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 , 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 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 ti he spoke, I felt myself tighten up, like I had to hold sothing inside just to breathe.
Louis barely looked at , 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 ? I’m just supposed to sit here, act fine, and pretend none of this gets to . Pretend I don’t notice the looks, the laughter, the way Alistair says his na. Pretend I’m not one wrong word away from breaking the plate in my hand.
---
"Charles, teach 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 with those soft eyes, like he actually ant it, and just behind him, Louis was smiling too. That part threw off more than anything. Louis never smiled like that — not at , 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 "so other ti." But sohow, 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 ss. Feelings I didn’t fully understand, or maybe didn’t want to. It hurt, the way Louis had chosen soone else. It hurt even more that it was him. Alistair.
Sotis, 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 on — giving green lights one mont, red the next, always just enough to keep confused.
But that Saturday, I finally gave in. I told myself it didn’t an anything — that I was just helping his fiancé, that it was harmless. Maybe I thought accepting it ant I’d finally accepted them. Louis and Alistair. Together.
Still, Alistair had changed. He wasn’t the sa person I rembered from before — softer now, calr, like he’d folded a part of himself away for safety. And I couldn’t tell if that made 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 like I’m so 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 comntary, no smile plastered on my face. Just , 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 mory 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 . 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 excitent. 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 ca out first, golden on top. Alistair practically danced it over to the table, humming sothing annoyingly sweet under his breath. I stood back, stirring the vanilla batter, feeling my chest tighten. My stomach churned — part nerves, part sothing else entirely. Because Louis would taste it next. And he would smile politely, nodding, maybe comnting with that asured tone that made want to strangle him and cry at the sa ti.
I didn’t want to be part of this. I didn’t want to feel it. But here I was, hands sticky, slling 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 na.
Moving on was supposed to be easy. I thought I could. But it’s not. Not with Louis in the sa room. Not with the way just seeing him twists sothing inside . 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 sothing from , from everyone, and yet I can’t stop looking for it.
And Alistair... that bright, careful oga. He deserves more. He deserves Louis, maybe. He deserves soone whole, not this tangle of impulses, and not . But I know what Louis said about — ant for my benefit, or maybe just to keep in line. I hate that even now, I feel small, rotten, useless. A pure blood like Louis, and ? Nothing. A good-for-nothing Alpha they had to take in, soone who will never asure up.
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