"Young master, is it okay for you to move now?" A maid holding a delicate flower asked Charls as he descended the stairs. He looked pale, his complexion almost ghostly, but the intense cold aura he was known for remained, commanding respect without effort.
"Yes. What's going on?" Authority lingered in his voice, sharp and unwavering.
"We're preparing for a party tomorrow, young master," she replied respectfully.
"I see," he murmured, nodding slightly before continuing down the stairs.
"Ahh… young master, just so you know, Master Allen is in the garden helping us pick flowers for the rooms," the maid added with a bow before retreating.
Curious, Charls headed toward the garden, eager to see what Allen was doing. There he was, crouched among the blooms, joy lighting up his face like a carefree child.
"Oh! Master, I picked some flowers for your room!" Allen exclaimed, holding up a small bouquet with a wide, innocent smile.
"I—" Charls paused internally thinking 'How do I tell him I don't like flowers in my room? But… how can I say no to that face?'
"I'll put them there, okay? With a beautiful vase, they'll look perfect!" Allen continued, hurrying inside while skipping lightly.
'Ahhhh… I definitely can't say no to that,' Charls thought, allowing himself a fleeting smile despite his usual stoicism.
"Mother, this party—" Charls began.
"It's a welcome home party for you and Allen. Don't try stopping me, young man. All preparations are complete and everything is set. Now go, I'm busy. Find Allen, and you two prepare for tomorrow," his mother interrupted firmly.
"I know, Mother, but… make sure Allen stays safe," he replied, fully aware that his mother would carry out her plans no matter what.
"Yeah? That's your job. You should take care of him," she said, smiling slightly, before leaving.
'Everything is ready, including our outfits. Mother always makes sure things go smoothly,' he thought as he returned to his room.
There, a single vase with Roses that Allen had prepared for him caught his eye. Nostalgia stirred in his chest.
'It's been so long… too long. I can't even remember the last time a flower was placed in my room. Wait… what's that smell?'
The scent was unlike anything he had encountered before, a deliciously sweet fragrance with a faint metallic, iron-like undertone, almost like blood.
"Is this smell coming from the flowers?" he murmured, picking up the vase. The scent grew stronger, concentrating at the stems. It was a disturbingly sweet, almost bloody aroma.
'Is this… Allen's blood?! That stupid idiot!' Charls thought, hastily setting the vase back on the table and grabbing the first aid kit.
Allen was sitting on his bed, about to sleep, when a firm knock echoed on his door.
"Coming!" he called, hopping up to answer.
"Yes?—" He froze. Standing in the doorway was Charls, handsome yet stern, his expression tense. Allen's eyes widened in shock.
"Ye-yes, Master? Do you need anything? Or… did you not like the flowers?" he stammered nervously.
"Let me see your hands," Charls said flatly, ignoring Allen's question.
"Huh?" Allen quickly hid his hands behind him. "Eh? Wh-why? What's the matter?" Fear tinged his voice.
"Show me. Now."
"Well…" Realizing escape was impossible, Allen slowly extended his palms. "They're fine now... I cleaned them after I took a bath," he explained, already knowing why Charls was concerned.
Charls' cheeks darkened slightly, though he masked his feelings as usual.
"I brought a kit. Clean them properly," he instructed, voice calm but firm.
"O-okay, thank you, Master—"
"Can I come in?" Charls paused, then added, "To help you clean your wounds."
"Wha- yeah," Allen responded, opening the door wide enough for Charls to enter.
"Sit there," Charls commanded, pointing to the bed. "And give me your hands."
"Yes, Sir" Allen obeyed silently.
Charls placed the kit on the bedside table, retrieving ointment and a sterile swab with precise, practiced movements.
"You could have asked the maids for spare gloves," he said, gently applying ointment, causing Allen to hiss.
"I… I wanted to pick the flowers myself. Someone offered a glove, but I refused. How could I let her pick the flowers without it?" Allen explained, attempting to justify his recklessness.
"Idiot. She could have fetched a spare. You have so many cuts. We won't use bandages tonight since it's bedtime. I'll help you put them on properly tomorrow. Now, go to sleep," Charls instructed, tidying the table and preparing to leave.
"Thank you, Master. I'm so sorry for the trouble," Allen said, bowing deeply as a sign of respect.
"No problem. And thank you for the flowers, they're… beautiful."
Allen hadn't expected the compliment.
"Heh… I'm glad you liked them. Good night," he said, an innocent smile plastered on his face.
"Yeah… good night," Charls replied softly, feeling a warmth in his chest he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.