Lololol I don't know don't even ask. Just something I wrote... Adopted the jasmine scent from another Rufus fic I once read, since I though it really suited him. Basically, just how I imagine these two would be, maybe... (before I read that one Liam-centric omake, at least. But still!)
During the years Liam has served under Duke Rufus Barma, he has learned to tolerate many kinds of things.
How his master creates illusions, basically screws with other people's heads to get what he wants, his whole erratic personality. How other people sometimes look at him, almost pitying him for having to serve such a troublesome master. How other servants look at him with envy, because so what if his master is a troublesome one, it is still a great honor to serve such an important lord. How Xerxes and his creepy doll talk about Master Rufus, filthy words and endless insults hidden in polite phrases and sweet smiles. How...
The list goes on.
But Liam knows better. Master Rufus isn't always a heartless bastard. Not always.
"You broke your glasses again." It's not a question: just a statement, and while it's not blaming, not angry, not even disappointed, Liam can't keep himself from flinching and just nods. Rufus has always had this kind of effect on him – and not only him, but nrealy everyone he ever meets.
Rufus does not ask how that happened, and Liam isn't going to try and explain it. Chances are his master already knows about the incident that involved bad eyesight, a hungry Alice and a helpless Oz being dragged around by the very same chain. It was inevitable, but saying that would only sound like a poor excuse.
There's a silence, and Liam's gaze hovers somewhere around his master's shoes, unable to raise his head and look him in the eye. (Not that it really matters, because without his glasses he is technically blind.)
After what feels like forever, Rufus turns and walks away. Liam listens to the cold, tapping noise of his high-heeled shoes until it fades away, and only then does he raise his head and start making his way to his own room. He doesn't ask for help, and no one offers it: yet somehow he manages to get to his destination without any broken bones or throbbing bruises.
When he wakes up the next morning, there's a new glasses case with new spectacles inside on his nightstand. They aren't exactly the same he had before, although very similar: and even Break has to admit, they suit him much better than his old ones ever.
There is no name, no note attached, no nothing.
But the case smells faintly of jasmine.