The House Needs Color

Elias woke up to sunlight slipping through the heavy curtains and the quiet hum of a house that still did not feel real.

For a moment he lay still, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. The bed was too large. The sheets were too expensive. The silence was too complete. Then the events of the previous night returned in a rush:gunshots, broken glass, the car ride, and Raphael Blackwell’s cold voice telling him this was containment, not hospitality.

Elias exhaled and sat up.

He had never been good at staying still when his mind was restless. After washing up and changing into the plain clothes that had been left for him, he wandered downstairs in search of something familiar. The smell of coffee eventually led him to the kitchen.

He expected it to be empty.

Instead he found two maids already at work, one arranging fruit on a plate and the other checking something in the oven. Both women looked up when he appeared in the doorway. Their expressions shifted quickly from surprise to polite caution.

Elias smiled the way he always did when he wanted people to relax.

“Good morning,” he said. “I know I’m not supposed to wander, but the room was too quiet and I followed the coffee. I can leave if I’m in the way. Or I can help. I’m actually decent at breakfast things. I make eggs that don’t taste like sadness.”

The younger of the two maids blinked. The older one studied him for a second longer before the corner of her mouth twitched.

“You’re the young master the Don sent,” she said carefully.

“Elias is fine. ‘Young master’ makes me feel like I should be wearing a cape or something.” He stepped further into the kitchen, already glancing at the ingredients on the counter. “Do you mind if I join? I promise I won’t burn the house down. Probably.”

What started as polite distance lasted less than ten minutes.

Elias had always been good at softening rooms. He asked their names, complimented the way the older maid chopped vegetables, and somehow ended up at the stove with a pan in hand while both women laughed at a story he told about a customer who once tried to return a book because the ending made her cry too hard. By the time the eggs were nearly done, the kitchen was warmer than it had probably been in a long time. One of the maids was giggling behind her hand. The other shook her head but did not tell him to stop.

That was the sound Raphael heard when he came downstairs.

He paused at the bottom of the steps, listening. Soft laughter. The clatter of a pan. A bright voice talking too much and too easily. For a moment something in his expression tightened. Then he walked toward the kitchen.

The scene that met him was simple and completely out of place in his house.

Elias stood at the stove in borrowed clothes, sleeves pushed up, hair still slightly messy from sleep. He was laughing at something one of the maids had said, spatula in hand, looking for all the world like he belonged there. The two women were smiling in a way Raphael rarely saw inside these walls.

The laughter died the moment they noticed him.

Elias turned, still holding the spatula, and brightened instead of freezing.

“Oh. Good morning,” he said. “You’re just in time. I made eggs. And toast that isn’t burnt. Mostly. The maids helped. Well, they supervised. I talk too much when I cook. Do you want some? There’s enough.”

Raphael’s gaze moved from Elias to the maids, then back again. His voice was calm and cool.

“You were told not to wander.”

“I didn’t go far,” Elias replied easily. “Kitchen is still inside the house. That counts as obeying, right? Also, I was hungry. And the room upstairs is very quiet. Quiet makes me want to find noise.”

One of the maids quickly set a plate down and stepped back. Raphael did not look at her. He looked at Elias for another long second, then turned away.

“Eat in the dining room.”

Elias watched him leave, then glanced at the maids with a small, conspiratorial smile.

“He’s always like that, isn’t he?”

The older maid only gave a careful shrug, but her eyes said enough.

Breakfast was already arranged when Elias carried the plate of eggs into the dining room. Raphael sat at the head of the long table, a cup of black coffee in front of him, posture as straight as it had been the night before. The table was large enough for ten people. Only two places had been set.

Elias sat down across from him without waiting to be told. He pushed the plate slightly forward.

“I made these. You should try them. They’re not fancy, but they’re good. I added a little cheese. Do you like cheese? You look like someone who might not like cheese. Or maybe you do. Hard to tell with you.”

Raphael picked up his fork and took a bite. He chewed once.

“Hmm.”

Elias leaned forward a little. “Is that a good hmm or a bad hmm? Because there are different kinds of hmm. There’s the ‘this is acceptable’ hmm and the ‘I regret every decision that led me here’ hmm. Which one was that?”

