Len brushed that hazy layer of the past away from his consciousness and altered his grasp upon Eric's wrist for a brief second.
Extending his fingers, he smoothly cradled Eric's hand within his own, as though physically tethering his companion away from that heavy silence. His boots set into motion once more, and together they began their descent down the wide imperial staircase.
As they cleared the steps one by one, the stark tension and perplexity that had clouded Len's features gradually began to dissolve.
Across his lips, that familiar, unyielding softness and calm resurfaced, beautifully masking the heavy tempests of the previous night.
He maintained his grasp on Eric's hand through the entirety of the path downward, the rhythmic thud of their boots echoing faintly against the polished marble beneath.
Reaching the final threshold of the staircase, they stepped into the vast, grand lower hall of the palace, where intricately carved royal sofas rested amidst towering pillars.
The cool essence of morning lingered in the air. Advancing ahead, Len took his seat upon a plush, expansive sofa alongside Eric.
Within the clearing of the grand hall, a few maids were already soundlessly occupied, meticulously arranging vessels and managing their duties for the day.
The moment these two regal figures settled into the cushions, a young maid advanced with measured, graceful steps. Coming to a halt mere paces away, she anchored her frame in absolute deference.
Lifting her gaze toward Len and Eric, a highly respectful, subtle smile traced across her lips.
"Young Master, shall I fetch some special morning nourishment for you both?" she inquired, her pitch perfectly soft and measured.
Len offered a quiet, unbothered nod of his head in silent assent.
Yet, even after securing the silent command for the food, the maid did not immediately turn away from the space.
Her gaze drifted from Len, pinning entirely onto Eric's features. Settled against the corner of the sofa, Eric was currently detached from his immediate surroundings; his deep crimson eyes were lost entirely into the void, as though his mind were intricately weaving through the heavy revelations Len had shared.
Beholding that distant, profoundly serious expression within his eyes, the maid's lips sealed; any subsequent inquiries she harbored locked within her throat before they could surface. She simply remained there, staring at his distant frame as if spellbound.
Len's sharp instincts missed this one-sided lingering not in the least. Tilting his head a fraction, he directed his eyes straight toward the maid, a stark, mischievous, and playful smile curling the edges of his lips.
"Will you cease examining him in such a manner with those eyes of yours?" Len suddenly uttered, tossing the words in an incredibly smooth, teasing manner.
To witness such an unexpected, playful demeanor from a figure as grave as Len in the quiet hours of morning sent a sudden wave of fluster through the maid.
Her fair cheeks instantly flooded with a stark crimson shade of embarrassment. Dropping her gaze toward the floor immediately, she stammered in absolute haste, "M-My Lord... I shall return with the fresh nourishment for you both this instant."
Gazing into the clear, mischievous glint dancing within Len's eyes, the maid discerned within a fraction of a second that the Young Master was delivering no harsh reprimand; rather, he was merely teasing her hesitation and deliberately bothering her for amusement.
Reading his silent, friendly cue perfectly, she offered a quick, deferential bow and swiftly retreated toward the imperial kitchens.
Yet, completely isolated from this velvet banter, Eric remained securely anchored within the chambers of his own mind. He offered not a single reaction to Len's playful jest. Slowly, he redirected his neck toward the opposite side, where the side armrest of the sofa framed his silhouette.
Resting his strong arm against the velvet structure, he curved his fingers and casually placed his chin over his palm. Within his crimson pupils, that same deep, unresolved suspense continued to swirl, as though his intellect were actively trying to piece together the fragments of a massive, unyielding puzzle.
Beholding Eric so profoundly anchored within the depths of his own thoughts, the residual spark of mischief within Len had not entirely faded. Maintaining that smooth, velvety smile across his lips, he casually elevated his right hand through the quiet air.
Since Eric had averted his face toward the opposite side, Len curved his fingers into a loose fist from behind his companion's silhouette—mirroring the exact manner in which one raps against a sealed door.
Advancing his arm smoothly, he brought his knuckles right near the back of Eric's head, executing two micro-taps with the tips of his fingers.
Thud! Thud!
Mimicking the acoustic resonance with his own lips, Len whispered in an incredibly low, teasing cadence, "Knock-knock... are the doors to the intellect open within, or has the latch been fastened from inside?"
At this sudden, borderline juvenile maneuver, the veins along Eric's brow tautened a fraction.
The profound gravity structuring his features dissolved into a sharp flick of irritation and friction in an instant. Inhaling a deep, weighted breath, he disengaged his chin from his palm and whipped his neck around with absolute velocity.
His sharp crimson eyes locked straight onto Len's face, vividly betraying that he harbored not a single shred of appreciation for this banter at such an hour. His entire focus severed from his internal labyrinth, pinning entirely onto Len's immediate antics.
Yet, this flash of displeasure registered not a single impact upon Len's composure. The playful glint tightening his lips only deepened.
Curling his fingers right back into that familiar posture, the exact moment he extended his arm to replicate that same 'knock-knock' maneuver over Eric's head—
A sharp rustle cut through the air in that precise fraction of a second.
Eric refused to grant Len another window of opportunity this time. His strong fingers surged through the air with lightning velocity, intercepting and clamping down around Len's advancing hand midway. His restraint upon Len's wrist was stark, firm, and unyielding.
Without expending an ounce of unnecessary force, Eric forced the mischievous hand downward, anchoring it flat against the plush velvet cushion of the sofa to ensure it remained stationary.
Pinning his burning crimson pupils straight into Len's eyes, where the embers of amusement were still actively dancing, Eric anchored his pitch into an incredibly heavy, stern, and serious tone, demanding, "Will you cease this absurd mischief of yours, Len?"
The density laced within his voice and the calculated weight of the grip locking Len's hand down vividly betrayed that his intellect was currently grappling with a highly critical enigma—one where Len's persistent playfulness was acting as nothing but a barrier.