Alex: i knead you to know i’ll def have opinions Henry: Was that a baking pun? Alex: that’s on a knead to know basis Henry: Is that the only baking word you know? Alex: i expect you to teach me more Alex: it’s the yeast you can do Henry: Alright, you bellend, cut it out. Alex: what’s a bellend Henry: Look it up.

Drowning is a strange way to die.

• excited for august 11th

The first time Prince Alex says it, in one of his letters, Prince Henry has to re-read what it says, afraid he has imagined it. There it is in print, though, at the end of his letter, for the first time ever: Love, Alex. When Prince Henry read those words, he – well, his fifteen-year-old mind- had already been in love with Alex for longer than he remembers not being. He continues to write as if nothing has changed, his mind working around in circles as to what those words really mean. The prince knows they are young, Alex a year younger than him even, but he contemplates over and over the possibility that what he feels at just fifteen years of age is love and that it might be returned. The words continue to be there at the bottom of every letter Alex sends, and Henry bides his time. He knows they are too young for anything to happen, but he knows he will have forever to get there. He has always felt a connection to Alex, and now he thinks he knows what that connection is and why he felt that pull towards him even when they were younger. It's on Prince Alex’s fifteenth birthday that it all comes to a head; Prince Henry, newly sixteen by just a couple of weeks, has been in his head all day, and his friend notices. Prince Alex drags him off to the Green Room in the palace in Claremont so they can be alone, without all the other people around. It’s a room that holds sentimental value to the boys as they spent many days in this room, playing any variation of games their young minds could make up. It’s the room they often run to when things become a little too much for one of them; their families know if they need to find them to look there.

It feels different than it had all those months ago. They’re so far from that tightrope of intimacy disguised of sex, the dangerous meeting place of wanting and resisting. He can still hear his mom’s voice against the panes of his skull, ‘do you feel forever about him?’, and yet, there’s none of the apprehension clawing at the back of his throat. There’s no flip in his stomach turning over like a car engine, fighting to ignite.

---

or, Henry and Alex drive to Lake LBJ, and Alex is so in love that he could die.

Alex dices and slices and chops and juliennes, the top edge of the knife digging into his index finger and leaving a deep pink indent—physical proof of his hard work. Something tangible to hold on to, as real as the vegetables neatly stacked in front of him, as true as the erratic pulse he can feel in his fingertips. He leans into the sharp pain, his wrist aching and finger throbbing from the speed. His back is curled into himself, crowding his body over the kitchen counter, errant curls falling into his eyes as his knife moves at lighting speed, struggling to keep up with his racing thoughts. "You gotta come home, Alex." Alex's knife picks up at a punishing pace.  “Mom needs you. I need you.” Everybody wants something. He's not sure how much he has left to give, to slice off of his heart and serve up. Ugly presentation.

The plane lands in the middle of the night, so at least there are mercifully few reporters and paparazzi waiting when Alex lands. He puts on a hoodie and a ball cap and keeps his head down, letting Cash and Amy pave the way to the car for him, and again when they get to the hotel. He barely gets any sleep that night, too bogged down in jet lag and anxiety to be able to relax. He’s greeted by a swarm when he arrives for the first day of the conference. Cash and Amy do their best to shield him from the crowd, but Alex agrees to answer a few questions, because he doesn’t want anyone to think he’s ashamed. He wants this kid, he wants to be a dad. He just also wants some goddamn privacy.

Henry’s eyes, which are trained on their point of connection, flit up to meet Alex’s. “Alex, you— Are you—” “Yeah,” Alex chokes out. “Keep going.” Henry sucks in a breath, nodding, seemingly collecting himself. Then, the corner of his mouth curls up into a small smile. “You look… Incredible, Alex. You’re taking it so well.”

The room had been crafted to mimic the feel of his actual office, still enough to lull a sense of confidence with each party on the other line. Yet, squirreled away snugly between the clean edge of his desk and the corner of the wall, a downy pet bed lay cocooned into a small cove. A soft string of delicate lights, bright enough to cast a gentle glow down to illuminate the pages of Henry’s books on the occasional day off from the shelter dotted wall of the small niche. Soft pillows cushioned the cool ridges of the walls above the bed, and along the plush surface, squeaker-lined stuffed mice and small bells encased in puffs lay scattered, awaiting the shuffle of Henry’s outstretched limbs.  It wasn’t every day that Henry settled himself into the small corner, content to bask in the murmur of Alex’s voice for a few hours. But now and then, a work lull would allow him to take the time to sink into himself. He’d explained to Alex once that it wasn’t completely the same—not the complete removal from the anxieties nipping at the outer corners of his mind over matters bubbling an ocean away or the utter ease of knowing his only concern was following any command that slipped free of Alex’s mouth the same way full scenes did. But the subtle pride Alex got from seeing Henry’s shoulders relax just a fraction, contented sighs speckled in his exhales, was enough to make Alex more than willing to ensure Henry knew he was welcome to slip in regardless of the video stream on his monitor, or density of the document he was reviewing.