Chapter Text
it falls into place now, when wriothesley reflects on it.
one, neuvillette’s muted scent, with a trace of sweetness that of a romaritime flower. two, neuvillette’s indifference to any spike in scents. three, neuvillette’s silent refusal of his courting offers, both bold and subtle.
it’s all because –
“vautrin – he was your mate, wasn’t he,” wriothesley says.
the silence in the office is deafening. neuvillette hasn’t moved from his spot, bathed in the weak moonlight as he stares out the high window where it overlooks the magnificent view of the court of fontaine. the mahogany desk between them creates a huge gap, an obstacle that seems to keep neuvillette out of his reach. the tea and cookies prepared by sedene for their meeting break have turned cold among the files and documents on the desk. from the corner of his eye, wriothesley reads a snippet of his case stacked on books.
wriothesley wonders if neuvillette browsed them out for the investigation.
then, “how,” neuvillette says, almost quietly, more of an affirmation than a question.
wriothesley hums thoughtfully, unsure how to press on the subject. then he says, “your scent – it spiked when i spoke of vautrin at meropide earlier. not that it was obvious. sigewinne and the traveller didn’t pick up on it. i believe… that was in your best interest, yes?”
an impressed huff slips past neuvillette’s lips, just a small breath, “your sharp nose; it’s impressive even for an alpha. it must be a blessing from your constellation.”
“you flatter me,” wriothesley rubs his nose sheepishly.
“now that you possess this information, what would you do?”
“i would never abuse this information, for one. my lips are zipped forever. but first and foremost, i would like to apologise for crossing the line with those courting attempts,” wriothesley offers sincerely. “i should know better than to pursue a grieving mate.”
“it has been 400 years already,” neuvillette sighs heavily, a hand on his forehead, like he’s ashamed of it, and oh no, wriothesley isn’t having it.
“you lost a mate. you were forced to send your own mate to exile in the name of justice. for 400 years, you thought your mate hated you,” wriothesley admonishes, arms folded over his chest, a firm stance so his point gets across.
a beat of silence. then neuvillette curls his arms around himself. around his stomach, specifically. “ah, yes. the losses. my losses…” when he speaks, his voice is so small, almost inaudible. vulnerable.
…wait.
right then, right there, realisation sinks slowly in wriothesley, like a blotch of ink dissolves into water. blood drains from his face. then comes a lump in his throat, swelling like a balloon as his brain processes what lies between the lines, assaulted by guilt, regret and pain – so much pain because this man, the embodiment of justice in fontaine, has lost both of his –
his body moves on its own accord. before he registers everything, wriothesley has taken neuvillette’s hand into his own.
the surprise look on neuvillette’s face snaps him out of his stupor, and wriothesley struggles to find words. “i – uh, this – ”
neuvillette awaits for his next word, with an intrigued expression.
“this – ” wriothesley decides at last, carefully, hesitantly letting go of neuvillette’s hand, “i’m sorry for your losses. i didn’t know – i mean, yeah, i figured that vautrin was your mate, but i didn’t know about that – wait, that sounds so inappropriate. uh, about your child, stillborn, this, okay, uhm – i’m sorry, neuvillette, i’m really not good at this.”
the small smile on neuvillette’s face looks wrong, looks painful, as though it serves to reassure wriothesley instead of himself. “no, it is quite alright. it happened a long time ago. too long, in fact.”
“no, it’s not alright, neuvillette. you lost your family, and you kept – you had to keep everything to yourself. it’s not alright. it shouldn’t have happened to you. it shouldn’t have.”
“but it happened, wriothesley, it happened 400 years ago.”
“and that was unfair! that was – ” wriothesley stops himself, swallows his frustration down, because no, he has no right to get worked up over this. instead, he searches into neuvillette’s eyes, recalls the slight tremor in neuvillette’s voice when he spoke of his losses, recalls neuvillette’s smile when he reassured him, brittle and vulnerable and painful.
all happened briefly.
right.
“neuvillette, listen. you could’ve had it all. you could’ve had a perfect little family. no, you already loved them. you could’ve loved them more, but they were taken away from you far too early – both your mate and your child, basically your entire family, that’s fucked up, that’s – ”
words lump in his throat. wriothesley swallows them down thickly, painfully.
“you couldn’t even watch them grow old, neuvillette, and the thought of it, it’s – ” wriothesley pauses, “upsetting.”
a long staring. for a long, breathless moment, neuvillette stares at wriothesley. no words, no response. just a long staring. but then –
neuvillette’s breath stutters audibly. he stares at his gloved hands, watches them curl into fists, then brings them to his face and doesn’t utter a word. for a quiet, nerve-breaking moment, wriothesley is worried if he’s crossed the line. while he understands social cues, neuvillette is a mystery he has yet deciphered. he doesn’t even know how to react in this situation, unfamiliar with this kind of interaction.
ah, maybe he should –
neuvillette lifts his head, only to have a smile adorned his face. small but genuine. the one that shows relief. peace.
almost cathartic.
“you are a good person, wriothesley,” neuvillette says, genuinely, a bare whisper, only meant for wriothesley’s ear.
you see, wriothesley adores neuvillette, not simply because of his secondary gender. he’s entranced by his unwavering justice, he’s charmed by his sturdy presence, felt across the land of fontaine, he’s mesmerised by his humbleness. and yet wriothesley wishes to respect neuvillette’s grief, respect neuvillette’s space, hence his offer to not pursue him further.
even so, faced with that gentle smile, faced with that profound strength, how can wriothesley not fall in love deeper and deeper with him.
“and for that,” neuvillette continues, “thank you, wriothesley.”
“it was nothing,” wriothesley coughs, flustered, cheeks dusted in pink. he crosses his arms over his chest, “i talked too much. i need at least three cups of tea just to soothe my throat.”
“well, then, shall i offer you more tea? does honey lemon tea sound good? it’s good for your throat,” neuvillette suggests.
wriothesley checks the sky through the high window. it’s dark out. a glance at the grandfather clock in neuvillette’s office reads a quarter before night. he shakes his head, “it’s alright. i should be heading home, i wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“i insist.”
“oh?”
pivoting on his heels, neuvillette is headed for the door. wriothesley thinks neuvillette prefers not to offer an answer when he pauses at the doorway, gloved hand on the handle. he says, “your presence somehow… gives me peace.”
oh , indeed.