red, white & royal blue book line by line
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the entirety of the red, white & royal blue book line by line. everything is owned by Casey McQuiston
Joined December 2023
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برشلونة
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It's 2024, and nobody knows they're engaged.
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We won 🥹
“Hey,” Alex says. Henry turns back to him, his eyes silver in the wash of the streetlight. “We won.”
Henry takes his hand, one corner of his mouth tugging gently upward. “Yeah. We won.”
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"Henry," says Alex.
"Alex," says Henry.
"You and me," Alex says.
"You and me," Henry agrees.
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That's a wrap. Thanks everyone for going on this journey. I'll for sure start another round in the future and meanwhile we can hope for a book/movie sequel. 💕
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Dear Thisbe,
I wish there weren’t a wall.
Love, Pyramus
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History, huh? Bet we could make some.
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On the White House roof, tucked into a corner of the Promenade, there’s a bit of loose paneling right on the edge of the Solarium.
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"You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.
"The line dancing."
"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."
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“Sería una mentira, porque no sería él.” It would be a lie, because it wouldn’t be him.
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“You really are a complete idiot if you believe that,” Henry hisses, the note balled in his fist. “When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you?
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And then Alex sighs and says, "When Henry and I get married-" Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.
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Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them.
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Alex’s eyelashes are wet.
“I fucking love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Just hold on until I get there; we’re gonna figure this out.”
“I will.”
“I’m coming. I’ll be there soon.”
Henry exhales a wet, broken laugh. “Please, do hurry.”
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give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. there’s so much of you.
fucking yrs,
a
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“What about you?”
“What about me?” Henry says. “Christ, Alex. The whole bloody time.”
“The whole time?”
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Henry pulls Alex close and kisses him, whispers, “I love you I love you I love you,” and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees.
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When they come back down, Henry practically passes out on his chest without another word, fucked-out and boneless, and Alex laughs to himself and pets his sweaty hair and listens to the soft snores that come almost immediately.
It takes him hours to fall asleep, though.
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He's already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he's not the only one.
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It’s become a thing: baby. He knows it’s become a thing. He’s slipped up and accidentally said it a few times, and each time, Henry positively melts and Alex pretends not to notice, but he’s not above playing dirty here.
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("I don't like him," Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.
"Why not?"
"Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.")
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I am the First Son of the United States, and I’m bisexual. History will remember us.
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He called Henry the North Star once. That wasn’t bright enough.
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Still, the cocky shithead part of him is slightly pleased to finally have a claim on Henry. Yep, the prince? Most eligible bachelor in the world? British accent, face like a Greek god, legs for days? Mine.
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Please stay gorgeous and strong and unbelievable. I miss you I miss you I miss you I love you. I’m calling you as soon as I send this, but I know you like to have these things written down.
A
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Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He's refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He's got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles.
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You and me and history, remember? We’re just gonna fucking fight. Because you’re it, okay? I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. So, I promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.”
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"I'm having a thought," Henry says.
"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then. "Tell me"
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He's thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato. In his memory, he's nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.
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"Alex," Henry interrupts, "tell them about my quiches."
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HRH Prince Dickhead
Dec 8, 2019, 8:53 PM
yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe
HRH Prince Dickhead
I BEG YOU TO NOT
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No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.
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"I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful," Henry enunciates, "but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we'll both lose some respect for me."
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“What?” Henry shouts over the noise when he sees the look on Alex’s face.
“My life is cosmic joke and you’re not a real person,” Alex says, wheezing.
“What?” Henry yells again.
“I said, you look great, baby!”
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“Fuck, I swear. You don’t make it fucking easy. But I’m in love with you.”
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When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you.
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but i’ve kissed your mouth, that corner, that place it goes, so many times now. i’ve memorized it. topography on the map of you, a world i’m still charting. i know it. i added it to the key.
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It pushes Henry over some kind of edge, melted and overwhelmed on the lush bedclothes. Alex spends nearly an hour afterward coaxing little tremors out of him, in awe of his elaborate expressions of wonder and blissful agony,
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“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it.” Henry says stonily. It's been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”
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“Yeah, Henry.”
“Henry, as in . . . the prince?”
“Yes.”
“Of England?”
“Yes.”
“So, not another Henry?”
“No, Mom. Prince Henry. Of Wales.”
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“Yes, that one. Well, his most beloved favorite was a man named George Villiers. ‘The handsomest-bodied man in all of England,’ they called him. James was completely besotted. Everyone knew. This French poet, de Viau, wrote a poem about it.”
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Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams?
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“Hello?”
It’s Henry’s voice, sweet and posh and shaky and confused, and relief knocks the wind out of him.
“Sweetheart.”
He hears Henry’s exhale over the line. “Hi, love. Are you okay?”
He laughs wetly, amazed. “Fuck, are you kidding me? I’m fine, I’m fine, are you okay?”
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“So glad you flew here to insult me—”
“I fucking love you, okay?” Alex half yells, finally, irreversibly. Henry goes very still against the mantelpiece. Alex watches him swallow, watches the muscle that keeps twitching in his jaw, and feels like he might shake out of his skin.
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HRH Prince Dickhead
Dec 8, 2019, 8:53 PM
yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe
HRH Prince Dickhead
I BEG YOU TO NOT
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"What are you doing?" Alex asks him.
"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.
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and Henry leans down to meet Alex’s mouth, and Alex is. Well, Alex is so in love he could die.
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Henry lets Alex take him apart with painstaking patience and precision, moans the name of God so many times that the room feels consecrated.
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“Hi, love,” he hears Henry say quietly, privately, right into the hair above his ear, and Alex’s breath forgets how to do anything but laugh helplessly.
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If Alex’s head is a storm, Henry is the place lightning hits ground. He wants it to be true.
