping over.

Henry just grins and says cryptically, "Over the sea to Skye."

"Whatever the fuck that means," Alex responds while he follows him down the stairs and into the back alley where a vintage jaguar coupé is waiting. David hops into the car and over the center console to the small back seat and Henry gingerly arranges his bag next to him before he holds out his hand to take Alex's.

There's keys in his hand and when he moves to get into the driver's seat, Alex's brain can't seem to compute what it sees. "Wait, you can drive?" he blurts out and Henry laughs while he places designer sunglasses onto his handsome face.

"One of my many hidden talents."

They drive late into the evening, though it never gets dark as summer grips the Highlands with hues of golden sunlight and purple heather.

Alex finds himself drawn in with the striking landscapes, having never really left Edinburgh during his two years in Scotland except to visit London a few times if one of his family members happened to be in town.

But he'd never seen anything like the view out the windows, now. It's mysterious and beckoning and ancient, and so remote, he understands why they continue to drive and drive. The further they go, the further they are from the reality that chases them.

They don't talk much. What is there to say, afterall? But Henry's hand grips Alex's whenever he's not using it to shift gears and that says more than words would anyway. It's an anchor to them both. A reminder that they're not alone in this. That they've chosen each other over everything.

David sits quietly in the back in his riding harness, and a playlist of songs from the sixties and seventies fills the silence, and Alex smiles to himself despite everything that's happening, content with his newly found family.

It's nearly ten when they cross the Skye Bridge, and Henry makes a quip about being a modern day Bonnie Prince Charlie.

"Is he a relative of yours?" Alex asks, completely in the dark as to what he's talking about.

"Distantly," Henry smiles, blue eyes bright as the sun finally starts to dip lower in the sky, and Alex considers buying a book on British history to better understand where Henry has come from. The centuries of history that have led to the man beside him.

There's a kind-looking woman that's waiting on them when they arrive at the cottage. She hugs Henry with enthusiasm and squeezes his cheeks a bit while she fusses over how much he's grown and how long it's been since she's seen him.

"It's good to see you, too, Maisie," Henry says before he introduces Alex, who is subsequently scooped up into an equally enthusiastic hug.

She ushers them inside and shows them the kitchen she's fully stocked for them, and Alex is impressed with how much she managed to do with so little warning in what feels like the most remote spot on Earth.

Maisie leaves them with a promise to check in in the coming days, and a wink that's followed by a knowing, "Have fun."

Henry rolls his eyes at her affectionately as he walks her to the door and Alex is left to take in his surroundings. The cottage is small with only a sitting room, kitchen and what looks like two bedrooms down a narrow hallway. It's warm and homey and obviously taken care of by someone that isn't Henry if it really has been years since he'd been there.

Henry walks back into the room, arms laden with their bags, David close at his heels.

"What is this place?" Alex asks.

"This cottage belonged to my father," Henry says as he places the bags on the couch. "We used to come here a lot when I was a kid to get away from London. I think he knew even then how much my life was going to cost me, so he gifted it to me when he died. Come on," he holds out his hand to Alex. "I'll show you around."

The tour is short but full of nostalgia, and Alex keeps the things Henry lists close in his mind, glad he is able to speak of at least some of his childhood without pain. He makes them sandwiches with the supplies Maisie left while Henry unpacks, and after they've eaten Henry leads him to the porch where they sit on the steps and look out into the ever deepening night.

"Are you okay?" he asks, while Henry sips from his cup of tea. "I know you were ready, but this is…this is a fucking lot."

"I am," Henry answers, and it sounds so assured, Alex is convinced he's not trying to hide anything just to make him feel better. "Maybe I won't be tomorrow, or when I eventually have to answer for things, but for now? I'm good, love. Really, really good."

There's a beat of silence and then Henry asks, "Are you alright?"

He leans into Henry and feels a sliver of peace for the first time since they found out, "'m getting there," he mumbles and looks up into a truly endless sky. "You can see so many stars out here."

Henry hums in agreement, and unexpectedly moves behind Alex, picking up Alex's hand and tracing it over an invisible pattern in the sky.

"What is that?" Alex asks.

"I got my first telescope when I was seven, and I convinced dad to let me skip school for a few days so we could come out here and try it out," he says, breath tickling the back of Alex's neck. "He taught me to find the constellations. Orion was the first he showed me, and ever since then I always look for it when I feel lost or sad."

Alex is unable to respond around the lump in his throat as he imagines Henry at various stages of life looking to the cosmos for peace that his life refused to offer him. He wonders how often Henry still has to look for Orion.

"It was nearly impossible to find in London most of the time, but not as hard when I moved to Scotland."

