All of Henry's stars have been stolen from the sky- all of them except Orion.

It flashes before his eyes, scorched into the backs of his lids, until every glint of light- the crack of silver under the door; the faint reflection of a face that doesn't feel like his in the window; the glowing face of the phone tossed aside on the still-made bed- morph into one constellation, blurred and twisted by his eyelashes.

His suit scratches at his skin, and he fumbles to loosen the tie from his neck, letting it dangle limply from his collar. Restless fingers stray through wild locks of hair, but Henry's eyes stay sealed shut, his breaths remain even- ragged, like they've clawed their way into his mouth raw and bleeding- but even, nonetheless.

Cheek rests against glass, a halo of rhythmic exhales painting it cloudy with condensation, and beyond it the gardens of Kensington Palace are shrouded in night.

Henry loves the night.

Usually.

But not right now.

Right now the darkness and silence and endless stretch of ink-blotched sky all around amplify his thoughts- and right now they spill out of his head, unravelling like thread in his hands even as he tries to stem the flow.

They echo and dance and twirl all around him; whispering one name, the same that hisses from between parted teeth now-

"Alex."

Alex.

Alex.

Alex Alex Alex Alex Alex.

Mind skimming back through memories like thumb-worn pages in a book, Henry studies the familiar sentences and paragraphs and words of that night all over again.

It's a cruel kind of torture, this.

Because he cannot stop- cannot stop thinking and thinking and thinking of Alex.

Gardens and stars and snow and walking away, away, away and why did he do it and Pez and planes and cars with the windows blacked out and Shaan and Bea and pale, worried faces and then a home that isn't home- and then here.

His room.

In England.

And he's put an ocean of distance between them, but it's somehow still not far enough. God, it's never enough.

Never enough restraint- emotions never bundled up and shoved down inside his shadowed depths hard enough.

Never enough answers for all the questions- from Pez, when he was torn away from the party and, even more reluctantly, from June; from Philip, when the plane touched down on a runway slick with rain, a whole day ago, dawn only just bleeding colour into the clouds.

Never enough space between him and Alex.

But still never close enough.

Never making up his mind- do or don't, stay or go, kiss him and drown or suffocate in silence.

Whatever the cost, Henry is glad he chose to do.

He is- really.

But it's taken a while to get to that point- and the flashbacks...it feels like they'll never stop.

Teeth and lips and snow and trees and fireworks and burgundy suits.

"Hen?" A whisper creeps through from the other side of the door.

"Bea," Henry murmurs back, voice cracking halfway through.

"Hen," She repeats- then stifles a giggle as someone beside her performs a terrible impression of a chicken. "Oh, shut up- not you, Henry- just- get off, I-"

"Hi, Pez," He sighs, clambering unsteadily to his feet and stumbling across the dark room to creak the door slowly open.

The two of them overbalance and go flailing to the ground, grinning apologetically up at him with identical expressions.

"Eavesdropping?" Henry raises an eyebrow, reaching for a despairing look and giving up halfway.

He's way too tired for this.

Too heartsick.

Pez scrambles upright first, brushing off his clothes- mismatched, baggy pyjamas that are so unusual for him that Henry stares at him with concern verging on terror- and twirls into a bow, offering Bea a flourishing hand up.

"No," His sister finally replies, crossing her arms and tucking them neatly under her armpits, defensively. "Just... listening."

"What do you want?" He's half closing the door already, when Pez's foot shoots out- wedging it firmly open.

From behind them, a ghostly meow echoes, and then Mr Wobbles streaks past, twining around Henry's legs before disappearing into his room.

Warm light spills across the threshold as someone fumbles for a light switch on a wall, and he blinks- once, twice.

The faces of his sister and his best- if only- friend click further into focus. Mussed hair, stifled yawns, bare feet, Bea's soft grey hoodie and Pez's extremely un-Pez-like outfit.

