The private room in the café was the kind of place that made you lower your voice without being told.
It wasn't large, but it was deliberate, built for conversations that didn't want witnesses.
Soft mana lights sat in the corners like captured embers, warm enough to keep the space from feeling clinical, dim enough that you never felt like the walls were watching.
The padding along the panels dulled sound until even the clink of porcelain felt absorbed, as if the room itself didn't want to repeat what it heard.
Even the table looked like it had been chosen for quiet problems, polished dark wood with no scratches, no stains, nothing that suggested anybody had ever lost control in here.
Soren sat back in his chair with his cloak still on, the long fabric draping over his shoulders and down toward his knees, familiar weight against his spine.
One arm rested along the backrest, his posture loose in a way that was more habit than comfort.
Across from him, Esper sat with perfect composure, fingers curved lightly around her cup, shoulders straight, chin lifted, wearing a smile so neat it could have been pinned there.
Her makeup was flawless in the way only nobles could manage: eyeliner sharp enough to cut, lips painted precisely, blush blended so smoothly it barely looked like colour.
It wasn't gaudy, it was curated, a finished product meant to survive scrutiny.
Soren watched her for a moment longer than he usually would.
Not because he was admiring her.
Because he was waiting.
He had seen this version of her too many times to mistake it for calm.
The polished expression, the 'everything is fine' posture, the way her hands didn't fidget even when her eyes wanted to.
When Esper wore a mask, it wasn't a flimsy one, it was armour, and armour didn't come off until she decided it was safe.
"So," he said, voice even, tone mild, "what's up?"
Esper's smile held.
Then, without warning, it cracked like glass under pressure.
She leaned back with a theatrical groan, shoulders dropping as if the chair had finally won a war of attrition, head tipping toward the backrest like she had been holding herself upright with pure spite and the moment he asked, her body had decided it could stop pretending.
"Ugh," she complained, the sound still playful by habit. "I'm tired. I need a break. I need to be carried to bed by a handsome stranger and fed grapes until my soul returns to my body."
Soren didn't react.
He didn't smile, didn't tease, didn't take the bait.
He just waited.
Esper's eyes narrowed a fraction, as if she could feel his patience like a hand at the back of her neck, steady and unmoving.
"You're annoying," she said, but there wasn't any heat in it, just the familiar irritation she used when she wanted to complain without admitting she was grateful. "You just sit there like that. Shouldn't you be trying to help your fiancée?"
"I am trying to help my fiancée," Soren replied, still calm. "I'm just not going to interrupt your dramatic monologue."
"Hmph."
She puffed her cheeks for the briefest moment, a performance of offence, then let it deflate with a sigh that sounded more real than her theatrics.
Esper rolled her eyes and brought her cup up for a sip of tea, and the motion was elegant as always, effortless in a way that would have been irritating if it wasn't so consistently her.
Even her exhaustion looked curated.
When she set the cup down again, her fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop.
Three taps, a pause, then two more.
The rhythm was subtle, the kind of thing most people wouldn't notice, but Soren had spent enough time around her to recognise it for what it was.
A stall.
A pattern she fell into when she didn't like what she had to say next, when the truth tasted unpleasant and she wanted to choose the order she swallowed it in.
She looked up again, smile returning out of instinct.
"Okay… fine. I'm ranting," Esper admitted, and then her eyes sharpened as she switched tracks so smoothly it almost made Soren squint. "Have you gotten any letters from your family recently?"
The question slid into the room like a blade hidden in velvet.
Soren felt his mouth twitch, something bitter trying to surface before he could stop it.
It wasn't anger exactly, not the kind that demanded action, but the old reflex of disgust, the kind that left a bad taste on his tongue even when he didn't want it to.
"From Sofia?" he asked, and the name did, in fact, taste bad. "No. There's no way that would happen."
Esper's gaze didn't soften.
If anything, it narrowed, calculating, as though she were checking for loopholes and expecting the world to have handed her another one.
"No as in… none at all?" she pressed.
Soren shrugged, casual on the outside because it was easier than letting his shoulders tighten.
"There's no way she'd write to me. Not unless she needed something."
Esper nodded once, slow and measured, as if she already knew and only needed to hear it said out loud so she could build the rest of her argument on it.
Her smile stayed in place a beat too perfectly, the expression present but the feeling behind it out of sync, and Soren watched the mismatch because it was always the tell.
Silence settled between them.
Esper's fingers resumed their tapping pattern, and Soren didn't fill the gap for her.
If she wanted to talk, she would.
If she wanted to hide, dragging the words out of her would only make her dig her heels in and bite.
He waited without pushing.
He had seen her stall before, and usually it came with a grin, a jab, a playful insult meant to distract.
This time it came with quiet, the kind that didn't feel like a game.
Eventually, Esper exhaled.
"The engagement is…" she began, then stopped again, brows lifting as if she couldn't decide which flavour of truth she wanted to feed him first. "It's in a precarious position right now."
Soren blinked once.
Then he raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
Esper's smile returned instantly, bright and easy, with a sharpness under it that made it feel like a weapon disguised as charm.
"Because your family really are shitty," she said, like it was a joke she had been saving.
Soren snorted quietly.
"That's not new information."
"I know." Esper lifted her cup again, took another sip, and sighed like the tea wasn't strong enough to disinfect reality. "That's why it's so annoying. I can't even pretend I'm surprised."