“Hmm.”

Elias stared at him, then let out a short laugh. “You’re really committed to the one-word answers, huh? All right. Let’s try something else.” He took a bite of his own food, chewed thoughtfully, then pointed his fork lightly in Raphael’s direction. “Do you always wear black? I’ve only seen you in black. Coat was black. Shirt looks black. Even the coffee is black. Is color banned in this house?”

Raphael did not look up from his plate.

“Hmm.”

“What about music? Do you listen to music? Or is it just silence and footsteps all day?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you ever take days off?”

“Hmm.”

Elias set his fork down and rested his chin in his hand, studying the man across from him with open curiosity. The longer the quiet answers continued, the more something restless stirred in him.

“This house is sad,” he said suddenly.

That made Raphael look up.

Elias gestured around the dining room,the dark wood, the heavy curtains, the absence of anything soft or bright. “It’s all black and gray and serious. Where is the color? Where is the pink? The blue? The flowers? It feels like no one is allowed to be happy in here. Even the air feels like it’s standing at attention.”

Raphael’s eyes rested on him for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was still even, but there was a faint edge beneath it.

“Are you truly an Alpha?”

Elias blinked, then smiled, unbothered. “Just because I’m an Alpha doesn’t mean I can’t like color. Or flowers. Or houses that don’t look like they’re preparing for a funeral. Who decided Alphas only get to enjoy dark things and scowling? That’s boring.”

Raphael did not answer.

He set his napkin down, rose from the table, and turned to leave without another word.

Elias watched him go for half a second before raising his voice after him.

“Get me flowers!” he called. “This place needs life! At least one vase! I’m serious!”

The only reply was the sound of footsteps moving away down the hall.

The maids appeared in the doorway not long after Raphael was gone, drawn by the raised voice. Elias slumped back in his chair and looked at them with exaggerated despair.

“Where is he so dead?” he asked. “I asked for flowers and he looked at me like I requested a weapon. Does he hate pretty things? Is that a rule here?”

The younger maid pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to smile. The older one answered first.

“Maybe he needs flowers.”

Elias tilted his head. “Like an Omega?”

The younger maid’s eyes lit with quiet mischief. “Or an Alpha.”

Elias laughed and shook his head. “Silly you. He is an Alpha.” He said it with complete certainty, as if the matter was obvious. “A very serious, very quiet, very black wearing Alpha. But still an Alpha.”

The older maid gave a small shrug, her tone light. “We are in the twenty first century. Alpha now marries Alpha. Stranger things have happened.”

Elias grinned at that, completely oblivious to the undercurrent in her words. “Well, if he marries anyone, I hope they force some color into this house first. It’s a crime to live somewhere this gloomy.”

The maids exchanged a brief glance, then returned to their work with faintly amused expressions.

Later that afternoon, the front door opened to a series of deliveries Elias had not expected.

Vases arrived first. Then boxes. Then more boxes. By the time Elias came downstairs again after being called, the entrance hall held an almost ridiculous variety of flowers,soft white roses, pale blue hydrangeas, bright yellow tulips, delicate pink peonies, and several leafy green plants still in their pots. A few of the security staff stood off to the side looking deeply uncertain about the entire situation.

Elias stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared.

One of the maids approached with a carefully neutral face. “Mr. Blackwell ordered them. He said they were for you. To decorate. And… to start a garden if you wished.”

Elias’s smile started slow and then spread, warm and genuine.

He walked forward and touched the edge of one of the peony petals carefully, as if it might disappear if he moved too fast. For a moment the large, dark house felt a little less heavy.

“He actually did it,” Elias murmured, mostly to himself. Then he looked up at the nearest maid, eyes bright. “We’re going to make this place less sad. Starting today.”

Somewhere deeper in the house, behind a closed door, Raphael sat at his desk with reports he was no longer reading.

He told himself the flowers were a practical decision. Something to keep the Don’s son occupied and less likely to cause trouble.

He did not examine the fact that he had personally selected the list.

Nor did he examine the faint, unfamiliar warmth that had settled under his ribs when he heard Elias’s voice calling after him for life.