Work Text:
It's terribly simple.
Really.
Their routine has settled like clumps of salt in a boiling pot of water, ever present in the aftertaste of their meals.
Neuvillette rises with the first wisps of dawn, a hefty weight of sleep-wrung eye bags hanging from his face. He, ever so diligent in the public eye, allows himself to drag out the rise from bed, watching as his beloved, a certain man - both sturdy and tout - sleeps under their shared covers.
He intently burns each soft curve of his thin lips into his memory, slotting each angle that the sun shines over Wriothesley in amber and gold below each one of his eyelashes. These images will resurface during his day, to allow him a minute of somber happiness - knowing he will return to see such a sight again.
Neuvillette always shuts the bedroom door begrudgingly, especially if he knows that Wriothesley will rise too only in an hour more. But he always does his best to leave with silent goodbyes; a graze along his beloved's cheek, a kiss against the bridge of his nose.
Neuvillette always prepares his work uniform the night before, hangs it up on one of the many overshadowing bookcases, filled with leather-bound books and shiny trinkets. These are all gifts - ones he's collected over his tediously long life. Every morning, it takes Neuvillette a second to let his gaze wash over these reminders of an ancient past. These are bits and pieces of people he no longer remembers the names or faces of, yet he keeps each one under the same roof that houses him.
He always dresses in a hurry, hearing Sigewinne's morning clock buzz a few doors down. It's an old one, made out of yellowish tin, with bird wings for its hands. Neuvillette does not eat breakfast at home, afraid that if one of his housemate's catch him, he will be unable to leave without guilt clawing at his throat.
But justice does not wait for those who must enforce it. So, Neuvillette never does stay more than twenty minutes from his rousing.
The long mornings are always incredibly boring - just stacks upon stacks of paperwork that clutter his desk. Neuvillette takes care to treat each one with utmost care and concentration, but at the point when a kind-faced melusine knocks on his office door, and slips in with a pearly platter of water and sandwiches, he can no longer pay them any mind.
He always thanks her with a gentle pat between two long ears, trying to recall the right name. Recently, he's begun mixing them up. It gnaws at him terribly.
Neuvillette does not eat immediately, see, he waits for someone else to stride into his chambers. Wriothesley is always on time, waltzing in right after the melusine. There is no 'Hello' or 'Good morning' - only the unspoken adoration brimming in his icy blue eyes.
He sits down across from Neuvillette, in his favorite oak chair and takes hold of one of the sandwiches before swallowing it down. Neuvillette seems to grow full simply from watching his beloved guard eat. He watches as each crumb sticks and falls from his face, down onto the handrests that have tiny scratches from Wriothesley's nervous gnashings. It seems to be a recurring pattern whenever they mingle between the bounds of work and homeliness, as if anyone were to stride in as he does, although, as Neuvillette notes, Wriothesley always takes care to lock the doors.
They bask in this silence as the sun waves greetings past the palace windows. Neuvillette seems to smile more, watching Wriothesley make work of the food that was supposed to be his.
They don't talk much, unless Sigewinne shares a bizarre dream with Wriothesley on their way to work, which he always passes on to the calm-faced judge, who always cracks up on the delivery. They share simple thoughts about the weather, dinner, and break apart from this bubble of warmth as quickly as it had formed.
Neuvillette works tirelessly, trying to decipher each cryptic file and folder, holds trials and sticks to Furina's side, despite the two's shortcomings when it comes to conversation. They usually take their longest work breaks with a stroll out around the city, basking in the day's weather - whether it be good or bad. Furina is a terribly talkative woman, but Neuvillette does not mind. He likes the way she chatters, almost sparrow-like.
Then comes the early evening, when all of the melusines clock out of work. Neuvillette always stays behind. Lit by tall candles, he mulls over the day's work, trying to take a jab at tomorrow's files, though knowing that he cannot put a dent in the ever-rising workload.
Each day, once the clock strikes seven and the sky grows overcast with worry and darkness, Wriothesley knocks on the door, imitating the melusines. He sticks his head in and asks for the ludex inca soft voice.
It does not fail to make Neuvillette look up from his work, expecting to see an unmentioned visitor, but locking eyes with a guardsman. He smiles, wide and tired, before stepping away from his desk to submerge into the warmth of his wolf-toothed husband.
There is a softness in these ancient bones that rises to meet the ocean's surface each time the same two icy eyes regard him in their worship-like love.
They alway share a kiss… Or two… Or many. Depending if Wriothesley locked the door or not.
If the evening diverges down the path of closed curtains, the two make their way down to Neuvillette's silk divan. It is his altar, the one place where Wriothesley openly prays to him.
He is a god, beloved by all but cherished by one true believer. Wriothesley kisses his ankles and the back of his thighs, reminding Neuvillette that these same places are the same ones that only water ever reaches.
Then come his hands, slender and long. Wriothesley makes sure to whisper his adoration into each joint, each knuckle.
It takes a bit for them to ease and part, and go home. But they always do so happily, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder.
Sigewinne always expectantly waits for them in the kitchen, a pot of tea at the ready. She fills their cups - the same ones she'd made for this home - and ushers the two to sit.
These evenings are long, drawn out in conversation. They share their day's occurrences and only split ways from the melusine once the city's lights have died out, and her eyes clasp like two wet butterfly wings.
Neuvillette helps her to her room, bidding sweet goodbyes as she tucks herself beneath a canopy of stars. He seals her room shut and brings down the lights. Wriothesley, meanwhile, tidies up the kitchen and discards himself of his work clothes.
The sight of his broad back always makes Neuvillette's heart flutter.
They slip into bed together and coil around each other's warm bodies, entropying into the sweet embrace of slumber, as a cracked open kitchen window lets in the salty breeze.