a/n; remember to comment and vote as it always gives me motivation! don't be a silent reader!

—

Silas and you eased into a routine after a few days. You slept in a room one level below him, so you would have to wake up extra early to make sure that the food in the kitchen was delivered on time to him. You had expected for the Imperial Family to all eat in the dining room, but funnily enough, the food was delivered to their respective rooms. The Imperial Dining hall remained empty, and it was only used when prestigious guests arrived.

Sometimes, by Silas's request, you would sleep with him on his bed. It was king-sized and could probably fit four people, which gave you plenty of space to move about without bumping into him. Silas mentioned offhandedly that he liked waking up not feeling alone in his room.

"My mother's visiting today," you told Silas over breakfast. "Apparently it's a mandatory thing. The servants' families visit them once every few weeks."

Silas swallowed the buttered toast and frowned. "You aren't a servant."

"I am," you shrugged, buttering another slice and passing it to him. When Silas buttered toast, the butter tended to be spread unevenly. You, however, had the useless talent of spreading the butter on the toast perfectly. "I'm your butler. Master and servant, remember?"

"...Right," Silas said after a small pause. "I forget sometimes."

"Hah, because I'm your friend? Is that why you forget?"

"I guess," Silas said flippantly, and you looked expectantly at him, hoping he would start telling you what a great friend you were. But he changed the subject, and you deflated. "So I guess your mother is visiting, Y/n."

"Yup." You smiled, "you haven't seen her before, right?"

"I hope she brought goodies."

"Of course you do," you rolled your eyes good-naturedly, "but maybe she did. My mother knew of you all the way back from the time we met. That's why she always packed extra."

"She sounds nice." Silas bit on another piece of toast. His appetite was overwhelming. "She's a really good baker, too. I bet she could make better toast than this."

"Are you saying the toast here isn't good? But you devoured five slices so far!" You cried out, indignant. "You can't just say things aren't up to your standard and then continue to eat them. It's like thinking I'm a bad friend behind my back but still talking with me. That isn't the case, right?"

"You're putting words in my mouth and coming up with odd comparisons," Silas answered defensively, "I never said the toast wasn't up to standard, and I certainly didn't say you were a bad friend. I was simply saying that your mother could probably make better toast. It was a compliment for her."

"I'll tell her that. Maybe you'll get to meet her." You took a piece of tissue and wiped Silas's mouth. You really were babying him.

Silas scrunched his nose. "Really?"

"I'll talk to her first and bring her to your room, at least." You told Silas, "that's for later. There's still fifteen minutes until her arrival. But for now, I wanna try stuff with your hair."

"My hair?" Silas said, aghast, "what are you going to do with it?"

"Look how messy it is!" You exclaimed, and then added with a note of determination: "and it's so gorgeous, too. I'm going to tame it."

"What? The maids can do it —"

You grabbed a hairbrush from the dresser and started to comb furiously through his hair. Silas's bed hair was terrible. His strands of hair were all tangled up and messy, and so it made combing difficult. But at the same time, his hair was silky and refined. You supposed it was the sheer volume of his hair that made it difficult to keep neat. You combed and combed repeatedly, ignoring the yelps that Silas elicited.

Finally, you looked at him with satisfaction. His hair was all nice and smooth now.

"There!" You beamed, turning his face into the mirror. "Don't you look so handsome now?"

"I would like to think I'm always handsome," Silas deadpanned. "What about your hair?"

"Excuse you," you protested, "I think my hair is really neat."

It was true. One part of being a butler was that you had to always look presentable, and that included being meticulous about the way you dressed. Sometimes, you didn't mind it, like now. But other times, you would be irritated and frustrated by the lack of freedom the clothes offered you. Plus, when you ran, your hair would get unkempt and you would be chided by one of the head servants.

"Whatever." Silas frowned at the mirror. "Should I cut my hair short? It's so much trouble."

"No," you quickly said.

"What?"

"Cause I like you like this."

Silas frowned even more. "So you wouldn't like me if I had short hair?"

You looked pointedly at him, huffing. "You know what I mean. It's an aesthetic preference."

Silas pondered it over. "Okay, then."

"What? So are you going to cut —"

"I won't cut my hair," Silas interrupted. "I won't cut my hair if you like it the way it is now. Anyway, this means you'll help me do my hair in the future, right?"

"You just said you wanted the maids to help you," you looked at him with confusion. "You're strange, Silas. You change your mind so often."

"You're the one who changes your mind," Silas retorted, "just now, I could see you deliberating and wondering if you should have a third slice of toast."

"That's being indecisive."

