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In this version, their meeting goes differently.
This time, Henry says, "I need to get out of here," his voice strained and throat closing tight, invisible hands squeezing the breath out of him, crushing his lungs until Henry's ribs feel bruised.
He looks away from the man in front of him and blinks away tears. Too bright, wonderful, and everything for Henry to let himself try to reach out and touch. And that's the worst part— Henry wants to touch. Desperately. So desperately, his hands are shaking where he's clutched them into fists at his side, the dark oily tendrils of Henry's dark misery making needy grabby hands at the shiny beacon standing too close, not knowing the danger.
Alex Claremont-Diaz is vivid and perfect, and everything Henry isn't, everything he can't be allowed to have.
So, Henry turns away, so rude and abrupt he thinks he would have flushed in shame if he wasn't cold and clammy with panic.
"Of course," Shaan says, "This way, your highness." Henry turns to follow, can see the path, fifty steps or less to freedom and starts to move, makes it five steps before his body locks up tight, refusing to give up what it's found.
Stupid, helpless, needy , foolish body. It's too dumb not to try and grab at what it doesn't deserve.
Henry turns again, says, "Wait", and walks briskly towards Alex Claremont-Diaz, who's already turned and walking away, his secret service agents a barrier around him, "Alex, I mean, Mr Claremont-Diaz?" and wow, there is going to be something of an awkward showdown between Henry's PPOs and the secret service agents because Henry's moving a little too quick, not following protocol and making everyone twitchy. But Alex is stopping, turning around, and looking right at Henry, head tilted back, lips pulled up – disdain, Henry thinks. It's nothing less than what Henry deserves.
"I'm sorry," he says quickly, "That was so incredibly, obnoxiously rude of me. I, I can't apologise enough for it. My behaviour was unforgivable."
Alex isn't moved. He's standing with his hands in his pocket, looking down at Henry, who, for a lifetime of royal and media training, can't put together the words it would take to undo the damage caused by his stupid mouth less than two minutes ago, and get that awful look off Alex's face.
"Right," Alex says, turning to walk away, clearly not willing to forgive Henry for his transgression.
It's fair, Henry thinks. He was a rotten prick. He doesn't deserve a second chance; he can't possibly hope to set right what he broke here. But still--
"It was lovely to meet you. I've watched your speeches during the president's campaign. You speak beautifully, and you're very passionate about your views. It's inspiring to watch you speak." Henry takes a breath and goes on before he can lose his nerve, "And again, I apologise for my behaviour. Have a good night—"
"Oh my god," Alex cuts in, moving in close. "Just fucking stop apologising. I get it."
"Oh," Henry stops, "I."
Alex sticks his hand out. Henry can't help but feel like it's a test. "Alex Claremont-Diaz. Yes, both names are necessary. First Son of the US. Lovely to meet you."
Henry takes the offered hand quickly, not wanting to give himself the chance to hesitate. "Henry," he says and manages to let go of Alex's hand before things could become awkward.
Alex grins at him. "Just Henry? Cause I thought I heard a few more names when they introduced you earlier."
Henry hopes desperately that he's not blushing. "But you've heard them already, so there is no need to repeat them. We can pretend you've taken the time to thoroughly poke fun at them," Henry says and tries for a smile.
"Look," Alex says, "I know we just met and everything, but like, are you okay? Because you look like you would rather be anywhere but here, and if it's not me making you uncomfortable …"
"Oh," Henry says, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. It was a wretched, careless thing to do , he thinks miserably and has to stop himself from regurgitating any of the well-practised lines he's used to assure everyone of his well-being over the last few months, and instead, for the first time in months, Henry's honest. "I'm really not alright. I was just looking for a way out of the room. Thought it might help."
"You know what, I could use some fresh air. If you want the company. And there's this balcony the Secret Service has already cleared. I mean, I don't know if it's good enough for a prince or anything, but—"
It's not actually a balcony that they're eventually led to because, as far as Henry's PPOs and Shaan are concerned, Alex's suggestion is only good enough for a prince once it's been thoroughly vetted, thank you very much. It's a small outdoor seating area with benches and umbrellas that have been put away for the evening. It's lovely and open, with a view right to the water. Henry feels like he can breathe for the first time since he put his suit on for the evening.
