Eline lowered his gaze to the page again, his fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the diary.
Embarrassment settled in quietly, but firmly.
He didn't say anything this time. Instead, his lips pressed together, forming a small, unmistakable pout as he stared down at the uneven lines. In his mind, the words came quickly, one after another,
I just started… how would it look perfect already?
If I had finished it, maybe it would have looked better.
You didn't even let me try.
His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the sketch, almost judging it now, as if trying to see it the way Lucien had described it. The lines did look off. Messy. Incomplete.
Still-
It wasn't that bad.
Was it?
Beside him, Lucien watched all of it.
Every shift in expression. The way his lips curved downward, the way his focus deepened on the page, the quiet frustration that settled over him.
Something about it-
It was difficult to ignore.
There was a faint pull in his chest, something unfamiliar, something that didn't quite align with the irritation he had felt just moments ago.
It was… almost amusing.
And at the same time—
Strangely disarming.
Lucien exhaled quietly and, without much thought, sat down beside him on the bench.
"Finish it," he said.
Eline didn't look up immediately.
Lucien's voice came again, calmer this time. "I want to see how good of an artist you are."
That made Eline glance at him.
"Why are you saying that now?" he asked, his tone edged with suspicion. "You just made fun of it."
His pout deepened slightly, his grip on the diary tightening.
"I think you just want me to continue so you can make fun of me again," he added. "If I mess it up more, it'll just be easier for you, right?"
Lucien paused.
For a brief second, it took effort not to react.
The expression on Eline's face—half defensive, half genuinely upset—was… unexpectedly entertaining.
His lips almost curved.
He stopped himself.
"I won't laugh," Lucien said instead, his voice steadier now. "I believe you can do it."
It wasn't something he would usually say.
But the pout had only gotten worse.
Eline narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly unconvinced.
Then, after a brief pause, he tilted his head.
"What about you?" he asked. "Can you draw?"
Lucien's gaze met his.
"Perhaps," he replied.
Eline blinked, visibly surprised.
You can draw?
The thought flashed across his face even if he didn't say it out loud.
Without overthinking it, he extended the diary and pen toward him. "Then draw."
Lucien looked at him for a second.
There was a quiet disbelief in his expression.
You're ordering me?
The thought crossed his mind, sharp and immediate.
And yet—
He took the diary anyway.
His gaze flickered briefly back to Eline before settling on the page. Then, without much hesitation, he began.
The movements were smooth. Controlled. Each line placed with quiet certainty, as if his hand already knew where it needed to go.
It didn't take long.
A few strokes. A few adjustments.
Then he stopped and handed it back.
Eline, who had been absentmindedly studying the flower again, took the diary and looked down—
And stilled.
The flower on the page actually looked like a flower.
Not distorted. Not confused.
Clear.
Balanced.
Recognizable.
His eyes widened slightly.
"You can actually draw," he said, the surprise slipping into his voice. "Were you… an artist or something?"
He looked up at him again. "You did that so fast. It's like you've done this before."
Lucien leaned back slightly, his expression returning to something more neutral.
"I've been a lot of things," he said. "I've had time."
The answer was vague.
But it carried weight.
Eline didn't question it further. He simply looked back at the drawing, studying it more carefully this time.
Then, almost unconsciously, his gaze flickered back to Lucien.
And stayed there for a second longer than necessary.
Lucien noticed.
Then, after a brief pause, Eline spoke again.
"Can you… show me how to do it?" he asked, a little more carefully this time. "Not teach, just… show."
Lucien watched him for a moment.
"I would have refused," he said. "But I suppose I'm in the mood."
He held out his hand. "Give it."
Eline didn't hesitate this time. He handed the diary and pen back immediately, something faintly eager in the movement.
Lucien adjusted the page and began again, slower this time.
Each line was deliberate.
He didn't rush. Instead, he let the process unfold step by step, as if making sure it could be followed. Occasionally, his gaze shifted toward Eline, brief, assessing, checking if he was paying attention.
Eline was.
Every time their eyes met, he nodded slightly, as if confirming he understood.
When Lucien finished, he handed the diary back once more.
"Now you try," he said.
Eline straightened a little, a flicker of confidence returning.
"It looked easy enough," he muttered.
He positioned the diary the same way, adjusted his grip on the pen, and began.
At first, he tried to follow exactly what Lucien had done.
The same lines.
The same order.
But somewhere along the way, it shifted.
The lines didn't fall into place the same way. The shape lost balance. The proportions went off.
By the time he stopped, it didn't look nearly as clean.
Silence settled.
Eline stared at the page.
The earlier confidence faded quickly.
"…Right."
The embarrassment returned, stronger this time.
He cleared his throat and closed the diary halfway.
"Actually," he said, standing up a little too quickly, "I think I need to… use the restroom."
The excuse came out rushed.
Before Lucien could respond, he was already stepping away.
"Sorry," he added, almost as an afterthought.
And then he left.
Quickly.
Almost like he was escaping.
Lucien remained where he was.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then a faint smile appeared—slow, unguarded.
Amusement lingered in his expression, softer than before.
Eline's reactions, his expressions, the way he got embarrassed so easily—
It stayed in his mind longer than it should have.
"…Ridiculous," Lucien muttered under his breath.
And yet, the smile didn't fade immediately.
He exhaled quietly, the expression finally settling back into something more neutral.
That line of thought—
It wasn't like him.
He dismissed it just as quickly as it had come.
After a moment, he stood up and made his way back toward the mansion.