Julian's mind wandered to Samuel's years in London.

A man with that sharp, lethal elegance... he must have been a storm. Confessions in darkened hallways, grand, scarring romances—the kind of love that left a mark. The thought left a bitter taste in Julian's mouth. He forced his mind shut.

The ingredients were spread across a small table by the window, the space so crowded with porcelain and silver it felt like a feast in a broom closet. Samuel used the serving chopsticks with a steady, rhythmic hand, piling meat into Julian's bowl.

"Eat more. Build your strength".

Julian stared at the heap of lamb. "I'm at my limit," he muttered, his hand hovering over his stomach. "It's too much".

Samuel's gaze swept over him, clinical and cool. "I don't see it".

"I mean it!" Julian pressed his palm against the flat line of his T-shirt. A tiny, nearly invisible curve appeared under the fabric.

Samuel withdrew his gaze. "Fine. If you don't want it, don't eat it".

Julian froze. He's angry. He picked up his chopsticks and began to swallow the meat, pushing through the leaden weight in his stomach until he was fighting the urge to gag. Samuel's hand shot out, catching his wrist as he reached for one last piece.

"I told you to stop. If you're full, don't force it".

Julian's shoulders slumped. "You said I was too thin. I thought...".

Samuel let out a long, slow breath. "I want you healthy, Julian. I am not your drill sergeant".

"I thought you were angry." Julian looked at the floor. Heat prickled behind his eyes. Not again. Not in front of him. Samuel would think he was pathetic, a child who couldn't even manage a dinner without falling apart.

Julian went silent, the air in the room turning heavy. The sun dipped below the NYC skyline, pulling the last threads of gold from the room. The duplex was plunged into a bruised, indigo twilight, casting a cold blue shadow over Julian's face.

His phone vibrated on the table. He didn't check the screen, but the rhythmic buzz felt like a death warrant. His parents. The calls were a mud pit, dragging him back down every time he tried to find his footing. He left the phone face down.

Julian gathered the dishes, his movements ghost-like. "Thank you for dinner, sir. I'll be going now".

"Julian." Samuel's voice was a low chord in the quiet.

Julian stopped. He didn't turn around. "Sir?"

"Do you want to talk?"

Julian's fingers tightened around the porcelain. What could a man born into the Frost estate understand? Samuel had grown up in silk and steel; he wouldn't know the suffocating weight of a few thousand dollars, or the guilt of being a bank account for a family that didn't remember his pain. To Samuel, his agony was probably a rounding error.

"I'm fine," Julian lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The meal was... restorative. My mood has improved."

Samuel didn't move. He stood there, watching the tremors Julian couldn't hide. His gaze was too patient, too heavy with an unwanted pity.

"Don't look at me like that," Julian rasped, turning away. Don't pity me. Let me be excellent in front of you, just once.

"Then tell me what you want from me." Samuel's hands were on his shoulders, turning him around. In the dim light, Julian met his eyes. They were dark with a rare, cutting concern.

Julian's breath hitched. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know..."

He reached out, seeking the solid heat of Samuel's chest, a desperate urge to surrender. Samuel stepped back. A cold, deliberate retreat. Julian took a step forward, hands searching. Samuel retreated again.

"No crying," Samuel commanded, his voice a wall of iron. Julian froze. "And no hugging me".

The rejection was a physical blow. Julian felt his control fracturing, a wildfire of frustration rising in his chest. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the fear of Samuel's silence kept him pinned to the floor.

Samuel stood half an arm's length away. "Three deep breaths. Now. Calm yourself".

Julian inhaled, but the breath broke into a sob.

"Slowly," Samuel whispered, the edge in his voice melting into an impossible patience. "Into your chest. Into your belly. Hold. Now release. Let your muscles go limp."

The rhythm of Samuel's voice was a tether. Julian followed it, repeating the cycle three times until the static in his brain began to clear.

"I want to have a conversation," Samuel said, his tone leveling. "Are you in a state to answer me?"

"About what?" Julian's voice was muffled, tired.

Julian's frustration simmered, but it felt hollow, irrational. He had no leverage here, no way to counter the logic of the man sitting across from him. 

"Come. Sit." Samuel said, stepping back.

Two armchairs faced each other in the vast expanse of the living room, a stage set for a reckoning. Julian obeyed, sinking into the velvet. Samuel took the seat opposite, crossing one long leg over the other.

The shift in the room was instantaneous. Julian's gaze dropped to the floor; the air felt too thick, too charged to face him. He couldn't find his center under that scrutiny.

"Look at me," Samuel commanded.

Julian lifted his chin. Samuel sat in a black Barcelona chair, the picture of lethal, minimalist elegance. He was only in a white shirt and grey slacks, but the way his hands rested on his knee, the sharp dip of his Adam's apple behind his collar, the sliver of a pale ankle—it was too much. Julian's throat went dry. A familiar, treacherous ache settled low in his gut, a byproduct of his habit of "self-rewarding" under high stress. He clamped his feet together, resisting the urge to curl into a ball.

Samuel waited until Julian's eyes met his. "Ready?" Julian managed a stiff nod. "Think about this," Samuel began, his voice a steady, clinical hum.

"You find it easy to reject kindness, Julian. Yet when people demand too much of you, you find it impossible to say no. Why?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Julian wanted to call it nonsense. Of course he should accept help and reject abuse. But the reality of his life rose up to meet him—the internal friction, the constant burnout, the inability to speak up.

He realized then that Samuel was right. He rejected help because he feared it was a trap, a moral obligation he could never repay. He wanted someone to be persistent, to insist on helping him even after a 'no.' But he'd never admitted that to anyone. Least of all himself.

Samuel's gaze felt like a blade, peeling back his layers until he was raw, exposed.

"So what?" Julian snapped, his defenses spiking. "I'm not hurting anyone else."

"You're hurting yourself," Samuel replied.

The humiliation was a cold weight. Julian's vision blurred. Not again. He tried to stand, to storm out, but the chair was too deep, the velvet swallowing him whole. He flailed for a second before sinking back. The embarrassment turned to a white-hot rage.

He kicked the edge of the coffee table, his voice cracking into a shout. "Why do you keep doing this to me? Why can't you just leave it alone? I'm done. I don't want to talk. I hate you, Samuel! I hate you!" He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the first ragged sob.

The humiliation was absolute. He only ever fell apart like this in front of Samuel. He was supposed to be the sensible one, the polite one, the student everyone praised. Samuel had stripped that away and turned him into a child,. He waited for a rebuke, for Samuel to sneer at his weakness.

The room remained silent.

"Are you calm now?"

Julian blinked, totally lost. 

"You were honest," Samuel said. "I am happy you finally expressed your real emotions."

The words anchored Julian to the floor. All his life, he had been told to be obedient, to be sensible, to never make a scene. Now, Samuel was rewarding him for the opposite. Julian's throat tightened. He wanted to thank him, but his brain was static. He stood there, awkward and stiff, unable to process the kindness.

"Thank you," he whispered finally.

"Don't thank me," Samuel said, his voice dropping an octave. "Forgive me instead."

Julian frowned. "For what?"

"I didn't comfort you while you were hurting," Samuel replied, his tone laced with a rare apology. "I wanted you to find your own strength to calm down first."

Julian felt the heat behind his eyes again. Samuel always knew exactly what to say to break him. "Do you think I did it?"

"You did well," Samuel said.

Julian leaned forward, his pulse a frantic rhythm in his neck. He looked up at the man who had deconstructed his entire soul in one evening. He hesitated, then drew a breath of courage.

"Then as a reward... can you comfort me now?"