Ein Besucher

xxii.

When he was done, he knocked on the door, awkwardly announced he was finished and a little later, it opened to reveal a man other than the Lieutenant himself. He was tall, was wearing a mahogany coloured three piece suit with crimson red neck tie and shoes a darker shade but not black. He smelled sharp, like different hand picked foreign spices delicately mixed together; so much like Danveur but so dissimilar.

Evan would have stayed rooted on his spot and pick up minuscule things to notice from this new face, but he was aware he was naked from the tips of his toe up to his scalp. His face commenced to burn in utter humiliation and he rapidly moved back, out of his sight, to hide his naked form.

The man though, a bit surprise at first, masked it quickly with a gentle face (and a smile) and kindly reached out a towel to him. "Daniel had this laid on the floor."

The lack of proper address made Evan's ears prick up and he pondered whether this man was either higher in rank, a close friend of the Lieutenant, or possibly a relative.

"Thank you," He said, accepting it gingerly and wrapping himself with it. "Where is... he?"

"If by he, you mean me, I'm here." Danveur's voice was heard and Evan stepped out a little to see that Danveur was back behind the desk, concentrated on his work again, hand scribbling in a fast pace and face empty though if you look closely, there was a small crease in between his brows. He didn't bother to look away from his papers when he said, "Come over here."

Evan walked past the other man, eyes avoiding him because he had learned his lesson of staring people in the eyes. A beat up just after he was maltreated last night was not a part of his plans for today.

He stood unsure beside the Lieutenant, eyes unconsciously trying to peek at the papers and scribbled writings but he gave up when he realised it wall all written in English. A language he had yet to learn. A language he knows only a vigorous amount because why bother learning it if he didn't plan on going abroad anytime soon.

The other man, with skin as pale and features as sharp as Danveur's, leisurely walked towards their direction, sat atop the corner of the desk and snatched a good amount of finished papers, scanning them with an amuse smirk.

"Ah, letters for the love ones of the fallen soldiers. I thought you despise writing them?" His words were always glazed with honey no matter what his subjects are, the way he drawls them somehow enthralls Evan.

"I do, but that is where I'm good at- lying and charming the left ones, convince them their beloved died not in vain and with honour. Besides, this would be a good excuse to send me home. Deliver the letters personally for a nice display of sincerity."

Evan quickly snapped his dazed head to him. Home? Is Lieutenant Jones going home? What will happen to him then?

"But your side isn't between winning nor losing. There is still war to wage." The man countered.

Danveur shrugged, "Does not matter to me. It's a war I could check on later to see its progress. If its stats dramatically decreases by tomorrow, I might as well plan en route to save what could be salvaged."

The fourth set of papers was abruptly stashed inside a small folder and the mystery man again, spoke. "Then Sera would be delighted to see you, she'll probably demand for a leave for an entire week, do everything to stay by your side."

At the mention of a feminine name and pronoun, Evan swallowed, turned his questioning gaze between the two and quickly met the man's eyes who in return, smirked.

"Sera is his wife," He said, lips forming into a sly smile.

Danveur stopped, looked up, and suddenly grabbed Evan by the crook of his elbow, resulting for the boy to fall and land on top of his lap. He mentally cursed himself and was about to apologise and move away when an arm snaked around his front and pinned him on his spot.

"Sera is not my wife, Thomas." Danveur uttered in a hard and firm tone, mostly at Evan's left ear but his eyes were trained at the addressed man, cyanide and burning, and though the boy couldn't see it, he could feel the intensity at the back of his head.

Thomas raised his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

"Get out," Danveur ordered, composing himself as he straightened once again, all predatory sound and aura lost and not found as if nothing happened. His grip on Evan though, tightened to the point where the boy was sure he would crush his organs and make him vomit them out. He voiced no complain though, afraid that would truly happen once he started it.

Thomas gave one, deep, calculating look at Evan then went out, snatching his cane from the bin and thumping it slightly on the ground. He paused midway though and turned his back to face them again. "We will meet soon," He said in that sweet tone of his and Evan wasn't sure whether it was addressed to him or the lieutenant

Once the door shuts, Danveur harshly pushed the boy off from his lap, making him scamper on the floor from out of balance. "Your towel was wet, my khaki's aren't water resistant, idiot."

Danveur rose to his feet, went to a little cabinet by the door and pulled out a large trench coat, his own size which was too tall and too big for Evan. It was leather black, the same shade of the gloves Evan always sees him wearing, the same shade of his shiny boots, the same shade of the gun poking out of his holster. The trench coat flew towards his face.

"Your clothes." Danveur said. "I have yet to ask someone to pick out a uniform your size. But my soldiers are different from you and you, specifically, your kind, deserve no luxury, so it'll be some time before you get yourself a proper clothing."

The trench coat, it was a proper clothing. It was screaming with such elegance and leadership. There was an embroidered title on the left chest, golden and thick, and it probably costs more than Evan's life. It was a proper clothing.

He said all of that out loud.

Danveur merely raised an eyebrow. "That? Well, don't fret, it's temporarily yours. It hurts my eyes seeing you bare but lanky, less meat and all bones." He clicked his tongue and watched as Evan tentatively put on the coat. It was ridiculously big but enough to cover him and shield him from the cold. "We have to change that. Your physique, that is."

A few minutes later, a tray of food was delivered to their room, but Danveur simply looked at it and gave the whole thing to Evan who was sitting on the small couch. "Eat," His tone was commanding as he set the tray in front of him.

When Evan made a slow attempt of taking the spoon out of embarrassment, Danveur took it himself, scooped a large portion of mashed potatoes and shoved it into the boy's mouth.

"I've never fed someone else since-" Danveur's tone was a mixture of irritation and bitterness and he paused, wondering himself when was the last time he tried to feed a person.

Was it that one time in 1770's when Sera was sick and was still fully human? He doesn't even remember.

"Anyway, eat." He ordered, forcing Evan to hold the spoon and fork as he straightened up and gathered a new set of paperwork to mentally lament on.

The boy followed, eagerly shoving bits of meat and potatoes and corn kennels inside his mouth. The taste was alright, better than what he and his family of three had eaten these couple of weeks before they were invaded; but this was military food. Rationed and cooked swiftly. He wondered what would proper food, with sauces and nice dressings, and warmth would actually taste like. It had been months.

His stomach growled at the idea and he began to eat faster.

The lieutenant's heavy gaze turned to him.
"That's it, my boy," He commented, walking around the table and situating himself beside Evan, the couch dipping at his weight. His left, glove-less hand reached for the top of his head and gingerly fixed some strays of dark hair. "Do what I tell you to do and you'll be well."