The papers are full of it; Henry and Alex's faces emblazoned on every front page, and Henry hates it. As if he didn't have enough publicity before, now everywhere he turns are new articles on his friendship with the First Son.

"'Best Bromance Ever?'" Bea reads out in a deeply bored monotone, glancing up from her position- cross legged on the carpeted floor of the music studio, in front of the crackling fire, with Mr Wobbles perched on her lap as if it's a throne, his dog David curled up by her side and a stack of the day's papers piled high on her lap- to wink at Henry, who groans and reaches for a cushion to hide his face in.

"Great acting, Hen."

"Thanks. I've had a lifetime of practice." He spits out bitterly, lowering the cushion and watching as Bea crumples the said article in her fist, chucking it on the fire and grinning evilly as it starts to go blackened around the edges, curling up as it burns.

"Ooh, here's another- 'From America, with Love: Henry and Alex flaunt...oh never mind." Bea catches Henry's pleading gaze, and tosses this paper into the hearth as well. Henry appreciates Bea's efforts to cheer him up- he really does, but he doesn't need any more reminders of the painful weekend he's just had.

He's sunken into a dark mood today, spending the whole morning just lying in bed and choking down anguished screams, before Bea had roused him and forced him to at least look as though he's not dying inside. She's pinned a too-bright smile on her face, and her voice is a touch too cheery, but not even her suggestion of burning newspapers has been able to pull him out of the dark shadows he's drowning in.

"Look, Bea...you don't have to-" He starts, feeling a pang of guilt; it's not her fault he's like this, and he knows she had plans today- plans she must have cancelled. Because of him.

"Yes, I do, Henry." She snaps, before he can even finish his sentence. Henry smiles weakly, then lets his face drop back into a frown.

"I just...I hate all of this." He whispers, voice a hoarse croak, then clears his throat and continues, louder now. "I've always hated all the attention- you know that- and now it's like... like everything I do, everything I am, is not for myself. I feel like I belong to all these strangers, who seem to know everything about me. I hate it all so much."

"I know. I know, Hen." Bea glances up at him, biting her lip, and Henry feels another surge of guilt run through him at the lines around her eyes and mouth. She's worried about him.

Henry takes a deep breath and forces a fake grin on his face as she shoves Mr Wobbles off her lap- startling an indignant hiss out of the cat- and brushes the papers of her lap, coming to sit by him on the tobacco-coloured settee. Bea wraps her arms around him, but when Henry awkwardly pats her on the head, she breaks abruptly away and smiles wickedly, a glint shining in her eyes as she grabs the nearest cushions and chucks it at Henry.

He gives a muffled protest as it collides with his head, but allows his face to relax into an easy grin- real now- and he tosses a cushion of his own in Bea's vague direction. It sails well over her head and she laughs, responding by tackling him to the ground and pummelling him with another pillow. He laughs right back, a little spark of warmth igniting in his chest, warming the rest of him completely. He basks in it, knowing it won't- can't last.