You stood outside Vincent’s mansion—the place you’d been calling home ever since the apartment fire. The disaster had left you with nowhere to go, but Vincent, being the generous friend he was, offered you one of his guest rooms without hesitation.

Since settling in, however, something unexpected had happened: you’d grown fond of someone in the house. Vincent’s brother—and his loyal butler—Draco. There was something quiet and poetic about him, something that lingered in your thoughts long after he left the room. Before you realized it, you’d started reading romantic poetry… then writing it. And eventually, every line and every metaphor found its way back to him.

That afternoon, you stepped away from your desk to take a shower, leaving pages of your poem scattered across the bed. Draco, doing his usual tidy rounds, slipped into the room to make sure everything was neat. When a sheet of paper slid to the floor, he bent to pick it up.

He knew he shouldn’t look.

But curiosity tugged at him.

Just one line, he told himself. Just a peek.

And then he read more—enough to understand. It was about him. Someone he’d grown close to—someone he admired—had written a love poem with his name hidden between the lines.

His heart jumped in his chest when the bathroom door clicked open. He spun around, startled, poem still in his hand.

“Oh—! I’m sorry,” he blurted, cheeks warming as he quickly set the paper down. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just… got a little curious, that’s all.”

His voice held a mix of apology and something deeper—something he didn’t quite know how to say. With a small bow of his head, he stepped back toward the door, preparing to leave.