AN: Hope you enjoy reading~

Chapter 11:

Flavio was being watched again.

He did not mind, however. The eyes that were on him were those of Fafnir's, so the gaze was welcomed and comforting. He knew those eyes were simply protective, ensuring his safety, which Fafnir took very seriously.

Fafnir had been out of the restaurant on an errand, with Arianna for company, so he was not around when Mandelson paid a visit. Which was probably for the best. Fafnir definitely would have caught the guy by the scruff of the neck and thrown him out the front door the second he thought (knew) Flavio was unnerved by his presence.

While Flavio always found Fafnir's protectiveness endearing, they really could not do with that kind of drama. Not to mention, Regina would be furious, which was too frightening to even think about.

His gaze was his usually level of protectiveness, so that meant Bertrand had not told him what had occurred previously.

Yet, there was something else in Fafnir's gaze. Something Flavio could not quite put his finger on. It was not a negative emotion. Not at all. It was something akin to…admiration.

With there being a lull in customers, Flavio stood behind the drinks counter, brewing up two cups of coffee as Fafnir and Bertrand sat at the bar in front of him. Arianna had slipped out the back kitchen to speak with Regina about something while poor Chloe continued to slave away over the sink. No doubt thinking up a curse or two upon the one who forced such an abysmal task upon her.

Which was fair. Flavio hated washing the dishes, too.

"Ok, done," Flavio said as he set a cup of coffee in front of Fafnir and another in front of Bertrand.

Both men immediately reached for their drinks. Flavio began to clean up the utensils, but he found himself peeking over at Fafnir, watching as he took a sip of his coffee. When Fafnir uttered a satisfied sigh, Flavio was pleased. It always made him happy when Fafnir enjoyed whatever he made, be food or simply a cup of coffee.

"You certainly can brew up a good cup of coffee," Bertrand complimented.

Flavio gave a short, one shouldered shrug as he dried his hands on a dish towel. "I've brewed up enough the last few days to get good at it, I guess."

"I can see you running your own coffee and tea shop," Bertrand added.

A smile appeared on Fafnir's lips and he closed his eyes in contemplation. "Hm. Yeah, I think that would be a good fit, actually."

"Ah," Bertrand chuckled as he lifted his drink to his lips. "Dreaming of white picket fences, are we?"

Flavio leaned against the counter and idly folded the tea towel in his hands. A tea and coffee shop, huh? That did not sound too bad. Using ingredients gathered from the labyrinth to create teas and tonics. Working in a personally owned tea and coffee shop during the day. Coming home to a quaint little home to live with Fafnir at night…

He would like that.

Could he really have that kind of life?

Well, Fafnir did say that he could see himself settling down in High Lagaard, so he guess it was possible.

Setting the drying towel aside, Flavio stepped out from behind the drinks bar to do a bit of idle cleaning around the dining area. A few customers had recently made the brave decision to face the chilly winter weather outside, allowing him the opportunity to finally clear their tables. Others, however, were less willing. Having already paid their bills, he saw no harm in them nursing their hot drinks as they build up the courage to face the reality of outside.

As he cleared on table, he came across a slight anomaly. A folded piece of paper sat amongst the usual discarded napkins and dirty dishes and utensils.

Flavio set the tableware aside and picked up the piece of paper. He took a moment to study it, noticing there was nothing noteworthy about it. Simply a piece of paper that had been ripped from a notepad of some description.

Perhaps someone had forgotten a shopping list. Or it could just be rubbish. He had best take a quick glance at it before deciding what to do with it.

'I told you to stay away from Mandelson. He's too dangerous.'

Flavio's eyes widened and he froze for a good few seconds before he raised his head and quickly glanced around the dining area. It was fruitless, however. The one responsible for the note was sure to be long gone.

He sent a quick glance over at Fafnir, slightly relieved that to see that he was distracted by his conversation with Bertrand. He turned his back to the two men and focused his attention back to the note in his hands.

The words were hastily written, yet it was obvious that whoever wrote them had pressed their writing utensil harshly into the paper. A sign of frustration. And anger.

Another person was angry with him.

With shaky hands, he folded the piece of paper in half and shoved it into the pocket of his pants. He then desperately went back to cleaning up.

Mandelson was not responsible for the note, that much was clearly obvious. So, who was?

