Julian looked down at his hands, where the soot was smeared over red, angry scalds from where he had swatted at the embers.
His hands were trembling.
"But I can't even get the tea right, Lucien," Julian sobbed, the first tear finally breaking free and carving a pale path through the soot on his cheek. "I'm a scholar who can't even manage a fireplace. I wanted to be your warmth, but I'm just… I'm just making a mess."
Alaric didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees in the soot, heedless of his clean clothes, and pulled Julian into his arms. He wrapped his large hands around Julian's burnt fingers, his touch infinitely careful.
"Look at me," Alaric commanded softly, tilting Julian's chin up.
Julian tried to pull away, ashamed of the blackened room and his own inadequacy.
"Don't look at me like this. I'm a failure."
