Orion || RWRB fanfic || Henry's POV

Extra Scene: *A Literal Closet- Part 1*

A/N- Hi again! :) This is the first part of this next chapter, because it's gonna be quite a long one. It starts with Henry finding out about Luna's betrayal...

(thanks for the concept  @ClausBabel )

(co-written by my cat, Tilly, who loves falling asleep on keyboards)

***

Soft, dusk light filters in through the vast airport windows, and a peach-pink sunset that reminds Henry forcibly of a certain person's bitten-down lips breaks across the runway.

Tarmac glistens with a fresh coat of rain below, and Henry pauses with the jacket of his suit – a navy Burberry – slung over one arm, halfway across the private lounge the PPOs have staked out for them. 

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he twists his face away to conceal it. His knuckles ache from ticking boxes and scrawling his looping signature at the feet of endless sheets of paperwork, but something is different, now – something inside of him. Something beating a new, different rhythm – a rhythm usually reserved for the First Son of the US, and Han Solo, alone.

Sometimes, Henry can't help but think of his lineage – his family, his name – as a curse. One that splits him in two – into the plastic, heterosexual Prince Charming he should be; and the closeted, broken boy who used to be scared to look too long at male actors on TV. But he can do good – real good – within the confines of his curse. He can find loopholes; ways to live with who he is, who he has to be.

And he has. And it feels... it feels like everything.

If he can't be himself, at least he can make sure everyone else can.

If he can't be happy, at least he can help others like him to be.

The Brooklyn LGBT shelter had been his idea; mostly funded out of his own savings account, and by Pez's contributions. Only Bea, David and Mr Wobbles know what they'd really been doing these past few days, but the cobweb of lies he'd spun are worth it, now – will always be worth it.

He's always been like this, he thinks; he's always lived through other people, in this way. He can grit his teeth and soldier through his life so long as other people are free to live theirs. It's the same spark, the same craving he's caught lighting up Alex's eyes, so many times before. That burning need to help everyone else except yourself.

He knows he needs to be careful that way of thinking doesn't set them both ablaze.

"Hey! Your Royal Grumpiness! You coming, or are we dumping you in NYC for the next year if you're too busy brooding?"

Pez bounds over, a silk, sequined sleeping mask pushed up his forehead, and a matching pillow slung around his neck. A pair of bejeweled sunglasses are propped up on his nose, even though the light is slowly draining from the sky.

"I'm not brooding," Henry murmurs, running one hand through his mussed-up hair. He rubs his knuckles over his eyes, the signet ring a flash of cold against his skin.

"What're we watching in-flight this time?" Pez catches him by the shoulder and drapes one arm around his neck, dragging him away from the window and towards the boarding tunnel sloping down to the private jet waiting for them. "Bond? Star Wars? Pride and Prejudice?"

It's become their tradition, on long flights together: they take it in turns – Pez forces Henry to dip his toes into the long list of essential 'culture' films that he insists he 'needs' to watch, and in return, when it's Henry's pick, he introduces Pez to classics, and Pez falls asleep halfway through the opening credits.