"When was the last time you had to look for it?"

Henry drops their arms and returns to Alex's side, gathering him in with a kiss so sweet, it sears itself a permanent spot in Alex's memory. When he pulls back, even in the dark Alex can see the hope in his eyes. Can hear the clear meaning behind his words. "You know, I can't really recall."

oOo

They know they won't be able to hide forever, but for three days, they are completely alone. They have no inkling whatsoever how the news of their relationship is being consumed, and Alex is grateful for the separation. They're cut off from the outside world and they make the most of it.

Henry hikes with him to all the otherworldly sights Skye is known for. Fairy pools and glens, cliffs and sunrises over mountains. Alex can certainly see the appeal and he hopes that after all of this is over, Henry will bring him again. That eventually the memories he has there with his father can exist in the same happy space as the new memories he makes with Alex.

There's a deep and satisfying exhaustion that sits in his bones, and he knows it won't last, but he clings to it as tightly as Henry clings to him in bed every night.

When the inevitable knock comes to the cottage door late in the evening, they walk hand in hand to answer it, resolved and determined expressions on their faces as they prepare to let in whichever member of the family had been sent to fetch them. They're unsure of what they're going to face, but it doesn't feel insurmountable. Not with the both of them fighting.

From the look on Henry's face, he's even more surprised than Alex to find Catherine on the other side of the door.

Alex has never met her and Henry hasn't mentioned much outside of that night they spoke of his family. She's a small woman with graying hair and eyes that match Henry's behind thick glasses. From the way Henry had described her before, Alex expects her to seem withdrawn and tired, but there's a fire in her gaze as she looks between the both of them that makes him worry for what they're in for.

"Are you alright, my darling?" she asks as she steps into Henry, gathering him in while Henry stiffens slightly at the touch. She's so short, her head barely reaches his chin as she hugs him.

Henry gently returns her embrace, but Alex can see there's a hesitance there, like he isn't sure if what's happening is quite real or not.

"I'm fine, mum," he answers and she lets him go, apparently satisfied with his answer, only to turn her attention to Alex.

She wastes no time in hugging him, too, and it's so quick and fierce that he's not even able to process it before she lets him go. "Alex," she says, and he swallows thickly while he nods. "I'm so sorry this is how we're meeting."

"O-oh, it's fine," he replies for lack of anything better to say. Because it's definitely not fine, and she's probably here to read him his rights before kicking him to the proverbial curb, but oh well. Pleasantries first and all that.

They move into the sitting room, and Henry starts right in having had far too much time to contemplate the countless ways this conversation could go. "I'm not coming back to London, mum. If that's why you're here, you can go."

Catherine doesn't look at all surprised by his statement. "I won't make you do anything, Henry. I'm only here to understand what you want."

Henry shifts next to Alex, their thighs brushing together as he tries to find a comfortable position amongst his nerves. "Gran sent you here, didn't she?" he asks, voice distrusting, and Alex can tell from the way her eyes flash, the accusation cuts Catherine in a meaningful way.

"Your grandmother doesn't even know I'm here," Catherine counters, and Alex finds himself unwittingly impressed with his boyfriend's mother.

"Why do you care what I want?" There's an edge to Henry's voice that's unmistakable and Alex puts his hand on top of Henry's bouncing knee in the hopes that it will provide some level of solace. "You haven't been around for years."

She glances down at her hands that are clenched together against the worn fabric of her jeans. "I've always cared, darling. I just…" She breaks off and there's more than a tinge of shame in her tone. "Bea and I had a…discussion yesterday. She helped me realize some things I've been missing."

"That's great, mum, but unless you're willing to help me now, that doesn't mean much. You might as well not have even come," Henry says, and it's harsh, but he's glad Henry says it, even when it looks like he immediately regrets his decision.

Catherine has had to endure more heartbreak than Alex can imagine, but it doesn't absolve her from the harm she's done to her children, and maybe one conversation with Bea isn't enough for her to know the extent of the damage, but from the way she sighs and her eyes water, Alex can see it's definitely a start.

"Henry, what do you want?" she asks. A question that Alex prays she actually wants to know the answer to. "I know I can't…remotely begin to make up for my absence. I don't deserve or ask for your forgiveness, but I'd like to help, dear. Help me understand what you want, so I can help you get it."

There's a heavy pause in the time it takes Henry to inhale and then let the breath out again. When he speaks Alex senses a defiance in him he thinks Henry might have picked up from his grandmother, and Alex knows this is it. That there's no chance of things going back to how they were before.