They look so comfortable, so sleepy, and so worried for him that Henry wonders for a moment if his chest is really splitting open down the centre.

It feels like he's been cracked in two, and even the palms he presses against his pulse, the fists he balls around the end of his tie, tugging absently, can't hold back his innards as they come unravelling and tumbling apart; leaking out between his fingers. What a mess he's making of the carpet.

"We bought Cornettos," Bea offers out her hands, a box perched precariously in them, like a peace offering.

"And love," Pez adds on; barging right past Henry and inside the room.

Sheepishly, Bea follows, setting the ice creams down on his overflowing desk- normally neat to a fault- and flops backwards on the bed, beside him.

Henry just stands there in the doorway, unsure what to do. In the end, he settles for closing the door slowly, then marching over to the table and unwrapping a cornetto with a viciousness that reminds him that he hasn't eaten anything for...

"What time is it?" He asks abruptly, around a mouthful. Bea and Pez watch him thoughtfully, occasionally elbowing each other and whispering conspiratorially.

"One AM. Your sleep schedule is fucked, my man."

Sinking down into a chair, Henry kicks idly at the ground, spinning himself in circles as Mr Wobbles bounds up onto his lap and settles in, head nudging against the crook of his elbow, a faint purring starting up from somewhere deep inside a stomach stuffed full of Henry's own Jaffa Cakes- donated involuntarily.

He's pretty sure cats aren't supposed to eat human food, but it's not as if he has a choice- he's pretty sure Bea feeds the cat up on them anyway, when he's not looking.

It's a miracle the cat can still carry his own weight, at this point.

"Bastard," Henry mumbles affectionately; scratching behind Mr Wobbles' ear with one hand.

"So..." Bea finally broaches the subject; leaning forwards towards him. Pez leaves off his interrogation of Henry's entire room, and crosses to sit, legs swinging, on the edge of the desk.

A wad of papers slides off, and Henry takes his time gathering them up, hiding his face studiously- if only his 'press face' worked on people who actually know him.

"What happened?"

"I- I..." He starts up, and trails off again almost instantly, biting his lip so hard that blood blossoms on the tip of his tongue.

"Come on, Hen! You can't just catch a plane all the way from America, storm home, refuse to talk to anyone, shut us all out, make Pez lose his fashion sense out of worry-"

"And what a pity that is, too-" Pez remarks, but it's half-hearted.

"...And then you won't even tell us what's going on!"

"It's fine," Henry snaps, jumping up from the chair and pacing over to the window.

The tie is flung thoughtlessly onto the floor. He sheds his jacket and begins loosening the collar of his shirt.

"It was nothing- a stupid mistake, just a stupid fucking kiss- and it was all my fault and I never should have done it and I've ruined everything now!"

Chest heaving.

Fists clenched.

Eyes wild.

He sinks slowly down to the ground, back against his window.

Deep, laboured breaths.

"But why should you care?"

Whispering, now.

Fragments of thoughts.

Half realised ideas- fluttering between his lips.

"Mum doesn't care. Phillip doesn't care. Gran doesn't care. Why should you?"

He glances up at the two of them- perched together on the bed, looking down at him- through his fingers, not bothering to hold back as thick, salty tears roll down his cheeks, tracing personal constellations over his skin.

Bea moves first- on her knees in front of him, clasping his hands in hers and squeezing. Tight.

"We do care, Hen."

"But why?" His voice breaks open, and falls to the ground around him in shards.

"Because," Pez joins in, moving to stand over him and ruffling Henry's hair so it stands up on end, "We're family-"

He starts to protest, but Bea chimes in again.

"Your real family."

And in the midst of the thundering rain, the sun peeks its head through, and Henry smiles.

Broken, bleeding, and wounded- but still there on his face.

A firework burst of warmth.

"And now," They both slump down beside him, and he's enveloped in tight hugs and warm arms and damp grins. "Tell me about this kiss," Pez smirks.

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