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Yuder stood straight and still, letting those glittering red eyes travel up, down, left, and right, taking him in from every angle. Based on past experience, Kishiar would likely start offering some overly extravagant praise any moment now. But instead, he suddenly turned away.
Perhaps something had suddenly occurred to him. Yuder watched the retreating back move lightly into the distance, only for Kishiar to stride right back almost at once.
Long fingers unfurled a piece of pure white cloth. The light fabric spread out smoothly, thin and airy, glowing with a soft pearly sheen, not a single wrinkle in sight. Kishiar held the cravat in both hands, smiling brightly at Yuder.
Yuder cast a glance at the rectangular length of cloth, then looked back at Kishiar.
He felt there was absolutely no need for him to wear such a thing.
He knew cravats were viewed by nobles as symbols of status and wealth, a display of personal taste. But to him, it served no real purpose—purely an ornament he found somewhat unnecessary, even troublesome. His current attire lacked nothing, perfectly fitting for the occasion. Naturally so. Kishiar had chosen and matched his clothing himself, there was no way it could be lacking.
This cravat, he suspected, was simply a passing whim of the man before him.
Still, looking at that smiling face, he had no intention of refusing. After all, it was Kishiar who wanted him to wear it.
His gaze lowered again. The fabric lay quietly, obediently upon those large hands.
He reached out.
Kishiar drew his arm back.
Yuder lifted his eyes in silence. Kishiar was still smiling, giving the cravat in his hand a little wave.
“...I can tie it myself.”
“Yes. I know better than anyone how capable you are. But this is also a pleasure of mine. ” Kishiar said, leaned forward slightly, winking. “May I have the honor of tying it for you?”
What pleasure? It was just tying a cravat. What was he even talking about? Yuder sighed. He could never understand, but it never really mattered. He withdrew his hand, lifting his chin slightly, exposing his neck to allow Kishiar to work.
Kishiar’s smile widened. With one long stride forward, his scent surged all at once—toward Yuder’s nose, his face, his skin, and then his whole body—softly wrapping around him. Familiar. Steady. Without meaning to, Yuder drew in a slow, deep breath. His own scent drifted out in response, mingling with Kishiar’s. He tilted his head back. Kishiar looked down at him, smiling, though not meeting his eyes. Only his exhaled breath fell, drifting softly across Yuder’s cheek.
Yuder blinked.
A large hand rose, fingertips gently grazed the side of his neck, leaving behind a warm, faintly ticklish trail. An arm half circled behind his nape, as though it might pull him into an embrace the very next moment. Cloth rustled softly as the cravat’s subtle fragrance spread. The fine fabric wrapped around his neck. One loop, then another, gently enclosing his skin, enclosing the lingering warmth of those fingers.
The movements were not actually slow.
But Yuder could sense it. Compared to usual, Kishiar’s touch was ever so slightly more deliberate. His lowered red eyes were wholly focused, as if performing some delicate task requiring utmost care. Golden hair stirred with the movement, sending waves of light rippling through it under the clear morning sun. In a daze, Yuder thought he saw those threads of gold once more, floating and curling around them.
Perhaps because of this, he felt an indescribable warmth—something that wrapped around him from the outside, yet also seemed to well up from within and fill his whole body. It was the emotion flowing from Kishiar through their connection.
Yuder knew this warmth was joy, was happiness. But he did not know that merely tying a cravat would bring Kishiar such joy and happiness.
No, did he truly not know?
Knuckles brushed his jawline. Kishiar took both ends of the cravat, smoothed them carefully, then crossed, threaded, and knotted them at Yuder’s throat. On his handsome face, his lips curved and his brows eased, a quiet gentleness and serenity softening his expression.
Kishiar was always like this.
Drinking tea, sharing meals, embracing, even a small touch, a few simple words—no matter how ordinary, trivial the thing, Kishiar always seemed to draw immense joy and satisfaction from it. Every time those emotions overflowed into Yuder’s chest, his heart would jolt—startled, shaken. Perhaps he would never grow accustomed to it.
He was showered with emotions too vast, too generous to fully comprehend, with everything he had never known before. Yet Kishiar always smiled, sharing the delight and gratitude in his heart as if he were the one who had been given a gift.
Even though Yuder himself did not fully understand these “gifts”.
But lately, he had begun to understand, little by little.
Yuder’s eyes remained fixed on Kishiar’s face, while every one of his senses perceived Kishiar’s entire presence, every movement.
Yes, he did know. Perhaps not completely, but he did know.
One of Kishiar’s hands rested lightly against Yuder’s chest. As Yuder’s heart gave another beat, the other hand lifted the cravat slightly, tightening it just enough. Neither too tight nor too loose, the knot settled perfectly into place.
Knowing Yuder disliked ornate decorations, Kishiar had chosen a relatively simple tying style. But that did not diminish its elegance. He gave the cravat one last adjustment and released it.
It draped lightly, not at all the troublesome excess Yuder had imagined. Instead, it rested comfortably, holding warmth at his neck and along his body. The praise that had once left unsaid finally arrived, drifting to Yuder’s ear. Yet he neither lowered his gaze to inspect the cravat nor reached up to touch it.
He only met those red eyes, curved now in a smile.
He thought, perhaps he did not yet fully grasp this emotion, but some things were certainly the same.
Kishiar’s red eyes suddenly widened in surprise, then blossomed into an even brighter glow, narrowing into two shining golden arcs. Yuder reached out his hand. The smile that had been flickering instantly deepened, those eyes drawing closer to him—or perhaps leaning toward him.
The room was filled with mingling scents, blending into one. Within the broad warmth, Yuder wrapped his arms around Kishiar’s nape and lunged upward, colliding with a mass of soft, heated warmth.
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