He had paid attention to the faces of those who had visited the restaurant, but there were so many. And none of them gave off, well, stalkerish vibes. They were just…people. Good, average people. Polite, paid for their food, no fuss, no mess. Nothing to indicate anything remotely untoward.

But someone had sat at a table at the restaurant and watched him from a distance. Worse thing was, he had not felt anything. Had not noticed anything. And what about them? How long had they been there? Had they overheard his conversation with Mandelson as well, or simply watched the two of them interact and got the wrong idea?

So…two people? No, three? Three people that were causing him-?

A sharp pain in his hand promptly pulled Flavio from his thoughts. He shook his head and instinctively pulled his right hand back, using his other hand to cradle it. He released a hiss in pain and grimaced when a trickle of blood seeped through his fingers.

Great! Perfect, he must have cut his hand on a knife or something.

It was not his day!

No, it just was not his week!

He picked up a clean and unused napkin and wrapped it around his hand as a makeshift bandage to soak up the blood. And to stop him from making more of a mess.

While being mindful of his hand, Flavio grabbed the used tableware and made his way back to the kitchen. Suppressing a grimace as he did so. He dropped the items on the nearest surface, which happened to be the drink's bar, and quickly made his way toward the sink.

Unsurprisingly, Fafnir noticed that something was wrong and immediately moved away from the bar and joined him behind it. He stood next to him, one hand on the small of his back, the other taking his elbow in a gentle grip so he could see for himself what the issue was, if necessary.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Just cut my hand on some cutlery," Flavio answered quickly as he ran his hand under the water. Streaks of red ran with the water and the wound stung, prompting a quiet hiss to pass his lips once more.

He also could not help but grimace at the sheer irony at it. A knife injury to his hand. A foreshadowing? He hoped not.

Fafnir slipped his hand along his arm to rest on his wrist, gently tugging. "Let me see."

"It's fine," Flavio insisted, though allowed for the injury to be inspected. "It's only a small wound."

Fafnir dabbed at the injury with a clean kitchen towel, drying the area and patting up the beads of blood that continued to seep through. "Which keeps bleeding." He turned his head and looked toward the kitchen and called out, "Chloe, can you heal this?"

From the back kitchen, Chloe appeared, clearly pleased to be freed from that dreaded sink. She toddled over them, though made no attempt to take a hold of Flavio's hand, not when his hand was already cradled in Fafnir's. She simply raised her hand over the wound where a war magic circle appeared.

"What happened?" she asked while she idly pushed up her glasses with her free hand.

Flavio suppressed a wince at that unnerving feeling of his skin slowly stitching itself back together. "I was distracted by my thoughts and got careless."

Bertrand leaned his elbow against the bar and pointed at Flavio idly with his coffee cup, of which he was still drinking out of. "You have been working hard lately. More than anyone else."

Fafnir frowned. "Maybe you should take the rest of the day off?" That was structured as a suggestion, but Flavio knew him long enough to know that it really wasn't.

But head to the inn by himself? After that confrontation and that note? No way! The last thing he wanted was to have mysterious flower giver making their presence known to him, too!

"What?" Regina responded before Flavio had the chance, the chef likely having been lured out by Fafnir's voice. "I can have my best waiter leave now. The dinner rush is about to start soon."

That was also a valid point.

However, a deep frown appeared on Bertrand's lips, and he abruptly set his coffee cup down onto the bar with a loud clink. Wrinkles creased at the corners of his eyes as he shifted his gaze to focus upon Regina.

"This is your restaurant, Regina," Bertrand began, his voice surprisingly scathing. "You can't prove anything to your family if you're continuously hiding out in the kitchen. You need to, at the very least, show your face to your customers. You can't force Flavio to be the face of your restaurant and then face your family and expect to take all the credit."

Flavio fell silent, honestly shocked by his words. He really wondered how much of his conversation with Mandelson Bertrand had actually overheard. Were his comments in relation to that? Or were his defence of him just a coincidence?

Bertrand shifted his gaze from a gaping Regina over to Fafnir and then to Arianna, giving each a potent stare in turn. "And maybe the two of you could help out on the floor, rather than always heading out doing errands. If the restaurant is always so busy."

