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Dark grey clouds have been sitting over Fontaine for days now, the downpour threatening to strike every minute that passed by. But it hadn't rained just yet.
The crowd gathered in front of Opera Epiclese had been praying to the skies that a thunderstorm wouldn’t wash them away – all tickets inside had been sold out and it was the third day of the same trial. Even though the popularity of the trials was high in Fontaine, it was a rare sight when so many people got interested they waited hours and hours in front of the Opera, only being able to follow the verdict when news left the magnificent building’s gates at the end of the trial day.
And no one knew when this was meant to happen on the last one.
The clock in Court of Fontaine hit eleven in the evening and the gold-embossed doors were still locked. No word had come since the court took an hour-long break after the last round of evidence was presented.
That was nearly twelve hours ago.
Buzzing with excitement of the wait, the crowd gasps and murmurs when the gates open: the defendant leaves with Gardemek guards handling him, handcuffs around his wrists. His expression is full of anger and hatred, his red cheeks a tell-tale sign of the yelling that those close enough to the doors may have even caught before.
After the Maison Gardiennage’s delegates leave with the Fortress of Meropide's newest prisoner, the crowd separates again – like fish before an approaching predator– the Warden of Meropide walks after the convicted and his watchmen.
Duke Wriothesley’s expression is as impassive and cold as ever, people not fully daring to look his way.
The rain began when the gates opened; by the time Wriothesley walks down the stairs of Opera Epiclese, a thunderstorm is raging in its full might, making the crowd quickly scatter.
The convicted opens his mouth to yell more nonsense into the heavy air, but the Duke steps next to him and one look on his face makes him swallow down his thoughts and walk away with the Garde in silence.
-
It takes a long time for Wriothesley to get everything handled regarding their new prisoner: the man is the head of one of the wealthiest families in the whole of Fontaine and he earned a position even in the line of ministers last year. Now, it is all past tense.
Monsieur Lefebvre had built his family’s name and wealth upon his family’s old traditions of iron smithing – the changes started when meka appeared in the line of smithwork. Their job losing its value pushed his family into poverty and despair until Monsieur Lefebvre pulled away from tradition and tried his luck with fine ornament and jewellery making.
Centuries of experience didn’t disappear in a single night - it simply transformed, earning the name Lefebvre a new status in the land of Fontaine. With this new, less physical approach, he could employ his wife and three daughters too, who before made handiwork. Today in Fontaine, hardly any high-ranked lady has not yet worn an ornament made by the Lefebvre family.
The sheer thought of human stupidity made Wriothesley want to punch a wall of his office when he had learnt about the case from a handwritten letter by the Chief Justice detailing why his presence had been requested for the trial. The litigation concerning Monsieur Lefebvre had to be carried out under the eyes of the highest-ranking officers from all law enforcement bodies of Fontaine because of the importance that the outcome carried with itself – hence, Wriothesley was made to sit through three twelve-hour-long trial days in the Opera Epiclese.
One would think that a man who has saved his family’s name and made a fortune would be an exemplary citizen by all means. Lefebvre had made the headlines of the Steambird a few times with his donations to common causes, also with his designs that even found some popularity in foreign lands. Yet…
He was tried for tax evasion. At least at first.
It could have been a brief, hour-long court session with the evidence that has seen the sunlight. Monsieur Lefebvre could have been fined, sentenced to some community service time, and maybe a week in Meropide in the worst case. Yet despite all the evidence, he pleaded not guilty and denied it all, hence his marathon of trial started instead.
Contrary to the audience’s first beliefs, Lefebvre managed to pull out so many counter-evidence and witnesses that his trial almost came to a full conclusion at the end of the second day, and he was nearly proven innocent. It all seemed that there had been a huge accounting error that explained every little detail, details confirmed by the witnesses. It all seemed like mismanagement and overlooked details in a big and busy household.
The prosecutor on the Court’s side had run out of questions and handed the case to Chief Justice Neuvillette… Who asked one last thing that blew up everything one more time and the second day of the trial ended with the announcement of a much-needed third one.
