The nameplate beside the door was neat, polished, and exactly what he would have expected of her.
[Lilliana Roseblood]
Soren stood in front of it for a moment longer than necessary, hand hovering uselessly at his side while his thoughts ran in tight, uneasy circles.
The first attempt had gone badly.
No, that was too mild.
He had grabbed her hand, asked her to teach him blood magic, and watched the colour drain from her face as if he had reached into something half-healed and torn it open.
She had refused him, left quickly, and he had stood there afterwards knowing, with that horrible sinking certainty, that he had touched something he should not have touched so carelessly.
He should have left it alone.
He knew that.
Because the look on her face had not been simple discomfort, and it had not been anger either.
It had been fear, yes, but not the sort directed at him.
It had looked older than that, deeper, the kind that lived in the body long after the moment itself had ended.
Yet she had gained the courage to ask him to come earlier anyway.
So he had come.
Not just because he still wanted to learn blood magic, though that was true.
Not just because he needed answers, though that was true too.
He had come because leaving things as they were felt wrong in a way he could not ignore.
Soren drew in a slow breath, then raised his hand and knocked.
A short pause followed, long enough for him to notice the faint rustle from within, then her voice came through the door.
— Come in. It's unlocked.
Her tone was calm, gentle, composed.
Too composed.
He pressed down on the handle and pushed the door open carefully.
The first thing he noticed was the flowers.
A large ceramic planter sat near the entrance, thick with deep blooms, but once the door opened wider he realised that was only the beginning.
There were plants everywhere.
Small pots lined the windowsill, trailing vines draped along shelves, glass vases filled the side tables, and fresh flowers had been arranged with such care that the whole room looked less like a dorm and more like a private greenhouse someone had softened into a home.
It should have felt peaceful.
Instead, something about it only sharpened the tightness in his chest.
The room was beautiful, but not relaxed.
Everything had been arranged a little too neatly, every surface too carefully kept, as if order itself were being used to hold something in place.
Then Lilliana stepped into view from the adjoining room, and for a second he forgot every thought he had been having.
She was not dressed in her usual clothes he had grown used to seeing on her.
Instead she wore loose pink-coloured pyjamas that looked a size or two too large, the sleeves falling over part of her hands, the fabric soft enough to make her seem smaller than she already was.
Her dark hair was down, slightly more mussed than usual, and without the structure of her usual uniform the difference was almost unfair.
Her ears twitched once the moment she saw him, and though she smiled, it did not quite settle properly.
Soren heard himself speak before he thought better of it.
"You look…"
He caught himself, then failed to find a safer word in time.
"Really cute."
Lilliana blinked.
Then a faint flush touched her cheeks.
"Ah… thank you," she said, smoothing a hand over the oversized sleeve as though that might somehow make the situation less embarrassing.
Soren rubbed the back of his neck, slightly annoyed with himself; he hadn't come here for this.
But the awkwardness passed only halfway.
She still looked a little too alert, her shoulders subtly held, her smile just slightly deliberate.
"So, you said I could come in?"
"Yes."
She nodded quickly, then stepped aside.
"Of course. Please, sit down. I'll make tea."
There was an excuse in the speed of it, in how neatly she moved to fill the space with something practical. It did not escape him.
Still, he followed her in without comment and sat where she indicated, on the small sofa near the low table.
From there he could see even more of the room.
Books stacked in careful little piles.
A folded blanket over the arm of a chair.
A watering can by the balcony door.
Several kinds of dried flowers hanging upside down from a rack near the kitchen area.
It was easy to picture her here.
Too easy, perhaps.
The domesticity of it sat strangely against the image he had of her in class, composed and self-contained, voice even, movements precise.
Here, that mask had softened at the edges, but the strain underneath it was clearer too.
He listened to the quiet sounds from the kitchenette, the cupboard opening, ceramic lightly touching ceramic, water poured into a kettle.
Ordinary sounds.
Small sounds.
The sort that should have eased the mood.
They did not.
By the time she returned with two mugs balanced on a tray, Soren had already decided he was not going to let this become another conversation where she hid behind politeness until the important thing was buried again.
Lilliana set the tray down carefully, then handed him one of the mugs before taking the place beside him.
Not close enough to touch, but close enough that he could feel the presence of her at his side.
"Thank you, Professor Roseblood."
"You're welcome."
He took a sip.
Sweet.
Not overly so, but enough that he noticed immediately.
His gaze shifted to her before he could stop it.
Lilliana caught the look and, for the first time since he arrived, something more natural flickered across her face.
