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The class is Ethical Issues in International Relations. He really has got to stop taking classes so painfully relevant to his life.
“Hi,” he says, when he reaches Henry’s eye level. “Hello,” Henry says back. “I’m gonna take your pants off now,” Alex tells him. “Yes, good, carry on.”
Henry is one talented bastard, a man of many hidden gifts, Alex muses half-hysterically. A true prodigy. God Save the Queen.
“I don’t actually care,” he says, and grabs Henry by the stupid collar of his stupid polo and kisses his stupid mouth.
He’s just as attracted to Henry’s cloudy tempers, the way he comes back from them, and the millions of shades in between.
“Anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever said this many words out loud in a row in my entire life, so please feel free to put me out of my misery any time now.”
He watches Henry lather up and shave, put pomade in his hair, put on his Burberry for the day, and he catches himself wishing he could watch it every day. He likes taking Henry apart, but there’s something incredibly intimate about sitting on the bed they wrecked the night before, the only one who watches him create Prince Henry of Wales for the day.
O, fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde! Take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. If only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys with chin dimples are mean to him.
“H?” he whispers. “You awake?” Henry sighs. “Always.”
You know how they always say to take it one day at a time? I think I take it ten years in the future. Like when I was in high school, it was all: Well, my parents hate each other, and my sister is leaving for college, and sometimes I look at other guys in the shower, but if I keep looking directly ahead, that stuff can’t catch up to me.
“You think I don’t care as much as you?” “You’re sure as hell acting like it.” “I honestly haven’t got the time to explain to you all the ways you’re wrong—”
“Fuck you,” Henry says, his voice breaking, and he gets a handful of Alex’s shirt collar, and Alex knows he’s going to love this stubborn shithead forever. “Tell me,” he says, a ghost of a smile around his lips, “to leave.”
He tells his too-fast brain: Don’t miss it this time. He’s too important.
When Alex was a kid, before anyone knew his name, he dreamed of love like it was a fairy tale, as if it would come sweeping into his life on the back of a dragon one day. When he got older, he learned about love as a strange thing that could fall apart no matter how badly you wanted it, a choice you make anyway. He never imagined it’d turn out he was right both times.
“You are quite literally Queen Victoria’s worst nightmare.”
Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.
“Because I’m not like the rest of the men of this family, beginning with the fact that I am very deeply gay, Philip.”
He wants to set himself on fire, but he can’t afford for anyone to see him burn.
I’m running on nothing but black coffee, a Wetzel’s Pretzel, and a fistful of B12. Do not even breathe in my direction.”
That’s the choice. I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.”
“For what it’s worth,” he says to Philip, “that is the bravest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”
“Take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.”