All the Light You Give Me

Chapter 1

Fable- Gigi Perez
The beach- the neighbourhood
Let go- Ark Patrol
Poison Tree- Grouper
Blue- Billie eilish
(dream)- salvia palth
Walk me home- searows
Punisher- Phoebe bridgers

The first thing Louis felt when he woke was the weight. Not from the duvet pooled around his waist, not even from the crisp morning air seeping in through the balcony doors—but from the day ahead. The party was already there in his head, a ticking clock that would pull him into a suit, pin a fake smile on his face, and set him on display under the chandeliered scrutiny of everyone who mattered in his parents' world.

It was always like this on event days—anticipation dressed as dread.

A rapid, persistent knock broke through his thoughts. "Louis!" a small voice chirped. "It's breakfast! Come on!"

He didn't need to open the door to picture Gracie, maybe still in her cartoon pajamas, hair sticking out in every direction. The knocking kept going, a sweet kind of relentless, and somewhere behind her he could hear Jack's muffled giggle.

"I'm coming, Gracie," he called, voice gentler than it ever was for anyone else in the house. His little twin siblings were his one unshakable joy—the only people who looked at him without judgment in their eyes.

But the thought of walking into that dining room already made his stomach knot. Breakfast meant watching his mother's gaze flick to his plate, her perfectly glossed lips tightening as she commented—casually, always casually—on what he didn't need to be eating. It meant his father's questions about law school, delivered like accusations, and the inevitable comparison to Rachel.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, raking a hand through his hair. The mansion was quiet except for the faint echo of Gracie's retreating footsteps on the marble floor, and the faint hum of staff moving somewhere downstairs. He could delay for maybe five minutes, but not much longer—another thing his parents disapproved of was keeping them waiting.

Louis straightened his back, pushed his feet into slippers, and told himself he could handle it. He always did.

Louis dressed slowly, as if dragging out the minutes might make the day pass differently. He pulled a clean white shirt over his head, smoothing it down over his chest, then buttoned the cuffs with mechanical precision. His wardrobe was full of tailored perfection—pressed trousers, polished shoes, knit sweaters his mother insisted "projected an image." He'd long since learned that wearing what he wanted only invited comments.

In the mirror above his dresser, he caught his own reflection and looked away before his mind could start picking him apart the way Jessica, his mother, always did. He ran a comb through his hair, pushed it into something halfway presentable, something sort of like a cinnamon swirl he'd always thought, and inhaled. Another day. Another performance.

The soft scent of fresh coffee and warm bread drifted up from downstairs, pulling him toward the grand staircase. His footsteps were muffled by the runner rug, but the marble beyond echoed faintly, each tap a reminder of the scale and coldness of the house. He could already hear the low clinking of cutlery from the dining room.

Gracie spotted him first. She was perched in her seat at the long mahogany table, school uniform crisp, hair tamed into pigtails. Jack sat opposite her, tie askew and a mischievous glint already in his blue eyes. Both lit up when they saw him.

"Louis!" Gracie's voice was bright enough to cut through the morning stiffness in his chest. Jack gave him a wide grin and waved his fork in greeting.

He leaned down to kiss the tops of both their heads, breathing in the faint scent of their shampoo and the buttery warmth of toast on their plates. "Morning, you two," he murmured, smiling despite himself. Moments like these were precious—a pocket of ease before the storm.