Orion || RWRB fanfic || Henry's POV

33- Just a Dinner

TWs: panic attacks, very minor implied explicit content, brief reference to alcohol.

***

Shaan's piercing gaze slices clean through Henry. 

Clean through the newly washed facade; the perfectly ironed suit- dark blue, the matching tie patterned with a honeycomb of gilt crowns, which Henry thinks is a bit on the nose- hair combed flat to his scalp, uncomfortably pinned in place with spray just the way he hates it.

 Clean through to the bone- to the whirling storm of regrets barely concealed under the table, where his thumbs aimlessly refresh and refresh his messages. 

Hoping for a sign- something, anything. 

He wonders blankly, listlessly, if across the ocean, Alex is doing the same thing. 

Too scared to send the first message, too pathetic to turn off his phone, he sits up straighter in his chair and stews; half of his attention on the table full of PAs and publicists and family all watching him as the other half watches the screen.

Nothing.

Days of waiting, and it's always the same.

He'd been sad at first- devastated; tear stained pillows and icy bathroom tiles and rotting away to skin and salt and bones.

Then angry.

And now... now, Henry's just tired.

God, he's so tired.

"Henry." Shaan's voice is firm, commanding. Slowly, he raises his eyes and makes contact. "Turn it off." 

The whole room swivels round to watch the two of them. Henry has no idea how Shaan knows, but, not daring to look away, his fingers fumble to the side and press down. The screen flickers to black. 

A long exhale is flushed free from his chest, and Henry sags, all the tension flooding out of him.

"Thank you." Now Shaan's tone merges seamlessly into sympathy. "Now," He cranes around to address the room, "There's the matter of the dinner."

And Henry's heart-

Stops.

"It's compulsory-"

"Part of the deal-"

"You'll fly private of course-"

"Black suit or gold or-"

"Good image-"

"The press-"

"It'll only be a few days-"

"Disappointment-"

"Fix your mess-"

"Best friends-"

"Show your friendship-"

"Friends-"

"You're best friends."

The voices slam into him in a wall of static, and he slams hands over his ears in answer- blocking it, blocking them all out.

How could he have forgotten?

How could he have forgotten that while his mistake seeps into his reality, blocking out the light, the rest of the world spins on- oblivious.

To the press, to his family, to the people, nothing had changed at all.

The show must go on for them. Even if Henry's left behind.

How could he have forgotten?

How could he-