Our Song || RWRB Oneshots

Rio

This is the story of what really happened at Rio...

Henry's POV

The stadium is crammed; voices calling out to each other, shouts, cries and inhuman screeches echo around the space, and they're giving Henry one hell of a headache. Next to him, Shaan smiles gently, sympathetically. Henry turns his head back to the pool erected in the center of the running track, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. There must be thousands of people here- and practically all of them know his name. Prince Henry of England. The perfect blank canvas.

If only they knew the truth.

The diving finals begin, and for a moment, the raging flood of voices is blotted out by the slosh and splash of water as a gun sounds- Henry flinches and his hands jerk halfway up to his ears, before he catches Shaan's eye and lowers them slowly- and distant figures leap off their boards and into the water.

He turns away. Henry has absolutely no interest in diving, and he thinks Phillip and his Grandma only sent him here to get him out of the way, after...after his Dad died. The two of them are both busy sorting out the whole mess of inheritance and appropriate charity donations. Too busy to deal with Henry- to help him with his grief. Or Bea's, either. Sometimes, Henry wonders if Phillip was even sad when he died- or if he was already calculating the cost of the funeral.

Bea, certainly, had grieved- still does. She just does so in a different way.

Henry and his sister have grown strangely distant over the past months- Bea going out every night in London with a bunch of friends; getting drunk at crappy bars and doing who knows what else. She's too preoccupied with herself to realise that Henry cries himself to sleep each night; wakes up shuddering and gasping with his pillow soaked through and his face blotchy and red.

Henry has Pez, though. But while he's great...he's not family. He'd known Arthur Fox, and had liked him too, but he doesn't know what Henry's going through. Besides, Pez's way of dealing with grief is much like Bea's- only with more skydiving and BASE jumping. Henry appreciates his friend's efforts, but the last thing he wants to do right now is get his guts splattered at the base of some cliff in Hawaii.

And so Henry's here- at the Rio Olympics, wishing he was somewhere else, not knowing where else he'd rather be.

***

The diving is nearly finished when Henry decides he's had enough of the Olympics. He makes a gesture to Shaan, pulling him aside and claiming he needs to walk. Shaan, ever understanding, drags along two PPOs. They do a lap of the stadium, Henry walking briskly ahead, shoving his hands in his pockets and keeping his head down. The anorak emblazoned with the Union Jack and the perpetually black-clad PPOs trailing behind him do nothing to help his bid to go unnoticed- neither does Shaan, ever dressed in an impeccable suit, his strides long and even. He looks as though he's stepped right out of one of his Dad's Bond movies.

At that thought, Henry's steps falter, then stop, and he freezes, suddenly panting hard, then sets off again furiously- he winds his way through the crowd, bodyguards clearing the way, until he makes it to the iron railing and sags against it. He thinks he might be sick. The gaping hole in his heart widens a little, and he presses a hand to his chest, feeling his breaths speed up, get shallower, more ragged. And then Shaan is there, forcing his head up, forcing him to look at him.

"Breathe, Henry. Just remember to breathe." His voice is calm and level, and Henry nods wordlessly, the corner of his mouth quirking down as he evens out his breaths, eyes moving away from Shaan's gentle smile, roving the crowd. He's not sure what he's looking for- just something to distract him from the pain in his chest.

His eyes fix on a deep green chequered shirt, then sweep upwards to the nest of chestnut curls, the warm hazel eyes and bronze skin. Then they flicker to either side of the boy- to the girl with blonde highlights in her matching brown hair, then to the other girl- a mass of tight curls, dark eyes glinting wickedly. Their arms are looped around each other, and the boy in the middle tips his head back and laughs. When he stops, his eyes meet Henry's and hold, and Henry almost jumps at the zip of electricity that jolts through him from that gaze. The dark-eyed girl must be his girlfriend, Henry decides- the other, his sister. He knows exactly why a twinge of jealousy sparks in his gut, but for once, he doesn't try to stamp it out. It's better than grief. Anything is better than grief, really.

Henry turns away and attempts to focus on the diving again, but his gaze keeps flitting back to the boy behind him, to the girls either side of him. The boy doesn't look his way once, and so Henry jumps when there's a polite tap on his back, and there he is; broad smile displaying pearly teeth, a confidence in the way he holds himself that you can't fake. He extends his hand, and Henry glances nervously up at Shaan, who smiles and inclines his head slightly and says nothing. He accepts the hand and shakes it cautiously.

"Prince Henry," The boy bows his head slightly, smiling, "I'm Alex Claremont-Diaz. My Mom's running for President." His voice is a lazy American drawl, and Henry distantly remembers seeing him on the news- advertised as America's up and coming heartthrob- the golden boy with a gift for talking politics.

His head starts spinning- it's him. Alex. From a distance, he looked gorgeous, but up close...he's perfect. And it's beginning to drive Henry mad. Those lips, that look impossibly soft, curve upwards in another gracious smile, looking expectantly at Henry. He realises he's staring, and searches inside him for words- for something to say that won't make him sound like a complete lunatic. He comes up empty- his head bare of all thoughts other than of him. Of Alex.

So Henry panics. Ignoring Alex, hands shaking slightly, he turns to Shaan.

"Can you get rid of him?" Alex's face falls, and Henry watches him struggle for words, finally just walking away without a backwards glance. Henry glances back at him, though. Every couple of seconds.

That could not have gone more badly.