After the meal, Suolan stood at the sink washing dishes while Lleuad put the tableware away, arranging items by size in the dish dryer. They did have a dishwasher, of course, but hand-washing was a way of life for them. The full set of Royal Copenhagen Ruby Red Fluted Full Lace dinnerware had cost a small fortune, yet in their home it had witnessed countless breakfast mornings.

"Have you finished your homework?" Suolan asked while washing the plates.

"Two more pages of math worksheets. Everything else is done." Dorian was wiping down the kitchen island that had served as their dining table, a note of distaste for homework in his voice.

"If you're really stuck, come ask me." Suolan handed the last plate to Lleuad.

Dorian nodded, rinsed out the cloth and hung it on its hook, then left the kitchen to return to his room and finish his assignments. Lleuad went to load the freshly washed laundry into a basket and carried it to the west courtyard to hang dry. They did have a dryer, but when the weather was fine, Suolan preferred clothes kissed by the sun.

Suolan remained behind to continue his kitchen rituals: wiping the countertops and tiled walls until they gleamed, checking the spice jars for stock levels, and retrieving a block of A5 Wagyu from the freezer to thaw in the sink.

With the kitchen duties complete, Suolan made his customary rounds of his domain. The herbs in the garden flourished; a few clusters of fo-ti looked entirely unremarkable, while the datura's pale purple trumpet flowers bloomed in bewitching splendor. He plucked several datura leaves and placed them in the gathering basket at his side. The fresh leaves would become beneficial remedies by afternoon.

An emperor scorpion emerged from a crevice between stones, tail arched high. Suolan bent down to scatter a handful of live crickets from his pouch onto the ground. The scorpions caught the scent and stirred; more venomous creatures materialized from every corner, and a small hunting feast commenced.

Lleuad was crouched in the west garden, twisting open a sprinkler head to inspect it. Brown sludge mixed with leaf debris flowed out, looking like some peculiar chocolate sauce.

Sure enough, it was this rubbish causing trouble again.

"It's always this stuff." Lleuad poked at the blockage with a small brush, though he felt no real irritation. Doing these small tasks for Suolan was never a burden; rather, it brought him a sense of fulfillment, as if he were guarding his most precious treasure.

Suolan walked over and crouched down as well, his knees touching the verdant grass. "Need any tools?"

"I'd like to say I can handle it without tools, but having them would certainly be better. This really is quite filthy, and I'd rather not get 'dirty.'" Lleuad glanced at him, his expression laden with implication.

"I'll go get them." Suolan caught his meaning and kissed his cheek before standing.

Suolan fetched the toolbox from the garage. The red metal case was heavy, its contents clinking crisply as they jostled against one another. After handing the tools to Lleuad, he didn't leave immediately but instead sat down on the grass, simply watching Lleuad work.

The sunlight was intense, gilding his silver gray hair with a honey-gold sheen. Sweat made his shirt cling to his back, the line of his spine faintly visible. When Lleuad reached into the toolbox for the pliers, the muscles of his arm tensed and relaxed. Suolan's gaze followed every subtle movement. Even after all these years together, watching Lleuad do these ordinary things still made his heart beat faster.

For his herb garden, this man would patiently clean every last damned sprinkler head.

"Sweetheart, enjoying the view?" Lleuad asked without looking up. He knew perfectly well what Suolan was watching, and he relished being observed this way.

"I can never get enough." Suolan rested his chin in his hand, Lleuad's figure reflected in his pale violet eyes. "You're most captivating when you're focused on a task. It reminds me of the first time you fixed something for me."

"Shame I broke it that time." Lleuad laughed.

"But you looked so endearing trying so hard. And you learned eventually. Now you can fix anything." Suolan reached out to brush the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead.

At half past nine, the last sprinkler head was finally cleared. Lleuad turned on the main valve to test it. Clear water sprayed forth, a small rainbow flickering in and out of existence within the fine mist. The herbs, like parched travelers granted rain at last, unfurled their leaves as their colors sprang vividly back to life.

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At noon, the aroma of sizzling beef fat permeated the kitchen, impossible to resist swallowing at. Suolan watched the meat's color change, counting silently: one minute twenty seconds, twenty-one, twenty-two... then flipped it deftly. Perfect sear marks branded the surface, like some delicious rune.

Lleuad stood on the other side of the counter, truffle shaver in hand. White truffle curled into paper-thin slices beneath the blade, each one translucent, drifting onto the plate like first snow. Its distinctive fragrance was overwhelmingly intense, vying aggressively with the steak, though the scent of seared beef ultimately won out.

Asparagus lay in neat rows on a baking sheet, deliberately massaged with a different variety of extra virgin olive oil. Steamed potatoes were mashed to a velvety smoothness in Suolan's hands; he added a small knob of butter, then a sprinkle of sea salt and nutmeg.

Pausing his work at this point, he walked through the corridor and stairwell to the annex door, knocking three times—children need privacy, and even a papa must show respect.

"Little Milkshake, time to eat!"

"Coming!"

With his son's reply secured, Suolan returned to the kitchen for the final plating.

Lunch was the relatively simple meal of the day, still eaten at the kitchen island. The Wagyu reclined at the center of the porcelain plate; the cut cross-section revealed a perfect gradient of pink, juices slowly seeping out to pool in an enticing little pond at the bottom. White truffle slices draped over it like a snowy blanket tucked around the beef. Beside it, the mashed potatoes had been sculpted into a small hill, keeping company with the row of roasted asparagus, a few drops of aged balsamic vinegar dotted between them.

Dorian, having taken his seat, cut off the first piece of steak and savored it carefully. The meat was so tender it seemed to dance on his tongue. In this moment he forgot Harry Potter, forgot the unfinished math homework; the world contained nothing but the deliciousness in his mouth.

Lleuad's expression upon tasting the steak was much the same as Dorian's. Suolan watched the identical father and son, his smile curving higher still. Cooking for his family was one of his greatest joys; seeing them eat happily pleased him more than any praise could.

"Is that truffle sauce François sent almost expired?" Lleuad recalled the jar forgotten in the depths of the cupboard.

Suolan flipped through the dates in his mind. "Three weeks left. Making truffle risotto tomorrow would use it up nicely."

"What's Uncle François been up to lately?" Dorian asked while ferrying asparagus to his mouth. This friend of his father's, whom he didn't know particularly well, was always sending bizarre gifts.

"Just bought a yacht last week. Fifty meters, I hear, with a professional kitchen. He says he's throwing a party at sea; invitations have gone out as far as Monaco."

"He certainly knows how to have fun. But I'd rather stay home, where it's quiet and comfortable." Suolan pictured François's smug face in his mind.

"Great minds think alike. Enjoying the weekend at home with my dearest family surpasses any party." Lleuad rose and cut all of Suolan's steak into neat cubes for him.

Dorian looked at his own steak, cut piece by piece as he ate, then at his papa's steak, now entirely portioned into bite-sized pieces. He pushed his own plate toward the professional steak cutter as well.

This was his old man's value in this household.

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