The blue haired Irishman was thankful that his younger brother had not changed the lock and thus the sound of the lock clicking open was music to the young man's ears. He pushed the door open with his hip, rolling his bags inside the small but cozy flat. He took a deep breath, smile growing on his lips just as he pulled his phone out, playing whatever song he could find first. His phone burst into life and he whistled along to the catchy tune as he walked to his old room.

Upon opening the white door, he came across a study, his lips immediately forming a frown as he placed his hands on his hips, "This idiot begged me to come back but where's my bed?" He grumbled under his breath, groaning and huffing before entering the room and going straight to unpack. He would deal with Diarmuid later, whenever he came back, but for now he worried for what he had to do; find a new job.


Diarmuid had a bright smile on his face, his mind still on his boss. The smiles she had given him were so small, but the effect they caused on him was tremendous. He shook his head, trying to focus on his day ahead of him and not on unimportant things. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pressed the button on the elevator, dozing off until a light beep interrupted him and the doors slid open. He took a step out of the elevator and happily made his way down the hallway. He gave one last smile before opening the door. He hurried to the bathroom to clean the sweat off his face but the soft murmuring of music caught him off-guard.

Come to think… the door was unlocked, he stopped in his tracks, stepping closer to the bathroom to grab something of substance that he could use as a makeshift weapon. He tensed, brows furrowing and heart beating at a thousand miles an hour. He finally took hold of what originally felt like a hairbrush but to his surprise it was a tube of toothpaste. Diarmuid did not let his disappointment slip for fear he would be jumped and thus he settled for what he had.

Bursting through the door of his study, he heard the rough yelp of someone as he blindly threw the toothpaste at the blurry figure.

"What the actual fuck?" Cú yelled as he stood from the floor, "What the hell was that for?"

Diarmuid was holding his hand to his chest as he took deep and calming breaths. He took his time in slowing his heart beat and letting himself rest as he took a seat at his desk. He was not as surprised to see his brother as he should have been; but with the severe heart attack that was induced for fear that there was someone in the house had nearly taken the young man to the hospital.

"What was that?" Cú groaned as he rubbed his head, looking around for the object that had hit his on the face. His eye caught the object that obviously did not belong in a study and he reached for it, body stretching over a pile of clothes, "You hit me with toothpaste?" He warned.

Diarmuid frowned, "It was the closest thing to me." He lifted his shoulders in a short shrug. Once he had calmed down, the surge of anger hit him like a bus, "When did you arrive?"

Cú smiled innocently, "This morning," He then grinned, showing full set of teeth, "I wanted to surprise you, thought you were off at work."

"Why did you not tell me sooner? I would have been prepared!"

The oldest of the two brothers huffed, frown forming on his lips, "Noticed you kicked me out, what happened to my bed? My precious, sweet, soft bed?"

Diarmuid blinked. "Storage." He deadpanned and continued to turn on his heel, "Well, I should be off to work. Keys for the storage room are on the key hanger thing, address on the third page of the green book in the first drawer of the desk."

"Woah," Cú marvelled, "You are quite organized and have a spectacular memory, little bro. Wish I could be like that."

"Do not praise me. And you could be like that, if you were not so reckless." The younger brother took his leave, walking towards the washroom and ignoring the protests of his brother.

Splashing water on his face was relieving and refreshing. After drying his face with a small white towel, he walked into his room, finally changing into the blue auto repair uniform. He tied the jacket around his waist, running a hand through his hair and then stopping at the kitchen to pick up his water bottle, "Remember not to make a mess!" Diarmuid called out as he opened the door.

"Nice to see you again, too!" Cú called back, sounding irritated.

Without a second thought, the raven-haired man exited the house, shutting the door behind himself.

The sun was already shining brightly over the late morning. Threatening to burn hotter with every minute. The man turned the corner and reached his destination, earning many hellos from his fellow co-workers. He strolled in, whistling to a tune that was stuck in his head, waving at his boss before taking a step into the office.

"You seem jolly today," Fergus smirked, "What has you so happy?"

Diarmuid shrugged, "Nothing in particular."

"They treating you well there, Lad?" The heavy Irish accent of his big boss was also jolly.

He nodded in response, "Yes, they do. I am actually enjoying it quite a bit."

"Lovely to hear," The buff man grinned, "Now, I saw that magazine with that little lady of yours." He winked, "Very fine lass you've got there."

Diarmuid's cheeks were set ablaze and roared into a deep and dark blush. He knew the older man was speaking of Sileas but for some reason the image of the blonde popped into his mind and he had to stop himself for squeaking.

