Apr 15, 2020
c:
He finds his smile is far sweeter than any drink they could share, as these mornings together pass them by.
Today, in place of the coffee Lancer has taken to making, (for him, he always tells him) the Count greets him with rose hip tea. He hadn’t asked, nor did he make him in any way aware of the change—only slipping out into the early rise of dawn to put him first instead.
When they meet at their table, Diarmuid smiles again. Gentle and easy, meant to be nestled against the heart like a secret. Under such softness, he supposes it’s inevitable when he catches himself smiling in kind.
“I hope it’s to your liking,” he tells him. So that I might see you smile another time.
