From Robert's Point of View
The scent of morning tea filled the quiet corridor.
Robert stood before the door of the chamber, balancing a silver tray in his hands. The soft clink of porcelain trembled slightly beneath his fingers. It was early. The second day since young master Kael had awakened from his long, cursed slumber. And even now, Kael could not bring himself to eat anything more than warm broth or soft fruit purées. Anything solid was left untouched.
He knew his young master was asleep inside. Kael rarely stirred before sunrise now, exhausted from merely existing. Robert didn't mind. In truth, he preferred it this way. It gave him time to prepare the space. He stepped in soundlessly.
The grand bedroom, dressed in silken blues and ivory gold, welcomed him like a scene from memory. Everything was quiet. Kael's breathing came slowly and even from the bed. Robert moved with practiced grace—folding the corners of the blanket, replacing the wilted flowers, adjusting the curtains to soften the daylight. The air must be gentle. The light, never too harsh.
His young master deserved peace.
Just as he placed the tea on the bedside table, his mind drifted—to the conversation he'd had yesterday in Elric's office.
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The office, in its opulence, did not soothe. It bore the weight of duty and command. Marble columns flanked the velvet drapes. Books lined the shelves like silent sentinels. Elric sat behind her gilded desk, dressed in her usual sharp uniform—monochrome elegance laced with cold authority.
"You will avoid any mention of the Demon King," she said without looking up. "Kael's state of mind is fragile. The curse did more than leave him asleep. I've seen the way he looks at himself, the way he flinches at every sound. Whatever memories remain—they hurt him."
She finally raised her eyes to him. Calm, but edged. "I know you were sent here by Reinhardt to watch over him. I allowed it because you both care for him. But that doesn't mean I trust either of you."
She folded her hands. "This is my house. My territory. And if I suspect—just suspect—that you intend to take him away, I won't hesitate. I'll disappear with him to a place even the Empire won't find."
Robert, standing with perfect posture, met her gaze without challenge. Then, with a small smile, he bowed his head.
"You have nothing to worry about," he said. "I am only here for the young master. That's all I've ever been here for."
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Back in the bedroom, Kael stirred beneath the covers.
Robert turned swiftly, keeping his distance. His young master had grown wary of being touched too suddenly. The first time Robert had been too close, Kael had recoiled—panicked, breathless, as though waking from a nightmare he couldn't explain.
Now, Robert waited.
He watched as Kael blinked up at the soft ceiling drapery. The man's golden-red eyes moved, slow and uncertain, landing on him. There was that same tension in his limbs—the way his fingers tightened against the sheet—but he did not cry out. His breathing steadied once he recognized the face before him.
Robert gave him a gentle smile.
"I brought Darjeeling today," he said, his tone soft, reassuring. "Just the way you used to like it. A little milk. A touch of honey."
Kael didn't respond. But he didn't look away either.
Robert moved closer, slowly, cautiously, and lifted the teacup to Kael's lips. He felt a faint resistance—but the young master drank. A little. And then a little more.
Progress.
Later, he helped Kael sit up and drape a cloak over his shoulders.
"You still refuse to wash by the bed, don't you?" Robert murmured with a chuckle. "Very well."
He guided him toward the adjoining washroom, steadying his steps with each arm. Kael had insisted on walking on his own before, but his legs could barely support him.
Once, Robert had yielded—and returned only to find Kael collapsed on the cold floor, a shattered glass and bloodied hand at his side. The mirror had been cracked where Kael had struck it, perhaps by accident—or perhaps in panic, rejecting the unfamiliar face staring back at him.
Since then, Robert never left him alone.
And Kael, perhaps reluctantly, had stopped resisting.
The man trembled even now, his movements fragile, as Robert gently helped him into the washroom. He set down the towels and basin, but Kael made no move to wash himself. His hand hovered over the water... and stopped.
Robert knelt beside him without a word, dipped the cloth, and began to clean him—his arms, his hands, the fading bruises near his shoulders. Kael flinched once but didn't pull away.
It was slow.
But it was trust.
Later, when he dressed Kael again and returned him to bed, the silence between them was not as heavy as before.
Robert remembered something. A moment from the past. A simple ritual.
"In the old days," he said, placing a warm cup of café au lait onto the tray, "you always drank this by the window. With the sunrise."
He stepped back, but Kael took the cup with Robert's help. He drank.
And for the first time in days—Robert saw something flicker across his face.
A breath of familiarity.
It wasn't a smile. But it was close.
Robert's chest tightened.
"Perhaps… we could try the things you used to love," he said quietly. "Like old times."
Kael looked at him, silent but listening.
And then, finally—
"...Aren't you always bored with me?"
The voice startled him.
Soft. Quiet. Hoarse from disuse.
But it was Kael's.
Robert's eyes widened in disbelief. The cup in his hand almost tilted.
He steadied himself and laughed under his breath, a quiet, almost giddy sound. He didn't reply—not right away. He knew better than to overwhelm him.
But his heart soared.
No.
He wasn't bored.
He was grateful.
Because even if it was only a few words—Kael was still there.
Still breathing.
Still fighting to be human.