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I can love you and want you and still not want that life. I’m allowed, all right, and it doesn’t make me a liar; it makes me a man with some infinitesimal shred of self-preservation, unlike you, and you don’t get to come here and call me a coward for it.”
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I can’t match you for prose, but what I can do is write you a list.
AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES
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Listen: I’ll fly to London right now and pull you out of whatever pointless meeting you’re in and make you admit how much you love it when I call you “baby.” I’ll take you apart with my teeth, sweetheart.
xoxo
A
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Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.
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And Alex apparently hasn’t been biting his tongue hard enough, because he blurts out, “We could still do that.”
Even Henry’s head whips around at that.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak in my presence,” Queen Mary says.
“Mum—”
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He leans down and presses a kiss into Alex’s hair. “And you are good. Most things are awful most of the time, but you’re good.”
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“You can try,” Alex tells him, feeling as if it should be the simplest fucking truth in the world. “What do you want?”
“I want you—”
“Then fucking have me.”
“—but I don’t want this.”
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casey’s debut novel and debut movie adaptation is emmy nominated 😭
Congratulations to the 76th
#Emmy
Award nominees for Outstanding Television Movie:
Mr. Monk's Last Case: A Monk Movie
Quiz Lady
Red, White & Royal Blue
Scoop
Unfrosted
#Emmys
#EmmyNoms
#TelevisonAcademy
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"You know." Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."
Alex blinks at hi, fully awake now. "Really?"
"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."
Alex smiles. "They do."
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He rolls over onto his stomach, considers, and very deliberately says, “Baby.”
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“Hey,” Alex says. Henry turns back to him, his eyes silver in the wash of the streetlight. “We won.”
Henry takes his hand, one corner of his mouth tugging gently upward. “Yeah. We won.”
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“So,” she says. “Do you feel forever about him?”
And there’s no room left to agonize over it, nothing left to do but say the thing he’s known all along.
“Yeah,” he says, “I do.”
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“Fuck you,” Henry says, his voice breaking, and he gets a handful of Alex’s shirt collar, and Alex knows he’s going to love this stubborn shithead forever.
“Tell me,” he says, a ghost of a smile around his lips, “to leave.”
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But the first time I saw you. Rio. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn’t fit in any rooms.
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He takes a breath. “But the thing is, jumping off cliffs is kinda my thing. That’s the choice. I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.”
Bea smiles gently. “Then you’ll do fine.”
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“Your tie—”
“Oh, yes,” he says, “yellow rose of Texas, is it? I read that was a thing. Thought it might be good luck.”
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“To-to your quiche?”
“Yes. To my quiche.”
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His psychiatrist says it's post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry's anxiety and depression medication around the event.
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20. The fact that you loved me all along.
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“Hey,” Alex says. Henry’s gaze is still unfocused, and Alex shifts toward the middle of the seat and into his line of vision. “Hey. Look at me. Hey. I’m right here.”
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Granted, they've only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn't have to be a secret.
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On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is canceled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them.
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He kisses Henry's knuckle, just below his ring.
"I have some ideas."
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"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"
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He touches and touches until he brings Henry to another brink with only his fingertips, only his breath on the inside of his thighs, the promise of Alex’s mouth where he’d pressed his fingers before.
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Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he's learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.
So, he will.
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“Sorry,” Henry says. “I was looking for someone else. Handsome, petulant, short, not pleasant until after ten a.m.? Have you seen him?”
“Fuck off, five-nine is average.”
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A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes.
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He fucks Henry slow and deep, and if it’s the last time, they go down shivering and gasping and epic, all wet mouths and wet eyelashes, and Alex is a cliché on an ivory bedspread, and he hates himself but he’s so in love.
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“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking a picture of a national gay landmark,” Alex tells him. “And also a statue.”
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From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, "Good morning, love of my li-"
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"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.
"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit crosseyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."
It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too.
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"Do you know what today is?" Alex asks on a lukewarm September night.
It's 2025. He's in the doorway of Henry's study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.
"Hm? No."
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He smirks. “Actually . . . you remember how I told you about the gay king, James I?”
“The one with the dumb jock boyfriend?”
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"That I did."
"Right," Alex agrees. "So what's left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?"
Henry takes a moment with that one.
"Having sex on our kitchen island?"
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They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex's forearm, which is a fantasy he didn't know he had until he's living it.
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"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be popping in the club, popping my p-"
"You're not even in the club now."
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And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it?
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He finds the note in the kitchen:
Alex,
Had to go early for a family matter. Left with the PPOs. Didn’t want to wake you.
Thank you for everything.
X
It’s the last message Henry sends him.
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Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look.
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The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, "God, but he's lethal." It's only worse once you get to know him.
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“Mum, this is Alex,” Henry says, and adds, as if it’s not obvious, “my boyfriend.”
She turns to Alex, and he’s honestly not sure what to expect, but she pulls him toward her and kisses his cheek too.
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"I've done quite well on that front so far, actually," he says, "Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life."
"Involved in an international sex scandal."
"Shook the hands of all five spice girls."
"Best dressed at the Met Gala."
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Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.
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It's not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They've been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex's child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have.
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“Yeah?” Alex says, still yelling. “How ‘bout I just keep yelling and we see which of the papers show up first!” He turns back to the window and starts flailing his arms too. “Henry! Your Royal fucking Highness!”
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He’s cut off mid-sentence because Alex has stopped in the middle of the corridor and yanked him backward into a kiss.
“Hello,” Henry says when they break apart. “What was that for?”
“I just, like.” Alex shrugs. “Really love you.”
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"Sorry?"
"Bea and Pez don't believe I can make a quiche."
"What? Have they seen your apron?"
"That's what I said!"
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