Monsieur Lefebvre had forgotten only one little detail, and that was the presence of their household’s maid in many scenes that took part in the allegedly mistakenly made tax frauds. Neuvillette requested to call her to court as she hadn’t made an appearance yet, and he only asked an open question towards the lady – which resulted in her confessing everything. Neuvillette has seen the lady once when he took a visit at the Lefebvre mansion and he couldn’t forget the maiden’s features that looked ever so similar to the accountant’s that Monsieur Lefebvre accused of unintentionally bad bookkeeping, supported with eleven others’ statements.
To the delight of the viewers, the housemaid’s confession turned the whole courtroom upside down, resulting in all previous witnesses coming forward to confess that they were not only offered money but threatened – in the event they decided to not cooperate. Even after all that, it took hours for Monsieur Lefebvre to confess.
As the Chief Justice summarised the case and handed it to the Oratrice, Lefebvre pulled up to the railings on the defendant’s side and started yelling towards him:
“Is this the justice that you are so fond of?! Going out of your way to send someone to prison, someone who has made a profit for this land?! Someone who paid for charity cases?! I gave to the poor where I knew they were the ones receiving it and it wasn’t used up to give yourself another one of your fancy suits! You made sure to doom an emerging branch of craft that could give people new jobs! You, who have NEVER worked hard in your life, oh-so-called CHIEF Justice! You have no idea what it is to live in poverty, to be uncertain of your whole fate and of those that you care about! Have you ever cared about anyone?! All that ever concerns you is the rigid, emotionless laws and the non-existent order that allows people to starve in the sewers or die after they get sick from the cold waters down there. You DO NOT DESERVE to be called “Chief Justice”, you’ve done nothing for Fontaine except sitting there high up and giving commands,” Lefebvre shouts mockingly. “Resign from your throne, Monsieur Neuvillette.” He spat the last words out, snake-like and twisted, toward the seat before the Oratrice.
Every pair of eyes in the hall turned to watch the Chief Justice’s expressionless face as he pulled out the Oratrice’s final statement.
“I believe nothing relevant to the verdict of this case has been stated. As the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale presents…,” he looked down at his hands. “The defendant is proven guilty.”
His authoritative words met silence in the courtroom, even from Lefebvre, who seemed to choke on his unsaid thoughts.
“The sentence for tax fraud, threatening eleven lives with murder, and lying to the Law Enforcement Bodies of Fontaine is forty years of prison time.” Neuvillette announced in an even voice. “The trial of those who perjured during their statements will be held in the following days here, in Opera Epiclese. The court is adjourned.”
“THIS IS THE JUSTICE IN FONTAINE! NOTHING BUT DRAMA TO FEED YOUR MACHINES THAT ONLY BRING MORE AUTHORITY TO YOU! YOU BETRAYED THIS LAND, NEU–” Monsieur Lefebvre shouted from the depth of his lungs until a pair of strong hands silenced him with a well-managed pull of his arms, his wrists being cuffed while doing so.
Wriothesley looked Neuvillette’s way briefly, before he turned his new prisoner a hundred-eighty and pushed him towards the Garde’s Mekas.
-
The Duke returns to his office but he feels too restless to even sit down despite the late hour and the little sleep he got in the days before. His otherwise tidy desk has an enormous stack of paper on it; work that he hasn’t had the chance to complete due to his requested attendance at the trials.
He finds a note with simple but neat handwriting: it’s from Sigewinne. The corners of Wriothesley’s mouth turn upwards as he reads through the summarising report of the events in Meropide from the past days. He makes a mental note to thank Sigewinne with the special tea he got for her a while ago – he just hasn’t found a proper occasion yet to give the present to her. Even if he had to attend the trials to represent the Fortress of Meropide, he had to leave the Opera on the first day once for an hour because of emergency matters. He wrote an apology letter that found its way to Neuvillette’s desk that evening. No word came back since that time, but he got an approving nod the next day.
The Duke’s past evenings were spent handling some prisoners and internal matters – this is the only reason why multiple days' paperwork is lying on his desk now. He’s not one to ever slack off with his job and he knows that with some overtime, he can get everything done tomorrow. But as for now…
As he steps to open a drawer in his desk, his shoes make wet noises, his coat hangs heavily on his shoulders and water from his hair slowly drips down to his neck. These all are hard to forget, just like the thunderstorm that washed everyone away at the Opera in a mere minute before he left the surface. He takes out a set of keys from the drawer and then eyes the papers one more time before he heads to the door, not looking back.
