Tsukiyama Shuu nuzzled into heaven, his hair, lavender, sweeping over a plush pillow. The contours of Tsukiyama's face failed to be the only part of his body that came in contact with luxury; silk spilled from the entire four-poster bed. Although the texture could be described as creamy smoothness against his skin, the textile itself flaunted purple shapes and swirls, twisting together against a particularly violent shade of orange. Blood orange, Tsukiyama would probably insist on, if anyone ever took the time to ask his opinion on one of his favorite colors.
"Master, guten morgen," a voice called out. Light followed, quickly making its way in through the sleeper's gloom.
Opening his eyes, Tsukiyama found that the source of the voice had already drawn back the drapes.
"Bonjour, Kanae," Tsukiyama replied to the figure by the window, barely stifling a yawn. The sheets rustled softly as he turned on his side to give Kanae von Rosewald, his comrade of many years and current servant, a slight grin. Kanae folded the duvet out of Tsukiyama's way, revealing how his master's sleepwear matched the sheets. Tsukiyama must have loosened a button or two in the night, allowing his shirt to slip part of the ways off. An entire shoulder lay naked, Kanae's eyes strayed over the flesh, intent, yet careful enough not to stare too openly lest Tsukiyama consider him any less of a gentleman.
Speaking of gentlemen, Kanae wouldn't hesitate to uphold the honor of anything pertaining to Tsukiyama—especially his master's wardrobe. Truth be told, the vivacious blood orange had struck its way into Kanae's own attire. A cufflink here to brighten things up, some stitching there to add contrast to a handkerchief of pastel plum. Taking a stroll through both men's closets, you would see similarly bright clothing, tailored and cut in the same fashion, but perhaps one closet would push things more than a bit too far, and the other closet would be pushing desperately to catch up.
Armed with the former closet, Tsukiyama faced every day dressed to the nines, and rarely stepped out with a stitch, let alone a hair, out of place.
That morning, as every morning, Tsukiyama had yet to put his person in complete order. By his own standards, he was a terrific mess. The solution to that problem laid in everyone's, even a ghoul's, favorite way to kick-start a sleepy morning: coffee. And Tsukiyama possessed the richest, deepest, blackest stuff he could get his manicured hands on.
Tsukiyama smelled it even before he saw evidence of it. Then he spied his favorite cup and saucer waiting for him on a silver cart near the foot of the bed.
"Kanae, you are wonderful! What would I do in the mornings without you?" he said. Tsukiyama ran his hand through his tresses. "Ugh, my hair…would you please be a dear and fetch me a hairbrush?"
Kanae dipped a hand into his apron and handed the item over.
Tsukiyama took the brush. Before he began to brush his hair, he pulled his unruly shirt back onto his shoulder, cutting off Kanae's gaze.
"Oh, and could you grab today's outfit? That last shopping trip to France was such a splurge, but for today it'll definitely be worth it." Tsukiyama's mouth was usually the first thing to start working in the morning, and today was no exception.
"I have begun preparations for all you asked, and more." Tsukiyama nodded approvingly while smoothing out his lavender hair.
"I have also taken the liberty of ironing your shirt and trousers. They're hanging in the next room," the manservant continued, holding out the coffee to Tsukiyama.
Putting the brush down, Tsukiyama grasped the warm cup of comfort into his hands. He brought it in close to further enjoy the fragrance.
"Mmm. Of course you have everything ready, and that's why you're my favorite," Tsukiyama praised. Little puffs of air left his slightly parted lips in an effort to cool the beverage.
A delicate tongue ought to be treated with care, and if the day went as Tsukiyama wished, his tongue would soon be running over something much sweeter than the rim of a porcelain cup. Finally pleased with the temperature, the Gourmet brought the coffee to his mouth for a sip.
Kanae paused to bask in this lovely scene, as he did with every scene of himself and Tsukiyama. These kinds of memories, memories of an intimate, home setting with his master, always replayed themselves in Kanae's head as he went about his daily chores, cheering him along. Kanae alone had these images of Tsukiyama enjoying himself on a languid morning.