"Indecisive and changing your mind is practically the same thing," Silas said.

"Watch it. Soon, I'll change my mind about being friends with you." You said petulantly, before you caught the stricken look on his face. "I'm just kidding, Silas. Remember the promise we made three years back? You're stuck with me forever," you grinned.

Silas liked that. He liked how you remembered everything about him. "I know," was all the prince said, before he glanced at the clock. "Shouldn't you get going soon? Your mother might be early. You two always had a good relationship, after all."

You looked a bit awkward hearing his words. "Not really," your voice was small and you looked down. "I mean, yes, I love her, and...and I think she loves me too, but I doubt she came early."

"What? But you two always had such a great relationship."

"We did," you said quietly, "before some things changed. I think it was my fault. Something I did made my mom feel sad."

"...Oh," Silas murmured, "I have no doubt she loves you, though. She still came all the way down for you, right?"

"Yeah, and I'm grateful to her for that. But the thing is, she has to visit the palace whether or not she likes it. Because if my mother doesn't, bad rumors will start again, and it'll affect Daddy's own life." You explained.

"But why would your mother care whether her actions affect your father? They fight, don't they?"

That was also true. In fact, you didn't know why they had yet to split. You didn't want them to split, but you knew the longer they stayed together, the longer you would have to hold on to your tiny hope of having a perfect family.

"I don't know. My mom's just selfless, I suppose," you smiled. "It's fine. Things will turn out fine. I'm lucky, at least. I had a good relationship with her, and my father can be pretty nice too." Then you softened, ruffling Silas's hair. "I'm sorry about your family."

"Because I wasn't loved by anyone growing up unlike you who had your mother?" Silas said, his words straightforward and blunt. "Well, you're wrong about that."

"Who?" You asked curiously. "You said both your parents..."

"I was loved growing up." Silas glanced at you, "by you, Y/n."

You blinked before your cheeks turned red immediately. "Oh," you said softly, "yes, I guess so. Well, who cares if my family — er, falls apart? I have you!" You hugged Silas, who slowly returned the gesture. "It's like — you know, those plays — those friendships where it's just the pair of friends against the world. That's us," you said triumphantly, "and my mother. The two of us and my mother against the world!"

Silas adored the picture that you were painting in his head. He envisioned the future laid in front of him neatly: of him, now the Emperor, and of you, steadfast and loyal by his side for eternity. You two would have tea in the Imperial Gardens, still eating the delicious foods that your mother made.

"Oh shoot," you said, jolting up, "my mom's probably here. I'll be back with her, Silas!"

"See you," Silas offered.

"See you!"

It was nice knowing that you would be back after saying those words, unlike the time where you had disappeared for three years.

Silas smiled to himself.

—

You sped through the crowd of milling visitors and quickly made your way to the Imperial Gates. None of the visitors were allowed to go anywhere near the main entrance, and the only way they could meet their family members was near the very front gate. So, it was one big splotch of people yelling and talking to each other at the top of their voices.

You squeezed through the crowd while uttering rushed apologies. Then you spotted your mother's familiar dress and lit up, cheeks rosy as you flung your arms around her.

"I missed you!" You said excitedly. "I want to tell you all about what happened so far! I met Silas, and..."

You trailed off once you noticed she wasn't even  paying attention. In fact, your mother was acting odd. She was acting like how she did when she drank one of those things — one of those drinks. You frowned. Was she drunk? But she never turned up drunk at the palace, of all places, when she knew people were watching.

In fact, your mother was never usually drunk! She drank very controlled amounts.

You stepped away from her warily and this caused your mother to glower for the tiniest moment.

Your mother was angry. Why? Why was she angry? Another stupid fight at home that you hadn't witnessed? This time, she seemed especially angry.

Your eyes fell to her hands. There were no baked goodies. You felt a little disappointed, and also vaguely alarmed. Even when your mother was at her angriest, she still gave you little treats as a way to say sorry to you.

"You," your mother whispered. She was swaying lightly on her feet, her gaze unfocused. "Y/n, let me tell you something."

You blinked. She hadn't returned your greeting properly, but still... she was talking to you.

"Yes?" You immediately replied, slightly nervous. You were looking at her expectantly.

Inwardly, you were eager and a little thrilled. A secret, you thought, maybe she's telling me a secret? Joy leapt in your heart as you started to think of how this would be the first step toward amending your relationship with her. And after this, things would slide into the way it was before — you two would bake goods, you would share your journal with her, you would —

She leaned in closer to you, her hair tickling your ear. It was like she was telling you something intimate that she had never told anyone before. It was like once again, the puzzle pieces were clicking back to place: she, your dear mother, and you, her only child, with cherished secrets flowing between you two.

