"You're doing what?" Alex's voice crackles through the phone that's pressed flush to Henry's ear.

Mid-morning sunlight streams into the parlour, the curtains flung open to allow faded ochre to pool on the bare floorboards. Bea strums away softly at her guitar, learning a new song. Henry picks out the murmured words to the 1 by Taylor Swift. He relaxes back into his seat and adjusts the collar on his shirt.

"An invitation-only charity polo match this weekend." Cutting his breakfast pastry up neatly with a knife and fork, Henry chews thoughtfully and studies the itinerary spread out on the table in front of him.

"It's in...Greenwich, Connecticut? It's $10,000 a seat, but I can have you added to the list."

Laughter bubbles up inside Henry, fueled by insomnia and giddiness and texting late into the night, and he almost spits out his croissant as Alex bursts into disbelieving expletives, punctuated by static and some cursing over spilt coffee.

Across the table, Bea plucks a string on her guitar loudly to get Henry's attention, then raises an eyebrow suggestively at him when their eyes lock. Still stifling a warm smile- the type that he rarely wears, the type that Alex has brushed off and ironed out, and made Henry want to grin like that all the time- he tosses a sheet of music from the heap of discarded, annotated papers sprawled across the music parlour's sofa. She ducks and it misses her by inches.

When Bea rights herself again, Henry presses a finger to his lips- a silent shut up- and Shaan glances between them, confusion and resignation written clearly across his face. Thank God for NDAs.

Bea turns to Henry's equerry with playful irritation, but Shaan just shrugs, so she shoves her own pastry into her mouth, tearing off a chunk as she storms out of the room in mock rage.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, Shaan flashes Henry a wink. Henry smiles back at him- but then Shaan slides another, new pile of paperwork over, and Henry scans them over hurriedly while Alex covers the speaker to mumble something hastily to someone on his end of the line, and curses internally.

Even more? He mouths, wide eyed. Shaan mimes tipping the brim of an imaginary hat, then exits the same way Bea had- leaving Henry alone with Alex's obviously half hearted attempt to sound completely casual about the idea of them meeting again.

Henry doesn't even bother to moderate his voice. Anticipation surges through his veins, his words surging out, lips unable to keep up with his thoughts. It's times like this when he usually reaches for the familiar leather-spined notebook, the familiar array of ripped out pages within, the familiar comfort of a pen in his hand and ink on his fingers.

But he doesn't have to do that. Not now. Not anymore. Now, Henry doesn't have to hide his feelings, the inner workings of his mind. Now, he shifts his grip on the phone and seats himself at the piano, tapping out one-handed tunes to give his restless energy an outlet in the form of music. Now, he lets his tongue rattle off wishes and dreams and promises and questions, and he doesn't bother to censor any of it. It takes concentration to momentarily lower the walls and defences he's spent a lifetime carefully curating, but he's willing to try.

For Alex, Henry thinks, he's willing to try anything.

They talk for hours; all throughout Henry's fitting for a new suit, which itches badly. He stands awkwardly on a pedestal with wireless earbuds and a headset, while several tailors scrutinise and size him up- Henry later admits that he's more than a little intimidated by them, and Alex laughs and demands pictures of him in the new outfit.

They talk into Alex's work- the shifting of paperwork and the scratching of a pen, the click of a keyboard and occasional coffee stops punctuate their conversation during this time, but Henry doesn't mind. If anything, he loves it even more- the fact that they can talk like this, casually, around all their schedules and meetings and itineraries. He loves that he knows Alex outside of dress suits and parties, press conferences and interviews. He knows Alex Claremont-Diaz as an ordinary human: vulnerable and raw and naked- the latter in more ways than one.

After a while, they switch to Facetime, and Henry shows Alex his new suit- which results in a muffled curse and a quick trip to the bathroom, where he's informed of all the different ways Alex could take the stiff new fabric off him- and then the FSOTUS aims to camera down at his desk.

"How do you live like this?" Henry gapes, aghast. The small table is littered with coffee cups, some half full still, others stained with dregs at the bottom. All other available surfaces are covered with binders and stacks of papers and loose pens.

"C'mon, it's not that bad," Alex insists, moving the phone around and pointing it at his face. Dark crescent moons encircle his eyes- making his face appear soft and sleepy- hair tousled and shirt rumpled, stained in places with coffee. It sends a thrill through Henry that he was the one keeping Alex up until midnight, and he's not ready to let go of that fuzzy, safe feeling that talking to him brings him. So, when Alex is forced to put the phone down to take another, work-related call, Henry decides to be a prick, and keeps on texting him endless questions- after realising that he doesn't even know Alex's MBTI. The conversation goes like this:

H:

First Son of My Heart: asshole

First Son of My Heart: you know I'm working now!!!!!

