Lucien didn't move.
His eyes remained on his face.
"…Your face," he added after a second. "What happened to it?"
The way he said it made it clearer—not just a question, but a quiet insistence. He already knew something was wrong. He just wasn't saying it directly.
Lucien's gaze did not leave his face.
It lingered there, steady, as if the answer Eline had given wasn't enough.
"What were you doing?" he asked again.
Eline blinked once, slightly confused. "I just told you. I was trying to draw—"
"I'm not asking about that."
Lucien's voice cut in, quieter, but firmer this time.
There was a brief pause before he added, his eyes narrowing just slightly, "What were you doing to end up like this?"
The emphasis was clearer now.
Eline understood.
"Oh." He shifted the diary in his hands. "I was in the garden earlier. In the afternoon."
Lucien didn't respond.
So he added, a little more casually than he probably should have, "I think I fell asleep out here. The sun was… pretty strong."
For a second, nothing happened.
Then something in Lucien's expression changed.
Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone unfamiliar to notice.
But it was there.
"How can you be so careless?" he said.
The words came out controlled, but there was something restrained beneath them, something sharper than his usual tone.
"You got a sunburn and you were sleeping in direct sunlight."
Eline frowned slightly, taken aback.
Lucien exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening just a fraction.
"…How can you be that stupid?"
The word landed bluntly.
Not loud. Not explosive.
But deliberate.
Eline's brows pulled together immediately. "It's not a big deal," he said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.
"It is," Lucien replied without hesitation.
Then, after a brief pause, more measured this time, "You're not coming out here in the afternoon again. Not unless it's necessary."
The tone wasn't raised, but it carried something final in it, something that didn't leave much room for argument.
Eline shifted slightly on the bench, clearly unimpressed.
"I said it's fine," he repeated. "I already used ointment."
Lucien's gaze flickered, just for a second.
"Ointment?"
Eline nodded. "Yeah. Carlson gave it to me."
The reaction was subtle, but it was there.
A pause that lasted just a moment too long.
Lucien's eyes sharpened slightly, something unreadable passing through them before it disappeared just as quickly.
Carlson?
For a brief second, the thought settled in his mind with quiet disbelief.
Father gave it to him?
He didn't say it out loud.
Didn't let it show.
But the shift had already happened.
"What else could he do," Lucien said after a moment, his tone flattening again. "You make a mistake like that, and someone has to deal with it."
There was a faint edge to it now, something that hadn't been there before.
"You even made him take care of you," he added. "You really don't think things through, do you?"
Eline opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, slightly thrown off by the direction this had taken.
Lucien's gaze moved away from his face then, dropping to the diary still in his hands.
The page.
The uneven lines.
"What were you trying to do here?" he asked.
Eline glanced down at it. "Like I said… I was trying to draw."
Lucien looked at the page for a second longer.
"…That?" he said.
Eline frowned. "Yes, that."
Lucien tilted his head slightly, still studying the lines. "It looks like you were trying to draw worms. Or insects."
There was a pause.
Eline stared at him.
"…It's a flower," he said, his tone immediately defensive. "Can you not see that?"
Lucien didn't respond.
"It's just not finished," Eline added quickly. "That's why it looks like that. Or maybe you need glasses."
The words slipped out faster than he intended.
The moment they did, he froze.
His hand moved to cover his mouth slightly, his eyes widening just a bit.
Was that… too much?
He glanced down at the page again.
It does look a little like insects.
The thought crossed his mind, but he didn't say it.
"…Sorry," he muttered instead.
There was a brief silence.
Then—
Lucien's expression shifted.
Not into laughter. Not fully.
But there was something there. A faint curve at the corner of his lips, barely noticeable, but present.
Amusement.
Eline, sitting there with his messy sketch and his awkward apology, looked… oddly sincere.
And unexpectedly—
A little endearing.