My Lover's Personality is a Little Strange

07

***

Hearing that friendly question, I sighed briefly.

He doesn't remember.....

I was glad he didn't recognize me.

But why do I feel bitter?

"Huh? Aren't you going to tell me?"

"...it's Yves Llewellyn."

I barely parted my lips and the bitter water ran down my throat.

"Yves Llewellyn. Yves Llewellyn..."

Theodore mumbled the false name I had said as if trying to remember it.

"Yes, hello."

The long, beautiful tails of the eyes were curved in a half-moon shape. I looked at him as if possessed, and then suddenly came to my senses.

We were no longer childhood secret friends.

I was the one who threw the apple at the emperor's head, and he was the emperor.

I had to apologize quickly.

"I....I didn't just throw that apple on purpose..."

"I'm very tired right now, so I want to rest."

But Theodore cut me off as naturally as flowing water.

"Will you stay by my side until then?"

He smiled brightly and grabbed my rough hand as he asked. Then he naturally intertwined our fingers.

My body trembled at the cool sensation that penetrated between my fingers. I knew this feeling well.

A long time ago, that year, the last summer in Chernicia.

In our own secret place in the Imperial Palace backyard.

[Are you hot?]

The boy tilted his head and asked me, who was particularly hot.

[Are you going to fan me again?]

[Well······.]

When I asked the question, remembering our first meeting, the boy smiled softly.

[Give me your hand, Yvonne.]

Before I could answer, he grabbed my hand.

Even though we were the same age, our finger lengths were very different.

[Gloves, can I take them off?]

[Now, why the gloves?]

My little hand wiggled in surprise in his hand. Seeing this, he narrowed his eyes and smiled.

[I'll show you something strange.]

It was very embarrassing, but I was fascinated by the kindest and most beautiful smile in the world, and I simply nodded my head.

He took off my gloves to reveal small, rough hands. The reason I always wear gloves wasn't just because of the calluses from holding the sword.

[What's this?]

Young Theodore blinked at the wound on my wrist.

[No, nothing... ]

My face turned red and I answered in a voice the size of a mosquito. Thankfully, he didn't ask any more.

Young Theodore clasped my hands.

It was at that time when the boy's thick knuckles felt between my fingers once again heated my face.