H:

First Son of My Heart: ENTP

First Son of My Heart: happy now???

H:

H:

First Son of My Heart: Your eyes. Now fuck off and let me work.

H:

First Son of My Heart: WAIT YOU KNOW ABOUT THOSE?????

H:

First Son of My Heart: WHAAAAAAT

H:

First Son of My Heart: Absolutely but ADJKD6FUVIB I CANT BELIEVE YOU

H:

"Why are you smiling at your phone like a maniac? You're not watching Star Wars porn again, are you? Shit's nasty."

Henry's ears flare bright red and he hastily shuts off his phone, crossing his arms defensively.

"Star Wars porn is not a thing. And I've never watched it."

"It is definitely a thing." Henry sighs, but he's too buoyed up from talking to Alex to be properly mad.

"What do you want, Pez?" Henry's best friend opens the door wider with a flourish, sauntering in with his usual flair.

A black crop-top hugs his body, showing off a good deal of skin- Henry can already see the thirst tweets that will overrun both their feeds tomorrow- along with a pair of pink trousers, flared at the bottom.

"To hang with my best buddy, of course," He grins in a way that contradicts what he's literally just said. Henry raises an eyebrow doubtfully. Pez leaps onto the bed beside him, grabbing a Jaffa Cake from the open packet by Henry's side.

"Okay, and also I wanna know if you're bringing a plus one to the polo match."

Rolling his eyes and shaking off thoughts of Alex, just in case Pez can read minds, which he seems to do a lot, Henry stretches and leans heavily against the headboard.

"You don't have plus ones in polo."

"Any clandestine lovers, then? Secret affairs?" Henry shoves a pillow at Pez's face.

"Ooh, so you do have one!" Pez crows in a sing-song voice. Despite himself, Henry breaks into a sheepish grin.

"Oh my God, my boy's getting some!"

"Shut up," Henry laughs, hiding his crimson face in his hands.

"So..." Pez leans closer, almost creepily eager. "Does he kiss well?"

"Ew. I'm not telling you that."

"Awh, come on," Pez pleads, "Can I at least meet him?"

Henry freezes with his hand halfway to the Jaffa Cakes. The reality of his situation crashes back over him like a flood. Pez can't meet Alex- he never can. And the rest of his family definitely can't. This relationship has the power to destroy the Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor's forever.

Hooking up with a man is bad enough.

Hooking up with the First Son of the US is practically worth a death penalty.

Pez sees the tension in his expression, and laughs.

"Okay, Hen. It's fine. I know you're just too chicken."

"Will you ever stop with the puns?" Pez's humour breezes over the whole situation, and unmelts Henry from his shock.

"Nope."

"Please?"

"No chance."

Discarded on the bedside table, Henry's phone lets out an insistent chime- the opening notes of Your Song, by Elton John. He knows who it is instantly, and swipes it off the stand, knocking over the hideous beige lamp perched on it in the process. A text message pops up on the screen- a blue heart.

Pez peers over his shoulder as Henry's cheeks flush and he starts grinning like an idiot at his phone. Tapping out a reply- a red heart, classic but meaningful- he bats Pez's nose out the way.

"Who's First Son of My Heart?" His friend narrows his eyes at the contact name. Shit. Cursing his inability to reply to Alex internally, he quickly shuts down the phone and tosses it aside again, cheeks heating rapidly.

"Um. Nothing. No one."

"Hen..." Pez tuts, "You can't hide things from your dear old Aunty Pezza. I know exactly what's going on here."

"You- you do?" Henry's voice rises at least another whole octave. Anxiety twists in his gut.

"Of course! You hooked up with some chick at a drunken party and that was your secret bastard Son texting you!"

"Pez," Henry begins solemnly as relief floods his body, and he sinks back into the bed. "I'm gay."

"That's the only issue you have with the story?" Pez exclaims, leaping to his feet and gesturing wildly. "Damn, Chicken. This international disaster has changed you."

Stifling a smirk at the seed of truth in Pez's statement, Henry sighs in amusement.

"You're looking at a changed man right here," He deadpans, gesturing dryly to himself, still dressed in the new suit- which is now disastrously crumpled. The tailors are going to kill him, Henry thinks.

His abandoned phone beckons him impatiently for a second time- it's a little bit funny, this feeling inside- and Henry resists the gravity of Alex's texts for a split second before he lunges across the bed again to read them, considering himself officially a lost cause.

First Son of My Heart: 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

H: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/world-according-to-grey

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7EJilWouTBia7cQsjmLzdV?si=f00b109e8fc540f4&pt=7ed95bc577bb0f21bc2444da3792806a