Someone manages to bring out a few bottles of beer and soft drinks. Alex, hopefully, tries to reach for a beer before it's very intentionally snatched away by one of the agents and replaced with a soft drink instead. After that, they're given a bit of privacy.
"Not fair," Alex pouts, and dear god, it's unfairly attractive. Henry's poor heart isn't sure what to do with itself other than bounce around the confines of Henry's rib cage, bruised from excitement. "I'm old enough to drink here."
Henry just grins and twists the top off his beer bottle. He taps his bottle against Alex's before taking a drink. Alex watches him with a look of feigned betrayal.
"I liked you better when you were falling over yourself apologising for being a dick," Alex says. Still, he's smiling and picking up his soft drink bottle, rolling it between his hands. His very large, capable-looking hands. Henry has to tear his eyes away from them. "So, what's a prince doing at a conference he really seems to hate being at? Didn't know anyone could make a prince do anything they didn't want to do."
If only you knew the half of it , Henry thought. "You would be surprised how little say a prince has in where he goes and what he does. At least a climate conference is a little more useful than going to dinners so we can pat old white men on the back for contributions to society while generously overlooking their racist and bigoted opinions and the fact that those contributions mostly consist of lining their rich friend's pockets." Henry wants to say more, wants to say But I'm not sorry to be here now, not when you're here, so close I could reach out and touch, warm my hands on your brightness.
"But still," Alex says carefully, "You don't want to be here."
"Alex," Henry choked, the words barely wanting to leave his throat. "We buried my father eight months ago. I don't want to be anywhere other than in my bed, under the covers."
"Fuck," Alex says quickly. His hands stop playing with the bottle, and he looks at Henry with big eyes. "Shit, Henry, I'm sorry, I didn't even think about that."
"It's okay," Henry says, "I don't expect people to remember every detail of my life." He shrugs, "It's just that Dad had barely been buried a week before my grandfather had me going out to some charity event that I barely made it through. And he hasn't slowed down. Likely thinks if I keep moving, I'll forget that my father's gone." Or that my insides are full of glass shards, cutting me when I move, when I breathe, and I'm nothing but shredded flesh bleeding out .
"Hey," Alex says, knocking his knee against Henry's, "I'm sorry I came up to you the way I did. I didn't even think about it. I just wanted to meet you, and I could have waited until tomorrow. I should have noticed you were—"
"Alex," Henry pleads, "Please don't apologise. I was the one who was being rude. I've wanted to meet you as well. I wasn't lying when I said you were inspiring."
"Wow," Alex whistles, grinning. He might be blushing, Henry thinks, "You sure know how to make a boy feel special."
"It's true," Henry says, and he's about to go into great and embarrassing detail about every time he's seen Alex speak when Shaan appears politely to the side.
"Apologies, Your Highness, but you're being missed at the gathering."
Henry feels the words like a bucket of ice water. He knows there will be consequences when he's back in London and going through a debrief. It'll be noted that he disappeared with the American delegation for a half hour. He'll be asked to explain himself and then be reminded of his duty to his country, his family, and the young people who might look up to him.
"Of course," he says stiffly, already getting to his feet. Alex stands with him, adjusting his cuffs. "Alex, it was a pleasure to meet you, and it's been lovely spending time with you. And again—"
"Nope," Alex cuts him off, "Don't you even dare. Try and apologise to me again, and I am going to have to do something potentially aggressive towards you that would make your agents very uncomfortable."
"I see," Henry smiles, "Well, for the sake of my PPOs, I'll refrain from any further attempts at apology then."
"Good," Alex nodded. "See that you do. Also, give me your phone."
"Why?" Henry asks, confused, but he's handing his phone, unlocked, over to Alex anyway.
"So I can give you my phone number. We've got two more days of this. I'm sure we'll get to hang out again. Besides, I hear that coffee in Australia is a religious experience that's going to ruin me for anything I can get in North America. I'm going to need a friend for that."
When Alex hands Henry's phone back, it's open to the new contact page. Alex has saved his contact as AGCD FSOTUS. Henry rolls his eyes but sends a message to the number. Alex grins, taps and types quickly on his screen, then shows it to Henry.
HRH Henry 💗
Henry nods, "Yes, that's acceptable, I suppose."
Once they're back in the function room, they're ushered in different directions, but only after Alex has secured a firm promise from Henry about breakfast the following day
In this version, their meeting goes differently.