After dinner that evening, Cogsworth cornered Lumiere in the kitchen. "Alright, what is the matter with you? You've been suspiciously quiet and absent-minded all day."

"Why are you complaining?" Cuisinier muttered from his place at the sink. "At least it shuts him up."

Lumiere's eyes lingered on the plate in his hands, fat water droplets sliding down its surface and soaking into the towel he hadn't yet picked up. "Adam said something to me earlier."

"Since when did you start caring what people say about you?"

"He called me his papa."

Cuisinier made a sound halfway between a guffaw and a grimace. Cogsworth stared at him, eyes so wide that his glasses slid to the tip of his nose. "Oh. Well. I suppose that isn't inaccurate; we all practically raised him."

"But still—" Lumiere's voice lurched up an octave as his bottom lip trembled and his eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Still," Cogsworth agreed, softer now. He offered his arm, and Lumiere latched onto him in an embrace so sudden and strong that he stumbled back into the kitchen island.

"You two can be sentimental somewhere else, you know," Cuisinier remarked in a flat tone. "Some of us still have work to do."

Cogsworth rolled his eyes; even he knew better than to argue with the grumpy old chef. "Yes, yes, very well. Come along, Lumiere."

---

Belle peeked into the royal study, where Adam sat at his desk with his head in his hands and where she suspected he had been sitting for quite some time. "Adam, dear... Is everything alright?"

"I think I will die of embarrassment," he mumbled, muffled and barely intelligible through his arms.

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "I'm sure it's not that serious. Tell me what happened."

"I accidentally called Lumiere my father."

"Well—" She dragged a chair from across the room and came to sit at his side. In a gentle tone, she asked, "Isn't he?"

Adam finally lifted his head enough to meet her eyes, and her expression softened. "I know it's not by blood, but from the way you talk about them and from everything I've seen myself, it seems to me like they are your family. Lumiere, Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth—everyone here."

Belle was right. He knew she was right. He had known even before she said it; he just hadn't been ready to admit it on his own.

As part of my prep for this year, I finished one new ref sheet: Octavian! He's one of my oldest, most beloved ocs and one I'm hoping will get some attacks this year 💕

Even when Cogsworth’s feet settled back on the ground, his vision still spun, twisted and tilted. He could process the pale blue of a morning sky hanging off the balcony, and he stiffly held his hands out at his sides to steady himself (and maybe to clutch the banister for dear life if he lost his balance). His pulse—warm, muffled, nothing at all like the firm ticking that he had become accustomed to over the past ten years—was still thrumming in his ears when he was suddenly seized by the shoulders, only catching a whirl of brown and gold before someone’s nose crashed into his, and his gasp was smothered in a kiss. 

He immediately knew it was Lumiere, a realization which only made him more embarrassed. He knew by the warmth of Lumiere’s thin fingers cradling his cheeks. He knew by the way Lumiere’s thick lower lip settled into place against his own, as if their last kiss was only yesterday. He knew by the faint smell of candle wax that still clung to his hair. 

Cogsworth scrambled to push him away, gasping for breath as his mind raced to string together an admonition. What was Lumiere thinking, grabbing him like that in front of everyone? In front of the prince? 

But when he looked up into Lumiere’s face, the words evaporated in his throat. Fat, shimmering tears stuck to his eyelashes and poured over his cheekbones, where they caught in the wrinkles from his smile.

With a quiet sigh, Cogsworth held out his arms. “Come here, you sentimental fool.”

Lumiere clung to him in an instant, squeezing so tightly around his shoulders that Cogsworth could feel his arms shaking from the tension. He reached up to gently place his hands on Lumiere’s shoulder blades. Lumiere’s chin came to rest atop his head, and his tears soaked into Cogsworth’s hair. 

“I thought I’d never see you again.”