Orion || RWRB fanfic || Henry's POV

Part 9- Star Wars

So, uh, Star Wars?" Alex starts, accusatory. Henry sighs, bracing himself.

"Yes, Alex," He says, "believe it or not, the children of the crown don't only spend their childhood going to tea parties."

"I assumed it was mostly posture coaching and junior polo league." Alex pauses, obviously expecting Henry to laugh, but he only sighs deeply again, unhappily.

"That...may have been part of it."

***

Their mum had always tried to shield Henry and Bea from the main duties of a royal when they were younger, but his grandmother had interfered even then- constantly forcing them into the spotlight since they could walk properly. Of course, since their dad died, Henry's mum has just given up; withdrawn into herself. He's not sure she knows he exists these days. And so Phillip had taken over, always cajoling Henry to take more classes, more duties, until he thought he was going to collapse under the pressure.

He's always loved Star Wars- it's just a fact, and Henry isn't sure why Alex is making such a big deal of it. He supposes royals aren't supposed to even know about Jedi. It's the sort of thing Phillip would have a heart attack about if he knew. Not that it would be such a bad thing, but, well...appearances must be maintained.

***

"So you're into pop culture, but you act like you're not," Alex leans closer to Henry, eyes narrowed and eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks distractingly. "Either you're not allowed to talk about it because it's unseemly for the crown, or you choose not to talk about it because you want people to think you're cultured. Which one?" Henry lets out a shaky breath, turning his face away. Alex has a knack of doing that; observing people, making notes of their actions and watching the patterns unfold. It makes Henry feel transparent, as if he's made of glass and Alex can see right through his paper-thin Prince Charming mask to the boy beneath it; the boy who loves Star Wars and that falafel stand down the road, who wants to be a great writer one day and who absolutely hates all of this. Because he does. He hates being part of the royal family. He hates all of the attention, the cameras constantly trailing after him, the papers always coming out with some trashy spiel about him, and most of all, he hates not being himself.

Henry feels flood of icy sadness wash over him, struggles for words, finally unearthing a desperate:

"Are you psychoanalysing me? I don't think royal guests are allowed to do that." He knows he sounds like a complete idiot, but at least his outburst buys him time to take a few deep, steadying breaths and piece himself back together again.

"I'm trying to understand why you're so committed to acting like someone you're not, considering you just told that little girl in there that greatness means being true to yourself." Henry thinks Alex understands way more than he's letting on, and it scares him. Is he really that transparent? He forces down the knot of panic in his throat, choking out, his voice rough and strained round the edges.

"I don't know what you're talking about, and if I did, I'm not sure that's any of your concern." In the darkness of the storage closet, Henry makes out the outline of Alex, sitting back on his heels and smirking thoughtfully to himself. Henry wonders anxiously if he just gave away more than he'd intended.

"Really?" Alex continues in disbelief, "Because I'm pretty sure I'm legally bound to pretend to be your best friend, and I don't know if you've thought this through yet, but that's not going to stop with this weekend." Henry goes tense. Of course, he has thought this through, but the idea of seeing Alex again gives him a sharp pang in his chest.  The thought of having to pretend, even with Alex, who knows the friendship is fake; he'll have to lie to everyone- even to Bea- because even she can't know... Alex cuts off his thoughts before they wander into forbidden territory, by saying:

"If we do this and we're never seen together again, people are gonna know this is all fake." Henry nods slowly, already resigned to his fate. "We're stuck with each other, like it or not, so I have a right to be clued in about what your deal is before it sneaks up on me and bites me in the ass." Alex- ever focused on what he wants, determined to get it. There's no use arguing with him, so Henry attempts to steer the topic subtly away again.

"Why don't we start..." He turns his head to squint at Alex, gauging his reaction when he finishes, "...with you telling me why exactly you hate me so much?" Alex crosses his arms, eyeing Henry thoughtfully.

"Do you really want to have that conversation?"

"Maybe I do." Henry isn't sure he does, actually, but he isn't about to back out now. He's in way over his head, but the only way is forwards. He raises his chin, squaring his jaw as Alex starts.

"Do you really not remember being a prick to me at the Olympics?"

"Is that the time you threatened to push me into the Thames?"

"No. It was the time you were a condescending prick at the diving finals."

"Remind me?" 

Henry remembers it perfectly- every single detail. Alex, chatting and laughing with his sister and another girl he didn't know at the time- his best friend, Nora Holleran, granddaughter of the Vice President and renowned genius. His eyes had been sparkling with a sort of stubborn light, hair artfully tousled, skin bronzed and lips soft and curving in a broad smile. Henry hadn't been able to tear his eyes away. 

So yeah, he remembers it all. Not that he's about to tell Alex that, of course.