Arianna flushed a light pink while Fafnir scrunched up his nose, confusion evident on his face.

"Why am I always doing errands?" he asked, his tone accusatory. He remained close to Flavio's side, an arm casually, effortlessly slung around his waist.

Regina shifted uncomfortably on her feet while Arianna looked away, the blush on her cheeks darkening. She tried to hide them behind her hands, but her embarrassment was obvious. And telling.

And Flavio suppressed a bristle.

So, Regina was playing matchmaker! Ugh, during the busy week of celebrations, too? That…that really irked him!

"Alright, alright, I get your point," Regina relented. "I've been relying too heavily on Flavio to draw in customers, I know."

…She was doing what now?

"But there is only a couple more days left of celebrations week," she continued, her stubbornness shining through. "If I can get through this week, the restaurant will be accepted."

Bertrand looked away, purposely nonchalant as he lifted his coffee to his lips. "They may be eating the food, but they're here for Flavio. Once he returns to the labyrinth, they'll leave, too."

An obvious and hostile tension filled the air as Regina bristled. To the noble chef, they were a personal attack. To Flavio, however, Bertrand's words were an indication that he had overheard his conversation with Mandelson. The whole thing or just a few sentences, it did not matter. He has had to have heard something.

Had…had the old man grown protective of him?

"Um, I need a bandage," Chloe murmured, breaking the tension as she turned away from Flavio and headed back into the kitchen in search of the first-aid kit.

Flavio should say something, though he could not brush off Bertrand's words. Because, well, he was right.

And because he was kinda annoyed by the whole matchmaking thing.

"Look, I don't mind working the floor, but a bit of help is appreciated," Flavio said and turned his attention toward the blonde-haired chef. "And, Regina, I do think showing your face would be a good thing for the restaurant. After all, it is your business. It is you who must endear yourself to the customers if you want to stand a chance in High Lagaard. After all, there are numerous other restaurants. You need to give customers a reason to spend their hard-earn cash here. If you don't want to use your family name, then you need to find something else."

Regina stared at him for a silent moment, her expression unreadable. Stony.

She then turned on her heel and marched back into the kitchen, her shoulders tense, and her strides hard and purposeful.

Flavio sighed, disappointed.

She was not happy.

Owning and working in a restaurant, in a town with numerous other businesses struggling to survive, was not as easy as Regina had expected. Or wanted.

He felt sorry for her. Regina came from a family where she grew up never having to go without. She had the chance, the privilege, to be defiant. Not everyone had that privilege. Even in her act of defiance, she had everything given to her. A new restaurant literally gifted to her. A guild to gather the materials and ingredients. A guild to handle the advertisements. A guild to handle finance. Unique recipes to work with. Grimoire stones to barter and trade.

But none of that would win her the affections of the hard workers of High Lagaard if she, herself, did nothing to endear herself to them.

Flavio could only hope that she took their advice to heart rather than just get angry at them.

"Regina obviously doesn't like being lectured to," Bertrand commented.

"Who does, right?" Flavio replied.

"I will join Dame Regina in the kitchen," Arianna stated, a small, forced smile on her lips. It was clear that she, too, held great sympathy for the other woman.

As Arianna moved into the kitchen, she bypassed Chloe. The two acknowledged each other, Chloe with a frown, while Arianna had a small, understanding smile. Chloe, no doubt, had witnessed Regina's sudden return.

He wondered how upset the dedicated chef was.

Wordlessly, Chloe returned to him and focused on tying a bandaged around his now only mildly aching hand. A precautionary measure, no doubt. A reminder not to push the limit of his hand. Chloe may have healed it, but it was still in its tender stage. Any heavy lifting may cause the wound to reopen.

Thankfully, as Chloe tied off the bandaged, Fafnir made no attempt to tell him to head to the inn to rest. And Flavio certainly was not going to remind him.

In fact, Fafnir seemed preoccupied. Flavio caught sight of Fafnir throwing a curious glance in Bertrand's direction. No doubt pondering the old man's sudden protectiveness toward him as well. That, or he was appreciative and was in turn mildly annoyed at himself for not having noticed just how overworked Flavio was.

Not that he could have. After all, he was sent out on dates disguised as errands with Arianna.

