Zayden was sleeping soundly on the bed. Ren had carried him there, laying him down with ease. Afterward, he called a few maids to clean the room—the scattered bottles, the untouched plates of food, the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. He didn't like it, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to be angry with Zayden.
Lately, his patience toward him had grown… quite unusual. He no longer found his reckless words or careless habits bothersome. In fact, sometimes, he found his words endearing. It unsettled him more than the mess ever could.
Ren paced slowly around the room, his gaze wandering. He knew every inch of Zayden's quarters in the mansion, yet his chamber in the palace still felt foreign. It bore none of the warmth or traces of the people Zayden had spoken of so fondly.
No keepsakes.
No portraits.
Nothing that spoke of the two friends who had shaped him into the broken man Ren saw tonight. He had never seen him so fragile like this.
