CHAPTER 29: DANCING IN SILENCE.

Alistair’s POV

I could say my relationship with Charles had improved. He’d grown on me, and truth be told, he acted really childish — but it was understandable.

After everything he’d been through, maybe this was his way of catching up, he’d been through heart break recently .

The laughter, the impulsive choices, the endless chatter — it was exhausting sometimes, but there was something strangely grounding about it.

He filled the silence I used to live in.

Sometimes I’d catch him doing something ridiculous, like balancing spoons on his nose or humming while trying to cook, and I’d almost tell him to stop... but then he’d look up, grin, and it’d all feel lighter somehow.

I wasn’t sure when it happened — when I stopped seeing him as a burden and started seeing him as someone I didn’t want to lose. Maybe it was the way he never hesitated to reach out, even when I pushed him away. Or maybe it was the way his laughter lingered long after he’d left the room.

Whatever it was, I didn’t fight it anymore.

His presence was overwhelming — I mean, he and Anna were in front of me dancing while Mother laughed. It was a Sunday, and I was already missing the office, but I loved the liveliness. The house felt different when they were around — louder, brighter, and a little too chaotic for my taste. Still, I couldn’t deny that the silence without them had started to feel heavier lately.

Charles twirled Anna clumsily, almost stepping on her foot, and she squealed in mock outrage. He only laughed harder, unbothered, pulling her back into another spin that made her giggle until she couldn’t breathe. Mother clapped her hands, cheering like it was the grandest performance she’d ever seen.

And me? I just watched.

The corner of my mouth lifted — not quite a smile, but close enough to count. There was something about moments like this that made it harder to stay detached. Maybe I was starting to understand why people like Charles never grew tired of the noise.

He caught my gaze mid-laugh, eyes glinting with mischief. "You’re next, Alistair," he said.

"Not a chance," I replied, leaning back on the couch, pretending to check my watch.

"Come on," he teased, stepping closer. "Don’t tell me you’re scared."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, but I couldn’t quite hide the small, helpless laugh that slipped out.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, but I couldn’t quite hide the small, helpless laugh that slipped out.

Charles noticed, of course he did. "There it is," he said with a grin, "an actual laugh. Miracles do happen."

"Don’t get used to it," I muttered, but it was too late — he’d already crossed the room.

Before I could protest, his hand caught mine, warm and certain, pulling me up from the couch. The movement was so quick I barely had time to find my balance.

"Charles," I warned, low and calm — the kind of tone that usually made people back off.

Not him.

He only smirked. "Relax. It’s a dance, not a contract signing."

Mother laughed from her seat, clearly enjoying the spectacle, and Anna was already cheering him on. "Go on, Alistair! It’s just one song!"

One song.

I could endure one song.

Charles placed my hand on his shoulder, his own finding its way to my waist — too familiar, too steady, too close. "See?" he murmured, a soft challenge in his tone. "Not so bad."

I rolled my eyes, trying to focus anywhere but on how close his breath felt against my cheek. "You’re insufferable."

He chuckled, low and genuine. "And yet you’re still here."

We moved — awkward at first, my steps stiff and uncertain while his were reckless and free. He hummed under his breath, some half-forgotten tune that didn’t match the rhythm at all, but somehow it worked. The room seemed smaller then — the laughter, the music, the soft hum of something I couldn’t name.

"Careful," I said as he spun me too quickly.

He grinned. "You’ll live."

For a brief second, the world slowed — his hand tightening at my back, eyes catching mine, the grin fading into something quieter. It wasn’t the teasing smile he always wore; it was something else entirely.

Something that made my chest tighten.

Anna clapped suddenly, breaking the spell. "That was awful!" she laughed.

Charles laughed too, bowing dramatically. "You wound me, little one."

I took the chance to step back, clearing my throat, forcing the calm back into my voice. "Next time, leave me out of your theatrics."

He just smiled — that soft, knowing smile that said he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

The few weeks with Charles were something else — unpredictable, frustrating, and, somehow, endearing. He had a way of turning the simplest routines into storms, leaving behind laughter and exhaustion in equal measure.

But it had already been more than a month without Louis.

Another failed promise.

I told myself I was used to it by now — the silence, the waiting, the polite excuses that always came too late. Louis was always busy. Always somewhere else. It was the curse of brilliance, I supposed. He built empires, while I tried to keep the pieces of what was left behind.

Charles noticed, of course. He always did. He never asked about it directly, but his eyes lingered a little longer on the empty chair at the table, or on my phone whenever it buzzed with another message that wasn’t from Louis.

One night, after dinner, he’d caught me staring at nothing. The television was on, some comedy show he loved, but I wasn’t really watching.

"You’re thinking again," he said, voice soft but laced with teasing.

"I always think," I replied.

"Yeah," he murmured, leaning back on the couch beside me, "but not like this."

I didn’t answer. What was there to say? That I missed someone who had long stopped keeping his word? That I was tired of pretending the distance didn’t matter?

He sighed, stretching his legs. "You know, you don’t have to wait for him every time," he said after a moment. "You could... I don’t know, live a little."

I gave him a sidelong glance. "Is that your way of saying I’m boring?"

He smirked. "Maybe." Then, quieter, "Or maybe it’s my way of saying you deserve better."

The words hung in the air — light, but heavy enough to leave a mark.