Charles let the curve of his lips settle into that half-smile he wore best: equal parts knowing and inviting, as though he were entirely aware of the danger and entirely content to lean into it anyway.
The cane clicked softly against the stone, a heartbeat of sound before he stilled it, drawing their rhythm into the same pace. Without seeming to try, he let his hand drift just close enough to Erik’s that the air between their knuckles prickled like a thread pulled taut.
“My truth,” he repeated, savoring the phrase as though it were a line of poetry he hadn’t yet decided how best to deliver. “You do like to tempt me, Erik. Most men ask for pleasantries: background, reputation, a list of virtues carefully curated for polite company. But you-” his smile flickered wry, warm, sharp, “you ask for truth.”
He paused, gaze tipping forward, then sliding sidelong to catch Erik’s profile with unguarded interest. “I should warn you: I have something of a habit of answering honestly. It’s less a virtue than a compulsion, really. And it tends to get me into more trouble than it ever rescues me from.”
The humidity clung to them, thick as velvet, but Charles’s voice cut through it with its own kind of cool clarity. “If we’re beginning at beginnings, then perhaps my first confession is this: I’ve always been too curious for my own good. I tell myself to observe at a distance, to hold fast to restraint, to let the world be. And yet…” his head tilted, eyes bright, amused, “the distance never seems to hold, does it? Before I know it, I’ve stepped closer. Too close, some would say. Though, in this case, I can hardly regret it.”
He let the silence bloom, his gaze lingering not only in Erik’s eyes but on the cut of his mouth, the way the smirk rested sharp and deliberate against his features. It was rare, Charles thought, to find a smile that looked both dangerous and necessary. And rarer still to be the cause of it. He did not pretend indifference. He let his enjoyment show.
“As for nobler declarations,” he continued, his tone dipping, softer now, “I don’t know that I put much stock in the labels the world is so fond of. Good, bad. They make neat categories, but the closer you look, the less they hold. Up close, all I see are choices. And the people who keep making them.” He let out a faint laugh, humor shading the honesty. “My second truth, then: I’ve made choices I am proud of. I’ve made choices I would burn from the record if I could. And yet, I keep choosing. That’s all any of us can do.”
He slowed as they passed beneath a swath of shade, letting the lock of hair Erik had touched earlier fall neatly back into place, as though acknowledging the memory of his fingers. “And the third confession?” He allowed himself a long look at Erik now, deliberate, unhurried. “That smile suits you more than your armor. And I find I want to see it again. Often.”
For a moment, Charles let himself fall into the silence that followed, the air between them electric with the suggestion of more. Then, with a hint of mischief winding back into his tone, he leaned nearer, almost purring the words: “So then… what truth is it that you wish to know of me, Erik? Just ask, and it’s yours.”
He held the gaze, steady, inviting.
No retreat.
No pretense.
Only the open dare of a man who knew exactly how dangerous honesty could be.. And offered it anyway.
