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It's not like everything just goes back to normal because Ellen has been reelected. It's one less worry, but it doesn't fix everything else.
It takes a long time for Alex and Henry to feel comfortable in the public eye, to be completely honest. They're happy-- so goddamn happy-- but it's too much.
The first round of interviews are completely scripted. It makes Alex feel safer that way. He holds Henry's hand every time.
It only takes one interview with a looser set of questions for things to start to unravel.
"So who wears the pants in the relationship?" The interviewer asks, giving them a wide smile.
Alex blinks. "Um… we both do? I'm sorry, I don't understand the question."
He chuckles. "You know. Who's the man out of the two of you?"
Alex sits up straighter in his seat, a little ball of something he can't name starting to coil in his gut.
Henry leans forward, eyebrows pulled together, and saves Alex from having to answer. "Our relationship is built on trust, respect, and equal treatment. I don't know what you're asking or implying, but that's all I'll say on the matter."
The next interviewer is more subtle about it.
"It can't be easy dating a prince," she laughs, looking at Alex. "I mean, I know it looks so easy in Disney movies, but no one's perfect. I bet he's a royal pain in the ass sometimes, pardon my French."
Alex laughs with her, nodding. "Oh, believe me, as much as I love him, he can be such a stick in the mud."
Henry gives him a playful shove, smiling fondly.
"But," she says, eyeing them, "I suppose you must be a pain in his ass, too. In plenty of ways." And then-- she winks.
Alex is sure she didn't mean it like that. He's just jumping to conclusions, the way he always does. That has to be it.
So he just tries to laugh it off. But he doesn't say anything to agree.
It's just microagressions for a while. Jokes said under someone's breath but clearly meant to be heard. Off-colored comments.
Alex can pinpoint the moment it starts getting bad.
"Alex, Henry, while we have you here today," the woman smiles, "I wanted to ask you some questions about the Waterloo Letters."
Alex feels that ball in his stomach, drawing black tendrils from inside him to make itself bigger. He swallows. "Um… what kinds of questions?" He forces a smile. "Like, why we were stupid enough to use private email servers for that sort of thing?"
Her laugh could be described as a titter, like a little bird. "Not quite!"
She turns to the coffee table beside her seat, and she lifts one of the magazines Alex had assumed was just set dressing. Beneath it is a small stack of papers. She picks up the stack, cheerily setting the magazine down in its place.
Peering at the first page, she says loudly, "Alex, on September fourth, in a list titled 'Things I Love About HRH Prince Henry Of Wales,' after discussing how big Henry's heart is you said, 'Your equally huge dick.'" She grins at him. "Everyone wants to know: were you joking?"
Alex's ears are ringing. "Are you seriously asking me what I think you're asking me right now?"
"Well, everyone knows tone doesn't always come across in writing," she chirps. "We just want to know if it was sarcastic."
Alex is floored. "I'm not answering that question."
She giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. "Oh, playing hard to get! That's alright, we can move on."
"Please do," Alex says firmly.
Instead of setting the stack aside, she flips to the next page. "Henry, on--"
"Can we not do this?" Alex growls.
She looks up, surprised.
"Alex, it's okay," Henry murmurs, taking his hand.
"It's not," Alex whispers back. He turns back to the interviewer. "Look, everyone has read the emails. That's hard enough on its own. Can we not talk about them like they're gossip instead of personal conversations? The only person I'll discuss them with is the one they were addressed to."
Her eyes widen. Alex actually lets himself breathe. Maybe this is the public statement they needed, the one that will make it clear how uncomfortable it makes them to have to hear this sort of thing.
In their next interview, the man asks, "What do you have to say about your outburst last week, Mister Claremont?"
"Claremont-Diaz," he says reflexively. Then, "What else is there to say? I think I made my point."
The man raises an eyebrow. "Well, it's just-- you put it all there in writing, you know? So why is it so different to answer questions in person?"
If Alex were stronger, he would take Henry's hand, stand up, and walk right out of the studio.
