“R-Really…?”

Arman awkwardly turned his head away, trying to hide his uncertain gaze behind his bangs. As for Evelia—she naturally paid it no mind. Her only goal was to help him relax, so she focused entirely on lulling him to sleep.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll switch,” Evelia said, pulling out a classic fluffy stick. Unlike the feather duster—just a casual sweep—the fluffy stick demanded finesse. Evelia learned fast, yes. Assassination, arson, slit throats? Easy. Anything requiring gentleness? Zero experience.

“Hmm…”

She held the stick in one hand, the manual in the other. Glanced at the diagram. Glanced at Arman’s ear. *Pop*—thrust it right in.

“Ah—crap…!”

The moment the tip entered, Arman let out a pained cry.

Evelia treated it like a recipe: stick as spoon, ear as pot. Stirring slow circles. His cries alone screamed how much it hurt.

“Eve… Eve—Evelia…!!”

Deep in study of this so-called “ear cleaning,” she only stopped when Arman gripped her wrist. Noticing her chest blocked his face, she shifted deliberately.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Arman?”

“How can you ask?! Were you trying to kill me? You nearly pierced my eardrum!”

“…”

Her golden eyes blinked. *I did plan to kill you.*

“My deepest apologies, Mr. Arman.”

*Just not today.*

“…Hah…”

Facing her expressionless yet seemingly sincere apology, Arman chose not to press it. He tried to sit up—her hand pressed him back down.

“Mr. Arman, we’re not done.”

“Not done?!” His voice pitched in panic, pinned to her lap. “What now?!”

“Sorry for hurting you.”

“That sounds… off. Ugh, whatever. I can still hear, right?”

“But your ear’s redder.”

“Yeah… ’cause you poked it.”

“I see…”

She patted his shoulder gently. But the sharp sting kept him wide awake—no room left to enjoy her lap pillow.

*Huu…*

*…!*

Pain faded beneath something else.

*Huu… Mr. Arman… Still hurting…?*

Evelia hovered by his ear, warm breath drifting in.

“E-Eve…!”

*Huu… So red… Must hurt… Huu… Let me blow on it…*

Her whisper, throat-tightened, sounded oddly sweet. The rustle of her lips, the closeness of her breath—Arman’s heartbeat skipped. Lips pressed tight, brow furrowed, fist clenched.

*Huu… Not better yet… Your ear… still like this…*

Her voice drew nearer. Breath warmer. Pages *rustled* in her manual. Lips inched closer.

“Mr. Arman… Mmm…”

A light kiss brushed his ear.

“Mr. Arman… Mmm… Better now…?”

“E-Eve… what… are you doing?”

The kiss made him shudder. Shameful as it was—the second her lips touched him, his breath vanished.

She’d meant to calm his insomnia. But following the manual’s “Special Sleep Aid: Quick Way to Deepen Bonds” backfired. He grew *more* alert.

“I only wanted you to relax… Mr. Arman…”

“Don’t… Eve, this isn’t relaxing—”

“Please don’t move, Mr. Arman.”

Not the first time he tried to rise. Not the first time she held him down. Stubborn Evelia never quit halfway. She leaned forward—soft pressure settled firmly against him.

“Eve…!”

Heavy weight on his arm. Instinct to block—met with tantalizing friction through thin fabric. Every detail clear.

Evelia followed his gaze, nodded.

“Yes. Last time, you disliked my… accessories. So today, to keep you from disliking me… I left them off.”

“Wh-What?”

“Top and bottom, Mr. Arman. Nothing on.”

“?!”

Just maid dress. White thigh-highs.

Arman recalled resting his head on her lap—skull brushing her lower belly. *What had cushioned him then…?*

His brain short-circuited.

“Ah, Mr. Arman—problem.”

“…Huh? Wh-What?”

Voice trembling, fragmented from overload.

“Your ear has my lip balm on it. No wonder it stayed red.”

Anna’s gift—just for chapped lips, barely tinted. But Evelia’s uniquely logical mind landed here. Sounded sarcastic. She meant it.

“Eh? M-Me? It’s fine…”

“Let me fix it.”

Recalling the manual’s final “Special Sleep Aid,” she lowered her head. Tongue traced the stubborn red mark.

“…!”

Silent scream. Her tongue circled his ear—mind went numb. Forgot to resist.

Nibbled his earlobe. Tongue outlined the shape. Deeper. Took the whole ear gently into her mouth.

Sticky squelches filled his ear—like brain being gnawed. *Squelch… hum…* Her soft exhales vibrated through him. Seconds stretched into mental void.

“Eve… please… stop…”

He jolted upright, cutting her off. Sat facing her, one hand raised weakly. Other hand covered his flushed face. Panting. Words gone. Hand drooped.

“Mr. Arman? The aid isn’t finished…”

“You’ve… done enough, Eve.”

*More than enough.*

“So… I’m sleeping now. Could you… leave?”

“Is this… because you’re angry?”

“No… Eve…” He peeked through his fingers. “I’ve never… been angry with you.”

“I’m glad… Mr. Arman.”

“Be safe… Next time… wear them. I… don’t dislike it.”

Evelia paused. As he ducked his head, a faint, genuine smile touched her lips—there, then gone.

“I’m glad you like it, Mr. Arman.”

He didn’t see it.

She quietly packed her tools and manual. Pleased: eased his insomnia, mended things. She’d thank Anna later.

*Click.*

Only then did Arman slump. Hand dropped. Stared at his traitorous, instinctive reaction. Collapsed onto the bed with a thud, face etched in despair.

“Aaah—so annoying—!”