Kanae wished to remain alone.
"…my suit, Kanae?"
The manservant blinked his thoughts away and bowed in apology. With a flourish of hand and turn of heel, he disappeared into the adjacent room that housed a monstrous collection of menswear.
Stepping inside, a smile crept its way onto Kanae's face. He fingered the buttons of shirts and pawed at the patterns on empty sleeves. Beautiful clothes always brought him joy—especially if they were Tsukiyama's clothes. Especially if Tsukiyama's clothes were on Tsukiyama. Not that there was anything wrong with the clothes once they came off of Tsukiyama….
Kanae's gaze fell on the suit he had pressed and hung up earlier, and that act alone practically spoiled his otherwise pleasant morning. The suit boasted of the most effort either he or his master had ever made on a single day's outfit, but that couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from turning down in even greater distaste. Without further ado, Kanae huffed, grabbed the suit, and stepped hurriedly out of the room.
The obnoxiously large mirror reflected the two men, one still, the other set in a whirlwind of motion. Kanae flitted around, assuring and reassuring Tsukiyama of his perfection.
"I think I outdid even myself," Tsukiyama said, giving his own figure a perusal. "Mon cher won't be able to tear his eyes away! But so few can appreciate beauty such as this…."
"In my humble opinion, Master, I think you look absolutely amazing."
Turning away from his reflection, Tsukiyama met face to face with Kanae.
"I know," he said, patting Kanae's shoulder reassuringly.
After one last look at himself, Tsukiyama headed towards the foyer, ready to make his exit.
"Kaneki is practically trapped at Anteiku! How can I leave him waiting on a day like this?" Tsukiyama said as he walked, more to himself than to anyone else. Kanae fluttered after him.
"Master, wait—" Too soon, Tsukiyama was halfway out the door. "Wait!"
A backwards glance on Tsukiyama's part caught the distress on Kanae's face. He paused thoughtfully. With a flick of the wrist, Tsukiyama seemed to magic a single red rose out of thin air and held it out to Kanae. A ribbon and a small piece of paper hung from the stem.
"Pour toi," Tsukiyama offered, his lips curved in a fond smile.
Kanae gingerly accepted the rose. He sniffed lightly at the flower. Kanae often went out on errands to purchase fresh roses to decorate the manor with. Even so, he rarely ever found a rose as perfect as the one he currently held.
"Master."
"Yes?" Tsukiyama peered at his servant expectantly.
Kanae pursed his lips together, biting back his dismay. He would never dare to cause problems on a day that his master was so looking forward to. Even if it meant prolonging his own desires.
"Thank you…and good luck."
"Any time, dear," Tsukiyama said. "If things go as planned, I won't be back until tomorrow morning, so don't wait up for me!"
"Of course, Master. I'm sure everything will occur just as you wish."
"Well, then. I'm off! Au revoir."
"Auf wiedersehen."
With that, Tsukiyama let the door he had been holding open close behind him.
The moment Tsukiyama was out of sight, Kanae's brow furrowed. He paced through the foyer, his bedroom, Tsukiyama's bedroom, talking to himself, pointing accusingly at the air, placing curses on the wretch that managed to steal Tsukiyama's attention away from him yet again. The only soul left in the manor, Kanae's irritation filled the empty space.
Feeling a slight pricking in one of his hands, Kanae came to a halt. Examining the cause of the sensation, he saw that the rose Shuu-sama had given him was clutched tightly in his fist. Loosening his grip, the thorns of the rose stem slid out of the ruined fabric of his glove, his palm left unscathed.
The florist habitually listened to Tsukiyama's request of leaving the thorns on his roses untrimmed. In Tsukiyama's doctrine, what was beauty without a little bite?
Smoothing out the note tied to the stem, the servant read Tsukiyama's flowery, cursive writing through some minor tears in the paper:
Joyeux Saint-Valentin! A von Rosewald should never spend Valentine's Day without a rose!
Kanae's hands began to shake, torn between clutching the note lovingly to his chest and crumpling it back into his fist with the thorns.