"Y/n," she murmured. You held your breath in anticipation, heart beating erratically against your chest. "You were..." then your mother started to laugh sorrowfully, lost in her thoughts. "You were a mistake. I never should have had you."

You could tell that she hadn't meant to say it. She was obviously in a drunken stupor, and the words were never supposed to slip from her mouth.

But you also knew that while she didn't mean to say it, she had meant every single word.

You couldn't breathe. Your mind replayed her words, etching them cruelly into your brain: you were a mistake. You were a mistake. You were a mistake.

Once upon a time, she had told you sweetly that you were the reason she lived. Once upon a time, she had told you that you were her greatest gift.

It was your turn to sway on your feet. You couldn't think, either, through the painful haze in your brain.

The endearment Mommy suddenly felt foreign. You found a more distant term grazing your lips: "Mother," you rasped out. "You —

Maybe the start of it all was when you didn't allow her to read your journal. Maybe she had seen that action as you not trusting her. Then things kept mounting and mounting and mounting and she had snapped from the stress. You couldn't blame her. You couldn't fault her. You knew inwardly, that she had tried her best, that she had loved you, that the hands that fate had dealt her with had been unkind. Even if you had your fair share of troubles, your mother had simply been an unfortunate woman.

"I'm sorry," your mother said weakly. "Forget what I said, like you always did."

She was referring to the times when you were eight years old, blissfully unaware of her words and still clinging to her. But now you are twelve, and you understood every bit of what she was saying.

Your lips quivered. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me, child? You know you did nothing wrong."

"You did nothing wrong, either," you rasped out. "I'm sorry I had to be born."

Your mother didn't say anything. She made a show of kissing your forehead, before she patted your shoulder like nothing had happened.

"I should have loved you better," your mother said softly, "I should have loved you better, Y/n. But trust me — I could not have loved you anymore than I did."

You stared after her as she left, her silhouette growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

You felt sick.

You felt like your insides had been scooped out and now you were left with nothing but a hollow husk. It must have looked like you were exaggerating it, but you truly weren't. There was nothing more heartbreaking than being — abandoned — by the parent whom you had always trusted to love you. And you knew it was heartbreaking for your mother too when you started to turn out like the man whom had hurt her emotionally. You had wounded her first before she had wounded you.

You could feel some eyes on you.

"She came late and she was drunk," someone said in a distance, "she's obviously sore and jealous still, and she inflicted that on her poor son!"

"Her son hasn't even —"

They were all blaming her, and not you. But why? Why did mothers always receive the brunt of it all? You wanted to shout and yell at them. You wanted to tell them, what had I hurt her first? Would you still put the blame on her? You wanted to tell them: she's a wonderful mother. She's sweet. She's caring. She makes great treats. But you destroyed her. And I, too...

And your birth has destroyed her too. It had given her life and meaning, and had allowed her to soften her rough edges. And yet now you had taken that away from her.

You straightened your back and swallowed back your tears, slowly and methodically walking back to Silas's room.

You supposed there would be no meeting between Silas and her, after all.

—

"Y/n," Silas looked up at you as you entered the room. He looked puzzled when there was no one behind you. "Where's your mother?"

You tried to compose your thoughts. You had rehearsed what to say in that agonizingly long walk back from the palace front gates to Silas's room.

"She left early," you managed at last.

You didn't want to look at Silas. You didn't want to admit to him that you were now in the same plight as him.

"Your lips are quivering," Silas murmured, before he pulled you down to sit on the floor, "what happened, Y/n? Was it an emergency? Did something happen at home?"

I never should have had you.

She really shouldn't. Maybe your parents' marriage would be fine without you. Maybe your mother would have been lighter and happier. Maybe —

There were so many what ifs that plagued your brain. There was no closure, no bandages to wrap around the growing wound in your heart.

"Y/n?" Silas prompted again, furrowing his eyebrows. Tentatively, he brought one arm around you as a half-hug as you let out a small sniffle.

"Y/n — you're crying," Silas said, alarmed, "you..."

Silas had never seen you cry before. Well, he hadn't seen you cry out of genuine sadness before. All of the times that you had cried before had been because you were happy to the point of tears. But now you were practically sobbing, your head buried in your hands.

"How embarrassing," you choked out, "I'm always saying how I'm more mature than you, but here I am crying about something that you haven't had your whole life. How, Silas? How do you remain so strong?"

"Did you fight with your mother?" Silas asked quietly.

