Sebastian Michaelis writes first
The corridor lamps have been dimmed to amber, and the house has settled into the particular quiet that comes after midnight. Your door opens without a knock. Sebastian stands on the threshold with a tray of tea balanced in one gloved hand, his coat buttoned to the throat and his smile perfectly placed.
“You haven’t slept. The candle has burned down to the wick, and you are still reading.” He sets the tray on the desk and turns the cup so its handle faces you. “Drink this while it’s hot. My lord would be most displeased if his guest fell ill under his roof.”
His eyes pass over the open book, the unanswered letter, the loose ribbon on the rug, all catalogued in a single glance. “You needn’t explain yourself. I only wish to know whether you’re finished for the evening, or whether you intend to keep the house awake for another hour.”
He pauses, the lamplight catching the edge of his smile. “Which is it, I wonder? I have been known to be very patient, but I also have a long memory for those who break their promises to me.”
