As I enter the mansion, Slyvestor always ran toward me in the distance. He welcomed me and came out before the butler, but this time he wasn't at the entrance.
When I opened the door and entered the playroom, Slyvestor who was sitting neatly on a soft mat, called me. I moved my head and looked at Slyvestor.
"Hi, Slyvestor. Did you eat?"
"What about Irene?"
But Slyvestor returned a question to my question.
"I've eaten."
Slyvestor reached out his hands toward me, holding my hand asking for a hug.
Ah, you're so cute.
I couldn't let him go.
No matter how cute kids are, Slyvestor looks exceptionally cute.
Now Slyvestor was too young to see others as the opposite sex. So, from now on, he should try to fall for Dioleta.
When I answered honestly that I had lunch, he said with a bright smile.
"Then I've eaten, too!"
Then Slyvestor opened his eyes wide as if he was asking why. Then he smiled softly and blushed his cheeks.
"What's with that? Sure. You haven't eaten yet, have you?"
"Well..."
Realizing that his lie had been found out, Slyvestor made a pained sound. I turned my head and looked at the butler next to me.
"......The young master hasn't eaten yet?"
The butler replied after much consideration. At the butler's confession, Slyvestor smiled embarrassedly.
"Why are you lying?"
"Ha, but...... Irene had a meal."
"It doesn't matter."
In his hand was the bread the servant had brought.
Slyvestor, who held it in both hands, took a bite while babbling.
The shape of his small mouth remained on the bread.
I thought it would take him a long time to finish eating. I wiped his face with a handkerchief. Cute. I couldn't help but smile.
Holding the bread Slyvestor was eating in one hand, he grabbed my hand with his remaining one. The crumbs on his hand stuck to my finger.
"Alright. Finish eating."
"Yes!"
"Let's sleep together... We slept together earlier....... I'm scared to sleep alone......."
"Let's sleep together."
"Really?"
Sylvester face lit up.
"It's itchy..."
It was the first thing Slyvestor said in the morning. He grumbled, scratching his palm.
I also scratched. I knew it was my fault for not letting go of his hand, to some extent.
