Orion || RWRB fanfic || Henry's POV

Part 36- First Son of My Heart

A/N: hi! Sorry it's been a while, but I'm back now!!! Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

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"You're doing what?" Alex's voice crackles through the phone that's pressed flush to Henry's ear.

Mid-morning sunlight streams into the parlour, the curtains flung open to allow faded ochre to pool on the bare floorboards. Bea strums away softly at her guitar, learning a new song. Henry picks out the murmured words to the 1 by Taylor Swift. He relaxes back into his seat and adjusts the collar on his shirt.

"An invitation-only charity polo match this weekend." Cutting his breakfast pastry up neatly with a knife and fork, Henry chews thoughtfully and studies the itinerary spread out on the table in front of him.

"It's in...Greenwich, Connecticut? It's $10,000 a seat, but I can have you added to the list."

Laughter bubbles up inside Henry, fueled by insomnia and giddiness and texting late into the night, and he almost spits out his croissant as Alex bursts into disbelieving expletives, punctuated by static and some cursing over spilt coffee.

Across the table, Bea plucks a string on her guitar loudly to get Henry's attention, then raises an eyebrow suggestively at him when their eyes lock. Still stifling a warm smile- the type that he rarely wears, the type that Alex has brushed off and ironed out, and made Henry want to grin like that all the time- he tosses a sheet of music from the heap of discarded, annotated papers sprawled across the music parlour's sofa. She ducks and it misses her by inches.

When Bea rights herself again, Henry presses a finger to his lips- a silent shut up- and Shaan glances between them, confusion and resignation written clearly across his face. Thank God for NDAs.

Bea turns to Henry's equerry with playful irritation, but Shaan just shrugs, so she shoves her own pastry into her mouth, tearing off a chunk as she storms out of the room in mock rage.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, Shaan flashes Henry a wink. Henry smiles back at him- but then Shaan slides another, new pile of paperwork over, and Henry scans them over hurriedly while Alex covers the speaker to mumble something hastily to someone on his end of the line, and curses internally.

Even more? He mouths, wide eyed. Shaan mimes tipping the brim of an imaginary hat, then exits the same way Bea had- leaving Henry alone with Alex's obviously half hearted attempt to sound completely casual about the idea of them meeting again.

Henry doesn't even bother to moderate his voice. Anticipation surges through his veins, his words surging out, lips unable to keep up with his thoughts. It's times like this when he usually reaches for the familiar leather-spined notebook, the familiar array of ripped out pages within, the familiar comfort of a pen in his hand and ink on his fingers.

But he doesn't have to do that. Not now. Not anymore. Now, Henry doesn't have to hide his feelings, the inner workings of his mind. Now, he shifts his grip on the phone and seats himself at the piano, tapping out one-handed tunes to give his restless energy an outlet in the form of music. Now, he lets his tongue rattle off wishes and dreams and promises and questions, and he doesn't bother to censor any of it. It takes concentration to momentarily lower the walls and defences he's spent a lifetime carefully curating, but he's willing to try.

For Alex, Henry thinks, he's willing to try anything.

They talk for hours; all throughout Henry's fitting for a new suit, which itches badly. He stands awkwardly on a pedestal with wireless earbuds and a headset, while several tailors scrutinise and size him up- Henry later admits that he's more than a little intimidated by them, and Alex laughs and demands pictures of him in the new outfit.