Work Text:
Thorn sat in his office scribbling furiously on the documents laid out below him.
Absentmindedly, he traced one hand over the ink stain on his wooden desk, left by Ophelia’s clumsiness, as he continued to mark large slashes through financial proposals with the other.
He had formed quite an irregular attachment to her. Thorn had always kept everyone at a distance. His feelings about nearly everyone ranged from disgust to indifference. The only person he let get anywhere near him was Berenilde. She was insufferable at times, with her constant prattling over Farouk, yet she didn’t consistently make attempts on his life. That was something.
Thorn signed his name in one fluid flourish of his pen, slammed the file closed, and stamped it roughly with his seal. 456 more to go.
Ophelia however…she was different. Unpredictable. She took every one of his carefully calculated predictions and smashed them into pieces.
Sign. Slam. Stamp. 455.
He had even begun to hope her perpetual clumsiness would give him a chance to gather her into his arms if only to prevent her from whatever fall was inevitably coming her way. To be helpful of course. No other reason.
Sign. Slam. Stamp. 454.
That was another thing. Thorn felt strangely electrified every time she was near. Just one look from Ophelia would leave his skin buzzing and uncomfortably warm. He had been in the presence of many women before in various states of dress thanks to Archibald, but no one ever turned his head. He thought of loving and being loved as something never truly meant for him. He had accepted this fact and had no desire to change it. Until she appeared. Sopping wet from the Anima rainstorm pushed against him like an unwanted kitten. The runt of the litter.
Sign. Slam. Stamp. 453.
She looked beautiful even then. Thorn could still remember the shock of it all. Her dark, wet curls. The carefully restrained anger radiating off of her small frame. He tried to shake the vision of her wet dress clinging closely to her body, revealing her curves. He committed it to his memory almost immediately just like everything else in his life. However, that particular image popped into his mind unprompted more often than he would care to admit.
Sign. Slam. Stamp. 452.
He struggled with his desire at first, refusing to give it a name. How could she, the tiny and angry reader from Anima, stoke such a fire within him? A fire that he was so confident would never be lit? Ophelia, the breaker of odds. His very own mathematical marvel.
Sign.
Slam.
Stamp.
451.
Thorn yawned.
His eyelids began to droop and the words on the paper started to swirl.
He knew this would happen eventually. It had been 87 hours since he last slept.
He didn’t have time to sleep. The bills must follow a meticulous pattern of organization that only he could control.
Thorn shook his limbs in a futile attempt to ward off the sudden drowsiness.
Fine. He would rest, but just for a moment. Leaning back in his chair, Thorn stretched out his legs beneath him and shut his eyes.
Hazy visions filled his mind. Dark Curls. Pink-tinted glasses. Soft gloves. Satin skin.
She appeared on her knees, sitting quietly between his thighs.
“Thorn…Thorn,” He could practically hear her calling out his name below him. He whispered her name back to her over and over. “Ophelia, yes, my Ophelia,”
“THORN!”
His eyes snapped open, while he jumped up from the desk fast as lighting. His hand gripping his pistol, he looked around wildly.
There she was, the object of his dream, directly in front of him. Ophelia stood in the middle of his office. He lowered the pistol immediately. She was disheveled, in nothing but her shift, with her curls falling haphazardly across her rosy cheeks.
Her eyes darted down to the straining in his trousers. Thorn hastily snatched a file from his desk and carefully covered himself. His pale face flooded with what little blood was left in his body.
He cleared his throat.
“Good evening,” he croaked, while cringing at the hoarse tone ringing through his voice.
“I- I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, suddenly taking an interest in her bare feet.
“The noise at Baths Road was overwhelming and well, I fear if I don’t get enough sleep eventually, I will collapse during service and ruin our entire plot,” she continued. The words tumbled out of her like heavy raindrops.
Thorn remained silent. A mixture of embarrassment and astonishment still coursed through his veins at the sight of her confessing in front of him. In nothing but her shift.
“Well, I figured…” she hesitated. “Well, I don’t know what I figured. I’m sorry, I’ll return to my room at once.”
Ophelia rushed towards the wardrobe mirror.
“No.” Thorn’s booming voice finally made an appearance.
She turned back at him shock covering her face.
“What I mean is, you can stay.” He continued, while his hands shook at his sides, “You can sleep on the sofa.”
“You’ll be safe here,” he added quickly.
“I do feel rather safer when you’re around,” she admitted. The candor making her cheeks an even rosier pink.
Thorn swallowed and motioned to the threadbare sofa.
Ophelia fiddled with her sleeve. “Are you sure it’s alright? People might consider it improper for an engaged couple to be alone like this.”
I don’t give a fuck about impropriety.
Thorn clenched his jaw and looked past her shoulder. “No one has to know,” he finally replied.
Pushing back her curls, she let out a shaky breath. “I’ll just,” she paused. “I’ll just take the sofa then.”
Thorn stared at her with almost brutal intensity as her small figure curl up into the couch.
Ophelia yawned and fought against her shutting eyes. He quietly removed his jacket and gently placed it over her sleeping form.
He stood there for a moment, studying the way her chest rose and fell with each new breath. Thorn fought a smile as one of her unruly curls slipped out of her bun and across her face.
She has no idea just how beautiful she is.
He started to walk away but froze when a gloved hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.
“Please don’t go,” she muttered, frantically searching his eyes for any anger or annoyance.
She wants me to stay? I’ll stay. I'll stay all night. I’ll stay forever.
He walked to his desk, picked up a chair, and promptly dropped it centimeters from the couch.
Her face relaxed, seemingly satisfied, and she shut her eyes once more.
“Goodnight, Thorn.”
“Goodnight.” Ophelia.