Soren leaned forward, elbows settling on the table, posture shifting from 'waiting' to 'listening properly.'
"Alright. So what's going on?"
Esper set the cup down and leaned her cheek into her palm like a bored noble trapped in a lecture.
She looked lazy.
She sounded lazy.
Yet the mood in her eyes was anything but, a tightness that didn't belong to someone who was merely inconvenienced.
"My father, he's been sending letters since the beginning of the semester."
Soren kept his gaze on her face and didn't interrupt, letting her choose the pace.
"He doesn't support the engagement," Esper continued, voice smooth enough to pass as casual.
"Any specific reason?"
Esper laughed once, short and dry.
"It's certainly not because he cares about my happiness, obviously. It's because the decision was made without his input."
There was an edge on that last word, faint but real, then it vanished like she had wiped it away.
Esper blinked and the cheer slid back over her expression like a veil.
"Apparently, I'm supposed to consult him before I breathe."
Soren's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So he's refusing to defend you?"
Esper tilted her head, smile sweet again, the kind of sweetness that made people underestimate how sharp her teeth were.
"Oh, he'll defend me when it benefits him," she said lightly. "But he won't defend me now because he's offended that I did something he didn't approve of. So he's trying to make a point."
"That's ridiculous."
The words came out before Soren could soften them, and his jaw tightened on the tail end as irritation tried to climb up his throat.
He didn't like the idea of Esper being treated like a possession, didn't like it even more when it came from the person who was supposed to be on her side.
Esper noticed instantly.
She always did.
"Don't make that face," she said, tone suddenly softer, almost lazy, but it wasn't dismissive. "It's not that dramatic."
"It sounds pretty dramatic," Soren replied.
"It's annoying. Not dramatic. Just… annoying," Esper corrected, and her eyes flickered, exhaustion peeking through the cracks for a heartbeat.
Soren held back a sigh, because sighing at her father's behaviour wouldn't change anything and sighing at Esper's attempt to downplay it would only make her more stubborn.
"Okay. So your father is being controlling. Where do I come into this, besides existing? I doubt you called me out here just to complain about your dear old dad."
Esper's smile sharpened again, turning into something more pointed.
"That's the other part. Your family is taking advantage of my name."
Soren's brows pulled together.
"My family?"
"Mhm." Esper leaned forward, fingers lacing together, her nails immaculate as always. "The Rupindolf name is a lovely shiny thing, and your dear relatives have decided it belongs on their shelf now."
Soren's mouth flattened.
"How?"
"They're flaunting the connection," Esper said, counting on her fingers as if she were listing decorations at a party. "Dropping hints. Acting like we're some glorious alliance."
Her gaze slid off to the side for a moment, expression softening as if she were replaying something she had read, then it sharpened again.
"And they're hinting that a wedding could be on the horizon."
Something cold turned in Soren's stomach, a twist that had nothing to do with nausea and everything to do with dread.
'They wouldn't,' he wanted to say with certainty, but certainty was a luxury his family didn't deserve.
Esper tilted her head.
"Wouldn't they?" she said, as if reading his mind.
Soren went quiet, because the honest answer was that he couldn't swear they wouldn't try.
He knew exactly what they were capable of when they saw a chance to polish their reputation, to cling to power, to pretend he wasn't a stain they wanted scrubbed away.
Esper's smile widened, a quick flash of triumph.
"See? That's the fun part. Even you can't pretend they have standards."
"They're insane."
"Obviously." Esper sighed, then made her expression brighten like she had recovered. "But you'd be amazed how many people believe a confident rumour."
Soren exhaled slowly through his nose.
His fingers flexed once on the table, then stilled.
"I guess that's… my fault."
Esper's eyes snapped to his face, and the playful atmosphere fractured into something firmer.
"No," she said, crisp and immediate. "Stop."
Soren's gaze lifted.
"Essy—"
"Don't," she repeated, then reached across the table and pressed her finger against the crease forming between his brows.
It was a small gesture, almost nothing.
It hit with surprising weight anyway, because it wasn't teasing.
It wasn't flirty.
It was corrective.
"You're not allowed to do that thing where you take responsibility for everyone else being awful," Esper said, and her voice didn't wobble, but it did soften around the edges. "I don't regret getting engaged to you. You were going to get pawned off, and I didn't like the idea of someone else deciding your life. Being a caged bird wouldn't suit you."
The words landed with familiar warmth, the kind that made the room feel smaller in a good way, safer, and then Esper ruined the moment immediately by letting a grin cut through her seriousness.
"Plus," she added, "being engaged to you is entertaining. You have good reactions."
Soren huffed, almost amused despite himself.
"I'm glad my suffering is good for something."
She withdrew her hand and leaned back again, the tiredness returning like a tide she couldn't keep out forever.
"I'm just tired," Esper admitted, and this time it didn't sound like a joke. "That's it. I'm not falling apart. I'm not having a tragedy arc. I'm just sick of being treated like an object… and I'm getting so sick of these stupid letters."
Soren's expression softened, but he didn't turn it into pity.
"What kind of letters?"
Esper's eyes gleamed with sudden, almost wicked amusement, the kind she reached for when she wanted to make something ugly feel less heavy.
"Oh, you'll love this part."
————「❤︎」————