"I need to leave," Henry says and it isn't lost on any of them his use of the word need instead of want. He takes off the family ring he wears on his left hand and places it on the coffee table that sits between them. "If you're serious about atoning, help me leave."

He looks to Alex, eyes piercing, and apparently finds what he's looking for because there's a ghost of a smile on his lips before he turns back to his mother. "Give us a chance at living the life we want."

Alex sees the implications of everything Henry is asking wash over Catherine. He knows full well Henry isn't asking to leave his family unit. He loves them all despite everything. But he isn't sure if Catherine knows her son enough in his current form to realize this.

It's a true test for her. To see if she's willing to help him no matter what it might mean for her. Can she selflessly give the love she has even if it costs her what little relationship she has left with her son? Or will she hold on to what tiny semblance of control she has left?

She appears torn for a brief moment, fear threatening to take hold, but she doesn't let it. Instead, her jaw sets and she nods her head. "I'll do everything I can."

oOo

His Royal Highness Prince Henry, after careful consideration and discussions with Her Majesty The Queen, has requested to begin the process of relinquishing his title and all the privileges thereof. The Queen has written confirming that in stepping away from the work of The Royal Family it is not possible to continue with the responsibilities and duties that come with a life of public service. While all are saddened by his decision, Henry will remain a much loved member of the family.

oOo

They weather the storm of their reveal mostly unscathed. It's a shock to the world, and Alex knows it's understandable. Not only is the Prince of England's Hearts gay, he also wants to step away from the institution that made him so beloved in the first place.

No one seems to understand why he wants to give it up. There's a lot of people that blame Alex, and he's mostly fine with that. It's not entirely wrong, anyway. He is responsible in a lot of ways. If Henry had never known about him and the things that had happened, it might have been years before he'd been able to step away. And it's easier to blame Alex than face the truth of the harm the monarchy has done.

When Henry reads the announcement from Buckingham Palace he rolls his eyes and mutters, "Much loved my arse." But it sounds more annoyed than pained, so Alex takes that as a good sign, but then comes the speculation that he's being 'kicked out' because he's gay.

It's an accusation Henry vehemently denies, but it's not enough to quell the rumblings and they both agree to go to London for some damage control. One last favor to the crown before the separation began, and Alex finds it quite amazing how amenable the queen can be to his presence when it means it makes her look a little less like a monster.

Returning to Edinburgh is about as difficult as they knew it would be, and the paparazzi hound them relentlessly for weeks. They hole up inside Henry's townhome, unable to even leave to take David for walks, a task which Olivia, bless her, volunteers for and carries out for quite some time.

It's annoying, but also kind of a gift. To be given so much uninterrupted time together inside the eye of the hurricane, and they take the time to laze around and learn how all their intricacies as individuals work in terms of them together.

Thankfully, Henry and Alex quickly become old news when it's announced that Philip's wife is expecting again, and while they still have the occasional annoyance to deal with, life soldiers on.

As September nears and Henry prepares for his final year of PhD work to start in full force, they sit together at The Milkman on one of his last, truly free days.

"So, what now?" Henry asks him, and amazingly, after everything, the question doesn't feel all that heavy.

"Well, I've heard some rumors there might be another independence referendum soon," Alex says slyly while Henry looks impressed. "I thought maybe a newly graduated Master of International Relations might be able to help with that somehow."

It feels a little treasonous to even mention. The thought of trying to help Scotland break free from an ever dwindling British Empire. But with Henry now well on his way to being fully separated from royal life, Alex thinks there's probably no better time for a last bit of mutiny.

"But I don't know," he continues, because he doesn't. As much as he wants to start doing, there's an equal part of him that wants the chance to just be. "Since my visa's been extended indefinitely thanks to your mom, I think I might just like to sit still for a while."

Henry smiles warm and soft. "And do I fit into those plans somewhere?"

Alex laces their fingers together, noting the smoothness of Henry's skin and the absence of his signet ring. Refusing to be weighed down by even the sanctity of gold.

"Oh, for sure," he replies, eyes alight with mischief. "Somebody has to restrain me so I actually am still. Think you're up for the job?"

Henry looks so happy, so perfectly pleased, Alex falls in love all over again. Knows he'll be in a free fall with this man the rest of his life.

"I think that sounds like the most wonderful idea I've heard in my life."

"Well then, Henry Fox," he says, enjoying the opportunity to use Henry's new legal name any chance he gets. "You're hired."

Alex Claremont-Diaz is a lot of things. He's stubborn. Smart. More than slightly vain. Passionate, caring. Bisexual. A boyfriend. An American who can't really believe he's managed to get to where he is, but that's okay because he no longer worries he's not whole.

For the first time in his life, with Henry by his side, he knows he is.