Soren carefully lifted Ethea from the bed and settled her into the wheelchair. He made sure her feet were positioned correctly, adjusted the blanket over her lap, then pushed her toward the small table where he'd set up breakfast.
"Let's wash up first," he said, disappearing into the bathroom.
He returned with a basin of warm water and a soft cloth, kneeling beside her. He then helped her to wash her hands and face.
Then, he pulled up a chair and sat beside her, positioning himself close to the table.
The tray sat between them, steam still rising from the porridge and tea.
Ethea stared at the food for a moment. Her upper body remained completely frozen, but a quiet determination flickered in her ice-blue eyes as she concentrated entirely on her hand. Her fingers trembled, dragging slightly across the surface as she forced her wrist to move.
She could at least do this much.
"No need."
Soren's voice cut through her attempt.
Ethea froze, her hand stilling instantly against the table, and turned to look at him.
Soren had already picked up the bowl of porridge and the spoon. He scooped a small amount, blew on it gently to cool it, and turned toward her with a faint smile.
"Ahh."
"..."
Ethea's brain refused to work for a split second.
What... What was he doing?
Her lips parted automatically, maybe from shock or instinct, before she could say, "I can eat by myself." The spoon was already there.
Warm porridge slid into her mouth.
"Good girl," Soren murmured with a slight chuckle.
"!"
Ethea's face burned at his words.
A faint blush spread across her pale cheeks before disappearing just as quickly, hidden beneath years of practiced composure.
But her mind was screaming.
'G-Good girl?!'
'What am I, a child?!'
Ethea forced herself to chew and swallow, then opened her mouth to speak.
Another spoonful appeared.
"I-"
Spoon.
"Mmph."
Chew. Swallow. Open mouth-
"I ca-"
Spoon.
Chew. Swallow. Try to speak-
"I can e-"
Spoon.
Chew. Swallow. Open.
"...eat myself," Ethea managed to finish her words after a few tries, but Soren was already preparing the next spoonful.
"Mm-hmm," he acknowledged without stopping. "I know. But this is faster and easier."
Ethea wanted to argue and insist on taking care of herself, yet Soren refused to give her the chance. Without a single pause, he simply kept going as he scooped, blew on the hot liquid, and fed her in one continuous, smooth motion after another, acting as if this intimate care were the most natural thing in the world.
Spoon after spoon, despite her internal resistance, she found herself simply allowing him to continue. Because her mobility was limited to her hand from the wrist down, he really only needed to stabilize the food and assist her in moving her arm, leaving her able to handle the rest on her own.
Yet, recognizing that accepting his help had made the entire process significantly easier on her exhausted body, she decided it was better to keep that thought to herself, quietly accepting each bite until the bowl was empty.
"Alright, now this."
Soren then set the dish aside and picked up the teacup, holding it with immense care directly to her lips so that she could drink. The warm tea was a pleasant comfort, and she found that she actually liked it a little. Within just a few sips, the cup emptied completely, prompting Soren to set it down as well, then look at her expectantly.
"So? How was it?" He tilted his head, a hint of genuine curiosity in his eyes. "I'm not some professional chef or anything, but I've been cooking for myself for the past seven years or so. I'd like to think I'm decent. But don't hesitate to criticize."
Ethea stared at him.
...Seven years.
He had been cooking for himself for seven years.
Meaning... he'd been alone for seven years.
Just like she'd been alone for six months.
But his aloneness had been chosen for him, hadn't it?
She was well acquainted with the tragic story regarding the Velmere family's embarrassment, the unawakened son whom they had entirely ignored until the perfect opportunity arose to marry him off to a crippled stranger.
She had first heard the cruel details before the wedding ceremony, when the household servants gossiped loudly around her as if they intentionally wanted her to overhear them, though she admittedly had not cared about it back then.
But now...
Now she didn't know what she felt.
"..."
"(૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭" (Expectant Soren)
"...It was fine."
The words came out before she could stop them.
"<(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)>"
Soren's face lit up.
"Yeah? Good. I'll make something different for lunch. Any requests? Vegetables, meat, dough, whatever you like. Just let me know if there's anything specific you want."
Ethea stayed silent.
Actually, she didn't know what she wanted or liked anymore.
Food stopped mattering six months ago, when eating became a chore rather than a pleasure.
Soren waited, patient as always, his steady eyes on hers.
When the silence began to stretch, he chuckled softly in surrender.
"Alright, I'll surprise you myself then."
He stood and began collecting the dishes, stacking them neatly on the tray.
Ethea watched him move, studying him with intense focus as she noted the practiced ease with which his hands handled the dishes and the unrecognizable tune he hummed quietly under his breath.
The casual nature of his behavior made the entire situation feel entirely normal, as if feeding a crippled stranger were simply another routine part of his ordinary morning, and under the weight of that surreal domesticity, the question that had been circling her mind all night finally clawed its way to the surface.
"...Why?"
Soren paused, tray in hand, and glanced back at her.
"Hm?"
Ethea's jaw tightened as she realized she had not meant to speak those words, nor had she intended to give immediate voice to the consuming doubt that plagued her mind. However, since the question was already out and could no longer be retracted, she decided to press forward with the conversation, knowing that this inevitable confrontation would have occurred sooner or later anyway.
"...Why are you doing this?"
Soren tilted his head slightly. "The breakfast?"
"No." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "...All of this."
Understanding crossed Soren's features.
He set the tray back down.
Then he turned to face her fully, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and sincere.
"Well, because I'm your husband."
Ethea blinked.
That... That was it?
That was his answer?
"That's... that's not a reason," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Soren's smile didn't waver.
"Sure it is. I signed the paper. Made a promise. And I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."
He picked up the tray again.
"Rest now. I'll be back soon."
He walked toward the door.
Ethea stared at his back.
His answer didn't explain anything at all.
And yet...
And yet when the door clicked shut, she found herself staring at it for a long, long time.
"...Husband."
The word felt strange on her tongue.
Foreign even.
But... not entirely unpleasant as she expected it to be.
And she didn't know what to do with that.