"How are you feeling?"

Conrart enters without knocking. He is carrying a tray and wears his familiar kind smile. Günter looks up, frowns.

"I am well," he says. "Thank you for asking."

Setting the tray down on the table, Conrart offers Günter a plate. "Scones or biscuits?"

It is obvious that Günter wants Conrart to be gone, but is too polite to say so. Instead he says, grudgingly, "Scones, please," and then immediately realises his mistake. He blushes and says, "Biscuits. I mean biscuits."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't mind-"

"Biscuits," says Günter, through his teeth.

"Suit yourself. Biscuits it is." Conrart pours the tea, sets it out. He puts honey in Günter's cup without asking first, and Günter turns his head, stares out the window in angry embarrassment. "Tea's ready." Conrart sets the cup and saucer in front of Günter. A faint rattle of china as Günter takes it with less than his usual grace.

Conrart settles back in his chair. He sets his cup and saucer on his knee, exactly what Günter had once taught him not to do, and frowns when Günter doesn't so much as bat an eyebrow. There's a loud crunching noise as Conrart bites into his biscuit. Günter doesn't react to that either.

Conrart sighs.

"Is your arm hurting?"

Günter's arm is wrapped tight in snowy bandages and tucked snugly away in a sling. It's his right arm too, which explains why he holds his cup with less than his usual precision.

"No. Gisela gave me something to drink." A faint line appears between Günter's eyes. "Tasted terrible, actually."

"She told me once that if medicine tasted good, no one would ever want to get well."

"Yes," Günter agrees, and goes back to staring out the window. Conrart waits, but Günter doesn't speak again and the half Demon feels frustration crawl up his spine.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"You getting wounded."

There's something hurting in Günter's eyes as he looks at Conrart, and he says, "It's just a cut. It'll heal eventually."

"It's a pretty big cut."

"It'll heal."

"Then why are you making such a fuss about it?"

Günter looks bemused. "I'm sorry?"

"You've gone very quiet and you've spent the past three days hiding from everyone." Conrart narrows his eyes. "You're obviously upset about something."

His hair falling about his face, Günter stares at his teacup as though it's something fascinating. "It's embarrassing. That's all."

"I don't see why. There were so many of them, all trying to attack His Majesty. With that many opponents, it's not surprising that one got a lucky strike in."

"It's embarrassing," Günter says again, and falls silent. His face, his hair, his one good hand- he looks pale, fragile, breakable. "I suppose..." Conrart waits. "I suppose I'm just getting old."

So that's what it is. Conrart sets his cup down. "What's so bad about getting older?"

Günter's voice is so terribly soft as he says, "What use am I if I'm old and slow? Who would want a useless old man like me?"

Conrart shakes his head. "You're not useless. You're certainly not slow. And...and you don't look like an old man to me." He stands. Günter's expression is infinitely vulnerable as Conrart steps around the table, and kneels in front of him. "And you're wanted. Very wanted."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure." Günter's hair is so very soft between Conrart's fingertips. "You've always been wanted. You'll always be wanted."

There's the almost imperceptible trembling in Günter's lower lip as he says, "Do you promise?"

Conrart smiles. "I promise." And gently, he leans forward to kiss the tremble away.

NOTE: Written for kkm_challenge, "student and teacher" prompt.