Eline woke the next morning with a quiet sense of restlessness that didn't let him stay in bed for long. It wasn't urgency, not exactly, but something steady enough to push him up. He had his usual soup, went to take a shower, and dressed without lingering. The feeling stayed with him the entire time, a subtle insistence that doing nothing today would be a mistake.
Fragments of the dream from the night before still lingered. In it, he had done nothing—just let things happen, convincing himself to adjust, to accept, until it was too late to change anything. The weight of that regret had followed him into the morning. It wasn't vivid anymore, but it was enough to influence him.
He didn't want to fall into that version of himself.
So after breakfast, he stepped out of his room with a simple intention: to move, to observe, to understand something instead of waiting.
His steps took him to the garden again, almost unconsciously. The morning light was softer at first, spreading evenly across the trimmed grass and stone paths. For a while, he just walked, letting his eyes take in the layout, the positions of the hedges, the spacing between the paths, the distance from the house. He wasn't sure what exactly he was looking for, but he paid attention anyway.
As he stood near the bushes, something clicked in his mind.
Arman.
The man who came to cut them.
Twice a month.
Eline paused, thinking it through. If Armand had come recently, then there would be a gap before he returned again. That meant there was no immediate chance to use that as an opening. The realization didn't discourage him, but it shifted his focus.
Until then, he would have to gather information. Quietly. Carefully.
He stayed longer than he realized.
The sun rose higher without him noticing. The light grew sharper, the air warmer, but he was too absorbed in his thoughts to register it properly. He remained in the same area, going over possibilities, replaying small details, trying to make sense of what could be useful and what couldn't.
By the time he finally moved, the heat had already settled into his skin.
It wasn't sudden. It had built up gradually, unnoticed, until it became something else entirely.
His exposed skin had taken on a faint redness, the kind that deepened quickly under harsh sunlight. His face, in particular, had flushed more than he realized, the warmth lingering across his cheeks and nose. To anyone looking, it was obvious.
But to Eline, it was just a dull discomfort at the back of his awareness, something he dismissed without thinking.
Only when the brightness started to strain his eyes did he decide to go back inside. He exhaled quietly and turned toward the house, his steps slower now, his body carrying the heat with him.
As he entered the hallway and made his way toward his room, he noticed Carlson ahead.
He slowed slightly.
For a brief moment, the thought crossed his mind—he could just turn away, avoid it, come back later. There was no need to interact.
But then again, it was his room.
Before he could decide, Carlson stopped.
Then turned.
Their eyes met.
Carlson had noticed him before Eline had even slowed down. He had already registered his presence, his direction, his pace. For a second, he considered ignoring it. There was no real need to engage.
But something about the way Eline looked made him pause.
So he turned.
"How are you doing?" he asked, his tone even, measured. "What are you up to?"
Eline shifted slightly under his gaze. "I'm… doing fine, I guess," he said. "It feels a little better now."
The answer came out uneven, touched with a faint awkwardness he couldn't quite hide.
Carlson stepped a little closer, not abruptly, but enough to make the distance between them feel intentional. "You don't have to be so awkward with me," he said calmly. "It's not like I'm going to do something to you."
Eline's expression stayed polite, but inside, the reaction was immediate and sharp.
(You already did what you had to. What else is left????)
He didn't say it.
Instead, he forced his tone to stay neutral. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go to my room. My head feels a little off… it was too bright outside."
Carlson's gaze lingered on him now, more observant than before.
The redness in Eline's face was no longer subtle. It had spread fully across his skin, his cheeks flushed deeply, the color uneven in a way that made it clear it wasn't natural. Even the bridge of his nose had taken on a sharper tone, as if the heat had settled there longer than it should have.
He hadn't noticed it himself.
Carlson did.
"Don't stay out too long in this kind of sun," he said. "Your skin isn't used to it. It'll get irritated."
Eline gave a small, slightly distracted laugh. "Yeah… I guess."
Carlson didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained on him for a moment longer, taking in the detail, the carelessness, the fact that Eline had let himself stay out long enough for it to reach this point.
Then he stepped aside.
Eline walked past him and reached his room without looking back. Once inside, he closed the door and let out a quiet breath, the cooler air settling against his skin.
Only then did he start to feel it more clearly—the lingering heat, the faint sting across his face.
He ignored it.
Moving toward the small table, he poured himself a cup of tea. The warmth of it contrasted with the heat still trapped in his skin, but it grounded him in a way that felt familiar. He sat down, holding the cup between his hands, letting the quiet return as he slowly cooled down.