#charlstairs (derogatory)

[astriefer]

For The Love We Lost

Summary: Modern AU. Alastair's life couldn't be better. He has a wealthy husband who loves him. A roof Above his head, warm food on the dinner table. He has everything he ever wished for, so why does it feel so miserable to be alive?

Words: 2953

A/N : Thank you sm @fatilightwood for helping me with this fic!! 💕

CW abusive relationship, Charles Fairchild, ask to tag.

Alastair crossed the living room with a rush, precisely in time to see his husband close the front door.

Instant relief and desperate rage bubbled at his chest as Charles Fairchild, his husband for 5 years, walked into the elegantly-decorated foyer of their house.

His eyes examined Alastair, green eyes moving up and down. The younger man repaid him with the same action.

Alastair shifted in his place, uneasy, as he kept his eyes on his lover. Nevertheless, The half-Persian's hand tightened around the tying of his pink robe, an attempt to conceal his quivering hands. Charles's gaze on him unsettled him, made him feel insecure. He decided to say the words now before he ran out of vexation and urgency.

"Are you drunk again?" Alastair asked, exasperated by his husband's behavior and not just a little weary of his attitude. Charles's hair was tousled, something very unusual for him. The red-haired man kept himself in a pristine look at all hours of the day, not a strand out of place.

Charles shot a glance at his husband, hanging his coat on a fog next to the door of their house. "Not a single greeting to your husband that came after a tiring day at work?" he inquired. His tone, even if polite, was familiar to Alastair. Accusing him, You should be a better husband, Alastair darling. You should try harder.

"No," Alastair said defiantly, glaring at the other man firmly. Charles merely raised an eyebrow. "Have you asked how was I doing when you entered this household just now?"

Charles snorted. He took his gloves off, ones Alastair bought for him last winter. It instantly made some of his anger fade away. In the back of his mind, even if he was cross with Charles, it was a testament Charles appreciated him and his effort. "You were at home, carefree. I came from outside. Is it so wrong to wish to be welcomed in my own house?"

"Are. You. Drunk." Alastair reiterated stubbornly, emphasizing every word. Charles didn't reek of alcohol, nor did his eyes seem dazed, but his disarrayed appearance seemed odd. Alastair felt a mix of suspicion and distress as he anticipated his lover's retort.

"No," Charles replied in a bleak voice. "I went to a club with my colleagues. We were dancing."

Even if Alastair knew Charles had no liking to dancing, It was a cogent enough excuse to believe. A part of Alastair was eased by the words. Charles knew very well he didn't like it when he got drunk. Logically, Alastair couldn't prevent Charles from drinking and was told so by Charles himself. Still, he was glad his husband respected his wishes and wouldn't return at 3 am utterly wasted.

He grabbed to the shreds of anger that hadn't melted yet. "Without notifying me."

Dark-red eyebrows raised on Charles's forehead at this. He walked to the living room, picking up the newspaper Alastair had left on the table. Alastair followed him, his hands twitching on the sides of his body. "That's none of your matter, Alastair." Charles opened the page talking about politics, how he always did, as he set down on their grand couch. He added, in a softer tone, "I'm here now. Isn't it enough?"

Alastair's resignation, which built over the course of the conversation, took place to a sulk. 

Was it enough, truly? Because Alastair felt foolish to wait for Charles to come home and eat supper with him at the dinner table more than six hours ago. Because he had hankered to call Charles's friends and make sure he was safe, only he knew not a single friend of Charles. He was worried sick, and Charles didn't even ring to say he was okay. 

Alastair pressed. "And you didn't consider, for a single moment, I would be upset? Angry, even?"

"You're always angry," Charles dismissed casually. He didn't take his eyes off the paper. Occasionally, Alastair believed his words weighted as much a cloud in his husband's eyes. Startled by this thought, Alastair surpassed it deep down into the ground each time it dared show its treacherous head. Charles had done so much for him, the least Alastair could do was be obedient and devoted.

"And you don't think it's a problem?"

"It's your problem, not mine." Charles's tone was laced with annoyance as if Alastair was a nagging child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. "I don't have the time nor strength to look after you the more than I already do."

"You are not considerate or saint for being a decent husband, Charles." Alastair breathed in. He was getting a headache from this conversation, that seemed to repeat itself more often than not.

The dark-eyed man married young, after a long-term relationship with Charles for 3 years. At that time, he was overjoyed from marrying the man he loves, he didn't notice the grip Charles tightened around his life.

It was small things, at the beginning. You should wear this, not that. Your sister can survive not meeting you one time. Alastair, love, where have you been? I started to get worried when you didn't pick up the phone.

Then it worsened before Alastair truly understood what he spiraled into. This man has eyes for you, I can tell. Do not speak to him. I'm sorry I threw away the drawing your sibling drew, don't put it where everyone can see next time, I had guests come over. I can't tend to everything you need every moment of my life, Alastair. Stop acting so childish.  

