Ethea's breath hitched.
She looked away. She could not help it. The heat in her cheeks had spread to her ears, to her neck, to places she did not even know could feel warm. Her heart was doing something strange, something that felt almost like dancing, and she did not understand it.
She did not understand any of this.
He was just asking about colors. Just saying simple words. But every word felt like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through places she had thought were dead.
"...What else?"
The question came out before she could stop it. She looked back at him, her eyes slightly wide, her voice barely holding steady.
"What else... do you want to know?"
Soren blinked, surprised. Then his smile widened just a fraction.
"Lots of things actually," he said. "But we have time. No need to rush."
He picked up the spoon again.
"For now... let's finish breakfast. Then we can continue."
"...Mm." Ethea gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod, her gaze dropping back to the table.
She felt exposed, yet she couldn't help but steal a secret, fleeting peek at him through her lashes. Soren seemed entirely oblivious to the havoc he had just wreaked on her composure. He looked content, his focus returning to the simple task at hand as he alternated between taking a bite of his own meal and carefully offering her another spoonful.
Ethea was unsure whether to feel relieved or annoyed. She felt relieved that he did not notice her flushed cheeks and quickened heartbeat but annoyed that he could make such a comment and then resume eating as if nothing had occurred.
But as she watched him lift the spoon to her lips again, steady and patient, she realized that was just who he was. He did not say things to get a reaction. He said them because he meant them. And once they were out, he moved on. There was no strategy behind his words. No hidden motive. Just honesty, plain and simple, served alongside breakfast like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
'...'
With that realization, the tight coil of suspicion in her chest finally began to slacken. After all, it was hard to remain guarded against someone who wasn't even attacking. She stopped trying to find a clever way to distance herself and instead focused on the simple, grounding sensation of being cared for.
She swallowed each bite, her mind still reeling from the way he had looked at her eyes. Each time the metal clinked against the ceramic, it felt like a soft pulse of reality breaking through her usual numbness. Slowly, the heat in her cheeks began to settle into a comfortable, simmering glow, leaving her skin warm and her thoughts uncharacteristically quiet.
By the time the bowls were empty, the morning light had shifted, turning from a pale grey to a crisp, bright gold.
"Wait a moment."
After tidying the table, Soren left her alone. Soon after, he came back with a soft blanket, carefully wrapping it around her legs and torso to keep her warm from the early morning cold.
"Let's walk outside till Miss Clara arrives."
Without waiting for an answer, he gripped the handles of her wheelchair and began to navigate the small bump at the doorway.
The garden at seven in the morning was a sanctuary of dew and silence. The air was sharp, smelling of wet earth and waking flowers, biting at her nose but refreshing her lungs.
As they moved along the stone path, Soren broke the silence.
"So," he started, keeping his pace leisurely. "I've been wondering... what kind of food do you actually like? I've been cooking for a while now, but I've always worried if the meals were even to your liking."
Ethea watched the way the dew clung to the grass, sparkling like scattered diamonds.
"I am not picky," she replied quietly. "And they were... good."
Soren let out a long, heavy sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly dropping.
"Thank goodness," he muttered, a small laugh of genuine worry escaping him. "I was afraid I was forcing things on you that you hated. But don't you have anything you actually like? A favorite?"
Ethea hesitated, the word feeling a bit childish in her mind before she let it slip out.
"...Sweets."
"I... I like sweets."
"Oh, good!" Soren's voice brightened instantly. "Let's get a bunch later on the way back then. Biscuits, cakes, candies, whatever you like. I'll buy them all."
Ethea felt a tiny, rare pull at the corner of her lips. She hummed in soft agreement, the idea of something sweet suddenly feeling like a celebration.
"What about movies or TV shows?" Soren continued, his tone filled with an easy curiosity as he pushed her past a row of blooming shrubs. "What do you like to watch?"
"...Adventure and mystery," she replied.
Soren stopped the wheelchair for a moment. He leaned over to look at her face, his eyes wide with genuine surprise. "Oh, that's cool. I wouldn't have guessed."
He had noticed her watching those slow, lingering dramas whenever the television was on, so he had assumed that was her preference. But now that he knew what she actually enjoyed, he felt a spark of excitement at the prospect of finding something that would truly capture her interest.
"I'll gather a bunch of them for you to watch tonight, then," he said, his voice brimming with a new kind of energy. "Actually, let's watch them together. Every day from now on."
"!" Ethea's breath hitched at the casual way he said "together," as if it were a given, a permanent fixture of their future. She looked away, her heart doing that strange, rhythmic dance again. She still did not understand any of this, but for once, she didn't want to stop the ripples.
She watched a swallow land on a nearby branch. The bird shook the dew from its wings, and for a moment, she felt a strange kinship with the creature. She was shedding her own layers of frost, bit by bit.
Then, her thoughts drifted back to his enthusiasm. He had been so quick to offer everything, to promise treats and stories, and to pivot his entire day around her preferences.
It occurred to her then that she was a map he was trying to learn by heart, yet his own pages remained largely unturned.
The unfairness of it nipped at her more than the morning chill.
'Urgh...'
Her gaze lowered, lashes trembling faintly as she wrestled with the unfamiliar weight of the thought. It sat awkwardly in her chest, somewhere between hesitation and something softer.
If this continued… if he kept stepping into her world like this… then it would not be right for her to stay outside his.
Her fingers curled slightly tighter.
But then a sharper thought cut through the softness.
Wasn't she just like him, too?
'...No.'
'I...'
'I am worse...'