He takes a deep breath.
"I get the feeling," Alex starts, speaking slowly so the words will get through this man's thick skull, "that no one actually remembers what happened. Henry and I talked-- yes, about explicit subjects, but only ever to each other-- and then someone else leaked those emails to the public."
The man just stares at him, waiting for Alex to say something else.
Henry puts a hand on Alex's shoulder before he can think up something stupid to say.
"All I'm saying," the man shrugs, "is it's exactly the same as in the letters. Just on TV instead of on your laptop. Like you said, you've talked about explicit subjects before. Why are you suddenly so shy?"
Alex is tired of trying to explain himself to people who are only pretending to listen. So he asks, defeated, "Can we just move on?"
They're invited to a queer podcast, and Alex is relieved. Other members of the LGBT community will get it, the objectification and the exhaustion and how infuriating it is when straight people stick their noses in everyone's business without actually knowing what they're talking about.
"Soooo, Henry," the taller man out of the two says, grinning devilishly, "you're totally the bottom, right?"
Henry hesitates. He looks at Alex, then back at the man.
"Um… I guess?"
He looks like he regrets it the moment it's out of his mouth.
"Cut that," Alex says immediately.
The man pouts. "It's just for fun."
"I don't care," Alex says. "Cut it. We're not here to answer those sorts of questions."
"Come on," the man's boyfriend whines, playing with the cord on his chunky headphones. "Everyone talks about that stuff. It's such an easy question."
"I'd… rather not tell people that," Henry admits. "Sorry."
One day, Henry comes home looking dejected, and when Alex tries to ask what happened, he deflects. It's not until the next day when Alex gets an alert for a headline about them that he figures out why he was so upset.
PRINCE HENRY: "ALEX AND I AREN'T VANILLA"
"I'm guessing you didn't give up that information willingly," Alex says softly, rubbing his shoulder.
Henry's face scrunches up. "This-- this arsehole-- he practically assaulted me with his microphone, asking me these inane questions. I should have kept quiet, but I was pissed off, and then they twisted it even more out of context."
A video surfaces online, taken from a bystander's phone, of the so-called "exclusive interview." It consists of a man shoving his microphone in Henry's face as he tries to walk down the street, shouting what should be considered obscenities at him, even going so far as to start listing sexual positions and acts as if it'll get Henry to tell him which ones he likes. Eventually, Henry snaps at him, yelling back, "So what? So what if I have a boyfriend? So what if I have sex? So what if Alex and I aren't vanilla all the time, even? I'm allowed that! I'm an adult, aren't I?"
Admittedly, it wasn't the best response. But Alex can hardly blame him.
"Henry, we heard about that rude reporter," today's interviewer sighs, looking at Henry like he's a puppy with only three legs. "I'm so sorry to hear about how you were treated."
Henry smiles a little. "Thank you for your concern. It was harrowing, to be honest. I said some things in the moment that I probably shouldn't have."
She nods, eyes wide. "Did you mean everything you said, then?"
Alex tries to fight down the feeling that something here is wrong.
"I don't know," Henry sighs. "I do believe that, as an adult, I'm entitled to do whatever I like in the privacy of my own home. And men like him shouldn't be able to push me around, demanding that I explain it all to them in detail."
She barges through as if she hasn't heard him at all. "But did you mean it when you said the sex isn't vanilla?"
The color drains from Henry's face. "Excuse me?" he asks quietly.
"Well, you meant the rest of it," she nods. "So--"
"I don't think he feels comfortable answering that," Alex says.
She frowns. "It seems, Mister Claremont-Diaz, that you are always the one telling interviewers what they can and can't ask. Why don't you let Henry tell me if he wants to move on?"
"Because he's too polite for that," Alex explains carefully, fingers digging into the armrest on the chair. "I'm sure he could sit here and avoid the question all day, but he won't like it, and both of us will be in a funk for the rest of the week. It's easier for everyone involved if you read the room and don't ask us things that make us upset."
