And the statues watch them dance

The statues watch the two young men roam around them. These visitors are
looking up at them, tall in their bases, but not actually being seen, the humans’
haunted eyes focused on each other’s movements, following each other’s steps in
a silent old dance of their own: when you were barely allowed to touch but the
hands of your partner; when it was the eyes that must talk; when words and
feelings must be expressed with care and subtleness.

The statues are not used to having visitors at midnight. 

One of the young men, true, did visit them sometimes, at a very early morning, first with an older
man the boy called dad, then on his own.
The statues have seen him grow up. 
Always alone; always lonely.
He, the blond boy, turned now into a blond young adult, is a kind of friend to the statues. Henry, they
remember he’s called. He has always beheld them in a mixture of awe and adoration. Little do the
statues know that, outside the museum, Henry is gawked at just like them: aloft and adored by the
people; paraded around by the powers-to-be, as an asset rather than a real person. 
Never truly loved.
Always alone; always lonely.
“When I was younger,” the statues’ friend speaks, his voice soft and dreamy, just like his eyes, “I
would dream of taking somebody I loved here.”
His companion stays a couple of steps behind, the beauty around them forgotten, his eyes fixed on
the blond man’s back.
“And he’d love it as much as I did,” the blond man keeps saying, a sad smile crossing his handsome
face. “And we’d dance right amidst all these statues,” he confesses, his unfocused eyes probably
playing the scene in his mind; as he surely has done hundreds of times. 
Never truly loved.
Always alone. Always lonely.
The other man, Alex, has stopped now, his eyes never leaving his companion’s figure except to take
his phone out of his jeans pocket and start fumbling with it. He sets it delicately on one of the statues’
bases.
The statues’ friend, oblivious, deep in his memory, drops his head, falling from his dreamland,
sadness washing over him like a cold blanket. “Just a daft pubescent fantasy,” he muses, his voice
tinged with a self-deprecating melancholy.
With anyone else, he wouldn’t dare tell this secret of his. But this is Alex with him, and Alex will
understand. Despite having just told him, minutes ago, that he didn’t know him at all, Henry knows
the truth. No one has ever understood him like Alex does.
No one has ever loved him like Alex does.
Suddenly, coming from the phone’s speakers on the statue’s base, the first accords of a well-known
song fill the silent museum room. It’s a modern version of an old tune, one of Henry’s favorites;
Alex must have filed the information in his mind from one of the multiple emails they’ve shared.
Nevertheless, the song is enchanting, and sweet, and moving. 
But it’s not the music that reaches out to Henry’s soul now; no, it’s its lyrics, speaking what Alex has
been saying with his lips and eyes and heart and body for some time now.
                        Wise men say
And Henry lifts his head and takes a deep breath, his humid, hopeful eyes coming back to the current
moment. Because maybe, just maybe, this time isn’t a dream.
                         Only fools rush in 
With straighter shoulders, a light smile spreads over his full lips as he turns
around, slowly, almost fearful. Only to find Alex opening his long arms in
invitation, taking a careful step towards Henry; his trademark confident smile
saying “Here I am.”
                         But I can’t help

Alex waits for Henry to take the next steps. Because he, Alex, can be a fool
sometimes, but there’s no way he’s going to rush the love of his life into doing
anything he doesn’t want to. Heaven knows that Henry has had enough of being
pushed and pressured and rushed. Alex is willing to wait.

Because if there’s someone worth waiting for, that’s Henry.

                         Falling in love

And Henry walks slowly towards him, their eyes intent on each other’s, and as he
gets into Alex’s personal space, and as Alex guides Henry’s arms around his own
shoulders, Alex grins, happy to provide this simple yet meaningful dream.

                        Shall I stay

Henry moves his head in disbelief, his throat parched, his fingers intertwining
behind Alex’s neck as they start to move. He’s about to shed tears again, but this
time not of sorrow and despair. 

                         Would it be a sin
Yet it’s Alex’s words, whispered as his hands continuously stroke Henry’s sides and
arms, that keeps him grounded. Words of love and care and sweet nothings that, to
Henry, mean more than the most valuable poem.

                         If I can’t help

Henry caresses Alex’s neck, those dark, short curls as soft as the prince
remembers. This, this is exactly how his dream went. But this time is real. And it’s
Alex, his fierce and reckless and loyal and caring Alex, the one making it true.

                        Falling in love

Alex can’t stop his hands from roaming around Henry’s torso and arms. Because
he knows well how much Henry has lacked affection in his life. The stern
environment the prince has grown up in. The rigid protocol that has prevented him
from getting the hug and touches any human being needs to feel loved and
cherished.

                        With you

And by God, if Alex has any say at all in Henry’s future, he’s going to give him all
the comfort touches the prince has been denied so far.

As the song goes on, Henry lays his head on Alex’s shoulder, and rubs it against Alex’, their bodies
flush to each other. Their dance is simple but honest. Henry’s hands stroking his lover’s arms and
shoulders, the need to feel them as real so strong. 

                       Take my hand
                       Take my whole life too
But yes, Alex is real, so warm and strong and real in Henry’s arms and heart. If
there’s anyone who can make all of Henry’s dreams come true, that’s Alex
Claremont-Diaz.

The only one who flew across an ocean and stormed a castle for Henry.
The only one, besides his parents and sister, who told Henry he loved him.
The only one who can provide Henry any happiness.
The only one who treats Henry as if he is something precious on his own, not just because of his title.
                        For I can’t help

If someone deserves a chance, that is Alex.

If someone deserves to be brave for, that is Alex.

                       Falling in love

So, as the music rocks them and the lyrics encompass them, Henry muses in his
lover’s ear, his hand caressing those curls he loves: “Please be patient with me, and
I promise I will try and be brave for us.” 

                       With you

Alex stops to look at him, surprised and delighted and wary, and listens. The
steady look in Henry’s eyes makes Alex’s heart melt and jump and cry.

“Because when they write the history of my life,” the prince says ardently, “I want it to include
you…and my love for you.”
Alex lowers his gaze, emotion threatening to spill over those long lashes that Henry adores. At last,
Henry has said it. He’s willing to fight for them, and that’s more than Alex had hoped, when he
jumped on that plane to London some hours ago.
And now that Alex is sure of Henry’s love, nothing will deter him. He puckers his lips, while Henry
eyes him, fear grappling the prince’s features for half a second, until Alex looks back at him, his
patent smile clear on his face.
                        For I can’t help

“History, huh?” The American beams now. 

                        Falling in love

“Bet we can make some,” Alex states, his eyes and will as firm as his smile.

And Henry can’t but believe him, because Alex is a force of nature and nobody, not even Henry, will
ever stop him. His supersonic man.
                        With you

And Henry has to smile too, because this is Alex, and Alex always makes him
smile, no matter how dire the situation might look like; no matter how dreadful the
future might look like.

Because whatever that future throws at them, they’ll face it together.

So their arms embrace their bodies again, swinging softly as the song envelops them.
                         For I can’t help
                         Falling in love
                         With you

The way they fit together, the statues think. It feels so right that they might cry
white marble tears. So the young men keep dancing, and the statues glance down
at them dancing.

Later, the young men turn into kids again, running among the statues with happy laughs and excited
chasing.
And the statues rejoice.
Because the statues’ friend; the lonely child they got to see grow up; the sad prince that felt more
comfort amongst the marble images of a museum than in the royal palace he lives in…
Maybe, just maybe, he won’t be alone anymore; won’t be lonely anymore.
Won’t be loveless anymore.
Because he couldn’t help falling in love.
And be truly loved in return.