The room was warm with morning light. Kael sat by the balcony doors, cradling a cup of coffee between his hands. The soft clink of porcelain still lingered in the air—Robert had just left, excusing himself to prepare Kael's lunch.
The peace didn't last.
The door creaked.
A presence slipped in before Kael could react. Again, like smoke through cracks in stone.
Reinhardt.
Wearing black from shoulder to heel, hair wind-tousled, he moved with the ease of someone who didn't know boundaries. Or perhaps, someone who had long ago ignored them altogether.
Kael's body tensed, knuckles tightening around his cup.
Reinhardt saw the panic spark in Kael's eyes and paused—two full steps back.
"Relax," he said gently, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
Then he held out a bouquet of yellow Freesia—soft-petaled, bright, and full of warmth.
"Look," he added with a smile. "I brought you flowers."
Without waiting for permission, he walked over to the nightstand and replaced the old vase beside Kael's bed with the new bouquet.
"There," Reinhardt said, dusting his hands. "Much better."
Kael remained seated, motionless, coffee untouched now.
Reinhardt stepped forward again, just slightly, eyes drifting toward the book laid open in front of Kael.
"You didn't answer me yesterday," he said casually, squinting at the page. "What are you reading?"
Kael's eyes tracked him silently.
"Your new hobby, huh?" Reinhardt mused, settling his weight onto the chair nearby like it belonged to him. "That's new."
Kael watched him with caution, every muscle coiled tight. The man hadn't introduced himself. Hadn't explained anything. And yet he made himself at home—drifting through Kael's space like a memory that refused to fade.
Kael opened his mouth slightly.
To ask. To demand. To understand—
But no sound came out.
Reinhardt reached across the table, plucked up Kael's cup, and sipped without hesitation.
"Your taste's still the same," he murmured.
Then he reached for the biscuit plate and took one between his teeth. "I'm so hungry... Maybe tomorrow I'll come when you're having lunch. Make sure to leave some for me, okay?"
Kael stared in disbelief.
And Reinhardt only winked, stepping toward the balcony once more. "See ya."
In one fluid motion, he hopped onto the railing and vanished over the edge.
A moment passed.
Then another.
The door opened.
Robert entered with careful steps—then froze when he saw Kael's pale face and wide eyes.
"Young master?" he asked quickly, setting the tray down. "Is everything alright?"
Kael didn't answer.
He stared at the balcony doors, heart still pounding.
Robert's brows drew in concern, but he didn't press. Instead, he looked out at the soft sun.
"How about we go out to the garden this evening?" he offered, voice light. "You always sit on the balcony—maybe it would be nice to walk among the flowers instead."
Kael remained silent.
But Robert smiled gently.
"Then... let's choose what you'll be wearing today."
As always, he took Kael's silence as agreement. He moved to the wardrobe and began selecting soft fabrics, speaking to himself in a hum of decisions and care.
Kael let him.
He let him do as he pleased—because his mind was still caught on the stranger who kept walking in and out of his life like he belonged there.
-----------------------------------------
Later that day, the wind was light and cool as Kael stepped into the garden for the first time.
For the first time in this fragile new body, he wore shoes.
Robert walked beside him, arms full—Kael's book, a tin of biscuits, a blanket, and tea. They strolled past rose arches and marble fountains, the colors of summer blooming in every corner.
Kael raised one hand and lightly brushed the leaves of a nearby shrub. His fingers lingered on the texture.
So long.
It had been so long since he touched the world like this.
A flicker of memory flashed—running through fields as a child, wind in his face, laughter echoing in his chest. But that boy wasn't Kael.
Not anymore.
Robert, watching, smiled faintly. "You seem to enjoy this. I remember... you always loved nature. Even before."
Kael continued walking slowly. A calm breeze stirred the alstroemerias planted near the hedge.
"We picked the perfect day," Robert went on, spreading the blanket on a shaded patch beneath a willow tree. "Did you know the Vaelthorn garden is ranked second-best in the empire? Just after the Imperial Palace itself."
He placed the book and snacks down with care.
"But I didn't bring coffee today. I worried you'd have trouble sleeping again. So—refreshing herbal tea."
Kael's eyes lingered on the cup for a moment before drifting upward—
—and locking onto a silhouette.
Just beyond the trimmed hedges, partially hidden among the trees, stood him.
Reinhardt.
Waving.
Not frantically. Casually. Like a friend waving from across a courtyard.
Kael's heart skipped.
Reinhardt put a finger to his lips.
Don't tell.
Then he made another gesture—an exaggerated miming of eating, followed by a hopeful thumbs-up.
Leave some leftovers.
Kael blinked, unsure whether to feel amused or confused.
He studied the man again, crouched like a child hiding from his mother. A noble dressed in black, skulking between rose bushes and tree trunks.
Is he... a beggar?
Kael tilted his head slightly.
Poor guy, he thought vaguely.
And for a moment—just a moment—his lips almost curved.
Not a smile.
But something close.