Charles' POV
I always wondered why Louis decided to choose me — out of all the children at the orphanage, why me? He called me his brother that day, and ever since, that question never left my mind. His strange habits, his quiet stares, his sudden bursts of kindness — they confused me, but they also drew me closer.
He was the first to ever speak to me without pity. I still remember how his voice sounded that day — careful, almost afraid I'd vanish if he spoke too loudly. Maybe that's why I couldn't say anything back. I didn't want to break that moment.
Years passed, and I kept trying to understand him. Louis. My brother. My storm. My peace.
When I was younger, I thought I understood everything about him. Louis. My brother. My world. Until our first argument.
It happened at his school — or so I thought. I can't even remember what the issue was, but I remember his reaction. Sharp. Cold. Like I had crossed some invisible line I didn't know existed. That was the first time I saw it — the other side of him. The one that hid beneath the perfect smile he always showed the world.
It scared me. The way his voice could shift, the way his eyes could silence me. But… even then, a part of me couldn't pull away.
He became more controlling over the years, but I kept telling myself there had to be a reason behind it. Maybe he just wanted to protect me — that's what I used to believe.
But when he was like that… he was terrifying. More frightening than Grandpa, even. Grandpa would hit you, yell until the walls shook — but Louis? He didn't need to raise his hand. One look from him was enough. His stare was so cold, it felt like it could freeze the life right out of me.
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I always asked Mother why Lucas… why he was like this. She said it was because he was a pureblood alpha — that they usually have this controlling, sharp‑edged side. That it was natural. That I should expect it.
But that's not what I saw. Not really. Lucas… he's more complicated than that.
I can remember little things. Little moments where he'd try to control me — or maybe obsess over me. He'd pick my outfits sometimes. And I… I have always been obsessed with colors. Black. Red. Dark, sharp things. But he'd nudge me toward something lighter. Purple. Blue. "Something better," he'd say.
And sometimes… it scared me. Not like hitting or yelling, like Grandpa, but something colder. Quiet. A stare that felt like it could cut through me.
I don't even know how to explain it. Maybe I don't fully understand it myself. Maybe no one ever could.
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Charles' POV: Louis and the Outfit
I remember one Saturday afternoon — the sun barely reaching the edges of my room, my favorite black shirt draped over the chair, red scarf folded neatly on the bed. I thought I was ready for the day. Thought I was in control.
Then he walked in.
"Why are you wearing that?" Louis' voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that makes your stomach twist.
I froze. My hands hung in the air, half‑holding the black shirt. "It… it's fine?" I said, hoping my uncertainty didn't make him notice.
"It's heavy," he said, stepping closer. "Too dark. You look… closed off. I want to see more color on you."
I blinked. More color? I've always been about black and red. Dark. Strong. My armor. And he… he just stood there, like he had the right to strip it away.
"I like it," I whispered, my voice smaller than I wanted.
"You like it. I see that. But I also see you hiding." His eyes — his sharp, impossible eyes — scanned me like he could see through everything I pretended to be. "Try this instead."
He tossed a shirt at me. Purple. Not too bright, but not dark. Something lighter. I caught it reflexively, my fingers brushing against his hand. And for a second… I felt a flicker. Something confusing. Warm.
I swallowed. "I… I don't know."
"You'll know," he said, soft now, almost patient. "Just put it on."
I stared at him. And I wanted to say no. I wanted to scream, Don't tell me what to do! But I also wanted… I don't know, something I couldn't name. Approval? Attention? His eyes were always this way — a little too intense, a little too much, and I hated that I wanted it.
I slipped into the shirt. Purple felt strange against my skin, like stepping into someone else's memory. But he nodded. Just a slight nod. And I felt… caught. Like I was balancing on a wire, and he was the only one who could tip me either way.
"Better," he said, voice steady. Not a command this time. Almost… approving.
I swallowed again. And I hated that I liked it.
It wasn't until I was fifteen… fifteen and fresh out of my first real heartbreak. She cheated on me. With our cousin — Blimly. That annoying, fat, snobby little… riffraff. And his mother? The absolute pain of my entire existence. No one else could annoy me that much. And it didn't help that he was family.
I don't even know when all these feelings for Louis… when they twisted from admiration to something I couldn't name. The way he looked at me, the way he stared, the way he treated me… it was like I was glass. Or maybe like I was the apple of his eye. And somehow, I didn't mind.
I wore purple if it made him smile. I learned to bake his favorites, just to see the way his eyes softened when he tasted them. I felt like an obsessive teen, desperate for his approval, his attention.
His presence… it was like nothing else in the world. An angel in human form, and yet the firmness in him — the calm, the control, the gentle authority — made my heart beat faster. Only his kindness, only him, made me feel butterflies. No one else ever did.