Kysis liked busying himself, even if it was getting their coffee ready. Keeping his hands busy kept his mind busy, thoughts not allowed to wonder, to trail about. He offered her the coffee hesitantly, not wanting to part with something that kept his mind off other subjects. However, hearing the front door open immediately took that hesitance and tucked it away for later, knowing there would be something he could help with in a matter of moments. Kysis hurried immediately to help Alex with the pot, aiding in the lifting of it up over the fire. He also did whatever Matthew said was needed perhaps jumping too quickly to do it, talking too little.
Once they had finally sit down for their meal, Kysis was more relaxed, focusing on eating, on trying to ignore the death ravaging through the room not too far away. The question posed made him pause, spoon hovering in the steam laden air above the broth. He stared with dark eyes down into his own reflection, noticing how much hell he really looked like. It was a lot of strain, just having himself and Rico to do all work around the manor, and run the shop, and take care of Alia. All the guards were doing (other than Alex) was guarding, as they were expected to. They did not do anything else, nor were they paid to, so the brunt of everything fell on Kysis and Rico (which Kysis was not exactly approving of. He wanted to rely on Rico less, until he was no longer even needed, and Rico knew it).
Speaking of Rico, he had apparently entered silently through the office just before the question, standing paralyzed in the door, staring at Kysis, waiting without breathing for the answer. Kysis did not notice him, back faced towards him from where he was seated. It was Kysis’ decision anyway. He did not need to see the fear painted on Rico’s face, did not need any pity tainting the decision over what was needed.
And it really was.
“Now that you suggest it, that would probably be best. We have been so busy in this whirlwind that we’ve been unable to even take care of ourselves…” Kysis sighed, dipping his spoon into the bowl, stirring it around a little but not eating any as he brooded over it. “If you are willing, we would gladly except any help we can get in that manner. As you have probably seen, our kitchen is rather barren and we are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”
There was a little more silence following that. Anyone who looked at Alex could tell he was trying his hardest to figure out what everyone was saying, nose a little wrinkled, eyes narrowed on the broth. His English was not yet good enough to catch the metaphors Kysis used, or a lot of what he was saying even. Alex kept trying though. Rico made a move though, coming to stand at Kysis left, leaning over with his hands planted firmly on the table, eyes determined. It was obvious from the strain in his voice that he was fighting to keep all emotion out of his voice in this, though an amount of hurt still tainted his every word.
“What about me? Yes, I have to care for Alia, but this is completely undermining my purpose here. You won’t let me help with the shop, you hate my singing voice, you won’t take my advice, and now you are giving away my position as cook? What, are you going to send me back to Greece next?!”
Kysis swallowed back the snappy comment he was going to fire right back, closing his eyes, jaw kept taut. Yes. As soon as Alia dies, I was going to send you back to Greece. You aren’t welcome here. Ever. Of course, these sentiments were only thought, not spoken. If he had spoken them allowed, Rico would have rushed into Alia’s room crying, and then there would be hell to pay, because Alia would be awakened, hear Rico’s side of the story, then use the last of her strength to scream up a storm about why Kysis should not abandon Rico after all they had shared and done together, going into more graphic detail that he was comfortable with anyone knowing, especially not the guards and Matthew.
This was a precarious position, and Kysis did not want to answer quite yet.