It was around noon when Liam poked his head into the room and gave Cailan an uncertain smile. Cailan set his book aside and rose from the bed, but he wasn’t sure what to do after that. As Liam entered, Cailan shifted his weight from foot to foot, fighting the deeply ingrained urge to drop to his knees.

Liam had pulled away the very foundation of Cailan's training when he'd forbidden him from kneeling and calling him "sir," when he'd made it achingly clear that any physical intimacy between them was unwelcome. Cailan had been prepared for the possibility of a master who would want things from him that deviated from his standard training, but Liam hadn't replaced what he'd taken away with new expectations. Cailan wasn’t even sure how he was expected to greet his master.

"Is Aubree washing your robe?" Liam asked as he walked over to the bed. He was dressed in his school uniform and carrying a tray of food, which he carefully set down on the bed.

"Yes," Cailan said, only just barely resisting the impulse to tack on 'sir'.

Liam's gaze swept over Cailan, his brow furrowing slightly. "You must be cold," he said softly. He reached for the spare blanket at the end of the bed and wrapped it around Cailan's shoulders, his touch brief and careful.

Cailan ducked his head, shame burning in his cheeks. He was so accustomed to lacking privacy, to being constantly on display, that he hadn't given a second thought to his near-nakedness. But of course it was indecent in a fine house like this, especially in front of a master who held no desire for him. He clutched the edges of the blanket tighter, as if he could disappear into its folds.

"Are you hungry?" Liam asked as he gestured to the tray. 

Cailan's gaze fell on the food—eight small triangular sandwiches, a large piece of cake, and a bowl of orange slices. His stomach clenched painfully, not from hunger but from a growing sense of dread.

Cailan could feel his eyes beginning to water as he chewed at his lip, the sting of unshed tears blurring his vision. He dropped to his knees like gravity had suddenly overcome him, his bare skin contacting painfully with the wooden floorboards, and hung his head.

From the edge of his vision, Cailan saw Liam's polished shoes take a step closer. "What's wrong?"

"I—" Cailan's voice shook, the words catching in his throat like thorns. He swallowed hard and tried again. Though his second attempt came out a bit steadier, his voice still trembled. "I can't eat that much, sir. I'll throw up again. I'm sorry."

"Again?"

Cailan shifted nervously, tucking the blanket more securely around his shoulders, and stayed silent. It hadn't even occurred to him that he might have been able to hide his earlier mishap.

"You ate too much and threw up?" Liam guessed.

Cailan gave a jerky nod. He could feel shame burning hot on his cheeks, spreading down his neck.

"Why?"

"I wanted to be good, sir," Cailan murmured. The admission felt like it was being torn from somewhere deep inside him, raw and vulnerable.

A stretch of silence followed, broken only by the sound of Liam sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. Cailan heard the soft sliding sound of Liam loosening his tie, followed by a long, weary sigh. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Cailan's heart clenched at the words. He dared to lift his head slightly, peering up at Liam through the curtain of his hair. His master looked suddenly young and lost.

"Are you angry with me, sir?" Cailan asked, his voice small and trembling. He braced himself for punishment, for disappointment, for anything but the look of utter bewilderment on Liam's face.

"Hey, no." Liam’s hand twitched towards Cailan, fingers outstretched as if to offer comfort, before he quickly pulled it back. "You're just a scared kid. But, in the future, don't eat if you're not hungry."

"Yes, sir," Cailan responded automatically, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them.

Liam's brow furrowed, a flash of frustration crossing his features. "Now come on. Drop the 'sir' thing and quit kneeling. We talked about this."

Cailan quickly scrambled to his feet. The blanket slipped from his shoulders, and he clutched at it, pulling it tight around himself like armour. "Sorry," he murmured.

"It's fine," Liam assured him, though there was a tightness around his eyes that suggested otherwise. He gestured towards the tray of food. "Now, how much of this food do you want?"

Cailan's shoulders hunched. He felt his body heat with shame, the warmth spreading from his chest to the tips of his ears. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not hungry at all."

Liam shrugged and reached over to pick up a sandwich triangle. "Don't worry about it. I'll eat it," he said, taking a bite. The sound of his chewing filled the silence for a moment before he continued, "Will you be wanting much dinner?"

Cailan sucked his lip into his mouth and shook his head. “Half a bowl of porridge is fine.”

"That’s a bit boring for dinner, though, isn’t it?”

"I'm grateful for everything I receive," Cailan replied, the words automatic, rehearsed.

"I didn't expect you to eat all of this, or all of the breakfast," Liam explained, gesturing to the tray. "I just wanted to give you something nice to eat and I wasn't sure what you'd like."

Guilt washed over Cailan, a familiar and unwelcome sensation. "It was all wonderful. Thank you," he said softly, finally daring to glance up at Liam. "I'm sorry I misunderstood and ruined it."

Liam sighed heavily, the sound filled with weariness beyond his years. He shook his head. "No. It was my fault. I didn't realise you'd feel obligated to eat it all, but I probably should have.”

