It's a trial, having the drapes open throughout the castle. On days when the sun is out, the light sears through the dusty air, blinding him whenever he looks outside. He starts staying in his room longer every morning, avoiding that early time of day when the sun shines most brightly and inescapably through the large windows.
But he leaves them open, anyway, because if Belle wants sunshine, he knows she will have it one way or another. The thought of her trying to open the drapes in secret while he's away and falling again, this time with no one to catch her, haunts him. So he keeps the windows clear, and bears the sunlight. It wouldn't do to lose his caretaker, after all.
"I'm making jasmine," she says, one day, when he finally deigns to come down and brave the afternoon sunlight. "Tomorrow, for morning tea. If you're feeling up to it, maybe you could come."
He smiles sharply, but with none of the bite. "I'm a very busy beast, dearie."
Her lips quirk down. He knows it irks her to call himself a beast, but knowing how to press her buttons is only half the fun—pressing them is the rest.
"But I'll do my best to be punctual," he adds, to smooth her ruffled feathers. "Wouldn't want to miss out on excellent jasmine tea."
Belle smiles, then, a sunny slide of her lips, and he's blinded for just one moment before he can collect himself.
Between the sun and her smile, he's contemplating taking a potion to preempt the inevitable headache.
—
—
Every window between his room and the dining hall is a pox on his eyes, but he's made a promise, and he doesn't break those no matter the cost.
The light in the dining hall overwhelms his senses as he steps inside. The sunlight pours unabashedly through the yawning windows, and he hisses quietly through his teeth at the offense to his eyes. Adjusting the bright lighting takes far longer than he'd like, but eventually the pain in his eyes subsides enough for him to be able to actually look through a window and see what lies beyond.
It's a lovely day, of course. As if it would rain when Belle was expecting a beautiful sunlit morning. Nature itself seems to bend to her call. The sun is shining merrily in the blue, blue sky, and Rumplestiltskin curses his weakness when it comes to rosy cheeks and sunny smiles.
Belle's still bustling about in the kitchen, so he settles down to wait. The last time he'd spooked her while she was at the stove, she'd nearly burned herself, and the dinner plates had been dropped and shattered to pieces. He's not eager to use more magic to fix it—again—or find a new set. So he will wait.
The sky really is an abominable shade of blue, he finds. Not a cloud in sight, just a few idiotic birds wheeling through it, no doubt chirping noisily away. He's about ready to conjure up a raincloud out of spite when Belle interrupts his thoughts with the clatter of the tea tray.
"Well, it's about time," he teases. "I was beginning to think you'd stood me up."
Belle wrinkles her nose, but the smile doesn't leave her face as she carries the tea tray to the dining table, carefully watching her steps. "If I did that, I'd never hear the end of it."
He lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding when she makes it safely to the table and sets the tray down, china set well and whole—except for that one cup.
"Well, now. Congratulations on your safe arrival," he says lightly, and she giggles in response, lifting her eyes to meet his.
Her eyes catch his breath and hold it. That blue—
It's the color of the sky.
Belatedly, he realizes he's been staring open-mouthed, and that she's giving him a concerned look. "Mornings don't suit me," he says hastily, a nervous giggle catching in his throat.
"That's too bad," she says, and strides towards the windows. He shudders, coming back to himself. "It's a beautiful day," she says, stopping in front of one of the windows and clasping her hands behind her back. He busies himself with the tea set, pouring himself a cup of jasmine instead of watching Belle take more of the sky into her eyes.
"Yes, I suppose it is," he mutters under his breath, and sets the teapot down. When he looks back up at the windows, chipped teacup in hand—and it's always the chipped one, of course it's the one she's affected—the sky is as blue as he remembers. Only, this time, he finds the color less grating, and more Belle.
But then the girl herself is walking back towards him, and he cautiously steps backward, avoiding contact. This morning is dangerous, this morning is blue and bright and one misstep could spell trouble.
But when she sits up on the table, bold and brilliant, he can't keep from pulling himself up next to her. He stares resolutely down into his cup, careful not to cut his fingers on the chip they're running over.
"Why did you want me here?" she asks, and his eyes dart up to hers automatically.
"The place was filthy," he says, lost in blue. He only hopes he doesn't stare too long.
It is, after all, a perfectly perfect, dangerous blue morning, and he would hate to ruin it.