Chapter 109 …
Benedict, still irritated over the conflict with Alfie, decided to prioritize his duty as a friend over the manners of a gentleman.
“Is it okay for friends to keep their distance?”
Absolutely not. He and Lucien had to remain close, always.
“…Close.”
The word surfaced in his mind, and he felt a bead of sweat run down his spine, even as he walked the corridor on a winter night.
He remembered that moment—this morning, in the reception room. When he and Lucien’s eyes met beneath the arm stretched across the tall stack of books, and they both froze in place.
“I…I wasn’t thinking anything!”
Benedict quickly shook his head to rid himself of the image of Lucien’s pink lips he had been staring at so intently. Surely, he wasn’t the infamous “bastard Milburn” among nobles, suddenly wanting to kiss someone just because their eyes met for a moment.
He had simply felt a pure flutter of excitement. After all, Lucien was a girl he genuinely liked.
“Master.”
When he arrived at Lucien’s room, Juliet, who had been sitting on a chair by the door waiting, stood up.
“You weren’t sleeping?”
“No, I’ll be relieved in thirty minutes.”
“Then I’ll…”
Benedict hesitated, torn between sending Juliet away so she could rest and leaving someone behind to watch over him.
“Thank you, Master.”
But Juliet bowed first and quietly stepped back, leaving him alone.
“…Rest well.”
Right, there’s no need for supervision.
Benedict decided not to be swayed by Alfie’s warnings—about desire, about losing control and coveting Lucien. That was absurd.
Juliet soon disappeared down the corridor, and Benedict stood in front of the door.
“Ahem.”
He considered whether to knock after a false cough, but realized that if Lucien woke up to the sound, it would feel more like a disturbance than a greeting.
He quietly turned the doorknob and heard faint, somewhat blocked breathing—her neck and nose seemed uncomfortable.
“Ugh… she’s in pain.”
Benedict approached carefully. The small sleep light left on for when Lucien might wake in the early morning kept the room from being completely dark.
“Thank goodness…”, he thought.
But when Lucien lying on the bed came fully into view, he quickly realized it wasn’t that simple.
Lucien had kicked off half the blanket with surprising vigor.
It made sense—once her fever went down, she’d naturally want less confinement. He understood that.
But the problem was how bravely she had kicked. The hem of her pajamas had rolled up to her knees, exposing her white calves completely.
“…You!”
Benedict almost shouted before remembering he needed to remain silent, quickly covering his mouth with both hands to avoid waking her.
Alright, time to handle this.
The important thing was that the little rascal might get hurt if she stayed like that.
He slowly approached the bed and gently grasped the hem of her pajamas that had ridden up over her knees.
“Please don’t wake up, Lucien.”
He didn’t want her to see this suspicious scene—it would surely lead to a misunderstanding.
The soft fabric slid down her smooth legs to her ankles. Benedict swallowed nervously.
“…I-I’m just nervous!”
Justifying it to himself, he then straightened out the crumpled blanket at her feet and pulled it back over her.
“Phew.”
He exhaled naturally. Now Lucien should sleep warmly.
“Hm?”
Suddenly, he noticed a pink fuzzy sock poking out from the blanket. She must have worn it because her feet were cold, then slid it off along with the blanket.
“She really is a handful.”
Benedict, grumbling while blushing, folded the edge of the blanket slightly. He slipped his fingers into the sock to ease it over her toes…
He hesitated, however, staring at her small white foot peeking out from the blanket.
“Has her foot even grown?”
It looked almost the same as when she was younger. He could probably cup the whole foot in his hand. Her toes were round, small, and adorable.
The line from her toes to her ankles was incredibly beautiful…
“Stop it, you pervert!”
Shaking off the thought, Benedict quickly put socks on both feet and drew the blanket fully over her.
Even though nothing had happened, his back felt sweaty—perhaps because the fire in the room had been burning too strongly for a patient’s room.
“…Benedict?”
Suddenly hearing her voice, he froze in place as if caught doing something wrong. And really, he had been—he had been peering at a sleeping person’s feet so persistently, a terrible thing to do.
“Did she… notice?”
He anxiously waited for her next words.
“Hand…”
“I-I moved it. Sorry.”
I won’t touch them again. Ever. He begged silently.
“…Cold.”
She slid her hand out from the blanket.
“She wants me to hold it, doesn’t she?”
Even though he knew no one would answer that question for him, he looked around, confused.
“Cough.”
Startled by her small cough, he quickly grasped her cold hand.
“…Warm.”
Lucien smiled softly and said that, and Benedict felt thankful for his own warm constitution.
“Go back to sleep.”
Lucien nodded slightly and closed her eyes again.
What joy could compare to seeing that peaceful face? No academic achievement or material reward could bring such happiness.
Lucien trusted him.
Even though there had been a small incident in the reception room—hugging her recklessly—but that was just an act of rescue. In his mind, he might have interpreted that moment differently.
“…This is tricky.”
He worried that a fleeting desire might trample Lucien’s trust. That would only reveal danger instead of the good sides of himself.
“I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want you to worry about my feelings.”
Benedict alone worried about their closeness. If Lucien began to overthink it too, their long friendship might become awkward.
“You’re my closest friend, Lucien.”
He said it aloud, partly to hear it himself.
“That friendship will never change into anything else. I will never… scare you.”
As long as you trust me, I can do anything, he thought with a faint smile.
He truly felt at peace now. Even while holding Lucien’s hand, there were no impure thoughts—only a sincere wish that his beloved friend wouldn’t feel even a little cold.
If a beast lived inside him, such peace would never have come.
“…Benedict.”
Lucien suddenly called him.
“Hm?”
Looking again, it seemed to be just sleep-talking. Her eyes were firmly closed, lips slightly parted, deep breaths flowing.
What could she be dreaming to call for him?
“Probably about when she was little.”
Lucien still saw him as the twelve-year-old boy. Perhaps playing under the cornelian tree…
“Ah.”
While imagining Lucien’s dream, he froze mid-breath.
She had suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled it under the blanket.
Not only that—she wrapped her arm around it fully, and at the tips of his fingers…
Something touched him.
The lace of her pajamas? No, it was slightly different. Soft and warm.
“Damn it, stop thinking!”