"Got yer little heart there, no?"

Diarmuid chuckled nervously, shaking his head, "No, she is just a friend."

"A friend? Oh, I doubt it. A fine lass like that and a good boy like you could never be 'just friends'."

"Well," Diarmuid rubbed the back of his neck, "I guess you would be wrong there."

Fergus laughed, taking strong gaps of air when his breath left him, "I always know when you have feelings for something; whether it be a car or a lass."

The young man shook his head and walked off to his station, his mind sinking into the work he had to do and the passion he had built for his job.

The clearing of a throat caught his attention as he was working underneath a car. He rolled out from the bottom, eyes squinting at the sudden attack of light. He sat up, rubbing his eyes before looking back up at the person. Black heels were the first thing he saw, eyes drifting up pale legs to a black pencil skirt, then a blazer and finally the face of the person.

His eyes settled, past the bright rays of the sun that were filtered through a window and on green eyes. Golden hair let down for the first time.

He rubbed his neck, standing up and dusting himself off.

"Greetings," Saber had an amused look on her face, almost comedic in a way, "How do you fare today?"

He blinked, gulping while he analyzed her facial expression, "Hi," he waved, "How are you?"

The corners of her lips twisted into a soft smile, "It would only be fair if you answer me first, since I was the first to ask."

"Oh!" His eyes grew wide in embarrassment and his cheeks lit up again, dressing themselves as stop lights again, "I'm sorry."

Her smile grew a single milimeter, "No need to fret."

"I'm doing well." He answered the way one would to a military commander.

"You seem a little tired to me."

Diarmuid's brows knitted, "Why would you say that?"

Saber brought a hand to her mouth, covering her smile behind her thin hand,"It seems you have dark circles."

He looked taken a back and heavily confused, "Dark circles?"

She pulled out a pocket mirror from the inside of her blazer (She had this for her model, take note). Clicking it open, she flipped it and then faced it towards the tall man.

He was shocked, jaw had dropped and eyes stuck in terror. After he had rubbed his eyes to adjust to the light, he had stained them with mud; he looked like a racoon, "I am so sorry." He followed to apologize profusely.

She laughed a little, hiding her amusement, "No, do not apologize. In fact, I fancy the look."

In any other situation, he would have pouted for the fact that someone was teasing him but the woman before him was appealing, just at her simplicity, "Thank you."

"Now," she handed him her handkerchief, "I brought my photographer with me and I do hope you are prepared."

He had felt bad for her soft white cloth but welcomed her gesture nonetheless and wiped his face with it. After having cleaned off the mud, she suggested he wash his face for the shoot and probably place on some gloves. Of course, she had spoken with Fergus prior to and had even paid him for use of his Auto Repair shop as a photoset. She was thrilled with the amount of natural light that entered the building too.

"What do I need to do?" Diarmuid asked, anxiety taking the better of his judgement.

Saber gave him a mock expression of uncertainty and then shook her head, "Naturally what you would."

"Oh," he gave a shaky breath and then tried not to pay heed to the camera and the equipment as he worked on a car—a nice car courtesy of Arturia's many connections. The good thing was that Diarmuid did not have to pretend to fix the car as it truly did have some engine problems. He did as was usual for any routine of auto repair.

The photos were coming out great, as Arturia had a look of pure satisfaction on her face. He found it rather odd to be under surveillance as he worked but he managed the best he could.

It was around five in the afternoon when they called it a day. Saber had walked up to the young man and given his a very ecstatic 'congratulations' before shaking his hand.

"You were a natural today and I can assure you that the Einzberns will be completely elated with this material. Thank you for your hard work today, you were amazing." The smile was brought to her lips again, and she looked very beautiful with it, he would admit.

"Ah, well, it's all thanks to you." He gave her a soft smile as well, bashful for sure.

Arturia landed a hand on his shoulder, "Oh, how I wish that much was true." She reached up and wiped his cheek with her thumb, "It looks very adorable when you have something smeared on your face. You're much too innocent." She slid her hand off his neck and then gave him a prompt nod.

His heart might have skipped a beat, just maybe.

"Well then, until this weekend. Remember to keep an eye out for your magazine."

Bashful, his cheeks flooded pink and he cleared his throat, diverting his gaze from her intense green gaze. His heart might have skipped a beat, but he couldn't tell if it was because of her or because of the fear that he would be in a magazine; it had not really hit him until that second—the fear filled himimmensely.