Their presence was a nightmare. It was full-on irritating. Every laugh, every smile — a nightmare on repeat. Every little interaction felt like a knife turned slowly in my chest. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the quiet corners of my room, where nothing could touch me, where I didn't have to see Louis moving around like he owned everything. But that wasn't possible. Not with my parents watching. Not with them forcing me to sit there, smile, and pretend I wasn't suffocating under the sight of Louis and his fiancée.
Alistair. The perfect fiancé. Blah, blah, blah.
I hated how clingy he was with Louis. The way his hand would just stay there on Louis' arm like it belonged. Like I was supposed to find that normal. I didn't. It burned. I told myself it didn't matter — that it shouldn't matter — but it did. His voice didn't help either. Too sweet. Too careful. Too damn calm. Like sugar-coated poison. Every time he spoke, I felt myself tighten up, like I had to hold something inside just to breathe.
Louis barely looked at me, and maybe that was worse. His calmness, his perfection — it's like he's allergic to being human. Always composed, always steady. Always Louis.
And me? I'm just supposed to sit here, act fine, and pretend none of this gets to me. Pretend I don't notice the looks, the laughter, the way Alistair says his name. Pretend I'm not one wrong word away from breaking the plate in my hand.
---
"Charles, teach me how to bake."
It was the last thing I expected to hear from Alistair. He said it with that calm, sugary tone of his — the kind that made everything sound innocent. He was looking at me with those soft eyes, like he actually meant it, and just behind him, Louis was smiling too. That part threw me off more than anything. Louis never smiled like that — not at me, at least.
It felt… strange. Too strange. But with my parents sitting right there, all polite and glowing, I couldn't say no. I didn't want to get on their bad side again. So, I laughed it off, tried to stall, tried to shift the whole thing to "some other time." But somehow, I knew I'd end up doing it anyway.
Truth is, I didn't want to get involved with Alistair or Louis — not together, not even separately. My emotions were a mess. Feelings I didn't fully understand, or maybe didn't want to. It hurt, the way Louis had chosen someone else. It hurt even more that it was him. Alistair.
Sometimes, I wondered if Louis and I had ever really been what I thought we were. Maybe it was all in my head. Or maybe he really did lead me on — giving me green lights one moment, red the next, always just enough to keep me confused.
But that Saturday, I finally gave in. I told myself it didn't mean anything — that I was just helping his fiancé, that it was harmless. Maybe I thought accepting it meant I'd finally accepted them. Louis and Alistair. Together.
Still, Alistair had changed. He wasn't the same person I remembered from before — softer now, calmer, like he'd folded a part of himself away for safety. And I couldn't tell if that made me want to push him away… or get closer.
"First, we start with flour."
That's what I tell Alistair, even though I can barely look him in the eyes. He's watching me like I'm some sort of baking prodigy, but really, I just want to get this over with. I don't bake like those people on cooking shows — there's no cheerful commentary, no smile plastered on my face. Just me, a bowl, and way too many thoughts.
I knew Louis's favorite was always vanilla. Always. He said it reminded him of quiet mornings. I don't know why that memory still hits so hard. Alistair's talking, asking if we should try chocolate instead. He smiles like it's no big deal, but all I can think about is how Louis hated chocolate.
I don't say anything, though. I just nod. If chocolate is what Alistair wants, then fine. Maybe that's how I let it go — by pretending I've forgotten. Pretending it doesn't matter that I know things he doesn't. Pretending it doesn't hurt.
--
I decided to go with both chocolate and vanilla, though chocolate got the upper hand — not that it mattered much to anyone but me. I told Alistair it was because I preferred vanilla with chocolate, even though really, I liked strawberry best. There was no strawberry available, though, so chocolate it was. Classic compromise.
Alistair was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes bright, vibrating with excitement. He wanted Louis to taste it first — his little triumphant display. Louis… hated chocolate. Absolutely hated it. He could tolerate it, but never liked it. And I knew that. My stomach twisted, because Alistair didn't. Or maybe he did, but he was too happy to care.
The chocolate cake came out first, golden on top. Alistair practically danced it over to the table, humming something annoyingly sweet under his breath. I stood back, stirring the vanilla batter, feeling my chest tighten. My stomach churned — part nerves, part something else entirely. Because Louis would taste it next. And he would smile politely, nodding, maybe commenting with that measured tone that made me want to strangle him and cry at the same time.
I didn't want to be part of this. I didn't want to feel it. But here I was, hands sticky, smelling chocolate and vanilla and… everything Louis represented.
---
I nervously look away, watching Alistair carefully cut the cake into small pieces, handing them over to Louis. Louis shoves the chocolate right into his mouth, like he just wants to get it over with, but the look on his face — that barely disguised disgust — says it all. He hates it. Always has. He doesn't sugarcoat anything. I feel a pang of guilt, sharp and heavy, but I don't say anything to Alistair. How could I? He's so excited, so trusting, and here I am, full of confusion I can't even name.
Moving on was supposed to be easy. I thought I could. But it's not. Not with Louis in the same room. Not with the way just seeing him twists something inside me. His face, his touch, the way he moves — it's worse than anything I've ever felt. I tell myself it's hatred, but I know it isn't. Too far gone for that. It's like he's always hiding something from me, from everyone, and yet I can't stop looking for it.
And Alistair… that bright, careful omega. He deserves more. He deserves Louis, maybe. He deserves someone whole, not this tangle of impulses, and not me. But I know what Louis said about me — meant for my benefit, or maybe just to keep me in line. I hate that even now, I feel small, rotten, useless. A pure blood like Louis, and me? Nothing. A good-for-nothing Alpha they had to take in, someone who will never measure up.