-
When Wriothesley comes up to the surface, the thunder is gone. But the rain continues like a waterfall, and by the time he reaches Palais Mermonia – if he wouldn’t have been before – he is soaking wet down to the very last layers of his clothing, the rain making it hard to even have his eyes open and see. He turns a corner and catches a glimpse of the entrance when he notices a familiar, dark blue coat disappearing at the side of the building, opposite from where he is coming.
“Monsieur Chief Justice!” He calls out formally – not that anybody would be present outside at this hour at night, in this heavy rain. Wriothesley hurriedly walks a few steps, seeing that Neuvillette’s form stopped. Despite the noise of the still heavy rain, the other must have heard him, even though the Judge isn’t turning back or making any motions that indicate he is going to.
Wriothesley walks up to him, standing by his side, glancing up at the Iudex. Neuvillette hasn’t spoken or made any signs that he is willing to do so, he’s only looking ahead of himself, standing still. A wet strand of blue-tinted white hair sticks to his cheek on the right side, and the Duke has to stop the instinct to brush it away from the other’s face.
“I came to find you,” Wriothesley starts, breaking the silence. Neuvillette remains stationary, but the Duke continues. “I hoped you’d be in your office,” he continues, his gaze still not leaving the Judge’s face.
“Well, I’m not there, am I?” Neuvillette finally answers, his gaze looking into the dark curtain of rain that blocks the view even from the Court below them, not to mention the faraway sight of the surrounding landscape. His voice is low and apathetic, but not in the way he speaks during trials. He just sounds dead.
“Apparently, no, you’re not.” Wriothesley steps in front of the Iudex so Neuvillette has no choice but to look his way. The Warden wishes deep down that he didn’t have to do this, the other’s unfocused and disturbed gaze makes him feel cold inside.
“No,” Neuvillette repeats very quietly then drops his gaze as if eye contact is something he can’t bear to hold right now.
Wriothesley sighs. He hates the burning desperation inside that crawls up into his stomach, but under the pressuring menace of the thunderstorm, he doesn’t want to waste time. He despises sounding patronising when he’s the one talking to Fontaine’s Honourable Chief Justice… or forcing him without much manner or gentleness to make a choice. But at this moment, he feels like he has no other choice. The thought of Neuvillette leaving into the thick rain and disappearing scares the Duke more than he fully dares to admit even to himself – and this is twisting things inside of his heart.
Calloused fingers touch the Judge’s chin and raise it gently, so he has to glance up at the Duke.
“Neuvi, I worry about you,” he states directly in a kind voice.
Neuvillette’s lower lip trembles and he closes his eyes for a long moment. “You shouldn’t, I’m fine,” he states but he swallows.
“I can see that…” Wriothesley trails off, letting the Judge’s chin go, the edge in his voice present despite his best efforts.
“I will stop the rain soon. I promise.” Impassiveness seems to be the best he can manage, for now.
He waits for more but when nothing else comes, as he has made up his mind before, it’s the voice of the Warden of Meropide that Wriothesley uses when he speaks again:
“I will give you two choices. Three, mind you.” The Duke speaks to the Chief Justice of Fontaine as no one dares. “You can come with me inside – we can agree on the rest there as you wish. Or you can stay outside and go wherever you have been heading to but only if you swear on everything dear to you that this is for your own sake and you need time alone. I can understand that," he pauses. "Or there’s the third: you can lie to me, you can go away alone today, tomorrow, the day after - but then it’s better if we forget about each other in the future. If you’re unwilling to accept help because you convinced yourself too deep down that no one cares enough about your well-being and it troubles others then… Lefebvre may be right in a –”
Neuvillette’s gaze snaps up to meet Wriothesley’s, his vishap-like pupils widening with a hurt expression. The Duke feels like he slapped the Judge in the face and he despises himself for going this way.
“Did you mean that?” The inquiry comes as Neuvillette catches himself again, his expression unreadable, his lilac gaze lowered. Lightning and thunder clash all around Fontaine behind the back of both men.
Wriothesley would like to shake the Judge and beat some sense into him.
But he can’t, he also knows well how a physical fight between the two of them would finish – with his funeral at the end. The thought almost crackles him up but he takes all his self-control and nothing of this shows on his face, it would be unspeakably rude of him.
