The Prince was rendered speechless, but because he was by nature fairly quiet, that was not exactly hard to do-- even moreso because it was Alex and the other man had this disarming tendancy of saying things that robbed all words from his throat. What could he possibly say to that; perhaps at the beginning where they were still 'pretending' to be best friends, it would've been easier to say a nonchalant 'I know'. With people he did not know and who did not matter, it was an easy thing to lie or assume a false sense of Princely bravado.

One that by now, Alex had probably determined was a front for the massive amounts of stuff that was truly going on with the Prince. Hoorah for mental issues such as anxiety, and a crippling fear of not living up to people's expectations.

There was no way in the nine hells that Henry was proof against the touch of fingertips as they skirted against his own, he felt it and then almost like magic he accepted the touch, sifting through the many pathways that was Alex's hand before he slotted them nearly perfectly together. Palm to palm.

"You are turning my head, Alex." that was a warning, a warning that if the First Son turned his head, he may never turn it back again.