Flavio sent a curious gaze of his own toward the protector. He would have to ask Bertrand how much of that conversation he had overheard. He could not do it in front of Fafnir as it would only pique his curiosity and Flavio would only incur his protectiveness shortly after.

The sound of door of the restaurant opening and cheery voices interrupted Flavio's musings, and any possible conversations between the teammates.

So, for the moment, though, they had more work to do at the restaurant.

… … … … …

Despite the tension that had fallen over the restaurant, the shift went smoothly after that.

Flavio had been shoved into the role of meet and greet, leading guests to their tables and taking their orders. He had to explain that he would not be the one to bring their orders due to the minor injury to his hand, but he would be flitting about if they needed anything.

Thankfully, they were all understanding.

Some of them even displayed genuine concerned for his wellbeing, the medics and healers of guilds that visited instinctively inspecting his hand. Both amusing and adorable.

He felt that his shift that night was as busy as ever, but he was not as tired and achy as previous nights. Who knew carrying countless trays of foods and drinks were the cause of his back aches and shoulder pains? Never would have guessed it.

"Damn, kid. How'd you managed the last week? The old back is protesting tonight," Bertrand's complaint echoed through the night air as the five of them wandered carefully through the cold, icy streets back to the comfort of the inn.

Flavio had to smile to himself, though soon shivered and wrapped his arms around his own body in a futile attempt to starve off the icy night air. "The trays of foods and drinks get heavy after a while, huh?"

He had to admit that it was nice that his guildmates were finally understanding just how hard he had been working at the restaurant. He felt like bit of a hypocrite as he did not mind working the floor and meeting with the customers, but it would be a bold face lie to say it was not tiring work.

Silently, Fafnir slipped an arm around Flavio's shoulders and with a rather unexpected tug, pulled him against his side. Flavio fell against him and gifted him a mildly confused glance. Yet, he made no attempt to detach himself from the other man. In fact, his presence and bodily warmth was comforting. And something he did not realised he needed until that very moment.

So, he simply offered Fafnir a small, content smile and turned his gaze forward, focusing on ensuring on not slipping and unintentionally pulling himself from Fafnir's welcoming warmth.

"We're still going to have that talk about you overworking yourself," Fafnir suddenly stated.

Flavio rolled his eyes, his smile never once faltering. "Now now, just one more day and then we have the birthday dinner. After that, we can begin to relax."

And finally return to the labyrinth. He'd never thought he would miss such a treacherous and dangerous place!

The rest of the journey to the inn was done in silence. Until they reached stone paved path leading to the entrance. Where an unusual sight greeted them.

Flowers…

But they had been destroyed. A bouquet of flowers had been purposely ripped and torn into shreds in a fit of rage. Light blue petals and green stems scattered across the inn's entrance and path. Crushed into the stone, grind under the heel of someone's boot. A light floral scent hung in the air, indicating that the scene of rage had occurred recently.

Flavio felt sick to his stomach, and he unconsciously pressed himself closer to Fafnir's side.

Some of the stems had been cut cleanly. Too much so.

Cut with a…knife?

"Oh dear!" Arianna gasped. "They were such pretty flowers. Who could do such a thing?"

Bertrand stepped forward and, with much protest, crouched down to inspect the scene of floral carnage. "There's a card."

Flavio swallowed thickly. Please, please, to whatever mighty being that existed, do not let his name be on the card!

"What does it say?" Fafnir asked, his arm still tight, comforting around Flavio's shoulders.

"Rejection is not an option." Bertrand huffed as he pushed himself to his feet. "Hah, some people really cannot accept it when they don't get what they want."

A bile of dread appeared in the back of Flavio's throat, and he felt sick.

Fafnir's arm around Flavio's shoulders tightened abruptly and he pulled him closer. "Flavio?"

"Sorry," Flavio immediately blurted out, ignoring his teammates to instead focus on breathing. "I just felt sick all of a sudden. I think it's the cold. Can we just go inside?"

"Yeah, of course," Fafnir immediately replied, all but sweeping him past the explosion of flowers and into the inn.

Flavio briefly heard the others talk about a possible infection from the knife wound in his hand, or perhaps exhaustion from being overworked had finally caught up with him. No one seemed to suspect the flowers were the cause. Which was for the best.

He still did not know what to do about his…situation.

Why was it happening to him…?