The small wooden house had long grown quiet. A faint orange glow from the oil lamp lit the main room, where Alaric slept upon the pallet laid out for him near the hearth. The fever had not yet broken; sweat dampened his brow, and his breathing came unevenly despite the blankets piled atop him.
Rin sat beside him, back straight, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion yet unwavering. He had spent the entire afternoon mixing herbs, adjusting compresses, and coaxing warm liquid past Alaric's lips when the man stirred enough to swallow. To Rin, tending the sick was familiar work—but tending him felt different, more complicated than he would ever admit aloud.
Outside the door, he could hear the twins whispering as they settled into their own room. They had been shaken earlier—by Alaric's condition, by their own thoughts and assumptions—but Rin dismissed it for now. There were more urgent matters in front of him.
He wrung out a clean cloth in fresh cool water, laying it against Alaric's forehead. The fevered man shifted, lashes trembling as though caught in a dream. Rin paused, studying his face quietly.
"That's the expression of someone who works too hard," he murmured under his breath, brushing stray strands of Alaric's silver hair away.
Alaric's hand moved suddenly, fingers clasping lightly around Rin's wrist—unconsciously, as though seeking something in the dark. Rin froze for a heartbeat, then slowly relaxed. He stayed where he was, allowing the contact.
And he remained there the entire night, nodding off only when his exhaustion finally claimed him shortly before dawn. He crouched over the futon, arms folded on the bedside, head resting against them. It was uncomfortable and cramped, yet Rin didn't move.
It was in that position that Alaric found him the next morning.
Alaric stirred with a quiet groan, his body finally free of fever's iron hold. He blinked until the room came into clear focus—then saw Rin beside him, asleep, breath steady and soft. The concern and sleepless vigil were plain to see even without words.
For a moment, Alaric simply looked at him.
He stayed here… all night?
A reluctant but warm smile tugged at the prince's lips. Carefully, so as not to wake the other man, he sat up and reached out, slipping an arm beneath Rin to lift him. Rin murmured faintly in his sleep but did not wake. Alaric carried him to the bed just a few steps away and laid him down properly, adjusting the blanket over him.
"Rest," he whispered, brushing Rin's hair back.
Before leaving the room, Alaric checked the twins next door. The boys lay sprawled in every possible direction, entirely without dignity. It made a soft chuckle escape him before he headed toward the kitchen.
He was unfamiliar with civilian kitchens, but cooking during expeditions had been part of survival. He found eggs, leftover vegetables, and rice—and began to work.
The quiet soon filled with warmth and the sound of chopping and simmering. The aroma drifted through the small house, and Rin finally stirred awake. His eyes blinked open, confusion flickering through them as he realized he was no longer at Alaric's side—and lying on his own bed.
What—?
He shot upright.
"Your Highness?" he whispered, then rushed out.
He halted the moment he reached the kitchen doorway.
There stood Alaric—, sleeves rolled, a pot gently steaming in front of him as though this were his natural place. Rin stared, utterly struck silent.
Alaric looked over his shoulder and grinned.
"What's this? Did you fall for me at last? I see I look quite husband-like in your eyes."
Rin's face flared crimson in an instant.
"I— absolutely not!" he sputtered, trying to regain composure. "I am only startled that Your Highness knows how to cook. A patient should be resting!"
He stepped forward, attempting to snatch the ladle from Alaric, but the prince smoothly evaded and placed a guiding hand on Rin's shoulder, steering him toward a chair.
"I am fully capable now. Sit. You have been awake all night, haven't you?"
Rin pursed his lips but allowed himself to be seated.
"Still, I—"
"No arguments. Rest for a moment," Alaric said, tone gentle yet firm.
Before Rin could protest further, the twins' room erupted with the sound of stumbling feet and panicked whispering.
They burst out a moment later.
"Papa! Mister Al— YOU'RE UP!"
The relief on their faces was so genuine that Alaric found himself smiling in spite of everything.
Then, predictably:
"And please stop flirting in the kitchen this early in the morning!" Rhen declared with a hint of teasing.
Rin nearly choked.
"W—we were not—! You two should learn proper respect—"
The scolding only made the twins grin wider.
Breakfast was lively, noisy, and somehow warm. The boys asked endless questions—about food and so on. Rin tried to rein them in, but it was useless. Alaric watched the scene with quiet contentment.
Then the boys noticed something odd.
"Papa, why aren't you rushing to open the shop?"
Rin sipped his tea calmly.
"I am taking another day off. After yesterday… I realized I haven't spent proper time with the two of you."
Both boys froze—then erupted in cheers.
"Really?! Then Mister Al should come too!"
The entire table went silent.
Even Rin stiffened.
But then he exhaled.
"…Fine."
The twins stared. Alaric stared.
"You mean it?" Alaric asked.
"I already said it, didn't I?" Rin muttered, cheeks reddening.
The twins clasped hands dramatically.
"This is it…"
"KEEP YOUR IMAGINATIONS TO YOURSELF!" Rin snapped, turning bright red while the twins dissolved into laughter.
Alaric just smiled at him—soft, unguarded, and, for once, without the weight of politics, duty, or fever.
In a humble kitchen, for a fleeting morning, he could almost forget the world waiting outside.