Emile and Yuri at the grand dinner table. They are a perfect royal family portrait with gilded frames and roses. Yuri laughs at every tasteless joke Emile makes, and the other man indulges each of the boy's demands.
It makes Zephariel seethe with a never-before-known anger. He grips the handle of his teacup so hard it starts to crack. The scalding liquid drips down his chin, but the most hurtful thing is that his little doll doesn't notice. Yet.
"Need some help there, Zephy?" Yoru nudges his side, mumbling into his cup, feigning indifference. He is aching from suppressing the mocks and laughter.
"I can't make that eyesore leave. I can't kill him. I can't do anything except sit here like a dog on a fucking leash, watching." Zephariel snarls.
"Why? Your little doll's order?"
"Yuri wouldn't do something so cruel." At this, Zephariel smiles fondly. A look of tenderness crosses his face. The memory of Yuri's loving gaze and beaming eyes floods his mind.