A tiny, knowing amusement.
"It was obvious," she said. "Whenever I gave you something sweet at lunch, your expression changed."
"My expression changed?"
"It brightened."
She lifted her mug with both hands, eyes on him over the rim.
"Especially with cherries. You also dislike stronger scents, though not enough to refuse them outright."
Soren stared at her.
Then he looked down at his drink as if the answer might be in there.
"I didn't realise I was that easy to read."
"You are, sometimes."
There was no bite in it, just quiet fondness, and under any other circumstances he might have relaxed properly at that.
Instead he found himself studying her more carefully.
The words were light, but her grip on the mug was a little too tight.
Her ears had not settled once since he arrived.
Even now they twitched every so often, betraying a tension the rest of her was trying very hard to hide.
He drank again anyway, because refusing the small normalcy of this moment would only make things worse.
"Do you like sweet things too?" he asked.
Rather than answer, Lilliana held her own mug out to him with a faint, almost playful tilt of her head.
He took it, suspicious but willing, and had barely swallowed a mouthful before his face twisted.
"That is vile."
The laugh that escaped her was soft and bright and startling enough that he looked at her properly.
It was not polished or restrained; it came out before she could manage it, real enough to crease her eyes.
"Sorry," she said, though she didn't sound sorry at all. "It's black coffee."
"That explains nothing except your bad judgement."
Her shoulders loosened a fraction.
"It's an acquired taste."
"It shouldn't have been acquired."
A second, quieter laugh slipped out of her, and for a brief moment the room really did feel lighter.
Not by much, but enough for him to see the shape of what might have been there if neither of them had come into this conversation carrying what they were carrying.
"I used to prefer sweeter things," she said, taking her mug back. "Stellaris changed that."
There was something odd in the wording, or perhaps just in the faint pause before it, but she kept moving before he could examine it too closely.
"You cook, don't you?" she asked.
"Occassionally," he answered
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Mm."
Her mouth curved slightly.
"I'd still like to try it someday."
The answer was casual, but not careless.
Another offered normal thing.
Another place to stand that was safe and clean and had nothing to do with blood magic or the look he had seen on her face when he caught her hand.
Soren set his mug down.
"I can cook for you sometime," he said, "but before that…"
He stopped there, watching her.
The tiny shift in her posture was immediate.
Not dramatic, not obvious if you were not looking for it, but it was there.
Her fingers tightened around the mug.
Her shoulders, which had only just eased, drew in again.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
The room fell quiet.
Then, with slow and deliberate care, Lilliana lowered her mug to the table.
Ceramic touched wood with a small, precise sound.
"Soren," she said, and though her voice remained even, it had gone a shade too measured, "are you certain you want to learn blood magic?"
He met her eyes and nodded.
"Yes."
"And you understand that it is dangerous?"
"Yes."
"How dangerous?"
That gave him pause.
He could have answered lightly, could have said enough to satisfy the question without really engaging with it, but something in the way she asked made that feel impossible.
"It can kill me."
Lilliana held his gaze for another second, then looked away first.
"Yes," she said quietly. "It can."
Soren waited.
She did not continue immediately.
Instead, she stared at the roses on the opposite side of the room as if gathering her thoughts into a shape she could tolerate touching.
"When you asked me last week," she said at last, "I reacted poorly."
That wasn't the word he would have chosen.
"You don't need to apologise."
"I do, actually."
A faint smile touched her mouth, but it didn't last.
"You are my student. Leaving without explanation was unprofessional."
There it was.
The excuse.
Professionalism, duty, responsibility.
A neat and familiar frame to set around something much messier.
He did not call her on it.
Not yet.
Lilliana drew a breath that did not seem to go deep enough, then folded her hands carefully in her lap.
"If I am going to teach you, then there are conditions."
"All right."
"You will not practise blood magic alone."
"That's fine."
"You will not experiment with it in secret."
"I won't."
"You will stop immediately if I tell you to stop."
"I promise."
His answer came fast enough that her eyes flicked back to him, and for the first time since he entered, the tension in her expression altered rather than merely tightening.
A little surprise.
A little softness.
Then it was gone again.
"There is something else," she said.
This time, when she spoke, her voice was still calm, but the control in it felt thinner, less effortless.
Like glass that had not cracked yet, but might.
"You realised what I am," she said.
Soren's stomach twisted.
He had, and worse than that, he had treated it as obvious, natural, the sort of thing he could just know, because to him it had been information.
A fact in a shape he recognised.
To her, it was her life.
————「❤︎」————