Louis' POV
The trip to Gloria was exhausting — even though I was flying first class.
Funny how comfort doesn't mean much when your thoughts refuse to rest.
Throughout the flight, my mind kept circling back to another trip years ago — the first time Charles and I had ever been on a plane. I was twelve, he was eight, and I remember how his feet barely touched the floor as he kicked them restlessly against the seat. He was terrified of takeoff, clutching my sleeve so tightly that I nearly lost circulation.
"Are we gonna die?" he had whispered, voice trembling.
"No," I'd said with all the fake confidence of a twelve-year-old who'd only read about turbulence in a science magazine. "We'll be fine. Planes are safer than cars."
He hadn't believed me until I'd distracted him with a pack of strawberry gum — his favorite back then. By the time we landed, he'd fallen asleep on my shoulder, drooling all over my jacket. I didn't even care.
