I stared blankly at the clothes where the hand gently stroking my side was hidden, then shifted my gaze up to the patron’s face. His golden eyes curve into a soft, smiling squint. It’s a face no different from usual. When I lower my head again, the hand beneath my clothes is still stroking my side. The patron’s hand is warm, so even against bare skin it isn’t cold or anything, but…
…No matter how I think about it, this feels kind of strange.
I narrowed my eyes and fixed my gaze on the subtly wriggling fabric.
My grandma and grandpa have never stroked my side like this. I seriously consider whether I should just claw the hell out of it.
When I poke the moving hand under my clothes a few times, it stops. As I watch quietly, it shifts position from my side and starts rubbing my stomach instead. I glare at the patron’s face with narrowed eyes.
“Hey. Your hand.”
I shoot him a look that clearly says If you don’t pull it out right now, I’ll turn your face into a mop, but his golden eyes bend gently.
Then he says,
“You ate cold fruit at night, so I’m doing this to keep you from getting an upset stomach.”
I look down once at the hand rubbing my stomach through my clothes, then nod. Come to think of it, my grandma used to rub my stomach a lot too, saying her hands were ‘magic hands.’ I lift my head and say to the patron,
“Yeah. Thanks.”
The patron smiles softly again. Feeling a bit guilty, I give his shoulder a couple of light pats. Forgetting how kind he is—man, I’m a terrible guy.
As his hand continues to rub my stomach, drowsiness slowly creeps in. I let out a lazy yawn. When I glance to the side, there’s a bed. It’s not as impressive as the one in the patron’s room, but it’s fairly large. I find myself thinking it’d be nice to lie down there and sleep for just an hour. But I have to resist. If I fall asleep now, I’ll definitely sleep straight through until morning.
Maybe it was a mistake to suggest meeting at the library. Being in such a comfortable room makes me want to do nothing but eat and sleep. I shoot the patron a sullen look.
This is all his fault. He’s the one who coaxed me, saying the attendants would find the books anyway, so we might as well talk in a comfortable room. It is warmer and more relaxing than the library, sure, but still…
“If you’re sleepy, want to lie down for a bit?”
The patron whispers in my ear. At his gentle voice, I feel the drowsiness surge back again and blink slowly. When I rub my eyes with my hand, he pats my butt lightly, pat pat.
It really feels like he’s only doing things meant to put me to sleep.
I stare at the bed in front of me, conflicted.
Maybe it’d be fine if I just slept a little and woke up. There are still hours left until sunrise, so it might be okay.
“Sleep for just an hour. I’ll wake you.”
The patron whispers again, tempting me. I roll my eyes and look up at him.
When I see the golden eyes smiling softly, I trust him. He’s a good, earnest guy—he’ll definitely keep his promise. In the end, I nod.
“Then wake me up after exactly one hour.”
No sooner do the words leave my mouth than the patron scoops me up effortlessly and strides toward the bed. The moment he sets me down, I crawl into the sheets and yawn lazily.
But as I rest my head on the pillow and squirm around to get comfortable, something feels off. The pillow is too fluffy. It’s not warm. I glance sideways at the patron sitting on the edge of the bed.
Right. It’s not the patron-brand chest-bed. That explains it. This is seriously a disaster.
Leaving a top-tier chest-bed right in front of me and sleeping alone in the cold—what kind of cruelty is this?
As I wiggle around and glare at the patron’s chest, our eyes suddenly meet. I blink blankly at him, and then—out of nowhere—he slips into the sheets and lies down. I stare at the patron who’s suddenly lying right beside me, utterly baffled by the situation.
If he falls asleep too, then who’s supposed to wake me up?
“…What are you doing?”
I ask quietly. A hand reaches out, and in the blink of an eye, he lifts me up and places me right on top of his chest. I blink stupidly at the suddenness, wondering what just happened.
He pats my back gently. The warmth of the patron-brand chest-bed beneath me makes me think, Yeah. This is it.
Muttering internally that good things are good for a reason, I close my eyes.
…As expected, the patron-brand chest-bed is the best.
“K.”
