Carlisle wasn’t big on secrets.

Secrets always led to a multitude of consequences and revelations that haunt those who manage said secrets in the middle of the night. Or, perhaps, for the rest of their life, and he had far too many years ahead of him to keep a secret that would weigh down on him like he had an entire building strapped to his back and was bound to carry it like a burden forever.

Okay, yes, he did preach about that to the Cullens, and sure, he always talked about how serious it was to be able to confide in someone about anything and everything, because talking about situations you found yourself in that you just couldn’t quite claw your way out of almost always had a good outcome.

You wouldn’t have to deal with something bearing down on your heart, you could get an outer perspective on everything — it was usually ideal, especially for Carlisle, since he was just all about trust and family bonding.

All of that, and yet, Carlisle had a secret. Just one, and despite never having one in all of his years of living (except for being a bloodthirsty creature, of course), this secret in particular felt freeing.

Even if he had to keep you and your relationship under wraps to avoid some lecturing from his family and a couple of eye rolls, you were his best secret by far. One that felt like coming back home to a soft, warm bed after a long, excruciating day at a job no one enjoyed. Something that felt like a glimpse into the teenage years he had missed out on with all the sneaking out, fleeting touches, brisk kisses.

He could keep you, he deemed. It wouldn’t hurt. Might hurt his morals, but, who needed those pesky little things, anyway?