“The fact that Fontaine’s justice system is running at all – even if some of the laws may be outdated – is only thanks to your work,” the Duke starts with clarity in his tone, his voice clear despite the rumbling of the weather. But Neuvillette so uncharacteristically interrupts him.
“That is simply not true.”
“Oh, you say? When was the last time that you looked through the Garde’s system and all Law Enforcement Bodies?” Neuvillette looks back confused as Wriothesley only asks more questions, frustration leaking into his words. “You may know the system, as without you it wouldn’t exist, but also you may forget how irreplaceable you are. Without your work, the Fontaine we know would fall apart in a week.” Wriothesley states, unwavering, searching for the Iudex’s gaze.
“You’re putting me on a pedestal. Look at what I’ve done again,” Neuvillette points at the sky and sighs as only a man who is bearing way too much.
“It’s not your fault that you are influenced enough by your workload that you lose some of your control. Can’t you see how not giving yourself a break and thinking any help you may get offered is pity… How this is only making it worse? You may be Chief Justice, and people forget it, but so do you…” Wriothesley waits until Neuvillette looks him in the eye. “You tend to ignore that you're also a person with needs.”
Silence settles between them, the rumbling of the thunder getting quieter.
“I wish I could do more,” Neuvillette whispers into the rain.
“You do enough already,” Wriothesley retorts, unwavering.
Heavy rain falls around them, and they stand in silence for what feels like an eternity for the Duke. It’s the Iudex who breaks his gaze away, turning to face the cloudy sky, inhaling slowly and raggedly as water flows down on his face.
Wriothesley gives him space and watches him without daring to disturb him before he eventually breaks Neuvillette's moment with speech.
“Will you come inside with me?” The Duke asks. As no response follows his words, gently, in a foreign tone to him that is reserved only for special words and occasions, he adds, “Please.”
Neuvillette tilts back his head at him and in a tired voice that Wriothesley has never heard from him before agrees with a quiet “Alright.”
It is only after this that the Duke reaches under Neuvillette’s coat to take his hand. The Judge’s icy fingers lock into his own.
For a Cryo vision holder, the cold shouldn’t be new but it’s not his first time getting surprised at how the Judge’s hand can feel as chilled as the rain outside. It feels as if he lacks the energy and will to keep up a near-human body temperature. Even though Wriothesley knows that Neuvillette’s physiology couldn’t be more different than a human’s, the sentiment of this still strikes him.
The storm calms down around them, the thunder disappears and the waterfall-like heavy rain quiets into a slower, more steady downpour. Wriothesley walks close to the Judge so even if somebody would see them, their coats and the rain would make it impossible for anyone to notice how he leads the older man through the heart of the Court. Neuvillette obediently follows him and keeps close to him in silence without any retention. He doesn’t carry his usual cane this time, even if Wriothesley can’t notice anything unaccustomed, he unconsciously walks somewhat slower from his normal pace.
-
When Wriothesley stops by the door of the smaller house that he owns in the Lower Court, Neuvillette almost goes past him, looking lost for a moment before he catches himself. Seeing him this way makes the Duke angry and he has to smother some violent thoughts towards Monsieur Lefebvre, and his uncontrolled and misinformed statements.
“Let me…” the Duke starts as he pulls his hand away from the Judge’s. With the adrenalin gone, he realizes how exhausted and incredibly cold he feels. He cannot tell, but he guesses he spent way more time outside in the unforgiving rain than he initially suspected, which is probably enough to make him sick during the following days.
His cold fingers fumble with the keys but when he manages to open the door and steps inside, even the house’s otherwise cold temperature feels welcoming. And at least it’s not raining inside. Neuvillette follows him without a request.
Wriothesley finds his way to the flip button of the light that hangs over his moderate lobby, the shared space of the kitchenette, and the dining area that is nothing more but a small wooden table with two chairs. After the dark grey atmosphere outside, it’s only now that he sees Neuvillette’s face fully in his current state. It’s hard to notice the dark circles under the Judge’s eyes when he is sitting up on his chair in Opera Epiclese but from an arm’s distance, he looks horrible.
Neuvillette catches him staring but the Judge’s expression quickly changes into worry before any of them can say anything on Neuvillette's form.
“Are you alright?” The Iudex asks sincerely, his weary lilac eyes shadowed with worry.
