Orion || RWRB fanfic || Henry's POV

Part 31- Starless

TWs: mention of negligent family

***

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.