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Charles' POV
"What's going on, Charles? You don't seem yourself. You're usually so cheerful," Alistair asked, his tone light, but I could feel his eyes studying me.
I chuckled, a dry sound that didn't even reach my throat. He could tell I was in a bad mood — who wouldn't? I didn't even understand why Louis' absence put me in such a miserable state. Maybe because it wasn't just absence. It was rejection. It was watching him choose someone else — him — over me.
I used to believe nothing could shake me. I was wrong.
I looked at Alistair and forced another laugh. "You wouldn't understand," I muttered.
"What do you mean I wouldn't understand?" he said quickly, his brow furrowed. "I'm your future brother-in-law. I'm supposed to understand."
Future brother-in-law. The words hit harder than they should have. I glanced down, noticing for the first time that he was wearing Louis' black pants — the ones I'd seen hanging in his closet. The fabric was too big for him, almost swallowing his small frame. The sight twisted something inside me.
My anger burned beneath my skin, begging to escape, but I couldn't let it. Not here. Not now. Losing my temper would mean losing control — and I needed control.
I told myself I didn't care about Louis anymore, that I could live without him. That maybe, just maybe, winning Alistair over could fix what Louis broke inside me. It was a foolish thought, but it kept me from falling apart.
"At least have some breakfast," Alistair said softly.
I didn't even know why I was still sitting there. The smell of coffee made me nauseous, the clinking of cutlery grated on my nerves. He smiled faintly — maybe trying to lighten the mood — but I wasn't in the mood to be lightened. I was burning inside, fighting the same old demon that never really left me. That self-destructive anger that made me do stupid, reckless things.
I remembered being younger, standing in a classroom with a knife in my hand, my heart racing, my mind blank. The kind of anger that eats you alive before you even realize it.
I looked at Alistair again. Sweet, kind Alistair. Too good for the kind of rage that lived in me. I didn't want to hurt him — not him, not anyone. So I stood up, pushing my chair back.
"Charles, at least drink some milk or coffee," he tried again, his voice hesitant but gentle.
"Why do you care?" The words came out sharper than I intended — venom laced with exhaustion. "Why the fuck do you care?"
Alistair flinched, taken aback by my tone. For a moment, I thought he'd snap back, but instead he lowered his gaze.
"Charles…" he said quietly. "I don't know what I did to make you hate me, but I don't. I genuinely think you're a good person. If you need to be alone, I get it."
I wanted to stop there — I should have stopped there. But anger has a way of twisting everything.
"You want to know what I see?" I hissed before I could stop myself. "I see someone who doesn't belong here. Someone clinging to Louis for comfort or money or whatever you think you'll get out of him."
His eyes widened, hurt flickering in them, and guilt immediately punched me in the chest.
I didn't mean it — not really. But once the words were out, there was no taking them back.
Alistair rose from his seat slowly, trembling, yet trying to keep his composure. "If that's what you think of me, then I'm sorry for trying to care," he said softly. Then he turned and walked out, leaving me alone at the table with the mess I'd made — again.
I sat back down, pressing a hand over my face. The silence of the room felt louder than my thoughts. Maybe this was what I was good at — pushing people away before they could walk away themselves.
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Alistair's POV
I was genuinely sweating by the time I headed back to my room. For the few weeks I'd known Charles, he had never shown that kind of temper. He was always so cheerful, so warm — sometimes even annoyingly playful. But that morning… he was different. Harsher. Colder. Something in his voice carried more than just irritation; it carried pain.
Recalling what happened at the dining table, I couldn't help but feel guilty. Maybe I pushed him too hard. He was already in a bad mood, and I kept insisting he eat. I just thought it would help, that a bit of food and company would make him feel better.
But when he looked at me — really looked at me — I saw it in his eyes. The dark circles beneath them, the way his gaze seemed empty and heavy at the same time. He hadn't slept at all, that much was clear. And when he got angry, the entire room seemed to change. His pheromones filled the air, thick and suffocating, pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe. It wasn't intentional, I knew that, but it still terrified me.
He was taller than me — not as tall as Louis, but still enough to tower over me. When he stood, it was like every part of me froze. Yet beneath that dominance, I'd always sensed a softness in him. A gentleness that I thought couldn't break.
Maybe I was wrong.
For a moment, I thought about calling Mother — Louis' and Charles' mother — but I stopped myself. She'd only worry, and maybe this was something Charles needed to work through on his own. Or maybe he needed someone he trusted… though it clearly wasn't me.
I sighed and decided to go outside. The garden air felt fresher, calmer. The scent of roses helped settle my racing thoughts, though not completely.
I wasn't a horrible person. I knew everyone had their bad days. Maybe Charles was going through something deeper than I could imagine. I just hoped he'd talk to someone — anyone — about it.
And then it hit me. Louis.
Maybe I should call Louis.