Orion || RWRB fanfic || Henry's POV

Part 22- Good King Wenceslas

When Alex finally hangs up awkwardly, Henry sinks back onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. The phone falls limp next to him, loose in his fist, and he gazes at it listlessly as the images come.

They rise unbidden in his mind, fractured shards of an impossibly soft smile, so often curved in a smirk; wild chocolate curls and dark, glinting eyes.

He smiles. It's a wild grin, one that's been building in him ever since Alex had called- one that he now lets loose, feeling his face stretch and a warm spark of something alight in his chest. The spark flares brighter as his phone buzzes, and a new message from Alex pops up on the screen:

i sent pics of turkeys so i deserve pics of your animals too.

Henry smiles wider, snapping a picture of himself; Mr Wobbles on one side, and David, who pads through the door, as he's about to send it, forcing him to take a new one with both pets, on the other.

He lies back, finally allowing the wave of images to flood his mind. It feels like a release. Henry's spent too many years pushing back his feelings, guarding them closely and crushing them down- pretending they never existed in the first place. Alex has changed that. Alex has changed so much about Henry, though he'll never know it.

Henry sleeps. Deeply. For the first time in months.

***

It's Christmas Eve. Henry had forgotten. That is, he'd forgotten all about it until Bea comes hurtling into his room at six am, accompanied by Pez, who has truly embraced the Christmas spirit and is robed in a perfectly fitting green and red shirt embroidered with reindeers who's noses flash with crimson light and belt out Christmas carols when he presses them. Pez's hair has been dyed holly green for the occasion, and he and Bea sing a tuneless accompaniment to the red flashing reindeer now singing 'Good King Wenceslas' from his top- Pez is actually quite good, but Bea's voice sounds like a strangled cat and drowns his voice out.

Henry attempts to muster enough energy to smile weakly and clap, forcing himself not to wince too obviously as they hit a high note. He's half afraid the windows might smash. At least they're enthusiastic, though, which is the complete opposite of Henry himself, who wants nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and sleep for another year. Or two- you never know your luck.

***

The rest of the day is lost on Henry, who can barely stand all the Christmas guests roaming around the palace, who shake his hand and chat to him for what feels like hours until he excuses himself and slips silently away; the loud, booming carols playing constantly, mixed with the rich scents wafting from the kitchen, all the food Bea drags him down to taste and approve- it's all too much for him. He feels like he's drowning in all the bustle and noise, and Bea and Pez are both in such good spirits that they barely notice the dark cloud hanging over Henry's head.

There's another reason for Henry's bad mood, though. Family dinner. It's a tradition. Each year, Bea drags him along to it; each year, it ends with Henry curled in a ball on his bed, tearing at his hair and screaming silently into the pillow. He wouldn't cry, though. Because minutes later they'd all be whisked away for a photoshoot; the first Christmas he turned up with puffy eyes and damp cheeks, Phillip had slapped him across the face, and they'd cut Henry from the picture that year.

Phillip probably wishes he could cut Henry from the family, too.