Henry squirms in his seat.
The next interviewer doesn't even open with something more casual. His very first question is, "Alex, everyone has been noticing how protective you get of Henry lately. Do you two act the same way behind closed doors, or does Henry like to let out his more confident side?"
The only positive Alex can find is that he chose to say behind closed doors instead of what he clearly wanted to say, in the bedroom.
Alex asks for their schedules to be cleared, just for a month. They're both tired of being prodded at under a microscope, and Alex knows time off will help them build up their thick skin again.
Alex can't escape it, even when he's not being questioned in person.
He tweets out a picture of Henry, in the middle of taking a huge bite of a sandwich, and captions it cronch. It's stupid and silly, and Henry gets mad at him for posting such an unflattering picture, but he's laughing as he says it, so Alex knows he doesn't really mind.
One of the early comments reads, Bet he eats Alex's ass with that much enthusiasm too.
It's gathered nearly as many likes as the original tweet by the end of the day, leaving it at the top of the comments every time Alex opens them.
It should be funny. It kind of is. But it also makes that oily black ball in the pit of his stomach grow and thrash, like it's trying to escape.
He can't bring himself to hide it, because that would feel like giving up. But then, maybe just staring at it is giving up too.
He wakes up the next morning and tries again. No photo, just feeling crappy. any game recs to cheer me up? Because he gets the sense that people have forgotten he has feelings.
His notifications are flooded right away, filled with cute puzzle games and free apps to download. There are plenty of well wishes, too, which puts a smile on his face.
He sets his phone down and spends an hour on the couch with Henry, watching Bake Off (when they're not busy sharing slow kisses).
When Henry gets up to order lunch, Alex opens Twitter again, to see if any of those pastel games actually catch his eye.
No game needed. I bet Henry could cheer you up real quickly ;)
Alex hides the comment and blocks the user. It doesn't stop the churning in his stomach.
After an hour of feeling like shit, he deletes Twitter, too.
(He tells himself it's temporary. Lots of people go on social media purges.)
That night, Alex is finally reading Pride and Prejudice, so Henry won't keep insisting. Henry's head is in his lap, and Alex can't help but card his fingers through Henry's hair as he reads.
"Alex?" Henry whispers. Alex had assumed Henry was falling asleep, but that must not be true.
"Yeah, baby?" He asks, looking down from his book.
Henry raises an eyebrow, smirking up at him. "You're so tense. It's been a while since we fucked… it might be good for you."
Alex slams the book down on his nightstand. He's glad Henry sits up in surprise, because Alex is practically leaping out of bed to get to the bathroom.
Henry rubs his back as he leans over the toilet. Alex knows he's done here, feeling scooped out and hollow, but he can't bring himself to move.
"I'm sorry," Henry says at last.
Alex shudders and shakes his head. "Not your fault," he croaks. "Never your fault."
Henry presses a kiss to the top of his head, even though his hair must be sweaty and gross. "Is this about…" he sighs. "I guess I can't even narrow it down, huh?"
"It's about everything," Alex groans. "I can't go a fucking day without-- without--"
"I know."
Alex pushes himself from his slump against the bowl to sit up properly. "I can't tell people not to talk to me that way, because they think I'm mean and stuck-up. But I also don't want to sit through those sorts of questions, because--"
"Because it's inappropriate," Henry nods.
Alex grits his teeth. "Well, sure, it's inappropriate, but that's fine! I like inappropriate, and crude, and mature. It's just none of their goddamn business!"
Henry leans against his shoulder. "They think because they read it all, they have any say."
"Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it." Alex sighs. "Even though… even though we didn't even mean for them to read as much as they did. Now they think that's all there is to us. And… they think they're just allowed to keep looking, to keep asking." His throat is tight. "Having moments that are just for us shouldn't be so much to ask for."
But he knows a month isn't as long as it sounds like, and Twitter will have to be reinstalled eventually too. If people don't want to hear his reasons for not liking the questions, then the most he can do is not answer them at all.