Alexander's POV
I'd become part of a small gang — nothing grand, nothing organized, just a group of lost kids pretending we were dangerous so no one would look too closely at how scared we actually were. I drew my first tattoos with shaking hands and stolen ink, lines that weren't straight but felt permanent anyway. Each mark was a quiet rebellion, a promise to myself that I belonged to something — even if that something was broken.
Withdrawing was harder than getting in.
It meant cutting off people who had started to feel like armor. It meant learning how to be bored again without destroying myself for stimulation. It meant fighting the itch in my palms whenever anger crawled up my spine and demanded violence as release.
And through all of that…
Charles stayed.
He didn't threaten me.
Didn't shame me.
Didn't beg.
He just waited.
And somehow, that patience did more damage to my bad habits than any punishment ever could.
It was around then that he introduced me to Louis.