You nodded your head weakly. Silas fetched a tissue from the bedside drawer, gently dabbing at your tears.

"...But you two are so close, Y/n." Silas remembered all the times you had spoken so glowingly of your mother — "it's probably a misunderstanding."

You found comfort in Silas's tone of voice. He sounded more gentle and sweet than he had ever sounded before. You found yourself laying down, head on his lap as you wiped your face with tissues. It was funny how you had always been the one allowing him to lay down on your lap, but now it was the other way around.

"It definitely isn't a misunderstanding, Silas. I thought we were close too, but now I don't know — I think I did something to her that made her mad," you sniffled. "But it's really not her fault. I can't even dislike hate her. She has sacrificed too much for me."

"What did she say, exactly?" Silas cajoled, patting your head the way you had done to him numerous of times before — "what did she say that made you so upset?"

"I'm too embarrassed to say it," you mumbled, "and I don't want to have to relive that moment."Oh, but Silas — trust me. It was terrible!" You cried out, "I wanted to shrivel up and die at that moment. It was like a reality check for me. I kept clinging onto the hope that we would be close again, but clearly, it wasn't possible."

Maybe your mother had seen your naive hopes and had grown resentful of them. Maybe —

There were so many maybes and yet no answer. You felt devastated beyond belief. Had you looked like a fool this whole time pathetically trailing after your parents, begging them like a dog for a perfect family? Had you irritated them to the point your existence became a fatal flaw in their lives? Did your mother have a knife deep in her heart where love had been previously?

"I don't know anymore, Silas," you sobbed. "I'm sorry that I'm crying and bringing the mood down. I know you were happy just now, and now I'm making you upset because negativity is contagious and —"

"Shh," Silas said softly, feeling oddly disturbed at seeing you so destroyed. You had always been such a cheerful and sweet person. And yet now you were weeping buckets of tears. "It's okay, Y/n."

"Maybe I shouldn't have hoped," you whispered. The sentences kept falling off your lips. "Maybe if I kept my expectations low, then..."

"Y/n," Silas interrupted. "Do you know what was the thing that drew me to you besides your laughter and kindness?"

You shook your head feebly.

"It was those very high expectations you held that made you decide to be your friend, " Silas murmured. "Those expectations allowed you to think the best of others and to hope for them."

You saved my life, Silas wanted to say. Yes, it was true. You had lifted him up from murky waters.

"I don't know, Silas," you mumbled. "I...I don't know. Maybe my father was right. Maybe kindness will kill me. But then again, kindness brought you to me. I..." you swallowed. "I'm going to try to get over this. I don't know how, but my mother had always said it was my willingness to never give up that made her love me so. And maybe if I continue to strive —" your voice became cracked, "—then she'll love me again. Maybe if I keep trying harder and harder and harder and maybe if I just become kinder and sweeter and more lovable — people will love me."

Silent listened to your torrent of words. He didn't want you to be sweeter and kinder and more loveable — that would mean you would start to make more friends. That would mean you would start to divert your attention from him to others.

"I like the way you are now," Silas quickly told you. "Don't change, Y/n."

"But —"

"You have me. Why do you need others? You're the only one I have. So can't I be the only one you have?" Silas reasoned with you as you continued to dry your tears, your sobs dissolving into hiccups. "It's like what you said. It's two of us against the world." His eyes flashed with a glimmer of desperation that you didn't catch.

In hindsight, you were in despair and feeling hopelessly lonely.

"Then I won't change," you told him. "I won't, Silas. I'll make up with my mom somehow. I..." you trailed off as Silas flicked your head lightly.

"Don't worry too much." Silas parroted the words you told him often, "you're a child like me. So you shouldn't carry the burdens of adults. You'll make up with your mom. I just know it."

Hearing his words, you felt much better. You sat up and encased him into a tight hug, burying your face into his shoulder. Your voice was muffled as you replied, "thanks, Silas. I really appreciate this a lot."

Perhaps Silas was right. Things would flow naturally and your mother would find her place with you once more. And in the meantime, you would act like your usual self.

You had Silas. Everything was going to be okay.

"I don't know what I would do without you," you murmured.

"I don't know what I would do without you either."

And that was how you lived through your first big problem. And from that particular problem, sprouted a mutual dependency that would turn twisted in the future.

—

no Elias appearances, he's off finding daffodils :]

anyways the angst could've been written better but again I'm in a weird headspace soooooo I'm sorry guys next chapter will be better trust

hope everyone liked it! remember to add this fic to your library and thank you all so much for the support so far! it's truly amazing and surreal

how was it?