Wriothesley laughs. It just breaks out from him before he can control himself, and Neuvillette flinches at the sound.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he apologizes. “It’s just… Why would you ask me now?” He may be questioning something obvious, Wriothesley thinks because the Judge only furrows his brows. The Duke doesn't feel good, but he doubts he would look bad enough to earn this reaction from the Judge only by his appearance.
Neuvillette shakes his head a little then raises one hand only. It’s enough to command water from their clothes and hair to gather in front of his fingers before he guides the ball of water to the kitchenette’s sink.
As the wet feeling leaves Wriothesley’s body, this is when he realizes and Neuvillette says it out:
“You’re shaking,” he states. “I am terribly sorry for the rain and for making you stand there longer because of me,” quiet, apologetic words follow.
The Duke shakes his head a little in response. “I may not be as old as you are but I am an adult and capable of deciding for myself. Don’t you even start with this, I didn’t go to visit you and ask you to come to hear your apologies,” Wriothesley closes the distance between them while he speaks, his voice unwavering. “Please, Neuvi,” he adds, much softer as he reaches out to the Judge’s hand and takes it to his own.
Neuvillette shuts his eyes at the caring nickname and the corners of his lips turn upwards slightly. He exhales slowly and allows his eyes to open, his lilac gaze raised at the Duke. It puzzles him to no end what he has done to deserve such care and faith that the Wriothesley is giving to him. Neuvillette likes humans who know their limits but always hungrily try to outdo themselves. The Duke is – if anything then – capable, the Judge would trust no one but him to be the head of Fortress of Meropide. Neuvillette deems Wriothesley capable enough that he trusts himself with the Duke.
It’s a frightening yet liberating feeling.
The Iudex nods and gently squeezes Wriothesley’s hand, feeling the leather gloves underneath his fingers.
-
The Duke makes him sit by the small table, boils water for tea, and turns on the power system that supplies – now heats – the houses in the heart of Fontaine. The one that requires their public trials and the beliefs of the people…
Trying to get a hold of his darkening thoughts and deal with them inside – as Wriothesley prevented him from dealing with his intrusive thoughts in a much different way – Neuvillette is surprised when a hot cup of calming herbal tea is shoved into his hands, a fuzzy blanket placed onto his back.
“Thank you,” the Judge murmurs, focusing back on his present. The tidy little space without much decoration, the man sitting in front of him with a similar cup of tea in his hands. A thought occurs to Neuvillette and he raises his gaze to the other to ask. In his attempt to look less of a mess than he is now, he straightens his back which cracks like an un-oiled Meka.
Wriothesley has been looking at him expectantly but the sound of his back breaks the silence and the rather serious mood between them, earning a lightly raised eyebrow from the Warden. Nevertheless, the Duke waits for him to speak.
With a slight smile, Neuvillette brushes the matter away. “I meant to ask you if it’s not a bother for you to be here, as I’d assume you have plenty of paperwork waiting for you after the trials of the last days. It was only protocol that you had to be present each day, but for the sake of possible riots, I saw it wise to request your attendance.”
Despite his worn looks, hearing Neuvillette being able to speak with near-perfect courtesy eases Wriothesley’s heart. He is grateful he listened to his senses and left his office as soon as he could.
“I believe my stack of paperwork is a small hill compared to the mountain of yours,” the Duke begins and seeing the possibility of any disagreement on the Judge’s face, he continues. “The sound of your back only seconds my statement, Your Honour.” A sheepish half-smile then he sips from his tea, earning the tilt of Neuvillette’s head.
“Is that so?” The Judge inquires.
Wriothesley puts down his cup, leaning over the table slightly, his weight on his elbows.
“Should Your Honour be compensated for such an insulting statement regarding your Your Honour’s age and well-being?” On a perfect and happy day, the Duke’s voice would be lusty, hungry, and playful but now it only has a teasing lilt and kindness.
Neuvillette wonders how many people on earth may know this side of Wriothesley, but he doesn’t dare to take even an educated guess.
“What would you suggest? It also has to involve some compensation for the accused, as he may have gone out of his way to make this trial session possible.” Lacing cold fingers around his hot cup of tea, the Judge leans back and watches Wriothesley as he figures his answer, light grey eyes piercing through him, his mouth hidden behind one of his gloved hands. It makes Neuvillette’s heart feel lighter to see the Duke isn’t shaking anymore from the cold.