His gaze grew distant, focusing on something beyond the confines of the room. "My father has a slave of his own, I just prefer not to get involved with her. Elina. She always looks so unhappy, or... maybe not even that." Liam paused, searching for words. "Maybe more like she's locked the part of her that feels anything at all away deep inside of herself and now she's nothing but a husk to fulfil his desires."

Liam's eyes snapped back to Cailan's. "Don't tell him I said that. He'd find some way to harden me against such sympathies if he knew. He thinks it's a sign of weakness."

"Of course, si—" Cailan began, but caught himself mid-word. He bit down hard on his lower lip, shoulders tensing as he braced himself for the reprimand he was sure would come.

But Liam seemed to ignore the slip entirely. Instead, he let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm against his knee. "I'll need to get you clothes," he mused, his voice distant as if speaking more to himself than to Cailan. "What else do you need? Clearly I know nothing of slaves."

Cailan's toes curled against the cool wood of the floor, the smooth planks solid beneath his feet. He focused on this sensation, using it to ground himself as he spoke. "Clothing is typically the only possession a slave is allowed."

"You can sit down if you like."

Without looking up, Cailan lowered himself to the floor, folding his legs beneath himself in a cross-legged position.

"I meant on the bed, but that's fine too," Liam said, a note of resignation in his voice. There was a brief pause, then the sound of him reaching for something on the tray. "Are you sure you don't want any sandwiches?"

The mere thought of food sent a wave of nausea crashing through Cailan's body, his stomach churning violently, but he did his best to keep his feelings off his face. "If it pleases you."

Liam sighed loudly. "Just say no."

"No?" Cailan tried, the word feeling foreign and dangerous on his tongue. He glanced up through his lashes, gauging Liam's reaction.

Liam made a sound of frustration, somewhere between a groan and a growl. The intensity of it made Cailan flinch. "And now you're just saying it because I told you to, aren't you?" 

Cailan's face scrunched up in distress. He finally looked up at Liam, meeting his gaze fully for the first time. "I'm trying to be good, si—" He cut himself off, making a small, broken sound. "I'm trying, I swear.”

"I can see that," Liam said, his voice carefully calm, though tension radiated from his rigid posture. "Maybe a little too hard, though. I may be your master on paper, but I'm not even out of school yet." He drew a breath in and let it out as a long, slow sigh. "Just... try to be honest with me. Tell me what you want and what you don't want."

The words were out of Cailan's mouth before he could stop them, raw and honest. "I want you to touch me."

The effect was immediate and visceral. Liam recoiled sharply, as if he'd been struck. "No, I—no." The words came out choked, almost panicked.

He stood from the bed abruptly, the sudden motion making Cailan flinch back. Liam's hands shook as he fumbled with the tray, china rattling ominously. "I'd better get back to school," he said, his words rushed and tumbling over each other. "I'll—I'll get in trouble if I'm not back in time."

As the door clicked shut behind Liam, Cailan's carefully maintained composure crumbled. He just wanted a hug, a pat on the head. Anything. 

He crawled into the bed, the soft sheets a poor substitute for the human touch he craved. Burying his face in the pillow, he inhaled the clean, unfamiliar scent of the fabric as he tried to muffle his sobs. Each breath came in shuddering gasps, his body shaking with the force of his anguish.

Cailan was privately glad that Liam had no desire to do the things he'd been told about in his training—he was beginning to suspect, somewhere deep and shameful and private, that Liam was right about him being too young for it. That the dread that had always coiled in his gut at the thought of such things hadn’t been misplaced. But now, faced with the stark alternative of nothing—no touch, no comfort, no connection—he wasn't so sure he'd lucked out after all. The absence of touch felt like a physical ache, a hollowness that threatened to consume him from the inside out.

Liam didn't come to see him that evening. Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and plagued with dreams of reaching out for something always just beyond his grasp.

The next morning, Aubree pushed open the door, her face a mask of professional indifference. She carried a small bowl of porridge, setting it down on the bedside table without a word. The porridge smelled comforting, like warmth and sustenance, but Cailan's stomach twisted uncomfortably. His prolonged isolation had left him feeling unsettled and anxious, dampening any appetite he might have had. The thought of food only intensified the growing unease that had taken root in his chest.

Aubree returned his freshly washed robe, the familiar fabric a small comfort against his skin. She took his underpants to throw in with the next load of laundry, leaving him feeling oddly vulnerable despite being clothed.

Throughout the day, Cailan tried to lose himself in his book, but the words swam before his eyes, refusing to form coherent sentences. There was a constant buzzing in his mind, like a swarm of angry bees, keeping him distracted and on edge. Every creak of the floorboards outside his door made his heart leap, hoping it might be Liam returning.

The day stretched on, interminable. When the door finally opened again in the evening, Cailan's breath caught in his throat. Liam poked his head in, his expression guarded. "I have homework," he said, the words clipped and hurried. Before Cailan could respond, could reach out, could do anything to bridge the gulf between them, Liam was gone again.

As night fell once more, Cailan curled up in his bed, the sheets twisted around him like a cocoon. The silence of the room pressed in on him, broken only by the occasional creak of the house settling and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. He stared into the darkness, wide-awake and achingly alone, wondering how long this limbo would last and what his place in this new, confusing world would be.