But Alastair let him. After all, it was just a sign of how fierce Charles loved him, wasn't it? How the thought of him with another burned deep in his heart. It was a sign of Charles's love for him. Alastair knew this rising emotion well when Charles had been fake dating girls when Alastair was still in high school. Hurt and uncontrollable jealousy plagued his mind and soul, but he pushed through. Charles had a good reason for that all. Charles did it so they could be together. 

He kept telling Charles he would never have another because Charles was all he ever craved for. Charles, with the freckles ducking his nose and cheeks and the arrogant smile that caused Alastair's heart to race faster. Even if this smile didn't make his heart warm the way it used to.

Charles cast his gaze on Alastair, at last. The dark-skinned boy didn't know what Charles saw when he looked at his face, but he put the newspaper down on the coffee table. "I never suggested anything of the likes of it. I took you in and cared for you, Alastair. I loved you albeit the reputation of your family. Your father disgraced you, he ruined your family's name, but I still loved you."

I still loved you. At his darkest moments, it was Charles who temporarily took away the pain, whom he came to when he had no one else to turn to. Charles kissed the hurt away, he was a beacon in the dark. Alastair couldn't lean on his mother, couldn't trust his cousin or sister either. Charles was the only one who truly cared for him. The single person in an entire ocean of callousness, his shield, his Tempel.

His love. 

His answer wavered. "And why's that anything to do with now?"

"I stayed even as everyone turned their back on you," Charles spoke slowly, making sure every word was heard loud and clear, directed at his husband. "My love for you didn't wither. I try and give you the life you want, and ask only for you to be a good husband. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying. I just thought you'd-" he took a breath, "would at least appreciate it."

He remembered those days. Charles was with another girlfriend at the time and refused to meet Alastair in public. When they did meet, safe in Charles's car or flat, Charles didn't mention anything about his family. He was in too deep about his own life and politics. Alastair's throat constricted, he wanted to talk, to speak, to confront Charles. He couldn't force the words out. It was like this, Alastair knew, Charles always knew what to say to refute Alastair's words, to make him feel small and foolish as a child. He was tired of fighting with Charles. Still, the words came out before Alastair registered them. "You said I'm not your problem." Humiliation washed him, he sounded like a small boy crying for his father.

"I was harsh with my words, Alastair, and I apologize." Charles's smile was gentle, his cold facade slipping off. Something in the way the curves of his lips tended to the side made Alsteir feel dreadful. "I am exhausted. I was upset you wouldn't listen to reason, you see. But you do now, don't you?" 

Alastair's eyes glittered. He looked down and stared at his slippers. "I do."

But Charles wasn't finished. He moved his hand through his unkempt red curls, his smile gone. "An uncaring man, that's what you think of your husband, Alastair?" There was a line crossing his forehead, and Alastair immediately craved to send a hand forward to smooth the crease from his lover's forehead.

Alastair faltered. "That's not what I'm saying, Charles. I just... I-I feel like you ignore how I feel sometimes-"

Almost violently, Charles placed his hand under his husband's chin, squeezing and bringing him closer to his face. "Alastair, everything I do, I do it all for you. For us."

"I know," Alastair whispered, shaking his head.

"It doesn't sound like you do."

He kissed Charles's cheeks and lips apologetically. "I know, Charles. I know."

The remorse and guilt were not long in hitting him for thinking such horrible thoughts about his husband.

The world outside was a cruel place and queer politicians struggled to fit into it, he was doing it for Charles's success. For Charles's dreams. Alastair's dream was to be with Charles, to live happily with someone who truly cared for him, with no false promises. Charles worked to achieve this future. And if Alastair had to push aside the rest of his dreams to make it happen in some of the days, so be it. Charles loved him and he loved Charles, it didn't have to be so hard, at least behind the walls of their house. He recited that in his mind over and over again, saying Charles's name in his mind like a prayer.

Charles's hand moved from his chin to the back of his neck, intertwining his fingers in Alastair's dark curls. "Why haven't you gone to bed?" he asked.

Alastair winced. He didn't look at his husband's emerald-green eyes. Hesitantly, he conceded, "I was concerned when you didn't return home. You didn't pick up the phone."

It was the truth. A part of it, at least. What was almost blurted out of his mouth was I couldn't sleep without you, delbar-am. It had only led to Charles mocking how childish he acted.

Even miles away from everything that ever stained his heart, Alastair couldn't escape the nightmares that haunted him at night.

Charles's presence helped. A warm body next to him reminded him he wasn't alone. Since he was a teenager, it helped him soothe his mind along with the tears tracing down his cheeks. Alastair was very reluctant to sleep with another for that reason, he was afraid he'd drive Charles away. Just another person who would be disgusted by his broken pieces.