“I would like to sentence Your Honour to a good night’s sleep,” Writohesley starts seriously then adds on a lighter tone, “at least what remains of it.”
The clock on the kitchenette's wall shows it's past two a.m. already, a shadow of small laughter escapes Neuvillette with an exhale. “Please, continue. Don’t forget about the compensations either,” he reminds.
“I wouldn’t dare.” The Duke cocks his head to the side and now lays his chin into his hand. “What if my sentence involves sleeping next to you?”
“And is that all?” There’s the slightest tease in the Judge’s voice but they both know that now they aren’t anything more than two tired and hard-working men with horrible eyebags and exhausted voices. One with troubles that make the skies weep in his place, and one with an unavoidable human sickness to look forward to on the following days that an hour-long standing in the rain will bring as a reminder.
“Doesn't Your Honour need more? You can write up some warm blankets too, maybe a back massage if you will?”
Neuvillette yet again doesn’t know how he is worthy of kindness like this when he’s the reason that the skies are grey and the weather is horrible. But the thing about Wriothesley, as he learns over and over again, is that he cares deeply. He just chooses to hide behind his ever-so-cold expression and his negligent, straight-to-the-point manner. He can behave like a refined gentleman but he often chooses not to.
Neuvillette appreciates the confrontation he got because maybe sometimes he does require to have the obvious spelt into his face without much care about courtesy.
“I accept the terms with one clause: tomorrow you have to let me make sure you caught up with your paperwork. As much as I would like it otherwise, I doubt you won’t be sick,” he answers kindly. He knows better than to try to blame himself, Wriothesley was clear that he is capable of making his decisions, and Neuvillette wouldn’t want to take authority away from him. Nevertheless, he makes a mental note for himself for the next time… Which is bound to come.
"Like if you haven't announced mere hours ago that you'll be holding new trials for multiple people in the next few days... I appreciate the offer, Chief Justice, but I wager my stack of paper will end sooner than yours. Maybe it should be me saying a clause on this, hm?"
A soft sigh escapes the Judge’s lips and he knows Writohesley is probably right. Not that he would admit it openly.
"Let’s leave this for tomorrow, shall we?" Wriothesley asks him as he stands, offering a hand to take Neuvillette's empty cup away.
The Judge knows they both are exhausted enough and the Duke is offering him a way out of more talk and care about his problems. Neuvillette is grateful for the opportunity, he's unsure how an elongated talk or forcing himself to vocalize his feelings could make anything better. He just appreciates the company.
-
Wriothesley observed Neuvillette as he finished up his tea. Partially, he would have liked to sit with the Judge all night and talk through the whole trial and what Lefebvre said at the end… But the Duke understands why this would be counterproductive. He hardly knows anyone who would have a bigger and kinder heart than the Hydro Sovereign does. Sometimes it makes him despise the strictness of the laws and Fontaine’s justice system when he sees Neuvillette broken and crumbling under the conflict of the system’s logic and his good heart.
He believes in order over anything – a rule that people learn in the Fortress. However, the more time he spends with Neuvillette, and the more glimpses he understands from the Judge’s point of view, the more he starts to question why order is the most important, if there is no base to support it back up? What is order if there’s no justice…? What is justice if it isn't built upon equity?
The Iudex puzzles Wriothesley as no one does; their encounters have led to conversations and actions that… Brought the two of them under the same roof on a rainy night after long days of a trial case.
Although honesty or emotional expression was not either of their strengths, the Duke knows that both of them like to stay silent on matters… But they were also both capable of reading in-between the lines.
Hazy from tiredness, Neuvillette and Wriothesley shed their shoes and formal wear, stripping down to the last layer of fabric. Despite the heating machine – or maybe only because he is sick already – the Duke still feels cold and it doesn’t take more than a request that they share all the blankets, piled upon each other.
Lights out, the darkness helps with making requests, and it comes easily that Wriothesley holds Neuvillette, bare chest pressed close to the other's. He strokes the Judge’s back up and down gently, silky strands of hair sliding with his scarred hand and forearm.
From the changing pattern of his breathing, Wriothesley knows when sleep finally reaches the Judge. Soon after, he also dozes off to the sound of the quieting rain, the soft touch of Neuvillette’s hair, and the warmth of the body of the person he loves.