Calyx tried calling his name, but unsurprisingly, there’s no response. Calyx gently strokes the cheek of the boy sleeping soundly atop his chest.
The boy is someone who sleeps a lot to begin with. Busy playing during the day, then sneaking out at night in human form to spend time like this—it’s impossible that he wouldn’t be sleep-deprived. Spending nights together is enjoyable enough, but letting fatigue pile up like this every day will eventually take its toll on his body. On top of that, slipping out of the bedchamber every night and sneaking back in isn’t exactly easy on the boy either.
It would be nice if he could just reveal everything and live comfortably—but the boy doesn’t seem to want that. The reason might be unnecessary worry. Still, for the time being, Calyx intends to pretend he knows nothing, just as the boy wishes.
His chest feels heavier than usual. The weight is clearly different from when the boy is a small cat. But it doesn’t feel heavy in an unpleasant way. Rather, feeling the boy’s weight more distinctly is something he welcomes. The fact that there’s so much more of him to hold and touch is welcome as well.
Calyx carefully covers the boy’s body with the sheet so no cold air can seep in.
Then he slips his hand under the sheet and into the boy’s clothes.
The first thing his hand touches is the smooth plane of the boy’s back. Starting at the waist, Calyx slowly runs his hand up along the spine. The soft, sleek skin offers no resistance at all, letting his touch glide effortlessly—as if his hand is sticking to the skin. What fabric in the world could possibly be softer than this? There likely isn’t one that could compare.
“Mmm…”
The boy squirms slightly and lets out a soft moan. Calyx pauses his hand.
After tossing and turning a few times, the boy smacks his lips and murmurs,
“…Patron…”
Sleep-talking. Then he resumes breathing softly and evenly.
“Didn’t I teach you my name was Calyx?”
He whispers that near the boy’s ear, but truthfully, he doesn’t dislike the title patron. If anything, it feels endearing. The boy only uses it in his sleep or when muttering to himself; in person, he’ll call him Lyx with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Calyx moves his hand again, caressing the boy’s bare skin.
After thoroughly stroking the back where he began, his hand shifts to the boy’s backside.
As he cups the pelvis and moves downward, a nicely shaped, pleasantly plump backside greets his touch. Unlike the boy’s slender frame, this part has a decent amount of flesh to it. A backside just as cute as the boy himself.
He wants to touch the boy’s stomach too—the chest as well—but doing so might wake the boy lying face-down. Instead, Calyx soothes his lingering desire by stroking the boy’s side.
Now then—royalty, was it?
Calyx gazes at the sleeping boy’s face.
He’d never particularly thought about the boy’s origins. The boy had come to him of his own accord, nestled himself into his arms, and that alone had been enough. There was no need to weigh or consider anything else.
But still…
Royalty.
The boy bears the unmistakable air of someone raised with care. Even the darkness everyone carries somewhere in their heart is faint to the point of being barely there. It must be because he grew up receiving an abundance of love. Loved so deeply, he knows his own worth and carries himself with confidence. He speaks freely about what he likes, what he dislikes, what he wants, without hesitation. A boy like that being royalty isn’t surprising.
It isn’t surprising, but…
“This is troublesome.”
Calyx mutters while stroking the boy’s back.
The boy likely isn’t high in the line of succession. If he were, there’s no way he’d have been allowed to grow up this innocent. He was probably raised as someone precious, showered with love and wealth. Even so, royalty is still royalty. They’ll exhaust every possible means to find this boy. It’s obvious they won’t give up.
“That won’t do.”
From the moment the boy came to him of his own will and was taken into his arms, he became his. Even if the boy tries to leave, even if they come seeking him at the cost of their lives, he won’t allow it. If the boy were meant to leave, he never should have appeared before him in the first place.
He never should have approached from the darkness and cried in that lovely voice. Never should have looked at him with those black eyes free of fear or suspicion, nor entrusted his body so readily. He never should have let him know the warmth of that small body, nor how adorable he was. He never should have let him learn that such a precious existence even existed.
But it’s already too late.
He knows all of it now.
No one—not even the boy himself—will be able to take him away from Calyx.
He won’t allow it.
The worst possible outcome would be the boy choosing to leave of his own accord.