He did sleep with Charles, and as days flew by he learned his nightmares were the less taunting the days Charles stayed. When he simply was in his arms he finally knew peace. He still recalled the first time he had a nightmare, a bad one, while Charles was with him. Alastair was so sure he wept silently enough to not wake up Charles from his slumber. Charles stirred and got up, however, and Alastair was to blame for it.

Charles didn't do much. Beyond the startlement of being woken up by muffled gasps of terror and crying, Charles merely rose up from the bed and got out of the room. Alastair called his name, pleaded for him to return. He thought Charles had left him for good, that he was disgusted from what he saw. He couldn't fall back asleep that night. 

On those nights and others to follow, Charles didn't comfort him when he woke up sweating from nightmares. He did not speak with him about this. But he stayed, and Alastair was thankful. His Charles was kind. Kinder than most people.

He vaguely remembered a kinder soul, one he believed had everything to let itself be kind. Hazel eyes, a soft voice, dusty freckles on his nose. This person was long gone in Alastair's eyes.  

"My phone turned off, my battery died." Charles startled him from his reverie. "I'm here now. You can go to sleep."

His head snapped up to look at the fair-skinned man. "You are not coming with me?"

"No," his silked-back curls moved with him as he shoot his head. "I ought to finish some paperwork. Go ahead, I'll come when I'm done."

Those words easily could translate to 'I am not going to bed tonight.' Charles could be forgetful once he dived into his work. Alastair wasn't allowed to interrupt him, he could only make breakfast and hope Charles would come and eat with him. If not, he at least had Remy, his hedgehog, by his side.  

He pecked Charles's lips, more out of habit than intentionally. His lips fluttered over Alsteir's and the latter closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensation. When he cracked them open, a bit out of breath, and murmured, "Don't overwork yourself, my love."

"Alright," Charles said, heading to his study.

Alastair watched him from where he still stood in the middle of the foreroom. Then a thought struck his mind. "Charlie?"

It was a nickname Charles's brother gave him, Alastair was told. But he loved it, although Charles complained he and his brother weren't on exactly good terms. It revealed a softer side to Charles, one only he had the key to. Said man stopped in his tracks and turned around, examining Alastair's face, seeking answers there. When Alastair kept a determined face, his husband  inquired, "What is it?"

Alastair braved himself. He spoke cautiously, "In a week, it's my baby brother's birthday. I thought we might go-"

Charles's face closed off, any hint of tenderness gone. "No."

The dark-haired man blinked. "Then I'll go alone. I haven't seen my siblings in so long. I- don't even know what Rostam looks like, it's been 3 years. And I wish to congratulate my mother and Risa on their marriage. We haven't attended, you remember? You had business in the countryside."

It was what Charles told him, and was consistent enough with it. But a small part of Alastair told him his husband didn't want to be involved in anything public relating him to his true nature or to his liking to men.

"You could have, I never stopped you, I just said I didn't want you to go on your own," His husband drew out a cigarette and a lighter and took a deep puff of smoke. He knew Alastair didn't like it when he smoked inside. It was an act of putting him in place.  "And you know what I think of your sister," He walked up to Alastair, stopping so close Alastair had to take a step backward. "Don't you remember she tried to separate us? She had no problem trying and keep you apart from the only person who loves you."

"Cordelia- isn't like this. And it's not her I want to see," Alastair lied. At the mention of his sister, he felt tears pricking the corner of his eyes. Yes, it was his brother's birthday, but all of his family would be there - Sona, Risa, Cordelia, Rostam. Years passed since he has last seen any of them. His last encounter with his sister ended badly.

She was reasoning with him, in her way, telling him Charles was no good. He refused to believe it. Charles walked in as they argued, however, and threatened to call the cops. He told Alastair that his sister was trying to break them apart, that he shouldn't let it happen. It was the last time he'd seen his sister, an anguished look on her face as she stepped out of their house's door. It was the first time Charles whispered in Alastair's ear and said he shouldn't meet Layla again, his family, or he'll be deeply upset. He knew what deeply upset meant.

"She wanted you to break up with me, the person you love. Isn't it cruel of her? How could I know she won't try and do the same if you meet at your sibling's birthday?"

"I love you, Charles. Her words would never change that. And you can join-" Alastair started and was cut off by Charles.

"Isn't it unfair of you to want me to be in her vicinity? " he insisted gravely, then he put out his cigarette in a half-full glass Alastair brought himself before his arrival. "Next week is fully booked with meetings, anyway."

"And my mother? And Rostam?"

"They are not more your family than I am." He leveled Alastair's eyes with a loving gaze that gave him chills, and not the good kind. Alastair chocked down tears. "You know what I think of it, Alastair. Make up your mind."

With that said, Charles left to his study, leaving Alastair feeling his heart would burst out and cry with him.

~~~*~~~

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed!): @ary-es @writeordie-4 @justanormaldemon @life-through-the-eyes-of @hidethebreakables @tessherongraystairs @cordelia-in-the-right-skin-tone @take-the-train @pink-party-dino <3