Fashionable

'Heine-darling!'

I burst into Heine's room, slamming the door against the wall. Heine jumps in his chair like a startled cat. He turns around, and gives me a deathly look.

'Are you acquainted with the idea of knocking, Prince Licht?'

I wave him off. 'Eh, I usually just shout out and burst in.'

Heine sighs. 'Well. May I help you, then?' He crumples an ink-spattered piece of paper and drops it in the waste-paper basket beneath his desk.

'Well, I was coming to tell you that there's been some changes to the shift roster at Café Mitter Meyer,' I say, 'and… I…'

I trail off, and narrow my eyes. Something's not right, and I can't put my finger on it.

Heine gives me an unimpressed look, and turns back to his work. Ouch. Burn. His hair falls neatly against his shirt collar, one or two strands brushing against his neck.

I stagger and nearly trip, falling against a bookcase. The tip of Heine's pen snags on the paper and he grits his teeth, before sharply pivoting to face me. 'Prince, if you have nothing better to do — '

'You're not wearing your uniform?!'

Heine blinks. '…It's my day off.'

'But I've seen you wearing your uniform on off-days! Come to think of it…' I tip my head to the side. '…You never wear anything else.'

'I'm a live-in tutor, so I have to maintain some level of professionalism. But as it's rather warm today, I thought I'd have a break from it.' He gives me a look. 'Although I wasn't expecting someone to barge into my room.'

I smile, and run a hand through my hair. 'A-heh.'

I look him up and down. A white European-cut shirt, one button undone, and plain black slacks. He's wearing suspenders, with one side hanging loose. As though he realised I was looking, Heine pulls the loose strap back over his shoulder and continues writing.

Oh, wait a moment. 'Aren't those the same clothes you wear under your uniform?

Heine quickly finishes the page in perfect, flowing script, and puts down his quill pen. 'Yes. I don't have many clothes.'

An image of my overflowing wardrobe flashes through my head. '…Oh. But don't you get paid a lot? As the royal tutor?'

'…Yes.' Heine dips his quill into the inkwell, and I rest my elbows on the back of his chair, looking over his shoulder.

'Who are you writing to?' I ask.

'How do you know I'm writing to someone?' Heine murmurs, and blots the page.

'There's an inside address.'

'Don't read other people's personal information, Prince.'

I laugh. 'I'm not.'

Heine folds the sheets of paper, then takes his wallet from the desk and slides some notes between the sheets.

…Huh?

'Wait, what? You're sending money to someone?'

Heine grits his teeth, as though he'd forgotten I was there. Perhaps it was because I was leaning against the chair and not against him directly. That, or it was my usual ability to disarm people with my presence, whether they wish me to or not.

'And don't pry, Prince.'

'You can't expect me not to be curious!'

As though reading my mind, Heine slips the folded sheets of paper in an envelope and addresses it with one hand hiding the words from my view.

'Aw, Teach. Tell me, please!'

'Why should I?'

'Because I want to know?'

Heine looks over his shoulder at me. 'And you expect me divulge all my secrets simply because you want to know?'

'Well, it's worth a try. And I said please?'

'Congratulations, Prince — you know how to say please.'

'That's mean,' I sulk.

I close my eyes and concentrate. I don't have many clothes… Don't you get paid a lot? …Yes. You're sending money to someone?

'…You're not in trouble, are you, Teach?'

Heine seals the envelope shut.

'You're not being blackmailed, or something like that?'

Heine places the envelope, address up, on the desk. Maria Vetsera Church?

'No, Prince Licht, but thank you for your concern. I'm merely sending some money back home,' Heine says.

He told me? 'Okay, then.'

Wait…

Sending money… "back home." Back home!?

I spring back from the chair. 'Heine — are you married?!'

Heine jerks, and visibly blanches. 'Are you out of your mind, Prince — '

I snatch up his hands and examine them frantically. You never know, we could have missed it, but —

No ring. I sigh. I don't know whether I'm disappointed or relieved.

'Prince, that hurts…'

I realise I'm holding Heine's arms up above his head. 'Oh, sorry, Teach.' I drop his hands, and brush off his shoulders.

'What on earth would make you think I was married?' Heine says flatly.

'Sending money back home… I thought maybe you had a family or something,' I say.

Heine screws the lid into the inkwell. He doesn't look at me. 'No. No, I don't. And I'm not married.'

Even if he was opening up to me a little before, now he's completely cold. I think I pushed him too far.

'Sorry, Heine-darling. I kneel behind his chair and hook my arms around his shoulders. 'I'll get out and leave you in peace — '

A thought snaps into my mind. Ooh. I open my mouth to speak, but bite my lip. Stop it. You just said you were going to leave him in peace. But… What good will it do me to change my ways now?

'Heine-darling… That's why you don't have a lot of money, isn't it? Because you're sending money back to someone else?'

Heine grips my hands in his, and I look up, surprised. 'Yes. However, I'm actually not badly off. I've merely been spending the money I have on books and materials for your lessons, rather than clothes. So thank you for your concern, but I can take care of myself.'

I smile. Wait… I glance over my shoulder, at Heine's wardrobe and chest of drawers.

I jump up, walk over, and dramatically fling the wardrobe doors open.

And… He was telling the truth. I grimace. I flick through the few items hanging off the rail. His uniform, another shirt, another pair of slacks, and a simple charcoal-grey suit that looks as though it's seen better days.

Heine turns in his chair. 'Prince, what are you doing?'

'Hmmm…' I glance at his feet. I guess Heine must wearing the only pair of shoes he has. I continue my inspection and open the top drawer of the chest of drawers.

Heine jerks in the corner of my eye and says, 'Prince Licht!'

'Good grief — it's not like I'm rifling through a girl's chest of drawers!' I say, and stifle a laugh at the fiery blush marking his cheeks. Still, I wonder if he's hiding anything in here. I glance around, and notice his suitcase in the corner of the room. As he's making no effort to stop me, I imagine any tell-tale personal effects must be in there, under lock and key.

I check through the rest of the drawers, ignoring Heine's offended fidgeting behind me. I sit back on my heels, and grin.

It looks like I've just had the best idea.

I jump to my feet, and spin on my heel to face him. 'All right! As I was saying, they changed the roster at Cafe Mitter Meyer, so you won't need to accompany me for a shift this afternoon. So instead: you, me, clothes shopping in Wienner this afternoon, and I'm going to give you a complete makeover!' I hold up a hand. 'No arguments.'

Heine blinks. '…But I can't afford that.'

'I'm buying!' I declare. Heine protests, and I cut him off. 'I've got nothing to spend my excessively large allowance on because I've already got enough clothes to last me the rest of my life.'

'But Prince —'

'Besides, it will be fun!'

Heine looks at me. '…But I don't need new clothes.'

I run across the room and drag him over to the mirror. 'It's not about whether you need them; it's about treating yourself once in a while, and looking good!'

'This is frivolous,' Heine mutters. But I can see him hesitate, and quickly glance in the mirror.

I squeeze his shoulders, and wink. 'And that's why this is going to be so much fun!'

He finally acquiesces. 'Fine. As you wish, Prince.'

'So tell me, what do you have in mind? I was thinking red velvet, with diamantés—'

'That is not what I signed up for, Prince.'

'Aw, come on! It's called making a statement!'

'And I'm stating upfront that I'm not wearing any bright colours or… diamonds, was it?'

'Diamantés…'

'And none of that.' But he smiles, despite my usual theatrics.

Taking me all in stride, caring about me in a way that no one else does. So I'm glad, so glad, that I can finally do something for him in return.

The End

A/N: Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!