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It had been a week since the day you heard the news about your family's death, and though you wished to continue to lock yourself up in the room, it wasn't fair to Blaise. Endlessly crying in the darkness, you were still getting taken cared of. Everyday, he would silently enter your room to redo your bandages and bring in trays of food for every meal of the day. No matter what, he was there for you... your heart was heavy, but the guilt soon overrode it, hitting you relentlessly in waves. That was why you decided you needed to get back into helping him -- you could ignore your feelings for a bit during the daytime, couldn't you? After all, you were able to do so for the past ten years.

Your feet was feeling a million times better than a week ago. By now, you could walk easily without wincing, as long as it wasn't for too long of a period. Nimbly striding out of the room, you shield your eyes from the light of the hallway. You hadn't seen the sun in a while. Hugging your arms around yourself, fingers grazed upon soft, wool fabric... Blaise had lent you an oversized, navy blue sweater, because the dress you were previously wearing was too thin to combat through the coldness.

Slowly opening the door to the shop, you stepped into the store the second a man entered from the back door. Donned in the usual dark trenchcoat, it fit him very flatteringly. Green hues meeting yours, they widened at the sight of you. "[Y/N]," Blaise uttered in surprise. "Y-You're out of bed... Are you feeling any better?"

"Ahh... yes, I suppose I am," you lied softly, your throat raw and hurting. "I'd like to help you with the shop today."

He furrowed his forehead in worry, shocked once more. "Are you sure? It's been barely a week since..." He thought better of it and cleared his throat. "I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself."

A smile forced its way onto your face and you slowly shook your head. Hoping you didn't look as tired as you felt, you rubbed at your eyes, feeling the puffiness and dark circles that accompanied them. "I'm sure. I will be fine," you told him -- though it sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself of this too.

He relented and your tensed shoulders relaxed. "Alright, fine. The shop doesn't open yet until an hour, so why don't we have some breakfast together first?"

Because your stomach was grumbling all morning, you liked the idea of it and nodded. This was good... you were good. With Blaise beside you, he could distract you from the demons lurking inside your mind. His food was delicious too and it made you wonder if it was all homemade. It certainly looked like it, with it in a box as he brought it from home every morning. And now... you were curious about another thing. Where did he live? He didn't actually live here in the toy shop, nor had he ever described his living arrangements with you.

He led you back to the small table in the back, setting down the box of food he held in his hands. After fetching two plates for the both of you, he opened it up to reveal a wonderful smell. In it were bread, sausages, bacon, and eggs, immediately catching your undivided attention. Patiently watching him split them into two meals, he pushed one plate towards you. Afterwards, he brought some tea to the table, adding honey for your sore throat. Goodness, he paid attention to detail too well. Utensils in your hands, you quickly thanked him and dove straight into the food, enjoying the taste of it for a moment. It got you to feel more awake, feel more alive, and feel a little more hopeful.

Swallowing down a mouthful of food, you glanced over to Blaise who ate his like a gentleman, his posture tall and his manners on point. Dammit, he never failed to unnerve you with his attractiveness. Comparing to him, you were a pig, slobbering away with no manners whatsoever. Self consciously, you went to quickly adjust yourself, straightening your posture. "You come from your house every morning, right?" you asked him. He knitted his eyebrows together in confusion but nodded anyway. A little embarrassed, you fidgeted in your chair and decided to just go for it. "Do you think... I could visit your house sometime?"

He lowered his fork and lifted his eyes to meet yours. You fought the urge to flinch at his gaze and managed to hold your ground. Once he finished chewing, he was silent for a moment, deep in thought. What...? Why was it taking him so long to answer the question? It was a simple yes or no question.

He finally answered. "I think not," he said curtly. He chose not explain any further and your heart sunk. Well... it was fine, right? He deserved his privacy if he needed it. You were too ashamed to prod him for more, so the topic fell short.

"Oh, that's okay," you replied awkwardly. "Um... then Blaise, can you tell me more about yourself? What's your family like?"

The eating stopped and his expression hardened. When he squinted at you, they sort of looked accusing. "What are with these questions? I wanted to enjoy a peaceful breakfast. Please [Y/N]. I'm sure with everything you've been through already, now is not the time to be talking about me."

Slightly hurt by the notion of this, you silently continued to eat, not feeling up to helping with the store anymore. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you should've holed up in your room forever. Maybe you were going to break down in tears in front of the customers again anyway. It was true; you were not feeling better at all. You were trying to numb yourself of the pain, but it sat there throbbing in every crevice of your mind. It was so bad you were sensitive to every little thing that was willing to set you off.

But it was strange... why did you know nearly nothing of him? He was supposedly your friend, your greatest support system, but other than that, he could be deemed a stranger to you. You knew as much about him as did anyone else on the streets. Why was it the way it was? You wished to learn more about him... to know his dreams, family, fears, hobbies, favorite color, favorite drink -- the list was eternal. You wanted to know everything about him, even the little things. So why was there an invisible barrier that prevented you from seeing the true him?

"Isn't it unfair?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself. He blinked blankly at you, having thought the conversation subject was done with. "Why is it that you know so much about me and my problems while I know close to nothing about you? This is so one-sided! I know you're just as aware of it, so why has our relationship not improved? I want to help you as how you help me, but you're not making this easy at all."

A flash of sadness poked through his perfect facade and he shook his head. "You don't understand--"

"I don't understand because you never tell me anything!" you interrupted, voice cracking as tears poked through at the corners. Shit. You were supposed to hold it in today. You were supposed to be strong... but you were weak and stupid and humiliating.

"I will never allow myself to burden you with my problems."

Bewildered by his answer, another surge of anger rushed through your bloodstream. He was meant to be the wise one here. What kind of bullshit was he spewing? The point of being friends was to share problems together -- to be there during both the ups and downs. Too angry to even respond, you roughly pushed yourself from your chair. You needed to leave. Why were you getting so emotional about this though? He didn't want to disclose to you. Who cared? It was a minor issue, but you so happened to have to blow it out of proportion. Your chest getting tight, you began to walk away, but his hand slithered its way around your wrist.

"Tell me... do you like the prince?" he breathed out, his bangs covering his features.

"What?" you responded hollowly. That took you off guard.

"You like him, don't you?" he sneered, his grasp straining around your limb, hurting you a little. What was he talking about? Why was he asking this all of a sudden?

"This is so random of you... I don't like him. Now let go of me. I need some time alone, I think we both do." His grip loosened but it still wasn't let go. His anger fading away, he looked to be contemplating about something. His coral pink lips curving up in a smile, his hazel green eyes shined with something unknown.

"I want you to listen to me first," he said quietly. He finally let go and you didn't move an inch, now too curious to leave. Placing his top hat on the table, his soft waves of locks fell prettily at the sides. What was he doing? Taking your hand once more, but more gentle this time, he gracefully bent down in perfect form. Pressing his lips against the back of your hand, it sent tingles all the way up your arm. Similar to the previous times he had done this to you, your face was on fire. Was he teasing you again after this entire argument?! You then learned that he, in fact, was not. Slowly peering at you with hopeless eyes, he took in every inch of you, from your [e/c] hues, to the crook of your nose, to your lips. It felt as if he was staring straight into your soul. "I think I'm in love with you."

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