Elliott's lips curved into a drowsy, lopsided smile. He was leaned back against the pillows, propped up in a relaxed sprawl, limbs loose with exhaustion and syrup-laced sedation. The grin on his face resembled that of a lazy—but very expensive—housecat basking in the sun.
"You look handsome, you know," he mumbled, voice dazed from sleep and poppy syrup.
The quill in Aiden's hand froze mid-sentence.
For a heartbeat, there was no reaction at all. Just Aiden sitting completely still, as if he hadn't heard—or desperately hoped he hadn't. The flicker of candlelight danced across his face, but nothing else moved.
Elliott blinked slowly, about to repeat himself.
Then—Aiden's head snapped up.
His eyes were wide, startled, pupils blown wide with shock. His cheeks flushed a delicious shade of red, the kind that spread quickly—ears, jawline, even the nape of his neck.
"Wha—?" His voice cracked. A pathetic, strangled sound. He cleared his throat roughly and tried again, "What?"
Elliott chuckled. Gods, he was adorable.
It was the same reaction he used to have as a boy, back when Elliott complimented his sword form or praised his posture in court etiquette. Like someone had yanked the air out of his lungs with three syllables.
"Handsome," Elliott repeated with a lazy grin, waving a limp hand vaguely in Aiden's direction. "All...this. You look like a proper emperor."
Aiden's blush deepened. He opened his mouth as if to reply. Nothing came out. He closed it. Then scowled—a grumpy, wounded expression that carried zero bite.
"You're drugged," he muttered under his breath, glancing down at the desk in front of him. With a huff of frustration, he shoved the stack of papers aside like they were personally responsible for this situation.
The reaction earned another low chuckle from the older man.
Elliott's grin stretched. "Mmh. Doesn't affect the accuracy of my observation."
Aiden made a noise—a half-sputter, half-sigh. His fingers twitched like he wanted to cover his face with his hands. "Stop—stop talking. You—ugh."
"Why?" Elliott drawled, his tone a slow purr. "Embarrassed?"
The smirk on his face was positively feline. He shifted slightly to get a better look at the younger man, golden hair falling like sunlight across his cheekbones. "You've certainly grown into your looks. I bet all the ladies secretly swoon for you."
Aiden's face did something... complicated.
Still flustered. Still frustrated. But there was something else layered beneath it. Something Elliott couldn't quite name.
Still, it didn't look unpleasant.
"Shut up," Aiden hissed weakly. The words lacked venom. They lacked armor. His tone was a mess of betrayal and helpless resignation. How is this man still so oblivious?
Elliott laughed—really laughed. Loud and unrestrained. It tugged at something in his sore throat, and a sudden wince overtook his face.
Aiden was by his side in an instant.
The flush hadn't entirely faded from his cheeks, but the moment the pained sound escaped Elliott's lips, his whole demeanor changed. Worry smoothed over fluster. His brows furrowed. His hands moved with practiced care.
He pressed the small ceramic bowl to Elliott's lips—the one filled with poppy syrup—and gently urged him to drink.
The healers had said a second dose was fine if there was an emergency. And Elliott in pain definitely qualified.
"Idiot," Aiden muttered under his breath, wiping the excess syrup from the other's lips with his thumb. "Don't laugh when you're half-dead."
Elliott gave a soft smile in response, utterly unaffected by the scolding. He leaned into the younger man's touch, entirely unaware of the chaos he was sowing.
"Worth it," he murmured, voice syrup-sweet and sleepy. "You're so easy to tease."
Aiden's breath caught in his throat.
He stared.
The way Elliott smiled—light and mischievous, almost childlike in his delight at seeing Aiden flustered—it was unfair. The candlelight gilded his hair and face in soft gold, casting shadows across the planes of his cheeks. He looked radiant. Divine. Almost untouchable.
Elliott, for once, seemed to notice the quiet between them too. His gaze locked with Aiden's, and for a long moment... neither looked away.
Something fluttered in Elliott's chest. Something warm. Something aching.
Something he couldn't quite name.
And then Aiden stood—abruptly.
He gently laid Elliott back against the pillows, adjusted the blankets, and then... fled.
Retreated, more accurately. Back to his desk. Back to his reports. Back to the war plans he had absolutely no intention of reading.
"Go back to sleep, old man," Aiden huffed, sounding like someone who'd just barely survived battle. And not just any battle. A dangerous, lethal one.
A beautiful Elliott with a sleepy smile and a voice like warm honey? That was lethal.
Elliott was utterly unrepentant. His lips curved into a victorious smirk. Slow. Lazy. Vaguely menacing.
"You know," he drawled, voice thick with sleep and syrup-sweet from the medicine. "I think I prefer you like this."
Aiden didn't look up from the aggressively uninteresting parchment in front of him. He hummed—casually. "Like what?"
"All..." Elliott waved a hand vaguely in the air. "Regal and broody. Very imperial. Very... shiny. Very Your Majesty of you."
The paper in Aiden's palm crumpled.
He stared at it. As if it had personally betrayed him.
Then—Elliott giggled.
Giggled.
Aiden's head whipped up, horrified. "What— You— Are you laughing?!"
Elliott laughed harder. He was practically wheezing now. "You're so flustered," he managed between chuckles. "It's adorable."
Aiden made a noise like a very offended, very mortified cat.
"I am not cute," he hissed.
Elliott was thoroughly unapologetic. "Adorable," he repeated with the confidence of a man who had just discovered the secrets of the universe. "Like a little stormcloud in a crown."
Aiden's entire face turned crimson.
"You are drugged!" he snapped, as if that could somehow explain away every word, every smile, every feeling.
"Uh huh," Elliott nodded, unbothered. He tilted his head, strands of golden hair falling over his face like the halo of a fallen angel. "Still doesn't mean I'm wrong."